#Fraser x Reader

[lordkryze]

It’s been following me everywhere

[vivillainous]

mafia au with miranda as the owner of a casino that has shady ties to an organization rumored to be involved with illegal bioweapon experimentation…

alcina, a wine broker and former jazz star turned business mogul that funds her research in exchange for her powerful connections and influence… she hosts gambling tournaments and galas, all a cover to siphon money from their biggest patrons…

donna as a spy master with several serious connections to crime syndicates all throughout the city, rumored to be a cutthroat and responsible for multiple people going missing…

walk with me for a second.

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

[ficsofall]

your strength - jamie fraser

Summary: Jamie Fraser is your fiancé and after you were taken by the English, he tries to find you.

Word Count: 6.1k

In the fields, on your way to see the curly redhead of whom you share your life with, you basked in the feeling of the breeze on your face and long grass brushing your legs. You saw Jamie working on a foal in the stables. You admired him, approaching silently, pleased just watching him work.

Jamie, so focused on the task at hand, didn’t hear you walking up to him until you were just a few feet away. He turned around quickly at the sound, almost losing his balance before crying out to you. “Christ, lass. Ye scared the life outta me.”

You chuckled softly, “Sorry Jame, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jamie smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with a flex of his strong arms. “It’s alright, was just a bit distracted.” He gave the horse a pat on the flank, the stubborn beast letting out a soft nicker. Taking a break from the task, Jamie took a moment to catch his breath and walked over to your side, leaning against the fence of the pen. “What’s got ye out here at this time of the day?” he teased with a smile.

“I just wanted to see you.” you replied, smiling at him softly.

Jamie’s smile broadened; his cheeks dusted with pink after your honesty. A sweet smile graced his face. “Oh, aye? Well, here I am.” He reached out and gave your hand a slight tug, bringing you closer to him. Leaning back against the fence, Jamie looped his arm around your waist and held you close to him, bringing you with him. “I’ve missed ye.”

His blue eyes shone with affection, admiring the way the sunlight made your hair shine. One hand came up and lightly twirled a strand around his finger. A soft breeze blew past, lifting the rest of your hair just slightly, enough to brush against his face in a silken caress. Jamie closed his eyes and inhaled again, relishing the feeling of you in his arms.

Being engaged to Jamie was the best part of your life. He loved you more than anyone else ever has. It was, and is, a sweet love.

Jamie’s hands slid slowly over your back, coming to rest on your hips. “I want to ask ye somethin’,” he murmurs, leaning in so that his lips are just barely brushing against your ear. His words sent a shiver down your spine, his breath warm on your skin. He pulls back a bit, blue eyes searching your face. Lifting one hand, his calloused fingers brushed lightly against your cheek.

“What is it?” you asked.

Jamie’s gaze soft, he looked at you, thumb still brushing over your cheek. “I was just wonderin’..” he says softly, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. He hesitated for a moment, as if afraid to put his next words into action. “We’ve been engaged now for... nearly seven years, aye?”

“It may feel that way, but it’s only been two years, Jame.” you teased him, knowing he was teasing me right back.

Jamie chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes at your reply. “Aye, ye’re right lassie, only been two years.” He took your hand in his, bringing it up to tenderly kiss the knuckles. His expression turned more serious. “I suppose… I suppose I was wonderin’ if…” he paused again, faltering as if losing his courage. Jamie swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat as he looks away from you for a moment. His eyes darted back to your face, as if he were attempting to find the strength he needs in your gaze.

You put your own hand on his cheek gently and caught his eye. “Ask your question, love.”

Jamie closed his eyes briefly at your touch, his cheek warm and rough beneath your palm. He leaned into your hand, nuzzling his face against your skin. He took a deep breath, his words tumbling out as he opened his eyes to look deeply into your own. “I was wonderin’ if ye meant what ye said – about marryin’ me. About… being mine.”

You were slightly taken aback. You felt awful that he wasn’t sure if your feelings were the same. You moved your thumb on his cheek back and forth, the same comforting gesture he does to you. “Oh, my Jamie. Of course, I meant it. I mean it still, with every part of my soul. Why do you ask?”

Your words seemed to soothe his uncertainty, his expression softening at your declaration. He covered your hand with his own, still holding it against his cheek. “I jus… I guess I just needed to hear it from ye, is all.” His eyes searched yours, as if looking for reassurance.

“Sometimes,” he spoke again, his voice low and quiet. “Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat, thinkin’ that I’m goin’ to find that this is all a dream. That I’ll open my eyes and ye’ll be gone.”

“I will never go anywhere, my sweet. Ever. I promise.”

Jamie’s grip on your hand tightened, as if he needed the reassurance of your touch to ground himself. “Promise me again,” he whispered, moving so that he had you pressed up against him once again, his body flush against yours.

“I promise, Jamie Fraser. With all of me, I promise.”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply. “Christ, lass.” He muttered, his hold on you bordering on desperate, “I love ye.”

You put a hand in his hair and replied, “I love you, more.”

Jamie let out a low moan, half from the pleasure of your hand in his hair, and half from the intensity of his own emotions stirring within him. He turned his head slightly, biting down gently on the column of your neck in a playfully possessive manner. “Yer mine,” he murmured against your skin, “All mine.” His lips pressed against your skin, trailing a path of gentle kisses up your neck and jaw, until he reached your lips, planting one, deep and meaningful.

Our moment was interrupted by sounds of yelling in the distance. Jamie broke the kiss, his head whipping towards the disturbance, all of his senses suddenly alert. He muttered something under his breath – a Gaelic curse – and stepped back, though his hand still lingered on your hip, as if he was reluctant to fully let go. The sounds of shouting were getting closer, the voices more distinct. Jamie’s face hardened, his expression turning serious.

“Stay here.” He commanded, his tone brooking no argument.

“No!” You cried, gripping his bicep. “We should stay together.” But by the look on Jamie’s face, he wasn’t going to agree with you.

Jamie turned back to you, the serious cast on his face softening just slightly at the sight of your worry. He squeezed your hip in an attempt to comfort you with his touch. “Not this time.” He told you firmly. “I couldna bear it if anything happened to ye, lass. Ye’re stayin’ here, where it’s safe.”

Jamie left you there to see what was happening. You anxiously tried to make yourself smaller when someone grabbed you from behind. You felt a hard arm wrap around your waist, a hand clamping down tightly over your mouth as you were pulled back, away from the open space in the field.

“Quiet or I kill you.” Your captor growled in your ear. You complied. You needed to wait for the right moment. They carried you until a buggy attached to a horse came into view. They threw you in when you finally screamed. “JAMIE!”

Jamie’s head whipped around at the sound of your scream, his whole body tensing. His eyes found yours for a split second before the door was slammed shut. Jamie roared, anger and panic warring within him. He ran toward the buggy, trying to catch up, but he was too late – the horse and cart took off at a fast pace.

“No. NO!” Jamie yelled again, sprinting after you, but he knew it was no use. He couldn’t keep up. He stopped abruptly, panting heavily, the reality of what was happening sinking in like a lead weight in his chest.

“Hell,” he snarled, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do. Anger and fear bubbled up in his veins, mixing together in a potent potion that threatened to consume him.

Jamie turned on his heel, sprinting toward the stables. He needed to get to the castle, find help, and get to you before anything could happen to you. He pushed himself harder than he ever had in his life, his lungs burning and his muscles screaming in protest.

As soon as he reached the castle gates, he was shouting for everyone and anyone who would listen. Murtagh and a few of the other men who were loitering nearby turn at the sound of his voice, eyes wide with concern.

“Help!” He gasped, trying to speak between ragged breaths. “Help me find her!”

The men moved at once, recognizing the urgency in his voice. Murtagh placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, trying to calm him. “What happened? Where’s the lass?”

“They took her,” Jamie choked out, the words feeling like acid on his tongue. “A buggy. Dragged her into it and took off.”

The men froze, horror and rage flickering across their faces. They all knew what such a thing meant – kidnapped, stolen. Taken to God knows where for who knows what purpose.

“We have to find her.” Jamie snarled, his voice deadly calm even though panic still threatened to overtake him.

“Aye, we will find her Jamie.” Murtagh assured him. “But we need a plan.”

Jamie pushed the sweat-slicked hair away from his face, frustration and helplessness warring within him. He knew Murtagh was right, they needed a plan.

With every passing moment, Jamie’s fear and worry for you grew. The thought of you in the hands of Englishmen, taken from him with no warning or way to know if you were safe, was eating him alive. He paced restlessly in the yard, trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand but he couldn’t shake the image of you in the arms of that man, alone and afraid. The men around him were strategizing, discussing possible locations where you might have been taken. They threw out different ideas, but none of them felt right to Jamie.

“She could be anywhere!” Jamie ground out through clenched teeth, frustration making him feel like a rabid animal, pacing his cage.

Jamie’s hands balled into fists at his side, the helplessness he was feeling making him want to punch something, anything, just to feel something other than impotent rage and panic.

“There has to be somethin’, somethin’ we’re not seein’,” he growled, his eyes scanning his surroundings like he might find an answer written in the air between them.

A few of the other men started talking at once, offering ideas and suggestions but their words were just noise to Jamie. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t think straight. His mind was consumed by one thing – you.

**

At the same time the men were talking about a plan, you were being taken to an unknown location. All you knew about your kidnappers was that they were English. The buggy came to a stop, and you held your breath, waiting for what was to come. Would they hurt me? Would they kill me? Did anyone stay behind, was Jamie safe? These thoughts consumed your mind. The door to the buggy opened, spilling sunset into the dark interior. A hand grabbed your arm and hauled you out of the cart. You were thrown over a shoulder like a sack of grain, carried off in a direction you didn’t recognize.

