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around1302 · 2 years ago

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EPILOGUE: SIX YEARS LATER

SPARE PARTS: a series

LONDON

(W) strong language, oral (male receiving)

THIRD PERSON’S POV

FOUR YEARS LATER

Cheers ring throughout the arena, thumping so loud even the floors shook. Charlie watches off stage, hands over an agape mouth as she tries to process just how proud she is – which is a pretty impossible feat. Amelia’s screams deafen her from the left, her own jumping adding to the shakes and only making her husband worry because a woman only two months from her due date definitely shouldn’t be moving like that.

(Even if she insists she knows what’s doing by the third time round).

“Oh, my God, this is going straight to his dick,” Liam laughs, whistling so loud that a few fans nearly spot them hidden behind the curtain. It was absolutely essential no one saw them – this wasn’t their night in the slightest.

“Thank you so much London!” Louis belts to the crowd one last time, trying his best to soak those emotional final few moments in before descending and joining his friends backstage.

They all scream, engulfing him in a suffocating group hug Amelia’s forced to bow out from early. Louis is clearly high on adrenaline, nearly shaking with the thrill of it all, as his former bandmates lap over each other to congratulate him.

“God, it felt so weird at first,” he pants, nodding his thanks toward the crew member who handed him a water as they all made their way to the tour buses. His tour buses, “being up there alone, but it was incredible. I just want to go out there and do it all again.”

“Good job you’ve booked a whole ass tour then,” Niall grips his shoulders, kissing the back of his sweaty head.

“Lou, you were fucking ace!” Zayn shouts over the phone Liam nearly forgot he was holding. It’s a miracle the signal and battery even held up in the 02, especially from Zayn’s hotel in Florence.

“How’s the exhibition going?” Louis responds, taking Liam’s phone to face Zayn for a minute.

The five of them climb onto the buses, each taking a minute to gasp at how different it is. Like slipping on an old cardigan, they all expected to see the red leather they were so used to and the posters they’d chosen and the always stocked mini fridge. This bus is all Louis now.

“So good,” Zayn begins to break up as the bus quickly sets off to Louis’ London apartment, “I had a buyer yesterday, meeting with him after tomorrow’s gallery opening.”

Everyone gives their congratulations, then Louis hangs up the phone before Zayn turns into nothing but a blob of pixels, handing Liam’s phone back to him.

“I’ve never seen a crowd like that,” Niall shuffles on the sofa he would never say is uncomfortable, but, well. It’s no Spare Parts tour bus. “So impressive mate.”

Amongst the pumped up conversation about Louis’ first solo show, Charlie feels her silenced phone buzzing away in her back pocket. Pulling the device out, she can’t help the small smile that makes it’s way onto her face – earning knowing groans from the others.

There’s only one person who can elicit that smile.

“Just answer it.” Louis chuckles.

“It’s just because I told him to call if there was an emergency–”

“Answer it before I do!” Amelia intercepts, throwing a cushion at Charlie. She barely catches it before it hits her face, so as she stands to take the call, she sticks her tongue out at her best friend.

And a finger.

Charlie hears a muted, “love you too!” as the door to the bunks close and she’s alone.

“Hi,” Charlie accepts the FaceTime, unable to hold back her smile as her husband comes into frame. “Everything okay?”

“Look,” he holds up a toy, specifically a 2 year old Rubik’s cube that aims to help with colour awareness. Charlie thought it was dumb, but it’s hard to argue with Harry when it comes to Reagan. “Our kid’s a genius.”

Charlie scoffs. The cube has one side completed in red, all four squares.

“Our kid’s two years old,” Charlie cocks her head, “but did she really do that?”

“Yep, we sat there for like an hour–”

“We?”

“Well her fingers aren’t the strongest.”

Charlie breathes out puffy laughter.

“Who did the cube?”

A pause. Tired eyes crinkling at the seams.

“Okay, so I physically did it, but she told me where to go!”

“Rae can say, like, five words, she did not.” Charlie loudly guffaws. Then she realises Harry’s been whispering this whole time, so she quickly clamps her mouth. “Is she asleep?”

“Yes,” Harry yawns, “took fuckin’ forever.”

“Hey! No swearing with Rae in the house.”

“She doesn’t know what they mean, Char.”

“And what happens when we send her to preschool with that in her vocabulary?”

“God, I don’t know. Do we go to jail?”

Charlie rolls her eyes, Harry cracks a lazy smile.

“How was it?”

“Oh, H, it was amazing. He was so good.”

“I’m sad to have missed it,” he yawns again, “I always knew he’d kill it solo.”

“Mm,” Charlie props her chin on her palm, “go to sleep baby.”

“Not tired.” Harry lies, his fringe tickling his lashes as he shakes his head.

“You just yawned three times in five minutes.”

“I want to stay up.” He nearly sounds like a sulking child.

“I’m not going to be back till gone midnight.”

A pause. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles, “we’re nearly at Louis’ apartment and I promised I’d actually stay at this party.”

“Do you have to?”

“If ready-to-burst Amelia is, I hardly have an excuse.”

Harry softly laughs, and Charlie wants to wrap herself in that laugh. In fact, she’s wanted to go back to her husband and her daughter and their dog for hours, but she can’t hide away from yet another party.

“I’ll be back at 12:30.”

“Okay babe,” Harry yawns. Again. “Have fun. Give Louis my congratulations.”

“I will,” Charlie let’s her eyes drop over Harry for a minute. After three years of marriage, the sight of him in sweats and blankets and messy curls is no less sexy than when he’s in his silk shirts and his–

“You’re pulling that face.” Harry snaps her out of it.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” Harry shifts, Daisy’s fur visible in the corner of the screen as she clearly hogs her side of the bed, “you sure you don’t want to come back early?”

The door to the bunks open and Liam’s head peaks through, “Charlie, we’re here.”

“Okay, I’ll be one minute.” Charlie smiles, standing up.

“You alright, Harry?” Liam shouts.

“I’ll be one minute,” grits lilts, shooing Liam out with a smirk.

“I really need to go now,” Charlie’s attention reverts back to the screen, to Harry. “I love you. Stay up.”

“Always,�� Harry has to have won some kind of world record for yawning at this point, “I love you.”

2 YEARS LATER

Thousands upon thousands await him, chanting and cheering for him as the final recognisable song from his (carefully curated) pre-show playlist slowly fades to a halt.

He should be jumping up and down on the spot, breathing short, sharp breaths and recounting the lyrics he always forgets (and probably will always forget). He should be hyping himself up to play his first ever stadium alone, he should be warming up or fuck, praying.

But no. He’s nowhere to be found.

He’s late.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” his manger, Jeff, paces over Ibrox’s backstage, about ready to quit, steam leaking from his ears - cartoon or not, his top client is always the one to make that happen.

Jeff could accept late six years ago. It was nerve wracking, opening a tour alone after a controversial departure from the band. Plus, he was well aware of his reputation, Jeff knew what he was signing on for.

But the man’s twenty-eight, for fuck’s sake. The man’s not some stupid early twenty-something who sees this whole thing as a fun little quest he gets to dictate. Over the years, and especially through the pandemic, he finally matured. He finally realised that being punctual is actually okay! And more than that, it doesn’t give your manager and crew kittens three minutes before Golden is supposed to blast to 50,000.

… except when it comes to pre-show blowjobs from his wife.

“Oh, my God, baby.”

Harry throws his head back, fingers taking turns in fisting the cushy sofa beneath him and raking through Charlie’s curls. Her tongue swirls his tip, her own insistence for punctuality urging her to make him finish as soon as possible. She looks up at him through long lashes, knowing eye contact while she mouths him like that will have him tipping over the edge in no time.

It was never even supposed to happen. She only went in his dressing room to wish him luck, see how he was doing, give him a chaste kiss if anything. And, if she was a little honest with herself, she wanted to see his outfit before the world did.

Catching him half-dressed with the hair that told her he’d been nervously messing with it for half an hour, well. Who wouldn’t drop to their knees and kiss their way to his cock in their mouth?

“Yeah, shit,” Harry pants, forcing his head to roll forward so he can watch her. “How do you just seem to get better at this?”

Charlie smiles around his prick, injecting butterflies into his stomach and–

“Harry, I’m going to ask one more time.”

“One minute!” Charlie surfaces, barely able to breathe as she shouts at Jeff this time. Jeff’s grumbles are audible from the other side of the door, as are the sound of feet shuffling away.

If there’s one person Jeff isn’t going to yell at, it’s Charlie.

Harry’s eyes widen, embarrassment heating his neck, but Charlie’s hand pumping his shaft silences him till he’s biting blood into his bottom lip and announcing,

“Baby, I’m gonna–” he doesn’t have to finish his sentence before her mouth is back on him, and he’s coming down the back of her wonderful throat.

The noises he makes as he finishes only spur her to suck him through his orgasm, all the way till he’s pulling her away and twitching with sensitivity.

“Okay, you need to go.”

Charlie stands, wiping her mouth and shanking his boxers and trousers up for him while he lays back, dazed the fuck out of his mind.

“Huh?” He barely understands a word she’s saying, let alone able to comprehend where he is and what he’s about to do.

“You have a show, H,” Charlie straddles his lap to fix his hair, styling it quickly in the way she knows he likes. Harry’s hands instinctively fly to her waist, grinning lazily as she fusses over his fucked-out appearance.

“That might’ve been your best work, sweetheart.”

“Shut up,” Charlie mumbles behind a smile. He pecks her swollen lips.

Standing up, she adjusts herself, too. Her hair that had been ragged at by a feral Harry, her lipstick that was practically cheekstick by now. Her top, that he’d messily yanked down during their initial make out session when he insisted he just had to bite at least one mark into her breasts.

“Okay, you have two minutes,” Charlie checks her phone, grabbing his white tank and jacket from his coat-rack. Coming round from the head, panic starts to set in.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, standing up. Charlie turns around, noticing that gone-off look in his eyes which tells her he’s either about to brush it off completely or melt into a panic attack. Neither are exactly great coping mechanisms, but Charlie really needs to prevent the latter right now.

“H, it’s nothing.”

She throws him the tank, waiting for him with the jacket. He glances at her, that postcoital glow long gone. Anxiety was starting to seep into those gaps she had managed to close just a few minutes ago, but were starting to crack at the seams.

“50,000 is not nothing.”

Charlie puts his jacket on for him, afraid he’d stand there forever if she didn’t.

“50,817.” She corrects. He scowls. “Sorry.”

“Look, of course it’s not nothing. It’s a huge deal. But I know you,” she grabs his face, forcing his eyes to still on something solid. A stray curl falls against his forehead, framing his furrowed brows. “You’re going to get on that stage, and you’re going to fucking kill it.”

Harry huffs a breath, unconvinced.

“Honey, you’ve done it before.” Charlie smiles softly, brushing away the strand.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “with you.” He nudges his nose against hers, and Charlie wants to cry at his vulnverability. It’s rare she sees a Harry like this. For as long as she’s known him, he’s remained stoic in the face of fear, and although he’s not as rigid as he used to be – he’s never one to panic so much.

Endearingly, Charlie can pinpoint when he became much more of a worrier to one day, one person.

“H,” Charlie firms up, “it’s just like that. You have your band, you have me and your friends and–”

Harry interrupts the beginning of Charlie’s pep talk by grabbing her face and kissing her, hard. As if he was pouring out all of his nerves into her mouth and something in her lips and her tongue managed to just kill them. He pulls away, pepping light kisses against her cheek and jaw, making Charlie chuckle softly as his hair tickles her face.

“Okay, okay,” she leans back, forcing him away from her skin, “round two after the show, yeah?”

Harry holds his pinkie out. Charlie rolls her eyes, and holds her pinkie out. They kiss their respective thumbs and Harry nods.

“You got this.” She scrunches her nose, and Harry swears he feels his heart drop out of his stomach, which, how? After all this time, how does she still manage to do that to him.

