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withhowsadsteps · 3 years ago

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from the dining table - matt fic (bbtl)

I’ve been struggling with my basically chronic pains for days now because of work and standing on my feet for multiple hours but hey! Managed to write something. I’ve been wanting to write more and more but I just literally can’t produce words, or I lack the motivation to do so whenever I have some time to do so. As always, I’m sorry for any mistakes, because, you guessed it, I kind of did not proofread it.

!: So, this is basically an AU – 2020’s without the pandemic and the other shit happening rn. IDK. Also because I’ve been listening to Harry Styles and Måneskin A LOT I imagined Matt’s music being something like the music H and Måneskin put out. Also they are a bit older. Yeah also if you care, I also imagined Matt’s hairstyle to be something like the hairstyle Dean had for the DA MAN -photoshoot, ugh. Especially the first pic…

warnings: mentions of cancer (not anything too specific because I do not have the knowledge to be more specific), umm… idk if there is something else worthy of a mention. angsty.

wordcount: about 2,5k, this is a lengthy one and because of that the ending is a bit sudden, sorry!

I’m sorry, but I think it is better for you to forget me and my love for you. Forget every memory and every feeling. Chase your dreams. Maybe in another life we would’ve been perfect. Be free, go out there. Maybe one day we’ll meet again.

That is all Y/N could type on her phone, her eyes blurred by the tears streaming down her face. She barely sent the text to Matt as her heart broke into million pieces. She knew that she had to do this and as much as it was going to hurt Matt, this was the least painful way to do this. As soon as she could manage to dry her eyes, she deleted all her social media and packed the last things in her room. As shitty as Luton was, she was going to miss it.

Before she hopped in her father’s car, she received a voice message from Matt.

Y/N, baby. Don’t do this to me. Are you home? Let me see you, why are you doing this? Is it someone else? Did I do something? Please.

She could hear his quiet sobs whenever he stopped for a while. She put her phone away and tried to calm herself down. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell him, honey? I’ll drive you to his place if…” Her dad asked softly but he did not even get to finish what he was about to say. Y/N shook her head and turned to look away from her father.

5 years later

For her 24th birthday her friends had a great idea. They knew how much she loved Harry Styles and his music. And that she was from Luton. They figured that when she said “Matt’s music is overrated, and he is not even that good” she just didn’t want to admit that she used to know him and live near him. So, they got them all tickets for his sold-out London gig. None of them knew that Matt and Y/N used to be in love. And that she still was very much in love with him. Y/N was still so deeply in love that she didn’t even dare to listen to any of his songs. Had he written any songs about her? How she left him and how fucked up the way she did it was? Did he write songs about his new lover or lovers? She did not want to move to London the way she had to.

And now here she sat on her bed in her studio, with her two closest friends pacing around her small apartment getting ready. Y/N tried not to be a dick and still jokingly told her friends that this was the shittiest gift they could’ve given her. It was not a complete lie though. What if Matt saw her there? What would happen then? For 5 years she had avoided him. She knew very well that he too moved to London as soon as he got famous, but even after that she hadn’t seen him around. What if Matt asked her questions, would she lie to him? Tell him that she moved because her dad got a job in London? Even then that wouldn’t be a reason to break up, Luton wasn’t that far away. She took a deep breath and got up and changed her black outfit on. She didn’t want to be too noticeable and wanted to melt to the crowd. For obvious reasons.

Y/N knew that Matt didn’t make bad music. She knew that she would love anything and everything he would play and sing. His band was good, that wasn’t surprising either. She felt proud to see him up there on the stage. Matt was made for this. But she also felt bittersweet. The concert was nearing its end when Matt took a short break to drink some water and to take a better look at the crowd. Y/N didn’t notice his stare, but he noticed her. He felt like his lungs were going to give up and his breath was taken away for a minute.

“This next song… I wrote this couple of years ago. She was the love of my life. It is her birthday today… I wish her well and I hope that she has a very happy birthday, wherever she is.”

Now it was Y/N’s turn to feel a kind of panic building inside her.

“Y/N/N, do you know who he is talking about?! Girl, how did you not tell us that you share the same birthday with his ex”, her friends laughed and gently pushed her. The song started and Matt’s voice and his words filled her ears, making her burst into tears. That is when something clicked inside her friend’s minds. The rest of the gig went in a blur, rest of the songs going in and out of your ears.

Without her friends, Y/N wouldn’t have been able to navigate her way home. She felt lost. She felt extremely bad. Guilty. Heartbroken, in love. Mad at herself. She had to explain herself to her best friends. Why she didn’t tell them that she loved Matt.

Usually Y/N didn’t drink too much alcohol. She didn’t like being drunk and she hated the hangovers she got. But this weekend, she used her birthday as her excuse for drinking until she passed out in her bed. Sunday evening came and she had to stop being reckless and get ready for a day full of classes at her UNI and a shift at a nearby café. She couldn’t help herself. She tried to avoid her phone but now, laying under her sheets, she took her phone in her hands and searched for Matt’s last message for her. The voice message.

Y/N, baby. Don’t do this to me. Are you home? Let me see you, why are you doing this? Is it someone else? Did I do something? Please.

She repeated the message countless times over and over again. Would it be a mistake to send Matt a message? Would that be so horrible?

Matt? I wonder if this is still your number… I’m so sorry. For everything. I know I promised you that I’d be yours forever. I still am, in a way. I still love you. I have not wanted anyone else’s love. But it was the right thing to do. You probably don’t believe me, but M, look what you’ve achieved. With me, I don’t know if you would’ve been able to achieve all this. The song… it broke my heart. I’m so sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you. I’m deeply remorseful. I came there because none of my friends knew about us until that night. I… I don’t know why I’m even typing this. You probably don’t want anything to do with me. But I’m so proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, M. You’re doing so well. God. I always knew you’d blow people’s mind off if you ever got the chance to do so. I was right, wasn’t I? I think I’m still somewhat drunk, fuck. I guess I just needed to tell you that I know what I did was awful. I promise I just wanted to save you from more tears. I was pretty sure I would not… You know, I won’t bother you with it. I couldn’t even meet you face to face to say my farewells, because I was too weak. I’ll never stop loving you. I hope your proud of yourself, Matty. I hope you’ve found someone worthy of your love. I wish you all the best, Y/N.

The rest of her day went, again, in a blur. She slept only a couple of hours during the night and woke up early in the morning. Even though she knew this day would exhaust her, she was happy that she had so much to do. No time to think about Matt or the past.

Y/N closed the door behind her and turned to lock it. The last hour at the café had been quiet and easy, but nevertheless she couldn’t wait to go home. She wanted to drown her sorrows in the warm water of her bath and then swaddle herself in her blankets.

“Everyone used to ask me why I broke your heart as if I was the one who ended things.”

It took her a few seconds to process the words a familiar voice spat out behind her. She turned around. She looked exhausted; Matt could see that in her face. Y/N couldn’t help herself and think how good he looked in his black leather jacket, his hair a little messy.

“And then after five years, I see you there, looking even more beautiful than before. I couldn’t help but think that you came there just to say fuck you Matt, I’ve found someone much better than you. I did not know that you’d go home and get drunk and then text me, as if you broke up with me a week ago.”

Matt’s words were filled with anger. Y/N didn’t know what to say. She felt small before him, her knees felt weak.

“Well, are you going to explain yourself or did you message me just to remind me again that you left me weeping, huh? Say something!”

Y/N manage to mutter some words out softly and quietly:

“I live nearby… I don’t want to talk about it here”

Arriving at her studio, she let Matt in first. He sat down at her small dining table, waiting for her to join him. Y/N slowly let down her backpack and got out a box filled to the brim out of her closet. She sat down before him and with shaky hands opened up the box and went through the papers until she found the few of them she was looking for. She put them down before Matt and took a deep breath. Her hands were still shaking, her breaths becoming a little bit too quick. Matt took the first paper in his hands and started reading him. The color drained from his face. Cancer. “Y/N”

“I’m so sorry Matt, I thought I was dying. I was sure I would not survive, M. I’m surprised I made it this far. We moved to London to be closer to the best hospitals. I wanted to save you from my death, that is why I did what I did, Matty, I’m so sorry.”

She started hysterically sobbing after that. All the guilt she had carried with her until this point just culminated and erupted fully at last. She was so exhausted from her treatments, from the heartbreak and now from school and work.

“I distanced myself from everyone I loved, except from my parents and siblings. I did not want to see others hurt like my family was hurting. I even prepared my own funeral, Matt. It was bad.”

Matt took her hands in his own, trying to calm her nerves. He let her cry until she had no tears left to cry.

“You could’ve told me. I would’ve been there with you, through everything. I can’t believe I wasn’t there to hold your hand when you needed me the most.”

Matt’s voice was so quiet Y/N could barely hear his words.

Their relationship wasn’t fixed right away. Y/N still felt way too guilty about her actions. Matt had to process all the information. He had to tour around the UK for a couple of months before they could see each other again. By then, Y/N was able to speak more about the five years they had been apart. It was easier to speak about the illness and the guilt she felt now that they had met once before. Matt felt guilty, too. And more than that he felt deeply sad. But slowly he warmed up again and trusted Y/N with his heart again.

Matt did not need to ask her to be her girlfriend again. One night he took her out to watch the stars and wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close. It led to a lengthy, melancholy, and love-filled kiss and ever since then, he was with her every chance he had to do so.

Y/N felt less stressed about work and her studies when he was with her, keeping an eye on her. Making sure that she was staying healthy, watching her chase her dreams as he had already achieved almost all his. His last dream was to marry the love of his life, but that remained a goal for some time later. But he knew who the love of his life was. He always knew. And so did she.

#matt blinded by the light #matt x reader #matt bbtl #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman #dean-charles chapman

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ditch-witches · 4 years ago

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do you think you could write a smut where dean is stressed out so the reader gives him a blowjob to help him out?

pairing: Dean Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: nsfw (18+ but i'm not your mom [unless like,,, you ask nicely]), oral (m. receiving), suggestive language, there’s only so many words for dick im SoRRY, also i'm writing this at 4 in the morning so who knows what else.

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the cap off a highlighter with his teeth as he broke down another scene from the script he recently received. For no reason in particular, this character was getting on his nerves and testing his weaknesses as an actor. You wrung your hands as you silently paced in front of his office door, debating whether or not to intrude on him while he was so obviously frustrated. You listened as he shifted in his chair, the plastic creaking as he leaned back and rubbed his eyes. You took a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the wood of the door frame, pulling his attention towards you as his eyes softened at the sight of you.

You noticed how his hair was getting almost too long as it curled around his ears and framed his face, dark circles around his light eyes making him look a few years older than he actually was. "How's it going?" You asked, stepping into the room as his eyes followed you to turn on another lamp.

He sighed tiredly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desktop. "Well," he paused, a small grin tugging at his lips before continuing, "it's going." You moved across the floor to stand behind him. Your hands settled against his shoulders, letting your fingers dig into his skin softly to soothe the knot forming between his shoulder blades. He groaned at the feeling, reclining back into your touch happily.

"Anything I can do to help?" You inquired softly, stooping down to smooth a kiss to his cheek. He hummed in response, his eyes shutting momentarily as he relaxed as your hands kneaded against his arms. You combed your brain for how to ease his mind as he exhaled.

And then it hit you. “Fancy a break?” You asked, your hands continuing their motions and he muttered an agreement before swinging out his chair to stand. You stepped in front of him, pushing his chest so he plopped back down. Dean’s eyes flashed up to you with a raised eyebrow and a small grin on his face. He studied your every move as you blatantly pushed your hair out of your face and tied it back into a ponytail as you bent down between his legs.

His lips parted into an almost shocked expression as if he was waiting for you to back out and tell him it was some kind of a prank. You dragged your nails alongside his thigh as he leaned forward slightly. He smirked at you, settling one of his hands into your hair. You turned your head to press a kiss to his palm and bat your eyes at him suggestively. “You’re doing such a good job. Don’t tire yourself out,” you cooed, coyly. Dean nearly rolled his eyes, knowing what you were up to.

You sat up on your knees to capture his lips against yours, eliciting a small moan to echo from his throat at the taste of you. Your hand traveled up his thigh and towards his zipper, his other hand moving to assist you as he grabbed your wrist. You allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth as he pulled you into a deeper kiss. Your fingers icked to please him as you began to palm him through his jeans, his body responding quickly to your advances like it was the first time you’d ever touched him.

As he began to harden beneath your gesture, your lips found their way to his jaw, your teeth skimming across his skin to tease a blush to his cheeks. You coaxed his erection further before you began to unclasp his pants. “Relax, baby,” you murmured against his skin. He moaned softly as your lips traced the divots of his collar bones, your tongue swirling as if to hint at what was in store. You sank back on the balls of your feet, your hand reaching up to push him flat against the chair back. He bit his lip to fight the smile threatening to break across his features as your fingers curled around the base of his cock. He tensed under your grip as you began to pump your hand, drawing out another hushed moan from the man above you. “Does that feel good?” You taunted, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

He exhaled heavily in response, one of his hands moving to rest on your forearm for some kind of support as you encouraged his further arousal. You let your tongue dart out across your lips before pressing them to the sensitive skin of his tip. You focused on how each of your actions caused his body to relax, a small sense of pride swelling deep inside of you at the fact that it was so easy for you to pleasure him. You eased your mouth around his erection, your tongue swirling around his shaft. As your head began to move in tandem with your hand, you basked in the growing vulgarity of his words.

You pulled your mouth off of him, continuing to speed your hand motions gradually as your teeth etched into his thigh. You could watch him unravel for you for the rest of your life; his gaze hazy as he avoided your sultry eye contact, his lips red and aggravated from harsh attempts at keeping himself quiet. Some of his curls were tugged back from being pulled at, his blissed-out expression creating a more prominent redness to his cheeks. Your lips slowly traveled back to his cock, an almost pleading look settling into his bright irises as your intentions were now directed on taking him deeper.

His grip on your arm tightened as you pushed his tip past your lips once again, a strangled groan of pure pleasure hissing through his teeth. As he reached the back of your throat, tears began to brim in the corners of your eyes and his arousal twitched in your mouth. You began to bob your head once again, edging him on further with each of his moans of your name which you knew was a warning that he was close. You alternated the movements of your mouth and hand, making him fight against bucking his hips towards you. His cock tensed and in an instant, hot sticky strands of pleasure were filling your mouth.

You brushed a hand across your chin and Dean leaned forward, digging his fingers into your hair to capture your lips in a worshiping kiss. He moaned against your mouth, sending a vibration straight to your core. You severed the action and stood, leaving him nearly breathless. “Don’t overwork yourself,” you taunted with a small wink, making him look up at you with an almost submissive undertone as he nodded.

#dean charles chapman #deancharleschapman #dean-charles chapman #dean charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman smut #dean charles chapman fluff #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman x you #dean charles chapman x y/n #1917 imagine #1917 smut

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britishboystm · 4 years ago

Text

Photographs (Tom Blake)

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

Word Count: 1432

A/N: idea from @blueeyedheizer 🥰🥰🥰

...

It was too close a call. They had barely made it out alive. Ringing in the ears from the explosion and the sudden change to the bright outside caused discomfort for the two young lance corporals.

Once the ringing subdued for Tom, he was met with the sounds of Will choking. Dust most likely from being buried alive underneath the German bunker they had just passed through.

Catching his breath, Tom turned to Will to check on him.

“Here.” Was all he spoke while handing over his petrol can of water. Without even a single word of gratitude, Will snatched the bottle and poured the water in his mouth, immediately spitting it out after to get rid of the taste of rubble. Then he used the last little bit to clear his vision.

“Thank you.” He gasped out while weakly handing it back to the younger soldier.

Tom took back the empty bottle with slight irritation, having no clue when they may come across clean water again on their long journey. As he went to place the bottle back in his harnessed satchel, he felt as though something was missing. His breath caught in his throat as he grabbed the casing to reveal it was empty.

“No, no, no!” He yells suddenly. Will jumps slightly at Tom's sporadic outburst.

“What?”

“My photograph, it’s missing!” He cries out, still looking inside the case, desperately hoping that the photo in question would magically reappear in its original spot.

“What photograph?” Will was getting slightly irritated. This mission was so crucial and time was of the essence, but here they were standing around as Tom panics about a piece of film.

“Of Y/N, it was the only photo I had of her when I left. I need that photo Will.” This was astonishing. Will had yet to see Tom be so vulnerable and sad. Of course he now understood how important this photograph was. Tom really only talked about three things- his family, his dog and you, but mostly you.

You were a muse for Tom, a motivator. You were the main reason Tom needed to come out of this war alive. He had promised he would marry you when he returned and by god he would never break a promise.

“Tom, I’m sure it’s around but we really don’t have the time.” Tom had already turned around and was speed walking towards the collapsed bunker.

He planted himself in a random spot amongst the destruction and began sifting through the rock and wood panels left behind.

“Tom.” Will said sternly. All he received in return was Tom speeding up his actions in a more frantic way. Sobbing was then added to the mix.

“Tom!” Will now yells, marching over and grabbing Tom by the arms.

“No, get off me! I need to find it!” Tom resisted heavily against Will as he tried to lead him away from the disaster.

“Tom we need to get to your brother.” Tom stopped and fell to his hands and knees, sobbing like no tomorrow.

“I can’t lose her Will.” He whimpers as his tears mix with the grey powdered rock beneath him.

“Tom we have to keep walking.” Tom stayed silent for a moment, regaining his composure and letting out a couple sniffles before standing up and dusting himself off,

“Let’s get to your brother yeah?” Will says grabbing Tom's shoulder and leading him away from where your photo was buried deep, never to be retrieved.

As they continued to walk, Tom visualized you in that photo. How your hair was pinned up in a messy bun, strands of hair slightly falling down from the up-do in different places. The dress you wore was a mixture of white and light blue lace and since it had been taken for your birthday, the necklace Tom had got you sat gently on your exposed upper chest.

Then after taking a hold of that image in his mind, Tom began repeating the words you had written on the back to himself;

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of being and ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

Come home to me Thomas

Always yours,

Y/N

You had bought him a book of poetry a couple years back and whenever he could he would read ‘How do I love Thee,’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning to you underneath both your favourite cherry tree on his farm.

The importance of trying to remember how you looked in that photo as well as the words you had written down was almost impossible to explain. Tom had a bad feeling that if he were to die in this war, it would mean he wouldn’t ever see you again. Having that photo in his head would allow him to fill his mind with you as his final thought.

———

You sat on the porch impatiently causing loud creaking on the stairs from your leg bouncing. Tom would come home today. You had longed to hold and kiss him after these 2 long agonizing years of separation. It was close to unbearable.

Myrtle laid at your feet as the puppies played in the grass not far from where you were. The cool November air nipped at you causing you to tug your knitted shawl tighter around your upper body.

The smell of a roast beef dinner wafted out from the kitchen window. Iris had missed her boys so much and this was her unique way of expressing her excitement and happiness. This was a ugly war, and you were just so grateful Tom was able to get out of there alive.

It felt like eternity. The sun was now setting, allowing oranges and pinks to fill your vision. Any cloud that sat in the atmosphere was tinted the same colour as the sunset as well. Because the sun was now falling behind the horizon, any heat that would have kept you at a somewhat comfortable temperature had disappeared. Myrtle and the puppies had all huddled up into your lap and around you, also feeling the coolness. But they waited, almost as though they knew Tom was coming.

You had been too preoccupied scratching behind Myrtles ear that you didn’t hear the heavy footsteps walking up the driveway. The crunch of the gravel alerted Myrtle and her head shot up, admitting a loud bark as she jumped away from your side and down to the two men approaching. You looked up to see a tired Tom and Joe bend down to greet the hyperactive dog as she jumped at their legs. The puppies had tried to follow their mom, allowing their tiny legs to carry them as quickly as they could.

