#outlanderfanfiction

[treasurethelittlethings]

MAKE IT WORK - JAMIE X CLAIRE

Chapter 30 is now live: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31022585/chapters/87841183

Single Da Jamie Fraser and single mother Claire Beauchamp, are thrown together by the fate of the universe - meeting for the first time in the Headmaster’s office...

Will they be able to stay away from one another?

Or, alternatively - Your child punched mine in the face and now we’ve both been called to the Headmaster’s office. I wanted to be angry at ye, but ye’re bairns actually quite sweet and ye’re fit as fuck.

[snowscharmings]

Take Me Home (Outlander Fic)

Just wrote my first Outlander story inspired by a rewatch! Thought I’d share it on here and see what everyone thinks! I’ve linked the story on AO3 (where i’ve originally posted it) below! 

A03 

****************************

Chapter One:

Jamie had remembered the various times Claire had mentioned about advances in her time. They would lay together, his hands brushing through the whips of her curls that didn’t fall easily behind her ears and listening to all of her wonderful stories... imaginative ideas and revelations of what amazing things were to come.

He didn’t scare easy, nor was he thrilled by the thought of his world disappearing as quickly as it would, but he knew it was for the best. Time had a way of changing and carrying on no matter what anyone wanted. Despite his own fears he couldn’t help but notice the glimmer of hope that appeared whenever she spoke of the future. 

They often laughed, as Jamie would defend the idea of horses being the perfectly reliable transport method, many a horse had gotten him through the years he reminded her. Claire immediately brought up cars in her defense explaining the speed and the mechanics the best she could. It wasn’t til now she even really thought about them as being a magnificent change of the future. Though she wouldn’t have gotten to explore the Scottish highlands without one. There’s no way she would have gone back to look at those flowers at Craigh na Dun if it hadn’t been for speedy transport option available to her. 

“That’s how I got to the stones... in a car” she explained. One of the many times they’d spoken of their first encounter. Her head was neatly resting in the crook of his neck, his embrace welcoming her like it always did so perfectly.

“A car?” He frowned causing his accent to exaggerate and prolong the “rrr” sound reminding her of a pirate.

She nodded. “It’s like an…umm…” she tried to think of the right description. So many things in her time existed, yet she understood for Jamie these may seem hard to comprehend yet alone explains rationally. “A horse but it’s a kind of machine that is quicker than a horse…” she stumbled on her own words, seeing his face show even more confusion than before, so she began to describe what material they can be made out of, the speeds they go, the colours, everything she could imagine in her mind to help paint a realistic image for him.

“Why not just use a horse, if it’s practically a horse?” James Fraser said as boldly as he dared.

Claire smiled, pushing her hand softly into his chest; the smile appearing on his face confirmed he was winding her up, as usual. She softened her hand and rubbed up and down his stomach, pulling her body closer to his.

“Horses aren’t really used that much as time goes on… thanks to the industrial revolution” she resisted adding in the last part but she’d promised after being framed and tried as a witch she’d always be honest and this was part of it. If she knew something she wanted him to know, to understand to grasp a better sense of the reality she was already immersed in.

“I see” was all he replied. Claire knew not to press the matter anymore. He must have understood enough as he nodded, unsurely, but he still nodded.

So when he saw one approaching with great speed he had an idea straight away he might know what it was. Well, at least he assumed. It was a similar shape and structure to what Claire had described, the best she could as lass and with little interest for the machines. It stopped almost suddenly, the tyres skidding on the gravel road and without a word a man appeared from inside, hovering shakingly besides the door.  

“I almost hit you!” the middle aged man declared, screaming his words into the road. It was a mix of shock and fear. There was no other cars around nor would their be for a while. These parts of the highlands were often secluded, with only haunted souls remaining. So bumping into a man and what appeared to be another person wasn’t what he had expected on his afternoon drive.

“Aye” Jamie replied. His strong accent appearing through more with each sound he made. He turned and picked up his fragile wife in his arms, her body lifeless and cold. He had used his arms to tightly secure her as much as he could against his chest, to shield her from the harsh cold air.

The man stepped back, slightly unprepared for what had been brought before him. He hadn’t been on the front and wasn’t use to the slight of body unlike many of his friends and neighbours. He looked at the man in front of him judging whether or not he was the reason this lady was in his arms or the one who saved her.

“I... I need ye help…” James Fraser begged. His voice breaking at the realisation his wife was in this position, that his own causes had been the catalyst for why his wife was in his arms not stood proudly besides him showing him her land… her time. God he needed her here right now, she’d be able calm his fears instantly.

The man gulped and nodded. Through his own judgment he knew the sad eyes like the scot in front of him. The pain was leaking out like waves of gas. He quickly returned to his automobile and opening the doors to the back of the machine. “Put her in here. We’ll take her to the hospital. It’s not too far” he declared, wasting no time and getting quickly into the front of the device and turning the rounded shape object he was holding on to so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

“Hospital” Jamie spoke quietly to himself, looking down at his Sassenach. He brushed the stray hairs from her face, holding his hand over cheek to cup her delicate chin. She had spoken of them regularly on the battlefield, explaining it was what she had been trying to set up and create to tend to the wounded. A hospital he thought to himself. If only she was awake to him talk so confidently of words he had not yet seen or experienced but had learnt through her wisdom and grace. Aye, she’d indeed probably be proud of him.

[mamandisla]

Hi, everyone! Been awhile since I've braved tumblr but I started writing fanfiction again and would love to share with anyone interested. Currently, I have one in the works for The Last Kingdom (Finan/OC pairing) but I've got several ideas for others (Outlander and Game of Thrones). Feel free to submit ideas or themes you'd enjoy reading.

[black-kitten-imagines]

Masterlist

I was inspired by the lovely @padfootagain and her Masterlist. Go check her out! Her fanfictions are amazing.

None of these images belong to me.

Jughead

Fight with a Snake

Lost and Found Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sweet Pea

Bruised

Aramis

Just a casual affair

Strong and Desirable

An unforeseen rescue

The Seductive Power of an Honest Man

Will Scarlett

Rescue in a Heartbeat

Tincke

Still Standing

Floki

Ale and Dares

Louis Condé

Looking for a man

Five Hargreeves

The Fifth Musketeer

Monroe

Scary on the Outside but Soft on the Inside

Jamie Fraser

Scot in shining armour

[monisse]

These Raging Minds (I)

Pairing: Brianna / Roger Spoilers: Missing scene from sometime after Roger returns to Brianna in Drums of Autumn (or season four) Summary: Roger learned, not long after he returned, that he shared a bed not only with Brianna, but with her nightmares as well.  

There was a sudden shift in the mattress beneath him, imperceptible at first, but growing in intensity as time went on, all the while accompanied by creaks from the worn wood bedframe. Unable to ignore it for much longer, Roger opened his eyes and attempted to blink away the fog of sleep. It was the middle of the night when the echoes of danger loomed in the wilderness and the wind rustled through the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded the cabin. In contrast, inside the room was quiet, with its corners bathed in darkness and only a silver beam of moonlight that traversed the closest window and landed on the floor between bed and crib, casting long haunting shadows on the walls. The shift in the static of the air was palpable, that eerie electric feeling at the surface of one’s skin that warned of something amiss.

The source of the abrupt awakening was behind him, so Roger tried to turn slowly, but the calculated maneuver of his larger weight only added to the creaks of the bed. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light he was rewarded with the restless form of his wife.

Brianna trembled and whimpered, lost in the darkness of her own mind and so far below the surface of consciousness that not even the invading moonlight could reach her. In their short time together, such devastating sight had already become familiar to him and it pressed once more on that deep wound in his heart that refused to heal.

At least she was not being vocal, meaning it was not as vivid as usual. In his yet slight understanding of her complex mind, he knew the lucid ones were the worst, they lingered far beyond awakening and weighed on her shoulders, quite literally bending her unusually straight posture, for the remaining of the day. Those were also the ones that she still kept to herself, no matter how much he urged her to talk. It took a few frustrated attempts and persistence, but Roger had eventually learned how to ease her into reality.

