Chapter Text
The library was buzzing with pre‑graduation panic — whispered study groups, frantic typing, the occasional muffled groan of academic despair. Claire and Frank had claimed their usual table by the windows, textbooks spread out like a fortress around them. Claire was focused, highlighter in hand, hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow made her look more put‑together than anyone else in the room. Frank sat across from her, equally determined, flipping through flashcards like his life depended on it. They were locked in, dialed in, ready. Geillis and John… were not.
Geillis slumped into the chair beside Claire, dropping her bag with a dramatic thud. “If one more professor mentions ‘career readiness,’ I swear I’ll fling myself into the nearest recycling bin.”
John followed, sunglasses on indoors, iced coffee in hand, looking like he’d barely survived the night. “I second that. I’m not built for adulthood. I’m built for vibes.”
Claire exchanged a look with Frank — the kind that said here we go again. “Guys,” Claire said gently, “we’re months from graduation. You need to actually study.”
Geillis groaned into the table. “I am studying. I’m studying the structural integrity of this desk. It’s verra sturdy. Verra comforting.”
John nodded solemnly. “I’m studying the emotional resilience of my iced coffee. It’s holding me together.”
Frank snorted. “You two are disasters.”
“Beautiful disasters,” John corrected.
Claire set down her highlighter. “Look… I know this is overwhelming. But you’re both smart. You just need to focus.”
Geillis peeked up. “Easy for you to say. You and Frank have turned into academic machines.”
Frank shrugged. “We’re just trying to get our lives together.”
“And we want you to get yours together too.” Claire smiled softly.
John dramatically clutched his chest. “Are you saying I don’t have my life together?”
“Yes,” all three of them said in unison.
John sighed. “Fair.”
Claire leaned forward, voice warm but firm — the way Dr. Patel had been teaching her. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to try. Show up. Do the work. You’re capable of more than you think Johnny boy.”
Geillis blinked, surprised by the sincerity. “When did ye get so wise?”
Claire shrugged, cheeks warming. “I’m… working on myself. And it’s helping.”
Frank nodded. “She’s right. We’re all growing up. We’re not the same people we were freshman year.”
John groaned. “I miss freshman year. I miss not caring. I miss my liver functioning at full capacity.”
Geillis elbowed him. “We cannae party our way intae careers, John.”
“Speak for yourself,” he muttered. “Unless I find a sugar daddy. Preferably one with a yacht. And a trust fund. And low expectations.”
Claire laughed — a real, bright laugh that made John beam. “Seriously,” she said, “we’re all trying to move forward. And we want you with us. Not left behind.”
Geillis sighed, sitting up straighter. “Fine. I’ll study. But only because ye’re being all emotionally mature and inspiring.”
John raised his iced coffee. “To growth. And to Claire being our unofficial therapist.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Just open your bloody books.”
They did — slowly, reluctantly, but they did. And as the four of them settled into a rhythm — Claire highlighting, Frank quizzing himself, Geillis muttering definitions under her breath, John dramatically reading aloud — Claire felt something warm settle in her chest. They were growing. All of them. Together.
The study session had devolved into the usual blend of productivity and chaos — Frank and Claire deep in their notes, Geillis half‑asleep over her textbook, and John dramatically lamenting the death of his social life. Claire was mid‑sentence, explaining a concept to Frank, when the library doors opened with a soft whoosh. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Jamie. The shift in the room told her first — a few heads turning, whispers, the faint rustle of interest. Then the familiar sound of his footsteps confident, unhurried, purposeful.
Jamie Fraser walked into the library like he belonged in every room he entered. His red hair was pulled back into a neat knot at the nape of his neck, a few strands escaping in a way that made him look effortlessly striking. His navy dress shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his charcoal slacks tailored, his coat draped over one arm. In his other hand, he carried a white bakery box tied with twine. And behind him, parked outside the window, was the sleek black SUV he drove for work — polished, imposing, unmistakably him. Claire felt her chest warm. Jamie spotted her instantly, his expression softening in that way it only ever did for her. He crossed the room with that steady, self‑assured stride that made even John sit up straighter. “Sorry I’m late,” Jamie murmured as he reached the table, leaning down to brush a quick kiss to Claire’s temple. “Traffic was murderous.”
Geillis blinked. “Christ, Fraser, ye look like ye walked out of a magazine.”
Jamie chuckled. “A verra boring one, I’m sure.” He set the pastry box on the table and opened it, revealing an assortment of croissants, scones, and little fruit tarts. “Thought ye all might need a wee pick‑me‑up,” he said.
John stared at the pastries. Then at Jamie. Then back at the pastries again, as if trying to solve a complex equation. Finally, he let out a theatrical sigh worthy of an Oscar “That’s it. I surrender. I’m studying. I’m getting my shite together. I’m becoming a badass CEO like Jamie Fraser.”
