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casspurrjoybell-17 · 2 years

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HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 30

*Warning: Adult Content*

"How much of that did you already know?" Dane Hunter asks Doctor Ambrose Thorne as they walk down the long, paved pathway to where they'd left their cars.

"The basic facts," Ambrose replies.

"Not the details."

"Did you know the baby's name?"

He shakes his head.

"No. Didn't even know she had one, actually. The way Aengus told it, I thought she died before she had a chance to be given one."

"Did Jack know?" Noah asks.

The baby would have been Jack's sister and her murder the cause of his mother's death, after all.

"No," Ambrose sighs.

"Thankfully he did not. Aengus told me the whole sordid tale the day I gave him the news of Jack's own death. Jack may have been the only person Aengus ever really loved, his precious first-born son, though they'd been estranged ever since Jack rescued me from the hell his father put me through. Aengus probably came the closest he ever did to feeling something like guilt that day and for whatever reason he unburdened himself on me. It was after that I cut ties with the family for good. Well, until recently, that is."

"On the list you gave me, Aengus is marked as deceased," Dane points out. "How'd he die?"

Ambrose shrugs.

"Don't know, for sure. He made a mistake, you see. Like the rest of the family, immortality was part of his goal but while the others all asked for 'eternal youth' or 'unfading beaut,' or some such thing, Aengus asked for 'deathlessness.' I suppose he thought he was being clever but Ainach gave him exactly what he asked for and nothing more and eventually Aengus learned that not being able to die was less 'gift' than curse."

They've reached the spot where they'd parked their cars by now and Ambrose pauses, squinting up through the leaves of the old maple tree beneath which we stand.

"After I told him of Jack's fate, he tried to take his own life and that's when he discovered his mistake. He couldn't die. By that time, too, he'd begun to age, the only one of that lot to show any evidence of his years. It was a horrific thought, that he'd grow older and older but never meet an end. So he decided he'd summon Ainach again, on his own this time and give the gift back."

"On his own?" Noah asks.

"I thought he needed the 'Circle of Nine,' and all that?"

"That's to bargain with a dragon. To merely speak with one is a simpler affair, though not something a man who values his life should attempt. Aengus was no longer such a man, so..."

"And is that possible?" Julian asks.

"To give back a dragon's gift, I mean?"

Again, Ambrose shrugs.

"Must be. Aengus announced his intentions and then he disappeared and neither hide nor hair of him's been seen since."

"Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence," Noah points out.

Ambrose turns to Noah, his mouth curled in a little smile.

"Right you are but Aengus was a meddlesome bastard. Were he alive, I doubt he'd have managed to keep the fact quiet all these years. Besides, he'd be..."

He pauses, looking up at the sky as he calculates...

"Nearly one hundred and fifty years old by now. He'd be a right monster, for sure."

"What about Rosie?" Dane asks.

"Is it possible she or her baby could have survived the fire somehow?"

"I don't know," Ambrose answers, rubbing his fingers across his mouth.

"That all happened seventeen years before I was born, remember. It's not as though I witnessed it. But it does seem unlikely, if she was possessed by a dragon and burned with dragon-fire... I don't see how there would be anything left. But then again..."

"Yeah." Dane scratches the back of his head.

"The motive's clear, vengeance and the connection between 'Kitty' and the cat's paw sign makes sense but the timeline's weird. If Rosie survived somehow, why would she wait so long to get her revenge? And what would she have against you, anyway?"

Ambrose shakes his head, eyes fixed on Mattie's sleekly modern house.

"Again, I cannae say. But I've a feeling that whoever the thief may be, whether Rosie or someone else, vengeance is not their only motivation. The collection of the relics hints at something more, something they want. As for what that may be... Well, your guess is as good as mine."

"Shit," Dane swears.

Like Ambrose, he's staring back at Mattie's house, angled brows pinched.

"I don't like this. The thief's got us reacting instead of acting but I don't know how to change that. Suggestions?"

Julian and Noah wear similarly blank expressions but Ambrose draws a long breath and releases it with a sigh.

"If it were not for the possibility that Noah might be endangered by it, I'd say let 'em have at it," he says.

"As far as I'm concerned, whatever the thief has planned is likely no more than the lot of them deserve."

"You know I can't do that," Dane answers quickly.

"Regardless of who the victim is, a crime is still a crime."

Ambrose raises a brow.

"Don't tell me you never looked the other way while some scumbag got what was coming to 'em?"

Dane shrugs.

"After the fact, sure but not if I could stop it from happening."

"You're a better man than I, then. Regardless, I may not care much for my 'family' such as it is but I do care for Noah and whether the thief has eyes on him or not, I don't intend to take a chance. I'd suggest we put some distance between us, pretend we've no connection but I don't think that's a possibility, now," Ambrose says and looks at Noah thoughtfully, his head tilted a little to one side.

"Why not?" Dane asks.

"Even if you're potential mates, that doesn't mean you can't be apart. It wouldn't be fun but it's not impossible."

"Wolves 'Choose' their mates, is that not so?" Ambrose returns.

"And a 'Mating' seals the bond?"

Dane crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.

Like most Wolves, he doesn't like to discuss such things with outsiders.

"Yeah," Dane says,

"But Noah's not an alpha, so he can have... uh... 'relations' without necessarily forming a mate-bond."

"I'm right here, you know," Noah says, scowling at him and feeling uncomfortably warm.

‘Nothing like having your big brother discuss your sex life with your lover right in front of you.’

"Be that as it may," Ambrose says, ignoring Noah.

"Dragons and those born of them are similar in their ways. I admit I didn't immediately recognize Noah as my Match, not consciously, at least but after we slept together I realized it. Noah may not have 'Chosen' me, yet but my heart has chosen him. Think of the traditional image of a dragon's hoard that massive pile of gold and precious things. Well, Noah would be the biggest, brightest gem in the whole lot. Another dragon will see that at a glance and given the way Thaddeus died, another dragon seems to be what we're dealing with."

Noah’s mind is stuck in a sort of confused wobble, halfway between mortification at the fact Ambrose just told Dane they'd slept together and a sort of happy surprise that he'd declared it so easily.

Dane is watching Ambrose with narrowed eyes.

"Alright. So what do you propose?"

Ambrose sighed once more, leaning against his car with his arms crossed and looking decidedly unhappy.

"It's the last thing I want to do, you understand," he said.

"But I think the best course of action is to keep all the remaining targets in one place. It might seem counter-intuitive, all the eggs in one basket, so to speak but going it alone hasn't worked for anyone so far. If we're all in one place, we can look out for one another, and it will be all the more obvious if one among us is up to no good."

"Where?" Dane asks.

"Rowan's house. My house, that is. It's the biggest, I think has the most rooms, anyway."

"Will they agree?" Dane looks as skeptical as he sounds.

Noah wonders the same thing.

‘From what I've seen so far, the Thornes and Oakfields don't seem like the most cooperative or amenable bunch.’

"I guess we'll see," Ambrose replies with a shrug.

"I think it'd be best if the proposal came from you, though... Detective," he adds, lifting a brow.

"Fine," Dane agrees, scowling. "I'll contact the remaining targets this afternoon and let you know what they say."

He turns towards his old SUV, pulling the keys from his pocket and Julian follows, climbing in on the passenger side.

Ambrose and Noah prepare to depart as well but as Ambrose opens his door, Dane turns back and calls across the space between us.

"Don't think this means I trust you, Thorne," he says.

"You hurt my brother and I'll tear your heart out and make you eat it."

The corners of Ambrose's mouth constrict with a barely contained smile.

"I believe it," he says.

"Though how you keep a man alive long enough to eat his own heart, I hardly know."

"I'll figure it out," Dane replies, sounding disturbingly serious.

Ambrose nods, his eyes lighting with inner fire.

"You ought to know this then, a dragon will die defending his treasure and he'll burn anything and everything that tries to keep him from it. A bit possessive and obsessive, perhaps but nothing's safer than a dragon's heart."

Dane nods in return, then gets in his vehicle and drives off, leaving Noah stranded in the post-confrontational awkwardness.

"Well, little wolf," Ambrose says, offering Noah an oddly self-conscious smile,

"Let's go home. We've some work to do before we're ready to receive guests. I'm not looking forward to hosting this particular crowd but there is a bright silver lining, nonetheless."

"There is?" Noah asks, grimacing at the thought of having 'mhis' new home invaded by so many unpleasant strangers so soon.

"Yes," he nods.

"You see, there are a sufficient number of rooms to house them all but it will require a small adjustment."

"What?" Noah asks, wondering if Ambrose is going to ask him to move furniture or something.

"You and I, little wolf, shall have to share," he says with a wink, and grins.

"Oh," Noah says and turn to look out the window but not before he knows Ambrose sees the beginnings of his own matching smile.

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mymelodyheart · 3 years

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Miles Between Us Chapter 13 ~The Reunion~

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Obstacle Course ...

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp! Don't ye dare leave me!" He shouted. "We love each other, remember? I was a prick for leaving ye on yer own when ye came to Scotland to be with me. I promise ye this will never happen again. And whatever problem we have together, we can fix this. Ye understand me?" He fell on his knees, grateful for the pain shooting up his thighs because his heart was breaking into thousand pieces. "I ken I could be a selfless arse, but I'm working on being a better person for ye ...for us. I love ye with all my heart, Sassenach, and I cannae imagine life without ye."

"What do I need to do to make ye, believe me, Sassenach? Ye ken, I'll do anything to prove to ye how much I love ye. Does he ken the things I do? Like ...like what song makes ye smile? I can sing it for ye if that's what it would take." When the silence lingered, Jamie puffed out a silent curse. "Christ ... I'll do it. I'll sing that damn song. Just so ye ken, I meant every word I said."

Then he stood up from his kneeling position and gave Rick Astley a run for his money.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

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The full moon illuminated Jamie's and Claire's path as they made their way to the cottage into the cold night. It seemed they were the only two people in the world, walking in comfortable silence, lost in their own respective thoughts, and the only sounds to be heard were their footfalls and the dance of the trees. Inhaling deeply, Jamie pulled Claire into the warmth of his body, gently kissing the crown of her head, and in turn, her arm slid familiarly under his jacket to settle around his waist. For the first time in five days, every cell in his body was alive and buzzing, and it felt amazing to hold and have her close again.

Earlier, after the excitement and stramash outside Christie's apartment building had settled, they'd gone back in search of Quentin. It hadn't taken them long to spot him where he'd leaned on the wall outside the pub working his phone, most probably trying to call Claire. Though Quentin had looked like he could go for a few more round of drinks, to his relief, he hadn't put up much of an argument when Claire had firmly suggested it was time to call it a day. They'd escorted him back to his lodgings, making sure he had everything before heading for home.

It had been a surreal day, and Jamie knew it was far from over. He'd sensed Claire wanted to talk, and who could blame her? They had a lot of things to discuss, but his depraved mind had other ideas. His alcohol-fueled bravado from earlier had long waned to be replaced with an urgency that pulsed heat below his belly. But he swiftly reminded himself to be an attentive boyfriend first and clear the air between them.

After what he'd put himself and Claire through the last few days, he was done being a prisoner of the past and mistrusting the future. Here, at this moment with her, he was whole, and just having her beside him was healing invisible wounds all over his body. He needed her, but her needs came first even though her sweet scent and the sound of her soft sighs were piercing holes in his self-restraint. At nearly midnight, the air was icy cold, and yet, there was a fine layer of perspiration on his skin brought about by the anticipation of being finally alone with her.

When they eventually reached the cottage, Jamie had a hard time giving up her body's warmth to retrieve his keys, so he turned her to face him and locked her in an embrace. Savouring the feel of her, he wondered how the hell he'd managed to keep his distance; moreover, allow her to go to Inverness with Tom.

"Home sweet home," Claire murmured, breaking his thoughts. She made a move to pull away, but he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her icy fingers instead. "I think I need a drink," she said, shivering, "It's been quite an eventful night, don't you think?"

Jamie shook himself and nodded. "Aye. It's been a riot." He finally let go of her, quickly fishing for his keys in his pocket and unlocking the door, letting her pass first. They were welcomed by two happy, hyper animals who circumvented him to get to Claire. Ah, wee traitors!

He shut the door and watched with amusement as Claire immediately fell on her knees, her arm going around Rollo's neck while her free hand scratched Adso's back ear. Jamie grinned when both nudged closer and let out chesty whimpering sounds as they were treated to Claire's lovefest.

His eyes landed on her unpacked bags on the floor. She must have left the cottage as soon as she'd arrived. "How'd ye know where to find me earlier? Ye never called," he remarked, divesting his jacket and dropping it onto the chair.

She looked up at him and smiled. "I didn't. When Tom dropped me here, I realised I forgot to hand in some documents for Mary. I kind of figured you might be out with uncle Lamb. So I thought before calling you I'd walk over to Tom's to drop the papers for Mary and well, ..." she shrugged, her eyes twinkling. "I was about to phone you, and who did I find outside Tom's apartment building? My boyfriend serenading Mary Hawkins, no less."

Almost completely sober by now, his head dropped to hide his embarrassment, his pained groan barely subdued in his throat at the reminder of the recent event. "Oh, Christ!"

She stood up, walked over to him and encircled her arms around his neck, forcing him to glance at her smiling face. "I thought you were adorable." She kissed his chin. "And I think Mary was chuffed to bits hearing your love declarations. She'll never leave the Highlands now, what with Tom as her new love interest and you serenading her in front of an audience. She probably thinks she's heaven's gift to Broch Mordha and vice versa."

Her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck made it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. "Ye should be righteously pissed at me for thinking ye were with Tom. And even if ye were in his apartment, I shouldnae have jumped to conclusions."

She contemplated his words. "We all get our jealous moments," she said quietly. "Well, I certainly do ...at least."

"Ye? Jealous? I only have eyes for ye, Sassenach. Ye have nothing to be jealous about." Then the image of Geneva's kiss came to mind, and his throat tightened. With everything that had happened today, he'd already forgotten about it ...until now. He knew only too well how the truth had its way of coming out, and he couldn't just dismiss it as an afterthought even though it didn't mean a thing. He needed to tell her before she finds out from someone else.