Your shawl fell down your shoulders as your breath caught in your throat. Your stomach was holding a circus as you let out a scream,

“Tom!” You bolted down the steps and sprinted down to meet them. Tom’s eyes diverted from the labrador and gave you a beaming smile, starting his run in your direction. Meeting halfway you jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his torso. He let out a content laugh as you grabbed his face in your hands.

“Oh Tom.” You swooned as you sprinkled every single part of his face with kisses. He placed you down and grabbed your face as well, taking in your features.

“Just like the picture.” He whispered while using his thumb to wipe a tear away from your flushed cheek. You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t care. You were just happy to see him again. You then bite your lip before slowly going in for another deep and intimate kiss.

“Nice to see you too Y/N.” Joe chuckled jokingly as both you and Tom stayed preoccupied with expressing your love for one another.

#dean charles chapman imagines #dean charles chapman x reader #1917 #tom blake #fanfiction #fanfic #romance

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propertyofwicked · 5 years ago

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Your a-z s are so good!! Omg you’re so talented☺️ could you possibly do one for George? We would all love that💕

thank you anons for these requests. im quite busy atm so im sorry if other requests take a while and thank you for being patient with me.

a-z of dating george mackay

a - argue

neither you or george are shouters, instead you go very quiet when something goes wrong or upsets either one of you. george would huff and mumble, until one of you grew the balls to talk through the issue. you’d be sat on the sofa and he’d just come and sit facing you, taking your hands in his and press his lips to them softly. this was his way of saying he was ready to talk.

b - body (his favourite body part of yours)

george loves your lips and your cheeks. he loves watching you talk, how your mouth moves and he loves how effortlessly your voice tumbles out. he loves how your smile grows when you laugh, small dimples forming in your cheeks - it was enough to make him smile with you. he loves to kiss your lips and your cheeks. whether it was a quick peck here and there or when he’d push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t breathe. he loved to kiss your lips till they went redder and more plump.

c - care (caring for each other when you’re sick)

when george is ill, he pulls you back into bed anytime you get up, claiming he’s cold and needs your body warmth. whilst you’d comply, you also had stuff you needed to get on with. so you’d sit next to his sleeping figure, trying to quietly type on your laptop or write into your notebook. when you’re ill, george waits on you all day. he’d constantly ask if you needed a drink or food and if you’re being sick, he’ll follow you to the bathroom and hold your hair back. he’d gently rub small circles into your back and carry you back to your bed, when you were too weak to walk alone.

d - dates (what do you guys do?)

being an actor, george loves to take you to the cinema to watch new films that he’d seen about, or heard about at awards nights. sometimes, you’d go and see films that his friends or previous co-workers were in. you’d share popcorn and he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder whilst his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. afterwards, you’d maybe go out for dinner or to a coffee shop, and he’d love to have a discussion with you about the film, what you liked and didn’t, the directing, filming, acting. by the end of the evening, the entire film would’ve been deeply analysed by the two of you and you’d have it no other way.

e - engagements (how he proposed)

he’d take you out to dinner, to celebrate your birthday or anniversary, and after the meal, you’d take a walk back to your flat or the car. but, then he’d take a diversion and say he just wanted to show you something. next thing you know, you’re standing on the rooftop of the cafe you met, staring up at the stars. whilst you were looking away, he’d get down on his knee and then cough slightly to gain your attention. he had planned a small little speech, which went the window the moment you turned around. he tells you how much he loves you, what he loves about you, what he sees in the future for you two, and you can’t help but say yes.

f - friends and family (do they like you/him?)

george’s family were initially weary of your relationship. not because they didn’t like you, but because of how long george spent away from home working. they feared you would both end up ending it soon because you couldn’t cope. as soon as they met you, however, they saw how relaxed george was - different to his typically stressed exterior. when he was away, his mum invited you round for dinner, and his sister was similar in age, so you had a lot in common.

your family feared he would be a distraction from your studies, but once they saw your relationship thriving, they had no fears. your dad liked that he was politically aware and into football, whilst your mum liked the fact he was active in feminism (#pussypower)

g - gifts

when george went away for filming, he’d bring you home stuff. they could be really simple, such as local delicacies or fridge magnets. something simple, that was a small reminder of him every time you opened the fridge.

h - how you met

you met in a cafe. you were sat in the corner, typing away at a script you were working on, nothing official just something that kept you occupied. he happened to take the table next to you and notice you furiously typing away your ideas, jotting down notes in the book next to you. he stood up and walked over to you.

“um, hi. i’m george.”

“hi?”

he told you about him being an actor, asked what you were working on and then asked to read. he complimented your work, and you gave him your number to “keep him updated and ask for advice”. he made a habit of going back to the cafe every day that he could, just to see you. he’d take a seat opposite you and didn’t mind when the two of you sat in silence.

i - intimacy (how often are yall getting down)

oh that man may seem innocent, but he will take you any time, any where. when he came home, the first thing he’d do is take you to your bedroom. he’d go slow savouring the moment - similar to how he would be the night before he had to leave. and the morning. and maybe before he got in the taxi. and then maybe he’d send you some suggestive texts. he lead you to toilets at awards shows for a quickie, or just lay you down on the sofa and go to town.

j - jealousy

when you come to set, some of his male co workers got a little bit close. when you were gone, they’d make jokes to george - he laugh outwardly but inside he was seething. it was easy to feel jealous of people you interacted with when he was away, much as it was for you to be of him working with loads of people, that his character was physically intimate with. however, it didn’t take much for either of you to remind the other of your love ;)

k - kinks

idk if this is a kink but hickies. george loves to litter your neck, chest, stomach and inner thighs with small bruises. he loves seeing a quick flash of the marks whenever your shirt rides up, or your towel exposes a few. he very much loves to mark his territory, as much as likes to see marks you’ve left on him.

l - long distance

a lot of your relationship had been spent long distance, with him working away for 1917 and then the history of the ned kelly gang. every night, you facetimed, till one of you fell asleep, but you’d mostly just do your usual evening routine, just hundreds of miles apart. you’d cook your dinner at the same time, shower, and then sleep. it felt as if you were together, just through a screen. you were obviously limited to what you could do but there was many things you could do to replace what was physically missing. it didn’t take a massive toll on your relationship, but george found it really hard to see you struggling and knowing he couldn’t be there to help - and vice versa.

m - moving in

george asked you to move in, over facetime, whilst he was away filming 1917. he said he wanted to come home to your face every evening, and his flat wouldn’t feel like home without you there. his flat was closer to your uni/work place as it was, so even though you were quite early on into your relationship, it was ideal. whilst he was away, you kept the flat in order every time george came home, he damn near welled up at the thought of you being there waiting for him, in difference to the usual cold, empty flat.

n - nights out

being a student, you went out a lot with your friends. often when george was away, so he’d be delighted to wake up to barely legible texts from you. when he was home, however, the two of you found yourself going to a local pub with dean and some of your other friends and taking part in the pub quiz or darts. sometimes you’d just watch the game that was on.

o - open with each other

initially, you both found it hard to talk to each other, but as all good people do, he had a catharsis. he broke down, relaying all his stresses onto you, to which you comforted him and talked him through it. he can sense when your bottling it up, and even though you’re not massively open with him naturally, he knows when to ask you to talk, and you do, knowing he will be there to support you.

p - pda

george isn’t a massive fan of pda, but he would hold your hand when you walk through town, and when you accompanied him to award shows, his hand would be firmly stationed on your lower back, his fingers rubbing small circles. he’d press soft, small pecks onto your cheek, or your forehead or sometimes, just the simplest act of raising your hand and kissing your knuckles softly would be enough to comfort you.

q - questions (what you talk about late at night?)

you talk about your day usually. it’ll start of as being, “i cant sleep” which will then turn into either one of you starting to talk about something funny that happened or just an overview of how your day went. this would go on until you managed to fall asleep, you soft breathing lulling george into his own sleep.

r - reproduction (do you want kids?)

george wants kids, in fact he definitely has notes on his phone of baby names that he wants to bring up with you. however, he respects your decisions and only wants what you want. he lives by “her body, her decision” but it is something he will ask you one night, casually. to which you respond however you feel.

s - surprising (what surprised you about him)

he loves to dance. if a song is playing in the background or on the radio, he’ll stand up and dance. in the kitchen, he’ll take a wooden spoon and sing into it. then take your hand and twirl you around. he loves to slow dance with you under the stars and he loves to rock out with you, with air guitars and all.

t - together (what you do together)

as said before, you watch a lot of films and programmes together. you also write a lot together, carpooling ideas into scripts or stories. his imagination is phenomenal. sometimes, you’d go on road trips, and he’d have control of the aux. he’d play songs to you, to see if you knew them, and he’d serenade you with ABBA non stop. anything you did was made 10x better when you did it together.

u - under the influence (drunk vibes)

drunk george is the softest man alive. he just wants to cuddle and tell you how madly in love he is with you. he’d press kisses all over your face and then pull you in close, to squeeze you tightly. when you’re drunk he loves to watch you get up to your antics, only intervening when it got dangerous or illegal. drunk together was a whole other force to be reckoned with. you’d both be doing stupid stuff until someone else had to step in. drunk you and sober you were both madly in love with george, just sober you was more willing to show absolutely everyone.

v - vacations

george definitely takes you to an island somewhere, like malta. or maybe he’d take you to a greek island. you’d spend the entire time exploring the city or the local markets, soaking up the local atmosphere and the sun. he’d defo get all artsy, taking photos of you from behind as you walked, the sun shining down on you angelically.

w - wedding

the cutest wedding ever. no cap. outside, in summer. you’d chosen a outside area, like a greenhouse kinda room, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. the reception was afternoon tea in a little marquee. the next day, you had a family meal, where your two families came together to celebrate the two of you.

x - xray (when he’s hurt)

let’s say he injured himself on the set of 1917. a piece of rubble in the bunker scene fell and trapped on his arm, cutting it wide open. whilst it didn’t put him completely out of working, it did require him to go to hospital for stitches. it happened that you were on set on these days so accompanied the whole way. you held his hand as the nurse gave him stitches, and though he didn’t look scared of the needle, you could tell he was slightly panicking at the size. you walked with him back to the trailer where dean sat waiting, laughing slightly has a pale george sauntered up to him, you pulled into his side.

y - you (a random headcanon)

imagine that you both innocently take a shower together. “saving water” or something like that. george would spend his time massaging shampoo in your scalp and then brushing his fingers through it as the water washed it out. he’d turn around and you lather him in soap, your hands rubbing his shoulders, tense from a week of working. it wasn’t much but it was the little things that allowed the two of you to wind down at the end of a busy week.

z - zzzzzzzzzzzz’s (sleeping routine)

whilst you wouldn’t admit to being tired, george would watch you as you sat next to him, your eyelids falling heavy and your blinks getting longer and longer. he’d stand up himself, then hold out his hand for you to take. you’d follow him up the stairs and whilst he was brushing his teeth, you’d change into your pyjamas and then you’d swap. as you wander back into the room, george would hold out his arms for you to climb into, your head burying into the crook of his neck. nights like this, it was easier to fall asleep quickly.

#1917 #george mackay #george mackay imagine #george mackay x reader #will schofield #will schofield x reader #will schofield imagine #dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman smut #dean charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman x reader #tom blake #tom blake x reader #tom blake imagine #Sam Mendes #the history of the ned kelly gang

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a-skeleton-of-something-m0re · 4 years ago

Text

Cockney Kisses

Warnings: Smut, smoking.

Word count: 4,298

Summary: You and Dean had broken up a couple of months ago, but at a random dinner party you see him for the first time since you split, and you're far from over him and it seems like he's not really over you either.

A/N: Smut is between the asterisks (*) so you can skip it or skip right to it, as you prefer. Please let me know if you spot any typos, missing words, wrong verb forms, and so on, so I can fix it.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25793386

Arriving at the dinner party you didn't quite know what to expect. Your head was somewhere else, for the past month you had been feeling quite empty and disconnected, unsure if it had anything to do with the breakup you had gone through 3 months prior. You really liked Dean, and now looking back you had no idea what had happened that might have led you two apart. Were you too different? , you wondered, was it him that didn't like you anymore? Was it you that stopped liking him?. No, that wasn't it, you still thought about him all the time, you still had so much love for him...

Amidst your musings you were met with the man of your dreams, in all the senses of the phrase. There he was, right there in front of you, in the flesh. In a black suit that fitted him perfectly, his hair done all nice and smooth, he always looked so handsome in a suit. You hadn't seen him since you broke up.

He looked at you and smiled, that gorgeous, sweet smile of his that you had no idea you missed so much. You felt your heart tighten with longing for Dean, you were far from over him. He approached you, placed a hand on the exposed skin of your arm and kissed your cheek, you couldn't help but blush a little at the touch and suddenly you felt so shy, like you were meeting him for the first time. All the intimacy you two had shared, whether it be in the form of shared bodies in the bedroom or in the form of disclosed secrets and innermost thoughts, came flooding through your mind.

And now it was like you were old acquaintances, making small talk at a random event.

"Hi, how have you been?", he asked with a smile, and you thought you saw the faintest slight of pink tingeing his cheeks.

You smiled back shyly and replied "Good, how about you?"

You both stood there a little awkwardly, trying to make small talk for a couple more minutes before you went back to your respective friend groups to spend the rest of the evening.

After dinner, as always, you sneaked up to the top of the building, sometimes all you had was a remote corner of a bar or room or a quiet garden somewhere, or wherever place you could find that was the most secluded at an event. You weren't really one for parties, always hated crowds, would much rather have small, intimate gatherings with people you actually knew and liked.

You sat on the cold cement floor of the rooftop overlooking the night sky and the city lights, such a beautiful and peaceful scenery. You instantly felt more relaxed. You fixed the smooth fabric of your long black dress over your legs, covering them completely, and hugged your knees.

It was chilly, not too much, but enough to make your arms cold. After a while you hear the door to the rooftop open and close, you didn't look back to peep at the person, the roof was big enough for someone to go over to the other side and not even notice you.

But soon after, you hear feet approaching and someone sits down beside you. You finally glance sideways and see Dean on your right, a cigarette in his mouth and his signature cheeky smile.

"Thought you might be here...", he said, the words partially muffled due to the cigarette in his mouth. He took a lighter out of the pocket of his suit jacket and lit it up, covering it until the tip ignited like a little ember and joined the tiny city lights.

You turned away, looking at your feet, lightly scraping the cement with the tip of your shoe.

"You always did have a weird sixth sense for finding me...", you say, still looking down.

"Thought you had quit.", you added, pointing at the cigarette.

He gives you a sad smile and shrugs, saying "Some things never change, I guess...".

You looked back down again, a comfortable silence taking over for a few minutes.

He brushed the back of his fingers against your arm, checking to see if you were cold, the warmth of his hand contrasting with your chilly skin, the gesture so nonchalant, like it was a regular thing to do to ex-girlfriends.

Silently, he removed his jacket and placed it over your shoulders, trying to cover as much of your arms as he could. You thanked him, not even attempting to decline his kind gesture and the comfort it brought you. He used to do this all the time when you were together, he knew you weren't cold per se but your arms always got chilly. Besides, it had an emotional warmth to it, the heat of his body and his scent still lingering on the jacket always made you feel much more at ease after a long night of dealing with too many people. You smiled at the memories, you missed having someone in your life that cared that much about you.

You looked at Dean, eyeing him up and down, he looked gorgeous in that suit...

"Looking very dapper...", you said with a smile, "Gonna have to set up a queue for all the ladies tonight...", you added.

He chuckled, taking a drag of the cigarette and slowly exhaling the smoke through his mouth.

"Thanks.", he said with a coy smile, the word coming out charged with his characteristic cockney accent. "Highly doubt it, though... Haven't had much luck in that department lately...", he added, eyes glued to the city ahead.

You turn your head forward, looking at the skyline, unable to hold the slight smile tugging at your lips, you couldn't help but feel a little glad at the fact that he probably hadn't been with anyone else since you broke up, too. It was kind of selfish of you, but the pang of guilt quickly faded.

"Well, that makes two of us.", you confess with a sigh.

"The ladies giving you a hard time too?", he asks mockingly.

You chuckle at the corny joke that you were already half expecting.

"Haven't had much luck in any department really...", you mumbled. "But I especially miss sex...", you confess with an ironic chuckle, unsure if it was the champagne taking advantage of your low alcohol tolerance, or the actual fact that you hadn't shaboinked since you and Dean broke up.

And now he was right there, looking utterly heavenly in that suit, smoking like he didn't have a care in the world and you knew what his lips would taste like if you kissed, slightly like alcohol mixed with the faintest taste of smoke; And his neck would smell like his cologne, that he always applied on all the recommended pulse points, and if you buried your face in his dress shirt you would smell the smoke there too, and the light scent of the detergent from his regular dry-cleaner's, and God... You just really wanted him right now.

You must have been staring at him like a hungry wolf, but he didn't seem to mind. A knowing smirk gracing his lips when he met your gaze, electricity pulsing in the air between you. You were almost sure he knew what was going through your head, he had a knack for guessing what you were thinking sometimes.

He looked down, expelling another cloud of smoke, that smirk still lingering on his face. "Yeah, I miss that too... Haven't been with anyone since we broke up.", he said, looking at the sky ahead.

Silence falls between you once again. Both of you unsure what to say next.

"So... You still living Isaac?", you ask after a while, trying to sound casual like there wasn't an ulterior motive hiding behind the question.

"No, he moved out a month ago.", he replied, exhaling smoke towards the city sky. "Why? Wanna pay me a visit one of these days?", he asked cheekily, sending you a side glance, that stupid, delicious smirk still marking his features.

You look over at him, smiling and blushing slightly before you say "I was thinking more like tonight...".

[...]

Now you were in his bedroom, both of you busy with taking your respective shoes and socks off, Dean on one side of the bed and you on the other, like you were just a regular couple coming home after a night out, were it not for the slight nervousness hanging in the air.

"I'm gonna cum embarrassingly fast.", you say blatantly, opening the zipper on your high heels.

"Well, that makes two of us.", he replied with a smile, "But we've got all night.", he added in a low tone.

You climbed on the bed, resting on your knees, facing him, Dean did the same on the other side, one of his hands reached for his tie as his fingers expertly worked the knot, slowly removing it, his eyes deliberately fixed on yours while he did it. His suit pants and dress shirt were still on as he approached you till you were only a few inches apart.

(*)

He grabbed your hips and pulled you in even closer, heat seeping in from his hands through the thin fabric of your dress and spreading through your whole body. He placed his forehead against yours, you could feel his breath on your lips, your hands slid all the way from his lower abdomen to rest on his chest, his breath quickening at the contact.

He moved to kiss your cheek and made his way to your ear, playfully nibbling on it, making your breath hitch, a smirk formed on his face from seeing he still had an effect on you.

He kissed the place bellow your ear and whispered "I missed you so much...", putting his head in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent while wrapping his arms around you with a sigh, like someone who finally arrived home after a long day.

You felt how his body instinctively relaxed as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, revelling in the feeling of just being able to hold him like this again, the embrace unusually sweet and innocent in comparison to the reason that brought you to his room in the first place.

"I missed you terribly, you have no idea...", you replied, hugging him tighter.

Minutes passed until Dean broke the embrace to finally place his lips on yours, his kiss soft and slow but sensual, his hands grabbing your face eagerly, your fingers wrapping around his wrists with just as much fervour. Lips parting only when you both ran out of breath, smiling and staring at each other like two kids who had just discovered kissing, before you dipped in for another kiss, this one slightly more hungry.

Your first kiss in months and you would be content with just doing this, just kissing him for hours, nothing else, and you would die a happy woman.

He sucked on your bottom lip, giving it a playful nibble before he slipped his tongue into your mouth clashing it with yours, massaging it with his own. His hands slid all the way from your face to your hips, and then moved to squeeze your ass, pushing your bodies even closer, until your hips met. Your lips parted, both of you breathless, your hands, that had moved to Dean's neck when he released your face, made their way to the buttons on his dress shirt, slowly opening them one by one and then as slowly untucking the shirt from his pants, the feeling of it being dragged away against his boxer briefs was enough to make him suck a breath, and a mischievous grin spread across your face as you kissed him once more.

