#French wars on pause pls

[misspaddockverse]

I think we, as a society, failed terribly in addressing Pierre’s Mustache Renaissance. I mean, of course he was handsome before, but damn… right now he’s just… just!!!! Look at him!!!. We need to talk about it more. Let’s go, people.

#I stand for Pierrenaissance #you haven’t seen my man #I don’t talk about him very often but this topic deserves attention #not everyone call pull a mustache like this #from zero to hero #what appears on Google when you search for glow up: #French wars on pause pls #pierre gasly #alpine #f1blr #f1 #formula 1 #formula one #australia gp 2023 #aus gp 2023 #race week

[deathmetalunicorn1]

...

I have this fanmade roster in my mind where its Athena vs Joan of Arc are one of the fighters and Im having trouble on imagining how their fight will go.. pls help me mother😭😭

I gotchu baby!

-Athena, goddess of wisdom, warfare and handicrafts. A warrior goddess born from Zeus after splitting his head open, born fully grown, and becoming the patron goddess of heroes.

-However, despite her wisdom and honor as a warrior, she was very vain, much like Aphrodite, as their feud, along with Hera, caused a massive battle on earth that cost so many lives, all over who was the most beautiful.

-Despite portraying herself as a goddess of justice, portraying the civilized side of war and combat, and being a virgin goddess who would take disrespect from nobody, she was not without her cruelty, like many of the other Greek gods.

-Many know of one of the most feared legends in history, Medusa, who was a priestess for Athena, watching over one of her temples and Poseidon raped her, defiling not only Medusa but the temple as well. However, instead of defending her priestess and punishing the god who committed the crime, Athena chose the easy way out, as she didn’t want to have to fight her uncle on this. Athena chose to change her priestess into a monster, snakes for hair and a gaze that would turn anyone into stone, causing everyone to shun her, blaming Medusa as if it were her fault that she was raped by a god.

-Athena’s heart hammered in her chest as she adjusted her helm, her grip tightening on her spear and her shield with Medusa’s head on it, covered by a white cloth, as she entered the arena, hearing the cheers of the gods around her, a cocky smile on her face, as if she knew she was already the winner.

-Joan of Arc, the daughter of a French farmer, who rose to become the hero of France, following the words of god and several of his angels to save France from England.

-She was raised with little, learning to appreciate what she had, and as she grew into the hero of France, she remained humbled, praying for those who fell in battle, helping those who had less than she did.

-There was no trace of arrogance in the young girl, who died at the age of nineteen, as she lived and died as a child of god, even as she was burning at the stake at the hands of the English who declared her a heretic.

-Joan was more solemn, kneeling to pray to whoever would listen that she would win, to save humanity. She no longer prayed to God, as he wasn’t there to accept her when she ascended to Valhalla, moving onto his next pawn now that she had died and was now useless to spread his name and faith on earth.

-Her faith was greatly shaken, horrified to learn how cruel the gods truly were, finding out the truth that those beings that so many prayed for, treated them as mere toys, not caring if they broke, if they died.

-Joan spent her time in Valhalla training, continuing down the path of a warrior, not to fight, but to protect others, to defend those who can’t fight back.

-Joan lifted her shield, which was her Valkyrie partner, Brunnhilde herself, a shining golden shield that was as tall as she was, and a sword in her other hand, donned with matching golden armor and a winged helm, similar to the ones the Valkyries wore. Brunnhilde, in the form of a spirit, appeared beside the young French woman, “I will protect you, so you can protect humanity.”

-The humans did their best to drown out the gods, cheering loudly for the heroine as she walked out to Heimdall’s introduction, holding her head even, eyes sharp and focused.

-Athena approved of this appointment, giving her a nod out of respect, knowing that this girl was a true warrior, fighting for others. However, this was a competition, and Athena doesn’t lose battles, ever.

-The match started and Athena lifted her spear to the sky before slamming the blunt end down to the ground, causing a shockwave to ripple through the arena, “Human- state your reasoning to fight!”