"Geneva," she whispered as if reading his mind. "I heard ..."

"Ye heard what?" She's already heard about the kiss? There was no stopping the weight of dread from settling in his belly. "Whatever stories ye heard about her and me, there's a perfect explanation for it, Sassenach. I can assure ye."

She didn't seem to notice his sudden discomfort nor heard the words he'd just said, her gaze too busy following the movements of her hands as they travelled down to his shoulders and over his chest. "While you were in Lallybroch, Willie came to check up on me once in a while to see how I was fairing. I thought it was rather sweet of him to do that." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, he mentioned something about Geneva fancying you, and that didn't sit well because I know she's your therapist, and Jenny preferred her for you." Her eyes suddenly dimmed. "Oh, God! Why am I even telling you this? It's so primary school."

"Sassenach ..." He brushed his lips to her forehead. "It's not ..."

She visibly shook herself. "No, let me finish. I know it's silly, but I couldn't help feeling the way I did. It was torturous knowing you were suffering, and I could do nought about it. I feared that night when you left, I may have made things worse by pushing you to talk about the past." True to her words, her expression was troubled as she chewed her bottom lip. "You see ...I want to be the one who can make things better for you, but I also recognise there are things about your condition that are beyond my understanding no matter how much I try to help or learn about it." She took a deep breath. "Geneva's your therapist, and she knows what she's doing. Sooo ...I have to put aside my petty jealousy and let Geneva do her work. But it doesn't mean I have to like her or the whole situation. So for the sake of ..."

"No, Sassenach. Stop right there." He dropped his mouth to prevent her from saying more, punctuating his words with a kiss. Their breaths collided, his fingers gripping her shoulders hard and digging into her skin. "Ye have every right not to like the situation. Because I dinnnae like it either." He searched her face, but her eyelids were at half-mast, and her gaze seemingly focused on his lips. He tipped her chin up. "I willnae be returning to therapy. So ye dinnae have to worry about her."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Wot? But why?" She stopped and looked at him suspiciously. "Wait. If this is your way of making me stop seeing Tom, sorry mate, not going to happen. This is work. And I'm not stopping you from going to therapy just because it's Geneva either."

"Woman, will ye let me finish?" He took a few cleansing breaths. "I'll wager ye a pound to a penny that ye willnae allow me to attend the therapy when ye hear what she did."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Why? What did she do?"

"She kissed me."

She stiffened and took a step back. "Wot?" Her expression of softness she had just moments ago made way for disbelief.

He tried to rid the sudden tangle in his throat. "She stopped by today. She said something about wanting to talk about my progress. I told her I was busy. Then she threw herself at me and kissed me. It's nae biggie."

"Nae biggie?!" Her eyes flashed, and her mouth open and closed. And then opened again. "Where did she kiss you? Lips or cheek?"

Her question caught him like a surprise right hook. On any other occasion, he would have probably been amused with her display of jealousy, but the way she was looking at him now, was causing his heart to pound painfully against his ribs. "O-on the lips, but I ...ah ...immediately pushed her away. I swear to God, I did nothing to inspire it."

She rolled her head as if preparing for a fight, and when her eyes landed on the bottle of tequila he and her uncle had been drinking earlier, she made a beeline for it. "On the lips, huh? Did you like it?" She poured herself a healthy measure in one of the used glasses without offering him one and downed it in one go.

Christ! "No!"

"Any tongue involved?"

"Of course not!"

"You sure?" She slammed the glass down on the table, making him flinch.

What the bloody hell? The questions she was throwing at him was making him squirm on his feet, and for the first time, Jamie realised how similar Claire and Quentin were when trying to extract an answer. Both would undoubtedly make great interrogators if ever they'd decided on a career change. "What kind of question is that? The kiss happened so fast, taking me by surprise. I didnae have time to think. She might have tried to put her tongue down my throat, but I stopped her."

"And where did this happen?"

"What do ye mean? I already told ye she stopped by. I was here ...at home."

"I mean, did it happen inside or outside the cottage?"

Jesus! "Outside."

"Outside," she repeated, more to herself.

"Aye, outside. She wanted to come in, but I told her I had things to do and was expecting a visitor ...yer uncle, that is. Anyway, that aside, I didnae think it was a good idea to allow her to come inside, knowing that she's my therapist and fancied her chances with me."

"Hmmm ...so when she threw herself at you, you pushed her away, is that right?"

"Aye."

"Where did her hands go?"

Confusion seeped into his already muddled head. Is this some kind of trick question to catch me of any wrongdoing? "What do ye mean?"

"Geneva's hands. Did it go around your waist, neck or what?"

"Oh, um ...around my neck."

"And what about your hands?"

Huh? "What about them?"

"Where were your hands when she kissed you?"

"They were by my side. The only time I touched her was to push her away from me. Ask yer uncle. He saw the whole thing. I didnae even know he was there."

"And he didn't sock you?"

"Why would he?" he almost shouted. "I didnae do a thing. It was Geneva who initiated it!"

"Fine."

"Fine?" he gasped in confusion.

She didn't answer. Instead, she turned around and took off her jacket. That's it? What the hell just happened? I gave her the truth, and that's supposed to be good, right? Or am I missing something? He followed her strained movement, and he helplessly watched her grabbed her laptop bag and rummaged through it, the silence pulsing around them bordering on awkwardness. This was definitely not how he'd envisioned their reunion, he thought miserably.

"Sassenach," he began, choosing his words carefully. "I can tell ye're upset about the kiss. Ye ken ye've no reason to be, aye?"

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. "No," she agreed, relief washing over him. "I've no reason to." She pulled out sheets of paper from her bag, looked at them and haphazardly stuffed them back in again, seemingly going through the motion of keeping her hands busy.

"Then why are ye cranky all of a sudden?"

She let go of her bag and grabbed the bottle of tequila, sloshing over the rim of the glass as she poured another shot. "I'm not." She grimaced as she threw back the liquid.

"Ye are." When she poured another drink, he frowned at her. "Go easy on that tequila, Sassenach."

Her head spun halfway round in his direction, reminding him of that wee girl in the film, The Exorcist. Her mouth dropped open, and she glared at him.

He forced himself to remain patient. Claire was visibly upset about something, and now he wasn't sure anymore if it had to do with Geneva's kiss. "Sometimes, I associate alcohol with bad judgments and choices," he began calmly. "My own, especially. But ye've helped me make a lot of good ones in the past, and ...I just want to do the same for ye. Talk to me, Sassenach. What's really bothering ye?"

She huffed and balled her fingers into tight fists. "Fine! Do you want to know the truth? I want to start a fight."

"A fight?" He reined in his frustration of not being able to understand and took a step closer to her. "Why would ye wanna do that?"

A deep scarlet soared from her neck to her cheeks as she threw her hands in the air. "The last few days were trying, alright? It wasn't only you who was having a rough time with it. God, I've been worried sick about you. I've been trying to keep it together ever since you left, wondering if I'll ever get to see you before I return to London. And then ...and then," she hiccupped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sob. "One bloody thing led to another. First, I got into a fight with your sister because of some stupid newspaper clipping she had in her possession. Then, not long after that, in the middle of what was supposed to be an important meeting with Tom, my boss dumps the responsibility of babysitting Mary onto my lap, and I had no idea how I was going to manage that with my uncle on his way. Then I got to Inverness, hoping to get at least some work done with Mary to finish her book so I could finally leave London for good and start a new life here with you. And you know what?"

Jamie stood immobile. He longed to soothe her, but he wasn't sure if she wanted to be touched yet, so he waited even though he was slowly dying inside to hold her in his arms.

Her inhale became stuttered, and her eyes darkened with defeat. "I was grasping at straws to keep Mary to sit still long enough to extract a measly one thousand seven hundred words worth of work when I know she could do more in a day. But that's all I got for my efforts because she was too busy galavanting in Inverness with Tom. And speaking of Tom, I still haven't managed to make him sign the contract for his book and when my boss asked me why I couldn't even give him an answer and gave him some lame excuse. The only good thing that came out of Tom is, he convinced Mary to come here. If Tom hadn't been with me, I'd still be in Inverness with Mary. And now ...now I find out Geneva tried to kiss you while I was away. God, I want to scratch her eyes out. But I can't do that, can I? Because she isn't here. So I asked you those dumb questions to find a fault and start a fight because I wanted to vent after the last few days I've had. But even that, I can't do because you've done nothing wrong." She let out a groan of exasperation. "How sad is that?"

Suddenly, it all made sense to Jamie. Claire always put others' needs before hers with no thought for herself. He had to take better care of her. It had been easy to rest all his hopes and fears on her shoulders, and because of it, she was a massive part of his motivation to want more out of his future and be a better man for them. But if they were going to be together, his condition shouldn't always be her fight, and her burdens should be lighter with him by her side and not more. This lass had given him hope, and he's not going to rest until he gave her the same. Until she, too, knew her needs were just as important as everyone else's.

The boyfriend in him wanted to wipe the look of upset in her eyes. Confront the people that pushed her to act out in a way so unlike her usual self. Demand answers to find out what else was troubling her. He sensed, however, that questioning was the last thing she needed. So doing his best to be the protector this time, he opened his arms, relieved when she quietly walked into them. She laid her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he held her, resting his chin on her crown.

After a few minutes of silence, she spoke haltingly. "I'm so sorry, Jamie. I didn't mean to pick a fight. It's just that ...." Her fingers tugged at the edge of his jeans, and he shut his eyes. He could hear the slight slur in her words, making him realise she'd drank tequila on an empty stomach. "The last few days have been mad, and I -I ...oh, hell, never mind. I'm just acting pathetic."

Jamie frowned against her head. "Sassenach, look at me." He drew slightly away and held the sides of her face in her hands, the unshed tears in her eyes crushing him to the core of his being. "First of all, ye have nothing to be sorry about. If anything, Tom, Mary, yer boss, my sister, including myself, owe ye an apology. And ye're no' pathetic and dinnae ever say that about yersel', ever again. Ye do far too much for others, including me, and it's about time ye did something for ye. The rest of the world can wait, and other people getting their act together is no' yer responsibility."

She blew out a breath, bright amber eyes holding his steady.

"As for Geneva, ye have nothing to worry about her. There was never anything between us. I'll talk to my sister and let her know what her friend has done. If Jenny refuses to do anything about it, I will make a formal complaint about Geneva's behaviour to the clinic's head myself. And perhaps, propose a new or my old therapist be reinstated."

"Jamie, I can't be responsible ..."

"Ssshh, Sassenach. Ye're no' responsible for Geneva. She overstepped the boundaries, so it's only right she takes responsibility for her own actions." He pressed their foreheads together and looked her in the eyes. "I chose to be with ye as ye did with me, and I cannae have anyone disrespecting that, no' even Jenny. We're together, and we're supposed to be stronger as a unit. I need to step up my game and be there for ye as ye've been for me. For so long, I was so fixated on my own condition, I ceased seeing other people's difficulties." He pulled back and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Then I met ye, my feisty wee, Sassenach ...for the second time as a grown-up ...and ye taught me all about selflessness and courage. I want ye to know ye're important ...more important than what I want or what Mary Hawkins wants or what yer boss wants. And the things that hurt ye, they're no less painful than what I go through. Things are gonnae change from now on, and it can't be just all about me. I'm so sorry for abandoning ye and for not being there when ye needed me most."

The worst of the troubled look in her expression faded and was replaced by a wobbly smile. "There's nothing to forgive. We were both trying our best to deal with circumstances that were beyond our control."

He smoothed her hair back, picking up the locks and twining his fingers through them. "No, ye were doing all the heavy lifting. Every moment ye spent with me was a trial of fortitude ye were too stubborn not to meet. It would have been easy for ye to give up on me, but ye didnae. Ye always thought I was enough despite my shortcomings. Ye taught me second chances, and because of that, I dinnae want to believe anymore I deserve no' to have ye." He took a deep breath. "I thought my realisation came too late when I thought ye were with Tom, and I was willing to go at any lengths to win ye back and make ye see what we have is worth fighting for. After what I did out there tonight, I ken I'll be teased for the rest of my life for singing like a fool at the village square, but it's all worth it because I get another chance with ye."

"Another chance with me? I never left you, Jamie. I may have been miffed and hurt, but I've always been yours."

He shook his head, more at the error of his ways. "Deep down, I ken that but the mere thought of Tom with ye, all reason and logic seem to fly out the window. In the future, I promise to keep those thoughts at bay. It's no' good for my sanity." He smiled at her. "Shall we kiss and make up?"

Laughing, tears spilt from her eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

The urgency that had been building up inside him went off like a gunshot. He drew her in closer. "Christ, I love you, Sassenach and always will." His mouth descended over hers, impressing his vow with a thorough tasting of her lips, savouring the earthy, semi-sweet taste of tequila on her tongue. His thumbs traced her cheekbones and jawline, and when she swayed closer, and the softness of her breasts flattened against his chest, he let out an animalistic groan.

His heart started to pound, every muscle south of his belt tightening. It was as though he'd been in a dry spell for five years instead of five days. His mouth went dry, his palms itched with the need to touch her naked skin, and his body was on fire as the pent-up desire from the past few days burst in a torrent of heat. He was ravenous for her taste and for her hand to encircle his hardness, and he indulged in her eager response that was opposite her usual shyness during lovemaking.

Restless fingers tangled into his hair, clasping his head in place as she kissed him back and met his demand with urgency. When her hips impatiently pressed against him, her scent invading his senses, his cock grew uncomfortably heavy.

He dragged his mouth from hers, twisting her hair in his fist. "Jesus, if ye dinnae take it down a notch, I'll burst in my pants like a schoolboy."

She blinked as if coming from a long sleep, her lips wet and puffy from his kisses and cheeks bright pink. She gave him a slow smile that promised unspoken pleasures, sending his heart up to his mouth. "Not my fault," she hummed, going up on her toes to teasingly brush her mouth over his. "You made me wait this long." Maintaining eye contact, she took a step back and stripped off her clothes, revealing her matching red bra and panty. "So enough talk, Jamie. I can't wait much more. I want you now," she whispered huskily.

