A/N: this was meant to be written and posted 5 months ago… THIS IS AN EXAMPLE OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I START A FIC AND THEN GET NEW IDEA’S FOR OTHER FICS AND ABANDON THE ONE I ORIGINALLY STARTED. but yeah, it’s a lil sinful, not major but, a lil sinny.
You stare with wide eyes at the road ahead of you, trying your hardest to defeat the tiredness that was slowly consuming your body. You knew that as soon as you got home, you’d fall straight asleep, but in order to do that, you had to get home in one piece, which meant you’d have to fight it off whilst driving home from school.
‘what if’ scenario—what if Jacob Frye was just a normal, everyday man and not
an Assassin living in the Victorian Era. I guess one could tie this into his
actions older and becoming a Master Templar and how he feels trivial things
will get him and his lover what they want. ;)
The machines were loud, but as time went onward, Jacob Frye
got used to their sound. The hours themselves were equally long—twelve a day
from six in the morning till six at night—but London was cruel, and if he
wanted to subject his wife and daughter to the streets or have his beautiful
bride embrace the idea of prostitution, he would have to work long hours with
only one day of the week off.
Every day, he couldn’t help but worry what may happen; so
many of the machines were new and clunky. People found themselves under random
metal plates that were falling apart and onto their bodies, either crippling
them or worse given the size and weight of them… Steam so hot it could burn
your skin if you were too close to certain engine types, it nearly happened to
Jacob that day, but he was lucky to hear the warning signs in time as the pipes
trembled and threatened to burst when he began to work on releasing the
pressure. He grabbed his paperboy hat and blocked what he could when it hissed
forth from its tight confines, only feeling his fingers burn a bit from the
nasty bite of the hot air.
“Bloody hell!” Jacob grumbled, dropping his beloved hat,
warn by time. Snatching it back up quickly, he looked to his fingers, now
reddened by the mark of the steam.
“Might want to stick those fingers of yours into the water
bucket, lad,” commented an older worker who was leaning on his broom he was
using to sweep the floors and keep the workplace as ‘tidy’ as it could be.
“Otherwise, they might burn and sting something fierce in the coming days.”
Jacob couldn’t allow that to happen. If his fingers on his
dominate hand began to hurt, the work would become difficult, and he could lose
his job. Hat back in place, he hurried over towards the nearby water bucket,
but scrunched up his nose at the sight of the water.
It was dirty, hadn’t been cleaned in weeks, it seemed, and
this was supposed to be the water they used to wash their hands. Ever since the
Thames had been busied by boats, the water
everywhere had gotten polluted, really. Even clean water from a pump was
hard to find.
He relented. Jacob knelt down and put his hurt hand in the lukewarm
water, flinching all the same from the attack it had on his injured fingers.
“Hurts like hell!” he grumbled, moving his hand back up through the surface of
the dirty water to look upon the injury once more in hopes it looked less
Still red and still a bit difficult to move for a bit.
“Keep moving them,” instructed the fellow worker, taking
back to his task as he swept upon the floor. “It’ll hurt less if you at least
keep those fingers active.” The man’s eyes shifted beyond Jacob to the woman
heading their way. “Incoming trouble, lad,” he whispered between them. “Prepare
“OI! You there!” shouted the female in Blighter’s clothing,
gesturing angrily at where Jacob was just squatting.
Jacob turned to the angry voice, but not in time as the boot
of the female found its mark upon his cheek and caused Jacob to fall from his
stance and into the water bucket, which flipped over and soaked the man through
from the act. He would have retaliated…fought back if he could…but his job and
family life were on the line, so he resisted though clenched his teeth angrily
at the outcome of this humiliation.
“Sitting there like a useless lump!” she scolded, hands on
her hips at the sight. “The boss done told you to get to work on fixing the
pressure in this engine! What are you doing!”