Jamie blinked, genuinely confused. “Ye… want tae be a CEO?”
“Aye, mate,” John said, brandishing a croissant like a pointer. “Look at you. The car. The hair. The suit. The pastries. You’re basically a walking LinkedIn success story.” He pressed a hand to his chest, sighing dreamily. “My role model.”
Jamie blinked at John’s declaration, a baffled smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A role model? For bringing pastries?”
“For existing,” John corrected, waving the croissant like a wand. “You walk in here looking like the CEO of Scotland, and suddenly my entire life plan feels inadequate.”
Jamie huffed a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just coming from work, mate.”
Geillis snorted. “Aye, and half the library just sat up straighter when ye walked in. Dinnae pretend ye dinnae ken the effect.”
Jamie’s cheeks flushed faintly — not embarrassed, just amused. “I dinna think I’m that impressive.”
Claire rolled her eyes affectionately. “You really don’t, do you?”
He turned to her, expression softening instantly. “I’m only trying to be a decent man, Sassenach.”
John groaned. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Humble. Successful. Hot. Brings pastries. Claire, how are the rest of us supposed to compete?”
“You’re not,” Claire said dryly, nudging Jamie with her shoulder. “He’s mine.” Jamie’s ears went pink, but he straightened a little — just enough that Claire noticed. Just enough that her heart warmed.
Frank leaned back in his chair, smirking. “John, if you want to be like Jamie, maybe start by opening your textbook.”
John gasped. “Academic violence. In my hour of need.”
Geillis shoved a scone into his hand. “Eat and study, ye dramatic wee goblin.”
Jamie chuckled, settling a hand on the back of Claire’s chair. “If it helps,” he said to John, “I didna become good at my job by magic. I worked hard. Same as any of ye.”
John took a bite of his scone, crumbs already on his shirt. “Ugh. Hard work. My mortal enemy.” Claire laughed — bright, warm, unguarded — and Jamie’s eyes softened at the sound, pride and affection written all over him. The pastries were passed around, the textbooks reopened, and the group settled back into their chaotic rhythm. But now, the table felt fuller. Warmer. More alive. And Claire, glancing up at Jamie as he leaned against the table beside her, felt something settle deep in her chest. He fit here. She fit here. And her friends — for all their dramatics — were growing too. It was messy. It was loud. It was imperfect. But it was theirs.
John flipped open Frank’s business textbook with a flourish, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright, Fraser. If I’m going to become a future CEO, I need to learn from the master.”
Jamie raised a brow. “I’m no’ a master of anything.”
“Humility,” John said, pointing at him. “Another CEO trait. Sickening. Right, first question.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Define: capital expenditure.”
Jamie didn’t even blink. “Long‑term investment in assets — buildings, equipment, infrastructure. Things that add value over time.”
John stared at him. “Okay, rude. Next one. Liquidity ratio.”
“How easily a company can meet its short‑term obligations.”
Geillis snorted. “He didna even pause tae think.”
John flipped the page, now fully committed. “Fine. Hard mode. Porter’s Five Forces.”
Jamie smirked. “Competitive rivalry, threat of new entrants, bargaining power of suppliers, bargaining power of customers, and threat of substitutes.”
John slapped the book shut. “You’re a god.” He fanned himself dramatically.
Jamie snorted, shaking his head. “Nae. I worked my arse off in college.”
Claire felt her chest warm at the quiet pride in his voice — not boastful, just honest. She nudged him with her knee under the table. “And it shows.”
John leaned back dramatically in his chair. “Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to remember the difference between revenue and profit.”
Frank didn’t look up from his notes. “Revenue is what you make. Profit is what’s left after you stop being stupid.”
John gasped. “Academic violence Frank! JESUS!”
Jamie chuckled, reaching for a pastry. “If ye want help, I can quiz ye too.”
John pointed at him with a scone. “Absolutely not. I refuse to be humbled twice in one day.”
Claire laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and Jamie’s eyes softened at the sound — like it was his favorite thing in the room. The group settled back into studying, but the energy had shifted, they were all moving forward. Together.
Jamie’s flat was quiet when they stepped inside, the soft glow of the living‑room lamp spilling across the hardwood floor. He shrugged off his coat, loosening his shoulders the way he always did after a long day. Claire watched him for a moment — the way he moved, the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence that had filled the library earlier. She crossed the room before he could say a word. “Stand still,” she murmured, fingers brushing the knot of his tie.
Jamie blinked, surprised but pleased. “Aye?”
Claire hummed, sliding the silk loose with practiced ease. “You were incredible today.” He opened his mouth to protest — she saw it coming — but she tugged gently on the tie, pulling him closer before he could get a single word out. She kissed him. Soft. Quick. Jamie’s breath caught. Claire smiled against his mouth. “I mean it.” She slipped the tie from his collar, letting it hang loosely around her hands as she looked up at him. “Walking into the library like that… confident, calm, completely in your element.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of his mouth. “You were brilliant.”