Her words did it. His lust-filled brain only gave him a split second to process what she'd just said before the need to be inside her dismissed everything else. That urge he'd felt to make up for lost time raced out of control. He could only see Claire with her dazed eyes, parted lips and loads of naked skin.

He seized her hips, walking her backwards and crowding her against the dining table, pushing the chairs aside to make space. Her breath rose and fell in a choppy rhythm as his mouth dipped for a desperate kiss.

Her mouth moved in perfect unison with his, wee sounds vibrating up her throat, ending where their lips frantically worked together. Lust pumping in his veins, he roughly settled her sweet bottom on the table and gingerly hooked his fingers into the lacey band of her knickers, shoving it down her legs. When she began tugging at the waistband of his jeans, he groaned into her mouth, knowing she needed him just as bad.

"I planned to make slow love to ye tonight. But now I cannae ...because I cannae wait to have ye." His hand slipped between their bodies, and he palmed her between her thighs. Ah, sweet Jesus! Sliding a finger deep into the wet heat of her entrance, he tested and teased, revelling the way her fingernails dug onto the skin of his shoulders in response, his head spinning at the feel of her moistness. "Christ, ye look so needy, ye're giving me nae choice but to take ye right here ...like a wild beast."

"Oh, shoosh, Jamie. Quit talking about it now. You want it just as bad." She began to undo his belt buckle, nipping at his neck as she yanked and shoved. When he was finally freed, he nearly fainted at the relief of no longer being restrained to his jeans. The relief was fleeting, though, when her smooth hands encircled his throbbing cock, her tight grip moving up and down, twisting at the base, preparing him when the only thing he needed was to be inside her. Ah, Christ, but it feels so good. Far too good ...

He couldn't take it anymore. He knew he wouldn't last long. "Enough!" he gritted.

She gave him a look like he'd just taken her favourite toy. She unhooked her bra in retaliation and pushed her breasts up like an offering. His breath caught in his throat, stunned by the vision, her eyes, a translucent gold gleaming with arousal, beckoning him to take his fill.

He parted her legs and fisted his cock before rubbing its tip at her entrance. "I've missed ye so much. I might not last long, but I want this to be good for ye," he whispered hoarsely. "I may be a bit rough," He dipped his head, forcing her back to arch like a bow as he bestowed kisses on her breasts. "Are ye alright with that?"

She nodded, feeling her shudder with anticipation and need.

"Is that what ye want?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Take me however you want."

He whipped off his top and lowered his hand to her buttock, coasting his palm over the firm, rounded flesh and squeezing it tight. "Wrap yer legs around me."

Claire's legs wrapped around his middle and her arms around his neck. Her thighs glid around his waist with such exquisite perfection that he had to bite the tender flesh on the side of her neck to stop from shouting. The friction of his cock sliding between her legs where he'd touched with his fingers was too much. Almost propelling him past his breaking point. Too impatient to take the time to savour, he gripped himself and pushed deep into her entrance.

Watching her teeth bite onto her bottom lip as if to stop a scream from escaping, he groaned out loud as he pushed inch by inch, his focus whittling down to Claire and the heat enveloping his cock. Everything ceased to exist. He pulled out slightly before thrusting again, their mutual moans resounding on the walls of the cottage.

He shifted closer, needing to feel and touch all of her as possible. Keeping their lips locked, he seized her hips and started to move to the ancient dance of mating. There were no words to express the rough, grinding pace of what he did to her. It only bloomed more intense when she began matching his moves, widening her thighs and rolling her hips like she couldn't get enough.

"Oh sweet Lord, ye feel too good," he muttered against her mouth, hips pounding furiously. "How did I stay away from this?"

She gripped the back of his neck. "I missed this too," she gasped. "Please don't stop."

"I'm not hurting ye, am I? Tell me if I'm too rough."

"No ...no, don't be gentle. I need you to take me hard."

A tide surged inside him, mounting and building like a storm. Jamie roughly raised her hips to reposition her, dragging her arse to the edge of the table, her sweet moans telling him she'd like that. Unable to think past how she wanted it harder, there was no easing down now. He could only yank her leg higher and demand she keep up, ramming into her rough and fast. Her sighs and breath came out like hot rushes of air, thighs squeezing around him and starting to tremble. When her internal walls clenched around his cock, it warned him of her imminent climax, making his balls drew up so tight they ached. He dragged her flush to his body and buried his face in her neck, grunting with every deep thrust and muttering her name while his own release clamoured in his belly.

"Jamie!" she screamed, convulsing against him. He immediately silenced her cries with a deep kiss, but she flung her head back and squirmed, tightening up where their bodies joined, pulsing and throbbing. "Oh my God."

He couldn't wait any longer. Hooking his arms under her legs, he pumped his hardness in jerky hauls, faster and faster until his visions blurred. The whimpering noises she made launched him higher, signalling his own peak, and he soared towards it, his climax made more intense from the knowledge that it was Claire who got him there. He thrust into her one final time and thrust deep, growling her name into her hair and squashing her to his chest as he'd borne the full force of what they'd done.

"Oh, Christ, Sassenach."

Her hands ran up and down his back as she continued to take huge gulps of air. He knew he was crushing her, but he wasn't ready to let go. He wanted to remain buried inside her, holding her like this. With her heels digging into his arse and her arms around his neck. They fitted perfectly, her softness cradling his boneless heap, making him hard as steel again. Some part of his brain must have still been functioning because he jerked and reached out for her bra to cover her when his doorbell rang. Christ! Forcing his body to move with marginal success, he yanked her up and pulled up his jeans.

Claire slid off the table and grabbed her clothes. "Who could that be?"

"That better not be yer uncle or ..." Jamie trailed off, muttering curses under his breath, annoyed at the disturbance as he was just revving up for part two of their lovemaking. When he opened the door, a sense of deja vu hit him when he saw Mrs Fitz standing there with what seemed like a plate of a lemon meringue pie. What the fuck?

"Mrs Fitz!"

The older woman didn't bother to hide her curiosity this time as her eyes tried to peer past his shoulders. "Heard ye have company, lad, and I havenae seen Miss Claire the last couple of days."

He was about to say "none of her business" when Claire came up behind him, dressed back in her jeans and top. "Mrs Fitz, how are you? Is everything alright?"

Jamie stepped back and observed how Mrs Fitz's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. He figured instantly, his neighbour must have seen that kiss from Geneva earlier and that she'd probably thought the worse of him after hearing Claire's passionate screams. Right there and then, he decided, this time, he definitely needed to soundproof his home from eavesdropping neighbours.

"Ach, I saw light in yer windows," Mrs Fitz beamed, ignoring Jamie's glare. "Ye see, I've made too many pies and thought ye might like one. I remember ye enjoying this when ye stayed with yer friend over at my place this past Christmas."

"Oh, how lovely," Claire gushed, taking the plate from Mrs Fitz. "Thank you so much. Just what Jamie and I need right now ..." She blushed profusely, contemplating her words. "...after a long day."

Mrs Fitz clapped her hands. "I thought that!"

Seeing how thrilled Claire was looking at the desert, Jamie tamped down the urge to say something sarcastic and just scowled at her.

Mrs Fitz must have read his thoughts as this time it was her turn to crimson, a probable sign of her guilt for being nosey. Suddenly at a loss for words, she rubbed her palms at her sides. "Weel, ye both enjoy it. I must get going as it's rather late. Good night, both of ye." With that, she whirled around and disappeared into the night.

He shut the door and sighed, and followed Claire to the kitchen.

"Lovely lady," Claire remarked, sniffing the pie before placing it on the counter.

He turned her around and kissed her slowly, groaning when she opened her mouth for him without hesitation. "Ye're lovelier," he said against her lips. "But I'm not done with ye yet."

She grinned. "Pie first?"

Realising he'd never be able to compete with Mrs Fitz's homemade pie, he laughed out loud. "Absolutely ...why not?"

Dear Readers,

Well, here you go, their reunion! I hope you've enjoyed this lust-filled chapter. I must admit, though, when I was editing the sex part, I deliberately drank Bloody Mary to lose a bit of inhibition and make the scene a bit grittier. I hope it worked, but if it's too dirty for you, I say tough! 😆 Just kidding!

Anyway, thank you for commenting and showing your appreciation for my writing and your well wishes. I don't always reply back but be assured, your feedback is very much appreciated and anticipated.

And before I forget, it's not long now before this arc finishes. There will be an arc three, and I will let you know more on my next update.

Signing off now and wishing you a fabulous weekend. Stay safe and always take care! X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 23: Wings of a Flutterby

Summary: “Jamie had always considered the presence of a flutterby to be a blessing.”

Read on AO3

Read chp 23 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, master list, next

A/n: After seeing a very cute thread on twitter about how Jamie canonically calls butterflies "flutterbys," I had to make the addition to this chapter because it was too soft to pass up. So, inspired by @Sassenach7471, thanks for reminding me of this sweetness!

Chapter 23: Wings of a Flutterby

***

Claire lay on her stomach in front of Jamie in the middle of the living room floor, her arms folded underneath her head as she lazed. Jamie, for his part, sat cross-legged behind her, completely and utterly enamored.

The dress she was wearing had a large open back, covered only by tiny straps, which left her beautiful, translucent wings exposed. Jamie’s fingers were delicately tracing the edge of them where they lay flat on her back. They were so incredibly soft, so delicate, that Jamie could only bring himself to give them the barest hint of a touch. But he was entranced.

He’s always been told never to touch the wings of a flutterby for fear of damaging them, so when Claire had given him permission to touch hers (after he'd gaped open-mouthed at her in that dress), it felt so deliciously forbidden. Even though he’d never exactly touched a flutterby’s wings before, he’d felt them flap against his skin as the flutterby hovered around him, the flitting sensation of softness before it was gone, out of reach. Claire’s wings felt much the same as he’d imagine a flutterby’s would if he could touch them in this way, only Claire kept hers still and on display for him to pay due reverence.

Jamie had always seen the presence of a flutterby as a blessing— if they were near him, it was because of their choice, not his. He remembered as a kid being out in his mother’s garden, sitting as still as possible in hopes that one might land on him in passing.

Claire was much the same. An ethereal creature that somehow had landed on his life, had chosen him… him… over anything else, giving herself fully and utterly without hesitation.

Growing more bold, he trailed a finger down across one of the silvery veins that stretched across her wing. Claire gave a little shudder, making Jamie pause, but it was followed immediately by a contented sigh.

“How does it feel?” Jamie asked as he continued to wander the surface of her wing with gentle exploratory touches.

“Hmmn… nice,” Claire hummed.

Jamie spared a glance up at her face to find her eyes were closed. Her cheek was squished just slightly where it lay against her arm, and Jamie nearly melted at the sight.

“Like when I touch yer skin?” he probed. In demonstration, he brought his fingers to the skin of her back in between her wings, smoothing them down along the bumps of her spine.

She shivered again, shifting her head, and then answered dreamily, “no. It’s different. I can’t really explain, it’s like… my wings are more… sensitive.”

Jamie hummed in acknowledgement and returned his touch to her wings. They fluttered a little at the unexpected sensation, flitting against his hands, and that only served to make him more eager. As they settled again, Jamie began drawing absent circles over the surface with his fingertips.

They weren’t paper thin, but still so heartbreakingly delicate. Their golden hue seemed to shimmer in the light from the window, although it was soft and barely noticeable if he hadn’t been studying them so closely. He couldn't get enough.

It was unreal.

His body was nearly trembling with excitement over this strange experience. As relaxed as Claire was, Jamie was pulsing with energy, thrilled by this newfound intimacy. He could touch her forever and never tire of it— wings or no. The thought that this strange creature was his awed him to no end...

Absorbed as he was, he barely even noticed Claire was moving until she had sat up, her wings fluttering freely as she did. Jamie drew back, not wanting to hurt her as they moved, and he sat watching like a besotted fool as she turned to him.

Her eyes seemed glazed with serenity, her whole posture carefree and relaxed. His touch had melted her into a puddle of soft warmth, and Jamie came to the realization that she was about to be all over him the second before she did just that.

She moved slowly but nonetheless insistently, and Jamie found himself absolutely covered in faerie a second later. She had straddled him and pushed him down on the floor as Jamie obediently relented. He let her drape herself over him as he leaned back, staring up at her in enrapturement. The second he was laying on the ground, Claire spread out at length upon him, she purred, “It’s your turn.”

A dhia.

“What?” He sputtered, his brain having halted all proper function at the feeling of her body spread on top of him.

Lord give him strength.

“It’s your turn,” she repeated, “On your front.”

Jamie’s brain snapped back into his head as he realized what she was asking. Getting himself in check through some monumental force of will, Jamie managed to smile up at the hooded eyes above him.

“Lass, I canna turn over when ye’re on top of me.”

Claire was too tranquil to laugh or flush. She just hummed in acknowledgement, brushed her nose against Jamie’s once (making his wame twist), and then removed herself from his body.

Jamie mourned the loss instantly, but he turned over onto his stomach as ordered, mirroring the position Claire had just been in, lounging on his front.

As soon as he was settled, soft wee hands slid under his tee shirt, pushing it up. Then, lips met skin.

He had to resist the impulse to jerk away as she kissed the scars, her lips warm and tender. No one had ever touched him fondly there— before her— and never in his life had he imagined someone kissing him the ugly evidence of his pain.

Her lips touched the scarred flesh again, this time further up, and Jamie shivered. Gooseflesh broke out along his arms as her hand smoothed down the length of his back. She took her time, her touch gentle and intentional.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said reverently.

Every insecurity in Jamie screamed at him to deny it, to say something to the contrary, or even just joke about getting her eyesight checked. But the next brush of lips made the words die in his throat. He simply remained silent as tears gathered in his eyes.

Her fingers traced the criss-cross of his scars for a long time, easing the tension from his muscles with her soft touch until Jamie was just as relaxed as his faerie.

He wasn’t expecting it when a solid weight rested on his back, and he realized she’d laid her head down on him.

“I love you,” she said softly, her fingers still tracing over his shoulder blade, “all of you.”

