#Author: Missclairebelle | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

desperationandgin · 5 years

Text

Where the Love Light Gleams

Rating: Mature

Also Read on: AO3

Summary: After an accident that changes Claire Randall's life, she comes face to face with the man who saved her.

Author’s Note: Welcome to the first fic for the inaugural Winter of Want! Thank you so much to @smashingteacups and @missclairebelle for being my partners in crime! Also, thank you to them as well as @happytoobserve for being betas! And thank you so much to @fierceweebadger for the beautiful moodboard she made! I'm so grateful to all of my people ❤

On with the story!

The Cellist

The first time he’d ever seen Claire Randall she was a broken woman, close to being consumed by flames, blood matting dark curls to her forehead and neck. She’d been hanging upside down by her seatbelt, and he’d worked to get her out while the rest of his crew battled the fire and pulled the driver from the wreckage.

A husband and wife who’d been heading home, according to the upside-down (but still functioning) GPS. Witnesses explained the husband swerved to miss a deer, sideswiped an oncoming truck, and flipped the car down an embankment. Sparks set the dry grass on fire, and by the time help had arrived, strangers were attempting to use any spare water they could to stop the blaze’s progress.

Jamie’d known the husband died instantly, but when he asked the lass what her name was during a moment of consciousness, she’d looked right at him and he had no doubt she would live. The sheer will in those amber eyes was too intense to go out, too stubborn. It had only been a second, but in that brief moment of awareness, she’d said her name as calmly as if they were on a still sea.

Claire.

She’d lost consciousness again after that, and Jamie had relinquished her to the medics. After his shift, he’d checked with the hospital, discovered she would live, and gone home. He’d thought about visiting her, but he was a stranger and her husband was dead. It didn’t seem like the time to introduce himself, though a part of him, perhaps, hoped that she would reach out to him, want to meet the person who saved her. The call never came, and he prayed the young widow was able to move on with her life, find some sort of happiness again. His dreams reminded him of her periodically, but over the next five years, all that he could remember were those eyes.

Until he walks into the Firefighter’s Charity Ball and there she is, on a stage flanked by seven others. Amid various Christmas decor, the woman he’d last seen bloody and fragile, plays the cello, the symphonic strains of O Come, All Ye Faithful filling the room thanks to the small octet. He stares, unable to look away, lips parting to see her so vibrant. So alive. She looks bonny, better than, with her curls floating like a cloud around her head. She’s in a simple black dress with the barest hint of her calves showing as she plays, and he’s sure he’s never wanted to know another woman this badly in his life.

Taking a sip of whisky as he admires the way she plays, the song fades, and she begins to put aside her bow. Before Jamie can look away, her eyes land directly on him.

She has no idea who he is.

He can see it in the way her gaze drifts immediately, looking out at the crowd before refocusing on her sheet music.

She has no idea that the man who saved her life is standing right in front of her.

It’s an hour before the musicians take a break, and Jamie finds her immediately, trying to decide how to approach her. He can’t very well ask her to recall something so horrible, so he introduces himself as a stranger, eggnog in hand to offer.

“Ye play verra beautifully, if ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he praises, holding out the glass. He’s formally dressed in his uniform and doesn’t miss the way her eyes land first at his chest, then make their way up slowly, taking her time.

At least he knows she’s interested.

“Thank you,” she replies with a soft smile and dip of her head. “I’ve always loved playing this time of year.”

“Does yer wee group make the rounds often around the holidays?” Jamie asks as he takes a sip of his drink, casually slipping a hand into his pocket, trying very hard not to think about wanting her.

Claire lets out a breath of air through her nose, a laugh, and smiles around the rim of her glass, shaking her head. “My wee group and I are part of the Scottish Symphony Orchestra. I’m first chair.” It’s an illumination dropped as casually as if she’d said she majored in English.

His eyes widen, adding her occupation and position with the orchestra to the list of things he knows to be true of her. (The others being her sheer will to survive and her determined gaze.) “That’s quite the achievement; I didna realize ye could ask for parts of the whole at an event.”

“Well, you can when you’re married to the conductor,” she informs him. “The event planner for tonight just happens to be, and this is a good cause, so I’m sure strings were pulled. No pun intended.” Claire meets his gaze with a softened one of her own. “Thank you. For risking your life to save others.”

He thinks she might tell him her story, a perfect segue for him to introduce himself, but instead, she simply tells him her name.

“I’m Claire Randall. It’s nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and his first thought is that she never remarried, though he mentally admonishes himself immediately.

“Jamie Fraser. And ye dinnae need to thank me, though I appreciate it. Do ye get to enjoy yourself this evening, or is it all business?”

“Oh, I’m strictly the help,” she replies with a dazzling smile that makes his knees weak and his heart pound.

Christ, he feels like an eejit trying to come up with a way to keep her talking, to not go anywhere and leave him without her warmth. “If that’s the case then, how would ye feel about taking down my number?” Something, anything to keep a connection between them.

Watching his face, Claire finishes off her eggnog before checking the time and setting her glass down. “I feel you should wait until after the event is over and walk me home. I’m only a few blocks up. Then we’ll see if your number’s earned a place in my phone.”

The way she smiles at him before turning to go back toward the stage makes him feel as though he might be the only person she’s ever smiled at in exactly that way.

Jamie’s plan, initially, had been to leave after dessert, two hours well-spent mingling. Now, as the third-hour rolls by and people begin saying goodbyes, he watches the mini-orchestra perform one last medley of songs. It’s a good opportunity to study how focused Claire is when she plays her instrument, how her fingers seem to float, moved by something supernatural. He notices now that her arms are solid and toned, idly wondering how many years she’s been playing. He longs to hear her alone, the spotlight only on her.

As the playing concludes, Claire’s eyes move from the sheet music to Jamie, the intensity of their stare causing the air to seemingly crackle around them. Neither of them moves, and so she’s watching as he frowns and looks down, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He isn’t the only one — five others seem to stop what they’re doing and check for something.

It’s immediately clear that he has to leave.

Knowing the party is over anyway, Jamie makes his way to the stage, meeting her halfway down.

“You have to go?”

“Aye,” he breathes out, watching as she reaches into the folds of her dress and pulls out a business card. Taking it from her, Jamie wastes no time, grabbing the pen from his breast pocket, writing his number, and returning the card. “Let this be on your terms, Sassenach,” he assures her, then lightly snags her hand, kissing the top of her knuckles softly.

He’s gone before she can ask him what the hell a Sassenach is.

The next night, armed with wine and her laptop, Claire sits (in the company of her ‘she adopted me’ black cat, Sesh, and a Joni Mitchell playlist) and Googles one Jamie Fraser of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Service. Clicking over to an image search, she takes a sip of wine and hums at the first photo on the page. It’s him, most assuredly, running in a marathon, sweaty, biceps proudly showing, and somehow looking directly into the camera.

“I sincerely hope there was an emergency last night, Sesh,” Claire mutters, feeling a pang of shame for the thought, but not for long; soon enough it’s replaced by sheer want, before even that’s replaced by a guilt different from the first. She’s been reassured, not by one friend or even two ganging together, but four, that she deserves to be happy again or, at the very least, deserves a good roll in the hay with someone.

Those had been Gillian’s words, agreed-upon emphatically by both John — and in the ultimate betrayal — Joe plus his wife. She knew five years was more than enough time, but since the accident, there’d been no reason to seek out something that would only leave her feeling emptier than she had before. No one captivated her attention, no one made her want to get to know them better. She’s been happy to not risk her heart again and live in a quiet bubble alone.

Until last night.