It needs to be studied.

As he leaves his dressing room, Charlie gives him a swift slap to the ass, laughing as he turns and playfully scowls (despite knowing full well he loves it). She says a silent prayer for her husband as she follows him toward the stage, the sound of thousands of impatient fans already deafening.

They round the corner to backstage, where the team and Jeff are minutes away from breaking down themselves. Jeff nearly drops to the floor in relief at the sight of Harry, but wastes no time in calling tech over to mic him up.

Charlie gratefully smiles at Sarah, taking a fussing Reagan from her arms. Harry turns to let the team thread his mic through his jacket, and finds his remaining anxiety instantly dissipating at the sight of his daughter wearing entirely too big headphones and fisting at Charlie’s t-shirt as she complains about said defenders.

“Hi, princess,” Harry coos, reaching out for Reagan to grab his finger with her little hand.

“Daddy, you look funny.” Reagan giggles, wiggling enough for Charlie to set her down.

“Heey,” Harry lilts, getting the go ahead from the tech man before bending to his four-year-old’s height. “You don’t think I look handsome?”

Reagan shakes her head, brown curls bouncing against her cheeks.

“You look like play-dough.”

Charlie snorts, because she kinda hit the nail on the head. Harry’s band are giggling, too, as they prepare to get on stage. Harry narrows his eyes at them all.

“Do I have to wear these?” Reagan bashes her fists against the headphones.

“Afraid so, Rae,” Harry adjusts them so they sit a little looser on her head, but she’s still unhappy. “Your ears are too little right now,” he tries to explain, but if he knows his daughter at all, he knows she’ll be upset throughout the whole show because her hairdo’s squashed.

That’s Auntie Amelia’s damning influence.

“I don’t want to interrupt, but–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry stands, not deaf to the chants for him outside.

He kisses Reagan’s head, then turns to his wife.

“How’s Daisy?”

“Daisy’s fine,” Charlie sighs around a smile. Of course Harry’s worried about their dog right now. “Lia and Niall texted, she’s passed out on the sofa.”

Harry nods, clearly trying to delay the inevitable. So Charlie hurries it along for him, knowing he could stand there and ask stupid questions all evening to avoid that initial opening.

“Don’t fuck it up.” She winks, pinching his chin. Harry breathes short laughter from his nose, his lips squashed as Charlie pulls him for one final good luck kiss. Reagan sticks her tongue out at the sight of her parents’ affection, to which Harry does the same back and earns a tinkling of giggles back.

Charlie lifts Raegen so she can blow a kiss to her dad, currently jumping up and down and getting a few final stretches in before the opening to Music For A Sushi Restaurant fills the stadium, the screams become deafening, and Charlie watches as her rockstar husband takes the same stage her rockstar self did last year.

@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

#spare parts series #harry styles series #one direction series #harry styles x oc #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #1d series #1d smut #1d ot5 #harry styles friends with benefits #harry smut #harry styles x reader #one direction

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myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟑)

Synopsis: You are a French girl that had the opportunity to teach in Manchester, and you had been lucky enough to be granted a bed at the Bennett’s place. As Europe is on the brink of war, you start to worry for your family back at home, and you are surprisingly consoled by the one man of the house you would never have thought capable of landing you an ear. It’s not that you like Tom, is it?

Previous Part - Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, smut, swearing, minor talk of death Thank you @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan !

“Can you not shut up that fucking bird, Manc’?!”

Tom turned at the voice, giving the man his biggest grin as he sat on his bunk, his new acquisition on his lap.

“What, you can sleep through shell dropping but you can’t bear to hear a bird? That’s rich, mate.”

James gave him a cold stare and went back to his nap, ignoring his taunt as best as he could, knowing Tom as the troublemaker.

“What are you going to do with this anyway, Tom?” Norman asked, looking at the yellow canary in the cage, the question making Tom smile.

“Make money of course, for you and me. Why don’t have fun while on chase with a German ship that we can’t find?”

Norman looked suspicious. “You’re gonna sell it?”

“Of course not, Norman,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna make the lads put bets on it. We’re all gonna profit from that little Vera of ours.”

And profit he did. And then hell broke loose.

One minute he was fighting Henry and refusing to shake Vic’s hand, and the next he was thrust against the wall and knocked unconscious by the force of the blast the Exeter had suffered.

When he woke up, it was dark, smoke surrounding him, Henry had lost his arm, and Vic was dead.

“Don’t you move, you bastard,” said Tom, crouching near the ginger.

Henry was a grunting mess, his arm bleeding out.

But Tom took care of it until they got him out of the loading room and up on the deck, where Tom realised how lucky he was. Smoke was making his head dizzy and soot stuck to his skin, but at least he was breathing, as was Vera. He had felt his way to her in the smoke, finding an egg in her cage, and money from the bets still in his pockets. It had make him cry, the beauty of it, among the horrors.

During the ceremony he had prayed, uttering the few words he knew in order to pay his respect, and he had realised how much his dad had been right. All of these men were dead, and they didn’t even know why.

On their journey home, their mission accomplished, Tom had ventured to the infirmary below deck, grabbing the occasional smoke the lads were allowed to have. Near the porthole laid Henry, arm tightly bandaged and looking at the waves outside.

When Tom approached him and laid the bag of money on his bed, pouting. “I know it won’t go far… But you need it more than me, so…” he said, looking everywhere but at the ginger.

There was a heavy silence before the latter spoke. “Thank you for seeing me right, after what happened.”

Tom had always been uncomfortable with thanks, so he brushed it off before he continued. “Graf Spee sunk.”

“What, did we hit her?”

“Nah. Captain scuttled his own ship so we couldn't take her,” Tom explained, “Shot himself. You know I don’t know if that counts as one for us, with being an own goal and that, but-”

“Oh God, shut your noise would you?” Henry cut him, an exasperated expression appearing on his face. It made Tom scoff, but his cocky smile soon disappeared afterwards.

“Don’t tell anybody I’ve done this…”

Henry searched his face for a while, surprised. Half of the men that had bet on Vera were dead now. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you grief about keeping the money.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t doing this for the lads, I’m doing this for Vic,” Tom replied softly, his heart clenching at the thought of his fallen shipmate. “And this is the sort of soppy thing one of my friends would have done. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Henry raised his eyes to him, Tom’s side and unconcealed smile not going unnoticed. “She sounds like a good lass. Special friend of yours?”

Tom only lowered his eyes with a smile on his lips, staying silent. It was answer enough.

“Well, if she puts up with a guy such as you, Bennett, she must be something.”

“Yeah… She is,” answered Tom, trying to not think too hard about you back in Manchester, the one that accompanied his thoughts since he had gotten on this cursed ship. Tom’s gaze reported back on the bag of pounds. “That doesn’t make us mates,” he concluded.

Henry shook his head, both of the men losing their sheepish smiles. “No,” he agreed. “Thanks for the money.”

Tom’s mischievous gaze came back. “And maybe you could put it toward a hook.”

Henry repressed a bitter smile and Tom left, feeling a little bit lighter.

It was just you and Douglas in the house now.

Lois had joined ENSA for the time being, and Tom was… away at sea, the wireless the only tool giving you news about the HMS Exeter, the cruiser you knew Tom was on.

The fact that you had stayed around was a good thing, allowing you to take care of Douglas, since Lois had been the one doing most of the chores since their mother had died and giving him a hand. Additionally, it allowed both of you to escape solitude, keeping each other’s company in your shared anguish.

This is why you felt guilty when you announced that you had found a flat that you could rent, your pay being stable enough to finally have a place of your own. You considered that you had taken advantage of the Bennett's hospitality long enough, and even though it saddened you a bit, you could at last give them the space they needed as a family.

Only, out of the three only one remained in that family home and despite your announcement, you chose to delay your departure. He was putting up a brave face but deep down you knew he was as worried as you, maybe even more. Each morning, he was looking for any scrap of information he could find in the papers about the Royal Navy's achievements or failures, his fingers quivering over the table in anguish.

You would divert your gaze, waiting with dread for the day he would find that something had happened, the blue of his eyes reminding you so much of his son’s that you could not bring yourself to look at them for too long.

Once you had come home to find the radio smashed on the floor, and shortly after you learned that the Exeter had been hit. The only thing that had prevented your nerves from cracking at that very moment was the expression on Douglas’s face as you prepared dinner, his inner panic written all over his features. You ate in silence that evening, unable to bring up the subject, only keeping each other’s company.

The day after Tom’s departure to Liverpool, you had tried to convince yourself that you had done the right thing in making him understand that you could not dive into what that moment shared between you meant, that wonderful kiss. He had seemed to understand back then, stepping away with that stern look of his and comforting you in the idea that it was only a whim flirty and nonchalant Tom had, a way for him to say goodbye.

If you had been honest with yourself, you would have acknowledged that the hollowed feeling in your chest had not been due only to the guilt of treating him that way, but something else entirely. Because as months passed, you came to realise that what you felt was regret and the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, it had not been only a whim. You missed his smile, his presence, his scent and thinking about him being hurt made your heart sink in your chest often. You had no idea if he felt the same. Much could change in six months. Nothing in your life in Manchester was the same without him.

You were a fool to believe that your feelings for him would pass over time and that you would be hurting less, but war was raging all around and you had Lois as well as your family to worry about, both far away.

You had received the long-awaited letter from them, your father writing to you that they were fine but that they had been advised to get as far as the Maginot Line as possible, the French dreading a German attack at any moment. Your family would go west but you did not know exactly where, and your father had specially instructed you not to come back, that you were better in England.

He was right, of course, but it didn’t prevent you from wanting to go to them at once.

So weeks passed and you finally made up your mind to move away from the Bennetts, and to busy yourself into work. But it didn’t last.

“You’re alright, dad?” Tom said, raising Vera’s cage as his father approached with his bike. “Bought you a canary.”

Tom was finally back in Manchester, having ditched Devonport where the Exeter had finally docked and bought a ticket home. Douglas was happy to see his son again and his smile had only faltered when Tom announced his desire to desert. Ensued an argument in which Douglas tried to explain that he would not be able to help him, and that he would have to go back, regardless of his newly found beliefs. Tom had once again felt let down and unsupported, hurt even. He did not understand why his own father would not help him.

“Maybe he thinks you aren’t a very good shot,” joked Lois with a cup of hot cocoa between her hands as they prepared for bed, Tom having found the use of his own bed again with you gone.

“Haha,” Tom fakely laughed, laying over the covers with a cigarette in hand. “Is that one of your ENSA jokes?”

Lois was trying to comfort her brother as best she could, seeing how much Tom was sad about their father’s obtuseness and incomprehension. If she had a say in it, she would make Tom stay, she had seen how it was like, out there. She needed her brother too.

“So, when did Y/N move out?” Tom asked, the room feeling empty without your stuff filling it.

Lois sipped her beverage before answering. “A couple of months ago. You haven’t seen her?”

“Nah,” Tom replied, taking a puff out of his cigarette as if it didn’t bother him. “I wouldn’t know where to find her anyway.”

“She is not far,” Lois shrugged. “She got closer to that Adam bloke’s place…”

“What bloke?” asked Tom, his eyes fully on his sister now.

“A guy she is seeing. I wasn’t around when she moved out so I don’t know much but yeah, she had him help her move.”

Tom tried to let nothing appear as he felt his heart race in his chest, a bitter taste in his mouth. “Glad to see she is settling in Manchester fine on her own, then,” he said flatly, crushing his fag on the ashtray a little too violently before turning around and bringing the covers over him.

“She comes to visit us sometimes, asks about you often. She’ll be thrilled that you’re home, can’t wait to see her face when she sees you.”

“Yeah… can’t wait.”

Lois stared at his back facing her and took the hint, supposing that Tom wanted to end the conversation and go to sleep. She frowned at his sudden silence but she knew her brother cared more for you than he let on and chose to not dwell on it. But in Tom’s mind it was all angst and feeling of abandon again, even if his heart had swelled a little at the mention of you asking about him often.

