#captain james nicholls x reader

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain, Chapter One

Fandom: War Horse

Pairing: Captain James Nicholls x fem! Reader

Summary: It is 1912. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Chapter Word Count: 4K

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise

Warnings: A horse ALMOST gets shot but lives. Landlords being landlords. Period Typical Attitudes. But very fluffy with cottagecore vibes and a meet-cute with the captain.

A/N: You can decide if you want to be a member of the family by birth or adoption. I try to make Reader fics as neutral in appearance as I humanly can. I hope you like this! It won't get too super sad or angsty and will have a very happy ending- so enjoy! Comments, asks, reblogs, and messages about my works are always appreciated!

“If the rent’s not paid by October, the farm is foreclosed. And I take the horse, too!” the Landlord had threatened in your kitchen, finishing his tea.

Gritting your teeth, you let your arms fall to the sides. Your mum cleared his cup and saucer. Then she met you where you stood, a frown on her face. You tried to slip your hand in hers. Your younger brother, Albert, was slowly heaving beneath his flannel shirt and overalls.  And your dad only sat at the table, his fingers twitching to get the flask you knew was in his pocket. But even his white whiskers couldn’t hide his own frown.

Those words made stiff and haunted you- all of you.  Just as the Bible verses in embroidery decorated about the house, those words were about you. Staring at you.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

You decided to get a job as a shop girl in the town nearby. Dad and Albert had to work the fields constantly. Too much to mend and do for any other occupation. Mum ran the house with an iron fist. She’d say she’d have to stay at home. She’d say the place needed at least one woman. Not two, you noted-one. You were available. You could do it.

The day you announced you got the job, and that the paychecks would help go to rent, your mum wiped happy tears.  She kissed you.

“All of it’s going to the rent,” you promised her.

“No-keep a little!” she shook her dark head. Strands kept falling form her bun- she was an active woman, always thinking, always working. Even her own hair would not stay still.

“No- all! We all need it!” you refused.

It would be a sacrifice. But a sacrifice that would keep a roof over your heads. Hopefully.

“Whatever you pick- it’s your choice. I’m proud of you, my girl. All of us are…” she said before sweeping you into a hug.

After all, It was what you could do to bring money in. To keep that word from ringing in your head.

Foreclosed. Foreclosed. Foreclosed.

That was the word that motivated you to get up from bed in the morning. You shivered from the chill in your little room. Not that you were unused to getting up early. You lived with your family on a farm after all.

Besides, you loved the farm you lived on. It was a beautiful place. You and your family stayed in a stone house, two stories, thatched with a roof. The rolling green and brown hills could be seen from your bedroom window. You loved watching the sun rise and shine past your lacy white curtains. Stone gates trailed all over the place separating the gardens, shed, laundry area, crop fields, chicken coop, and backyard.

And there was no shame in being farmers, as dad would say. Farmers kept the country going and would for all eternity.

 As you looked up, the morning was shining pink. Peeking down, you could see Dad and Albert, going about distributing hay and making sure the animals were fed. Dad had some hay while Albert was filling his bucket with oats.

After washing yourself with a cloth and hot water, you dressed into socks, corset, shoes, petticoats, skirt, and blouse. You double checked to make sure there were no mud stains on your checked, white and blue blouse and blue skirt. You had to look presentable.

That morning, you sat at the table. Mum ate fast and ran off to begin a mountain of laundry. You were eating breakfast and drinking coffee from a beautiful porcelain cup with a painted flower on it.  Enjoying a moment of peace before your shift began.  There was the sonatas of birds and the rooster outside of a country morning. Accompanied by the clucking of chickens that wandered about the stone pathways on the grass. Albert walked in from outside, wiping off his hands on his pants.

“Y/N! Morning” he cheered. Already his cheeks were ruddy from the exercise and air.

“Albie! Good morning! How’s all the creatures?” you asked.

“All well-all well. Wish us luck- gonna start training Joey today! Gonna put the plow on him. If anyone can, it’s me!” he announced.

He sat down, slabbed a slice of bread with butter, and stuffed it in his face.

It was always dark inside the house. The stone blocked the sunlight except for the windows. Pots were on the ceiling over your head. Your embroidery was decorated over the walls. Over the crackling fireplace was a bookshelf with a book and a tiny clock. You kept peeking at it to make sure you weren’t going to be late for the nine am shift. fireplace. Little potted plants and flowers sat everywhere- inside the house on tables and counters and outside on windowsills. You and mum did you best to make sure the place was cozy. Pretty even. She taught you how to garden and put flowers into little clay pots. You both spent that early spring down on your skirts. Patting the dark dirt over the seeds and watering them.

Albert went to the corner of the kitchen section of the room. On the counter, right before the window overlooking the garden, was a bowl of fresh fruit. He grabbed an apple, shined it on his vest, and bit into it. Then he peeked outside and gasped.

“Y/N-come! Look at the garden! Your flowers!” he cried.

It was a lovely spring day. Looking about, you were glad to see the crocuses you had planted were in bloom. So much beauty even amidst the great stress. You kept only ten percent of the wages and decided to use it on crocus seeds to put in the flower section of the garden. Now it was speckled with the pretty flowers across the grass, nearby the carrots and tomatoes.  

Albert pointed to the window. You got up and your eyes followed his finger.

A little brown rabbit was in the flower garden. It went to one blossom and was chewing away.

“Hmm, should we stop him?” you teased.

Albert shook his brown head. Part of you predicted he would answer this- bless Albert! His soft heart for animals was his best quality!

“No! Don’t!” he cried.

“Well good thing I agree! He looks quite content- cute little fellow!” you commented.

Looking more carefully, it was quite small. Perhaps still a baby. Both you and Albert paused to admire the adorable intruder.

“What should we name should we give him?” you asked.

The rabbit finished the bloom of one crocus. It then hopped forward and began chewing on another. His miniscule mouth nibbling on the leaf of the stem.

“His name should be Peter- just like the old stories!” Albert decided.

“That’s a wonderful name! You always have the best names for the animals, Albie! But… if it’s a girl?” you pointed out.

“Then let’s call her after one of the sisters- let’s call her Mopsy!” Albert said.

“Good idea! That fits the theme!” you laughed in agreement.

Besides,  you were glad the rabbit ate the flowers. Glad it wasn’t one of the crops that would serve as both income and supper. Mum would have had a fit. Dad might have shot it for lunch.

But both of you smiled as you watched the creature breakfast along with the two of you. The little bunny finished his stolen meal and hopped off. It easily squeezed through the wooden gate and escaped.

“I should plant more- give it a whole salad bowl!” you suggested.

“I wouldn’t complain if you did- invite all the rabbit sisters and the mum too!” Albert added on.

It was a lovely day. The air was cool, the sun was out, the sky was blue, and the field was green. All this beauty even amidst such fear. Such stress. Some even whispered of a war. Didn’t the landlord say something about a war? No, that was too much. That must have been your imagination.

“Don’t be late- Y/N! Good luck! Maybe this might be the day you meet a handsome stranger at work!” Albert teased, he wiggled his eyebrows.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, the only strangers I meet nowadays are customers! And the men aren’t handsome-I’ll tell you that! And Albie-does he like carrots?”

He nodded, handing you a leftover carrot.

“One tip- offer it to him by turning backwards!” he added.

“Put it in my basket-I’ll see you later,” you said.  

After putting a carrot into your lunch basket, Albert returned to the table. He scooped up more of breakfast and ate a second helping. As you walked out to the stone pathway through the ground, there was a sudden honk from below.

The proud goose, more intent on making mischief than productivity, strutted your way. He blocked your path. He raised his head and flapped your wings as if he was the king of England. He ran- flipper before your feet.

“Oh, please! Let me through! Shoo!” you scolded.

He had to chase anyone and everyone on the farm. And that didn’t stop at the residents. Last week, he charged the landlord and his posse as they left. They fled to their motorcar like he was a giant bull and not a little goose. Both you and Albert tightened your lips at the sight and then laughed about it later.

You, however, were used to Goose’s antics. No other name fit him, according to Albert. He was what he was-Goose. You let him take his beak to nip a bit of your skirt and shake it with his flexible, goosey neck. Then you gave a light tug, and he relented and released. He then flapped his wings again around you. He began honking out again as if urging you to work.

“I have five minutes before I need to get walking! But I’m going to say goodbye to Joey first!” you replied to the gander.

As you made your path to the backyard you heard him honk behind you. Intent on nipping more of your petticoats per his own Goose ritual. But as you got closer, there was the sound of a whinny and the clutter of hooves in the back yard.  The goose gave a goodbye honk in surprise and eyeing the much bigger creature in the backyard, fled.

It was the newest addition. Joey. A beautiful young colt. On his way to growing into a magnificent stallion.  Joey was brown as a rich tree trunk with the white diamond on his snout. Every time you went out to see the young horse, he would neigh loudly and break into a run. It made you back off every time, your hands up as if to calm him. Throughout the day, you and your parents often had to jump back to avoid getting run over as Joey dashed through the yard. Albert insisted he was spirited, but good.

Joey was an Irish Hunter- not the usual breed for farms. Your dad noticed his strength and energy at an auction and bought it, claiming he would become a  plow horse. And how did he buy it? With Rent money. And Joey by now had become the apple of Albert’s eye. The house was at stake based on if Joey could be trained to plow. That is if your own shopgirl wages could not save the farm from foreclosure.

  Dad tried to put a plough over Joey and the horse bucked away. You cried when Dad got his gun to kill the beautiful animal. You, Mum, and Albert all yelled at him to keep him from shooting it that day. You tried to physically hold him back by hugging him, tugging the trigger out of target. Mum let out a scream when Albert got between. Thankfully, he gave in when Albert announced he would train the horse. He was the one Joey would listen to the most.

It cheered you to see Joey alive this morning. Galloping about freely. You knew how happy he made Albert. You wondered if such a wild, free creature would even shine to you. From your basket, you got out the carrot. You leaned your arm over the gate and clicked your tongue to get his attention.

“Here, Joey…how about a treat?” you offered.

Joey clopped forward.

“Here, Joey, come on! Come on, love!” you urged.

He went, but then backed off, shaking his head and long, black mane with a brush of his lips. You let out a sigh. Then you turned around, leaning your hand backward.

“Come on, Joey- you’re going to learn to plow today. You’ll need a little extra strength! I’m not dad-I’m your friend!” you urged.

If you made no sudden movements, it wouldn’t scare him to raise his front hooves and kick your head You heard his feet trotting close to you. Then you felt his wet mouth open and accept the carrot. As you turned around to see him eat it, you smiled.

“Oh-you took it for once!  Good boy! Good boy! And keep being a good boy today- I got to work today… and so do you. But between us, we can help keep the farm afloat- can we?” you wondered out loud.

The horse blinked in response. To think there was something in common you shared with the colt. You gently reached out a hand, and he let you pet his nuzzle.

“See-even letting me pet you for once! Every day you’re improving! You better do what Albert says-I’ll see you later, goodbye Joey!” you wished.

As you walked up the tiny slope to leave, you picked up your petticoat and tiptoed around the mud. You had to look as presentable as you could for a farm girl. Opening the wooden gate, you made your way to town.

You walked down into town, keeping to the sidewalks away from the motorcars. People busied about you, ready to begin their own jobs. You walked right to the shop. Even before opening there were already customers waiting to buy things just outside. Their noses touched the front windows. You went inside to the counter, tied an apron around your skirt, and switched the sign on the window to “OPEN.”

So began another day. Today, you made sure there were catalogues displaying a new selection of dresses for women. It was hard not to drool over them from the corner of your eye. Not to envy the daughters of lords of the land who had the surplus allowances to order them here. You sometimes saw them enter the shop with their maids by their sides.

How you wished you could be a lady! They couldn’t come from a farming family. And even more importantly, they didn’t work. You heard all about them. How you daydreamed about it night and day.

You could live in a giant manor house. You’d have a maid to do your hair and drape you in dresses and pretty jewels. So would mum! And how handsome both dad and Albert would look in tuxedoes at dinner! Mum would have to present you at court. You would come out and get to briefly meet the king and queen themselves! Then you’d go to fancy balls. There would be handsome suitors who would wait in lines outside your door to kiss your gloved hand with their unworthy lips. You would have no concerns except for which pair of gloves to wear. And which eligible bachelor to marry. Then he’d ask for your hand and there would be a giant wedding full of pomp and splendor. Then you’d move into another manor and eat breakfast in bed every day! You would relax and not have to do a minute of work!

Perhaps…you would meet someone if you moved out…or if by a miracle, you got a scholarship to a university or lived in another town, far from Devon…

You knew you did not have enough to move out on your own. Besides, even if you did- how could you? How could you abandon your family when they needed you? When they needed help? Especially since dad had a weakness for wasting money on booze until he drunkenly stumbled to bed in the wee morning hours. The landlord would sigh and remind all of you he ran a business, not a charity. Every time.