She’d glimpsed him after finishing the first song of the evening, her eyes attracted to that shock of red curls in the audience. When he’d approached her, she found herself unable to keep the flirting from rolling right off of her tongue. He’d undone her somehow in the span of perhaps twenty minutes, all told. She remembers his hasty exit, which reminds her to open a new tab and begin typing into the search bar.

Sass-

“Oh, bloody hell. What was it?” she mutters, trying to recall it, to sound it out phonetically.

Sass-in-ach

Claire goes with it, appreciates the Showing Results For Sassenach correction, and reads aloud, mumbling the words. “‘An English person.’ That’s not very creative, is it?” Though she has to admit, it sounded nice coming from him. It’s different, and she wonders if he calls every English person he meets the same thing.

Going back to her original search, she clicks out of the images, skimming the links until one catches her eye. The date, in particular.

January 24th, 2014.

The day of the accident.

Putting her wine down and sitting up straight, Claire hesitates a fraction of a second before pulling up the story. She’s immediately greeted by an image of her own crumpled and overturned vehicle, and for a moment, she can do nothing but stare at it, trying to remember herself inside. John had taken her to see it two weeks after the funeral, helped her get the things out of the boot (her cello, protected in its case, a suitcase and carry on from her recent trip to the States), and she hasn’t seen it since. When she’s finally able to scroll past the image, she reads about details she can’t remember, and then there’s Jamie, being praised as a hero.

“‘I only knew I had to get the lass out of the vehicle, so I paid no mind to the flames. I had to trust that my colleagues had control of the situation while I managed to cut the passenger free,’ explained Jamie Fraser, one of the first responders on the scene. Thanks to his quick action, the female passenger is said to be making a full recovery. His efforts will be celebrated by Chief Fire Officer Blunden—”

She doesn’t bother to read any further. Every thought she has seems to fall on top of the next until one finally becomes clear: Jamie Fraser saved her life.

“Oh, my God.”

Sesh seems unbothered, slow-blinking up at her as the pieces come together. He’d seen her, sought her out. Did he remember her? Know who she was at the event? It’s only after she’s dialed the number he wrote on her card that she realizes it’s very nearly one in the morning. “Fuck.” She’s moving her thumb to disconnect just as she hears a muffled grunt. Freezing in surprise, the phone goes back to her ear as she speaks quietly.

“Hello?”

“Was that a suggestion, Sassenach?”

His voice is low and thick with sleep, but somehow his humor’s still quick, and she coughs, wetting her lips. “No, no, only that I didn’t mean to call you so late. I lost track of—”

Christ, cut to the chase, Beauchamp.

“Do you remember saving my life?”

The silence on the other end hangs for what feels like hours, but she hears the faint sound of what she assumes is Jamie sitting up in bed, readjusting the grip he has on his phone.

“Aye, I do. Do you remember it, Claire?”

Closing her eyes, she tries, but her memory stops just after Frank picked her up from the airport. “No. You pulled me out of the car?”

“I cut ye free and then got ye clear of the accident.” He pauses, sitting in the dark of his flat, worried about her. “Ye dinnae need to think about it, Claire,” he tells her gently.

“You saved my life, Jamie, that’s what I’m thinking of. They asked me when I was in recovery if I wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t — I’d just lost my husband, I wasn’t thinking about meeting anyone.”

When Jamie speaks again, his voice is soft and even, meant to soothe. “There’s no reason ye need to explain anything. It was five years ago, Sassenach, and yer life was changed forever. I’m no’ going to hold anything against ye.”

For four heartbeats, quiet lingers between them before Claire speaks again. “I realize tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you’ve probably got plans of some sort, but I would like to see you if I can.”

If there’d been a hint of grogginess left in him, he’s fully awake now, squinting in the dark. “Ye dinnae have yer own plans?”

“Well, my husband died.”

Grunting in surprise at her response, Jamie rubs a hand over the top of his head, thinking. “I dinnae have anywhere to be until noon on Christmas Day, so my Eve is all yours, Sassenach, if ye want it.”

Christ, she doesn’t know if he meant to sound alluring or not, so she stays neutral. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Do ye ken where Victoria Park is?”

She’s nodding before she remembers she needs to respond aloud. “The park with the bowling greens?”

“Aye, and the walking paths. There are benches, good for sitting and talking for a while if ye’d like.” He meant it when he told her before that anything between them should be on her terms, and that was before she connected the dots. He doesn’t know what it is to lose a spouse, but he imagines the prospect of speaking about it is daunting.

In the silence that waits for her response, Claire looks down at the gold ring on her finger, thumb lightly stroking the cool metal. She tries to imagine it, her heart being wide open again and susceptible to breaking. Closing her eyes, she remembers that Jamie smelled vaguely of citrus and sage and the specific blue of his eyes was like an afternoon sky on a cloudless day. Comforting and warm.

It’s an easy decision when the memory of his gaze on her causes a flush.

“I would like that, Jamie.”

_______________________________________________________________________

They decide to meet at ten in the morning when the park is between hosting late A.M. joggers and parents with toddlers. She wanders toward the spot they’re meeting, under a grove of trees home to a row of benches. Slowing her pace as she approaches, Claire gives herself a few steps to admire him, the cut of his hips and the way his muscles move even under his coat.

Christ, he’s made an impression.

And then she remembers that this is the man who saved her life, features softening when he looks up and spots her.

“Ye made it. I was worried the directions were too vague,” he admits, standing to greet her.

“In the summer there’s a beautiful patch of wild yellow flowers just across the sidewalk. It’s gorgeous, I used to come often when I first moved here.”

They walk back to the bench together and sit, though neither one of them knows exactly how to begin the conversation. Eventually, it’s Claire who breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry. For not trying to find you after the accident.”

Jamie’s shaking his head before she’s done speaking. “Ye dinnae have to apologize for it, as I told ye last night.” He stops short of saying he was doing his job, but it was more than that. He knew it the moment she looked at him. “I did check in on ye, just to be sure ye’d be alright. But I kent there was no’ much I could do or say to make anything better for ye.” And he hadn’t wanted to drop in unannounced only to make things worse for her in some way.

Studying her hands, she drags her thumb along the lifeline, closing her eyes. She remembers getting into the car at the airport. Begging Frank to turn off talk radio so they could have a conversation. She remembers him laughing at something she said, and then, nothing. “I woke up in the hospital and couldn’t remember what happened. They told me there’d been an accident, and I think I knew my husband was dead before they said it.”

He moves his hand to cover one of hers without thinking, so when she squeezes his fingers he holds on tightly, aware now of the weight of her palm and the delicate skin of her wrist under his thumb.

“I didn’t touch my cello for a year afterward. I’d somehow convinced myself it was my fault, that if I hadn’t traveled to play, he wouldn’t have picked me up from the airport, there wouldn’t have been an accident.” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I don’t believe that now, but it felt better to blame myself for a little while.”

She’s kept her grip on him, squeezing again as she takes a breath and lets it out slowly.

“When I finally got to ye,” he begins quietly, looking down at their hands, “ye were unconscious. I went to cut off the seatbelt and yer eyes opened, ye looked directly at me. I asked your name, and ye said it, so…” Jamie trails off, unable to find the right words for it. “As though ye’d been waiting for me to ask. Then ye were out again and that was the last I saw of ye.”

Her eyes fall to their hands as well, and she turns hers over so that their fingertips are touching.

“But I kent ye would live. I could see it in yer eyes, that ye’re a lass wi’ spirit,” he tells her with a soft smile. “And I ken ye know it now, but it wasna yer fault, Claire.”

She does know, but hearing it feels like balm on an aching wound. “Thank you for saving my life, Jamie.” Lifting her gaze, she studies his face and admires the sharp angle of his jaw, the tawny scruff there.