He might not be able to wait until another one of your visits to his family.

You hardly heard the knock on the door over the kettle’s noise filling your flat. You had been alone in it for two days in a row, concentrating on your task. You didn’t expect any visitors.

When you opened the door to find Tom standing there, your jaw dropped and your heart stopped for a bit.

He let a moment pass in which he only observed your eyes roaming his form in disbelief. “It's not polite to stare, you know.”

You found your senses again at his voice, and joy filled you. “Tom!”

You hesitated for the briefest of time but could not resist rushing into his arms, relief flowing through you as he hugged you back, his scent overwhelming your senses at once. In his arms, feeling him again, you felt the tension you both left with come back slowly.

“Can I come in?” he asked with his usual playful tone as you pulled back to look at him.

“Sure, of course,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in and softly closed the door behind him.

“It’s cosy,” he remarked, looking around. “At least you’re closer to the school, eh?”

You barely nodded to acknowledge the fact that you had heard him, rather walking to face him with blinking eyes. He had come back, and you were definitely unprepared for the many feelings going through you right now. “When did you come back?”

“Five days ago. I’m sorry, I know it’s early but Lois told me you’ve moved out and I needed to be away from the house for a while. So I figure I could come over.”

You had no idea what to do, just content that he was there, and the many words you had wanted to say for months were simply not coming out of your mouth. He was anxiously looking around the room again, as if looking for something. You remembered the kettle. “Um, do you want a cup of tea?”

His blue eyes snapped back up at you and he nodded. You rushed over the sink to prepare the beverage, feeling Tom’s gaze at the back of your neck. When you came back to him, he was already seated on the couch, glancing at the letter on the table. You put the hot cups next to it.

“Is it from your folks?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at the paper.

“Yes. The only one I got from them in months,” you stated, the torn edges of the letter indicating how many times you had read it over and over again.

“What are they saying?”

You wanted to talk about anything else but this. “They’re fine. They left our home, gone to the West. My father won’t tell me where.” He is afraid I'll come, you wanted to say.

Tom was about to answer but you cut him, eager to change the subject. You were already observing him, looking for any signs of his trials on his skin.

“Are you okay? I heard the Exeter was…”

“I got lucky. I got out of there with a bloody headache and a sore back. T'was much worse for the other lads.”

“I’m sorry…” you said, watching how Tom’s eyes had become darker, filled with bad memories. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah, me and Vera are two lucky birds, literally.”

You frowned. “Vera?”

“A canary. I would have brought her to you but I think dad had taken a liking to her,” he joked, and his smile had an effect on you that you didn't expect. It was the first time you saw his smile in months outside of your dreams, and you were glad to see that despite what he had been through, it didn’t change this side of him, his smug attitude, his light. The side that made your heart flutter.

You chuckle a bit, imagining Douglas playing with a bird, but you were soon lost in the study of his features, as if trying to imprint them properly into your mind this time.

He was staring back at you like he was doing the same, and you grew uneasy under his gaze. He had not touched his cup of tea, and was no longer smiling, and you realised that neither of you had talked for a solid minute.

You cleared your throat. “So um… Are you going back?” you asked, clutching onto your hot mug to keep your fingers from nervously drumming the ceramic, its warmth mirroring the temperature of your cheeks.

Tom looked away in exasperation, a glare of disappointment in his eyes, “I just might. But I don’t want to. I don’t want to go back, I’m done.”

“You’re deserting?”

He didn’t answer, rather picking up a cigarette from his pocket and lightening up between his lips. He took a moment to draw the first puff before biting his lips and rubbing his eyes. He looked tired.

“Good,” you continued, watching the muscle of his hands tense. “I don’t want you to go back either.”

His gaze shot up at you as you grabbed your cup to take another sip. His eyes softened for a moment. “Well it’s apparently not that simple, me dad won’t even help me with his pacifist group. He won’t help his own son.”

“Tom, I was with him when you and Lois were gone. I saw how he was. He doesn’t want you to go back, believe me,” you stated, thinking back at the smashed radio in the kitchen.

“Then he isn’t showing it.”

He angrily took a puff out of his cigarette, and you almost reached for his hand resting on his lap to make him understand that you told the truth, but you stopped yourself. You had no idea where you and Tom were at.

“Tom, I think we need to... talk,” you said shakily, glancing at him through your eyelashes, the decision you took two days ago looming over your head and dreading the moment you would share it with Tom.

“Don’t bother Y/N,” he said, taking his last puff of smoke. “I know, and it’s fine, I understand.”

You didn’t. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you’re seeing someone. Lois told me.”

He put up a brave face but you could see the bitterness behind his eyes, and how he bit the inside of his mouth in hidden irritation..

“Oh… you mean Adam? It wasn’t… I mean,” you stammered, trying to find your words, “We went out a couple of times but that’s it. I don’t even know why I talked to Lois about it, it was months ago.”

You saw how his expression shifted and how his eyes widened a little. Maybe it hasn’t been a whim at all.

“Really?” he said, his blue eyes suddenly brighter. “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

You bit your lips, you could feel your cheek burn under his inquisitive gaze. “No I don’t, but Tom I-”

“No wait. Let me talk first,” he interrupted, and you closed your mouth, bracing yourself for his next words.

“I know I appear as an insensitive bloke sometimes, that I don’t really care and that I will always go for trouble, because it is what I do. But I care, and… when that bloody boat I was on got hit, when the lads were lying dead, I just…”

He visibly swallowed and you waited expectantly. You were sure his shoulders were broader, and you cursed yourself to notice that in that particular moment.

“I just thought that kissing you has been the best decision I’ve made in a long time,” he blurted out and you felt your heart beat faster. “I wasn’t even sure I would make it, but during that moment, all that I could think about was that if I died, I would have tried at least. With you I mean. I know you don’t feel the same but what I’m trying to say is-”

The end of his sentence was stopped by your mouth on his, words dying on his tongue as you took hold of his shoulders tightly and felt his fingers timidly tangle in your hair. It was long and sweet, and everything you could ask for.

When you pulled apart, breath shortened, he still had his eyes closed when he whispered after a beat, enjoying his fingers tracing down the back of your neck. “Y/N… Can you do that again?”

You looked down at his lips as he slightly opened his eyes. “I…” you stammered, very tempted, but you weren’t processing anything other than his touch on your skin, how you longed for more but did not want to cross that bridge. But it seems that your common sense was not in charge any more.

“Christ, you look beautiful,” Tom said, looking at your flushed cheeks and reddened lips, searching for your words and he kissed you again, unable to wait a moment longer.

You melted in his embrace as he now cupped your jaw and kissed you fervently, his tongue doing God’s work. It was exhilarating, and you soon felt your whole body tense up.

“Y/N…” he called again, his husky voice vibrating against your cheek as he traced his thumb over your chin.

“Yes?” you whispered back.

“I’ve been on a boat filled with only men for the last six months, stuck with my thoughts, miles away from you, and now you somehow managed to straddle me in the last ten seconds,” he pointed out, and you instantly realised that you had climbed on him during your kiss, making you hyper aware if your two bodies flushed against each other. You felt his hands trail down to your waist. “I have very little restraint and it feels like you're testing me right now.”

When his hands settled on your hips, it made you sink ever more unto him and you briefly felt his growing hardness between your legs, making you gasp. He on the other hand, groaned.

“I didn’t know you had any restraint at all,” you teased, trying to control your own arousal that was dangerously spiralling, still not sure if you should cross that line with him.

“I can’t believe you're saying that while you're on my lap,” he groaned, his nose brushing your skin as he talked inside of your neck while you tried your hardest not to move. But the way he made your chest heave did not help and he felt it, how much you were already mellow for him.

“Tom, we should…” you breathed out but he began tracing his tongue on your neck slowly, making you hold on to his shoulders more strongly and you could now clearly feel him below you, meeting your own heat. You closed your eyes in pleasure.

“Y/N, please I need you,” he pleaded, mouth grazing just over your collarbone before looking up at you. The way his pretty eyes glowed had your last semblance of resistance snap.

“Me too.”

And you kissed him again, sinking down on him completely and making both of you groan in pleasure, what you had meant to tell him flying out of the window. He was hard already and you found yourself completely at his mercy, the way he was touching you making your whole body tense and your insides throb. He tasted so good.

Then he bucked his hips up slightly and you could not repress a moan, making him swallow it with hunger.

“Did you think of me as much as I thought of you?” he spoke, pulling you closer so that he could feel your wetness against him. "You certainly feel like it...”

You repressed the need to answer him that yes, you had dreamt of him this way, guilt looming over you all of these months for rejecting him the day before he left and not having said proper goodbyes drowning among the many thoughts of his tongue on your skin.

“Tom, the bed…” you breathed as his hands languidly roamed to your chest and his mouth nibbled your jaw.

“I don’t think I can wait that long, love.”

He toppled you over, setting you down on the couch below him as he took his shirt off in one swift movement before sinking down back to you. You sighed when you felt him part your legs so he could rest between them, his hand travelling from your thigh to your waist and then to your blouse where he eagerly unbuttoned it.

It gave you the opportunity to look at him, truly look at him. He was more muscular than when he left, and you could see remnants of light burns on his side. The way he moved over you and how his pale skin glowed in the light was enticing.

“Nothing under there... Interesting.” he noticed with a smirk as he uncovered your breasts, pulling you out of your reveries.

“I didn’t have time to properly dress,” you blushed.

It made him smirk more. “Lucky me.”

The coldness of your bare skin quickly faltered under his warm touch, and you clutched onto his shoulders and neck to meet his lips again, wrapping your legs around his hips in the process.

“Tell me you’re not going to work today,” he panted as he forced himself to pull away from your lips.

“No…” you replied, a brief anguish taking hold of you, but it was replaced by a heated feeling when he thrust his hips a little further to your form.

“Good. I’m not letting you go this time.”

As his mouth lashed on yours, you managed to straighten up on the couch a little so that you could finally get completely rid of your layers. Tom pulled away slightly as you did the same with lust in his eyes as he observed you, barely keeping his hands to himself. When you were entirely bare before him, he sunk into you again to kiss you, not wasting a second, and you felt his fingers dangerously lower to the spot between your thighs, coming to play with your embarrassing wetness.

“I thought you could not wait,” you moaned under him biting your lips to prevent another gasp from escaping your mouth, inches away from his as you shamefully longed for the bulge in his pants.

“You want me to stop, chérie?” he asked, tongue playful as he stroked a particularly sensitive spot on you, making you arch your back, the nickname he gave you not helping the heat in your belly.

“… No!” you managed, holding him for dear life. “It’s just, you don’t have to…”

“I want to, Y/N. Hell, I want to do so many things to you.”

His tongue traced your skin again but he stopped to look at you, finding you exquisite as you panted under him, desperately trying to control yourself. But it was no use, his thumb was now the only digit over your bud as he now slid two others inside you, turning your whole body aflame. His gaze was intense on your face, observing each of your reactions to his touch as he searched for that sweet spot inside of you, the one that would make you scream his name and if he kept on, you would come undone here and now. As your breath hitched in your throat, his thrusts became slower, leaving you aching for more.

“Tom, Tom I-” you didn’t know it would be that difficult to talk, you were a mess and the way his free hand was caressing the side of your face as he trailed wet kisses on your neck was torture. “I need more.”

He hummed in satisfaction and you felt his hands between your legs stop, rather stroking the inside of your thigh. You let out a shaky sigh at the loss of his touch. “Oh, do you now?” he murmured over your collarbone before meeting your eyes again. “Care to repeat my name, love?”

“Tom, quit the cocky attitude and just-” you said, voice firmer than you thought it would be and gaze burning.

He did not lose his sly smile, his pupils so dilated with lust it almost hid the blue of his eyes. “Just what? Say it. With your words.”