But sadly, you had to go back to reality.  You could only fantasize in catalogues and magazines showing off the latest overpriced fashions from London. You did grab an issue to look at during your minutes off. You went down for the post-lunch break. You began to sip on tea, look at the catalogue, and rest your weary feet from hours of standing.

But after you returned the shopkeeper, Mrs. Snow, went up to you in a hurry. And the shop was filled with eager people eyeing all the half-off sales.

“Oh, Miss Narracott! Look what I found!” she cried.

She brought forth a little black book.

“A gentleman was just here-I saw him with it! He placed it down on the table and left without it! He should be right outside- And it’s so busy now- could you please run off and get it to him?” she instructed.

“How will I know it’s him?” you asked.

“You’ll see him in a uniform- like a sore thumb! Please return it to him!” she pleaded.

“What kind of uniform?” you asked.

Immediately, a lady was at the counter with five spools of ribbons. She was frowning and tapping her gloved hand on the wooden surface.

“Just go! Go, girl!” Mrs. Snow urged. She pushed the book into your hands.

You nodded and hurried outside. But you looked around and noticed the people outside. Bowler hats and blouses blended in around you. None of the men seemed concerned about anything. They only got out the pocket watches from their waistcoats to check the time.  

What uniform- a university uniform? A police officer uniform? A chef’s uniform, even? You saw none of those as you looked about.

Curiosity hit you- what was in this book? Maybe he would return. And you could steal a little bit of time to rest your mind from work again.

The book was thin, so it couldn’t be a novel. Perhaps it was a short story? A photo album?

You opened it and saw a pencil drawing of a woman at a piano-it was a sketchbook. But her hair, her dress, and the doily over the instrument was perfection in its attention to detail.

They were some of the most realistic drawings you had ever seen. You flipped past one to find another more beautiful than the last. You saw one of a willow tree- it was as if the tree the were drawn merely shrunk in size. When you saw an old man’s face, each wrinkled line was as if he jumped into the drawing or was in frtont of you. They were nearly perfect. Why weren’t these already in a museum?  You flipped another page-the most impressive of all. It was the drawing of a large stallion,  colored to be a rich black. He was on his back hooves, raising his might front legs into the air.  He was like a mythological beast rather than some common horse. And at the bottom, was some writing.

“TOPTHORN- CPN J. N.”

You were so invested in admiring it, a baritone voice had to break you out.

“Excuse me miss-“

Jumping at the sound, your head went up.

You saw a gentleman. A tall gentleman. And yes- an astonishingly handsome gentleman. He took off his hat, perhaps to show respect in the presence of a lady. His eyes were absolutely piercing in their blueness, as if he could see right through you to your guts. But they were soft, like two sapphires on his lovely ivory face. He had a uniform on- a soldier’s uniform.

“Miss…what is your name?” he asked.

“Y/N Naracott. And you are?” you replied.

“Nicholls. Captain James Nicholls.” He answered.

“Is the sketchbook yours? Left in that shop?” you asked, holding up the book.

“Yes, it is,” he answered.

“I’m so sorry- I work for the shop and was intent on returning it. But I got curious and peeked inside,” you blurted.

With his gaze on you, you felt warm. Suddenly aware of every bit of your appearance and movements. It was everything in your to not go into a giddy panic and flee from bashfulness. You forced your feet still.

“Don’t be, you did nothing wrong…” he said.

Turning to the page with the black horse, you lightly traced it’s outline.

 “The drawings they’re…they’re beautiful! Was it a gift?” you questioned.

“It’s mine. My drawings…” he explained.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I should have guessed!” you babbled out.

“No, don’t be at all!” he replied. He grinned at you.

Smoothing your skirt, tucking in the blouse, you felt the wind knock out of you at his smile.

“I just thought they were…they were beautiful! My favorite’s the horse here! Horses are so hard to draw- but the way you got his shape, his legs, his body-he’s so lifelike! I thought a real artist must have them- not a soldier!” you added on.

“That’s Topthorn. He’s my Major’s horse. An impressive beast- I had to capture him,” he explained.

He took a step closer. Goodness, the uniform really did make him even more attractive! It made you dizzy. Your mouth moved faster than your brain.

“You should meet my brother. He’d love the horse drawing. We have a new horse and he’s obsessed with-“

 The same lady walked out with a bag of her purchased ribbons from the corner of your eye. It shut you up. Captain Nicholl’s turned to glance at her, and then back at you.

“I don’t wish to keep you from working, Miss Narracott, here- I’ll walk you back,” he offered.

It was not a very long distance at all. But you were grateful. There were worse things than being accompanied by a pleasant, gallant, handsome young captain.

“Are you new in town?” you asked him at the door.

“Just stationed. Staying here for the moment.” he explained.

“Then, welcome to Devon! I hope you like it,’ you greeted.

He nodded his head. He opened the door for you to walk inside.

“I already do,” he replied.

There was a whistle. Captain Nicholls turned his head to the outside. There was another group of men in army uniform nearby. One tall gentleman with a mustache called out.

“Hey! Jim! Stop flirting with the girl and get back!”

You flinched and saw his cheeks turn a little pink. You dipped your head down. Would that phrase cause a scandal- even a small one? On one hand, flirting was completely discouraged between men and women. There was no flirting until you were engaged. Then one could be absolutely sure a gentleman had pure intentions. You could be sure a gentleman wasn’t a skirt chaser and seducer.

But on the other hand- you both weren’t a duke and debutante at a ball. Just two village people having a chat. And flirting…maybe…maybe he did already…notice you…liked you…

“Well, I’ll see you around, Captain,” you said.

“And I you, Miss Narracott. Thank you again for returning the book,” he replied.

He dipped his head, put his hat back on, and left.

“Bless you, girl! Took you ages to find him! But you did! Now- it’s time to get back!” Mrs. Snow urged from the shop counter.

The busy crowd kept you on your feet, but you felt ready. The hours flew until closing. You could deal with even the most demanding customers with a smile on your face. As you flipped the sign to close and returned home, you found yourself looking forward to tomorrow.  Besides, maybe the new captain might return for a visit.  

[smolvenger]

Awwww, thanks so much Bestie!!!

My favorite pieces are..:

1. The Twelve Days (Henry V x fem! Reader arranged marriage series. With fluff, smut, and only a wee bit of angst as two blorbos forced to marry each other start to fall for the other)

2. A Court of Mischeif and Purpose (Loki x fem! Reader crossover series. A court of thorns and roses inspired fic with the Tom Hiddles characters as the ACOTAR characters. YN makes a deal with Loki to save herself and goes on a magical adventure with danger and eventual romance. Angst, fluff, and eventually smut…eventually)

3. Stella of Essex, or The Vicar’s Wife Betrayed (fix it fic of The Essex Serpent but from Stella’s POV where canon doesn’t matter and I give her a happy ending and revenge for getting cheated on, because I support women’s wrongs. Lots of angst and eventual fluff)

4. The Battle of Agincourt (Henry V x fem! Reader are a married couple and she follows him to France. Fluff and angst and lots of smut- not one but two scene!)

5. Miss Narracott and the Captain (slow burn ish romance with YN and Captain James Nicholls of War Horse with a period drama miniseries feel)

Tagging anyone who wants to before my next flight takes off!

Writer Self-Rec Fics Ask Game

Rules: writers list your top 5 favorite fics of yours and then send this to 5 writers! :)

@divine-knight-hand thank you for this lovely ask!!! I'm sorry I forgot about it for so long - I think I was a bit embarrassed to answer, since I have such a pathetically short fic list, but I will list the five that I HAVE written in order of my favourites.

1. Devoted (sub!Loki/domme!Reader, established D/s relationship)

This is easily my personal favourite, even though it's much less popular than some of my others. It's rather fluffy (for a highly smutty story!), and I really like the way it came together (no pun intended).

2. Missed connection part 3 (Tom Hiddleston/Reader. Smutty/angsty fic with a hint of fluff and a bit of a sad ending. Total self indulgent nonsense.)

I don't know if it's fair to call these three separate stories, but this part is my favourite. It's long-ish but it was the most fun to write. It's also a bit more recent and tbh my writing is just better than in some of the earlier stuff.

3. Vulnerable (sub!Loki/domme!Reader)

I guess this is kind of my sub!Loki origin story. It was my first ever fanfic and... it shows? When I read it back now I cringe at it pretty horribly. But it's somehow by far my most popular story.

4. & 5. Missed connection parts 1 & 2 (Tom Hiddleston/Reader)

The opening scenes for Missed Connection 3, these are my least favourites. Not because I don't love and appreciate them - I really do - but again, I read back over them now and think how much better I could have written them. Part 1 is a bit thirsty/angsty but smut-free.

Tagging some authors - I would love to know your favourites! What are your self recs??

@acidcasualties @lokisgoodgirl @mochie85 @muddyorbsblr @lokischambermaid

[kneamet]

James Nicholls gives reader (James locked her in the room) a Christmas present with a cute smile. She doesn't want his gift. James is hurt and tells her that she will be trapped in this room until she is thankful for his present.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, forced.

Word Count: 2098

Character: James Nicholls/reader

Summary: James just wanted to give you a Christmas present, not expecting you to dislike it at all.

POV James

"This is going to be a great night," James thought. He was smiling. Today is definitely going to be a great day. A day that will have to do without any problems and quarrels.

Nicholls, being a rather emotional person, always succumbed to any quarrels. But to the extent of his character, he could also be in the first moments a person who would respond to any tense situation with a cold eye.

He always kept his worldview to himself. In a war in which he killed and the horrors of which he could not forget for many months, no one was interested in the opinion of the people. They said to do, so do it. You're a soldier. Follow the order.

In the regiment, he was not allowed to reveal himself as a person. No one but Major Stewart, his friend, who was practically everything to him, knew of his hobbies. That his talent and desires were directed not to war, but to art.

He was always very pleased and flattered by the paintings that great artists created. Their styles, unusual techniques.

However, James was always interested in one question: where do people involved in great art find the personal muses that inspire them? He always wanted to find the person who would inspire him and whom he might even love and cherish.

But the memories of the war all dampened his mood. They were like something that was unlikely to ever be forgotten or should be forgotten.

James closed his eyes. Fragments of memories flew before my eyes. Mud. Wounds. People. Death.

That wasn't what he wanted. That's not why he went to school and got the necessary knowledge. Not to die so easily. Yes, he could have shed blood for his country, but he didn't want to.

He thought this was the end. I thought about it until I saw a nice girl. You. You were so beautiful in his mind. He could do anything for you. You were his main manipulator, his life. He would cherish you for the rest of your life if you would only listen to him and agree to marry him.

But you were too innocent. Your fighting spirit and your moral values that all people are equal have always interested him. This is extremely interesting.

James greatly admired your clear, virginal mind, your kind and pure heart. He liked to compare you to literary heroines. He loved to read and his favorite character was Anna Karenina from the Russian novel by Leo Tolstoy. He often said that their characters were eerily similar.

The ex-soldier never thought about the fact that he wanted to become someone exalted or famous. His spirit was subject to the spirit of calm and evenly defined actions. Maybe after the war, he could work as an artist and sell paintings, or maybe work part-time at a police station. He would have a happy wife and some cute kids who would cheer him back from work.

Oh, he wanted that wish to come true. After the war, he really had a good job, but a wife... Well, as he understood it, she had no particular prospects of becoming his lover.

And that disappointed him. That girl, you, that he's in love with, doesn't love him? But why? You've spent so much time together. Or so it seemed to James. He didn't want to admit that you and he only saw each other twice.

He sighed and turned his gaze to the brown door he had been hovering in front of for some time. James has prepared a great gift for his beloved. She would have to like him.

Nicholls believed that most women were addicted to gifts. And this is quite natural. And before this gift, it is unlikely that anyone can resist.

He pressed the round handle and opened the door with a slight tremor in his legs. This day should be perfect. He smiled at the thought of how happy you'd be with your new Christmas present. A new book of Shakespeare's plays, along with a small pendant that had his picture and yours on it.

He looked around the room. She was just beautiful. This was exactly what he had imagined the room in which he would sleep with his beloved wife.

The walls were sky blue with small patterns. They went well with the gilded furniture he had purchased not so long ago on a former soldier's salary. The room was decorated in pastel colors. The main decoration of the walls were small, almost imperceptible paintings. They weren't distracted. On the white ceiling hung a small lamp that fit into the interior.

Next to the wall opposite James's standing, there was a bookcase filled with a huge number of books, both English classicism and Russian. You could even find American literature on the shelves.

Right in front of the door was the double bed on which his wife was so beautifully arranged.

He sighed slightly, trying not to draw your attention too much and giving you time to finish reading the page. You were so beautiful in that position. And this outfit! He was so pleasing to the soldier's keen eye. Your dress was simply impossibly simple, but no less beautiful. It was summer. The blue fabric that hugged your waist matched nicely with the lacy white sleeves that reached to your elbow.

He bit his lip, trying to stifle the groan he was trying to get out. You gave him an orgasm just by being there.

James was still a virgin. He promised that he would keep it and lose it only with his legal wife, who according to his criteria should also be clean. He didn't really like the fact that the boys from the academy and even Stuart were teasing him about it, but he understood that he didn't need to be provoked and just follow his principles.