There’s something between them, he can feel it as if a living, pulsing thing. He’s aware of each breath she takes, the rise and fall of her chest; he feels it as surely as his own body moving, both of them separate pieces of a complete being.

“I’m glad that it was me, Sassenach. I cannae explain it, but—”

“But it was supposed to be you,” Claire finishes. Jamie was meant to save her, no one else could have.

Raising her hand to his lips, Jamie frowns lightly upon pulling back. “Your hands are like ice, Sassenach. Let me buy ye something warm,” he offers. “There’s a wee cafe nearby.”

In truth, if it were a way to spend more time with him, it didn’t matter what they did or where they went.

Claire smiles, charmed the moment he said wee.

_______________________________________________________________________

It was inevitable, really, that they fall into bed with one another. Under the pretense of dinner (which they did eat; an easy meal of pasta in lemon sauce and good crusty bread for soaking up the remnants), she’d agreed to go back to his flat. They’d both known it wasn’t going to be about the food for long.

She sleeps now with her head resting on his outstretched arm, facing him. His hand has been numb for hours, but he wouldn’t dream of moving her, not now. Not when he has the pleasure of seeing up close the light dusting of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. He can see the way her eyelashes curl upward slightly, and he revels in the feel of her breath falling against his skin. Reaching out, Jamie’s fingers lightly brush a stray curl from her cheek, his touch as gentle as possible so as not to wake her. Her skin is so delicate, like fine porcelain, and he slowly drags the tips of his fingers down her side. There’s a scar that begins on her hip, and he follows the feel of it down as far as he can reach. From the accident, she’d said, just before he’d leaned down to kiss the mark right in the center.

When Claire shifts, Jamie freezes, hand hovering as she finally moves off of his arm and tucks herself onto her side, with her back to him now. When she seems settled, he slowly moves onto his side behind her, curving his body into the hollow of hers. Tucking his legs behind her knees, he rests his hand on her hip, the other arm stretched protectively over her. Taking a chance, he ducks his head and kisses the beauty mark on her shoulder, his touch as light as he can make it. Then he finds he can’t stop himself from continuing his tender assault across her skin. She moves again, and his hand rests against her stomach, lightly holding on as he goes still.

“I’m not likely to go anywhere,” she whispers in the dark, hint of a smile in her voice.

Discovered, Jamie presses firmer kisses to her skin, giving up any pretense of being careful. “Good. I didna plan to let ye up from this bed soon,” he warns.

Smiling, Claire rolls herself under him, both of them shifting until he’s comfortably above her. Glancing toward the window, she raises an eyebrow, only able to see him in the dark because of a faintly glowing streetlamp. “From the looks of it, we still have plenty of sleeping to do.”

“Aye. Plenty of late night left. Which means plenty of time to sleep. In a bit.” He has no plans of letting her get back to it right away as his head ducks and lips press to the middle of her chest.

“You don’t seem very tired.” Already, she’s flushing, trying to anticipate where his mouth might go next.

“I’ve found my second wind, though I have a verra distinct feeling that it won’t be hard to want ye all the time.” He drops a kiss to the curve of her breast, marveling in the way her flesh softly yields.

“Does that mean you’d like to see me again?” she queries, voice soft, not wanting to assume.

Immediately, Jamie raises his head, eyes meeting hers so that she can see the truth of his words.

“I’d like to see ye every day for the rest of my life, Sassenach. If it suits ye.”

She’s so shocked by his words that she laughs; not at him but at the idea that she can laugh again, in the company of a man who wants her. “I’m sure we could work out some sort of arrangement, though I realize this time you have right now is a luxury.”

“It is,” he murmurs, resuming the self-imposed task of kissing her skin, dipping low to begin a slow descent. “But the consecutive days off are verra worth it, ye ken? If I have you to look forward to, I reckon I could get through anything.”

She sighs in contentment as her legs part to make a home for him. “You look forward to me?” She smiles softly, just as her breath catches at a well-placed kiss to her pelvis.

“Only someone wi’ out all five senses wouldna look forward to ye, mo nigheann donn.”

Claire stops him with a soft tug of his curls, and when he raises his head she arches an eyebrow, curiosity in her eyes.

“‘My brown-haired lass,’” he answers, knowing her question and bringing one of her legs over his shoulder, parting her with his fingers.

“I very much enjoy it when you speak to me in Gaelic,” she manages, getting it out while she can, knowing she won’t have the capability of thought soon.

Once more, Jamie raises his head, giving her a cheeky grin. “Laigh air ais fhad 's a tha mi agad.” (Lie back while I have ye.)

She has no idea what he said, but the timbre of his voice, the way his eyes darken — she knows it was filthy, but her amusement gives way to a soft gasp once his mouth finds the slick, heated center of her. A hand immediately moves to the top of his head, lips pressing together as she holds her breath for half a heartbeat and then cries out, back arching. Unable to help herself, she presses her thighs to the sides of his head, only easing up when one of his hands grips her hip tightly. His other rests on her belly, holding her down, keeping her grounded.

His head attempts to move with her body, following each spasm of her hips. He tastes her first climax; she coats his tongue and chin but he doesn’t stop, and when she comes again it’s around two curved fingers, the feel of her going straight to his cock. There’s a third, smaller shockwave, given while tucked against his chest, his hand between them.

Panting against his neck, Claire takes her time coming back to herself, basking in the feel of stretching when thoroughly satisfied. “You are very, very good at that,” she finally manages, very nearly purring in relaxation.

“Weel, I do aim to please, but admittedly, it’s no’ hard to want to make ye writhe like that all the time. Christ, the sounds ye make, and the way yer entire body grips me just so.” He’s hard and wanting, aching just a bit at the minutes-old memory. “Ye have no idea the gift ye are.”

His words strike her, and she pulls back, gaze soft as she reaches out, fingertips lightly pressing to his cheek.

“I’m only here because of you.”

Jamie wants to refute it, to insist that she did all the fighting to stay alive. But the truth of it is, she had needed him. She couldn’t have gotten out of that vehicle herself.

“Still. Ye lived, and I ken it was no’ easy for ye.” Lightly, he reaches out to drag his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “Ye needn’t ever worry that ye cannae still grieve him. If this was too soon, too much—”

Claire stops him with the tip of a finger pressed to his lips. For a moment’s pause, she simply looks at him, holds his gaze and makes it clear that she would like to speak. When his lips press softly to her finger, her hand drops and she pushes him lightly onto his back, straddling his hips. That’s all she does, reaching for his hands and holding onto both of them, lacing their fingers together.

“I don’t recall saying anything was too much or too soon. What I can tell you is that for five years, I haven’t let myself feel a thing. Loneliness is a choice, or so they say. And I chose it because it’s a hell of a lot better than losing so much all the time.” She looks down, the hint of more loss than she’s willing to share playing across her features. “I thought it would stay like that, always.”

She’d convinced herself she was fine with it, that the less she risked, the fewer heartbreaks she would need to endure.

“That plan was working out very well for me until I met you,” she informs him, eyes creasing in the corners as she smiles before speaking seriously again. “I thought I’d lost the ability to feel anything close to this, after a while.” Want and lust and need for another person; all of those things had felt like lost causes.

“What is it about you, Jamie?” As she asks, her hips begin a slow rock against his. “How did you find me?”

He’s captivated by her words and movement, groaning at the feel of her gliding easily along the length of him. “I didna find ye at all,” he manages, raising his head a bit to watch himself disappear into her, finally, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. Neither of them moves, her eyes closed while his are focused firmly on her face while he fights the urge to move right away.

“Ye came into my life, Claire, and ye never truly left.” A part of him has held onto her, even if it was only a single feature that haunted his dreams. Her soul imprinted on his, and he knows now that he’s complete with her, that it never could have been another way for him.