Her shouted words were unwelcomed, making Jacob grumble and
roll his eyes out of sight of her. Fixing the bucket back into place and making
sure his shilling necklace was still there and his hat was alright, he turned
to the woman and raised a brow to her. “Doing as I was told, ma’am,” he said
without fault, trying to bite back the sarcasm and annoyance in his tone as he
spoke. “Machine hissed out some steam, and I was fixing my hand—.”
Before she could retaliate at what a bumbling idiot he was
being, the whistle blew upon the chime of the clock to signal it was time to go
Jacob never felt such relief. The Blighters were relentless,
and he wished, more than ever, that someone would stand up to them and take
them down. For now, he couldn’t care to think on it. He could get a few hours
with his family and a few moments of peace before work again.
Tearing off a bit of his off-white, untucked shirt, Jacob
wrapped his hand for the time being after dipping the fabric in water he was
able to retrieve from another mudded bucket in the factory before his leave.
It still burned like hell; however, his stomach was telling
him that shouldn’t be his focus, and so his weary feet merely made him head
back to his home back within Whitechapel in hopes there was enough food for
dinner, as he hadn’t been paid enough coin to really buy even so much as a
piece of bread.
Jacob smiled a weary smile at seeing the light of the candle
in the front window, enticing him onward. His wife always lit it when he was at
work in hopes to guide him back to her embrace long before their child was born.
It was like a beacon of hope in some ways to her and a glowing comfort to him.
Taking to the old wooden stairs that moaned under his weight, Jacob opened the
door and let himself inside.
The home was quiet for now, but he could hear his wife in
the kitchen cooking something, to which he felt relief of sorts as he wanted
them to at least have something to fill their empty stomachs with. Breathing a
sigh of content at being home again, Jacob removed his hat and tussled with his
hair before plopping down exhaustedly on the old sofa they had.
As aged as the cushions were, Jacob felt comfortable and
relaxed. If he could just close his eyes for a minute…
“Daddy!” cried out his little girl who was five-years-old.
Her hair was kept back by a single headband, but her clothing…was the patched
up shorts and overalls look for some reason—making Jacob wonder why she wasn’t
in her dress like usual.
His weary, hazel eyes opening wider at that title, Jacob
pressed a smile on his lips regardless of how tired he was. “Hey there,
princess,” he chuckled, turning to grab onto her and hug her to his chest.
Jacob was exhausted, yes, but the sight of his daughter made him forget the
fact for the time being. Kissing her cheek, her giggling at the teasing of his
beard against her skin, he held her close as she was one of the reasons he
worked as hard as he did.
“I caught a frog today!” she expressed cheerfully at the
Jacob’s chest shook with a stifled laugh. “Digging around in
the mud again, are you? I am sure your mum appreciated that,” he commented
lightheartedly, moving his palm to his eyes to try and rid them of the weary
look and feel.
“She made me put him back,” the little girl pouted. “And she
made me change my clothes again…”
“That explains what happened with the dress,” he comment,
his eyebrows raising to add wrinkles to his forehead at the pieces fitting
together now. “You’re not supposed to get all mudded up in nice clothes, love.”
“Jacob,” praised his wife as she came in from the kitchen,
wiping her hands upon her apron before venturing over to kiss him on the other
cheek and welcome him home. “It is good to see you!”
His wife was the other reason he continued to work so hard,
making him move his arm about her to hug her tightly from where he was sitting
as his legs just wanted to rest. “It is good to be home,” he admitted in a near
Noticing the bandaged hand, she motioned to their daughter.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you go on and sit down for me in the dining room? Dinner
will be ready in a minute.” With their daughter departing from the room, she
tenderly touched his hand with a sigh to follow as she noticed he had torn at
his shirt to make do for gauze. “Jacob…”
Her sigh was of disappointment, and Jacob noted it.