Jamie’s cheeks warmed, the faintest flush rising. “Sassenach…”
“No,” she whispered, brushing her lips along his jaw. “Let me say it.” He stilled, letting her. “I was proud of you,” she murmured, her voice warm against his skin. “So proud. Watching you with my friends today… seeing how they look at you, how I look at you—” She kissed him again, slow and certain, her fingers sliding up to the knot in his hair. She tugged the band free, letting the strands fall loose around his face. “It made me feel lucky,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along his jaw. “Lucky to be yours. Lucky that you’re mine.”
Jamie exhaled shakily, his hands settling at her waist. “Claire…”
Her fingers moved deftly down the line of his buttons, each one slipping free with practiced ease until his shirt fell open and slid from his shoulders, pooling at his feet. She stayed close, her voice barely more than a breath against his skin. “You work so hard, Jamie” she murmured, fingertips brushing the warm curve of his collarbone. “You’ve built this whole life for yourself with nothing but grit and heart.” She lifted her eyes to his, steady and full as she reached for his belt. “And today… seeing you there — confident, kind, completely yourself — it made me so proud to be with you.”
Jamie closed his eyes, overwhelmed in the quiet way he always was when she spoke from her heart. “Ye undo me when ye talk like that.”
Claire smiled, fingers brushing the waistband of his slacks. “Good.”
He let out a soft laugh, pulling her closer until she fit against him perfectly. “I’m proud of ye too, mo ghràdh. More than ye ken.” Jamie’s breath hitched at her words, at the way she looked at him like he was something worth admiring. He cupped her cheek for a moment, thumb brushing her skin as if grounding himself. Then, with the same quiet reverence she’d shown him, he reached for the hem of her shirt. “Claire,” he murmured, voice low but steady, “ye speak o' me working hard… but look at ye.” He lifted the fabric slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn’t. She raised her arms, letting him ease it over her head, his fingers brushing her sides in a way that made her shiver — not from cold, but from being seen.
“Since the day I met ye,” he continued, tossing her shirt across the room, “ye’ve changed so much. No' for me — for yerself.” His hands moved to the buttons of her jeans, not rushing, not assuming, just mirroring the gentleness she’d shown him. Each button undone felt like another layer of truth between them. “Ye’ve faced things most folk never would,” he said softly. “Ye’ve gone tae therapy. Ye’ve learned tae breathe through the storms instead o' letting them swallow ye. Ye’ve let people in — even when it scared ye.” He slid the denim down her hips, slow and careful, his eyes never leaving hers. “And ye’ve let me in,” he whispered. “That alone… Sassenach, that’s bravery.”
Her breath trembled, emotion tightening her throat. “Jamie…” He shook his head gently, stepping closer, his hands settling at her waist — warm, steady, grounding.
“I’m proud of ye,” he said again, voice thick with sincerity. “For every step ye’ve taken. For every fear ye’ve faced. For every day ye choose tae keep going.” She felt her eyes sting, not with panic, but with something deeper — something like being cherished. Jamie leaned his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “Ye think I’m impressive,” he murmured, “but Sassenach… ye’re the strongest person I ken.” Her hands slid up his bare chest, resting over his heart. And for a long, quiet moment, they simply stood there — half‑undressed, fully vulnerable, wrapped in the kind of intimacy that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with trust.
He kissed her with a kind of reverence that made her knees weaken, his hand sliding to the back of her head to steady her as she leaned into him. Her arms draped loosely around his neck, drawing him closer with every breath. They moved together in slow, unhurried steps, drifting backward toward the bed as though they were dancing to a song only they could hear. Their bodies swayed in a quiet rhythm, the room hushed except for the soft, uneven sound of their breathing. Claire’s fingers brushed the warm skin at his hips, slipping beneath the edge of his waistband. She tugged him gently toward her, not with urgency, but with a quiet certainty.
He obliged, letting his underwear to fall to his feet allowing his cock to spring free against her stomach as she stepped closer, her lips brushing soft, lingering kisses along his neck and across the curve of his shoulder. Jamie’s breath hitched, his hands finding the clasp of her bra with a familiarity that came not from haste, but from trust. He eased it open gently, letting the straps fall away before he paused — giving her space, giving her choice. When she didn’t pull back, he did. Just enough to take her in. He slipped the last piece of fabric from her hips with a care that felt almost ceremonial, then straightened, his gaze sweeping over her with a quiet awe that made her pulse flutter. For a moment, he simply looked at her — not with hunger, but with reverence. “Mo nighean donn,” he murmured, voice low and certain, “ye’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
In the tenderness of the moment, she let out a quiet snort, tilting her head as a teasing smile tugged at her lips. “Jamie… I’m the only woman you’ve ever seen naked.”
