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charmed-quill · 2 months ago

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All that Grows// J.F x Reader ch. 4

Authors note at end.

Summary: You were just children when you planted the cherry pit behind the stables, a secret garden, a quiet promise, a someday vow spoken with muddy hands and hearts still learning what love meant.

Years passed. Seasons shifted. Letters slowed. And the tree, like everything else, kept growing.

Now the war is over, and Jamie has come home. Changed. Older. Carrying things he doesn’t say out loud. He asks you to walk with him again, like you used to.

But time has not been kind. The garden is not the same. And neither are you.

The cherry tree has finally bloomed.

But so much has happened in the years it took.

word count: 4.0k

Prev.

Next.

September 1740

The house looked smaller.

Jamie swung down from his horse in the muddy yard, boots slipping slightly on the wet stones slick with last night’s rain. He caught himself with a soft grunt, steadying the mare with one hand, patting her flank the way he used to do with the farm ponies.

He let out a long breath, chest tightening.

Home.

Five years away, and it was all the same, and yet somehow... not.

The crooked stone wall, half-mended, still leaned stubbornly against the south field. The clatter of hens came from behind the kitchens, their squawks rising above the sharp barking of a sheepdog.

The familiar tang of peat smoke curled from the chimney, caught on the sharp autumn air, heavy and warm and achingly sweet.

Voices floated from the open door — raised in laughter and argument, so familiar it made his heart lurch.

Jamie adjusted the worn strap of his satchel and crossed the yard in a few long strides, his boots thudding against the stones. His heart pounded hard and steady, not from fear exactly, but something close.

Something full to bursting.

Before he could knock, the door flung open with a sharp creak and a blur of blue skirts came flying at him.

"Jamie!"

He barely had time to brace himself before Jenny slammed into his chest, arms tight around his neck.

He staggered back a step, laughing and lifted her off the ground without thinking, the way he had when they were bairns scrapping over apples in the orchard.

"Ye’re thinner," she accused, pulling back and cuffing him lightly on the shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed with cold and emotion, her eyes wet but shining.

"And taller," she added, sniffing mightily. "And ye smell like a roadman's boot."

"Aye, well," Jamie said, grinning so wide his face hurt. "Can’t all be fine ladies like you, Jen."

Jenny swatted him again but clutched his hand tightly, leading him inside without another word.

The warmth hit him like a blow — the thick, living heat of the hearth, the scent of baking bread, damp wool drying by the fire, and smoke curling sweet and sharp from the peat logs.

His boots scraped against the stone floor. The air hummed with life. With memory.

And standing by the hearth, as if he’d never moved at all, was his father.

Brian Fraser.

A little more grey at the temples, a little slower to straighten, but still tall, still broad, still steady as the hills themselves.

Jamie froze.

For a heartbeat, the world blurred at the edges.

The fire crackled behind his father. Jenny’s hand squeezed his.

Then — silently — Brian opened his arms.

Jamie dropped the satchel without looking. Stepped forward blindly.

His father’s arms wrapped around him in a fierce, wordless hug, the kind that spoke of years and years of absence without a single word needing to be said.

It wasn’t stiff.

It wasn’t awkward.

It was home, as plain and solid and unbreakable as the walls that sheltered them.

"Good to have ye back, lad," Brian said roughly, thumping his back once, hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Jamie nodded against his shoulder, swallowing hard, willing the tightness in his throat to ease.

They pulled apart slowly. Jenny wiped her eyes and sniffed, pretending not to see the glisten in Jamie’s own.

They ushered him to the big oak table, the one he’d once crawled under as a boy when he didn’t want to eat his greens. Now he barely fit in the chair, his legs too long, his shoulders too broad.

A plate appeared before him — meat pie, thick-cut bread, butter so fresh it bled gold on the cloth. A mug of ale, pressed into his hand. A slice of sharp cheese. Jenny was bustling and scolding him for being so thin, even as she heaped food onto his plate.

Brian sat across from him, eyes sharp and proud.

They fired questions at him — about Beannachd, the MacKenzie lands, Dougal, and the men he'd trained with.

Jamie answered them all.

Smiled when Jenny teased him about the length of his hair.

Laughed when Brian joked that he still walked like a foal finding its legs.

Ate when they urged him, even when his stomach clenched too tight.

Because under it all — under every bite, every breath, every heartbeat — a small, steady beat pulsed louder and louder:

Where is she?

The pie sat heavy in Jamie’s gut.

He chewed slowly, more out of habit than hunger, forcing the food down as Jenny carried on beside him — teasing him for looking thin, half-starved, like some poor lad left in the rain too long.

Brian offered a small smile from across the table, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was quiet, but Jamie could feel his gaze, steady and sharp as ever.

The fire crackled behind them.

Everything was exactly as it had always been.

Which only made the rest of it feel... wrong.

Jamie cleared his throat, set his fork down, and leaned back in his chair.

"So," he said, aiming for easy. "How’s everyone been? Anyone I ken run off wi’ the cattle or started a scandal?"

Jenny snorted. "Ye mean besides me?"

He smirke and nudged her knee with his own under the table. "Thought that went without sayin’."

There was a small lull then.

He let it sit for a breath.

Then slipped it in — soft. Careful.

"And... Y/N? She still bossin’ folk about like she owns the place?"

It came out too lightly.

He knew it before the air even shifted.

Jenny went still.

Brian looked down into his cup, thumb running once along the rim.

Jamie’s stomach sank, low and hard.

"What?" he said, quieter now.

Jenny didn’t answer right away. She pressed her palms flat on the table, smoothing the fabric of her apron, not meeting his eyes.

"She’s no here, Jamie."

His jaw tensed.

"What d’ye mean?"

Jenny looked up at last.

"She’s married."

The words didn’t hit him all at once.

They cracked — and then kept cracking.

"Married?" he echoed, stupidly. "Since when?"

"two years," Brian said.

Jamie blinked.

Then blinked again —

as if the room might right itself if he just stared long enough.

He swallowed, but his mouth was dry.

"Christ."

Jenny reached for his hand.

"She said she told ye," she said gently. "sent a letter."

Jamie didn’t take her hand.

Didn’t move.

His breath caught sharp in his throat.

"So ye both thought I knew."

Brian gave a slow nod. “Aye. She was certain she’d told ye. Said she had tae.”