You let out a muffled moan of desperation as you lower your hands onto his abdomen, feeling his muscle tense under your fingers, inches away from where you really wanted them to be.

“Take me Tom, please...” you manage, looking straight into his eyes and lowering your hands.

He instantly lets out a deep groan, music to your ears. “Fuck, you have no idea how often I dreamt of you saying that.”

But you were faster and less patient than him, your hands went to his belt and unbuckled it with eagerness, setting his erection free and you swallowed. You had seen the look of it under his pants, but you had not expected that. He noticed how you licked your lips the moment after and he could not resist the urge to taste them again, hungrily sucking your bottom one. His girth came to rest on your entrance and your body tensed up in anticipation.

“You’re alright?” he asked, sensing your slight spasm as he passed over your sensitiveness, watching your hooded eyes. You wish he hadn’t stopped kissing you.

You nodded, whimpering slightly, shifting so you could meet him properly and his lips parted in reaction, his head inches from your heat.

When he finally plunged into you you could not repress the moan that escaped your lips, and he groaned loudly, stopping his motion instantly as you felt your inside muscles clench in reaction around him. You took a moment to adjust to his size, sensing his length twitching against your walls.

“Fuck-,” he cursed against your mouth and you waited for him to settle, surprising you when he finally rolled his hips onto you, a grin of satisfaction on his lips as he saw you close your eyes in pleasure and whimper under him. His pacing was irresistible and you thought that you were literally in heaven for a second.

It felt so right. You moaned his name and he moaned yours and in those moments when you would let one of yours hands rest against his cheeks as he kissed you passionately, he would come to take it, interlacing his fingers with yours as he kept his pace inside of you and trying your best to meet the rocking of his hips against your core. The way he did not let go of your lips as he did so left you a whimpering mess, every single one of your sounds swallowed by him as his own were breathed out on your skin the rare moments he pulled apart for air. When the tension of your body became too overwhelming for you to handle and you had to leave his cheek in order to squeeze the side of the couch, his hand went to your breasts, palming and stroking it softly before playing with your hardened nipples. You repressed a deep moan at the painful pleasure.

“Let it all out, Y/N. I want to hear everything you feel, every one of those sweet sounds you make for me. I want you to give me everything.”

His voice was too much to handle, his words making your whole body shiver as you indulged him, moaning loudly when he pounded into you in one particularly hard motion, eliciting a low grunt from him as well. His head went to bury itself into your neck, and you dug your fingers into his hair. You were so close.

“Oh my god, Tom please-” you pleaded, not really knowing what you were saying any more, because only him existed. “I-”

His thrusts became sloppy, more frantic and the next moment you were pushed over the edge, convulsing, crying out his name as you felt your body go limp. You felt him come right after you, his teeth lightly digging into your flesh near the pulse point of your neck and making you see stars.

You took a moment to enjoy the feeling before softly pulling his hair in order to raise his head and drag him into a lazy and wet kiss again, capturing his jaw between your hands. He responded so well, not even taking care in sliding out of you, the slightest movements of your hips making him twitch inside of you and Tom hiss against your lips.

“Yes, I did. I did think of you Tom,” you finally replied, his question appearing to be so far away in time now.

His lusty eyes went soft for a moment, and you stroked the side of his jaw with your fingers. You were the first one to move, granting him space to slide out of you and lay down next to you, his sweaty body coming to rest against you. He brushed your hair off of your face. “What did you want to tell me? Before?”

You escaped his gaze, immediately uncomfortable. He took hold of your chin gently, making you look back at him, his brows slightly knitted in worry.

“Hey,” he tried, his voice as soft as his touch. “What is it? Tell me.”

“It’s not important right now,” you whispered.

It was indeed the worst of times to bring up the subject, because for now you only wanted to enjoy the feeling of Tom’s arms around your naked body, making you feel safe.

He let a moment pass, watching how your fingers traced the skin of his chest. “Are you gonna tell me to fuck off again?” he asked and you could feel the anguish in his voice, the one he hid behind his smugness.

It was too much for you, the ill feeling in your guts coming back, so you lifted yourself up in a sitting position, grabbing your blouse to cover your body. Tom rose beside you at once, his broad hand on your back, preventing you from shuddering.

“No, it’s not like that… Tom, I like you. I really do,” you admitted, feeling his eyes watching you. “I am sorry I took so long to realise it, but now I feel it’s too late. That we, I wasted that opportunity. All of that because we have choices to make, choices that go beyond our desires.”

“What are you talking about?” he said, looking confused. “It’s not too late and you didn’t waste anything Y/N. I made my choices and I chose you, don’t push me away for that.”

“I know Tom, I know all that, but this is what scares me. What if it’s out of our hands? You might leave again, get seriously hurt this time and I won’t be able to handle it if we keep this on, I know I couldn't.”

“Then I won’t go. Or if I do, I’ll do whatever is necessary to come back, I promise,” he assured, turning himself to you fully and forcing you to meet your now watery eyes with his blue ones. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, Y/N.”

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips, but then he noticed the way your eyes showed guilt, and the sorry way you looked at him. You could only witness silently as he slowly came to realise what you had dreaded to tell him. “Tom…”

“… you’re not staying, are ya?” he deadpanned, eyes wide, “That’s what you mean. That you won’t be there.”

You bit your bottom lips, giving him a sorry look as you shook your head. He let out a long sigh, taking his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. That blissful moment you shared had not lasted long.

“I have to go,” you tried to explain. “I can’t stay here while I worry sick about my family. When I’m not even sure I still have one. Not knowing is killing me, like it did when you were away.”

“You’re not at work because you quitted,” he continued, speaking between his hands as he put the pieces together. “Because you already made up your mind.”

You watched him, heart clenching as you braced yourself. “I leave in three days.”

Your words made him stand up from his seat abruptly, grab his pants and shirt and started to aggressively dress himself. You watched him, helpless at his obvious irritation.

“You’re kidding me, right?” he asked, pacing, disbelief in his voice. “You’re telling me that you’re going back to France, where people die every day, Y/N, where you could die?” his tone was now clearly pissed, and you found the anxious feeling that had accompanied you all of these months come back in waves. “You don’t even know where they are, where you’re going!”

“I’ll … Figure it out. I have to,” you replied, desperation in your eyes. “Tom, you have to understand, they are running and I can’t even help them from here. I had one letter from them in months. One.”

“Don’t go Y/N,” he stated, coming back to you on the couch staring at you, imploring. “You’re safer here, believe me when I tell you that your family wouldn’t want you to go to them. You have no idea how it’s like.”

“Neither do you, Tom,” you spoke slightly louder. “I know you’ve seen death, but at least you know where your family is. I don’t and the more I wait, the more I am likely to become alone in the world, shut out completely from them,” you said, tears finally filling your eyes.

“You won’t be alone. You’re not alone, even now. You have me, you bloody have me Y/N. Going is a shitty idea, you just, can’t run into this like that. I won’t let you.”

“You’re doing it Tom, you’re running into conflict, in the first row at that, because you have no choice. I don’t even know when I’ll see you again once you’re gone. Everything got worse. The whole world seems on fire.”

“Then don’t leave!” he shouted, taking your head in his hands. “I will come back, I promise. Just, stay here, stay safe, away from those fascists. Christ Y/N, this is stupid, even for you.”

You brushed the insult away, knowing anger was the cause of it, his desire to protect you. “You would do the same Tom. You would do anything for the one you love, I know you would. You must understand that I need to do the same. I need to be with them. To try at least.”

Silence grew thicker between you, a tear finally trailing down your cheek, and Tom wanted to wipe it away, but his movements were frozen, the idea of you leaving causing an icy feeling in his body.

Of course he would do the same, but he didn’t want you to be like him. He wanted you safe.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, a final plea. “You won’t be able to come back. You know that.”

To make it back to me.

You watched him, wishing you could only lose yourself in his eyes and never have to think about anything else. “I can’t,” you stated, voice trembling. “I just… I made up my mind. I just can’t.”

Tom’s expression fell, something passing through his eyes. He watched you for a moment, as if he was giving you a chance but you didn’t speak.

He nodded in resignation, clenched his jaw before looking away from you and stood up, grabbing his vest without a word. The next moment he was out, closing the door on the now empty room, leaving you alone with your anguish.

You told yourself that it had to be done.

But it had been the hardest thing you’d ever done.

A/N: At least the ending avoided the cold shower. Part 4

@chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan @yentroucnagol @crlttpstrn

#tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #wof #world on fire #tom bennet imagine #smut #tom bennett fanfiction #oneshot #ewan mitchell #wof gif #mygif #angst #short story #fluff #world on fire 1x04 #gone with regret

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edalene-slater-ffxiv · 9 months ago

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DWC - February 2024 - Day 1 - Casualty/Flirt

Long before she was assigned to the Sirensong and Blackwater Bay, long before she spent day after long day with this particular group of men, Edalene had spent years observing plenty of men and women who had had far too much to drink and thought they were far more charming than they actually were. What each and every one of them failed to realize is that after the second drink their ability to be ‘charming’ was long…long gone.

The first casualty in what was sure to be a long list of casualties was their ability to flirt…and yet that didn’t stop any of them from trying.

It made for an entertaining evening - usually…when they weren’t trying to flirt with her.

Unfortunately, particularly given that the crew was made up primarily of men, that meant that she was the main target these days, and none of them had any decent lines.

“Miss…miss Slater!”

Edalene sighed heavily, setting down her mug, her eye cutting over to the barkeep who shrugged easily, appearing far too amused for his own good. The Sirensong had been docked for less than a week and already this had become a nightly occurrence - his nightly entertainment.

“That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“Aye - that’s you…anyone ever told you that your eyes-Oi! What was that for!?” The man turned, glaring at his friends who had walked over - for support or to be entertained as well, which one was anyone’s guess. One had not so gently elbowed him in the ribs, motioning towards Edalene.

“She’s only got one eye, mate.”

“Oh…yeah, that’s right. Well, anyone ever told you your eye is real pretty?”

The barkeep scoffed, refilling Edalene’s mug and moving it back over to her. “You’re gonna need this, lass.”

“No shit.” She picked it up, taking a generous swig before turning back towards the small group with a too bright smile. “Is it? It might’ve have been mentioned before. It was even nicer when it was part of a pair.” Her eye narrowed as she caught one of the men staring at her chest, leaning down into his line of sight and wiggling her fingers before pointing up at her eye, “It is rather difficult to notice whether it’s pretty or not if you’re staring at my chest though, don’t you think?”

“Oh…sorry.”

“I’m sure. Anything else I can help you boys with this evening?”

Again, the barkeep laughed. “Sure there is.”

“Shut up you.” She turned back around to the group, where one of the men had stepped forward, looking a bit sheepish. “Yes?”

“Just one more thing, miss.”

“Alright…let’s have it.”

“Can I touch your hand?”

Again, the eye narrowed - dangerously this time. “Why?”

He glanced back at the group, getting a nod of encouragement before looking back at her. “Because - I’d like to tell my mates that I’ve been touched by an angel.”

“Oh for fucks - No. I haven’t had enough to drink for this and you all have clearly had too much. I’ll buy you all one more round and then off to your bunks so you and your hand can get well acquainted. And learn some new Fury forsaken pick up lines.” She turned around and downed all of what was in her mug ignoring the roaring laughter of the barkeep.

Apparently after the ability to flirt, common sense was the next thing to go. Gods help her.

