#will schofield x reader

[storiesforallfandoms]

early morning ~ will schofield;1917

word count: 2203

request?: yes!

@lilah1020​: “Imagine Will schofield fluffy smut with wife reader”

description: on a rare occasion when they wake up before their children, they decide to take advantage of the time to be intimate

pairing: will shofield x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, praising, dirty talk)

masterlist (one, two, three)

Having two children - especially two young children at that - meant very little “alone time”. The girls were usually the first ones awake in the house, and thus would run into their parents’ room to wake them up. Between work, house chores, and looking after the kids, there wasn’t much time for Will and (Y/N) to be alone. And by the end of the night, when the kids were bathed and in bed, they were just too tired for any form of physical intimacy.

It was hard. Not that either of them thought they needed physical intimacy for their marriage to work. After their oldest daughter was born, they knew sex was going to be few and far between, and they definitely knew that’s how it would be after their second daughter was born. They were aware of it, and they were more than okay with that sacrifice at first. But the complete lack of sex had been hard for both of them.

It was a rare morning where (Y/N) wasn’t woken by a tiny body jumping on her. Her eyes slowly blinked until the sleep was completely out of them. The room was quiet. In fact, the whole house was quiet. No small voices yelling, no hushed voices beside her as Will tried to convince the girls to let their mother sleep. Nothing. Just silence.

(Y/N) rolled over to see Will sleeping peacefully beside her. She smiled as she looked at his handsome face. Every day she thought to herself about how lucky she was to have him; how lucky she was to have their little family.

As if sensing her eyes on him, Will slowly stirred. He opened one eye, then smiled as he closed it again. “Good morning, love.”

“Good morning,” she responded.

“Where are the girls?”

“Still asleep.”

Will had stretched his arms out, but paused after hearing her response. “Really?”

(Y/N) nodded. “Listen.”

They both paused, taking in the silence of the house. Will looked shocked at the revelation. “They’re asleep? They actually are not awake before us for once?”

(Y/N) giggled and nodded again. “I guess they were really tired after last night.”

The night before, the Schofields had been to a neighborhood celebration that included a barbecue and fireworks to end the night. Will and (Y/N) had let the girls stay up late so they could enjoy the festivities. By the time they got home, the adrenaline (and the sugar) from the night was finally wearing off and, within seconds, they were asleep.

Seemed it was enough to keep them asleep past their usual wake up time.

Will looked like he was still trying to understand the fact that his daughters were actually still asleep. (Y/N) was still pretty shocked herself. She was almost convinced that she was dreaming, and she would soon actually be woken up by her two energetic daughters.

“Love,” Will said.

“Yes, darling?” (Y/N) responded.

Will took her face in his hands and pulled her into a kiss. It was passionate and needy from the moment their lips met. (Y/N) took hold of Will’s shirt, clenching the material between her fists as she held him to her. One of his hands moved from her face to slip under the night shirt she was hearing. When his hand touched her bare skin, it ignited her. It left a fiery, tingling feeling in his wake. One that trailed down her body and between her legs. She was yearning for him. She needed him so desperately, just from kissing and a few gentle touches.

Will slowly laid (Y/N) on her back, his lips still attached to hers. When he pulled away, she tried to follow him. He chuckled and eased her back down on the bed. He moved to her neck, kissing the soft area all over until he found the spot that made her whimper. He kept his focus on that spot, sucking and biting until he was sure he had left marks. He pushed up her night gown to expose her breasts. She gasped as he put his mouth to one of them, circling her nipple with his tongue. His hand fondled her other breast, rolling the nipple until it was hard and pointed, then took that one in his mouth as well.

A moan slipped from her lips. She quickly covered her mouth as Will’s mouth let go of her breast to shush her.

“Sorry,” she said in a whisper. She put her hand back over her mouth as his kissing continued downwards.

He left wet, open mouth kisses over her stomach and down towards her mound. Her breath hitched and a muffled whimper came from around her hand at the feeling of his hot breath against her already dripping wet pussy. Desperation was rising within her. She was so close to begging for him to touch her, she didn’t even care how he’d do it. She just needed to feel him, to have him pull that release from her again like he always knew how to. But she didn’t have to beg, because he wasted no time in attaching his lips to her clit.

A gasp ripped from (Y/N)’s lips, her hand moving away from her mouth to grab hold of Will’s hair. She gently tugged it by accident, but it earned her a moan from him. The vibration from it sent shockwaves through her body. She bit down on her bottom lip to try and keep her moans quiet, but it felt almost impossible. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time, and it was hard to not let that out. His tongue against her felt heavenly as he licked long stripes from her pussy to the tip of her clit.

“F-Fuck,” (Y/N) whispered. “God, Will, that feels so fucking good.”

Will peered up at his beautiful wife, writhing in pleasure above him. Her eyes were shut and her head was thrown back, with one hand in his hair and the other gripping the sheets beneath her. She looked angelic, and her quiet noises of pleasure definitely sounded like they were coming straight from a heavenly angel. He wanted to be inside her desperately. He needed to feel her warm walls around his throbbing hard cock. But he wanted to make her feel good first, because he wasn’t sure how long he’d last once he was inside her.

“Are you close, love?” he asked her, continuing to stroke her clit with his thumb while his mouth was absent. She nodded, her eyes still tightly shut. “Look at me, my love.”

She managed to force her eyes open to look down at Will. He smiled at her face, already fucked out and he hadn’t even fucked her yet.

“Cum for me, my love,” he coaxed. “Cum for me and I’ll give you what you want.”

The minute his mouth pressed against her again, she did exactly as he requested. Her head fell back onto the pillow again, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth as the pleasure tore through her. Will lapped at her pussy, taking every last drop of her juices as if he needed it to survive. Her body trembled so violently that she wasn’t sure it would ever stop.

Her head was fuzzy, in a good way. She felt like she was on cloud nine as Will kissed up her body again. He placed a sweet yet passionate kiss against her lips. She could taste herself on his mouth, which just turned her on again.

Will stood from the bed just long enough to pull his boxers off and kick them to the side. (Y/N) all but yanked him back to the bed when his lower half was naked. His hard cock pressed against her thigh as his lips found hers again. Her hips bucked in an attempt to gain some friction between them.

Will chuckled. “Impatient thing, aren’t you?”

“We don’t have long,” she reminded him. “And you promised to give me what I wanted.”

“You’re right, I did promise that.” His tip nudged her entrance, earning him another gasp. “And I intend on keeping that promise.”

He pushed into her slowly, letting both of them feel every inch of his cock filling her up. He kissed her, letting his mouth swallow her moans. He lowered himself so he was pressing against her as much as he could without crushing her, resting his elbows on either side of her head.

“You feel so good,” he mumbled against her lips. “I almost forgot how good this pussy felt.”

“Please, Will,” she begged. “Make love to me.”

He kissed her. “You don’t have to beg, love. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

When he slowly pulled his hips back and thrust them forward at the same pace, (Y/N) could’ve swore she saw stars. It was the simplest movement, but it brought so much pleasure that it made her head spin. She grabbed at his shoulders to try to ground herself.

“You’re so beautiful,” Will whispered as he continued his slow thrusts. “God, I’ve missed seeing you like this. You’re so gorgeous when you’re all wrapped around my cock like this.”

Her only response was another moan. Will decided not to quiet her this time. He missed hearing these sounds. He wished he could record them to have with him whenever he was away from her.

He kissed her, sweetly. As if he was giving her a good morning kiss and wasn’t buried deep inside of her.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she responded. It was the only coherent thought in her head. “I love you so much. Fuck, Will.”

“Do you feel good, my love?” She nodded. “Do you think you could cum one more time for me? I promise I’ll fill you up after.”

She nodded again. Will reached between them and started rubbing circles against her clit as his thrusts started picking up. (Y/N) barley had time to register her orgasm before it was already upon her. Will pressed his lips roughly against hers to stop her loud cries of pleasure. Feeling her tightening around him made him cum shortly after she did, his thrusts stilling so he could fill her up like he promised.

They weren’t sure how long they were tangled together, coming down from their climaxes. All concepts of life outside of this moment was lost on them. They just knew the lightheaded feeling of post-orgasm bliss. Will was pressing kisses against (Y/N)’s neck and jaw. She sighed, content to stay this way as long as possible.

Which, unfortunately for them, did not last nearly long enough.

The creaking of a door alerted them first. Their daughters’ bedroom door had always made a noise when it opened. Will had been saying for as long as they could remember that he would fix the door, but had never gotten around to it. Now it seemed to be their saving grace, the only indication that they had mere seconds before two little girls ran into their room.

Will pulled out of (Y/N) and tumbled onto the floor. (Y/N) stifled her laugh at his pained expression as she fixed her night shirt, covering the sticky mess between her legs. Will frantically grabbed for his boxers and pulled them back on just as the two girls rounded the corner and into the room. Their youngest daughter immediately jumped into bed, while their oldest looked at their father in concern.

“Daddy, why are you on the floor?” she asked.

“I - uh - I fell out of bed,” Will responded. “Got all tangled in the sheets as I was trying to get up and fell right off.”

“Daddy is a little clumsy this morning,” (Y/N) added.

“Is it because you were up so late last night?” the youngest girl asked.

Will nodded. “Yes. Yes, it’s definitely because of last night.

Their oldest got onto the bed with (Y/N). (Y/N) put both arms around her girls and pulled them close to her, kissing them on top of their heads.

“You both slept in pretty late,” she said.

“Because we stayed up late,” the youngest said. “Like grown ups do.”

“Don’t get used to it,” (Y/N) said. “You’re not growing up any time soon. In fact, I’ve decided that you’ll both be my little girls forever.”

Both girls started to speak at the same time, protesting their mother’s decision. Will chuckled as he leaned across the bed to also kiss his daughters.

“What do you girls say we head downstairs and start making breakfast? Let mummy get herself cleaned up for the day.”

He shot her a look that made her face heat up. The girls agreed and bounded out the door again before Will could follow them. He and (Y/N) shared a look before chuckling. Will leaned in to kiss (Y/N) one more time before reluctantly tearing away from her and their bed.

“I’m keeping them up until midnight tonight,” he said as he started walking out the door. “Maybe then I’ll have you all to myself tomorrow morning.”

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 1 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 2.6k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Y/N stepped off the transport bus, eyes squinting against the harsh midday sun. Her eyes scanned the area in front of her. Up, down, left, right and then finally straight ahead. In front of her was the largest prison she had ever come across with in her life. However, she knew one thing which Sebastian warned her about…no one got out of Fox River.

            She glanced up at the towering gates of Fox River Penitentiary – a fortress of steel and stone that swallows hope whole. Taking a deep breath, she glanced down to her cuffed hands and feet before glancing to the guards around her.

            Calculating…she was calculating everything around her.

            She could hear the shouting of prisoners echo faintly from inside, a sharp reminder of what lies ahead. However, as much as she could get over going to prison…she did go to summer camp growing up and both were so similar in her opinion. It was the fact that the judge ruled to send her to a male prison due to her crimes.

            Fucking Sebastian… There was one thing she knew for certain, and it was she was going to get her revenge on him.

            Him and his lack of loyalty to her because she was a woman even though she showed her loyalty since the age of fifteen when she used to run drugs at school for him. Now, he needed to get the Feds off his trail and dropped her name. As well, as an argument.

            Charged with six murders, all first degree and even if she did do it…they deserved it. It was a secret she was going to bring it to the grave – even if she did not do it. She would never tell anyone that the knife that slit the throats of those six men was her. She was loyal to Sebastian and his organisation – had been since fifteen.

            A officer stood by the entrances, arms crossed, is face twisted into a smirk. His beady eyes scanned over her figure which was not much as she was wearing a male prison suit. However, still a shiver ran through her.

            Y/N’s eyes darted from his twisted face to the tag on his uniform – Bellick. Noted, a pervert.

            “Welcome to your new home, sweetheart. You’ll learn real quick that this ain’t no country club. A woman in a men’s prison…can’t wait to see how this unfolds.”

            Y/N doesn’t respond. She holds her chin high, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in her eyes.

            “Not my first rodeo being stuck with a bunch of boys, Officer Bellick,” she responded. “There’s a science to it.”