Jamie let out a hollow, humourless laugh.

"Well. She didnae."

No one spoke.

Jamie stared down at the table, trying to breathe past the weight pressing hard into his chest, heavy and hot, like something burning from the inside out.

He pictured her A hand not his, holding hers.

A vow spoken.

A life built without him.

Something broke loose in his chest then — not loudly, not visibly — but deep.

Of course, he had missed it all.

Jamie stood, the chair legs scraping harshly across the stone.

He didn’t know what he meant to do — just that he had to move.

"Jamie," Jenny said, standing too. "Don’t—"

"I just need a minute."

His voice cracked around the words.

No one followed him.

He stepped out into the dark.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And then it was just the night —

Cold, damp, and too quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe.

The kind that echoes.

So loud it roared in his ears, blank and terrible.

He heard Jenny calling after him, but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look back.

The sky had gone heavy.

Grey clouds sagged low over the fields, pressing close, so close it felt like the whole world was bowing under the weight of it, like even the earth could feel what had broken loose inside him.

Jamie walked without thinking.

Boots slipping in the churned mud, breath burning hot in his throat. The wind tore at his coat, snapping it hard against his legs, dragging at the strands of hair that had slipped from his tie.

He didn’t feel it.

Didn’t feel anything but the hollow, aching pull in his chest.

He crossed the yard, head down against the wind.

Through the pasture, grass flattened and yellowed by the first frost. Past the broken fence, the one they'd always squeezed through as bairns, giggling like fools, skinned knees and dirty hands be damned.

The old trail behind the stables was overgrown now. Grass tangled thick around his boots, catching at him, trying to hold him back.

He stumbled once, caught himself against a leaning fencepost, and kept going.

He knew the way by heart.

Even after five years.

Even after everything.

And then —

There it was.

The tree.

Their tree.

Jamie stopped dead, boots sinking an inch into the sodden ground.

It stood taller than he remembered — gnarled and stubborn, the bark twisted silver and black from storms and time.

The branches reached out above him, wild and tangled, whispering and hissing in the restless wind.

He stood there for a long moment, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, every muscle in him trembling like a bowstring pulled too tight.

This was where it started.

Here, where he'd fumbled a bent wire into a ring with grubby fingers.

Where they'd crouched over a patch of bare earth, cheeks flushed, planting a tiny cherry seed like it was magic.

Where he’d promised her—so fiercely, so blindly — that he would come back and ask her properly.

"When it blooms, I'll ask."

Jamie tipped his head back, throat tight, staring up into the bare branches swaying against the heavy sky.

No blossoms.

Not even now.

Just skeletal limbs clawing at the wind, as if the tree itself mourned.

He wondered, sickly, if it had bloomed and withered in his absence. If it had stretched toward the sun, flowered in the spring, and shed its petals into the dirt, unseen, unmarked — because he hadn't been here.

Because they hadn't been here.

He wondered if the tree remembered them at all.

His knees buckled.

He sank onto the wet, frozen grass, not caring that the cold soaked through his breeches, not caring that the mud stained his coat.

He sat there, small and shivering beneath the towering limbs, and let the life he had imagined fall apart inside him:

The home he thought they would build, muddy boots left by the door, and smoke curling from the chimney.

The mornings he thought they would share, her hair tangled against his shoulder, the smell of bread and earth and rain.

The children he thought they would have, loud, wild things with muddy faces and bruised knees, laughing in the burn, climbing trees, shouting at goats.

All of it.

Gone.

Not stolen.

Not broken.

Just...

Never.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, gritting his teeth, willing the burning to stop.

"Ye waited too long, a mhic."

"The world doesna wait for promises."

The soft crunch of footsteps made him jerk his head up.

Jenny.

She stood a few feet away, wrapped in a thick shawl against the wind, her cheeks pink and raw, her hair half-loose and whipping around her face.

In her hand, a folded scrap of parchment, fluttering weakly in the breeze.

Her face was tight, her eyes red-rimmed.

She didn’t speak.

Just held the letter out to him, arm shaking slightly.

Jamie hesitated for just a breath before he reached for it, his fingers stiff and clumsy.

The paper crackled softly between his hands.

He unfolded it carefully — almost reverently.

The handwriting was small, careful, and a little uneven.

But he would have known it anywhere.

Y/N’s.

His breath caught, sharp and painful.

His thumb brushed over the first few words, as if he could feel her in the ink, the way he used to feel her hand brush against his when they reached for the same apple on the kitchen table.

For a moment, the world narrowed to just this:

Her words.

His hands.

The wind whispering through the bare branches above.

The ground steadied beneath him as the weight of everything he had lost settled on his shoulders at last.

Dear Jenny,

I hope this letter finds you and yours well and that the fields are kinder to you this year than last.

I meant to write sooner. Truly, I did.

But every time I tried, the words felt too heavy for my hands.

I wanted to tell you —

We had a son last month.

He’s strong, Jenny. Stronger than I ever thought something so small could be. His cry could wake the dead, and his hands—oh, his hands—he grips my finger like he means to drag me along wi’ him into the world.

His father, Alan, says he’ll make a fine laird one day.

We named him Alexander.

I told Alan it was after a cousin on my mother’s side. A nice, respectable story.

But you ken the truth.

You ken who he’s truly named for.

Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I'd written the truth.

I was too proud.

Too frightened.

Too stubborn to ask for something, I thought he shouldn’t have to be begged to give.

And by the time I realised...

The world had already moved on without me.

I hope he’s well.

I hope he’s happy.

I hope he found a life richer than the one we dreamt up between fields and riverbanks and the roots of that stubborn tree.

If you see him, Jenny —

Tell him I never stopped missing him.

Tell him he lives in the curve of my son's fingers, in the shape of his fierce little heart.

Tell him I keep a piece of him folded up small and safe inside me, tucked away in the same place where the tree still grows, no matter how many winters pass.

Yours always,

Y/N

Jamie stared down at the letter in his hands.

The ink had blurred a little where his thumb pressed too hard, but he couldn't let it go.

Couldn’t fold it up.

Couldn’t breathe around the hollow, burning thing lodged in his chest.

The wind whipped around them, rattling the bare branches overhead.

The world was greyer now.

Quieter.