@daily-writing-challenge

#dwc2024

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brighter-by-the-daly · 1 year ago

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Rachel Daly x Reader

Part Two: Dashed Hopes

AN: Shoutout to @yourwosogirly and @ac3may for helping me through the writers block this chapter gave me, ly 🧡

Turning up at camp and shuffling towards the building with your bags you couldn’t help but recognise the familiar blonde figure on the steps out front with her new beau. Too far across the car park to turn back without looking suspicious you had to keep walking, hoping to anything godly that neither would notice you. “Oh my god! (Y/n) is that you?” screeched the familiar voice of your ex best friend. Fuck. Time to put that Drama GCSE to good use! “Oh my god! Becky? I haven’t seen you in years!” you squealed in fake excitement as you pulled her in for a hug. “Wait.. you know each other?” Rachel seemed surprised yet extremely worried about the altercation that was happening in front of her. “Yeah we used to be besties, what happened to that?” Becky twirled her hair around her fingers as she pretended to forget why you fell out years ago. “You shagged our best mate’s boyfriend” you said bluntly, the fake smile wiped away and resting bitch face firmly back in her place. “And now you’re shagging my ex! Funny how things change aih.. unlike your clothes” tugging at the shirt hanging off of the brunette’s slim body. “Rach, you took my favourite shirt? I’ve been looking for this for weeks!” You knew exactly what you were doing but why the hell is she wearing your shirt? You wanted to rip it off her along with the extensions glued to her head. Unfortunately you have a reputation to uphold now and had to deal with things amicably, no matter how much you wanna hit her. “Wait, this is.. yours?!” Becky exclaimed disgusted at how she was wearing an ex’s shirt that she thought was her girlfriend’s. “Yeah.. Rach used to love me in this, didn’t you babe?” smiling sweetly and stroking Rachel’s arm, determined to wind them up as much as possible before you have to act professional until the end of August. Rachel visibly gulped as she scratched the back of her head which was her tell for when she was feeling awkward. “It’s sooo nice to see you both again, byeee!” Lies. Big fat lies. The extremely heavy sarcastic sweetness that rolled out of your mouth was undeniably two faced. You thought you’d be more hurt seeing them together but you kept your horoscope this morning at the forefront of your mind - you’ll be tested today but remember you’re better than them - couldn’t have been more true if it tried!

Strutting into the welcome meeting feeling like all the cards were in your hand, you were pleased to see some of your old friends again. There was a few you played with for England when you were younger and made your way over to sit with Georgia and Keira. Your overnight plane from America had only landed a few days ago and the jet lag was starting to catch up on you now - hoping Sarina’s talk would be quick so you could get some sleep. Your dreams of a few hours shut eye were quickly shattered, Sarina clearly hadn’t got the memo and bunked you up with none other than your ex. For fuck sake Sarina! Asking to have a quiet word with her after everyone left she said that if you found someone to swap with you could but was stern when she added “if you can’t work with her then we’re going to have to discuss your position on the team”. Brilliant. Get along with your run away bride or get kicked from the team, what an ultimatum. You’d been fighting to be recognised from over the pond for years, Rachel was gonna get a call up no matter where in the world she was but not you. You’d climbed the England ranks since 15 but knew moving to America would put your national career on the line. You were convinced you’d have made the senior team a lot sooner if you had stayed in the WSL.

Dragging your bags up to your room you stood with your hand on the door knob for some time before gathering up the courage to enter. You didn’t need to be nervous as the bags dumped on the bed told you Rachel had gone elsewhere. The luggage reminded you of how she would never unpack from travelling and it drove you insane. Busy sorting out your things you didn’t hear your ex enter until you came out of the bathroom. “Hey” she mumbled awkwardly as you both clocked each other. Moving your headphones to sit around your neck so you didn’t seem rude, “hi” you replied in a way that was unsure about how this was going to work. “I took this bed as I know you don’t like being next to the door but I can move if that’s changed” she said picking at her fingernails. You replied that you’re fine where you are and started listening to your music again while continuing to unpack. That was until your headphones died and threw them onto the bed disgruntled at how you’ve now got to listen to your ex breath the same air as you. Spending what felt like forever in silence until Rachel made the first move “I’ll get your shirt back to you” her voice somewhat perky like she was trying. There’s nothing you would want more, the way it was slightly faded and shrunk a little in the wash made it show your belly button. It was your old uni top and you loved how it reminded you of simpler times but your voice didn’t say that. “No it’s okay, it looks good on her” you shrugged, it wasn’t a lie per se but it wasn’t the whole truth - it deffo looks better on you and Rachel seemed to think so as well. “It looked good on you too” she said quietly looking over at you. Well you didn’t expect to hear that today! “Yeah it did, thats why it was my favourite” you hammered back with the same stiff eye contact she was giving you. “That’s why I kept it” she shrugged, “what to give to your next fiancée?”. Oops, that was meant to come out jokey but it deffo came out defensive and argumentative. “No, she wasn’t meant to find it” throwing her legs over the side of her bed and putting her face in her hands. “She tidied the house while I was out one day and found it, I couldn’t tell her it was yours. It still smelt of you and when I was sad I’d hold it. She washed it and put it on, I was so mad but I didn’t really have the right to be angry with her.” Rachel stood up from the bed “(y/n) I hate what I did to you, I just missed England so bad after the Euros, I needed to be with my family” she tried to win you over, to be honest the first part of her speech was quite cute but the last part hit a nerve. “I was your family too Rach, we were getting married! Do you know how humiliating that was for me? Calling all the suppliers, all of the guests, telling my family that my future wife had ran away? Just left me in a strange country you convinced me to move to!” your arms were flailing and your voice was raising. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to turn out this way!” she pleaded but you had seen red. “Then what the fuck did you mean to happen? You didn’t talk to me, you just left! You kissed me and said you loved me, waited til I fell asleep then fucked off on the first plane out of Texas!” you yelled. “I’m not proud of my actions” she said approaching you from across the floor “(y/n) let me explain, please sit down” grabbing your hand and trying to guide you towards the bed but you were determined not to get pulled into her sob story and snatched your arm away. “Your time for explaining was the minute you thought about leaving, now get the fuck out my face!” Pushing past her to reach the door, maybe you should have taken the bed closer to it for a quicker escape.

Bursting into Millie and Mary’s room where some of the others had gathered, “eurgh!” you bellowed making your entrance known “someone swap with me! I can’t stay in that room with her!” pleading with your teammates. “(Y/n), you’re gonna have to get along with her for the sake of the team” Mary tried to reason with you. “I could do that a lot better by not bunking with her” begging the girls to swap rooms with you but they were all settled and didn’t want to move their stuff again. “Millie please, you’re her best friend why wouldn’t you wanna bunk with her? I’ll do your laundry until we leave” trying to bribe your ex’s best friend. “I think it’ll be good for you two to talk things over” she said taking you in for a hug. You sighed feeling defeated, “what’s there to talk about? She set up a transfer without telling me and waited until she could disappear in the night! I’d rather sleep on the pitch!” throwing yourself back onto her bed in frustration. “That’s not what she said went down” Millie said confused. “Well that’s exactly what happened!” you projected around the room. “She said you broke up with her after she moved?” Mary said quizzically. How did she think the truth wouldn’t come out? Why did she tell everyone I broke up with her? “That’s absolute bollocks, you believed that? You know I loved her more than anything! I would have come home too, I wouldn’t have moved there in the first place if it wasn’t for her!” curling yourself up into a ball as the tears started to run again. “Okay, I’ll swap alright but you still need to try and get on with her.” Millie turned empathetic and stroked your back giving you comfort.

Knocking on the door Rachel was surprised to see Millie standing there with her bags. “Why did you tell us (y/n) broke up with you?” pushing past her to get inside the room. Rachel couldn’t believe you’d got someone to swap with you and that the truth was out, rolling her eyes acting like you were the one being childish. “Can you blame her for swapping?” Millie’s arms folded, sticking up for injustice came easy to her. “It was just simpler, I didn’t think she’d be here” Rachel was pacing the floor trying desperately to figure out a way to wriggle out of the mess she had made. “You didn’t think she’d get called up so you thought you’d never have to see her again? She’s an amazing player Rach, you thought you could leave your old life behind and never get found out! I’m your best friend, why did you lie to me?” Millie’s voice was raised, she was protective of the first time campers especially ones that had been wronged by someone she holds so close. “Because I knew you’d hate me!” Rachel’s eyes started to fill up with tears as she felt interrogated. “I wouldn’t hate you Rach, I’m disappointed though! You just left in the middle of the night? She was gonna be your wife!” Millie was getting more and more irate with every word that was coming out of her best friend’s mouth. “I know! I’m sorry!” Rachel yelled across the room at her. “And who the fuck is this new bird? You do know Sarina told her she’s got to get on with you to stay on the team right? You’ve put her whole career in jeopardy and she’s a bigger person than I would be cause I would have knocked you out by now!”

“Look, I don’t need both of you yelling at me okay. I know what I did was shitty but I have my reasons, no one will let me explain!” she pleaded to have her side heard. As much as Millie didn’t want to give Rachel the time of day, she was inquisitive of why she did what she did. The defender threw herself onto the bed and patted the mattress beside her for Rach to scooch in. No matter how much she was mad at her right now, she knew she must have had a good reason.

Part Three

#rachel daly #rachel daly x reader #woso masterlist #lionessss x reader #millie bright #woso x reader #lionesses #lionesses england #england x reader #england women #aston villa wfc #houston dash #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso community #georgia stanway #kiera walsh #mary earps

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historia-vitae-magistras · 1 year ago

Note

Canukr 12 for the dialogue prompts

I have no idea what's going on in this fic anymore but it's written so voila. The usual siblings suffering in a trench having a conversation about love, life and what have you with background ukrcan.

Spring, 1916

Jack might have been dead, as stiff as a corpse well into rigour mortis in this cold. His toes wouldn't flex in his boots, and when he peeled back his mitts, the skin on his fingers was cracked straight through. They should have bled, but his hands were too cold. He shoved them under his armpits and shuddered into the tent's wall. If he got any closer to the anemic fire, he'd set himself alight, but there was no point in living in this kind of cold. He wished he could close his eyes and see his home's cracked, desperately thirsty surface rather than that of his own hands—dry, warm sun and blue instead of the endless grey. Or that Zee would get off duty and nick some whiskey. Either would do.

“Hey,” came Matt's low whisper, gentle but as freezing as a polar wind. “You still awake?”

“No,” Jack muttered but shifted and opened his eyes: Matt was tall and sharp and the pale green of a blade of frosted grass. He was still damp from the showers.

“Jesus, Mattie. You sick?” Jack asked him.

Matt shot him an odd look and touched his greenish cheek. “Oh, right. No. Not sick. Just woke up on the corpse pile again,”

“Fuck mate,”

“Ah, all fine. Just was looking for something, it was stupid.” He knelt to sit next to Jack on the sandbag bed, and for the first time, Jack noticed he was out of regulation even more than usual, a blue sweater over their grey army-issued undershirts poking out from under his unbuttoned coat.

“You going to sleep?"

"Nah, can't get any proper sleep when I've got snow balls.”

Matt grinned, a flash of snow blindness. “Bet I can help with that,”

He produced an earthen crock, its contents held by butcher paper held shut with twine, tore it open with his teeth and thrust it into Jack's hands, displaying it with a proud grin.

He blinked.

“It's warm,” He said dumbly. He could feel it with his own two hands, warm and still steaming. Oh, there might be a God.

“It was hot,” Matt said sorrowfully, but Jack paid him little mind. He smelled things he had half-forgotten. Onion, garlic, celery, carrots, peas, potatoes, pepper. Curry. Fucking miracle of miracles—

"Is this... curry?"

Matt grinned again. "Curried lentils, yeah."

“Soup?” He gaped. “Like actual soup? Not from a tin?”

Matt smiled. “Fresh from the cookfires of the Indian division. Aditya says you're welcome."

He dug his mess kit from deep in the pockets of his great coat and scooped some into his mouth. But it tasted as good as it smelled. Vegetal and garlicky. No meat but— Oh! Lentils. Right, some of the Indian divisions were vegetarians.

“God, that's so good,”

Matt snorted. "Is it? Good!"

"Didn't you get any?"