Your hands slid under his shirt and glided from his lower abdomen, up to his chest and then to his shoulders where you slipped the shirt down his arms and threw it to the floor, your lips still connected, your tongues rolling over each other.

You undid his belt, then slowly dragged the zipper down, making sure your fingers brushed lightly against his crotch, the touch making him even harder. You pulled the pants down as further as they would go and Dean broke the kiss, clumsily sitting on the bed to eagerly pull his pants all the way down as fast as he could and threw them to the floor.

He got back on his knees, smiling at your amused expression before he grabbed your hips again with need and pulled them flush against his, your hands grabbing his biceps for steadiness. He brushed his lips against yours, teasing you simultaneously by not giving you his mouth and by pressing his hardness against you, making you squeeze his biceps harder.

Desperate with need, you moved your hands to the back of his head, pulling it down so you could crash your lips against his, your fingers dived in his smooth hair and lightly tugged on it, the action eliciting a small groan from Dean.

He moved his hands to the hem of your dress, trying to get it off, you lifted your knees to help him slide it from under your legs and up and over your raised arms, leaving you both now only in your underwear.

His hands quickly returned to your body, now skin on skin, his touch burned as he slowly slid them all the way from your shoulders down to your lower back, digging his fingers into the skin there, while his tongue continued to move against yours.

He splayed his hands dragging them back up your back, stopping in the middle to unclasp your bra and then gently pulling each strap down your shoulders before removing it completely. His gaze closely following his movements.

His eyes met yours again before he kissed your lips, his hands made their way down from your collarbones to your hips, thumbs absentmindedly brushing your nipples on the way down before coming to rest below your ribcage, his fingers grasping the skin hungrily, before sliding back up to your chest to massage your breasts and caress your nipples with the tip of his thumbs, making them obediently perk up at the touch.

He moved his kisses to your jaw line, and then to your neck, where he licked and sucked the delicate skin there, making you gasp. He continued his path down, leaving a trail of fresh love bites all the way to your breasts while your nails ran through his back softly, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake.

You grabbed the back of his neck, thumbs hooking under his jaw, eagerly pulling him back up to your lips, your tongue invading his mouth and swirling around his while one of your hands slid between his legs, slowly stroking him over his black boxer briefs.

His breath quickened, his mouth becoming ajar, you took this opportunity to leave open mouthed kisses all over his jaw and down his neck, nibbling on his collarbone, making your way down, while one of his hands moved from your nape to your hair, tugging at the roots lightly.

You moved your hands down his sides and slipped them under his boxer briefs, giving his ass a playful squeeze. He looked down at you smiling, still panting, you looked up at him returning the smile and teasingly bit his belly making him wince, you removed his underwear and pushed him on the bed, quickly straddling him and slowly rolling your hips against his, his hands squeezing your thighs hard.

He bucked his hips up making you slightly lose your balance, and used it as an opportunity to move his hands to your hip bones and roll you over, pinning you underneath him, his hands let go of your wrists and his fingers moved to lace with yours while his head dipped in to give you a slow, passionate kiss.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pushing his hips down against yours so you could rub yourself against his hard length.

Dean breaks the kiss and takes off your only remaining piece of underwear. He quickly puts two fingers into his mouth before he brings them to your clit, rubbing it, making you arch your back and grind against his hand. His lips connect with yours again as he slides his fingers down to your soaked entrance and inserts one, slowly moving it inside and out a few of times before adding another, his palm still rubbing your clit.

"Please, just get inside me...", you plead, looking up at him. He flashes a smile and gives you a quick peck on the lips before grabbing a condom from the bedside table and putting it on.

He positions himself between your legs and uses one of his hands to guide his length as he, very slowly, sinks in to you.

"Fuck...", he mutters under his breath as your tight warmth envelops him, one of his hands going up to grip the sheets next to your head while the other remained on your hip.

You grab onto him, fingers digging into his hips. He slowly pulls back and eases in again, his forehead coming to rest against yours as you exchange breathless kisses.

He repeats the movement, his hips setting up a slow pace as his hands fly to your neck, thumbs delicately caressing your throat, your pulse beating rapidly underneath them as his mouth consumed yours.

You moan into his mouth, your hands running through his back as your legs wrap tighter around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper.

He moves his weight to one of his elbows, his other hand gripping your thigh as his hips continue to draw slow thrusts into you, your breaths heavy as you lock eyes, the intimacy between the two of you had never left, neither did your love and admiration for each other, all of those feelings and more now coming up to the surface and flooding through you.

He dips in for another deep kiss, one of your hands moving from the back of his neck and into his hair, the other gripping onto his shoulder blade.

He picks up the pace, his hips thrusting into you faster, a thin sheen of sweat covered your entwined bodies, Dean's cheeks starting to flush red from the effort and the pleasure.

His fingers digging hard into the skin of your hips, the friction caused by the closeness of your bodies stimulating you in time with his thrusts, pushing you dangerously close to the edge.

"Fuck, I'm so close...", you mutter breathlessly, true to your words earlier on.

You feel him smirk against the crook of your neck, he places an open mouthed kiss there, then licks a stripe up to your ear, nibbling on the lobe, making you shiver with pleasure, his hips continuing to slam into yours.

He pulls up, now supporting his weight on his knees, your bodies still linked as he slows down his thrusts, his hands gripping the junction of where your hips meet your legs. You gasp at the loss of friction and reach for his now distant body, slowly raking your nails through his stomach and then placing your hands atop his.

A provocative smile plays on his lips as he lazily rolls his hips into yours, not giving you what you want, that cocky little teasing bastard... But two can play that game.

You detach yourself from Dean, catching him by surprise, and quickly straddle his lap, making him sit back down on his knees. You kiss him hard, hands gripping the sides of his neck, and then slide one of them down, grabbing his cock and aligning it with your entrance as you slowly sink down onto him, both of you releasing soft moans as the new position got him buried deeper inside you than before.

You ride him slow, your hips moving in lazy circles, his hands move to cup your ass, squeezing it and urging you to move faster, you smirk, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him once more before you give in to his wishes and pick up the pace.

Both of you now struggling to hold on just a little longer, torn between the need to go slow and enjoy every little detail and the hunger to consume each other, to appease the fire burning inside.

One of your hands reaches for the back of his head, lightly tugging on the soft hair there while the other remains on his neck. He moves his hands up your back, wrapping his arms around you, tightening the embrace, pushing your slick, hot bodies even closer together, your hips now slamming against his.

He tilts his head up to press sloppy kisses on your lips, his cheeks stained red, his forehead covered with a thin layer of sweat, both of you a panting mess. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him even closer to you, it felt like there wasn't enough of him, you wanted even more of him as you slammed your hips down against his even faster.

The feeling of his scorching skin rubbing against yours, hitting all the right spots, the feeling of him inside you, of his strong arms pulling you close against his body were making you fall apart.

Drowning in pleasure, you clench around him, a small moan escaping your lips as Dean thrusts up into you a couple more times, burying his face on your chest and groaning softly as he comes undone.

You both stand there, unmoving, panting for a solid minute before Dean slides his legs from underneath him and lies down with you still on top, your head resting on his chest. He removes himself from you, gets rid of the condom and absentmindedly starts running his fingers through the valley of skin where your spine stretches through.

Silence hanged in the air, both of you now painfully aware that this was about more than just sex, some raw needs had been fulfilled, but there was still something missing, it was clear you both still loved each other.

Feeling completely blissed out and exhausted you both drifted to sleep.

(*)

[...]

Hours later, after having woken up and made sure you made up for all the lost time in the bedroom, you're now lying naked on the bed face down. With your head resting on your folded arms you turn it sideways in Dean's direction, "Aren't you gonna have a smoke?", you ask playfully.

He is sitting down, slouching a bit, his head and shoulders pressed against the headboard, his hands resting on the sheet that covered him up to his belly button. His hair a mess, sticking in all directions, but still looking extra smooth despite the work of your lustful fingers.

"I quit.", he finally replied with a sad smile, glancing over at your slightly confused expression before looking away.

The memory of your rooftop encounter earlier, where he had a cigarette between his lips, flashes through your mind.

"I asked a mate for a cigarette so I had an excuse to go to the rooftop without you suspecting it might be just to see you...", he added with a sad smile, slightly embarrassed at the confession.

[...]

More hours passed, but you were both still lying completely naked in bed, bellies down, having a heart to heart like the good ol' days. Your eyelids were heavy, but still you refused to stop looking at each other, like you might not get the chance again. Dean's hand laid on the pillow, under your chin, his thumb lazily stroking it from time to time, while your hand rested on his forearm, your thumb mimicking his actions.

"I finally finished that script I told you about before, not sure if you remember...", he said hesitantly, his voice deep with sleep, the last part came out so quietly you almost didn't catch it.

"Of course I do!", you said with a reassuring smile, making a smile pop right back in his face too.

"You would never let me read it, though...", you added with fake resentment. "Can I read it now that it's finished?", you asked, eyes begging.

"You don't have too, this isn't why you're here for...", he said, a sad tone underlying his words.

"Just let me see!", you replied, stretching out your hand in a 'give it here' motion.

He obeys, reaching for the drawer in his bedside table and taking out a thin pile of scribbled up paper sheets secured on top by a paper clip.

"This is still a rough first draft... It's just... I just... Wanted to see what you think...", he said, holding it away from your open hand.

"It's okay, I've been dying to read it. I'm sure it's good, and what matters the most is that you did it and hopefully enjoyed doing it. It's your first time too, so you can't be too harsh on yourself and expect an Oscar winning screenplay first try, love.", you said sitting up, the affectionate nickname slipping out of your mouth out of habit from when you were together.

He gave you one of those side smiles, the pet name not going by unnoticed, and placed the script in your hand.

He had always been so insecure about his work and everything he did, yet he was so good and always worked so hard, it broke your heart knowing he couldn't see that himself.

You look at the title: "Cockney Kisses: an Essex Western" and chuckle.

"Looks very promising already.", you say smiling, flipping to the first page.

#dean-charles chapman #dean charles chapman #dean-charles chapman fanfic #dean charles chapman fanfic #dean charles chapman x reader #dean-charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman smut #dean-charles chapman smut #dean charles chapman one shot #dean-charles chapman one shot #dean-charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman imagine #dean-charles chapman fanfiction #dean charles chapman fanfiction

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blueeyedheizer · 5 years ago

Text

A Little Light - Blake & Schofield x reader

WARNINGS: x

A/N: just so you know, this is NOT a romantic imagine. I purposely chose not to include any kind of romance cause that's exactly what made the original scene so beautiful & real :) <3

---

"Il n'y a rien ici. Nous n'avons rien pour vous. S'il vous plaît." (There is nothing here. We have nothing for you. Please.) Your voice was quiet but shaking, fear quickly taking over you as you revealed yourself, slightly stepping out of the dark corner you were hiding in. The knot in your throat tightened as you noticed the rifle the two soldiers were holding and you stepped back a little when their eyes met yours.

"Anglais...not German." One of them said as they both set their rifle down, holding their hands up. "Friends...we are friends."

"I'm Blake. And this is Schofield." The younger one continued, gesturing to himself and his friend. Feeling relieved as you understood they weren't a threat, you nodded your head and slowly walked out of your hiding place, hugging your arms close to yourself.

"You are hurt...." you whispered softly as you noticed blood on the back of Schofield's head. Taking a step towards him, you pointed at a chair near the fire. "Asseyez-vous." (sit down)

"Asseyez-vous, monsieur." (sit down, sir) you insisted as he suddenly began to sway, feeling nauseous.

"C'mon Scho, sit down." you heard the younger soldier say as he placed a hand over his friend's shoulder. The man swayed slightly before dropping into the chair. Slowly, you moved over to him and placed your hand on his, making him jump as tenderness was still foreign to him. You carefully parted his damp hair and accidentally let your finger brush over the wound, making him flinch. You apologized silently before reaching down and taking out a handkerchief, holding it against the wound to stop the bleeding.

"Il me reste un petit peu de désinfectant. Je peux vous le donner." (I have a little bit of disinfectant left. I can give it to you.)

"No..." the man answered before turning slowly to face you, your gaze locking momentarily. "Save it for yourself, in case you need it." he continued, his voice weak from pain and tiredness. After a moment, you nodded.

Then, a soft sound suddenly came from behind you, and both men's eyes shot open. Getting up carefully, you moved to the corner of the room and lifted up a baby from an old drawer that had been lined with cloth. The boys quickly followed after you, their eyes never leaving the baby.

"Bonjour ma puce..." (hello, sweetie...) you whispered, taking a sit on the dusty mattress that laid on the floor. You stroked the little girl's cheeks as she began crying, kissing her forehead and mumbling soothing words as Blake and Schofield kneeled in front of you.

"Shhh, je suis là. Je suis là. (Shh. I'm here. I'm right here.) Regarde. On n'est pas toutes seules. Tu dis bonjour?" (Look. We're not alone. You wanna say hi?) The little girl's cries subsisted as she laid her eyes on the soldiers, intrigued by them.

The two boys stared at the baby with a soft smile as she squirmed around and whimpered into your arms for a moment. Looking up, you could see the excitement glowing in the younger boy's eyes.

"Est-ce que— est-ce que tu veux la porter?...hold her?" you asked. You could tell he was unsure of what to do or say, not knowing if this was a good idea. Blake turned to Schofield who nodded at him after a few seconds. With a smile, you moved closer and carefully handed the baby over to Blake, not letting go until you were certain he had the hang of her.

"Make sure to support her head." Schofield spoke softly and Blake nodded as he started cradling her gently. The baby settled in his arms almost immediately, making him smile. Her big brown eyes were staring up at him and she reached up, trying to touch his face.

"She's beautiful..." Blake murmured as she grabbed his finger with her tiny palm and gurgled happily. Blake looked up at you with a bright smile before turning his attention back to the baby, softly stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. You and Schofield shared a soft look, appreciating this small heartwarming moment.

"She likes you." you whispered, smiling fondly at the scene in front of you, temporarily forgetting about the harsh reality of the outside world.

"What is her name?" Blake continued.

"Je ne sais pas. Elle n'est pas à moi..." (I don't know. She's not mine...)

Suddenly, the little girl's eyes filled with tears and a small cry left her throat. Blake tensed, his face falling with worry.

"She's hungry." You spoke as you reached out to stroke her tiny head. With a heavy heart, Blake handed her back to you, letting you cradle her. Placing your hand behind her tiny head, you carefully lifted her up to your shoulder, rubbing her back softly and whispering soothing words into her ear.

"Here. I have milk." Schofield announced as he pried the canteen from his belt, handing it over to you. You looked up at him, wearing a look of pure amazement and gratitude.

"Take these as well." Blake continued, before opening his pack and emptying his rations on the mattress. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out of it. "Take them all, for you and her."

"Je ne peux pas—" you finally managed to blurt out. "Vous en avez besoin...gardez-les." (I can't— you need that food...keep it.)

Before any of them could answer, the distant sound of the church bell startled them, and with one last glance towards the baby, they stood up. You watched them confused, holding the child closer to you as you followed them.

"Qu'est-ce que vous faites? Attendez, s'il vous plaît. Il va bientôt faire jour. Les soldats, ils vont vous voir." (What are you doing? Wait, please. It will be light soon. The soldiers, they'll see you.)

"We're sorry." Schofield answered as he grabbed his rifle and walked to the doorway, Blake following closely.

"Attendez, je vous en prie. Restez." (Wait, please. Stay.) you reached for Blake's arm, and his expression dropped even more when he saw your frightened state.

"I'm really sorry, but we have to go now." he eventually tried to reason with you. "My brother, along with hundred of men are in danger." Blake answered. You hadn't noticed the single tear that rolled down to your cheek until you felt its salty taste on your lips. After a few seconds, you let go of his arm and nodded slowly, taking a step back. You wrapped your arm around the baby protectively but also for comfort as you watched them walk over to the doorway with their rifles clutched in their hands.

And before you knew it, with one last apology, you were left alone again surrounded by darkness and fear.

#tom blake x reader #1917 x reader #tom blake #thomas blake x reader #will schofield x reader #schofield x reader #blake x reader #william schofield x reader #dean charles chapman x reader #george mackay x reader #dean charles chapman imagine #george mackay imagine #blueeyeddean

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georgemackayhey · 5 years ago

Text

Lean On Me

"Can you do something with both George and Dean maybe like seeing the reader cry and comforting her?" "Hiii, could you write a George x reader where they’ve been dating for a while and he’s jealous of her. Love your writing"

Right, so I've gone on and combined these requests because I failed to think up two separate ideas. So here's this monster! Thanks for askin' y'all! Enjoy ♡

w/c: 5k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"We're officially not unofficial!" You announced, clinking your second glass of wine against Dean's tumbler full of whiskey.

You'd been cast as costars in an indie rom-com, and were staying in the middle of nowhere Ireland for a month, to begin filming. Tonight you'd been shown to your separate motel rooms but wound up sharing a drink in yours, catching up and enjoying each others company before tomorrow's first big shoot. And since you'd been seeing George, it didn't take Dean long to ask how his friend was doing.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean let out a bright chuckle before taking a swig of his preferred alcohol.

"Well as you know, George is off filming in the US and I'm stuck here, filming with you." You pulled a face but broke out into laughter before your playful disgust could be read. You adored Dean, and there weren't many people you'd rather be stuck in a dingy motel with.

"Before he left two days ago, we agreed not to see anyone else while we're both so busy. And to keep seeing each other when he's back." You rambled. Dean shifted on his side of the love seat as you shared a drink and conversation.

"Really?" Dean's eyes winded as his smile grew, causing a blush to appear on your cheeks.

"Yeah," You grinned. "I know he wanted to take things slow before diving into a serious relationship, but it sounds like he's ready to pick up the pace." You informed although you figured Dean already knew. They were already the best of friends when you'd come into the picture.

"I'm going to tell you something." Dean leaned in a little closer as if someone might have been listening in. You brought your glass of wine to your lips to prepare for what he might say.

"George has some pretty serious feelings for you. But he's been burned before. There have been one too many girls who wanted him for all the wrong reasons." Dean went on like an older brother, though he was quite the opposite, "The fact that he's mentioned getting more serious with you is a big deal. I hope you're ready for that because I think you're perfect together. But if you're not-"

"I am, Dean. The last thing I want is to hurt George and I swear to you I won't let that happen." You traced an X over your heart and gave your friend a stern nod, the best promise you had to show.

Your friend snorted a laugh but returned your serious nod as you both silently agreed to have George's best interest at heart.

___

"Action!" Your director shouted through a laugh as you sucked in a deep breath. You were placed at the end of a foothill where the damp grass caused you to slip every time you tried a new take.

Luckily the director got a kick out of your silly little mishap and you'd stopped laughing enough yourself to try the take again for the fourth time.

Dean was standing amongst the rubble of a halfway demolished castle, waiting for you to run into his arms. Your first day of shooting was focused on the climax of the film, and it wasn't hard for either of you to fake years of chemistry for the camera as you'd been friends behind the scenes for months now.

That's why when you finally nailed running into his open arms, prepared to be swept off your feet, you kept on laughing when his foot slipped, sending you both to the dirt.

"You weren't supposed to do that!" You laughed. "We finally almost had it! I was depending on you." You fake cried, while Dean apologized through bouts of laughter.

"Take ten, we'll suss it out!" Our director laughed while a small crew scurried to help you up and clean up your costumes of dust.

After finally getting the final shoot right, you were sent off to change and grab dinner with the rest of the crew.

The middle of nowhere Ireland didn't have much to offer, so the company you kept became even more valuable.

Behind Dean, you followed the director and his wife into an unassuming pub, where you ordered drinks. You sat close together and spoke about what you'd gotten right on set and how you hoped for scenes in the future to turn out, now that you'd started bringing your characters to life.

When your extra-large drinks came, you took a selfie with the pints and followed Dean's strict orders to text the photo to George.