You were carried into what looked like a large estate, the path dimly lit by a few candles here and there. You could hear hushed voices talking, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying. You thrashed and fought, fought for yourself and for Jamie. But your captor was much stronger. They threw you down to the ground into a room and you landed with a grunt.

Sharp pain shot through your limbs, and you gasped. Hands grabbed you again, and you were dragged across the floor and propped up against the wall. You looked up and your heart sunk as you realized you’d been brought face to face with Jack Randall himself.

“Randall.” You inhaled sharply.

Jack Randall smirked, his eyes roaming over you, taking in every inch. His gaze was calculating, predatory, a lion stalking its prey. “Well, well, well.” Jack said, his voice low and derisive, “If it isn’t the Scott’s fiery wench.”

“What do you want with me?”

Jack chuckled at your question, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was oddly intimate, one you shared with Jamie just today, and it made your skin crawl. “What every man wants with a woman, my dear.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “Power. Control.”

“And you can get that from me then?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Jack chuckled, his eyes gleaming. “The leverage I have with you, my little pet, is immense.”

“What are you gonna do then? Sell me to the highest bidder?” You spat at him.

“I’m going to use you to get to your traitor lover.” He replied back. Your heart tightened at the mention of Jamie, your body tense in response. Randall laughed lightly when he saw your reaction.

Filled with so much anger you spat in his face. Randall’s face hardened, the mirth gone from his eyes. He grabbed your face by the chin, fingers digging into your skin. “Don’t test me, wench. You don’t know what I am capable of.”

You ripped your face from his hands, “And you don’t know anything about me. You certainly know nothing about Jamie.”

Jack’s expression changed, darkening in anger once again. “I know enough. I know that he would do anything to get you back. He’ll come running after you, like a dog chasing a bone, unable to resist himself.

“Then you’ll die.” You responded, matter of fact.

**

The sun had set, bathing the castle in shadows. Jamie was still pacing, his thoughts and emotions in a whirlwind of worry. Murtagh placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, stopping his movement. “Jamie lad, ye need to calm down. We’ll find her, but not if ye wear a hole in the ground.”

Jamie whirled around to face Murtagh directly, the anger and frustration radiating off of him like a physical force. “How can I be calm? She’s out there somewhere, alone, afraid, and devil knows what else in the hands of the English.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand why her…” Jamie trailed off, realization setting in. “Randall. It’s Randall.” He tells Murtagh.

Murtagh’s expression darkened, anger of his own flaring in his eyes. “That bastard. He’d stoop so low as to kidnap a lass?”

“Aye,” Jamie hissed, remembering all he had done to his sister for not a reason in the world. “I ken his kind. He has a fascination with control over women and the men in their lives.”

“He wants to get to you, lad.”

Jamie nodded, his expression solemn. “Aye, I know that. He’s usin’ her as bait, he’s countin’ on me to go after her.”

“And we both know ye will, don’t we?” Murtagh said, his words a challenge and reassurance at the same time.

“Aye. I will.” Jamie nodded, solemnly. “She’s everythin’.”

“And we’ll find her.” Murtagh said, determination in his voice. “And when we do, we’ll make Randall pay for this.”

“He’s expectin’ ye, thinks ye’ll lose yer head and run without a plan. He won’t be expectin’ us all.” Murtagh continued.

A slow, dangerous smile crept across Jamie’s face. He was coming for you.

**

Time passed and as you sat aching from the events passed, you waited. Waited for Randall to kill her. Waited for Jamie to get here. Waited.

Night fell and you were left in the dark silence for what felt like an eternity. You were weary from being dragged around like a ragdoll, and your body ached. The silence was maddening. Randall came in again and when he seen you in discomfort, a sick smile came across his face. He approached you, towering over you, taking a moment to look you over like he was admiring a piece of art, or more likely, a piece of meat.

“How are you faring, dear?” he asked, his voice filled with mock concern.

You refused to answer, not wanting to give him any more satisfaction. He chuckled, clearly amused by your attempt at defiance. “Still stubborn as a mule, I see. You’ll learn soon enough to cooperate.”

He approached you and the look in his eyes chilled you to your bones, though you didn’t want to admit it. Instead, you waited until he was close enough and struck him, hard. Big mistake. My hand swung out and connected with his cheek, the crack loud in the quiet room. He stumbled backward, surprised by your audacity.

“Bitch!” He roared, rubbing his cheek where you had slapped him. “You little wench!”

He charged forward, gripping you like no one had before. Holding you so tightly you feared your arm would break. His nails dug into your flesh and you held back a cry, unable to free yourself from his grip. You could smell the whiskey on his breath and hear the anger in his voice.

“I was going to wait until your redheaded hero arrives, but you’ve crossed a line, and you must be taught a lesson.” He breathed in your face. Before you knew what was happening, he’d punched you in the nose.

Pain shot through your face, and you felt the wetness of blood. You gasped, tears pricking your eyes, but refusing to show any more weakness. “You thought you could get away with that?” He spat, his rage evident in his shaking hands that tightened around you even harder. “No one strikes me without consequences.”

“Cry out, Y/N. Cry out for your lover.” He seethed as he stuck you again, back of his hand hitting the side of your face. You spit the blood out, holding in your cries. You won’t scream. You bit your tongue, the taste of metal from the hit mix with new blood, determined not to give him the satisfaction. He was trying to provoke you, to get you to cry out for Jamie, and you won’t give in.

He sneered, his face close to yours. “You don’t still fancy yourself with hope, do you? Your man isn’t coming for you.”

“Perhaps I should teach you a lesson in the same way I taught him.” He said, voice laced in a tone of cockiness. “A lashing will have you crying out for him. You will cry out for him.”

My heart seized at his words, the memory of Jamie’s scarred back forever etched into your mind. You looked at Randall with all the hatred you could muster, not wanting to show him your fear. You made eye contact with him. Blood running from your nose, lip split in two from his strikes. You swallowed the blood and said nothing. You will not cry for Jamie. You will be as strong as him.

Randall looked at you with disgust, clearly annoyed with your continued defiance. He grabbed you by the hair and forced you look up at him. “You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that. But you’ll break soon enough. Jamie did.” He taunted you.

With that he went to the wooden table in the corner of the room and grabbed rope. He came back over and tied you to the pillar in the room. Ripping your clothes from your body, he exposed your bare back. Exposed your breasts. You gasped but caught yourself from showing emotion. All you could think was that he was going to do it, he was going to lash you.

The cold air hit your exposed skin and you shivered involuntarily. You could feel his eyes on you, taking in every inch of your flesh. You tried to take deep breaths, to prepare for the agony to come, but the anticipation was almost worse. You heard Randall approach, heard the sound of the whip as he cocked it back. When it hit you, the pain was unlike anything you had ever felt. You screwed your eyes shut and held back the scream in the back of your throat.

Again, the whip lashed you, harder this time. You tried to focus on Jamie, your Jamie, and on the strength and determination he had shown you. You thought of how many of these he had taken to get the scars on his back. You would be strong; you would be strong for him. You took lash after lash, the pain unbearable, Randall’s grunts of frustration and the whip ripping open your skin were the only sounds in the air.

He whipped you on an already open wound and this time, you broke. You screamed; you cried out for your love. The sound of your own voice crying out for Jamie felt like a betrayal. But the pain was excruciating, and tears streamed down your face without consent.

You heard a low, mocking laugh from Randall, and you knew he was enjoying watching you suffer and that he took pleasure in knowing that he broke you.

**

Jamie, Murtagh, and the rest of the men were outside the estate when they heard a scream. Jamie stopped in his tracks, blood freezing in his veins as he heard you cry. He heard you cry, for him. He felt a fire in his soul. “That’s her.” He growled. He ran. He ran to the love of his life.

**

Your body hung limp, back covered in angry red gashes from the whippings. You focused on your breathing, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to spill from your chest. Randall came to stand in front of you, a cruel smile on his face.

“You scream quite prettily, my dear.” He said, his hand coming up to your face. He drug his thumb from your cheek and slowly down your body, down to your breast. His touch made you recoil in disgust.

You screamed in anguish, in frustration, in pain. His touch was like acid. You were angry that he broke you, that you screamed Jamie’s name, so you just – yelled. Your voice was hoarse, but you didn’t care. You screamed and yelled, letting out all the anger and frustration that had built up for hours. You thrashed against the bonds that held you, but it was useless.

Jamie heard you.

He heard your screams and his heart was pierced with a pain that was almost physical. He clenched his fists as he ran, the anger and desperation he felt almost overwhelming. He pressed on, moving faster than before, fueled by the sound of your cries.

Jamie reached the door of the room where you were being held. He was breathing heavily, beads of sweat on his forehead, and there was a fire in his eyes that was downright fearsome. The lads were just a few beats behind him, planning to hide away, allowing Randall to believe Jamie was alone.

Jamie kicked the door in. The sound of the door slamming off it’s hinges echoed through the room, and you heard the gasp of surprise from Randall. But Jamie didn’t stop, he strode into the room like a force of nature, his presence filling the space.

Jamie saw you. He saw you strung up, breasts exposed in your torn clothing, and full of blood. He saw the whip in Randall’s hand. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. His breath caught in his chest as he took in the scene before him. He had never seen you like this, never seen you so vulnerable, so broken.

His eyes rove over your body, taking in the damage done to you – the bruises on your face, the cuts, the blood that stained your body, the blood pooling on the floor from your back. His face paled, his jaw tightened as he felt the rage that threatened to consume him.

He looked at you. His eyes met yours, and despite the pain and the fear, you felt comfort in his gaze. He was there. He had come for you.

He breathed your name, his voice thick with emotion, and he took a step toward you, his hand reaching out to touch you. Randall steps between, blocking Jamie from you. The tension in the air was thick as the two men faced off.