Jenny crouched down slowly beside him, the hem of her shawl dragging in the wet grass.

She didn’t touch him.

Just sat there like she used to when they were bairns and he scraped his knees too badly to pretend he was fine.

They sat in silence a long while.

The only sounds were the wind hissing in the grass, the faint creak of the tree above them, and Jamie’s ragged breathing.

Finally, Jenny spoke.

Soft. Careful.

"I ken ye love her."

Jamie flinched, his hands tightening around the letter.

"I ken it cost ye everythin’ tae wait," she said. "And I ken it cost her just as much to let you go."

Jamie squeezed his eyes shut.

It didn’t stop the burn.

Didn’t stop the memory of her smile, the real one, crooked and bright, flashing behind his eyelids.

"I could go," he rasped, barely recognising his own voice. "I could find her. Speak wi’ her. Tell her—"

"Jamie."

He looked at her then, and what he saw in Jenny’s face stole the words from his throat.

Not cruelty.

Not pity.

Just sorrow.

And love.

And the hard, awful wisdom of a heart that had seen too much.

"If ye love her," Jenny said quietly, "ye’ll let her be."

Jamie shook his head, a breath hitching painfully in his chest.

"She named her son after me, Jen," he whispered. "She still thinks of me. She—"

"Aye," Jenny said, voice thick. "She does."

Jamie dropped his forehead to his knees, breathing hard.

Jenny reached out then and laid her hand gently over his.

"She built a life, Jamie. A good one. As good as she could, wi' what she was given. She's got a husband that treats her well. A wee lad who needs her whole heart."

She swallowed hard.

"If ye go to her now, if ye remind her of everythin’ she lost, it’ll tear her apart."

Jamie didn’t move.

He sat there with the letter pressed to his chest like a wound, feeling the earth turn cold beneath him, feeling the dreams he had clutched in his fist for so long slip through his fingers like mist.

"I waited," he whispered.

Jenny’s hand squeezed his.

"I ken ye did."

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he could almost hear it. The laughter between the trees, the soft fall of her braid against his shoulder, the whispered promises they had made in the green gold of long-ago summers.

Gone.

Not stolen.

Not broken.

Just…

Never.

He felt Jenny's hand leave his.

Felt the ache settle deeper in his bones.

And when he finally lifted his head, the sky above the tree had begun to darken — grey bleeding into blue, into black — and the first stars were struggling to be seen.

Jamie brushed the mud from his hands.

Folded the letter carefully.

Tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat.

And without a word, he rose.

He didn’t look back.

Not at the tree.

Not at the past.

The letter crumpled in his fist.

Jamie didn’t even realise how tightly he was gripping it until the paper bit into the skin of his palm, leaving faint red creases.

The words still echoed in his head —

“Tell him I keep a piece of him folded up small and safe inside me, tucked away in the same place where the tree still grows, no matter how many winters pass.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt, the cold wetness of the grass clinging to his knees and the hem of his coat.

The tree loomed behind him its bare branches clawing at the grey sky.

He didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

The walk back to the house felt longer than it should’ve.

Each step heavy.

Each breath dragging cold air into lungs already aching.

The stones of the yard were slick under his boots.

The door groaned on its hinges.

The hearth inside crackled low, throwing shadows across the walls.

Nobody saw him slip inside.

Nobody stopped him as he climbed the stairs — the familiar rhythm of them creaking under his weight, the way they always had.

The hallway was darker than he remembered.

Smaller.

As though Lallybroch itself had shrunk without him to stretch its walls.

Jamie reached his old room and hesitated with his hand on the door.

The latch was stiff, the wood swollen from damp.

He pushed it open.

The air inside smelled of old wood, cold hearth ash, and something faintly sweet — dried lavender maybe, tucked into the beams by his mother long ago.

Everything was still there.

The bed with its rough blanket.

The battered chest at the foot of it.

The window with the cracked pane that whistled when the wind blew from the east.

And the small bedside table.

Where he used to leave whatever treasures he’d carried in from the fields — a bird’s feather, a polished stone, a handful of wild strawberries snuck from the orchard.

Jamie crossed the room slowly, trailing his fingers along the edge of the chest, the back of the chair, the table.

Somewhere in the back of his mind —

Not quite a thought, more a feeling —

He wondered if he had left something here.

Something small.

Something of her.

He opened the drawer.

Inside — a neat stack of old things:

A broken horseshoe nail he’d once bent into a charm.

A smooth, flat river stone with a white stripe across it.

A scrap of leather he’d braided into a crude bracelet and never finished.

And tucked just beneath the folded cloth lining the bottom —

A slip of parchment.

Jamie’s breath caught.

Not folded like something forgotten.

Placed.

Carefully.

Deliberately.

His fingers hovered above it —

Shaking.

Burning.

Afraid and desperate all at once.

Slowly, he lifted it free.

The parchment was worn soft at the edges from months — years — of waiting.

His name was written across the back in a hand he knew better than his own.

Mo leòmhann beag.

The old nickname she had given him when they were barely more than children.

Jamie sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath his weight.

The letter trembled in his hands.

For a long moment, he just stared at it.

Then, with a breath that shook him to his bones, he opened it.

Mo leòmhann beag,

If you are reading this, then you are home — and I am gone.

I tried, Jamie.

I tried to wait for you. I tried to believe the seasons would stretch themselves longer, that the world would hold its breath until you returned.

But time does not stop for dreams.

My father’s health has failed. The debts piled higher with every harvest. And I was asked to do what I must. Not with cruelty. Not with force.

With love.

They asked me to marry a man who could keep my family from losing all we have ever known.

Alan is kind. He is steady. He smiles when he speaks to me, and he holds no anger in his hands.

He will make a good husband.

But he will never be you.

I need you to know —

I have always loved you.

Not just in the way poets tell it, in verses about stolen kisses and promises by moonlight.

I loved you when we were wild things, running barefoot through fields, daring the rain to catch us. I loved you when you fell out of the apple tree and swore the ground had moved just to spite you. I loved you when you handed me a crooked ring with all the gravity of a king offering his crown. I loved you when you left. I loved you through every letter I wrote and every one I never dared send.

I love you now, even as I bind myself to another.

And I will love you still, when my hair is grey and my hands are no longer steady enough to sew a hem.

Soon, there will be other duties waiting for me.

