#mzwrites
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My Guiding Lights (Tommy Shelby x reader)
Summary: Tommy does not handle being out of control well, it claws at him like street cats, fighting and biting until he cannot handle it anymore. So when you are giving birth to his first child, he takes matters into his own hands.
This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 300 followers celebration! Congrats again!
My prompt was: the one with the birth
Quick disclaimer: I am not an expert in birthing practices during the 1920s nor am I Romani. For this story I did some research on both topics but not extensive, so please forgive me if I get anything inaccurate or misrepresent the Romani practices. I know I took some liberties because of what we have seen in the show.
Warnings: reader giving birth (if you haven't picked that up by now), mild language, brief mention of past violence, Tommy's mind and control freak tendencies.
Words: 4700
Tommy paced the snug of the Garrison, the few paces it consisted of. His feet guided him as his thoughts twisted and tumbled over one another. His strongest asset under attack. Stinging wasps infiltrated his mind. Fears plagued him. Stinging. Tormenting. Worry echoed with each footstep.
Back and forth.
Back and forth he paced.
He should have been utilizing these past few hours properly. The power-hungry businessman within him demanded it. Making plans for further expansion into and around London. Listening to the whispers of gossip and the hidden morsels of truth in them. Anything. Even cracking a few heads and bloodying his suit because someone looked at him wrong. Anything other than this useless pacing.
But the concern and fear kept an ever tightening chokehold around his throat, refusing to relent. So he paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
By the time he was done, there would certainly be a permanent groove embedded the wood floor.
Never more had he felt a predator trapped in a cage. Staring through the bars, eyeing those who stared warily at him, waiting….just waiting to sink his teeth into someone and shred them, just to momentarily sate the burning fear that choked him.
He stopped his pacing to throw back another glass of whiskey before resuming his relentless pacing. His suit jacket had been discarded within the first hour of his arrival at the Garrison. His sleeves were now rolled up, the top two buttons undone on his dress shirt. His hair most likely looked a mess with how often he had run his fingers through the dark strands. He knew this was a side of him rarely seen by the population of Birmingham. Thankfully so. For when Harry opened the door into the snug, to bring in their newest bottle of whiskey, he had physically recoiled when meeting Tommy's icy eyes. The gangster wondered how much of the manic consuming his mind bled through into his gaze, making him seem more crazed predator than human.
And so he paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
"Tommy, sit down." Arthur chuckled, throwing his cards down on the table. A groan left his lips when he realized that he lost another hand in the poker game Tommy was supposed to be playing with his brothers to distract him. Instead he was pacing.
Tommy ignored his older brother. His feet never stopped.
"C'mon, Tom." John smirked as he pulled the winnings closer to him. "You know Pol's takin' care of her. Esme's there too. She'll be fine."
"Not wot you was saying when your first was born, eh?" Arthur pointed out, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before draining it. "Puking behind the Garrison, you were. Drinking like a fish then to puke it all up from nerves. Me and Tommy almost put you outta your misery, knock you out cold. Fuck. Was planning on it when Ada came running' and screaming' about the baby being' born. Then you could barely walk back to Watery Lane, reeking of whiskey and vomit. If Martha wasn't holding a baby in her arms, she'd probably have hit you with her favorite pan. Yeah, that bloody heavy one too."
The corners of Tommy's mouth tilted upward as Arthur spoke, taking a moment to reminisce. He remembered Ada and Finn's births as a child himself. He could remember finally being allowed to return home after hours of being forced to stay outside while his mother screamed and cried with bringing new life into this unforgiving world. Yet with John's first, he had been a man and had a better understanding of what was going on. Of how precarious and difficult giving birth could be for both the woman and child. How there was no guarantee that both would survive. That a new life could just as easily rip away the one guiding it into the world. And all the blood and screams….
With that thought in mind, Tommy started pacing and chain smoking again. Fears renewed and clawed at him until he wanted to smash his head against the wall to just make it stop.
Right away this morning, before the sun even graced the sky and he opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong.
Tommy always woke up before his wife, usually before any other Shelby member since he was a child. There was something about waking up before the rest of the world, in taking those minutes of silence and peace to allow his mind to fully awaken and his body to restart. To just be….until he put on the suit and firmly tightened the stoic mask he wore and became what he needed to be.
Once he met you, the love of his life, and convinced you to start regularly sleeping in his bed, he was now not as quick to rise and greet the sun. He would be awake, but instead of crawling out of bed like before, with a cigarette in hand and searching for a glass of whiskey to toss back, he would linger. His hand might trace lightly over your exposed skin or listen to your breathing there in the morning gray. His thoughts would writhe and twist like normal, scheming and planning before he had even rubbed the sleep from his eyes. But with you in bed next to him, he remained just a little while longer, soaking up the peace he only found with you nearby. His wife. The one who truly saw past his mask and drew out the hidden, compassionate side of him he had thought long dead and buried.
So when he woke up this morning, finding himself alone in the bed, only the first rays of sunlight hinted in the sky….he knew something was wrong.
Dressed only in a pair of knickers, Tommy rushed downstairs to find you washing the dishes you had been too tired to finish last night. Your nightgown hung loosely over your frame, but clung jealously tight against your swollen belly. As he opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, you froze, hand gripping the edge of the sink with an intense look of concentration. After two deep breaths, your eyes focused back as if waking from an uncomfortable daydream. It was then you noticed him. A beguiling smile lit up your face as you spoke softly.
"We're having a baby today."
And his whole world imploded.
Apparently, your contractions had started the hour prior and because of them you could not sleep. So instead of waking Tommy, which he was quite unhappy about and made sure you understood, you had snuck downstairs to do some chores while you waited for your contractions to progress. He logically knew it took hours until it was time for the baby's arrival, especially with the first. It did not mean he liked the idea of you suffering alone, even if you assured him you were fine.
Eventually Polly arrived, took one look at you and stated, "I had a feeling when I woke up it'd be today." Then she eyed Tommy in his undressed state, since he refused to leave his wife alone, and forcibly commanded that he get dressed and get to the betting shop. This was women's business now.
Yet while at the betting shop, he could not think. Worries gnawed away at his mind like filthy rats. Panic and despair whispered their half-truths into his ears. In his distressed state, all he could do was stare at the green doors. Knowing on the other side was his beautiful wife in labor with their first child. A baby they were both thrilled to have. Now anxiety reminded him what you must endure to bring his child into the world, to place it in his arms. And how easily he could lose both you and the already beloved baby.
Only after two hours of being open, Arthur and John shut down the shop for the day and dragged his arse to the Garrison. They kept Scudboat and Lovelock back to maintain presence at the betting shop and announce that it was a Birmingham holiday.
Hours late here he was. Still pacing. That ever tightening chokehold of fear made it hard to breathe. The heavy stone of anxiety threatened to cave in his chest. There had been no word of how you were doing. Or how the babe was. So his mind conjured nightmares to fill in the void of information. He wondered if the combination of terrifying thoughts and excessive whiskey would send him puking his guts out behind the Garrison. Now he felt a stab of regret for teasing John so ruthlessly after his own turbulent experience.
"Tommy," John murmured again, an undertone of understanding in his voice. He met his older brother's eyes, compassion shining as he spoke words of reassurance. "She'll be fine. She's strong. Pol won't let anything 'appen."
Tommy nodded silently, letting his brother's words flow over him like a cool breeze.
"Think the babe will look like Tommy?" Arthur asked, rearranging the cards in his hand. Clearly attempting to break the tense air stifling the snug.
"I fooking hope not. Poor child will be teased if he's that ugly."
Tommy lightly smacked the back of John's head, even as John just smirked and swatted him back. For a moment, the despair lightened like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
Arthur laughed loudly. "Yeah, probably best the babe takes after y/n. A beauty she is. Poor girl can't go anywhere without men just staring at 'er."
"That's me wife you're talking about." Tommy growled but without any sort of heat behind his words.
"And the perfect wife for you!" Arthur raised his glass in a toast before tossing it back. John quickly followed suit.
Tommy made a mental note to ask about who has been staring at his wife. Then he started pacing again.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Finally, the storm swirling in his chest reached its peak, battering against his resolve until it lay decimated like a ship against the merciless rocks. He had to do something. Anything. If he continued pacing, drowning himself in whiskey and cigarettes, he was going to lose what last pieces of sanity he still maintained.
No one wanted to see the consequences of that.
Without a word, he grabbed his suit jacket and yanked it on. Even before his arms were fully in the sleeves, he had thrown open the door to the snug and raced out like the devil was on his heels. From behind, he could hear Arthur and John calling out to him but he kept moving. His fears, his sudden terror, growled at his heels like vicious wolves. His need to know, to see his wife, propelled him onward.
Tommy was a man who had always liked to be in control. Who held all of the cards and could play them as he pleased. Who was three steps ahead of everyone else. It was not arrogance when he could confidently say he was the most intelligent man in Birmingham. Ever since he was a child, he had always been more clever and smarter than his peers. When others could only see a straight line, he saw multiple, twisting lines that got him farther and with more resources than that single straight line everyone else saw.
Beyond that, he needed that control as much as the air he breathed. For without it, he felt like a rowboat lost at sea, tossed about by waves and praying it would not capsize. Bad things usually happened when Tommy was not in control.
But in this situation….he had none. There was nothing he could do. There was no one he could pay for the right information. No way to be ahead of the game. He had no control over childbirth. Over the pain his wife would endure. No control if everything went to hell. There was not a goddamn thing his hands or his mind could do to solve it.
And that very simple fact terrified him down to his core.
Without a care, he threw open the front door to 6 Watery Lane and stalked in like a predator on the loose.
Almost immediately, Esme popped around the corner from the parlor. Shock initially crossed her face before morphing into confused annoyance. She crossed her arms over her chest, dark eyes narrowed at him. "You can't be 'ere."
"It's me own home."
"You can't be here!" Esme practically snarled. "You'll bring bad spirits with you!"
Tommy approached his sister-in-law, his movements smooth, not giving away the way he felt his bones vibrating with agitation and concern. He stopped just in front of her, towering over her smaller form, his voice cold and clipped when he directed his question to her. "Where is she?"
Before Esme could respond, Polly stood behind her, an almost matching scowl on her face.
"You shouldn't be here, Thomas. This is women's business. You'll make the birthing further unclean if you come in."
"And bring bad spirits with you." Esme mumbled, still glaring though.
Tommy raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, willing himself to take a deep breath and not yell at the women in his family. He knew they still clung to many of the Romani beliefs and superstitions. Something he had never truly believed himself. All those notions about luck and bad spirits and fate….as a young boy he had disregarded it and continued to ignore them for the most part. The only thing he did believe in was curses.
When he no longer felt the urge to rampage through his own house, looking for his own wife, who was going to give birth to his own child, he lowered his eyes back to the women folk. Slowly he enunciated his next words, allowing his frustration to bleed over every syllable and hopefully make them realize how serious he was. "Where. Is. My. Wife?"
"Tommy, you can't–" Polly stopped and looked back into the parlor room, clearly listening. With a grumble, she rolled her eyes and stepped to the side just enough to indicate her begrudging willingness for Tommy to enter. "She's asking for you."
With a nod at his aunt, he crossed into the parlor room, unsure exactly what he was stepping into but knowing he needed to be here. For both himself and you.
What he saw both made his heart race and blood turn to ice. There you stood in front of the fireplace, still dressed in the loose nightgown. The firelight danced across you, highlighting your swollen belly and the sweat on your brow. Your hands tightly gripped the back of a wooden chair, your eyes pinched shut and a pained grimace on your face.
"She's close. Won't be much longer now." Polly softly said, shifting to stand by Tommy's side.
He nodded mutely at the same time your eyes slowly opened and turned to him. A stab to the gut, a bullet to the shoulder, anything would have been less painful. For it was the pain still obvious in your eyes and in every bead of sweat dotting your skin, that hurt to bear witness to. The worst was the small, shaky smile you gave him, the reassurance he needed when it should be the other way around.
"Tommy…." You barely mouthed before pinching your eyes shut again and your lips pulled back in the grimace as the next wave of contractions slammed into your body.
Immediately, Tommy moved. He shucked his suit jacket off, tossing it carelessly onto the couch. In the next step, he moved behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "What can I do, darling? Please tell me I can help."
With the short reprieve between contractions, you leaned back, resting your head on his chest. "I'm fine."
He snorted. "You're in labor." His hand absent-mindedly ran along your side and towards your back. "How can I help?"
A soft sigh escaped you. "Right there. My lower back."
His hand returned to rubbing soothing circles and applying pressure against your lower back. In the next moment, you were leaning forward, gripping the chair with a death-like hold.
He turned his focus onto his aunt, a new layer of fear and worry dripped into his blood like poison. "Shouldn't she be….screaming?"
"Some women handle pain, even labor pains, differently." Polly stared thoughtfully at you, someone the matriarch had stated was family even before you married Tommy. "You remember when she fell and got that gash on her arm. It bleed so much, I worried she'd pass out, but the whole time she never cried. Even when I stitched her up. Brave, foolish girl."
Tommy bit the inside of his cheek as the memory swept over him. It was before your relationship became concrete, when the two of you were just friends but he wanted so much more. The story you had shared was that you tripped and fell. Later, he learned the whole truth from one of the Peaky boys. That a drunkard had knocked you down and spat on you because in his intoxicated state, he confused you for his wife who was coming to retrieve him from the bar. The next day Tommy and his brothers paid the man a visit, educating him on what happens to those who hurt persons under the protection of the Peaky Blinders.
"I need to check her." Polly said, drawing Tommy out of his memories and back into reality.
Once the contraction ended, Tommy stepped back to roll up the sleeves of his shirt again while Polly checked your dialation.
The matriarch smiled up at you. "You're just about there. You're doing so good, love."
You nodded, already leaning forward with the next onslaught of pain.
"Tommy shouldn't be 'ere, s'not right." Esme said, taking a random scarf laying around and sliding her fingers through, making sure there were no knots.
Tommy glared at her, his voice ice cold. "I'm not leaving me wife while she's in pain."
With a huff, Esme got up, muttering under her breath continuously as she stomped over and rummaged through her bag.
Tommy swung his gaze back to his aunt. "Don't force me to leave. Please." He whispered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a little boy. A vulnerability that had been shattered under the impact of his father's fists and the realization that the world did not care for lowlife scum like him and his family. But for this….for you, he would beg to not leave your side.
Polly hesitated but something in his gaze, in his words, made her inhale sharply and nod. Perhaps she caught a glimpse of that long lost boy she had watched vanish before her eyes. "Alright, Tom, but when it's time, you do what I say. No questions asked."
"Yes, boss."
She rolled her eyes, even as the corners of her lips tilted up. "I'll get the hot water and cloths ready."
As Polly headed towards the kitchen, Tommy returned to his spot behind his wife, rubbing your lower back and whispering encouragement. He knew enough from helping horses that nature would take its course and all one could do was wait.
Esme came to his side, holding a comb. "Let me brush her hair, can't have any knots. It'll help bring luck."
For the next several minutes, Tommy and Esme worked on you. His fears continued to fester. It was obvious each contraction seemed to worsen. The few times a whimper escaped your lips, he pressed his face against your head, wishing he could take away your pain. He would give anything to alleviate your pain, to take it upon himself. But he could not. So he did what he could to help, even if he felt useless. Which irked him. Made his skin crawl at his own uselessness. Those stinging thoughts in his mind transformed into vultures, circling, circling, waiting to feast on his decaying sanity.
What chewed away most at his confidence was how unresponsive you became as labor continued. He could still hear your breathing, could feel your heartbeat. But when Esme directed a question at you, it took several tries of your name before you responded.
He could not help but wonder if your continued silence was better or worse than screaming.
After some time, you stiffened. Your head shot up to where Polly had been standing, watching you with a hawk-like precision.
"I pushed….I–I didn't mean to. It just happened–"
"Good girl, it's alright. That just means it's time." His aunt said calmly, then directed the others like the general she was. "Tommy, help her around. Sit down in that chair, I want her squatting in front of you. You'll support her. Esme, prepare the cloths."
Tommy helped his wife quickly as his aunt directed. He sat down and spread his legs wide for you to squat between, facing outward. Pain seemed etched onto your beautiful face, your breathing shallow. Sweat coated your body. As soon as you were in position, you grabbed his hands, your arms over his thighs. He clutched your hands in return, hoping it brought you some idea of relief.
Polly knelt in front of you. "Alright, love, push when your body tells you too."
Time was irrelevant as you worked and fought to bring your child into the world. Your grip on his hands was borderline crushing but he never thought to complain or try and pull away. He continued to whisper, his lips against your temple, tasting your sweat, embracing what pain he could, to try and take it from you.
"I can't, Polly." You whimpered out after some time. The first words you had spoken since Tommy walked in a couple of hours ago. "I can't….I'm so tired."
His heart shattered like a glass window listening to you. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He wished he could offer you some comfort, some relief, but this was your battle, and he was stuck on the sidelines.
Polly's dark, knowing, eyes met yours. "Yes, you can. I promise. I can feel the head. You're almost there, love. A couple more pushes then you can meet your baby. Think about that. You can meet your babe in a few minutes. Don't give up."
You nodded before giving a grunt with the next contraction.
"One more! The head almost came out!"
Tommy pressed his lips to his wife's ear. "Let's meet our child, eh? My strong wife. Let's see our baby."
He wondered if you heard his words, if that was the encouragement you needed. For in the next instant, you let out a pained cry as your body shuddered.
"Yes! One more! I've got the head!" Polly said, with her hands underneath your sweat-soaked nightgown.
"Hear that? One more, my sweet darling. One more." Tommy crooned.
Then he heard it. The squelch. The flush. The sound of life entering the world.
Immediately, you sagged in his arms, all energy drained, like a puppet with its strings cut. He grabbed a hold and fell with you to the ground, cradling you in his lap. Blood stained your dress and legs, soaking into his clothes but he did not even notice. His sole focus was on the rapid breathing of his wife, your eyes closed and lips pressed together.
"Oh love, he's beautiful." Polly cooed as she cradled the bloody bundle in her arms. She used a different cloth to wipe away his face and head, a beaming smile on her face.
At her words, Tommy felt his heart miss a beat. A son. He had a son.
"Open your eyes, love. Meet your son." Polly carefully knelt down, holding the baby. She placed the newborn on your chest.
Even as shivers rocked through your body in response to the trauma it just experienced, your hands reflexively stilled as they cradled the newborn against you.
"We need something of Tommy's to wrap him in!" Esme cried.
"Me coat." He mumbled, eyes locked onto his son. Yet relief waited at the threshold, not quite ready to enter in and erase the fears and worries Tommy still harbored.
Esme grabbed the coat, bringing it over and gently laying it over the baby and his wife's bloody, sweaty body.
While you gazed lovingly down at the baby you had brought into the world, Tommy watched his aunt and Esme turn your body carefully and reach back under your nightgown. After several long moments, the faintest hint of concern slid off Polly's face.
She glanced up at him, most likely feeling his gaze locked on her. "The afterbirth is out and her bleeding is already slowing down. She'll be alright, Tom. I promise."
And with that simple, reassuring promise, the foul air that filled his lungs with fear was knocked away with a swift kick. Relief finally crossed the threshold and anchored itself into his mind. His arms tightened around his still trembling wife. The emotional turmoil he had warred with throughout the day seeped out, leaving him emotionally exhausted. Yet through it all, he had never felt more alive. More hopeful.
His focus dropped down to the baby on your chest, his little mouth opening and closing slowly and his tiny fingers twitching. A sense of awe and wonder crawled up his spine to twist around his heart. You, his beautiful wife, had given him a child. A single tear escaped his watery eyes and dropped into your hair but neither of you seemed to notice, too absorbed in the miracle you had created together.
"You did it." He croaked out. "We've a son. Our son."
"Our baby." You murmured.
As if hearing your words, the newborn opened his eyes….and Tommy thought he could drown into the vast blue of them. For they were his eyes staring back at him.