He observed, perplexed, as Brianna tried to curl onto herself, willing her body to become as small as it could possibly be, even though it was a useless attempt for someone as tall as she was in the small space of their bed. At the same time, her eyes were shut tightly as if refusing to gaze upon the monster that roamed freely within her. Brianna seldom allowed weakness to be shown, and seeing her in the rawest state of vulnerability was somewhat shocking to him. And every time, it reminded Roger that he too bears a share of the blame for those twisted dreams, and not even time itself would erase that heavy burden for either of them.

When Brianna began sharing a bed with Roger, he soon realized he shared the same bed with her unconscious mind as well. Some dreams where only whispers of happy contentment which dissolved in the silence of the night, while others were filled with terror and made themselves known by means of desperate cries that vibrated on the surrounding walls.

In that moment instinct fueled his hands forward, hoping to bring her back from whatever convoluted place she was, but he hesitated just shy of actual touch. Roger had learned early on neither to hold her nor force her awake in these moments, for it only made her fight harder. And hard indeed she fought, with the urgent might of a scared animal, arms and legs moving aimlessly while trying to escape an entrapment fruit of her own plagued mind. And more often than not, Roger had been in the receiving end of a blindly aimed fist. Brianna would wake up terrified then, only to see a red mark somewhere on his face, which only added to her unfounded sense of shame. In many such occasions she had reassured him, with a voice laced with pseudo bravery, which he noticed right away, that it was not as bad since he had returned.

If this was not bad, he thought to himself as he watched beads of sweat forming in her forehead, then he dreaded to even imagine how it was before.

Roger moved closer, aware of their boundaries, and by her ear said word of reassurance mingled with her name, in whispers at first and then louder with the soothing cadence of a prayer. His fingertips brushed waves of red hair aside and lightly caressed pale cheeks, hoping that could be the lifeline that pulled her out of the abyss.

She then tensed for a split second, with muscles stiff with vibrating tension, and suddenly her body was in motion again, rising from the bed with a loud gasp. With the same momentum, Brianna pressed herself against the wall near the bed, desperate, while her fingers curled apparently ready to claw her way up and as far away as possible.

Even in the dim light, Roger followed her eyes, which moved wildly not yet able to distinguish dream from reality. They were opened so wide that their otherwise dark hue had transformed into cold blue. She breathed heavily, and Roger saw her breasts, round and heavy as only a new mother’s were, rise and fall underneath the flimsy white fabric of the shift. She looked ghostly pale in contrast, with all blood seemingly drained from her features. He did not dare to touch her, even though his hands itched to do so, for he sensed that her flesh was sensitive to touch, particularly the touch of a man. So, he kept a slight distance with open arms raised, both inviting and ready for her.

Their eyes finally locked, green against the blue he adored, and there was a spark of clarity in them that told Roger she had found a tangible anchor to reality. The remnants of pain slowly drifted away from her gaze with the first touches of consciousness.

With neither sign nor warning, she launched towards him and he caught her full weight in his arms. She was far from being a petite woman, and the full force of body and despair brought him over the edge of the bed and sent him flying backwards, Brianna and all, onto the floor.

Roger landed painfully on his back with a muffled grunt, still holding her firmly against his chest. In their short flight she had not stopped embracing him, but simply held to him seemingly moved by trust.

"Sorry.” She murmured softly with her lips brushing against the skin of his neck. Her voice betrayed exhaustion, still devoid of its usual fire.

"Nevermind that, hen." He whispered in her ear. “Are you alright?”

Her breath was still labored, with a heartbeat so strong that for a brief moment he feared her heart would rip through the skin and enter his own chest.

Brianna only nodded, voice not yet fully trusted, and buried her face deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder. Her shift was lightly damp from the exertion of the nightmare, and the heat from her skin slowly evaporated against the night air. And when he brushed light fingers along one bare shoulder, exposed by the shift, he felt goosebumps on her skin.

There was another whimper in the room and Roger immediately shifted his attention towards the crib. So did Brianna, that lifted her head acutely aware of the little presence as if he was a natural extension of her own body. The connection they shared was a powerful one, but he now understood that the strong pull the little boy had on him was already a force to be reckoned with.

However, she made no attempt to move, clearly assessing the needs of her child by sound alone, even with an exhausted mind. Only when the whimpers turned into a sigh, and the small bundle settled quietly among his own warmth, she allowed herself to rest her head in his chest once again.

He held her in place not inclined to move either. Out of habit he started softly humming the first notes of a song from a time yet to come, their time, so to transport her mind to a place where she did not know what abuse and pain truly meant.

Roger felt her body relax accompanied by a deep sigh, hopefully entering a dreamless state until morning. The time for words was long gone, since he knew well enough what sort of monsters roamed her mind in the dark. He was utterly powerless to contain the traumatic creations of her brain, and that was a fact he had to begrudgingly accept.

He only hoped that when they came, because they inevitably would, he could be there to catch her.

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth

Previous Chapters

NSFW 😘😘

Chapter 27

The drapes fluttered in the gentle evening breeze, allowing the cool air to bush faintly across her heated skin, and bathed the powerful form of her lover in soft, silvery moonlight. His dark eyes locked on hers, unguarded and swirling with his unbridled emotions. He held nothing back, she could see it all. His love, his need, his passion, his fears, they were all there, laid bare and choking her with her own overwhelming emotions.

She tightened her hold on his arm, feeling the ripple of his straining muscles beneath her fingers tips, as he rolled their hips together, guiding her gently, as he moved deep within the embrace of her body.

“Aah.”

Her cry was breathy and almost silent, but it was met with a low, erotic groan from Jamie, that coiled her inner muscles, and had lightening striking deep within her core. She was on fire, the flames burning low but bright, licked at her skin at every point of contact with his.

She felt his arm relax as he withdrew, sliding almost all the way out of her, brushing the tip of his cock against her g-spot, and making her convulse against him. He grunted quietly, and tightening his hold on her arse, he thrust slowly back in to the hilt, and circled his hips.

“Jamie, please.” She begged, as she closed her eyes and arched her body against his. He was keeping her teetering on the edge, teasing her with the slow, euphoric assent towards climax, but not giving her enough to send her flying off into oblivion. He was driving her to the brink of madness, and she never wanted the feeling to end, but she needed to come.

Desperately.

“Ssh. Open ye eyes.” He ordered quietly, as he eased himself out, and thrust back in. He circled his hips around and around and around, grinding against her clitoris, fanning the flames.

“I can’t…”

“Ye can. Look at me, mo gràdhag.”

A slave to his desires, she peeled her heavy eyes open and lost herself once again in the maelstrom of emotion that raged within him. They were a reflection of her own, and unable to contain them, she threaded her fingers through his hair and drew his lips to hers. They were warm and soft and she whimpered against them as he pulled back and thrust in deeper, hitting her cervix.

She tightened her leg around his waist, and rocked against him, needy and impatient. But he clamped his hand down, stilling her as he pulled out slowly, then slid back in, inch by glorious inch.

He was trying to kill her.

They’d spent the whole day taking, teasing and making love. There wasn’t a millimeter of her body that he hadn’t explored with his fingers, lips and tongue. He’d found every one of her erogenous zones, just as surely as she’d found his, and he’d studied them carefully. He knew exactly the effect each one had on her, and he was using it to his advantage.

Each of their explorations had started out light and teasing, and had ended in their frantic joining when it became too much, and they raced towards climax.

But not this time.

It was with soft kisses, and gentle touches that he’d woken her in the dead of the night. Nestled behind her, he’d let his hands and lips roam along the length of her body, as she’d writhed sleepily against him, and stroked her hand languidly along the length of his ridged cock. He’d brought her to the peak of orgasm over and over, never once letting her fall, before he’d turned her in his arms, hitched her leg, and slipped inside her.

His urgency from the afternoon had gone, this wasn’t a race, it was a slow, agonizing build up to a release so powerful that it was sure to consume them both.

Their kiss was as slow and deep as their love making, and they clung to each other, moaning softly, as their tongues mirrored the passionate movements of their hips. Not once breaking the kiss, she rolled their bodies, easing him back onto the bed until she was lying astride him, resting on her knees.

Finally in control, she lifted herself and slammed down against him. He grunted, and grasped her hips in his iron hands, holding her down, as he thrust up and up and up, forcing himself so deep that she was engulfed in painful pleasure.

“Jamie.”

“Ssh.” He breathed as he moved her body above him, flexing and rolling her in time with his gentle thrusts. “Ye no in control, lass.”