-Joan was fully ready to charge in, but paused, hearing the question and she spoke, holding her head high, having no fear, “I fight to protect those who are unable to defend themselves. And I fight to expose the cruelty you gods force upon humanity, rather than protecting them, as they all worship you for.”

-The humans all cheered loudly, rallying behind the warrior as Athena sneered, getting called out by the humans, finding it disrespectful, “Watch your mouth- young one. Someone should teach you some respect!”

-Joan lifted her sword and shield, holding them both as if they were feather-light, “I speak only the truth. Is that something else you gods do- punish those who you know are right, just to save your own egos?”

-Many gods jeered at the human, while others looked rather sheepish, as she was speaking the truth, and the humans were shouting their own anger, shouting the same to the gods, asking them why they were so cruel.

-Athena charged instantly, rage taking over and she leapt up to attack from above and her spear came down on Joan’s shield, Brunnhilde, who instantly smirked, and instantly the spear shattered, included the bladed tip.

-Joan then stunned all by slashing with her own blade, giving Athena only a moment to block, getting blown back head over heels, stunning everyone in the arena.

-Athena was quickly on her feet as Joan shifted her posture to charge, a glare in her eyes as Athena was gawking, now finding herself without a weapon, and her anger only grew as Joan threw her own sword down, to make it a fair fight, showing her own honor as a warrior.

-Athena immediately charged, going for the sword, “Never throw your weapon away until you have won your match- stupid girl!”

-Joan charged, hiding behind her shield, turning herself into a battering ram and slammed hard into the goddess, blowing her back, “If you had been paying attention to King Leonidas’ match, you would know that a shield is just a strong of a weapon!”

-She grabbed the sword and tossed it into the moat surrounding the arena, getting rid of it as Athena laughed like she had won, “Oh believe me, girl, I know that more than anyone!”

-Shouts of concern filled the arena as she removed the white cloth covering Medusa’s eyes and Joan had only a moment to duck behind her shield, avoiding the gaze.

-The arena was protected, so those in the audience didn’t have to worry about being turned to stone, and Heimdall was wearing dark sunglasses, to protect himself.

-Athena went on the assault, attacking Joan who could only protect and dodge, getting kicked hard, as she couldn’t open her eyes at the risk of being turned to stone.

-Joan’s shield fell from her hands as Athena turned her own shield and bashed the side of Joan’s face, knocking her helmet off and busting her open, causing blood to drip down over her left eye.

-Not having a shield, Joan had no choice but to keep her eyes tightly closed, putting her arms up to her face, blocking the harsh hits as Athena was laughing loudly, chipping away at Joan, “You could have never hoped to beat me- you silly little human!! Open your eyes and I’ll spare you by giving you a quick death!!”

-Joan was panicking, her mind racing on what to do, before she heard a new voice in her head, ‘Grab me!’ as Athena went to bash her again, Joan’s hands shot out and grabbed the sides of Athena’s shield, stopping it.

-Athena smirked, “That’s right, take your own life into your hands and open your eyes!” Joan wasn’t scared for some reason, ‘Take me in your hands- give me my revenge!’

-Many were shouting for Joan, not wanting her to lose and Athena gasped as Joan did indeed open her eyes, but nothing happened, she remained as normal, panting harshly in pain, eyes narrowed slightly.

-Joan leg swept Athena, keeping her shield and she turned the shield around, showing Athena that Medusa had her eyes tightly shut, sparing the young woman from a stony fate.

-Athena panicked, holding her hands up, immediately changing her tune, pleading for mercy before Joan spoke, as she knew the legend of Medusa, “She will decide your fate!”

-Medusa opened her mouth and an unearthly scream came from her lips as she opened her eyes and Athena shrieked as she was slowly turned to stone, looking up at Joan, begging her for help.

-Medusa then spoke once more to the young French girl, ‘Place me in her embrace and break her. This will set my soul free. Thank you, Joan.’

-Joan did as she was asked, placing the shield in Athena’s embrace, Medusa facing Athena’s chest before grabbing her own shield, Brunnhilde and walked over to the statue and raised her shield and broke the goddess into pieces, and her shield evaporated alongside her, freeing Medusa.