Children, perhaps. Sons and daughters who will call another man Father, who will never know the boy who taught me how to catch frogs and tie knots and dream bigger than the sky.

And though I will love them,

Part of my heart will always be yours, Jamie.

The part that runs barefoot through the fields. The part that sings to the trees. The part that still waits, stubborn and fierce, for a boy with a lion’s heart.

I ask one thing of you, mo leòmhann beag:

Do not come for me.

If you come, if you stand before me with your hands open and your heart bare —

I know myself too well. I would leave it all behind. The vows, the fields, the hearth.

I would walk away from everything I have sworn to protect, without a second thought.

And I cannot do that.

Not to them.

Not to myself.

But know this;

I will wait for you still.

Not here. Not now.

But somewhere beyond this life we were never allowed to finish.

I will wait for you in every life after this one. In every turn of the wheel, in every crossing of the rivers, in every breath between the stars.

I will find you.

Whether I am born a thousand times, whether we are strangers or souls passing like ships in the mist, I will find you.

I will be the whisper in the grass. The hand that brushes yours in a crowded street. The breathless laugh you hear in the wind just before you wake.

And even if you do not remember me. Even if the world tries to make you forget.

I will remember. Always, I will remember.

You are stitched into the seams of my heart. You are written into the marrow of my bones. You are the first thing, and you will be the last.

I loved you when I did not yet know the name for it. I love you now, when the world says I should not. And I will love you still, long after the earth forgets our footprints.

Blood of my blood,

Yours forever,

Y/N

a/n: Y'all I'm sorry for this one, I really am. Also, I fear I have missed my calling as a poet

#jamie fraser x reader #jamie fraser fanfic #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser imagine #jamie fraser x you

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ladyviolethummingbird · 2 years ago

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The Gloaming - Chapter 6 preview 🏰

Ch 6: Madame Beauchamp

Feeling at a loose end after supper that evening Jamie made his way to the library. As Joe had promised, the library at Wolverton Hall was indeed an extensive one and having finished re-reading his favourite book Robinson Crusoe, Jamie was looking for something new to discover. Access to reading materials at the workhouse had been quite limited (even more so at the blacksmith’s) and he relished being able to wander the shelves and choose from vast numbers of books on a myriad of different topics. He ran a finger along the leather-bound spines as he considered his options before pulling out Candide by Voltaire and began thumbing through.

“I didn’t know you spoke French, Mr Fraser?”

The tips of his ears pinking, Jamie whirled around to see Lady Randall standing not two feet away. If she was annoyed to find someone interrupting the solitude of her library she didn’t show it. In fact, she looked decidedly pleased to see him. Eyes sparkling in the lamplight, she motioned to the book in his hands with a smile.

“I confess my French isn’t much. I’ve been trying to teach myself but when one has to stop every fourth word to look it up its meaning in the dictionary I’m afraid it’s rather slow going”

Jamie was silent a moment, unused to this convivial tone from her. It was completely unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.

“My father taught me, I think he’d planned for me to attend university in France one day”

“Your father was French?”

With a tone of of mock-outrage at the suggestion, Jamie explained that his father Brian had been Scots through-and-through but that he - like Jamie, was something of a polyglot. In addition to French and English, they also spoke Gàidhlig in his childhood home.

“Well I shall know who to come to next time I find a passage en français I can’t make heads nor tails of then”

She smiled again, revealing straight white teeth. As he took her in, Jamie swallowed, trying not to let his surprise show too much. Gone was the closed-off stance of their first meeting, replaced with a welcoming expression that he suddenly realised he’d been craving for weeks. Dare he push his luck and attempt to continue their conversation? Reasoning he might not get this chance again, he decided to press on.

Catch up on chapters 1-5 here

#outlander #outlander fanfic #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #the gloaming #preview

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bee-kathony · 6 years ago

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Kneading Love | Ch. 4 “Simple”

a/n: thank you so much for reading! now, I know this story has an “M” rating on ao3 and it’s pretty G-rated right now. spoiler alert: that will all change verra soon ;) I hope you enjoy another chapter and as always, thank you @julesbeauchamp for the moodboard!

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

In all his twenty-five years of living, Jamie had never brought home a lass. There was never anyone he was serious about, and the last time he even had feelings for a girl was when he stayed with his uncles before the war. He’d been young and foolish, sleeping with the granddaughter of the cook and thinking that he was a man.

He was a boy then, a very stupid boy, but now he was a man. A man who was hopelessly in love with Claire Beauchamp, even if she didn’t know it yet. He only wished his father were still alive to meet her. It was his father, Brian, who told him that when he found the girl he was going to marry, he would know right then and there. With Claire, it was instantaneous.

His mother, Ellen, was in her early fifties, but looked much younger. She had red hair much like Jamie’s, but it was fading now to a more sandy color. Ellen Fraser was a gentle woman, but she was also fierce and stubborn, just like her children.

Jamie and Claire had finished the hot cross buns and locked up the shop. Now, they were walking through the door of Jamie’s childhood home, Lallybroch. Upon first seeing the old stone house, Claire had gasped and commented on how beautiful it was. Jamie took pride in his heritage and he was glad to be sharing it with her.

“Are you sure your mother won’t mind me joining for dinner?” Claire asked for the second time as they stood in the entrance.

“Aye, dinna fash, Sassenach,” Jamie grinned. “She loves company, and I ken she’ll love ye.”

A moment later, his sister came in from the kitchen, a red apron tied around her waist. When she spotted Claire next to Jamie, her eyes went wide.

“There ye are, Jamie. I thought ye’d never make it back,” she smirked. “And it looks like we have company. Tis good to see ye again so soon, Claire. I’ll just go and tell mam.”

“I really don’t want to impose, Jamie,” Claire said softly and to calm her, Jamie grabbed her hand and squeezed.

“After we eat, I’ll give ye the grand tour of the place. But, by now I’m sure Jenny’s told my mam yer here, so there’s no point in keepin’ her waitin’,” Jamie grinned and led Claire through the wide living room and through a door that opened to a long corridor. The smells coming from the kitchen made Jamie’s stomach grumble and he realized he hadn’t eaten lunch.

“Hello mam,” Jamie said as they stood in the doorway. Ellen turned around from the oven, placing a hot dish on the counter nearby. Her face lit up, as it always did when she saw her son. Then, her eyes darted to Claire, taking in the woman Jamie had brought home.