"Tell him I love him and wish that he was my leading lady, instead." Dean teased.

"Well, we'll just see if I catch you when you slip up next time!" You feigned offense while you formed a text to George. Under the photo of you and his dear friend, you wrote:

You're missing all the fun! But I'm missing you more. Hope your day on set is going well xx

You hadn't quite reached the heart-eye emoji stage, with George, but all you wanted to do was flood his message thread with sappy saying. Delivering all your romantic lines today was made easier if you thought of saying them to George. You couldn't wait for the film to end so that you might have the chance to actually kick off what you'd started with the man.

You met George at the Golden Globes, at one of the after-parties. Your agent knew his and you'd been wanting to congratulate the stars of such a groundbreaking film, anyhow. George and Dean were sort of a packaged deal that night, but by some miracle, you'd been left with George to finish off your free cocktails and talk about how the music was much too loud.

You went home with a funny feeling in your chest, thankful that you got to spend an hour chatting away with the handsome man, knowing you'd only gotten extremely lucky.

But not long after then, you met George again. He was all alone in a coffee shop on the lot of a studio you'd both been filming on opposite sides of. He offered you a seat across the tiny table from him, where you sipped your drinks and dove into conversation like you'd known each other for years before then.

That was the day you realized you had feelings for George, when you swore his bright eyes lingered on your lips. When he asked if you were going to some silly Hollywood party. You said yes, even though you hadn't planned on it before then.

That's how things kept going with George, for a while. You'd run into each other at events and waste the rest of those evenings sharing passing thoughts and strong opinions. Around the third or fourth run in, you got the guts to compliment his suits and the way he laughed. He finally invited you to a party you wouldn't have otherwise known about.

It was someone's birthday, and every surface of their mansion had been turned into a minibar. Dean was there, and when George left you two to find some drinks that weren't just straight vodka, Dean asked what was going on between you and his best mate. George had clearly been smitten, but you'd yet to discuss anything like that with each other.

With a push from Dean, George asked you on a Sunday morning stroll along the lake, your first official date, both glad to finally be able to call what you'd been doing more than "hanging out." That was the day you'd found out about each other's upcoming films. When George held your hand on the park bench. When you agreed to keep seeing each other when you'd finished all your work. Agreeing to keep up as many late-night chats as you possibly could, while you were worlds apart.

___

You woke up not so long after you'd fallen asleep to your phone buzzing on the nightstand. You worried you'd missed your morning alarms but a new sort of excitement took over your nerves when you realized George was calling.

"Hello?" You answered, happily snuggling back into your motel bed.

"I'm sorry, love did I wake you?" George worried, his use of a pet name causing your heart to flip.

"Well yeah, but I'm glad you did. We aren't filming until tomorrow afternoon. How's America, then?" You wondered, peering out of the crack in your curtains. The night was dark, and the light from the motel sign reflected off of the crew's cars in the lot. You heard laughter in the distance and wondered what kind of fun you were missing out on.

"It's nice. We're actually ahead of schedule. I might not be here as long as I planned." George spoke up, and you thought you heard him smile.

"Is that good news?" You wondered. He seemed so excited to head off overseas and start working again, even if his role was only small.

"I think so. Means I'm closer to getting to see you." George said, his voice was warmer and more inviting than all the blankets you were currently wrapped up in.

"That's very good news indeed, then!" You grinned. "But you know I think Dean misses you most of all, and that's really saying something." You joked, thinking about all the conversations you'd had about George since you'd been filming together.

George's delicate laughter was music to your ears. He asked you to send his sappiest greetings to Dean and the pair of you went on telling stories about your days on set. George seemed to be getting on with his castmates and enjoying his work. You were glad to hear it and made sure he knew that you and Dean were having the best of times as well.

You wanted to end the call with George by expressing how dearly you missed him, but something stopped you. Maybe it was your conversation with Dean from before when he warned you how cautious George was to move too quickly in relationships. You figured keeping in touch while so far apart counted for a lot, and settled for wishing George a happy sleep before you hung up to shut your eyes again.

___

As you wrapped up filming in Ireland, you and Dean had become rather inseparable. Since you'd been acting alongside each other almost exclusively, you were a little nervous how filming back in London was going to go. There was a new set of cast members to finish filming with, and you and Dean had developed some kind of secret language you worried might seem off-putting to everyone else.

You didn't want to be the costar known for picking favorites, so you tried your utmost to get on just as well with the folks meant to play your family members and friends.

That meant spending time off the set, going to dinner and hosting game nights when the chance arose. Granted, you and Dean often paired up to beat everyone at Monopoly, you were still succeeding in getting on with everyone.

"Tomorrow is the big fight scene. I just don't think I can punch you in the face, Dean." The actress playing your older sister laughed, reaching over to pinch Dean's cheek.

"Good, 'cause you're not really supposed too." Dean laughed, shooing her hand away. You laughed at their antics as you flitted off to the kitchen to find another beer.

Your phone had been left on the counter, and you noticed it lighting up as you stepped past the refrigerator.

You narrowly missed a call from George, his profile photo filling up your screen. When the call went dead, you noticed he'd tried to call once before then.

"Oh shit, it is Friday, isn't it?" You worried. As you and George each found the swing of your days on set, you figured Friday nights were the best time to check in on each other. But tonight you'd been so wrapped up in enjoying a night off at Dean's flat with your castmates, that you'd left your phone in the other room.

You pressed the call back button and scurried off to the back patio where you wouldn't be bothered.

"Hello love! Everything alright?" George asked. Because even though you'd agreed to call each other once a week, you'd started texting silly little updates to each other throughout most other days. And you hadn't done that at all today.

"Yeah, I'm so sorry I've been away. We've just been enjoying the rare day off."

"Ah, yeah that's alright." George was quick to assure you but you didn't miss the way his voice fell a little flat. But before you could go on apologizing, he spoke up again.

"I'm flying back home tomorrow morning." He spoke, and now he sounded as if he were on the verge of bursting out into excitable screams.

"Tomorrow morning?" You grinned. That was a week earlier than he'd been planning.

"We finished everything today and I've booked the soonest flight back. I can't wait to see you." George cooed through the phone line.

With all your might, you held back squeals and confirmed that you were just as excited to finally see him again, as well. Thought you'd started things off at an awkward time, your feeling for George blossomed more every day. Between flirty texts and late-night phone calls that lasted as long as they could with completely different schedules, you'd fallen head over heels for George.

He made you laugh, even all the way across the ocean. He would ask genuine and thoughtful questions and he'd never hold back from giving you his own honest and meaningful answers. You practically melted through the slots of the patio board when you ended your phone call with "See you tomorrow, darling!"

___

"That's a wrap for today!"

"Holy shit, I'm so glad we got that on the first take." You shivered. It was a little too cold to pretend to enjoy yourself in a swimming pool.

Dean was by your side next thing you knew, offering a robe from the costume lady who was sewing up another actor's tuxedo.

"Just think, all the hard parts are over. Only a few more days left of easy shooting!" Your friend held open the robe as you slid your arms in as a frown pulled at your lips.

"Don't remind me! I don't know what I'll do when all the fun is over." You pouted like a kid and dramatically threw yourself against Dean in a hug you couldn't manage while keeping your hands tucked under your arms. Your friend ran his hands along your shoulder with a laugh as you shivered, but the extra bit of warmth didn't last long.

"Oh my God!" Dean chirped, shoving you away from him all of a sudden. Just before you had time to shout at him for being rude, you noticed what caught his attention.

George! There he was, dressed in dark jeans and cozy sweater, happily chatting away with your agent before Dean got to him. The men shared a happy greeting and a warm hug as you hurried to do the same.

You shoved Dean away like he'd done to you, with a playful "Ha!," and practically threw yourself at George.

He was strong, effortlessly scooping you into his embrace and giving you a small spin from the momentum you'd gained. You'd never greeted each other so enthusiastically, but somehow now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You're here!" You realized as George set you on your feet again.

"When you told me you'd be done round five I figured I'd just swing by." He explained, keeping one of his hands gently wrapped around your waist. You weren't very cold any more.

"I missed you." You beamed, soaking up how close he finally was, after so long. George returned your sentiments as you both stood together, enjoying nothing more for a beat.

"I just need to change, then we can get going, yeah?" You shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in your still-damp bathing suit under the itchy robe. Before you parted, you'd somehow made plans to go get dinner, and Dean was invited along.

"I did miss him too." George shot you a playful face as he moved to find where Dean had gone off too, leaving you to go change. You'd never flown in and out of the makeup trailer faster, sliding your clothes on and checking your face in the mirror before walking out onto the lot calm and cool.

You were totally anxious to finally get to spend time with George, but you hadn't forgotten what Dean mentioned about moving too fast.

You found both men in the car lot laughing together. They both turned their heads to see you approach, smiles widening, somehow.

"Ah, my boys. Let's go eat." You laughed, shooting Dean a look at George grabbed your hand in his.

___

You wound up at a posh Italian place, sat in the curve of a big red booth under George's arm. Dean was nearer the opposite curve, leaning a in a little closer to show George a bunch of dumb pictures the two of you had accumulated on set for the past couple of moths.

"Can I tell him about Taco Bell?" Dean choked back a laugh and looked at you with pleading eyes.

"I guess." You smiled after a beat. One night, not so long ago, you and Dean got plastered beyond belief and wandered to the nearest Taco Bell on foot. Their diner was closed, but their drive-through was open, and you had no choice but to try and walk up to the order box and try your luck. No one would respond, but Dean swore he saw workers avoiding your drunken rambles through the windows. The adventure ended with you having burst into tears, somehow deciding the Taco Bell was purgatory, drunkenly crying into the drive-through box. It made Dean laugh so hard he vomited next to the bins in the parking lot, and the pair of you got sternly asked to leave.

Not your finest hour, but certainly one of many memories from the highlight reel you and Dean had spent the early spring creating together. And it was Dean doing most of the talking tonight.

You spent your time snuggled close to George's side. His hand rested on your thigh while you buried your face in your hands at the end of each of Dean's stories.

George sat back, listened and laughed, and made fun of both of you along the way. You and Dean were in the middle of arguing over the details of your first petty fight when the check came.

"I have been missing out." George took the last swig of his drink.

"Well, we're glad to have you back mate. I better get going, though." Dean explained that he had a meeting with his agent before your day on set started tomorrow. When you all made your way out of the restaurant, you hugged Dean goodbye, calling him some silly nickname you coined in Ireland. He pulled a face at you, waved to George leaving the two of you alone for the first time in ages.

"I'd hate for the night to end, already." George gave you a convincing set of puppy dog eyes, but you didn't need convincing.

"It doesn't have to!" You spoke rather quickly. "We could go back to mine and watch a film or something."

You offered a bashful shrug, hoping your excitable offer wasn't too forward.

But before you knew it, you were leading George into your studio flat, offering him something to drink as you flipped on a few lights on the way.

Tea was in order. You leaned against the kitchen island while George leaned against the counter, delving into conversation like you did best. He'd asked about some of the pictures you had framed of your family and friends, and you asked about his.

When the kettle rang and you filled two cups and asked George what he was most excited about being back home.

"I'm just glad to finally be with you." He informed, reaching out to pull you closer with the gentles tug at the hem of your shirt. He was a lot more affectionate than you remembered, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"I wish I'd spent all month having all that fun in Taco Bell purgatory with you." George joked, hooking one of his impossibly strong arms around your waist.

"George Mackay, are you a little jealous?" You laughed unbelievably, shoving your cup of tea a little further from you.

"Dean has gotten to kiss you more than I have, yet." George gave a little shrug as his bright blue eyes searched your face. If he was actually bothered, but the tiny smirk on his lips made you believe otherwise.

"Why don't we get up to speed, then, huh?" You rose a brow, resting one of your hands on George's sharp jaw. He didn't waste another second before diving into a kiss that left you breathless.

You expected your first kiss with George to be gentle and soft, just like him. But this kiss was fierce and hot and his hands were pushing your shoulders against the wall. And his lips only left yours to travel down your neck.

Your tea went cold that night.

___

You plopped into Dean's lap for the first shoot of the day. A rush of gratitude swooped over you, glad that you'd been able to work with someone you cared for so deeply.

"For someone who claims to know his best friend so well, you sure were off the mark." You playfully jabbed Dean in the ribs. He shot you a curious glare as a boom mic was being switched out for another.

"Do I even wanna know?" Dean chuckled, gazing up at you.

"All I'm saying, is he definitely didn't seem to care for taking things very slow last night." You proudly hinted as Dean let out an understanding yet mortified laugh. Some of your castmates were trickling onto set as your director checked behind the camera.

"He was totally jealous of all the time we've been spending together." You laughed, picking a piece of lint off the actor's sweater.

Dean's smile faltered as the director called action. Your friend's arms wrapped around your waist as you went on pretending to be in love.

After a long day of hard work, you and Dean started off in the direction of the makeup trailer. You'd kept one arm slung around his shoulders as he went on yammering about the last scene you shot.

George had decided to surprise you on set for the second day in a row, this time with a coffee for you and Dean, each.

"Awe, would ya look at that, we've got our own personal gofer." You laughed, looking at Dean as he gently slipped out from under your arm to accept George's kind offer. The labels on the cups were from a tiny bakery down the street from your set, but you didn't think much of it until you took a sip.

"Oh my God." You looked up to George with starry eyes. You wouldn't have cared what he ordered you, but he somehow got it exactly right. "How'd you know my favorite order from this place?"

You'd never been to the bakery with George before, and you couldn't remember a time you'd mentioned it to him. He really was the perfect boyfriend.

"I asked Dean," George admitted with a smile. You thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, and when you turned to do the same to Dean, he was gone.

___

You spent the rest of the week acting your heart out during the day and decompressing in the evening with George between movie marathons and dinner dates.

He was always checking in, making sure you were comfortable and always excited to experience new things with you. And you made sure George knew just how glad you were for his company. And especially charmed by the fact that he could never keep his hands off you. When you sat watching old tv shows he would trace patterns against your knee. He kept an arm around you as you walked the streets and always greeted you with a kiss.

Today, that's how he left you on set, with a sweet peck on your temple and a few words of encouragement. It was your last day, and you just weren't ready to say goodbye to everyone.

The last scene to shoot was of you and Dean, alone together in the isle of a convenience store. Your characters were meant to be having their first big fight, when a song comes over the loudspeakers neither of them can resist dancing along, bickering all the while.

It took you a couple of takes with the director suggesting different approaches, but it was over in the blink of an eye, Dean's character delivering the final line, while you were instructed to keep lazily dancing. After the director called cut, someone turned up the music and everyone cheered as your time together drew to a close.

You danced your way closer, throwing your arms around Dean in celebration.

"You've been the best castmate in the world! Thanks for putting up with me this long Dean. On and off set." You nodded, feeling your heart begin to ache. Dean hugged you back, offering similar sentiments, but unusually, something in Dean's tone fell flat.

You gave him an extra squeeze before he slinked off toward his trailer. While everyone else was offering goodbye hugs, you wondered if Dean wasn't keen to show how sad he was too. You shook it off and went on thanking the rest of the cast and crew for such a wonderful production.

The wrap party was later in the evening, but you left a big part of your heart on the set that was being torn down on your ride home.

___

George made it a bit hard for you to slip all the way into your party dress with the way he kept slipping it right back off. But with a little luck, you straightened his collar and dragged him out the door in the nick of time to party the night away.

The wrap party was at a nightclub where a live band was playing. As you slipped past drink stations and loudspeakers with George's hand in yours, you were reminded of when you met. How you'd keep running into each other on nights like these.

You held his hand a little tighter as the thought passed your mind and smiled up at him like a loon as he moved closer to your side.

"I'm glad you're here with me." You spoke up past the music.

"Me too." George grinned, leaning to place a kiss on your temple.

Your cast members bombarded you with hugs when they noticed you'd made it, asking for selfies and handing out drinks.

When you turned to look for George he'd found Dean and you were glad to skip toward them.

"Long time no see." You joked, sitting perfectly between the two of them.

"I can't believe it's over." Dean shook his head and cast a look to you.

"Yeah, but we still have press tour! And the premieres." You reminded, lifting your glass to your lips.

"Yeah." Dean smiled like he was glad, but you knew him better than that. Now was the time when he'd dream up some wild scenario he hoped would happen as you traveled to advertise for your new film. Or surely at the very least crack a joke.

You almost wanted to ask if he was okay, as he'd been totally reserved for a couple of days in a row. Of course, you knew he was probably just as sad for the production to wrap, but something was off. You could just tell.

___

Dean was weird during the entire press tour. He kept getting increasingly weirder as the days went by. And it was hard to pretend you weren't bothered. You called George every night, begging him to check up on Dean, make sure he was alright, get him to tell what he wouldn't tell you.

Over the past couple of months, you and Dean had grown inseparable and after the film, that changed. You knew your closeness couldn’t have been an act. You knew Dean made genuine connections with people he cared about. He was still close to George after their film had ended. Why was he suddenly so cold to you?

When you did interviews together, it was almost like it used to be, suppressing snickers and sharing secrets through the rise of an eyebrow.

But on the bus and out to dinner, Dean kept his distance. He still spoke with you and asked about your life, but it was like he'd severed himself off from your connection. By the time you got home, you hoped leaving him alone for a week and getting back to normal would make things better.

But the morning of the premiere, you'd had all you could take. You and Dean were just leaving a hotel conference room after the last of a dozen interviews.

Dean walked a few paces behind you on your way out to the lobby. George was there, waiting to take you to some celebratory lunch before you were meant to start getting ready. He was all smiles, happily greeting you with a warm hug. He started to say something about how excited he was to take you out when you noticed Dean brush by, headed for the door.

"Uh, give me a second." You decided all of a sudden, leaving George in the small waiting area so you could catch your castmate before he reached the hotel doors.

"Dean! Wait." You demanded, fed up with how strangely he'd been acting. You couldn't possibly show up to the premiere tonight without at least trying to make things better.

You had to chase him out of the revolving doors, but when you reached the pavement, Dean was shocked enough by your low tone to stop and face you. You finally had his full attention, thank God.

"Are you okay? Have I upset you, somehow? Did I do something? Please tell me what's wrong." You begged, your throat started to close, but you managed to press the words out in time. As you spoke, Dean's face changed.

His eyes left yours, cast to the floor, and flicked up to somewhere behind you.

"Please talk to me." You begged in a hush. You didn't care about anyone passing by who might have looked at you funny.

"I-I'm sorry. No, I'm not upset with you. I never meant to make you think that." Dean explained in a low manner.

"Then what's going on?" You asked, worried by how reluctant he was to say anything.

"I didn't want to be in the way." Dean started, searching your face. "You and I had gotten so close and when George got back I felt like I was breaking some kind of boundary." Dean sighed, waving a hand as he cleared the air. And right on time, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed George stepping out of the revolving doors to find you.

"I was only trying not to hurt his feelings." Dean finalized. All the while, you tried taking a step closer to your friend. He took a step back.

"Well, you're hurting mine." You batted back, feeling tears sting your eyes. You were much too overwhelmed by the interaction to keep talking to Dean.

As George approached the pair of you, you grabbed his hand and spun around to the other end of the pavement. You heard Dean call your name to try and stop you, but you were already around the corner to where George's car had been parked.

George hurried behind the wheel but didn't start the engine. He leaned gently toward where you settled back against the passenger seat, defeated. You sucked in a sharp breath, determined not to totally lose your cool.

"What's happened?" George worried in a high pitch. One of his warm hands wrapped around your shoulder as you tried understanding everything Dean had just explained to you.

"He finally told me what his problem was and," You let out a humorless laugh as a tear escaped. "And I guess I just wasn't expecting it."

"Oh love," George barely whispered, lifting a finger to wipe your tear away.

"I think... he thinks you're jealous of him? Or at least he was afraid of our friendship coming across as something it wasn't, in your eyes. So he just shut me out. I guess it's nice he cares for you that much huh?" You let out another small, watery laugh.