            “Smart, witty. I read your file, Y/L/N. Did you seduce them before you slit their throat?” he remarked.

            Y/N’s smirk fell, glancing down to the floor then retorting, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

            “Cockiness is going to get you no where.”

            Behind her stood two guards that pushed her forward and through the heavy iron doors. Once inside, Y/N noticed instantly how the air was stifling, a mix of sweat, grime and despair. The clanging of cells doors slamming shut reverberates through the halls, each sound making her stomach knot a little tighter.

            ‘Do not be afraid,’ she kept telling herself. ‘You’re stronger than this.’

            Y/N kept her gaze straight ahead, her heart pounding in her chest as they lead her deeper into the belly of the prison. She came into the main holding area which was three floors of cells and instantly, eyes were on her.

            Inmates began to holler, whistle and remark her gender as she was a woman in a male prison. She was baffled at the fact she was here and probably they were too.

            ‘Stay strong.’

            It was all Sebastian’s fault. Every little thing was Sebastian fault, simply because she was loyal to him.

            Her eyes glanced down to the long-sleeved shirt and dark pants that did not fit her well enough but made do. However, as her eyes focused on the men around her, she could not help but know that every man in her was a criminal.

            And now she was too.

            The guards behind her were talking and she chose to tune it out, but she could not help but listen in when they said, “She won’t last a week.”

            Bellick came around and stood in front of her. “This is your cell. You’re part of gen pop even though your crimes should send you to ad-seg. Don’t go thinkin’ you’re special ‘cause you’re new, a woman or known as one of world’s deadliest assassins. You’re caught, you’re here, therefore you follow my orders. Rules here are simply: stay in line, keep your mouth shut, and do what you’re told. Got it?”

            Y/N nodded. “Yes, boss,” she stated.

            “Your lawyer did well with arguing you to get your own cell in the name of you being a woman and the several outcomes that lead from that. However, you will join the rest of the men in here for everything.”

            She nodded, though her mind was racing. She needed to stay focused, to keep her wits about her if she was going to survive this place. Additionally, she needed to figure out how everything worked if she was going to survive. Everything has a solution, an equation and a situation.

            Every cell was identical. However, hers seemed extra cramped, even though it looked like every other. The steel doors slides open with a loud screech before she was uncuffed and thrown in.

            “Cell 39. Home sweet home. Get in,” Bellick said.

            Y/N stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat as the bars slammed shut behind her with a finality that sends a chill down her spine. The space is claustrophobic – bare walls, a narrow bed, and a toilet in the corner. It was completely different to her penthouse in New York City where she called home since twenty-one.

            She stood in the centre of the cell, eyes scanning every corner. This was it. This was Fox River…her new reality.

            “Hope you enjoy the view. Yards’s in an hour. Try not to piss anyone off before or during then.”

            Y/N simply nodded, mumbled her reply and watched how Bellick and the guards turned and left her standing there, alone. The sound of their footsteps fading as they disapper down the hall. Y/N slowly lowered herself onto the bed, the thin mattress not giving her justice as the weight of prison settling in.

            She was here until Sebastian could get her out. She had faith because she knew, being in a men’s prison for twenty-five years was not in her cards. She pissed Sebastian off and he threw her in jail.

            Her own husband threw her in jail because he cared about the mob over her. Even if she did or did not kill those men.

            Y/N sits on the edge of her bed, trying to remain clam despite the lingering stares from the other inmates. It’s clear that being a woman in a men’s prison makes her an immediate target. The guards may have brought her to her cell, but she was on her own now.

            There would be a hierarchy and naturally it would turn into a patriarchy unless she made this place her bitch.

-

The clanging of metal doors echos through the hallways as a guard stood in front of her doors.

            “Yard time. Try not to get yourself killed,” he said. The guard gave her a half-hearted smirk, but Y/N ignored it, rolling her shoulders back and stepping out. She won’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing fear on her face.

            The alarm went off and her door opened. She watched as inmates walked by and Y/N followed at the tail end. As they followed down the corridor, the murmurs and hollering started. Whispers growing louder, snickers turning into open taunts.

            A inmate in front of her turned around, spotting her following behind him. “Well, well, well…what do we have here? Fox River’s new toy?”

            She rolled her eyes.

            “Watch where you’re going or you might trip,” she responded.

            “Oh, she has a mouth. I know better ways-“

            “Mind your damn business,” Y/N barked. “I am not here to make enemies, lovers or friends. Now move on.”

            The guards around her barely react, only nudging her forward. The inmate’s voices swell as they approached the yard doors.

            “Bet she won’t last a day in here,” she heard from beside her.

            “I call dibs,” another one said.

            Y/N simply rolled her eyes.

            The door opens and Y/N stepped out into the yard. It’s crowded with inmates milling about in groups, playing basketball, lifting weights or just lounging around – until they see her. The air seems to shift, every eye on her.

            She scanned the crowd and shook her head, heading to the benches in the corner. As she walked across the open space with her head held high, her footsteps slow and deliberate, refusing to speed up. Y/N scans the yard, already calculating escape routes in her mind if something does go wrong.

            Where was the nearest exit?

            Her eyes circled until she found it. However, the murmurs grow louder, more aggressive.

            As she walked by inmates, she heard remarks. “Hey, sweetheart, you missin’ your girly magazines? Getting your hair done?”

            Y/N’s lip twitched, her fists clenching slightly, but she kept walking. No need to waste words on them.

            When she made it to the bleachers, a man appeared in front of her, blocking her with his greasy smirk, arms out wide like he’s welcoming her. The tension snaps tighter. Everything about him screamed disgusting or even perverted. He was skinny and almost malnourished and then he smirked, and a shiver went through her.

            “Look what we got here…Fox River’s newest little plaything all ready for someone to play with. Must be my lucky day.”

            His words hang in the air like poison. She rose a brow, stopped herself from saying a remark and then locked her gaze on this man, who was unflinching. Her eyes were cold, assessing. She could not afford to show weakness, but she knew exactly what to say.

            “Funny, I didn’t take you for the type to run is mouth without backup. I guess I was wrong.”

            The yard falls into a tense silence, a ripple of surprise at her response. The man’s smirk falters for a second before returning with even more malice.

            “Oh, sweetheart, you’ll find out soon enough. Ain’t nobody here to help you. Not like the women’s wing where it’s all about girl power, is it? You’re the prey here and we are the predators. Now,” he came closer, “you’re a pretty thing and someone like you needs protection in a place like this. T-Bag is the name-“

            “I think I will be quite alright,” Y/N said, getting up from the bleachers but he cut her off.

            “Girl, you’re on my side of town and I do not take no as a answer.”

            “Obviously then you’re a rapist,” she whispered to herself.

            However, he heard that. “What was that, girl?” he said lowly. “Speak louder and to my face or don’t speak at all.”

            Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the crowd that was beginning. He moved quietly but with purpose, standing in front of T-Bag, his back to Y/N.

            “Walk away, T-Bag,” he said lowly.

            T-Bag sneered, but there was something in this man’s eyes when he turned around to look at Y/N with a solemn look. He had kind eyes, she recognised, which was rare in this world, let alone in a prison.

            “Now go,” the man said.

            “Fine,” T-Bag stated with passion, “but we’ll see how long she lasts on her own. This is not a place where you fly solo especially if you’re a woman.”

            As T-Bag disappears into the crowd, the man with the buzzed head and sharp features turned to Y/N, his expression calm but concerned.

            “You ok?” he asked walking over to her and sitting next to her.

            Y/N pushed herself away from him. “I don’t need rescuing.”

            His eyes widened slightly, surprised by the intensity in her voice. He raised his hands in a peaceful gesture.

            “I wasn’t trying to-“

            “-I can handle myself.” Her tone was firm, but there was something in her eyes – a flicker of vulnerability she can not quite hide. She was strong, yes, but she was also exhausted. The constant weight of being in a place where she was always the target is heavier than she lets on.

            This man does not push, he just nods.

            “I know. But it doesn’t hurt to have someone watching your back.”

            “The last time I had someone looking out for me, they made sure I got in here,” she quipped. Their eyes met, the distance between them a half metre, but enough to hear one another. She studied him like she was trying to figure him out. There’s no threat in his eyes, no ulterior motive, Just quiet understanding.

            “Betrayal hurts especially from someone you love,” he responded.

            “What do you want from me? Mock me, a conversation with me?”

            He shook his head, leaning in slightly, his voice low so only she could hear. “Nothing. Just…be careful. This place has a way of testing you in ways you don’t expect.”

            For the first time. Y/N’s anger softened, just a fraction. There’s something about him – calculated, calm, but with an undercurrent of sincerity that makes her feel…safer than she had since she arrived.

            “Y/N,” she said, putting her hand out. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

            His smile came up lightly as he took her hand. “Michael Scofield.”

            She nodded, not saying anything at first, but simply processing.

            “Michael, I don’t need you to fight my battles,” she told him. Michael tilted his head, offering a small smile, more an acknowledgment than anything else.

            “I believe you.”

            Y/N glanced at him, surprised by his response. Most men would’ve pushed, tried to prove their strength or dominance. But not him.

            Y/N had studied men for the longest time. She knew how they acted, moved, whispered, purred and what motivated them. They were predictable and easy to read, but him…this man in front her. He was not open book rather he was a locked library.

            She exhales slowly, feeling the weight of prison and its dangers pressing in on her again.

            “Thanks,” she whispered, then glancing up from looking at her feet, “for stepping in. But next time, don’t. I don’t need a man to fight my battles when I am completely able to fight my own.”

            Michael nodded, his expression respectful, as if he was already learned to read her boundaries.

            “Understood.”

            Y/N finally cracked the tiniest of smiles, something she had not done in days. “You’re different, aren’t you?’

            Michael just shrugs, his eyes full of quiet understanding. “Just trying to survive. Same as you.”

            Y/N nodded. “Then can I propose we survive this together then? Because you Michael Scofield…are a different type of man and I know men quite well.”

            He nodded. “Deal.”

-

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars

[ias2xoo]

☞𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞

𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴; will schofield

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨; angst, war trauma, ptsd, arguments, smut included

..••°°°°••..

“ˢᵒᵐᵉᵈᵃʸ ᵈᵃʳˡⁱⁿᵍ, ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵉʳᵉ

ⁿᵉᵃʳᵉʳ ᵒʳ ᶠᵃʳ

ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ʷⁱˡˡ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵈᵉᵃʳ

ʷʰᵉʳᵉᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃʳᵉ,”

The soft summer breeze sifted around your bare legs as you sat in your backyard. It was the beginning of April and you could already see the summer pink blossoms on the trees. Thus marking today the perfect day to have a barbecue. You & Will’s friends; Amy and Booker - whom he had met in the war - to spend the day with you.

“Oh, look at those clouds.” Booker exclaimed, hand equipped with a charred spatula flicking up towards those sky.

“Yes, they always look so beautiful this time of year.” Amy calmly noted as she sat in the lawn chair next to yours with a glass of lemonade in hand, handing you one as well.

“You tend to find yourself looking up a lot,” Booker murmured, eyes wandering a bit. A habit you often found your own William doing. A mindless habit, one you probably would never notice if you weren’t aware of what the two young men had been through. Booker never seemed to finish his sentence as Will walked out the house with a case of beers.

You stared at your fiancé’s back as he set the case on the table which also held various buns, condiments and drink for your little get together. It had been your idea at first, enlisting your neighbor and long time friend Amy who then convinced her husband for the barbecue. You had known Amy for years, originally growing up together then being there for each other as you both watched those you loved walk in to battle, some never returning.

But Will did, and you couldn’t wish for anything else. Every day spent waiting in the living room for that knock at the door, every night staying awake with the thought of his face - it eventually turning blurred and scarred behind your eyelids.

Yet even when he had came back, you felt some part you loved of him had been left and not to be returned. Forever lost on that battlefield with the remains of the war and other lost soldiers never to return to their families. And you hated to say it but you missed it. You missed when he would happily kiss your forehead, not grimace at the sight of your eye contact. You missed him yet there he stood.