“This is Claire Beauchamp,” he said nervously. “I’ve asked her to join us for dinner, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course it is, lad,” Ellen smiled warmly and came around the table in front of them. Expecting a handshake, Claire stuck her hand out in front of her, but Ellen wrapped her strong arms around her and held her close. “We hug in this family, Claire. I’m verra pleased to meet ye.”

“As am I,” Claire smiled. “Your home is so lovely, and it smells wonderful in here. Is there anything I can do to help? I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything on such short notice.”

“Och, dinna fash, lass. Yer our guest and besides, dinner is ready!” Ellen smiled and took Claire’s arm from Jamie, showing her to the table. Jamie couldn’t help but laugh; his mother was protective and it seemed she had now taken Claire under her wing.

“I’m sure Jamie willna like me sayin’ this, but he’s mentioned ye a few times, Claire,” Ellen said with a certain twinkle in her eye as they all sat down at the table. “He said ye moved here not too long ago from London, was it?”

“Yes,” Claire cleared her throat. “I wanted a fresh start after the war and I thought what better place than the Highlands!”

As they chatted, food was passed around the table. It was Jamie’s favorite, rabbit stew with all the vegetables they grew in their garden. He was so hungry that he ended up stuffing his mouth and let his mam do all the talking.

“I’ve lived in Scotland all my life,” Ellen said to Claire. “I moved to this verra house wi’ Jamie and Jenny’s father almost thirty years ago!”

“Jamie’s told me about his father,” Claire reached for Ellen’s hand, squeezing lightly. “He sounded like a really wonderful man.”

“Aye, he was,” Jenny smiled softly, remembering. Jamie wished more than anything that his father could be here now to meet Claire, to offer him advice in the ways of the heart.

“And where are yer parents, Claire?” Ellen asked.

Jamie had wondered the very same question. On their picnic, they had spent a lot of time talking about Jamie’s family, and had never got around to Claire’s. What Claire said next shocked him, and made him want to hold her in his arms.

“They died when I was young,” Claire said softly, looking down at her hands on her lap. “I barely remember them. I lived with my Uncle Lamb up until a few years ago when he passed away during the war. I suppose I’m an orphan now.”

“Oh lass,” Ellen’s hand wrapped around Claire’s shoulder, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m verra sorry to hear that. Losin’ the ones ye love can bring such pain. Sadly, I ken that all too well.”

Claire’s eyes met Jamie’s across the table and he gave her a smile, receiving a small one in return. While he loved that his mother was getting along so well with Claire, what he really wanted was to get her alone.

“I’m so glad that ye’ve moved here, dear,” Ellen smiled and Jenny nodded in agreement. “It’s always nice to meet new faces.”

“I canna wait until yer wee shop is open too,” Jenny grinned. “I can just see it now — all the flowers and herbs lighting up the place, it’ll be just bonny.”

“With Jamie’s help, the place will be almost finished,” Claire smiled. “A fresh coat of paint, and some finishing touches and I’ll be open for business!”

“We’ll be first in line,” Ellen smiled, clapping her hands together and then she rose from the table. “I’ll clean up. Jenny would ye mind helpin’ me?”

“Aye, mam,” Jenny smirked at Jamie as she stood from the table.

Finally, what Jamie had been waiting for since the moment they arrived — a chance to be alone with Claire again.

“I’m goin’ to show Claire the rest of the house, and then I’ll walk her home. Thank ye for dinner mam, twas delicious,” he kissed his mother on the cheek and then ruffled his sister’s hair against her protests. “Come wi’ me,” he grabbed Claire’s hand, leading her back out to the living room.

They walked in silence as he led her up the stairs. He felt a tug on his hand and looked behind him to see Claire stopped at a painting. Jamie’s heart sank as he realized which painting she was looking at.

“Who’s the other little boy?” Claire asked, pointing at the painting. It was of Jamie and his older brother Willie and their dog. It was obvious which one was Jamie — red flaming hair, blue determined eyes and a stubborn smirk on his face.

“That’s my brother… Willie,” Jamie said as he stood next to Claire, his hand brushing against hers. “He died just a few years after this painting was done. Twas the measles, and not even a week later he was gone.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire grabbed his hand, wishing she could offer enough comfort in this simple hand gesture. She knew what loss felt like — the numbness that washed over you and clouded everything else. The pain that hit you out of nowhere when something reminded you of the ones you had lost. Yes, Claire knew all too well what grief was like and she saw it now reflected in Jamie’s eyes.

“He was goin’ to take over my father’s bakery,” Jamie said. “He was properly trained, and even after he died, I pursued my studies as ye ken to become a teacher. But after my father… I knew what I had to do.”

“Even in all that pain,” Claire reached up and cupped his cheek, wiping away a few tears that had begun to fall. “You found joy in baking and by doing it you’re keeping your father and your brother’s memory alive. They would be so proud of you… no matter what you do with your life.”

Jamie leaned forward and rested his forehead against Claire’s, feeling safe in her presence. Like he really could accomplish everything he set out to do, and he knew with Claire by his side, anything was possible. In the short time they had known each other, he had grown accustomed to the way she made him feel — invincible.

“I want to show ye something,” he said softly and tugged on her hand, pulling her after him down the hallway. He opened the door to their library — walls covered with books piled high. But what he really wanted to show her was out the window.

“Look,” he said and positioned her in front of him. The view from this spot of the house was breathtaking. The sun was setting over the horizon, just on the edge of the moor and it made the land all around it glow.

“This is stunning,” Claire said, feeling breathless. “I can see your garden out back, and all the trees for miles.” She looked up at Jamie, feeling that same breathless feeling. “I’ve only been in this country a short time, but already, I’m falling in love with it.”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed, his finger coming to rest under her chin. “It’s a good place to fall in love, Sassenach.” He leaned down and sealed their lips, smiling as he felt Claire’s hands wrap around his waist.

++++++

A few days later, once the rush of Easter was gone, Claire was standing in the middle of her shop, waiting for Jamie to arrive. They were going to attempt to paint the interior white, which was the opposite of what it was now — a dark, and depressing brown. Claire was hoping that the white would brighten the place up and also be a blank background to showcase all of her colorful flowers.