George had that adorably confused look on his face, casting his pretty eyes into yours.

"That's what he’s been worried over?" George seemed just as confused as you had been. He'd never been able to get a read on Dean, any time George had tried to talk to him about how strangely he'd been acting.

And you knew George wasn't jealous, not of Dean. He asked to hear all of the fun stories you had about Dean while you'd been working together. George seemed delighted that his friend cared for you so deeply. You knew that.

George reassured you that was the case, admitting he might have been a little jealous of missing out on all the fun, but not of Dean.

You'd calmed down a bit, with the help of George's sweet, gentle talk. He reassured that you weren't silly for crying, and then he took you to lunch. As you fueled up for a long exciting night, George insisted that he would knock some sense into his dear friend and that you'd get back to being just as close in no time.

___

The pair of you got all dolled up, painted for a premier. George's suit complimented your dress and you confessed you were totally madly in love with him. Maybe it was too soon, but it was just the right time, all things considered. George returned your sentiments with a light in his eyes and a smile on his face and everything was almost perfect.

You piled into George's car and drove to the studio where a limo was waiting to escort you and Dean to the premier. You were a packaged deal tonight, and he never invited a date.

Thank God Dean was already waiting at the studio for you, and early. George was able to pull him aside as your agent fussed over a bunch of silly questions. Your director still hadn't shown up by the time George and Dean reappeared before you, both wearing relaxed smiles.

"I'm sorry I never really talked to you. I shouldn't have ghosted you like that." Dean approached, looking dapper in his navy blue suit.

"Never do it again. Yell at me next time, I can take it." You swore, nodding in his direction. Dean rolled his eyes as his smile grew and all the tension between you fizzled away.

"So are we finally back to normal? I want to have game night and I need you on my Monopoly team." You fell back into a familiar banter, longing to make plans with your friend.

"I can't play a single board game without you. We share one brain cell, I think" Dean reached out, grabbing your shoulder to pull you into a hug, a real, meaningful one. You could have cried again just knowing he would be there to make fun of you for being so emotional.

"Yeah well, you're gonna need it because I'm the best Monopoly player in the British Isles." George sauntered up to the pair of you, seemingly very serious. You let out a loud chuckle as your embrace with Dean ended.

And when you piled into the limo between the two people you cared most about, you wondered how you'd gotten so lucky. It was official, everything was picture perfect.

───※ ·❆· ※───

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic #dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman fanfic #dean charles chapman imagine

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royalbluehues · 5 years ago

Text

Hope and Wait.

Title: Hope and Wait.

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: No warnings. BUT. This is an AU where the thing that happens to Blake doesn’t happen to Blake.

Pairings: Tom Blake x Reader

Author’s Note: Yeeyee, the fic for the man without a plan is here. If you like it, and if you really do, let me know. Thank you for all the wonderful and sweet comments I’ve been receiving, it makes my little heart go pitter patter :’)

I think I’ve watched 1917 seven times now. I have a problem.

Also, was I supposed to find out that the girls in the postcard that Schofield keeps were his daughters and the woman was his wife? Also, can someone also please tell me why I thought that was his mother despite her looking so young?

Mad respect to the cinematic Mrs. Schofield, but, deuces. We’re vetoing her because I’m too in love with him. Let’s use the free artistic license we’ve been born with and write her off as his mother in her prime. And his daughters as his sisters. (Isn’t it sad I feel like the cinematic Mrs. Schofield is fuming at me?)

The next installments of Come Back To Me and I Promise are in progress! (Yay!)

The young man sat angrily outside, only a few yards away from his home, hidden beneath the trees that met the land his father had owned.

He sat, thinking, twirling blades of grass between his index and thumb, feeling the edges press gently into the pads of his fingers.

When Joe had left a year prior everybody spoke of his brave valor. They were proud of him. For Christ’s sake, they were even excited to have someone in the family fight the Great War.

Now that it was his turn, he was met with a lesser degree of enthusiasm.

His mother had looked aghast when he proudly held his voluntary draft card in hand, “You will not go.”

His proud smile had fallen, “What? Of course I will. It’s bound to become mandatory eventually Mum.”

She grimaced at him, shaking her head vehemently as she wiped her hands on her apron, “No. I can’t lose you either.”

His shoulders slumped as he frowned, “You act like Joe’s died. He’s not, you know. He’s perfectly fine, as will I.”

They had argued more, eventually leading to his mother crying which made him feel terribly guilty. He had straightened at once, moving to her weeping form to wrap her in his arms. “Mum, I know you don’t want me to go. But I have to. I have to, mum. Besides, what if I get a medal? Then you’ll be able to hang it up and finally say you’re proud of me.”

His mother ceased crying, her stony face displaying a mix of disappointment and sadness, “You speak like a boy, Thomas.”

She then had walked away in silence, leaving him to stare after her in anger and confusion.

So there he was, sitting on earth and leaning against one of the wooden posts lining his home, internally complaining about his circumstance and lack of enthusiasm he’d received.

“Mrs. Blake told me you’re set to leave.”

He jumped at your voice, turning to see you standing a foot away from him. You were standing with your hands clasped in front of you, still and silent as you gazed upon him with a look Tom couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Christ, love. You’re as silent as a fox.” He moved to roll onto his feet, pushing off the ground with his right hand, letting go of the blades of grass in the mix. “How’d you get word so fast?”

He moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, but you remained stagnant, not moving a muscle, as emotions flickered through your eyes.

“I had made a pound cake and brought your mother part of it.” Your answer was short. Quick. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Tom wrinkled his nose and let his arms drop, taking a step back, “Don’t tell me you’re angry, too.”

You were silent, biting on your tongue for fear of wilting into a puddle of tears. There was a tightness in your chest.

“You know,” Tom’s voice underlaid annoyance, “It’s not as if parliament won’t be making the conscription mandatory-”

“But you could have waited until then,” You shot at him, balling your fists at your side, “Why on earth would you put yourself into a position of risk?”

Tom’s eyebrows slanted in anger, and he jutted his chin out and straightened, ready to defend himself. “Nobody said that when Joe left.”

You stuck your chin out as well, looking up at him with a set jaw, “Your brother was called for deployment. Mandatory deployment, not voluntary. Tom, I-”

You cut off, unable to form anymore words.

“‘Tom’ what?” He shot back hotly, taking a step closer in a defensive stance, “Are you going to tell me that you don’t want me to go?”

His tone was borderline mocking, rushed and angry. His annoyance was wearing thin. At you. At his mum. At Joe.

It was completely unfair.

You stared at him in silence, the tightness in your throat worsening with each passing second. You were biting the tip of your tongue to keep your composure again, but possibilities of him dying somewhere without you potentially ever knowing caused you to slump forward in defeat, hanging your head as the tears you were holding finally broke loose.

“Yes,” you croaked out sadly, “It’s exactly what I was going to say. It’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Tom’s eyes widened a fraction, one of his hands immediately taking hold of your waist and the other moving to cup your jaw. He bent downwards to attempt to look into your eyes, “Love, I’m sorry- Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to make you angry, I-” He let out a sigh, “Christ.”

The hand that cupped your cheek moved to the back of your head to cradle it, guiding it towards the area of his shoulder that you regularly dug your nose into when he held you.

You let out a small sob, unraveling your fists only to grasp tightly on to his ironed shirt.

“Love, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” He kissed your crown, kissed your temple, kissed your ear. His thumb moved circles into your hip, the cotton material of your skirt bunching and releasing with his ministrations, “I’m sorry.”

He continued doing so until you calmed.

“I’m sorry.” He told you, “Please forgive me.”

The birds sung somewhere in the trees, and the soft breeze rustled the leaves above and rolling the grass on the hills north of you.

You moved your face, angling yourself to rest your nose at his shoulder as you stared ahead of you, focusing on particularity nothing.

Now he moved to dig his face into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled as he apologized once again.

You didn’t accept his apology. And you wouldn’t be accepting it anytime soon. But to make amends, you moved your right hand to cradle the back of his neck, fingertips lightly grazing the hair at the nape.

You felt his lips kiss your neck. Then again under your jaw, gently bumping his nose with yours in search of your lips.

With lidded eyes, he kissed you. Slowly, and passionately.

Your heart broke as his lips danced against yours, searing this moment into your memory. When he released to allow you to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, “I love you, you know.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, and he watched as the tears pooled at your waterlines, “I love you as well.”

“Don’t cry.” he ordered, frowning at your saddened features, “When I come back, I’m going to marry you. I’m going to marry you when the first blossom blooms.”

The tightness in your throat returned at his proposal, and as he stared deeply into your eyes, he told you softly, “On that day you’ll be crying because you’ll be happy. We’ll have a house, and we’ll have children.” He stroked your hair, and you breathed in broken sobs, shaking your head as you downcasted your eyes. Tom caught your chin between his fingers, shaking his head in disapproval at your movements, “I’ll take care of you. But until then, I’ll have to take care of you away from home.”

His young blue eyes continued searching yours, “I’ll come home to you.”

~~~

He had left with a grin and mischief sparkling in his eyes. He kissed you upon the lips, once, twice, three times before he bounced away, excitement evident in every fiber of his being.

Mrs. Blake clutched at her small beaded purse, using her handkerchief to wipe away the tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Let’s go home, Mrs. Blake,” you had told her, offering your arm so she’d loop it with yours once the train left the station.

You wrote to Tom.

You wrote four to five page letters, explaining your days in vivid detail and what you had heard. On the days that were not particularly interesting, you wrote to him your favorite verses or some memory of him that would make you laugh.

When you would finish, you would ask his mother if she would like if you both sent yours together, so that he would have a nice surprise when his mail would come in.

She would always agree.

Waiting for word for him was nearly excruciating. At first, his letters would come in more frequently. Four letters during the month.

The it slowly stretched from four to three, three to one. You were a ball of nervous energy, attempting to rid it by participating in caring for your mother and father and for Mrs. Blake.

You helped her with her garden, helped her pull the weeds that were growing by her rose beds in vain to rid the ache in your chest when you thought of him. You knitted socks and scarves, vests and mittens in your free time, sending them to any poor boy out there with lack of thereof. You sent bundles of socks to both Tom and Joe to keep and distribute amongst their comrades.

You kept Mrs. Blake company.

It was set routine.

One night, in particular, when you had brought over a small basket of groceries to save her from taking a trip, she turned to you. She looked tired. She looked worried.

The small wisp of hair that had begun to turn gray contrasted starkly against her dark hair. But her eyes, the same eyes Tom had, were soft and filled with fondness, “You are perfect for Thomas.”

The day the telegram arrived, Mrs. Blake nearly fainted.

She handed you the letter, closing her eyes, “Oh, dear Lord.”

You yourself had turned a paler shade, moving to take the crushed letter in her hand, gently pulling it away. Mrs. Blake began praying quietly, knitting needles now strewn aside and forgotten.

You tore open the top, hands shaking as you fished for the letter, biting your cheek as you unfolded it.

“Is it Joseph or Thomas? Heavenly Father, please-” She cut off, hands moving to cover her face. You were holding your breath, reading with the familiar tightness in your throat threatening to overtake you.

To MRS. MARY BLAKE

MADAM,

IT IS WITH MY DEEPEST REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT Lance Corporal Thomas Blake 8TH INFANTRY HAS BEEN SEVERELY INJURED IN ACTION ON THE 6TH OF APRIL. NO FURTHER PARTICULARS ARE AVAILABLE. YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED SHOULD ANY NEW DETAILS BE RECEIVED.

GEORGE BARNETT, MAJOR GENERAL COMMANDANT

“Who is it?” She repeated, panic clear in her tone.

“Tom’s been injured,” you told her, gulping, “severely injured.”

You handed her the letter, which she tore from your hands to read. She was stiff and rigid, but all the while you saw she was relieved.

“As long as he’s not dead.” She mumbled to herself, flopping tiredly into her armchair. “As long as either are not dead.”

You were still rattled, however. Yes, you were grateful to the heavens he was not dead. But the possibility still loomed. You sunk into the wooden chair in which you had been sitting in, the fire crackling the only sound that was heard in the small countryside home. “Yes,” you agreed quietly, gulping down your fears as you reached for the teacup that you had placed by your side.

You had to come to terms with the only option that was available to you- something that you have been practicing in the passing months:

To do nothing, but hope. Hope and wait.

You took a sip, the heat scalding your tastes buds as your stomach churned, but you paid it no mind. “As long as he’s alive.”

~~~

Tom was mending. Somewhere in France at a military hospital deep within the Allied side. He had nearly died from a stab wound, the report read, but was on the mend and was most likely to survive.

You and Mrs. Blake had cried in relief.

~~~

On the twelfth day of the eleventh month, you had been in town. The group in which you participated with to sell war bonds decided to try their luck with the townspeople.

You had been hanging the British flag above your small post, talking with the girls.

“The war is over!”

You turned your head to the source of the yell, an older gentleman was running down the main street clutching a bundle of newspapers, “It’s over!”

Your breath caught in your throat, reaching over to hold onto Marie.

One of the girls ran to snatch up a newspaper, jogging back to where you were all huddled. She unfurled it, where the headlines wrote:

WAR IS OVER!

ARMISTICE SIGNED BY GERMANY

“The war is over!” The man continued to shout behind you, causing the townspeople to come outdoors and into the streets, “It’s over!”

“Oh!” You cried out in true happiness, feeling the sensation rush over you and warming your bones, hugging Marie next to you who held onto you with elation.

Tears of joy fell from your eyes, and cheering broke out around you.

It was the first time in a very long time that happiness trumped the fear you were all feeling.

You ran the two miles home.

First running to tell your mother the news, then running off to tell Mrs. Blake.

She had been polishing the silver that had been given to her as a wedding present.

“Mrs. Blake,” you told her gasping for breath as you held onto the door, “It’s over.” You gulped, chest heaving from exertion, legs threatening to give out beneath you, and letting out a strangled laugh, “Our boys are coming home. Germany signed an armistice. It’s over. By God,” you breathed out, moving to hug her, shutting your eyes tightly, “It’s over, Mrs. Blake.”

~~~

You married him on the first day of May. The sun shone brightly above the spring morning, and birds twittered happily in the trees.

Your white dress had been made specially for you, cherry blossom petals made of ivory silk cascaded from your breast to the hem of your dress. In your pinned hair, you wove the first blooms of that season.

You had met him at the altar, taking his hand as you stood side by side with one another and clutching it tightly.

You turned your head to look at him, noting, for the millionth time, the way he looked much older. Gone was the boyish mischief that sparked his eyes. Gone was the playfulness that crinkled the edges when he spoke to someone.

Since his return, there were days when he would have episodes of nervous breakdowns. It pained you, for you could do nothing but stay there with him, wrapping your arms around him and whisper words of encouragement.

There would be days where he would remain silent for hours. There would be days where he would cry. For life. For stolen youth. For the horrors he would not share.

The soft features he had were now more pronounced, his jaw set as he looked onward at the priest.

A nervous tick he had developed in the war.

You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, making him blink and turn to meet your gaze. His sea colored eyes softened at the sight of you. He raised your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed yours, giving it a tight squeeze before bringing them down again to their original position.

When you had said your vows to one another, with your friends and family gazing upon the two of you with unsaid blessings, he gently jutted his forehead with yours.

“I’m not quite the same man who left,” He mumbled quietly for only you to hear, “but I’m still the same man who’s always loved you.” He wiped at your tears with his thumb, his voice cracking just slightly, “You’ll have to be patient with me.”

He knitted his eyebrows together as he released your hand to cradle your face.

“My love,” You whispered, your voice full of emotion for only him, “We have all the time in the world.”

He closed off the distance by kissing you, holding silent promises and unspoken incantations of his love for you, and you for him.

Masterlist

Tags: @sexyskywalker @aathepenguin @4lendow-norris @ellar21 @shooky-and-mang

#tom blake x reader #lance corporal blake x reader #dean charles chapman x reader #1917 fanfic #1917 fanfic x reader #william schofield x reader #george mackay x reader #royalbluehues

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1917-boys · 4 years ago

Text

More Than Friends (Dean-Charles Chapman Smut)

Requested: Yes / No

Word count: 3,260

Author’s Note: I wrote another smut, yay! I think it’s not the best, but I kinda like writing smut but I literally have no ideas for it :( Also, fuck Brad, he’s a dick, but I needed a rude guy

Dean’s my best friend, you thought. Well, at least he was. You kicked yourself internally for dwelling on this yet again. It had been months since you had seen him last. What a dick, you found yourself thinking once again. You sit up from your warm blanket encampment, glancing at the clock on your nightstand. 2:36 AM.

“Dammit,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. You quickly unlock the device and, against your better judgment, call Dean. What’s the harm? you thought, It’s not like he would pick up. As you hear the ringing tone play, you find yourself thinking back to what had thrown the two of you apart.

Dean arrived at your front door, three minutes early. As you swung the door open to invite him in, his smile brought butterflies to your stomach. “Come in, Dean. I don’t know why you even bother knocking anymore, you’re practically family.” Dean enters, his eyes quickly scanning the surroundings before sending a wave to your younger sister, seated on the front room couch.

You lead Dean to the kitchen, reaching up to grab his favorite cup. The cup was red and had black and white strips. You thought it was the ugliest cup ever, but Dean insisted you keep it here for whenever he comes over. Your lips turn up into a smile as you grab the cup, filling it with water before handing it to him.

“How have you been?” He asks, curious to know of your activities within the 24 hours he hasn’t seen you. You laugh, a smile breaking out on Dean’s face as well. “I took a walk with my sister, then I finished an application. It’s for a great film school up in Manchester that-”

“Manchester?” Dean asks incredulously, nearly spitting the water in his mouth out, eyebrows raised. “You can’t go there, Y/N.” Your brows furrow, confusion settling in on your features. “Why not?” You ask.

“It’s too far away. I-I’m going to miss you too much,” he stutters out, face falling. He was sure that you didn’t know of his more-than-friends feelings towards you, but he was going to miss you, whether or not you two were dating or just friends. Your confusion quickly turns to understanding, crossing the small kitchen in only a few steps to reach out to your friend. Your hand raises to his shoulder, holding it gently. “Hey, Dean. Look at me,” you say. His eyes are still downcast, so you tuck a finger under his chin, bringing his face up.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. I might not even get the internship, and then I won’t go at all. And even if I do go, I promise we’ll visit as often as possible and I’ll call or text you every night, okay?” His eyes light up slightly at your words, but his face still expresses his reluctance. You sigh, breathing out deeply before grabbing his arm and leading him into the living room.

You sit him down in a chair before seating yourself on the couch opposite him. “It’ll be okay, I promise, Dean.” He nods softly, not wanting to disappoint you, but still very upset.

The two of you spend the rest of the day watching TV together, laughing at each other and the show that’s on. When the evening rolls around, Dean reluctantly stands, telling you that he should get home. You smile sadly, but let him go.

The next morning, Dean texts you ‘Come over later.’ You huff, the notification from his text having woken you up only moments earlier. You quickly grin, though, excited to see your friend. Well, your friend for now, at least. You wanted more. Dean would make a good boyfriend, you thought, He’s a good guy and not to mention pretty cute. Your face flushes at your thoughts, but you eagerly pull yourself out of bed to get ready.

Soon enough, you are walking the two street distance between your house and Dean’s. As you approach the driveway, you see Dean chatting with one of his neighbors, Brad, a boy your age. Dean’s face looks downcast, and Brad’s features are turned down in a scowl. Dean’s eyes flit from Brad to your direction as soon as he hears your feet against the pavement. He sends a slight smile your way before turning back to say bye to Brad.

You finally approach the two boys, greeting them. “You’re a bitch, I hope you know,” Brad snarls, glaring at you. You take a step back, unsure of what’s going on. Dean’s hands dart out to try and stop Brad if he goes to do anything towards you. Thoughts race frantically through your head, contemplating what on earth you could have done to infuriate Brad. You hadn’t even formally met the guy, but here he was, threatening you.

