#mzwrites

[mrsalwayswrite]

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)

[mzwritings]

“You, as an individual is defined by the people who chose to stay, not the ones who left you.”

@mzwritings

[mrsalwayswrite]

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. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

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

[mrsalwayswrite]

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.

[mrsalwayswrite]

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

[mrsalwayswrite]

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

[mrsalwayswrite]

The Predator (Ivar x Reader)

Summary: Ivar has always admired you from afar, a true shieldmaiden that would even make the Valkyries jealous of your skills. But when the chance comes for him to speak to you, to finally push past his fears and insecurities….death stalks in the shadows waiting for its moment to attack.

This is my contribution to the @vikingsbigbang2022!

The idea for this fic was actually from a request/conversation I had with @childishhoe eons ago. I hope you like it!

Also, I want to give a huge shout out to my collaborating artists: @quantumlocked310 & @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog y'all have been amazing in this process. Thank you!

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Playlist by @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog (added at the end)

Thud.

Releasing the tension from the drawstring of his bow, Ivar peered down the field towards the target at the end. The corners of his lips turned up in the faintest idea of a smile. The arrow had landed in the dead center of the clumsily drawn target. Just like the past nine other arrows, scattered amongst the various targets drawn on stumps or bales of hay.

"Have I mentioned yet how frightfully accurate you are?"

Ivar glanced at Ubbe, who stood next to him with a proud smile on his face. "You did yesterday."

"Hmmm….seems like you were blessed by the gods."

"I'd rather have my legs." Ivar mumbled, his good mood immediately soured.

Ubbe squeezed his shoulder but thankfully kept any words behind his teeth. Seeing that Ivar was out of arrows, the elder brother walked down to the end of the archery range to retrieve Ivar's arrows again.

The dark-haired Ragnarsson absent-mindedly watched Ubbe pluck the arrows from the targets, pleased that his brother knew to keep the pitying looks or comments to himself. Everyone had gotten better about hiding their pity but Ivar could still see it….could feel it taint the air….and it made his blood boil. It made him want to thrust his dagger into someone's chest and rip their still-beating heart out, to paint himself in the blood of those who dare pity him, to hear their petrified screams….to remind them all that he was more than his useless legs.

That someday the whole world would know the name of Ivar the Boneless….

….and they would fear him.

But for now, he temporarily suppressed his homicidal tendencies. His mother chastised him enough when he verbalized all the ways he would love to torture Sigurd. Not that it stopped him. He just hated seeing that disappointed look on her beautiful face. Or the swat to the back of his head from Floki. That did not mean he did not have plans though….for the future.

The sounds of others in the practice yard drifted around him like a chilling breeze. His jaw tightened fractionally. The two Ragnarssons were off at the furthest corner of the archery range, no one else around them. Several of those that stood around or practiced with axes and swords called out greetings to Ubbe when the two brothers passed. But no one came to join them, to practice archery or just talk….because of Ivar.

That easy comradery, that acceptance, that respect from his fellow Vikings, was something he never experienced. They thought him worthless, useless….just a cripple.

They kept their distance. Never were they outright rude to his face, because everyone knew Ivar's temper and violent tendencies would warrant him to inflict pain on them, but they never tried to join him or whichever brother was babysitting him for the day.

So he watched and observed. Only in the dead of night when he was alone, did his imagination create fantasies of being able to join the other warriors. To be recognized and wanted. To be respected. To be liked.

For now, he would accept their fear.

A cheer rang out through the practice yard. "Hvitserk! Hvitserk!" Several voices chanted his name like they were summoning him forth.

While sitting on his stump, Ivar turned to see his flaxen-haired brother stepping into the center of the sparring area, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other. His smug smile could be witnessed even from where Ivar sat, as those watching cheered him on with enthusiasm.

The youngest Ragnarsson wondered who was stupid enough to try and fight his brother. He begrudgingly admitted that all of his brothers were fierce warriors in their own right, a trait surely gifted through the blood of their father and being descendants of Odin the All-Father.

Yet neither the father that abandoned them nor the one-eyed god in Valhalla ever answered Ivar's whispered prayers and silent cries.

In the sparring area, a new cheer arose as Hvitserk's opponent stepped into the circle. Carrying a sword and shield, you rolled your shoulders, preparing for the spar. The chant of your name filled the air, like those around could not help but be in awe of you. For it was the air of confidence surrounding you that made people magnetized to you.

And Ivar was no exception.

Your name flowed from his lips in a reverent murmur as his vivid, blue eyes refused to look away. You were perfection in every way. Your movements were fluid like a dancer's and calculated like a strategist's. Every year that passed, you continuously grew in beauty, a kind that should not be known in the mortal realm. People flocked to you, both to win your affections and bask in your presence. Your skills with a blade were already legendary. Many claimed one day that you might surpass Lagertha herself with your sword skill. You were confident and strong, poised and regal. A valkyrie amongst mortals that were blessed just to be in your presence.

The sporadic times Ivar and you interacted in passing, usually around his brothers, you never ignored or awkwardly stared at him like other women. As if they were unsure what to do around him since he did not have working legs or they feared he would randomly stab them. But not you. Instead, your gorgeous eyes would meet his, a smile on your lips, as you greeted him like he was worth your time.

On occasion, you would ask him a superficial question and it was all Ivar could do to remember how to speak. Then to his further astonishment, you would actually listen and respond. The few conversations you bestowed upon him were typically short-lived, for his brothers were always around and would steal your attention away or you would have to leave to fulfill your duties.

Yet in those moments, Ivar swore his heart stopped and he could grow wings and fly.

His brothers teased him about his crush on you, how he would go starry-eyed and barely able to speak in your presence. In retaliation, he would just remind them that whenever they made advances towards you, you would quite clearly make your feelings known - usually with a dagger against their balls. Not that it stopped their flirting.

Ivar knew of a few bets going around, trying to see who would be the first brought to your bed here in Kattegat. Yet so far, no one had won.

The riotous cheering resumed in the sparring area as Hvitserk and you began circling one another. In a blink, Hvitserk advanced, swinging his sword and axe only for them to repeatedly bounce off your shield. The two of you sparred for several more minutes, taking turns in attempts to land a hit or make the other stumble. Finally both of you stepped away, chests heaving and grins on their faces. Hvitserk said something that had everyone nearby laughing as he winked at you.

Ivar's hand tightened on the bow in his lap.

You shook your head with a smirk. Then you glided forward with an effortless grace and initiated the sparring this time.

"I heard she trained under Lagertha for a few years before coming here." Ubbe stated, coming up to Ivar's side with the arrows in hand, even as he watched the fight. "That's why she's so good."

Ivar grunted. "I hope she makes Hvitty eat dirt."

"She probably will."

This time something in you had shifted. No longer were you fighting on equal terms with Hvitserk. Oh no….it became obvious you had been toying with him this whole time.

In frustrated retaliation, Hvitserk's hits began to get more wild, his blocks more sloppy. Yet you continued to dance around him, taking each hit and easily returning your own that he barely managed to escape. Once you managed to knock him onto his back, but with a quick roll, Hvitserk was up and charging at you again.

Finally, with a clearly well-practiced and almost unbelievable move, you slipped under his guard. Using his momentum against him, you feigned a spin and snuck a leg out to swipe at him, effectively tripping him. Before he could do more than raise his face from the dirt beneath him, you had one foot on his back and your sword tip at the nap of his neck.

Ivar sworn he had never seen a more beautiful and erotic sight in his entire life.

After a moment, you allowed Hvitserk up, clasping forearms after with smiles still on your faces as those around cheered or swapped coins based on their betting. Moving away, you settled back to lean against a railing, happily accepting the water from someone next to you. With your sleeve, you wiped the sweat from your brow before taking a sip. One of the shieldmaidens at your other side muttered something that made you laugh, shaking your head before you playfully shoved her.

A smile tugged on his lips in answer to your own laughter. But it died a swift death when he noticed the many other pairs of eyes watching you. Some of those looks were nothing short of hungry.

"You should say something to her."

Ivar shifted his icy glare to his elder brother. "What are you talking about?"

Ubbe shrugged. "It's obvious you like her….don't deny it. The death glares you give the others are enough to confirm it. So, you should tell her. Who knows? Maybe she feels the same."

Ivar scoffed, even as his heart pounded in his chest like a drum at the mere thought of you returning even a smidgen of his affection. "No. She's too nice to say it to my face. But she has no interest in any of you, why would she be interested in the cripple then?"

"Ivar, it's not…."

"Shut up. I'm done talking about this. Let's go find our idiot brothers. I'm tired of waiting around for them." Ivar slid down the trunk and began using his hands to crawl back towards the Great Hall. He could faintly hear Ubbe mutter something under his breath as he picked up Ivar's abandoned bow and arrows, used to have to carry things for the youngest Ragnarsson.

Before he got too far, Ivar could not help himself as he turned to look over his shoulder one last time at you. Leaning against the railing, you watched the next sparring match with a small smile on your face, looking beautiful and happy.

With that image in his mind, Ivar continued to crawl away, each drag of his lower body haunted by the eyes he knew would be following his movement like he was some rabid beast in need of being put down for the safety of all.

But the worst part was the knowledge that someone as perfect as you would never look twice at him in desire. He was a snake, meant to crawl on the ground, and you….you were a Valkyrie meant to rise above everyone and dwell with the gods.

*****

His vibrant eyes peered down over the edge of the short cliff, cloaked by the bushes he looked through. Lying here, with his belly on the ground, no one ever saw him. He knew from experience, enough times spent tracking various people to see what he could observe, or witnessing his brothers and their various paramours. He knew no one looked towards the ground for the eyes they could feel watching them. Never thinking about the danger that lurked at their feet.

This revelation was both the shadow of truth he veiled himself in and the chain that kept him prisoner.

Now though, he was thankful for a very different reason that he had honed his skills of stealthily tracking and following someone without their knowledge. Quiet and sly as a serpent in the underbrush, he carefully moved closer, crawling forward on his elbows.

It was the muffled crying from below that twisted the knife in his heart and kept him hostage on the precipice.

Amongst the raised roots of an ancient-looking tree, almost hidden by the natural alcove between the tree and the sharp slope of the short cliff, you leaned against the trunk of the tree. Your face was buried in your hands, weapons laying discarded just within reach. Your stifled cries mixed with the sound of the nearby gentle stream, creating a conflicting symphony of peace and heartbreak.

It was not pity that filled him as he gazed down at you. No, he knew pity and loathed it. He would never place such a revolting emotion onto you. What filled him instead was….sympathy. For he knew what it felt like to purposefully draw away from others, to hide oneself away from the world, and only then be able to shed the restricting mask and release the pent-up pain without fear of others' judgements.

Almost a fortnight had passed since he had begun following you, trailing behind as you left Kattegat and ventured into the surrounding forest and to your safe haven. At first, it had been curiosity that caused him to track your journey. Only to be shocked when he discovered you in the hidden dell, taking your clothes off and bathing in the shallow stream, softly singing to yourself the whole time. His mind shut down, unable to comprehend what his eyes bore witness to. You appeared as an apparition, something not meant for mortal eyes. A vision that the gods guarded jealously. The image of you was immediately seared into his brain, never to be forgotten for however long he lived. For gazing upon you, was the epitome of divine beauty, both inside and out. A goddess that was meant to be worshipped for all eternity.

After seeing you bathing for the first time, Ivar spent the rest of the day in a haze. Nothing could draw him out of his reverie. It was as if you had cursed him, only able to think about you, to remember you in all your glory.

The next time he saw you, he was sharpening an axe at the blacksmith's. You walked by, but not without greeting him first with a call of his name and a mesmerizing smile. He was lucky that you continued on your way because he barely caught himself from slicing his hand open in his gawking and encouraging his tongue back into his mouth after accidentally swallowing it. He was certain that if you had caught him spying, you would have confronted him about it. When you did not say anything, nor in the days after, all he could guess was you were unaware of his observation.

So whenever he saw you heading for the forest alone….he followed.

In his mind, he reassured himself it was for your own protection. Of course, he knew the skill you possessed to fight and defend yourself. It was a favorite pastime of his to watch you knock over-confident, cocky men flat on their asses. Especially the ones that hoped to gain certain favors from you.

Yet he noticed that when you were alone in the quiet, hidden dell, you let your guard down in more ways than one. You looked at peace with your eyes closed and face lifted towards the sun like an exotic flower. Your faithful weapons were set aside and seemingly forgotten about while you were here. It was in this place you sought solace from your companions and the tasks and responsibilities heaped upon your shoulders.

He vowed to stand guard so your face would never have to shed that look of serenity, causing you to appear ethereal.

Now though, he trailed behind you to provide comfort and companionship. Even if he was not right next to you physically. He silently hoped somehow you could feel his presence and know that you were not alone. That you did not have to grieve alone.

It had been four days since the news of your mother's tragic and unexpected death had reached Kattegat's shores. Every day you accepted the condolences with a genuine smile and continued to train and spend time with your companions like normal. It was when you ventured here, into your safe haven, that your pain finally spilled out onto the ground. Staining the earth around you with your grief and tears. Tainting the air with your heartbreak.

And Ivar kept to the shadows, watching, waiting, making sure no one disturbed you.

Today, your weeping was not all-consuming, but still enough for Ivar's hands to itch in some misguided attempt to comfort you. Once the outpouring of your grief ceased, you wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks with the sleeve of your tunic. Only the gurgling stream and the bird calls filled the air.

With a weary sigh, you stood up and stretched. Ivar could not help the way his gaze slid over your perfect body, touching as much of you with his eyes as he could. For never would you allow him to touch you with his dirty hands. You were too perfect and he was….he was beneath you in every way.

Ivar prepared to slither back and hide as you ascended up the slope of the cliff and make your way back to Kattegat. A dance the two of you had done for the fortnight now that Ivar had been watching over you. Even if you were unaware of the dance you participated in.