“Please…I need to come.” She begged trying to pick up the pace, and almost crying in frustration when he dug his fingers into her hips and steadied her movements.

“I ken, I can feel it.” He groaned, as he rolled them across the bed, and nestled himself firmly between her thighs. His arms threaded themselves under hers, and he gripped onto her shoulders, holding her tight as he continued his slow, torturous rhythm.

In and out, around and around, over and over, grinding against her as she wrapped her legs around him and met him thrust for thrust.

“I can fee ye quivering around me.” He murmured as he dragged his lips from her ear to the hollow of her throat, and back up again. Her head fell to the side, giving him room as his sucked and nibbled at her oversensitive skin. “Ye so wet, so hot, and swollen and tight.”

“God…please.”

“No yet.” He whispered almost silently against her ear. “I’m no done with ye yet.”

“Jamie I can’t…please.” She begged arching up against him as her toes curled and the world around her began to fade into nothingness. It was there, it was right there, white hot and burning her from the inside out. She couldn’t contain it, she didn’t want to contain it, and as his mouth moved lower, and his warm wet tongue swiped across her nipple, she imploded.

Her whole body convulsed under his, locking down and clamping tightly around his cock, as she pulsed and quivered and cried out incoherently. Wave after wave of euphoric pleasure rushed through her, and she was lost to everything except him, as he thrust against her harder, losing himself in her pleasure.

“Shit.” He grunted, as he dropped a hand to her arse and lifted her up against him. His head was buried in her shoulder and she could feel his restraint as he attempted to control his urge to take her roughly.

“Take me, Jamie.” She begged, as she trembled with the after shocks of her release. She needed it, she could still feel the burning, and each time he hit her cervix she was almost pulled back under. “Please, please, Jamie please.”

“Christ, Claire.” He cried, as he gripped her harder and slammed into her. His gentle rolling thrusts, turned short, sharp and deep, as he pushed into her over and over, until with one final, painful thrust, he stilled and came with a deep carnal groan. He shook in her arms as he rode out his pleasure, and she could feel his cock pulsing and twitching inside her. Her body responded, tightening and releasing around him, as he searched out her lips and pulled her into a deep, soul searing kiss.

“Mo ceart-leth.” He whispered as he rolled to his side, pulling her with him. “Mo gràdhag, mo ciad-bhean. Tha mo ghion ort.”

“You know, I have no idea what you just said.” She whispered as she brought a shaking hand up to his face, and brushed her thumb softly over his cheek.

“My soulmate.” He breathed, as he turned his face to kiss her palm, “My love.” Her wrist, “My wife.” And her wedding ring. “I love you with all of my heart.”

“I love you, too.” She whispered through the sudden lump in her throat. “More than you know.”

“Ah, Sassenach.” He sighed, as he gather her trembling body close and lent down to kiss the top of her head. He was still inside her as she snuggled against him, listening to the thunderous beat of his heart, and his deep panting breaths.

She was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, but she was so comfortable, so happy and content then she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to stay right here, in this moment with him forever. But as he reached down and pulled the quilts up over them, shielding them from the cool night breeze, her eyes slip shut and she drifted to sleep.

“Ye’ll be wantin’ to keep these.” Maggie whispered, as she offered the neatly folded white sheet out to Claire. She looked down at it, confused for a moment, before her eyes widened and she quickly grabbed it from her maid hands and clutched it against her suddenly pounding heart.

“Um, yes, thank you.” She blushed as her eyes darted around the room, looking for somewhere to stash it. Although her period had stopped, and he’d taken her virginity a few days before, she had bled a little yesterday, and the evidence of that was mixed with various other bodily fluids on the sheet she now held.

It was a disgusting custom, but it was necessary, and she had no doubt that his father or the priest would demand to see them.

How embarrassing!

They had kept the towel from their wedding night, but as Maggie had known she was bleeding, they hadn’t declared it yet. As far as anybody would know, she was a virgin until yesterday when her husband had locked them in their room, and barred the door.

“Are ye well, Milady, can I get ye anythin’?”

“No, I’m alright thank you, it’s nothing a hot bath won’t cure.” She lied. “But thank you for doing this, I know it isn’t your job.”

“T’is my job to take care of ye, Milady, and that includes ye emotional needs as well as ye physical.” She promised, as she laid a reassuring hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Now ye eat up, an I’ll check on ye water.”

The look Maggie flashed Claire, as she scurried out of the room, was one of profound pity. She’d been looking at her the same way since she’d entered with the tray of food that Jamie had called for, and she could only imagine what was going through her mind.

Although she’d attempted to make herself presentable, she still looked exactly like she’d spent the night being ravished by her beast of a husband. Her neck and chest were dotted with pink and purple love bites, her hair was frizzy and stuck up like a ducks arse, and she could hardly walk.

Or sit down.

God help the poor girls sensibilities when she caught sight of the real bruises. Even Jamie hadn’t seen them yet, and he was bound to have a shit fit when he did. For the first time, she was awake before him this morning. Her bladder had woken her, and after hobbling to her dressing room and peeing broken glass, she’d examined herself in the mirror.

Her shoulders and hips were shadowed with fingerprint bruises, and her inner thighs marked from the pressure of his hipbones. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hide them for long, but she’d still wrapped herself in her new silk dressing grown, before hobbling back to bed.

Fortunately he’d still been asleep, and when he had woken, she was tucked back up in bed and he’d been ravenous for food.

“A penny for ye thoughts.” He murmured, making her jump as he appeared behind her and lent down to kiss her neck. “What have ye there?”

“The bed sheet. Maggie gave it to me.” She shrugged, as she pulled her robe tighter around her and turned to look up at him over her shoulder. “I’ve no idea where to put it.”

“Why’s Maggie givin’ it to ye? If she’s stripped the bed, it should go down for washin’.” He frowned as he walked around her and took the seat opposite.

“Don’t we need it for evidence?”

“Evidence? Evidence of wh…” he stopped and his eyes widened as he reached over and snatched the sheet out of her hands. He shook it out, and stared at it in horror. “Claire, why…”

“Shush!” She ordered, rushing to her feet to grab it back from him. But she moved too fast, and she almost doubled over as the dull, throbbing pain shot through her cervix.

“Claire!” He cried, dropping the sheet and quickly rising to support her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine, I promise.” She whispered, as she stood upright still clutching at her lower stomach.

Jesus Christ that hurt!

“Clearly ye no.”

“I’m fine.”

“So help me God, woman!” He growled as he scooped her up in his arms and sat back on the chair, holding her securely in his lap. “Tell me what’s wrong…why are ye in pain? Why were ye bleedin’ again?”

“Jamie…shush! Maggie’s in the dressing room.”

“I dinna care.”

She sighed, and shifted on his lap, trying to get comfortable, as she snuggled against his warm chest and rested her head on his shoulder. There was nowhere she didn’t hurt. Muscles she didn’t even know she had, throbbed in the aftermath of their activities. But in a strange way, it was a satisfying pain, that brought back a flood of memories.

“I promise that I’m okay. I’m just sore from yesterday. You’re a lot bigger than me, Jamie, my body just needs to adjust.”

“I hurt ye?” He gasped, appalled as he tightened his arms around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ssh, please don’t.” She begged tipping her head back to look at him. His dark blue eyes were clouded with worry, and she reached up and gently touched his face. “Yesterday was beyond words. There wasn’t a second of it that I didn’t enjoy. If I could, I’d drag you right back to bed now and pick up where we left off.

“But I’ve used muscles I’ve never used before, and it will take some getting used to. Besides, you can’t tell me that you’re not at least a little bit…tender today.”

His lips twitched, and he rolled his eyes before leaning down and pressing his lips to hers in a quick, gentle kiss.

“Aye, my cocks a wee bit battered and bruised.”

“Then I rest my case.”

He lent back in his chair, watching her through the window as she moved slowly from one plant to the next. She was examining the leaves and buds, checking her wee book, and snipping off the ones she needed. He could see the change in her gait from here, and he winced with every step she took.

He’d tried to convince her to go back to bed, insisting that she needed to rest. But the stubborn wee lass refused. Claiming she’d be more stiff and sore if she did naught but lounge around all day.