She’d been pacing all morning. Her nerves were shot and that was only because of Jamie. Meeting his mother and seeing his family home had been one of the most pleasant experiences Claire had ever had. Since she was all alone now, she desperately missed having a family to go to. She felt accepted by Jamie’s family, and she felt loved, even in such a short amount of time.

Moving to Inverness had been the best decision Claire had ever made. In the time she had been here, her nightmares from the war had nearly ceased. Most nights, she slept peacefully, and rarely did she wake in a cold sweat, afraid that at any minute a bomb would drop. There was a peace here in Scotland.

Claire had spent far too long deciding what to wear this morning, and had settled on an older pair of overalls and an already paint stained white shirt. Her hair was tied back with a bandana she had set out all the tools they would need for the day.

Several cans of white paint, roller brushes, small brushes for the base and corners and tarps to protect the floor. Now all that was missing was Jamie.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, a soft knock came from the front door and Claire turned to see Jamie coming in, the small bell overhead ringing.

“Good morning, Sassenach,” Jamie smiled brightly. In his arms, he was carrying a brown paper bag and based on just the smell alone, Claire knew it would be delicious. “I’ve brought us breakfast, I dinna ken if ye’ve eaten or no.”

“Oh, I haven’t!” Claire walked over to the bag to inspect it’s contents. Inside were croissants, and an assortment of other pastries that would last them the day, if not several days. “I don’t usually eat breakfast, but I think I can make an exception today.”

“Ye dinna eat breakfast?!” Jamie asked, astounded that someone would skip the most important meal of the day. “How do ye no’ eat breakfast, Claire?”

Shrugging and reaching into the bag, Claire pulled out what was a cheese danish and took a large bite. “I just never feel hungry in the mornings,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed.

“I could eat bowls and bowls of parritch in the mornings,” Jamie replied. “And… I do!”

“Parritch,” Claire said, taking another bite. “That doesn’t exactly sound too appealing, but I like this just fine.”

“Thank ye,” he grinned shyly and reached up to brush a crumb off the side of her cheek. “I do have to tell ye that my mam hasna stopped talkin’ about ye since ye came for dinner the other night. She loves ye and expects ye to come around more often.”

“Really?” Claire felt herself blushing, a warmth spreading through her. “Well, I’d love to if the offer ever presents itself,” she smiled up at him.

Jamie stood there, his fingers itching to reach up and take her face between both her hands and kiss her. But he refrained and instead tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Ye can come have dinner wi’ us every night if it suits ye, Sassenach.”

Finishing the last bite of her danish, Claire grinned and turned away from Jamie to show him the paint.

“Now, I realize it would have been much easier to paint when there was nothing in here,” Claire waved her hands around at the shop. “But, if we’re careful and not flinging paint around, I think we can manage.”

“Seems easy enough,” Jamie said, taking in the room. It was a medium sized room, and hopefully would take them just the one day for two coats of paint. “Are ye still plannin’ on paintin’ the outside too?”

“Yes,” Claire nodded. “But, obviously we won’t have time for that today, and I understand if you need to get back to your bakery so I won’t be hurt if you can’t come back this week and help with that.”

“I’ll help ye,” Jamie said. “Jenny can mind the shop for awhile.”

Before they could get started, Claire went over to her record player that was set up near the front counter and dropped the needle on her most recent record of jazz. The bright sounds of the trumpet and saxophone filled the room and Claire bounced back over to Jamie.

“Shall we get started?”

They both picked up a roller and dipped it in the paint. Hours and two coats of paint later, the flower shop looked brand new — at least on the inside.

“It really does look so much better,” Claire smiled, leaning up against the only non-painted item in the room.

Jamie set his brush down, careful to not spill the half full bucket and came to stand next to Claire. He was sad that the job was done, because that meant that it was time to part from Claire. As he looked over at her, he noticed she had flecks of paint all over her face.

“You’ve got paint all over ye, a nighean,” Jamie laughed and tried to wipe, but the paint was already dry. “Ye’ll have to scrub good tonight.”

Claire touched her own face, feeling the flecks of paint. “Is it in my hair too?”

Jamie ran his fingers slowly through her hair, touching the curls and never wanting to let go. “Nah, yer hair is safe.”

“Thank God for small mercies,” she laughed. “While you’re here, there is something out in the greenhouse I need help lifting, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course!”

As they walked outside to the greenhouse, Claire noted that the sun was starting to go down. And with the way her stomach was growling, it was also time to find something to eat.

“There’s a bench in the corner that I want to move and place just outside, but it’s so damn heavy.”

“Dinna fash,” Jamie said and walked over to the large wooden bench. Claire was in the process of joining him so she could help him lift it, but by the time she reached the corner, Jamie was already lifting it off the ground.

“Christ,” she muttered under her breath. His muscles flexed and Claire felt no shame in admiring the ease at which he lifted the bench.

“Just over here then?” He asked, not even sounding out of breath.

“Yes, just there against the outside of the wall,” Claire pointed. He set it down, adjusting it to the perfect spot.

“Let’s test it out, shall we?” Jamie plopped down onto the bench, leaving enough room for Claire to join. “I’ve had fun wi’ ye today, Claire.”

“I can’t thank you enough for helping me today. I don’t even know how long it would’ve taken if it was just me on my own,” she said. Their knees brushed against one another, and Claire felt the tension return.

Jamie angled his body towards her, taking her hand between his. So far, they had kissed several times, but neither had had the courage to say what they were feeling. It was clear that something was happening between them, but what exactly, Jamie wasn’t sure.

“Sassenach,” Jamie rubbed his fingers over the back of her hand. “I ken tis no’ a secret that I have feelings for you.”

Claire felt her stomach twist at this admission. For weeks, she had been wanting to say something. And ever since their kiss at the bakery last week, it became clear it was mutual.

“I think about ye all the time,” he said softly, all while holding her hand. “Ever since I fell of my bike and met ye. When I kissed ye…”

“I felt it too,” Claire said quickly. “To be honest, I was afraid of my own feelings. How quickly they seemed to happen, but I’ve enjoyed every minute we’ve spent together.”

“God, I want to kiss ye,” Jamie smiled lopsidedly. His hand cupped her cheek and she leaned against it.

“I want you to,” she admitted. “Please.”