At that moment, he knew he would do anything for his son. He thought he knew love when he gave his heart to you, when he allowed himself to be completely vulnerable with you in ways he had never been with anyone else. But this….staring into his son's eyes. It was a far different feeling than he expected. For you, his wife, he would sell his soul to the devil without a second thought to take care of you. But for his son, for this new babe in your arms that with a single look shook the foundations of his world, he would storm the gates of hell and rip the devil's heart out himself if anyone dared harm his child.
"I love you." Tommy whispered as overwhelming emotions welled up in his chest, clinging to his throat, and threatening to escape in sobs of sheer relief and devotion. Instead he placed a kiss to your temple and ran a single finger over the top of his son's head.
"I love you too, Tommy." You glanced up at him, from where you reclined against his chest, before turning back to your baby. "And we love you. Mummy and daddy love you so much."
Tommy stared down at his family, the love of his life and his newest reason to be better, to do better. His heart stretched and strained, trying desperately to fit the love overfilling it, just trying to accommodate it all somehow.
As he continued to gaze down at his son while Polly helped you to try and feed him, he knew one thing for certain. What ruthlessness people thought he harbored was nothing compared to what would be unleashed if anyone dared to touch his family. A peaked cap or a bullet to the brain would be the least of their concerns. He would overthrow governments to keep his family safe. He would break countries to keep his family protected. Nothing was outside of the realm of possibility he would do. For as his love grew to encompass his new son, his need to see him and you safe mirrored it. Whatever it would take. He would see it done.
For his wife and now his son were his guiding lights and he refused to allow anyone to put them out.
Tag List:
Peaky Blinders- @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @minxsblog
(lemme know if you wanna be added or deleted from the tag list)
#mzwrites#peaky blinders#bbc peaky blinders#by order of the peaky blinders#tommy shelby#thomas shelby#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby fanfic#thomas shelby x reader#john shelby#arthur shelby#polly gray#aunt polly#esme shelby#ems300
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“You, as an individual is defined by the people who chose to stay, not the ones who left you.”
@mzwritings
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dont be in a world of your imagination whenever you get back into reality you will shocked with bigg shit
mzwrites
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A Shelby Mistress - Masterlist (Complete)
Summary: A plan is made. A deal is struck....and you are unable to escape the consequences. Then Thomas Shelby intervenes and you are left wondering if you should be grateful or concerned. You never know when it comes to the Shelbys.
Series Warnings: Language, mentions of canon-typical violence, smut (18+ only), Tommy being emotionally constipated yet soft, brief domestic violence, Polly is queen, fluff and humor.
Word count: 20k
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
#mzwrites#mz moodboard#peaky blinders#by order of the peaky blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders fandom#peaky blinders fiction#peaky blinder imagine#peaky fookin blinders#tommy shelby#tommy shelby smut#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby#thomas shelby fanfic#thomas shelby x reader#arthur shelby#john shelby#polly gray#aunt polly#queen polly#a shelby mistress
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Lady of the Loch (Jamie Fraser x OC) Part 2
Summary: An old family folktale thrived amongst the Frasers of Lallybroch about a mythical being that lived in the small, secluded loch near their home. Most claimed it was just a story, while a rare few claimed to have seen her. But for Jamie Fraser, she became so much more.
Here's part 2! Hope you enjoy! Also moodboards are mine and all pics from Pinterest.
Words: 4800
Series warnings: canon divergence, all the Fraser family is alive, Claire doesn't exist, mild sexual content, magic themes, Greek mythology, pining, fluffy goodness
Here's Part 1 to catch up!
Jamie walked towards the loch, forcing himself to take each measured step instead of breaking out into a sprint like he wished to.
It had been three long years since he was away. While he spent a portion at Castle Leoch, the majority was spent in France with his uncle there, furthering his education and learning the business trade. He was grateful to have been mentored but when the opportunity arose for him to return him, he jumped on it without remorse or a second thought. Lallybroch was where his heart remained and his family there.
And only to himself would he admit the need to see her again.
He had been back for a few days but this was the first time he had been able to sneak away from under his family's excited gaze.
At twenty now, there was no question that he was a man grown. He stood taller than most men and while he may not be as wide and bulky as some Highlanders, he was by no means scrawny either. His skill with a sword and pistol had grown exponentially to where he was considered quite talented in both.
And while his body had matured into a strong, able-bodied man, it was his mind which had changed the most. He was more educated, more knowledgeable, yet with that, experience had taught him far more than books ever could. A stain upon his soul was never far from his thoughts. The men he had killed in combat had bled out what last naivety still lingered in his blood. The corruption he had seen. The abuse and torment people endured under the care of those supposed to take care of them. How easy it was for the strong to overpower the weak and steal from them.
Jamie promised himself, he would never. Perhaps it was a romanticized view of himself, but he swore to defend those who needed it.
Yet as he walked, growing closer and closer to the loch, to the place he had spent so much time, he could not help the worries and doubts that plagued him. It had been three years since they last said their farewells. Three years since she kissed his cheek. Three years since he promised to return soon.
A promise which he had broken, even if it was no fault of his own.
He approached the water, a stillness hung over the hidden place, that he could not recall before. It had always been his sanctuary, a place of peace. Now it felt like the calm before the storm. Carefully, he reached out and touched the water, stirring it with his fingers.
"Jamie?"
His head whipped up….only for his jaw to drop and his heart to lurch out of his chest.
For there she stood before him, her black hair cascading down her lithe body, those mesmerizing eyes staring at him. How beautiful she was, standing there with the faint sunlight trickling through the trees, how glorious and devastatingly perfect. Her beauty hit him anew. Had she always been so stunning? He thought in all the time he had been away, he could remember how gorgeous she was, but seeing her now, it was as if he had only remembered a hazy dream version of her and now the true, authentic person stood before him….his memory could not hold a candle to the dazzling creature she was.
"Jamie? Is it truly you?"
He stood up, even while his legs felt a bit shaky. "Aye. I promised I'd return to ye."
In the next moment, her warm body slammed into his chest, knocking the breath out of him and almost knocking them to the ground. Yet his arms instinctively banded around her, drawing her closer to him, just as hers did the same. He found himself placing his lips against the top of her head, whispering reassurances to her in Gaelic.
And with her in his arms, it felt like a missing piece was slotted back into place in his heart.
"You returned."
"Aye, I promised ye, lass. Did ye doubt me?"
"No….I thought you had forgotten about me."
"Never." He growled. "I could ne'er forget aboot ye. I'd sooner forget my name and my clan than ever lose my memories of ye."
In response, her arms tightened around him and she buried her face against his chest.
"I canna stay long. My Da will come looking for me. But tomorrow, I promise ye, tomorrow I'll return, aye? I'll stay wi' ye the whole night."
"Truly?"
"Aye." As he spoke, the plan formulated in his mind. "I'll sneak away once everyone is asleep, then I'll return before dawn. They'll no' ken."
He could sense the hesitation in her, unsure if the concern was for himself or for her. Boldly, he cupped her cheek, forcing her gaze to meet his. For a long moment, he was lost there, trapped in her eyes that were the most exotic and beguiling thing he had ever seen. Mentally shaking himself, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and almost lost it once again with the realization of how soft and smooth her skin was. The urge to touch her fair skin with his lips overwhelmed him.
He cleared his throat before speaking, needing the distraction. "It'll be safe. Ye trust me?"
"Yes."
That word undid him. To see the absolute trust in her eyes, with no form of guile or hesitation. To know she truly believed in him, even after all these years.
Before he could overthink it, he gave into the desire, the siren's call. He placed his lips against her brow, lingering there. With that simple, reassurancing action, he wondered if he had made a mistake. For with the touch, his body rebelled at the idea of drawing away, of leaving her embrace, of removing himself from her touch, of separating from her moonlight skin and the intoxication that she was. He had heard and seen men driven to do unimaginable things, all for the love and need of drink, 'an addiction' as his educated mind supplanted. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this simple, chaste kiss to her brow would be his own.
*****
Long after the sun disappeared beyond the horizon the next day, he returned. A blanket was rolled up under his arm, along with a half-full bottle of whiskey he had pilfered from his father's stash, and some bannocks left over from supper.
To his surprise, the small loch was not as dark as he had come to expect. Under the moonlight, the water seemed to faintly glow, casting a cool light around the water's edge.
Looking around, he did not spy her anywhere. "Lass?" He called out, frustrated he still did not know her name.
With no response, concern slipped under his skin, but he tried to pay it no mind. She would come. She had to. Ears straining for any little sound of her, he tried to focus on setting up the blanket and offerings on the ground. In the back of his mind, he could not help but think how this could look like he was preparing for a picnic with the lass he was courting. The image crossed his mind before he could completely push it away or over-analyze it.
"Jamie."
He spun around quickly, heat flooding his face at the thought of courting and picnics and then hearing his name. At the sight before him, the heat swiftly slithered down his face to coil tightly in his gut, answering the summoning of his cock which had abruptly awoken.
Could he ever get used to her astounding beauty? Standing there in the moonlight, she glowed, even more so than the water around her ankles. The sweet smile directed straight at him, eyes alight with joy, made his stomach flip and his heart pound ceaselessly. Ah Dhia. She was radiant.
Her smile further grew, an almost bashfulness to it, as she tucked her dark hair behind her ear.
Realization slammed into him that he had been standing there gaping at her for an obscenely long time. He coughed, clearing his throat then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassment replacing the prior heat that had settled in his belly. "Hello, sorry, ye just…"
She laughed and Jamie swore his heart skipped a beat at the sound.
"What is this?" She asked once she drew to his side, eyeing the blanket and offerings. The coy smile never left her face.
"Ah," his cheeks warmed once again, embarrassment making him second guess his actions. Would he ever not embarrass himself around her? "I reckoned this would be better….um, more comfortable, ye ken? For listening to my stories. I didna mean–"
But as he inelegantly rambled, she gracefully took a seat on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her. "I have never reclined on a blanket before." She ran her hand over the coarse wool material, a forlorn thoughtfulness in her eyes. A look that made Jamie's heart clench and the desire to remove it overwhelming.
"Weel, it's no' the best but it'll do the job."
"Tis perfect." She looked at him demurely. "Shall you share of your adventures now?"
And he did.
They spent the next few hours talking while sharing the blanket along with the food and drink. Jamie told her everything he could remember about Castle Leoch- the stables he worked in and the horses there, about training with the sword under his Uncle Dougal's unwavering eye, about the castle grounds and the wee bit of mischief he caused there. He spoke more of France- of the boat trip there that made him terribly ill, about the books he studied, about his uncle Jared and his wine business, how Jamie helped out some and learned even more. He spoke of the friends he made and the people he disliked. He even confessed to sharing a few kisses with a lass in France, although both knew it would not lead to anything more.
All the while, she listened ardently. Her gaze was locked on him, soaking in every word he spoke. A few times she asked questions and always laughed when he shared particularly humorous stories. Yet even as the moon rose higher, her attention never strayed from him.
It was a heady sensation, to be the sole focus of this stunning woman. Jamie lapped up her attention, silently realizing the true extent of how much he missed her during his time away. She was more than just a friend, but also a confidante, someone he shared a special connection with.
At the end of his tale, they laid on the blanket facing one another, the whiskey bottle empty and the food gone. Jamie was unable to tear his gaze away from her. During the later part of his story, their fingers had become entangled in the space between them. His other hand propped up his head, mirroring her, but his body was hyper aware of her touch, of his thumb rubbing along the kitten-soft skin on the inside of her wrist. His head buzzed and he was uncertain if it was due to the whiskey or her. Now with only the sounds of the forest around them, a tension built up between them, slowly growing thicker and thicker like a fog. In that tension was the desire to scoot closer and kiss her….and with the way she was looking back at him, he thought she may want him too.
"You experienced quite an adventure."
He hummed in response, his mind still absorbed in the idea of pressing his lips against hers and never needing to breathe anything other than her for the rest of his life.
"What holds your future now?"
"I dinna ken." He huffed, shifting his gaze to the star-studded sky. "My uncle wishes for my return to France. My family wants more for me and I…" He trailed off as he scrubbed a hand over his face. A squeeze of their linked hands had him turning back to look at her. "I dinnae wish tae leave again."
"You shall know how to respond when Fate knocks on the door of your future."
"Did ye?"
"Fate chose for me." She whispered after a long pause. "And I find these past several years have not been as….lonely."
That quiet admission stroked his ego but also further fed his self-made commitment to not leave her alone.
A sudden idea came to mind that caused him to smile brightly and jump up to his feet with all the grace of a hyper puppy. He stood at the end of the blanket, the smile never leaving his countenance even as she stared at him with a blend of confusion and hints of concern. Bending at the waist, he gave a courtly bow that sent her into giggles. Then he held out his hand towards her. "My lady, may I have this dance?"
A streak of shock shot across her upturned face. "I do not know how."
"I'll teach ye." He leaned forward a little and dropped his voice conspiracingly. "Dinna fash, it's only us. There's no one to judge."
"Well, my lord, how could I refuse?"
She slipped her hand in his, letting him help guide her to her feet and off the blanket. With soft words of encouragement and placing her hands in the proper places, Jamie slowly led her in a court dance he had learned in France. The movements were slow but their bodies were close. That intoxication he experienced anytime he touched her hit him anew. His mind swung on a pendulum, on one hand trying to be the patient teacher and instruct her in the steps, while on the other hand he was struggling to not melt into a puddle at her feet. The joy radiating from her was overwhelming, her laughter and smile brighter than any star in the heavens. It warmed his heart that she found such delight in a simple dance with him yet broke his heart wondering how long she had been alone and desiring friendship.
Soon enough she managed the easy steps and the two fell into a natural rhythm, their bodies seemingly knowing what to do without conscious thought.
"I ken what ye are." He whispered suddenly as he stared into the cosmos of her eyes.
During his regular studies, he had a tutor who used Greek mythology and readings in his class. He had only been paying minimal attention, for his mind was lost to numbers and logs for his uncle's wine business, when the tutor began to share a story of beautiful young women, minor goddesses of nature, who were usually tied to a specific location or deity. At this, Jamie found his attention riveted on his tutor. Then when the young man began asking specific questions of the mythical beings, more and more pieces began to fall into place in his mind. He spent the rest of the day claiming sick to his uncle and pacing the floor of his bedroom, wrestling with the new information. By the end of the day, he was weary but had come to the conclusion nothing had actually changed. He had always known she was something more, something ethereal. This only confirmed it.
"What am I?" She asked, meeting his gaze unashamed. But behind it all, he could see the tendril of fear lying there, waiting to curl around her like a snake and squeeze the life from her.
His feet planted to the ground, halting their dancing. Carefully, he raised a hand to caress her cheek, instinctively knowing it would comfort her as he answered. "A nymph."
A shudder overtook her, her hands shifting to grasp the front of his shirt as if to steady herself, before she seemed to gain control over herself again. Never removing her eyes from him, she leaned her cheek further into his palm. "Does that frighten you?"
"No…." He continued to hold her gaze, meeting those eyes that threatened to overtake him. "But I dinna ken yer name. Ye promised….before I left. Ye said ye would tell me when I returned to ye."
The smile that grew on her face caused any and all artistic masterpieces to pale in comparison to her exquisite beauty. "Ianassa. My name is Ianassa."
He repeated it, the name dancing on his tongue like the finest of whiskeys, a sharp burn to gain his attention then warming him all throughout his body.
In the next moment, he was uncertain who moved first or if they both felt the undeniable bond between them. For within the next heartbeat, their arms were wrapped around the other in an embrace while their lips came together with the gentleness of a feather and the fury of a thunderstorm.
As his lips caressed hers, what memory he carried of any prior kisses burned away to ash. None could compare to the feel of her lips against his, of her mouth opening to his own and tongues stroking and dancing, of the wholeness having her in his arms, how it seared into the very marrow of his bones, how it felt perfect. The kiss was more than just a pressing of lips. No, it seemed that with the joining of their mouths, it opened his soul to her, for her to slide in and wrap around his heart like a creeping vine. For them to stake a claim on one another that none could ever deny.
And as the kiss progressed, it turned from innocent to something distinctly hungry.
He could not recall moving or guiding his feet along. All he could focus on was her. All his senses were attuned to were the breathy sounds she released into his mouth, of her hands clutching him like she needed him closer, of how thin her dress was and how it still felt like an impenetrable barrier. She had finally overwhelmed him, and he only craved more.
Next thing he knew, he hovered over her as she laid on the blanket facing him. Her hands were tangled in his hair, refusing to let him distance himself further. One of his legs was nestled between her own. Yet it was those mesmerizing blue orbs that stole the breath from his lungs. Those eyes that drew him in effortlessly. They were the darkest shade of blue possible with the pupil blown wide. A flush hinted on her pale cheeks and her lips were plump and glistening.
"I choose you, James Alexander Malcom MacKenzie Fraser." She spoke in a reverent hush, the words floating in the air to wrap around him like a warm blanket. "What is your wish?"
This time it was his turn to shudder at her words. For he knew what she was offering and the power she was giving him. But as he gazed down at her, there was no fear in her eyes, no restraint. All he could see was affection and trust directed at him…and he realized that was his undoing. More than her beauty or kindness. She looked at him as someone worthy of her.
"I want ye." He confessed as he left a trail of kisses along her alluring jawline. "I always have…and not for this night but ev'ry night. Always."
"Then I am yours."
With that burning whisper, any composure Jamie still possessed shattered into oblivion.
His lips attacked hers in a frenzy, equally met with her own ardent passion. Their clothing was haphazardly ripped off or just pushed to the side as the need for contact possessed them. When they joined, a hiss of pure pleasure ripped from his throat even as molten heat swept through his body like a firestorm. Their union was quick and messy, both on the edge of ecstasy before they even realized it. But Jamie could swear he saw the stars and galaxies in her eyes, could feel the connection to the very land as they both jumped the cliff simultaneously. It was only the chanting of his name in his ear and her nails like little claws in his back that kept him tethered to her and their world.
Blissfully spent yet more alive than he ever felt before, he rolled onto his back, eyes closed as his lungs fought to regain air.
"Ah Dhia. Is it always like that?"
At her chuckle, he realized he had accidently spoken his thoughts aloud. What potential embarrassment was dashed away when she rolled to her side, placing her arm on his chest as she gazed down at him.
"I hope so."
"Aye, me too."
She brushed a wild curl away from his face before leaning forward and kissing him again. It felt sated and gentle, just an unhurried, soft pressing of mouths. A feeling he wanted to sink into and wallow in.
He was unsure how long they lazily kissed and caressed for before she slowly pulled away. On instinct, he chased her mouth, not quite ready to lose that blissful connection.
She giggled, pressing a single finger to his needy lips. "Do you trust me?"
"Aye." He answered immediately, without a second thought.
Her answering smile could outshine the sun. It dazzled him enough that he did not notice until she had stood up fully. Moving carefully, she walked the few steps to the edge of the water. With eyes locked on him, she pushed on the neckline of her dress, shimmying the white fabric off her shoulders to catch on her breasts. He stared transfixed as little by little her body was revealed, like a present slowly being unwrapped or a wedding veil reverently lifted to display the bride. This moment felt holy. Even nature itself hushed at the display of perfection. When they had coupled, Jamie had barely paid attention to her body - a clear oversight on his part. There had been an unnatural drive to connect with her, to bind, to become complete inside of her lithe body. He had caught glimpses of her creamy thighs and hips as he pushed her dress up before plunging into her wet heat. But this…
For when her dress lay at her ankles, soaking in the water, Jamie damn near swallowed his tongue.
She had always had a glow about her, something that proved her otherness, but now, she appeared radiant, outshining even the moon above them.
"Come." She said, holding her hand out to him.
Once again unable to refuse, nor did he truly want to, he rose, undoing his belt and allowing his tartan to pool at his feet. He yanked his shirt over his head, dropping it at his feet.