“Ye a man possessed.” Murtagh grumbled, drawing Jamie’s attention from his wife, as he wandered into his study and threw himself down onto a chair. “Where did ye bugger off to yesterday? Ye bastard horse almost took me arm off tryin’ to stable him.”

Reaching for his wine, Jamie casually pointed to the sheet folded on top of the dresser, then took a long drink.

“T’is done?” Murtagh asked as he pushed to his feet and crossed the room. He lifted the sheet, examined the blood stain, then carefully folded it back it up and placed it back where he found it. “Good man.” He nodded, then poured himself a drink and and returned to his seat. “Are ye well?”

“Aye.” Jamie smiled as he glanced back at Claire through the window, remember their night and seeing the stark contrast between her and Annalise.

Murtagh was the one person who knew how bad it really was, he’d been there through it all. He’d witnessed the drunken aftermaths. Listened as Jamie’s had detailed the horrors of bedding her, and described her tears and terror as he taken her. Heard their screaming fights in London, and stitched him up when she’d stabbed him with a letter opener.

He’d held him through the heartache of losing his children. Eased his guilt when she died, and supported his choice to never marry again, when his da had insisted that he did.

“T’is no the same.”

“She loves ye.”

“Aye, she does.” Jamie nodded, his heart warming at the knowledge, as he turned back to face his Godfather. “She’s no afraid. She enjoys it. Christ, she makes it fun. And when she reaches her pleasure…Lord God…”

“Lasses canna…”

Jamie raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, trying not to smile smugly when Murtagh’s eyes widened. He was gaping at him in shock, and shaking his head in denial.

“No.”

“Yes.” Jamie nodded, as he took another drink.

“How?”

“Oh…In so many ways.” He smiled, remembering the way he’d teased her. He explored her body slowly, finding each sensitive spot, and drawing out one orgasm after another with his fingers, tongue and cock.

It was really no wonder she was so sore today, they’d been insatiable.

“It’s no the same as a man, obviously, and I’ll no divulge the secrets of my wife’s body. But next time, explore a little, and dinna be so fast to find ye own pleasure. Trust me, t’is worth the wait.” He winked, as he placed his glass down and pushed to his feet. “Now if ye’ll excuse me, I think I’ll join my wife in the garden.”

“Ye cocky bastard.” Murtagh grumbled, as rose and followed Jamie from the room. “I’ll be puttin’ Donas out with the mares again tomorrow.”

“Aye, I ken. I’ll be there, dinna worry.”

“Until ye get yer own cock-stand and go sniffing’ after ye wee fillie.”

“Aye, until then.” He laughed, as he bounced down the steps and crossed the driveway towards the garden. As he ducked under the archway he saw her crouched down, talking quietly with wee Jamie, and he slowed his steps as he watched.

She was showing him the things she’d collected in her basket, and it wasn’t difficult to replace his dark hair with red, and envision her teaching their own son.

The thought both excited and terrified him. After yesterday, there was a real possibility that she could be with child, and waiting twenty one days to find out, suddenly felt like a life time. Accepting a flower from Claire, wee Jamie kissed her on the cheek and toddled off in the direction of his nanny.

They both watched him go, and then Jamie quickened his pace, and carefully eased his hand under her arm to help her stand.

“I thought you had accounts to do this morning.” She smiled, as she handed him her basket, and linked her arm though his.

“Aye, but my mind may be a little too preoccupied with a certain wee lassie.” He winked as they turned to walk through the garden, away from the house. “I canna concentrate.”

“So whatever will you do with yourself? Your wee lassie is out of commission for a few hours yet.” She laughed, as she rested her head against his arm, and hugged him closer.

“If ye up to it, I thought we could maybe take a walk up to the kirkyard to visit the bairns. I havena been for awhile an’ I should go. Of course, I’ll understand if ye dinna want to, t’is no yer…”

“Jamie.” She whispered, tugging on his arm and forcing him to stop. He looked down at her in apprehension, but he needn’t have worried. Although it was tinged with sadness, she was smiling up at him, and her delicate hand came up to touch his face. “Of course I want to go with you. They’re your children, and I’d never dream of sending you off to see them alone. So, let’s pick some flowers and we can lay them together while you introduce us.”

He sighed quietly, and turned to pull her into his arms, not caring who saw. She was his wife, and he wouldn’t withhold their affections for the risk of offending some sensibilities. Especially not in their own home.

“What have I ever done to deserve ye?” He breathed, as she snuggled against his chest, holding him just as tightly as he was her.

“Something extraordinary good, obviously.” She shrugged against him. “Maybe you were a saint in a previous life, and you’re being rewarded now for your miraculous deeds.”

“Ye think very highly of yerself.” He laughed, tilting her chin so she was looking up at him.

“And who’s fault is that? I was perfectly modest until you sang my praises repeatedly yesterday.” She wink as her wee tongue peaked out to wet her lips.

“I’m afraid I dinna ken what ye talking about.”

“Well be a good boy, and I might just remind you.”

“I was hopin’ ye might say that. Cause there doesna appear to be anything wrong with ye mouth.” He murmured, as she gaped up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. “Aye, just like that.” He whispered, as he slipped his thumb into her mouth. “I want those lips wrapped around my cock, sassenach.”

Her breath caught, and she closed her lips around his thumb, sucking it hard, and caressing it with her tongue. Her dark whiskey eyes were suddenly alive with desire and he shuddered, as he slipped his thumb from her mouth, and pressed his lips to hers.

“Soon.”

[phaedrecameron]

The Accused, James Fraser Chapter 9 Transactional Immunity

She laughed and swatted his hands away. Jamie reached out again. This time she came to him; her musk filing his lungs. She smiled a secret smile, her hair curling around her face. He lay back as she lowered herself onto him. Her movements slow and rhythmic. He grabbed her hips and made to match her pace, but she quickly pushed him down by his shoulders. “Stay still,” she commanded. Her voice breathy and yearning. He let his body go slack as she took what she needed. Slowly, she leaned down to kiss him. Her nipples grazing his chest. Unable to resist, Jamie brought his right arm around her back; securing her to him as she continued to move. His left hand reached over her hip and around her arse to their joining. She bit the side of his jaw. He felt her slick and warm as she pressed her forehead to his and spoke, “I’ll never leave you.”

Jamie awoke to the force of his release. The cell was dark, save the small flicker of a florescent light shining through the bars. His breathing was labored and his heart felt fit to burst. He curled on his side, wishing for a warmth and a smell that wasn’t there. He closed his eyes. It was the first time Claire had come to his dreams. Served him right. What had he been thinking? He’d allowed her to touch him; invited it even. And she had responded. A small terror reached his heart. What if it was an act, some psychological mind game for the eval? Could she be safely asleep in the arms of her husband? A part of him wished it so. No. He wiped his hand across his face. There was a truth to her; what was between them was real. And he knew she wouldn’t let him be. She’d lose her job and worst trying to help him. He knew she would because he’d do no less.

Jamie reached for the rosary Jenny had mailed to him. There was one person who might help him, but how he could he ask? What of Laoghaire and her baby? Should no one be punished for their deaths so he could pursue a married woman he barely knew? Could he risk Jenny and Willie to be with Claire? Would Claire even want him?

But, God had sent Claire to him. Why else if not to be with her? Claire belonged with him. He knew it when she took his hand. He was here so she could find him; it was the only way he could make sense of it. He had to trust she was his redemption and he must protect her.

Jamie rose from the small cot. He decided he must fight for his family, fight for Claire, fight for his life.

*************

“Fraser’s claiming insanity. He has no history of violence and barely knew the victim. Seems to me something an insane person would do,” Grey argued as he looked directly at Det. Tom Christie.

Fresh from the gym, John Grey was spending his Saturday in the DA’s office working on the Fraser case. He’d ordered the Detectives to his office. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“A beautiful young woman is motive enough. Most men understand that.” Christie retorted.

John leveled an eye, but before he could respond to Christie’s inanity, his phone buzzed.

From Hal Grey

Sending car at 5.

Hal was heavy-handed, but this was ridiculous! Does he think I can’t get to Pardloe Estate on my own?

“…..don’t need to prove motive,” Christie was saying.

“Yes, but if you’re asking a jury to execute someone, evidence of evil intent would help,” Detective John Cinnamon smoothly added.