“Well, well, Jamie Fraser.” Randall said, tone mocking. “Back again to save your damsel?”

Jamie’s eyes were dark with anger, his body coiled tight like a spring. “Step aside, Randall.” He growled, voice low and dangerous.

Randall raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, is that a threat, Fraser? You’re outnumbered here, remember. I’d watch your tongue if I were you.

“And I’d count again.” Murtaugh said, the many men who came to rescue you behind him.

Randall’s smirk faltered as he looked at the men standing behind Jamie. He clearly wasn’t expecting the show of force. “You’ve brought friends,” he sneered, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

You breathed a sigh of relief. Hearing that sprung Randall into action. He jumped behind you, still tied to the pillar with nowhere to go. You remained still. He pulled his knife and laid it threateningly against your throat.

Jamie paused, as did the men behind him. There was a tense silence as Jamie and the men stood still, their eyes fixed on Randall and the weapon pressed against your neck. You could almost feel the rage vibrating through Jamie’s body, but he seemed to be restraining himself.

“One more step and she dies.” Randall said, voice steady with a crazy look in his eye.

Jamie’s eyes locked on yours, desperation and anger in his gaze. His jaw was tight, his chest heaving as he fought the urge to launch himself at Randall, to protect you. You don’t say a word, afraid Jack’s knife would put an end to you. Instead, your teary eyes stayed locked on those of the love of your life. You looked at him for what you hoped was not the last time.

Jamie’s eyes never left yours, his face taught with emotion. His eyes were now swimming in tears as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling himself. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his body tight, ready to pounce should Randall have made a move. The only sound in the room was that of ragged breathing.

Randall didn’t know Murtagh was behind him. Murtagh, ever the stealthy one, had silently circled around the room, unnoticed. He positioned himself behind Randall silently, dagger in hand. He tried to have Jamie meet his eyes.

Jamie’s gaze quickly flicked from you to Murtagh, back to you. He clenched his jaw, the anticipation of what was about to happen nearly driving him mad. He subtly made eye contact with Murtagh a final time, signalling he was ready. There was a silent count to three.

Murtagh struck the back of Randall’s head with the butt of his dagger, knocking him unsteady. Randall’s grip on you slackened, his attention diverted as he stumbled from the blow. Jamie seized the opportunity and lunged forward.

As the chaos broke loose, a blow from another of the men knocked Randall away from you completely. Jamie made it to you in seconds, without hesitation he started to untie you, his hands trembling with urgency. You saw tears running slipping silently down his face as he loosened the rope, his touch gentle but firm. The moment your hands were free, he pulled you against him, holding you tightly against his chest.

You immediately started to cry, the relief overwhelming. You felt his body shudder against yours as he held you, squeezing as he buried his face in your hair. His breath was ragged and shaky and you could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“S’alright,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “S’alright Sassenach, I’ve got ye, now.”

He shed his plaid and wrapped it around your bare chest, taking great care not to touch the wounds on your back. You continued to sob against his chest, fingers clutching tightly to the fabric of his shirt. The horror of what just happened, the fear and the pain you felt, was all too much to bear. But being in his arms, feeling his strength and his love, it was everything you needed.

Your intimate moment was interrupted as you heard footsteps in the distance. Randall’s men must have heard the noise. The men all looked to Jamie, who took his attention away from you and looked at Randall’s unconscious body. You could see his mind swirling, part of him wanting to end Randall that very second, the other part knowing he needed to get you, and the rest of the men, out of there before the troops arrived.

Jamie’s jaw clenched as he looked at Randall a final time, his eyes dark with anger and a fierce desire for revenge, but he knew that time was running out and he had to prioritize getting you to safety.

“I’ll finish him later,” he muttered, barely containing his anger. He wrapped his arm around you and steered you toward the door. “Can you walk?” he whispered. You nodded your head, knowing you didn’t have a choice. The men followed us closely and we moved quickly, trying to put as much distance between us and the incoming cavalry as we could.

We ran into the night and found our horses. Murtagh and Jamie both helped you up, careful to avoid the open wounds on your back. Jamie got up behind you. You felt the safety of his strength surrounding you and your body finally relaxed. “Take me home, Jamie.” You muttered, voice barely more than a whisper in the wind.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against your hair. “We’ll be home before ye ken, Sassenach.” He whispered back, “I’ve got ye.”

The exhaustion and the pain took over now that the adrenaline had gone, and darkness overcame you. Jamie held you tightly as you rode, his body shielding you from the night air. He rode mindfully of your wounds, not wanting to jostle you too much. As he rode, he kept one arm around your waist while the other held the reins of the horse.

He was completely focused and hyperaware of his surroundings, his eyes skimming the landscape around him as he took in every shadow, every noise, every movement. He was a warrior on high alert, wanting to keep his love safe.

Eventually we arrived back home. Mrs. Fitz was waiting for you all, worried and hopeful that they would be coming home with you in tow. She rushed out to meet you as you approached, her face etched in concern. When she saw you, wrapped in a blood-soaked plaid and barely conscious, her eyes widened in alarm.

“I’ll get a bath started, Jamie. God be with the lass.”

Jamie nodded gratefully, his voice barely above a whisper, “Aye, thank ye Mrs. Fitz.” He swung off the horse and took you down, picking you up entirely and holding you in his arms, striding toward the house with you cradled against his chest.

You were put down, awake but in pain, in front of the bath. Mrs. Fitz left you to your privacy. Jamie took the tartan off of you, revealing the ripped clothes and bare chest underneath. His breath was taken, once again remembering the state of you when he walked into Randall’s room.

His hands were trembling as they brushed over the wounds on your body, his touch tender and light. His eyes were filled with pain and anger as he saw the evidence of Randall’s cruelty etched on your skin.

“You need to get in, mo ghrádh.” Jamie said gently. “It’s going to hurt your back, but what Mrs. Fitz put in will help.”

You nod, biting your lip against the tears threatening to fall. You knew he was right – the hot water and tonic would help clean the wounds, but the thought of the pain you were about to endure was almost more than you could bear.

Jamie helped you step into the tub, his hands steady and strong as he lowered you gently into the water. You gasped as the hot water made contact with your torn flesh, the pain sharp and seering.

Jamie’s closed his eyes for just a moment, full of grief knowing how much pain his love was in. But he opened them again and squeezed your hand in support. “S’alright.”

You clung to his hand, fingers white from the grip as the pain washed over you in waves. You grit your teeth and tried to hold back the sobs that threatened to escape from your throat.

Jamie grabbed a rag and wet it, cradling your face with one hand and gently cleaning the blood and dirt from your face, careful of the open wounds. His touch was gentle, as though he was handling something delicate and precious. Despite the pain that wracked your body, you leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his warmth.

He continued to work in silence, his attention fully focused on cleaning away the grime and blood from your body. Occasionally he would stop to stroke your hair or plant a soft kiss on your body, offering small gestures of comfort and reassurance.

He stopped and looked you in your face. “I need to clean the lashes now.”

You took a deep shuddering breath, bracing yourself for the most pain. “I know. Go ahead.”

He nodded, his mouth set in a grim line, and started to clean the wounds on your back. He worked methodically, carefully removing the dried blood and debris. You bit your lip from screaming at the pain, your body tense and rigid.

You could feel his heart breaking for you as he cleaned you up. As he continued to clean you, the water turned a murky grey. You could feel your strength fading away, the events of the night taking its toll on your body.

He finished, offering only a quiet apology and a gentle kiss on the forehead. He held his hand out and you took it gratefully. With his hand, you stepped out of the tub, reddish water running down your body. You were weak and shaky as Jamie dried you off.

Once covered, he picked you up in his arms again and carried you to your room. He set you down gently on your bed. You laid there feeling small and helpless as he uncovered you to inspect the lashings on your back. The skin was red and inflamed. He reached out to touch one and you flinched involuntarily.

“M’sorry.” He said gently, “I ken it hurts.” He looked at you with a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes, hating how much you were suffering.

He climbed in with you and carefully pulled you close. You snuggled in, needing his warmth. You sat quietly until Jamie’s broken voice cut the silence. “M’sorry. I understand if you blame me fer this.”

“No.” you replied softly but firmly. “It is not your fault. You couldn’t do anything to stop him, he’s a monster.”

He didn’t answer, but you could feel the tension in his body. You knew he was probably feeling helpless and angry at his inability to protect you.

You reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the contours of his jaw. His eyes met yours, and the raw emotion you saw there made your heart ache for him. You leaned up to kiss him.

He responded immediately, his lips meeting yours in a fierceness and desperation that makes you feel for him. He holds you even tighter, as if afraid you were going to disappear.

“I love ye. More than anythin’.”

“Mo chridhe,” He whispered, grabbing your attention. “Marry me. Marry me tomorrow. I cannae live, or die, without ye being my wife.”

Your heart swelled as you looked into his shining eyes. “I will. I don’t want to go another day without being your wife, Jame.”

[asunsetgrace16]

✧ 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗥 𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗧 ⎥ 𝗙𝗠45

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: fluffyyyyy, pregnancy announcement, pregnancy things, some fade to black action (so very mild)

Summary: In the whirlwind of being traded and relocating to Boston, Y/N and Fraser are in for a surprise

Notes: I am all up in my feel about Fraser being traded and I'm not even a Leafs fan, but this was such a cute idea and I couldn't resist. And he's not even #39 anymore 😭

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 3.1k

The end of the season was a whirlwind for Y/N and Fraser. He had to pack up and relocate to Boston, but she couldn’t join him until May and get her university transfer figured out. But finally, finally, Y/N is in Boston and everything is working out. The first day he’s back in Toronto after the trade is an emotional one, it’s unsettling to see him in Boston colours instead of the white and blue. It is heart-wrenching for Y/N to see the conflict on his face as they leave the arena after his game and they drive back to her apartment hand-in-hand. The next hours are spent eating and packing more of Fraser’s things to ship to Boston, save for the clothes Y/N takes for herself. Music is playing softly and tender touches settle something inside Fraser’s chest, like it’s all going to be ok after all.