Jamie wished that he were sitting up— or anywhere that he wasn’t trapped like this— so he could embrace her as he answered, “that means more than ye know, mo nighean donn.”

Her hand smoothed back and forth over his side in response. He could feel her breathing— slow and deep— against him.

“Dinna fall asleep on me there, lass,” he joked quietly.

“I’m not.” She answered so softly that he wasn’t entirely convinced of the validity of the statement. “I just want you to know that I love every part of you.”

The warmth in Jamie’s chest could have melted even the most ancient ice. Claire’s loving his scars couldn’t take away his insecurities— couldn’t magically heal the years of hating his body— but she gave him hope that one day he might be able to love himself with even a fraction of the intensity with which she loved him.

Jamie pushed up on his elbows (Claire letting out a displeased noise at his disruption), and he hastily sat up to take her into his arms as he’d been wishing to do ever since she’d begun her ministrations.

She went willingly as he pulled her into his chest, and they stayed pressed together as two parts of the same whole, serenity wrapped around them with the comfort of a blanket.

***

Later that day, Jamie finally had the chance to introduce Claire to the wonders of literature. After finding out weeks ago that the fair folk didn’t have a written language, Jamie had been positively itching to introduce Claire to some of his favorite books. The choice had been brutal—Jamie being the book lover that he was— but finally, he had decided on Lord of the Rings.

As soon as the decision had been made, he’d begun to prepare Claire, telling her everything he could think of about reading and books and human literature so she’d be ready before hearing the story.

When the time finally came— and Claire had draped herself over Jamie’s lap, holding onto his neck and laying her head on his shoulder so she could stare the book as he read— Jamie found it rather hard to concentrate on the words. He had to block out her touches and reactions in order to give her the proper experience of hearing him read. After not too long, Jamie began to get the hang of it— it’d been a long while since he’d read aloud to anyone, but the story came alive as he grew more comfortable.

Claire had hummed with excitement the whole time, stifling her wonderment into Jamie’s shoulder as he read with enthusiasm.

“You’re a wonderful story teller, Jamie,” she praised during a break at the end of a chapter.

“Thank ye, lass, but it isna so hard when the story is just here in front of me.”

“You’re getting all that story from there?” she asked, pointing dubiously at the page.

“Aye, much easier than remembering the whole thing,” he answered.

She’d pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You humans are so sweet,” she said fondly, “we just treasure everything worth telling inside of us.”

“Oh lass,” Jamie said, “I canna wait until ye hear more. There’s so much out there, more than we could ever remember ourselves. I’ll make a bookworm out of ye yet.”

Getting back to business, Jamie squeezed Claire closer with his free arm and resumed reading. Her attention soon shifted from the page (which was meaningless to her) and instead rested on Jamie’s face as he read. He found himself distracted by her regard and her wandering hands that were doing their best to draw him away from his reading.

“A nighean,” he said at one point, looking away from the book to level her with a mock stern look. Her hand froze over his nose where she’d been tracing up and down the bridge of it, “I canna concentrate on reading.”

“Oh,” she said, abashed, withdrawing her hands, “sorry.”

“Are ye enjoying the story so far, a leannan?” he asked. He had to prepare himself for the possibility that he was boring her, although hearing her say out loud that she didn’t like Lord of the Rings would probably break his heart.

“I love it!” she exclaimed quickly, straightening herself against him, “it’s amazing. I’m sorry, please keep going.”

“Okay,” he chuckled, “maybe jes’ let me focus on the reading for a bit, aye?”

After they’d finished their section of reading— Jamie closing the book as if parting from an old friend— Claire pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you for telling me your story,” she said softly.

He couldn’t help but laugh at hearing it referred to as “his,” but he didn’t have it in his heart to correct her outright.

“We’ll read more of Tolkien’s story another time. Would ye like that?”

She nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing and her smile melting his heart all over again. How could anyone ever look at her and not love her?— he wondered. He would spend all day, every day pouring out his soul just to see a glimpse of that smile.

“Would ye tell me a story of the fair folk?” Jamie asked suddenly, longing to experience a part of her world as she was experiencing his.

She raised up from where her head had just rested back on his shoulder.

“I would love to tell you a story, Jamie,” she said, but something about the tone of her voice seemed… off. Was she sad? Had bringing up her home been a mistake? “But later. I don’t know, I… I don’t really feel much like storytelling at the moment.”

“That’s alright, a leannan,” Jamie reassured, “I just want ye to ken how much I care about yer stories too.”

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her head underneath his jaw, squeezing tightly.

“I love you, Jamie,” she said.

“I love you more, mo nighean donn.”

***

#all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #fae claire

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not-poignant · 3 years

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hello! *peruses unasked flower asks* ummm, if you could give me a Canna, Cock’s Comb ehheeh, Common Boneset, Norwegian Angelica and Rosemallows please! :)

(Okay I love that little eheh at cock's comb tho)

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?

I do! A giant 'RESIST' in capital letters down the inside of my right wrist, that I actually got long before any actual 'resist' movements over the past few years. I got it around my 21st birthday (actually like a year later) mostly to mark all the things that I'd already survived at that point, and how much of my life philosophy is based off a position of resistance - resisting wanting to kill myself, resisting the darkest paths, resisting my own body when it grows tumours, and so on.

As it's aged, its lost some of it's sharp corners and stuff, but I still like it, though I mostly forget its there now. I'd like to get more tattoos at some point, but money is a big barrier, they're not cheap! (Which is good, because hopefully it means tattoo artists are being paid well).

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

I don't really know. I use Times New Roman the most while writing (I know, I know), so I guess that's my favourite because I'm voluntarily staring at it for hours and hours every single day. I hate Calibri and often have to force-change documents to another font to be able to edit them, if they come to me in that font. But I also used to write in Calibri, until I had the revelation that I hated writing in Calibri, lmao.

When I was a teenager, and had far less fonts to choose from, I was a passionate fan of Courier New and that's still my favourite font to set poetry in, which I think is an 'old habits die rather hard' thing, lmao.

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

I'm looking forward to thunderstorms, whenever they next come.

I'm looking forward to going down south with my mother, though I'm apprehensive about it too, and hope it goes well. I expect it will be exhausting, and an experience, and worthwhile. That's the end of July.

I'm looking forward to a week to myself and I'm not sure when I'll get one.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow (at least right now).

I'm looking forward to the next time we go to Kumo and have more of those Japanese souffle pancakes because souffle pancakes.

I'm looking forward to going to bed tonight.

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

I've always had...an interesting relationship with my mother. Though it's very good now. But there are lots of long stories I'm going to cut short here and say that around 11 or 12 years ago I was fed up, and sent Mum a lengthy email (because I couldn't trust I'd be able to speak clearly in person without breaking down and crying) saying that if she didn't get on board with acknowledging the PTSD and where it came from, and didn't confront her own demons in that, I was going to walk away from her and our relationship for good, and I already had my estranged relationship with my father to prove that I wasn't bluffing.

In retrospect, this probably sounds like an incredibly cruel thing to do, but I can't describe to you the years before that, my childhood, the things that led to me making this decision. Only that when I made it, I didn't know what else to do.

But then the most amazing thing happened, and unlike about anyone else in my family at the time, Mum got therapy, and she got help, and she faced her demons, and she decided that she was going to learn about her child instead of doing what she'd been doing in the past. And from there we grew a real relationship. And quite a few years ago now, we started catching up once a week, every (usually) Friday morning.

She's one of my best friends now, I love her to pieces, her bravery and courage in being willing to face up to some hard truths (including - among others - that my father and her husband was abusive), as well as her sheer strength recently going through breast cancer with such humour and grace only a short period after I went through my own cancer journey, like, she's such a role model to me.

I could never have expected that. I loved my Mum growing up, but I never felt like she knew or saw me as a person, which I don't actually blame her for, she sure was Going Through It herself, in a way that I could not appreciate fully as a child, because she protected us from those realities that she experienced and suffered through as best as she could. And now I think she really does try, as I try to meet her where she is in turn. And we see each other as people, not as family roles, and that to me...has an ineffable, lovely quality. Which is, incidentally, why I'm taking her down south for her birthday, so we can spend even more time together.

Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

I don't know that I have one. Oh wait, I think...I do, so let's just preface this first though.

The problem I have here is that I've had a life full of depression and PTSD (no literally, my post-trauma started showing in early childhood), and both things can actually cause memory loss or poor memory coherence (unless the memories are traumatic! Do not recommend).

However, I have a glimpse of a memory between me, Glen and Putu, shortly before Putu was bound to leave for Melbourne (for good, he hasn't come back except to visit), where we spent the whole day together, except a break in the afternoon for me to sleep, because true facts - I cannot get through a day without sleeping for several hours in the afternoon.

There was something so golden and perfect about that day. I remember startlingly for me, sitting on the couch and tired and sore (we'd spent the day going to dim sum and then later walking around Kings Park) basking in a feeling I couldn't recall having felt before, and then I think I turned to Putu and Glen and said with some amazement, 'I think I feel content.' And Putu and Glen were like '...yeah...and?' and later I had to admit to Glen I'd never felt the feeling before. Golden and soft, like a cloud.

I think I've felt it once more since then, but I don't remember when. And I don't think I'd felt it before then, either. I would not wish my brain chemistry on anyone. But I'm very glad I got to share that moment with Putu, who is a very close member of my chosen family, for all that I don't get to see him very often anymore.

I can't strongly recall the feeling of the emotion itself. I remember describing it to myself in my head, in complete sentences, and those are the sentences I'm sharing to you now, because my verbal memory is much better than my emotional memory (I have quite serious alexithymia, which would surprise no one, but it's better than it used to be).

And I am relieved that my brain did actually hang onto the moment, mostly because I chanted to myself like a prayer: please don't forget this please don't forget this please don't forget this remember your position on the couch remember where Putu is sitting remember where Glen is sitting remember what you said and remember the time of day and remember what came before.

And, now, I do.

From the flower asks meme!

#asks and answers #memey goodness #personal #incidentally telling myself to snapshot a memory like that doesn't work #i remember words far better than feelings #and my memory formation is like #REALLY good in medical settings #and really not great if i'm just having a good time #though that being said i believe i've only felt contentment a handful of times #amazingly it's enough to mostly keep me going until the next time #it's just that 'the next time' has been a few years now #and i'm starting to think it won't happen again #but here's hoping it does #five lights on a very long string #are sometimes all it takes to keep you looking for the next one

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let-the-dream-begin · 4 years

Text

When the World is Free

“There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow, When the world is free.” — The White Cliffs of Dover, Vera Lynn, 1942

The world is free again, the war has ended, life starting anew. But for Claire, it’s all over. Jamie’s plane was shot down, leaving her pregnant out of wedlock with nowhere to go. But John made Jamie a promise in their bleakest moments, and he intends to live up to it.

An Echo/MOBY retelling set post-World War II.

Chapter 1: Carry Me, Carry Me Now

Read on AO3

It was a marriage of convenience for them both.

John’s bride was quite well aware of his sensibilities, his preference for the non-female sex. And he was quite well aware of the precariousness of her situation. The tragedy of it as well.

Even if he could forget, it would have been impossible. She was constantly twisting the silver engagement ring she’d been given, constantly resting her hands on her stomach, whether she realized she was doing it or not.

Perhaps the bloke signing their marriage license at the courthouse noticed as well, because he smirked at John with a raised eyebrow when she stroked her flat abdomen for perhaps the millionth time since they’d arrived. John had pursed his lips together for an uncomfortable smile. His assumptions weren’t incorrect, of course, but there were many pieces missing.

The child, for one, still invisible and yet still so enormous in its mother’s heart already, was not John’s. And neither was the ring that lived on her right hand, something he would never ask her to remove.

The wedding band on her left hand seemed to weigh her down, like a ball and chain pulling her deeper into the black depths of her sorrow.

He drove them home from the courthouse to his flat, or rather their flat. He should start referring to it as such. It was her home now, after all. Their home, the three of them.

Well…four of us, really.

He hung between them like a thick cloud of smoke, solid as a brick wall, at all times. They didn’t speak of it aloud; they didn’t need to. He lived in these rooms rent-free without even needing his name spoken into existence.

John knew that the man who was gone had been the love of her life, her one great love.

And John knew that he was his as well.

He’d confessed it in the black of night, half-buried by rubble when he was sure he would die. They’d gone through basic training together, becoming good friends almost instantly. He’d defended John’s honor when the teasing started; he told him that John was more manly than those other clotheids would ever be. John kept those words, and the gentle touch of his hand that came with them, close to his heart.

“I love you, James Fraser. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone in my life.”

Unfortunately, he hadn’t died.

John had recovered rather quickly from his injuries and proceeded to avoid Jamie at all costs. Jamie was angry as a bull when he’d finally confronted him.

“D’ye think I give a damn, John? D’ye think it’s ever made a difference to me before? I bloody knew before ye said something, ye damned fool.”

John hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious.

“I’m only sorry that I canna be what ye want me to be, a charaid.”

Jamie held him while he cried, and if he hadn’t been mad, he could have sworn he felt Jamie’s tears soak into his hair as well.

Sitting at the kitchen table in his flat across from his new bride, John teared up at the mere memory.

He’d been so ashamed…and Jamie hadn’t given a damn. He was actually sorry that he couldn't return his affection. Instead of John’s confession wrenching them apart as he’d been so terrified of, it brought them even closer.

He watched his bride stare into her teacup as the liquid inside quickly chilled in the November air.

“Are you cold? Should I put on a fire?”

Her hands remained fastened around the teacup and her eyes remained locked inside it as she nodded silently.

God, she had changed.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her was only in a photograph, and even then he’d been astonished by her beauty.

“This is her,” Jamie said as he produced the small photograph that he kept in an inside breast pocket at all times, his face melting into an adoring gaze that took John’s breath away. “My Sorcha.”

She was giving the camera a smirk, eyes sparkling even in black and white, wild dark curls blowing in the wind.

She looked so alive, and that was just a photograph.