He wanted so much to come up to you and interrupt you, to tell you that he was the only one you could pay attention to, but he knew that would be disrespectful to you. He wanted so much to fix that hair that was so carefully climbing on a clean forehead, or to kiss those lovely lips that you were so diligently licking.

***

He thought he had lost all hope. That he was the only survivor of his own regiment and Stewart's. Wounded, in ragged clothes, covered in blood, he walked, trying to reach some settlement.

He crawled, one less injured hand clinging to the muddy and wet grass. His entire uniform was covered in the mud and blood of his countrymen who had fought so desperately for their homeland and for its victory.

The man knew that his strength was running out. He had been crawling like this for a kilometer. His breathing was getting worse. My arm and legs were beginning to prick painfully. The right hand was in need of urgent assistance. He needed to get to the nearest house.

His only thought now was to take a single sip of water. My throat was uncomfortably sore. He hadn't eaten or drunk in about a day since they'd started attacking the Germans.

When he reached the nearest big oak, he leaned against it and put his aching hand on his legs, leaning his head back against the tree, which hurt his head unpleasantly.

He didn't remember how he'd blacked out or what. His forces simply surrendered the position. It was at that moment that he realized that it was not so terrible to die. It's just close your eyes and that's it. He would see his soldiers soon.

But still, he regretted that he could not realize his dream and become a famous artist, find a family by marrying the woman he loved, raise children and die happy in a house full of grandchildren.

War is a tough thing. Sometimes he didn't understand why his homeland had to fight the Germans. Why him? But they were not particularly opposed to the fact that the boy from whom he bought a horse, entered the ranks of the soldiers.

"Mister, wake up. Please, mister, don't die," came a soft and soft voice, with a rough edge to it. The man slightly, through force, opened one eye and looked at the girl sitting in front of him. At you.

Standing before him was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. A girl who looked like an angel. You were incredible. His artist's eye certainly wanted to express you on paper. Your expressively large eyes looked at him with universal tenderness. Your lips were slightly parted and your brows were furrowed.

He felt an extraordinary reaction. The fear, the exultation, the need and admiration? He found you extraordinarily beautiful.

Suddenly, an insignificant thought occurred to his bright head. He felt, heard, felt pain. Is he alive? Or is it just paradise? Paradise with its sweet angel.

The man's thin, pink-pale lips parted slightly and he tried to squeeze out something, but only a soft sigh came out.

He saw his angel flutter. As he opened his eyes. He saw you get up and start looking for something. He owl tried to speak, but could only utter a groan.

"Drink some water, sir," he parted his angel's lips and allowed her to pour him clear and silver water. "Are you feeling better?" he tried to nod. His angel, his savior, smiled at him and he whispered:

"I'm James, my angel."

***

POV You

You saw the way he looked at you. So gentle, so obsessive, so needy. His blue eyes looked at you as if they were seeing you for the first and last time. They studied you.

You shifted involuntarily on the fur-warm bed. Not that you liked the interior of the house, or rather you found it terrible. The walls were blue, battered, and obviously old. But at least the books made you happy. They were really wonderful. But the interior was the last thing that bothered you.

Most of all, it was hard for you to think that this innocent, beautiful man with such charming eyes had become obsessed with you. He believed that you were in love with him, that you were happy to be his wife.

But apparently James didn't understand your rejection. In your opinion, he didn't accept rejection at all, but he followed orders, so he could easily be manipulated. Especially now. But your desire to be free and live with the person you love was simply impossible. He responded to such statements and requests of yours with a strict no, from which your body shivered.

You didn't know how to justify his need for you. Perhaps because you were his hope, the only person who saved him from torment and impending death. But that's all the excuses you've found.

You knew he was waiting for the moment to give you a Christmas present. You saw that distant look he gave you when he remembered something. Most likely, their first meeting.

You coughed, trying to get his attention. He flinched and looked up from the polished floor to look at you. You swallowed and put away the book you'd been reading.

Nicholls moved closer to the bed you were sitting on. You saw his shifty eyes and his bitten lip.

"My angel," he walked closer and sat on the edge of the made-up bed, taking your right hand in his. He ran his thumb over it and squeezed it lightly, looking up. "Merry Christmas," he held up his left hand and you saw a small box. He pursed his lips and handed it to you. You saw him smile. Maybe he thought you were happy with his gift, but you didn't really want to accept it, knowing how it could turn out.

You shook your head a little doubtfully, lowering your chin slightly. You didn't want to upset him, but you knew you couldn't accept a gift from a kidnapper.

Suddenly, the man's back straightened. The gentle gaze turned frowning. The hand clutched the unfortunate Christmas present. His knuckles were white, and the veins in his neck throbbed.

"I don't need your gift, James," her gaze became more intense. He stood up and straightened his shirt, placing a small box on the bedside table.

Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed for the exit. You raised your head, sending a puzzled look at his back. He turned to face you, holding the door open and leaning against the door frame.

"My angel, why are you looking at me like that? You just have to understand that you will stay in our room until you thank me with sincere gratitude for your gift, " he sent you a smile and closed the door. You've heard the deadbolt locked with a key. "I hope you've prepared a gift for me."

[screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms]

So, I just found a song called Travelin’ Solider by The Dixie Chicks and all I could think of was making a James Nicholls fic! Like for real, it is absolutely perfect for him! I think that will be a fic soon.

[amara-scott]

WAR HORSE

BACK TO FULL MASTERLIST

Captain James Nicholls x Reader

Come back to me. summary: Saying goodbye to your love so they can leave for war is hard but having to say goodbye twice is unbearable. Your kids grow up wondering why he isn’t there, making it harder to move on and keep living.

[ladyfloriographist]

Masterlist

Fics

Uncommonly Pretty (Ao3 link): Enola Holmes AU where Sherlock Holmes (Henry Cavill) and Dr John Watson (Tom Hiddleston) both fall for Reader (a seamstress newly arrived in London) - or Part 1 // Part 2 coming soon!

Valentine: Captain James Nicholls writes love letters to Reader from the Western Front

Working Girl: Dr Gregory House M.D. meets a younger, curvy Reader at a bar one night

Number 10: Tensions bubble over one night between Prime Minister Peter Laurence (Roadkill BBC 2020) and one of his aides–you!

Promises: Luca Changretta has kept Reader waiting all day, but he makes it up to you

Descent of Man: Commander Joseph Laurence x Reader in a Handmaid’s Tale AU

x

Prompts

Sherlock Holmes

Mycroft Holmes

Loki

Sir Thomas Sharpe

Jonathan Pine

Dr Robert Laing

Adam (OLLA)

[merakiaes]

WHAT I CURRENTLY WRITE AND DON’T WRITE

PAYMENT - COMMENTS EQUALS NEW CONTENT (PLEASE READ)

(Characters and fandoms for which requests are open are below the cut so if you don’t want to read the guidelines, you can just scroll down there. However, I do recommend you to at least skim through the “I don’t write”-section to make it easier for both of us!)

(IF YOU WANT TO REQUEST ME TO GIVE YOU A SHIP, SEE THIS SEPARATE POST)

MY ONLY RULE:

If you make a request, anonymous or not, you have to leave a comment on your fic. (Read more about why here.) Even better would be if you reblogged it to help get my work out to more readers!, but I will settle with a comment if you, for some reason, don’t want to reblog. 

This means there should always be a minimum of one comment under every requested fic I post - if I see that this isn’t being followed, I’m going to stop writing requests. Simple as that.

With that said, don’t bother requesting if you’re not ready to make this exchange because that’s just unpaid work. 

I DON’T WRITE:

Smut.

Songfics.

Headcanons.

Specified and inappropriate/illegal age gaps. Example, an underage student and an adult teacher.

Specified body types.

Body image issues & ED’s.

Male reader.

POC reader.

Specified physical features. (Hair colors, eye colors, etc.)

I try to stay as neutral to physical appearance as I possibly can so that everyone gets an equal chance at emerging themselves into the role, no matter the reader’s ethnicity, height, build, and so on.

Writing plus size!reader and writing about eating disorders and body immage issues is too triggering for me as I, myself, struggle with body dysmorphia on a daily basis.

TO THINK ABOUT WHEN REQUESTING:

Don’t be too vague with your request. For example, a request asking for a fic where “the reader is a character x’s sister”, or "the reader is shy” or”sassy”, is not enough for me to go on. I need a scenario, a plot, an action, an endgame, or a dialogue prompt.

Contrary to the previous point; don’t make requests with too much detail or too long of a timeline, either. I don’t have the energy nor time to write requests that are spread out over eternity and that would end up being as long as a novel.

When requesting prompts from my prompt-lists, ALWAYS include the number and name of the list, not just the quote. The lists you can request for are the following:

Fluff Angst Smut Kiss Hug Common tropes

Don’t get pissy if you request something and I kindly tell you that I don’t write that kind of thing, whatever it may be. I’ve had to deal with this a lot lately and it’s really annoying. All writers have their own, individual preferences, and that’s their right.

Keep in mind all that is written above, and feel free to send several requests if you want to guarantee that you get at least one of them done - some things are easier to write than others and I always appreciate having requests to pick from depending on my mood and current motivation.

Requests are currently open for the following fandoms and characters. Please send in requests!

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

Luke Alvez

Emily Prentiss

Penelope Garcia

Matt Simmons

Will LaMontagne

Clyde Easter

MARVEL

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Peter Parker (Tom Holland & Andrew Garfield)

Loki Laufeyson

Scott Lang

Bucky Barnes

Stephen Strange

Jack Thompson

Bruce Banner

Eddie Brock

Helmut Zemo

Darcy Lewis

Daniel Sousa

Logan Howlett

Natasha Romanoff

Sam Wilson

Nathan Summers

Pietro Maximoff (Aaron Taylor-Johnson)

TWILIGHT

Paul Lahote

Leah Clearwater

Edward Cullen

Charlie Swan

Mike Newton

TEEN WOLF

Derek Hale

Jordan Parrish

Peter Hale

STAR WARS

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Ben Solo

Armitage Hux

Anakin Skywalker

Poe Dameron

Padmé Amidala

Young Han Solo

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Jim Hopper

REIGN

Sebastian “Bash” de Poitiers

Leith Bayard

Louis Condé

James Stewart

Darnley

Prince Henri

Claude

Mary Stuart

THE WITCHER

Geralt of Rivia

Jaskier

PRISON BREAK

Lincoln Burrows

Alexander Mahone

KONG: SKULL ISLAND

James Conrad

Reg Slivko

Earl Cole

TRANSFORMERS

William Lennox

Sam Witwicky

Robert Epps

DIVERGENT

Eric Coulter

Peter Hayes

Tobias Eaton

HARRY POTTER

Fred Weasley

Draco Malfoy

George Weasley

Cedric Diggory

Remus Lupin (young & adult)

Hermione Granger

Bill Weasley

Ron Weasley

Neville Longbottom

Severus Snape

GAME OF THRONES

Sandor Clegane

Jorah Mormont

Edd Tollett

Jon Snow

Gendry Baratheon

Jaime Lannister

Sansa Stark

TRIPLE FRONTIER

Ben Miller

William “Ironhead” Miller

Francisco “Catfish” Morales

Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Tom “Redfly” Davis

PEAKY BLINDERS

Tommy Shelby

Arthur Shelby

John Shelby

Finn Shelby

Alfie Solomons

Ada Shelby

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

James Norrington

Will Turner

Jack Sparrow

THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE

Luke Crain

Steve Crain

Theo Crain

MISCELLANEOUS

Dan Torrence (Doctor Sleep)

Detective David Loki (Prisoners)

Floyd Lawton (Arrow)

Smitty Ryker (Hacksaw Ridge)

Captain James Nicholls (War Horse)

Sam Drake (Uncharted)

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead)

Rick Flag (Suicide Squad)

Nathan Prescott (Life Is Strange)

Sweet Pea (Riverdale - first season only)

Jace Wayland (The Mortal Instruments, 2013)

Murtagh Morzansson (Eragon)

Jason Lee Scott (Power Rangers, 2017)

Jesse Zeklos (Vampire Academy)

Matt Campbell (The Haunting in Connecticut)

Nick Jones (House of Wax)

Ludovica Storti (Baby)

Reid Garwin (The Covenant)

Tyler Simms (The Covenant)

Fezco (Euphoria)

Feel free to reblog this to spread the word!