-

The only light in their bedroom comes from the lamp, throwing shadows across Y/N as she sits perched on the bed, crisscrossed with a book in her hands. Fraser walks out of the bathroom, only in sinfully low-slung sweatpants. Y/N eyes him, not discreetly at all and he looks at her intently, a simmering heat in his blue eyes that makes her pulse stutter. She unfolds herself and sets her book down before wrapping her arms around Fraser. Warmth spills off of him and they sway gently as the opening guitar of ‘Tennessee Whiskey’ rolls out of the speaker. An impromptu slow dance morphs into tender kisses, Fraser’s lips meeting hers slow, unhurried. 

Her hand slides up his arm, fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulder. Her lips part on a soft gasp and Fraser deepens the kiss, licking hot and wet into her mouth. He groans, chest rumbling underneath Y/N’s fingers pressed into his pec. The strain of the trade makes everything more charged, knowing that their time together has an end date now. Heat builds, builds around them and between them, need swirling low and hot in Y/N’s belly. 

She breaks the kiss, resting her forehead on Fraser’s. Her hand rests on the nape of his neck and tangles her fingers in his curls. She whispers a reverent “I love you” into the darkness, barely a breath against his lips but the weight has Fraser kissing her again, deeper and all-consuming. He walks them backwards and Y/N’s knees hit the bed and gently, ever so gently, Fraser guides her back, lips finding hers once more.

-

The apartment is finally unpacked with the help of Potsy, Beecher, and Mason. Now, the mouth-watering aroma of garlic and onions float through the kitchen as a lively debate on the best pasta shape has the house in a chokehold. Midway through arguing with Beecher that Rotini is far superior to Fettucini, a wave of nausea hits Y/N, a cold sweat coating her body as her vision wavers. She abruptly excuses herself, leaving the room so quickly that she misses the worried expressions the four Bruins wear. 

The bathroom floor is cool where she curls up, forehead braced on her arm on the edge of the toilet. She breathes through it, fighting the nausea coiling up her throat. She loses that battle right as Fraser opens the door, and he rushes to pull back Y/N’s hair. He rubs wide soothing circles into her back, his low murmur gives Y/N something else to focus on. He presses a kiss to her sweaty temple and goes for the glass at the edge of the sink. A rinse and tooth brushing later, Y/N is cradled against Fraser’s chest on their bed, his fingers dancing up and down her arm. 

“What was that all about, hm?” he asks gently, nose pressed into her hair, “You don’t usually just throw up like that.”

Y/N pauses, breath catching, knowing that she has to tell him, the photos hidden away from the doctor’s appointment last week that confirmed her suspicions. So she turns in his hold, putting some distance between them. She takes a breath, steels her nerves. But the fear, the anxiety she’s been trying to hold back comes crashing over her, eyes filling with tears as she bites her lip. Fraser looks at her with such tender concern that a tear spills over, rolling down her cheek.

“I’m pregnant.”

There’s a split second of silence, followed by Fraser jumping up, letting out a holler as he tugs Y/N up off the bed and into his arms. He picks her up and spins, still grinning and cheering like the Canucks just won the cup. 

“Oh my god, are you serious?” he asks, warm hands bracketing her waist, eyes searching hers. She nods, pure relief crossing her face. Perceptive as always, Fraser brings a hand up, brushing her cheek.

“Baby, I’m so happy. You didn’t have to worry, but I understand. God, I can’t believe it!”

The pure joy in his voice is enough to make Y/N laugh while Fraser goes in for the kiss. There is more laughing than kissing, but love all the same. The moment is interrupted when the boys burst into the room, wide-eyed and dishevelled. 

“So nobody’s killed each other right?” Potsy asks.

Y/N shakes her head with a smile, “No, all good here.”

“Why is Mints grinning like a madman, then?” Mason asks with a pointed look. The three wear their eyebrows in their hairlines.

Fraser chuckles at them, “Boys, we’ve got a Junior Mint coming our way soon.”

It takes a second for their brains to compute, but the instant it clicks, there is yet another round of cheers and hugs and congratulations. No questions, no doubts, just love and support from family. 

-

By the time Y/N hits sixteen weeks, relief takes the lingering anxiety away over the things that could have gone wrong, and the initial panic of “oh shit, we are going to be parents at 20” has subsided enough for an announcement to the team. Their parents already know and at first they were nervous, but are now simply ecstatic to meet their first grandchild. A simple post on instagram lets the world know after sending out a text message to teammates and their wives. It was the best option considering the whole team is spread across countries and continents during the offseason.

yourusername and frasermints

Liked by matt.poitras, masonlohrei, jere.swayman, and 10,558 others

yourusername Junior Mint 🖤💛

view all comments

matt.poitras I call godfather duties

masonlohrei I will definitely be the favourite uncle

_pasta good luck with that

nhl Congratulations to the Minten's 🐻 🖤💛

nhlbruins Congratulations Fraser and Y/N! We can't wait to meet our newest Bruin 🐻

_pasta 🐻

jere.swayman Two of the most responsible people I know are having a kid, you guys will do great. Congrats!! 🖤 💛

_morgangeekie Baby Bruin!

connorbedard Can't wait!

conorgeekie_ I'd say something different, but Morgan is looking over my shoulder right now so congrats guys!

becker Mini Mints! Can't wait to meet them!

macklincelebrini congrats you two!

ausmatthews Miss you in Toronto, bud! Bring the munchkin to a Leafs game so we can covert them before your teammates can corrupt them

mmarner the kid is having a kid. Are we officially old now?

will.nylander Congrats!!

- 

Five months in and Y/N had hoped that the morning sickness would be over. And the night sickness. And the lunch sickness. It got to the point where she talked to her professors and got her classes switched to all online for the upcoming year. But alas, the porcelain throne is her best friend every morning like clockwork. The benefit to it being summer is Fraser is home all the time he’s not training, so it makes everything a little more bearable. 

Despite the constant sickness, the baby is healthy and things are progressing as they should. Still, the fact that Y/N isn’t showing yet concerns her more than she lets on. She feels regular flutters of movement, more of a tickle than anything, and Dr. Haisha assures her that it's typical not to show until twenty weeks at least. The August heat and pregnancy do not mix, so Y/N’s days are spent in shorts and bras around the house. 

Y/N goes through her typical Monday morning; wake up, sprint to the bathroom, Fraser is waiting with her toothbrush and a bottle of Gatorade. Sip in that while Fraser eats, nibble in the cracker of the day before going to get dressed. Rinse and repeat. 

Fraser is grabbing running shoes from the closet when Y/N lets out a huff, frustrated with her denim shorts. Brow furrowed, Y/N tries again to get the button on her shorts done up when turns, standing sideways in front of the mirror. She lets out a soft gasp, a smile hits her face.

“Fraser!” she calls over her shoulder, running her fingertips across the barely-there swell of her belly. 

“What?” he asks, before stopping short behind her. She can see his face in the mirror, pure wonder taking over him as he comes up and wraps an arm around her. One of his large hands drifts downwards, gently cradling the small bump, while he threads his other fingers through Y/N’s belt loop on the other side. 

Turning her head to the side, Y/N meets his eyes before Fraser presses a kiss to her lips, whispering, “This is really happening. That’s our baby.”

-

The past four months have been filled with names being tossed around, and the fact that Y/N and Fraser wanted to wait until the baby is born to find out the sex makes it all the more difficult to pick a name. But now that Y/N’s at six months, it’s crunch time. 

“How about Dallas?” Frasher throws out.

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. We are no closer to deciding than we were five months ago”

“I quite literally have no idea where to start.” Y/N tosses her head back over the arm of the couch, feet propped in Fraser’s lap.

“Well, how about Blake for a middle name, it would work for both a boy or a girl, and it works since we asked my brother to be the godfather.”

“I like it for a boy. Oh how about Daphne for a girl?”

“That’s really nice. I say we go for that one, and a middle name? Caroline? After your grandma, how about.”

“Daphne Caroline. I love it. What about Ashton? Or Ash, for a boy. Actually no, Ashton.”

Fraser muses, “Ashton Blake Minten. Well, it sounds good together, and is nice to say. Not too  modern but also traditional compared to some of the names out there.”

Fraser and Y/N share an exasperated look. Their online searches for names proved to be less than helpful when they always came across the same wild names that they couldn’t believe people would actually name their children.

“So it’s decided then?” Y/N says, pen poised over the inside cover of her baby names book. Fraser nods, and ���Ashton Blake’ and ‘Daphne Caroline’ are written down, ready to be used in three short months.

-

Month seven brings the start of the season and the finishing touches to the nursery. All the boys banded together to make sure that everything was finished before opening night. Y/N stands in the middle of the chaos directing traffic, from bins of hand-me-down baby clothes to the new wooden dresser that David and Jeremy very generously hauled up to the apartment. The walls were painted a soft green, with rich wood paneling on the lower half. The dresser and change table are along one long wall, a rolling cart with diapers and Vaseline and wipes beside it. A rocking chair is in one corner, plush cushions and a footrest and little side table ready for late-night feedings. The crib sits opposite the dresser, lined with soft beige and butter yellow blankest. A basket under the window is full of baby toys and stuffed animals, shelves on the wall are lined with books. Y/N stands in the middle, and a decisive nod sends a cheer through the gaggle of hockey players crammed into the room and hallway. 