For a second, he wondered if he should feel some sort of shame, standing before her naked as the day he was born. Yet there was none. For there she stood in her natural splendor, without shame or attempts to cover her own nakedness. Thinking about what they had been doing only minutes ago ceased any embarrassing thoughts. If anything, he found himself yearning to touch her more.
Silently, he stepped closer, taking her outstretched hand. With fingers intertwined, he followed her deeper into the water like she was his own North Star. With eyes locked on him, she walked backwards further into the water, further into her domain.
Finally, she stopped as the water hit his knees. With a playful tug, she guided him to sit down. Curious and unashamedly aroused, he followed her guidance to sit on the ground. The water reached his ribs, almost tickling him as it swirled around him. Without preamble, she crawled onto his lap to straddle him. His hands clasped onto her hips, a groan almost escaping him at the sensation of her body above him and her soft skin against his.
Carding a hand through his hair, she whispered, "close your eyes, young one."
He narrowed his eyes momentarily at her before following her command, all the while grumbling under his breath about how he was 'no a wee bairn'.
She giggled, placing a fleeting, torturous peck on his lips. "Open."
He opened his eyes, uncertain but trusting. What he saw made his jaw drop and eyes widened. The sight that greeted him was almost as astounding as her beauty. The water swirled and glowed even more, even the trees and bushes were a lit with a cool warmth that made them shine. The very air seemed to twinkle under the star-studded sky. The small, secluded loch he was used to appeared transformed. Somehow still the same yet more. It felt like magic danced in the air and what veil covered the place had been lifted.
"What–"
"Tis my home. Or as I see it."
He blinked owlishly, head whipping around to try and take it all in before returning to the true beauty of the loch.
"Thank ya, Ianassa. Truly."
"No, thank you Jamie. For everything."
This time he initiated the kiss. The slow press of his lips against hers. Tracing her lips with his tongue. Enticing her mouth and tongue to dance with his. In that moment, he drank from her mouth, he worshiped her like the goddess she was. Pouring out all his affection and adoration upon her like a poor devotee, hoping to earn the attention of his goddess. His hands trailed over her body, caressing, touching, coaxing, and he knew it would never be enough. He would never have enough of her.
His tongue traced her collarbone, a liquid fire pouring into his veins at the sigh it elicited from her.
"Do you trust me?" She whispered into his ear, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth.
"Aye." He answered amongst a choked sound, hands squeezing her hips. Uncertain if it was in a warning or permission to continue.
"Give into the water, allow it to consume you."
Before he could ask of her strange words, she guided him into herself, sheathing him fully in a fluid motion. A ragged groan fell from his mouth at the sensation. How could it feel even more exquisite, more perfect than before. Her lips landed on his, nipping and sucking, almost moving in tandem with her rocking hips. Amongst that, she leaned into him, guiding him backwards, the water rising higher and higher around him. Without fear, he leaned back, fully submitting himself to her. With her lips still attached to his, the water finally covered them. Instead of panic filling him, all he could feel was pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.
And he wholeheartedly gave in. He did not fight it as the water filled his lungs and his body sank beneath the water. For her hands were upon him the whole time, lips and body never stopping their ministrations. Driving him deeper into the water that seemed endless and deeper into her, into a bliss that threatened to rip him apart.
And within the blink of an eye, he suddenly understood what it meant to be consumed.
*****
The next morning Jenny and Ian came down to the loch looking for Jamie.
The family had found it odd he was not down from his room for breakfast. Then when Jenny was sent to check on Jamie and make sure he was not sick in bed, she discovered the bed empty and blankets unrumpled. Clearly no one had slept in that bed. Ian arrived to help Jamie out in the fields with Brian as agreed upon prior. Instead Ian headed towards the loch with Jenny offering to help look for her 'flea-brained' brother. Everyone knew how often Jamie spent time there.
But instead of finding Jamie asleep like they expected, they discovered what looked like a picnic laid out on the shore. A spare blanket spread out with an empty bottle of whiskey and crumbs. Beside that, they found his clothing and boots in a haphazard pile. The most perplexing find was a white dress, caught on some rocks in the water's edge.
Nowhere was there a sign of him nor the owner of the strange dress.
Nor would they ever be found again.
As the years passed and stories were told from one generation to the next, a new one arose. How sometimes the sound of laughter could be heard from the loch if you listened hard enough. The angelic sound of a woman and the deeper voice of a man. And it was said that if you were truly lucky, if you crept close to the loch on the night of a full moon, you might even catch a glimpse of a couple standing in the shallows of the loch dancing under the moonlight, the woman with hair dark as the night above and the man with hair like fire.
But one part of the story never wavered as the years passed. How those that inhabited Lallybroch always claimed to have a protector that lived in the small loch nearby.
#mzwrites#mz writes#mz edits#more outlander#outlanderedit#outlander fanfic#outlander fandom#outlander#jamie fraser x oc#jamie fraser#james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser#jamie fraser smut#canon divergence
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Lady of the Loch (Jamie Fraser x OC) Part 1
Summary: An old family folktale thrived amongst the Frasers of Lallybroch about a mythical being that lived in the small, secluded loch near their home. Most claimed it was just a story, while a rare few claimed to have seen her. But for Jamie Fraser, she became so much more.
This was my submission for a Halloween challenge (I'm a few days late, sorry) and my first time writing for the Outlander fandom! This story ended up taking a life of its own, so I split it into 2 parts. Also, the moodboards are made by me with all pics from Pinterest.
My prompt was: nymph
Words: 3200
Series warnings: canon divergence, all the Fraser family is alive, Claire doesn't exist, mild sexual content, magic themes, Greek mythology, pining, fluffy goodness
Jamie Fraser considered himself an educated man. Far more than most Scots, if he was being honest, but he was still a Highlander through and through. With that were certain beliefs and traditions passed down through the generations which he inherited, a portion of those beliefs resided in the knowledge of the unseen and magical. He had grown up with stories of kelpies, of selkies, of the Bean Nighe, and of the Fair Folk. He had heard enough stories that the belief of them flowed through his veins, just as surely as his own blood.
Yet he learned early on, that those magical beings were not the only ones to inhabit Scotland.
It was a Fraser family secret, passed from one generation to the next. Most took it as another folklore story, but some claimed they had firsthand experience. That there truly was something living in the small loch behind Lallybroch. A spirit of the waters. A lady of the loch.
A few Frasers claimed to have heard her angelic singing as they approached the loch, but it would abruptly stop just before they came within sight. Even fewer claimed to have caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman with long, dark hair and skin as pale as moonlight.
Amongst the myths of this magical maiden, there was one of a Fraser women who had approached the loch, crying and begging for help from its mysterious inhabitant, in dire need of wisdom in helping her sister who had married a terrible man. The story went that somehow she was guided to a particular plant, hidden away amongst the rocks, that was known to quickly kill. The Fraser woman claimed the lady of the loch had provided the means to save her sister. Another myth claimed a man was sick and nearing death's door but after a bath in the loch, he miraculously recovered. Yet throughout all the stories, there was one underlying theme. The mysterious inhabitant seemed to look out for the Frasers who resided in Lallybroch.
Jamie was eight years old when his father first told him about the family secret. Naturally, the next day he told his best friend, Ian, and the two young boys decided to take their own chances on seeing the mysterious maiden of the waters. It came to naught as they spent hours by the water's edge, occasionally throwing rocks into the water in hopes it would disturb her and force her to rise.
For the next few years, the two would occasionally try their luck at seeing the loch's inhabitant but it was never to be. Not even her supposed angelic singing graced their ears.
Soon enough, Ian gave up on the idea, saying it was just an 'auld folktale to amuse bairns'. His attention quickly shifted to a different dark-haired Fraser beauty. Thankfully, Jamie did not recognize the shift in attention of his best friend until years later, otherwise he would have been forced to punch his friend for the sake of his sister's honor. Even though she was more than capable of throwing said punch herself, if provoked.
As the years passed, Jamie found himself still drawn to the small loch behind Lallybroch. More and more often, he would wander there alone to swim in its waters or climb around on the rocks and trees. Sometimes he would speak aloud- sharing about his day or what he had learned from his tutors or any recent scuffles he had with his older brother or sister. He knew there was no one else around and if anyone caught him they could call him mad…but somehow he just knew there was someone there listening. Even if they never replied.
He was unsure exactly when everything changed.
Before he knew it, he could feel eyes watching him. Sometimes when he shared a particularly funny story, he thought he could hear laughter like the soft tinkling of bells. More than once, he caught sight of the water stirring when there was nothing to move it.
The first time he heard her singing, he was thirteen, almost a man. He walked the familiar path to the small loch, alone and angry. The argument he had just walked away from with his father replayed over and over in his mind, causing him to almost miss the beguiling voice on the faint breeze. His heart hammered within his chest at the purely angelic voice, even if he did not understand the language spoken. His feet were frozen on the hard ground, for fear of taking another step closer would disturb her and halt the melody of the heavens that currently graced this small part of Earth. Was it minutes or hours he stood there, entranced? He cared not. What did time mean when he had the honor of listening to her, for it sounded like all the good things in life he loved, all wrapped up and coated in sunshine.
Finally…he attempted to creep forward, but as he passed some invisible threshold, the singing abruptly ceased and a smooth splash in the water proved the serenade was over. Even as guilt and regret swept over him, he continued towards the rippling water and took a seat on what he had named 'his' rock, for it was large and half situated in the water and half out.
Once there, he spoke aloud, apologizing for disturbing her singing and attempting to describe how beautiful it was, even if he kept stumbling over his words and more than likely sounding half-crazed. When he finally gave up and hung his head, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment, he was certain he heard her soft laughter nearby.
Nothing was able to remove the smile from his face the rest of the day.
*****
Over the next couple of years, he frequently heard her singing. He knew it was foolish, but he liked to pretend she was waiting for him or greeting his arrival. Yet whenever he crossed that unknown threshold, it would abruptly end. Many times he would sit, close his eyes and listen. For her voice soothed him, like a cooling balm to his heart and mind, silencing any doubts or anger and filling him with peace and joy.
He never told a soul about hearing her. Every time he thought about it, the words would latch onto his tongue, refusing to pass his lips and spoil the air. So he kept the secret to himself, locked away. When his family or Ian teased him about the amount of time he spent at the small loch, he would brush it off or make excuses. It became his place of solace, away from the demands of the farm and his family. Plus with each passing year, he became more aware that he was not there alone.
*****
It was not until after his sixteenth birthday, he finally saw her for the first time.
His father had begun training Jamie with a wooden sword years ago, but now he had grown tall enough and strong enough to attempt a real sword. One day mid-summer, Jamie snuck away from his chores, carrying his father's sword with him to practice by the loch. Working on his footing and stances, he murmured the steps to himself, focusing solely on his body, the sword and his invisible opponent.
Suddenly, that feeling of being watched hit him.
Spinning on his heel, he swung the sword in a clumsy arc, turning to face the small loch. Only for his eyes to practically bug out of his head as they met the most mesmerizing, startling set of eyes gazing softly back at him. The colors swirled in her orbs, various shades of blue with hints of green. The rest of her was just as striking and stunning. Hair as black as the deepest depths of night flowed down her body to her hips. Skin as pale and soft as moonlight graced her form, without blemish or mark. An white dress covered her slender body, but damp as it was, it both teased and hid the beauty of her form with its near-sheerness. Pink lips turned upward into a smile that made Jamie's knees weaken and almost stumble by the utter radiance in the simple action. Youth and beauty were her adornments yet within those mesmerizing eyes, was an agelessness that added a new level of wonder about her.
Without words he knew who sat at the water's edge watching him. Even beyond the feeling of etherealness surrounding her like warm sunlight, she was, without question, the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes upon.
"Hello, Jamie."
His heart stumbled, skipping several important beats, and his lungs froze, unable to accept air, due to the shock of hearing the glory that was her melodious voice in saying his name!
It was not until her blinding smile dimmed to a look of concern that he realized he had stopped breathing, his chest refusing to inflate. Immediately, he sucked in a ragged gasp and doubled over, forcing necessary air into his lungs and willing his heart to function properly instead of trying to kill him in self-sabotage.
Once he finally gained marginal control over his traitorous body and gave into the inevitability of the embarrassing moment, he finally looked back up at the woman nearby.
A lively smile brightened her countenance once again. She reclined in the shallows of the water, most of her weight resting on one hip, with her legs gracefully bent beside her. Her hands were placed demurely in her lap while her long hair teased around her form, dancing in the water's lazy motion. Those hypnotic eyes twinkled merrily as they scanned over him, setting his body alight, before settling on his forgotten sword.
Either in his shock of her sudden appearance or the embarrassing coughing fit following, he must have dropped his father's sword onto the grassy ground.
"Ah shite, dinna tell my Da."
Her answering laughter threatened to make his chest seize once again in awe while a very distinctly male part of him was certainly taking notice of the almost naked woman before him, her thin, white dress only doing so much to conceal her tempting body.
Picking the sword back up, he wiped what little grime it had accrued on his tartan. His gaze drifted back to the woman, wondering what to do next.
"Pray tell, did you maim that terrible fowl you bespoke of days ago?"
It took another embarrassingly long moment for his mind to rise above the allure of her voice, a sound he easily wanted to drown in for eternity, and to actually hear her question. Once her question sunk in, he broke out laughing.
"Ach no, the wee terror still lives. My Ma forbade me to kill it."
Why she remembered that particular story he would never know. Although, it was terribly amusing now. He had gone out to gather the eggs for his Ma, when one of the hens decided to seek revenge for all the years of stealing her hard labor. With a flurry of wings, it attacked him, biting and clawing. He threatened to rip its feet off, once he restrained the bird. The next day he had come to the loch and amidst his ramblings, he shared that story.
Feeling emboldened by her tinkling laughter, he slid the sword back into its sheath, then carefully leaned it against a nearby tree. Moving slowly, overly aware of the proximity between them, he walked over to 'his' rock and settled down like any normal visit.
Except this time, he had an visible audience to his stories and ramblings….an divinely, enchanting maiden.
*****
After that day, every time he returned to the loch, she would appear. Weeks went by. Then months. And as time passed, so did the distance between them.
At a year, they would sit nearly side by side on 'their' rock. He spoke mostly, sharing stories and tidbits for her amusement, for she enjoyed his tales, no matter how mundane they felt to him.
One time he finally worked up the courage to ask why she refused to reveal herself to others.
A forlorn sigh escaped her, a dainty hand swirling the water to create ripples. "Tis safer. I have been alone for…." Her sweet voice trailed off, ages of pain echoed in her words. With a brief shake of her head, she tilted her face to look up at him with eyes that had seen far too much. "Tis better for all."
"And me?"
"You are different, young one."
He internally preened under her words, further confirming how special it was that she chose to reveal herself to him…and more than once! Over the past year, he even more frequently visited the loch to see her. The most time they had been separated was six days and by that last day, it felt like there was an itch under his skin he could not escape, drawing him back to the magical loch and back to her.
Then her title for him finally sunk in.
"Young–young one?!" He sputtered. "Ah, haud yer wheesht! Ye ken I am a man grown!"
Her laughter flowed over and around him, like a summer breeze. An answering smile grew on his face, for how could he not mirror her joy when it was so potent?
"Weel, ye can'no be much older than me."
Her laughter dried up, a wanness replaced what sunshine they had been basking in. Before she turned to look over the loch, an agelessness had emerged in her bright eyes that was haunting. "I have borne witness to the rise and fall of empires and gods alike. Yet I endure, for I am tied to this place. Tis my home and under my protection."
Silently, he reached across the gap that always lay between them, a no-man's land of sorts, to gently take her hand in his. A warm tingle shot up his arm at the connection, causing his heart to trip. She inhaled sharply and looked down at their hands. Yet after a moment's hesitation, her fingers intertwined with his, a reassured smile on her face.
They sat that way, quietly talking, until darkness began to creep in. Jamie loathed to leave her side, for this was the first time they had touched and with her small, soft hand in his own calloused one, it felt right. Even if he had no idea what that meant.
*****
It was two months later, his world turned upside down once again.
Stalking down the path and through the trees surrounding, his feet pounded on the ground with each step. Coming to 'their' rock, he practically collapsed onto it, furiously wiping away the tears leaking down his cheeks.
"Jamie? What torments you so?"
He looked up, seeing her through watery eyes, standing knee deep in the loch and watching him with a slightly furrowed brow and concern in her eyes. "I– I dinna want– they are–" A fresh sob caught in his throat and he closed his eyes even as tears flowed unhindered, his hand covering his mouth to try and repress the sound of his despair.
Within moments, her lithe body dropped onto the rock next to him and her arms wrapped around him in a soothing embrace. Unashamed, for it felt like his heart was fracturing within his chest, he laid his head on her shoulder and clung to her as he quietly cried. It was only in the comfort of her embrace and with her hand stroking his hair, that he felt safe enough to speak. He brokenly explained how his family was sending him away to stay with his uncles for a time in Castle Leoch.
"I dinna want tae go." He murmured after his tears dried and he explained the predicament.
"Why?"
"This is my home, ye ken? I dinna wish tae leave it. Or my family, or Ian. And….I dinna wish tae leave ye. Ye will be alone again."
She pressed their foreheads together and if possible, Jamie thought he may have swooned a little. He could taste her breath on his lips, feel the warmth of her body sinking under his skin and infusing into his blood, heating him from the inside out. Her hand still lazily stroked his hair and he now understood why dogs and cats enjoyed it so much.
"You are my greatest friend, James Fraser, and I shall miss you. But you will go." She gently commanded. "There is much to learn and see in this world. I will await here for your return in which you shall share stories of your adventures and your travels. Agreed?"
Still choked up, he barely managed to mutter out, "agreed".
They sat that way for some time, sharing the air between them, breathing in the scent of the other and their presence as if to memorize. Jamie knew he must leave soon, to return back to Lallybroch and his duties there. Plus, the longer he sat so close to her, touching and being touched by her, a rather large problem was filling up the front of his trousers.
With an uncomfortable cough, he drew back and shifted, leaving their shoulders and thighs touching in an innocent yet enticing way. A heat radiated from his cheeks that he hoped she would not take notice of. He rubbed the nape of his neck, looking out over the small loch with its barrier of trees and shrubs surrounding it like a natural form of protection for the magical place.
"Ye ken, ye ne'er told me yer name." He said quietly, a realization that had been nagging him for some time now. Over the last year they had spent together, she never shared her name, nor had he asked.
"Hmmm….names have power."
"D'ye no trust me?"
Her eyes flashed over to him, a tightness around her pink lips. "I do."
"But ye willna tell me it?"
"When you return, I shall."
Before he could pester her more, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek, lingering far longer than expected for a chaste kiss. A thrill shot down his spine with the force of a bullet, leaving him flushed and his mind spinning.
"Farewell, Jamie. May the wind and the waves watch over you and darkness never have a foothold." She whispered and then rose, gracefully walking out into the water.
Jamie watched her, the skin touched by her lips warm and tingling, and his body seemingly tied to the ground. He knew what was to come, for he had witnessed it many times before but it still always managed to shock him. For in the blink of an eye, she disappeared, one moment there and the next gone, as if a spirit of the water returning to its home.
With a resigned sigh, he got up, in need of returning home. But as he gazed out over the loch once more, he knew somehow she was watching.
"I'll return soon. I promise ye."
Only a silent, soft breeze answered his spoken promise.
Part 2
#mzwrites#mz edits#mz writes#outlander#outlander fandom#outlander fanfic#outlanderedit#more outlander#outlander edit#jamie fraser#james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser#jamie fraser x oc#jamie fraser smut#jamie fraser fanfic#canon divergence
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Fjaka (Ivar x reader)
Summary: You dwell on the thought of how sometimes doing nothing with Ivar makes you the happiest.
This is my entry to @doctorwhoandfairytaillover short and sweet challenge! Congrats on all your followers! I'm so happy for you!