Which is what he had done often since he had returned. He stood with a odd sense of uncertainty, that of a ex-soldier that was waiting to be ordered to return to the battlefield. His back - that he rarely let you caress anymore - seemed to shake with tension. You lowered your eyes as your heart ached, mind trailing back to the multiple arguments you both had had on the subject of his return. Where you would scream for him to just look at you again, with that look he once held of you. That look that held so much love and not sadness. Where he would just stare at you before leaving the house, not returning for hours. Your heart yearned for a man that had been lost amidst bullet showers and smoky fire.

As the soft jazz continued, suddenly Amy jumped up in excitement. The unexpected noise from the chair snapping shut undoubtedly causing the rigid tremor in Will’s throat. “Oh, I adore this song!” She sang, putting her finished cup on the side table.

“Yes, we know dear.”

“Mm, dance with me, Book.” She muttered as she kicked off her peach heels. You smiled at the image of your friends.

“Darling, I’ve gotta tend to the food.” He sang in the same tune. He seemed he didn’t mean his words though as Amy’s hand would later replace the spatula. They would enter a rehearsed routine to the jazz number. Their bodies seemed to melt into tune with each other as if they were made for one and other. You stood from the chair softly, smile still tight as you silently cheered on your friends.

In an effort to show your admiration to your fiancé, you turned to where he had just stood yet the yard was barren. This instantly took the smile from your face replacing it with worry. Had he gone again? Not to be seen for hours?

Leaving the jazz and laughter behind, you walked into the eerily silent house. It was empty save for your dog which you had gotten to keep you company all those years. You started with the entryway then the kitchen yet no sign of Will. Finally hearing a soft thump from the floor above you, you began your way upstairs to the bedroom where he awaited.

“William?” You whispered, slowly moving the door open with your fingers.

“Y-yes, I’m here.” He responded from within.

Your feet hesitantly trailed inside, eyes uncertain of what it may see. He sat with his back to you, crouched over attending to something on the floor.

“Are you oka-“

“I just needed a moment, is all.” He quickly shut you off.

Silence befell you both as the soft pangs from the vibrations of the music outside sounded throughout the room. Whenever he was like this you had zero idea how to comfort him. It was like he was a rose, beautiful but hurt to touch. Moments would pass before either of you would speak again.

You stood in place in front of the door as Will rose from the bed, car keys in hand. You starred at his clenched fist as he crossed the room to retrieve his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Seemingly not hearing your question, Will continued stopping in front of you, waiting for you to clear his path.

“Will,”

“I need to go.” He refused to make eye contact with you.

“William, please.”

“Move.” He muttered.

You didn’t speak. You had never seen him like this. His hands clenched tight, arms rigid and unmoving. It scared you for he was almost unrecognizable.

The next moments would go by in a flash. Will would slam the keys on the stand next to you, turning his back to you. You jumped backwards at the speed of his movements. His back seemed to rise and fall abnormally like he was out of breath. He moved across from you, resting his hands on the dresser that stood on the opposite wall.

Despite every bone in your body telling you to leave him, you stayed. You slowly began to move his timid breathing. You now stood behind him, hands hesitantly moving up his back but not touching it out of fear. “Will?” You murmured, finally trailing his muscles. “Baby?”

His back jumped at your touch before slowly relaxing. You felt it vibrate under your fingertips as he seemed to speak. “Hmm?”

It was then he would turn around, eyes slowly trailing up your form to meet with yours. They seemed to scream at you yet he stood perfectly still inches in front of you. Both your bodies pulled towards each other in a almost mindless motion.

Your hands carefully rose up to cup his face bringing towards yours. You both would envelope into a small kiss as if you both were slowly testing a invisible waters within each other. Slowly backing up towards the bed, you both helped the other undress.

Your fingers would make a symphony of his scars as you caressed his chest. He touched you as if you had blossomed into something new, marking words into your flesh to be revised later. You knew he’d come back yet he showed you he had never left. He showed you he had never truly left, that his touch had resided on you, his words traced your being.

He may have been through death itself yet you loved the man who walked out of it. And his touch assured you that you’d find him, wherever he was.

[xolt1ngs]

I’m Suft, I try my best to be somewhat active on here but don’t expect anything great. This account is 13+ but I of course can’t tell you what to do. Most of my writing will be x fem!reader and I don’t plan on using given names unless it’s a continuous fic.

Who I plan on writing for

James Hetfield

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

John Price

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish

Keegan Russ

Logan Walker

George MacKay/William Schofield

Requests are appreciated

[gotham--fc]

☔️

☔️: Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Okay so I have this idea for a fic that I don't know if I'll ever finish or post bc it's not x reader, basically it's Hilary feeling a type of way about being named captain when Kendall Coyne Schofield is out and she needs Coyne to like reassure her and make her see that she deserves to be captain and that she's not taking away from Coyne, idk if I'll ever finish it or post it but it's just an idea that I had in my brain that I couldn't get out and then kinda hyped up by Hilary playing bad and not seeming like herself and maybe feeling like she's undeserving of being captain idk if I'm making sense

Send me an emoji and I'll answer!

Prompts here

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

aww thank you sagey @sagesolsticewrites!! 💕 i just started a new job so most of these things are literally just the title, 2 notes, and a blank doc lmao

technically chapters 13-16 of daddy issues

awards szn smut with aus??? - p self-explanatory lmaooo

snowed in - scotty moore x reader

a scrap of ribbon - will schofield my love

a bit of tin - tom blake my other love

dirty dancing with a pogue - a dirty dancing obx au lol

and like at least 5 other original novel ideas that i'll probably never write, including an archaeology drama and a regency romance

imma tag: @elvisabutler @blurredcolour and @ch3rries-n-cream

WIP ASK GAME

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

thank you @ab4eva @samfangirls & @powerofelvis for the tag 😚😚

😅😅 tbh i don’t have that many, the main ones i got going on are my two main bitches lol

Forever Winter | Chp 27 - ‘Is It True?’

Just an Intern | Part 3

-

in the EARLY workings i have:

-White Wine - austin x reader x third (poly fic)

-Unnamed - [spencer reid inspired] genius!austin x reader (collab with @cryingabtab )

-Midnight Rain - (my first ever austin!elvis 👀) x reader - Diner AU ☺️

-Deux - Austin & Elvis twins 👀👀

-

i’m tagging: @cryingabtab @dre6ming @mrsniallhoran505 @steph-speaks @lindszeppelin @sagesolsticewrites 💞

[michelle-is-writing]

Sunny days, Will Schofield

Word Count: 1.4k~

Mornings used to be dull and boring before Will got back from the war. Everyday felt the same; wake up, get ready, work, come home, eat dinner, and fall asleep. The only thing I looked forward to were the letters Will would send me from time to time, but unfortunately, there were points where I wouldn’t hear from him for weeks until dozens would show up one day. There was no fun, and there was nobody to have fun with. People came and went with every developing aspect of the war, and with the constant flux of officers stating another soldier’s passing, joy was hard to come across.

It was only when Will came home that I remembered what it was like to smile. I laughed for the first time in what felt like forever when he told me I had become even more beautiful than the day he left. I got to feel my heart beat as it synced with his once again. I cried like any other day before then as well. However, the reason for my crying that specific day was different. This time the tears were filled with happiness and relief rather than sadness and worry - two complete opposite feelings.

The first night spent together was something indescribable. There was so much to say, but as soon as Will started talking, he’d stop and sigh as if he was getting too ahead of himself. That was when I’d lean up toward him and kiss his cheek, assuring him it was okay. Thankfully, he’d continue on after that without many problems, but those came later unfortunately. I knew he changed during the war - that was obvious - and I knew he might have troubles sleeping at night.

It took nearly five months for Will to get a full nights sleep. The nightmares still came, but they were less severe, and when they did come, I always woke up to them. Will felt guilty for that, but I never got upset. I was glad to help him get over it, and during one particularly rough night, Will confessed to me that he believed his nightmares were going away because of me. At the time, I felt like I wasn’t doing enough for him, but in that moment, he said the exact words that I needed to hear.

Now, the mornings were something I had to get used to. However, it wasn’t a bad thing - in fact, I welcomed it. Instead of getting up and doing what I did every morning, I woke up to something different every day. Some mornings I would wake up to Will pressing kisses to my neck or cheeks, and some mornings I would wake up just to do the same with him. Any time this occurred, it always ended up in giggles as we were reminded of the simple fact that our silly teenage love never went away - even when we became adults and time separated us.

Today, this morning was different. Something woke me up, but I didn’t know what it was. My alarm clock hadn’t gone off, nor had the sun’s brightness affected me. The sun had barely risen, actually. I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I stayed up for a few minutes with my head resting on my hand and my eyes locked on Will’s sleeping figure. He looked so at peace when he was asleep; it was like nothing in the world could bother him.

It was in this moment I felt myself grow emotional with my thoughts. Tears graced my eyes while my throat seemed to shut in on itself. I wished Will could stay in his current state where he’s unbothered and calm. There were no thoughts of war or death clouding his mind. Just the small snores that left his lips while his eyes remained closed with exhaustion from the previous night.

It was only when I sat up a little in the bed that Will woke up. It was purely an accident that he woke up in the first place as I was trying to get up without disturbing him. Instead, I did the complete opposite

“What is it, baby?” He asked, voice deep with sleep as he turned to face me. His warm hand moved at the same time to gently run across my cheek, a small way for him to fully grasp that I was here with him.

Nuzzling into his touch, I settled into the bed deeper as I was before when I was asleep. Will stared at me as I did so, waiting for an answer as his eyes slowly opened. With every second, he was straying further and further from sleep, and ultimately, I felt bad. “Nothing, my love,” I assured him with a gentle smile. “It’s nothing at all.”

“It’s not even sunrise; what has you up so early?” He adds, his eyebrows furrowing as he pulls me closer to him by my waist. “Darling, you have to talk to me,” Will murmurs, his voice a bit sleepy, but still sincere.

After a few moments of trying not to cry directly in Will’s face, I bite my lip and shake my head. “I just... I can’t believe you’re here,” I confess, Will leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine. “I know it’s been several months since you got back, but for some reason, I woke up this morning and couldn’t help but feel... grateful,” I add, a few tears falling as I smile. “I have the love of my life back with me and nothing can top that.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Will murmurs, a smile of his own forming across his face. “Why do you think I stay with you in the kitchen when you’re cooking? Or even when you’re just cleaning or tidying up the house? I love to... watch you, as odd as it sounds,” his words cause me to giggle, his lips turning up more and he brushes my tears away. “Trust me, in some moments, it’s hard to face the fact that I’m actually home. Sometimes I find myself questioning why I got so lucky to come home to you, and then I find myself thanking the Heavens above for you entirely,” Will gives me a quick, but soft kiss. “You are my home.”

As soon as his words register, Will is having to brush away more tears as he tries to gently soothe my crying. “You’re my home too,” I whisper to him, my voice a bit hoarse. “For once, it feels like I’m at home now that you’re here,” I tell him, my eyes catching the tears now begin to grace his eyes. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you a lot too,” Will murmurs before leaning in close and pressing his lips to mine. He moves his hand that was resting against my waist up to my face once more, bringing our lips even closer. “I love you so much, baby,” He mutters, pulling away for a second before quickly moving back in to our kiss.

Now, we’ve made out and had plenty of fun since Will returned home, but no kiss or touch has been as powerful as this one. This is the kiss I have been waiting for, the “I need you so bad in this moment” kiss. His lips and hands may not be doing much, but the two combined makes my toes curl. “I love you too, baby,” I tell him, a moan almost escaping my mouth as his lips move down to my neck and throat. In an attempt to grab ahold of something, my fingers find their way to Will’s hair and embed themselves in his soft locks. As soon as I begin to do this, his soft, yet worn hands find their way to my hips and pull me on top of him with a gentle pull. Beneath me, Will smiles up at me as his eyes look over me.

“I’m all yours~”

[withhowsadsteps]

the laptop stand / au!will scho

a/n: i'm back with something, hope you like it! this time it's au!will x reader, not tom. ps. i have NO clue if the term thesis is used in UK for bachelor's and master's degree or is it a dissertation?? Imma use thesis anyway because for me it's a more natural word choice

and i'm gonna apologize FOR ANY mistakes, it's late and i can't sleep so this is what i'm doing 🙃✌️

---

The exhaustion of the past week was clearly evident on the faces of the people studying in the university's library. The smell of fresh coffee someone just bought from the little cafe inside the library filled slowly but surely filled the air and woke her up from her daydream. She had been staring at this tall, handsome guy for at least 15 minutes. Not just because of his looks, but because he was using the book she needed the most for her thesis as a freaking laptop stand. She did not know how she could ask the guy to give her the book in the nicest and least intrusive way possible. She had asked the librarian if they had another copy, but the answer was no.