-Heimdall was gawking in shock as Joan turned as the crowd went wild, seeing such a wonderful match, cheering for Joan who smiled softly before her vision went blurry and she fell to her knees.

-Brunnhilde didn’t allow her to fall to the ground, returning to normal and holding the young woman to her chest, “You’ve done it, Joan. Rest now.” Joan nodded softly, slowly falling asleep as Brunnhilde carried her princess style backstage to be patched up, a sense of relief filling her as humanity was one step closer to salvation.

#record of ragnarok

[highsviolets]

the sweet secrets of loving

summary: Obi-wan returns from deployment with a sweet surprise

word count: 1.8k+ (what)

cw: brief mention of war/deployment 

A/N:  after discussing Obi-Wan’s culinary abilities with @thespareoom​ and @obitwo​, this little one-shot popped into my head last night and it wouldn’t leave me alone. this is so soft and i just -- if you need me i will be yearning // shout out to @afogocado for finding this gif (if it’s yours pls lmk so I can credit you!)

the sweet secrets of loving, a fic by corellians-only 

Silver keys seemed to dance in your hand as you fumbled with the lock, the metal glaring in your face as they reflected the merciless fluorescent lights bearing down on you with foreboding.

After several agonizing moments spent twisting the key, trying to locate the elusive sweet spot that would permit access to your apartment, the stubborn thing acquiesced and the door swung open.

He was already there. A feeling like a soft summer breeze swept over you at the sight his buzzed auburn hair, his pride and authority etched into his shoulders like the precise stitching of his combat uniform still clinging to his back. He was staring out the window, and you could tell from the way his thumb curled around the unit insignia on his left ring finger that he was anxious.

“Darling?” you called out, mustering the last dredges of your willpower to not sprint to his side.You simply waited by the door, setting down the cumbersome black box of files your boss had insisted you take home this evening, no, really, it would be most helpful if you could compare the spring and fall mockups tonight. The box of responsibility rebounded off the hardwood floor and skidded slightly, blending in with the muffled closing of the door behind you.

It was no matter, anyway. The box had barely escaped the protective gaze of your fingers when he was pulling you into him. His head bowed down to nestle in the crook of your neck and you laughed as his fine hair tickled your cheek. You pressed a kiss to his sheared locks. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” you whispered, as though speaking any louder would bring a curse upon you both, would take him away from you again.

At the sound of his name, Obi-Wan straightened and took your face in his hands. His thumb drew angels across your cheekbones. “Darling,” he breathed. Aquamarine eyes met yours. It felt like getting caught in the hail — confusion, wonder, a homecoming of understanding, a bite of pain.

When the two of you video chat during his deployments, his eyes are always darker. They’re steel and iron and the reflection of your keys in the hallway and the torment of a sea during the storm as it fights against the waves.

Every time he comes home, they change. They become lighter, the way his body does without the Kevlar bulletproof vest.

When he looks at you like that — like the world would burn and he would still go to war to fight for you alone — your resolve shatters, the way a window must when his bullet crashes through its pane, searching for the sniper.

Your fingers grasp his wrists and tug at the end of his sleeve. The pink of your painted nails contrasts horribly with his camouflage, and the absurd thought makes you laugh even as he dips his head in acquaintance to your nonverbal command.

The first kiss is simple, like the routine act of walking from the metro to you apartment. Routine, familiar, but not unexciting. A expression of the vibrancy of life. Your lips meet his, like an embrace, and stay there for several long moments.

A second kiss, the third, the fourth: these are more demanding. The way his hands slip under diaphanous emerald silk tells you that this is more like a carefully timed assault. His mouth is precise and exacting, his tongue pushes back against your claims to dominance, his fingers press into skin and yours clutch at the unforgiving fabric of his uniform.

You disconnect and he smiles, a steady, even thing that shows his teeth. Even so, it threatens to split his face in two, and the dust that seems to be shedding from his laugh lines makes you wonder the last time he was truly happy.