Fjaka (Croatian)– "the sweetness of doing nothing"
The book quote at the beginning of the story comes from one of my favorite books 'Mara, Daughter of the Nile', page 210. (if anyone is interested)
Words: 699
Warnings: Pure, sugary fluff. Soft Ivar. One swear word.
Triumph swept over Mara, giving way immediately to something so much stronger and deeper that every other reality dropped sway. She found herself clinging to him fiercely, caught up in an emotion more compelling than any she had known. For once she did not plan or scheme or use her wits, since it was quite impossible. She did not even think.
You closed your eyes for a brief respite, allowing the emotions of the story to flow over you like a gentle stream. The character Mara could not place a name to this new feeling carving its way into her being. But you could – love.
Lifting your gaze, you stared at the man sitting on the couch with you. Your legs stretched over his lap, his arms rested on them as he held a game controller. His radiant blue eyes glued onto the TV screen, playing some video game that frequently made him swear and grumble about getting his brothers back. Laying the book in your lap, but careful not to lose your page, you rested the side of your head on the leather couch, admiring your fiancé.
You thought back to your own declarations of love. It was not intense or overly romantic like in the book you were reading. A slave and a lord, betraying customs and social conformity, throwing themselves into an well of hopeful love, only to hit rock bottom.
No, your own declarations were much simpler, more tranquil. It happened laying in bed next to one another, the morning sunlight spilling over you two. Neither of you moved, even as both of your alarms had blared repeatedly already. Instead, words of contentment, satisfaction and love filled the narrow space between your bodies. Nothing profound. Nothing world-shattering. Just an acknowledgement shared in that moment, solidifying the dedication and love between the two of you.
He must have sensed your gaze on him, since he spoke without removing his eyes from the TV screen. "What?"
"Nothing."
This time he quickly glanced at you before turning back and humming his disbelief.
"I just…I guess I was just reminded of how much I love you."
"Are they fucking in your book right now?"
"Ugh! No! That's not why!" You smacked his shoulder lightly with the side of your book, not that the book was actually thick enough to do much damage. "I was just….thinking."
With a quirk of his lips, he paused his video game. Using a single finger under your chin, he guided your lips to his. The kiss he placed was so gentle, so tender, you were unable to do anything but melt under his touch and lean into him wanting more. No confection, no sugar, no candy or chocolate could ever be sweeter or more satisfying than this kiss. For it delved deep into your soul, further wrapping you in the knowledge of his complete and utter love for you.
Ever so slowly, he drew back to kiss the tip of your nose and then turn to his prior spot. "I love you too." After that, he returned to his game, unpausing it only to then colorfully swear about some idiot on the screen.
The smile on your face could easily rival the sun in its brightness. With that adorning your face, you opened your book back up, returning to the characters and their newfound, forbidden love.
You were happy in the contentment, the simplicity of your life with Ivar. It may not be riveting or dramatic. Certainly nothing that would ever be written about or made into a song. But that did not matter. It was these quiet moments shared between the two of you that were your favorite, and his. Unlike the characters in your story, whose love was like a threatening storm; the love shared between you and Ivar was an oak tree – strong, resilient and peaceful with deep roots.
Your life with Ivar had its ups and downs, like all relationships, but it was these moments where you seemed to be doing nothing together….they were what spoke loudest of the happiness surrounding you two. The joy of companionship and just being with one another. A simplicity that is profound.
Tag List:
Vikings (all)
@youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille888 @quantumlocked310 @errruvande-2-0
Vikings-Ivar
@breezykpop @frankie-undead-dame
#mzwrites#short and sweet challenge#vikings#vikings fanfiction#vikings fandom#vikings fanfic#vikings ivar#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ivar's heathen army#ivar#ivar x reader#ivar the boneless x you#ivar the boneless x reader#modern ivar#modern!ivar#modern vikings
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Hoist The Colors In The Bleak Midwinter (Tommy Shelby x reader)
Summary: The voyage was meant to be easy, a simple trip between the Caribbean Islands. Until a mysterious ship was seen on the horizon. Then when its flag unfurled in the wind, a declaration of who exactly was following, any hope of escaping was slashed away as sharply as the rumored razors in their caps.
This is my first contribution to @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie hot fic summer challenge! I'm so excited for this Peaky Blinders Pirate AU! I saw the prompt and this immediately came to mind. Also shout-out to @punkrocknpearls for the advice with my moodboard! Thanks, hon!
Prompt- pirates
Words: 5100
Warnings: mild language, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, death and mutilation
"I'm sorry, m'lady." The young sailor murmured on repeat, his voice cracking and breaking with the words.
The sound of it was now grating to your ears even if you forced yourself not to show it. "It's not your fault." You tried to reassure but he seemed not to hear you.
"We won't see the sunrise." He mumbled, staring at the cabin door. Yet it was the loaded pistol in his shaking hands that made you wary. He sniffled loudly before continuing his ramblings. "Damn pirates. Red sun rose this mornin'. Bad omen, Cook said. A bad omen. And now they'll kill us all."
At hearing his terror-laden words, instead of sinking into the pit of despair and hopelessness, a shot of determination infused itself into your blood. With a sudden resolution coating your spine, you stood up from the chair you had been waiting in with baited breath. No one was going to save you and the crew. That was a fact. Maybe, though, you could do something to bargain with the pirates. Maybe, just, maybe, there was a chance. A fool's hope….but you had to try.
On instinct, you quickly ran a hand over your gown, smoothing any wrinkles you may have gotten while sitting at the cabin window. Your mother and governess had ingrained into you to always appear your best, in whatever form that may take. You hoped one day to be able to tell them you still heeded their words when preparing to meet bloodthirsty pirates. You just had to survive the encounter.
Standing tall and poised, like the lady you were, you started towards the cabin door, uncertain what awaited you on the other side.
"M'lady! You can't–"
You spun on your heel and glared at him. "Either I wait here for my inevitable demise, for these pirates will find me, that is assured. Or I seek them out first and can walk with my head held high. I will not dishonor my family's name nor will I be marked a coward in the face of this danger!"
As the young sailor stared silently at you in awe, easily recognizable on his boyish face, you stepped past him and threw open the door to your assigned cabin. Taking a steeling breath, you proceeded towards the deck where you could hear the terrible commotion.
The morning had started out like any other while you were on your father's schooner traveling the Caribbean waters. It was ironic you thought now. Your father had been apprehensive about allowing you to travel. Yet you had vehemently fought, claiming the waters around your island were some of the safest in the Caribbean and that you wanted to visit your friend, a fellow Governor's daughter, who lived on the island the schooner was traveling to. Eventually he gave in and allowed you to go. In addition, he chose to assign you personally in charge of his correspondence instead of sending his usual man. You were stupidly proud for the responsibility and hoped this further proved to your father you could be useful for more than just a beneficial marriage arrangement.
The next day the schooner set sail from port with you aboard it. The first tastes of freedom danced upon your tongue, bringing a smile to your face. The wind blowing through your hair and the spray of the salty water against your skin made you feel more alive than any elegant party you were forced to attend by your mother's insistence.
Even this morning's sunrise was a masterpiece, the rich, warm colors blazing across the sky, chasing away the darkness of night and heralding a beautiful day.
Then four hours ago, a ship had been spotted following yours.
The captain was an admirable seaman, one of the best in your father's fleet. Unfortunately, accompanying his vast wealth of experience and knowledge, closely followed his arrogance. After a brief hesitation, he dismissed the concern of some of the sailors and told them to continue onward. The questionable ship was most likely another traveling merchant for the weather was fair and it was prime season for trading.
But everything fell apart as that questionable ship quickly drew closer. Then an hour ago, it unfurled the Jolly Roger flag. Which only meant one thing.
Pirates.
The captain forcibly demanded you to wait in your cabin while he and his men tried everything to outrun the pirates. Even as you hurried down the wooden ladder, almost getting bowled over by sailors running around like headless chickens, you knew the outcome was inevitable.
Then shouts and cries of dismay echoed from the deck, flooding your cabin as a second flag was raised, signaling which pirate ship was coming for them.
A black sail with a skeleton holding a pistol in one hand and a cap on its head.
The Peaky Blinders pirates.
Now your doom was truly assured.
The fight began far sooner than you expected. Neither side had even attempted to fire their cannons. The dark, dreaded ship seemed to suddenly appear beside the schooner, as if the wind and waves favored the vessel. From your cabin window, you could make out the figurehead on their ship- a barely clad woman with the face replaced by a skull. A fearful shudder shot down your spine.
Hiding away in your cabin, you listened as your father's men fought valiantly against the marauding pirates. The sounds dragged on ceaselessly. The clash of swords. The explosions of pistols. The cries and screams of the injured and dying. The blood-curling, manic laughter and war cries of the pirates. Even the water below began to rise and fall more drastically, as if sensing the chaos and expanding upon it.
Never before had you heard the sounds of battle and you prayed to never hear them again.
Eventually the sounds died away, along with any minimal hope of your father's sailors succeeding against the Blinders. You wondered why the pirates had not searched the ship yet. Surely they sought to plunder what they could from your father's vessel. Then they would find you.
And what then?
So you resolved to seek them out first. It was fool-hardy and rash. Everything you were taught not to be. The likelihood of your imprisonment and death increased with each step but you did not stop. The panic clawing at you was squashed with the booted heels of your fortitude. You were your father's daughter. A governor's daughter. Your worth and esteem were far beyond anything these pirates could ever hope to achieve.
As gracefully as possible, which was not much unfortunately, you ascended the ladder leading up to the main deck. Whatever dramatic entrance you had hoped to achieve was null and void for your gown caught on the last step and gave a dramatic rip. Mumbling under your breath, you cursed the pretty but otherwise useless gown as you stepped off the ladder and onto the deck.
The sight you beheld froze the very air in your lungs and made your heart plummet to the dark depths of the ocean below your feet.
The sailors still breathing sat bound with ropes against the hull of the ship. Many were still painted in blood, either their own or of the pirates they had managed to kill. The dead sailors were piled in an unsightly heap towards the bow of the ship. Lastly, your captain had been tied to the main mast of the schooner, back pressed to the wood. The gag in his mouth was turning red with the blood dripping from his crooked nose.
Yet it was none of those sights which chilled you to your very core. No, it was the unobstructed view of the many pirates swarming like ants on the deck of your father's ship and their own dark ship, tethered alongside yours with hooks and ropes.
"Oh ho! Lookie who we've got 'ere, boys. A real fookin' lady."
Startled, your head swiveled, seeking out the owner of the brusque voice. A well of wariness transformed into a sea of anxiety, rolling and crashing against your ribcage. It was now as you met the blue eyes of the pirate, the consequences of your actions cleared a path before you, highlighting the stupidity and hopelessness of it. Still, you straightened up, drawing your shoulders back and lifting your chin slightly. Your knees may be trembling under your dress but you refused to show it.
The pirate who had spoken, drawing unwanted attention to the two of you, stood behind you, leaning against the stair-railing leading up to the helm. With a push, he sauntered over to you, his steps not exactly even and you wondered if it had to do anything with the bottle he had in hand. Blood droplets slid down his face, seemingly gathering in this thick mustache, making him seem to have a perpetual bloody frown. You could spot blood splatters on the front of his white shirt and dark jacket. He ambled over, his proximity uncomfortably close. Tilting his head, his gaze scanned you, starting from your feet and rising like the tide to your face. His eyes met yours and you could not help the unconscious step back you took. There was something unbalanced in his gaze; like a sweet cat that purred when given a treat, but just as easily flipped to become sadistic as it played and tormented its prey.
"Think this is 'er, John boy?"
Another pirate approached with an easy, relaxed gait. A thick splinter of wood lulled about in the corner of his mouth, following the curve as his lips raised in a smirk. This one was not bathed in blood like the first, thankfully, but he appeared no less threatening. Twin pistols hung within view just inside his jacket, and you could not help but wonder if one of those weapons had killed your father's men. This new pirate, a John boy, looked you up and down, but instead of feeling intimidating like the other, it seemed more cheeky and mischievous.
"I reckon it could be….too many clothes on to tell." He winked at you. A gaping hole opened up in your stomach at his implication.
The first pirate chuckled darkly, reaching over to grab a fist full of fabric at your hips.
Immediately you spun and smacked his hand away with more force than strictly necessary. "You will not touch me, you miscreant." You spat at him, anger coating each syllable, only just barely hiding the fear brewing within you. "I am the governor's daughter and you will treat me with the respect afforded to my station."
Some snickering and laughter erupted from the other pirates nearby that heard your brash statement. It appeared the others were enjoying watching the spectacle. One of the pirates called out 'I'll show 'er my respect' causing more jeers and laughter to follow in its wake. Dread slithered up your torso to wrap around your chest like a constrictor. You tried to swallow but your mouth and throat felt as dry as the height of summer under the scorching sun.
The one behind you, John you thought, seemed to laugh the loudest. His eyes danced with mirth as he smacked his companion's back still next to you. "A real firecracker this one is, eh?"
"Yeah, nothin' but trouble for us. Mark me words." The first grumbled, watching you like he was tempted to throw you overboard and just be done with your infuriating presence.
You straightened up, ignoring the terror tainting the blood in your veins. "I heard you are led by a man called Shelby. I demand to speak with him."
"Yeah? Well it's your lucky day, love. You've found yourself two Shelbys."
"What?"
The smiling one continued, gesturing to himself and then his companion. "I'm John Shelby, and this 'ere is me brother, Arthur Shelby."
"No…" You shook your head as you looked between the brothers and then glanced at those around. The brothers and many others wore the infamous peaked caps which had given the pirates their name and calling card of terror and death. Something tinkled the back of your mind, somehow you knew, you just knew these two brothers were not the one you were looking for. "I've heard you're led by a….a Thomas. Thomas Shelby."
The first one, Arthur, eyed you skeptically then shrugged. "You're wanting the other one then. OI! TOMMY! THE LADY WANTS TO TALK TO YA!"
You jumped slightly as the man suddenly shouted, your heart speeding up like a racehorse taking off. Seemingly sensing your discomfort, he grinned down at you before looking over at his brother.
"This'll be fun to watch."
"My money's on the girl." John replied, still smirking.
Arthur hummed. "Two coins."
The brothers bumped their fists together, grinning like fiends at their bet.
But you barely heard their words, for everything had become just background noise as your eyes were locked on the man marching your way. Each step was taken with such authority, such assurance, like he owned the world and he was just biding his time until revelation came and the world submitted to him. His jacket flapped in the breeze behind him, giving the illusion of his shadow coming to life to haunt his steps. His peaked cap was pulled low over his face but somehow you just knew that his eyes missed nothing.
As he walked over, John slid closer to Arthur, making room for the third Shelby to join the circle of entertainment for those watching. Thomas stood next to you and immediately all the fine hairs on your arms and the back for your neck stood at attention. Although he had not spoken a word yet, the aura of danger hanging around him like a noose was almost suffocating to you. Even with all the guns and pistols, all the swords and daggers decorating the pirates, the spilled blood and the sickly sweet stench of gunsmoke lingering in the air, you knew that the most dangerous thing on board either ship was the pirate now standing beside you.
Then when his gaze found yours, a shiver of both heat and ice coursed through you. Those stormy eyes held you captive far more than any chain ever could. And it was in that moment you realized how wildly inaccurate the rumors and whispers of the shadowed leader of the Peaky Blinder pirates was. There was a calculating intelligence there that easily rivaled any businessman or lord you had ever encountered. Here was not a madman like he was made out to be. No, this was a man who knew how to play the game, who knew how to obtain what he wanted, whose ambition bleed from him just as much as the predatory presence he so casually wore.
His gaze reminded you of a man you had met long ago, who kept a hawk for hunting. Those same piercing eyes you saw in the hawk now met your gaze in the pirate. And with the way he was staring at you, you automatically knew he saw you as prey who he was just waiting to swoop in and devour. You wondered when the flimsy cage would break and his instincts would overtake him, just like that pet hawk you had encountered.
"So you're the governor's daughter, eh?"
If you lacked better self-control, your jaw would have dropped at the smooth voice that came out of his mouth. It was unnatural for such a charming, intriguing voice to come from….from a pirate! It was like the perfectly aged, fine wines that your mother coveted jealously; something you wanted to take a sip of and swirl around in your mouth to taste every flavorful note in it.
You rapidly blinked, dismissing the romantic notion of his voice and focused on the pirate beside you who wore a blank expression. "And you must be Thomas Shelby, infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders."
He hummed then stepped closer, his jacket sleeve brushing your bare arm briefly. "Not many are privy to that knowledge. How did you come by it?"
"Unlike most respectable ladies who only worry about the latest fashion or fetching themselves a handsome match, I listen and I ask questions. For knowledge is a far more superior tool than any gun or sword could ever hope to be."
His eyes widened momentarily, clearly not expecting your outburst or the hostility in your voice.
Before he could speak, you continued, never once tearing your gaze away from his. "I am here to parlay with you for the release of these sailors and their freedom."
"Is that so?" The corners of his lips twitched in response.
You internally questioned if he was amused by your zealous request, but it did not matter, as long as he listened you hoped for a positive outcome. "Yes. They are good men and do not deserve death."
"Hmmm…and what do you have to equal in value for their lives?"
You paused, for here was the gamble that had been playing out in your mind. You could only hope the dice was in your favor. "There is a small fortune on this schooner. I will hand it over to you without complaint on your word that with it, you will release these sailors and allow them to return home without further harm."
"And you would trust my word? The word of a pirate?"
Staring into his icy blue eyes that somehow caused your heart to burn with something you had yet to experience, the words sprouted from your mouth before you realized what you had said. "I would trust your word alone, Mr. Shelby."
His gaze kept yours ensnared, refusing you release. He stared at you, seeming to peer right into your soul, to probe into the very core of your being. You should have been frightened at the intrusion. You should have wretched yourself away from his gaze and dropped your eyes to the ground like a proper lady. Instead, you stared back, allowing him to see the sincerity of your request.
After a long moment, he finally gave a slow nod. "Alright. You have me word. The men will be released."
"Thank you." You breathed out, not realizing until now how you had held your breath while maintaining eye contact.
In the next breath, you told the other two brothers where exactly the small fortune of gemstones were hidden in your cabin. With their excited cheers filling your ears, they dashed down the ladder and presumably to your cabin.
Then you were left standing there on the deck with Thomas, his jacket sleeve still barely brushing your arm and sending shivers through your body. With a tone invoking confidence and leaving no room for argument, he barked out several orders, sending some of the pirates scurrying about.
It was now with his focus off of you, were you truly able to admire the beauty of the man. The defined cheekbones and sharp jawline. Those full lips that appeared soft despite his hardened exterior. Even his physique was attractive with wide shoulders over his agile frame. It was those eyes though, the unholy burning in them that captivated you the most. He was truly the most beautiful man you had ever met.
As if that thought summoned his attention, his gaze swung back to you. Butterflies erupted in your belly, dancing the foxtrot and bringing an embarrassing warmth to your face. Hastily, your eyes sought out the sea, hoping the rise and fall of the waves could settle your heart and nerves somehow. You sensed the weight of his eyes on you but purposefully kept your gaze away.
A loud groan came from one of the sailors still tied to the hull. Your eyes drifted to them for a fleeting moment, taking in the evidence of brutality that must have faced when fighting off the pirates. As an overflow of water saturated your eyes, you swiftly averted your gaze back to the sea. If you thought about your situation too long, you feared you would crumble. Now you needed to remain strong and resilient. So with your chin held high, and appearing aloof to the pirate beside you, you settled for watching the crashing and rolling waves just on the other side of the ship.
"You are not what I expected."
You stiffened at his unexpected statement. Still staring at the Caribbean waters, you blandly replied. "I apologize for the disappointment."
"On the contrary, you could never be a disappointment."
Your head whipped around to look at the pirate, shock clouding your mind. Especially when he met your gaze with a look of indifference, as if he had only made a passing comment about the weather. Butterflies erupted anew in your belly. Your mouth suddenly felt dry and you subconsciously licked your lips, prepared to question him about his statement.