She slowly made her way towards him. The golden afternoon light hit his face from such an angle that made him look like a literal angel. His blue eyes seemed to shine like the clearest sea under the sunlight. Fuck. Her heart almost skipped a beat. His looks definitely worsened the situation a lot. He had airpods in his ears, so she also had to literally briefly touch him to get his attention. And so, she tapped his shoulder lightly. He took one of his airpods out of his ear and turned to look at her. She did not know, but the way the setting sun hit her face made his heart skip a beat too. The first thing that filled his mind was her beauty. "I'm so sorry I had to disturb you, but are you using that book for something else too or is it just your laptop stand?" she managed to say under his wandering gaze. Reluctantly he shook his head. "You can definitely have it, if you need it" he said and immidiately slipped the book from under the laptop and offered it to her. "Thank you, you just saved my thesis", she sighed, relieved. She thanked him once more and left him looking after her. Neither of them new, that this was not the last time they were going to meet. Turned out, he was a regular at the library. She never used to study at the library before, but she realized that it was easier to work on some of the sources she used for her thesis there. Some of the books were for in-house borrowing only anyway. So, she saw him around a lot. And he saw her. She had occupied his mind since the first day, but he was unsure if it was ok for him to ask her out. He decided to take it slowly. Each time he saw her, he choce a seat nearer and nearer until he was sitting across the table. She smiled at him but quickly turned her face towards the pile of books she had spread around her laptop. She had thrown her hair in a messy bun, but she managed to look very good nevertheless. She looked stressed, no makeup covering up the darkened circles under her eyes. He opened his own laptop and felt kind of out of place, since he only needed his laptop and one simple book. If only he could help her. After an hour or so, he decided it was time to go get a coffee. "I'm going to grab a coffee, is it too much if I ask you to keep an eye on my laptop? I'll grab you a coffee, too." he said to hear. At first she wasn't sure if he talked to her, but after looking at him and seeing him smiling, she nodded. "It's like you read my mind, I really need some caffeine" she laughed. When she finally got up to leave, she introduced herself and he introduced himself, too. William Schofield. The name sounded just as beautiful as he looked. They even exchanged numbers and from then on, they were inseparable.

After she finished her thesis, she did not need the library as much, but she still went there. Just because of Will. Couple of months had passed and she had developed a huge crush on the man. He studied both English literature and philosophy. He was extremely smart and made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings wildly every time he opened his mouth to speak. He looked at her admiringly whenever she talked about her studies enthusiastically. Her love for her studies and career choice was contagious and motivated him in his studies even more. They completed each other without realizing it. Late nights studying at each other's homes became a thing, too. Sometimes they would take breaks and just talk about everything from literature to movies to their favorite flowers or even their childhoods. It was not too long before they started hanging out more and more and introduced each other to their other friends. Everyone could see that they were meant to be, but them.

One summer weekend, their separate friend groups merged together and rented a cabin somewhere near a lake. They enjoyed the warm summer sun and the cool water of the lake. She was sitting outside late in the evening, with a book in her hands. He watched her from the other side of the patio, smiling. His best friend, Tom, noticed this. "You should ask her out", he told Will, "everyone else can see how much you both love each other but you." he continued. But Will was afraid of losing her. Having her in his life, even if she was just a friend, was all he wanted. She changed his life for the better, she made him feel good.

After everyone else went to sleep that night, he came out of the room he shared with Tom. He noticed a familiar silhouette on the sofa of the living room area, still reading. He chuckled, holding a book of his own in his hands. "Can I join you?" he asked, while sitting down at the sofa. She just smiled at him and nodded. Somehow she managed to gather up some courage, and decided to lay down, laying her head on his lap. His hand that was not holding the book found their way to her hair and he let his fingers run through her hair, soothingly. And that is how they managed to express wordlessly their feelings towards each other. Early the next morning, sitting on the pier while the sunrise painted the sky with its colors, they shared their first kiss.

[storiesforallfandoms]

not the same ~ will schofield;1917

word count: 1314

request?: no

description: upon returning from the war, will is not the same as he once was, and he worries how he’s feeling will affect his relationship with his wife

pairing: will schofield x female!reader

warnings: swearing, PTSD

masterlist

The girls were playing in the yard. She was washing the dishes and watching her daughters with a smile. Things had been hard since Will had left last. He promised he’d be home soon, but that was over a year ago. His letters had been few and far between as of late, and she was worried the next letter she would receive wouldn’t be from him.

As she finished the last of the dishes, there was a knock at the door. She dried her hands and went to answer. She gasped and covered her mouth in shock when she saw who was there.

“Hello love,” Will said, a small smile on his face. He was still wearing his military gear, and looked as though he had aged a decade since she had seen him last.

She didn’t know what to do. She was so happy she could barley fathom that he was actually stood there in front of her. Finally, she snapped t of her shock and jumped into Will’s arms. He chuckled and held her tightly.

“I’ve missed you, too, love,” he said. “Where are the girls?”

“They’re in the back,” (Y/N) responded, forcing herself to pull away from him. He followed her to the backyard, where his beautiful daughters were happily playing. “Lucy, Martha, look who’s here!”

The two girls turned and their faces lit up as they exclaimed, “Daddy!”

Will scooped the girls up in his arms and held them for him for a long time. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, and a feeling of joy and relief washed over him. He never thought he’d see his girls ever again, and he couldn’t be happier to finally be home.

~~~~~~

After his first real meal in years and a dearly needed shower, Will entered the bedroom in just a towel, his battle scars in full view. (Y/N) was already in bed, reading a book when he walked in. Her eyes widened as she looked him over. “Oh, honey.”

“Comes with the job,” Will responded with a shrug. “They healed long ago, I’m no longer in pain, love.”

(Y/N) out her book aside and knelt up on the edge of the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. “As long as you’re no longer in pain, and you’re home with me. I’m never letting you go again.”

Will smiled and kissed her on the lips, savouring the feeling he had been dying to return to. He dropped his towel and (Y/N) giggled as he pushed her back onto the bed, climbing on top of her without breaking their kiss.

Some hours later, (Y/N) was sleeping peacefully next to her husband, however Will was having trouble with his sleep. He was stuck in an endless loop of the horrors he faced during the war: the people he killed, the men he lost, the numbers of times he almost lost his own life.

He was twitching and jerking in his sleep, so much so that he accidentally woke (Y/N). She stirred slowly and when she finally came to she noticed Will’s sleeping troubles.

“Will,” she said softly. “Love, wake up. Will, honey, you’re having a nightmare, wake up.”

His eyes opened and he shot up suddenly. He looked around the room frantically, as if he didn’t recognize where he was. There was a wild look in his eyes, one that almost scared (Y/N).

“Will?” she asked, her voice soft.

He looked at her. At first it was like his mind didn’t register who she was. His face was still twisted in fear, before it finally relaxed.

“(Y/N), did I wake you baby? I’m so sorry,” he sighed.

“It’s okay, love,” (Y/N) assured him. “Was it a nightmare?”

Will looked down at his hands, unable to meet her gaze. “Yeah...yeah nightmares. I’ll be alright.”

She looked at him, concerned, but chose to believe him. The two of them laid back in bed together. Will took (Y/N) into his arms, holding her close to him. Within seconds, she had drifted back off to sleep. Will, however, was struggling to sleep again. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the horrors he faced yet again. Even laying in the dark, fully awake, the images from the war played so vividly in his mind he swore he could see them as if he were there again.

He laid awake for hours, just staring at the ceiling and listening to his wife’s heavy breathing.

~~~~~~

He swore it was a temporary thing, that the only reason he was having the nightmares was because he was just home and everything had only happened a short time ago. He started sleeping on the couch so he wouldn’t wake (Y/N), until she insisted he came back to bed with her.

(Y/N) noticed that the nightmares weren’t the only thing different about Will. He seemed distant. He would spend most of his days sitting, staring off into the distance. He was never present when (Y/N) spoke to him, and he was becoming especially emotional when it came to the girls. He would just watch them, tears forming in his eyes, as if just the sight of his daughters was bringing some sort of painful memory back.

One night, nearly a month after his return, Will woke with a start, letting out a scream as he did so. (Y/N) woke as well, sitting up and wrapping Will in her arms automatically. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she could feel the dampness of his face, signifying that he was crying.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice muffled by her neck.

“It’s okay, love,” she assured him. “Is it the nightmares again?”

“It’s not just about the nightmares,” Will sighed, pulling away to look at her. “I know I haven’t been the same since I’ve gotten home. I knew before I even came home that I wasn’t going to be the same. It just...it’s got me all fucked up. Everything that happened over there...it was a nightmare, all of it. A living fucking nightmare.”

(Y/N) took Will in her arms again, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. She held him tightly, soothingly rubbing his back and gently shushing him, the way she did when one of the girls hurt themselves.

Although she was trying her best to remain calm, it was hard to do so when the love of her life was suffering so. She wished she knew how to help him, how to make the awful memories go away. But all she could possibly do was sit there with him, to allow him to let the emotions out.

“This isn’t fair,” Will said suddenly through tears. “Not to you and not to the girls. The fact that you three have to see me like this, that you have to deal with it. It’s honestly not fair to you.”

“Listen to me, honey,” (Y/N) told him, pulling away and cupping his face in her hands. “I don’t care about having to help you through this, I really don’t. When we got married we said through sickness and in health, till death do us part. Last time I checked, neither one of us are dead, which means through sickness and in health still stands.”

A small smile made it’s way onto Will’s face. He rested his head against hers and she placed a gentle kiss on his nose.

“I’m here for you, no matter what love,” she told him. “Whatever it takes, I’ll be here.”

Will pressed his lips against hers, kissing him sweetly. “I’m so lucky to have an amazing woman like you as my wife.”

“You really are,” (Y/N) teased. “And I’m lucky to have an amazing man as my husband.”

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 3 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 5.4k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

The yard was buzzing with its usual noise – groups of men huddled together, eyes darting around as deals were made, favours exchanged, and alliances strengthened or broken. Y/N had learned to blend in, moving through the space with calculated ease. But today felt different, something was different. There was a heaviness in the air, an edge that made her skin prickle with unease.

            She was walking to the normal corner where she would meet Michael when she noticed the eyes on her. Abruzzi’s men – three of them – watching her every move. She’d felt their glares before, but this time was different. This time, they were not just curious. They were planning.

            Michael and Y/N made eye contact, but she quickly tucked into a narrow corridor, hoping to avoid them, but her instincts were too late. As soon as she stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind her. The sound echoed ominously in the confined space.

            “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” One of the men, a tall, muscular brute with a scar running down his cheek, sneered as he blocked her path. Two more stepped in behind him, closing off any escape. They were Abruzzi’s most loyal thugs, each with the dead eyes of men who had seen – and done – terrible things.

            “Where I go is none of your business,” Y/N shot back, her voice steady, though her pulse quickened. She had been through worse, and she was not about to let these men see her sweat.

            “Oh, but it is our business,” Scarface said, stepping closer, his breath hot on her face. “We heard the news. New York mob. Murderer…assassin…Sebastian’s wife.” The name rolled off his tongue with disdain like it was poison. “We don’t take kindly to rats from rival families.”

            Y/N clenched her fists, her mind racing. She had to stay calm. These men would not hesitate to kill her if Abruzzi gave the order, but maybe she could turn this around. “You’ve got it wrong,” she said, her voice measured. “I’m not here for Sebastian. In fact, I want nothing to do with him.”

            Y/N’s words hung in the air, but the men didn’t look convinced. Scarface exchanged a glance with the thug to his right, a shorter, stockier man with tattoos crawling up his neck like vines. Their eyes darkened with something far worse than scepticism – bloodlust.

            “Nothing to do with him?” the tattooed one mocked. “You think we’re stupid? We know exactly who you are. And we know where your loyalties lie.”