Just as you reached your hand out to grab your weapons, laying on a nearby stone, you froze.

Your head slowly, cautiously, hesitantly, turned to the right. Your body was still bent with your hand outstretched, as if the weapons lay forgotten in that moment. Your eyes were glued to the trees across the shallow stream. Tension sung a melody throughout your body as you carefully straightened from your crouch. The sword now gripped in your hand like a lifeline.

Fear and concern kept his fierce gaze locked on you and on the trees, wondering what you saw, desperate to know what had you so on edge.

Then Ivar saw it….

….and a shiver of terror trickled down his spine.

Moving silently and with an unnaturally, graceful prowl, the wolf stepped out from behind the trees across the small stream. Flaming red like the fires of Muspelheim colored its eyes. An inky, black coat covered its body, appearing to absorb the filtering sunlight like a black hole. Fangs emerged from its snout, as long as Ivar's dagger and twice as sharp. The wolf easily stood as tall as a horse, yet its presence conveyed more. As if it's massive body still struggled to contain all of it.

Ivar gaped. For he knew before him had to be a spawn of Fenrir, sent to Midgard for nothing less than to wallow in carnage, to drink the blood of all it devoured and to create chaos with each of its powerful footfalls.

And at the moment, it's destructive gaze was set on you.

It's lips curled back in a snarl. The growl that left it's throat could make mountains shake in terror. Nature itself silenced to give way to the creature that commanded attention and awe-inspiring horror. Then one massive paw lifted, proceeding another, bringing it a step closer in it's prowl. Those burning eyes never left you the whole time.

At its step closer, you swiftly shifted your stance, hands gripping your sword with a death-like grip. From where he hid, Ivar could see the tremors of trepidation careening through your body. Yet even in your terror, you refused to go down without a fight. Even in the face of what was certainly death itself, you stood your ground. Denying it from taking your soul easily.

In that moment, Ivar knew what he had to do. Never had he been so certain of his actions. It felt like Odin himself placed a hand on his shoulder in guidance and reassurance. Viciously, he shoved down the fear and dread clawing at his limbs. He refused to watch you fight alone. He refused to let you die. Not you, his Valkyrie, his goddess.

With a guttural warcry, he shoved himself forward. Half crawling, half falling down the cliff's slope, he finally touched the mossy ground and crawled his way over to where you stood, ready to defend yourself from the monstrous creature.

Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, wide with determination and dread, but you made no further move.

Wordlessly, he passed you, crawling until he was between you and the stream. The wolf remained on the other side of the stream, watching with a malicious glint in it's gaze. Then it took another powerful step closer. The water from the stream caressing its front paws, only to retreat as if nature itself feared the creature.

From just behind him, you softly whispered his name but he did not turn his head, never removing his gaze from the wolf.

Piercing, blue eyes locked with burning, red eyes.

Ivar reached back and unsheathed the dagger he kept strapped to his thigh. A gift from Floki. With iron in hand, Ivar unleashed his own furious growl.

"Come on! Don't you know who I am?" He yelled at the creature, born of darkness and fire. He smacked his chest with the flat of his dagger. "I am Ivar the Boneless! You can't kill me! Now come on!"

The air crackled like lightning and thunder covered the sky, even though no clouds could be seen in the vast, blue sky. Time ceased, the Norns pausing their eternal spinning to bare witness. A life thread would be cut today. Ivar refused to let it be yours.

The spawn of Fenrir released a howl that seemed to shake the very ground they stood on. The trees quaked and trembled. The water swirled under the sheer force of it's howl.

A righteous fury arose like a storm within Ivar. Tremendous waves that would break ships crashed and roiled just under his skin.

"What are you waiting for? I laugh at death!" Ivar taunted. "Come on! I shall kill you today!"

Red eyes remained locked with blue eyes.

A terrifying snarl escaped past the confines of it's mouth. It lifted a paw, ready to place it in the water, ready to cross and bring forth the destruction it was bred for.

Then it stopped.

A sneer played on the face of the youngest Ragnarsson. He knew that even if the creature killed him, Odin would happily welcome him into Valhalla. For what greater honor would there be but to fight a monster the gods themselves feared and to win. Even if it ushered in his own death. What did he need to fear with the knowledge of Valhalla waiting for him.

He only hoped to spare you from the dangerous touch of death. It was not yet time for you to return to the gods.

Suddenly, the wolf dropped it's paw back to the mossy ground. Lowering it's head slightly, those furious eyes remained fixated on Ivar. Lips curled back in a silent snarl.

Then as if a spell had been broken, it took a step back in retreat.

And then another.

And another.

Slowly, it slicked back into the covering of the surrounding forest. Red eyes never leaving the blue eyes that gazed after it in confusion. It's black coat blended into the shadows of the forest. Just as silently as it arrived, destruction promised with each step, it disappeared.

Neither Ivar or you moved for several minutes. Tension and adrenaline hummed through your veins as you both waited for the monsterous wolf to return. In those minutes, time itself restarted once more. Nature reemerged from where it had hid. The singing of birds filled the air and the quiet gurgles of the stream coaxed a resemblance of peace again. Even the sunlight streamed down warmer and brighter than before.

"Ivar, are you alright?" You asked, once you must have deemed it safe to move. With your sword still in hand, you dropped onto your knees next to him.

Taking a deep breath like he had been underwater for too long, he shifted his body around to sit on his ass. In the movement, he accidently brought himself closer to you. His heart faltered when he realized the proximity he unintentionally created. Your breath fanned across his face as you stared wide-eyed at him. It took an embarrassingly long moment for his brain to remember your question and not get lost in your alluring eyes and intoxicating presence.

"Uh, I'm….I'm fine….and you?"

"I…." You shook your head then turned your face to look in the direction the wolf disappeared to. "What was that?"

"I don't know. Do you think it's gone?"

"I hope so."

He blinked as he stared at the expanse of trees across the stream. How could a creature like that just appear then disappear? What had drawn it forth? Would it come for Kattegat next? Should he tell his mother about this? Did they need to prepare Kattegat for a war with this enemy of the gods themselves?

Feeling eyes on him, he turned back, startled to find you staring at him. "What?"

"It….it was you….you scared it away."

"What?" He accidently barked in surprise.

You huffed, still kneeling next to him. "Ivar, think about it. Something like that. A creature like that!" You gestured in the direction the wolf had been. "The only reason it would back down would be if it met a bigger predator than itself."

His mind froze. Refusing to decipher your statement. Unable to believe the words coming from your mouth and their meaning. His insecurities battled with the unknown truth now spoken aloud.

A gentle hand cupped the side of his face, causing his heart to soar under your touch, forcing his eyes to meet yours. Something swirled and danced in your eyes, threatening to drag him under and drown him. As long as you continued to behold him like this, to touch him like this, he would readily drown in you.

Your thumb stroked his cheekbone as you whispered, something akin to admiration in your tone. "I think…. I think we have all underestimated you, Ivar the Boneless."

Words tangled up in knots on his tongue. An embarrassing warmth colored his cheeks as he flushed under your praise. For the briefest of moments, he wondered if he had somehow died and this was Valhalla.

"You are made to do great things. Even Fenrir cannot stop you from your destiny it would seem." You stared into his eyes, searching, seeking, finding, reevaluating. Then you ever so slowly drew closer. With the softest of caresses, you pressed your lips against his cheek for a moment before drawing back. "Thank you….for coming to my aid….for defending me. I won't ever forget it."

Air was no longer needed to breathe. Gravity no longer tethered him to the ground. For all Ivar knew, he could float amongst the clouds now.

A sweet giggle brought him out of his inner revelry, along with the feeling of your hand gently caressing his face on its way down to land back in your lap. He immediately missed the sensation of your touch and wished he had the words to ask you to return it.

Smiling, you smoothly glided to your feet. After one last look towards where death had stood not long ago, you glanced back down at your companion. "Come on, Prince Ivar. We should be getting back before the sun sets."

He nodded his agreement. Although, truthfully, he wished to linger in your presence, this intimate, comfortable moment that you found yourselves in. To maybe find the courage to ask you to allow him to touch you, to caress your face or hold your hand, even for just a brief second. Instead, he watched you wander over and grab your sword's sheath from the ground where it had previously laid. Skillfully, you slipped your sword into its sheath and then onto your hip. Lastly, you tucked a dagger back into your boot and one up your sleeve before turning around to face him.

"Besides, after this, I feel like you've earned the right to travel by my side instead of following me and then hiding in those bushes above. I can't imagine it's comfortable." You teased with a wink.

A blush returned to stain his cheeks at being caught. It did nothing to stop his heart from soaring at the notion that you would not reject his presence in the future. That maybe it would just be the two of you again in your safe haven. On second thought, he might suggest a new location for you to find solace after this….encounter.

He watched you scurry up the slope nimbly. Once at the top, you turned around to wait for him with a smile on your face. A beautiful, beaming smile….for him. His heart thudded in his chest as he gazed back at you.

Carefully, he slipped the dagger back into his sheath on his thigh and prepared the grueling climb up the side of the cliff. But knowing you waited at the top for him, it was worth it.

On instinct, Ivar turned to look towards the spot where the wolf had been. Nothing remained that showed of the creature that had stood there only minutes ago. Almost as it was a mirage instead of flesh and blood. A bloodthirsty grin spread over his lips as he thought about the words you said. How it was him that caused the wolf to back down. How it was him that the beast recognized as the greater predator.

With that in mind, he turned to follow you up the slope.

Even with his useless legs, even with his insecurities and faults, even with the doubt and pity spewed upon him daily that made his blood boil in rage….even with all of that, he was still the apex predator.

Maybe the blessing of Odin had not abandoned him after all.

Tag List: Vikings (all):

@youbloodymadgenius @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @geekandbooknerd @adrille88 @quantumlocked310

Ivar:

@breezykpop

[mrsalwayswrite]

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

[mrsalwayswrite]

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)

[mrsalwayswrite]

In This Life and the Next (Tommy Shelby x reader)

Summary: When Tommy returns home bruised and broken, you convince him to stay with you instead of running off to London.

This is my entry to @sophieshelby 1k celebration! Congrats again! I'm so happy for you!

My prompt was "What did I do to deserve you?" and is in bold within the story.

Words: 4k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, mentions of injuries, brief sexual innuendos, Tommy is a terrible patient, all the sugary fluff, hurt/comfort

This takes place in Season 2 Episode 2 (if I remember my episodes correctly).

"Jesus fucking Christ! What are you doing here, Tom?" Polly screeched when Tommy stumbled into 6 Watery Lane looking like he had just crawled out of his own grave. 

You immediately came around the table where you had been packing a small dinner meal to take to him at the hospital. The place where you had left him less than two hours ago. You had been at his bedside ever since he had been brought to the hospital, found by the coppers, severely beaten and almost dying as he bled out near his parked car. The doctors and nurses tried to persuade you to leave many times but you adamantly refused. Laying in that bed, beaten and battered by Sabini's men, was your husband. You would be damned if you left him alone. 

And when he finally opened those blue eyes, glassy from pain and medication given to him, you felt your heart restart in your chest, as if seeing him conscious was the key to keeping your own heart beating. 

Hours later, he finally convinced you to leave, complaining that hospital food did not actually count as food and he had suffered better meals while in the tunnels. With a roll of your eyes, you agreed to stop at your home on Watery Lane and bring him back an actual meal. You also knew it would not hurt for you to freshen yourself up. You were certain your eyes were still red-rimmed and whatever make-up you once wore was long gone or in streaks on your cheeks. Also a change of attire would not be unappreciated.

At this moment, he was supposed to still be at the hospital. He promised he would be there when you returned, that he would rest. An inkling of dread slipped into your mind as you crossed the floor towards him, a suspicion of what could have caused him to leave far too early. 

Tommy stood in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning far more heavily against the doorframe than normal. "There's work to be done, Pol."

"Bloody men don't know how to rest. Jesus! I should take the strap to you for being so bloody foolish!" Polly continued on her verbal tirade, dropping back into her seat after the shock of seeing a barely-healed Tommy passed and irritation replaced it. 

Tommy ignored his aunt as you came to his side, your face upturned to stare into his endless blue eyes. "I'm alright." He spoke just above a whisper, words meant for you alone. 

"No you aren't." You whispered back. 

His lips twitched in a barely-there smile. His free hand lifted to stroke a thumb over your cheekbone while his other arm was wrapped firmly around his torso like it was the only thing holding him together. You grasped his hand, pressing the palm of it against your cheek as you took in the sight before you. The cuts and scrapes that colored his face. The black eye that even now looked painful. You knew underneath his clothes were even more injuries - bruises, cuts and broken bones - even if you could not see them. You had heard the doctors. You knew how bad it was. Yet here he stood before you, against all odds. 

You were uncertain if you wanted to kiss him or smack him like a disobedient child for leaving the hospital. 

After tracing over his face, your eyes finally crept up to meet his own. Then as if gravity itself pined you there, your eyes became locked in his haunted gaze. You briefly wondered if you could ever pull away, or if you even wanted to. 

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and that was never more true than with Tommy. You had watched his mouth move as he wove stories and painted pictures with his words to inspire or threaten others. You had witnessed lies spill from his lips as easily as if they were truth. You had watched his hands as he blinded a man with his peaked cap for being a snitch to the coppers. But it was his eyes….those fathomless blue orbs that you could always turn to and know what he was truly feeling. Even if his mouth and body posture indicated otherwise. 

And in this moment, his eyes told you everything you needed to know. 

Although he wore a strained variation of his typical cool indifference, you could see the pain he tried to conceal behind it. It was in the twitch of his eyes, the slightly more unfocused look than normal. If his body posture had not already alluded to the pain he carried, his eyes certainly would. But it was what else you saw there that gave you pause. Behind the pain was a grim determination that was a cornerstone in Tommy's life. A trait that helped him survive everything thrown his way and to become the king of Birmingham that he was today. But what mingled with that determination though, what gave you pause, was the fear. And it was that fear that sang of more than what Tommy could ever verbally express. 