[burberrybaby]

ʚ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨 ɞ

rules and guidelines for requesting a fic! please read through it all before sending me a request. anonymous requests are completely okay as well.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭

your request must be sent as an ask! you can choose whether or not to remain anonymous, and even assign yourself an emoji so i can identify who’s sending the requests.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝

in your request, i encourage to send a few things in the ask. one of which is a pairing, or whom you want me to write for (eg. chris evans x actress!reader or johnathon pine x woc!reader.) sending in a prompt or gif is also very helpful for me for while i’m writing the fic for you, as i can add them in.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐧𝐨’𝐬

if your ask includes a topic i am uncomfortable writing for, i will reject your request. a few things i will not write a fic for include non-con, watersports, and anal. a few i am picky about writing include dub-con, dark topics, and certain au’s.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢’𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫

chris evans, andy barber, ransom drysdale, steve rogers, johnny storm, (hayden) harvard hottie, ryan (cellular.)

tom hiddleston, loki laufeyson, thomas sharpe, jonathan pine, james conrad, captain james nicholls (war horse,) doctor robert laing.

bucky barnes, charles blackwood, lance tucker, sheriff bodecker, jefferson (once upon a time.)

anthony mackie, sam wilson, bernard garret, king (the hate u give,) captain leo, adrian doorbal (pain & gain.)

henry cavill, clark kent, geralt of rivia (the witcher,) sherlock holmes.

any other mcu character, a few obx characters

if a character or actor you’d like to request for is not on this list, just ask about them!

❀ 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 ❀

[tom-hiddleston-imagines]

Imagine you are James’s wife and you discover that you are pregnant the moment he is deployed for war.

-CJB

[magicmanias]

I love your work, you are an amazing writer! I was wondering if you could please write a fanfic about Captain James Nicholls?😁 Like one where he survives the war

You know, I actually have a WIP where this happens. I’ll give you the summary for now, since it’s not at the top of the to-do list:

I Will Always Find You 

James Nicholls x Nurse!Reader

Extra! Extra! Great Britain is now at war with Germany! Give us your horses and give us your men! Great Britain is at war with Germany! It’s 1914. And your life had only just begun. Finally, you were accepted into John Hopkins Medical School to continue your nursing education--as a woman no less. And August had come at last. You could pack your bags and buy a plane ticket to America and... Extra! Extra! Great Britain is at war with Germany! Nurses will be needed. It was only a matter of time before you received a draft letter. You would be going to war. 

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain- Chapter Eight Finale (!)

Fandom: War Horse

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of sex, death, and violence but nothing brutal other than one brief mention that gets a bit vivid. But LOTS of fluff and emotions and crying and hugging. A Happy Ending.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

Series Summary: It is 1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six//Part Seven

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story for a character who we saw only briefly but deserved much more <3!! I hope you enjoy the finale!!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510 @meowmeow-motherfucker

November, 1918

It was another long day at the hospital. Not another overnight, but still long. You had an hour to go for your time, as you checked the clock. You headed over to make sure there was a glass of water on each bedside table.

It was simple training. It didn’t take long to get a First Aid and Home Nursing certification. They gave you a uniform of a white cap, a dark dress, and a white apron with a red cross stitched over the chest. Your first days as a VAD were full of fixing cups of tea and changing sheets.

But by now you had sewn flesh together. You had seen men die with their eyes open. You had seen infections that made you feel queasy to look at. Once, you were asked to hold down a man’s leg as it was amputated. You never forgot his screams. They rung in your nightmares for a week. Compared to that, sewing together flesh was easy. Many of the other volunteers were women from families who were not accustomed to hard work. They were in for a large shock and were forced to adaptation. Only a few came from labor or farms, as you did,and could tolerate work for long hours. But it was as if the sight of death had bonded and toughened you all.

With the young men in town away to fight, it was mostly women you ran into. They were glad and grateful friends. Your weekly knitting club for the troops led to much baked goods, playful gossip, released sobs, and vulnerable confessions. You valued the women you met and befriended in your circles, your fellow VAD’s, and neighbors and new in-laws.

But none of them could replace James, of course. James with his occasional visits when he was discharged- visits that ended too soon every time. James with his constant, beautiful letters filled with sketches. Just the last one read.

“My dear Mrs. Nicholls,

Joey is doing well. He’s as fit and stubborn and spirited as can be, no wonder he’s lasted so long. He’s racing alongside Topthorn-not that I’m too surprised about the speed of his gallop. Jaimie sends you his love and good wishes as well.

 I’ve been thinking of you in Somerset. Of the reward to come-to come back to my wife, to come back to you. I hope you recall the Teddy Bear I sent you for your birthday. Yes, it is a children’s toy, but when you miss me, you may embrace him as you would me and kiss him on his head as you would me.  It is a bit of love I send back to you to console you. At least until I can return to your arms and kisses for real.

Do not think of me as less of a man, but I confess, that is what moves me- a future of ours. A house of our own.  Children of our own playing around the living room and getting into trouble. We can play music on the phonograph all we want without the cacophony of guns around us. We will laugh and talk over any silly old thing over every meal. Then we’ll go to bed, and I’ll take you as I did in the grass and we’ll make love without any fear or shame, only how much we adore each other…”

But now it was not only James and Joey you had to worry about. That first year, Albert ran off to join the army. When you found out, you ran to your parents and sobbed as you hugged them. Only sometimes you got a letter from him and you would press your parents for updates.

It only pushed you to work harder as a VAD and take it seriously. Knowing these soldiers groaning in their beds were someone else’s James or Albie. That someone was going to lose their husband or brother or son. And if you hurried and focused on the tasks at hand, you could help save someone’s life. That was what was on your mind when one of the doctors walked into the room.

“Everyone, there is an announcement- all staff must hurry into the lobby,” he declared.

Finishing pouring the last glass of water, you set the pitcher on a table and hurried there. All of you gathered in your uniforms, heads turning with whispers of what it could be. The head of the hospital stood there in the center of the room with a newspaper, he took off his spectacles to face you all. There were tears in his brown eyes.

“Everyone…England is going to sign an armistice this month with Germany and the other countries on the eleventh of this month. It will be the last day of fighting. In short, the war is about to end.”

There was silence. You could hear a few gasps. Every bit of you was vibrating and the breath in your lungs stopped. Finally, there was a cheer and an applause that broke out. Your colleagues wrapped their arms around you and hugged you and you hugged back.

You couldn’t believe it. Had it all been so fast? Yet so slow? It’s over…it’s over…the war is finally over!

But, from that last letter…James sent it just last month. Things could have changed. He still could have been killed! Or Albert too! All you had to do was wait for a final letter or telegram. One last one and it would confirm if James and Albert survived. Or not. In your heart, the war was not yet done. Just a few more days of fear…then it would be settled.

November 11th arrived, and the bells of the church rang louder than any Christmas you had seen. People danced in the streets, threw confetti, and cheered. There was no telegram. But no letter either.  You shook every time the mail was delivered that month. But nothing crucial so far. 

You were enjoying one of your free days eating luncheon with Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls. There was a knock on the door that made you jump.

“This isn’t when the postman arrives- it’s two hours early. Are we expecting visitors?” asked Mr. Nicholls.

“No, Mrs. Hayter isn’t arriving until tomorrow…” Mrs. Nicholls answered.

“I’ll get it,” you offered, getting out of your chair.

As you took a few steps closer to the door, you heard a sound.

A whinny. A horse’s whinny. A very familiar horse’s whinny. A whinny you had not heard since…since…

Your steps to the door became a run. You threw it open and let out a scream at the sight.

It was James in his now dirtied green uniform. He was standing outside leading Joey by the leash and giving you a salute. Without another word, you ran towards him, almost tackling him into a hug.

“James…James…is it you? Please tell me if this is real! Please-please tell me it’s you!” you begged, your voice breaking into tears.

You felt a hand reach your back. You could smell him, feel him, and hear that voice you loved so much.

“Yes, my darling…it’s me…and I’m not leaving anywhere, I’m staying with you for a very long time…” he answered.

There were footsteps and a shout from his parents behind you. You grabbed his face and pulled him in for a kiss. He smelt of wind and the smoke of travel as well as the horse and could feel his hands wrap around your back. You hugged him again and began to sob into his uniform, not caring anymore if it stained. He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you back so tight. Then he let go and greeted his parents, taking off his cap. Mrs. Nicholls kissed her son’s face a dozen times. Mr. Nicholls was weeping so badly his back shook as he hugged his son, James let him cry and rocked him as he stood. Assuring him, “it’s alright, father-I’m here. I’m back…”

You then turned to Joey and hugged his muzzle. The younger colt in the Narracott farm would have run away the second his leash was freed. But Joey, now a beautiful stallion in his own right, stood still. He accepted you just as he did the last day you saw him.

“I missed you, old boy. I missed you so much! I’m glad you made it- I’m so glad! Albie’s missed you most of all-he’ll be beside himself!”  you whispered to the horse.

You kissed his long snout with its white diamond. He leaned back into you as if to hug you back.

To think, James was back home. Every single neighbor visited to see him all afternoon.  Already at dinner, he was here to eat and compliment the cook. He finished his plate, cupping his wine in his large hand with one palm.

 “Good God, I’ve missed all of you so much…the things I’ve seen…things I’ve heard…I don’t know if I can be in another war after this…” he said.

“This one is over…it’s all bad memories, James…you can rest now…” Mrs. Nicholls said.

“And how is the prettiest volunteer in England? I hope she can rest as well?” James asked, turning to you.

“I was thinking…I do like being a part of the VAD…if they still need help, I’ll volunteer…”

“Oh, of course you can, Mrs. Nicholls,” he replied with a smile.

“You can always tell us what you saw…what was it like-fighting?” your mother-in-law questioned.

James became still and his face was white.

“I saw everything ….my first battle, I saw a man blasted to pieces-his guts flying from the shot of a machine gun…”

He opened up as much as he could. The horrors and violence he had seen. The deaths too many to name. A friend one day was a corpse the next hour. All of you were silent as he recounted.

Both of you planned to return Joey to the Devon farm tomorrow. You both laid in bed after dinner. Too tired for anything more than simply holding each other. You put your fingers through his blonde-red hair. Traced each feature of his to memorize it.

“You didn’t fool around with some French girl, I hope!” you huffed.

His voice was earnest.

“I swear on my grandfather’s grave, there were no girls from any country anywhere near me all that time! Jaimie will tell you likewise…Y/N…may I confide something to you?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“I remembered the promise I made you when I left. When it started…”

“Yes, I recall, my dear…”

He turned over to you. Adjusting himself on the pillow so he lay right in front of you. You retreated your hands.

“I kept it. I talked to my superiors. Told them we needed to consider the German’s weaponry and plan accordingly. At first, they said no. I asked them again. They said no again. Then another major came in. He agreed. Then the more they talked to, the more it was agreed. Like common sense. They got permission. They sent spies. We fought with guns when we knew there’d be guns…no surprise attacks. Nothing without strict preparation and knowledge…”

“Did you ever charge your calvary?” you asked. You shifted to be in the blankets from the cold November night.

“Only a few times. But, Y/N, I remembered…I remembered you. And I did my best to survive without disobeying orders. Somehow…well, to be honest, I never went against major orders and even then, I don’t think I was ever caught to be killed as a traitor! But I survived. I thought of you…of how sad you were and how you told me you didn’t want to spend your life a widow. I wanted to keep my word…”

He swallowed. You saw one tear in the duct of his eye.

“You did, James, you did…”

He took both of your hands. He smiled down, seeing you both still wore your wedding bands. Then he placed a kiss on them.

“I wanted to thank you, Y/N…if it wasn’t for that…for you, your promise-if I never met you, never loved you, never married you…I don’t know if I’d be here…” he confided.

You gave him a kiss on the lips. It was probably your fiftieth of the day. But after four years of deprivation, you were glad to be caught up. You positioned him to rest against your chest, wrapping your arms around him.

“My parent’s will cry when they see you tomorrow…when they see Joey, too. We’ll have to ask them if they heard any word on Albie…I can only pray he’s alive now,” you said.

“He’s a natural soldier. There’s a chance he did…” James mused.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The house creaked with the nighttime settling over it.

“To think, James, we have one part of our lives ending. Now there’s a new one. No guns, no violence. A peacetime-just beginning….”

He got up from how you held him, then pulled the blankets over the both of you.

“As long as that peacetime is with you, then it will be worth it…” he said with a smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

April 1920. A year and almost a half later.

A new spring was born to match the new decade. Today, it was the perfect temperature of not too hot and not too cold. The tulips, daisies, and crocuses were in bloom everywhere. The field between Somerset and Devon was stunning. You noticed how it rolled on as James drove the motorcar down to visit your family. The brown rabbits hopped around the fields. The river, Innocent’s grove, was such a bright blue it seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Soon it turned to the wide, sloping streets of your hometown. You waved hello to your old shop friends- Mary, Ida, and Alice all had found loves, marriages, or occupations of their own and were smiling. Of course, you made a quick stop to admire the painting of your husband in the town hall. On one corner, you could read its inscription.

’Joey’- Cpn. Nicholls, Fall, 1918.

All of you then finished the drive to the Narracott farm for a picnic.

Your family, along with a much alive Albert, welcomed you each. You, your husband, and baby sitting up in your arms. She thankfully didn’t make one cry the whole trip!

Dressed in her little white frock and little tufts of hair that looked just like yours, Little Rose Nicholls was the picture of infant health. Named after her grandmother, your mother.