            Y/N took a step back, her mind racing for a way out. She had dealt with thugs like them before, but being trapped in a narrow corridor, outnumbered, was a different game. She could fight but against three? The odds were grim.

            “Let’s rough her up a little,” Scarface said and without warning, his massive hand wrapped around her throat, slamming her back against the cold concrete wall. Y/N gasped, her hands flying up to claw at his grip as the other two closed in.

            A shank was at her throat before he slipped it down her shoulder, drawing blood as it slid down her arm going deeper and deeper.

            “How tough are you really, Mrs. Sebastian Marino?” he hissed, grip tightening and the knife going deeper.

            She could feel the blood dripping down her arm, the pain that shot through her body and she bit down on her lip.

            Panic flared in her chest as the walls seemed to close in around her. She thrashed against him, her nails digging into his arm, but his grip was iron. The room started to blur at the edges.

            “Let’s teach you a little lesson about politics here.”

            “Let her go!” a deep voice came. She glanced up from looking down at her arm to see an older male with longer hair. “She’s with Scofield. Which means she’s with me.”

            Scarface looked at the man that came in and instantly she noticed the change of demeanour and he became nervous. “Sir, she is with the Marino mob,” Scarface tried.

            Another man came up from behind Abruzzi and she instantly recognised who it was. Michael, her safe haven and the only person she trusts.

            “Let her go,” Michael said.

            Scarface’s grip faltered, and for a brief second, Y/N sucked in a shallow breath before she quickly moved, knocking the man out with a hard punch to his face. Scarface let go of her, cradling his face as he backed away.

            Y/N instantly placed her hand over the deep gash in her arm, walking away from the man that hit the floor with an obvious broken nose. She stepped over him and walked over to Michael.

            “If you have a problem with this, then take it up with me,” Abruzzi said as the tattooed man backed away from Y/N as she walked over to Michael.

            The tension in the air was thick, and Y/N could feel the shift. The men were uncertain now, their bravado cracking as the reality of what this meant sank in. They were not sure how deep Michael’s connection with Abruzzi ran, but they knew enough to be wary.

            The tattooed man spat down on the ground in front of Y/N and she quickly turned and rose a brow. “I can easily destroy your nose too if you would like. I am stronger than I look.”

            He took a step back before Michael opened his arms for her to come to him. Instantly his hand found her lower back as held her gash with her arm.

            Michael pulled her to a secluded area in the yard where his finger tilted her chin up to see the bruises forming on her neck.

            “Are you ok?” he asked, his voice low, soothing.

            Y/N nodded, though her breath was still ragged. “I’ve had worse.”

            “Doesn’t mean you should,” he replied, examining her before taking her bloody hand off her arm. His touch was delicate while his other hand steadied her. For a moment, their eyes meant, and she saw something in his gaze that made her feel sage in a way she had not in a long time. “You should go to the infirmary.”

            She looked at him almost as if she was unimpressed. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a cut,” she said as he ripped a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around her arm.

            “You need to be careful,” Michael said as his eyes darkened with an unreadable emotion. “Abruzzi’s men don’t trust easily, and they’re always looking for a reason.”

            “Michael,” she said with a sigh.

            “Y/N, you need to drop this mobster, tough act because you aren’t fooling me. You’re going to get hurt, truly.”

            “Last time I checked, I was minding my damn own business. I haven’t crossed anyone-“

            “You’re snarky, witty, and quick with words.”

            “What do you want me to do, Michael? I am a woman in a men’s prison. I was part of a very deadly mob and now I obviously have enemies.”

            Michael sighed. “I want you to go to the infirmary,” he said. “You have quite a lot of bruising and that gash needs tending too. Stitches.”

            “I don’t need your protection, Michael,” she said as he dropped his hands. His lack of touch now made her feel something. She liked his touch. She liked how he cared for her. However, she would never admit it.

            “I know,” he whispered, taking a step back, giving her space, but his gaze remained locked on hers. “But you have it. You’re a friend. I take care of my friends.”

            For a moment, neither of them said anything. The noise from the yard had faded into the background, leaving only the echoes of what had just happened between them. Y/N felt the bruises forming, the ache in her body a reminder of how close she had come to something far worse. But standing here with Michael, she felt something else – strength.

            “I don’t trust a lot of people,” she admitted after a beat, her voice quieter now. “But I trust you.”

            Michael’s expression softened just a touch, and he gave her a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “You can.”

            And she smiled. “I guess I go to the infirmary now.”

            He nodded watching as she walked off.

-

Y/N winced as she pressed a makeshift cloth from Michael against the gash on her arm, each throb a painful reminder of her run-in with Abruzzi’s men. The corridor leading to the prison infirmary was cold and silent, the usual buzz of the yard far behind her. She was not new to the pain – her life had made sure of that – but this cut was deep, too deep to leave unattended. Her bruised neck only added to the growing list of injuries.

            She pushed open the door to the infirmary and stepped inside. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit her immediately, a sharp contrast to the grime and seat of the prison. A man stood by one of the metal tables, his back turned to her as he scribbled something on a clipboard.

            “Are you the doctor?” she asked, voice hoarse as her throat still was raw from the attack.

            “Yes,” he said as he turned around. “Dr. Remington,” he introduced. However, as the man turned, and for a moment, she forgot about the pain. He was tall, well-built with sharp features softened by a warm smile. His dark hair was slicked back, a few stray strands falling across his forehead. His eyes were a piercing blue swept over her, assessing her injuries with the ease of someone who had seen it all but had not lost his compassion.

            “Y/N, right?” Dr. Remington asked, his voice smooth and steady. He motioned to the chair beside the able. Come, sit down. Let’s take a look at that.”

            She eased herself into the chair, her arm aching as she removed the cloth, revealing the deep gash. Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and she saw his eyes narrow slightly at the sight.

            “This isn’t pretty,” he murmured, grabbing gloves and disinfectant. “What happened?”

            “Let’s just say Abruzzi’s men don’t take kindly to outsiders.” Her tone was casual, but the weight of the encounter still hung over her. She winced as he gently cleaned the wound, his touch careful but firm.

            “Well, you’re in one piece, so I’d say you got off lucky,” he replied, glancing at her bruised neck. “Those look nasty. Let me get something for the swelling once I’m done with the arm.”

            “Can we not do any opioids or painkillers,” she suggested.

            Dr. Remington glanced up. “You’ll be in a lot of pain.”

            “I just don’t do well with heavy painkillers,” she mumbled. “Just something light.”

            He nodded.

            Y/N’s gaze followed as he worked. His hands were quick and sure, stitching her gash with precision. She had been stitched up plenty of times before, but this time it felt different – calmer, safer.

            “So,” he said after a moment of silence, his voice conversational, “how’s prison life treating you so far? I imagine being a woman in here is…an experience.”

            Y/N couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “That’s one way to put it. It’s hard enough being here, but being a woman in a men’s prison? You have to keep your guard up constantly. Everyone’s always watching.”

            Dr. Remington nodded; his expression sympathetic but professional. “I’m sure it’s overwhelming. And lonely.”

            She hesitated, then nodded. “I’ve made…a friend, I guess. But it’s hard to trust anyone in here.”

            “I imagine it would be.” He finished stitching the gash and began wrapping it in gauze. “But you’ll find your way. Stick with people you can trust – if that’s possible here – keep your head down. People will always try to test you, especially because of your situation.”

            Y/N glanced at him. “You mean because I’m a woman.”

            Dr. Remington paused, his hands stilling for a second before he met her gaze. “Yes. Unfortunately, your gender makes you a target. But you’ve survived this long. That tells me you’re stronger than most.”

            His words sank in, and for the first time in a while, Y/N felt a flicker of something like hope. Maybe she could survive this place, maybe even come out stronger. She didn’t need saving; she just needed to hold on.

            As Dr. Remington moved to treat her neck, applying a cold compress to the bruises, he continued talking. “Listen, I’ve worked here long enough to know the ins and outs of his place. If you ever need someone to talk to, or just a place to feel safe, the infirmary’s always open. No questions asked.”

            She gave him a slight smile, grateful for the kindness. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

            He returned the smile, his eyes softening. “Now, there’s one thing we need to talk about. It’s not my favourite part of the job, but I think you deserve to know.”

            Y/N’s brows furrowed, her heart sinking. “What is it?”

            Dr. Remington took a deep breath, settling down the cold compress and facing her fully. “The state has ruled, due to your…circumstances as a woman in a male prison, they’re placing you on mandatory birth control.”

            Y/N’s widened, shock and anger swirling in her chest. “What? They can do that…” then it hit her. “They want to precaution in case I get raped,” she mumbled more to herself.

            “They can,” he said gently, his voice low and careful. “Or if you have an affair with an inmate. I’m not required to inform you, but I felt it was only right that you know. I don’t agree with how they’re handling it, but it’s policy. I’m sorry.”

            She started at him, the reality of it settling like a weight in her stomach. It wasn’t just the violation, though that was bad enough – it was the fact that they still saw her as something to control, something to manage.

            “They don’t want prison babies,” she whispered. “Fair enough.”

            Dr. Remington watched her carefully, his expression full of understanding. “I wanted to tell you because…well, I care, and you seem like a good person. You’re not just another inmate to me, Y/N. I’ve seen too many people get lost in this place. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

            For a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then she nodded, her throat tight. “Thanks for telling me. And for…everything.”

            He smiled, standing and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Anytime. You take care of yourself. And remember what I said – this place does not define you.”

            Y/N met his gaze and for the first time in a long time, she felt like someone actually saw her – not the crimes, not the labels. Just her.

            “Now rest up,” he said and walked away.

-

Moments of silence happened and then like a storm out of nowhere, the riot occurred. One moment, everything was its usual chaos, the next, it was a full-on anarchy. Y/N was resting in the infirmary, letting Dr. Remington’s treatment take hold, when the screams started echoing down the halls. Her muscles tensed, her heart beating faster as she heard the unmistakable sound of doors clamming and men shouting in a frenzy.

            She stood up, but the infirmary doors were already bolted shut. Dr. Remington had rushed off to check on another inmate earlier, leaving her alone. As the pounding footsteps neared, Y/N felt a rush of panic swell inside her. She looked around for anything to protect herself with, spotting a heavy metal tray on the counter. It was not much, but it would have to do.

            Suddenly, the doors busted open, and two inmates stormed in, their eyes wild with fury. The larger of the two noticed Y/N immediately, a twisted grin spreading across his face. “Well, look what we have here,” he sneered, his voice full of menace. “A little lost lamb in the middle of a riot.”

            Y/N’s grip tightened on the tray, her hands trembling slightly. “Stay back,” she warned, though her voice shook with the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

            The second inmate laughed darkly. “What are you gonna do with that, sweetheart? Hit us? Go ahead, try it.”

            Y/N’s breath quickened as they advanced. She swung the tray with all her might, managing to strike one across the jaw. He stumbled back with a grunt, but it only seemed to anger them further. The other lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully, making her drop the tray with a loud clatter.

            “Not so tough now, are you?” he snarled, pinning her against the wall. His grip tightened around her throat and Y/N yelped in pain from the old bruises, but also, she struggled to breathe, her vision dimming.

            In that moment, she thought this might be it – her second close call in one day.

            But then, as if from nowhere, a loud thud echoed above her, followed by the clanging of metal. The next thing she knew, a familiar voice called out from the ceiling.

            “Y/N, get down!”

            Before she could fully comprehend, a figure dropped down from the vents. Michael.

            He moved with precision, taking out the first inmate with a swift blow to the back of the head. The second man turned to fight, but Michael was quicker, disarming him and sending him crashing to the floor. The room fell into an eerie silence, broken only by Y/N’s laboured breathing.

            Michael grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the vent he had crawled through. “Come on, we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

            Y/N nodded, still in shock, and allowed him to help her up into the vent. Her body was shaking as they crawled through the narrow space, the sounds of the riot raging below them – shouts, crashes, and the chilling clang of metal on metal. It felt like they were climbing through a different world, one where the chaos below couldn’t quite reach them.

            They stopped for a moment, huddled in the confined space and Y/N realised just how close she had come to dying. Again. She pressed her back against the cold metal, her body trembling uncontrollably, and tried to steady her breath. But the panic was rising, fast, and unforgiving.