"Okay, Tommy." You breathed out, eyes still locked on his. 

And with those two simple words, you could see the relief come sweeping in like a strong wind. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours, his hand still pressed against your cheek. You breathed in deeply, letting the scent, the presence, the reassurance that Tommy was here, that for the moment, he was safe filled your soul and drained some of the worry. With the way Tommy also inhaled, like you were the very drug that kept him going, you knew he was reassuring himself of your safety also. 

"Are you two done yet with your mind reading?" Polly snapped. "I swear, if it weren't for the rest of us, the two of you would bloody well never speak." 

The rumble of amusement in Tommy's chest reverberated against your own. A smile lit up your own face at Polly's comment. A sentiment that had been repeated on several occasions by various Shelbys and had become somewhat of a running joke. Though, Polly grumbled about it just as much as she teased. For however much you could look into Tommy's eyes and just know, he was able to reciprocate the action. 

Ever since that first time you found yourself lost in his gaze across the floor in the Garrison, the intensity of his eyes making your heart both race and skip a beat simultaneously, there had been a connection neither of you could explain. Somehow in that first look, you could see past the iron curtain Tommy surrounded his thoughts with. You bore witness to the loneliness, the emotional pain, the regrets, the weighty responsibility he shouldered, and it called to you like a lighthouse guiding a wayward ship. Before you even realized it, you had left your friends, walked across the pub floor and came to his side. 

"Can I get you a drink?" He had asked in that deep timbre of his voice. 

"Only if I can buy you one tomorrow."

He chuckled, rolling a cigarette over his bottom lip. "That can be arranged."

And as they say, everything after that was history. 

Now you looked over your shoulder at Polly, who stood beside the table with her arms crossed and a cigarette between her fingers, a stern look firmly in place. "I've got it, Polly."

Polly opened her mouth to argue but then as if on second thought, stuck the cigarette in her mouth and inhaled deeply. 

"I have to go to London. Tonight. I came to let you know." Tommy announced, letting his hand drop to your waist as he looked at his aunt. 

"Is this about the bloody telegram from the Mad Baker?" 

"Yeah, it's just business, Pol."

"You need to be in that hospital, Tommy!" Polly tried to argue with him, worry intermingling with her frustration. "You'll never make it to London alive in this state!"

"I'm a sitting duck there. Sabini could send someone at any time. It's best I go to London." Tommy tried to breathe deeply, most likely a detailed rebuttal on his tongue. Instead his eyes slammed shut as he hissed in pain. You gently stroked his arm, waiting for the wave of pain to reside. Silently, he squeezed your waist in thanks before opening his eyes and continuing speaking. "Pol, you're in charge while I'm gone, eh?"

"Tommy?"

He turned his sharp gaze down to you at your murmur. He answered your unspoken question, hints of regret tainting each word. "I have to get to Charlie's….but I couldn't leave….without seeing you."

The sting of welling tears caused you to blink rapidly,  trying to force them away. Tommy's grip tightened marginally on you, drawing you closer fractionally as if that alone would reassure you, but he made no other indication of seeing your tears. 

He looked back at Polly, "When I get back, there's to be a family meeting. Tell Arthur and John….and I'll need–"

You cut him off. "Tomorrow." At his pause and narrowed gaze, you continued. "You're leaving for London tomorrow. Anything else you need done during your absence, you can tell us tomorrow morning."

"No, it needs to happen–"

"When you're rested and not about to topple over like a tree." You interrupted once again. The way his jaw tightened, you knew he was not pleased with the continued interruptions but this was something worth a potential fight over. When he made no further move to argue, you looked back over at Polly. "Can you tell them, please?"

Thankfully, Polly took the hint. "They should still be at the Garrison by now. I'll lock up the shop then find them." Giving Tommy one more scrutinizing glance, she walked through the green doors with her head held high, like a queen in her domain, then shut the doors behind her. 

Before Tommy could protest, you turned back to stare up at him, beseeching him with your eyes. "You know I will support you in whatever you want to do. I have always stood faithfully by your side, and I plan to continue so. I promise. But right now, I need you to first take care of yourself. Seeing you in that hospital bed…." Your breath hitched in your throat, your voice came out more strangled than you liked. "Please, Tommy."

"I don't have time." He argued, seeming on the verge of drawing away from you, of ignoring your plea, determined in his own actions and thinking they were the best for everyone. 

"Love, I saw Campbell when I was walking out of the hospital." You confessed and if the faint wince he could not quite mask explained anything, you had hit the nail on the head with your assumption. Of why he vacated the hospital so quickly. Of whom he was actually worried about finding him again when he was so vulnerable. 

Mindful of his injuries, you reached up to cup his cheek, keeping those stunning blue orbs locked on you. "I don't know what he said to you but you can't fight him and win when you can barely stand up on your own. Tommy, listen, come lay down. Rest. Let's start making a plan tomorrow, yeah? Just give me one more day of you recovering. I almost lost you. I can't….you could have died! And I wasn't there." A traitorous tear slid down your cheek, the cage for your turbulent emotions breaking under the weight of your worry and fear. "I refuse to let you die due to your own stubbornness."

He chuckled softly, pressing his forehead against yours again as if drawing strength from your promity. "I thought you liked my stubbornness, eh?"

"It's flattering on occasions." You quipped. 

"Will you...." He stopped and licked his lips as if the rest of his question was stuck there. But you could hear it in the tone of his voice, feel it in how his hand clutched at you just a little tighter, almost taste it in the air with how he struggled to express it. To allow vulnerability to bleed and simply ask for help. Even with the trust between you two. 

You tipped your head back to look into his eyes, to see what words failed to pass his lips, to read there what he was so desperate to say but could not. 

Tears renewed and your heart ached when you finally saw it. What he could not say but needed you to know - "I don't want to be alone." You could hear his unspoken words echo in your mind, stronger than if he uttered them aloud. Words passed from his soul directly to yours. 

"You know," you said sniffling, once it no longer felt like your chest was painfully constrained by emotions, "I'm suddenly feeling quite fatigued. Care to keep me company while I'm resting?"

The first true smile you had seen on his face all day shined through like the sun after a terrible storm. He bumped his nose lightly against yours, relief bleeding through his actions. "If you insist."

"Oh, I most certainly insist."

"Then how can I deny you?"

"Wise words, my love. I think you're starting to figure out this marriage thing."

You snickered as he playfully rolled his eyes. Taking his hand in yours, you helped guide him slowly up the nearby stairs. Never a comment passed your lips as you watched him struggle, fighting to hide the discomfort each step brought with it. Instead you rambled about anything you could think of to distract his ever racing mind from the pain. 

Up the stairs, he followed you to your shared bedroom. The small, rickety cot once in Tommy's room had been replaced by a sturdier double bed. You had jokingly added it as part of your condition for you to accept his marriage proposal. He agreed immediately and the next day his prior cot was gone with the new bed taking up most of the room. Neither of you minded though. The extra space was needed for how much you two liked to play in that bed. 

Carefully, you helped him to sit on the edge of the bed, his wince at the simple action not going unnoticed by you. Without a word, you knelt before him, uncaring of the potential dirt and wrinkles to your dress the action would cause. Humming quietly, you untied his shoes and carefully pulled his feet out of them. Then you helped him maneuver out of his jacket, going slow for each movement initiated pain he no longer tried to hide from you. Still humming, you laid it on a nearby chair that barely fit into the space it had been assigned. His suspenders and shirt came off next. You tried to ignore the many bruises and lacerations decorating his body in a painting of pain and extensive wrapping around his torso for the broken bones. 

Only clad in his trousers, wrappings and socks, he finally laid down on the bed, muttering something about 'fuckin' uncomfortable hospital beds' and 'more useless than an army cot'. You just smiled as you listened to him grumble, pretending you had not heard his ranting. 

With the utmost care, you helped him settle on the bed, a relieved groan escaping his lips. When his eyes drifted to the side table, smooshed between the bed and the wall, you reached into the drawer and pulled out the pistol he kept there. Knowing what he needed, you placed it on top of the table, within easy reach for Tommy. His responding smile relieved some of the coiling vines constricting your chest. 

"What can I get for you, Tommy? Some medicine for the pain? A cool cloth? Another pillow?"

"Just you, love. It's always been just you I needed, yeah?"

"I'm serious, Tommy." A bashful smile tilted your lips up at his statement. He was certainly not the most poetic or flowery with his declarations of love. But you knew when he said something, he meant it. "How can I help?"

"So am I." Those blue eyes scanned over you, a searing heat flaring in them that was full of wicked intentions. "I need me wife."

You shook your head even as you chuckled. "Tommy, you have far too many broken bones for anything like that to happen." Even more broken than a shattered teapot, he still could not contain his lust for you. Any other day you would never deny his passion, for it breathed equally of devilish sin and heavenly adoration. 

He smirked in that way that made a fire ignite in your womb. "Worth a try." 

You scoffed, grabbing his shirt and neatly folding it. You needed a moment to dampen the heat coursing through you at the images that smirk alone placed in your mind. 

"Come lay down." He patted the space next to him on the bed. 

Planting your hands on your hips, you glanced between your husband and the closed door. A thousand stinging thoughts swarmed through your mind as you debated what to do next. The food you packed for him still waited on the kitchen counter, probably spoiling if you left it out for much longer. Also, no matter what Tommy said, you knew some pain relief would be welcome in the future. It would be wise for you to go ahead and grab some, leaving it on the side table next to his gun for whenever he gave in. Charlie Strong would also appreciate a heads up about Tommy wishing to go to London, taking a barge and most likely Curly with him. Knowing your husband, he would show up and demand from his uncle instead of asking like he should. 

Then there was dealing with Polly, Arthur and John who would all be worried and frustrated with Tommy, and rightly so. Peeking at the gun on the side table, did not help alleviate any of your worries either. If he was this paranoid that one of Sabini's men or even someone sent by the Inspector would make it up to your bedroom….you resolved yourself to meet them at the door and kindly persuade them to leave your husband the fuck alone. Polly and you kept a spare pistol above the stove that the boys did not know about, since they never stepped foot into the kitchen as if being in close proximity would somehow force them to cook. Not that anyone wanted to eat their cooking anyway. 

"Please?"

And with that single word, all your thoughts and plans scattered to the wind. For how much Tommy complained that he could never deny you, you were no better. Especially when he allowed his vulnerability to slip through, when he softly pleaded since that would be the closest you would ever hear Tommy beg. He would turn those stormy blue eyes on you and it was all you could do to rise above the trance they would put you in. You were putty in the man's hand, just as much as he was in yours. 

With nimble fingers, you quickly unbuttoned your dress, ignoring your husband's heated gaze. You draped the dress on the chair alongside Tommy's discarded clothing. The image of seeing your clothing laying next to his always set a warmth burning in your heart. The domestic simplicity of such an image, but full of potential meaning.  

Standing there in just your slip, you turned back to him with a knowing look. "Behave."

He winked with his one good eye. 

You chuckled as you climbed into the double bed, careful of rocking it too much and disturbing him. Settling onto your side, you watched him like a hawk for any pain, ready to move at a moment's notice. Because you were not above dragging him back to the hospital and sitting next to him with a loaded pistol so he would rest. 

If that loaded pistol was to protect Tommy or threaten to shoot him if he got out of the bed again was debatable. 

Now with you beside him, Tommy stared at the ceiling clearly deep in thought. Only the steady rise and fall of his chest and the occasional slow blink of his eyelashes indicated he was breathing and conscious. Your hand found his amongst the sheets, threading your fingers together, the way they should always be. 

After several peaceful minutes of stillness, Tommy spoke, his smooth voice just above a whisper. As if fearful or ashamed of his words but unable to keep them locked behind his teeth any longer. 

"I was worried I'd never see your face again. Or hear you say me name." His Brummie accent thickened with the strained emotion bleeding through. "I can't....it was you. All I could think of was you as they left me bleedin' out. How I promised I'd never leave you."

Immediately you leaned up on your elbow, needing to see his face, needing him to hear you and understand your words. "Tommy love, listen to me. If you die before I do, all you have to do is find a bench wherever you are. Be it heaven or hell or whatever lies between. Find that bench, light a cigarette and wait. I'll find you. Okay? Death is too small a divider to separate us. Our love is eternal."

He lifted your entwined hands, placing a sweet kiss to the back of your hand before laying them on his chest. "What did I do to deserve you? You're too good for me."

"You gave me your heart."

"Whatever's left of the bloody thing." 

"No, it's more than that. Don't you see? You gave me your heart....and your trust. You've never given me a reason to doubt you, Tommy. It's not about deserving. It's about choosing. And we chose one another….in this life and the next. That's what makes our love eternal."

"In this life and the next, eh?" He repeated, something akin to awe and utter devotion in his eyes as he looked at you as if drinking you in, as if you were the healing tonic for his heart and mind. 

Your own love swelled within your chest as you gazed down at the man you refused to live without. "Yes." You replied then lightly poked his chest. "Don't think you can get away from me so easily."

"Never, my love."

You leaned forward, your lips answering the summon from his own. Compared to other kisses, this one was rather chaste. A gentle brushing of lips, a soft reassurance and an unspoken promise. Yet it still made you melt against him with the pure magic that his lips and mouth were. With stars in your eyes, you finally pulled away, having to remind yourself that he was severely injured and now was not the time for lovemaking. Even if it was obvious you both wanted to. 

You plucked one more quick kiss from his decadent mouth before settling back on the bed. "Rest, Tommy. Tomorrow you can conquer the world."

With carefully measured movements, Tommy shifted to lay his head on your chest. Once he was still, you began carding your fingers through the longer strands of his hair, reveling in their silky texture. With the slow, repetitive action, it did not take long for Tommy to drift to sleep, the sudden weight of his body slumping against yours was sign enough, followed by his soft snoring. 