When she opens her eyes, they’re blown wide with pleasure, pupils dark and lids heavy. He’s staring right at her, and one of her hands reaches for his, bringing it over her chest. She rides him, slowly at first, while her heart pounds against his palm. The pulsing tempo increases beneath his touch as leisurely pleasure begins to turn into something more focused, more urgent. She leans forward, letting go of him only to brace her hands on his chest. He’s holding back, she can feel it, his belly tense beneath her.

When she speaks his name, it’s on a panting breath, and when his eyes open, he knows what she wants, can see it. Reaching out, his hands rest on her hips, and he looks at her one more time to be sure. When she nods, he shores up his grip and then slams into her once, hard, losing his breath at the cry of sheer pleasure it tears from her. He does it again, then again, pistoning his hips upward forcefully, quickly, driving noises from her so beautiful he’s not sure he’ll ever hear anything that could compare. He’s causing her to make those sounds, and he’ll be a damned man if he doesn’t strive to hear her as often as possible.

Jamie slows and Claire takes over, straightening her spine and beginning a pace that means she’s close; she has to be, because there’s no way in Christ’s name he’ll ever make it if not. His hands move up her body and cup around her breasts, squeezing enough to make her tighten around him involuntarily. His groan mingles with her cry of pleasure, and he wills his eyes open, needing to see her. When he does, he’s sure there’s not a better sight in all the world.

Her head is back, exposing the length of her neck, skin begging to know the imprint of his lips over and over again. Her hair sways back and forth, mussed curls seeming to tumble in all directions, and when her head falls forward, Jamie can see that she’s chasing her pleasure, forehead knit right in the center. She’s there, she’s close, and he sneaks one hand between them to touch, rolling that small bud of nerves beneath his thumb.

That’s all it takes for her to shatter, body pitching forward and nearly curling around his. Her breasts sway right before him and he doesn’t fight the urge to lean in, burying his face there. As her body tightens around his, pulling him in, his name becomes a choked cry, unable to get it out without whimpering in the middle.

She drops her hips one more time and Jamie tenses, arms wrapping around her frame. Her name is nothing more than a strangled sob as he spills into her, teeth lightly scraping her shoulder. He can feel her shaking against him but can do nothing about it; he’s not entirely sure if he’s able to move his arms and legs.

Eventually, there’s enough of a chill on cooling skin that Jamie reaches for the blankets, covering them up again. The silence between them is comfortable, and she stays right on top of him, unmoving as he begins to doze.

“You know, I’ve realized something,” she whispers, voice sleepy sounding and far away.

He hums, low in the back of his throat. “What’s that, Sassenach?”

As his fingers drag up and down her spine, she turns her head to press a soft kiss to his chest. “It’s clearly after midnight. Which means it’s technically Christmas Day.”

Opening his eyes, Jamie finds himself looking right at her, and his smile is easy, eyes alight with it.

“Well then, a nighean.” He leans in close, whispering the words across her lips, thankful for her, an unexpected gift. “Happy Christmas to ye.” He nuzzles her cheek, reaching down to playfully pinch her arse.

Her laughter fills the room, eventually carrying them to sleep.

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #the cellist #where the love light gleams #my fic

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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I love your stories!! I especially love that they are so accessible. I am new to AO3 and Tumblr and had read missclairebelle’s Loss series. It has been removed from AO3 and I did not know at the time that work could be saved on AO3. Do you happen to have the Loss series saved on your computer? If so, would you please share with me? Thank you!!

Hi! I'm thrilled you like my stories. To answer your question, no, I don't have the stories of the author you mentioned. Although I started writing on AO3 in 2018, I am fairly new to Tumblr and haven't had time to read the other writers' stories on here. The best place to ask would be @thelallybrochlibrary. They have the list of most fanfics and authors and are very helpful if you drop them a note. I hope I have been able to assist you. Thanks for dropping by. 😀❤️

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kkruml · 4 years

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7, 8, 10, 16, 18, 20!

WAFFS. I fully blame/credit/blame ye for my foray into fanfiction.

7. Top 3 OL fan fiction authors of all time?

OKAY. I’m biased here because I am BLESSED to be able to see the inner workings of a few select writers. So I am naturally very connected to these stories and the authors who steward them. I am VERY rusty with the larger fandom of writers out there BUT... if I HAD to choose...

@missclairebelle @abreathofsnowandwaffles @kalendraashtar

8. Favorite OL fan fiction genre?

I am decent with canon through the first three books/seasons but not much beyond that SO stories that are canon-compliant are tough for me to follow so I’m gonna say definitely modern AU... if I had to go more than that, I love a wee bit o’ angst so gimme some misunderstanding that causes some confusion or hurt feelings that then leads to an epic make-up.

10. Favorite OL fan fiction ship?

Jamie and Claire. I mean... right?

16. Do you have an OL fan fiction ‘guilty pleasure’?

I don’t know if it’s a “guilty pleasure” but I am SOLD on Jamie when he’s totally in sync with Claire and her needs. I’ve seen the early stages of a *new* fic that’s in the works that totally focuses on this very thing and it just... I NEED IT.

18. Preferred situations, environments, snacks while reading/writing fan fiction?

I mean...

I JOKE BUT.. WHERE IS THE LIE.

20. All-time favorite thing about OL fan fiction?

Getting to see the many many MANY versions of our Jamie and Claire when thrown into different realities.

#outlander #fan fic #outlander fan fic #abreathofsnowandwaffles

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whiteraven-s · 5 years

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Fanfic List: Already in a Relationship

Scavenger Hunt #5

Truth be told, I am terrible at remembering titles, authors, themes, tropes, etc. so once I thought of this theme and realized I could name more than a handful of fics, I knew it had to be my entry for number 5 🙃. Here, besides waiting for Jamie and Claire to fall in love, you also have to wait (maybe with periodic yelling) for one or both of them to dump Frank/Laoghaire/Geneva/whoever, so it’s double the anticipation and double the satisfaction.

Awake ◆ @magnoliasinbloom

Back to You ◆ @balfeheughlywed

Call of the Mountains ◆ @whitenightowl

Her Royal Highness ◆ @missclairebelle

House of Fraser ◆ @phaedrecameron

If After All These Years You’d Like to Meet ◆ @three-drink-amy

It has Always Been Forever ◆ @suhailauniverse

Just Desserts ◆ @thescarlettpeacock

Lullaby ◆ @magnoliasinbloom

Mint & Thistles (~sort of~) ◆ @ladyviolethummingbird

Private Tutor ◆ @mybeautifuldecay

Uitlander ◆ @gotham-ruaidh

~ @thelallybrochlibrary

#LLScavengerHunt #fanfic #outlander #challenge

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rochibolettieri · 5 years

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Let’s talk about writers and fanfiction

Over the past weeks I saw a lot of writers in my dash receiving tons of nasty anons criticizing their style of writing, writers I really appreciate even if they don’t know me. Then came the plagiarism thing, so i decided to write a few things about the matter (forget my English, is not my first language 🙃)

I have to be honest, a year and a half ago, I thought of fanfiction as a silly thing until I decided to give it a try and read and definitely changed my mind. I have no idea how to write fiction is, the only approach I have about the subject is the journalistic writing I have to do for school and even if it’s different, I get that the feeling of posting something you’ve done can be scary, nerve-racking, gives you a lot of anxiety. Will people like it? Is it a silly thing to post? What if I said something wrong, if I’m misunderstood?