            Michael noticed and took her hand in his. He squeezed it before whispering, “Hey, you’re ok.” He shifted closer to her. His voice was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos around them. “You’re ok. You’re safe now.”

            Y/N shook her head, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. “I almost died. Twice today,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how much more I can take of this.”

            Michael gently took her hand, his touch grounding her. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly. “You’ve survived this long, and you’ll keep surviving. We’ll get through his. Together.”

            She looked at him, her breathing still ragged, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel alone. Michael’s presence, his calm amidst the storm, made her feel like maybe – just maybe – she could make it.

            He seemed to sense her fear, the way her body was shaking despite her best efforts to stay composed. “Focus on me,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

            But the fear was not something she could shake that easily. The image of those men, the way they had looked at her, their hands around her throat – it was too much. Y/N was spiralling, and she knew it. Her breaths were coming too fast, her chest tightening.

            And then, before she could fully process what was happening, Michael leaned in, cupping her face gently in his hands. His lips brushed against hers, soft and careful. The kiss was warm, grounding and for a split second, it was like the world outside didn’t exist. It was just them, at that moment.

            She did not kiss back at first, too shocked then she allowed her lips to move with his. He pulled away and leaned so their foreheads were touching.

            “When you hold your breath, you forget what you’re thinking,” he told her. Her breaths were slowing down and the panic that had been clawing at her chest subsided just a little, replaced by the steady rhythm of Michael’s breathing.

            She looked at him, seeing his bright baby blue eyes as his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re ok,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible above the din of the riot below.

            However, she cupped his cheek again and pulled him in for another kiss. This time it was stronger, deeper and more emotional. She pulled him by his shirt and kissed him a little more before pulling away.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, glancing down. “I needed that.”

            She nodded to herself, her heart still racing but her mind beginning to settle. She didn’t know how long they had stayed in that vent, pressed together in the dark, but in that moment, she dealt with something she hadn’t felt in a while – safety, comfort and devotion.

            Eventually, Michael shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her arm. “We need to keep moving,” he said gently. “Can you do that?”

            Y/N swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I can.”

            Together, they crawled through the narrow vents, their bodies moving in sync. There was hooting and hollering from below as inmates rioted, but they focused on what was happening in front of them.

            A smaller inmate was lifted up through the vent to check where they were and Michael glanced at Y/N, putting his finger to his lips as a way to tell her be quiet. Then he kicked him down before pulling her along again.

            He opened the ceiling tunnel eventually and checked it out before going down. It was quite high, but he held his hand up to help her down. Y/N grabbed them, as he lowered her down with his hands on her waist and her hands were on his shoulders.

            “It ok, Y/N,” he whispered as they stared at one another.

            However, the moment was halted as inmates came in and began to gang up on Michael. He instantly tackled the first guy, but Y/N throat punched the other inmate, and he fell back, clasping his throat. Y/N glanced over to see Michael attacking the final guy before he grabbed her hand and ran down the hallway.

            They were in the middle of C-Block, their cells ahead of them when Michael got pulled. She glanced over to see a man, the same height but much bigger than Michael. They instantly hugged.

            Y/N watched before Michael looked over at her. “My brother, Lincoln,” he said and then glanced at his brother. “Y/N, a friend.”

            She looked over them and seeing their interaction as they talked, but she could not help but look over his bare arms which were covered in tattoos. However, as she looked harder, she could make something out with it.

            They made it to Michael’s cell where T-Bag was crouching over a CO with a picture in his hand, taunting him.

            “If you touch him, or her, I will kill you,” Michael said pushing T-Bag as a warning as we joined in.

            Y/N stayed in the corner, watching the interaction before taking the picture from T-Bag and looking at the CO. “Daughter?” she asked, and he simply nodded. “She’s pretty.” Then he handed him the picture back.

            T-Bag looked at her and saw Y/N looking at Michael.

            “Just let me go, I won’t say a word,” the CO spoke loudly, still cuffed to the bottom bunk. But then T-Bag looked over to Y/N who rose a brow.

            “What is he talking about?” she asked looking over at Michael, but he was gone.

            T-Bag laughed and smirked. “You’ve been protected by Michael since day one and he has to tell you…about our little plan?” He came closer to her and Y/N took a step back.

            She knew the plan. The escape, but why was he bringing someone like T-Bag?

            “Ahh, I guess not. Your little boyfriend has planned to escape, save his brother who is gonna die,” he told her and Y/N swallowed.

            Where was Michael?             “It doesn’t matter. Michael says don’t touch the CO, so don’t touch the CO,” she said, pushing T-Bag to the side.

            “What were your crimes anyways, princess?” he smirked. “What got you in here? A woman in a men’s prison, must have been really bad. Naughty, naughty girl,” he cooed coming closer.

            She knew what he did. The murders and rapes of innocent people and Michael chose him to escape with and he hadn’t even asked her. She knew about the plan, and she would never tell, but why was she not part of it?

            “I heard you were in the mob,” he taunted, hand coming up to brush her cheek. Y/N pulled away. “Married a gangster… Murdered men. Six you’ve been convicted of, but rumour there is more,” he continued.

            How did he know? People talk. Michael would never tell.

            T-Bag smelled her hair, coming up and towering over her before running his tongue down her face, throat and jawline.

            “Stop,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut but before anything else happens, a loud noise came. T-Bag was slammed by the Hispanic man, while Michael came to her instantly, taking his t-shirt and rubbing the spit from her jaw and cheek.

            “I can’t leave you for a moment,” he whispered more to himself than to her. “Are you ok?”

            She nodded then he turned to T-Bag and yelling, “Get out!” Lincoln came back to see Michael dotting over the woman in the corner. However, Y/N pushed Michael off of her and took her own sleeve and wiped her neck viciously.

            “Y/N, you’re gonna create a rash,” he whispered.

            “I don’t care. I want his touch off of me,” she responded. “I haven’t fucking showered in days out of fear and now I have this molester’s germs all over me.”

            Michael nodded and took her hand from her before lowering it. “Then you will shower soon. I will make sure you are ok,” he told her before going back to the CO.

            The CO was pushed out of the cell and Abruzzi threatened him while she stayed by Michael. He took her hand and squeezed, and she glanced up and seeing him mouth, “It’s going to be ok.”

            All she did was nod. However, as inmates went back to the cells, Y/N witnessed the CO get stabbed by T-Bag and instantly her face fell. Michael rushed past her and screamed but she could not hear.

            That man was just murdered. In front of her and all she could think about was, this wasn’t the first time.

-

The next morning, the prison felt different. The tension from the riot still lingered in the air, like an invisible weight pressing down on everyone. Y/N moved through the cafeteria line in a daze, barely registering the food she picked on her tray – scrambled eggs, a bruised apple and a stale piece of bread.

            She did not care about eating. She barely cared about anything at that moment. The fear from the night before clung to her like a second skin, and the bruises on her neck and the aching stitches in her arm were an constant reminder of how close she’d come to losing her life.

            She moved toward a corner of the cafeteria, where she usually sat alone, but as she passed by a table, a hand grabbed her wrist gently.

            “Hey,” Michael’s calm voice broke through the fog in her mind. “Come sit with us.”

            She looked up, meeting his gaze. For a second, she hesitated, but then Michael pulled her closer, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. Across from the table was the man he shared the cell with, but she never caught his name. He had a kind face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. Michael smiled as he introduced him.

            “This is Sucre,” he said, nodding toward his friend. “Sucre, this is Y/N.”

            Sucre gave her a warm, easy grin. “Hey, nice to meet you,” he said, nodding toward her tray. “Food here sucks, huh? They’ve been serving the same eggs since I got here.”

            Y/N managed a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat down, feeling Michael’s gaze on her. He had this way of seeing through people, as if he could sense the weight, they carried without them having to say a word. However, Michael squeezed her arm lightly, as a form of affection.

            The conversation between Michael and Sucre continued, but Y/N barely heard it. The hum of the cafeteria felt distant like it was happening in another world. She kept her gaze down, pushing the eggs around on her plate, unable to shake the images of the riot, the men in the infirmary and the chaos that had consumed her life.

            Michael noticed. However, he always noticed.

            “Y/N,” he said softly, leaning closer so only she could hear. “You’ve been quiet. What’s going on?”

            She didn’t look at him right away. She kept her eyes fixated on the food, her fingers gripping the edge of the tray. Then, in a low voice, she muttered, “I need to shower.”

            Y/N was about to get up, but Michael grabbed her by her arm and pulled her down. “I know you do, but that’s not why you’re quiet.”

            Sucre watched them talk and left them alone. Michael looked over to see the spare spot and then to the woman beside him. “Talk to me.”

            “Why are you escaping with someone like T-Bag?” she whispered then she glanced up to meet his eyes for the first time that morning. “He is a rapist, a murderer…he has done damage to the world, to people. He would do it again if he could.”

            Michael sighed, his expression softening. “I don’t want to,” he admitted quietly, his voice steady but laced with something deeper. “But in here, sometimes you don’t have a choice. I’m not doing this for T-Bag. I’m doing it for people who deserve a second chance. For people who can’t survive this place much longer.” His eyes searched hers, the weight of his words sinking in. “And I’m not just doing it for me.”

            Y/N looked away, the conflicting emotions swirling inside her making it hard to breathe. She didn’t know what to say. Part of her understood Michael’s reasoning – he had a plan, a purpose. But she wasn’t sure where she fit into that or if she wanted to.

            “Y/N, I want you to come with me,” he whispered.

            She looked at him and saw just how serious he was about this; however she shook her head. “I’d be killed by the mob if I don’t go back to them, Michael.”

            Michael was quiet for a long moment, his gaze softening as he watched her. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to make sure she heard every word.

            “Y/N, I get it. I know how it feels to lose hope, to think that getting out won’t change anything.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “But if you do come with me, us…I have a plan, and you won’t need to go back to the mob. No more blood on your hands. You’ll be out for good.”

            Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tightening at the thought. She hadn’t known anything else for so long – violence, power struggles, the constant weight of her family’s criminal empire hanging over her head. It was all she’d been part of since fifteen when she escaped her foster home. Could she really walk away from it?

            Michael leaned in even closer, his tone almost pleading now. “You don’t have to be the person they want you to be. You can choose something else. You can choose to be free.”

            The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she bit her lip, fighting back the emotions that threatened to surface. She had spent so long believing that freedom wasn’t meant for someone like her. That the life she’d live was all she deserved.

            But in that moment, Michael watched her with those steady, understanding eyes; she began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she could have something else.

            She didn’t respond right away, the silence between them heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, she nodded – just a small, tentative nod, but it was enough for Michael. He gave her a soft, encouraging smile.

            “Now, let’s get you a shower.”

I hope you enjoyed! I had so much fun writing this.

Let me know your thoughts, opinions and comments! :)

Lots of love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars

[valterras]

Thinking about Will Schofield.

[propertyofwicked]

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

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

a-z of dating george mackay

a - argue

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

b - body (his favourite body part of yours)

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

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

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

d - dates (what do you guys do?)

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

e - engagements (how he proposed) 

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

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

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

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

g - gifts

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

h - how you met

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

“um, hi. i’m george.”

“hi?”

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

i - intimacy (how often are yall getting down)

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

j - jealousy

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

k - kinks

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

l - long distance

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

m - moving in

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

n - nights out 

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

o - open with each other

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

p - pda

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

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

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

r - reproduction (do you want kids?)

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

s - surprising (what surprised you about him)

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

t - together (what you do together)

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

u - under the influence (drunk vibes)

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

v - vacations

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

w - wedding

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

x - xray (when he’s hurt)

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

y - you (a random headcanon) 

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

z - zzzzzzzzzzzz’s (sleeping routine)

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

[ditch-witches]

Awards Night (George MacKay smut)

requested: yes/no (send us some requests!)

pairing: George MacKay x reader

warnings: smut,,, i mean,,, yeah,,,

word count: 1,565

a/n: So we wrote this in our campus art museum. That's all. That's the note.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you spun once more in the mirror, attempting to find something wrong with your long, flowing dress. Most nights like this made reality too close to home as you worried about being good enough to be on George's arm at an event so important to him, where the image was such a big deal. You shook your head to clear the thoughts from your mind, holding your chin up in the process. Of course you were good enough. Hell, it had only been a few months and the man was already head over heels.