But you ascend to your tiptoes and kiss his cheek and banish all thoughts of his deployment, at least for tonight. “C’mon, Obi-Wan.” You take his hand and start dragging him to the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”

____

It is not until later that evening that you discover his secret. Padding into the kitchen, you open the fridge to retrieve a new bottle of sparkling water when something strange caught your eye.

“Obi?” you say. The hike in your tone matches the spike in your anxiety and unease. “You didn’t happen to pick up some tofu in miso when you went to store earlier, did you? There’s uh —“ you pause, staring at the blob in apprehension — “something…weird in the fridge.”

“Ah.” He follows your path into the kitchen and steps behind you to better see the object in question. “I see you’ve found dessert. I wondered how long it would take.” Amusement colors his tone, and you turn your head to see a smirk decorating his lips.

“Oh.” The unassuming expression is the only thing that enters your vacuous mind, consumed by the strangeness of the oval-shaped yellow-and-caramel colored mass. You run your fingers through your hair — now freed from its stuffy updo — in an attempt to wrest some meaning back into your existence. “What, um, what is it?”

Obi-Wan extends his arms and catches you in an embrace from behind. “It’s a flan, darling!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Obi-Wan squeezes your waist in excitement and you lean back into his chest, comforted that its soft cotton of an old t-shirt that greets you, rather than his fatigues.

“Oh.” Emptiness returns, and now the exoticism of the strange food is coupled with curious revulsion that Obi-Wan is so interested in something that seems so…unappealing.

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes and gently scoots you out of his path and puts the platter on the counter. You watch him as he gathers plates, washes fresh utensils, and meticulously cuts the thing, taking care to add extra sauce to each slice. He thrusts a plate at you. “Try it,” he urges.

You don’t like dessert. Never have. You’d rather eat something savory than something sweet, and after years of failed attempts, Obi-Wan has largely given up. But here he is, staring at you with those aquamarine eyes, practically begging you to try this foreign sweet treat.

So you do. The custard is smooth, like the silk of your top, and flecked with spots of intense vanilla flavoring. Caramel oozes into every bite, rich in tone and balancing the tenderness of the egg and sugar.

“Oh my god.” You meet his eyes, and you can tell he’s valiantly staving off another grin. He never presses his lips together like that otherwise. “This is — Obi, this is amazing. Like, vintage Chanel kind of amazing.”

He laughs aloud at your comparison, taking the two plates and reassuming his previous position on the couch.

“I’m glad to hear you enjoy it, sweetheart.” He erupts into another round of chuckles when you moan around the next bite.

“What did you say this is?” you point to the concoction with you spoon.

“Flan, dearest,” he says mildly, taking a bite himself. “Ah, you’re right, it did turn out rather well today. My mother would be proud.”

The statement gives you pause, and you set down your spoon. “Your mother? Wait — did you make this?”

Obi-wan looks at you, surprise evident in his half-smile and narrowed eyes. “Of course I did! Where did you think I got it?”

“I didn’t know you could bake!” The statement is bald, and childish, but you don’t care.

“How did you think all the cookies and tray bakes appeared, then?” He raises an eyebrow mischievously. There’s nothing he loves more than poking holes in your logic, especially when you cling to it so resolutely.

“Oh, I don’t know!” you splutter. “I suppose I thought you bought them, or something!” You throw him a mock glare. “Not my fault you never told me that you bake.”

He launches himself forward and drops a conciliatory kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’m very sorry, darling,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eye so you shove him away from you. The gesture is playful and wondrous in its innocence, and for a moment you feel as though you are in university again, staying up late in the student lounge talking, long before uniforms and obligations and separations. You want to say something but the words get caught in your throat as you remember your promise to leave the boots behind. At least this one night.

“What is flan, anyway? When did you learn to make it?” you say instead, forcing the words out and taking another bite. The sweetness caresses the bitterness lingering in your mind.

“It’s a long story,” he says, shifting his gaze to the window.

You place an hand on his bare arm. “I want to hear it,” you say, and you do.

So he tells you. He tells you of his French mother spending her childhood summers across the Pyrenees in Spain, learning dishes like arroz con pollo and tortilla española and flan. The family cook become a grandmother to her, he says, and again he plays with the unit insignia on his ring and you know he misses his mother more than ever.