When he’d finally seen her in person, he understood quite well why his friend was so drawn to her. She was exquisite, even in her combat nurse uniform. She was radiant, so full of love and life. Her eyes were liquid honey and solid amber all at once. When she laughed, she tossed her head back and smacked whoever was closest, usually Jamie.

If they were beautiful apart…they were a glorious masterpiece together.

Even in the dirt and smoky haze of the camp, when John looked at the pair of them, he could have been looking at a painting. The rest of the world fell away when Jamie had his Claire back in his arms.

It was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

A woman was a rare thing in camp, being that most men met their wives elsewhere when they were on leave. But Claire had to be on leave as well if she wanted to see Jamie, and being that they were not yet married, the army wouldn't be bothered lining up their leaves.

And so they’d followed each other. They’d travelled from one battlefield to another, from one hellscape to the next just to be with one another. Even during what was meant to be a reprieve, Claire could be found tending to all sorts of illness and injury around the camp, Jamie trailing beside her like a lost puppy.

Jamie had told John they’d been handfast the night he’d been drafted, an old Scottish tradition that allowed young couples to be married in every sense of the word except in the eyes of the law. There hadn’t been time for a wedding before he was to leave, so that was the best they could do. What mattered to Jamie most was their marriage being seen by the eyes of God, and handfasting accomplished that to his liking. And so for all intents and purposes, Jamie and Claire were married. John could hear it quite well when she was in camp; she was not exactly very quiet about it.

When John returned from starting a fire in the hearth with the intention of leading her into the room to warm herself, she’d replaced her teacup with a glass of whisky and was tossing the entire thing back. She topped her glass off again and then filled a second one. She handed it to him with a sardonic smile, her eyes hooded. There was no trace of that lively youth she’d had when he met her.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said warmly. “The fire is ready, if you’d like to move.”

“Thank you, John.” She stood up and made her way out of the kitchen, taking the bottle with her. Apparently, his bride did not intend to remain sober today. He wondered if she thought that he was going to force her to consummate this marriage, which was just about the last thing on his mind. She should know that he was more than capable of pretending for everyone else, but perhaps he should make himself clear.

“Claire,” he began as they settled into opposite armchairs in front of the fireplace. “You know that I don’t plan to — ”

“Jamie said he kissed you.”

John felt like he’d been smacked in the face with a frying pan. He cleared his throat.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He said that you shared a moment together, and that he kissed you.”

She was staring at him intently, but she didn’t look angry or accusatory. If anything, she seemed possessed by nothing more than morbid curiosity.

“Well…yes. That’s true.”

“We kept secrets, but we didn’t lie,” she said softly, taking a sip of her whisky. “I saw the way you looked at him from the very first time I met you.”

“I’m sorry — ”

“Please don’t be.” Her eyes held such sincerity that he almost wept as he had when Jamie had said just about the same thing. “I just…I wanted to know. That…that last night. The night that we…conceived.” Her hand rested absently on her abdomen again. “I asked him if anything had ever happened. And he told me you shared a kiss.”

“It…didn’t go any farther than that. I wouldn’t have let it, even if he wished it.”

“I know,” she said, taking another sip. “I wasn’t angry. I’m still not. I understand the need for that intimacy in such a hopeless place. And I understand that you…you were very close.” Her voice tightened, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “I was glad, really. I was grateful to you for being there for him when I couldn’t.”

John didn’t know what to say. He nodded curtly and took a long drag of his whisky.

“What did it feel like?”

He almost choked on the liquid.

“I know it sounds mad. But I…I want to hear you talk about it.” Her chin trembled, but she maintained her strong facade. “I want to hear because I…I want to remember with someone. What it was like to…to love him.”

John blinked back his own tears and ran a hand down the length of his face. He needed a bit more liquid courage before he dove into the details of how Jamie tasted and how he felt beneath his hands. Claire seemed to understand, because she allowed a long silence to pass between them before John finally spoke.

He poured his heart out to her, detailed the feel of Jamie’s lips like he was dictating poetry, described the way Jamie’s short-cut curls felt between his fingers, recalling the way he smelled.

“Like...silver from the gunpowder...but he also smelled vaguely of...aftershave. I remember wondering how on earth he’d come into possession of such a thing. I breathed it in so deeply it made me dizzy.” He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, and he could swear he smelt it again.

“And then the rest of the world fell away...even the gunpowder and the smoke...and I just smelt...him.” Eyes still closed, his tongue farted out to lick his lips. He’d wanted so desperately to run his tongue over Jamie’s lips, but he’d been afraid, paralyzed with shock that it was even happening.

“I was so overwhelmed by the...the feeling of him. His lips were so warm and so solid and so timid...and it was over so quickly, but I...” He opened his eyes, blinking back tears. “I saw an...an entire lifetime between us in that kiss. I wanted to...to fold myself into him and stay there forever.” His voice broke, and he anxiously ran a hand through his hair.

He could almost see the man right in front of him again, could almost feel him warm and alive in his hands again; he could feel the shuddering whisper of whisky breath on his lips and chin and nose, and he brought trembling fingers to rest over his mouth, as if to trap the feeling there. He looked up, seeing the real world again for the first time in several breaths, and his heart leapt into his throat to see that Claire was shuddering with silent tears.

“Claire…” he choked out, leaning onto his knees with his elbows, terrified that he’d gone too far. “I’m…I’m sorry…”

She shook her head, putting down her whisky on the table beside her chair. “That’s…that’s exactly it.”

He blinked dumbly at her, and she abruptly leaned forward with a tiny sob, clasping his hands in hers.

“That’s exactly what it felt like,” she said, something in her eyes that was almost desperate. “Thank you…thank you.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to their joined hands, hot and soft and wet. She kept her face atop their hands in John’s lap, and she fell apart. It wasn’t long before she slipped out of her own chair and was kneeling before him, sputtering hysterically into his lap, squeezing his hands until her knuckles were white.

John was stunned, but he did the only thing he could do: he gave her comfort. He stroked her hair as she wept, rubbed her back, squeezed back on her hands. Somehow, he ended up on the floor with her, leaning against the seat of the chair and holding her trembling form to his chest. His own tears dissolved into her curls, and soon he was holding onto her for dear life as well.

“We are the only two people in the world who share this pain,” Claire said against his neck, her voice thick with hours of tears. “This pain…of losing Jamie.”

John nodded fervently, tightening his grip on her tiny body yet again.

“We’ll carry it…together,” John whispered into her hair, and then pressed a kiss there. He felt her nod into the crook of his neck and nuzzled in closer.

More and more hours passed, and more and more whisky emptied from the bottle, and then a second bottle, and then a third. It was well past suppertime, but neither were capable of preparing anything to eat in the state they were in, and their empty stomachs only served to send the alcohol straight to their already muddled brains.

They spent hours going back and forth talking about the mutual love of their lives, weeping and clinging to each other, and then they would laugh their drunken heads off, Claire swatting at him as she howled.

John had loosened the top buttons of his shirt and removed his belt, and Claire had undone the top buttons of her dress as well.

“God…I’m melting…” Claire sighed, pulling her dress over her head and revealing the tiny white slip underneath. “You don’t mind?”

John burst into hysterical laughter, and Claire soon followed.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!” Claire sputtered. “Of course you don’t bloody mind. I could be stark naked and you wouldn’t bat an eye!”

They howled again, and she swatted at him.

“Not to mention I’m bloody married to you!”

They howled a bit more until Claire had spilled her whisky onto the rug and fell over into John’s lap.

“I think we should get you into bed, my dear.”

She giggled, biting her lip, and John was briefly mesmerized by the way a blush bloomed down her neck and into her chest. He heaved her to her feet, and they laughed together as they both swayed their way into the bedroom.

“You’re going to have quite the hangover tomorrow.” John was attempting to make more lighthearted conversation, but as he looked down at the woman in his arms, he was taken aback to see something he could only describe as hunger in her eyes.

“Would you…” He struggled to think through his drunken haze. “Would you like a nightgown, my dear?”

He made to pull away from her and go to the wardrobe, but she fisted his shirt in her hands, not ready to release him. She pressed her face into his neck and hummed, vibrating the skin there, and it gave him gooseflesh.

“Claire…” His tone could have been a warning, or pleading. He wasn’t at all sure.

Her small tongue darted out of her mouth and traced a line from the bottom of his neck all the way up to where his jawline began, and he shuddered violently. She giggled all the while her tongue was hanging out of her mouth, creating a lusty, wanton sound.

John gently took her face in his hands and pushed her away just enough to look in her eyes. They were hooded with drink and glassy as a porcelain doll’s. He thought he detected the slightest bit of fear, and it broke his heart.

“It’s alright. We don’t…we don’t have to.” He gently took her hands off of his chest and held them loosely between them. “I didn’t expect you to. We don’t have to.”

She gave a heartbreaking little whimper and began nuzzling her face into his chest, practically leaning her entire body weight on him. “Please.”

He didn’t think he’d heard her properly at first.

“Really, we can just…go to bed. On separate sides.”

“Please.”

It was almost a moan in its intensity. She began pawing at his clothing, pressing desperate kisses into his neck.

“I need you,” she groaned. “I need this. I need you, Jamie.”

His blood ran cold, and it would appear hers did as well by the way she froze completely. She practically went cool to the touch.

“Claire.”

He firmly took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look at him.

“I’m not Jamie.”

She could hardly stand on her own, could hardly focus her bleary eyes on him.

“I’m not Jamie,” he said again, more gently, moving his hand off her chin to cup the back of her head. “I can’t…I won’t have you like this. You’re drunk and…you’re not thinking clearly.”

She welled up with tears, looking very much like a wounded animal in response to his apparent rejection.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I know how much you’re hurting.”

God, did he know it.

“And you know that I…well…you know me.” He didn’t feel the need to speak it aloud again.

“You want to,” she sputtered. “I can feel it.”

She very suddenly and very firmly palmed him, causing him to jolt. And damn him, she was right. For some reason, some ungodly, horrific reason, he was aroused.

“It’s…it’s not you, Claire,” he said softly after regaining his composure, though he made no move to remove her hand. “It’s…it’s him. I’m standing here wishing it was his hand.”

“Good.” She tightened her grip, and he groaned involuntarily. “Because I’m standing here wishing it was his cock.”

She kissed him then, sloppily, heavily, lapping her tongue over him.

“Make love to Jamie, John,” she panted between kisses. “You make love to him, and so will I.”

“It’s not…it isn’t right.” He firmly seized her wrist and removed her grip from him, pinning her hands away from him.

Hands or no, Claire was never one to give up. When she wanted something, she would get it, consequences be damned.

She began gyrating her hips against him, and God help him if it didn’t make him even harder. It wasn’t long before he released her hands and finally surrendered to her, allowing her to pin him to the bed and have her way with him. He could have stopped her if he’d truly wanted. He could have tossed a bucket of water over her, given her a light but firm smack, shouted at her, gone to sleep in the living room. But, God…he wanted this, needed this as badly as she did.

He reached out and sought purchase in her skin as she rode him, soft in all the places where Jamie was solid. She was wild, a mad look in her eye as she tossed her head back in delicious ecstasy, and yet she was entirely lucid, he was sure of it. Perhaps the moments leading up to their joining were hazy, but now she was more than aware.

Her hands were all over him as well, small and yet hard and demanding. She even gripped his hands at one point and directed them exactly where she wanted to be touched.

She cried out for Jamie as she came around him, and God help him if he didn’t do the same as he spilled into her.

It was filthy, it was shameful, and he was disgusted and confused and terrified.

But when she collapsed onto his chest and wept like a broken child, everything faded but the need to comfort her, to protect her.

“I need ye to promise me something, John.”

“Anything.”

“If anything should happen to me…”

“God, Jamie, please don’t talk like this.”

“Ye said anything, man. I need ye to mean it.”

He looked into those steel blue eyes, his pupils shrunken to tiny pinpricks. John nodded, though his heart hammered with terrible foreboding.

“If anything should happen to me…I need…I need ye to promise me that ye’ll look after Claire.”

John took a moment to blink back his shock.

“I ken she’s strong as a stallion and stubborn as a mule. She’d have ye think that she doesna need any help. Truth be told, I ken she doesna. But just…fer my peace of mind. Will ye swear to me that ye’ll look after her?”

John swallowed thickly, unable to stop the rush of tears.

“She means more to me than anything in this world. And I’m entrusting her to ye, my dearest friend. And in return, if ye want…I would be willing to…”

John's eyes widened, unblinking.

“If ye want.”

John’s mouth hung agape, and he stammered incoherently for a moment.

“Are you actually offering your body to me in payment if I promise to look after Claire?”

Jamie’s jaw hardened, and he nodded once. “Aye.”

“Dear God…” John shook his head, and he actually started laughing. “That I should live to hear such an offer!”

Jamie blinked rapidly, and John could have sworn he saw tears gathering there. “Ye dinna want me then?”

“I shall probably want you ’til the day I die!” John exclaimed, and then lowered his voice to a whisper, remembering that tents were thin, flimsy things. “But tempted as I am…do you really think I’d accept? I should feel my honor most insulted, save that I know the depth of feeling that prompted it.”

Jamie wet his lips and nodded, averting his eyes and staring at a stain in the tent. “Aye. I’m…I’m sorry. I didna mean tae insult yer honor. I just…I thought to…to give ye something of what is most precious to ye in return for protecting that which is most precious to me.”

John placed a comforting hand on Jamie’s knee, desperate for his friend to not feel ashamed. “I understand.”

Jamie nodded again, and then forced himself to look at John. “Besides, I…I wouldnae ha’ offered if it wasna something I could bear.”

Despite how fiercely John blushed, how much he wanted to tear his eyes away, he didn’t. He held Jamie’s gaze as he whispered, almost inaudible: “You could…bear it?”

“Aye,” he said without hesitation. “I could.”

Then before John knew what was happening, Jamie’s lips were on his, and his soul ignited. It was sweet and chaste, and gentle and beautiful.

Jamie was beautiful.

He pulled away after about three seconds, and the two men maintained their intense eye contact.

“You have my word, Jamie,” John whispered fervently. “God forbid you are taken from us, I will keep safe what you love most. And I am…most grateful for such an honor.”