You pushed a bobby pin back into place and moved across the room, taking a deep breath before throwing the door open and coming into view of George tugging at one of his cufflinks and straightening his tie. He turned to look up at you momentarily before pausing and standing up straighter. His eyes sparkled. "It's going to be difficult leaving you alone tonight." His smirk sent goosebumps down your back and a blush to your cheeks.

"You're one to talk," you jeered back at him, causing him to chuckle lowly.

He stepped closer to you, resting his hands on your neck. "We could stay in, you know?" He kissed you lightly, cautious of your lipstick, before pressing his lips to your jaw and hovering near your ear. "You could make a man out of me?" You laughed at his statement and shoved him away from you, despite the rather serious tone of his voice. You could tell by the husk in his accent that it was going to be a long night.

The limo was rather over the top, in your opinion, but it was out of your control anyway. George took his time to sit as close to you as he could manage, his hand resting on your knee and moving to dip to your upper inner thigh. “Would you contain yourself?” You whispered sardonically, as you covered his hand with your own. He tilted his head towards you with an eyebrow raised before capturing your lips with his. Your fist tightened around the lapel of his jacket, bringing him closer to you. His teeth grazed your bottom lip hungrily. He leaned away from you momentarily. You could see in his eyes this was not all he wanted. You undid his suit jacket button as he dipped lower to slip his hand beneath the bottom of your dress. You shivered with anticipation as his fingers grazed up your legs. He found your lips again, kissing you with more force as you guided his hand to where you needed his touch.

His fingertips danced along the hem of your underpants, lightly brushing over your sensitive core. You moaned at the feeling, urging him to pleasure you. It must have been the new tux and the confidence that came with it, but he was utterly irresistible to you. He chuckled lightly against your lips before breaking your kiss and burying his face in your hair. "I need to contain myself?" He mocked, pushing aside your underwear and beginning to rub circles against your clit.

You grasped onto his wrist and his eyes returned to yours with a devious expression. "Don't start anything you can't finish," you had barely managed to whimper before he slipped a finger into you, eliciting a small moan to pass your lips.

"Love, you're already so wet." You fought not to roll your eyes as he began to pump his finger in and out of you before adding another. You bit your lip and he smirked at you, a look that made you tongue-tied when combined with his actions. His fingers curled slightly, building the tension in your gut. "Say my name," he taunted.

He abruptly stopped his actions as the limo came to a halt. You barely had time to catch your breath as George slipped his fingers into his mouth and narrowed his eyes at you. You were left speechless as he climbed from the car like nothing besides light conversation had just ensued in the backseat. He helped you from the limo and smiled at the cameras, oozing with charm. There was no doubt a slight blush painting your cheeks as you tried not to think about the lust blown look in George's eyes as he licked your cum from his fingers. You were dissatisfied and close enough to the edge to be almost uncomfortable with George not being able to touch you.

Sam Mendes greeted the two of you once you entered the banquet hall. Everyone was buzzing with excitement and nervous jitters. George greeted his friends like he hadn't seen them in years, which was heartwarming, to say the least. After the two of you had made your rounds, George led you away from the crowd and down one of the hallways. "Where are we going?" You asked as you took note of his careful inspection of the hallway.

“You’ll see.” He tugged you into a nearby bathroom beside him and his motives clicked into place for you.

You giggled slightly as the two of you stuffed into one of the stalls. You were thankful that everyone's attention was on the celebrities in the banquet hall, causing the bathroom to be empty. George pinned you against the stall door and crashed his lips into yours, moaning as you ground your hips into his. His fingers dug into your sides as your hand snaked down to rub against him through his trousers. "Are you really going to fuck me in a bathroom stall?" Your voice came out breathy and uneven.

"Only if you beg," he quipped back.

"Do it." You smiled up at him, reaching for his belt buckle. He pulled at your dress as you did this.

"If you insist," he jested as you fumbled with his zipper slightly, causing him to chuckle. After the two of you spent an agonizing amount of time trying to unzip the zipper, he was finally accessible to you. In an instant his lips were on yours, messily shoving his tongue against yours in a fit of hair and teeth as his arm wrapped around your waist. He rather roughly --- and rather ungracefully --- discarded your underwear to a different spot in the bathroom, gripping on one of your legs and pulling it up to rest against his hip. He restrained you against the stall door and you pushed his pants farther down his legs.

“How much time do we have?” You asked, taking his length in your hand. You felt him harden more with your touch as you jerked him a few times.

He buried his face in your shoulder, moving your hand and positioning himself in between your thighs. “Enough,” he answered before pressing himself into you with a string of curse words. You hooked your arms around his shoulders in an attempt to combat your weakening knees. He gave you only seconds to adjust to him before he began to thrust into you, holding you steady against the stall. His hot breath rolled over your shoulder as he buried himself deeper into you, moving quicker. Your head tilted back against the cool metal of the door at his actions as you bit back a moan of your own. You were positive that if he hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have been able to stand on your own. You fought the urge to plunge your hands into his hair, vaguely remembering the purpose for tonight and the fact that photos still needed to be taken. The sound of his moaning in your ear, his lips against your shoulder and neck, and his upward thrusts were bringing you closer to your climax. And seemingly just in time.

George kissed you briefly. “I’m close,” he practically groaned.

“Already?” You quipped back and he narrowed his eyes at you again, almost calling you on your hypocrisy. He picked up his pace, causing you to let out a small whimper. “Cum,” you stated as he gripped onto the top of the door behind you.

“Ladies first,” he groaned into your ear. You tightened around him with a rather devious expression; you were going to win this unintended competition. He brought your leg up higher for more leverage and had miraculously found your sweet spot. “I said, ‘you first’.”

You bit your lip. “George, I…” And that’s when you felt him release inside of you. A wicked grin spread across your face as your own orgasm followed closely behind his. George’s body seemed to untense in your arms and take a breath.

“I beat you,” he jeered, untangling himself and pulling his pants back into place.

You chuckled and straightened your dress, looking for your underwear. “It wasn’t a race, you psychopath.” George looked down at his watch and his eyes grew a bit wider. The two of you struggled to get out of the bathroom stall and then nearly sprinted to get to the banquet hall again. Faces flushed, you took your seats just in time.

“Where did the two of you disappear off to?” Sam asked with a look of relief washing over his stressed expression.

You felt yourself blush and opened your mouth to say something but George beat you to it. “Phone call,” he answered simply. Sam seemed satisfied with the comment.

“Some phone call,” Dean quirked from beside you.

[blueeyedheizer]

A Little Light - Blake & Schofield x reader

WARNINGS: x

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is her name?" Blake continued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[interstellarflare]

However Long It Takes || William Schofield

1917 (2019)

~PART TWO~

Warnings: Slight gore, swearing.

Summary: He first met you in the summer before the war. Since then, you had been the only thing on his mind. Now, he will do whatever it takes to get back to you.

Author’s note: 1917 SPOILERS! If you haven’t seen the movie then please don’t read! I have now changed my original plans, and am attempting to make this a four-part series, so stay tuned for more! Also, apologies for the incredibly long chapters. In addition to this chapter, I wrote this late at night, so please ignore any spelling mistakes. I was tired and wanted to write, so please enjoy!

Though his letters became less frequent, Will sent as many of them as he could.

You looked forward to the days when they arrived, you were anxious to see how he was coping on the front line. His letters usually contained as small gift, usually a pressed flower he managed to find on his way to and from his post. At some point, a small and delicate rose was encased in a letter addressed to you, Will telling you that one of his close friends, Lance Corporal Tom Blake, had traded a packet of old cigarettes to get it, not that the young man smoked anyway. ‘You should give it to your girl back home’ Blake had told him, having given Will the rose ‘She’ll love it I reckon, pity you can’t send her a cherry blossom’. 

You laughed to yourself quietly, as Annabelle and Catherine were asleep in the next room. With tearful eyes, you pressed a gentle kiss to the paper, sighing heavily as you gently placed the letter and the rose on top of a discarded book atop your bed. There was still much to do before Mrs Schofield came home from the bakery, where she had been all day.

Not too long after Will left for the war, Mrs Schofield had asked you to move in with them after your mother had moved to the country to take care of your grandparents. You had kindly obliged, and it had made the Schofield family’s life incredibly easier. As you cleaned the dishes, you hummed quietly to yourself, the humming eventually turning into soft singing. It was a wordless lullaby that your mother used to sing to you when you were little, and now you sung it for the Schofield sisters to fill their dreams with faeries and sugar plum castles. You did your best to shield those two little girls from the horrors of war. They were your only light in this dark corner of the world that you inhabited.

So many men had not returned home, the thought of Will being one of those men...

Your humming ceased into silence, the dishes in the sink sat unmoving in the soapy water as your hands clenched into tight fists, your knuckles turning white wrapped around the dishcloth. The thought of losing Will, the thought of him not coming home sent cold shivers down your spine.

The door to the Schofield home opened and closed swiftly, Mrs Schofield entering with a tired sigh. She made her way into the kitchen where her weary eyes met your own with a kind expression. “Are the girls asleep?” she asked quietly, once again sighing heavily as you nodded wordlessly. The older woman collapsed into one of the chairs beside the dining table, placing her head in her hands as she closed her eyes. Deciding to finish the dishes later, you moved to sit opposite Mrs Schofield, quietly pulling out your own chair whilst sitting down wordlessly. “How were the girls toady?” the older woman asked lowly, running a stressed hand over her messy greying hair. You smiled “They were well behaved...” you began as you looked towards Annabelle and Catherine’s closed bedroom door “I took them for a picnic up by the cherry blossom orchard, they enjoyed the sunshine for a change”.

Mrs Schofield smiled, chuckling in amusement at the painted image of her daughters running and chasing each other through the rows and rows of cherry blossom trees. Being children again. The trees themselves were not in bloom, but it would have been a joyous sight to behold. It had been the first time they had laughed in the years Will had left. “I’m glad you are here Y/n...” Mrs Schofield mumbled tiredly, yawning as she struggled to keep her eyes open “you have made this war a whole lot more bearable by being there for my family, and for Will”. Small tears welled in your eyes at her kind words, a lump forming in your throat as you choked back a shaky sigh. “You should write to him more...” you spoke slowly, swallowing that hard lump as you cleared your throat “he knows you are busy, but he asked how you were in his most recent reply and-” 

“I don’t...” Mrs Schofield interrupted suddenly, her eyes opening quickly and narrowing on your form. Taking a deep breath, she continued “...I’m too scared to write. What if the one time that I do, he gets blown to pieces before he can even read it”. You mouth fell agape in shock, your eyes wide with disbelief. “He is your son! How could you say something like that!?” You quietly exclaimed, your knuckles turning white as you gripped the edge of the table tightly. Mrs Schofield shook her head with a grumble “You know that this war will take more lives-” “And you think that your own son will be one of them!? I cannot believe that you would believe such a thing!-”

“Mum?”.

A quiet voice from the kitchen doorway. As your turned, your chest tightened at the sight of Annabelle and Catherine, bleary-eyed with stray strands of hair sticking up in awkward angles. The house was completely silent as both girls stared between the two of you, confusion enveloping their expressions. “Is everything alright?” Annabelle mused, her voice low and quiet. When no response came from their own mother, who instead chose to remain silent and avoid her daughter’s gaze, you sighed heavily as you stood from your seat. “Everything is fine girls. Now come, let’s get you back to bed” you spoke sweetly, walking towards them with a kind smile all the while ushering the young girls back to their room. Before you left the kitchen, you turned back to Mrs Schofield with a disapproving stare. “Write to your son...” you spoke angrily, watching sadly as the said woman ignored you completely. It was hard for her, for everyone in this town. “It would mean the world to him if you did”.

When no answer came in response, you sighed heavily and left Mrs Schofield to her own devices and made your way to Annabelle and Catherine’s room. Ignoring their sad gaze, you lazily removed your shoes and sat on the end of Catherine’s bed, sighing heavily as you did so. Annabelle clambered from her bed into her younger sister’s, the two of them sharing an uncertain glance. “Will isn’t coming home, is he?” Annabelle spoke timidly, lying down beside her sister with her eyes slightly glazed. You moved to lie down between them, wrapping your arms around them and bringing them close to your side. “Of course he is! He’ll come back, I know it” you tried to say positively, giving each of them a tight hug while they closed their eyes to return to sleep. It was hard to remain so positive, let alone this optimistic. But you hoped, prayed that Will would eventually come home.