A nervous laugh escapes you, hoping to calm the tension. “I don’t know what you’re going on about,” you say, praying that Brad doesn’t hear the nervous quiver in your voice. Brad lets out a harsh laugh, taking a step closer to you. Dean’s face is one of shock and apprehension, not comprehending what’s going on. Dean takes a step up to Brad, keeping his hands extended in front of him, towards his neighbor. “What are you on about, mate?” Dean questions, eyes glancing back and forth from Brad to you.

“What you told me about her,” Brad replies, spitting the word her out as if you were some sort of disgusting animal he couldn’t bear to look at. Your eyebrows furrow, eyes darting to Dean. “Don’t worry, darling. Your friend here told me everything you did. Trying to go to Manchester and leave him here, all alone? You think that’s fun, don’t you? Running away on some far-away adventure, leaving your friend here by himself while you run around with some stuck-up film school prick-”

Dean cuts Brad off with an angry glare, quickly silencing him. Brad’s face turns up into a cruel smirk, bidding you goodbye as he turned and walked back to his house. As soon as he’s gone, you step closer to Dean, sadness and confusion clearly playing out on your face. “Is that what you think about me going to Manchester?” You ask him, quietly.

He nods sadly, eyes downcast, steeling himself for a rant from you. Instead of getting upset, though, you laugh ruefully, an unbelieving smile on your face. “This whole time, I’ve been nothing but supportive of your acting career, and here you are, a blubbering mess as soon as I say that I might go to Manchester?”

Dean doesn’t lift his head, but this time it’s out of shame rather than sadness. You were right, of course you were. Through all of his auditions and filming you had been the most supportive of him. And here he was, complaining like a little boy that the girl he liked might leave him for a few weeks. He had made a mess of this, but now he didn’t know how to fix it.

“Well if that’s what you really think, Dean, I’ll be going now,” you state, turning on your heel and beginning the short walk back to your house. You hear him call out after you, but you ignore him. It was his mess, you told yourself, not mine.

And now here you were, four months later. You hadn’t seen or spoken to Dean since that day in his driveway. The ringing tone continues to play from your phone, until you hear it stop suddenly. A rough voice is heard on the other end. Dean’s voice.

God, I haven’t heard that voice in months. I’ve missed it.

“Hey,” he says. You swallow thickly, shifting yourself in your blankets before responding. “Hey.” You hear him sigh on the other end.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am. I-I made a mess of things, I know. It’s just, I kinda liked you. A lot. And then I ruined everything-” he begins rambling, but you stop him. A bright smile playing on your lips, you fight to keep the giddiness out of your voice as you respond. “It’s okay, Dean. It was my fault, too, I think. I should have told you before I applied. But, I think we need to talk. Do you want to come over?” You ask, the words slowly and quietly slipping out.

Dean sighs, no doubt checking the time. “Sure. I’ll be over in 10,” he says, quickly ending the call. You let out a deep breath, one you didn’t know you had been holding. Hopefully, you two would be able to work things out.

He said he likes me. Oh my god, he likes me. Maybe we could be more than friends?

A few minutes pass, and your phone dings with a text from Dean. ‘I’m here,’ he said, so you quickly disentangle yourself from the blankets, shoving them to the side of the bed before hurrying downstairs to open the door for him. You unlock the door and swing it open, revealing Dean in all his glory. Dressed in a simple, white fitted tee and sweatpants, he looks delicious. His mouth tilts up into a soft smile when you open the door. You hastily invite him in, leading him upstairs and into your room.

You quietly shut the door behind him as he stands awkwardly in the center of your room, eyes roaming as he takes in the surroundings. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” he says. You smirk, inviting him to sit on your bed. You cough awkwardly, hoping to ease the palpable tension between the two of you.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. Honestly, I am. I know what-” you cut him off, pushing your lips against his passionately. His eyes widen, blinking in surprise, before he kisses you back with just as much passion. You smile against his lips, and Dean finds himself thinking that this is what it must feel like to be in heaven.

You pull away after a few moments, your lungs burning. Both of you take deep breaths, recovering from the hasty yet enjoyable first kiss between the two of you. Dean smiles widely, laughing at himself. “How did it take us this long to do that?” he questions, shaking his head. Grinning, you shrug in response before wrapping your arms around his neck and once again pressing your lips to his. You feel Dean shift, bringing his arms from his sides to wrap around your waist lightly. This was still new territory for the both of you, and he didn’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.

You sense his hesitancy, after all, you had been best friends for years. You pull away from him to nod. He nods back at you, pulling his arms tighter against you and drawing you into him. This time, Dean initiates the kiss, and its softer than your previous ones. His tongue slips hesitantly into your mouth, rolling against your own. You continue to work your lips against him. This feels right, you think, enjoying the sensation of Dean’s body working against you.

Your hands move from his neck to his waist, lifting up the hem of his shirt, toying with it. Dean pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s okay. I want this. Do you?” He asks shyly, a blush spreading across his face. “I do.” Dean smiles, bringing his hands to your waist and slowly drawing your shirt over your head. You quickly do the same to him, relishing in the feeling of his soft skin under your fingers.

Dean’s eyes rake up and down your bare chest, taking in the sight before him. “You’re absolutely beautiful, you know,” he whispers, taking your hand in his. You smile shyly, raising your other hand to his hair, running your fingers through the mussed curls. Gently, he pushes you back until you’re lying on your bed beneath him. Dean brings his head down to your neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin, causing you to shiver and let out a breathy moan. You feel him smile against you, causing you to smile as well.

Dean trails soft kisses down your collarbone and the top of your chest, reaching your breasts. He looks up at you expectantly, eager to make the next move, but respectful if you want to stop. You meet his gaze, smiling and nodding down at him. He takes this as your consent, leaning down to kiss the top of your breast. His other hand moves up to cup the other breast, running his finger over the flesh. Occasionally, his thumb and pointer finger dart down to gently pinch your nipple, eliciting a shocked gasp followed by a moan from you.

He continues this for a couple minutes, eventually bringing his mouth to your nipple and cupping it between his lips. His tongue reaches down to swirl around your nipple, lightly biting with his teeth.

Dean continues down your body, pressing wet and open-mouthed kisses down the rest of your torso before reaching the waistband of your underwear and pajama pants. Both of you are still clad in panties/boxers and your pajama pants, but you make quick work of them. You raise your hips, sliding your panties and pajama pants down your legs quickly before reaching out to Dean. He allows you to do the same to him, pulling his underwear and sweatpants off.

With the two of you finally naked, Dean presses you down against the bed again. Your hands go to his hair, toying with the curls as his head finds a spot between your legs. He presses his lips against your inner thighs, sucking and drawing his teeth against them as well. He turns his head slightly, and you begin to feel his warm breath straight on your already dripping core.

Dean chuckles, eyes scanning up your body to meet your gaze. Your breathing is heavy and erratic, evidently excited about the sight in front of you. Dean’s previous actions, as well as the long anticipation you had been harboring for this moment for years, had your folds dripping with wetness.

Slowly, Dean brings his head right up to your center, pressing a kiss to your mound. Your breathing deepens, a low moan already leaving you. Dean shifts a little bit lower, placing an open-mouthed kiss across the entirely of your folds. You feel his tongue dart out, beginning to lap at your pooling wetness.

“Oh my god, Dean. Fuck,” you whimper, voice climbing into a higher range. Dean’s tongue licks through your folds, stroking the area up and down, then swirling his tongue against the center. He closes his lips around your clit, sucking harshly before relenting on the pressure and toying with the small nub.

His lips continue their gentle toying of your clit as his tongue works masterfully against your center, lapping up any wetness. He moves his tongue down, inserting it into your hole. A long and loud moan leaves you, and he smiles. His tongue works its wonders inside you, tenderly eating you out as your hands tighten in his hair.

“Fuck, Dean. Please don’t stop,” you whisper, moans leaving your mouth at an increasing pace. He smirks against you again before replying. “Of course, love.” The vibration of his voice sends a jolt up your spine, causing your thighs to begin to shake, pressing against his head. You quickly feel your orgasm approaching, telling Dean of this through incoherent phrases.

He grins, pulling his face away from your center before inserting a finger into your hole. Your eyes widen in delighted surprise, watching as Dean leans down to take your clit into his mouth again.

“Fuck!” you cry out, letting your body release. Dean smiles against your clit, murmuring, “There it is, love.” Dean helps you ride out the continuous waves of pleasure, continuing to work his fingers inside you and his mouth against you.

He pulls away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Shuffling up, he kisses you harshly for a few moments before pulling back. “You taste so fucking good, love.” You blush, pushing yourself to sit up. Dean sits himself opposite you, both of you taking deep breaths.

You move your hand out towards him, reaching down to grab his cock. Dean quickly stops you, though, grabbing your hand. You glance up at him, wondering. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about me. We can do that another time, okay? I just want to fuck you now,” Dean says, his eyes darkening from their usual icy blue to a darker, lust-blown shade. You nod, smiling. “Okay. Another time.”

Another time. There’s going to be another time!

Dean pushes you back on the bed again, situating his body between your legs. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face for a hint of regret. Seeing none, he slides his length into you. Pausing for a few moments to let you adjust, he leans down to pepper your face in gentle kisses, hoping to distract you from the uncomfortable feeling. Once you’re adjusted, you nod and Dean begins to move, rocking his hips back and forth.

You watch him as he glances down between the two of you, watching as his length slides into then out of you. The visual causes Dean to get excited again, and he brings his head down to kiss your neck, biting every so often. Dean’s thrusts continue, slowly picking up the pace. Your moans are loud and frequent, mixing with Dean’s. Curses leave Dean’s mouth almost as often as he breaths, a constant stream of fucks and shits.

“Go a little faster, Dean,” you mumble, hands tightening in his hair as his kisses become more forceful against your neck and the top of your chest. He nods, leaning up to kiss your lips. Your tongue makes its way into his mouth, rolling against his as Dean’s hips rock against you. The stream of pleasure from Dean is constant, and he increases his speed while pushing his weight onto one arm, bringing his other arm down your clit, rubbing his thumb in circles against it.

“Shit, Dean. I’m gonna come soon,” you tell him, your voice cracking at the immense feeling of pleasure and excitement coursing through your body. Dean grunts in response, his fingers rubbing quicker against your clit. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m not going to last much longer,” he mutters, moaning.

You feel his cock begin to twitch inside you and he pulls out before quickly releasing his load onto your chest and stomach. You grin, although you are still worked up. Dean notices and brings his hands back to your center, using his thumb against your clit and rapidly thrusting his other fingers into your hole.

Within seconds, you are coming, releasing as another orgasm washes over you. “Oh my god. Holy shit,” you moan, breathing deeply as Dean falls to the bed beside you.

The two of you lay there for a few minutes in silence, taking in the presence of one another and relishing in the mind-blowing sex you just had.

“Are we still friends?” Dean asks, glancing from his cum on your body to your eyes. You laugh, eyes falling shut as you formulate a response. “I think we have to be more than friends after that.”

Dean grins next to you, pressing his lips against your temple. “Sounds good. We’re finally more than friends.”

#dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman smut #dcc

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rubywolffxxx · 1 month ago

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Cuando estés perdido en la oscuridad... (Torbin x lectora)

Masterlist de mi autoría

Parte 1 Parte final

Resumen: al ver lo nublado que estaba el corazón del padawan con sentimientos de culpa, ____ quiso ayudarlo, sin saber que con ello estaba dando lugar a otro tipo de sentimientos mucho más difíciles de ocultar.

Después de aquel extraño intercambio, el par de padawan decidió recorrer un poco el festival y dialogar sobre lo sucedido.

—No borré nada. Sabes muy bien lo que has hecho, eso sigue en tu mente.—____ lo vio bajar la mirada—. Yo solo he disipado la culpa, el dolor.—

—¿Es eso posible?—

—Hay jedis que borran memorias, incluso vidas completas, yo solo nublo sentimientos.—la joven se detuvo en un puesto de comida, tomando unos sándwiches de vegetales—. Suelo hacer eso durante misiones donde los involucrados quedan muy afectados... ¿Gustas uno?—

Para Torbin, aquello era increíble. No el hecho de que la joven le ofreciera un sándwich de tomate, sino que alguien de su edad tuviera uno de los poderes más geniales de los que había escuchado en su vida. Y aún más extraño, que haya decidido ayudarlo... Ignorando lo horrendo de su problema.

—¿No preguntarás qué sucedió ahi?—____ lo miró, mordiendo su sándwich apenas.

—Lo vi todo, lo sentí todo. No es necesario preguntar.—señaló una mesita del rincón—. El maestro Frennec me ha inculcado muy bien la importancia de la empatía. Me puse en tus zapatos... Y si, tal vez fuiste un tonto con lo de "quiero ir a casa buah buah, me quejo". Pero tus lloriqueos no masacraron a un aquelarre.—

—Pero Sol...—

—Es es un Jedi hecho y derecho, debió detenerte, orientarte o calmarte... Pero te alentó a seguir con esa locura por el apego a la niña.—a esas alturas, ____ ya estaba por terminar su sándwich, sentada en aquella mesita y tomando ramitas del florero que decoraba el centro—. Eres un niño, ellos adultos. Y si, te falta autocontrol, pero los defectos de un padawan son errores de su maestro.—

—¿Tú tienes defectos?—

—Según Frennec, la ironía es peligrosa... Y a veces me distraigo.—lo miró divertida—. Pero creo que es más aceptable eso a llorar porque quiero volver a Coruscant.—

—¡Oye!—Torbin rió bajito al ver la expresión de la chica, quien se encogió de hombros risueña.

—¿Quieres ayudarme con esto?—

Para cuando Frennec e Indara encontraron al par de padawan, ambos ya estaban en más que buenas relaciones. Estaban en la misma sintonía.

A la mujer le dio un gran alivio ver que su aprendiz estaba riendo, haciendo algo tan tonto como lo era pegar flores en un libro. Desde un inicio fue su deseo que Torbin se relajara, pero lo último que esperaba es que una niña fuera la que se encargaría de ello.

Al cabo del tercer día, cuando el festival finalizó, las amarguras de Torbin eran inexistentes. Pero en su lugar, un sentimiento mucho más difícil de dispersar comenzaba a florecer en su pecho.

—¿No son demasiadas?—

—Nunca son demasiadas.—

Torbin miró sonriente como su amiga cargaba la doceava maceta en aquel carrito. No tardó en ayudarla a tirar de el.

—¿Volverán a Coruscant hoy?—la miró con curiosidad.

—No estoy establecida ahí, en realidad.—

Ese comentario extrañó al joven. Nunca había oído de un padawan que no viviera en Coruscant. Pero si lo analizaba un poco, tampoco recordaba haberla visto antes.

—Frennec es un Jedi inquieto. Viaja de un lado a otro sin descanso, acudiendo como refuerzo en casos que lo requieran.—____ sonrió con cierta nostalgia—. Lo conocí entonces, cuando unos piratas espaciales asaltaron mi hogar... Vio que tenía indicios de la Fuerza, asi que solicitó una prueba. Me acogió como su aprendiz entonces, viajando de un lado a otro sin punto fijo.—

—... Si no tienes un punto fijo ¿Dónde plantarás estas?—señaló las plantas.

—Ah, el maestro Kelnacca me permitió hacer un invernadero en su bosque... Todas las plantas que recolecto de la galaxia las cuido en su planeta. Es mi lugar secreto.—

—Irás ahí imagino.—ella asintió con una leve sonrisa—. ¿No volveré a verte entonces?—su tono de decepción era más que evidente.

—Bueno... Necesitaré ayuda para plantar estas.—

Indara alistaba los últimos detalles de la nave, cuando un Torbin emocionado apareció en la cabina. No esperaba para nada lo que le solicitó.

—¿Kelnacca?—Torbin asintió—. ¿Por qué querrías ir con el maestro?—

—____ lleva las plantas a su planeta. Pensé que... Podría ir con ella, y de paso pasar tiempo con el maestro.—

—¿Después de lo sucedido?—Torbin se removió nervioso.

—Ella... Dijo que debo dejar ir esas cosas, seguir adelante. Desde ese día le he tomado cierto rechazo al maestro Kelnacca... Asi que convivir con él me ayudará a cambiar eso ¿No cree?—

Indara definitivamente eataba sorprendida.

En un inicio quiso cuestionar cómo la niña sabía de Brendok, era evidente que volvió a meterse en la cabeza de Torbin. No le gustaba para nada, pero creia que el riesgo valía la pena. Además, Frennec le dijo que ____ era de confianza. Podría ayudarlo. Asi que Indara lo dejó ser.

—... Tres días, Torbin. En tres días iré a buscarte.—el chico sonrió emocionado.

____ terminaba de hacer el último pozo, cuando el rugido de Kelnacca la hizo levantar la mirada de la tierra. Sonrió al ver a Torbin junto al wookie.

—No me esperaste, iba a ayudarte con eso.—el chico se sorprendió en cuando ____ lo abrazó fugazmente.

—Decidiste venir, estoy sorprendida.—le alcanzó uno de los plantines—. Podemos plantar estas y luego dar un paseo ¿Te parece buena idea?—el chico le sonrió.

Entre ambos acomodaron todas las plantas, regándolas con cuidado y alistando todo para preparar la próxima tanda de flores. Pasaron un buen rato juntos. Ambos estaban acostumbrados a estar solos o con sus maestros. Por lo que poder pasar tiempo con alguien de su edad era nuevo. Y les encantó.

Pero mientras que ____ veía a Torbin como un amigo, un compañero de hobbie o alguien con quien podía compartir preocupaciones y anhelos del futuro, para Torbin era algo mucho más que eso. Era un salvavidas.

El joven padawan solía pensar que no merecía una vida tranquila después de lo de Brendok, que debía castigarse por sus actos. Incluso pensó en tomar el voto Barash, aislándose en soledad para meditar sobre lo sucedido. Sus pensamientos cavaron un pozo profundo, donde sucumbiría tarde o temprano.

Pero ella plantó en su lugar una flor, una que en menos de una semana floreció y le dio esperanzas de una vida luminosa.

Torbin era emocionalmente inestable. Alegrias, tristezas, esperanzas o decepciones manejaban su mente con facilidad. Y en el caso de ____, no le costó mucho aferrarse a ella. Por lo que cuando Indara fue por él al tercer día, una importante desesperación se instaló en el pecho del chico.

—Debemos irnos, Torbin.—el chico miraba a su maestra con duda, sin muchas ganas de marcharse con ella—. Eran tres días. Tenemos misiones que hacer, entrenamientos que continuar.—

—Pero aún no terminamos de plantar los brotes...—

—Esta bien, Torb.—____ lo miró con una sonrisa—. Puedo con esto sola. Además Kelnacca prometió ayudarme.—el wookie rugió bajito.

Para Indara no fue difícil entender que al chico no le importaban las plantas, le importaba la chica. Percibió enseguida la frustración que le generaba la situación y la forma en que miraba a la padawan era extraña.

—La próxima semana habrá reunión general de maestros en Coruscant.—habló la maestra, mirando cuidadosamente a su alumno—. Volverán a verse pronto.—

—Cierto, casi olvidaba la reunión.—____ se sorprendió—. Debemos anunciarnos todos con los maestros del consejo...—caminó hacia Torbin, tomando la maceta que traía en manos—. Nos vemos entonces, Torb. Sigue meditando sobre el control ¿Si? Vas muy bien.—

¿Control? ¿Qué control?

Indara tenía demasiadas preguntas que hacerle a su padawan, y las plantearía a todas apenas estuvieran a solas.

Despedirse no les llevó mucho tiempo, y solo en medio del viaje Indara hizo la primer pregunta.

—¿Qué tal estos días? ¿Entrenaron o solo jugaron en la tierra?—Torbin resopló con gracia.