At that moment, his brothers climbed up the ladder, with beaming smiles on their faces. Arthur lifted up the small, velvet bag into the air and proclaimed that Fate turned her face favorably upon them today. The cheering erupting from the pirates both still on the schooner and on their pirate ship was enough to wake the dead.
Yet the whole time your mind could only focus on one exact detail amidst the rambunctious celebration. As you licked your lips, those piercing eyes had followed the action fervently and something distinctly hungry had ignited in them for a second. But within the next blink of your eyes, it was gone.
"How did you come by all these jewels, eh? Steal 'em from someone?" Arthur chuckled at his own jest, handing the bag over to Thomas, who peeked inside and raised a single eyebrow before closing the bag and slipping it into his pocket.
"Does it matter?" You retorted, not about to admit it was part of your dowry and gifted to you by your late grandmother. You turned your gaze back to the leader of the pirates. "You have your promised fortune. Now release my father's men."
"Indeed I do." He stared at you for a long, tense moment, before he gave the order. "Free the sailors…and put them in the row boat."
"What? That wasn't–"
Thomas interrupted you, a formidable smirk plastered across his mouth that betrayed exactly how he felt about manipulating your request to his advantage. "You said to release them. You gave no further details, yeah? So that left it up to me own whims about how exactly they should be released and where."
"But–"
"And an island is within view. They will be able to row safely there by the end of the day. From there, they can find another vessel to return to your father and inform him of the pirating of his ship and goods." His smirk lost the predatory touch and morphed into someone more thoughtful as he looked around your father's ship. "Besides, I like this schooner. It'll be an excellent addition to my fleet."
Your heart pounded like a war drum inside of your chest. Anxiety twisted and rolled like snakes in your belly. Your head swiveled to watch the sailors having their bonds cut and then roughly hauled up by the jeering pirates and towards the single rowboat. Surely it could not hold all the men easily? It would capsize!
One of the sailors started to fight back, a young man you had known since childhood. He struggled against the two pirates half-dragging him towards the starboard side of the ship, curses spilling like oil from his mouth. For the briefest second, your eyes met his and you willed him to cease his futile fight. His freedom was at hand, why was he only making things worse for himself? Then he silently mouthed your name and increased his struggle. He managed to land a punch to one of the pirates that knocked him to the deck with a loud thud. Like a swarm, several pirates gathered around your childhood friend, beating him back into submission. With the extra help, they bodily threw the sailor overboard. You winced when you heard the answering splash.
"What of the captain?" John asked softly, having returned to his spot next to his brothers. "He insulted us. Fookin' bastard."
That explained why he was gagged like a common criminal, but you chose not to comment, a sense of dread rising in you like clogging smoke.
Thomas mulled it over, a wrathful disquiet emanating from his presence. "Arthur," the other brother turned his heavy gaze from the bound captain to his brother. "He insulted you. I believe an eye would be adequate recompense."
The answering smile, his mustache still coated in blood, looked purely sinister and malevolent. Like a shark with the scent of blood in the water, his eyes gleamed manically. Without another word, he stomped over, already pulling the peaked cap off his head.
The pirates still lingering about hooted and cheered as Arthur approached the now squirming captain, the gag muffling what most assuredly was begging and pleading for mercy.
But here, he would find none.
"No, please, don't do it." You begged, even though you knew in your gut it was futile.
"Too late, love." John chuckled, his gaze locked on the gruesome ordeal about to occur.
Without thought, your feet took a step forward, ready to intervene. But before you could take another step, a calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, preventing any further movement. A gentle but demanding tug made you fall back to his side again. Lifting your head, you opened your mouth to demand this atrocity cease, but the first scream from the captain cut through your mind, making the words vanish on your tongue.
Nausea crawled up your throat, the initial threat to your stomach emptying its contents right there on the deck. Your hand covered your mouth in both horror and an attempt to not be sick.
Lips brushed the top of your ear as a smooth voice murmured quietly for you alone. "No one will look less upon you for not watching."
You wanted to watch, to prove him wrong, that you were made of sterner material, but with another round of screams echoing in your mind like the sea gulls' cries, you turned away. On instinct, you pressed your forehead against the shoulder next to you, eyes squeezed tight even though it did nothing to blot out the sounds. Later you would question your sanity for seeking comfort from the very pirate who ordered the mutilation. Then to your surprise, you felt the hand still shackling you, turn just enough and a thumb press to the palm of your hand. It slowly swiped back and forth as if giving the resemblance of comfort in the agonizing moment.
Thankfully, the horrifying ordeal was not dragged out. With blood streaming from both eye sockets, the captain was lowered to his men waiting in the rowboat. You had heard the Blinders would take an eye in payment to any captain they captured and released. All you could assume was one eye was for this payment and the other was for the debt incurred by the insult.
Silently, you took a step in the direction of the rowboat, what strength and fortitude you possessed was draining away like dirty rainwater. You hoped the rowboat had room for everyone. Thoughts of the captain and his maiming made your stomach turn over and the nausea returned. Your gown was most likely cleaner than the clothing the sailors wore, surely they could help you tear some off to use as binding. There was already a large tear near the hem, it would not be difficult to rip the fabric from that spot.
Yet the shackle around your wrist prevented you from moving further away and joining your father's men.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To the boat." You looked up in confusion to the pirate still physically keeping you by his side.
He hummed thoughtfully, glancing in the direction of where the rowboat lay out of sight, before meeting your gaze calmly. "That was not part of the deal."
At his words, your heart oozed from your ribcage and splattered on the deck beneath your feet.
"I'm not done with you yet, darling." He crooned. Gaze never leaving yours, he lifted your hand still ensnared in his and pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckles.
You despised how your heart fluttered like a bird's wing and your skin tingled where his lips touched you. Such a courtly action from a pirate, who eventually would meet his demise at the end of the rope. It was unseemingly how your body betrayed you, especially with the cruelty you just bore witness to under his orders. You should be repulsed by him, but that sensation never even crossed your mind.
Finally freeing you from his hold, he turned to his brother, still standing nearby. "John, take her to my cabin."
You glared at the pirate captain with all the malice your body possessed, which only seemed to amuse him. He gave you a cheeky wink then sauntered away, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped to speak with an clearly older pirate, based on his graying hair and weather-lined face, who was eyeing the rigging critically and muttering to himself.
"C'mon, love. Best not to anger 'im."
When John tried to grab your upper arm, you yanked it out of his grasp. "I am fully capable of walking myself, thank you very much." You spat at him, completely devoid of any social decorum instilled into you.
He grinned broadly, seemingly unoffended by your harsh words and attitude. "Oh, you'll be fun. Aunt Pol is going to love you."
You had no idea what that meant nor were you inclined to find out. Yet it appeared you no longer had a choice in the matter. Like a prisoner following the hangman to the gallows, you walked just behind the Shelby brother. Terror and panic attempted to cling to you like thorny tendrils but everything felt dulled, like a fog had crept into your mind.
As you approached the pirate ship, the Jolly Roger and their flag waving proudly like a standard under the Caribbean sun, the realization hit you anew, causing your knees to weaken and for you to stumble on the next step.
You were truly a captive of the Peaky Blinders pirates.
Tag List:
Peaky Blinders- @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @minxsblog
(lemme know if you want to be added or deleted to the list)
#cherry pie’s hot fic summer#mzwrites#peaky blinders#bbc peaky blinders#by order of the peaky blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders fandom#peaky blinders fiction#peaky blinder imagine#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby fanfic#thomas shelby#arthur shelby#john shelby#pirate au
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True Monsters (A Peaky Blinder Monster Hunter AU)
Summary: The Shelby family have been monster hunters for generations, the shield between the city of Birmingham and those who lurk in the shadows. But one fateful night, Tommy learns that some monsters are more than they seem.
This is my first contribution to the Spooktacular Halloween Challenge, hosted by the gorgeous @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie! I feel like its been a while since I've written for Peaky but I've been sitting on this idea for AGES so I'm beyond happy to finally be able to write it! Let me know if you like it!
Prompt- Ghouls
Words: 2400
Warnings: mild language, canon-typical violence, Shelby family dynamics, brief sexual references
Moodboard made by me. All pics from Pinterest.
A shroud of darkness hung over Birmingham, blotting out the stars. Only the moon showed through but even its light was veiled. Silence hovered over the sleeping city, the drunkards quiet for once. As if the whole city waited with bated breath. As if they knew something monstrous lingered in the shadows, waiting. So they locked their doors, covered the windows, hoping for evil to pass them by.
Then a shrill scream split the air….and chaos erupted.
*****
"Fuck! Move! Move!" Tommy commanded his brothers as he jumped out from behind the brick wall, not waiting to confirm their following. Yanking out his pistol, he immediately began firing shot after shot at the ghastly creatures crawling on all fours or walking upright.
They had been waiting for the ghouls to appear for several hours now, darkness creeping over the cemetery. Now with the moon almost at its zenith, the monsters had appeared from the shadows, slowly making their way towards the unfinished grave and the fresh body laying inside of it.
One of the creatures froze with the first of the gunshots, seemingly searching for the source of the disruption. Its blood-red eyes locked on Tommy. With an ear-piercing cry, it started a half-run towards him. Its milky-white skin shone bright under the dark sky as it moved closer, jumping over the many gravestones that littered the cemetery. A black, gaping maw of a mouth opened in a grotesque mock-smile as it neared.
Tommy raised his gun and fired…only to miss at the last second as it shifted to jump a short fence.
"Fuck." He muttered, pulling the trigger to fire another shot.
Luckily, the shot's aim was true. The bullet sailed through the air and the head of the creature with ease. The ghoul toppled forwards due to the impact of the bullet and its own momentum, landing with a soft thud along an overgrown dirt path.
An eerie shriek echoed in the chaos of the cemetery.
Tommy looked to his left, just in time to see another ghoul take a flying leap off a large, elaborate gravestone at him, its fingers curled like claws and its black mouth wide open, ready to bite and tear at his flesh.
But before he could raise his gun, another shot pierced the air.
Tommy casually slid to the side, just in time for the ghoul to land right where he had been standing. There was no fear of it rising to attack with the bullet hole evident in the back of its head.
"Cuttin' it a little close, eh?" Tommy said.
John walked up beside him, toothpick twitching in the corner of his mouth. "Nah, I never miss."
Tommy rolled his eyes at his brother's jest, before surveying around them. "We got 'em all?"
John opened his mouth to answer but a different one cut in.
"While some were staring down a ghoul, the rest of us were actually working. John, go check on your sister. She ain't up from the grave yet. And where's Arthur with that bloody sword?"
Polly moved to stand on Tommy's otherside, one of her cigarettes in hand while the other still kept a loose grip on her own pistol. Her dark eyes scanned the cemetery, as if she could see into every shadow that potentially harbored monsters.
"There's seven here."
"Hmmm…with the level of desecration the priest spoke of, I thought there'd be more."
"I agree." Polly nodded, then lowered her voice. "We're missing one. I can sense it."
Tommy had long ago given up on trying to understand Polly's apparent sixth sense, eventually chalking it up to her being a Shelby woman who had been in the monster hunting business longer than he had been breathing. Never once had her senses been wrong.
"Eyes open then." Tommy scanned the grounds one more time, pointer finger itching to pull the trigger. "Tell the others, I'll walk around."
A commotion at the unfinished gravesite drew both of their attention. Ada had finally risen up out of it, a smear of dirt maring her cheek and fire blazing in her eyes.
"I swear to God Himself, if one of those ghouls touched me, I would have castrated the lot of you!"
"They never got that close!" Arthur shouted back from where he appeared with young Finn by his side.
"One of 'em was peering down at me! I had to shoot it in the fuckin' face!" She screeched, clambering out of the grave in her black dress. "Next time, one of you idiots can be the bait!"
Tommy winced at the screech and shared a long-suffering look with his aunt. Ada hated being the bait and always loudly complained and bemoaned until Polly would eventually shut her up with a sharp remark. Having one of the monsters get so close to her, Tommy already knew she would be making everyone's lives miserable until she felt recompensed for her ordeal.
"Well, where the fuck is it? Eh? Don't see it 'round 'ere." Arthur grumbled, the Shelby family heirloom casually in hand and leaning against his shoulder.
"It's right 'ere, you blind, daft idiot!" Ada gestured to a dip in the ground next to her. "Gimme the sword. I want to chop it's head off."
Arthur's hand tightened around the handle of the sword. "No. You know I always do it."
"But it was my kill!" Ada whined, with a stomp of her foot to emphasize her frustration.
"Fuck. I'll deal with 'em." Polly said softly before striding forward and began barking out orders with all the confidence of a general. "Ada! Last time you tried to decapitate a ghoul, you almost chopped your foot off instead of it's head! Arthur, do your job or I'll have Finn doin' it instead. Finn, go get the wagon. We have to burn the bodies quickly. And where is bloody John?"
Lips twitching in the hint of a smirk at his family dynamics, Tommy turned on his heel and walked further into the cemetery. With pistol still in hand and the crescent moon lighting the way, he cautiously maneuvered through the maze of gravestones.
As time passed and the night darkened, a slow fog had crept in. All of Tommy's senses were on high alert, for a fog could easily hide many different kinds of monsters or be an excellent way for one to escape. Not if he had any say in the matter. His nerves hummed with tension as he slowly moved, eyes constantly roaming the grounds and into the surrounding shadows.
Yet it was a familiar voice, emerging from the deep shadows, that caused his heart to race and his stomach to drop like a stone at his feet.
"Tommy?"
He swiveled on his heel, following the direction of the voice. Her voice. That burning ache left behind by her betrayal, an ache he so desperately tried to ignore or drown away with work or whiskey, reignited in him like gasoline poured over a fire.
"Grace?" He quietly called out, a myriad of emotions rolling in and through him, causing him to feel as if the ground itself was unsteady under his feet.
"Hello, Tommy."
"What are you doing 'ere? I thought you were on a ship to America?"
She stepped out of the bottomless shadow, cast by the nearby buildings, in her usual posh skirt and blouse, blonde hair catching the moonlight and turning it almost white. "My ship was delayed, so I was out for a walk."
"In a cemetery?"
She shrugged even as she drew closer, a small smile teasing her lips. "It's peaceful."
Tommy knew he should move, but as he watched her move closer, almost gliding across the small dirt path, it felt like his feet were frozen to the ground. Even his arms hung limply by his sides, the pistol loosely dangling from his fingers. Memories of her, of them, assaulted his mind, blurring together until the past and present felt almost indistinguishable. That burning ache wildly danced in his chest, the only thing keeping him centered in the moment and not lost on the ceaseless waves of memories.
It was her voice that was the lifeline, firmly planting him back in the cemetery under the crescent moon.
"You should not be here, Thomas." She said, still moving closer.
It was now that Tommy saw it, gaze so focused on her that their surroundings were a blur. For a split second, her eyes flashed red before returning to their natural color. Or so he thought. Yet in that moment, a bone- chilling dread awakened in his gut and he knew….he knew the truth.
His hand tightened on the pistol by his side, finger on the trigger ready to pull. But his arm remained limp, unwilling to rise and point that gun at her. Even as his mind screamed and raged. His body ignored it all, as if caught under a spell.
Her eyes darted to his hand, seeing the twitch of his fingers. When her gaze returned to his, a cruel smirk blossomed on her face. "You once told me that you do bad things, but the truth is–"
Suddenly, her face contorted, mouth and eyes opening wide as a gaping hole appeared in her forehead. But there was no blood. A second later, the echoes of a gunshot shook the deathly stillness that hung over the cemetery. As if released by the sound, her legs slowly crumbled under her, her body following to the hard, cold ground. A thin layer of dirt rose upward, coating her as she landed dramatically with a thud.
Tommy blinked before looking over his shoulder to see John standing several paces behind him with a pistol still raised and smoke curling out of it.
Taking a deep breath, even if it felt like he had been forced underwater, he took those few steps. Tightening his grip on his pistol, he carefully crouched down and pushed on her cold corpse, rolling her to lay on her back, to better see her face. To his horror, her unseeing eyes were bright red. Even as he stared down at her, what humanity she had was slowly fading. Her pale skin turned white as death, lips peeled back to reveal inhuman, sharp teeth made for tearing flesh from bone. Only her clothes remained unchanged. A deception to what they truly hid underneath.
Footsteps approached, stopping just within arm's length, before John spoke. "Huh, well that makes sense now."
Hastily, Tommy stood, needing to get away from her– needing to escape it and the new layer of betrayal coating his heart like tar. How foolish, how fucking stupid could he be? He thought he was the monster in the night corrupting her, using her, taking advantage of her, falling for her…but she had been the true monster all along.
Without a word, he turned around, back in the direction he could hear the rest of his family. Of course, John fell into step with him as he walked away.
"You know–"
"Not a word, John."
"--Dad always told that story of how he fucked a vampire once. Best night of his life, he said–"
"Enough."
"--but if Grace is a ghoul then that means–"
"John, I swear to God–"
"--you fucked a ghoul! Ha!" John threw his head back laughing, until he choked on air when Tommy sharply punched him in the ribs, never breaking his stride.
"Ah fuck." John groaned, that stupid smirk never leaving his lips. "You know it's a little funny. Dad would be so proud."
Ignoring John, Tommy continued marching through the cemetery. His thoughts spun around as if on a carousel, but there was one that his mind lingered on. He sighed, already resigned to the fact that he would be teased ruthlessly about this. A fragile part of him hoped he could keep this information from the rest of his family.
But that hope swiftly died a painful, agonizing death once they got closer to the others.
"Guess wot?" John called out, jumping over a gravesite to put distance between himself and Tommy. "Turns out the lovely, spy bitch, Grace, was a ghoul all along! Just shot 'er in the head back there." He gestured vaguely in the direction they had come from. "Tommy probably wants to cut 'er head off now. Unless he wants to shoot 'er this time and then chop 'er head off."
When four sets of wide eyes turned to him, Tommy groaned a 'fuckin' hell' and walked towards the wagon to get a shovel. He was not going to wait for the sword still in Arthur's hands and he had no intentions of discussing this new fact with his family.
"Grace was a ghoul? How? She didn't look like one." Ada asked, clearly perplexed, standing next to their aunt.
But what Tommy had been dreading the most erupted like a shower of fireworks– painfully loud and obnoxious.
Bellowing laughter exploded from Arthur as he doubled over. "A ghoul! Haha! Tommy fucked a ghoul! Dad would be proud!"
"That's wot I said!" John chimed in, laughter renewed.
"You two shut your gobs before the whole town comes here wondering what maniacs are causing a ruckus." Polly hissed at them, then turned back to Ada. "Some ghouls can change their appearance if they wish to seduce someone. Then they'll drink their victim's blood later." Those shrewd eyes swung up to stare Tommy down.
"I know." He muttered, grabbing the shovel.
Polly smirked. "I'd say I'm surprised but…"
That earned an eye roll from Tommy before he started the walk back towards Grace's – no – it's body. The sound of snickering and crude jokes followed in his wake as Arthur and John continued to find the humor in his mistakes. Perhaps he would take John's suggestion and wait for Grace – it– to heal and awaken, before shooting her again. Might help alleviate some of the residual heartache and sour taste of betrayal she had gifted him with.
"Don't forget you've got an appointment in London tomorrow with Solomons!" Polly called out at his retreating form. "Never woulda guessed the day that Londoners would come callin' for help with their vampire problem."
Without breaking his stride or acknowledging his aunt, a devilish grin grew on Tommy's face. He was looking forward to the challenge of vampires and all their tricks. Birmingham and its few monsters had never been enough to appease him. It was time for expansion, and London was the first stop with its increasing number of vampires. Perhaps he would fuck one, just to spite them all.