There was never a happier night than when she arrived.  She was born in October of 1919. She arrived and cried her first cry when the clock struck eleven. James ran up to the room the second he was allowed, and her crying calmed down when he held the small baby in a white bundle. He teared up and kissed her forehead, never letting her go until she needed to be fed.

James told you he was glad he survived the war just for that day. He got to live to have her, to see her, to hold her in his arms, to love her.

The newly crowned Uncle Albert took her in his arms and blew a raspberry on her cheek. She turned with wide eyes.

“Can we introduce her to Joey?! I don’t think they’ve met yet!” he offered.

“Yes, of course we can!” you said.

Out all of you walked to the backyard. Harold still waddled about. The War To End All Wars came and went and Harold was still biting everyone’s legs. He did make a few threatening nips of his beak that made Rosie a little scared and she cried. But she stopped when they passed him, and you approached Joey’s field.

“Oof- she’s already getting’ heavy!” Albert commented. “She’s a big girl now!”

“Here, let me have her,” James offered.

Her father scooped her into his arms. Albert whistled like an owl as Joey trotted closer, swishing his long, black tail.

Would Joey make a sudden noise to frighten her? No. The creature seemed to know that she was young and had to approach her with gentleness. How incredible animals had a sense like that, Albert would say! Joey slowed his steps and moved his nuzzle close. Only his breath tickling her cheek.

“Here-this is a horse. His name is Joey, darling. What do you think?” James asked, holding her up and closer to the animal.

Her eyes went wide, and she made a small coo. Joey leaned forward. She reached out a grubby hand and touched his nose, petting him.

“There…there’s my girl, Rosie, you pet him like that,” James nudged.

She kept reaching for him, petting him again and again. Then Joey got out his large, pink tongue and licked her hand. Rose Nicholls smiled and began squealing in delight. Joey let her pet him with her grubby hands. And once she was done, he turned away. James carried her over to show her the farm and the animals.

“Here’s the garden mummy grew up in. She’d see rabbits eating her flowers, like the naughty rabbit eating the vegetable garden in your storybook! If you look, we might see one!”

You couldn’t help but smile. Your daughter was worth every sleepless night and disgusting diaper. James was always there by your side to help you. He knew your child needed her father as much as she needed her mother. In fact, he was already beginning to spoil her! A room in your new house dedicated to her nursery. It had the teddy bear in her cradle as well as any little cloth dolly and book and dress he would splurge on for her.

James decided to retire from being a soldier. The War to End All Wars had done too much for him to endure another. Sometimes he even awoke from a nightmare or jumped at a loud sound. He did find work as a schoolteacher. His gentle authority and calm voice of reason was one his students adored him for. And it meant you could still volunteer as a VAD on weekends. He would grade his papers next to Rosie’s cradle in the evening.

You turned around to see Albert smoothing the corners of the picnic blanket out on the grass. Your father brought over a picnic basket. He looked healthy and cheery-he told you he was going to quit drinking and was on his second month without a sip.

“Here! Foods ready! While it’s hot everyone!” Your mother announced, bringing out the savory pie, fresh from the oven.

All of you sat on the blanket. James handed you little Rosie as you sat down. You bounced her on your lap. James made you a plate and passed you yours. Savory pie, sliced bread, berries, cheese, and fresh produce and jam cake too.

Then your father lifted a glass of lemonade.

“Here-let’s have a toast, eh?”

 You all lifted a glass with your free hand.

“Here-to us. Our family!” he cried.

“To us!” all of you repeated.

James turned to you and clinked your glass again.

“And our little family as well,” he cheered.

“To the three of us,” you agreed.

You received him with a peck on the lips. Then all of you began to help yourselves. Rosie herself was beginning to enjoy the small bits of bread you gave her. She gave a laugh like music and you, and James beamed at her. You took a deep breath. Enjoying the spring weather and the picnic with both families. The one who raised you and the one you had. A family, a happy life full of peace with a living husband who loved you.  

[rawiswhore]

Captain James Nicholls, 1940′s Bucky Barnes, Archie Hicox x Fem Reader- “Cabaret”

I know James Nicholls was a soldier in World War I, but this is just a fantasy.

And, unlike the “welcome home” fanfic, all of the men in this fanfic are in the same cabaret.

Yes, I’m aware Archie Hicox is a spy.

________________________________________________________________

War was such a pain in the ass. Seeing people getting shot, fear of getting shot, killing people, being away from your loved ones.

Thank God it was finally over.

Captain James Nicholls, Bucky Barnes and Archie Hicox were in a dark colored cabaret in Germany. 

Several other men, many of them former soldiers, were in the cabaret too. Some of them were nice to look at, others weren’t.

Some had drinks, some were smoking cigarettes, some were both.

Captain James Nicholls, Bucky and Archie all were sitting separately. Archie was taking drags of his cigarette and had a glass of scotch with him.

A beautiful woman was about to take their pain away.

A man in a tuxedo had announced to give it up for the performer.

You.

Everyone in the cabaret began applausing and some were even “wolf whistling”.

You then came on stage, dressed like Katy Perry when she performed her “Katy Kat Club” performance at the 2009 MTV EMA’s.

You also had a little chair with you.

You danced, sauntered and sang on stage.

Just about every man’s breath in the audience was taken away looking at you.

All of their cocks sprung up from their pants.

James’ jaw dropped at your beauty and sensuality.

Bucky probably wanted to take you home. 

Actually, you think all of the men in the audience wanted to take you home.

Some of the men in the audience unzipped their pants and were masturbating to you.

Which includes James, Bucky and Archie as well.

The 3 men all had unbuttoned and unzipped their pants, where they released their hard cocks.

The 3 of them all began moving their hands up and down their cocks looking at you, they weren’t beating each other off, no, but they all had pulled their cocks out to masturbate to you.

Precum started to build from their penis slits, slipping down their cocks like a melting ice cream cone.

Bucky was using the tablecloth to cover himself up masturbating.

God, if only she was to walk down to us, James thought.

She has such a beautiful voice, Archie thought.

You noticed the men in the audience.

Some of them were handsome, others were quite ugly.

3 of them caught your attention.

Those 3 men just so happened to be Captain James Nicholls, Archie Hicox and Bucky Barnes.

You didn’t know their names, but you wanted to take them home with you. You wanted to flirt with them. You even wouldn’t mind having an orgy with them.

While you danced and sauntered on stage, you looked at Bucky and gave him a playful, cheeky wink.

He smiled back at you, winking at you.

You had a smile on your face when he winked at you.

You looked at Archie and blew a kiss to him.

He saw this and enjoyed this.

She’s flirting with me. She probably likes me too, he thought.

You then finally looked at James, where you licked your lips to him and trying flirting with him, giving him a “come hither” look.

He even enjoyed this too.

She probably isn’t flirting with the other males except for me, Archie thought and noticed.

He looked at the lucky men who you were flirting with.

Those were the other ones she was flirting with.

She likes them too.

A burst of cum was released from James’ cock, blasting on the tablecloth.

Some of the same men probably had the same fate.

[screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms]

I am actually going to be home and able to write, and seeing as I just pasted 400, why not put out for more requests? Send me fluff, angust, smut, whamp, and combinations! Tom, Magnus, Conrad, Loki, Pine, Nicholls, and/or an AU for any of them! I can’t wait to see what you come up with and look forward to getting your requests. 

[ladyfloriographist]

Valentine

Pairing: Captain Nicholls (War Horse) x femme!Wife!Reader

Warnings: WWI setting, alternate ending fix-it of sorts?, war and death themes, bad for Joey good for James, writing letters (sometimes sexy), yearning, features Major Jamie Stewart (Benedict Cumberbatch)

XXXX

Captain James Nicholls poured himself a drink and gazed at the sepia photograph. He kept it in his barracks so that he’d always have something to come back to; always, a reason to return to his quarters alive.

He sighed, looking at your photograph. The lighting had been wonderfully golden that afternoon, and your hair had sat so prettily about your face. He picked up the small frame and traced over your image with his thumb.

The urge to write you overwhelmed him. He was certain you hadn’t yet received his most recent letter, having despatched it only yesterday morning—but the desire to feel closer to you was too strong to ignore.

It didn’t ease his heavy heart that the only thing he could do was send you words on a page written by his hand, but the thought of you ripping open the envelope and avidly reading his correspondence before eagerly writing him back compelled him to sit at his desk and scratch out a note.

James loosened the standard-issue khaki-green tie as he pulled a pencil from the top drawer of the desk. He flicked open the top button of the long-sleeved beige-green shirt and ran his long fingers through his neatly-parted, close-cropped, blond hair.

He cleared his throat, and hovered the pencil above the paper, before launching in:

My dearest, loveliest Mrs Nicholls, Today your photograph caught my eye more than it usually does. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you reclined on the chaise in the sunroom, the photographer’s bulb snapping pictures of your angelic form. My sketches of you like that keep me company still. But today was different. I wish the photograph had some way of conveying the colour of your eyes. This is not to say that I have forgotten the look of them. Quite the contrary, dear heart. My memory of the hue of your iris, the fathomless black of your pupil, and the curl of your lashes are of’times the only things that grant me sleep at night in this dreary France. My darling, how I long to see them again. To see the two perfectly shaped crystal orbs in your face and look into them until I lose myself in your soul.

James paused, and supped his drink. He glanced at your photograph on his dresser and a crushing weight descended on his heart.

He gulped down the knot in his throat and continued on:

I count the days until this bitter biting winter is over and we British return home to our loves. We are assured that triumphal victory over the Germans is in our sights and you, my dear one, are in my thoughts always.

He signed his name and addressed the envelope to the home you shared in south Oxfordshire, and it was only when he started to write the date that he realised the significance of the day. He smiled and wrote it at the top of the letter:

14 February 1915

XXXX

He was frustrated with no where to put the frustration, and cold with no way to shake the chill. James slumped down into his chair and sat with his head in his hands. His eyes burned.

He dragged his hands down his face and groaned. He’d buried too many today.

Alone in his barracks the Captain privately wondered whether King and Country were worth the cost of so much, so many lives, so many lessons on how to break a man.

Recalling the stench of the gas and the death soured his breath in his mouth and sickened his gut.

He visibly shook the thoughts from his mind and reached for the only relief and release he’d come to count on: a pencil and a scrap of paper, and the sepia photograph of you.

My love, the dearest Mrs Nicholls,

My sweet heart, I miss you.

James held the pencil in his hand, poised to say more, paralysed to write it. The blunted nib hovered over the textured paper and he swallowed, picturing your radiant smile, hearing the trill of your laugh.

He coughed. “Write on, Jimmy,” he murmured to himself, more surprised than he should have been at the croak in his voice. He flexed his fingers on the pencil and wrote:

It soothes me some to address you as my darling wife. Please do not think of me a lesser man, but it is a great comfort to me to know that you are mine and I am yours, and you wait for me on the other side. I fear I shall never see the end of it – this wretched mess. Lord knows many of my men will not—not anymore. The snow has given way to the muddy sludge of spring in the land of the ancient Frank and I find myself longing for nought but a flat, hard stretch of Earth to walk our staunch British soldiers through. They are weary, as I confess I am.

James stopped. He rubbed at his eyes and took a swig of whiskey, sighing as it burned down his throat. Cheap, but the best available. He wrote on:

My Joey doesn’t much mind the mud. A beautiful beast and I am lucky to rely on such a fearless creature. I shall enclose a drawing of the noble steed. I am told that soon we shall spot fruiting mulberry trees between the thick French forests of oak and beech. I can’t imagine anymore something so fresh and vibrant as a berry. Ridiculous trifle. Nothing here is as sweet or juicy as you, my love. My darling heart.

James laid the pencil flat on the desk for the last time tonight. He sighed, lost to reminiscence.

XXXX

Captain Nicholls tipped the glass to his lips only to find it was empty.

He huffed as he put it down on the desk and slid it away, wanting to get up and re-fill it but knowing he has perhaps had too much already.

James looked back at his drawing. It was quite the likeness, if he did say so himself. He hoped he’d gotten the relaxed fall of the towel right and commended himself on your shoulder blades and waist. He added some more details to your hair, and then some more shading to your back and the folds of the rippling towel that covered your lower half.

His favourite part was the way he’d captured your nose and chin, your face turned ever so slightly over your shoulder, your downcast eyes wordlessly beckoning him closer.

Absent-mindedly, James swallowed the excess saliva that had pooled in his mouth—a consequence of his own imaginings. He wished he had even one or two colours to add to your portrait, to bring the plain picture somewhat closer to the rich images he nurtured in his mind.

He wrote your name in the bottom right corner, and underneath it:

After a Bath Cn. JN Artois, Sep ‘15

James sat back in his chair, and as he gazed at his drawing of you he felt the stirrings of arousal, deep in the pit of his gut. He glanced to the side where your most recent reply lay, scented with a fine floral perfume from the array of pressed flowers: orange-toned iris, pink ranunculus, red rose, and purple-hued lavender.

And read them, he had—for what they truly meant.

I love you, you’d said. I’m promised to you. I’m devoted to you, and I want you.

I desire you.

His heart had leapt up into his throat at the small and precious bouquet, and he’d immediately set to work sketching you.