“Thank ye.” His steel blue eyes welled up with tears, and he clutched at the back of John’s neck. “Thank ye, John.”

John had sworn it with everything he had to give in his heart and soul. She was the most precious thing in the world to Jamie, and he’d left her to his care. It felt like an honor he was not worthy of. He was not worthy of the man as he lived, and he was certainly not worthy of the woman he’d loved and the child she would bear. Perhaps Jamie hadn’t meant for him to marry the woman if something should happen, but what else was he to do? Leave her unmarried and childless in a world so cruel?

No, he’d sworn on his honor that she’d be safe with him, forever and always.

And as he held her, naked, broken, and sobbing to his own naked form, trembling like a leaf with the force of her tears, John could feel her seeping into the cracks that Jamie had left in his heart. He could feel her already becoming as precious to him as she’d been to Jamie…as precious to him as Jamie had been to him.

Don’t fret, Jamie, love. I’ve got her.

I’ve got them both.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #Claire Fraser #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #John Grey #Lord John Grey #JC #JJC #John x Jamie #John x Claire #John x Jamie x Claire #throuple #ot3 #outlander au

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magnoliasinbloom · 4 years

Text

Lie To Me - 14

AO3 :: Previously

“Here’s the x-ray, doctor. Fractures to both fingers, lacerations, bruising...”

Jamie is detached quite a bit due to the painkillers he’s been given, but lucid enough to understand the doctors speaking around him. He lies very still while they poke and prod at his mangled hand. All he can think of is that he is glad Claire is not there to see him like this, and how he could possibly face her now. Despite the debilitating pain, his uncles’ words stand out clearly in his mind, and the need to keep Claire safe supersedes anything else.

After deliberating for a bit, the orthopedic surgeon on call decides he will need surgery due to the instability of the fractures. Everything that follows he captures through a filmy haze: he is stripped down and carefully attired in a hospital gown. He floats in and out while they set up an IV and pump him full of sedatives to prepare for a general anesthetic. As he is being wheeled into an operating room, Jamie thinks he glimpses a sleek red braid and Geillis’s face, but he can’t be sure.

X-x-X

Jamie thinks it’s Claire’s face, with its warm honey eyes, that appears in front of him. His hand aches something fierce despite the medication, and when he comes to a little bit more clearly, he can see it’s blonde hair, not brown curls, and serious grey eyes, not the golden hue he was expecting.

“I’m yer emergency contact?” Laoghaire.

Jamie struggles to connect his thoughts. “I—maybe. I canna think just now.”

Her eyes travel over the contoured foam support that holds his hand up from the bed. “The doctors said ye caught yer hand in the car door.”

“That’s close enough to the truth.” Jamie closes his eyes, remembering the glint of the hammer in the light of his uncles’ office.

“Oh, Jamie.” Laoghaire pulls the plastic hospital chair closer to his bed, and smooths his hair from his face. “Was it Dougal?” she asks softly, worried.

What’s a few more scars, he suddenly recalls his uncle saying in the car.

“I want to be free of them. Don’t ye?” Jamie asks tiredly.

“Yes, o’ course, but not at the expense of yer life!” Laoghaire takes Jamie’s uninjured hand gently. “We may not have wed under ideal circumstances—”

“Ye mean, not lovin’ each other.”

“Aye, that, but that doesna mean I dinna care what happens to ye.”

“Either way, a leannan, it will be over soon.” Laoghaire frowns at Jamie’s words, but doesn’t elaborate further.

“I can imagine what our uncles said to ye, and I know very well what it was about.” She hesitates. “I wanted to ask ye about something that might help distract the MacKenzie for a bit, or it might bring them down harder on us.”

“What is it?”

“Joseph and I are leaving Scotland. We want to move to America.”

Jamie is a bit shocked. Laoghaire knows as well as he does that she will indubitably draw on their uncles’ ire, but it’s a chance to get away, and find some happiness that’s not tainted by crime and death.

“Laoghaire, I—what can I say? It’s yer choice to make. I… understand, but…” Jamie’s thoughts are getting fuzzy, between the heavy medication and the gravity of the conversation.

“What do ye mean, it will be over soon?”

“I canna tell ye. But it could be good for us. For everyone.”

Laoghaire frowns again, and nods. They stare at each other and when her gaze shifts to his bandaged hand in the elevated contraption she seems to make her decision. Laoghaire stands from the uncomfortable chair and gathers her coat and purse. It seems she had been there for a while, waiting for him to wake up from the surgery. She turns to look at him before opening the door, her eyes worried but determined.

“We’ll be gone in two days. If ye need me to come back, for the courts or anything… I’ll do whatever ye need me to, Jamie, to protect the both of us. Isn’t it a matter of time before something like… this, happens to Joseph too, or myself? I want to fight for the same things ye are.” Laoghaire pauses, then walks quickly towards him and kisses him gently on the forehead. “I’m happy that ye’ve found someone too, love. I think…” New determination is visible in her eyes, and she roots around in her purse and draws a set of keys, an old Waitrose receipt, and a pen. “This is to Joseph’s grandmother’s old flat. If ye want, ye can use it.” She scribbles down an address and tucks it under the phone next to the bed.

Moving back to the door, she opens it and waiting on the other side is a fiery redhead—Geillis.

“And ye are the wife, I presume?” Geillis adopts a defensive stance, arms crossed, ready to beat someone down. Jamie can attest to the strength she packs in a slap.

“I am, but I’m leaving. Are ye her? Didn’t think he’d go for a redhead, but then again, I dinna think blondes are his thing either,” Laoghaire says with a laugh that evidently confuses and disarms Geillis.

“Oh, no, I’m—a friend of Claire’s, also a doctor. Just here to check up on the wee fox cub, ye ken.”

“Well, I’m sure I appreciate all ye can do for Jamie as he recovers. Give Claire my best, and I wish you both well.” With a quick wave to Jamie and a wink, Laoghaire vanishes, heels clicking down the hall. Jamie feels a tug in his chest; he hopes she will find peace and happiness—and safety.

Blinking rapidly, he focuses on Geillis, arms still crossed. “Did ye call Claire?”

“Not yet. I wanted to wait until ye came out of surgery so she needn’t worry.”

“I dinna suppose I can convince ye not to tell her?”

Geillis raises an eyebrow. “More lies, Fraser?”

Jamie sighs. “How much longer will I be in hospital?”

“Ye were lucky, as far as these things go. I looked at yer chart, and Dr. Rawlings did a braw job. It wasna as bad as he’d feared, but he did pin some bones with small wires, put in a plate and a few screws.” Jamie winces and Geillis frowns. “What really happened, man?”

“How much has Claire told ye about my—about my story, the truth?”

“Not much. She’s quite cryptic, like ye.” She approaches the bed, checking the IV line and the brace on his arm. “Not a car door, then.”

“No, but let’s leave it at that. Geillis, would ye do me a favor?” Jamie tries to sit up further, but Geillis pushes him back gently, arranging the pillows behind his back instead.

“If I can. After I call Claire,” she says pointedly. “And now that yer wife’s gone, who will look after ye at home? We canna discharge ye if—”

“That’s just it.” Jamie closes his eyes, suddenly bone tired. “There’s a paper with an address just—d’ye see it? Would ye call Claire, tell her to pack a bag, and convince her to move there for a few days?”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #ltm14 #L's not a bitch #she's really not

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Note

For the Modern Glasgow au: the bairns and Murtagh organizing a secret big renewal vows party for Jamie & Claire for a milestone anniversary in place of the one they didn't have on their actual wedding.

Modern Glasgow AU

It started with an accident.

Murtagh still didn’t quite know how it had happened - only that it had ended with sixteen-year-old William racing into the house one afternoon, screaming for Claire to come quickly and that Jamie was hurt.

Quickly he’d kissed Suzette goodbye and raced out with Claire and William toward the barn and then around the side. Jamie sat ramrod straight up against one wall, Ian Murray’s strong hand on shoulder to steady him, his bloody left hand curled up against his side.

He’d held Jamie’s other shoulder and William had held his Da’s right hand as Claire meticulously uncurled his broken fingers, wiped away the blood and cleaned and sutured the wounds.

The hardest part wasn’t seeing Jamie’s reaction to the pain. It was his reaction to Claire’s matter-of-fact statement, about fifteen minutes after they arrived:

“Jamie - I need to cut off your wedding ring. It’s cutting off the blood flow to your finger.”

Indeed it was - for Jamie’s fingers had all swollen to far larger than their normal size.

Murtagh squeezed his godson’s shoulder. “Ye need to do it, lad. It’s just a ring. It can be fixed.”

Gently Claire raised one hand - smeared with Jamie’s blood - to cradle her husband’s cheek. Looking into his pained eyes. “Let me do this to heal you.”

He sighed, and nodded.

“The cutters please, William,” Claire said gently. William rooted around in her emergency box and three short snips later, Claire deposited the ring - snipped neatly into an open circle - into Ian Murray’s waiting hand.

“Dinna fash,” he said to his brother-in-law, concerned eyes meeting Murtagh’s. “We’ll set it right.”

---

A few years before, Murtagh had asked auld Hiram Crombie - an institution in the wee village of Broch Mordha, just a few miles from Lallybroch - to repair a few pieces of old jewelry that Suzette had inherited from her mother and grandmother. They were small but precise repairs - and Suzette had been so surprised and pleased when he’d given them to her for their anniversary.

So after he and Claire and William and Ian had helped Jamie back to the house - hearing all about the old shelf that had collapsed on him and the sharp tools that had rained down on his hands as he protected his head - Murtagh got to thinking.

That’s why he murmured to Claire, once they had tucked Jamie into bed and he had been surrounded by Julia and Bree and Jenny and Faith and Mrs. Crook and Fergus and Marsali and everyone else in the house who had missed the excitement outside - “Let me take care of fixing this.”

Claire had been surprised, of course - yet grateful.

And Hiram was glad to make the repair.

“I’ve a wee bit of silver in the back,” he said softly, examining the cut ring with his enormous magnified spectacles. “Should be a straightforward job. Ready to pick up next Tuesday.”

Turns out it wasn’t only Murtagh who had a plan - for when he returned home to Lallybroch, Julia and Fergus buttonholed him and sat him down in the parlor, where William and Bree and Faith and Marsali were waiting.

“We were thinking,” Fergus explained, “that because Maman and Papa did not have a big wedding - when Papa’s ring is ready, we can surprise them with another wedding.”

Murtagh narrowed his eyes at his eldest godson/grandson. “Says the man who eloped and didnae even tell his family until afterward.”

Fergus shrugged and exchanged glances with his wife, who rubbed her pregnant belly. “Fergus and I - we’ll have our big wedding when we’re ready. But Jamie and Claire are at the point where they deserve one.”

“They didnae want a fuss for their 20th anniversary last year,” Faith reasoned. “But there’s no reason why we can’t pull together something for them now.”

Murtagh crossed his arms. “I dinnae suppose you have a priest in mind and everything?”

Bree nodded, smiling. “Father Kenneth will do it. It’s all sorted.”

Murtagh looked at all the Frasers - not so wee anymore - one by one. So proud of the young adults they had become.

“Weel - Hiram said Tuesday. That’s five days from now.”

“Plenty of time.” William pulled out a much-folded piece of paper. “We just need you to be the distraction.”

---

“...Not sure why I needed to come wi’ ye,” Jamie said for the third time, in the passenger seat of Murtagh’s battered Volvo. “Claire has her own car.”

“All will be revealed.” Murtagh slid into the visitor parking space outside of the clinic that Claire ran, and pulled the parking brake. “Trust me.”

Jamie sighed. “I suppose I can still surprise Claire every now and again. I cannae remember the last time I met her at the end of a shift. Though I did do that a lot right at the beginning...”

The door opened and Claire - still clad in her bright blue scrubs - emerged. Jamie opened the car door, stood, and waved. Murtagh watched her smile and quickly approach them, stopping for a quick kiss.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I have my own car.”

“I’m under strict orders from Murtagh that you’re to come with us back home,” Jamie explained. “We can pick up your car later.”

He slid inside and scooched over so that Claire could sit beside him.

“Now - seatbelts please,” Murtagh said as he shifted into reverse and backed out of the parking space. “I have six wee fiends back home who will insist.”

Jamie raised a questioning eyebrow toward his wife, who smiled and shrugged and took his hand in hers for the drive back home.

---

Jamie’s mouth hurt from smiling so much.

At the row of Fraser and Murray children waiting in two lines outside the entrance to Lallybroch.

At Father Kenneth waiting in the landing.

At Suzette and Mrs. Crook standing behind a table laden with cake and punch.

At Jenny and Ian, so happy to be sharing the special day that they had missed the first time around.

At Julia and William and Bree and Faith and Fergus, who had calmly explained what was to happen and then produced his repaired wedding ring.

At Claire, still wearing her scrubs, smiling through happy tears as they renewed their vows - this time in the presence of a priest.

Much later, nestled against Claire and sharing a tumbler of thirty-year whisky, huddled around the fire with his children, the words “thank you” seemed inadequate.

One by one they rose to hug their parents, whispering words of congratulations, before retiring to their own bedrooms upstairs.

Jamie lay his hand - still bruised and with a few sutures still in place - on Claire’s knee, his wide silver ring shining in the firelight.

“There is no end to my love for you,” he whispered, holding her close.

She pressed her own left hand - with her own silver ring, Ellen’s ring - atop his. “And for my love for you,” she whispered. “No end. Never.”

He leaned over for a kiss. “Not ever,” he promised.

#;mod gotham #modern glasgow au

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lettheladylead · 4 years

Note

Are you flirting or starting a fight? #scroldie

Her heart was racing. Never in her entire life had she been so bewildered by anyone - he was certainly a unique duck and a strange, strange man. The way he managed to frustrate her with his insensitive pride and severely lacking social skills while simultaneously saying the sweetest things she’d ever heard in her entire life kept her on her toes in more ways than she was comfortable with.

Particularly, she hated being saved. She hated that her life worked out in a way where she needed to be saved on multiple occasions - most of which were when she was young and naive. Now she was an adult woman and a business owner and an adventurer and there was no reason she should ever need someone else to save her life.