At least someone with a functioning brain.....

“She was pregnant, he didn’t want to be stuck for 18 years supporting a gold digger’s spawn.” Christie responded. He smiled smugly and continued, “if Fraser were innocent, he would have identified the attacker, he would have given a statement instead of walking back into the bar, covered in the victim’s blood, murder weapon in hand.”

Grey put down his double shot Americano, “that’s a nice bit of speculative fiction, but you’ve uncovered no evidence that MacKenzie knew she was pregnant or told Fraser that she was. And because there’s no video surveillance showing the other entrances to the alley, all we have is a lot of loose ends. Loose ends equal reasonable doubt.”

Christie bristled.

“Well, we’ve got more info on the murder weapon and Fraser’s movements before the murder,” Cinnamon stated, swiftly diffusing the tension in the room. He handed Grey a stack of papers. The top was a photo of the knife used to kill Laoghaire MacKenzie. ��It’s a Scottish dagger called a sgian dubh. And,” Cinnamon pointed, “it’s a replica of one stolen from the National Museum of Scotland a little over a year ago.”

“Oh?” Grey’s interest piqued.

“I had it sent to Harvard.” Cinnamon was thumbing through a small notebook until he came across the right information. “Yeah, a Dr. Frank Randall. He’s the resident Scottish expert. He identified it as a good likeness of daggers used in early to mid 18th century Scottish highlands. Even though it’s a replica, Randall said it’s worth several thousand dollars.”

Christie sniggered. “Yeah, because random Boston dirtbags carry fake medieval European daggers. It clearly belongs to rich boy Fraser.”

“Well medieval is a different period, but it does point to Fraser,” Cinnamon nodded.

Grey examined the photo. “What’s this?” Grey motioned to carved lettering on the hilt of the dagger.

“That indicates the clan.” Cinnamon was reading from his notes. “Society in the Scottish highlands was organized around clans. Think the Houses from Game of Thrones. This dagger is from Clan Grant. That’s the Grant motto in Latin.”

Grey continued looking at the photo. “Could this be a type of honor killing?”

Grey knew quite well the cost of family honor.

“Dead-end. Fraser and the Vic have historical ties to Clan Grant, but so does half the Scottish diaspora. Dr. Randall didn’t believe there was a cultural basis for the murder.”

“Hmmm,” Grey sighed. He felt he was going in circles. “And Fraser’s movements?”

Grey looked to Cinnamon, but Christie replied. “He arrived in the U.S. three weeks before the killing. Flew into D.C. and spent time in North Carolina before catching a flight to Boston.”

Christie held up his hands, anticipating Grey’s next question. “We don’t know what he did there or why he went. Victim has no ties to the south.”

**********************

John was greeted by the smell of old leather and even older books as he walked into the library at Pardloe estate. It was unchanged since his father’s death. His sister-in-law, Minnie, entered handing him a glass of single malt scotch. “I thought you might like a drink.”

“Thanks,” John smiled at her. Minnie always bridged the gap between John and his brother Hal.

“I bought that, special for you. It’s MacKenzie Whisky. It’s quite good.” She winked at him.

John sputtered, “I’ll be sure to pass your praise to James Fraser.” He shook his head and took a sip. It was good.

“I hope the trial is televised, Fraser is a stone fox. Does he have a sexy accent?”

“Good God Minnie, the man is accused of killing a helpless woman!”

“Well, you think he’s innocent.” She smirked as she took a sip from her own glass. “Is that your plan? To exonerate him in some spectacular fashion. Take all the credit for righting a miscarriage of justice and crushing Brown in the process. It’s a good plan to prove your mettle to the public and the party.”

John gaped at her. Minnie worked in PR crisis management. She had been invaluable to Hal when he served as a US senator.

“Oh, come off it, John. You used the word ‘accused’ and described a woman as ‘helpless’. You know there’s no such thing.”

John began to respond as Hal entered the library. Minnie walked to Hal, placing a a hand to his chest and whispered something to him that John couldn’t hear. She turned to exit the library and yelled over her shoulder, “be sure to find the true killer before letting him off.” She quietly shut the door behind her.

“You should’ve told me my daughter was about to marry Che Guevara,” Hal began without preamble.

“That’s a tad harsh. Denzell is a good man, if a bit naïve. And I’m under no obligation to inform you of information given to me in confidence.”

“No obligation! You have every obligation when it concerns this family! Dottie has a chance to be someone. To do something. All you care about is doing what you want, while others are left dealing with the consequences.”

John thought of Hal’s words from the 4th.

You’ve learned nothing, our father died knowing our sacrafice was wasted on you.

John turned from Hal. Memories long buried came to the fore. He could almost smell Hector’s cologne. While John was a junior at Yale, he fell hard and fast for Hector, a first year. It was a reckless, all encompassing first love. Hal was serving as the junior senator from Massachusetts. He and Minnie warned him to be cautious. Not everyone accepted John’s nature and their father didn’t know. But John felt the invincibility of youth and privilege and did as he wanted.

That was until his father, the former governor, received an envelope. The Grey’s were blackmailed by Hal’s main political rival with the accusation that John had sex with Hector when he was a minor. While not true, hush money was paid and Hal was forced to withdraw from politics as part of the deal.

John was sent to Europe to finish his studies. He never knew the specifics, but John was led to believe Hector had set him up. Upon his return to America, Minnie assured him those involved has been ‘dealt with’. Outwardly, Hal and his parents forgave him, but their disappointment was right below the surface. John felt it was his responsibility to continue what Hal could not.

Hal, I’m sorry. I know what I cost you. I know you don’t believe me, but I live everyday trying to make it right. But I can’t do that under your thumb. I can’t let you control me if I’m to honor our father and your sacrifice. I must do what’s right and destroying your daughter’s happiness is not right.”

John left the estate without another word. *************** On the drive back to Boston, John’s thoughts drifted to Fraser. If Fraser were innocent and wasn’t insane, what would explain his subsequent actions? What would induce a man with everything to sacrifice his life? John’s phone buzzed.

Hal I forgive you. I’m proud of you brother.

John felt a relief he didn’t know he needed.

Then the answer came to him easily. Family. The protection of it. That could be Fraser’s only motive. But John had a job to do; find Laoghaire MacKenzie’s killer or killers and he was betting Fraser would lead him to them. Decision made, tomorrow, John would grant James Fraser pre trial release.

[outlanderfanficrelay-blog]

Outlander Fanfic Relay #9

Hello everyone, this is @akb723 with part #9 of the Outlander Fanfic Relay! I apologize for using almost the entire week, but I hope you enjoy it.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

They had stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for who knows how long, just breathing each other in. Claire had fallen asleep on his shoulder and the solid weight of her slowly relaxed him. The knowledge that she seemed to trust him enough to sleep near him struck him so cleanly it was like a bolt of lightning to the heart and, with that impact, his eyelids began to fall and his grip on her waist tightened just a bit as their breathing synced and evened out.

------- Everything smelt wet.

Looking around, he couldn’t place where he was. It was lush and green, but like nowhere he thought he had ever been. He slowly looked around, trying to take everything in. It was stunning. This was different than before. There was sun filtering through to where he stood and shadows were cast around him from the tall trees. There was no all-encompassing darkness here.  All around him was beauty and life.  Every tree and flower seemed to be in full bloom. Birds chippered and splashed as they took off and landed in what he could only assume was some body of water nearby. At the end of a fully made circle to try and take in everything, he noticed a clearing several meters away and a carriage off to the side.

He moved in the direction of the clearing and with each step voices could be heard more clearly. The absolute hatred and malice in the voices made his blood run cold and then boil. He couldn’t understand it, but he was suddenly furious and needed to get closer.

He began to run, weaving in between the trees and as he got closer, the people. He hadn’t noticed, the only things registering as he ran was the sudden, all-consuming blood rage and the squelching sound of the ground beneath his boots as he moved forward. The serenity and beauty of his surroundings was gone. He could faintly hear grunting and yelling, as well as the sound of blades clashing over his pulse that hammered hard in his ears. The closer he got; the more a rage clouded his mind. He needed to get there.

As suddenly as his rage had started, it vanished. A bone-deep terror filled him so quickly he almost kept running as all sound around him was replaced with a scream filled with equal parts agony and desperation.