-

“Oh shit, oh shitshitshit.” Y/N grits out, panting and gripping Kiley’s hands in the family room at TD Garden. Of course the baby conveniently decided to be born in the middle of a Bruins game. She felt the twinges earlier in the day, but after three false alarms of Braxton-Hicks, Y/N wanted to chance it and go to this game, just in case it’s her last for a while. Once the pain subsides, she lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes. 

Annica has the timer going, and it’s over ten minutes in between contractions, so it's definitely not time to go to the hospital yet. Y/N is wishing that the baby will hold off long enough for Fraser to finish the game and go to the hospital with her, but she doesn’t have high hopes, knowing how unpredictable both babies, Boston weather in the winter, and hockey games tend to be. For now, she has Kiley and Annica and the other wives in the warm family room, the first period of Bruins vs. Chicago playing on the TV. 

By the time the second intermission rolls around, Fraser has scored his second of the game, Y/N’s contractions have hit eight minutes apart, and the latest weather reports have a full-blown blizzard whipping through Boston. 

“Well, it looks like you aren’t getting to the hospital,” Kiley says, “it looks like we had better prepare for you to deliver here. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not safe to try and get to the hospital right now.”

Y/N just nods. It’s easier to go with the flow at this point and she is so grateful for Kiley stepping up, even though she was the backup plan for labour anyways. The team doctor has been kept in the loop, stopping by every 20 minutes or so to see how things are. Y/N has stubbornly refused to let him tell Fraser, wanting to keep his focus on the game for as long as humanly possible. Most of the wives left earlier, both because of the storm and wanting to give Y/N some privacy. Towels and blankets have been brought in, and Potsy’s girlfriend Sage has offered to be the runner for when the doctor is needed. 

The third period starts hot, Connor Bedard scores his second of the game and Morgan gets into it with Alex Vlasic. Y/N paces the room with Kiley and Annica, pausing only to catch her breath during contractions. The latest time has them at four minutes apart. More pacing, and breathing, and white-kuckling her way across the room. Kiley’s and Annica’s hands have to be made of steel; Y/N has gripped them so hard they must be bruised to hell by now.

She groans through another one just as Fraser scores for his first NHL hat trick, “What a day, huh, baby? Dad gets his first hat trick, and we get to meet you.”

The hardest part is waiting, but for a first pregnancy, Y/N’s labour has gone surprisingly fast, both a blessing and a curse. With Boston up one and eight to go in the third, Bedard scores again for his own hat trick. Just as the few hats are being collected, Y/N’s eyes widen. She finds Sage, nodding frantically that it’s time. She takes off running, while Emma unfolds blankets and towels. The kettle has warm water in it, and everything is as clean as it will get for delivering a baby in a hockey rink.

The doctor runs in with Sage just as the camera pans over to Fraser running down the tunnel as the announcers give the reason for his exit, “Well with seven and change here to go in the third here in Boston, it appears the Fraser Minten has just been pulled from the game. He took off down the tunnel fairly fast, and it didn’t look like he got hit funny during that last play but oh– we were just informed by team staff that Minten has been excused from the rest of the game because his girlfriend Y/N is about to give birth to their first child, I believe right here in TD Garden due to the weather outside. Well a huge congratulations to the Minten’s and let’s hope that the Bruins can add a W into Minten’s column of achievements tonight.”

“That’s right, his first career hat trick, a baby, and win is one heck of a night.”

Y/N laughs at the broadcast as keeps walking. Tem minutes later, the door bursts open to precede a dripping wet Fraser. His shirt clings to his back and his feet squeak in his slides, gripping a duffel in one hand. He grabs a towel and dries off some more after brushing a kiss across Y/N’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you get me earlier?” he asks, taking over for Annica.

“You–” Y/N pants, leaning heavily into his side, “–had the game, and nothing was happening anyways. Didn’t make sense.”

He kisses her hair and before they can keep walking, Y/N shouts out that, “It’s fucking time, people.”

She settles down on the floor, padded with blankets and propped against the couch, Kiley on one side and Fraser on the other. There is a bin of lukewarm water waiting nearby, Sage is sitting on the couch, hands on Y/N’s shoulders. A trainer kneels beside the doctor with towels, looking unsure and deathly white. 

“Ok, Y/N, push on the next contraction, whenever you’re ready.”

She takes a deep breath, looking at Fraser and he nods, “You can do this. I’m here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Junior Mint makes his appearance into the world known just as Frank Nazar scores the overtime winner. Y/N and Fraser have tears on their cheeks as they get a squirming, squalling bundle of baby in her arms. 

“He’s perfect.” Fraser sniffs out, draping a towel over him and rubbing his tiny back with such a gentleness that it makes Y/N’s chest crack wide open with love. 

“Half me and half you. How long until he’s skating?” Y/N teases, turning as Fraser brushes the lightest of kisses over her lips. 

Everything is cleaned up by the time the Bruins players filter in to meet the newest member. It turns out that the duffel Fraser had was a second baby bag, so Y/N has clean, comfy clothes and a onesie for the baby. While everyone coos and awes over him, a few Blackhawks stand in the doorway. Fraser heads over, grinning at Connor. 

“Hey man, congratulations. What a night, huh?” Connor says as they hug. Fraser shakes hands with Frank, Alex, and Kevin. “There’s a few more of us, if that 's cool.”

Fraser motions for them to follow him, and Nolan, Ethan, and Colton appear behind Alex. They hug Y/N and smile dopey smiles at the baby, before Connor asks, “So what’s his name?”

Y/N smiles, Fraser kisses her hand and says, “Ladies and gents, I am proud to introduce to you, Ashton Blake Minten!”

[groovyangelkisses]

My apologies that this isn’t smut, I’m just really happy you’re writing for Jamie! May I please request a Jamie Fraser x shy clingy wife reader she is always anxious around others and always prefers to sit on his lap playing with his hands even his wedding ring because it always calms her down because she’s just focusing on him and he gently brushes his thumb or hand against hers silently telling her she’s safe🥹🥰 Thank you and I hope you have a lovely day!

oh sweetheart, there’s no need to apologize! i love alllll jamie thoughts… especially this one! <3

cw: s1 jamie (my baby forever,) not entirely historically accurate :)

jamie who always calls out for you in a room of strangers at castle leoch “where’s my wife? little lassie? where are yeh?”

smiles soooo big and dopey when you peek up from the crowd, a smile mirroring him as you literally magnetize yourself to him

wrapping your own arm around his big, strong one and using your other hand to hold his hand

and he’s always prideful of this, too. head held high, chin pointed with pride at his beautiful, sweet quiet lass

he simply cannot handle being away from you for too long, especially physically (which is quite typical for my beloved book!jamie)

he’s always touching you in some way— an elbow on the top of your head to make you squirm and laugh, callused fingertips flecking across your soft cheekbones, or even a guiding hand on the back of your neck through a crowd.

jamie loves having a clingy wife, because he loves to feel that he’s protecting you, giving you what you want, being what you need when he’s unsure of how love works.

one night, colum hosts this big, large dinner in the hall. it seems as if the entire village is there, truthfully.

and you’ve put in so much effort to have your hair tied into sweet, deep blue ribbons; a color to match the murky look that overtakes jamie’s eyes when he’s feeling particulary possessive

and he just MARVELS at you as he stands at your door, watching you with a soft smile

“look at yeh, my little bride. mo cridhe, such a sweet sight”

he drinks up the way you flush, his eyes never leave you for a second and he swallows, completely and utterly taken with you

and jamie’s not the type to leave you stranded at a big party or event… absolutely NOT!

have to use the bathroom? perfect! he’ll stand outside. want some more wine? great, you’ll go grab a glass together! want to sit and gossip with the ladies of leoch? wonderful! he loves gossip!

and if someone gets too touchy… too close… if jamie can sense that they can smell the sweet rose of your bathing oil behind your ears, he’s immediately on you

towering in front of your chaise chair, commanding you with a gritted jaw and a hint of mischief in his eyes “rise for your laird, lady broch tuarach”

and he just adores the way you immediately rise, gazing up with love and obedience - but NOT in the way he grew up thinking wives were meant to be

in the manner of equals— what you ask of me i will do, and i expect the same of you <3

and he tuts for you to move, where he then takes a seat on the chair; extending his long legs out, his kilt riding to his mid-calf, and torso relaxing as he leans backward

“upon my knee, mo luaidh” he tells you softly, his warm whiskey voice comforting you to sit

as your hands rest in your lap, perched on jamie’s knee, his hands find yours

gently he twirls your ring, grounding you as you shy away from speaking to the townsfolk

eventually, you’ll feel the heat of his whisper “so quiet, do yeh wish to leave now?”

and when you turn to him, cheeks flushed as his hand rubs the small of your back

AND AND AND HE DOES THAT™️ SMIRK

you nod, excited to be at home in the presence of your husband

and he is all too happy to do the same

“little mouse, let’s go home…”

[bitchinbarzal]

Stay The Night | F Minten

Fraser wasn’t supposed to be here tonight.

That was the first thought that ran through your mind when you heard the knock at your door — just past midnight, just late enough that it could only be one person.

You stared at the door, debating whether to answer. But you knew Fraser well enough to know he wasn’t leaving until you did. He’d wait, hands shoved into his pockets, maybe even rocking back on his heels to keep warm in the cold Toronto night.

So, with a sigh, you pulled the door open.

And there he was.

Fraser stood in the dim hallway, wearing a hoodie too thin for the weather, the fabric bunched around his fists as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. His hair was damp from the winter air, a little tousled, and his cheeks were tinged pink from the cold. There was something about the way he looked at you—eyes soft, lips curled into a small, almost sheepish smile—that made your chest ache in the best way.

“Hey” he said, voice quieter than usual, like he wasn’t sure he should be here.