And that thought process kept running through her head as Scrooge was pulling her out of some rubble from a cave-in that she somehow managed to get caught in. He grabbed her arm and tugged her out and she had just a few extra moments of consciousness to understand who was with her before succumbing to sleep.

She wasn’t surprised to wake up who-knew-how-long later in a random bed, though she immediately noticed it wasn’t a hospital. Scrooge was sitting at a desk nearby, staring out the window and muttering to himself.

“...Scrooge?”

Her throat was scratchy and sore and she wondered how long she must’ve been out for that to happen. Either way, the hoarse whisper of his name whipped Scrooge’s head around and he stared at her like he’d never seen her before in his life. Only a few moments later and he was at her side, hesitantly reaching out to grab at her limp hand.

“You’re awake,” he mumbled softly. “I’m sorry, I didne know where to take you. The nearest hospital is too far away...I couldne…”

Goldie scoffed and tried to shrug, realizing at that moment that she couldn’t feel much in her arms or back or legs or anywhere and her head was a bit cloudy. She felt very drugged and very tired. “...why can’t I feel anything?”

Scrooge moved his hand a bit, and though she couldn’t really feel it, Goldie knew he was rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “You woke up a few hours ago and downed all the medicine I could get at the local pharmacy...here’s to hoping there’s no consequences for that.”

Goldie chuckled and turned her head away from him. She didn’t remember that at all, which probably meant the drugs were pretty good. She let out a sigh and fully laid her head back on the pillow again.

He tilted his gaze up to stare at her face, lingering for such an obscenely long time that Goldie felt like she might turn to stone. She looked back at him with a curious expression, which made him blush the tiniest bit.

“Goldie…” he started, staring down at their hands. “I...I thought you were dead. And then I started thinkin’ about what I’d do if you were dead...what it’d do to me. I couldne...I’d...I wouldne know how to deal with that.”

She stared at him, unblinking and silent, which just encouraged him to continue.

“You make me so mad, but then...you’re always there,” he mumbled. “There for me. And not just in Gumption or in Cabo or in Casablanca...but anytime I need you, you always seem to be there for me. And I wanna be that person for you. I want you to feel safe when I’m around, even when we’re arguin’ or challengin’ each other. I...I cannae lose you.”

His grip on her hand tightened and Goldie would swear she could feel it that time.

“You just...you need to be more careful. I donnae want to think about life without you around, alright? No matter what I’ve said before and what I’ll say later, I just...I need you.”

With his confession complete, Scrooge still didn’t shift his focus from their hands even though he desperately wanted to see her reaction. He was anxious and nervous and ready for her to laugh him right out of the room, but when she didn’t say anything for another ten seconds, he finally looked up.

Her face was contorted into an expression of joyful confusion - her cheeks tinged pink and her beak partially curved upwards with a hint of a smile.

When they locked eyes, Goldie sheepishly looked away for a moment before looking back.

“...aren’t you gonna seal that with a kiss?” she asked with a small smile.

Scrooge’s cheeks were engulfed in a deep red as he frowned and started to stutter. “D-do you...do you, um...you want me to...to kiss you?”

The stupidity of his question immediately soured her expression and Goldie scowled. “Do you want me to punch you?” She felt empty knowing her threat was hollow without the visual of her raised fist, but instead her limbs just continued to lay down at her sides.

Scrooge was taken aback by her comment and glared at the bed, darting his eyes back and forth. Eventually he looked back up at her. “I...I cannae tell if you’re flirtin’ or tryin’ to start a fight.”

She sighed loudly, taking her once-a-year opportunity to swallow her pride and somehow managed to stop herself from saying something sarcastic in response. “Will you please just come over here and kiss me, you obnoxiously stupid little sourdough of a man?!”

#ducktales #scroldie #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #fic #fics #takes place early-ish in their relationship i think #think 1910ish #anon asks #carro answers

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yellowcanna · 4 years

Text

Ginger and Zunda

Summary:

“Fushiguro, did you become sexy overnight?”

BAAAM

Itadori crumbled onto the ground with a pained cry. He held onto his throbbing head where there was already a large bump forming.

“That hurts…what was that for?!” Itadori shouted, looking over his shoulder to see Kugisaki standing behind him with veins throbbing on the back of her fist.

“I came to see what’s the hold up only to find you sexually harassing Fushiguro.” She snapped, the way she looked at Itadori was like looking at a disgusting bug that needed to be squashed.

“Huh?! When did I sexually harassed him?!” Itadori cried.

“Calling him sexy and trying to kiss him is sexual harassment!”

“I wasn’t trying to kiss him! I was just sniffing him!!”

“Like that’s any better! Sniffing an Omega is equivalent to molesting when you’re an Alpha, you numbskull!” Kugisaki shouted before smacking her fist into his head again, beating the young Alpha back onto the floor.

"Exactly what did you two came here for?" Fushiguro muttered, staring at his two classmates in front of him.

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff, Omegaverse, shounen-ai

Pairing: Gojo x Fushigurou

Author: Canna / Yellow Canna

╔═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╗

Available on AO3!!

╚═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══╝

“Hey, Fushiguro!” Itadori shouted in excitement, waving his hand in the air while running towards his friend and classmate that he spotted walking down the hall of the dormitory.

With the golden week just around the corner, the first years were given a couple of days of break. Itadori was ecstatic. Finally, he could do some real sightseeing around the city that he didn’t have the time to do before.

Kugisaki was instantly onboard with the idea.

All that was left was Fushiguro.

However, when Fushiguro turned around, Itadori tripped over his own feet as though he had forgotten how his legs work and crashed onto the floor, rolling three times before coming to a stop at the raven’s feet.

“…What are you doing?” Fushiguro’s flat voice came from above. His voice sounded normal, but Itadori keenly caught the unusual hoarseness the other was trying to hide.

The boy bounced up from the ground and began looking Fushiguro all over, making the raven looked a bit weird out.

“What are you doing?” He repeated, stepping back to pull some distance between their faces when Itadori leaned too close.

“Fushiguro, did you become sexy overnight?”

BAAAM

Itadori crumbled onto the ground with a pained cry. He held onto his throbbing head where there was already a large bump forming.

“That hurts…what was that for?!” Itadori shouted, looking over his shoulder to see Kugisaki standing behind him with veins throbbing on the back of her fist.

“I came to see what’s the hold up only to find you sexually harassing Fushiguro.” She snapped, the way she looked at Itadori was like looking at a disgusting bug that needed to be stomp on.

“Huh?! When did I sexually harassed him?!” Itadori cried.

“Calling him sexy and trying to kiss him without his consent is sexual harassment!”

“I wasn’t trying to kiss him! I was just sniffing him!!”

“No, wait…hear me out!” Itadori immediately tried to defend himself from being branded as a molester. “It wasn’t like that! I just thought Fushiguro looked different, that’s all! I didn’t mean anything, I swear!”

“Yeah, I know,” Fushiguro muttered. If it was anyone else, the raven would have already fed them to the Jade Hounds. “So? Do you two need something?”

“We’re wondering if you wanna go sightseeing with us. Since you’ve been here long enough, you should know some good places right?” Kugisaki asked.

“Ah, I know a couple, but I can’t go. I’ll send the locations to the chat later.”

“Eh?! Why?!” Itadori shouted in disappointment. “We all have free days off, don’t we?”

“I…have some other things to do for the rest of the week.”

That was all he said before hurrying away, leaving his two classmates behind.

“So?” Kugisaki crossed her arms. “What the heck was that about?”

“Didn’t you think Fushiguro looked kinda sexy just now?” Itadori asked, scratching the back of his head. When he looked up and saw the look on his female classmate’s face, he frantically waved his hands in front of him to explain. “I didn’t mean it that way! I meant literally! Didn’t his face looked…different?”

“Was it any different?” Kugisaki frowned, trying to remember what expression Fushiguro had.

“His voice too! It sounded a bit scratchy!”

“I didn’t notice anything wrong.” Kugisaki snorted. “You sure you aren’t feeling for the guy? He’s an Omega after all.”

“Of course not!” Itadori looked grossed out just imagining himself getting together with the raven. “I like women like Jennifer Lawrence!”

“Yeah, yeah, thank god I’m a Beta and don’t have to deal with these weird shits. Come on, let’s go already!”

Their conversation about Fushiguro’s changes ended there. Or at least, it should have ended there. The next morning, Kugisaki sat by the table, her left hand holding onto her miso soup and her right hand limply holding onto a pair of chopsticks. She stared at Fushiguro who was practically glowing at the other side of the table.

“…What?” Fushiguro frowned and yes, Kugisaki could hear the scratchiness in his voice now.

“Nothing!” The girl quickly raised her miso soup, pretending to drink while her eyes wandered all over the black-haired Omega.

It was just as Itadori had said…Fushiguro became…sexy.

A vein popped over Kugisaki’s head. She felt oddly irritated just to admit that.

After a painful breakfast that couldn’t pass by any faster, Fushiguro left. Itadori asked where he was going, but Fushiguro simply stated he was going back to his room and that was that.

“Hey, what the heck is going on?!” Kugisaki exploded once Fushiguro was out of their sight. “Why the heck is he so sexy all of the sudden?!”

“See?! You saw it too right?!” Itadori cried, glad that his classmate finally understood.

“What are you two doing?” Hearing a woman’s voice calling out to them, the two first years looked up to see Maki, Panda and Inumaki.

┈┈┈┈ ❖ ┈┈┈┈

“Megumi?” Maki frowned after hearing what the two first year’s explanations. “Aaah, it must be that time of the year for him.”

“That time of the year?” The two innocent children echoed, causing a sadistic grin to appear over the girl’s face. “When Omega goes into their H-e-a-t.”

“Heat?!” Kugisaki gasped. Even as a beta, she knew about Heats and Ruts, but… “Wait, I thought Heat and Rut happen only after the Alpha or Omega turns twenty?”

“Salmon.” Inumaki replied.

“Oh, I know that one!” Itadori said proudly. “It’s called trial Heat! I got trial Rut since I’m an Alpha and it’s a pain!”

“Trial?” Kugisaki frowned. Growing up in the countryside where the entire town consists of Betas, Kugisaki knew little about Alpha and Omega biology. She only knew basic manners when dealing with an Alpha or Omega—like not sniffing them for example. “Like a premature condition?”

“That’s right!” Panda nodded. “They won’t experience any need for sexual desire. These trial Heats and Ruts are so their bodies could get used to the sensation and prepare them before real thing after growing into adulthood. Right now, Fushiguro is going through just that.”

“But Fushiguro looked fine?” Itadori asked in confusion. “When I got my trial Rut, I felt like I was gonna die and I can’t stop drinking water since I was sweating all over. I can’t even sleep!”

“That’s because you don’t have a mate to help you out.” Maki snorted. “If you got a mate to ease your body with their scent, you’d be like Megumi right now. If an Omega is being taken care of well enough, you’ll be able to see the glow—which was what you saw on Megumi.”

“Wait…you’re saying Fushiguro has a mate?!” Kugisaki screamed. If there was one thing she knew about Alpha and Omega, it was their weird pairing system. Alpha and Omegas don’t date like Betas. Instead, they were able to tell with one glance who should be their partner and who shouldn’t. It’s kind of like love at first sight, but it was apparently way stronger than that considering they would only choose one person for their entire lifetime.

“That guy’s mated?!” Itadori’s jaw was practically touching the ground.

“Hm? You two didn’t know?” Panda tilted his head and twitched those fluffy black ears. “Fushiguro’s Alpha is—”

“Panda!” Maki shouted, interrupting whatever Panda was going to say. She smirked widely, showing off her pearl white teeth. “If you wanna know, why don’t you two go ask Megumi yourselves? I’m sure it’ll be a nice surprise~”

And that was how Itadori and Kugisaki found themselves standing in front of Fushiguro’s room.

“…Hey, knock already,” Kugisaki hissed, keeping her voice soft so she wouldn’t be heard.

“Why me?!” Itadori said back just as quietly. “Besides, what if his Alpha is in his room right now?! Fushiguro’s in Heat isn’t he? That would just be awkward!”

“So you know about awkwardness?” Kugisaki’s eyes swept over the boy up and down as if suddenly seeing him in a new light.

“Of course, what do you take me for?!”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before they moved at the same time. They tiptoed up to the door and pressed their ears against the flat surface of the wood.

They listened for a long time, but nothing…

There wasn’t a single sound.

Was Fushiguro even in his room?

“Maybe he’s not back?” Itadori guessed.

“Hey, how does your Rut work?” The Beta lightly kicked the Alpha’s shin. “Can you usually move around during your Rut?” From what she saw on Fushiguro, he looked perfectly fine this morning though Maki did say that was because the raven got an Alpha to help him.

“Hmm…it usually gets really bad at night—like a fever with headache and all. Daytime is usually better so yeah, we could still walk around if we need to.” Itadori replied.

“Which means that guy will definitely be back before nighttime! Let’s hide and wait for him!” Kugisaki decided with Itadori earnestly agreeing. The two of them ran outside. It was a good thing they can get a clear view of Fushiguro’s door through the window so they hid behind some bushes and waited.

They waited and waited, but still nothing.

There wasn’t a single person in sight.

The sun slowly started to set and the mosquitos became more and more active. Kugisaki was the first to lose her patience despite how she was the one who suggested waiting.

“Argh!! I can’t take this anymore!” She shouted, slapping another mosquito that landed on her leg. “Where is that guy and his freakin’ Alpha?!”

“Wouldn’t it be just easier to guess who it is? I mean, there’s not that many of us." Itadori pointed out.

Kugisaki huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “It can’t be the second years and the third years are still suspended from school.”

“Maybe they're allowed back? Ruts and Heats are pretty painful so if you got a partner, I don't think the school would keep them away."

“But then we never met any of the third years, how are we supposed to know?” Kugisaki questioned. “Come to think of it, there’s another person in the second year we didn’t meet as well. I heard from Maki-senpai that he’s also an Alpha.”