Tag List: @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @minxsblog
#spooktacular challenge#mz edits#mzwrites#by order of the peaky blinders#peaky blinders fiction#bbc peaky blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#peakyedit#peaky blinder imagine#peakywomen#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby#thomas shelby#thomas shelby fanfic#arthur shelby#john shelby#finn shelby#ada shelby#polly gray#queen polly#monster hunter#alternative universe
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Temptation (Sigtryggr x Reader) Part 2
Summary: When you were hired as the new secretary, you had no idea your boss was the embodiment of a sex god. And by then, it was too late to quit. Can you keep your relationship strictly professional or will the temptation become too much?
Here's the second part for my contribution to @punkrocknpearls trope challenge! I hope you like it!
Warnings: mild sexual content, siblings being the worst, sexual tension
Words: 4500
Catch up with Part 1
Weeks passed into months and before you realized it, the one year anniversary of your employment was just around the corner.
All that time though, neither you nor your dreamboat boss brought up the kiss you shared at the holiday party. It remained unacknowledged yet unforgotten like a painting on a wall that you've passed by too many times to really notice anymore. Instead the both of you seamlessly returned to work like nothing had happened.
Eventually you came to terms with that. Your crush on him had only grown as time passed but you only allowed it to leak out when you were home alone. You valued him too much as a boss and respected him as a person to try and seduce him or whatever it was your raging libido begged for. He was your friend, and you were alright with that. Even if his god-like sex appeal still knocked you to your knees on occassion.
Besides, if he was even remotely interested in you, would he not have said something already? The kiss was the perfect opportunity. This only confirmed to you, he would never see you in a romantic light.
*****
You grabbed the stack of papers faxed over, making sure to straighten them neatly. With a smile to the receptionist situated in the small lobby, you headed back to Sigtryggr's office. The door was open but you still did a brief rap to announce your presence. He had told you long ago it was unnecessary, that if his door was open then you were free to enter. It felt unprofessional for you to just waltz into his office, so you compromised.
Sitting behind his dark wood desk, he looked up from his open laptop. His Thor's hammer necklace dangled over his blue tie, matching the shade of blue of his eyes causing them to pop in a riveting way. The all black suit underneath enhanced his muscular frame and the slightly dangerous aura that clung to his shadow. The man looked like he had just stepped out of a GQ magazine every day, but today in particular, he appeared ready to dominate the world.
He could dominate you any way that he wanted….
Seeing you in the doorway, the corners of his lips tilted up in a small smile. "Come in."
Smiling back, you monkey-stomped any thoughts of him dominating you. That ship had sailed long ago and was clearly never returning to shore. He was your boss and your friend. That was all the 'relationship' you would ever experience with him. So you resigned yourself to admiring what was on the menu but knowing you would never be allowed to order off of it.
"I've got the forms that Uhtred's office faxed over." You stated as you walked over to set the stack on his desk. "I've double checked them but I think it'd be prudent for Wolland to look over the second to last page before you sign them off. He knows the exact numbers needed for the project."
He nodded solemnly, moving the stack of forms beside his laptop. "I'll let Wolland know." Then those vibrant blue eyes met yours again, but with a glimmer of teasing in them. "Any flirtatious notes I should be aware of?"
"That was one time!"
"I do not think I will ever look at Finan the same."
You shook your head, even as a huge grin lit up your face. Uhtred had been in your life for many years as a family friend, and because of that, you had known Finan for just as long. The two for them were a packaged deal, not just in business but in their personal lives. There was a brotherhood that bound the two of them, something you had thought only comparable to friendships in books and movies.
And while you had come to see Uhtred as an adopted uncle….Finan was his flavor of something special. Although there was nothing romantic between you and Finan, it did not stop him from flirting with you. Of course, you fought fire with fire. Your flirtatious banter and teasing had become a running joke for the past several years.
After you were hired by Sigtryggr, somehow Finan learned you were the one to typically go through the faxes sent by Uhtred's office. You still had yet to discover how he learned this information. Thus Finan put it upon himself to sneak in random, flirty messages amongst the many forms. Normally you made a point to go through the forms, confirming you received everything you were expecting, but also slipping out the additional paper with Finan's humorous message.
Unfortunately, one time you were otherwise distracted and did not go through the forms as thoroughly as you typically did. Sigtryggr found it, tucked between some important forms, and consequently, it happened to be one of Finan's more risqué pick up lines.
The memory of Sigtryggr standing beside your desk, with a stoic face, a single eyebrow raised and holding up the form for you to read, would forever be burned into your memory. After the initial mortification, you burst into riotous laughter. Eventually, you explained the situation to your boss, who oddly seemed relieved to hear it was only meant to make each other laugh.
You leaned your hip against the side of his desk. "Also, I did get in touch with Constantin's secretary and he is able to meet in two weeks, either that Wednesday or Friday. But he is demanding to meet in person at the location. He wishes to view the land he would be purchasing as the two of you work out a bargain. At least that's how his assistant described it."
Sigtryggr hummed, running a hand over his chin. "I would expect nothing less from the Scot. He seems a good man. I will personally return the call."
"If you're certain. I thought you were supposed to be leaving early today. Wolland put in the calendar that you had plans?"
"Yes, but it can wait."
"I don't mind–"
But your response was cut off when you heard the receptionist shout from down the hallway, "you can't go back there, sir!"
Before you could even blink, Sigtryggr's hand latched around your wrist and tugged you back behind him in the same fluid motion as he rose from his chair. He stared at the doorway, his solid, immobile frame shielding you from the unknown. At any other time you would have swooned, but the panic dripping like faucet in your blood prevented that. Your free hand gripped his hand, it now sandwiched between both of yours. A childish action bore from fear but he only gripped onto you tighter.
Rushed, stomping footfalls could be heard coming down the short hallway followed by the hasty, almost stumbling clip-clip of the main receptionist's high heels following the invader.
Then a voice echoed in the hallway along with the incoming footsteps. "Siggy! Siggy! Siggyyyyyy!!!"
What tension humming in his body immediately drained, like a plug being pulled. Releasing a deep sigh, his head tipped back to stare up at the ceiling as he mumbled, "oh, for the love of Odin."
"Sigtryggr." You whispered. The concern and slight panic still sloshed around in your chest. Your boss had gone from relaxed to abruptly protective and on edge to now to some kind of resigned languid. The emotional whiplash left you clinging to him and your gaze darting from him to the door and back.
In response, he rubbed his thumb gently over the back of your hand. Of course, your heart chose to skip a beat at the simple action. "It's fine." He murmured reassuringly, yet never let go of you.
Seconds later, a man strutted through the open doorway in a pair of dirty jeans with a t-shirt and a wrinkled suit jacket over the top. With long brown hair and a day or two's worth of stubble on his face, 'disheveled' was the first adjective your mind thought of. Once his eyes locked on Sigtryggr, his whole face brightened and he threw his arms wide, almost knocking over a plaque hanging on the wall. "Siggy!"
The receptionist rounded the corner with a scowl on her face. Her gaze jumped from the intruder to her boss and back, seemingly taking a moment to debate the best course of action. Then making her decision, she placed one of her hands on her hips and opened her mouth, about to unleash upon the unexpected guest, when Sigtryggr spoke up.
"Kristin, I can handle it. Thank you." Sigtryggr soothed the obviously ruffled woman.
"Yes, sir." The woman huffed, side-eyeing the invader. "Let me know if I need to call security to escort him out."
The stranger dramatically blew an air kiss at her before plopping himself into a cushioned chair against a wall, like he owned the place.
The receptionist startled, as if physically struck by the air kiss. After a sharp inhale, she spun on her heel and stormed away, the sound of her heels retreating down the hallway.
Sigtryggr finally released your hand, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze first. Leaning forward, he placed both hands on the desk as if to ground himself. The silence in the room was stifling and you could not help but fidget awkwardly. Should you leave? Should you stay? Who was this man that sat watching your boss with an amused grin on his face, twirling a pen around his fingers like a rockstar with drumsticks.
After a long moment, your boss tapped his desk with three short raps before lifting his gaze to the man. "Valdi, what are you doing here?"
"I came to get you!" The man exclaimed, his sudden burst of enthusiasm making you jump, especially after the tense, silent moment preceding it. The man leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, his long hair falling over his shoulders. "You didn't forget already? No, no! You couldn't! Wolland said he put it in your schedule. The Jolly Boys of Eoferwic are going out tonight to celebrate!"
Sigtryggr sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No, I did not forget. I said I would be there at six."
"Andddd….I think that's too long. Haesten is already waiting for us, and we can pick up Wolland on the way! Please, please, brother. You promised!" He clasped his hands together as if in prayer, his eyes wide and beseeching.
"Freyja's tits." Sigtryggr groaned. "Fine."
"Ah, yes! That's why you're my favorite brother!"
"I'm your only brother."
"Still my favorite." He shrugged, his eyes drifting over to you. "And who's this? Is she coming?"
Sigtryggr sighed, tapping the desk again before making the introductions. "Valdi, this is my personal secretary. Y/n, this is my younger brother, Rognvaldr."
So this was the infamous brother you had heard stories of, from both your boss and Wolland. Seeing him now, you understood their grievances and amusement a bit better. "It's a pleasure to meet you." You replied, granting him a small smile.
He beamed back at you. "Oh believe me, the pleasure is mine to meet such a beautiful woman as yourself." He winked but in the next instant, his smile dropped and his eyes widened. His gaze rapidly jumped from you to Sigtryggr and back, an almost manic gleam shining in his eyes. "Y/n! Oh! OH! This is her? The one you talk about all the time?"
…and all your functioning brain power skidded to an abrupt halt.
Huh?
Your brain sluggishly tried to make sense of Rognvaldr's rambling but it felt like mist slipping through your fingers. Slowly, you turned your head, looking to your boss for direction or confirmation. Something to understand what was going on.
Rather you bore witness to Sigtryggr with a hand over his mouth, eyes narrowed at his brother, and mumbling 'fuck' on repeat.
Clearly Rognvaldr was missing a few social cues, or was just unaware of the rising tension in the room. Instead he seemed to get more excited, practically bouncing in his seat as he proceeded to spew his verbal diarrhea of gathered knowledge.
"I still don't understand why you haven't let me meet her before. She's very pretty. Wolland said your first kiss was at the holiday party while Haesten thinks it was earlier than that, but Wolland said with how dazed and giddy you were the rest of the evening, that it was certainly your first kiss with her but Haesten said it wasn't really a kiss since there wasn't tongue. Oh! Now I can tell father I met her first! You know he wants to meet her because you talk about her so much. Have you humped yet? Holy hell, did you do it in here? I know I'm not one for being the most hygienic person but even that is disgusting. Well, you probably know this already but Siggy's bed is massive and soft. He let me crash last week when I was drunk, which I don't do anymore since I'm reformed! But tonight the Jolly Boys are going out so I'll probably….no, definitely get drunk. Will you be at Siggy's place tonight? Oh, the couch folds out! I can sleep there or crash with Wolland. Don't let Haesten take me again, last time he shaved my–"
"ENOUGH!"
Rognvaldr's mouth audibly snapped shut, followed by a sheepish expression on his boyish face.
Hands fisted on the desk and jaw clenched, Sigtryggr glared at his younger brother for several long seconds. The atmosphere in the room was heavy and thick, the same feeling as just before a thunderstorm hits. You bit your bottom lip, eyes focused on your boss and friend, wondering what would happen next. Finally, the storm passed over when he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, dropping his gaze to his desk.
"Siggy, I–"
"Valdi," Sigtryggr interrupted with a sound nothing short of long-suffering, "just….just go."
"But–"
"I will meet you at the pub shortly."
"Good. I'll order your nasty drink for you." Rognvaldr rose, tugging on the sleeves of his wrinkled suit jacket. He took a step towards the door then swiftly turned to face you, still half-hidden behind his brother. "Oh, if you ever get bored of my brother, I'll be more than happy to–"
"Rognvaldr!"
"Alright, alright." The younger brother stepped backwards with his hands raised in surrender, the smug smirk lessened the authenticity of the action. With a bounce in his step, he headed out into the hallway. Not a moment later you could hear the shout of "THE JOLLY BOYS OF EOFERWIC HAVE RETURNED!", immediately followed by the shrill shriek of the receptionist.
A painful silence clouded the office. Neither you nor your boss said anything for several agonizing seconds. From the corner of your eye, you could see him tapping his desk with a fist, his unseeing gaze situated on his desktop. Personally, you were frozen. The carpet under your feet held you firmly in place, refusing to release you from its bonds. Your conflicting thoughts swirled and somersaulted and spontaneously combusted, leaving you whirling in confusion with all that had just happened
Finally, Sigtryggr straightened and turned around to face you fully. "I'm terribly sorry–"
"Do you think our kiss wasn't a real kiss?"
That…that was definitely not what you meant to blurt out, but now your question hung in the air, silently demanding an answer.
Sigtryggr blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared at you.
"I mean," you began sputtering, trying to backtrack and save yourself from your own self-created humiliation, "I know it was quick and all but I…I guess I thought it counted as you know…as a kiss." You finished, your voice dropping to just above a whisper.
At his continued silence, your stomach plummeted to your feet. What had you been thinking to ask that stupid question? What had you hoped it would achieve? It had been months and neither of you had said a word about it. Most likely he had forgotten all about the encounter. Yet even as you internally reprimanded yourself, your mind reminded you of what Rognvaldr had said about how Sigtryggr talked about you…
Without a word, you took a step towards the door, unable to stand the excruciating silence and your own embarrassment.
For the second time that day, his hand latched onto your wrist, this time preventing you from walking away.
"I counted it as a real kiss, as you say."
At his quiet statement, your head jerked up, meeting his intense gaze. "Really?"
"Yes."
"Oh, okay, good….um, glad we got that cleared up."
You figured now the two of you would have a laugh and go back to work, well, you returning to work and him leaving for the pub where he was expected. Your shared kiss had been acknowledged but what more could happen? Honestly, you were surprised he still recalled it.
Then to your utter bewilderment, Sigtryggr tugged you closer.
Moving slowly, he guided you to stand in front of him, yet providing you ample time to pull away. You followed his direction without question, for how could you ever deny the man anything within your power? Your skin tingled under his touch as you attempted to keep your breathing steady, refusing to let him see how easily he affected you.
With a swift lick of his lips, a torturous action for you to witness, he gently, almost hesitantly spoke. "Truthfully….it's all I've been able to think of…."
What little air your lungs contained, dissolved at his statement. Your heart sped up even as your mind crawled to a standstill.
"I have…admired you for a long time now. But that kiss…."
He closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath, his grip on you tightening fractionally. When he opened them again, your knees weakened and your womb quivered at the naked want and longing in his eyes. Something you had never expected to see directed at you. Under his smoldering gaze, fire licked your nerve endings, making a delicious heat coat your body as it soaked in the borderline desperation in his eyes.
Shifting closer, he backed you against the edge of the desk, his body easily blanketing yours with the shared proximity.
"That kiss burned down every wall I had created to contain my growing admiration for you." With one hand still latched around your wrist, his other hand glided like water over your skin to cup the back of your neck, refusing to let your eyes waver from his for even a moment.
"I promised myself I would never put you in that position, causing you to think I would ever take advantage of you because I am your boss and have power over you. So I have kept silent. But instead of my affections waning, they have only amplified." As if sensing your unbelief, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss on your knuckles, even as his gaze never released yours from its hold. "You have become someone that I cannot imagine no longer having in my life. In whatever capacity you deem me worthy."
A silence filled in the space between his words. You were utterly dazed staring up at him. At this Adonis who was professing his adoration for you. Something your mind was struggling to comprehend.
"Say something, please." He quietly said, a hint of pleading in his voice.
"I'm debating if I should drop down on my knees for you," you automatically replied without thinking, "damn the potential carpet burn."
His own countenance lit up as he laughed and the sound left you breathless. Could he please stop being perfect for five seconds?
"I admit, your offer is tempting." He leaned forward to whisper into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "But I would never take without giving in kind. And while I like my desk, it is not here where I imagined having your thighs wrapped around my head."
"Sigtryggr." You whimpered.
His mouth descended on yours, and you were certain you had died and gone to heaven. His taste and touch seeped into your blood, an addiction blossoming forth. But instead of feeling like sin, it tasted like the ambrosia of the gods, something mere mortals should never chance or it would burn them. Whatever you had imagined kissing him would be like, no fantasy could ever come to terms with the heightened pleasure and perfection inflicted onto you. As he kissed you, with lips and tongue, you melted against him like ice cream on a hot day. For how could you not burn under his glorious touch? How could you not fully surrender to the lusty pleasure erupting in you because of him?
Finally your mouths unglued, a desperation for air evident. As you panted for breath, his mouth trailed down your neck, never stopping his ministrations. His hands squeezed your thighs locked around his own, while his tongue danced across your skin. For a fleeting moment of awareness, you wondered when you had jumped up on the desk behind you. All you could remember was him backing you against him and then helplessly drowning under the glory of his affections.
"I've waited so long to do this." He breathed out against your skin, in-between kisses and lazy strokes of his tongue.
"Me too. I never thought…ah, never thought you'd be interested in someone like me." You whispered, mind drunk with lust and awe of the sudden turn of events. "I've struggled to not jump your bones ever since the first day we met. I've spent months fantasizing about you."
"Fuck." He groaned, hands tightening on your body. "Do you know what hearing that does to me?"
"I can guess."
With a rumbling chuckle that sent sparks shooting through your body, he drew back, but as soon as a whimper formed on your lips, it dashed away as he pressed his forehead to yours. Your combined ragged breathing blanketed the air between you. His hands loosely held your thighs while his body stood between them, so close and yet not close enough. The fire awakened still burned, waiting to be further flamed into an all-consuming inferno.
"Go on a date with me. Tonight."
You leaned back, just enough to meet his eyes. "Tonight?"
"Yes, I know….I understand it is old-fashioned but I wish for you to understand, for me this is more than just a one-night stand. I wish to know you more than just a lover."
You blinked rapidly, mind whirling at everything that had happened. "I'd like that." And realized you meant it. However much you definitely wanted to get into his pants, because there was NO DOUBT you wanted in his pants. Besides you now had a good idea what the man was packing below the belt and hot damn, your core involuntarily clenched just thinking about it. He had a very good reason to be proud. But with his piercing eyes focused on you, waiting for your response, you realized it was more than just an itch you needed to scratch. Over all the time knowing him, you had grown quite fond of him, even if you thought he would never be interested in you romantically. How wrong you were. Now you found yourself wanting the date and all it implied afterwards.
Then like an unexpected ice cube down the back of your shirt, you squirmed when a new thought hit you. "You're supposed to be meeting your brother and Wolland tonight."
"Yes, but they can wait." When you opened your mouth to argue, he pressed a swift peck to your lips, effectively silencing you. "For how long Wolland has been teasing me about you, he will most likely buy a round for the whole pub if he heard." He finished with a roll of his eyes.
You snickered at the thought. "If you say so….and then, well, after the date?"
A wicked gleam grew in his eyes as a sinful smirk decorated his mouth. "Perhaps I'll take you up on your earlier offer….and we can test out some of your fantasies you alluded to."
Your mouth dried out, even as your heart rate sped up in response. Not from nerves. Oh no. But from a combination of excitement and thrill. The anticipation sent a shockwave through your body and your fingers automatically clutched onto him tighter.
"It might take all night." You whispered coyishly. A sense of accomplishment filled your being as you watched his pupils blow wide at your words. With this newfound power over him, you dragged your thumb down his jawline to trace his bottom lip. "I'd just hate to be exhausted at work tomorrow and not live up to the standard set by my boss."
His hands guided upward, now squeezing your hips deliciously and drawing you closer to his immaculate form."It is a good thing your boss is a generous man. I am certain he would be willing for you to take tomorrow off of work to recover."
"You think so?"
"I am certain of it, since he has no plans for you to stray far from his bed until the only name you can recall is his."