What I intend to say with this, is that it takes a lot of courage to publish something so intimate, something to which you dedicated a lot of time, effort and what you did with love, and also, for free. And I say intimate because I firmly believe that when writing fiction, a part of each writer appears there, a piece of how they are, what they think, their believes. As for example in the last chapter of BTY. I don’t know @balfeheughlywed , we never talked but I read a post recently about how that chapter meant for her to be a love letter to motherhood and it perfectly reflects her intention while mixing it with the story (beautiful chapter btw, I end up crying when Jamie started to talk to their bairn)

When it comes to feelings, many times the way to channel them is through writing. Other times it is through music, painting, dancing, etc. there are a lot of ways to express them, but since we are talking about written stories, let's keep it that way. I think what Lauren did was something beautiful, I’m not a mother but I thought of my mom and what she has been through, and it must have been a terrible yet beautiful experience. Other author I can think of right now is @whiskynottea with Death dreams. Her writing there is so beautiful yet so painful because she talks about things that happens in the real life. I sort of know how it is to live with someone suffering depression and let me tell you, it breaks your heart. Her portrayal of Claire as the partner of the one suffering, and Jamie as the depressed one seems so real, like you can feel what they feel in every chapter, and is a clever decision to add topics maybe not everyone is brave enough to talk about, be it depression, abortion, PTSD, miscarriages, some terminal disease…

Also, I want to comment on the subject of plagiarism. Since the beginning of last year I read OL fanfiction, and I can *shamefully* say that I read a lot, much more than all the books I have on my shelf that I didn’t read yet. And in many cases things are repeated, such as the meeting of the main characters, how they fall in love, the use of quotes from the original books, even the personalities of the characters involved. That doesn’t mean to plagiarize anyone’s work, in my opinion, it’s because within this community, many people think about the characters in a way (i.e. Frank being an abusive sexist who cheats on his partner and doesn’t care), many topics are repeated (Jamie being librarian, Claire being a doctor), what really changes is how each one writes a story based on it, and among everything I read, it's always different, because as everyone is different, so is their writing.

But also, we are in 2019 guys, I doubt there’s something that hasn’t been invented yet, everything gets recycled, so what’s the point in blaming people for writing similar things? Also, what a waste of time to be searching some specific quote of a fic and compare it with another one, i’m tired with only think about it.

For me, writing it’s a very difficult thing to achieve since I suck at words and have no idea how to express my feelings/what I want to say properly (you are seeing that now, haha). But these people out there who week after week transmit magic with each chapter, who write them in such a poetic way, research enough to give a quality content, deserve nothing but praise. If you don’t like what they write, there is only one thing to do, don’t read it. And if you have nothing good to say, it is better to say nothing. There is no reason to be filling their inbox with horrible comments, insults, pointing their mistakes if there’s no a constructive reason behind. Im always saying this but we don´t know what’s in each other lives, so maybe by leaving those things, you’re ruining their day.

There is a huge variety of styles to choose from, so it's a matter of looking for what you like and keep going. There are stories that are simpler to read, others more complicated, with metaphors, more description, maybe more elaborated (I don’t say that the simple ones are bad, but they are easier to read, at least for me, and I like it), some have shorter chapters, others longer. There are about J/C, about secondary characters, one shoots, multichapters, fluffy, angsty, canon divergence, AU... And luckily, the number of people who dare to write their own stories grows day by day, and the ones we already know improves every week, with every new story so, why don’t we go for kindness, good comments, and constructive criticism instead of sending hateful inboxes?

For writers: I can’t express how much happiness you give me every day, how I improved my English since I started reading. Reading every story makes me understand how you write the characters we love (and hate), how you understand them, how can you put them in different scenarios, different eras, in which they are presidents, florists, doctors, professors, businessmen, swimmers, make them go through difficult times, beautiful ones, and that so and all you make them shine. The possibilities you have are immense and I can’t wait to read everything they have to offer, because I’m sure is going to be a masterpiece. I know is easier said than done but it’s better to focus in the ones who really cares for the time you put into this, who waits impatiently for a sneak peak, an entire chapter, background information about your story, pics, whatever. Haters gonna hate and I personally believe it had nothing to do with you, they are just mean people, maybe bored ones who thinks is funny to send those kind of messages and don’t really care if they are hurting you in the process. Keep doing your thing, you are free to do it and there are a lot of people willing to read whatever you do.

Thank you for being brave enough to share a piece of you, of your creativity and sorry for being lazy and sometimes forget to leave a comment, or read the chapters 657946 years later, believe me when I say I do love everything you write and I end up laughing, crying, jumping in my bed when some characters kiss for the first time after a long slow burn, and sometimes completely shooked at the end of every chapter and wanting for more ❤️❤️❤️

@imagineclaireandjamie @missclairebelle @notevenjokingfic @abbydebeaupreposts @kalendraashtar @jmoonrise @sassenachwaffles @lenny9987 @curlsgetdemgurls @bonniebird17 @wunderlichkind @julesbeauchamp @sassenachwriter @ladyviolethummingbird @jack-andthestalk @balfeheughlywed @claryclark @thatsoccercoach @kkruml @whiskynottea @laythornmuse @magnoliasinbloom @written-rebellion @phaedrecameron @takemeawaytocamelot @thefraserwitch @gotham-ruaidh @mybeautifuldecay @mo-nighean-rouge @monigheandonn1743 @suhailauniverse @anoutlandishfanfic @owlish-peacock36 @devaigh @holdhertightandsayhername @dancinginadaydream @crossinginstyle (i’m sorry if i forgot someone 🙏🏼)

I hope this makes sense since I’m writing this with the help of google translator bc I’m tired, sleepy and my English sucks lately 😊

#Outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #outlander fandom #fanfic writers #writers #fanfiction #thoughts #just some sort of love letter to writers #we are all work in progress #so let people be #and create #and express #and among all things #be kind

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anoutlandishidea · 5 years

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Can I step up to the mic for a moment?

First off, y’all need Jesus.

Second, THIS. ISSUE. IS. NOT. ABOUT. ANONS.

There are rude, bullying anons out there that love the spotlight and love trolling writers even more and I will let those of you who are battling them speak on that when they are ready. (I love each and every one of you and you have my full support. @kalendraashtar, especially you)

This is about people setting up camp in the gray area surrounding plagiarism and using other writers ideas as their own. Obviously, we’re ALL having fun in that broad area as we write FAN FICTION and there will be overlapping themes and tropes and cliches and scenes that we all play with in the world of Outlander and no one “owns” these things, but I’m talking about when it’s too close to home... I’m talking about authors who are repeat offenders, who, when approached, only play the victim and make no effort to 1. stop their harmful behavior, 2. admit there are similarities that go beyond afforementioned scenarios, and 3. go the extra mile to make their stories different.

It’s getting out of hand. It’s now more than one author stealing from another. It’s gotten to the point where a group of authors have crossed the line and systematically knocked the feet out from under @thefraserwitch, @kkruml, @sassenachwaffles, and @missclairebelle collectively.

They’ve approached you respectfully and you’ve refused to be civil. Others have approached you on and off anon and you act like you have no idea what they’re talking about. When given examples of your plagiarism, you act like you’re under attack, that these authors are only wanting to pick a fight, and that their evidence has been conjured up out of the blue.

Cease and desist, please, or you’ll have drastically less fanfic to steal from.

#you know who you are

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laythornmuse · 6 years

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Where We Begin, Epilogue

Between Jamie’s minor infections a few days after waking and Ellie’s slow weight gain, it took about three weeks to get the entire Fraser family back to Lallybroch. Claire walked up the stone steps to their newly finished house, knowing nothing was unpacked or set up beside the bassinet and the changing table, but not giving a damn. She’d sleep in their home tonight with all three of them under the same roof, even if it meant sleeping on the floor.