Regardless of the fingers still being in pain, he moved them to hold her hand
with a smile evident upon his features. “I am fine, love. Do not go fretting
“And you tore your shirt up…”
“It is nothing,” Jacob insisted, urging her closer to him as
she had taken the seat beside him in time. His lips rested upon her forehead to
try and still her worries. In that moment, he tried to redirect the
conversation. “Dinner smells lovely.”
She flinched, toying with her apron a bit. “There’s not
nearly enough,” she admitted between them, not wanting to alert their daughter
to how hard times were. Seeing Jacob so tired and knowing he was hungry, she
quickly leapt at the chance to get him some food. “I won’t eat tonight, Jacob,”
“(Y/N),” he grumbled at the thought, not wanting her to
“You’ve not eaten well in three days, Jacob!” she whispered
in a scolding tone. “I’m worried about you!”
Jacob raised his hands to her concerns to silence them. “(Y/N),
I am fine,” he murmured, though really, he was quite hungry. When it came to
their lack of food, he always let his wife and daughter eat. He never wanted to
take anything from them being the man of the house. He himself went to either
stealing something from the streets or eating leftovers of things he found that
butchers and bakers threw out.
It was the way he had to live, and if it meant he kept a
house and his wife and daughter, then he would do it every day.
“I can give you some of my food,” she continued, knowing
Jacob would probably not hear of it.
“I’ll be fine, love,” Jacob stressed upon every word.
Kissing her once more, he motioned towards the dining room. “Come on. Let’s get
dinner together, so you both get something in you. I’ll worry about myself
After the small bit of bread, meat, and cheese was served
between them, Jacob tucked in his daughter after kissing her goodnight with his
wife and then headed to their own bedroom. He hardly had the energy to remove
his clothes. Jacob pushed his boots off, at least, but then rested face first
on the covers with his eyes already closed to try and find comfort in being
able to unwind at near eight at night.
His wife’s hands upon his back, he hummed in content at
feeling her touch upon his fatigued muscles. “I love you,” she whispered close
to his ear, resting her cheek upon his messy and oily hair. “I love you and
appreciate everything you do for us.”
Jacob’s eyes remained closed, but a smile spread across his
lips at her words. “And that is what keeps me going, (Y/N), for I love you both
dearly, and I would do anything for you…”
Jamie raised his head as Willie repeated the syllable in various volumes as Sabrina approached the field where Jamie had one of the work horses harnessed to the drum that spread manure.
For a moment his heart lurched as the sun dipped behind a cloud and Sabrina’s hair darkened. In another world he would be doing this at Lallybroch and it would be Claire coming to check on him with their bairn in her arms––though Claire would be sure to have a wee basket over her arm for her herbs as well.
He coaxed the horse to a stop and let the creature rest as he watched the wet nurse carry a squirming Willie closer. He pulled off the pair of gloves he wore while working and tucked them into the back waistband of his breeks; they could make it trickier to maneuver with the stiff fingers of his hand but it was easier to use them than worry about how filthy he was whenever he found a chance moment to see Willie during the day.
The little legs kicked and straightened as Willie’s arms reached for Jamie. The lad had mastered the art of pulling himself up to stand but any steps still required the assistance of adult hands or something solid to hold onto for balance. Jamie caught him under the arms and lifted him high, both father and son smiling and laughing in their customary greeting. Then Jamie settled Willie in his arms and kissed his forehead. Willie smacked his lips together and made a kissing sound to himself as he’d taken to doing in response.
Jamie turned to Sabrina as Willie started to pick at the sweaty collar of his worn shirt. The woman smiled but exhaustion and exasperation were written over her face.
“She was there again,” Sabrina said quietly.
Jamie bit his cheek as he reflexively clenched his teeth.
“He was just waking from his nap and I’d gone to get him some food. She was free with her opinions on your choosing to wean him so soon.”
Jamie rolled his eyes and rubbed Willie’s back. “Da?” the little voice asked until he looked down at him. Willie pointed at Sabrina who smiled. “Beena.”