As you listened to his breathing and snores, you hoped that tonight, even if it was only tonight, that he was able to rest. That the worries, plans and demons that stole his peace would fade away. Even if only for tonight. 

You swore to yourself long ago to be the protector of his heart, his shield towards the things that haunt his waking steps and his nightmares. For no matter what troublesome storm brewed or where your souls ended up, you would remain by his side. Never to abandon him. 

In this life and the next. 

Tag List:

Peaky Blinders (all): @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[mrsalwayswrite]

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

[mrsalwayswrite]

Always With You (Angel!Reader x Tommy Shelby)

Summary: In some of Tommy's darkest moments, there was someone to give him hope.

This is my contribution to @retromafia Supernatural Celebration! Congrats again on your milestone and thanks for letting me participate!

Words: 5300

Warnings: canon-typical violence, war theme, mentions of death and dying, brief mention of childhood physical abuse, abandonment, swearing, results of Tommy's poor life choices

Moodboard made by the incredibly talented @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

"Tommy, you need to sleep."

"I'm alright." He replied, wiping the sweat dotting his forehead, only to smear more mud across it.

Freddy grabbed the end of Tommy's shovel, forcing his friend to stop and listen. "Tom, when was the last time you slept?"

He tried to think about it. He really tried. But down here, in the mud and darkness where the sunlight could not penetrate, the days blurred into an endless hell. As soon as he stopped shoveling, all the exhaustion he had been ignoring seemed to finally weigh on him like iron chains. He dropped down onto his ass, uncaring of the mud beneath him. His clothes, his hair, his skin was covered in it anyway. Releasing a sigh, he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Fuck, Tommy. You can't keep going like this." His friend implored, the faintest hint of desperation in his voice.

"We're close. We're so fuckin' close, Freddy."

"Aye. Jesus. At least go lay down for an hour, yeah? Go back towards the ladder. If somethin' changes, we'll wake you."

"Or start screamin' like a little girl, eh?"

"Fuck you!" Freddy protested, wiping his hands on his filthy trousers. "That rat was the size of me forearm!"

"Think he was imaginin' it still." Danny snickered as he joined the other two, the lantern dangling from his right hand casting an eerie glow over the three tunnelers.

"Fuck you both. I know what I saw."

"Go on, Sergeant. We're good 'ere." Danny said, directed at Tommy with his off-kilter smile.

"Nothin' good down here, Danny."

Danny seemed to ponder Tommy's words for a moment before shrugging. "Me fuckin' mother-in-law isn't screamin' at me. That's good."

Freddy snorted. "Jesus, that woman is a damn menace. Should be sendin' her across the line. Fuckin' war would be over in half an hour."

Tommy snickered as he relented his position amongst the filth of French mud. Carefully, he made his way back towards the entrance of their tunnel. The ladder marked it like some kind of unattainable redemption. He remembered as a boy, listening to the priest droning on about Jacob's ladder and how it was a gateway to heaven. How angels ascended and descended the ladder in a dream while Jacob slept. But as Tommy stared at the ladder, he knew this was no gateway to heaven. It might drag him up from the mire and darkness, but only then thrust him into bullets and blood and screaming. No, there were no angels here. No gateway to heaven. God had abandoned France long ago. If the cruel bastard even existed.

With a sigh, he leaned against one of the dirt walls, sliding back down onto his ass. His blue eyes closed, eyelids weighing heavy. He tried to drown out the noise, tried to ignore the whispers of Danny and Freddy, tried to ignore the shovels and pickaxes.

Thud.

But it did not matter. The sound had wormed itself into his mind, replacing even the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. Always the shovels against the dirt. Pickaxes when the shovels could not break it up. The repetitive sound followed him, even when he was above the tunnels, as if to remind him where he belonged. In the mud. Beneath the feet of everyone else. In the grave he was only digging for himself and the other tunnelers.

Thud.

He tried to slow his breathing, tried to close his eyes and pretend he was anywhere else beside this hell hole.

Thud.

Then little by little, like his own consciousness was being chipped away at, he was tugged deeper and deeper into sleep.

And for a moment, he was free.

*****

Tommy blearily opened his eyes with all the care of a dead man….and that was how he knew with certainty that he was dreaming.

Since being shipped out from England, he had constantly been on alert, even more so when they reached the battleground. There was no time to let down your guard. Even in your sleep. If it was not the enemy trying to shot or bomb them, it was that cloying terror, aching hunger or overwhelming despair that sunk you into the abyss.

Now his body thrummed with peace. A foreign sensation. The only time he most likely felt this was when he was still in the womb. Beneath his hands was soft, green grass. Above was open skies with only a handful of fluffy clouds to break up the endless blue.

He knew he was dreaming. Unless he had died in his sleep. There were certainly worse ways to go. But this place was too serene for what he knew awaited him in the afterlife.

Overly aware of every movement, he cautiously rolled up into a sitting position, briefly noting he still wore his grimy trousers and shirt. He snorted at himself, even in his own imagination, he was still covered in mud and blood. Still stained by the evidence of war. With his hands threaded through the lush grass, he drew his eyes up from his attire to study his surroundings.

Instead of the stench of death and despair, of soul-sucking muddy tunnels, of blood and shit and piss….he was surrounded by vibrant life.

Rolling, green hills met his gaze. Even from where he sat, he could see five horses grazing. The gentle sound of water led his eyes to the shallow stream parallel to him. On the stream's other side was a copse of trees, standing like sentries over the stream. It all felt so familiar. Like he had been here before.

In his mind's eye, he could see the grouping of vardos, the squealing of children chasing one another and generally getting underfoot of their parents. His mother had brought him and his siblings here before. When the men started demanding money from her to pay off her husband's debts. She would take her children and sneak them away in the dead of night, borrowing a horse from Charlie, and hide away with her clan and family for a few weeks.

It was here he fell in love with horses. Spent every hour on or around the majestic creatures that he could. It did not matter that the animals towered over him. At the ripe age of six years old, Tommy was fearless of the much larger creatures. More often than not, he would sleep under the stars at night, surrounded by the horses while his mother and siblings stayed in the vardo of his grandmother.

With a shaky breath, he ran his hands over his cropped hair as the memories pierced him with more damage than any bullet could.

"Hello, Tommy."

The sweet, lyrical voice washed over Tommy like a cooling balm. Subconsciously he took in a deep breath, letting the comfort settle deeper, releasing the tension in his body. Only then did he turn his head to the left, following the voice.

And stared in wonder at the ethereal creature.

She stood several paces away, her bright eyes watching him. A pure white dress adorned her, a simple piece of fabric with no buttons or excess stitching to draw the eye. The sleeves only just covered her shoulders and the hem danced around her knees, showcasing her bare feet. Yet in the simplicity was beauty.

His eyes continued to scan greedily over her, taking note of everything about her: from the way her hair looked like silk under the midday sun, the gentle smile on her face, the way her skin seemed to shimmer and glow effortlessly, how even the the sunlight cascaded over her like a caress, no shadows dared touch her for she shone like a diamond of the highest grade in the sun. Someone to be worshipped. Someone to be admired in reverent fear and awe.

It felt like a sin to rest his eyes upon her.

He swallowed thickly before speaking. "What are you?"

"I'm an angel."

He took in the information, filtered it through his sieve of an intelligent, calculating mind. And in the moment, the only thing his mind could conjure as a response was: "you don't look like one. Shouldn't you have wings?"

She gave an unladylike snort, but even coming from her, it somehow sounded elegant. "They look pretty but can be bothersome to move around in. I like to keep mine concealed when I can get away with it."

"How do I know for certain? You could be lyin', eh?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he knew it was possibly the dumbest thing he had ever spoken. But there was still that hesitancy tearing at him, that dose of reality that made him question everything and take nothing at face value.

"You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

He responded with a blank look.

"Ugh." She groaned then threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine! Fine! But only to prove that I'm an angel. You are unbelievably stubborn. Look at me! Do I look mortal to you? No, don't answer that. You'll say something equally dumb. I thought humans were supposed to be smarter this century. Just proving me wrong." She finished her rant, slamming her hands on her hips.

"You done?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're lucky I'm your guardian angel, otherwise I'd be tempted to kick your ass." She grumbled. "Might still do it anyway."

His lips twitched in amusement but he hid it from her.

Her eyes, those orbs that shone like twin stars, fluttered closed for the briefest of moments. She breathed deep and with her deliberately slow exhale….he saw them. Two feathered wings of pure white, the color of a fresh snowfall, spread out on either side of her. What meager breath his lungs contained vanished at the side of them. A profound, awestruck wonder enveloped him in its constricting embrace. She stretched her wings out, giving him a view of how magnificent they truly were. At their full length, they were double the length of her arms, and tall enough for the lowest feathers to graze against the grass. While the backs of the feathers appeared snowy white, it was when the wings were at their full length, catching the sun's rays that he caught just another facet of their beauty. For the feathers lining the inside of the wings shimmered in the sun's rays like iridescent opals.

She was radiant. Shining brighter than the sun.

And Tommy was the scum of the earth, unworthy of being in her presence, unworthy of being witness to her illustrious glory. Yet nothing could tear his gaze away from her. Even his own dark sins felt somehow redeemable as she smiled sweetly down at him.

"Do you believe me now?"

"Yes." The word expelled from his lungs, riding on a shaky breath.

Her smile grew, almost blinding him. She closed her eyes briefly once more, this time a tremor rocked her body. Simultaneously, her wings folded back behind her only to vanish as if never there. She rolled her shoulders lazily, then walked towards him with an unnatural grace in her fluid movements. Even when she sat down, near enough he could feel the comforting warmth of her body yet not close to touch, facing in the same direction, his eyes refused to peel themselves away from her.

Her gaze drifted to the stream, watching it with a fond smile. He followed her example, forcibly ripping his eyes off her and back to the gentle water.

"You're me guardian angel then, eh? I reckon I've kept you busy lately."

"You have no idea." She rolled her eyes playfully at him. "And I suspect that won't stop even after the war."

"If I survive." He was uncertain if he actually uttered the words or just thought them.

Those three words, though, haunted his every step. It was that mindset, those thoughts, that every soldier tried to ignore even as they could never be pushed too far from the mind. The high possibility that War and it's possessive lover, Death, would claim him. That he would die in this godforsaken country in a muddy tunnel or trench, surrounded by blood and piss and pain. Or even worse, having to witness his brothers or friends be chosen instead of him. That he would be left behind to rot away in the empty land of the living. He was unsure which possibility was worse- dying or surviving.

He must have uttered those three words aloud since her head whipped around, eyes staring at him with such compassion it made his heart clench.

She reached down and grabbed his hand, holding it clasped between her own soft hands. "You will. I can promise you that. You will survive this war and return to Birmingham….along with your friends and brothers. You've kept them safe, Tommy." She implored, her voice begging him to believe her.

But hope was deadly poison, sinking in and whispering promises that it could never guarantee. Yet as he stared back at her gleaming eyes, feeling the warmth of her hands clasping his, he could feel that hope, that forbidden fruit, dripping into his veins, clearing away the hollowness that he bound himself in.

"I tried." He whispered. His chest ached with something that tasted like hopelessness and desperation. "I try to keep them safe, to make sure they survive but it's war….this bloody, fuckin' war…."

"I know. You will survive and so will they."

He nodded, that little boy inside of him clinging to her words with a death-like grip. "I'm so fuckin' tired of shovels and darkness. I'm 'fraid it won't leave me head even after." He admitted in a pained whisper, his gaze watery even as he furiously tried to blink the tears away. As if the admission sucked the last of his energy, leaving him a dull shell of himself, his chin dropped to his chest, no longer even able to fight the tears leaking from his eyes. "I'm so tired."

"I know." Her hands tightened around his, bringing it to her chest. Remorse and sorrow filled in the gaps of her words. "I wish I could help."

"Could you…." His voice trailed off with a nearly silent sob.

Somehow she knew what his words failed to convey. Instantly, she climbed into his lap, legs straddling him as she wrapped him in her arms. Not for one second did she seem to care that his clothing was filthy and likely would stain her snowy dress. His head landed on her shoulder, his hands gripped the fabric of her dress like it was his last tether to this world. That without her holding him, he would drift away into nothingness.

"It's alright, Tommy, it's alright." She softly cooed, one hand massaging the back of his neck. "I've got you. I'm not leaving you. You can let go."

And he did.

As if her words were the final plug yanked away, the stronghold containing his emotions burst wide open. Heaving sobs fell from his lips. A torrent of tears watered her dress and their skin. All the pain, all the fear, all the frustration and anger and terror, everything that he had locked away deep inside his mind to appear strong and resident for his brothers and his men….it all came flowing out like a ceaseless, raging river, like pus from a wound.

As he wept, she tightly held him. The only anchor saving him from drowning. All the pain he had been allowing to fester since Greta's death, since his mother's death, since his father's abandonment, it all was bled from him.

Now he felt peace in the safety of her arms. Something he had never experienced in his life. As a child there was always the threat of his father's return and subsequent beatings. The lingering, gnawing hunger in his belly from lack of food, no matter what his mother did to try and feed all of her children. Then it was denying himself to feel anything as he was forced to provide for his siblings. That betrayal, that emptiness, at his mother's death was only an afterthought. And as if the world had not cast enough misery in his life, he found love and watched her slowly wither away as he desperately made pleas and bargains with a God he never believed in. Then War swept in like a ravenging plague to drag him into its depths, binding him in chains until Death stole his soul or War released him with a mocking smile. For who ever truly escaped War and Death? Once one was within their grasp, they would always be forever scarred.

But for the moment, for this finite and limitless break in an unforgiving reality, he was safe. In her embrace, he did not have to be strong. He could be that boy again that just wanted to be held and told that he was enough. That he was loved. So this dream, this illusion, he drank it in like a man dying of thirst in the desert. He breathed in her sweet scent and soaked in the warmth of her touch, reveling in the feeling of being held without expecting a demand in return. He could simply be.