William chuckled to himself as he read your letter, his eyes taking their time in tracing your cursive handwriting:

I took your sisters to the cherry blossom orchard yesterday. While they might not have been in bloom, they enjoyed it nonetheless. It was the first time they have actually enjoyed themselves since your departure. I have also taught your sisters how to read much more...challenging novels. They have grown up so much Will, they are becoming beautiful young women. Strangely, Annabelle has developed a liking to Shakespeare. Even though she has no understanding what is written, she seems completely fascinated by the story of Romeo and Juliet.

Catherine has found her own artistic talent in drawing! I have encased a drawing of hers inside this letter, as she desperately wanted you to have it.

Your mother wishes you well, Will. She is planning to write to you soon. She misses you greatly, we all do.

I hope you will be home soon, my love. I will wait for you for however long it takes.

Forever yours, Y/n.

P.S. Tell Tom that I found the rose a beautiful gesture. You are lucky to have such a good friend by your side.

Placing the letter aside, Will reached back inside the envelope to remove a small piece of paper. Unfolding the paper brought a large smile to his face, as the multi-coloured swirls of Catherine’s drawing formulated a dazzling memory. Although the majority were stick-figures, the drawing was of the night he had met you, dancing in the town square on that magical summer night. William was amazed, he hadn’t thought that his sisters had been watching. Then again, he supposed that the two smaller yet distinct figures hiding by the lamppost was them anyway. With a feather-light kiss to the paper, will removed the tobacco tin from within his coat pocket and carefully opened it, as to not make a mess of the contents inside. As he placed the drawing and your letter inside, Will’s eyes caught a glimpse of your picture. You had sent it in your first letter to him.

While the photo itself was in black and white, he knew the look of your crimson dress anywhere. You stood amongst the cherry blossom orchard, your (hair/colour) hanging loosely and dotted with stray petals. “Another letter from your girl, eh?” Tom mused from his side, the silence behind the front line broken by the Lance Corporal’s laughter. Slightly embarrassed by his friend, Will chuckled deeply as he placed the tobacco tin back inside his coat pocket. “Yes, it was-” “Did she say anything about the rose? The Frenchman I traded with was a right bastard”.

William laughed louder, he wished he could have seen your face when you beheld the rose. “She did...” he began, smiling fondly “she said and I quote ‘I found the rose a beautiful gesture”. Tom snorted, shaking his head slowly as he spoke “Well I’m glad, she seems like a wonderful woman”. The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, casting their eyes towards the sky to stare up at the flickering stars. The silence was unnerving. Usually, there would be some sort of artillery shelling occurring, but now it was unbearably quiet. “Do you think this war will end?” Tom asked somewhat casually, his tone laced with sadness and uneasiness. Will turned to look at his friend with a bewildered expression “I hope so, I’m sure many of us would like to go back to our families”. A low hum came from Tom as he shifted in his position in the grass. “I wonder how my brother is, I haven’t heard from him in a while, you know...”.

As Tom spoke continuously about his brother, or various other topics, Will found himself slowly succumbing to the lull of sleep. He was tired, so very tired, and all he wanted to do was dream of home. To dream of being at home with his mother, with his sisters, and at home with you.

William knew that Tom was standing beside him, his hand outstretched in waiting. He knew, because of the shadows dancing across his eyelids. He didn’t want to wake, having heard the majority of the conversation with Sergeant Sanders moments prior.

Pick a man, bring your kit.

Reluctantly, Will opened his eyes. At first, he eyed Tom’s extended hand skeptically, before lifting his gaze to meet his friend’s eyes. Without a second thought, Will took the hand before him, and was hauled to his feet in one swift movement. As Will grabbed his helmet and rifle, an uneasy feeling settled within his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what Blake had picked him for exactly, but something told him that this would be no easy task.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[1917-boys]

Coming Home (Will Schofield Fluff)

Requested: Yes / No

Word count: 1,819

Author’s Note: This is all over the place, I apologize

The sun’s rays warmed your back as you kneeled before the garden in the front of your home. The sky was a pale shade of blue, and the temperature was warm, but not hot. Your flowers were beginning to bloom and the nature around your home was beautiful. The only downside was that your husband, Will, wasn’t here to bask in the beauty alongside you.

When Will had returned from town, hand clutching a draft card, you were struck with worry. The townspeople had been calling this war the Great War, and you had heard why. The loss of life was ghastly, and now your husband was about to be thrown into the fray.

He had walked briskly up the path to your home, reaching for your hand. After that, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before wrapping you up in his embrace.

You would learn soon enough that his embrace was what you missed the most.

That night at dinner, he had asked your daughters, “You’ve heard about the war at school?” They were both so young, then. Merely 7 and 5, they had no reason for knowing the horrors of the war. They both had nodded, though, unaware that their father was soon to break the unfortunate news to them.

When they heard their father was leaving, countless tears were shed. Not only from your daughters, but from you and Will as well. Nobody wanted to be separated, but the country required it.

All you could do was hope he would come back.

Three years had passed, and the spring of 1918 was in full bloom. You continued to work in the garden, pulling weeds and watering the new blossoms.

Finishing up in the garden, you began the short walk into town to take your daughters home after school. The often-travelled dirt road to town was empty, a sight that used to be unusual, but since the start of the war, had become normal. With all the young men off to fight, everything seemed to be different.

‘Would things ever get back to normal?’ You asked yourself, approaching the town.

The schoolhouse was a beautiful building, built from solid red brick and oak. As the children began to file out the door, you caught sight of your younger daughter. “Mama!” She cried happily, running from the doorway into your arms. You knelt down to greet her, hugging her. “Is Daddy coming home?” She asks excitedly, still in your arms.

You pick your head up to meet her gaze, smiling sadly. “I don’t know yet, darling,” you began, “a lot of things are still uncertain.” Her brows furrowing, she stepped back to look up at you. “My teacher says that the Army is starting to send people home. Her brother is coming home tomorrow, and she said that we need to ask and see if anyone we know is coming home,” she said, happiness slowly draining from her face at your blank expression.

“I didn’t hear that, darling,” you reply. Upset, your daughter sighs before turning to face the schoolhouse entrance, awaiting her older sister’s exit.

A few minutes pass, and your eldest daughter walks out of the schoolhouse. As her eyes fall on you, she walks up to you before smiling and hugging you. “We need to go to the post office, right away!” She says, in place of her usual greeting.

You couldn’t help but give in to them. The girls had been through so much these past years without their father, but they were always strong and carried through.

As the three of you walk to the post office, hand in hand, the young paper delivery boy exits the building. He rushes over to you, gladness painted on his youthful face.

“He’s coming home, Mrs. Schofield!” The boy cries. Spirits flying, you are eager to read the letter stating your husband was coming home. The young boy continues, “I can’t wait to see my father again!” As the realization dawns on you that it isn’t Will that’s coming home, you are once again filled with worry and sorrow.

“That’s fantastic!” You say to the boy, smiling happily for him in spite of yourself.

You only wished that it was you and the girls celebrating like that.

As the paper boy skipped away happily, you turn to your daughters, squeezing their hands. “He’ll come back, I know it,” you murmur to them quietly. Nodding eagerly in response, they pull you along to the front door of the post office.

As you enter, the familiar aroma of paper and ink envelopes you. Inhaling slowly, you relish in the comforting scent before approaching the front desk.

“Good afternoon, Marge. Is there any mail for us?” You inquire to the lady working. Smiling back at you, Marge reaches down to pick up a short stack of mail.

“This one’s from Army Command,” Marge tells you, excitement bubbling within her for you. As she hands the stack over to you, Marge turns to your daughters, waving at them before reaching into a drawer and retrieving a toffee for each of them.

You grin at Marge, thanking her for the candy and the mail. She waves a friendly goodbye to the three of you before returning to her work. Exiting the post office, your daughters look up at you, hope practically seeping through their faces.

“We’ll read it when we get home,” you told them, although you were just as eager as them to read the letter. “How about we race home, then?” Your younger daughter suggests, a smirk playing on her lips. Both you and your other daughter look at her before glancing at each other, each of you grinning.

“Okay. On your mark, get set, go!” You exclaim. The three of you rush home, kicking up dirt as you run. The spring breeze is warm against your face and the grass and flowers you run past are only a blur of color. ‘It’s beautiful,’ you think.

The run to your home was relatively short, but when you arrived back you were all panting. Out of breath, you enter the house and place the mail on the dining room table. Your daughters begin to giggle, their contagious laughter ringing throughout the house. You laugh as well, basking in the time you get to spend with them.

“Come on, then! Let’s read it!” Your younger daughter urges you, grabbing the letter from the table and seating herself. Her sister nods enthusiastically, anticipation clawing at her.

You sit down at the table, and reach for the letter from your daughter’s hand. Opening the letter, your eyes scanned the paper. Reaching the end, you gasp loudly and happily, your hand reaching up to cover your mouth in shock.

A large smile breaks out on your face, a breathless laugh leaving your mouth. “He’s coming home,” you murmured to yourself, looking up to meet the expectant gazes of your daughters. It seemed unreal, but you held in your hand the proof that it was indeed reality.

“He’s coming home,” you repeated, a bit louder. The idea seemed so foreign to you that you couldn’t contain the excitement but also confusion that came with the fantastic news that yes, your husband was alive and was going to come home.

Your daughters pick up on your anxious, yet excited, response and quickly sit up to read the letter themselves. Whooping with joy, they leap from their seats with wild smiles on their faces. “Daddy’s coming home!” They cried together.

After all, this was the moment they had been waiting for, just as much as you.

Two weeks pass, and you walk to the train station, hand in hand with your daughters. Approaching the station, you’re giddy with anticipation. Your daughters’ hands shake in your own, unbelievably eager to see their father.

A scarlet steam engine pulls into the station, and young men gleefully jump from the train onto the platform, rushing to hug their loved ones. Your eyes scan the crowd hopefully, praying for a glimpse of Will’s sandy blond hair. Seeing nothing, you glance down at your daughters, smiling softly. “I’m sure he’s on the next one,” you say to them, hoping that the words were true.

‘He can’t be dead, right?’ You asked yourself.

As the station platform slowly clears, your eyes drift to the sky. The soft, gentle breeze of the morning has picked up its pace. The sky darkens and you smell a whiff of rain.

Leading your daughters to an empty bench, you take a seat between them, breathing in the fresh air. Flowers were planted along edge of the platform, and you could smell their sweet aroma from your seat. You close your eyes, waiting for the next train.

The train that would hopefully carry your husband.

‘Hopefully,’ you thought.

But there’s only one way to find out.

Your daughters stand up to play in the small grass field near the platform as you move to observe the flowers. You kneel to get a good smell of a beautiful daisy, and that’s when you hear it.

It’s faint . . . but it’s a train whistle nonetheless.

“Girls,” you call out to them. Ceasing their game, they rush to you and cling to each leg. The platform had begun to fill up once again, as the next wave of families yearned to see their soldiers return home.

Another train, this time black and gray in color, pulls into the station and soldiers begin to exit the train. You search the crowd until you see a head of ruffled, sandy blond hair. Smiling, you stand up taller to try and get a glimpse of the man’s face. Your excitement rubs off on your daughters, who begin to smile as well.

The sandy blond-haired man approaches your group slowly, unbeknownst to you. As the man steps into your line of sight, you let out a strangled gasp.

Standing before you is Will. He looks tired and hungry and unkempt, but he’s still Will.

You rush forward, throwing your arms around him. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. Will buries his head in your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. Your daughters hurry forward, each hugging their father around the waist. Will pulls away, his arms still around your waist before he kisses your forehead.

The kiss is gentle, but holds years worth of passion and love. “I missed you all, so much,” Will says, his voice rough with emotion. Kneeling down to face his daughters, he hugs them both before standing again to face you.

“It was horrible, love. Honestly,” he begins, “But knowing that you were waiting here patiently for me to come home means everything to me. If fighting in France is what keeps you safe, know that I’d do it a thousand times over if it means getting to come home and see your bright smile again.”