"I didn't have scurvy last month," Matt said. "Speak of, how's the teeth?"

"In my head," Jack said. They ached. But they were firmly in his gums, at least. "Get over here and help me eat this, you sad bastard. I'm cold just looking at you."

"I'm okay." Matt said.

"Oh, get off the cross, we need the wood." Jack rolled his eyes. "No ones going go lose the war because you only martyred yourself once today. Get over here."

Sheepishly, Matt sat, and Jack dumped some soup out for himself. He gave Matt his half in the warm redware.

"Thanks," He said. He looked oddly worn out, even for him, and Jack kicked another log onto the anemic fire.

"What got you this time?"

"Concussive blast, I think." He grimaced, one hand floating over his shoulder before he realized what he was doing and put his hand back to hold his soup.

"Do you want to go bunk with the old man? He's got a few rooms in some ponce's chateau. Warmer than out here."

Matt shook his head. "They'll be fucking."

"Who's... oh your... yeah." Jack grimaced sympathetically. "Can't blame you there. Fucken awkward just being in the same room at those two much less when they're your... whatever Bonnefoy is."

Matt hummed a particularly miserable agreement, and Jack elbowed him. "Hey, you carked it. Means you'll get another care package from Alfred, right?"

Matt snorted. "You keep more track of when those arrive than I do."

"Well yeah, where else am I going to get the good shit?"

Matt shouldered him, jostling their seat. "You just want chocolate."

"Always." He grinned and was awarded the slightest smile from Matt for his efforts and thought he might press his luck. "What are my chances of you translating some Baudelaire for me?"

Matt stirred his soup and gave a flat, dead stare. Jack laughed, uncomfortable.

"Take that as a no."

"Not a no. Just... Not today."

He gave Matt a wry grin. He’d pushed his luck, and he knew it. He gave Matt a gentle elbow and took up some more soup. He was grateful. Extra calories were a small thing in the grand scheme. However, Matt, the blessed bloodhound he sometimes was, could sniff out and scavenge spare calories at a thousand paces. The smell of soup and broth was so… normal compared to damp wool, a soggy tent, and French soil. Wet, horrible, cold French soil. He kicked at the duckboards and the hard-packed earth beneath his feet.

“Thanks for this, by the way.” He said.

Matt glanced up. “Of course. You looked like you needed a hot meal and rack time as badly as I do.”

“… About that rack time.” He grimaced, remembering the envelope in his pocket with all the odd markings Zee had told him to pass on when he saw Matt. “It’s encrypted, so it's probably urgent.”

“No.” Matt lifted one finger. “Not until I’ve eaten. This is going in me, I’m going to pretend I didn’t just crawl my way out of a corpse pile for a bit and then Dad can ruin my day.”

Jack snorted. “Look at you, not coming like a labrador just because Dad called.”

“Ah, piss off you.” Matt gave him a gentle whack. He was the best of their father, sometimes. They ate in companionable silence for a long while, silent except for the fire. Matt finished and tossed himself on the berth Zee commandeered when she was so sick of the posh limey nurses she worked with that even the comfortable billets they had weren’t worth the fucken poms and gestured for it.

“All right, I’m human, give it up.”

“Ah, bloody hell, where’d I stick it.” He went patting himself down.

“Half of me doesn’t want you to find it.” Matt shook his head. “Try your cartridge pocket. You’re always sticking things in there and forgetting.”

“Am not,” Jack said, putting his hand there anyways. Fuck, Matt was right. “All right, never mind. Am so.”

Matt shook his head, hand out. “Give it up,”

“Arsehole,”

“Sieve for brains.” He got a shoulder squeeze as he handed over the dirty envelope. Matt barely had it in his hand before going white. This was somewhat disturbing, considering he was practically green even in the firelight, and his knees collapsed beneath him as he sprawled onto the bed again.

“Matt? What... is it that bad? Why did they have to send it in code like that?" It was covered in circles, stabbed through, or otherwise backward-written.

“It’s not code…” He fumbled for his pocket knife and opened it carefully. “That’s cyrillic.”

“Cyrillic? What, like the Russian stuff?”

“Ukrainian!” Matt blurt out. He’d lit up from the inside out, colour coming into his face for the first time in weeks. He kissed the envelope.“It’s from Katia.”

“What, that scary blonde lady with the braid things?” He gestured to his head, and Matt sighed, lovelorn. Actually lovelorn. Christ was a kookaburra. The Russians occasionally tossed boats on his front doorstep whenever Ivan felt he didn’t get enough attention from Dad. He had occasionally glanced at her on other occasions, dressed well and fierce looking even when she laughed.

“Most beautiful, terrifying woman on planet earth.” He sounded instantly drunk—bloody hell. Jack had never known him to sound like that. He watched Matt clutch it to his chest like a father when he was being a mad and sentimental old bird and sigh.

“Mate.” Jack watched with amused befuddlement and more than a bit of concern. Creatures have behaviour patterns. The koalas had diets of almost nothing but eucalyptus, were riddled with chlamydia and clung to their mothers' past reason. Matt, too, mostly put away narcotics, was riddled with venereal disease and hadn’t disobeyed their father in a solid decade. Wombats mated in spring between September and December, shat in cubes and lived in their mother’s pouch. Matt mated every leave, probably had the only solid shits in the entire British army and did what their father said. It was the way of the world. He scavenged food, slept poorly, and murdered many. And now he was grinning as his eyes passed over the letter. As much as he tried, Jack couldn't help but worry.

“Mate,” He said again, dropping onto his berth and leaning over, squinting to catch a glimpse as if he’d understand even if he could see the letters. Matt looked like someone had cracked him over the head with a trench shovel again. “What does it say?”

He grinned, holding it to his chest. “It’s from Katia.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” He said, brows raised, bemused. Still concerned. “But what does it actually say?”

“Haven’t read it yet.” He said. “I’m just… she wrote me…”

“Why would she write you? Isn’t the eastern front in collapse?”

“Yes,” He said. “The Russians are getting trampled over there and she still wrote.”

Jack gawped. The words were grim against his brother’s delighted expression. “Okay. So why is she writing to you?"

“Might’ve… sort’ve married her.” He mumbled.

“You did what?” Jack stared. “Yoi’ve always been a few roos short of a mob but– you did what?”

“It’s not official. Bread, salt, and sex, mostly. I just–” He took a breath, but that dopey look hadn't left. Jack watched as he kissed the envelope and suddenly felt like doing what he did when their father shagged the frog across some canvas. Fleeing the country.

“Does Dad know?” And if it was possible, Matt’s grin widened.

“Old man hates Ivan so he loves her.”

“You’re telling me that our father, who art an arsehole, hallowed be thy church of him, let you go and– how did you pull that off?”

“I’m older than you,” He said, looking smug, like that explained anything.

“What has– never mind. What does it say?”

“She has these eyes.” He said dreamily.

“Reckon she does,” Jack snorted. “Most people do.”

“Shush,” Matt said, but there was no fire. “They’re alive. They burn. It’s like when the sun comes out.”

“Do you have brain damage? Are you ill?” Jack reached over, putting his hand on Matt’s forehead.

Matt tossed his hand off. “Paws off.”

“I’m serious.” Jack said, seriously scanning him now. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Can’t I be happy without something being wrong?”

“Not this happy!”

“I’m fine. Just, hush a damn minute and let me read. If it isn’t sexy, I’ll translate some of it.”

“Oohohoho now you’re talking. Story time afterall.”

They sat there for a long while, in a strange happiness, the anemic fire higher. Both were relaxed, concern absent from Jack as Matt ripped through the letter. Jack busied himself with stupid little things, straightening their few belongings, pouring each a bit of what whiskey was left from Uncle Alasdair’s last trip back home. He nearly dropped the bottle when Matt yelped.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Which one of you fuckers sent her a photo of me?” He broke into laughter. “With my hair short? Oh my god.”

“That’s a Kiwibird maneuver if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Shitheads, the lot of you.” He was still laughing, fist against the bottom of his ribs. “Jesus Christ.”

“Why, what’d she say?”

“Sit down, its story time.” Matt shook his head, incredulous and overjoyed.

“Dear…” His brother squinted, frowning. “I don’t actually know what that word means. It’s got something to do with spooky and tree and the ending is a diminunitive. Anyway.”

He started again, and Jack listened as he read out loud.

Dear 'word I can’t translate',

We have brought the harvest in. Most of the men are gone, and it was not as easy as it may have been. However, the wheat fields were yellow under the bluest skies this year. You might not recognize this village, even with your head as complete with me as it is with hundreds of thousands of mine now yours. We planted winter wheat, which the British passed on via the Red Cross. To my surprise, I found it was Canadian Soft Red winter wheat. It was a pleasant surprise, I think. You might also thank your sister for that as well.

Regardless, children and seedlings grow, and wheat and men are reaped. On and on it continues. However, with this wheat, a photo and letter were passed onto me. You can imagine my surprise to see you looking so… different. You changed your hair. I like it well enough; you may tell your sister she did a fine job. I do, however, expect it to be of its preferable length when I see you again. I also expect you to remember what I asked of you last we spoke. Remain yourself, Matthew. Also, I would ask you to inform your father that I expect you to be in one piece come the end of this war. He may recall in short order how it was in Miklagarðr.

May the winter be kind,

Katia

Jack raised a sarcastic brow. “She’s romantic.”

“Isn’t she?” Matt said, for once not hearing any of the ironies. “She’s so beautiful with words.”

“Must be prettier in Ukrainian, eh?” He said. Matt sighed and ran a hand through the short curls that made him look like Alfred.

“I wish I hadn’t let them cut it.”

“It’s not like you had a choice," Jack said. His was shorter than usual, and he’d never let it grow long. The thought, 'Even with hundreds of mine now yours,' came unbidden into his mind.

“Do you love her?” He blurted. “Is it love when its like that?”

"Yes," Matt said instantly. He constantly pondered and always considered things before he said them. But not this.

“Is it easier than humans?” Jack tried not to let the green-eyed Irishman he had let himself go arse over heart for flood into his mind. He had to clench his fists.

“Yes,” Matt said. “In a lot of ways. There’s always more time for us. Even if we die, we’ll live. But its no less nerve wracking. I haven’t had a letter from her since the war started. I’m sure Zee had to redirect some serious funding to deliver one and get this back. Remind me to get her something, would you?”

“Fork over that fancy yank soap next time you get a packet from Alfred, and I’m sure she’ll settle.” Jack said because he could easily say that while his thoughts tumbled through his mind. Tossing Will a Yorkshire pudding as he ducked a splatter of tea, laughing when they’d been camped under the pyramids. Blood. A heart-shaped disk he’d hacked out of a bit of scrap iron and slid into Will’s pocket. Screaming. Will’s hand in his as they cuddled too close in their funk hole. Aunt Brighid in black as he’d shovelled the soil over an ancient family plot in an ancient churchyard on a rainy spring morning with Australian autumn in his bones.

His fist clenched, nails puncturing his palm.

“Jack.” Matt was suddenly very close, gently squeezing Jack’s knee. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

His eyes sprang open. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed them.

“It’s fine.”

“Jack.”

“I said its fine!” He snapped. “I’m glad you can fuck our own–”

Matt squeezed his knee again, unflinching and looking like that letter had restored him to his whole self.

“We have a bit of leave soon. Why don’t we order and take a whole crop of snowdrops to Will’s grave? Dad doesn’t need to know." As soon as his anger was there, it was forgotten. The bastard was so fucking reasonable sometimes.

“Yeah.” Jack released his fist and sagged, flopping over onto his berth. “Yeah that sounds nice. Be nice to go up there when I don’t want to shoot Dad for once.”

“There you go.” Another tender pat on his knee as Matt pulled a blanket over him, but Jack shoved his face into the pillow.

“Mattie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad she wrote to you. You deserve it.”