—Kelnacca nos enseñó algunas posturas, e incluso a percibir la Fuerza en la tierra...—

—Suena interesante.—

—Y ____... Ella me enseñó a regularla.—

—¿Qué cosa?—

—la mente.—Indara lo miró—. Yo... Aún no puedo fluir del todo. Pienso mucho en todo, y nisiquiera son cosas relevantes... Ella me enseñó a meditarlo, a cómo calmar esa ansiedad. Y me ha servido... Aunque dudo que pueda hacerlo sin ____ cerca.—

—Meditar es tarea de uno solo, no necesitas compañía.—

—Aún así...—

Al llegar a la nave, un holomensaje los esperaba. Tenían una misión en un planeta del borde exterior.

Indara creía que el usual reclamo de "quiero ir a casa" se vendría, que Torbin pediría al menos ir un momento a su hogar en Coruscant. Pero eso nunca pasó. El padawan se sentó en su asiento, revisando el estado de la nave.

Mientras terminaba de alistar todo, Indara vio un pequeño resplandor en el dobles de la capa ajena. Y dolo entonces notó el pequeño brochecito a la altura se su pecho.

—... ¿Un girasol? ¿En serio, padawan?—Torbin la miró extrañado, hasta que comprendió que se referia a su broche.

—Ah, esto.—tomó el adorno, sonriendo apenas—. Regalo de ____. Dijo que es mi flor.—la mujer enarcó una ceja.

—Por tu cabello pareces más... un diente de león ¿No crees?—

—Es su flor favorita... Asi que sí, estoy bien con el girasol.—volvió la atención al frente, justo cuando la nave comenzaba a despegar—. Además... yo creo que es bonita.—

—... ¿La flor?—

—Pues claro... ¿De qué estábamos hablando?—

Indara comenzaba a tener un presentimiento realmente preocupante.

#dean charles chapman #español #star wars #the acolyte #torbin #torbin x reader

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withhowsadsteps · 4 years ago

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Worth of Your Tears - Tom Blake

a/n: idk this is a mess but I just thought that so many soldiers were (and are) forever traumatized and how some of them probably hated themselves even more when they witnessed their loved ones hurting for them so I wanted to write something like that while I had a couple of hours of “me-time” after work wordcount: 1274

For the first couple of months that Tom was back, he was silent and distant. You didn’t blame him; you knew that he went through literal hell or perhaps even worse. He was still healing, both physically and mentally. So you waited patiently. You visited him and his mom and helped them with everything and anything you could. He never showed you his wound, he never let you help with keeping it clean and bandaged. Again, you only wanted him to get better, so you didn’t mind. You thought that he’d slowly but surely maybe start talking, holding your hands. You cried many times when you were alone. You had to let your emotions flow so you could stay strong in front of Tom, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. No matter how unloved and touch-deprived you felt.

One evening on your way back home you heard someone running behind you. When you turned your head, you saw Tom approaching you. Was he finally going to kiss you? Or even hug you? Say something more than a quiet thank you or yes please? You stopped and remained silent, waiting for any words. He looked puzzled. What was going on in that mind of his?

He reached for your face and laid his hand on both of your cheeks gently, cupping your face. You could’ve melted in his arms then and there. But the warmth of the situation disappeared as fast as it appeared in the first place. “I’m not worth of your tears, love” he whispers to you. You could see in his face how hard it was for him to say that to you. That he was hurting. “You deserve to feel loved, you deserve to be praised. Hell, you deserve someone capable of living normally” he continued, now raising his voice a bit. Before you could say a word, he spoke again. “I’ve hurt you and I still am hurting you”

You didn’t know what to say or do. What was he trying to tell you? Your hands start to tremble when you realize that he was breaking up with you. Even though you promised him that you wouldn’t mind waiting for him. Yes, you were hurting. But you would endure that because you loved him. “I love you so much, my little bird” he cries out, his eyes tearing up. “But I need to let you go, I need you to be happy and not worry about me. I want you to find someone who makes you happy. I’ve seen you cry and it breaks me. I’m broken, my love. I don’t believe I’ll be fixed” he continues his monologue.

You disagreed. You knew he would probably never be the same Tom he was before he left but you never thought he would feel so broken. During his time in the trenches he sent you so many letters filled with his humor and jokes. And now he was telling you he would never be healed? You didn’t know if you were mad at him for giving up on himself or if you were angry because he thought you couldn’t stand a bit of hurt while HE was the one carrying the weight of a freaking world war on his shoulders. You decided you needed to leave. Without saying a word. You were so shocked you couldn’t even cry.

Again, months passed. You wrote him a letter once, telling that you still loved him. That you would’ve cried many more tears for him, and you would’ve hurt for him and wait for his love if he just asked you to. You didn’t tell him you were leaving for London. You had to get away for a while, so you went to help your aunt with her bakery. And when you came back, you didn’t go and meet Tom. What your parents didn’t mention to you was that after that letter he had visited. And wrote to your home address. They thought it would be better for you to forget about him as much as it hurt them too.

You were sitting against an apple tree, reading a book of yours when you heard his voice calling out your name. Your heart skipped several beats when you closed the book in your lap and let your eyes land on him. He looked beautiful in the golden light from the setting sun. You had missed every bit of him, all this time, loved him just as much as when you first realized you loved him. “Hey, Tom” you smiled softly, not daring to say anything else. “You never responded to my letters. I figured you found someone else. I hope you’re happy with him, all I want is for you to be hap…” you don’t let him finish his sentence. “I never even tried to find anyone else. Wait, what letters?” you were confused. Then you realized that your parents probably had them somewhere hidden. It would’ve been easy for them to hide them while you were away. Tom sat down at your side and you talked more than you had talked since he came back from the war to the point of your breakup.

First you were very careful when you hang out together. You were so deeply in love with him, but he broke up with you. You didn’t think that being best of friends with him was the right thing to do but that was what happened. He was your best friend and you were his even when you were together. Maybe he needed his friend to heal.

And then a day came, when he asked to meet you at that apple tree where you met after the months of not seeing each other. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hands and a brand-new novel for you in the other. He grinned a bit when he saw you, reminding you of the pre-war Tom you knew. What was he up to?

“You can definitely hit me if this is outrageous” he starts in a light-toned voice “but will you forgive me? I said that I wasn’t worth of your tears and I am not, but you’re the only thing that kept me fighting”. “You think a bouquet and a new book is enough, huh?” you ask but smile at him. “Ah, not just a bouquet of any flowers. Carnations and chrysanths, your favorite” he winks at you making you giggle a bit. “Be mine again?” he asks setting the flowers and the books aside on the ground so he could take your hands in his. “I’m still working on getting better, but I’m not as broken as I was. I realized way too late that I needed you for me to heal. So I fought myself and got better because I wanted you back. And I realize that I might have fucked everything up, but I promise I’ll never hurt you like that again”. You never hoped you’d hear him say these words. You never dreamed of him calling you his little bird or the love of his live never again. “I never stopped being yours”, you whisper.

You stayed with him that night. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his steadily beating heart. You both stayed quiet, just enjoying being so close to each other again. “You do know I’ll never let you go again?” he breaks the silence and making you raise yourself to your elbow so you could see him. “You should marry me then”, you tell him as if that should’ve been clear to him already. “Oh I will”.

#tom blake #dean charles chapman #dean-charles chapman #1917 #dean charles chapman x reader #tom blake x reader #tom blake fanfic #1917 fanfic #1917source

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ditch-witches · 4 years ago

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Hey there! I was wondering if you could write about Dean making you breakfast for the first time? I love your Dean content btw and am in the mood for some domestic Dean :)

pairing: Dean Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: suggestive language, cursing, this doesn’t really give off domestic vibes and is a little thin I apologize :/

You groaned slightly and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, stretching your hands towards where you usually kept your phone. You panicked momentarily as you realized your table wasn't there anymore, opening your eyes and finding that you weren't in your room. And then you remembered going out with your friend and not making it home. You knew she had gotten up for work probably hours prior to you waking up. You rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, needing to pull yourself together in some way before you headed back out into the world, grateful you didn't have plans for the day. The shower was hot and soothed your hangover as you let the water roll over your body, your smudged makeup being stripped away like you were shedding a previous life.

Your friend's clothes were soft and neatly pressed in her drawers, making you smile at her tidiness as you pulled a few articles from their piles, careful not to disrupt anything too drastically. Her hoodie fit you snugly and as you looked into the mirror, you furrowed your brows slightly, debating if you should put makeup on or not. After all, you weren't planning on running into anyone special. As you stepped out of her room, noises from the kitchen startled you. You crept down the stairs quietly and pushed open the kitchen door, the creaking of the hinges revealing a man at her stove. The two of you looked up at each other and jumped, him almost dropping his bowl.

"Who the fuck are you?" You demanded, grabbing the nearest household item to serve as a weapon. You swore under your breath as you realized it was a remote.

"I live here. Who the fuck are you?" He mimicked your tone, furrowing his brows at you. You let out a breath of relief.

"Oh thank God. You're the new roommate?" You asked, setting down the remote and walking into the kitchen.

"Yeah. I'm Dean…" he hesitated, his eyes watching you pour yourself a cup of coffee.

"I'm the best friend," you greeted, mumbling your name soon after.

His eyebrow raised at you. "Want some breakfast?" You looked over him slightly to see what he was making. "There's going to be tons leftover."

"Alright. Don't poison me, Dean," you jeered, moving to sit on the kitchen island.

He chuckled, turning back to the stove. "I won't. Just don't hit me with the remote." You giggled slightly at his jest while he smirked. It was now that you fully took in his appearance. You had been too blinded by adrenaline and excitement that you hadn't noticed how broad his shoulders were and how his dark hair was just the right amount of curly. He peered over his shoulder at you before turning to lean against the counter beside the stove while the pan got hotter. His blue eyes were vibrant due to the contrast of his black hoodie. You had to admit, he was cute.

"So, where are you from, Dean?" You asked, swinging your legs and taking a sip of coffee. You studied where his clothes hugged his body and the easiness in his appearance, your eyes trailing down to his grey sweatpants. Nice.

"Essex," he muttered, searching your face for something. “Romford, Essex.”

"You're a long way from home then, aren't you?" You asked without skipping a beat.

He smirked. "Sometimes distance is good, don't you think?"

"Not if you're around the right person," you commented, sending him a mildly flirtatious grin, making the tips of his ears ghost red.

His eyebrows perked as he grinned. "Cheeky." His eyes raked over you as well, almost like sizing up an opponent.

You wet your lips, feeling rather bold. Men in domestic situations were always your weakness. Especially when they were as attractive as Dean. "Do you have that right person?" You quizzed.

He grinned fully, shrugging and turning back to an egg frying. "I don't think I would be living in a flat like this if I did." His sly wink made you smile.

"Really? Even if you've only dated a girl for like a month, you'd move in with her?" You hopped down from the counter to lean beside him.

He swallowed, fighting his ever-growing grin before looking back up into your eyes with a mock sincerity on his face. "Oh no, I'm a hopeless romantic, you see. I'd get married within the week if I met that right person."

You giggled at his comment and he smiled. "How many times have you been married then?"

"In the past year? Four," he shrugged. You laughed a bit harder. "Damn, I could get used to that," he commented, almost too quiet for your own ears, making you bite your lip.

You crossed your arms. "I could get used to having a man in the kitchen."

"Good, because usually, I sleep in the kitchen," he quipped.

"Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms to keep from giving in to your temptations. ”Under the kitchen table or on top?"

"Under. I'm not a heathen," he faked offense.

You bit back another chuckle, deciding to probe further. "So you like to be on bottom?"

His face twisted smugly before his eyes turned to yours. The blue in his eyes seemed to have grown darker. "If that's what the table would prefer.”

"And if the table wants you on top?" He leaned towards you, closing what little distance there was between the two of you. Your heart began to race a mile per minute, as his musky yet woody scent invaded your senses. God, he smelled more enticing than the food he was cooking.

"So be it," he answered, a sly smirk creeping across his face, as he reached around you to grab a bottle of some kind of spice. You almost reached out and touched him.

"I like you," you uttered and he grinned at what he was doing.

"Feelings mutual, love," he added keenly.

"Too bad we're not roommates," you leered, stepping ever so slightly closer to him, your thigh ghosting against his leg.

He leaned towards you again, his beautiful scent once again enveloping you. "Careful, I marry on the first date, remember?"

You smiled, biting your lip, his attention drawing to your mouth. "I thought you said within the week?"

"Different circumstances," he threw back, a grin still playing on his plump lips. He moved to hand you a plate of a variety of foods.

You took it but kept him holding onto the other side. "Would you want to get a drink later?"

He chewed his bottom lip. "You ready for the commitment?" He joked.

"I'm ready for whatever you want from me, Dean," you commented, taking the plate and nudging his side as you walked out of the kitchen with it, basking in his deep chuckle.

this is so cheesy bls forgive me

#deancharleschapman #dean-charles chapman #dean charles chapman #dean charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman smut #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman fluff #1917 imagines #1917 imagine #1917 #breakfast #roommate

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britishboystm · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Always Been You (Tom Blake Smut)

warnings: angst, smut, death

word count: 4,723

a/n: I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve written for Tom

•••

Tom had always been a good friend. His family did cherries and yours did apples.

Before the two of you were born, your fathers went into business together and shared a booth at the Saturday market in your town. Both your mothers were thick as thieves and had gotten pregnant around the same time, and you were born a month after Tom. It was safe to say you were never going to leave each other’s sides.

You did everything together, well until your father became worried that you were becoming too much like a boy by spending so much time with Tom. You’d fondly remember the times the two of you would go down to the river and stand in the water up to your knees trying to see who could catch the most tadpoles. The two of you would usually come back to yours or his farm around dinner time covered in mud and dirt up your waist. Your mother always complained that she couldn’t see your pretty face due to the muck that was often smeared on it. Because of all this you ended up being sent to a private girls school a few miles south, where you weren’t allowed to see Tom unless it was Christmas.

You secretly wrote to one another though during your time at boarding school and when his father passed away from pneumonia you were his only real support system other than his brother. His mother went into a bad depression after his father's death so he was left to grieve his father's passing alone.

Once your learning was finished, you did not hesitate to come home and help on Tom’s farm again. Tom’s mother would pay you to pick cherries since your father had sold his orchard.

But things had changed when you came home. Tom was no longer the little chubby boy who you could mess around with and make mud pies and pretend to eat with. His hair had darkened and his shoulders had broadened. Not to mention he now towered you. He was a man. And a handsome man at that. You never noticed that about him before.

The glances you shared now didn’t hold the same innocence it once did. There was something different in his chilly blue irises. His gaze would last a little too long when you would bend over to pick up the barrels of cherries and whenever the two of you rinsed them by the big well, he always found a way to sneak a small graze of your hand so you wouldn’t forget he was there beside you.

But those flirtatious moments didn’t last forever when war was declared in Britain. Almost immediately, Joe was sent off to fight for king and country. Tom didn’t need to but because Tom had to always be the same as Joe or one up him, he had kept saying he was going to enlist as well. You didn’t take it seriously until one day Tom came running down the driveway to meet you and his mom, who were depitting the last batch of the season.

“I did it, I did it!” You frowned in confusion at his obvious excitement as he hopped around with a letter in hand. His mother grabbed the letter from him quite quickly and nearly fainted after reading the first two lines. The two of you quickly grabbed her and called it a night, bringing her into the house.

His mother was in shambles and was now seated on the couch while she sobbed into her hands. She didn’t even have the desire to cook dinner. That’s when you knew things were bad.

“What did you do?” You say to Tom as he sorrowfully watched his mom cry.

“I enlisted, I’m leaving next week to fight in France.” It was now your turn to almost faint as you grab the kitchen table beside you.

“Have you gone mad?” You breathe out as you take a seat to steady yourself.

“No I haven’t. If Joe can do it so can I!” His voice raised in anger as he crossed his arms over his chest, obviously upset at the double standards that were set for him and his older brother.

“That is not what this is about Tom. Joe is gone, there is nothing we can do about that. But you? It was so easily avoidable but you’ve gone and ruined everything. How selfish can you be? Who will your mother have if both you and Joe don’t return home? Who will I have?” You begin to choke up near the end and let a single tear slip down your cheek.

Tom sighs and storms out of the kitchen, probably heading upstairs to freshen up while you prepare the dinner since Mrs. Blake clearly wasn’t well enough to.

You focused on making dinner as Mrs. Blake and Tom sat in the living room, not speaking to one another. What was there to say? Tom knew yours and his mother’s thoughts on it all and he was too stubborn to be convinced to not leave.

Once dinner was ready everyone sat at the table and ate quietly. Again no words were spoken and the tension was so thick amongst the three of you. None of you were able to finish due to the unsettling feeling you all shared so you finally gave up and collected the half eaten dishes and placed them into the sink.

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” Mrs Blake said as she slowly got up and weakly walked up the stairs to her room. She looked so frail and worn out that it made you even more mad at Tom for the pain he was already causing.

You stood at the sink and faced away from Tom as he stayed put at the table. The only sounds that filled the room was the clashing of dirty plates and running water.

This was all such a mess.

———-

Later that night you found yourself sitting on the haystack in the Blake barn with the doors wide open as you stared out at the navy night sky. Stars adorned the sky. They continued to shimmer, unaware of the fact that your world was falling apart at the seams. Funny how time and space works, you thought. So many other thoughts rattled around your brain, all of them making you want to cry.

You were so deeply focused on your little world that you didn’t initially hear Tom walk in.

“Couldn’t sleep either huh?” He said before walking up and taking a seat beside you on the hay.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You don’t respond but rather stare out into nothing with an emotionless expression.

“The least you can do is talk to me.” He says, nudging you lightly to lighten the mood.

“I wanted to marry you.” You blurt out of nowhere in a montone way. There was a good chance he was never coming home so at this point you felt as though you had nothing to lose.

He bowed his head in shame and twiddled his thumbs, clearly trying to absorb this big bombshell.

“Really?” He says finally looking at you and trying to hide his excitement.

“Yeah but at this point it’s foolish to think like that, considering I may never see you again.” You finally look at him with hurt in your eyes which he matches almost immediately.

“Y/N I-“ He tries to say something but you are quick to cut him off.

“Why is this so important to you?” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair before getting more comfortable in his spot.

“I don’t know. I feel as though I have lived my entire life being the lesser of the two brothers. Joe has always been the golden child that I wanted to prove myself. That I can be courageous and brave just like him.” You bite your lip from saying anything that may hurt him. It made sense why he would do this but you still hated the idea.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of course I am. I’m scared shitless. But I’ve been scared shitless my entire life.” You sigh and the two of you sit in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of crickets and the warm night breeze floating by.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” He says out of the blue, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. You nod in return, silently telling him there is no reason to feel judged by you.

“There is one more thing I’m scared of.”

“And what’s that?”

“I shouldn’t say. It’s so bloody embarrassing.”

“What? No! You have to tell me now! That isn’t fair!”

“Okay fine.” He sighs.

“Spit it out then.” You say with an urgency to your voice.

“I’m scared of dying a virgin.” Your eyes go wide and you look over to him to see if he is joking or not. When you see him looking down at his lap shamefully, a blush creeps upon your face. You had never really discussed those things before. Especially with him.

Girls talked about it when you were in private school but you didn’t usually have anything to contribute.

“Oh.” Is all that you are able to get out.

“I’m sorry, I should have just kept that to myself. Forget I said anything.” He begins to ramble, clearly trying to backtrack on his last comment.

“There is no reason to feel ashamed of those type of things Thomas. Those are normal worries people have.”

“You think so?” He says hopefully.

“Of course. I also get scared by the idea of never being able to feel that way with someone. It’s natural.” It was now his turn to blush. Oh to be the one to make you feel that way, he thought.

“Tom?” You finally say, bracing yourself for his response.

“Yes?” He says back.

“You know. If we both share this fear, we could always… get rid of it together.” He is speechless and his jaw drops as he stares at your nervous expression.

“Do you really want to?” He finally gets out.

“Well, we know each other and we are good friends. I also feel very comfortable with you which is important.”

“Right but we aren’t married.”

“At this point Tom I don’t really care about that. I need to vent all of these emotions somehow.”