After a time, his tears dried and his inner storm of turmoil died down. With a heavy sigh, he pulled his head back. His hands released their grip and floated down to land on her hips. Her eyes, those gleaming eyes with the light of stars in them, gazed at him gently. Not with pity. They met his own gaze as if reading into his soul and trying to implant this moment of serenity there.

Tenderly, she brushed away the residue of tears on his cheeks. "You are not a simple man, Thomas Shelby. You have the marking of greatness and destiny upon you. I cannot save you from this, but I can grant you a small gift. Something to help when it seems peace has abandoned you and the darkness threatens to swallow you whole."

At his nod, she placed her hand on the left side of his chest, over his heart. A jolt shot through him like a lightning bolt. His eyes widened and his heart raced as his body struggled to remember to breathe. Almost as quickly as the bolt hit him, it disappeared, leaving him wondering what happened.

His icy blue eyes sought hers once again, seeking understanding.

Her hand retracted from his chest, moving to cup his cheek. "Just remember you are not alone. I will always be nearby, watching over you."

Carefully he licked his lips, tasting the salt on them from his tears, before he gave a single nod. After a long second he managed to rasp out, "don't s'pose you have a cigarette."

She rolled her eyes. "Those are terrible for you. Besides, what kind of angel do you think I am?"

"I suspect not a very good angel, eh? Sitting in a man's lap like this. Givin' him ideas." He teased, giving her hips a quick squeeze.

She laughed, and whatever bottomless pit his heart resided in soared up to the heavens at the sound. He hoped to never forget it.

"Deviant." She smacked his shoulder before sliding off his lap to sit next to him, their shoulders touching. "A 'good' angel, as you say, would not be able to keep up with you."

"I s'pose that's a fair point."

"You know you've had two other guardian angels assigned to you before, but they both sought reassignment. Apparently you were more than they could handle." She lightly teased.

"Yeah?"

"Hmmm….Arthur's even worse. You wouldn't believe the number of guardian angels he's gone through. There's a few of us taking bets on how long this next one will last. You Shelbys certainly keep us on our toes."

He smirked. "My apologies."

"You're not sorry. It's alright, I don't mind. Being your guardian angel gives me a front row to watch you succeed. Now I don't have to creep around and watch, somehow Gabriel always caught me and then I would get the disapproving eyes and that shake of his head that makes you know he's disappointed without him even saying it."

"You'd watch me?"

He was unsure if an angel could blush, but when she dropped her head, shielding her face from his gaze, he knew she had not expected him to catch those words in her statement. Chuckling quietly, he wondered how he had ever earned the interest of an angel. Especially the one beside him.

"Shut up." She smacked his thigh this time.

"I don't know much about guardian angels, yeah? But I would think they aren't supposed to tell their….person to shut up or hit them. I may have to report you to your superiors."

"Ugh, Christ." She mumbled, covering her face with her hands.

"And now using the Lord's name in vain." He tisked with a click of his tongue. "You're definitely not a 'good' angel."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. That's how I've managed to stay with you for so long."

"Or when you'd creep on me."

"Shut up!" She smacked him again, both of them ending up laughing.

He snagged her hand, partially to keep her from hitting him again, and threaded their fingers together. A thrill shot through him when she did not pull away. A peaceful silence filled the air around them. For several minutes, they just watched the nearby stream together. Tommy wished they never had to leave this. That they could forever stay here.

A sullen sigh drew his attention back to her. A remorseful pain clouded her eyes as they met his. "You have to wake up now."

"No."

"I'm sorry. They need you."

"I don't want to." Suddenly he could feel it in the back of his mind, like someone tapping on a door, trying to summon his attention. He ignored it, wanting to stay here, wanting to linger in the serenity that he had never experienced before. With each passing heartbeat, the tapping got louder and louder.

"I know. But you have to."

"Please." The plea, the begging, fell from his lips before he could stop it. Maybe another time he would be embarrassed by it. Thomas Shelby never begged. Not for food, he'd rather steal and deal with the coppers. Not for his father's beatings to end, for if his father was focused on him, then his mother and siblings were safe. He never begged….until now.

"Just remember that I'm always with you, Tommy." A single tear streaked down her cheek, glistening in the sunlight. "I promise I won't leave you."

He nodded, squeezing her hand still holding his. What more could be said? This dream, this illusion, was only a reprieve from reality and now it was time to return.

Without his permission, his eyes closed. That tapping turned into a thunderous knocking against his brain. Each knock coincided with his heartbeat, feeling like a grenade going off with each one. He wanted to scream into the void, to make it stop. To promise to wake if the sound would only cease. The sound was both inside and outside him, like he was stuck inside a drum, constantly being beat upon in a slow rhythm that was building, building, building…..

"Tommy."

His mind latched onto his name, following the sound through the painful thundering. The darkness surrounding him swiftly turned gray.

"Tommy!"

His stormy eyes snapped open. He gasped as he sat up in a frenzy, almost headbutting Freddy who was knelt beside him.

"Easy, man, easy." He coaxed.

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to dislodge the sleep, the dream, from his mind, as he returned to the familiar mud and darkness he found himself in. "What is it?"

"They're on the other side."

That simple statement made Tommy's head jerk up to stare at his friend. It was now that he could see Danny had dimmed the lantern. That a soft pounding sounded through the tunnel like an echoing of doom. The calling card of Death's arrival.

His gaze shifted to Danny who squatted nearby, watching his Sergeant, awaiting orders, even as he rung his hands nervously.

"Alright, boys, you know what to do." Tommy spoke quietly. That was enough to send the three men grabbing for what weapons they were allowed in the tunnels.

The dirt and mud at the far end of the tunnel shook with each pounding, the enemy drawing closer with each second.

His hand slid to his chest, ghosting over his heart where she had touched him. In that movement, he could feel it. As if she had branded herself to him. With his hand over his rapidly beating heart, he felt her presence, like a line straight to her. And it gave him courage. He remembered her words, her declaration. He would make it home. Him and his brothers and his friends, this War would not claim them.

"In the bleak midwinter." Tommy murmured just before the enemy's shovels broke through and all hell was set loose.

*****

The cigarette smoke curled in the air, rising heavenward. Tommy leaned back in his plush, leather chair, watching the smoke drift away until it vanished. In one hand was the lit cigarette and the other a tumbler of whiskey. His two constant vices. The very things he needed more than air and water and food. The only things to keep him going.

If he was in a better mood, he might have snorted self-deprecatingly at the thought.

At one time, what kept him going was family and ambition. To bring his family out of the slums and make a name for them.

Yet it was Christmas Eve and he sat all alone in his office in the Arrow House.

He had wealth now. He had prestige. His family no longer resided in the filth of Small Heath. More and more people knew the name Shelby now. It was everything he had wanted. And still he was all alone.

Even little Charlie had been tucked into bed hours ago by his nanny. Something a father should have done on Christmas Eve. But it never occurred to him until later, long after his boy was in bed.

So he continued to sit all alone, watching the smoke rise from his mouth and dance in the air until it vanished.

"Hello, Tommy."

He blinked slowly. It had been years since he heard her voice, even in his dreams. More than once he had wondered if she had abandoned him even after her promise.

Lazily, he rolled his head to the side, piercing her with his signature cool indifference. Perhaps if he had anymore tears to cry, he would have wept at her beauty, at the air of serenity she still carried. But he felt even more dead inside than when he labored digging tunnels. Tears were useless for the dead.

She still wore the same white dress, still barefoot and without wings. She looked exactly how he remembered seeing her so long ago. His heart clenched at the sight of her. If he had felt unworthy the first time he beheld her, now he knew his presence tainted her just by the proximity, his sins heaped upon one another to destroy anything good he touched.

With that effortless grace, she walked from the doorway further into his office. Her eyes scanned all around as if seeing the place for the first time, a small smile lit up her face.

"You know, you could make my job a little easier." She quipped, making her way over to him. She leaned against the side of his desk, just within reach, watching him with those gleaming, star-filled eyes that penetrated his soul.

"Aye. Could have." He said in an exhale, each word accompanied by smoke.

"But we all know the great Thomas Shelby lives for danger. He needs that rush to remember he's alive."

"Or he doesn't know how else to live."

A suffocating silence filled the void after he uttered the painful words. A harrowing truth he avoided at all costs. Even in the darkest of nights, when whiskey or opium blinded him but sleep refused to find him, not even then did he scratch at that truth.

With a sudden huff, she extended her hand, fingers wiggling at him.

"Wot?"

"Give it here."

A single eyebrow raised in mild shock, he handed his half used cigarette over. She immediately inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before letting the smoke slip past her lips like a song.

He chuckled when she handed it back over. "Thought you was an angel, isn't smokin' a sin or somethin'?"

"Yeah, well, told you, I'm not a 'good' angel. How else would I keep up with you?"

They passed the cigarette back and forth quietly a few times before he broke the silence.

"Y'know, when you said you was goin' give me a gift, you never mentioned it would be tattooed to my skin."

She smirked, that twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I think it looks good on you. Do you not like it?" She leaned forward and placed her hand flat over his heart, right where the several dark lines lay that looked almost like a rising sun.

"Startled me the first time I saw it." He placed his hand over hers, that tingle that shot through him at the touch now a familiar comfort. "Where have you been?"

"Believe it or not, but I may have gotten into some….trouble after our last encounter. Apparently I wasn't supposed to tell you that you'd survive."

"They reassign you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I was just forbidden to show myself to you."

"Why now?"

She hesitated before speaking, her gaze dropping to their hands still over his heart before she quietly spoke. "Because you need me."

Tommy waited for the shame to sink its claws into him. That feeling he hated of needing someone else, of not being able to survive on his own. But it never came. Instead a swell of gratitude enveloped him that she was here. That for this short time, he was not alone.

He dropped the cigarette into the overfilled ash tray on his desk and set his tumbler down next to it. Carefully he shifted and tugged her closer. She willingly stepped in between his spread legs. That sense of peace he had yearned for since he first encountered her swallowed him whole, bringing tears of relief to his eyes. He dropped his head to her stomach, hands fisting the back of her dress. One of her hands carded through his hair and massaged his neck while she softly hummed a tune.

"I used to talk to you sometimes when I couldn't sleep, yeah? And the fuckin' shovels were knockin' on me bedroom wall. I'd tell you about me day or plans I had. Anythin' to get the shovels to stop." He confessed.

"I was always there. I heard you."

"But you never spoke." It would have come out almost an accusation if his agony was not apparent.

Her breath hitched, her hand stalling in the longer strands of his hair. He could feel her bend slightly to kiss the top of his head. When she spoke, it was filled with regret. "I couldn't. But I was there with you, every night and day. Always by your side."

"Everyone has left me." He pressed the side of his face further into her stomach as if to sink himself into her, desperately trying to absorb what peace she so willingly offered him. "You're not leavin' me, right?"

"No, Tommy. I'll never leave you." She promised.

He allowed her words to penetrate his soul, to let the flooding warmth in them mend his broken heart. Those simple words renewed his spirit. That no matter what happened, there would always be one person by his side. Even if he could not see her. At least his guardian angel believed in him.

Tag List:

Peaky Blinders (all): @slytherinicequeen @geekandbooknerd @lilyrachelcassidy @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[mrsalwayswrite]

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.

Tag List:

TLK (all) @geekandbooknerd @trenko-heart @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @solinarimoon @errruvande-2-00

Temptation @ecarroll1978

[mrsalwayswrite]

Sinners and Saints (Sihtric x reader)

Summary: One day you stumble upon your childhood friend, Osferth, whom you have not seen in years. Yet the more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself drawn to his companion, Sihtric….and the butterflies his dark eyes give you.

This is my contribution to @emilyhufflepufftlk 100 followers challenge! Congratulations again! I’m so happy for you! 

My prompt was - "Love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints." - Lin-Manuel Miranda, Hamilton (in bold within the story)

Words: 5500

Warnings: A couple of swear words, fluff, my poor attempts at humor, Osferth being a good bro. 

Tag List: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @flowers-in-your-hayr​

This gorgeous moodboard was made by @flowers-in-your-hayr​. All credit goes to her! 

"...so there she was, aye, and next thing I know, she flips 'er dress up and I see the most perfect set of…."

 "I'm going to be sick." Osferth mumbled to himself, trying to block out Finan's retelling of his prior night. To the laughter of his companions, he started to push away from the outdoor table at the alehouse. He was no virgin anymore, Finan and Uhtred had seen to that, but he still felt squeamish when listening to their stories of recent conquests. His mother's voice whispered in the back of his mind, things she had told him before her passing, about respect and love. Plus, he could not help but think that this idea of conquests, of women's worth derived from what pleasure a man could take from their bodies, was what brought bastards into this world….like him. 

 "Alright, Finan, we get it. You saw the arse of a goat and couldn't help yourself." Uhtred teased, slinging an arm around Osferth so he could not escape them- most likely to find a church and pray for their souls. 

 "Oi, lord! Ya know that was one time!" Finan feigned mock-outrage, making Uhtred and Sihtric laugh. 

 Osferth put a hand over his eyes as if that would somehow block the image from his mind. Something he desperately did not want there. 

 "How much longer are we here, lord?" Sihtric asked, changing the subject, while twirling a dagger between his hands fluidly. 

 Although Osferth would never admit it aloud, and God forgive him, it was hard not to be jealous of how easily his companions handled their weapons like they had been born with weapons in hand. They continued to tell him it was practice. Recently though, he decided it was a gift that he clearly did not have. 

 "Until I feel satisfied with the training of Lord Godwin's fyrd and his defenses." Uhtred stated indifferently, as if it was something he had to repeat to himself often. 

 "Ya think King Alfred knew how much of a horse's arse Lord Godwin is?"

 Uhtred glanced up, a tiny smirk on his lips. "Probably."