Sitting on a bench in her garden, Claire and Jamie kissed, this time knowing exactly what it meant. It wasn’t rushed — it was perfect and simple, and suddenly everything fell into place.

#kneading love #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #outlander #outlander fanfiction #chapter 4 #simple #kinda don't like this chapter tbh but that's what i get for procrastinating and writing most of it the night before I post. oh well #it is what it is #still cute

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thebrochtuarachs · 7 years ago

Text

Arranged: Chapter 2

Modern AU. Set in 2018. Where Claire and Jamie are arranged to be married.

CH: 1

AO3

CHAPTER 2: The Explanation

Claire

“Papa, Mama, can I talk to you in private.” Claire said with a dead tone as she motioned towards the living room, hoping it was far enough to quiet her impending outburst.

“Excuse us” Henry said as all three stood up, set down their wine glasses and left the Frasers in the dining room to surely have a discussion of their own. When Claire locked the door behind them, she turned to her parents and gave them the sternest look she could muster in her life.

“You can’t possibly think that I would agree to this…arrangement?! Who do you think you are to marry me off to some guy? – “

“Darling, I don’t think Jamie is some guy - “ Henry retorted.

“I am speaking and you can talk when I am finished!” Claire huffed back angrily. “This is not the bloody 18th century! I am not some type of property you can buy and sell to whoever asked first? I am my own person, with my own ideas, with my own intelligence and I can bloody well find a fine, young and remarkable man, who I will CHOOSE to spend the rest of my life with, perfect well.” Claire was pacing back and forth the room, contemplating the next sentences she’ll say.

“Did you not ask me once if I have suitors of my own? Because let me tell you, I’ve had tons of them since I was in high school! I can have any man I want and have them grasping from the palm of my hand!” Claire continued her rambunctious speech. This was not like her but this inner fury inside her made her such.

“Also, did you have to announce it during the dinner? Why not just tell me there was THIS plan before? Maybe I could’ve refused then rather than now - not like this because I swear I am not slightly embarrassed to make a fucking scene” Claire huffed then stopped pacing. She walked closer to her parents, stood in front of them and looked them straight in the eyes. “I will not marry James Fraser, in any way, shape or form. Do you hear me? If you so much as to trick me into it, I will leave this place and you’ll never hear from me ever again” Claire knew it was a tad overboard but she was really angry.

Her parents looked at each other, having a silent conversation of their own Claire’s eyes softened a bit and darted to and from her mother and father, willing them to give her a viable explanation. “Mama, Papa, why are you doing this? What is going on?” Her parents just continued to look at each other and then to her then back to each other.

“Tell me, god damn it!!!

“It’ll be good for the business and the company” her father blurted out.

“So, that’s it?! This arranged marriage is a business merger?? Can you not do it without me getting hitched?!”

“We need to protect our assets and this is the best way how – this is for your own good and the family’s as well” Henry explained defiantly.

“Also, we like him and we want him for you” her mother tried back.

“That is not your choice to make! This is my life!” Claire hated that she sounded like a whiny teenager but she needed to stand her ground if there is a way of getting out of this crazy idea. “I worked so hard, to study, to be a woman of my choosing – ”

“Protecting and continuing the family legacy is what we’ve instilled in you since you were young. This is just stepping into that role.” Her father said steadily. This standoff is shifting its balance and its not in Claire’s favor.

“I know very well the role I have in this family and I take that very seriously. Uncle Lamb’s legacy means the world to me too.”

“Then this arrangement should be of no problem to you.” Henry said sternly. “And Jamie is a fine, young man, a close friend of the family’s, we approve of him – it is the perfect situation for all of us.”

Claire was dumbfounded by what her father just said. She couldn’t think and just barely managed to move from where she stood. When the words finally sink in, she shook her head then composed herself then continued to battle her parents on.

Jamie

“I suppose ye have questions” Brian started, filling the silence that was occupied by the ticking of the clock.

“Ye think?” Jamie snorted back. “I just come back after a six-month trip, suddenly invited to a dinner with my family and friends, and then this announcement?”

Brian looked at Ellen and with her nod, he took a deep breath before speaking.

“Lad, we kent why you suddenly went on this wee trip and it was not just to find some new authors. It’s to prove yourself successful in your own way not for us but for Claire.”

Jamie flinched at his parents. Nobody knew that. Nobody knew he liked Claire. Nobody knew she was the reason he left. Nobody knew that he was trying to prove something. Nobody. He told no one and yet, his parents have known all along.

With his shocked look, her mother continued the story. “Janet saw you try to approach Claire in uni but when you saw him with, what’s his name, oh, Frank Randall, a PhD Student, accomplished man, we knew you had to try and at least make yourself a contender for her heart.” Ellen explained to his gaping son. “You wanted to be your own man, make and do something that is yours.”

“We’ve always known you liked Claire growing up and we also knew you were too respectful of her dreams to try and ruin it” Brian chimed back in.

“Then why are you doing this now?” Jamie said, hopelessly embarrassed that he even tried to keep it a secret.

“Ye ken the Randalls, aye?” Brian stressed. “Claire doesn’t know that her parents know that she and Frank been secretly seeing each other this past month. Naturally, they did some digging and background check, and found a lot of red flags in their family as well as in Frank. Aside from his family having shady business dealings, we believe he’s wooing her to get access to her ancestor’s, Lambert Beauchamp’s, original notebooks, records, books, etc. for his dissertation. It will not be good for her nor to anyone. We need to protect her.” His father insisted.

“Why not just tell Claire all these?” Jamie fired back. True, he wanted Claire but not like this. He did not work hard just to be handed something he didn’t earn. He was a better man than that and his parents must know that.

“Do you think she’ll approve to know that her parents, technically, broke a lot of privacy protocols to know what they know? No. She’ll be more livid and she’ll run straight to Frank just to prove a point. You know how stubborn she can be?” Jamie knew and he wouldn’t be surprised if Claire went off and ran away with him, maybe, even marry him, just out of her spite. Claire was a careful lass when it comes to her dreams but was impulsive when someone tries to dictate her life.

“And this is a better alternative?” Jamie reasoned.

“Aye, at least, there’s a reason to keep an eye on her or for you to keep an eye on her” Brian answered back.