Sound came back as the crowd around him rushed forward and men in the distance yelled, but he was no longer running, in fact he was frozen. Because as the crowd moved the source of that scream was revealed and the world stopped.

“Claire!” He screamed as loud as he could, though he doubted she would hear him over everything else. He tried to move towards her, but each foot seemed to sink deeper into the wet earth beneath him.

“Claire!” He tried again, and this time she looked up. She was pale and terrified, she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Holding out a hand to him, she managed two words as pain visibly ripped through her body and she crumpled to the ground.

“Jamie, Help!”

With that final plea, the crowd surrounded her, and he could see to no more.

 -------

Jamie woke with a start, not fully aware of where he was until the pleasant weight of Claire, who was now laying on his chest brought him back to the present.

He smiled, closed his eyes again, and took a deep breath.

The bitter taste of adrenaline filled his mouth.

His eyes stayed closed, delaying the recognition of why his clothes felt wet.

All he could smell was blood.  

@caitbalfes you’re up!!!

[hattie-maude]

Chapter 23: Sunlight and a Bitter Frost

Here is the next chapter of my first OL fan fiction! It’s a beast coming in at just over 11,000 words! 😲

[scarletwritingwolf]

THE ART OF HEALING

Chapter 1: First Day Ghosts

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp was having a good look around her new office, and was being rather critical of its emptiness. She needed to inject this office with a little homeliness and personality.

. . . . . .

The office, had a large oak desk, with a big white swivel wing chair on one side of it, and two smaller oak chairs on the other. Off to the side there was an enormous cowhide rug, with two grey armchairs facing each other placed on it. The only thing hanging on the walls, in a modest frame, was my very recently acquired master’s degree in psychology.

Other than that, there wasn’t a plant, painting or trinket in sight. I began making a mental list of all the things I’d need; side tables, two plants, a couple of simple canvases, a table lamp and a floor lamp, and most definitely trinkets for the desk.

I felt the slight draft as the door opened, and my new boss and old friend; Joe walked in. “So Jane, what do you think of the digs?” he said in his American drawl.

“It’s incredible Joe, you’ve done a wonderful job setting up the office spaces. And I won’t say that I’m not thrilled you decided to stay in Edinburgh to practice, not just because you offered me a job once I’d finished.” I smiled guiltily, it had been very nice of Joe to wait the additional year after he had finished his own degree (and mentoring), before hiring anyone to assist him, to ensure that the vacant place would go to me.

He knew well enough that I couldn’t afford to set up my own practice, but Joe’s father had left him a sum of money to do just that, and good old faithful Joe stuck to his promise, starting practice almost immediately after finishing his degree last year.

I’d already made several mental notes to repay him for the rest of my existence.

Neither Joe or I were strictly native to Edinburgh, and in that respect it was an even greater comfort to the soul to have a familiar face to turn to.

Joe had had difficulty getting into a University anywhere in America, and knew his next best bet was to find one in Europe that would agree to have him, so Edinburgh it was. With great determination and hard work he finished at the top of his class, leaving his mark on the place he had adopted as home for the six years previous.

I, on the other hand, had a far more complicated back story, Edinburgh wasn’t where I was born, but I had spent much of my life there, and it had eventually come to feel like home for me, despite the loneliness of it at times.

“I’m glad you like it Jane, you think you can be happy here?” He had already formulated a guess as to what she was going to say next.

“Oh most definitely”, she hesitated before letting the next words tumble out of her mouth. “Although it is practically bare aside from the staple pieces of furniture, I would like to make it my own, if you don’t mind.”

“My Lady Jane, I would have been disappointed if you hadn’t.” He said, eyes twinkling with humour. “Shall we go and look for some things to fill up the space? Don’t disappoint me now and tell me you haven’t already prepared a list.”

I tried to look demure while plastering my best shocked look upon my face. “Alright, you’ve got me, I have a list. Any complaints about going antiquing?” I grinned slyly, knowing full well he’d hate it, for Joe loved to hate the junk (or so he called it) that I collected from antiquing stores. I chose not to mention that I collected these items because they reminded me of my Uncle.

“I’ve offered now, I suppose I can’t back out.” He said good naturedly, returning a toothy smile. “Let’s go.”

. . . . . .

She returned to her office that same evening, arms laden with her purchases. After several trips back to her car to gather the other pieces she’d picked up, she began the set up.

After the first half hour had passed she was still battling with her flat pack coffee table, and she began to lose faith in her abilities to live without a man, or at least without the supervision of one.

She sent Joe a text:

*Starting to wish I’d taken you up on your invite to stay for dinner, this flat pack nonsense is giving me hell :) *

Two more hours had passed; after the victory with the coffee table she’d managed to set up almost entirely. There were now muted canvases hanging on the walls, plants in two corners of the room, the afore mentioned coffee table nestled between the comfortable armchairs (that now held cushions), the table was decked out with tissues and a small abstract sculpture of a human brain.

Lastly she’d set up her desk with all the stationary she would need (likely enough for the next 10 years as well), a bespoke lamp, a telephone and the most beautiful antique gold clock. The clock reminded her, almost painfully, of her dear Uncle Lamb, it was very similar to one that he had sitting at his extremely untidy desk in Oxford.

How she wished now that she had had the courage to return to his office after his death, and retrieve some of his beloved possessions. Alas Claire Beauchamp had never been the sort to place much value in material things anyhow; and it was far easier to keep up this façade than to admit just how much value she placed in those things.

She glanced at her watch, wondering how so much time had escaped her, it was already 9:30pm, she would have to leave now in order to get home and actually rest before her first day tomorrow.

She left her laptop on her desk, tidied up the remains of her pizza dinner, and took one final look around, feeling proud of her accomplishments, she switched off the desk lamp and headed out the door.

The car ride home made her acutely aware of just how tired she was, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she forced herself to concentrate on the road. “This is ridiculous” she said out loud “pull yourself together Beauchamp, the drive home is barely 10 minutes!”.

Finally parking outside of her home, she sat motionless in her car for a further 5 minutes staring up at her building, preparing her tired body to walk the four flights of stairs that would deliver her to her apartment door.

The climb seemed shorter than usual, her body sort of carried itself, allowing her mind to wander freely. She was thinking of a reference in a textbook and a strong cup of oolong tea when she found herself outside of her door.

She crept inside, maintaining a stealthy silence despite knowing that there was no one to disturb within. In the comfort of her room she immediately began removing all of her clothing, and sliding herself into a heavy silk robe, before setting out to prepare a cup of tea.

Traipsing about her home, she absent mindedly checked that everything was in it’s place, which it was, and then turned towards her version of a library; a few shelves crammed to the hilt with books of every genre. Running her fingers over the spines of the many volumes, she came across the book she had wanted to reference, and took it over to the chaise seat in front of her window.

She flipped through to find the the passage she was after in B.F Skinner’s Beyond Freedom & Dignity, it read:

‘Freud was a determinist – on faith, if not on the evidence – but many Freudians have no hesitation in assuring their patients that they are free to choose among different courses of action and are in the long run the architects of their own destinies.

This escape route is slowly closed as new evidences of the predictability of human behaviour are discovered. Personal exemption from a complete determinism is revoked as a scientific analysis progresses, particularly in accounting for the behaviour of the individual.’

. . . . . .

The words eased my mind, as I remembered why I had decided to become a psychologist; the science of it, the concrete proof that the mind was a most complicated thing, and that you couldn’t simply choose your circumstance.

My mind drifted further, I curled myself into a cocoon on the chaise, and stared out of my bedroom window. The streets were quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the white noise of the rain outside, ever present in Scotland.

I fell asleep watching the dewy drops fall to the ground.

. . . . . .

Claire sat in her office the next morning, bleary eyed, tired and surrounded, in the metaphorical sense, by the pressure she had put upon herself, the weight of it was heavy on her mind as though someone was steadily injecting liquid into her brain, the sensation of drowning in it was very real.

She took deep breaths in, out, in, out. The nerves about her first day had caused serious disruption to her sleep, so much so in fact, that sitting up reading her old psychology text books were the only thing that would soothe her troubled mind.

The new day had also, thankfully, brought with it some kind of distorted belief that she knew what she was doing, and that she was ready.

She checked her clock again; 9:01am.