For a few moments James closed his eyes and let his mind drift far and away from the nightmare that plagued his days. He thought about the last time he saw you, on the morning he left Oxfordshire to take the ferry into France. You hadn’t let him out of bed until the last possible moment, and he hadn’t attempted to leave until then either.

He blinked slowly back to the present as his desire grew, then quickly picked up a pencil.

James wrote:

My darling Mrs Nicholls,

My dearest love, tonight I remember the time we danced together in our new kitchen. We’d just moved to Abingdon and everything was new. Your dress that night was full of red blooms and your bright red lipstick dazzled me. We swayed to Sweet Adeline, my darling, do you remember? You smelt like orange blossoms and evening jasmine, I remember.

He sat back in his chair and let the memories crowd him like a swarm of bees: how he’d kissed you and where he’d touched you and the way he’d fucked you so thoroughly that your hair pins had come undone.

You never did find that one rogue button that flew off as he ripped open your dress.

His desire became a hot, burning need—long and thick between his legs. He resisted the urge to touch himself.

It’s cruel, my love, he wrote. The gift of your flowers tantalises me. Memories of you flood my mind like the waves of the ocean flood the sandy shore. Would you do this, loveliest lady? Most sultry sorceress? Would you leave me with your kiss upon my lips and your taste within my mouth, on my tongue to tease and torture me so sweetly? I feel you even now.

James adjusted in his chair as a distracting ache settled at the juncture of his thighs. He was desperately aroused, so stiff and hard, so ready to take you to bed and open you on his cock—to watch you bloom for him like the petals on your soft, pretty flowers. He continued:

Like Henry’s Catherine there is witchcraft in your lips, but also in your deeds, and you enchant me. I ache for your touch, my darling.

James let his eyes fall closed and ran a light touch of his palm over his swollen cock. The sensation shot through him like a bolt of lightning from the Heavens and he shuddered. It had been so long. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit down.

Shall I take myself in hand and think of your sweet cunt? Your hot wet mouth? Your own soft hand? I am caught in your spell—I cannot resist, and I am too far gone for restraint. Dear sweet heart, were that you the flower and I the honey bee, I would horde your nectar for myself and eat all your sugary sweetness until it dribbled down my chin. Darling, how I long to dip my wick in your wax and feel you catch alight.

He dotted the period onto the paper with force, and threw the pencil onto the desk with a groan of frustration.

He breathed hard, panting breaths for a few moments, until he hastily unbuttoned the khaki slacks that confined him.

James decided to finish this letter tomorrow morning.

XXXX

“Ready, Jim-boy?” said Major Jamie Stewart good-naturedly, crossing one leg over the other and readying a pencil and small stack of papers.

James smiled as his friend and commander settled on the chair beside his cot. The Captain felt as though too much of a fuss was being made; as though he was taking up a valuable bed in the field hospital.

“Now, no funny business,” said the Major, his words in jest and his face faux-serious, “I’ll hear no pillow talk and I will certainly not dictate it.”

Despite it all, James had to laugh. Despite the pain that shot through his arm from his shoulder to his fingertips. Despite feeling like a deserter, a man who abandons his oaths and his friends. Despite wishing for nothing more than to be wrapped up in your arms.

Jamie smiled ruefully. He’d medically discharged that many men that by now, he could watch the emotions at war on their faces. He decided not to let his friend dwell on them. “How shall I start, Jimmy?”

James rested properly against the two flat, uncomfortable pillows beneath his head. He sighed, “My dear love, sweet Mrs Nicholls.”

Jamie scribbled onto the pages.

“First,” said James, “allow me to apologise—no. Not that, sorry Stu—”

Jamie scratched out some words.

“First, I must apologise,” James said, and Jamie nodded, “for the long interval in writing you back. Allow me to explain the delay, dear one.”

“Mhm,” Jamie hummed, his eyes trained on the paper as he wrote James’ words for him.

“There is no cause for alarm. I am well—no. I am… hurt, but recovering. Yes. Hurt but recovering.”

“Hurt,” Jamie echoed as he wrote dictation, “but… re-cov-er-ing… Yes, go on, Jim.”

“Two days past—”

“Three,” Jamie interrupted.

“Has it been three? Truly? Good God. Three days past we launched an attack on the Germans. Joey charged on ahead at a gallop and was struck by artillery fire. I am not sure where—no, Stu. Erm—struck by artillery fire and… and bolted behind the German line. In his panic he bucked me from his back and I fell. I know nothing more of his condition.”

James breathed deeply to steady himself. It would all be far less anxious if he could explain in person, but as it was, he was already behind in his replies to you and the trip back to Oxfordshire—in his condition—would not necessarily be a quick one.

At his friend’s silence, the Major looked up and said, “alright, Jim-boy?”

James cleared his throat and continued dictating his letter. “My injuries consist of a dislocated shoulder and a fractured radius, both on my right side where I came down hard on the ground.”

Jamie looked sceptical. “’My injuries consist’?”

James shot his friend a look and Jamie quickly scrawled the words onto the paper.

“I am to be discharged and despatched from camp shortly. Darling, you can expect me home by the end of the month.”

Jamie smiled at the endearment. “Anything else, my friend?”

James swallowed. “My heart beats to see you, dearest.” Hot tears swelled in the Captain’s eyes as an acute longing pierced his chest. He cleared his throat and looked up at the tent ceiling of the makeshift hospital. “Dictated by Major Jamie Stewart, forwarding address, all my love, Captain James et cetera, et cetera,” he mumbled quickly.

He felt the phantom touch of your hand wrap around his and he held back a sob. He was coming home to you, but the guilt of leaving his purpose, his men, and his commanders chased away any happiness with blazing torches and sharpened pitchforks.

Jamie’s warm hand gripped his shoulder. “James. I know, James.”

“Stu,” said James thickly, his eyes falling closed as warm, saline tears slipped down his temples and into his hair.

Jamie squeezed James’ flesh where he grabbed him, attempting to reassure his friend. There were no words for such moments where immense relief blended with crushing disappointment. Jamie felt his own eyes well with tears to see his strong, brave friend and soldier overwhelmed by such conflicting feelings.

He clutched James’ hand in his. “Jimmy,” his voice cracked on the nickname, but he continued on. “Jim-boy. If we post this tonight, by six o’clock, we can make the express.”

James sniffed and coughed. “Mm? And?”

“And, she’ll get it by Valentine’s Day, all things being equal.” Jamie squeezed James’ hand and gripped tight. “Valentine’s Day, Jim!”

James opened bleary eyes. “Do you mean that, Stu?”

Jamie snatched the pencil and leant the paper on his own thigh to write on it. “Tell me how to spell her name, Jimmy,” he said, “I’ll ask her to be your valentine.”

XXXX

Note: The song ‘Sweet Adeline (You're the Flower of My Heart)’ by the Haydn Quartet, first recorded around 1908 I think, can be listened to on the YT: https://youtu.be/jRA4fdZytJQ (under 3 min)

[mrsarnasdelicious]

Daily Sweetheart Drabble - Sunday

Prompt From This List

Capt. Nicholls

James runs his fingers over your throat. “Are you going to be good, or am I going to have to tie you up?” He asks firmly. “I’ll be good.” You murmur. A big fat lie, of course. Your heart is beating in anticipation of the punishment he will dish out.  “Very well.” James says softly. He trails his fingers down, from your throat to your chest. You press one of your nipples against his palm. He pinches it firmly. “Stand still.” He hisses. “Yes sir.” You cooe. The mischief is audible in your voice. 

James gives you a whack on the ass. “Need I tie you down?” He hisses. “No sir.” You cooe. He whacks you again. “Don’t sound so insolent.” He nips at the lobe of your ear. You can’t help a moan. “So I thought.” James says.  He binds your hands behind your back and fastens them to a ring on the wall. “One more time and I will also bind your feet.” He hisses. The promise of that makes you incredibly wet. And James knows this. He knows you very well by now. 

He stands before you, his riding crop under your chin. “You are doing this to yourself, you know that.” He murmurs. You look him in the eye, a wicked smirk on your lips. You are challenging him to do his worst. James tsks and brings the whip down on your thigh. You moan loudly. “So wanton.” James hisses. He closes the distance between your body and his and kisses you sensually. You are not the only one who’s desire runs hot.

[smolvenger]

Miss Narracott and The Captain Part Five (Cpn. James Nicholls x fem! Reader miniseries)

Fandom: War Horse

Word Count: 6K

Chapter Warnings: Angst and fluff. Pining. Drunkenness. Mentions of sex but no smut. Inspiration from Jane Austen and Little Women. Attempts at historic accuracy. I choose violence at the end.

Series Summary: It is 1912-1914. You are Y/N Narracott, the older sister of Albert Narracott. You must do what you can so your family can keep their farm. And so your brother can keep his beloved horse. Under financial struggles, you never expect romance to come into your life...until you have a chance encounter with James Nicholls- a Captain with a knack for drawing. But the threat of war lingers in the air...

Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five//Part Six Coming Soon!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

A/N: Comments, Reblogs, DMs, and Asks about my work are always appreciated! I always love doing period pieces like this! Feel free to ask to be tagged in this and/or my other stuff! Thank you!

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract

@eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @infinitystoner @12-pm-510

He offered you to sit down at the table. Once you had, he took the place across from you.

“Why do you wish to speak to me alone, Mr. Lyons?" you asked.

He rubbed his hands together. Then he began.

"Miss Narracott, I have taken notice of you these past two years. Despite the low station of your family, you impressed me. Your sweet nature, work ethic, good sense, and pretty face. All admirable. However, your father is unable to provide for his own family. Or afford his own farm. You are trapped by a family that cannot provide for themselves, or you. But…there is a solution a compromise, if you will."

You folded your hands on the table. Looking right at him. Trying to see if your heart would stop in its place. You could attest truth in some of his words. Right now, bad luck took away your cash crop. Ruined crops meant no rent. The eggs, the milk, and your wages could only cover so much. You could sell the animals as a last resort. Though not Joey, it would break your brother's heart too much.

You knew where this was headed.

He looked around at this place. Though your family rented it, it was truly he who owned it. He owned the stone walls. The staircase. The windows you looked out so many times. The sink. The doors. He even tried to own Joey. And now you were only more thing he was trying to add to his collection of ownership.

But this house! So familiar and safe to you! It was filled with so many things that made it a home. Your embroidery with flowers and sentences sewed in hung on the walls. On the fireplace mantle was a clock Dad loved to polish. Mum’s pans hung over your head in the kitchen. The seats and fireplace could make a cold winter's night cozy. At this very table, you would gather to eat, read, sew, have cups of tea, and live. And now, all of that had to be packed up and squished to move to your uncles. Or sold one by one to make ends meet. To buy time for the plants to grow. Or until you all had to beg.

It was dark inside. It was the late shine of afternoon becoming evening, but still bright. But the stone walls blocked the sunlight.

It was summer after all. And it mocked you in its sunshine and youthful joy outside. You heard the chickens clucking and Joey's hooves trotting about without a care in the world.  Unlike you.

“Sir, you are proposing marriage to me,” you said directly.

“Yes, I am.”

 Panic made parts of you see stars. But your vision came to normal. You looked down at the table, to regather yourself, then back at him. You swallowed. Keeping it down. You would not give into “hysterics.” Not yet.

If only there could be a distraction. A bird at the window. A thundercloud. Albert's owl whistle. Joey poking his head through the window for a snack from the kitchen, even! No, there was none. Only this.  You put your hands on the table, fingers curled up. Everything in you sensed danger though you were at home and very still.

Part of you knew this would always happen. That it was only a matter of time. And now here was the moment. But why did you feel so horrible?

You wished you could run away. You wished you could run out the door and never speak to him again. To catch a cab out of the city to never deal with this! But…you forced yourself not to. Even if you didn’t want to be here, you knew it would come eventually. You would not flee. You would face him.  You would stay here and deal with it.

Father used to fight in the Bower wars. He was brave then.  Mum's brave. Albert's brave. I can be brave too, you thought.

 He leaned a little closer to you. You felt yourself flinch back. He then put a cold, soft hand over yours. He showed no nervousness, usual for some suitors. His eyes were sharp on you. Lyons cleared his throat with his other hand. He began speaking.

 “Miss Narracott… you have been the greatest surprise about this farm. About this family. And through these past two years, I have grown more and more affectionate with you. I think of all ladies here in town, you have my utmost opinion of superiority. Though I understand your family’s situation and standing more than anyone else, I can be a forgiving man. I can be a tender man beneath all this.”

He gestured to his overdressed striped waistcoat. He looked like an English zebra. If only Albert were with you. Then you both would bite your lips. Then flee to a corner and laugh at him. Then the next sentence hit you like a slap.

“And I will forgive your family's rent if you consent to be my wife.”

You heard the clock on the mantle tick.

“That was what you were discussing with my father?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He said if you said yes, it was alright by him.”

You forced your breaths to slow. Your hand shook beneath his and your belly boiled. Was this a trap? An idea struck you.