You raised an eyebrow “Fraser, it’s midnight”

“I know” He rocked back on his heels, that nervous energy rolling off him “I was in the area”

Your lips twitched “You live twenty minutes away”

“Yeah, well…” He trailed off, glancing at the ground before lifting his gaze back to you “I came to the area because I felt like seeing you”

Your stomach flipped at his honesty, but you kept your face neutral, arms crossed “You have practice in the morning”

“I’ll leave early” he promised, too quick, like he already knew you wouldn’t believe him.

You sighed, stepping back to let him in. He grinned—wide and triumphant, like he’d won something—and walked inside, slipping off his sneakers before collapsing onto your couch like he belonged there. And, honestly? He kind of did.

You followed him, arms still crossed as you leaned against the armrest “One movie” you said firmly “And then you’re going home”

Fraser hummed noncommittally, reaching for the blanket draped over the couch “Sure. Whatever you say”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. Instead, you grabbed the remote and started scrolling through movie options while Fraser made himself comfortable.

Somehow, he always managed to get closer to you than when he started. At first, he was just sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours. Then, somewhere between picking a rom-com you’d seen a hundred times and pressing play, he stretched out across the couch, resting his head in your lap like it was second nature.

You paused, glancing down at him “Seriously?”

He grinned up at you, eyes twinkling “What?”

You huffed but let it go, fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair. He sighed at the touch, melting into your lap, and your heart squeezed at the way his guard dropped when he was with you.

The movie played in the background, neither of you paying much attention. Your hand moved slowly through his hair, and his breathing evened out, heavy with exhaustion.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” you asked softly.

Fraser hummed, cracking one eye open “Not a chance”

You bit back a smile, rolling your eyes “You always do this”

“Do what?”

“Tell me you’ll leave early, and then stay the whole night”

He grinned, closing his eyes again “I like being here”

Something warm bloomed in your chest, but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you let your fingers tangle in his hair, let his breathing slow as he drifted closer to sleep.

And maybe you should have pushed him out the door, reminded him of practice in the morning. But the truth was, you liked having him here too.

[moonlight-rider25]

Jamie Fraser vs. Virginity

⚠️Warnings⚠️

Rated R, smut, unprotected sex, etc.

Summary

You've found yourself submerged in Jamie Fraser's attention. A gentleman, he refuses to make you do anything you're not ready and willing to do. A few pails of ale and songs from the drunken crowd; you find yourself entangled in more than just his embrace. Will your virginity scare him off as he finally has the chance to get his hands on you alone?...

His back muscles strain as he hovers gently over your body. You feel him ready and willing against your inner thigh. Reaching up gently, you stroke softly; his spiky stubble along his cheek and exhale heavily as you stare into his deep blue eyes.

“(Y/N)” He groans low as he pants heavily still watching you squirm beneath him.

“I want you…and I'm ready…” you tell him grinding your core up towards him with a deep breath and harsh swallow.

His lips meet yours again and you release all your body's tension beneath him as he closes the gap between the two of you. Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls away again. He strokes a stray piece of hair from your face as your chest heaves waiting for him to take you; to fully engulf himself within you.

Your core quivers as his hand runs down your check, neck, across your breasts and nipples; which are fully erect from his touch. His hand trails down the front of you; from your rib cage, down across your stomach. His hand inches slowly closer down towards your waist, across your soft mound, finally stopping at the aching entrance of your core.

“Mmmmm” He grumbles lowly into your ear, feeling your wetness against his fingertips.

You bite back a gasp in your mouth as his touch ignites a fire within you. His face meets yours again as he lines himself up with you. His pulsating cock twitching to feel your wet walls wrapped around him.

With your mouth a gap and his steady movements, his forehead meets your mouth and you wrap your arms around his neck as he gently begins pressing in against your soaking folds.

You groan out feeling him slide within you finally.

“Jamie!” You cry feeling his tip enter you.

He holds back, making sure to take his time to slowly open you as he presses deeper.

He sucks at your throat as he presses deeper, one thrust at a time deeper within you. His cock pressing between your folds and opening you further with each thrust.

You moan out again, and he stops meeting your eye again.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks in his thick accent.

You smile up at him. Pulling him closer wrapping your legs around his round little ass. You swallow back the words as you pull him closer and he looks down at your body, curving up towards him as he quickly lines himself again back up with you, and presses back firmly within your core. He jolts your body as he slams into you. Once, twice, three times before your eyes roll back in your head and you finally allow the roll of ecstasy to wash over your body.

“Yes!” You cry out against him.

He smiles down at you; thrusting again, back into you, as your body jolts beneath him.

“Harder!” You groan. Pulling at his neck as he obeys your wish and slams in against you.

You feel the waves rising up from your legs washing over you as he continues to slam impossibly inside you. Your breath is uncountable as your gut clenches and you arch yourself up against him.

“Right…There!” You cry as he thrusts and you hear his breath catch in his throat before releasing his tension against your entrance. Smiling against you as his high becomes unavoidable. You both pant against each other as the waves wash over you both and you feel yourself come undone beneath him. His movements sporadic and unjust as he empties himself inside you and slumps over against your damp body beneath him.

His hot breath on your collar bone as your bodies twitch through the orgasms, pulsing through your veins. Your breaths still ragged as his lips meet yours and you feel him remove himself from you. You run your hand over his stubble again and groan a bit as he removes himself from within you and rolls over on his side; his arm draped over your waist as he pulls you against him, and you sigh deeply against his chest as your breaths begin to slow rhythmically with one another…

[fraserbraw]

a day in the life <3

poly141, 141 x reader, no y/n, tooth rotting fluff

the kinds of kisses/affection that reader receives during the day from their 141 boys 😁

price

in passing, especially on the top of the head. adores seeing you flustered when you didn't see him approach you

slow, romantic kisses after a long day. finds you on his office couch or in the little kitchenette, wraps his arms around your waist, and lets all the stresses or problems of the day wash off as his lips meet yours

on the knuckles like a true gentleman. asks you anywhere with a kiss on the hand. bar? kiss. date night? kiss. the fucking gym? guess what? kiss.

on the face to wake you up in the mornings. you look so warm and snuggly, love, but it's time to get up <3 (often followed by a cup of tea/coffee)

kisses your inner thighs to soothe beard burn. he's so sorry, but you look so pretty when he has you in his mouth.

simon

until you've been a thing for a long time, and I mean a long time, he won't kiss you

that's not to say he won't show affection, though. one of his absolute favorite things is to bonk your forehead with his through the mask

sure, it can hurt either one of you just a bit, but it lets you know that he loves you

when he finally does kiss you, it's on the forehead or back of the hand. it takes him a long time to actually kiss your lips

loves kissing your neck and vice versa. seeing you walk around with poorly covered hickeys (because he can't make it easy for you, people have to know that you belong to someone) gets him going

also likes it when you leave your own marks on his neck. no one can see them because of that balaclava, but he knows they're there

johnny

kisses you the fastest out of all the boys

starts with the cheek, then the forehead, then the lips, then any inch of skin you bless him with

all of you is just so perfect, how can he pick one single favorite spot?

leaves little bites and marks everywhere he can

would devour you if he could

genuinely cherishes your slow and romantic make outs. yeah, he loves when they lead to something else, but feeling the passion in your kisses as your lips and tongues dance together? that's a feeling unmatched, bonnie.

this man has such an oral fixation. let him suck on your fingers.

kyle

once he saw johnny going at you, he couldn't help but follow suit

he's a weak man, hun, you've got to cut him some slack

loves kissing your nose. close enough to your mouth to be a little more intimate than the forehead, and he gets to see basically your whole face

kisses your hips like they're drugs. sex or not, he's between your legs kissing your hips and belly. so what if you're wearing clothes? let him move them for you.

adores little touches

tracing patterns on skin, kissing freckles/scars, moving strands of hair away from your face. he doesn't care; as long as he's touching you

it's the monthly post!! i wish i could have written more, but alas, the bastards at uni gave me the flu. i'm back now, though, and consuming content like a bear before hibernation.

(yk... that might be a good fit idea.)

thank you for reading, lovelies <333333

[vivillainous]

how can i live my life peacefully when this is the female gaze?

miranda’s arms,,,,,, alcina’s tendrils,,,,, so what if fraser…..?

not even trying to sound like a degenerate, but i genuinely think she’d let them both pin her down and—[GUNSHOT]

[charmed-quill]

Three at the Table// J.F x reader

author's note at end.

Request: Hey, i read all that grows and love how you write Jamie!! I also saw that your requests were open and I was wondering if you would potentially write a jamie x reader, just like super wholesome sweet domestic fluff. maybe its after everything and they just live their silly little lives at lallybroch. i would love you forever if you wrote this but of course no pressure :)

word count: 1.9k

It was the kind of morning you wanted to bottle and keep forever.

The air in the room was cool and still, touched with that faint Highland mist that always drifted in before the sun had properly risen. But beneath the heavy quilts of the bed, everything was warm, lazy, drowsy, golden. Like the world hadn’t quite woken yet, and neither had you.

Jamie was still half-asleep beside you, one arm flung around your waist, the other curled under the pillow he’d claimed somewhere in the middle of the night. His breath was slow and steady against your neck, the soft tickle of his curls brushing your shoulder. His body, all heat and muscle and tangled limbs, was wrapped around yours like ivy on stone.

You blinked slowly, taking in the peaceful weight of him.

It had taken years to get here, years of war and ache and absence. 

But now? 

Now there was a rare kind of stillness. A quiet that only came with safety. With being held.

You shifted slightly, and Jamie stirred with a faint, questioning noise.

“Mm… where d’ye think ye’re going, a nighean?” he mumbled into your skin, voice rough and heavy with sleep. “It’s no’ time yet.”

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” you whispered, reaching up to run your fingers gently through his hair. “Just… thinking.”

“Mm. Dangerous thing, that.” He nuzzled in closer, tucking his face into the curve of your neck like a cat. “Best keep your thoughts for later. Stay.”