Her first patient would be waiting by now just on the other side of the closed door, and there was no longer time for procrastination.

She took the eight long steps to the door in her stride, saying the patients name over and over as she went, so that she wouldn’t forget; Louise de La Tour, Louise de La Tour, Louise de La Tour…

. . . . . .

Opening the door, smile plastered on my face “Louise de La Tour?” My eyes landing on the woman whose name I called.

Louise stood up fumbling with her purse to put away the self-help book she had been reading, likely attempting to conceal the cover of it from me

I took a moment to glance at the other patient waiting to be seen by Joe. He had the most beautiful masculine face, encircled by a halo of red hair. He was looking at me too, his face bearing the strangest expression, I couldn’t decipher it’s meaning and nor would I have the time to do so, so I simply smiled and gave a nod.

I remembered where I was, and that my self interests where not of consequence at this moment, and jolted out of my trance “please come in Louise.” Gesturing her inside with a wave of my hand.

. . . . . .

Claire’s first session passed by in a blur, unable to shake the image of the man in the waiting area. Louise had been eager to tell her story and to discuss her issues, so needed very little encouraging; meaning the moments for Claire to speak or provide input rarely presented themselves.

This allowed for her to escape into her mind, delving in to find the image of him; the red haired man with his piercing blue eyes. He was burned there in her mind, sure to scar and leave its mark.

When the session had concluded she was embarrassed with herself, for focusing on a man rather than her patient, it was beyond unprofessional. For the sentiment of it, she was also disappointed that she hadn’t even bothered to pay attention to the significance of the first patient crossing the threshold of her office.

She knew she had to forget this man and simply carry on as though she had never noticed him.

To ease her conscience she began to take notes on her session with Louise, thankfully Louise hadn’t had any inclination of Claire's mental absence, seeming more relieved to have someone to listen to her problems.

Louise was pregnant, not with her husbands child, but with her lovers, this presented her with a number of difficult choices to make.

Claire noted that she would need to help Louise come to a conclusion about exactly what she wanted, and then address the different ideas for change.

. . . . . .

The last patient exited at 5:30pm. The hours had crawled by and Claire was ready to blow off the steam of her first day, and was sincerely hoping that Joe had the same thought in mind.

She turned towards the practice kitchen, opening each cupboard and drawer, attempting to will a bottle of whiskey into existence.

In her search she had failed to notice Joe standing, watching her.

“The liquor is in my office locked in a cabinet, come on Lady Jane.”

Two hours later, and slightly buzzing, Claire had debriefed with Joe, doing her best to conceal the true reason for her agonising day.

Although she knew Joe would understand, she felt far too ashamed to admit any hint of ‘feminine weakness’, choosing to chalk up her poor performance with her first client to nerves.

. . . . . .

Back at my apartment that evening, I resolved to go straight to bed; no reading, no working, just sleeping.

Two hours later, I was still staring at the ceiling despite my exhaustion, so I gave up the idea of sleep and went to sit on the chaise by the window, just as I had done the night before.

I picked up the book I had left there last night, and immediately thought of Louise. I re-read the passage I had found, and felt like a hypocrite. I had told Louise today that she was the master of her destiny, and uttered many other encouraging words of complete bullshit. But didn’t believe in them, I wasn’t a Freudian, and Skinners books reminded me why, so what had possessed me to abandon my beliefs with my very first patient?

I looked out of the window once again, questioning myself, blue eyes and red hair consuming me without my permission.

Then there he was again; the any season jogger, who ran almost every night and always at the same time, never deterred by snow or rain.

I admired his dedication, and was always impressed by his routine. On the nights that he ran, he wore the same black tracksuit, hood up, was gone for forty minutes and always returned with a coffee from the same shop.

He disappeared into his building, the one directly opposite mine, and one minute later the light in his sixth floor apartment came on.

I watched as he drew his curtains shut, and decided that my bed was where I needed to return. I fell asleep quickly, my last thoughts whirling around were of the jogger in black and those intense, deep blue eyes.

[cranesmuir-witch]

I'd like an elaboration of Bree's viewpoint of Jamie and Claire's relationship - when she stated "I have seen a marriage made of obligation and a marriage made of love" - something along that quote. And with smut thrown in, thank you! Xoxo

Jamie lay soft kisses on his wife’s bare shoulders amid the tousled sheets on their bed.They were enjoying some quiet togetherness after the pandemonium surrounding their first grandchild’s birth. It would seem that wee Jeremiah had inherited the Fraser knack for dramatics just as his mother and grandfather before him. As blissfully happy they were with the new family addition they needed to find their center again, so physical closeness was a requirement.

“Did ye hear what our Bree said to Roger?” he murmured. “It would seem they’re at a crossroads in their marriage.”

Claire nodded,“Knowing if a relationship is based on love or obligation should be easier than it is.”

He considered his next response as his hands moved to her hips, then decided to kiss the valley between her breasts to make her writhe. Her body reacted as he predicted with a gasp escaping her open mouth. Jamie quickly reacted by deftly easing himself into her and bringing her to a drawn out crescendo.

He smiled broadly as he gazed at her darkened form.

“Your body is most beautiful in the moonlight while I make you quiver underneath me.”

“It’s when I feel the most beautiful as well,” she sighed. “When you love me like this.”

“Do ye think they’ll find their way to love mo luaidh?” he asked. “Like we did?”

She nodded, “The seed is growing, I can see it. Now they need to care for it to make it flourish.”

“Aye, and we will be here to make sure it does.”

[mamandisla]

Hi I’m reading an Outlander fic and it’s BRILLIANT writing but they’ve killed off one of my favorite main characters and it’s heartbreaking to me 😭😭😭

[monigheandonn1743]

Ceart-leth - Master list

Hi all!

I know there is already one of these on my blog somewhere, but it is so far down that I thought I’d re-do and delete the other. So here is an updated master list to make the story easy to find

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Ceart-leth at AO3

[outlanderfanficrelay-blog]

Outlander Fanfic Relay #7

Heya everyone, this is @suhailauniverse for #7 of the Outlander Fanfic Relay!

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

 She woke with a bone rattling jolt, her heart racing, ears deafeningly ringing and a film of cold sweat coating her skin, her breath coming in painful gasps. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the pitch darkness, her body and mind coming back to her as a car horn blew in the distance.

Jamie. The name scorched through her as she fisted her hands in her sheets. Jamie. He’d stood there, amidst the carnage, a look of unutterable sadness on his face as he gazed back at her. At once she sat up and stared at her hands. They’d glowed, as he’d done, and she could have sworn on everything she was the faintest of glimmers faded right before her eyes, but as she blinked, it was gone. Her hands lay upon her lap as unremarkable as they’d always been.

A dream, she told herself, shakily, it was just a fucking dream. Yet she could still feel the crisp night air caress her skin, the smell of death pricked her nostrils and an ache coursed through her as she’d never felt before. An ache that ripped her insides as finely as a surgical blade. An ache so acute, it took her breath away. She pressed her fist to her chest, a feeble attempt to slow down her heart rate, to stifle the pain that threatened to burst from within. Laying back down, she tried taking a few deep, steadying breaths, but nothing helped. Just a dream.

She pictured him then, as she’d known him - full of life and energy, despite his illness. His smile and gentle touch, a touch felt so sparingly as she tended him. His soothing voice and comforting presence, a balm. Without realizing it, her body had at once relaxed in the thought of him. How could the simple thought of a man she hardly knew have such an instantaneous effect on her? He seemed in that moment more real than anything she’d ever known. And before she’d even known that she’d decided, she was bolting off her bed, and years of practice at getting dressed in record time, was already halfway into whatever she could get her hands on in the dark.

What the hell are you doing, Beauchamp? She asked herself hopping down her hallway on one booted foot, as she stuffed the other into its mate. She had no answer to what was driving her, only that she knew, without any doubt, that she had to see him, talk to him. He’d said he’d heard the screaming too. What if...

She knew his address was in his medical files she’d brought home with her that day - she’d felt an inexplicable need to review his history after the incident at the hospital, but they’d proved frustratingly unhelpful, for the answers she sought couldn’t be gleaned from blood tests and doctors notes. She needed him.