 "But he knew you were the man for the job." Osferth commented. Not necessarily to defend his father but to hopefully bolster Uhtred's confidence. "The men respect you, even if their lord fails to acknowledge his own respect."

 "The baby monk is right." Finan said. "What else needs to be done for the town?"

 Uhtred and Finan began discussing ideas and strategies, Sihtric adding an occasional comment but mostly just listening. 

 Osferth found his attention wandering, since this was an area outside of his expertise. His gaze drifted to the town and its residents who moved about to complete their duties under the midday sun. Their group had only been in this large town for two days and already Osferth was keen to return to Coccham. 

 From amidst the crowd, a familiar face caught his attention. The world tilted off its axis as his entire body went rigid, all his focus zeroed in on her. His heart hammered in his chest and the air whooshed from his lungs painfully. 

 "Y/n?" He muttered to himself, disbelief and shock clearly painted in his tone and on his face. 

 "Baby monk, ya alright?"

 Finan's words did even register, so consumed by the ghost before him. Rapidly, he slid off the bench, almost losing his footing when he went to stand, but pressed on, hurrying towards her. 

 "Y/n!" He called, an almost desperate tone in his yell. 

 When she did not turn around, he shouted louder. "Y/N!" 

 That time she paused, then slowly turned to find him standing still amongst those walking around him, a solid rock in a stream of people. He held his breath as he intently watched her expression, suddenly worried seeing him would not be as meaningful as he hoped. He could see her utter his name silently, eyes wide. Then in the next moment, she dropped the basket on her hip and ran towards him. He opened his arms just in time for her to collide with him, and with her embrace, a painful wave of nostalgia and guilt crashed over him with the strength of a tempest. 

 "It's really you." She finally whispered, peering at him in awe. 

 "Hi." He smiled, his own shock clouding his mind from forming coherent sentences.  

 Then to his surprise, she reared back and punched him in the arm. 

 "Ouch! What was that for?" He whined, rubbing the offended limb. 

 Throwing her hands in the air, they landed on her hips as her voice rose in anger. "For disappearing in the middle of the night without telling me!"

 "I did tell you."

 "That you were THINKING about leaving, not that you WERE leaving!" She reared back and punched him in the arm again, ignoring his pained cry as she continued to berate him. "I spent an entire day running around the monastery trying to find you only for Father Harold to finally pull me aside and tell me you left for Wincheaster." 

 And there was the heaping of guilt he knew he deserved. "I'm sorry….I just….I just knew if I didn't leave that night, then I never would."

 Her face softened at his quiet admission, understanding passing in her eyes. "I know. I wasn't truly surprised…. Just wish you'd have told me before."

 "I'm sorry."

 She sighed, all anger and frustration disappearing, much to his relief. She was a force to be reckoned with when truly in her fury. "So, what are you doing here?"

 "Ah, traveled here with the Lord Uhtred to assist Lord Godwin in his defenses….or something."

 "Uhtred? That Uhtred?"

 He smiled at her, catching the reverence in her tone. "That very one."

 "How did you find him? How did you join him? Wait! Are you a warrior now? We have a lot to talk about and you better get started." There went the hands on her hips again, making his smile widen at the image. Even as a young girl, when her hands were on her hips, you knew she meant business. 

 "Would you like to meet him first?"

 A shy look passed over her face that he was unused to seeing. "I'm…. I'm not presentable to meet a lord."

 He scanned her, noting the dried mud on the hem of her dress and shoes, the small smear of what looked like flour on her left temple. What he noticed most was how the years had made her even more beautiful. She had always been a pretty girl but now, she truly looked like a beautiful woman. A fact he was unsure of how to feel about. 

 He chuckled lightly after a moment. "Well, you certainly smell better than Lord Uhtred so I think it's fine."

 That caused her to tip her head back and laugh loudly, the desired effect of his comment. She gathered up her basket and walked next to Osferth, back to the table where his companions were. It was impossible to ignore their curious stares as they approached. 

 "Lord Uhtred, may I introduce y/n. Y/n, this is Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg." Osferth said, standing next to her at the end of the table.

 Uhtred nodded graciously, clearly wondering why this woman mattered and why Osferth was introducing her. 

 "Oh, it's an honor to meet you!" Y/n gushed, a bright smile on her face. "Uncle Leofric told us so much about you, but I never thought I'd ever meet you in person."

 "Leofric?" That caught his lord's attention, his gaze narrowing and eyeing her with renewed interest. "How did you know that turd?"

 "When he came to visit Osferth, he'd tell us stories."

 "Ah….all exaggerated, of course." Uhtred said with a cocky smirk. 

 "Wait. I think we're missin' the most important thing here." Finan leaned forward, dark eyes bouncing between Osferth and her, as he pointed a finger at them, hand still wrapped around his cup. "Ya said 'Uncle Leofric'....are ya related to Osferth?"

 Osferth answered quickly. "No, her family owned the farm next to the monastery, so we grew up together." Then he furrowed his brows as a thought hit him. He had been so amazed to see his childhood best friend (only friend really) that he had not realized that she should be back at the farm and not in this town. "Wait, y/n, why are you here and not at the farm?"

 Her face crumpled for a brief second before she was able to mask it into a neutral expression. She shrugged casually, but he could read the subtle tension in the action. "We lost the farm, so mother and I came here to look for work."

 "Ah." There were so many things he wanted to ask but could tell now was not the right time. If she lived here, he would have plenty of time to hear the full story later. Instead he decided to change the subject. "So, you know Lord Uhtred, the others are Finan and Sihtric…. And Sihtric is also a bastard." He added as an afterthought. 

 That made her face light up as she turned to look at the Dane. "Hey, another bastard! We really need to start a club. We can all rant about how awful our fathers are."

 "You're a bastard?" Uhtred asked, shock evident in his voice. 

 "Yes, my lord. My mother was a servant for a lord. Got pregnant. The lord's wife did not like that so sent my pregnant mother back to her family. Certainly, it was our Lord's Will because how else would I have been able to grow up with Osferth?" She asked, patting him on the cheek affectionately. He blushed and swatted her hand away, much to the other's amusement. 

 "I reckon you have quite a few amusin' stories of growin' up with Osferth, eh?" Finan smirked. 

 "I might….but I don't share secrets for free." She matched his smirk with her own crooked smile. 

 He slapped his hand on the table. "I'll owe ya a drink! I need to 'ear this."

 "No….oh no, no, no." Osferth said but knew it was a lost cause before he even tried to deter them. The rest were already deciding when and where to meet that night. "Lord help me."

 "It's not that bad." She teased, bumping his arm with hers. "The worst one is when we went streaking naked through the monastery."

 Osferth felt his face heat up like the flames of hell itself as everyone laughed. "It was your idea."

 "Yeah, yeah, so you like to remind me." She smiled fondly. "Now, if I don't get back home, my mother is going to think I've run off with some man or I've been kidnapped. Either way, she will raise the fyrd herself to find me. I will see you all tonight."

 The others said their goodbyes but before she could step too far away, Osferth gently touched her arm, halting her movement. 

 "Y/n….I'm….I'm glad our paths have crossed once again."

 She pulled him into a tight embrace. "I am too, Osferth. I've missed you." With that, she turned and walked away with her basket still on her hip; but not without glancing over her shoulder at the group before disappearing around some buildings. 

 Once out of sight, Osferth sighed and turned back to his companions, only to see them all still staring intently in the direction she disappeared. 

 "No….y/n is off-limits to you fornicators." He stated firmly, well as firmly as he could be. 

 "She's very pretty…." Uhtred declared, a playful grin on his face. 

 "Lord, no. All of you, keep your hands off of her."

 "Or what?" Finan chuckled, eyes alight with mischief. "You'll fight us, baby monk?"

 "I will if I must."

 "Alright. Her dignity won't be tarnished." Uhtred lifted his cup in Osferth's direction. "Your reputation might be tonight depending on what stories she shares." 

 Osferth groaned, sitting back down next to his lord. "I'm going to need a lot of ale."

 "That can certainly be arranged!" Finan laughed, jovial once more. 

 As discussion started back up again, they all missed the silent, longing glance Sihtric snuck one last time in the direction she walked away….

 *****

 Over the next several weeks Lord Uhtred helped increase the defenses of the town and instructed the guards and fyrd how to better defend against the Danes. 

 During those weeks, you found yourself frequently spending time with Osferth and his companions. First it started off with meeting them in the evenings for ale, laughter and good company. Within days, it became almost expected for one of them to purposefully seek you out. Most of the time it was Osferth and Sihtric coming to join you in whatever your tasks for the day because they were bored or unwanted in meetings. It was not difficult to tell that although they were certainly welcomed members of Uhtred's group, not everyone else saw them in such a positive light. 

 So the three of you often passed the hours away together, waiting until evening to rejoin Uhtred and Finan at the alehouse. Their presence became such a regular occurrence that your mother practically adopted them, they even had their assigned seats at your small kitchen table for meals. Somehow, they seamlessly slipped into your daily life in a way that seemed like they were meant to be there this whole time. 

 Even at the alehouse in the evenings, you usually found yourself nestled between Osferth and Sihtric on the bench. A place you certainly found yourself enjoying more and more….especially next to the Dane. 

 Over the weeks, there was something growing between you and the Dane. It gradually revealed itself with each passing day, growing like the roots of an oak tree. It was through the borderline flirtatious comments that you teased each other with. It was in the subtle touches that caused butterflies in your stomach to dance, from your fingers barely gracing each other when passing something, to the way you leaned your head on his shoulder when your eyelids threatened to close, to the way your thighs would touch under the table and away from view of the others. It was in the lingering looks when your gazes locked and you swore you never wanted to look away. It was in the consistency of being next to one another whenever you could, either sitting at a table or just walking down the street, almost like your bodies were magnetized to one another's. 

 Plus the more you talked to Sihtric, the more you desired to know about him. For he was like no other man you had ever met. 

 Almost a fortnight after you reunited with Osferth, there was one particular evening after staying out far too late with the four men and drinking a bit too much, Sihtric graciously offered to walk you back home. You knew propriety demanded Osferth should be the one to escort you but he was already passed out, head on the table and snores emitting from his mouth. Giggling at your childhood friend, you accepted Sihtric's offer and the two of you easily fell into step. 

 On the walk you learned more about his past, about going up in Dunholm and his cruel father. You had heard bits and pieces while with Osferth and the others. Maybe it was under the cover of darkness, maybe it was the extra ale flowing through both of your blood, but he confessed secrets to you he had never told another besides his mother. When you reached your home, before he could slip away, you clutched his arm and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. After, you bid him goodnight and slipped inside your humble home. 

 After that night, he always walked you home, sometimes alone and sometimes one of the others would join. But when it was just you two, when you were alone, you would bid him a goodnight with a kiss on the cheek or he would kiss your hand, locking eyes with you in a way that made a fire stir in your belly and your core clench. 

 There was definitely something between the two of you, but neither seemed able to verbalize it or take the next step. 

 *****

 "So, what is going on between you and Cedric?" 

 You turned your head to look at Osferth, who laid on the grass next to you, soaking in the heat of the early afternoon sun. "What?"

 "You know….that blacksmith. The one you were talking to the other day."

 "Oh." The memory hit you. You had stopped by to drop off your mother's damaged cooking pot for Cedric to attempt in fixing, although you personally thought it was a helpless cause. The dent in it was significant, but he offered to see what he could do. As you dropped it off at his workshop, the two of you began discussing an approaching saint's day and the celebration that would occur with it. 

 Several minutes later, you heard your name called and looked over to see Osferth and Sihtric walking towards you. You bid Cedric a farewell, promising to stop by the next day to come pick up the pot. After receiving his promise to try his best at fixing it, you headed off towards the stables with your fellow bastards. At the time, you had not thought the encounter significant but with it happening two days ago and Osferth now bringing it up, you wondered how long he had been ruminating on it. 

 Finally, you simply said, "he's a good man, and has been kind to my mother and I since we arrived here."

 "Is he….pursuing you?" Osferth turned his head to scrutinize you, his lips pursed slightly as if concerned about your answer. 

 You openly laughed at the notion. "No, that's silly. He is just a kind man."

 If anything, you had to fend off flirtatious advancements from some of the young men that worked under Cedric. Those same young men quickly learned to keep their eyes on their work and mouths shut. When one openly called out to you, and before you could offer a sharp retort, Cedric threw a hammer at him from across the shop. He bellowed that he did not allow heathens to work for him and if they chose to act godless then they needed to find a new place of work. Their blatant interest diminished after that and Cedric made a point to be the only one that conversed with you if you came to the shop. Although he was easily ten years your senior, you found him a likeable man with a quick wit and sarcastic comments that occasionally left you in stitches. 

 The idea of him pursuing you was an amusing idea. He was still a bachelor, never having married, claiming that his work and apprentices kept him far too busy for much else. 

 Your answer appeared to satisfy Osferth. A thoughtful look crossed his face and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but immediately slowly closed it and turned his head back to stare at the blue sky. 

 A stillness settled after your answer, only interrupted by the frequent bird song and the wind through the tall grass. You closed your eyes, enjoying the sun's warmth and just lying around relaxing on the hill outside of the town, away from the hustle and bustle and chores that demanded your attention.  

 "He was watching you like a man who wants a woman." Sihtric stated after a couple minutes of peaceful silence. 

 Startled by his sour tone, you shifted up to look over at the Dane. He sat on the other side of Osferth, one leg propped up and an arm casually slung over it, but his gaze was focused straight ahead, staring off into the distance. Now that you thought about it, over the past two days Sihtric had become more reserved and sullen than you had ever seen. Even his companions commented on it a few times to which he would shrug his shoulders or make an excuse and walk away. You had thought he just missed Coccham, the group having been away for so long, or something happened that made him introspective. It had also not escaped your notice how the prior closeness between you two had halted. Now you wondered if there was something more to his demeanor.  