#the ask box || probis pateo #my writing || cacoethes scribendi #matthew || my country is winter #jack || a land of summer skies #ww1 || half the planet having daddy issues in a trench #katya and matt || the soil of our souls #katya || бо лишало на серці сліди #Jack Zee and Matt || battered bonds once so strong

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allie-campbell-bradshaw · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 16: First Date

A/N: I’m guessing by the title of this chapter that you know what’s about to happen! This is one of my favorite chapters ever. This chapter has additions to the Brallie playlist as well as the wardrobe, so make sure you check it out! I mention this in every chapter, but in case you missed it- I do not give permission for my work to be re-posted without credibility. If you do want to post this story to your page, please be sure that you tag my account or at least mention its original source in your post.

Also: This story is sequential…please go back and read my other chapters, in order, for the best results!

Again, thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy :)

Chapter 16: First Date

AUTHOR’S POV

Friday was here. Allie had just finished up her shift and was getting dressed in the locker room–putting her hair in a waterfall braid, letting her loose curls hang down. She was in a navy blue and white striped t-shirt dress. She reached up and grasped onto her locket, the one with an A in cursive on it that was shaped in a heart. She held onto it as she looked at herself through one of the warn out mirrors, knowing that this was the first time in years where she was actually going on a proper date, and a date she was planning.

She didn’t know how he would take this, but was hoping he would be as entertained and enthused as she thought he was going to be. Allie let out a deep breath and tucked the locket into her dress so it would not be visible. Allie packed up everything into her backpack and threw it over her shoulder, holding her set of keys in her hand as she made her way out the doors and towards the tarmac, heading for her aircraft carrier.

***

Bradley was looking at himself in the mirror in his dorm room. He didn’t have many formal clothes, just a bunch of Hawaiian shirts and jeans. Thank God he and Javy were around the same size and his friend was kind enough to lend him his dark pink shirt that had a circular shaped pattern in it. Bradley looked down the lower half of his body, kicking the Emmett’s brown shoes in the air and running his hands over his own khaki pants. It felt weird to be in shoes that weren’t the boots that the military made him wear. The brown shoes perfectly complemented the color palette that he had on.

Bradley adjusted his tactiks watch on his left wrist, taking a deep breath as he adjusted himself one last time in the mirror.

Emmett was watching him in admiration, loving how anxious his roommate, and best friend, looked. “You look lovely dear.” he said to him in a mockingly admiring tone.

“Thanks hun,” Bradley responded playfully, running his hands through his hair so he could set it just right.

“You really like this girl don’t you?” Emmett asked, realizing that this was no longer a fling, but something Bradley was actually working very hard for.

Bradley raised his eyebrows in response, sort of saying ‘no shit’ to his best mate.

“Alright then,” Emmett said, conceding in his tomfoolery, “I will stop teasing you about it”.

“Thanks!” Bradley exclaimed, happy that the constant comments would finally be over, walking over to his desk and putting his wallet in his pants pocket. “Do I look okay?” He turned over and faced Emmett.

“Simply breathtaking” Emmett responded, fighting back a smile that was peeking through his cheeks.

“Any advice?” He asked his roommate, before rolling his eyes, “Why am I asking you?”

“Hey,” Emmett fired back, “I’m a hit with the ladies!”

“Oh yeah,” Bradley said sarcastically, “You’re a star man.”

Emmett made a ‘twinkle, twinkle’ sign with his hands before turning his attention back to the TV that was right in front of his bed. Bradley wasn’t much of a TV watcher, and when he did watch a show with Emmett, he didn’t mind looking over towards his bunk.

The door then swung open and Natasha and Javy made their way in, “Oh good!” Natasha exclaimed, “You’re still here”. Both her and Javy looked like they were on a mission, shutting the door and walking over to Bradley.

Natasha adjusted a wrinkled piece of fabric on his shoulder and pushed him so he turned around, inhaling, “What are you wearing”? She asked him, inhaling deeply.

“Javy and Emmett’s clothes,” Bradley answered matter of factly, a little confused because he knew that Natasha knew that.

“Not your clothes dipshit!” She fired back, “Cologne, what cologne are you wearing?”

“Ummmm,” Bradley asked, giving it away that he was not wearing anything.

Natasha looked at Javy, who took out a blue bottle from the pocket of his deep gray joggers. Natasha sprayed it on Bradley without asking for permission or allowing him to smell it.

The aroma filled the room quickly, “What the hell?!” Bradley yelled, touching the part of his neck that was sprayed.

“Relax,” Natasha said, “Trust me, you needed it”.

“Yeah, but I didn’t need something this strong”.

“But it’s nice!” Natasha exclaimed, “Strong, but nice”.

“Are you sure?” He asked, now second guessing their move.

“Oh yeah,” she responded, grabbing his arm and starting to move him towards the door, “You smell like a successful Black man”.

Bradley looked at Javy, not knowing what that even meant. Javy gave him a look before answering the question that he could tell was on Bradley’s mind: “Don’t worry about it. It’s just something that my friends and I have. Got me laid multiple times in high school”.

Emmett interjected much to everyone’s surprise: “I’m not sure that’s the goal there today, Javy”.

Javy looked back at Bradley with a questioning look on his face. Bradley rolled his eyes and shook his head, “I don’t think so,” he said, giving Emmett the all-clear to stay in his own dorm room tonight.

“Well, let us know if anything changes,” Natasha said as Bradley made his way to the door.

“Oh yeah,” Bradley said, turning back to them: “I’ll send a pigeon with a note”.

Bradley left after that, waving to Denzel who was on duty as he made his way out of the dorm room. Yesterday, Allie passed back his weekly score report for his flying performance. An 82% being a fair grade for the first week of simulation flying. On the last piece of paper Allie wrote: “Friday- On the tarmac. 7:30pm”.

Bradley was taken aback by this chosen meeting spot, knowing full well that Allie had not told her father about them yet, or if she had, was utterly shocked that her father would be okay with it. No she hadn’t told him yet, he thought to himself, Rear Admiral Campbell would have murdered me by now.

Bradley made his way to the tarmac and found it empty. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 7:23. Proud of himself for being prompt. He took this opportunity to wander over to the parked Texans that were not put in a hanger yet. He was completely admired by the jet-like qualities that this aircraft had that the cessna did not. It could reach speeds that were almost twice that of the cessna, requiring students to wear a helmet and oxygen mask.

Bradley was at the left side of the aircraft, when he noticed lights approaching him from the tarmac. He walked over and saw a little red, two seater cessna approaching. The propellers on the nose of the plane were beating fast as the plane turned and faced west.

He watched in amazement as Allie approached from the opposite side of the running aircraft, walking over to him, looking breathtaking!

“You coming stranger?” She asked, smirking at him as she made her way closer to him. He was frozen in shock, not thinking for a second that this was going to happen. Nothing in his wildest dreams could have predicted that they were going to go in the air tonight!

“Is that-” Bradley started to ask, freezing as he pointed to the plane that was sitting on the tarmac, his mouth hanging open wide in amazement.

Allie looked over to her plane and then back at him, “I call her Big Red”. she said, smiling at her prized possession.

“She’s beautiful!” Bradley exclaimed, still admiring the aircraft.

“Thank you!” Allie beamed back to him, turning on her heel and making her way towards the aircraft, “And she’s also running on gas, which is expensive, so let’s stop drooling at her and get in”.

Bradley snapped out of it and followed her to the edge of the runway. Allie opened the passenger door and held her hand up for him to hold onto as he made his way to his seat, crossing over to her side of the plane and climbing in, both of them shutting their respective doors and putting on their seatbelts.

“Here you go!” She said, holding a headset for him.

“Thanks” Bradley responded as he put on his headset, adjusting his mouthpiece to the optimal length from his lips, 2.5 inches.

Allie did the same for herself, her mouthpiece a little further out than it should be. Bradley thought about correcting her, but then choked back his words, not wanting his newfound knowledge to get in the way and reminder her as to why she doesn’t date Navalmen in the first place. He was just excited to finally be in a real plane again! It had been years!

Allie could tell he was anxiously excited because his demeanor had changed. He was now holding himself upright and tapping his hands on his lap like a drum. He looked like a little kid during Christmas time, on his way to see Santa.

“What?” He questioned as he saw her smiling hard at him.

Allie immediately snapped out of it, “nothing” she said, insecure and blushing at being called out.

This caused Bradley to start laughing, which became contagious on her as she let out a few laughs.

“AK-217 are you ready for departure?” Someone from the control tower questioned, causing both of them to stop laughing.

“AK-217 ready for departure” Allie said back to the person in the control tower, dropping her laugh and getting right to her work.

“AK-217 you are clear for departure, immediately head 26 degrees west,” they came on and said again.

“AK-217 departing and heading 26 degrees west”.

Allie then adjusted in her seat and reached for her controls, pushing up on the lever while they gained speed. Bradley looked out the window of the plane, watching as they kept speeding down the runway. Before either of them knew it, they were in the air, his ears popping immediately at the change of pressure. They used to not do that right away when he left the ground, but it had been so long since he was in a plane that he wasn’t surprised.

Allie must have noticed his giddiness, because she started to let out a giggle behind her smirk. “What?” He asked again, pushing more than he did the first time when he asked.

“Nothing!” She said back playfully: “You just look so excited. Is this your first time on an airplane?”

Bradley laughed at her joke, knowing full well how crazy you would be to go into aviation if you had never been in a plane before. His first plane ride was when he was on his way to visit his dad in Top Gun, right after his second birthday. He couldn’t remember it, but his mom always told him how giddy he was to be on the plane, commenting on how it just looked like his toys!

“Dat?” Bradley asked, sitting up in his mom’s lap, pointing to the 15th new thing he found on the aircraft.

“Air” His mom responded, reaching up and turning the dial of the air so that it started hitting them.

Bradley closed his eyes as the air hit his face, “No air!” he yelled, bothered by the cool breeze that hit him and dried out his eyes.

His mom immediately turned the dial back, wanting badly to not have her toddler have a meltdown on the flight.

Bradley’s eyes widened and his hands covered his ears, “Dat?” he asked scared, not knowing what was happening, tears starting to form in his eyes.

“That’s your ears popping,” she said, knowing he had no idea what she was saying, “I’ll teach you how to get rid of that when you’re older.”

“Dat?” He asked, pointing to something far away that she couldn’t tell what it was.

“I love you so much little goose” His mom said to him, kissing him all over his cheeks.

Bradley erupted in giggles as his mom kissed and tickled him. She was shocked how easy he was in the air, hoping it would always be this way, and he and his dad could go out flying all the time.

“Did you?” Allie asked Bradley.

“Did I what?” Bradley questioned, snapping out of it and back into the conversation he was having with Allie. He had been in such a trance in the air that he hadn’t realized that they were almost 5,000 feet up and that he had been sharing the story of his first plane right out loud for Allie to hear.

“Did you ride with your dad all the time?” She asked, keeping her eyes on the sky ahead.

Bradley’s face turned and he mentally punched himself in the gut for letting it slip. “We never got that far…” He said to her quietly, creating an awkward moment in the airplane.

“I’m sorry,” she started, “I know what it’s like for your old man to keep you grounded”.

“You do?” He asked, surprised at her admission.

“Yeah,” she answered, “I didn’t start flying until I was 16. And even then, daddy didn’t like having me in the air. The first time I flew without him in the seat next to me was my 21st birthday. And I told him it was either this or drunk driving.”

Bradley chucked again at her, loving her sense of humor. He looked over at the front of her plane by all of her controls and noticed something he had never seen before, “You have a radio in your plane!?” He asked, super impressed.

“Hmmm?” She said, dropping her eyes from the sky. “Oh, yes. I’m quite acclimated”.

“What are you listening to?” He asked, turning the dial and listening to the song that came on, recognizing it real quick as an 80’s hit.

“80’s music helps me calm down,” Allie said, “About 3 years ago, I had engine failure and I think listening to this station was the only thing that saved me when I brought the plane back to base”.