“Aye, mo chiusle,” Jamie nodded and smiled. “I’ll be finished wi’ this field in another ten minutes. If ye dinna mind fetching me something to eat, I’ll meet ye down by the stables and we can see how Willie here likes it.”
Sabrina nodded and reached to take Willie from Jamie. Willie clung to Jamie and started to fuss. “Nononononono, Daaaaa.”
“It’ll be fine, lad,” Jamie coaxed. “Ye’ll want to watch me wi’ the horses later, aye? I need to finish here first. Can ye tell me what a horse says?”
“Neeeee,” Willie droned baring six little teeth––two on the top and four on the bottom––nestled in his gums.
“Tha’s right,” Jamie encouraged.
“And what about the cows?” Sabrina took over, drawing Willie’s attention away from Jamie and starting to walk back to the house.
“Ooooooo,” Jamie heard as he slipped his gloves back on and returned to his work.
He would need to find the right way to have a word with Dunsany about his wife and the way she was interfering with Willie; the other servants were starting to talk about her attachment to the lad and her mourning for Geneva was losing its effectiveness as a means of explaining it away. It had been over a year and they thought it a shame hadn’t found more comfort in her remaining daughter who was becoming a young woman in her own right and could do with more attention and guidance from her mother.
Sabrina was the one to suggest getting William out of the house more.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” Jamie agreed. So Sabrina had taken to bringing William outdoors for walks when the weather permitted and to observe Jamie at work with the horses. As the boy grew and became more active, the question of who should watch him during the day began to grow as well.
“Lady Dunsany will want to provide you with a proper nursemaid for the boy,” Sabrina noted one evening. She had been corresponding with her sister in London who was expecting her fourth child and was trying to find a delicate way to ask for help.
“I’ll find a way,” Jamie frowned. “I dinna want to give her more influence on him if I can help it––not that I’m no grateful to her and Lord Dunsany both,” he added hastily, “but it willna do for Willie to grow accustomed to such things.”
“You mean to have him with you?” Sabrina’s question came slowly, the skepticism leaking from the pauses.
“I’ll find a way,” Jamie repeated with greater determination.
And as he went about his work in the following days, Jamie had examined his tasks and tried to think of ways he could have William about while he accomplished them. Jenny managed to run Lallybroch with only a little help and a flock of bairns about her; there had to be solutions that would work for him as well.
Having finished the field and brought the work horse back to the stable to rest and eat, Jamie slipped up to the loft where he’d stashed the pieces of his solution. He had them secured in place on a shaded patch of grass a short distance from the paddock fence where he’d be working with some of the younger horses during the afternoon.
Willie’s squeals drew Jamie over to help Sabrina as she struggled to carry both the child and a small basket of food.
Jamie deposited Willie into the small penned in area and then helped Sabrina spread out a blanket and the basket to see how Willie reacted to the constraints of his own paddock.
He crawled over to the small fence wall and peered through the gaps in the slats to see Jamie and Sabrina. Finding them, he giggled triumphantly and stuck his hand through to try and reach them. His senseless babbling got louder as he realized he couldn’t get to them. Jamie bit his lip nervously as Willie pulled himself up using the fencing until he stood and could peer over the top edge. “Da! Da-da,” he called, slapping the smooth wood with the flat of his hand. He became fascinated by the grain of the wood and started poking it with his finger, tracing the lines and following it to the corner where that first piece of low fencing joined to another.
Jamie watched the wall sway a little under Willie’s weight as he held to it for balance but the structure held and so far, Willie appeared to be safely contained.
“It works,” he declared quietly to Sabrina.
“Don’t speak too fast; it’s only a matter of time before he tries to climb it,” she warned then laughed at the look of fear and exasperation that crossed Jamie’s face at the thought.
“Beena, Beena, neeee!” Willie cried pointing to one of the horses that had come to investigate at the paddock fence.