“By deceiving her, lying to her?” Brian and Ellen shrugged in resignation. They knew the weight of the burden they’re asking Jamie to carry but if they could think of any other way, they’d do it in a heartbeat. “What do you expect this arrangement will accomplish?” Jamie couldn’t help but ask. Despite the weirdness of the situation, he was rather curious.

“Well, we went far as keeping Claire out of the Randalls and for you, I guess, finally having a chance to court her?” Ellen said, breaking the information.

Jamie sinked down to his chair and ran his fingers in his hair. This was too complicated, too archaic, too messed up and just too…much. “Da, don’t you think I can do that on my own?”

“I know ye can but the situation kind of forced it now.”

They can still hear Claire’s faint screaming from the other room as she continued to barrage her parents with questions.

“What do you expect me to say to Claire?”

“That they leave to you. She’s probably too angry at them to believe a word they will say but they ask that you leave the shady business behind first until they can look at it further.”

Jamie nodded in understanding but still, the fact is, they’ve trampled themselves in some sort of tricky situation.

“She will never forgive me for this if she knew the truth. I know it” Jaime said, defeated, but Claire’s safety comes first.

Brian placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder in support. “If your feelings are as true as you know them to be, then hopefully – hopefully, she’ll come around”

“I can perfectly protect the family business even as a doctor! I don’t need a husband to do that for me!”

Jamie could still hear Claire argue with her parents but they’ve been there long enough and the night needed to end. After his talk with his parents, and with the sudden revelation of his true feelings, it was a no-brainer that Jamie was in this plan now. However, he would not still allow for this “engagement” to Claire be the thing that gets them together – he doesn’t want it that way and she probably doesn’t want it that way either. He wanted her and he wanted to earn her trust and love – not through this forced arrangement.

So, he focused at the task at hand: Keep Claire away from the Randalls – this is priority #1. He’s almost sure Henry and Julia conjured up an improbable reason and he decided to just go and run with whatever reason they built. He doesn’t know it yet but once it comes up, it’s his turn to continue with the story. He’s works in publishing, surely he can come up with one fast?

He ran his hands through his face and hair to prepare himself then Jamie knocked on the door to interrupt the Beauchamp’s.

“What?!” Claire retorted forcefully. She was nowhere near done with her parents.

“It’s Jamie.” he heard shuffling on the other side and the door swung open.

Instead of addressing Claire, he turned to her parents. “Uncle Henry, Aunt Julia, would you mind giving the room to me and Claire?”

“Jamie, I am not done speaking - “ she tried to stop them but they were out the door and Jamie closed it behind him.

“You seriously cannot agree to this!” Claire began pacing again.

“I don’t” he said calmly, rooted in where he stood.

“Then let’s tell them that nothing going to happen! They can’t dictate our lives like this! Get married?! Did they even think for once that we might have prospects of our own, that we want to choose who spend the rest of our lives with?” Claire was rambling, explaining away the reasons this arrangement was ridiculous.

“Claire, you know your parents and you know mine. They wouldn’t do this if there was no valid reason.”

“And you think this business merger is a valid, ENOUGH reason?”

So that is what they told her. Jamie decided to just run with it.

“No, not enough.” he said, playing along with the ruse.

“Then someone tell me more because I am left out in the dark here”

“So am I.” he lied. “But I have an idea - but you won’t like it”

“As long as it does not lead to the altar, I’m open”

“Well, ye and I dinna ken the bottomline of this setup. I thought if we investigated for ourselves and find out how this all came to be, maybe we can catch their intention and stop it there”

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Claire asked, brows furrowing.

“Ye got any other ideas?”

“Yeah, shove “no” into their faces”

Jamie had to laugh at that remark then turned serious. “And when ye do that, they’ll force our hand by making an announcement to the media and then breaking the engagement off will be harder to do. It’ll be a scandal to both our families.” Jamie said as if knowing that’s exactly what their parents are going to do. “That is when everything can be lost”

Claire sat down, tired and resigned. “So what, we just engaged, just like that?”

He moved and sat beside her, not touching but close enough to radiate enough trust in what they're about to embark on. “Ye ken the theater? We can just make them believe we are running along with it. All the while, we can hitch our own plan and find a way to let this die as quietly as possible”

“Pretend we’re engaged? You know I’m a bad actor” she said and Jamie nodded in agreement. “Ye are.” Claire laughed in return then looked at Jamie - her childhood friend turned fake-engaged fiancé?

“As long as there are no other viable plans, I agree to give it a go. Now, what happens next?” she asked.

Both came out of the study and walked towards their parents who were having a deep conversation of their own. Sensing their children, all four turned to them in anticipation.

“We have come to a decision” Jamie began. Their parents sat straighter in wait. “We have agreed to this arrangement” He put his hand up to stop them from rejoicing and they immediately backed down. “However, we have conditions. Break one of them and we break this off” Jamie took charge and Claire silently stood beside him in support and solidarity.

“First, no announcements shall be made to the media of any kind – newspaper, internet, all types.”

“Second, you cannot tell anyone else in our family – not Jenny, Willie or Rabbie. Only the six of us will know until we’re ready to tell them ourselves.”

“Third, we will decide when and where to get married. No questions as pertaining the details of the…wedding…that is to come may be asked in the duration of this engagement”

The words falling out of Jamie's lips felt foreign to him but he needed to be strong for this - he can be strong for this, for Claire. He looked straight in the eyes of all their parents and let them know how hard this is for him and what he received in return was a look that said that they understood and they were grateful.

“Is that all?” Henry asked and both nodded. He then looked to his wife, then to the Frasers, and then to Claire and Jamie. “If that’s all then, we agree to your conditions” The four parents rose and gave their children hugs and everyone resumed the night as if everything was okay and nothing crazy happened at all.

A/N: First, I am so sorry this chapter took a while to come around. I knew the story in my head a while back but putting them down on paper has put me in a little writer's block. But I just took a social media break and had a little bit more creative space to push this through. :) I'm not a super angsty person so apologies if the angst isn't all that much but I really tried! :) So excited that I get to push this story along now - and yes, in this story, the Randalls are really shady, douchy, people. So Frank fans, sorry in advance! As always, comments and suggestions are always welcome. Your messages mean a lot! <3 #Chapter3HereWeCome

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #personal #arranged au #arranged #jamie fraser #claire fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie x claire #modern au

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