“You are a businessman, not a charity man, Mr. Lyons. Said so yourself, I recall. You cannot seriously mean you would forgive my parent's rent all the time. You need income from your tenants,” you reasoned.

“You are correct. I could extend the forgiveness for a year at most.”

A year without rent. More than enough to recover the loss of crops. It was too good to be true. Was it?

“You say that you like me. What will my life be like after I marry you?” you queried.

Lyons smiled.

“You will live with me in my house. All my servants shall call you mistress. You won’t have to feed chickens for the rest of your life…You will have anything you could want- you have my word! Anything is yours!” he elaborated.

“Breakfast in bed delivered by maids every morning?” you asked.

“Of course, you can, I don’t see why not. It will be a comfortable, glamorous life. That is what I offer you.”

It seemed like the life of being a Wealthy Lady was finally in your grasp. Just like the ones in the catalogs.

“I-I…I don’t know what to say…this is a lot…” you babbled.

Tears were welling up in your eyes, slowly falling. One drop curled in a minuscule puddle on the tablecloth. You got out your handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

"It's natural for women to cry with joy when they are proposed to! Especially like this!” he commented.

But you were crying for a different reason. The pure overwhelm of everything.

"Let me ask again-Would you like to be my wife, live a life of ease, and easily have your family keep their farm? I will make you happier more than any man here in town could."

 He even from his pocket got out a velvet box with a ring inside. It was encrusted with a diamond that glittered when the sun hit it. You must admit, it was beautiful and right up your alley. Costly, too. But it felt tight on your finger as if preparing it to be chopped off by a knife by squeezing the life out of it.

"That is what I have to offer you- whatever you want. Anything you wish for is yours, Miss Narracott.”

"Like gloves?" you asked.

"Your pick of them!"

"I have one that's missing...where is my glove?”

He tilted his head.

“Your what?” he asked.

“My cream-colored glove! One’s been missing for a year now! Did you take it? I thought you stole it out of fondness for me. I’d like it back, please,” you explained.

He blinked, shaking his head.

“I never took your glove!” he confirmed.

“Oh…I was mistaken….” You sighed.    

Your head was spinning. Breakfast in bed every morning. Motorcars. Fancy hats and all the dresses you craved at last. Servants. Never having to do a minute of work for the rest of your life. Afternoons spent lifting your feet up like a queen in town. Knowing your family’s house was safe. They had time to recover the lost crops. That they had stability…

“Miss, you try my patience. I do expect an answer- immediately,” he said.

But all while married to Lyons.

You looked up at him. You did not feel an ounce of attraction. You knew several older men who were far more handsome than he.  His ridiculous red mustache! Could you kiss those whiskers on your wedding day? Would they tickle? Would they make you sneeze or even laugh when you kissed him- not from joy but from how silly they looked on him? Could you sit with him and talk with him every day? Spend every meal with him? Could you attend every Sunday service beside him? Could you call David your stepson?

Then it came to the marital act. You were taught about what happened by your mother, your friends, and the farm animals. Could you see yourself wanting to bed this man? Could you… do these sorts of things to this man? Let him do all sorts of things to you? Could you crawl into the same bed as Lyons nightly? See his naked body? Let him see yours? Feel him on you? In you? Wake up next to his face every morning? You could push him away, but not for long. And what if you got pregnant? Would you want to carry this man’s child? Make more of him into the world?

He wasn’t old enough to die soon. And you doubt you could get away with murder. Or file a divorce.

Perhaps you could learn to love him. Even if he wasn’t a handsome man in your eyes, what about his character? Men didn’t have to be handsome to be kind, gentle, respectful husbands who treated their wives well.

Thinking back, you recalled every interaction. How he scoffed at rabbits as “vermin.” His behavior toward your family when they desperately tried to get the field plowed. He harassed your father and mother. Taunting their worries. Speaking with cruelty and superiority. Not even a whisper of sympathy for their situation. And not only to people beneath his power but to the people he wanted as in-laws!

He hadn’t changed a bit.

Was that a man you wanted to marry?

You thought of the field. The storm. The brokenness on your father’s face. The relief on it if you walked out, flashed the ring on your finger, and said, “The rent is forgiven for a year, Dad!”

Then you remembered your mother’s words. About being a woman. About self-sacrifice. About happiness.

How much you gave and sacrificed already for your family. If you made this one sacrifice; If you married this man, it would be no different than plunging a blade into yourself. Or tearing at each part of yourself until barely anything was left. An empty husk from your wedding day until death did you part. An empty, unhappy shell all your days.

That wasn't worth it.

You looked up into Lyon's eyes and said one word.

“No.”

He blinked. His smile was unfazed.

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” you clarified.

“No breakfast in bed?”

You took off the ring and placed it in the box. You slid it back to him. You stood up. Trying to feel taller than him as he sat.

“No to your offer. I cannot and will not accept,” you said.

“Your families rent! This is quite an incredible opportunity. Think of my generosity. Think of it!” he argued.

“You’re not proposing to me. You’re extorting me,” you accused.

You began to shake even more, tears poured out of your eyes. Yet you kept speaking.

“You’re not a nice man. And you wouldn’t be a good husband to me. So, do you hear me? My answer is no!”

You dipped your head down. You wiped the tears off with your sleeves, then looked back up. He got up as well, putting the box in his pocket.

“You will be our landlord. But no more. And you will respect that boundary. Or we will live somewhere else…” you told him.

“Very well then…My business here today is done. I’ll leave,” he replied.

You walked over and opened the door. Mr. Lyons stepped right outside, tipping his hat with a solemn look. His face frowning.

“You lost quite an opportunity, Miss Narracott,” he said.

 You heard a familiar honk. A smile returned to you at the sound.

“We have no servants here. Harold will see you out,” you announced.

Harold charged onto Lyons. Wings flapping and feathers flying. Lyons struggled to run out.  The goose bit his leg. Lyons let out an “Agh!” in pain. He lost any dignity he had left shaking away the offensive gander. The landlord couldn’t take a step without dealing with Harold’s nipping beak. He retreated to the door of the gate pursued by the goose.

Your parents had been sitting on the large rock near the bottom field. They jumped up and ran over to watch. Harold kept honking and flapping his wings at the threshold when your hopeless suitor got out. Off Lyons ran to his motorcar, his servant driving him far away. Harold let out a few final, triumphant honks at the gate. Then shook his head and waddled away like a parade of victory.

You heard Albert yelling out and his running footsteps.

“Y/N! Y/N! Don’t you worry, I’m right-“

Albert burst forth to the front yard. You saw he had a pitchfork in hand.

“Albie!” you said.

He looked around you, getting your shoulders with his free hand.

“Are you alright? I heard no screaming, but lots of raised voices, I did! He didn’t…didn’t hurt you, did he?” he asked.

“You…. you were going to attack him…to protect me?” you asked.

“Yes, like I promised you! Always will!”

You clutched him and cried. Finally releasing the urge to sob for the past hour. Dropping the pitchfork, he hugged you back. You heard your parents from behind.

“He made you an offer, didn’t he?” Mum asked.

Letting go of the hug, you turned to them and nodded.

“He said he’d forgive the rent for a year if I did. And I refused him,” you explained.

You began crying to your parents, wiping off a tear with your sleeve like a child who broke a teacup.

‘I’m so sorry…I know that…I know how much it would…it would have saved us…” you babbled to your parents.

You dreaded seeing two disappointed faces. Hearing disappointed words. But instead, your mother stepped forward.

“You’ve no reason to be sorry, come here, darling, come here…” she consoled.

She wrapped you into a hug. You dug into her purple blouse, crying into it. She rocked you as you stood, letting you cry. Then you peeked your head up at your father. Releasing the hug, you approached him.

“Dad I’m…I’m so sorry…I failed you; I know…I could have saved us, saved you and…and I didn’t!” you cried.

“Are you mad at me, girl? That’s what I’m worried about…” he asked.

You shook your head.

“No…you could have forced me, but you didn’t…you…you gave me a choice…you let me choose!” you answered.

He squeezed your arm. Then all three of them hugged you. A circle of warmth and love, safe to cry, safe to release.

“We’ll figure something out…Shhh, it’ll be alright…” Mum consoled you.

Releasing the hug, you saw Albert’s eyes light up with an idea.

“We have an uncle. We’ll ask him to hire us!” Albert suggested.

You then looked up at your stone house. The farm that had been your whole life. The farm that you refused them to keep at the price of your happiness.

“Where will we live, mum?” you asked.

“I’ll tell you. We’ll live together,” she answered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were grateful for the chores on the weekend and work on Monday. You were relieved to see customers, organize items, and hear your co-worker’s chatter. Anything to not obsess over what happened. They were a welcome distraction.  When you returned from work, Albert was all a-chatter. When you walked through the gate, he approached you and jumped subjects like a squirrel jumped through trees.

“Dover’s fair’s coming up and Joey’s got to win a prize again! He has to! And oh! Captain Nicholls stopped by to draw Joey today! Oh- and Andrew! Andrew’s winnin’ all the bees at school! Right clever, he is! And Dad says we got some eggs hatched up! Not too many washed up in the storm!  And Mum’s making beef and gravy for dinner! It’s already making my mouth water thinking about it! And there’s some fuss goin’ on in Austria-I heard this fellow was in his car and-“

 When he saw the look on your face, he shut his mouth. Then looked at you.

“How’re you today? Sad about Lyons?”

“Some. But it’s better,” you replied.

“I’m glad you said no, Y/N. Don’t want him as my brother-in-law, I don’t!” Albert confessed.

You let out a small laugh at the words and he gave you another hug.

Dad did what he always did when times were tough- go out to the pub. He left after dinner. No one said a peep when he walked out. All knew it was worthless to stop him.

That night, sleep was not easy to achieve. Your mind reeled about the confrontation with Lyons. Thinking through and playing each moment over and over, troubling and tormenting you. Unable to sleep, you got out of bed. You gathered a shawl and went downstairs to the fireplace, starting a fire. Curled up on a chair, you stared at it, the sound comforting you.

Then there was a knock on the door. Answering it, you saw Si Easton with your father’s arm over his shoulders.

“Bloody sloshed, he is! But got him home safe!”

“Si, thank you so much. Be careful getting back home,” you said.

Si tipped his hat and then left. Stumbling in his steps, you led dad to a chair, he was mumbling, humming a song.

“Here… Just relax now…I’ll get you a blanket and some water…” you comforted him.

Leaving, you fetched an old quilt and put it over him. Dad looked at you, his cheeks red and eyes glazed. You were lucky Dad was never a violent drunk. Only a happy, chatty one.

“Hmm…. you’re something of a princess, Y/N…” he slurred.

“I wish I actually was,” you commented.

“There was a row at the pub over you,” Dad continued.

You turned your head. Were these drunken ramblings over nothing? Or did this really happen?

“What do you mean?” you pressed further.

You sat down on the floor and held his hand as he rambled on.

“Hmph…some fellow…I don’t know how he found out, but he did. Grabbed Lyons by his suit- big, tall man. Slammed him on the wall! Yellin’ ‘What were your intentions with Miss Narracott?’ and Lyons couldn’t answer. The man was ready to box him with his cup, he was, if the others hadn’t pulled him off. Right before he could get a good box on ‘im.  All the men pulled ‘em apart, they did. Old Jonesy ran to ‘em. Scoldin’ about how he doesn’t like rows in his pub. Pulled ‘em apart and told to go home, sober up. Hmmm, good to know… didn’t think Devon was that small…but…interesting, isn’t it? At least he got him, so I didn’t have to!”

The fireplace crackled. You fetched him a cup of water. But it stood on the table near the chair, untouched.

“Did you talk about the proposal? Who fought Lyons?” you asked.

“Don’t remember, no…Hmmm…didn’t see nothin’ who he was…” he murmured.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and soon snored.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day, work was welcome again. Perhaps at break or at lunch, you would recount to your friends what happened. But when the thought occurred, the bell over the door rang. In walked Sarah Corbyn again. Back on her trail. Her dress was in a yellowish hue so that she shone like gold in that brown shop. She approached you.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

“I hear there are some new books that have arrived. I’d like to see them, please,” she requested.

“They’re over there,” you pointed, guiding her to the books.

She looked at two, then turned over to you with a smile of concern. But this time, you did not smile back. Maybe the rejection had emboldened you. You stiffened your body as if preparing for a fight with knives rather than the sugary cruelty of her words. You would not tolerate her viciousness anymore.

“I hope you are well!” she chirruped.

“I am,” you answered.

“How is work, Miss Narracott?”

“Good, as always, Miss Corbyn.”

She leaned in closer with a smile. But this time, you folded your hands in front of you. Not smiling back.

“Though, I must tell you, as I have before- as you are a friend of mine. About Captain Nicholls…

You looked into her eyes.

“Miss Corbyn, I do not like to discuss one’s personal matters at work. I have many things to do. I like to be productive with my time. Please do not discuss such things with me in the middle of my shift.”

She blinked her eyes. Her nose scrunched in disbelief. Then she shrugged. She turned to the books, purchased two, and left.