You smiled. “Are you going to let go of me?”

“No.”

That made you laugh softly. “Didn’t think so.”

He sighed, content and slow, and pulled you impossibly closer. The tips of his fingers brushed lazy circles over your hip beneath the quilt, feather-light and aimless. There was no heat in it, no rush, just comfort. Just you and him, and the quiet space in between filled only with heartbeats.

You stayed like that for a long while, no need for words, no pressure to move. Just the sound of the wind at the window, the creak of the old wood around you, and the steady warmth of Jamie’s body pressed to yours.

Eventually, you shifted again. “I should get up. Make breakfast.”

Jamie made a pitiful noise and clutched you tighter like a child with a favourite blanket. “Dinna leave me.”

“You’ll survive half an hour without me,” you teased, brushing your lips against his cheek.

“But I like ye best in the morning,” he murmured. “All soft and sweet and mine.”

That made your heart do a slow somersault, even after all this time.

“You’ll like me better with a full stomach.”

He made a thoughtful sound, eyes still closed. “Only if it comes with a kiss.”

You leaned in, grinning against his mouth as you whispered, “Greedy.”

Jamie only smiled sleepily and kissed you back—slow, unhurried, and utterly devastating in its tenderness.

“Only when it comes to you.”

You only meant to slip out for a moment.

Just long enough to start the fire, put on a pot, and make something warm before the rest of the house stirred. The plan was simple: porridge, maybe tea, and a few quiet minutes alone in the kitchen before the day properly began.

But plans, as you were learning, rarely accounted for Jamie Fraser.

It had barely been fifteen minutes since you'd left the warmth of your shared bed, but already you'd heard the slow creak of floorboards upstairs, the unmistakable sound of a very large Highlander trying not to be awake yet.

Then came the soft thud of bare feet, the rustle of linen, and finally, a familiar weight at your back.

“There’s a chill this morning, mo nighean donn,” Jamie mumbled, voice still thick with sleep as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, slow, lazy, and distracting. “Ye should have stayed in bed with me.”

You grinned, elbowing him lightly as you tried—and failed—to keep stirring. “If I’d stayed in bed, we’d both be starving.”

Jamie made a low noise of protest and tightened his arms around your waist, chest warm against your back. “Aye, but we’d be cozy. All tangled up. You in my arms… me pressed up behind ye… verra peaceful.”

“You’re already pressed up behind me,” you laughed, squirming as his hands slid under the hem of your slip to settle against your hips—rough palms, warm skin, and zero shame.

“And yet,” he murmured near your ear, “I could still be closer.”

“Jamie.” You tried to sound stern, but your smile betrayed you. “If you keep distracting me, the porridge’s going to burn, and then you’ll be making breakfast.”

He gave a long, dramatic sigh, like you’d just ruined all his dreams. “Let it burn. I’ve got something far sweeter in my arms already.”

You turned your head just enough to catch his eyes, still sleep-heavy and soft, but twinkling with mischief. “You’re a menace.”

“I’m a man desperately in need of affection.”

“You were asleep twenty minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Twenty long, affectionless minutes.”

You laughed, reaching up to ruffle his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grinned like he’d won something and kissed the tip of your nose. “And yet you married me.”

“Poor judgment, clearly.”

“Aye, but lucky for me.”

With a few more stolen kisses, a good bit of groaning about how “neglected” he felt, and a half-hearted attempt to sway you into abandoning the pot altogether, Jamie finally gave in and slouched into one of the kitchen chairs, though not without keeping a watchful eye on the porridge like a child waiting for cake.

…Of course, that didn’t stop him from leaning over and trying to sneak a spoonful straight from the pot.

“Jamie!” You smacked his hand lightly with the wooden spoon.

He yelped, scandalised. “Ye’ve grown cruel in your comfort, lass.”

“You’ll live,” you said sweetly, nudging him away with your hip.

Once it was finally done, you dished up two simple bowls, just oats with a drizzle of honey and a spoonful of preserved berries Jenny had jarred last summer. Nothing fancy. But warm. Familiar. Home.

Jamie watched you sit across from him with an almost embarrassingly soft look on his face. You felt it before you saw it, the way his foot slid against yours under the table, the way his fingers reached out to gently brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear like he couldn’t not touch you.

“Let me,” he said quietly, already scooping a bite with his spoon and holding it out for you. “First bite’s always better when it’s shared.”

You leaned in with a smile, letting him feed you. He watched you chew like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, his eyes full of affection.

And then, just when you thought it couldn’t get more ridiculous, he said with full sincerity:

“Tastes better on your lips.”

You almost choked on your porridge.

Jamie was still watching you like you’d hung the bloody moon when the telltale creak of the stairs interrupted the quiet.

You paused, spoon halfway to your mouth.

Jamie tilted his head. “D’ye hear that?”

You opened your mouth to respond just as the door creaked open, slow and hesitant. Then, there was a thump and the soft pad of small feet across the floor.

There, in the doorway, stood your son.

Hair like firelight, curls mussed and wild from sleep. He was still in his nightshirt, one hand rubbing his eye, the other dragging a slightly tattered wool rabbit along behind him.

Jamie lit up like sunrise.

Brian.

In his too-big nightshirt, clutching a lopsided stuffed rabbit Jenny had stitched for him when he was born, your son blinked blearily at the two of you with his father’s eyes and your nose—cheeks flushed with sleep, lower lip poked out in that familiar early-morning pout.

“Mam?” he mumbled, rubbing his eye with one tiny fist. “Da?”

Jamie was on his feet in an instant, chair scraping back as he crossed the room in three long strides. “A charaid, what are ye doin’ up, eh? Still early yet.”

“I had a dream,” Brian said, voice barely above a whisper as he padded forward on bare feet, his rabbit dangling from one arm. “And then it got cold.”

You set your spoon down and opened your arms just as Jamie lifted him, small limbs clinging sleepily around his father’s neck as he made a soft sound of comfort and pressed a kiss to his son’s head.

“Well now,” Jamie murmured, rubbing Brian’s back with slow, reassuring circles, “we can’t have ye cold and dream-tossed, can we? Come sit wi’ Mam and me. We’ll fix that right up.”

Jamie sat back down, settling Brian carefully on his lap like they’d done it a hundred times before, which, of course, they had. You slid your chair closer and rested a hand on your son’s back, watching him blink sleepily between the two of you like the world had finally righted itself.

Without a word, Jamie picked up his spoon and held out another bite, this time to Brian.

“Want some porridge, wee man?”

Brian gave a solemn nod, opened his mouth, and took the bite with the seriousness of a king receiving an offering. He chewed, paused, then announced through a mouthful, “Too hot.”

You laughed softly and reached for his small bowl, which you’d already filled in case he woke up. “This one’s been cooling on the windowsill. Come here, love.”

Jamie passed him over, careful as ever, and Brian curled up in your lap like a kitten, limbs loose and warm and so very small. You held the bowl with one hand and spoon-fed him with the other, brushing his curls back from his face as he hummed and chewed and clutched his rabbit against his chest.

Jamie watched the two of you like he was trying to memorise the moment. He could hardly believe he got to sit at a table with this much love in front of him.

“Ye ken,” he said softly, reaching across to trail his fingers along Brian’s ankle where it stuck out from the hem of his nightshirt, “I never thought I’d get this. A quiet kitchen. A wife. A bairn.”

You looked up at him then, heart full, eyes warm. “It’s not always quiet.”

He smiled. “No. But it’s ours.”

There was a moment of soft stillness between you. Just the sound of the spoon against the bowl, the crackle of the fire, Brian’s slow chewing. Then, with his mouth still full, your son looked up and said:

“Da?”

“Aye, cub?”

“I think Mam’s better at makin’ porridge.”

Jamie let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest like he’d been wounded.

“Et tu, Brian?”

You and your son both burst out laughing, and Jamie leaned across the table to steal a kiss from your cheek before sitting back with a grin.

“I’ll win ye both over next time,” he said smugly, reaching for his bowl.

“We’ll see,” you said with a wink, adjusting Brian as he settled heavier in your lap, already blinking sleepily again.

The porridge cooled. The morning light spilled gold across the table. And for just a little longer, the three of you stayed there, wrapped in warmth and quiet joy, the world held at bay by nothing more than oat bowls, soft voices, and the feeling of being home.

Jamie’s hand moved gently over your thigh beneath the table, his other stroking slow circles on Brian’s back. He looked at you like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“I could live a hundred years,” he said softly, voice almost lost beneath the hush of the kitchen, “and never want more than this.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, heart full to the brim.

“Neither would I.”

a/n: Anon i love you forever for requesting this. jamie my shayla

[asunsetgrace16]

✧ 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗗 ⎥ 𝗙𝗠45

Pairing: Fraser Minten x fem!reader

Warnings: sad sad sad, swearing

Summary: Fraser gets traded, and it's a sad day for the Marlies

Notes: So this is sad. I'm sad. everyone is sad. apologies in advance.

masterlist⎥ navigation

Word Count: 716

Fraser’s ringing phone interrupts the sounds of Criminal Minds playing on the hotel tv. He’s already set up in his hotel room and is taking the chance to lounge before the game. It’s different being alone, with Grebs being traded to Philly in the morning and leaving Fraser without a roommate. 

The caller ID says GM Treliving, which Fraser finds strange. He saw the news of some Toronto trades but was putting it out of his mind as best he could. It was hard enough having to say goodbye to Grebs already this morning and ship him off to Lehigh Valley. 

His palms are sweating as he slides to answer the call, “Hello.”

“Hi Fraser. How are you?”

“Good, I guess. We are in Providence today.”