“Ah, that Okkotsu guy?” Itadori slapped another mosquito on her cheek. “Hey, can we get out of—”

“Shh!” Kugisaki hissed, grabbing the Alpha’s head and pushed him back down into the bushes with her following close behind. “Look!”

Itadori peeked through the gaps of the leaves. In the bright hallway, a person was strolling by the windows with one hand holding what seemed like a lunchbox and the other tucked in his pocket.

“Gojo-sensei?!” Itadori blinked at the sight of their teacher.

The pair watched the man stopped in front of Fushiguro’s door and gave it three quick knocks.

The two students watched with halted breaths. They swallowed at the same time, staring unblinkingly at that door until the doorknob twisted and it opened.

Fushiguro was revealed, wearing nothing but an overly large t-shirt with a wide collar, showing off his collarbones and most importantly—his scent glands on the base of either side of his neck. The scent glands that were usually hidden under the skin were swelled up and extremely painful to look at.

At glance, Fushijoru looked as though he wasn’t wearing any pants, but upon closer inspection, they saw the edge of his black shorts sticking out from under his shirt.

“S-should we be looking at this…?” Itadori asked, averting his eyes and looking extremely flustered.

“Ah?” Kugisaki turned and when she saw the redness on Itadori’s face, she glanced back at Fushiguro.

The boy seemed feverish and Kugisaki could tell from the rise and fall of his chest as well as his parted lips that he was also panting. His eyes looked slightly foggy, lacking the usual sharpness. Around those half-lidded eyes were also tints of red…as if he had been crying or something.

“…Is that erotic?”

“Sorry, yes…” Itadori admitted shamefully, covering his face in his hands.

Kugisaki stared at the Alpha, then back to the Omega. “Man, I seriously don’t get you Alphas and Omegas.”

She squinted her eyes at the two who are just talking by the doorway with Gojo holding out the lunchbox and Fushiguro taking it.

“What, he’s just delivering dinner.” Kugisaki sighed in disappointment. However, her disappointment didn’t last long, for that the next moment, Gojo was wrapping an arm around Fushiguro’s waist and pulling the boy against him.

“Oi, oi, oi, what is this turnout?!” Kugisaki gapped, hiding deeper into the bushes as she watched Gojo rubbed his and Fushiguro’s cheeks together in an affectionate way before dipping his head to nuzzle the Omega’s neck.

“What is it?” Itadori asked, looking back only for his jaw to smash through the ground.

“Hey, correct me if I’m wrong…” Kugisaki’s brows were twitching nonstop, “but touching an Omega’s neck like that is equivalents to kissing…right?”

“Y-yeah, and you can’t touch the scent glands unless you’re…” Itadori’s voice trailed off when they saw Gojo’s tongue darted out of his lips and swiped over Fushiguro’s scent gland.

Fushiguro’s eyes fell shut, his body shaking uncontrollably with his lips pressed into a thin line, seeming to be desperately holding something back. Kugisaki stared at the raven’s flushed face, then to his legs that were trembling so hard she bet the only thing holding him up was Gojo’s arm around his waist.

“…Mated,” the Alpha finished weakly.

“Y-you know…it might be erotic…just a little…” Kugisaki hesitantly admitted. Suddenly, this whole peeking thing felt extremely wrong. She felt like they were intruding on Fushiguro’s private moment until another issue popped out in her mind. “Wait, isn’t he an old man?!”

“I’m only in my late twenties you know? You make it sound as though I’m doing something illegal.” A voice spoke behind the two of them, causing them to jump out of the bush with surprised yelps.

The pair whirled around to see Gojo standing behind them with his hands in his pockets and a smirk gracing his lips.

“Gojo-sensei!” Itadori gasped while Kugisaki quickly collected herself.

“But isn’t that right?” She pointed a finger at him. “Fushiguro’s still underage! Even if you two are mates, this is against the law!”

“Hey now, don’t start making me a pedophile all of the sudden!” Gojo said, holding his hands up. “All I’m doing is rubbing my scent on him to help relieve him of his Heats.”

“Really?” Kugisaki eyed the world’s strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer suspiciously.

“Really~”

All of the sudden, their surroundings became bright. It took the two students a couple of seconds to realize that they had changed place. Or rather, Gojo had picked them both up and brought them into the building!

“What are you two doing?” Fushiguro stared at his two classmates that suddenly appeared in front of him along with his teacher.

“Fushigurou!” Itadori blushed and frantically looked away.

“Well…we were curious about your Heat partner…” Kugisaki muttered. “Nevermind that, you’re mated with Gojo-sensei?!”

“Yeah,” Fushiguro replied like it wasn’t a big deal. “We realized we were mates when we first met.”

“When was that?” Itadori asked while having his eyes averted.

“…When I was in elementary.”

Kugisaki and Itadori immediately snapped their heads to Gojo standing behind them—the expressions on their faces identical, clearly expressing their inner thoughts.

“Can you two please stop looking at me like I’m a piece of trash?” Gojo was suddenly feeling a sense of déjà vu. The last time he got these accusing looks was when the current second years found out about the age of his little mate. “It’s not uncommon for Alphas and Omegas to have wide age gaps since we don’t choose our partners like Beta.”

“Then do you regret it?” Kugisaki narrowed her eyes.

“Of course not!” Gojo laughed, walking around his two students and wrapped his arm around Fushiguro who was sweating badly yet still strongly holding on. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now if you’ll excuse us, I think Megumi is starting to reach his limit~”

With a wave, Gojo walked Megumi into his room and closed the door behind them. A second later, Kugisaki and Itadori heard the sound of the lock clicking on the other side.

The two stood outside for a long time before they looked at each other and turned to leave.

“Seriously? They must be at least ten years apart.” Kugisaki mumbled as they walked down the hallway.

“Is it bad to be ten years apart?” Itadori asked. “I mean, as long as you like each other, that’s all that matters, right?”

Kugisaki’s eyes widened. She stared at Itdaori who was smiling that goofy smile that it just made her want to slap him. At the same time, she couldn’t help but smile and thought back to Fushiguro and Gojo’s interactions. Now looking back, it made sense why these two were always so close to each other.

She always assumed it was purely because they knew each other for a long time, but to think it’d be like this…

Wait, then didn’t that mean out of the three of them, Fushiguro was the first one to snag himself a partner?!

“Damn it all!!”

“What’s with you?” Itadori jumped back in surprise at the girl’s outburst.

┈┈┈┈ ❖ ┈┈┈┈

“Finally the obstacles are gone,” Gojo hummed before looking down at his Omega in his arms. He chuckled and nuzzled his face into the sleek black hair. “I’ve kept you waiting, haven’t I?”

“What do you think?” The resentment was clear in Megumi’s voice. This bastard of an Alpha knew his classmates were watching, that was why he took so long to bring the food back! He purposely walked his way back so they would see everything!

“Just…hurry…!!”

“You should eat something first.” Gojo sat down on Megumi’s bed and pulled the Omega onto his lap. He raised a hand to set up a small screen around the room so they wouldn’t be disturbed. “You haven’t eaten anything since morning.”

“It’s fine, I need…” Megumi couldn’t even finish speaking before he wrapped his arms and legs around the Alpha. He pulled open his teacher’s collar and started rubbing their necks together.

“That excited are you?” Gojo muttered by his ears before Megumi let out a strained moan.

His body crumbled, feeling strength zapped out of him when the Alpha wrapped his mouth around one of his scent glands and sucked.

“Sensei…!!”

“I told you, call my name when it’s just the two of us, Megumi.” Gojo muttered against his ear, his large hand rubbing the Omega’s back before sliding downward.

Megumi shivered, his arms tightening around the Alpha’s neck and his long legs clamping around that strong hips. Despite the nervousness the Omega was displaying, that hand didn’t stop. It reached the Omega’s lower spine before the hand lifted, bypassing the tantalizing globes of flesh and tenderly touched the scent glands on his inner thighs.

Tears rolled out from the corner of his eyes and Megumi was immediately boneless in the Alpha’s arms. He panted heavily, eyes barely open as the Alpha licked at the scent glands on his neck while his fingers continued to stroke the ones inside his thighs.

“Megumi, did I ever tell you why I like zunda and cream flavoured Kikufuku?” Gojo gave that scent gland a hard kiss and was rewarded with a cute mewl from the Omega. He didn’t bother waiting for a reply because he knew Megumi wasn’t capable of words anymore. His brain was still functioning, he can still hear, but his body was no longer his to control.

“Because your scent is very similar to zunda. It’s mild, fragrant with a hint of sweetness. And your scent gland…”

“Aaah!” Megumi jumped when teeth lightly scraped over the sensitive glands while the scent gland on his thigh was pinched.

“Whenever you’re in Heat, your scent gland taste like the finest whipped cream. It’s simply exquisite. I just can’t get enough of that flavour…”

Megumi was slowly turning into a sobbing mess and the Alpha kept biting into his scent gland. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but it was certainly hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. Gojo wanted nothing more than to break the skin—to taste the Omega’s blood and leave an unhealable scar on these scent glands so everyone will know that this Omega was taken.

But he can’t.

He can’t mark his Omega now.

“It makes me want to suck them dry so I could fill it up with my scent.” With that said, Gojo began to greedily suck on the tender scent gland. His mouth was instantly filled with the rich sweetness of the Omega’s pheromone. Normally, Gojo would take his time lapping at the scent glands and savouring it like a cat would do to cream, but for the first time, he was the one who became impatient.

All of this was due to Itadori.

Despite how he behaved, Gojo was an Alpha and Alphas all had a short fuse when it came to their Omegas. Gojo was no exception. Even if Itadori was a child, he was foremost an Alpha—the opposite gender of Omega. Letting the boy see Megumi up close like that made Gojo’s blood boil, yet it needed to be done.

He needed to show a certain curse who this Omega belonged to.

Gojo had long since noticed Sukuna’s interest towards his Omega.

Sukuna wanted his Omega, and Gojo wasn’t going to ever let that happen.

Fushiguro Megumi was his Omega and Gojo Satoru will be his only Alpha.

He wrapped one arm around the Omega’s back and spread his hand between the boy’s shoulder blades. He pushed the Omega against his body with so much force that Megumi could barely move. The Omega clutched onto his Alpha as the latter continued to gulp down his scent.

Once Gojo drank every last drop of the boy’s scent from that gland, he finally pulled his lips away. He admired the abused and shrivelled little scent gland before he turned his head to the other one and latched on.

Megumi could no longer see with all the tears flooding out of his eyes. He couldn’t even lift a finger. All he could do was let out obscene noises with the older Alpha thoroughly abusing his scent glands.

“Hah…” Gojo sighed blissfully when he released Megumi’s scent gland. He ran a tongue over his lips to catch any lingering trace of the delicious scent there.

It wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

Gojo rubbed his calloused finger over the sensitive gland inside his student’s thigh, causing the body in his arm jerked violently.

His eyes dropped between the boy’s quivering legs, pushing up his shorts a bit more to reveal the scent glands hidden underneath.

Those poor glands were so red and plump that just staring at it made the Alpha’s mouth water. Gojo wanted to wrap his lips around those glands and suck them dry, but he can’t. Gojo heaved out a heavy sigh and nipped the raven’s cute earlobe. He ran a tongue over the abused scent glands on his neck, causing Megumi to shiver before finding the energy to move.

The Omega slowly pulled his head from where he was resting on the Alpha’s shoulder. He turned and under Gojo’s amused gaze, he pressed his lips against the man’s cheek.

“Cheeks are fine, right?”

Due to Megumi being too young (illegal), Gojo specifically set a bunch of rules for them and kissing was one of them. Sure touching each other’s scent glands was much more intimate than kissing, but it was necessary to relieve the Omega from the burns of his trial Heat.

While it was true that Gojo never specified what part they shouldn’t kiss (lips obviously), he never thought Megumi would ever take the initiative. He couldn’t stop the huge, silly grin from spreading on his face as he cradled Megumi and fell onto the bed.

“Yeah,” he answered, voice filled with happiness. “Hurry and grow up, Megumi!”

“You sound like a creep,” Megumi retorted, but buried his face into the Alpha’s neck and rubbed his nose against the man’s scent glands. The scent of the Alpha comforted him, especially during Heat where he felt extremely vulnerable.

“Ginger…”

“Hm?”

“You smell like ginger,” The Omega mumbled, seeming a bit embarrassed from how his gaze was drifting off to the side.

“Ginger, eh?” The Alpha laughed. Megumi suddenly felt a wave of irritation at not being able to completely see his mate’s face, so he reached up to the man’s face.

Gojo just sat there, not doing anything to stop those fingers from hooking around the blindfold and pulling it off his face. The moment the blindfold was off, a pair of beautiful blue eyes opened up, reflecting the image of Megumi like a pair of clear mirror.

The man smiled at his little mate before he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the Omega’s cheek.

“Cheeks are fine, right?” The Alpha muttered against the smooth skin, throwing Megumi’s words back at him. When he saw the colour blossoming throughout the raven’s face, he nearly laughed. He wanted to tease his little mate more, but he just took a bite of that soft cheek before pulling away. “Are you hungry?”

Megumi shook his head and buried his face into the Alpha’s chest. Gojo chuckled. He cuddled with the boy in his arms and ran a hand through the raven hair. It was only at times like this that the Omega allowed himself to be spoiled by his Alpha, so Gojo will make sure to thoroughly spoil him.

“Megumi.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

Gojo watched gleefully at the way the Omega froze in his arm and the colours on his face deepened.

“Hey Megumi~ Don’t you have anything to say back to me?” He teased, poking the boy’s side.

Megumi only buried his face deeper against the Alpha’s chest. Gojo heard him muttered three very special words. His grin grew wider and his poking on the boy persisted.

“What was that? I didn’t catch it, what did you say?”

“…I said go die.”

“No, no, I’m sure you said three words~”

“So you did hear it!”

“I didn’t! Come on, say it again, Me-gu-m—mph!”

Their conversation ended with Megumi slamming a pillow into his teacher’s face.

#Jujutsu Kaisen #gojo satoru #fushiguro megumi #gojo x megumi #gojo x fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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desperationandgin · 4 years

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Strawberry Wine - Chapter 13

Title: Strawberry wine