A breathy gasp slipped out at his statement, particularly how the words seemed to roll off his tongue in a dark purr that made your core clench and quiver in want. In this moment you knew without question, if you said 'yes', if you gave in, there was no turning back. For his prowess would obscure any other man's before or after him, like a supernova in comparison to a white dwarf star. More than that, his kind heart and chivalry would ruin you for any future relationships. He was a danger to your libido and heart. Yet your answer rolled off your tongue without a second thought. Never had you been more certain of anything in your entire life.
"Then what are we waiting for?"
He flashed you a crooked smile before he dove in for one more fierce, passionate kiss that left you boneless and whimpering his name. Chest rising and falling rapidly, he stepped back, although his intense gaze never wavered from you. A heated, predatory look saturated in dark promises and divine desire watched you. Silently, he held out his hand, an invitation, a beckoning, a calling to dive into the flames of his supernova. Immediately, you put your hand in his and allowed him to help guide you off his desk, answering his call without hesitation or question.
You followed him out of his office, your hands clasped together and fingers entwined. Later you could worry about the repercussions, about where this would lead, about these feelings you had been harboring for some time and apparently he had been too. If it was love tying the strings around your hearts or something else entirely.
Now all you knew was that you needed him, and he needed you. That these flames building between you both had finally escaped the fireplace and now burned freely. And the both of you were answering its summoning.
However, you did choose to ignore how cliché it was that you fell in love with your boss.
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TLK (all) @geekandbooknerd @trenko-heart @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @solinarimoon @errruvande-2-00
Temptation @ecarroll1978
#mzwrites#pearls 400#the last kingdom#the last#the last kingdom fandom#the last kingdom fanfic#the last kingdom imagine#sigtryggr ivarson#sigtryggr ivarsson x reader#sigtryggr x reader#sigtryggr#rognvaldr#uhtred of bebbanburg#uhtred ragnarsson#finan the last kingdom#finan#finan the agile#mz moodboard#pearls trope challenge
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Outlander Masterlist
Jamie Fraser
-Lady of the Loch - Part 1 / Part 2
An old family folktale thrived amongst the Frasers of Lallybroch about a mythical being that lived in the small, secluded loch near their home. Most claimed it was just a story, while a rare few claimed to have seen her. But for Jamie Fraser, she became so much more.
Moodboard - based on 'a lovely snowy walk with Jamie Fraser'
#mzwrites#mz edits#mz moodboard#outlander#outlander fanfic#outlanderedit#outlander fandom#more outlander#jamie fraser smut#jamie fraser x oc#jamie fraser#james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser
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Under the Cover of Night (Johnny Martin x reader)
Summary: Plagued by nightmares, Martin finds you awake. When you confess how it would be nice to have pleasant dreams again, he decides to help you out.
This was a lovely collaboration between myself and @tvserie-s-world! Thanks for doing this with me, my dear! I had so much fun!
Words: 2700
Warnings: brief mentions of Bastogne and death
Gorgeous Moodboard made by @tvserie-s-world
You twisted the loose thread of your jacket around your finger, only to unwrap it and repeat the action. Facing the wall with its moldy, shredding wallpaper, you laid on the bottom bunk, lost in thought. Not even the various sleeping noises of those in your platoon, scattered around the room in their own bunks, or like unlucky Evans who had been forced to sleep on the hard floor, could distract your musings. At this point, having spent over two years with some of them, it would be odd to try and sleep without hearing some of them snoring, talking in their sleep or just their heavy breathing. It was a comforting white noise to your mind now.
But not even that comforting sound could distract you from the swirling thoughts occupying your mind. All of them focused on the fake patrol that was to occur tonight.
The door slowly opened, stopping halfway before it hit that particular point where it creaked loudly. A shadow slipped into the room and you knew immediately who it was, even through the gloom and darkness that covered the room in the dead of night. The figure silently moved around the room, checking on the sleeping men. A couple of them, the figure retucked blankets around them that had fallen off or slipped their combat boots just underneath the bunk beds so no one would trip over them in their post-sleep haze.
Carefully, you rolled over as to not alert the shadowed figure to your awakened state as he moved about. It brought a smile to your face as you witnessed how gentle he was with those under his command.
In the light of day, he embodied the gruff sergeant with a no-nonsense attitude and a stern glare that even Sobel, in all his wisdom, knew meant the soldier did not want to be crossed. You overheard a few of the new recruits complain that the sergeant was unapproachable or just plain intimidating. Hearing it always made you chuckle. But there was something everyone could agree on. Those in his platoon, even if scared of him, knew he looked out for them and did his best to make sure they survived. He tried to teach them what they needed to know live. Beyond that, he kept everyone at arm's length, besides a few of those from Toccoa. An elite position that you were lucky enough to find yourself in.
Yet under the night's covering, a hidden side of your sergeant came out. A softer side. A gentler side. As if instead of the moon's light releasing a beast, it allowed a compassionate phantom to sneak forth. Hidden amongst the shadows and sleeping men, he was free to truly care for his men that the light of day and expectations prevented him from doing so.
After making his rounds, he finally arrived at your bunk bed. He checked the man above you, moving an arm back onto the top bunk that had been dangling off. Looking down, he froze when he met your open eyes staring back up at him. Your eyes remained locked for a long moment before he quietly squatted, bringing you face to face.
"Where's your blanket?" Martin whispered, trying not to wake your sleeping companions.
"I leant it to that new guy, Thomas, I think?" You whispered back, then rolled your eyes. "He was complaining how cold it is in here."
Martin gave a nearly-silent snort and glanced over towards the Private you mentioned. With a shake of his head, he returned his eyes to you. "Kid doesn't know anything about being cold."
"No, he wasn't in Bastogne."
"No….no, he wasn't." His head tilted, his scrutinizing gaze scanning over you, making nerves dance along your spine. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I just….can't turn my mind off, I guess."
He nodded as if reading into your statement, hearing the real truth about why you could not sleep. "I was going to have a smoke before turning in. Care to join me?"
You only hesitated a split second before nodding.
Moving silently, you followed him to a different room, what likely had been a lovely study or music room before the war happened. Now a chunk of the wall facing the outside was missing, letting in the cool night air and giving you a glimpse of the star-studded sky through the perpetual clouds and smoke. Spider cracks spread all over the ceiling as if a toddler had taken a black crayon and scribbled all over it. The door was missing but instead of feeling like a gaping hole, it almost felt like you stepped into a different realm. Maybe it was being away from your platoon-mates and the constant nightmares, exhaustion and melancholy that you all wore as a second skin under your uniforms. Here you could focus on cool air that kissed your cheeks and the calming, poised presence of your sergeant with you.
The two of you sat on the exposed ledge, mindful of not being too exposed. You stared out over the dark river that separated Easy Company from the Nazis, the very river you had crossed for prisoners only the day before.
"How's your arm?" Martin asked as he pulled out his pack of smokes from a pocket of his jacket. He handed you one of the cigarettes then placed the other between his lips.
You had been one of those picked to go with Martin for the prisoner snatch for various reasons. The main one being that you spoke German, not fluently but enough to communicate what needed to be said. Once it was known that Webster was replacing Liebgott as the main translator, Martin was more willing to have you join. His disdain for Webster was hard to miss. Plus before your group ventured off to steal Nazis, Martin had softly admitted he trusted your words and level-headedness to translate more than he ever would Webster. Attempting to suppress the curl of your lips and weightless feeling his compliment had brought, you followed your sergeant behind enemy lines.
As you crawled over the snow-covered ground, sneaking into the Nazi held side of the river, the barbed wire caught on your jacket sleeve, ripping it and the skin underneath. In all the chaos that happened during the snatch and after, you had forgotten about the cut, your mind deeming it unimportant as you watched one of your company die laying on a dirty, wooden table with a mixture of English and German screaming like a haunting cacophony in the background. It was only when Martin's shrewd gaze narrowed on you in the desolate basement, grabbing your arm far more gently than you expected and asking you when you got injured, that you even noticed the red streak and tear in the cloth, remembering the momentary pain before everything went to hell. He immediately sent you to the aid station, looking like he wished he could go with you but knowing he needed to stay back and maintain control of the situation that could easily explode once again.
You shrugged, inhaling the first hit of the cigarette. "It's fine. Spina checked it. It's too shallow to need stitches."
"Hmmm….That's good."
The two of you lapsed into a content silence, a rarity that you both seemed determined to soak up. Neither of you were shivering from the cold, actually somewhat warm for the first time since you entered Belgium, with new winter coats and a roof over your heads. At this moment, no one was shooting at you or screaming in pain or from nightmares. It was quiet. It was peaceful. Something all of you were desperate for, even if it was only for a few minutes.
Only when you both finished your cigarettes and tossed the butts onto the ground did Martin speak up. "Gonna head back to bed?"
"I guess." You muttered, yet you made no move to get up from your spot on the brick ledge. Instead your hand returned to wrapping the loose thread from your jacket around your finger. To your surprise, instead of heading off to his own bunk, he stayed.
"Nightmares?" At your silent nod, he sighed, running a hand over his jaw. "Yeah, I get them too."
Something within your chest unclenched at his admission, that he did not think less of you for the dreams that caused you to wake with a pounding heart and desperate to wash the invisible blood of dying friends off your hands. "I wish…." You bit your bottom lip, debating saying something more. At his intrigued gaze, the words tumbled out. "It'd just be nice to dream of something pleasant, ya know? Something that makes me smile."
"Yeah, I know."
The confession hung in the air, an understanding between the two of you. Nothing more needed to be spoken.
Caught up in your own turbulent thoughts and twisting the loose thread around your finger, as if it was as easy to untangle your thoughts, you missed the barely-whispered 'fuck it' and Martin rising to his feet.
Your head whipped up when you felt him standing next to you, perplexed why he was so close. "Johnny?"
The corner of his lips twitched upward for a brief moment, before settling back into its neutral position. But yet you could sense it. A shifting in his demeanor. What normal steel boundary he kept around himself, even amongst those closest to him, had lowered even further. There was a brightness in his dark gaze as he stared down at you, only interrupted by the caution tainting it.
Oh so slowly, as if anything quicker would scare you off, he raised his hand to tuck a few loose strands of erratic hair behind your ear. It was after his completed mission, his gaze solely focused on you with an intensity you had never felt before, that his thumb traced the edge of your jawline like it was a trail he wished to explore. The shiver that shot down your spine had nothing to do with the cool night air.
"Tell me if I'm doing something you don't want." He murmured.
"Okay." You thought you replied but the roar of blood between your ears and the dive-bombing butterflies in your belly drown out any sound. You were a hostage, a captive to the moment happening, but instead of being frightened, an elation kept you rooted solid.
Hovering over you like a wayward guardian angel, he waited a long second, staring at you as if to see if you would draw away. When you did not, when you remained fast and met his gaze, only then did he move in.
A hand slithered behind your neck to cup the back of your head as he leaned in closer. A quiet exhale was all you could conjure in response, anticipation and excitement beating like drums in your chest. His nose trailed over your cheekbone, guiding his lips along the way. Your heart stuttered in your chest at the simple action, your hands automatically reaching out to grab the front of his jacket. Reaching their final destination, his lips glided over yours like a whisper, slightly chapped and softer than they looked but somehow even more perfect than you could have imagined. In a blink, he pulled back slightly, just enough for his breath to ghost over your lips.
"Is this alright?"
"Yes." You breathed out. At his further delay, you tugged on the fabric bunched within your hands, a silent demand.
You could feel the smirk gracing his lips before they pressed against yours once more. It was simple in its honesty, just a gentle pressing of mouths, of a newfound connection that both parties were testing the integrity of. A connection that you found wholly easy and complex.
A connection you wished to discover its source.
With an unknown confidence, you opened your mouth just enough to lick the seam of his lips, tasting the cigarette that had just been there. The action was fleeting. A nervous undertone to it. Yet an open invitation. Something he willingly accepted.
With a muted groan, he dove into your mouth. His tongue invaded, twisting and dancing with yours, exploring your mouth with military precision. Under the pleasurable onslaught, you held your ground. Your tongue skating and teasing his own while you clung to him like he was your own security blanket. All your thoughts vanished under his touch, your body turning boneless as his mouth commanded yours. At one point, you sucked on his tongue, and the answering growl from him was enough to make all the fine hairs on your body stand at attention. He was the commanding officer, leading and guiding the kisses, and you were more than willing to submit to his authority.
Only when your lungs screamed out for air to replace what he had stolen from you, did your lips unlock from his. You pressed your forehead against his chest, panting and heart beating wildly. A smug sense of satisfaction filled you as you could feel his own heart racing like a racehorse and how he fought for his own breath.
"Wow." You breathed out, no other word coming to mind.
"Wow." He repeated then chuckled huskily. "Hopefully you'll have better dreams tonight."
"I think I will." You replied coyly, leaning back to stare up at him.
Your hands were still fisted in his jacket keeping you connected to him. It was his hand still cupping the nape of your neck, his fingers threaded through your loose hairs, that kept you from drawing away, unwilling to break this moment of solace, this moment of connection. His dark gaze lingered on your lips as if debating diving back in for more.
"I've been wanting to do this….for a while now."
His quiet admission made your heart skip a beat before racing once again. "Kiss me?" You clarified, unsure if you had somehow slipped into a dream. It was not possible for him to have been thinking about you like this….like you only allowed yourself to dream of on the darkest night when you needed any slight hope and joy to replace the crushing despair that threatened to swallow you whole.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, sliding his gaze from your lips up to your eyes. "Yeah. Is that…was this alright?"
"More than alright." You smiled up at him. Your smile bloomed further as his own smile lit up his face.
This time you initiated the kiss, tugging his face down to yours, needing to taste that joyful smile. A sight you could count on one hand how many times you had seen. A sight that caused you to swoon internally.
And if the way he gave into your command spoke of anything, he was more than willing to share his newfound joy with you.
You were unsure what the morning's light would bring. If this moment, this kiss, passed between the two of you would only become a fond memory or if it was the catalyst to lead to something more. For with the rising of the sun, you both must return to being paratroopers. To the demands and expectations your respective positions forced upon you. Right now you were just a man and a woman, finding comfort and solace in one another. Just a man and woman confessing quietly harbored feelings that had no place being there, a flickering flame that should have been smothered but now blazed just a little brighter. For this moment, you could embrace that flame.
And whatever tomorrow brought with it, whatever shift happened between you two, you could worry about with dawn's sunrise. For now, safe in his arms, lips caressing yours like you were an unexpected treat he wanted to savor, you lived in the moment. And knew for tonight, nightmares would not be able to take away the joy and peace that his kiss and whispered words had infused into you.
Tag List:
@sydney-m @saritanotserena @happyveday @tvserie-s-world @msmercury84
#mzwrites#band of brothers x reader#band of brothers imagine#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers imagines#band of brothers#hbo war#hbo band of brothers#johnny martin#johnny martin x reader#johnny martin x you
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“Don’t let that person who doesn’t care about you take a big plate in your mind. Instead redirect your focus to those around you, who love and care about you, by appreciation of every single aspect of them all throughout. Honor people that cares about you, honor people that willingly goes that extra mile for you. And simply walk away from those who don’t mutually reciprocate feelings.”
@mzwritings
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“Don’t let others choose a path for you, but also on the other hand make sure you don’t choose a path that will hurt those around you. If you don’t take care of those you love and the emotions of them, what’s it all for ?”
@mzwritings
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poly Ragnarssons thought where they're arguing who gets to fuck Y/n how but they're just taking so long she falls asleep instead and they have to take turns with a cold shower 😂
HOW DARE YOU PUT IDEAS LIKE THIS IN MY HEAD! DAMMIT.
Welp, now I can't get the idea outta my head so here's a drabble for you. It's super unedited but I hope you like it.
Title: Whose Turn Is It?
Words: 774
(Gif not mine)
-Drabble under cut-
"No, it's my turn."
Sigurd tossed a throw pillow at Hvitserk. "Why the hell is it your turn?"
"We've only had sex twice this week. I should get at least once more with her!"
"That's more than me!" Sigurd argued from his spot on the couch.
"That's because you went to some kind of fucking band camp, fuckwad." Ivar stated, glaring at his brother.
"IT'S NOT A BAND CAMP, ASSHAT!"
"What else is it when you and those dipshits pretend to be in a boy band?"
"Ivar, I swear to fucking–"
"Enough, both of you." Ubbe interrupted in a monotone voice, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Hvitserk, you spent the night with her last night. You have to wait your turn."
Hvitserk slumped back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest with a pout. "Fine….but y/n has to make it up to me later." He sent a cheeky wink your way.
You flushed because you knew exactly what he was referring to….and it sent a throb of need to your core.
"Well, whose turn is it then?" Sigurd said, drawing your focus back to the conversation.
Ubbe stated. "Technically it's my night with her–"
"I've been gone all week! You guys were able to take my time!" Sigurd further argued.
You met Ubbe's gaze from across the living room. You could almost feel his confliction, especially when his gaze turned heated as his blue eyes took in the way you were leaning against the doorframe. The two of you had made special plans for tonight….something neither of you wanted to miss out on.
As a new round of arguing began, you stifled a yawn. It had been a long day and knowing what had been planned for tonight had left you hot and bothered all day. So if someone did not hurry up and see to your needs, you were about to take care of yourself….and lock the door so they could not watch.
Finally, you pushed off the wall, unwilling to wait anymore. Four sets of eyes locked on you as you moved. "I'm going to lay down. Whoever wins better bring some lotion cause I deserve a massage first after all of this."
Without a backward glance, you headed down the hallway to your bedroom and unceremoniously flopped onto your bed like a walrus. With a sigh, you closed your eyes and allowed the comfort of your bed to soak into you.
Back out in the living room, the arguments continued on for some time until Ubbe put everything on hold to go ask you a question. He peeked into your room and with a fond smile, closed the door behind him.
"What'd she say?" Hvitserk asked.
That fond smile never left Ubbe's face as he replied. "She's asleep. Gods, she looks adorable when sleeping."
"Yeah, she does." Sigurd nodded. "So what now?"
"We wake her up." Ivar said with a shrug like it was the obvious explanation.
"No." Ubbe shot his youngest brother a look. "She's had a long week. We'll let her sleep. Fuck. I guess it's cold showers for us."
"Fuck! I'll head out. Take a long shower at home thinking about her." Sigurd shoved off the couch, heading to the front door. "Night!"
"I claim shower first." Ivar said, heading towards the bathroom.
Hvitserk groaned, "you don't even live here."
"So the fuck what?"
Ubbe looked over at Hvitserk, who just shook his head in that resigned expression they all wore when it came to dealing with the youngest Lothbrok.
"I'll clean up the kitchen then head to bed." Ubbe said.
"Alright. Night, Ubbe." Hvitserk rolled off the couch dramatically and started towards his room.
"Night, Hvits."
Ubbe cleaned up the kitchen, tidying it up and wondered for the thousandth time how his beloved brothers managed to make the place more messy than a pig's sty. Thankfully you were also as clean as him and had no issues tidying up after the others. Once he was satisfied, he headed down the hallway. But instead of heading to his own bedroom, he opened the door to your room and silently slipped in, closing it before anyone else could be the wiser.
He had no qualms about lying to his brothers for this. He was not about to miss out on the special plans the two of you had made. Not this time.
And if the way you were soon panting his name was any indicator….you did not mind being woken up. Especially when you pinned him down for another round claiming you were not fully satisfied yet.
#mzwrites#drabble#vikings fanfiction#vikings#ragnarssons x reader#ragnarssons x you#ubbe x reader#hvitserk x reader#sigurd x reader#ivar x reader
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My Promise (Sigtryggr x f!Reader)
Summary: Sigtryggr reveals why he agreed to Brida's plan to take Wintanceaster.
So there is an abysmal amount of fanfics with Sigtryggr x reader....and I mean like none. And he has become one of my new favorites from TLK so I decided to show him some love.