“Yes, that’s what this is about. Earlier today we traded for Brandon Carlo on the Bruins. I just finished ironing out the details with Sweeny, and we packaged you as part of the return. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done as a Leaf, and wish you the best of luck in Boston. I gave Sweeny your number, so he should be calling you shortly. Thank you again, Fraser.”

“Ok…thanks. Bye.” He replies, hanging up in a daze. Traded. He’s been traded. And the Marlies play Providence tonight. What are the goddamn odds? 

Fraser should be going to find his coaches, his teammates, but he picks up the phone and dials your number instead. His fingers anxiously tap on his knee as the call rings. 

“Hi baby, what’s up? You don’t usually call this close to a game.”

The sound of your voice brings him to tears, and he chokes out, “I was traded. To Boston.”

The line is silent for a second as you get your bearings. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I wish I could be there. Is there anything I can do?”

“Um…I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. I kinda feel like I should’ve expected this since Treliving got Laughton today too, so between him and JT, there wasn’t really a spot for me any time soon,” Fraser says, voice wavering and thick with emotion, “Can you go over to my place amd pack some stuff?”

“Yeah of course. I will come down as soon as I can. Let me know where to ship things.Are you going to play for Providence tonight?” you ask.

“Mhmm. I don’t know if I’ll play. I don’t even know.”

“Ok. Let me know if anything changes, alright? And Fraser?”

“Yeah?”

“Two years. Two years until I’m done with school. We got this. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The silence of his room is deafening. Absent-mindedly Fraser throws his suitcase on Grebs’ –the other bed, shoving clothes and dress shoes and toiletries back inside. He grabs his suit and garment bag from the closet and triple checks that he has everything. He wipes at his face, having forgotten that he was crying when his hands come away wet. Standing alone in a Rhode Island hotel room, wearing Marlies gear and wishing for you, Fraser cries. 

Hockey’s a business, and Fraser knows that. But secretly, tucked away deep down inside, he had hoped that he meant more to the Leafs, at least enough that they would keep him despite being one of few true trade chips. He zips up his suitcase, throws a charger in his backpack and goes to find his coaches. Down the hall to the left, last door. He knocks and waits. Fraser knows his face is red and puffy, obvious that he’s been crying. His coach isn’t surprised to see him, and opens the door wider for Fraser to enter. There are handshakes and more thank you’s and good luck’s, pats on the back and comforting squeezes. 

Fraser gets the call from Sweeny back in his room, exchanging pleasantries before being told to report to Providence. He shoots a text to the group chat and goes next door to Denis’s room. The next round of goodbyes is even harder, even more emotional. Everyone is supportive, lightning the mood with good-natured chirps about Fraser being the enemy now that he’s a Bruin. His step is a little lighter when he walks out of the hotel doors, Uber ordered and on to the next chapter.

[toasttt11]

picnics

summary: a snowy valentine’s day calls for a cute picnic date with your boyfriend

fraser minten x reader

Fraser stopped the car and looked at with a smile and held up a tie, “I only need five minutes.” Fraser told his girlfriend, they were at a small little park in Toronto that was very private and no one walking around.

She smiled and leaned closed letting him tie the tie around her eyes, Fraser had planned a date for Valentine’s day but she had no idea what they are doing.

“Be right back.” Fraser kissed her cheek before quickly getting out for the drivers side and leaving the car on to keep her warm as he grabbed a box from the back of the car and headed a few steps away.

He unlocked a door and walked in turning the lights on before he quickly unpacked the box before setting everything up within five minutes.

Fraser rushed back out side through the snow and opened the drivers seat turning the car off before going to the passenger side and he gently untied the tie off her face and watched her blink for a few times before smiling at him.

“Come on love.” Fraser smiled softly holding her hand and helping her out of her car closing the door behind her.

Fraser walked her around the car and she made a sound, “Woah it’s beautiful.” She mumbled seeing a inclosed gazebo in the snow and she could see the lights shining through the windows.

Fraser smiled and hurried her to the door wanting to get her out of the cold.

Fraser opened the door for her and helped take off her gloves and snow jacket hanging them up before taking off his own.

She walked in seeing a low couch with a lot of blankets and pillows near a fire place and a table next to the couch covered in foods and flowers and some candles.

“These are so cute.” She cooed as she sat down and noticed all of three different type of fruits and each type fruit was all cut in to a different shape.

Fraser perked up as he sat down next to her putting the blanket over both of them and wrapping an arm around her shoulder watching as she looked at all the foods.

“And the sandwiches.” She gasped seeing some sandwiches cut to be stars and some as hearts, “Where did you get these baby?” She looked over at her boyfriend and pushed his glasses up for him smiling as he leaned into her touch.

“I made them.” Fraser shyly replied blushing that she thought they were good enough that she thought he bought them.

“You made them?” Her face softened and she looked at Fraser with adoration.

“I tried too, i think they look okay.” Fraser sheepishly responded.

“Baby they are perfect even more perfect because you made them.” She softly reassured him squeezing his hands softly.

“I’m glad you think so because i almost lost fingers doing them.” Fraser admitted laughing softly.

Her eyes widened and she shook her head fondly and brought Fraser’s hands up to her face realizing that’s why he had a band aid on almost every single finger.

“Thank you.” She softly mumbled pressing a kiss to each of his fingers making him turn bright red.

“Of course.” Fraser smiled softly, “Happy Valentine’s Day my love.” Fraser leaned closer pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” She happily and softly said back pressing one more kiss to his hands.

[bitchinbarzal]

The Trade | F Minten

Summary: Fraser gets traded from the Toronto Maple Leafs to the Boston Bruins, and miscommunication tears you apart—until fate brings you back together.

⸻

You find out the same way everyone else does.

Scrolling through Twitter, half-distracted while you wait for Fraser to text back about dinner plans, you see the news:

TRADE ALERT: The Toronto Maple Leafs have traded Fraser Minten to the Boston Bruins in exchange for Brandon Carlo.

Your heart stops.

There’s no text from Fraser. No missed call. Just—radio silence.

You tell yourself he’s probably in shock. That he’s busy with management, figuring things out. That he’ll call when he can.

But hours pass. Then days.

No word from him.

And when he finally does surface, it’s in a rushed interview from Boston, where he talks about how “excited” he is for this new opportunity. How the Bruins are a “great organization.”

Not a single mention of Toronto. Of you. Of the life you shared.

That’s when you realize: he left, and he never even said goodbye.

It’s pure masochism showing up to the Leafs-Bruins game.

You tell yourself you’re over it. That Fraser made his choice. That you don’t care anymore.

But the second you see him step onto the ice, looking like he belongs in black and gold, your heart clenches.

He looks different. Harder, somehow. More closed off.

You watch as he skates past the Leafs bench, exchanging nods with old teammates. But he doesn’t look at the crowd. Doesn’t scan for familiar faces.

Doesn’t look for you.

Anger bubbles up. You were everything to each other once. If he truly didn’t care, why didn’t he just say that? Why not rip the Band-Aid off instead of leaving you hanging?

If he’s moved on, so have you.

You’re halfway to the exit when someone grabs your wrist.

Your breath catches.

Fraser.

Up close, he looks just as conflicted as you feel. His hair’s damp from the post-game shower, his suit slightly wrinkled. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—relief? Hope?

“You’re here,” he says, voice rough like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You jerk your arm away. “Why do you care?”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I—shit, Y/N. I wanted to call. I tried. But everything happened so fast, and then… I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”

You scoff. “You think I wanted to hear about your trade from Twitter?”

Regret flashes across his face. “I didn’t even know it was happening until it was done. One second, I was a Leaf, and the next, I was on a flight to Boston. I kept thinking I’d have time to explain. But there was never time.”

Your walls threaten to crumble. “You could have made time, Fraser.”

“I know,” he admits, stepping closer. “And I hate myself for not fighting harder. For not telling you how much I—” He swallows, shaking his head. “I thought if I let you go, it’d be easier for both of us. That maybe you’d move on faster if I didn’t drag things out.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to decide what’s easier for me.”

He hesitates. Then, softer “I know.”

The silence stretches between you.

Finally, Fraser exhales. “Do you—do you still hate me?”

Your chest aches. You should. But standing here, looking at him, you know the truth.

You never stopped loving him.

You stare at him. At the way his lips part like he’s desperate for you to say something, anything, that will make this easier.

But it’s not supposed to be easy. Not after what he did.

“You should’ve fought for me,” you say, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “You should’ve called. Even if it was messy, even if it was rushed. You should’ve tried.”

His face twists in regret. “I know. I thought I was protecting you—”

“Stop.” You shake your head, stepping back, putting distance between you. “You don’t get to stand here now and act like you didn’t make a choice.”

He exhales sharply, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.” Your voice wavers, but you force yourself to hold your ground. “And when it mattered most, you let me believe I didn’t mean enough to be worth a goodbye.”

Fraser’s eyes shine under the fluorescent lights of the arena hallway, his fingers clenching into fists like he’s struggling to find the right words. But there’s nothing left to say.

You gave him your love, your trust, your time—and he walked away like it was easier to pretend you never existed.

Now, it’s your turn to leave.

“Good luck in Boston, Fraser.” You say his name like a stranger’s, like it doesn’t belong to the boy you once loved. “I hope it was worth it.”

Then you turn and walk away.

You don’t look back.

[saturnville]

I have to be that person for a second. I have released 5-6 fics in the last two weeks. why? because I fed off the love and interaction I was given. when you take the time to appreciate and interact with writers AND their content, they're more enticed and more motivitated to produce more content. so as you prepare to ask a creator to feed you more content, ask yourself if you're taking the time to REBLOG, like, and comment on their work.

thanks again for your guys' support. it pulled me out of a writing slump <3

[card1gan]

ok i have a complaint to make

how are there no william ransom fics??? like you know, jamie’s son from outlander

he’s so perfect i wanna read about him 😭😭😭😭