4 Months Ago, their wedding night.

Claire never imagined being pregnant on her wedding day, and certainly not as pregnant as she currently was, but as Jamie tucked her into his side while laughing with John, she couldn’t imagine the day any differently.

She wore a simple white A-line dress with a belt of Fraser plain tied around her waist. Jamie wore his kilt and black tailored jacket with a white crisp button down beneath it. They spoke their vows at the Lallybroch chapel at dusk as the stray beams of light penetrated the windowless stone building. Jamie led her through the Gaelic vows as well, and Claire felt the power of their tradition-seeped actions as they said the words many Frasers said before them. Jamie’s arm held her close as his hand cupped her chin, and she felt her hands circle his waist as he pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

That was several hours ago, and now their remaining guests were retiring to the spare bedrooms and bidding the happy couple farewell. Eying her Fraser, Claire felt a heat flush her cheeks as desire sloshed through her veins. Damn hormones, she thought with a grin. Though she desired Jamie often, pregnancy had enhanced the suddenness and severity of her cravings. Her fingernail deftly scratched a path up the back of his thigh and his eyes darkened with understanding.

Within a few minutes, they finished their farewells, and Jamie helped her into the passenger seat of his car. When they turned in the opposite direction of their hotel, Claire shot Jamie a questioning stare, but he remained silent. When he stopped the car, he ran to Claire’s side and led her to the center of a dirt plot.

“Where are we exactly?”

“Well, you see the roped off stakes? It marks where we’ll pour the foundation…for our home.”

Claire’s mouth worked, opening and shutting on its hinge, but words failed her. “Here? I thought you wanted space from Lallybroch.”

He shrugged his shoulder. “It’s about two miles down the road. Far enough that Jenny can’t burst through the front door when's she pleases.” His grin slipped as he met her gaze. “But, I wanted your opinion before we broke ground. It’s a 15-minute commute to downtown Inverness, and its near to Lallybroch while being ours.” He tipped her chin up so her eyes met his. “What do you think?”

“I…think I love it, Jamie,” she breathed as she stepped closer to him. “Really? We can build what we want right here?”

“Mmhmm. I know we agreed to no’ take an official honeymoon with the investigation pending, but I thought this would be a good use for all your nesting energy.”

“Well, it beats reorganizing the drawers again,” she said as she pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Do you love it? Truly?”

“I do,” Claire answered, as she moved her hand under his kilt and took hold of him. Jamie let out a gasp as he ground his hips forward into her grip, his tongue sweeping across her lower lip.

“Damn it, woman. I was trying to be romantic.”

“You were. But I’d like you to ravage me now.”

“Do husbands ravage their wives? It hardly sounds like the holy act the Bible describes.” Jamie whispered against her ear.

“Perhaps in England they don’t.” She snickered as she backed away from him. “But this wife would rather be treated as your whore at the moment.”

Claire dropped onto her hands and knees and pulled her dress up to her waist, revealing her garter belt, stockings and nothing else covering her slick folds. Jamie growled as he dropped to his knees behind her, running his hands over her bare behind and the tight garter bands running down the back of her thighs. Thank God her doctor removed her from pelvic rest.

“If you’re going to play a whore, I want the sounds that come with it.” He pushed himself inside of her fully and a groan escaped him as her wetness surrounded him. His fingers traced her entrance where his cock impaled her, gathering her dripping fluids before his fingers moved to her clit. She trembled as the pad of middle finger rubbed gentle circles into her nub, and a throaty grunt escaped her.

“Like that, Claire,” he moaned as he began to move inside of her.

Claire dropped onto her elbows, pushing backward when Jamie thrust, resulting in the warm thrumming of his tip against her cervix. He stretched her from this angle, and she felt full and exposed as he pushed her knees apart. When his hands pulled her cheeks apart, she cried out and keeled against the thumb that drifted into her cleft.

“Like that, is it?” He growled as he increased his speed. He didn’t realize he could get any harder until she looked over her right shoulder and met his gaze. Her mouth was open, and the sweetest squeaks and cries escaped her as he rode her.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Please. Harder.”

He sank his thumb into her and watched in awe as she convulsed and tightened her core. She screamed out her pleasure as she came, and her tight pulsing orgasm sent him reeling over the edge. They both collapsed onto their sides, breathing heavily as their limbs sought contact with one another.

“God. I needed that,” Claire rasped.

“Aye,” Jamie breathed out, his chest still heaving, as he caught her eye and smiled. “Happy to serve ye, love.”

Claire smacked his side before snuggling into his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he held her close, and together they stared up at the night sky whispering to each other of their future home, their future lives, and all the happiness they’d find between those roped off stakes.

Hard to believe that was only 4 months ago. The house was planned and built within 3.5 months, a near impossible feat that wouldn’t have happened without their incredibly talented construction firm.

Claire had only officially picked up the keys that morning, but both she and Jamie were anxious for their own space after weeks at the hospital. He carefully tucked a blanket around Ellie’s sleeping form as he unclasped the car seat carrier and joined Claire on the stone steps.

“What’s amiss?” He spoke softly as his hand rested on her hip.

“Nothing. I’m just…so grateful to be here. Finally.”

He nodded as he looked up at home. “It’s not final though, Claire. This is where we begin, the three of us.”

“I know,” she whispered. She met his gaze and let a smirk cross her face. “Are you ready to assemble the crib then?”

“After our bed is made. God, I miss our bed.”

She chuckled and then let out a shriek as Jamie hoisted her up onto his hip. With his lasses in his arms, Jamie carried his small family over the threshold of their new home and began the laughter that would echo through their walls for years to come.

~FIN~

Author’s Note:

Thank you, everyone, for following me on this journey with this first fanfiction that I began nearly a year ago. I’ve met so many wonderful people in this last year, and though I started fanfiction in other fandoms over the years, this may be the first one I ever finished. The Tumblr community is so special and encouraging, and I thank all of YOU for all your asks, questions, comments and likes over the last year to not only get me to finish this fic but then start two more.

Thank you so much for your support <3 @gotham-ruaidh @abbydebeaupreposts @whiskynottea @notevenjokingfic @smoakingwaffles @notyobeerwench @missclairebelle @mybeautifuldecay @jules-fraser @cantrixgrisea @balfeheughlywed

AND ALL THE WRITERS IN THIS COMMUNITY!

#LTM Where We Begin

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thelallybrochlibrary · 4 years

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hii, i would like your review abt a fic called loss by missclairebelle. i read some random chapters and i loved but i idk if there are lot of angust moments or sad stuffs.. anyway i just want to know your opnion abt this fic! thank you 😘

Hi there,

You can read LOSS in Chronological order here. @missclairebelle has it all nice and laid out for your reading pleasure.

#Outlander #Outlander Fanfic #Fic: LOSS #Author: Missclairebelle #Anonymous

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wafflesetc · 5 years

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I am v lazy today and don’t really have time to find the proper master lists. But here are some wonderful authors and stories including new and already well loved fics that I have been on the process of re-reading. And just because authors deserve some love.

Waffle’s Fan Fic Recommendations Week 1

@claryclark- AO3 (Redeem Me)

@holdhertightandsayhername- AO3 (The Sands of Time)

@kalendraashtar- AO3 (Beauchamp Riots & Broken Crown)

@missclairebelle- AO3 (Absence, lol girl I need more of that asap)

@kkruml- AO3 (STAY)

#Outlander fanfic #also anything these people write is fantastic #that's just what I have been reading as of late #no one asked for this but it is my blog and I will do as I please #so have some fic :)

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ladyviolethummingbird · 3 years

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😭😭😭 you didn’t happen to download Loss of AO3 before it disappeared did you?! I was heartbroken that I never did I adored that series 😭😭😭😭

I didn’t sorry 😞 As I mentioned the other day, it’s completely up to the author if they want to remove their work, but yeah right with you - Loss is a fantastic story (as is all of @missclairebelle’s work) and it’s the fandom’s loss that it’s no longer available. I’m truely sorry (and angry!) that things happened that made her feel she needed to do that.