She jotted down his address roughly on a piece of napkin, a sense of familiarity guiding her hand, and paused suddenly, hearing a soft shuffling on the other side of her front door. She froze where she stood, the hairs on her arms rising. She moved quickly then, towards the door, her heart beginning to race once more, not with fear this time, but promise. Her shaking hands fumbled with the lock, but finally opened it.

And there he stood, disheveled and still in his pajamas and slippers, with nothing but a overcoat on against the chilly air. They stood silently, staring, his eyes burrowing into hers, as they’d done on that field what felt like mere moments earlier.

“How’d you--?” she began, quietly.

“I… I felt ye, Sassenach. I saw ye!”

To you @moghraidhjamie!!

[darksassenachnessa]

When I read ABOSAA I was intrigued by Tom Christie and his feelings for Claire. I wish we could have gotten at least a page from his perspective (He tried to give his life to save Claire after all he deserved a chapter imho.) And as I haven’t been able to find any fanfiction about him I thought I’d give it a whirl. This is set after Claire wakes up from the “Amoeba fever” and just before she goes to visit Tom. This is my first ever attempt at writing any fanfiction so while opinions are appreciated please be kind. 🤗🤗 Also I can’t figure out how to make the words I want in bold for emphasis on Tumblr lol 😜sorry about that.

Huge shout out to Mod Brandee @picturethefrasers for the artwork!!😊😍🙂

Debauched It was her hair. The freedom and defiance in which she wore it, her untamed curls capturing and reflecting the light that seemed to surround her. Perhaps it was her eyes. Warm as honey; so sweet and deep you'd gladly drown in them one moment then shrewd and sharhp as a wolf stalking their prey the next. Skin his fingers ached to touch; like an opal set afire from within. She'd bewitched him, though he knew she was no witch (no matter the gossip). He knew it was wrong to lust for her this way but he could not seem to help himself to his profound irritation. She wasn't.... proper. She carried herself with far too much authority for a woman, she spoke too boldly, laughed too loudly. She was the most magnificent creature on God’s green earth. Even as he lay weak with illness he knew was the work of the witch he called daughter he felt his body grow aroused at the thought finally taking her. Of wrapping his hands in her glorious hair and having that wicked tongue at his service. He knew she'd be shocked to know he had such thoughts, that he was capable of such passion. The depth of his desire for her surprised even him. Without conscious thought his hand moved down to wrap around the cockstand that his degenerate thoughts inevitably created. Images he couldn't escape besieged his lust addled mind. Her hair with its endless shades of brown curled about her face loose and free as she laughed.... Her hypnotic eyes alive with mischief.... Luminous skin dewy with sweat as she worked in her garden. He wondered what her skin would look like flushed with arousal, her mouth swollen from his kisses. His breath caught in his throat now as he imagined suckling her nipples He just knew they would be red as cherries and just as delicious. Gripping her plump arse from behind as he pounded his flesh into her, until she trembled and moaned his name.... his name on her lips......the very thought sent him over the edge and into blissful oblivion. As he floated back to the surface of sanity the guilt of his sin washed over him in bitter waves. To not only abuse himself in such a way but to have such impure thoughts for a married woman. Thou shalt not commit adultery. She was the last woman he should be in love with. She was the only woman he could be in love with. "You would think an educated man could learn." he thought with a wry grin. But here he was in love with an enchantress…again. A woman he knew could not have and would not want were he sensible. Apparently he wasn't as sensible as he liked to believe. After the evidence of his shame had been cleaned, he sat at his desk in the balmy light to transcribe scriptures in the hope of atoning for his transgression. The knock at his door was a surprise as few sought his counsel but he invited his guest to enter. His surprise turned to jaw dropping shock as the woman to blame for his dereliction of morality stood before him. Her hair….. he could not stop himself for gaping. Her glorious hair had been shorn from her head. Her sinuous curls were gone and she was deathly pale. He knew she had fallen ill shortly before himself but to see the evidence of it with his own eyes was another gut wrenching matter. “Mrs. Fraser! Are you-that is- what in the name of God…..” he gaped pointing to her head. “Oh” she said as she passed a hand over her formerly wanton locks. ”That. You ought to be pleased; I’m not going about outraging the public by a wanton display of my flowing locks.” Hasn’t lost that wicked tongue he thought with a slight smile. “You look like a convict” he spoke bluntly to cover his shock. “Sit down.” “How are you? She asked. Peering at him in that calculating manner she slipped into while examining people. “How am I?” he could see that she was still rather ill and was astonished and not a little angry that she would venture so far from her bed alone to see to his health. Though a part of him thrilled in it even knowing that she would do so for any she considered under her care. “You have walked all the way here, in a dangerously feeble condition, to ask after my health?” He noticed that despite her ghastly color her lips were still plump and pink and as she responded flippantly he watched her mouth...and felt his body begin to tighten with need of her again. So when she asked that he move to the light for her to examine him more thoroughly he was… reluctant. "Why?” he asked gruffly. He hoped that his obviously surly disposition would deter her from looking at him too closely for he knew his condition would be embarrassingly obvious to them both. “Because I want to know a few things regarding your state of health,” she told him. "and examining you is likely the best way of finding them out, since you don’t seem able to tell me much of anything." He almost laughed aloud at her audacity but managed to maintain the irritable demeanor he'd adopted in defense of her presence. Knowing she would be unrelenting he submitted to her questions. After a typically uneasy exchange he suggested that he walk her back home while she continued her inquiry. “You needn’t walk me home Mr. Christie!" she exclaimed those gorgeous (damn her) eyes wide and concerned. "You ought to be in bed, by the looks of you!” "And you shouldn't?" he asked sternly. "Put your hat on, I will see you home." Whether you like it or not he thought amused with her protests for his well being. The sooner she was back in her own house the better. His breathing was still a bit difficult from illness and her presence so close to where he slept was making it near impossible to draw a decent breath. As they panted their way up the sun-soaked hill to the big house; occasionally stopping to rest, he vowed that he would put this ridiculous infatuation behind him. It was impossible. She was not his to want and even if she did not already belong to another man, a woman like her would bring nothing but strife. But when she turned impish gold eyes to him (the laughter in them creasing the corners)and asked if he had used his chamberpot recently he knew that to be a lie. "Damn you woman. I shall have no peace while you live..... not that I regret it" he thought with a small smile to himself. She was the last woman he should be in love with. She was the only woman he could be in love with.

[annagoober]

Chapter 3 of Gifts of Love for the @Lallybrochlibrary Holiday Exchange is up on AO3.  It’s rated mature and NSFW.  Thank you to all readers, commenters and re-bloggers, cheers!

Claire was in a panicked state, she couldn’t recall the last time she had been so frenzied. Dialing Geillis, she sat down on her bed, leg vibrating restlessly.

 “Geillis, I need help, I overslept and nothing in my closet is working for tonight. I don’t have time to shop, can you help me? Please!” She spoke urgently, leaving her friend a message.

 Ten minutes later Claire snatched up her phone on the first ring, “Calm down hen,” Geillis spoke soothingly, “I’ve got ye.  Come over to my house and I’ll get you sorted.”

 “Wow, this is lovely Geillis!” Claire exclaimed, surveying the room, her eyes rested on the colorfully dressed musicians in pressed shirts, kilts, hose and sporrans. The party was being held in an old stone Inn on the outskirts of Edinburgh, dark wood, a roaring fire and woven tapestries made the atmosphere feel practically medieval. The trio of musicians on guitar, bodhran and bagpipes, plus a singer, were set up in one corner by the small dance floor. The powers that be, the board of directors, had decided on heavy hors d’oeuvres and an open bar instead of a sit-down dinner. To accommodate the party goers, high top tables donned with red cloths, surrounded the dance floor and seating arrangements were scattered randomly around the outskirts of the large space. At one end of the bar, a heavy wooden staircase lead to a loft containing cozy sofas, chairs and low tables.

 Geillis nodded, “This is quiet charming! One of the advantages of being a smaller start up publication, we can all fit in smaller venues such as this.  Counting spouses and significant others, we are a bit under fifty with all attending.” Geillis walked toward a long table covered in a bright red and green tartan tablecloth, “This must be our gift table, let’s drop off our packages, check our coats, grab a drink and get ready to greet the crew.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812323/chapters/52667917

#LLHolidayExchange   #Outlander   #OutlanderFanFiction