 "Well, that is most unfortunate for him since I am not interested in him."

 "Does your mother not want you to marry?" Osferth asked, his voice deceptively neutral. 

 Sighing, you leaned back on your hands. Eventually you knew Osferth would bring up the topic, he was your friend after all and you were certainly of marriageable age. Actually far too old to not be married by some people's standards, but you ignored them. "She does but she has told me that she will not force it upon me. She said I should make my own choice….that if I am able, I should choose love."

 You knew your mother offered you that choice in hopes your life would turn out differently than her own. 

 "But if Cedric is a good, kind man….could you not love him….or someone like him?" Osferth pressed. 

 "Perhaps. There are plenty of men I have seen who the church would call a 'good' man but are cruel in their own home, and there are many men who are calloused but it's obvious they love their wife and children. My love doesn't discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. I would rather choose a man whom I know loves and cares for me than a man I know is 'good' but carries no love in his heart." You paused, the candid confession rolling off your tongue before you realized it. Sighing, you ran a hand over your hair before quietly saying. "I just….I just want someone that loves me….sinner or saint."

 Not a word was spoken as all three contemplated your statement, the silence hanging heavy like a brewing storm. Tilting your face to the sky, unable to meet the gazes of your companions, you chastised yourself for the candor with which you spoke. Osferth had asked a simple question initially and you chose to make it complicated. They did not need to know how you longed for love, how the hope for it in your potential future was what kept you going. It was foolish and you supposed after this, they would only see you as a silly girl with outlandish dreams of a storybook romance. 

 Finally, Osferth broke the silence. "Well, I shall be praying fervently for this man….hopefully he knows what he is getting into before he marries you."

 You laughed, appreciating his lighthearted comment. Reaching a hand out to smack Osferth's arm, you teased. "Keep that up and you won't be invited to my wedding."

 "Your mother will let me in."

 "Yeah, you're probably right." You glanced over in the direction of the town, regretting that your time away had to end. "I need to head back, those chores won't finish themselves."

 The three of you headed back to the town, quiet contemplation cloaking your group. Yet you feared that whatever spark lay between you and the Dane had been extinguished forever by your unexpected honesty. For still he refused to look your way, keeping his gaze focused forward. If your heart fissured within your chest, you swallowed down the pain. It was better for the spark to die out now then burn brightly only to be smothered later. 

 Or at least that was what you told yourself. 

 *****

 "What you said….about the sinners and the saints…."

 You whirled around, heart leaping into your throat with a silent scream on your tongue. In the small herb garden behind your house, you had thought you were alone. After the awkward conversation on the hill earlier that day, you sought solace in your chores. Thankfully Osferth and Sihtric headed back to meet with their companions on their own accord, leaving you to trudge through your muddled thoughts with all the grace of a newborn foal. 

 Now you found the very person who your thoughts centered on, standing just a few paces from you….and your heart began to race for a very different reason. 

 When his voice trailed off, those dark eyes that set fire licking through your veins dropped to the ground, you quietly stood up from where you had knelt, wiping the dirt from your hands, although you moved no closer. 

 "Sihtric?" You tried to prompt him. 

 "Is it true?" His piercing gaze lifted to meet yours, stealing the very breath from your lungs. "Your love doesn't discriminate?"

 "Yes." You breathed out. 

 He nodded silently before taking a step closer to you. "And what about….what about Danes?"

 Your chest pulled tight at his words, yet a coy smile grew on your lips. The flutter in your belly made your gaze drop for a moment as you tried to stifle the excitement making butterflies dance. Although this was no declaration, it was the closest the two of you had talked about what lay between you. Taking a steadying breath, you prayed this moment would not pass by without confessing the truth that you had harbored in your heart for weeks now. 

 "Not even towards Danes." You shook your head, the smile still on your lips. "And…. There is one I'm becoming quite fond of lately."

 "Yeah?" He took two steps closer, somehow moving cautiously but eating the ground with each determined step. 

 "But….do you think this Dane could be….fond of me?" You softly murmured, feeling as if your heart lay in the palms of your hands for all to see. 

 That last step separating you two disappeared almost before you finished asking your question. His hands ever so gently reached over to take yours, entwining your fingers together. The two of you stood so close, your chests almost touched with each breath you took. Your breathing seemed to cease under the intensity of his gaze and a shiver raced up your spine. Yet you had no desire to withdraw from him.

 "He would be a fool not to." He whispered, the barest hint of a tremble in his voice. "I'd bet you are constantly on this Dane's mind. That he cannot go a day without seeing your face and hearing your laugh. You are the first thought that he wakes to and the reason he falls asleep with a smile. That you have become the north star that it seems the gods have been guiding him towards for his whole life."

  As he spoke, everything faded to oblivion around you. The past and future vanished. Dane versus Saxon disappeared. The world narrowed down to this….this moment….this moment that you had dreamt of but never thought would come true. 

 The two of you continued to stand there, lost in one another's eyes with fingers intertwined. Your heart raced within your chest but a cooling breeze swept away the fears that plagued your mind. For staring at him, you knew he spoke no falsehoods. That he owned your heart just as much as you owned his. That very heart you could feel hammering away in his own chest. His eyes fervently held yours, a silent conversation, a confession, spoken only in looks but you both understood the language. His gaze dipped down to your lips, tracing them before slowly rising once again to your eyes. A curl of pleasure blossomed in your core as you witnessed the fire now in his eyes. 

 "If this Dane wanted to kiss me…. I wouldn't mind."

 A deliciously, sinful smirk teased his mouth. "As my lady commands."

 His head tilted, leaning towards yours. Unconsciously your eyelids fluttered closed. Then the briefest of touches made your knees weak and your mouth part open in a sigh. After a moment's hesitation, he continued to shower your jawline with kisses. Needing to touch him, your hands landed on his chest, feeling the tunic that covered his firm chest. Your hands moved upward to grasp the back of his neck, his pulse jumping for a second as your nails scraped his skin. His hands landed on the curve of your waist, bringing you even closer to him, erasing the unwanted space between your bodies. 

 As his lips began their ascent upward along the otherwise of your jaw, you moved. For the burning sparks in your body screamed if he did not kiss you, you would spontaneously combust. Shifting your face, you stole a kiss on his lips before he could place it on your skin. It was more of a gentle pressing of your mouths, but even then, you heard a sharp inhale from him. Before you could question him, his mouth returned to yours with soft, probing kisses that urged you to respond. Not that you would ever deny him. What started off as a gentle flame quickly became a roaring fire. Breathing became unnecessary, for how could air bring you life when your body craved Sihtric, when your lungs demanded to breathe him in instead. He led you in a drugging kiss that had you melting against him. Your lips drank from one another as if that alone could sustain you forevermore.  

 "THANK YA, GOD!!" 

 The passionate kiss abruptly ended as Sihtric and your gazes darted towards the side of your house. Only to be met with the sight of his three companions standing at the entrance in various states of smugness. 

 "Oh, for the love of Odin…." Sihtric mumbled. 

 You buried your face in Sihtric's chest, face heated in embarrassment but unable to stop the giggles that poured forth. So caught up in finally confessing your feelings and kissing the man who haunted your dreams, you forgot that anyone could walk by and see you. His arms tightened around you, keeping you within his protective, loving embrace….and you knew there was nowhere else you would rather be. 

 "Took the two of ya long enough." Finan continued, leaning against the side of your humble home with a shit-eating grin. 

 "Amen." Osferth had a small, teasing smile on his face. "Thought I would have to lock them in a room together before one of them finally confessed."

 Apparently, you and Sihtric were not as subtle as you previously thought. Now it made sense why Osferth was questioning you about Cedric and your thoughts on love and marriage earlier. Your heart flooded with gratitude towards your childhood friend, for without him you doubted neither Sihtric or you would have spoken up. Peering over, you caught Osferth's eye and mouthed a quick 'thank you'. He nodded, a simple joy radiating from his face. 

 "Lord?" Sihtric called over with a blank expression. "Permission to continue?"

 Uhtred chuckled. "I guess you've waited long enough. Go ahead." 

 Without waiting a moment longer, Sihtric tipped your face back up towards his and claimed your lips once more. You vaguely thought you heard laughter coming from the others but it all blurred away, like a faint sound while underwater. All you could see, all you could feel, all you could hear was Sihtric. 

 Just how you wanted it. 

 Suddenly you yanked your head back, your breathing labored and lips swollen. "My mother is helping at a nearby farm today. She won't be back until it's dark."

 He hummed against your skin trailing small kisses along your jawline and down your neck as if unable to keep his hands and mouth off you now that the dam had been released. 

 "I'm not as pure as Osferth thinks me to be."

 That statement made his actions stop. Carefully he raised his head to meet your gaze. "After dark?" He confirmed, voice rough in a way that sent a bolt of heat through you. 

 "Yes, she planned on having supper with them….so my home is currently empty….and I did just clean my blankets the other day…."

 He swooped in to give you a feverish, greedy kiss that left no doubt where his mind had gone. When he finally pulled back, you were surprised your legs could still hold you upright. Your whole body felt like puddy in his arms and he had only kissed you, albeit you doubted you would ever forget the way his mouth worshiped yours. 

 "You are certain? You want this?" He softly asked, staring into your eyes once more. "You want me?" 

 It was the last question, the vulnerable undertone, the hint of insecurity in it that sealed your decision. Letting your actions be your answer, you grabbed his hand and started pulling him in the direction of the door to your home. It did not take more than a second for him to come beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

 With his taste on your lips, the future did not matter right now. It did not matter that he was Dane and you were not. All you knew was Sihtric was neither a saint nor a sinner, but simply a man deserving of love. The river of your love was pointing you directly towards him, and you silently vowed to never let it run dry. 

[mrsalwayswrite]

A Shelby Mistress - Part 4

Here it is, lovelies! The final part! A huge thank you again to everyone who has liked/commented/reblogged this story. Y’all are the best! Let me know what you think about the ending! 

Words: 3800

Warnings: some swearing, smut(ish), fluff, Aunt Polly is a gem (and no one can convince me otherwise)

Tag List: @geekandbooknerd​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​ @webreathfandoms​ @slytherinicequeen​ @20th-centu-fairy-girl​ @kasaikawa​ @namelesslosers​

Catch up here -> Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

The walk down Watery Lane was as familiar once again as the way to your own home, possibly even more so. 

 Pushing open the door to the betting shop, the sounds and smells assaulted you, bringing a smile to your face. That sharp scent of whiskey and smoke, now tinged with male sweat, was the first for you to notice. Then the sounds of people yelling numbers and calling bets came next. The upcoming weekend held a race at Cheltenham, so people were already trickling in to place their bets. You knew that come Friday, the betting shop would be swamped with people fresh from receiving their paychecks and ready to gamble it away. 

 Over the past eight months you found yourself coming to Watery Lane more and more often. On your days off of work, Polly had convinced you to come have tea and lunch with her, so the two of you could chat. Other days, you would swing by to drop off a stew or cake you made, much to everyone's enthusiasm.  

 Somehow your life had become further entwined with the Shelby family as each month passed. A fact you did not mind. If anything, they had begun to feel like extended family, welcoming you and your sisters with open arms. 

You and Tommy still regularly met twice a week at the hotel for your arrangement, if not more, depending on if he came for you. A handful of times he had shown up in the middle of the night at your home, dark bags under his eyes and a haunted look that told you the memories of tunnels and shovels followed his every step and preyed upon his mind like vultures. Quietly, you would bring him up to your room and just hold him, sometimes humming softly, as he clung to you like his only lifeline. Neither one of you would say a word as eventually the both of you would fall asleep, finding solace in one another’s arms. 

 There were other times he showed up at your home with an undeniable hunger and need in his icy, blue eyes that sent flames licking through your veins before he even laid a finger on you. Those were the times he both worshiped and destroyed you; as if he was Hades and you were Persephone, come to seduce you to stay forever with him, to be the queen of his darkness. 

 The times he came to your house, you refused to take his money, forcing him to finally concede and stop trying to pay you. Instead he began to provide in other ways- making sure you and your sisters always had enough coal, or you never lacked in groceries. One time your youngest sister got sick and Tommy paid her entire doctor bill without telling you. After that, whenever he spent the night, the next morning he would leave a piece of candy on the kitchen table for both of your sisters, leaving as the sun was just rising. It did not take long for your sisters to look forward to his late-night visits. 

 With the extra money from your arrangement, your middle sister was attending nursing school, all of her free time now split between friends and her time at the hospital. Your youngest sister was still in school, but since you found yourself at Watery Lane so often, she would tag along and spend most of her free time with Finn, Isaiah and John's kids. 

 Never before had you and your sisters been so happy. A debt you could never repay. 

 And you knew exactly who you owed it to. 

 "Y/n! Did you bring me a cake?" Was your greeting as you stepped into view in the betting shop. 

 "John, I just brought one yesterday!"

 "Well, it's gone. Arthur fuckin' ate it all." 

 You smiled and shook your head as you walked over to the table John was leaning over, having been studying some account books. "Did your kids get any?"

 "Was I supposed to share it with them?" He asked with a mock innocence. 

 "Fine!" You sighed. "I'll try to bring one tomorrow or the day after! Make sure you share this time."

 He winked at you; the toothpick in his mouth at the furthest corner as he smiled. "Have I mentioned I love you lately?"

 You laughed at his frequent comment, patting him on the back as you walked by. "Yesterday when I brought the cake." 

 You heard him chuckle as you meandered over to Polly, who sat at the next table with a newspaper in front of her and an empty cup of tea. 

 "What are you doing here, love?"

 Running a hand over your new dress, you shrugged. "Finn came and got me from the house. Said Tommy wanted to speak to me." 

 "Did he now?" She leaned back in her chair, a twinkle of mischief and knowing in her eyes. 

 You tilted your head slightly as you looked at the older woman. "Do you know what it's about?"