If you do love a story I’d say be sure to:

Tell the author - even if it’s a popular one, I’m sure they’d always love to hear that you’ve enjoyed their work

If it’s on ao3, download a copy so you’ll be able to cherish it forever.

Take care, I hope there’s other fics you’re still able to enjoy as I know how meaningful some of them can be xx

#outlander fanfic

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desperationandgin · 5 years

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Strawberry Wine (Part 1, Chapter 12)

Rating: Mature

Author: desperationandgin

Previous Chapter

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: One sentence changes Jamie and Claire’s future.

Author’s Note: This is it! The end of Part 1. Thank you so much to @smashing-teacups, @missclairebelle and @lcbeauchampoftarth for being the most INCREDIBLE betas a girl could ask for. I have definitely had my moments in this fic but they’ve all three talked me off of various ledges. Also, thank you to @filledwithlight for being my mood board maker and all-around awesome wife :)

I hope everyone enjoys! Strawberry Wine will return in November! Thank you all for reading and loving this little story!

Chapter 12: When He Had to Go

As I walked along the old yet familiar path in the woods, I let myself drift back to those months before the war, before everything I’d planned for my life was obliterated. If I’d known the last time I saw him was truly to be the last, I would have savored the night we drank wine straight from the bottle, naked in bed. But he’d promised hundreds of thousands of days left together, so I took that one evening for granted.

I hadn’t counted on James Fraser being a liar.

-------------------

That first Christmas Jamie and I spent together wound up being a grand total of four days, but they were four well-spent, wrapped in one another and oblivious to the rest of the world. Gillian had mentioned being gone the remainder of our break, but when I arrived at the dormitory on the 28th, there she was, sitting on my bed with a tin of biscuits. We ate shortbread and drank whatever alcohol she’d managed to sneak in, laughing well into the late-night hours to distract me from missing Jamie.

We did manage to see one another in February, and we were both diligent about writing and calling. The rhythm we fell into was comfortable, even if we both knew where we’d rather be. We were together just after the end of classes in May for a week; I went to France and met his cousin, then made love to Jamie for six days before flying to meet Uncle Lamb in Norfolk. He was working on-site at Sutton, near Woodbridge, a newly discovered cemetery alongside a ship graveyard — a perfect final hurrah for Lamb before his retirement from the field.

It was to be my last digging adventure as well, and it felt a bit like closing the door on a past that wasn’t exactly what it might have been, all while opening the door to a future I could already see vividly.

Jamie coming home and standing in the archway of Lallybroch, tall and proud.

Red-haired children toddling with arms outstretched to reach him.

Sitting on the front steps with a new baby in my arms, watching the reception, the hugs and kisses, patiently waiting for my turn.

June was spent carefully brushing artifacts free from centuries of dirt, sending Jamie frequent updates and photos. He sent books and good wine in return, but we weren’t able to speak on the phone due to my lack of one in the area. He’d decided to work for Jared as much as he could during the summer, a choice that failed to surprise me.

The hard work outdoors all day kept me too exhausted to focus on the ache in my chest from missing Jamie, but by mid-July, I couldn’t stand it any longer. With the dig site closing soon, I made plans to visit him near the end of August, but endeavored to keep it a surprise. Time seemed to crawl, and it was hard not to pass it by being absorbed in what was happening in the news. The world, and especially the UK, seemed to be holding its breath, teetering on the edge of a cliff. By the time August 28th arrived and I was on my way to Paris, the air was tense and filled with unease. Still, there was nothing to do but wait to see if the world would truly erupt into chaos yet again.

The closer I drew to Jamie, the more my mind eased, until I was trying to imagine the look of surprise on his face when he saw me. I didn’t have to wonder if he would be delighted to have the same stunt he’d pulled reversed on him, and the thrill of excitement made me smile to myself. When I’d first planned the trip, in an effort to be sneaky, I’d written to Jenny and asked her to write to Ian so he could meet me when I arrived. It was clever, and I couldn’t help but be proud of myself for thinking of it.

When I stepped off the train, there he was, greeting me with an embrace that lingered and tightened midway through — an effect of not seeing a food friend in far too long. When we parted, I held onto his arms, leaning back and smiling.

“Does Jamie suspect anything?”

Ian carried my suitcase for me to the waiting taxi. “No’ a thing. He’s worrit, everyone is, and he could use the pleasant distraction,” he assured me. “And ye have good timing, something to celebrate wi’ him.”

“Oh?” I questioned, wondering about the news Jamie hadn’t had the chance to tell me yet.

“He sold a good amount of wine, and the deal made Jared the most coin he’s had in months. Gave Jamie quite a large sum for it. Only happened yesterday evening, and Jamie thought ye’d be unreachable, ye ken.”

We’d had to keep him from suspecting, so I’d explained that Gillian and I were having one last carefree weekend before classes began and that I would phone when I returned. Of course, the truth would outweigh my small lie, I hoped.

When we arrived, I followed Ian into the four-story building, missing my paltry one flight of stairs at the dormitory. Leaving my things just outside the door of the flat, Ian walked in first, letting us inside before he moved through to a bedroom. Waiting in the living room, I glanced at the sparse (male) decor: two couches (seen better days), a flag of Scotland on the wall, and one small dining room table that could only fit two chairs. I could hear the conversation happening around the corner in what I assumed was Jamie’s room and stayed out of sight.

“Would ye just come see if ye like what I brought?”

I heard Jamie make a noise in the back of his throat, one I’d fondly come to think of as ‘Scottish noise of acknowledgment.’

“Ye ken I’m no’ particular about what ye put in the apartment.”

Covering my mouth to keep from laughing aloud, I tipped my head, continuing to eavesdrop as Ian valiantly tried to keep me a surprise.

“Aye, but if ye dinna like it I can still return it and get my money back.”

“Fine. In an hour. I’ll look then, but no sooner. I would rather finish the ledgers for Jared and be done so I can plan a visit to see Claire.”

I couldn’t help myself and tiptoed until I was standing in the doorway. Jamie’s back was to me, but when Ian glanced over at the movement, Jamie followed his lead.

His double-take was more than enough to make the trip worth it.

“Sassenach!” He was up and had me in his arms in a step and a half, sweeping me into an embrace that had my feet leaving the floor.

“Are you surprised?” I asked with a laugh as Ian excused himself to bring my things inside.

“Aye,” Jamie affirmed, eyes shining as his hands cupped my face. “How did ye — how long are ye here, a nighean?”

I had to kiss him first, pressing my lips to his in a gesture that quickly turned into something more, my tongue in his mouth before I was aware of what I was doing. Pulling back, I was in motion even as Jamie lifted me, my legs moving around his waist as he kicked the door closed behind him and carried me to the bed.

“Seven full days,” I answered, delayed by another kiss. Dropping onto the mattress, he sat on the edge and I stayed in his lap, our hands each getting lost in the other’s hair as we surrendered to long pent-up want.

We kissed for what felt like hours, not speaking as we nuzzled and touched, then inevitably began rocking into one another. It was slow at first, gentle ebbing and flowing as we whispered between our kisses. My I love yous sounded hoarse and needy; his were in Gaelic and sounded strong and sure. The removal of our clothing was slow, deliberate. Each part of me he exposed, Jamie leaned down to claim with his lips, both to warm my skin and tease at the same time. Once I’d slowly tugged his shirt over his head, I pushed my fingers up and through his sparse chest hair, then ducked just enough to drag the flat of my tongue across his nipple.