His answering smile was slow and certain, the kind that reached his eyes before it touched his mouth. He stepped closer, brushing a trail of gentle kisses along her collarbone, each one soft enough to make her breath catch. “Aye,” he murmured against her skin, “and the only one I ever want tae see.”
His words hit her with more force than she expected — not because they were loud, but because they were true. Because he meant them. Because he saw her in a way no one ever had. The sincerity in his eyes, the softness in his voice, the absolute certainty in the way he held her… it overwhelmed her in the best possible way. “Jamie…” she breathed, her voice trembling with something deeper than desire.
Before he could say another word, she closed the distance between them, her hands sliding up his chest and into his hair as she pulled him into a kiss — not gentle this time, but full of heat and urgency and gratitude and need. A kiss that said I hear you. I believe you. I want you. Jamie responded instantly, his hands tightening at her waist, steadying her as she pressed closer. The world around them seemed to fall away — no fear, no doubt, just the two of them moving together with a kind of fierce tenderness that felt like coming home. Her breath mingled with his, quick and uneven, and she kissed him again, deeper, as if trying to pour every unspoken feeling into the space between them. And Jamie held her like she was something precious — something he’d never take for granted.
But something in Claire had already sparked to life. She guided him backward with steady, deliberate steps until the back of his knees met the edge of the bed and he sank down onto it. A slow, knowing smirk curved her lips as she climbed into his lap, her hands settling on his broad shoulders for balance, for closeness, for control as he lined himself underneath her. She kept that control and slid down slowly, her eyes never leaving his as she moved down inch by inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside of her. They both groaned at the connection.
She kissed him again — deeper, fiercer, a pull he answered without hesitation. In the months since they’d first learned each other this way, Jamie had been an attentive partner, throwing himself into understanding her with the same quiet determination that had carried him through university. He’d listened, learned, adapted. He’d met her where she was, every time. And now, he matched her intensity effortlessly. Her hands tightened on his shoulders as she shifted in his lap, drawing a low, rough sound from his chest. Jamie’s grip steadied her, his breath hot against her mouth as he returned her urgency with his own. “Christ, Claire,” he growled, the words breaking on a breath he couldn’t quite catch.
His hands slipped tentatively to her ass, lifting her quicker and quicker until her muscles tightened around him for the first time that night and her teeth sank into the sensitive area between his neck and shoulder. "Fuuuuuuuuuuck me Jamie" She groaned as she arched back away from his body, her brown curls tickling his thighs, allowing him perfect access to her breasts which he wasted no time devouring. With one nipple in his mouth, he rolled the other between his fingers eliciting a sharp inhale before lowering his hand between them to put pressure on her clit. "Oh God damn!" she panted. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop!"
After her second orgasm Jamie rolled them so that her back was against the bed, looking up at him wantonly. He pounded into her ruthlessly as she called his name like she’d forgotten the world around them. Finding his release only moments later with her name on his lips, "Claireeeee" he groaned, tightening his grip on her hips as pounded out the last of his finish. Knowing there would be bruises were his fingers dug in and losing themselves in the rush of feeling it stirred in them both. Knowing that he had claimed her in that way. He felt her mark on his shoulder, a soft, pulsing echo of the moment they’d shared.
Later, when the urgency had eased and the world felt slow again, they lay tangled together beneath the covers. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and the air had that warm, quiet stillness that only came after two people had let themselves be completely vulnerable. Claire rested her head on Jamie’s chest, listening to the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His arm was wrapped around her back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along her spine — not to provoke anything, just to feel her there. To keep her close. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Claire exhaled softly, her breath brushing his skin. “I feel… safe,” she murmured, almost surprised by the truth of it.
Jamie’s hand stilled, then resumed its gentle path. “Good,” he whispered. “Ye deserve tae feel safe mo ghràdh.”
She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him settle her. “Sometimes I still get scared,” she admitted quietly. “Not of you. Just… of letting myself have this.”
Jamie pressed a kiss to the top of her head, slow and lingering. “I ken,” he said. “And I’ll wait with ye through every fear. Every step.”
She shifted slightly, lifting her head just enough to look at him. His eyes were soft, blue and steady, full of a kind of patience she still didn’t fully understand. “You make it easier,” she said.
He brushed a curl from her cheek. “Ye make it worth it.”
Claire felt something warm bloom in her chest — not the sharp, overwhelming rush from earlier, but something gentler. She settled back against him, her fingers tracing the faint freckles on his shoulder. “Stay like this with me,” she whispered.
Jamie tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer until she fit perfectly against him. “Aye, Sassenach. As long as ye want.” They didn’t talk after that. They didn’t need to. They just breathed together — slow, steady, in sync — the quiet of the room wrapping around them like a blanket.