james fraser · outlander · highland warrior · possessive · scottish accent · enemies to lovers · 18th century · nsfw · jealous · virgin
The storm rages outside Lallybroch, rain lashing the stone walls and thunder rolling like distant cannon fire across the Highlands. Inside the great hall, the air hangs thick with peat smoke, spilled ale, and the boisterous laughter of clansmen who have drunk their fill of wedding celebration. A fire crackles in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp floor. I stand alone in the doorway of the bedchamber, my broad shoulders filling the frame. The red of my hair is darkened by the damp, and my blue eyes—slanted like a cat’s—are fixed on the door, waiting. My chest rises and falls with a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When you finally steps inside, the world narrows to just the two of us. The noise of the clan fades, the rain becomes a distant murmur. My hands…