Once work ended and you left the shop, you saw her. She waited for you like a spider waiting for a fly to enter its web. But you were not going to be prey this time. Not without a fight.

She walked over to you with that same smile.

“Oh, how glad I am your shift is over!” she said.

You turned over and folded your arms, glaring into her eyes.

“Work is done, so let me speak frankly. Miss Corbyn, you can at least be honest with me.” You began.

She only smiled, with a slight tilt of her head.

“I am always honest with you!” she shrugged.

You stepped forward.

“Miss Corbyn- I do not want to hear your boasts about Captain Nicholls. I understand what you are doing and why it’s to me. I am tired of hearing it! I’m tired of your attacks and insults! Don’t think I don’t understand what you’re doing! I heard about your soap comment-it’s only because my family and I work hard! It’s not funny and it’s not right! I want you to stop. If you do this one more time, I’ll tell Nicholls himself- I doubt he would think you more admirable! If you think tormenting and bullying me will make you look better for your fiancée, you’re wrong!”

“Fiancée!?” she repeated.

“Is he your fiancée? He’s a respectable man! Not the type to leave a woman hanging! I thought he should be by now! Is he?” you asked.

She took a step back. She had a frown. Then she took off her gloves and showed her hands-no rings.

“We’re not engaged. I wish we were,” she said.

With that, she put her gloves back on. She turned on her heels and left.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That Sunday, once church was over, you went up to Captain Nicholls.

“Good morning, Miss, what did you think of-“

“May we please talk outside?” you interrupted.

He blinked. He gave a glance at Major Stewart. Stewart tightened his lips.

“Of course, we can,” Nicholls answered.

 Joining the filtering congregation, both of you walk out to the street. A few feet from the church crowd.

“Are you in love with Miss Corbyn?” you asked directly.

He dropped his jaw, and his face became pink.

“What- no! She’s mad for me, but not I for her!” he cried.

“I ask because…I see her with you. All around you! Dancing with you!” you elaborated.

“Her father is a Lieutenant in the army. It’s impossible to say no to him when he invites me over. And so, it’s been impossible to avoid her,” Nicholls explained.

“You dance with her twice per social!” you argued.

A few heads turned, then they walked away. You stopped caring who overheard. You had to get the truth out of him.

“I made one promise in winter so she would not be partnerless at her first dance. Then in spring, I told her only one! She frowned but relented.”

Shame made a rock in your stomach. You realized you turned away from the two dances that spring out of spite. Not even looking. Had you turned back then, you would have seen only one dance between them. Not two. Flustered, you kept speaking.

“You’re always smiling at her!”

“I’m nothing if not polite, Miss Narracott!” he reasoned.

You stepped forward, your hands curled into fists on your sides.

“Did you lead her on?”

He held your gaze.

“I thought she was jolly, pleasant company at first. Then I dined with her family at their house. I saw her with her servants...and I confess, her behavior shocked me. Always demanding, never grateful. Her lack of…she seems to lack consideration of any person’s feelings but her own. I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but it is the truth. I still owe her decent treatment, like any person. Especially a lady. No more, no less,” Nicholls finished.

You took a step back, bowing your head. Shame washing down on you. Were you no better than a jealous, clingy hen?

“Oh…I’m sorry, I just…if she was who you wanted, that was fine…I just…”

You took a step back. Then looked away. He walked around to see you, stopping in your tracks.

“I accept your apology. And Miss…your farm is still open for me to draw there; I’d like to visit today. If it won’t bother your duties …” he suggested.

“No, you may…you may visit,” you permitted.

Sure enough, around teatime, he did. Though he did not drink a drop of tea or eat a bite of his biscuit. But got his chair and sketchbook and set to work. You were in the laundry area to hang up wet clothes. Your father went down to the bottom fields. Mum stayed inside to scrub the floors. Albert went up to chat with the captain as Joey pranced about the grass. He took a deep breath. Surrounded on that lovely summer day, the sun shining and a light breeze blowing through.

“Joey’s quite wild today! Excited for the fair, he is! He’s got to run, sir! Too much spirit! Sorry for that!”

“You can ride him out, Albert. I can draw the chickens or Harold instead,” Nicholls permitted.

With that, Albert swung his leg over the horse and galloped off. But once he was gone, Nicholls approached you.

“But Miss…are you alright?” he asked, softening his voice.

“You mean about Miss Corbyn?”

“No, Mr. Lyons…” he clarified.

You stopped pinning up laundry, setting the shirt down on the basket.

“You heard?” you asked.

He nodded.

“Albert told me…how do you feel now?”

You let out a deep breath.

“I feel…I feel relieved. And worried. But…I feel free…” you confessed.

“And you’re safe? He has not…bothered you since then?” he continued.

You shook your head.

“No. Never brought it up again,” you said.

“That’s good…”

He stayed there. You hung up the wet shirt to dry. Then you took down and folded some dried socks in a separate basket. Nicholls looked away to the field but stayed still. He began to fidget with his hands. He then walked out but did not return to his chair and sketchbook. He paced a little about the yard. You then paused and took a step towards him.

“Sir, is something the matter? Are you feeling well?” you asked.

“Miss Narracott…could you come here, please?” he asked.

You took a few steps closer. Out into the sunshine where birds carried their songs, the breeze was gentle, and summer was in bloom. His hands kept fidgeting, though he took a deep breath.

“May I be frank?” he asked.

“Of course…”

“I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding about her…I wish you confronted me sooner…” he confided.

“It’s all done now! I know you’re heartbroken because you were in love with Miss Corbyn!” you assured him.

He looked into your eyes with gentleness.

“I never loved Miss Corbyn. I’m not in love with Miss Corbyn.” he confessed.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

He reached into the left front pocket of his uniform. And pulled out your long missing glove.

 You dropped your jaw and let out a gasp despite yourself, yet you felt yourself smile. You gaped at the glove then at him then the glove then him again. He offered you your glove and you felt it but didn’t remove it from his hand. Your heart raced, again trying to believe this was real. Everything- these words. This-this was real. If he was real.

 He then looked at you with eyes wide.

"You...you took my glove...you had it for a year..." you wondered.

"You lost it at church. It was a hot day. You took your gloves off and kept them in your hand. As you left, this one fell on the pew. I kept meaning to return it...but...I...I wanted a reminder. Always there. To think of you...remember you..."

"Captain Nicholls…” you gasped, wondering if your mind could form words now.

“Can I speak more?” he asked.

You nodded. He took a step closer, placing a hand over yours. Warm, calloused, and gentle to touch.

"Miss Narracott, I've admired you. You’re a lovely woman. Your kindness, your loyalty, your heart...how much you cared for your family. How strong you always were. How gentle you were with all the animals-even Harold! And I..."

You looked at him. His eyes began to brim with a few tears.

"It was not one day. It was every small day, every small hour I spent with you. Each time, the more I met you, the more I knew you, the easier it became. The more I felt for you. And every corner you turn, every time you turn away and leave…I pray for one more minute. One more chance. One more instance, only to see you, only one glance. To hear you say only one word. I cannot keep it a secret anymore-I love you, Miss Narracott. I adore you. I worship you. And I want you, more than I ever wanted anything…”

Such words were not easily recovered from. Nothing else registered. Only him. He blushed, then glanced down at your hand. He gave you the glove and let go.

"So, tell me and relieve my torment...do you feel the same? If not, I will never set foot on this farm again and bother you again," he said.

You took one step forward and placed a hand on his. Holding it and looking him in the eyes.

"James...James, I feel the same..." you answered.

It was the first time you ever said his first name. His shoulders relaxed. He broke into a beautiful, adoring smile at you.

 "I was...was never sure...and... The day Albert told me you were proposed to, I knew I had to gather the courage to tell you. That some gentleman with money would arrive and swoop you away. Then I'd have to stifle my feelings and let it die. I worried in that moment...I would lose you forever...not that I didn't want you to be happy. I only... I worried in your situation; you would marry out of desperation. That I had rivals I never expected..." he continued.

You placed the glove in his hand and put your second hand in his. You recalled your father’s drunken recollection.

“Albert told you about Lyons and Dad said there was a row at the pub. Did you-?”

“I had only one sip too many that night. I was tipsy, but I wasn’t drunk. And Lyons said something about being alone with you- it struck me. If he…took advantage of you …then you would be forced to marry him. Out of reputation.”

Nicholls lowered his head, then looked back at you.

” I lost control and…and I grabbed him onto the wall. I raised my voice at him. I threatened him if he did something. But…I did it because…I was frightened for you, and I didn’t want you hurt…” he finished.

He looked down, blushing red.

“I’m not proud of it. I’m not usually like this…I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

You shook your head, giving him a smile.

“But you did this because you worried about me. You cared for my well-being. You wanted me safe. How could I think less of you knowing that? It’s no matter,” you cooed.

 He was breathing heavily.

"But the matter Is I love you, Y/N."

He finally said your first name. You could have glowed from happiness. You looked up and smiled. There were tears in your eyes- this time from joy.

"I love you too, James."

 Suddenly there was the sound of clucks and a honk. Both of you jumped as Harold chased a bunch of chickens through the yard, Captain of his own charge.  Both of you let out a laugh as you stepped aside, then reclasped hands. In the distance, you heard a familiar "neigh!"

"But James your intentions are honorable, are they?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“This means...you will talk to my father, yes?" you asked.

His smile widened.

"Happily."

Your heart stopped in your chest, and you felt giddy.

"I never thought you’d feel towards me...never believed I was worthy of you..." you confessed.

"You are, oh, sweet Y/N, you are!" he whispered.

There again was the sound of hooves. Albert’s brown head in the far distance.

  "Albert will be soon...may I kiss your hand?" he asked.

"Yes."

 He took a brief glance down at it, feeling your palm and enjoying the touch.

"Y/N... darling..."

He smiled; eyes bright as he brought it up to kiss it. It was short, but his lips were soft. He breathed in as he kissed you, savoring each bit of you. And you savored the second you felt his lips on your hand. Then he released. Much too soon, you let go.

 You took returned to the laundry room, to fold and sort clothes Nicholls went back to his chair near the stable field. Albert galloped back in on Joey.

"Woah! Easy-boy! Aren't we a team, Captain!" Albert bragged atop the stallion.

"Indeed, you are!" James- for now, he was not only Nicholls but James! – replied.

Albert got off Joey and began to brush off the dirt on the horse.

"Nice and handsome- isn't he?"

"Yes, very. Do you agree, Miss Narracott?" James asked, turning towards you.

Both of you shared a smile at each other.

"He definitely is,” you answered.

Though after a few minutes of drawing, you saw out of the corner of your eye that James set his pencil down and closed the book. He got out of his chair and with a determined expression. He then looked over at you with a nod. You clutched the drying bed sheet you were getting off its line. James turned it over to your brother. Though you turned innocently to the laundry, your ears focused on them.

“Albert…where is your father now?”

“He’s down in the bottom field putting in seeds. Do you need him, sir?” Albert asked.

“I just want to speak to him.”

“Whatever for, sir?”

But before he could give the boy an answer, the gate swung open. Harold honked with an alert at a guest. You turned and saw Major Stewart rushing in.

“Jim! Jim! We’re needed immediately! Headquarters!” cried Major Stewart.

He turned his head.

“I need to go now, goodbye,” he wished Albert.

Albert dipped his head in farewell. Nicholls went over to you. Major Stewart at his heels.

“Goodbye Y/N, I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

He leaned forward, giving you a whisper. Stewart stood back with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. His lips tried not to smile.

“Don’t worry…the minute I am free...”

“All the time you need, James.” You replied.

He put on his hat and tipped it at you. Saying his last goodbyes to his hosts, he left with Stewart.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were smiling brightly the next day. You put on the nicest of your white blouses and darker-colored skirts for work. But you took extra time that morning on your appearance- in case James entered! And you saw him! You even found yourself grinning and humming as you restocked items throughout work.

“Why, someone’s cheery today! You were all doom and gloom last week, Y/N!” Alice commented as you both swept up some leftover dirt on the floor.

You leaned against the brush.

“Alice…can I confide in you?” you whispered.

“Oh, of course!” she said.

You softened your voice, the thought bubbling inside you like a hundred butterflies.

“Something…wonderful has happened. And something even better is about to happen…” you began.

“Ooo, don’t leave me in suspense! Tell me!” she urged in excitement, with a toothy grin.

As you leaned over, the words were right on the tip of your tongue. “I’m in love!! I’m in love and he loves me too! He finally told me yesterday! He’s going to talk to my father! And this means that-“

But instead, there was the sound of a loud engine and yelling. Muffled over crowds of people bursting into loud talk right outside the shop. The church bells were ringing, and they never rung outside of services.

“What’s all the fuss? Stay here girls- I’ll be back!” Mrs. Snow offered, opening the door.

All of you peeked outside. People were handing over newspapers. Some gathered around one gentleman in a motorcar with a brown mustache. And no one looked happy.

When Mrs. Snow returned, her face looked like a ghost.

“Ladies…we are at war with Germany.”