 "I have my suspicions." She replied smugly, putting you on edge. Before you could press for an actual answer, she changed the topic. "Caleb been around lately?" 

 You groaned, shifting to sit on the edge of the desk, as she laughed at your reaction. Several months ago, the crush Caleb had on you became more apparent. He had saved you from some drunks and was kind enough to walk with you as you finished your shopping. That was the day you also met Arthur and John. Since that day, if Caleb happened to see you, he always made a point to greet you and chat for a few minutes or offer to help if you were doing something. You personally found it quite sweet and you enjoyed his company. It was all innocent. Caleb would never try anything with you, the retaliation from Tommy was enough to deter the thought of even trying. Sometimes you wondered if Caleb was hanging around in hopes that whenever you and Tommy's relationship ended, he could step in. With the way things had been progressing between you and Tommy, you doubted that would be anytime soon. 

 What amused you the most of the whole situation was that because of how often Caleb walked you home or stopped by to check on you, your middle sister had developed her own crush on him. Whenever he came around, she would blush and sputter, trying to maintain some resemblance of composure. Usually failing miserably, though. 

 "Caleb stopped by the day before yesterday." You answered honestly to Polly. "He had offered to fix the busted window, that one the neighbor kid threw the ball through, right? Well, I forgot to tell Leah he’d be staying for dinner. So, she comes home from her classes and is horrified that I didn’t give her a heads up before she walks into the house singing at the top of her lungs. I thought she would die on the spot when she realized Caleb was standing there next to me."

 Polly laughed, eyes crinkling with mirth as she covered her mouth with her hand. You laughed along with her, remembering how your sister squeaked like a mouse before running upstairs and refused to come back down.

 "Hopefully he starts to notice her soon. He can't be more than a year or two older than her. They would be cute together." You said thoughtfully, an idea that had been blooming in your mind for some time. 

 "He'd have to stop only seeing you though."

 You swatted at Polly, even as you rolled your eyes. "I think Tommy likes there is someone always willing to keep an eye on me for him."

 "As long as it's only looking." 

 "I know. I don't…. I don't see him like that."

 Polly grabbed your hand, those dark eyes piercing you with a sense that she knew things that had yet to come to pass. "We know, love. It's obvious when you and Tommy are together. You only see each other."

 Biting your bottom lip, you dropped your gaze to the floor. However much you tried to hide your feelings, they leaked out like spilled paint, coloring all of your interactions whenever Tommy was nearby. Over the past eight months, he managed to slip inside of your chest, wrapping around your heart, and stamping his name on that treacherous organ. 

 Before you could respond, the door separating the betting shop from the Shelby family home opened. Arthur came through with all the subtlety of a charging bull. A wide grin grew on his face as he noticed you amongst the tables. Behind him, Tommy walked through with his typical detached look and peaked cap pulled low over his eyes.  

 "Y/n!" Arthur cheered, bee-lining towards you. "You come to see me?" 

 "Of course. My day isn't complete until I've seen you."

 He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You giggled as his mustache tickled your skin. "I always knew I was your favorite….no matter what Tom 'ere claims."

 It was then you turned your attention to Tommy who had followed to stand just behind Polly. His lips twitched at Arthur's comment but otherwise his blank expression never faltered. Concern swelled inside of you like the rising tide. Never before had he sent someone to come get you, especially to bring you to the betting shop. Your thoughts frantically swirled with all the possible, terrible reasons why he needed you now. 

 "Everything alright, Tommy?" You asked quietly, worrying your bottom lip. 

 "Let's speak in my office." 

 "Alright." You pushed off the table, running a hand down your dress nervously and taking a step forward. Immediately, he materialized at your side. Placing his hand on your lower back, he guided you towards his office. 

 As soon as his hand landed on your lower back, your body thrummed with desire. Your stomach flipped and your core clenched. All due just from the simplest of touches from him. It amazed you how strongly your body could react to him, even months after having sex regularly. How instead of that primal desire waning with each passing moon, it only seemed to steadily increase. 

 He opened the door and ushered you inside its confines. You had seen his office a handful of times, but still your eyes were drawn to the organization on his desk, how everything was in its place and in rows, like toy soldiers. You wondered if he learned this regimental organization from the war or it had already been instilled in him prior. He quietly closed the door behind the two of you. To your surprise and further concern, he rapidly drew the blinds, hiding you from the rest of the betting shop. In the small office, only a small electric lamp provided light and the few beams sneaked through the blinds, creating the illusion there was no one else around. That it was only you and Tommy here and now. That the world stopped turning on its axis to give you this moment. 

 "Tommy?" You whispered breathy. 

 Instantly, he turned around and descended on you like a fallen angel, drawing you in with a possessive, bruising kiss like he meant to seal himself onto your soul. 

 And you were more than willing to let him. 

 He backed you up against the edge of his desk, your mouth held hostage by his own. An arm swept away the organization you had just been admiring on his desk, clearing a spot for you. With hurried movements, his hands made quick work to perch you on the edge, slotting himself between your spread legs. 

 "Tommy…." you moaned out his name, as he trailed kisses along your neck. Knocking the peaked cap from his head, your hands instinctively ran through the longer strands of hair on top of his head, pulling him closer. He growled against your skin as your nails lightly scratched the back of his neck. Desire hummed in the air like a living entity, coaxing the liquid fire in both of you to burn hotter. 

 It was not until he shoved your dress up to your hips and started tugging on your knickers that you were able to think through the haze of lust. 

 "I'm not having sex in your office."

 "Are you sure?" He purred, his smooth voice full of wicked intent. A gasp escaped you as his hand began to fondle one of your breasts. To your betrayal, your body arched into his touch, desperate for him. He chuckled, low and husky. "Little dove…."

 "They'll hear us." You tried to reason, however weak the excuse sounded to your own ears.  

 "Let 'em."

 He had confessed to you of his fantasy to have you in his office, to bend you over his desk and make you scream to the heavens above. The idea of it was not unappealing to you, but knowing his aunt and brothers were just on the other side of the door….

 "Tommy, no." You stilled his hands as they methodically worked on you. "Not now."

 He dropped his head onto your shoulder with a low groan. A smile spread over your lips at his exaggerated response. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing a quick kiss to the side of his head in apology. 

 "Why am I here?" 

 "I have something for you." He nipped at your neck playfully before withdrawing to move around his desk and open a drawer. Biting your lip to stifle your giggle, you watched him subtly adjust himself while he moved. With unhurried movements, he drew out an envelope and slid it over the desk to where you were still perched. Immediately after, he sat in his chair, pulling a cigarette out and lighting it. 

 You watched him in his element for a moment. Leaning back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers and an intensely focused look in his eyes, he appeared a man confident and assured, someone ready to rule the world. And for that moment, you wondered if the rest of the world was ready for Thomas Shelby. 

 Shifting your attention, you gently picked up the envelope, only about the size of your hand. There was no writing on it, nothing to give you a hint as to what it could be. Even more surprising was its unexpected weight, clearly more than just a piece of paper. Curiosity made your movements less precise as you swiftly opened it and dumped its contents into your hand. 

 "It's a key." Your eyes flicked to Tommy then back down to the small, brass, skeleton key in your hand. 

 "Hmmm."

 "Why did you give me a key?"

 "To open a door." He answered in a bored tone. 

 You mock glared at him, to which he did not bat an eye, not even a twitch of his lips. His poker face was worthy of an award. When no explanation came from him, your thoughts tousled and tumbled in your mind, trying to figure out the game he was playing. 

 "What door does it open?" You finally asked, turning the key over and over in your hand like it's secrets would be suddenly exposed. 

 "11 Watery Lane."

 All thoughts ceased at this revelation. Your heart skipped a beat at the implication. "Tommy…." You softly murmured.  

 "The kitchen is bigger than what you're used to. Arthur and John will probably fucking demand you bake for them more often…." He continued, ignoring you saying his name. His gaze was solely focused on the far wall as the cigarette sat between his fingers as if forgotten, the end still burning brightly. 

 "Tommy…."

 "....the master bedroom is big enough to fit a full bed. It also gets the morning light which I figured you'd like…."

 "Tommy…."

 "....Polly will be over every day to gossip…."

 "Tommy!" Your shout of his name silenced him, although his gaze never moved from staring at the far wall. The key in your hand suddenly felt heavy with more than just a physical weight. You studied him, thoughts sluggishly reawakening in your mind, the implication and questions rolling around. In a shocked voice just above a whisper, you asked for confirmation, needing to hear it out loud. "You bought a house…."

 "I did." He answered flatly. 

 "For….me?"

 A marked hush hovered in the small office for an endless minute. A deep inhale of the cigarette and exhale from Tommy was all the reaction you received. You watched the smoke glide from his lips, caressing them before drifting upward and dissipating into the heavy air. Heart hammering away in your chest, you dared not say a word. 

 Those crystalized eyes turned, freezing you to your spot yet also melting you with their intensity as they focused on you. "I need to keep an eye on my woman. This seems the easiest way."

 "Your….your woman?" 

 Hastily, he stubbed his only half-used cigarette out, before standing up and coming around the desk to stand between your legs again. An involuntary gulp escaped you as you became spellbound, caught in the maelstrom of his gaze, somewhere both exhilarating and terrifying. 

 "Yes, my woman." He enunciated slowly, splaying a hand on your thigh possessively. "I want you to come work for me. Polly says you used to run the ledgers effortlessly. We all know Arthur is shite at them, yeah? This way you'll be making more than enough to provide for you and your sisters. The house is yours too, you won't have to pay for lodging."

 "Why?" You breathed out, overwhelmed. 

 He tugged your bottom lip from between your teeth, running the pad of his thumb along it before speaking again. "Cos I'm done pretendin' you're just a mistress. We all bloody know it hasn't been that way for months."

 "So….I'm your woman? Like, you're going to take me on a date? The pictures or….or out dancing?"

 "If you'd like."

 "I would." You leaned forward to capture his lips with yours, your hands gripping the lapels of his suit. He set the sluggish pace of the kiss, like you two had all the time in the world. It felt like molasses was being poured into your veins, a slow burning coating you from the inside out, only for him to ignite it with the simplest of touches. 

 Suddenly you jerked your head back, staring at him as your lungs struggled for air. "Is the house because you hate my bed?"

 Rolling his eyes, he scoffed. "Your bed is too fuckin' loud. Can't fuck you properly with you worried you're gonna wake your bloody sisters."

 "Hasn't stopped you before."

 "But then you can't make those noises…."

 You giggled, swatting at his chest, only to be rewarded with one of his tender smiles. "Well, if that's the only reason…."

 You let him draw you into a drugging kiss. Clouds swirled in your brain, replacing anything that was not related to the sensation of Tommy. His hands trailed up your legs, pushing your dress up until your legs and stockings were fully exposed again. 

 "We still aren't fucking in your office." You murmured against his lips. 

 "That's what you think."

 "Y'know, I do have a key now for a house nearby…."

 He hummed, never stopping his ministrations. Those delectable lips shifted to your jawline and down your neck, sending shivers and heat coursing through your body. 

 "Is there a bed yet?" You questioned through the heated haze he was reviving in you. 

 "No."

 "A kitchen table?"

 "No."

 "Kitchen counter?"

 He stopped. Ever so slowly, his head lifted to gaze at you with a look so sensually devious, it made your toes curl in anticipation and left you breathless. 

 "Not so pure are you anymore, little dove, eh?"

 "I see this more as....christening my new home."

 A laugh fell from your mouth as he quickly stepped back, pulling you with him. He snatched up his peaked cap from where you knocked it off prior, barely giving you time to adjust your clothing to hide the evidence of your paused tryst. With his hand on your lower back, he guided you out of his office and through the labyrinth of tables and people. 

 "Oi! Tommy, where you goin'?" Arthur shouted from over by the giant blackboard. 

 "Got an appointment."

 "What kinda fuckin' appointment you got right now?"

 Tommy did not say anything, just waved his elder brother off. The whole time, his hand never left you, both guiding and propelling you forward at a sharp pace. 

 Polly caught your eye as you passed by her. As the heat rose to your cheeks, she tipped her head back and laughed loudly. Her loud exclamation followed the two of you out the door of the betting shop. "In less than one year, there'll be a ring on her finger. I guarantee it."

 The smoggy air of Small Heath greeted you as you stepped onto Watery Lane. You did not say anything, mind reeling with Polly's prediction.

 Tommy directed you to your new home further down the street, his hand still on your lower back. A few people greeted him as they passed by, to which he barely acknowledged. 

 "Mrs. Shelby, eh?"

 Startled, you glanced up, butterflies dancing in your belly. Tommy met your gaze, stoic as ever, but after a moment he gave you a quick wink. You giggled breathlessly, a broad smile on your face, at the weightless feeling inside your chest. When his hand slipped to grab yours, entwining your fingers together and palms flushed against one another, you thought your heart might burst with overwhelming joy. 

 As you finished the walk to 11 Watery Lane, Tommy opened the door for you with a pleased, boyish grin on his lips. You softly thanked him, taking in the view of your new, bare home. Before you could get too far, he locked the door behind you, only to proceed in pressing you up against the wall. His mouth claimed yours like a man drowning and you were his oxygen. His hands deftly worked your dress off your body, your own hands tugging and removing his own attire. 

 "Little dove…." He groaned against your neck, placing open-mouth kisses there. "....my dove…." His hands tightened around your waist, lifting you just high enough for your legs to wrap around his waist and for him to slide inside of you with ease. "....mine." 

 His brutal reputation did not frighten you, nor his far-reaching ambitions. How some cursed his name and called him a blue-eyed devil. The busted knuckles you sometimes noticed he tried to keep hidden from you. Nothing about him made you wary. How could he? For with the way he worshiped your body, the look of contentment and longing in those alluring eyes and the way he uttered your name like you alone were his salvation….you realized you quite liked the idea of being Mrs. Thomas Shelby.