Jamie got up and plucked a fistful of grass to bring over and offer the inquisitive mare. When he turned to look back at Willie, he noticed that the lad had bits of grass stuck to his lips and was pushing something around his mouth with his tongue.
“What do ye think ye’re doing, Willie?” Jamie asked. Willie stuck his tongue out and started spitting to rid himself of the blades of grass he’d attempted to eat. Unsatisfied with how long it was taking, he tried to claw them out with his dirty fingers and nearly gagged. Jamie picked him up and wiped the lad’s mouth with the cuff of his shirt. “It’s not so bad when ye’ve got the proper teeth for it but you’re prone to wind enough wi’out tryin’ to digest grass––and ye can trust me on that as I’ve personal experience.”
He kissed Willie on the head before setting him back down in the enclosure, listening for the little smack of Willie’s lips in reciprocation.
“She’s not going to like it,” Sabrina reiterated. “But… I think we can work on getting Willie to adjust. You’ll need a way to carry him with you that will leave you with your hands free.”
“My sister used to carry a bairn strapped to her chest while she went about her kitchen but tha’ was when they were wee things. Willie willna keep still enough I dinna think,” Jamie frowned.
Sabrina’s brow furrowed. “Once he starts walking he’ll be able to help you with small tasks. As long as you’re mindful to his being there, the boy should do fine and not be too much underfoot. He’ll learn his place from you well enough, I imagine… You’re good with him and he responds to you.”
Jamie felt himself flush and ducked his head, fishing in the basket Sabrina brought for some bread and bringing it over for Willie to gnaw on instead of the wooden slats of his pen.
“Even if what ye say is true… I remember how much grief I gave my father wi’ gettin’ into trouble. Well-intentioned or no, I expect you––my wee man––to be the same.”
Aware he was being talked about, Willie grinned broadly holding tight to the crust of his bread.
Looking down into the face of his smiling son, Jamie’s heart clenched with that bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. The child Claire had carried would be so much older than Willie by now, and yet, once… once he––or she––had been this small, had smiled at Claire this way and held the promise of so much mischief in his––or her––eyes.
“What would Claire make of ye?” Jamie whispered as he reached out and brushed the brown locks from Willie’s forehead. As Willie held out the crust of bread for Jamie to share, he hoped that she would have loved the lad for his sake, for the comfort it gave Jamie every night to have the love of the lad close at hand.
“We’ll have it all figured out by the time ye’re needin’ to go to yer sister’s,” Jamie promised Sabrina. “And there’s naught Lady Dunsany can do to change my mind. I followed my da around to learn the business of a farm; Willie’s goin’ to do the same. What do ye say, mo chiusle? Do ye want to ken all there is to know about horses?”
His set of patched camouflage shorts are still cinched about his hips, and even though she can’t discern every detail from her vantage point, she recognizes the sheath with the glint of her crafted knife strapped to the back of his belt.
T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Zach doesn’t really use anything during sex, the most he does is cover your mouth with his hand when he needs you to be quiet. You had an vibrator and he tried it out some times, but he feels like he’s cheating, getting the short road to get you ready, so he doesn’t like to use it very much.
You dropped into the bed, pleasantly sore and breathing hard, drawing big breaths of air, while your whole body seemed to burn and contract after what was to be your third or fourth orgasm (you stopped counting after some point). Zach gave you a mischievous grin as he turned off the vibrator and put it to the side, but you could feel something strange. Maybe it was the fact that her boyfriend was partially dressed in a dark denim shorts with an obvious erection fighting against the restrictive material, and had shied away from all her attempts to give him pleasure, and yet, after she being clearly prepared for him, he refused to enter you, using his fingers or even his tongue, always added to the incessant vibration of her newest wand, his gift, may she add. The fatigue by the amount of orgasms, added to the irritation that seeing him dressed and refusing to all your attempts to satisfy him simply robbed the best of your afterglow and you quickly became irritable.