“Oh.”

“What?”

“So that’s what this is about. You want to fuck out your feelings because I’m leaving?” He seemed a little hurt by this. Like this was simply an impulse or an itch that was aching to be scratched. That was part of it but it was mostly the fact that you’ve wanted him to be your first the minute you returned home and saw just how much of man he had become. You loved him and he was now giving you a free pass to finally fulfill your desires.

“No, Tom that is not it. I want to lose my virginity and to be quite honest, I couldn’t think of anyone else I would want to lose it to.”

“Really?” A cocky smirk came upon his lips as he leaned in and nudged you slightly. You rolled your eyes in response and scoffed.

“Okay you don’t need to get all cocky about it.” He laughed before trying to start something by catching your gaze in his.

And with no warning Tom pounced on you and began kissing your neck roughly which caught you off guard.

“Tom get off! What are you doing?” You squeal as you push him away.

“What? I thought you said you wanted to lose your virginity to me. I leave next week remember?” Your glare is piercing as you stood up.

“I didn’t mean here at this very moment! God can you at least give me a warning before you try and pull something like that?” He falls back a bit onto the hay bale with an exasperated sigh, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Sorry.” He says realizing his wrong doing. You weren’t just an inanimate object that could just be used whenever. Contrary to what your father always believed, you were a person of integrity and if you needed time, then by god you were doing to get the respect you deserved.

“I think I will go to bed now.” Your words are soft as you turn around and hesitantly head out into the vast land of the Blake farm. You couldn’t help but look back to see Tom sitting there, embarrassed. Millions of thoughts swam around but one kept finding itself coming back again and again. That specific feeling that came whenever Tom did chores around the barn that made his muscles flex was coming back and even though you had just rejected him, the feeling was growing more and more.

“Fuck it.” You say under your breath before you quickly turn around and plop down onto his waist in a straddle, causing him to let out a groan at the sudden impact.

He looks at you in confusion, and right before he could say another word you quickly attach your lips to his. The kiss was aggressive and feverish as your hands threaded through his hair, gripping it tightly to get him to part his lips. As a result he let out a small gasp at your fingers tugging at his roots and your tongue swirling around his mouth. This was your first ever kiss and soon to be first ever time so you weren’t going to hold back. Not if it was with Tom.

Everything felt so right in that moment. Just two nineteen year olds using the last bit of time together before probable tragedy. You had a gut feeling that Tom was never going to walk up that long gravel driveway ever again. You shooed those horrid thoughts away.

“Tom.” You sigh against his plush lips. He pulls away and intently looks into your eyes, worry evident on his face.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asked. You couldn’t help but giggle at his puppy like demeanour.

“Of course not. You are being so kind Tom.”

Your gaze then suddenly becomes transfixed with his white button shirt. Then without a second thought your hands grazed up and down his covered chest before you began to unbutton the first three, exposing his sternum. You look up to see him intensely watching your actions, his breathing beginning to increase.

“Are you sure Y/N?” He says while his hands run up and down the sides of your basic grey dress.

“Only if you are.” You whisper back. Taking this as affirmation he flips you around and lays you gently on the cushiony yet scratchy hay that held the both of you off of the dirty ground of the barn.

“You know I have always, thought, you were, so beautiful.” He says in between kisses along your face. You smile softly at his words and sigh, allowing yourself to fall deeper into the hay.

“Thomas Blake you always knew how to make a girl blush.” He chuckles at this and stops kissing you, holding himself up above your body.

“You remember the time your parents invited the Darby’s to Christmas Dinner. How it was your first year back from St. Clares and because they were the richest family in town, your parents tried to set you up with their son Richard?” You roll your eyes.

“Tom what does this have to do with us having sex right now?” You were growing slightly impatient.

“Wait, let me finish love.” You sigh and shift slightly to grow more comfortable. This may take some time, you thought.

“I remember I was so mad because your parents wouldn’t let me play with you. They basically threw you to Richard and I had to watch them try to play matchmaker. At the time I believed that I was angry because I wasn’t allowed to play with my best friend since you had been away for so long. But years later I looked back at that moment and I realized that I was jealous. Jealous at the fact that you were paying all of your attention to Richard and not me. Of course your parents made you but I remember making Richard my sworn enemy that day. Stupid huh?” You smile and run a hand down his cheek.

“No not at all. I can’t believe you remember that.” His words made you think for a moment. He had been in love with you for so long and you didn’t even notice.

“Tom?” You ask.

“Yes Y/N?” Your body almost turned to jelly at his readiness to do anything for you. The adoration was so obvious that “in love” could easily be stamped on the slightly older boy's forehead.

“Would it be crazy to say I am, whole heartedly, absolutely, in love with you Thomas Blake?”

“No it wouldn’t.” He laughed.

“And would I be absolutely mad to say that I am, insanely, crazily, in love with you Y/N L/N?” You shake your head with a smile and with that he leans in once more and continues the eventful night with a loving yet lustful kiss.

His hands begin to have a mind of their own as they roam your body. After exploring most of your many curves, his left hand slowly made its way under your dress, lifting it slightly and beginning to touch you over your knickers.

“Oh my.” You gasp out as he places a tad bit of pressure on your clit.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, watching your reactions intently.

“Very tingling, ve-very g-good.” You try to get out in between gasps. He smirks proudly at this and begins creating circles against the fabric that covers your centre.

“Off. Off Tom, please.” You slightly beg. Wanting to make you feel good, Tom begins to slide your knickers down your legs and chucks them off to the side.

“Can I see?” He asks sheepishly. You curve your neck so you can see him down between your legs.

“Yes.” You respond. With a steady hand, Tom lifts your dress, dropping it up around your waist and groans at the sight of your exposed, glistening cunt.

“Wow.” Is all he can say.

“Tom!” You whine, unable to bear the throbbing feeling between your thighs.

“Sorry, just got distracted.” He mutters. Tom then leans in and lets out a hot breath. Your legs clench at this and Tom becomes aware with just how sensitive you really are.

“I’m going to kiss you here. Is that alright darling?” You nod weakly and with that his lips attach to your centre. A moan is drawn out of you almost instantly.

“Fuck. This cannot be your first time.” You blurt out, clutching his hair. He smirks against you before he sits up again and places a long kiss on your awaiting lips.

“Just you darling. It’s always been you.” You giggle in response and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him flush against you.

“Y/N I don’t know how much longer I can last without putting my cock in you.” He spurts out in pent up frustration.

“Charming words there.” you scoff before he begins to unbutton his dirty work slack and push them down his legs.

“Can I unlace you’re-“ you sit up, already knowing what he is about to say. Your hands swing to the back of your dress and you quickly begin to unravel the back, letting it fall off your upper body. Your breasts were perked to the air from outside.

“Christ.” He says before leaning down and taking one breast into his mouth. He is slow and gentle with his actions, clearly showing you how important this moment was for him. With small mewls leaving your lips every once in a while, you ran your fingers through his hair again. This time you made sure to be more soft on his scalp.

“I’m ready, are you?” He whispers as he moves his mouth up to your jaw, hands still caressing your bosom. You nod slowly which makes him smile. It was finally going to happen.

He brings himself up again and places his hands on either side of your head.

You take a moment to take in his member. The only time you had seen one was when you snuck an anatomy book from the library when you were in school. Seeing one in real life was a whole new experience

He notices your stare and smirks.

“Everything alright?” He asks.

“I don’t know. It’s so different from the books. This is all so new to me.”

“It’s alright darling. We will learn together.” You nod in response and before you knew it, he was beginning to insert himself into you.

The feeling was so forgein and awkward that you had to smack him to stop.

“Ow fuck, Tom stop!” He quickly removes himself and holds you into his chest.

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” You grab him tighter in thanks and lean away a tad to look at his concerned face.

“It feels so tight. Could you maybe use your fingers first?” He nods and slips a hand down your dress again. One finger is dipped inside and you let out a sigh of relief. This was a lot easier to manage, you thought.

“Oh Thomas that feels so good.” You say. He smiles and takes your praise to allow himself to enter a second finger. Your legs clench a tad as he moves his fingers in and out, every once in a while, spreading your increased wetness along your slit.

“I think I’m ready now.” You say. It didn’t take much for him to remove his fingers and lick off your wetness. Then he positioned himself the same way he did not that long before. His member slipped into you and this time around it felt a lot less uncomfortable. It still caused a pressure but not enough for you to scream bloody murder.

“Should I move?” He asks. You were doing it. This was no longer a dream or a fantasy. Thomas Blake was staring down at you with his cock inside at the hilt.

“God yes.” You moan while throwing your head back and closing your eyes. Tom began retracting his hip and then swirled them around before pushing forward again.

“Fuck me.” He cries out.

“I’m so happy we did this.” He says. You grip his shirt and open up the rest of the buttons, allowing the rest of his torso to be revealed to you. Your hands ran up and down his chest and soft stomach.

“Slow down.” You whisper gently. He nods and his movements start to calm. His eyes are entranced by yours and you can’t help but notice tears in his eyes.

“Are you crying?” You ask.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He whimpers back, as he continues to move back and forth within you. Tears began brimming your eyes and as you both let tears fall through your orgasms, you pulled him flush against you.

“Come home to me.” You kept repeating.

“I promise.” He would say back with as much of a clear voice he could muster up.

And with that your legs begin to shake and you let out an elongated moan. His seed spills deep inside of you and as he removes himself from your core you can't help but feel it drip down your inner thigh.

“I love you Thomas Blake.”

“I love you Y/N L/N.”

———

You stared blankly out the kitchen window as you dried off the plates from lunch. The sky was a gloomy grey but no rain fell. Mrs Blake sat silently in the living room, knitting a small bonet with yellow yarn.

Your mind was somewhere else that you hadn’t initially noticed a car pull up and a soldier stepping out, letter in hand.

The plate you had been drying crashes in the soapy water beneath you and you quickly dry your hands on your apron as you attempt to run out the front door.

“Mrs Blake?” The man asks as you open the door rather frantically.

“No but she’s in. Iris!” You call out. She walks slowly from her chair and situates herself beside you.

“I’m Mrs Blake.” Her words were shaky. It was almost as though she knew exactly what was about to come out of the man's mouth.

“We regret to inform you that Thomas Blake was killed in action on April 6th. His belongings will be sent to you in the next couple of weeks. We are sorry for your loss and the rest of the information given will be found in this letter.” And with that the man looked down at your stomach and sighed with sorrow before handing over the letter and walking back to the car.

Your legs went numb instantly. The only sounds you could make were loud gut wrenching sobs. You clenched your stomach as you held onto the door frame for support.

“He’s gone Iris! My beautiful Tom is gone!” She grabbed you and mixed your sobs with hers. Myrtle and the puppies were now at your feet, grazing your calves in a calming matter, almost as though they had known what had happened.

“My boy!” She lets out.

“My baby boy!”

————

Dear Y/N,

I can safely say that this is one of the hardest letters I have ever had to write. I am sure you have gotten the news before this gets to you so I want to say that I am so sorry for your loss. Tom was nothing but a good, selfless man who cared for others so deeply. Before he died, his only wish was that I wrote to you and his mother. He talked about you every chance he could. The stories from when the two of you were little, how you were the most beautiful being that he had ever seen. How him replaying your laugh in his head was the only way to get him to sleep at night when things were tough here in the trenches. He didn’t die in vain. He died knowing that he fulfilled his duty of loving you each waking moment, even if it saddened him he couldn’t do it alive for much longer.

I remember his last words to me so very clearly.

“Tell my beautiful Y/N I love her. That I will always be with her.”

He handed me this picture of the two of you together. There is some blood on it but he would have wanted you to have it nevertheless. I hope this gives you peace during these trying times and god bless Y/N.

Sincerely,

William Schofield

“Mommy, mommy look!” A small voice calls out. You drop the letter and picture of you and Tom staring longingly at each other that you had read and looked at so many times before to see your son holding a small pool of water in his hands.

“What do you have there?” You call out. He then runs up from the river and drops down beside you under the willow tree you were situated at.

“I caught a tadpole!” He says proudly.

“That’s amazing Thomas!” He smiles at your encouraging words before running back down to the water. You watched him intently as he giggled in entertainment. Sometimes you had to let out steady breaths to stop yourself from crying. He was truly the spitting image of his father, a mini Tom if you will. The icy blue eyes and the chocolate wavy hair gave him away so easily. It pained you so much to wake up and see your Tom in him every day, but it was also a blessing in disguise. Even though Tom was no longer around, he had left you a gift that you could never thank him enough for. Tom Jr was so sweet and kind and loved making friends with everyone he came across, just like his father. He was your support system and you both adored each other. He was your best friend.

And for that, you were internally grateful to Mr. Thomas Blake.

#dean charles chapman x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #Tom Blake #Thomas Blake #1917 #movie

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propertyofwicked · 5 years ago

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when your best friend dies and you forget babies dont have teeth

#1917 #george mackay #dean charles chapman #george mackay x reader #george mackay smut #george mackay imagine #dean charles chapman x reader #dean charles chapman imagine #dean charles chapman smut #tom blake #tom blake imagine #tom blake x reader #will schofield #will schofield smut #will schofield imagine #will schofield x reader

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valterras · 5 years ago

Text

dont you dare die on me.

1917 x reader, tom blake x reader, will schofield x platonic!reader

in which the reader dies instead of blake.

warnings: death, mentions of war.

dedicated to @gecrgemackays , @royalbluehues , @willschofield , and @interstellarflare thank you for unknowingly inspiring me to write haha!!

You, Y/N L/N, were quite surprised - yet annoyed - when Blake had woken you up from your light sleep on the green grass.

“Get up, sleepy head.” He chuckled, lightly kicking you with his boot.

“What do you want?” You grumbled, peaking one eye open and seeing Schofield accompanying the former man above you.

“We’re gonna go on a trip.” Blake joked dryly as Will scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Blake’s supposed to deliver some information to another sector, and he took it upon himself to choose us to accompany him.” Will smiled, his voice sickly sweet but with a backhanded undertone.

“Fine.” You groaned, sitting up and adjusting your helmet. “Let’s go boys.”

You needed no further convincing. You felt useless just sitting in the trenches and waiting for something to happen. If you were gonna be stuck in the middle of the Great War, then you were gonna sure as hell do something.

And you were off, the boys struggling to keep up with your fast pace. Already having all the supplies, the three of you were good to go.

...

After a long walk through no mans land, the soldiers discovered an abandoned German trench which didn’t end well. Having decided to explore, they ended up setting off a booby trap and almost getting buried alive.

Blake grabbed Schofield’s hand as the latter stumbled blindly through the wreckage. All the while, Will grabbed ahold of your hand and practically dragged you out. It must’ve been a sight, if anyone had been watching.

“I-I can’t see!” Will screamed as the dust practically blinded him.

You collapsed on the ground, sputtering for air and coughing up dust.

“Y/N, are you alright??” Tom rushed towards you and cupped your cheeks with his hands to calm you down.

“Will, hand me the water!” He demanded. Will - who was finished with clearing his eyes out - hurried over with the canteen.

“I know, I know. Just hold still.” Tom muttered as he took the water and slowly poured it out and over your face.

The dirt dropped from your eyes, turning into mud. You slowly blinked, your vision coming back. The two men stood above you, a look of worry decorating their handsome faces.

“Thank- thank you.” You praised through coughs.

...

The three soldiers ended up stumbling upon a wood cabin. Will had to hold onto you to make sure you kept up with them for once.

“Woah.” You muttered, looking down at the cherry blossom trees as the boys talked about god knows what.

Running down the hill and towards the stone gate, the two men yelled at you to be careful but you only rolled your eyes.

Maybe there was water, or even food in the house.

The men shook their heads and laughed at you. Just the sight of you getting giddy over something so small made them happy themselves.

The smile on your face immediately disappeared when you found the body of a dead dog right infront of the quant house.

All you could do was stare at the poor creature. The bullet hole in his chest, with the fleas dancing around him was just too much.

Who could be cruel enough to murder an innocent animal.

Turning around, you spotted the bodies of dozens of dead cows littering the field as well.

A sob wracked itself up your throat at the sight.

You kneeled back down next to the pup and took a handful of dirt, sprinkling it over the corpse. It was the closest you could get to burying it in these conditions.

A hand on your shoulder caused you to squeal and fall on your butt in shock.

Will put a finger to his lips as he readied his gun and slowly entered the house, checking for any danger.

...

After the boys checked the house and yard out for any campers, you decided to check out the well and see if the water was still any good.

The whirring of planes over head drew your attention.

“Think those are our friends?” Blake asked allowed.

You simply shrugged and watched the fight between three planes go down.

Two of them overpowered the other, eventually shooting him down.

The boys and you watching in awe as the pilot attempted to keep the plane off the ground.

The sound of it grew closer and closer until it eventually crashed through the barn, catching fire as the pilot screamed in pain.

You fell backwards, clearly startled. Blake rushes towards the wreck and struggled to get the man out. All you could do was stare.

You knew at that moment that if the man died, you would hate yourself for the rest of your life. You didn’t even try to help, too shell shocked you even move.

The man started yelling in German. Your eyes widened, he was begging for water.

You were not going to let this soldier die, quickly deciding to go calm him down, you ordered Will to get him some water.

“Blake, grab the scissors from my pack, we’re gonna need to cut through his uniform.” You jumped into action, quickly thinking back to your knowledge of gunshot wounds - even if this wasn’t a gunshot wound, anything could help.

“Will how’s that water com-“ you were cut off by the sharp feeling of metal piercing your skin. A squeak left your lips as you fell backwards.

“Hey, Hey!! You son of a bitch!” Blake screamed as he readied his gun, but Schoefield beat him to it. Shooting the guy three times, leaving his dead in a puddle of your blood.

“Y/n, hon. Listen to me, can you hear me?” Blake asked gently.

You felt as if you couldn’t breathe. Your hands sat perched on the wound, the red liquid staining your hands as you shook.

Your jaw dropped open to speak, but nothing came out. Wills watchful eyes watered from farther away, knowing there was nothing to do.

“Will, please. What- what do we do?” He cried as he cradled your body.

Your salty tears fell down your face, falling into your wound and making it hurt even more.

“Blake, I don’t want to die.” You sobbed. “But it hurts so bad.”

Will stayed stuck in his position over head. He know of Blake’s feelings towards you, knowing this would be the hardest thing his friend would ever have to go through.

Blake often spoke highly of you. Admiring your work from afar, that is until he was given orders to deliver the message and found the perfect opening to start talking to you.

And god did he regret it.

You sputtered and gasped for air, your face paling as you lost more and more blood.

“Will,” you begged, addressing him by his first name. When he looked down sadly, you turned your gaze to Blake. “Tom, help me please.”

“I-I can’t sweetheart. I don’t know how.”

“Will you write to my mother for me? Just let her know that I made it this far, that I- that I’m sorry for not listening to her and staying at home. I just wanted to feel like I was doing good.”

Your voice got quieter and quieter as your head lulled to the side, resting on Blake’s chest.

“Yes of c- wait no, no! Keep your eyes open. You’re going to be okay! Don’t you dare die on me.” He lightly smacked your face, but it was no use. You were slowly fading. “Wait no, I- I need to tell you something first.”

You glanced up at him with glassy eyes. A way to telling him that you were listening.

“I just- I need you to know that I - I think you’re really beautiful, even with all the blood.” He cringed at his phrasing, yet continued. “And the way that your always kind to everybody, hell, and even the fact that you care so much for men you don’t even know. I’ve practiced this so many times alone, sitting on my bunk. But of course now I can’t seem to put it into words. I just think that I may be in love-“

Blake stopped himself, looking down to see how you were taking this.

A sob made its way up his throat, there you lay in his lap, lifeless. Somehow Blake was still entranced by your beauty. “Blake.” Schoefield spoke up.

“Come on, bud. It’s time to go.”

“No, no she’s fine. Just- just hanging on. She will be okay.” He was in denial.

Hell, who wouldn’t be after they just lost their friend.

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