This is my first time writing for him, so let me know what you think!
kanìna- Icelandic for rabbit
Words: 4500
Warnings: threats of violence, sexual tension, mild sexual content
"You told me you would not risk your men unless for food, or land or to protect their families. Wintanceaster provides all of that." Brida argued, staring imploringly at the only man who could provide her with her vengeance. That very bloodthirsty need soured the air around her. The fury she carried like a weapon was even more apparent than the baby growing in her womb.
Sigtryggr studied her for a long moment, those blue eyes assessing, calculating, evaluating. He analyzed her like a workman studying a new tool before putting it to use, learning how to best utilize it and determining its apparent and hidden flaws. There were few who could withstand the full weight of his scrutiny, for his eyes always seemed able to witness more than just what stood before him. They appeared able to pierce into a person, deeper than any arrow or sword, and sift through one's words for the truth.
Perhaps, it was due to the rage she wore like a second skin that allowed her to meet his scrutiny unwavering.
Seeing what he needed, his attention then turned to the Saxon traitor. He studied the turd, who could not meet his eyes without fidgeting. A few malicious chuckles quietly echoed off the room at the man's shiftiness, betraying his fear of those he sought to help and secure safety from. With a feline grace, Sigtryggr pushed off the table and prowled towards the turd.
The great hall fell into silence. Only one or two dared to interrupt. Everyone stared in rapt attention at their lord, curious as to what he would do next. Even the stones and fire quieted down, refusing to disturb the silence.
The Dane warlord inspected the traitor as if determining his worth and if the secrets he harbored were worth their usefulness or better tossed into the sea. A tension clouded the air with the continued silence. For everyone knew, if deemed unworthy, these would be the final, sweet breathes the traitor enjoyed. So they waited in anticipation to see their lord's verdict. To see if more blood would spill in the king's hall at his command today.
After the tension-saturated moment, his somber and calculating demeanor shifted. Sigtryggr teasingly held up an animal skull over the traitor's face, smirking as his men laughed and cheered. He placed the skull in the traitor's hand before wiping his hands on the turd's jerkin. An unspoken threat hidden in the simple action- once your worth is gone, you are dead, and your blood will not be on my hands.
Without hesitation, Sigtryggr jumped up on top of the nearby table, laden with food and spoils of their victory. "We leave for Wintanceaster….today."
With hands fisted, he cheered. Riling his warriors for the upcoming fight. Reviving the bloodlust in them once more. And those warriors mirrored his enthusiasm, some pounding on the tables with their fists, celebrating the chance to earn more glory and riches or Valhalla.
Looking around the hall of the once king of Wealas, he rose to his full height. 'Warrior' screamed from every fluid movement, the stance of his posture, the way his eyes tracked those around. Here, standing on the table like a king above his subjects, was a man those surrounding him willingly followed. Who fought for them just as much as they fought for him. He was a man, a warlord, worthy of their loyalty.
Surveying his warriors, a smile tugged at his lips. When his gaze landed on you at a table further away, his eyes immediately brightened and his smile slanted into something more genuine.
In return, you flashed him a small, fond smile. You loved his genuine smile, how his whole countenance radiated warmth, and how anyone close by became magnetized and reciprocated his infectious joy. Unfortunately, that sweet smile was something that had become far more rare since he chose to venture forth from under his father' mantle to make a name for himself.
But your smile did not reach your eyes, even as you wished to share his excitement. For it was hindered by the shiver of apprehension that shot through you as fast and deadly as an arrow.
As the warriors celebrated the win against the men of Wealas and the future, easy fight against the great kingdom of Wessex….you slipped away.
A weariness clung to you like a heavy cloak which you were unable to shed. Months of battles and fights had weakened your stamina. This past fight against the men of Wealas had drained the last of your reserves. You never spoke of it, not wanting to be deemed weak, but you had taken a particularly nasty fall two weeks ago during a battle in Irland. Your body had still not fully recovered from it. Occasionally, shorts bursts of pain radiating from your left hip that left you gritting your teeth until the discomfort subsided.
You walked past those in the throes of revelry or beginning to pack for the abrupt departure. You shook your head as you passed some of the younger men in the midst of a drinking game. Others you shared a smile or a brief word.
You ducked into one of the few hallways leading off the main hall, hoping few noticed your absence.
"Where are you headed?"
The sudden question caused you to glance back over your shoulder, realizing you had been followed. Instead of being frustrated, you smiled at the behemoth of a man whose long strides allowed him to easily catch up to you. The two of you fell into step together. The sounds of your footfalls on the stone floor and his massive axe thumping against his hip made you momentarily forget your prior worries.
"To find some peace and quiet until it is time to leave. I had planned to sleep away the rest of the day but that clearly will not be happening."
His deep grumble echoed in the hallway you found yourselves in. "Aye, I was hoping for a good hump."
You openly laughed. "Go on, you still have time for that!"
He shot you a cheeky wink before peeling off at the next corridor and, most likely, heading in the direction of the stables.
You just shook your head as you kept walking along the stone steps. Ulf had only recently joined Sigtryggr's men but had proven himself loyal and a warrior worthy of the Sagas. A friendship had evolved between the two of you unexpectedly. One day he walked up to you, declaring you reminded him of his little sister back in Denmark and that he would look out for you. And so he had. Although the care had become mutual at some point. Even now you would happily claim him as a brother.
Your thoughts drifted like the waves against the shore, a new one rising up as its brethren faded away. You knew Sigtryggr had a reason for leaving Wealas in order to capture Wintanceaster. He never did anything without a secure reason. That was one of the many reasons his warriors were so loyal to him. The young warlord had proven over and over that he cared for his people and would not waste their lives needlessly nor rush into a situation without fully considering it beforehand.
So consumed in the gentle lapping of your thoughts, you did not hear the footfalls in the corridor behind you. It was not until the sudden, soft call of your name reached your ears that you were made aware you were not alone again. Anyone else you might have ignored or yelled at over your shoulder. But not this voice. Not him. It was this voice which caused your feet to falter, to cease their movement.
"I thought you would still be celebrating." You said into the open air, not removing your gaze from the stone steps laid out before you, denying yourself from turning around to see him. You knew he would eventually find you. He always did.
Each carefully measured step reverberated in the otherwise quiet corridor, drawing closer to you. At the far end, where you both had come from, faint sounds of revelry drifted in the air like leaves in the wind. Yet somehow it still felt like you two were completely all alone. As if nothing real or imaginary would dare intrude on this moment and disturb the serenity you sought for.
"Why did you leave?"
That slow, thoughtful cadence of his voice was like honey to your ears. Your eyelids fluttered closed on their own accord, your heart missing a beat. You loved listening to his voice, it was one of the things that first drew you to him. Even now, years later, his voice was a sound you would never tire of.
"I am tired." You replied easily. "I hoped to rest before we leave."
The hairs on the back of your neck rose when you felt his presence just behind you. But it was not fear that sent a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his body called out to you, beckoning you to fall into his arms, to surrender to him. You fought it viciously, refusing to give in. Not this time.
"That is not why you left the hall though." Sigtryggr stated, not even bothering to pose it as a question. Evidence of how well he knew you.
You shrugged, lowering your gaze to the tips of your boots. Stains from mud and blood decorated them, layers of the discoloration evident creating a patchwork effect that suddenly held your attention.
Wordlessly, he pressed his chest to your back, placing his hands on your waist delicately as if too much pressure would cause you to fracture and break. His forehead lowered to rest against your temple, his hot breath fanning your cheek. Instinctually, your body relaxed into his embrace. The prior tension humming through your veins silenced under his touch, your body betraying your will.
"Kanìna, talk to me." He murmured into your ear. "What bothers you so?"
Hearing his private nickname for you, a silly grin spread over your face that you were unable to stop anymore than you could stop the sun rising and setting….even if you were upset with him.
"It's nothing." You muttered.
After a silent minute, in which you hoped he would drop the subject, two of his fingers lifted your chin and guided your face to turn and meet his gaze over your shoulder.
"Tell me." He gently commanded.
His cool, blue eyes gazed down at you, sussing out your secrets with an unnatural ease. No matter how much your inner secrets tried to live and hide within you, he was always able to shed light on them, coaxing them forth like a skittish animal. Being the recipient of his devoted attention was both thrilling and unnerving, for with a single look he seemed to just know. With those eyes that could soothe like the coolest of water on a hot day or easily set you aflame with the icy fire in them, you were at his mercy….a place where you felt both safe and at peace.
Finally, he hummed as if in confirmation. "This is about Brida."
You huffed. "I don't trust her."
The corner of his lips kicked up as he released you, backing away. "And why not?" He asked as he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for your answer.
You knew your words, your thoughts, were safe with him. Still you kept your voice low, aware that anyone could pass through the corridor. The last thing you wanted was to make an enemy of Brida. She seemed the type to permanently remove those she deemed obstacles in her way.
Your hands dropped to your hips. The tension that had abated under his touch now returned with a fury. "She's a she-wolf with the need for revenge that will drive her to her death." You fumed, gesturing back towards the main hall then slamming your hand back onto your hip. "And still she would willingly go! She isn't thinking straight!! Her selfish actions will get our people killed. And for what?! To take over some Saxon town? It doesn't seem worth it. We only just arrived here. Our warriors need rest. None of them will fight for her! We only fight for you!"
You breathed heavily through your frustration, suddenly caught in the depths of his fathomless eyes. Your ire dissipated like the morning mist, transformed back into the exhaustion that clung greedily to you. You sighed, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke next. "I will only fight for you."
A weighty silence hung between the two of you, a pressure that attempted to bow your shoulders and make you crumble. Yet you stood firm like an oak tree, resolute in your opinion. Something about Brida rubbed you the wrong way and disdain threatened to choke you with the idea of following her orders. Sigtryggr was the warlord you followed without question usually. But this time you could not restrain your tongue from sharing your opinions. You would march to Wintanceaster with him, your loyalty superseded all, but that did not mean you agreed with this order.
Several seconds passed in the tomb-like silence. His penetrating gaze never wavering from your face. Eventually, he spoke. His soothing voice was like the sail to lift you out of the stagnant waters. "I agree."
You blinked several times before responding. "You do?"
"Yes. She is dangerous. Her desperate need for vengeance clouds her judgement."
"Then why?" You pleaded. "Why are you listening to her? Why are we going to Wintanceaster? Please, just….help me understand."
His eyes softened as they met yours, a vulnerability there that you were one of the few to be allowed to see. The sight of it made your heart melt. He reached out and ran a thumb over your cheek. Without a second thought, you grasped his hand, placing his palm against your cheek, desperate for his comforting touch. In his eyes, you could see the internal struggle, the multitude of thoughts clashing and crashing like waves in a storm.
"Do you remember the first time we met?"
You slowly nodded, confused by the change of topic but listening.
"I remember seeing you across my father's hall. You were laughing with some friends at a table. With the hearth separating us, the fire's colors danced on your skin making you glow. I could hardly look away from you. I was certain you were a goddess among men, sent by the trickster, Loki, to beguile me. Even when my brothers teased me, I did not listen. How could I when enraptured by the very presence of you?"
"I remember that night." You whispered back. "I caught you staring at me several times and I thought it was creepy."
He chuckled, tugging you closer, drawing you into his embrace. His arms banded around your waist. Those captivating eyes never left yours, a twinkle of mischief in them. "And when I tried to talk to you, you darted away like a frightened rabbit."
"After you began calling me 'kanìna'."
He hummed, a boyish smile turned his lips up, curbing his sharp edges. "Luckily, I know how to catch a rabbit. You learn their patterns and set your traps where they frequent. Most importantly, one must be patient."
"No wonder you spent all that time by the river fishing or at the practice yard. You always seemed to be nearby." You teased lightly, with your arms around his neck, keeping him prisoner in your embrace, just as much as you were in his.
He closed the distance between you, ghosting his lips over yours in an tantalizing kiss. "My heart chose you that first time I laid eyes on you." He whispered against your lips.
The heady confession made your mind melt and a heat simmer across your skin. When he started to draw away, you eagerly chased his lips with your own. He only allowed the simplest of kisses, a barely-there brush of lips, that left you aching for more. A needy whine left your throat in response. You could feel the smug smirk on his mouth as he dipped his head to the side, his teeth scraping against your pulse point. Your hands tangled in his hair at the sensation. Eyes drifted closed on their own accord as you tipped your head to the side to provide better access for him. Shifting the two of you, he turned just enough so you were caged between the hard, stone wall and his lithe, unforgiving frame.
"And that first night we made love under the stars."
"I had never been so happy." Your voice came out somewhere between a whimper and an admission.
His mouth never left the column of your throat, alternating between planting kisses and drawing patterns with his tongue, even as he spoke, as if trying to brand the words to your skin. "I asked you to be my woman as Máni drove the moon across the night sky that night. Do you remember what you said?"
"You had to make me a promise."
"And I did." He hummed, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. "I promised that we would find good land, we would find peace, and once I completed that…."
"I would be your wife." You finished his sentence, the ending of the promise made between the two of you under the star-studded sky two years ago.
"And bear my children."
You laughed quietly. "And bear your children."
Pulling back, he gripped your chin, forcing your head up to meet his eyes. That lazy, predatory gaze had turned heated due to the desire raging in them and the promise he carried on his heart like a banner for you. "I will take Wintanceaster for you." He declared ardently. "To fulfill my promise."
You blinked owlishly. Your mind muddled and hazy from his pleasurable torment on your skin. "I don't….I don't understand." Your brows furrowed as you tried to piece everything together. "We have Wealas. You set out from your father's land to make a name for yourself. You have done that! Your name will live on in the Sagas. Why do we need Wintanceaster?"
"If we remain here in Wealas, we will always be fighting to protect our borders from Mercia and Wessex. They will not trust us to be satisfied. Our forebears saw to that reputation. Wintanceaster is the crown of Wessex. If we take that, we have all of Wessex at our mercy."
"So we leave a whole land to take a single city?"
"Yes, we do." He replied, his nose bumping into yours playfully. "Because then, my beautiful kanìna, we have the leverage we need."
"For what?"
"To make peace."
Before you could question him, his mouth descended on yours, kissing you with a savage ferocity that you met with equal passion. Your hands fisted in his hair, drawing a groan from him. His strong body further pressed into you, as if seeking to fuse your bodies into one. The air around you was charged, kindling just waiting to burst into flames that would leave you both burning with an endless fire of need only you could soothe with the joining of your bodies. Suddenly, he ripped his mouth away from yours.
"Sigtryggr…." You whimper, uncaring of how his name dripped with such blatant want.
His forehead landed on yours. His voice had turned husky and dangerous as he spoke with a passionate candor, shooting delicious chills down your spine. "I have no intentions of conquering Wessex and eradicating the Saxons like our forefathers tried to do. Like Brida wants to do. We would never find peace in Wessex. We would constantly be at war to maintain our land. But if we can come to an agreement with the young King of Wessex….then I can fulfill my promise to you."
A few of the pieces fell into place in your mind as he allowed a look into his plans. "And Brida? She will not agree to this."
"She has her uses still. She can help us take Wintanceaster." He softly admitted. "But I will not lead my warriors to Wessex only for her revenge. No, we go to broker land and peace. Something she does not understand."
"But why must we leave today? I wanted to sleep in a bed tonight." You whined with a faux pout.
"Alone?"
"I was hoping not," you sighed dramatically, "but now it seems that someone is more inclined to travel than keep me warm in a nice, soft bed."
"I would do far more than just keep you warm." He purred out in a voice soaked through with wicked intentions.
Your whole body tingled in anticipation. You pulled back just enough to see into his eyes, how they had further darkened with desire as they met yours. Your womb clenched and pulsated within you, silently begging to allow him to fulfill his word.
You uncoiled a hand from his hair to trace a finger over the scar across his eye. A scar he had received while saving your life from a man prepared to bludgeon you to death. Your finger trailed down the scar, along his cheekbone and to his lips, tracing their shape as your lips quirked up in a teasing smirk.
"How can I be certain you are a man of your word?"
"Because I can tell you burn for me already. Your body aches for me, cries out for me to fill you and make you scream my name." He nipped at your bottom lip then soothed it with his tongue. "And I would never allow my woman to be unsatisfied."
"Promises, promises, my lord."
His lips crashed against yours like furious waves against the rocks. What self-control he prided himself in having, snapped at hearing you call him 'my lord' in that sultry tone. It was a weakness of his. One you had only recently learned about. And for how often he could drive you wild with a single look or a lingering touch, it was nice to have ammunition to use against him.
In a blink, his strong hands had grasped your thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist. The uneven rock wall dug deeper into your back but you paid no mind. Too caught up in the glory of his mouth and the decadent taste of worship in it. Let there be bruises. You would wear them proudly. His kiss turned soul-searing that sent you to the brink of ecstasy. Your tongues clashed, fought and danced. A single roll of your hips against him drew out such an animalistic growl from him, all you could do was whimper helplessly at the fire flooding your veins.
A loud clatter at the end of the corridor momentarily stilled the intoxicating haze bathing the two of you. Waiting a moment, you tried to chase his mouth, wanting to sink back into its depths and have his taste soak you from the inside out. Then an obnoxiously loud shout of his name echoed down the corridor.
A whiny sigh escaped your throat, your head falling back to knock against the stone wall. Whatever blissful moment was now shattered. Sigtryggr was needed by his warriors.
His answering, annoyed groan made you feel a little better, that you were not the only one disappointed by the interruption. It was also impossible to not notice his….considerable….issue pressed flush against your core.
Teasingly, you rolled your hips once more. The sound that emerged from between his teeth was a blend of a snarl and a growl, shooting a shiver down your spine, igniting your blood. His hand slapped against the stone next to you before he dropped his head to your shoulder. Both of you fought to control your breathing, to subdue your raging libidos, and piece back together your composure. However much you both hated it.
"You owe me." You muttered, resuming gently running your hands through his hair.
"I vow to make it worth the delay."
"Promises, promises."
He nipped at the junction of your neck and shoulder, making you squirm, before pulling back. "When we take Wintanceaster, I will allow you to choose our room first. Then you may have whatever soft bed is most to your liking."
Carefully he relaxed his grip on your thighs, helping to guide your feet back to the floor. Instead of stepping away, he stayed impossibly close, as if trying to draw out this private moment for a little longer.
"Our bed, huh?" You teased. "Who said I would share my bed with you?"
"You miss me when you are alone."
"What makes you think that?"
"You talk in your sleep."
Laughter rolled off your tongue at the purely smug look he wore. "And what else do I say in my sleep?"
He stared down at you with warmth in his eyes as he was clearly deliberating what to admit. After a long second, he traced the edge of your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. When he spoke, it was low and tainted with lust. "You have quite the naughty imagination."
A flush heated your cheeks while a bolt of desire shot straight to your core.
Before you could latch yourself onto him like a tick and forcibly drag him away to have those very wicked ways with him, he moved back, putting space between the two of you.
"Come, we must prepare to leave. For after we take Wintanceaster, there will be a siege. During then I will have plenty of time to make sure you are satisfied in our bed." He reached out and took your hand, laying a sweet kiss to your palm. "Now, my kanìna, we must leave to go build our future."
"Our future." Those two simple words bloomed something in you. No longer was your future like trying to look at the horizon through a heavy rainstorm. You knew what you wanted, and he stood before you with a plan, ready to fulfill his vow he made to you.
Those blue eyes gazed into your heart, into your soul, and he smiled as he threaded his fingers through yours. "I will accept no other future where you are not my wife."
"But first we take Wintanceaster."
"Yes, we take Wintanceaster. For us. For our future. Come." He stepped back, guiding you away from the wall and down the corridor, towards the sound of departure.
And you followed without question. You would always follow him. For how much he said his heart chose you….your heart had chosen him with equal ferocity.
Tag List
TLK (all): @geekandbooknerd @trenko-heart @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @solinarimoon @errruvande
#mzwrites#the last kingdom#the last kingdom fandom#the last kingdom fanfic#the last kingdom imagine#sigtryggr ivarsson#sigtryggr#sigtryggr x reader#sigtryggr ivarsson x reader
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