- “Okay,” - you said between breaths. - “What’s the problem?” - You probably sounded a little more rude than planned, but your pupils were heavy, your body was still burning and your boyfriend was refusing to fuck you. You had a point. Zach’s smile seemed to falter, his expression immediately becoming confused. He sat up in bed at the height of her hip.
- “What do you mean?” - He seemed to reflect. - “Did I do something wrong? You seemed to be enjoying it.” His tone had a raspy accusatory tone, as if in response to your upset state. You snorted, bringing your arms to shield your breasts from his greedy eyes as you turned to lay with your belly down on the bed, your hair down your back and shoulders in a complete mess. Then you looked at him accusingly, feeling as your cheeks began to burn in embarrassment.
- “Why…” - you could feel the blush spreading to the point of your ears, so you changed the phrase. - “What’re you doing dressed?” - his confused face overcome your shame in having to question him. - “Why didn’t you fu…” - you did not know how many times you had sex with Zach, but your courage to say what you had done in the middle of an argument (when you were still naked, nevertheless) was nonexistent. - “you know, with me?”
He was silent for a while as he looked at you, and you could see that he seemed to like the state you were in. The way he immediately began to suck his lower lip, not exactly biting, and then pressing his lips into a thin line, told you that he was restless and nervous, his hands starting to twitch and drop, showing that he was insecure and somehow afraid of what he would respond to her and no matter how much his behavior made you anxious, you also worried and, on some levels, were ashamed of what he might say to you, so that you remained silent, waiting an explanation. In the end, he finally seemed to give up and sighed, avoiding your eyes as a deep blush spread on his face.
- “… It feels like cheating. You know, like i’m getting some short patch to get you ready …”- His voice sounded like a whisper, but in the quiet of the room, it was easy to hear.
- “Oh.” - To say that you were shocked at that fact was an understatement. You knew exactly what motivated that feeling. - “Oh! My god, Dempsey!
I can’t believe you got competitive over sex!” - You tried to keep a neutral expression, but the comical and embarrassing situation managed to steal your best and you had to hide your face on the pillow to muffle your laughter.
- ”I! I was not! It’s just…“ - He was in a mixture of shame and amusement, stumbling over words. But then he looked really confused, as if he had some serious doubt. - "I mean, if I can’t get you there myself… doesn’t it mean I’m, like, lame?”
You really tried not to laugh at his confused and lost expression, but the situation was just too comical for you to be able to stay serious while responding. Even her shame paused, so surprised that she was at the opinion he had. - “You’ve got me there, like, three or four times… And we didn’t even… lame is definitely not what I would use to define this.” - you immediately noticed that your last words caught his attention and already knew what to expect when a naughty grin start sprouting on your boyfriend’s face.
- “… how would you define this?”
- “Great?” - You began, a smile playing on your lips. Clearly the answer mattered to him, so you decided to play around with the competitiveness that Zach could contain even in the most unlikely things. - “No, maybe awesome?” - You continued, watching as his expression shifted to one where he contained the laughter, even though his eyes suddenly seemed warmer. - “Perfection? You ruined me to any other man?” - you dramatized the last ones, rolling on the bed and putting your hand to cover your face in an attempt to interpret despair. Zach became interested, his face turning to you immediately, picking up the tip from the fact that your naked body was now in show for him again.
- “Oh.” - He exhaled, eyes twinkling with mischief. - “I really like the last one.”
- “Dempsey!”- You laughed, pulling what was nearest to cover yourself again as you blushed. But Zach pulled the pillow out of your hand, his hot, still unsatisfied body coming to press against yours. - “You’re definitely competitive over sex.” - you murmured almost against his lips, as a smile start to spread on his face before Zach began to spread little kisses across your face.
- “I do not think that’s something you should complain about.”
Note: I’ve just did some awfully through research over the fact that Zach Dempsey doesn’t really bite his lips, only kinda sucking them or pressing them together, so, there you have it. A otherwise useless but nice fun fact about this 6’3 dork.