He began to groan loudly, I could feel it, so I raised my head and sealed my mouth over his, trying to absorb as much of the sound as possible. There was something to be said about being apart for long weeks at a time and the lovemaking that followed our reunions. As Jamie thrust into me, I spared a thought for poor Ian, left alone in the living room with my luggage, and buried a laugh that co-mingled with a moan against Jamie’s neck.

When pleasure eventually claimed us as willing victims, my body nestled perfectly against Jamie’s. The sounds surrounding us were different here; the muffled noises of pedestrians and traffic below, and from somewhere not far off, soft strains of someone listening to one of the Enigma Variations, though I couldn’t place which one. I waited until I could speak without being breathless, chin resting on his chest.

“Is it alright that I’m here? I know you might be too busy to spend all your time with me, but I—”

I was interrupted by a firm kiss to my forehead and Jamie gently tugging me up in order to claim my lips before he responded.

“I’ll never go anywhere ye cannae be, Sassenach. I do have work, but my evenings are free.” His hand pushed curls behind my ear, and as I met his gaze, my stomach turned to liquid all over again simply to see him this way; happy and soft, his eyes a brilliant azure. He looked content to never move again, as if the world could fall away around us and it wouldn’t matter. I wondered what had brought it on, but he answered before I could question him.

“To ken when I wake in the morning, and ye’ll be in my arms, and when I return home in the evening ye’ll be waitin’ to greet me, is motivation enough both to wake and work harder in order to get back to ye.”

I smiled, kissing his chin. “A glimpse of our future, this week?”

His grin was lopsided when he looked at me again. “Aye. A wee preview of our life.”

We lazed about for an hour or so, reluctantly dressing to rejoin Ian. He was my future brother-in-law, but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes and blushed furiously upon seeing him in the living room, listening to a record. I chanced a glance at Jamie and noticed the side of his neck had three red crescent shapes from my fingernails pressed into his skin. Pressing my lips together, I looked down and prayed Ian wouldn’t say anything about it. I occupied myself with looking through their meager book collection while they planned an evening out after supper with Jamie’s cousin. They supped there every evening, and Jamie had a room for the nights he needed to stay in order to work early before class.

“Is that alright wi’ ye, Sassenach?”

I pulled myself from my thoughts and finally joined the conversation. “Sorry, staying with Jared?” I’d been caught only half-listening.

“Aye, I think ye’ll enjoy it, Sassenach. He has a staff so ye can have Magnus drive ye anywhere ye want to go while I’m working, and ye dinna have to worry about what to eat, the kitchen will make ye anything.”

“This is quite the life of luxury you’ve been living without me, James Fraser,” I playfully accused. “Do you even go to class?”

He laughed, looping an arm around my waist. “Dinna fash, I havena let it go to my head, but you deserve it.”

“Aye, besides,” Ian interjected, “‘tis uncertain times. It could be good to have the extra money for both of us. In case we all need to get back to Scotland quickly.”

Jamie’s grip on me tightened, my head coming to rest on his shoulder as the three of us paused to wonder for just a moment what would happen next.

-------------------

Each day that passed with Jamie brought us closer to the start of classes and, unfortunately, my impending departure. It made us selfish with our time, declining to join Jared and Ian on my third night for a dinner party away from home. Instead, we ate pastries and drank dessert wine in bed, straight from the bottle. After filling Jamie in on my last dig with Lamb, comfortable silence lapsed between us, and I tore off a piece of kouign-amann, handing it over before breaking off a piece for myself.

In the quiet, my thoughts wandered, and after swallowing I finally spoke.

“It seems almost certain that war is going to be declared.” I couldn’t keep from saying it any longer, and I felt him exhale, his body sagging against mine. He didn’t say anything for so long that I looked over at him just as he reached for my hand.

“That’s another reason I’ve been working sae hard, Claire. If war’s declared, I’ll be—” He paused, not finishing the thought as he raised my hand to his lips. “There’s money saved I’m giving to ye before we part.”

Blinking quickly, I wet my lips, hand clinging to his as if something were happening now. “If it happens, Jamie, we’ll both be out there. I’ll be nursing and you’ll be—”

“Fighting,” he finished, setting everything on the bed aside and pulling me into his arms.

“If Britain declares war, everything will change, Jamie. We could die. We could both—” I was the one who couldn’t finish this time, pressing my face against his chest. “You said we have thousands of days left. You promised.”

His lips pressed to the crown of my head. “Aye, I did even if it was foolish of me. I cannae control whether I stay or go, but no matter what comes, Sassenach, I willna have love of country spurring me on. Only the love of you.” His lips pressed to my temple now, his nose grazing down along my jaw.

It was an amendment to his original promise that I had to accept; and that night, I slept tucked into the crook of his arm, one hand resting on his chest so that I could fall asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.

Our last Sunday morning together, we slept late, curled around one another, only to be woken by knocking on the door. Blearily, I stretched against Jamie as a quiet voice spoke through the door.

“Tu dois venir vite.” It was Suzette, one of the maids. “Il y a des nouvelles, monsieur Fraser.”

Sitting up, I looked over at him, creasing my forehead. “News? Of the business, perhaps?”

Jamie shook his head, unsure, and as informed as I was at the moment. “Perhaps, Sassenach.” He stood, then reached out a hand to me. “We’ll dress for breakfast, then go down.”

He repeated his words in French loudly enough that Suzette could hear through the door. Still, we took our time, touching and kissing and not getting much accomplished for another half-hour. When we finally made an appearance, no one was sitting in the dining room. We found Jared and Ian in the former’s home office. As soon as we walked into the room, the air changed to something charged; so full of tension that it could have been cut with a knife.

My hand reached for Jamie’s at the same moment he reached for me and spoke.

“What is it?” Jamie’s eyes narrowed as he studied his cousin.

Standing from his desk, Jared picked up the morning paper, staring at it for a few long moments before handing it over. I looked at Ian; he was sitting on the couch, leaning over with his head bowed. When I turned back to Jamie, his eyes were trained on the print in front of him, jaw clenched so hard I could see the vein in his temple. Frowning, I stepped closer in order to see the headline.

I thought I would vomit and meant to pull away sharply, but Jamie pulled me back fiercely, dropping the paper and pulling me against his chest. As he did, I glanced down at the fallen print, sagging against him as I read the bold letters.

War Declared by Britain and France.

A tear fell against my chin, and I didn’t know if it had come from him or me as we both tried to absorb the blow. I felt rather than saw Ian come close, standing beside Jamie.

“We need to go back before we have tae report. I need to see Jen.”

Jamie and I parted as he nodded, and as I looked at him, studied his face and eyes, I realized he looked older, suddenly; the weight of becoming a soldier in one sentence seeming to age him instantly. It was jarring, and it scared me in a way I couldn’t begin to wrap my mind around.

“Aye. We’ll return to Scotland right away, begin the journey this afternoon if we can.”

He reached for my hand, brow creasing as I held onto him, wanting to give in to the urge to let my knees buckle. He kissed my knuckles in quiet fortification before finishing his thought.

“And then we’ll go to war.”

-------------------

I reached the riverbank and sat, clutching an empty glass bottle that once held sweet dessert wine. I rolled a piece of paper tightly and shoved it into the glass, pushing a cork into the top. It was a fantasy, really, and more a way to finally find a way to say goodbye. Next year, the tenth since I’d lost him, I would begin trying to move on. But for now, I left simple instructions:

‘3rd of September, 1949. Come and find me, Jamie.’

If he was alive somewhere, I could give him that. One more year.

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #strawberry wine #my fic

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