“I’m sure your dad was having a heart attack!” Bradley said sarcastically.

“He was!” Allie confirmed, “It took forever for him to allow me back in the air again”.

“So you’re a nurse,” Bradley said, “And you love flying, yet you want to be a surgeon. Why didn’t you become a pilot?”

Allie’s face dropped as she finally hit her desired altitude and set her plane on auto-pilot, looking down at her lap at his question.

“Oh,” Bradley said, noticing her change in demeanor, “I’m sorry. Is that a sore subject?”

Allie shrugged, fighting back the tightening of her throat. “It used to bother me,” Allie brought her eyes back up and looked at him, “But I love what I do now, and I’ll love being a surgeon”.

Bradley nodded and looked out the window. It was completely dark now and the stars were starting to make their presence known. “God it is so beautiful!” Bradley beamed.

Allie smirked at him and looked out the window herself. “This is my favorite time to fly” she said, “Perfect timing, perfect weather, perfect company”.

Bradley looked over at her and her at him. He was stunned at her comment: “I think this is the first time you’ve ever flirted with me, nurse Dr. Pilot Campbell”.

Allie laughed both at his comment and his name for her.

“It is so perfect out tonight” Allie said, looking out her window.

“Yes it is,” Bradley said, keeping his eyes on her.

Allie looked up at him through the reflection of her window, noticing that he hadn't stopped looking at her, “here,” she started, turning around to face him, “close your eyes”.

Bradley closed his eyes and noticed the room get significantly darker. Allie got on her radio and asked to change direction, which someone in air traffic control gave.

Allie turned direction and increased her speed slightly. After a few moments she finally spoke: “Okay, open your eyes” she whispered to him.

Bradley did and looked out the window, seeing nothing but water as they continued to move, he looked down and saw the waves beneath him, looking still as they continued their journey through the sky.

“Oh, my hell!” He exclaimed, taken aback by the beauty of it all: “It’s like we’re birds!”

“Exactly like we’re birds” Allie said, as she continued to move, eventually regaining her altitude and putting her plane back to auto-pilot after a few minutes of fun.

“How did you learn to do that?” Bradley asked, amazed.

“My daddy taught me. I’ll show you one day, when we’re in the air”.

At that moment, the reality that Bradley was living in came to full realization. He was in a plane, on a date, with his flight instructor, whose dad was an Admiral in the Navy. Well, a Read Admiral, but equally just as intimidating.

“This plane is magnificent,” Bradley said, breaking the silence.

“Thanks,” Allie said, proud of Big Red.

“Where did you get it?” Bradley asked.

Allie’s face dropped again, getting that same look of sadness that it had before when he asked her about being a pilot. “My dad,” she answered shortly. It was the truth, just not complete, “It was his when he was younger, and now it’s mine. And one day, I’ll pass it on to my children-If I have children” she corrected herself.

“Do you want children?” Bradley asked, hoping she would say yes, and bonus points if she said more than one.

Allie just shrugged, “It’s hard for me to answer, because a baby is not in my current plans nor in any near future plans of mine. But I would like a baby. I’m an only child, and I know what that’s like growing up, so if I had it my way, I would have two babies born right after each other, that way my oldest never knows what it’s like to be alone”.

Bradley looked at Allie as she became vulnerable, opening up about something he didn’t think she would be willing to do. He looked down at her right hand and reached over for it, giving it a squeeze and watching her look as he gazed into her eyes: “I’m an only child too.” Bradley said reassuringly: “And I also don’t want my children growing up knowing what it’s like to be alone”.

Allie and Bradley kept their eyes on each other for a moment before she broke it by slightly smirking at him, which he returned. They kept their eyes on each other as the plane slowly kept cruising into the direction of the water.

“I think this really makes up for everything,” Bradley said softly, both of them looking at each other before Bradley looked away, reaching towards the radio: “Let’s play a game”.

Allie looked at him questioningly: “What kind of game?”

“Well,” Bradley started, turning the dial of the radio, “The first ballad we find, if it’s sung by a female singer, means that I have to take you out on our next date. And if the ballad is sung by a guy, you have to take me out,” Bradley kept turning the dial, skipping past all the fast songs,

“And if I don’t want to go on another date?” Allie questioned.

That’s when Bradley froze, finding the first ballad, Lady Gaga’s voice filling the plane as he turned up the volume, letting it sink in that Bradley owed her the next date:

So when I’m all choked up

But I can’t find the words

Bradley sat up and looked at Allie, his eyes no longer worried at her threats. His eyes were fiery and twinkled in the moonlight that was hitting them.

“Is that what you want?” Bradley asked, not letting her win this time.

Allie started by shaking her head before silently letting out a “no”.

Bradley met her low volume, “good” he said as he slowly started to lean into her.

As Lady Gaga started to sing ‘I’ll always remember us this way’, Allie thought she saw Bradley mouth the lyrics, moving even closer to her, making his intentions completely known.

It was now on the acoustic solo, the climax of the song, when his lips met hers. His kiss was strong, passionate, slightly possessive. Her’s started out soft, but became as strong as his, wanting to meet his strength.

He kept kissing her, bringing his hands up to cup her face. She placed her hands on his elbows, her fingertips rubbing softly on his skin and increasing its grip as the kisses became more passionate.

They kept kissing each other for the remainder of the song, which was only a few more seconds.

As the climax of the song came down, Bradley pulled away, allowing both of them to remain centimeters apart, breathing heavily as they comprehended the moment that they just had.

And the whole world fades

I’ll always remember us

This way.

A few moments later, Allie broke the silence: “Things just got complicated”.

Bradley chuckled at her as he finally looked up, meeting her eyes. He put his right hand on the outer left side of her neck, running his fingers in her few strands of hair and rubbing the skin of her neck, looking at her eyes again.

Yes, things just got very complicated.

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louisisalarrie · 9 months ago

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what are your thoughts on ziam & shiall

Oh god I hope I don’t get any hate from this.

I believed in Ziam as well as Larry. Ziam was a massive pairing back in the day, and a huge amount of larries also believed in Ziam, with “captain Niall” and his boys (I love this photo with my whole heart)

Liam was always so gentle with Zayn. He really seemed to take care of him, and paid special attention to make sure he was okay. He was so rough with Louis (and Louis right back at him), but so sweet and soft whenever him and zayn were next to each other, almost to a point of how gentle Louis is with Harry. Larry were obviously wrapped up in each other, exploring and experimenting and falling in love. They often just… were in their own world. We all know that, I won’t go further into it, but Ziam seemed to have something special too, more than a friendship.

I mean, I believe they all looked out for each other, but Liam in particular… I dunno. The way he touched Zayn, gazed at him, made him feel secure and more confident when they all knew Zayn was struggling with anxiety, it just was so beautifully… Soft. I believe they definitely had something going on there.

Let’s put it this way… you’re traveling the world, insanely busy with touring, recording, stunts, promo…rarely a day off. Worked to the absolute bone. But you and your 4 band mates are all in this together, right? You all understand how you feel. You’re not isolated in this experience, and you can find comfort in that, knowing your band mates will be there to hold your hand and keep you strong. It’s a bond like no other.

NOW, while you’re doing all this, you’re obviously deprived romantically and sexually. You’re a teenager/in your early twenties, for gods sake. You might even still be a virgin. And all you want is affection, love, and to, idk, get your rocks off sometimes without your own hand. It’s only human. AND even if you did have a partner outside of the band, they’re not always with you. You’re too busy flying everywhere, and they can’t go everywhere with you, so you’re going months in between having sex and intimate affection, with someone who doesn’t understand your life. You’re stressed trying to keep up a second life outside of the band where you can spend more time with your partner and actually be present in that relationship. But… you just can’t do it. You’re on the road so much, and texts and calls only go so far.

BUT you’re around your 4 other band mates alllllll the time. Who all understand how frustrating it is, and so you obviously show affection to them and help when it gets too much. Hell, sometimes it’s too much for you, but you’ve always been a super caring and loving person and you’re protective of these guys, but in particular, the one who’s struggling the most. You have cuddles, spoon sometimes, and show them that affection that a partner would. However… You don’t really think it’ll get much further than that. You’re straight anyway. You’re sure of it, so you’ll just keep using your own hand whenever you can get a rare bit of privacy for 5 minutes. But it becomes harder to do that when you’re sharing rooms and living on a bus and also… two of your bandmates are in a committed relationship. You’ve been watching them from the start, they made it work, and they always have that affection and those scratches you can’t itch because they’re always together. They’re not leaving a partner behind, they’re consistently getting that itch you can’t scratch. They’re in love.

SO anyway, you also hear… questionable… sounds coming from their hotel room/bunk/dressing room/bloody broom closet all the time. They’re late to things together, looking exhausted and flushed and they’re releasing that stress in a way that you don’t have. They have that connection you’re missing. They feel whole. They protect each other. So… if they can do that, why can’t you? They make it work. Hell, a quick handjob from your bandmate isn’t gonna hurt anyone, and you can release some stress together, and no one needs to know. You can excuse it as pals helping each other out. You’re still straight, after all. It’s just a bit of fun. You won’t fall in love with them, and you’ll still be buddies.

So, you’re having a snuggle with said bandmate, and one thing leads to another (I believe Liam would’ve initiated, personally) and it just kinda happens. It starts off with a quick handjob, and then escalates over time. You spend more and more time doing these intimate things, and you just kinda fall for each other. But, you’ve seen what happens when your bandmates have been wayyyyy too obvious to the GP and fans, so you keep it a bit more quiet. You try to, anyway (poorly). Maybe this feeling of love will pass… except it doesn’t.

Said bandmate then leaves the band. It’s all too much. They need to remove themselves as farrrr as possible from the chaos, and all the anxiety, health issues, and trauma it’s caused them. But you are still in the band. You love that band. So things just kinda… stop. Your bandmate cuts off contact. So you just, stick it out. Maybe try getting an outside partner to fill that gap, and maybe it works. And maybe it doesn’t. You were just kids after all, and they’ll always hold a special place in your heart. And you’ll hope that later you can reconnect. And maybe you do. that connection is so special that even if you’re just friends, it’ll always be there.

Anyway, that’s the hypothetical scenario that I believe happened to Ziam. Ziam fans have been staaaarrrrvvvveedddd since 1d broke up. They have barely seen any connection between the two, unlike larry who continued to be in the spotlight and show us they were still in love. I don’t believe Larry ever broke up, but I believe ziam did. But I’ve seen all the stuff about the Cartier bracelets etc., which is interesting, but I don’t really believe in them being together these days. Who knows? They might prove me wrong. I loved Ziam, so I’m kinda in the middle of yes they are, and no they’re not. Idk. It’s a tricky one without years of back and forth like larry have been doing.

Okay, Shiall.

Let me just say that I’m a Niall girl through and through. I adore all the boys, and have done for 13 years, and I am obviously particularly big on Louis now too, but this doesn’t affect my stance on Shiall.

To be honest with you, I don’t reaaalllyyy know that much about Shiall and why it’s such a massive ship. If you’re happy to send me some evidence or something, I’ll definitely have a look, and I saw the recent video of them together, but yeah. Idk. It’s just… not very believable to me. I believe niall may have experimented a bit in the band like they all did due to my reasoning above, but I don’t really have much of an opinion on his sexuality. If he’s bi, that’s awesome. If he’s gay, great. If he’s straight, that’s cool too. But I do lean more towards him being into women, and not men. Wasn’t there a belief that he was in a committed het relationship for like 3 years of one direction? That was super private? I dunno… maybe I don’t believe it because deep down it is because I’m a Niall girl, but… yeah. I don’t think Shiall is real.

So, in conclusion, thanks for reading this insanely long post.

I believe Larry is real 100%, Ziam was real but I don’t really think it is anymore, and Shiall is not real.

#anon #answered #thanks for this!#made me have a big think

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