Flan became his mother’s speciality, he explains. He points to the sheen on the custard and talks about how his mother learned how to perfectly beat the eggs and how she favored the caramel sauce against the hard caramel on her native country’s creme brûlée and how the family cook in Spain gifted her with her very own flan pan when she was eighteen years old.

You ask him how he came to bake such things. He smiles again and despite its joy, your heart aches because you never knew. While his father was deployed, he would bake with his mother to keep her company, and she taught him tarte tatin alongside flan and the Bakewell tarts his father so enjoyed.

“It was how she told people she loved them,” he says with a shrug, finishing his portion. “She would bake for the other women whose husbands were deployed, or for the family next door, or for my best friend’s cousin’s birthday, or if I had a bad day at school there would be something sweet waiting for before I went to bed.” Obi-wan rests his head on his hand, considering. “I guess I’m the same way. I came home and I wanted to do something nice for you, to tell you I love you.”

“That’s awfully sweet of you, Obi.” The pun is bad and you both know it, but he laughs and kisses you anyway. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“I love you too,” you murmur against his mouth. “Will you bake me something tomorrow?”

“Darling,” he presses a kiss to the edge of your lips. “I will bake you something every single day if that is what makes you happy.”

And you say you want him to, because you want him to love you forever.

#obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan x you #obi-wan x you #obi-wan imagine #obi wan imagine #star wars fic #character: obi-wan kenobi #YES I LOVE FLAN #DONT COME FOR ME #my abuelita's flan is >>> #honor kink #cris writes

[miraclealignersv]

Summer wind (Eugene Roe x Reader)

Ask: i got rejected tonight so pls give me the fluffiest shit you’ve ever written in your life - pref. w tab or doc xxx

A/n: I'm so sorry babe, and I truly hope you feel better! If you need to talk just know you could always talk to me :). Also I hope you enjoy, it's a little short. We love our mans Eugene Roe in this house.

Tag list: @gottapenny @wexhappyxfew @bandofmarvels @medievalfangirl @starryrevelations @itisjustmethistime @snafus-peckuh @etainlord

The summer evening wind was just enough to send a chill up y/n’s spine. She sat comfortably on the porch swing, staring off into the back yard. The tallest tree standing just over about 10 feet, the large branches swaying along with the soft breeze. The sky painted various shades of pinks, oranges, and hints of blue and purple just as the sun started to set.

Y/n smiled to herself as she heard the soft voice of her husband, not understanding a word of French she knew he was rushing to end the conversation with his Ma. He would often call to say hello, have an hour-long conversation with her. Later y/n would chat along not long before handing Eugene the phone, another long conversation with the rest of his family.

She loved that he could talk to them about any and everything, a content smile on his face. After a long, tiring day at work, it was something he definitely needed. Y/n glanced down at the glass of lemonade in her hands before bringing it up to her lips, her gaze set on the large open back yard.

“Sorry about that, darling.” The soft Cajun accent still making her heart skip a beat, the handsome dark-haired man sighing as he took a seat next to her on the porch swing. Y/n hummed, scooting closer to him. Close enough for him to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

“How are your brothers doing?” She asked, voice soft as Eugene sighed. A small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, y/n watched attentively.

“They’re doing well, I’m convinced Ma put them up to ask the same question.” Gene sighed, trying his best to avoid eye contact with his loving wife. Shy as to what she would say, how she would react to the question his whole family had asked him.

“What was it?” Y/n chuckled and raised an eyebrow, seeing that the man holding her close was nervous. The soft breeze blowing some of the leaves in the yard onto the porch, the light that radiated from the sky slowly fading into darker colors of blues, purples, and black.

“My Ma asked if we were planning on making her a grandmother anytime soon.” Scratching the back of his neck he managed to get the words out without pausing midway, y/n slowly nodded. A smile on her lips as she processed the question. “I’m surprised she didn’t ask you when you two chatted.”

“She did mention baby sweaters,” y/n recalled the conversation, her mother in law would knit scarves for everyone in the family. This time she had asked y/n what color she wanted her scarf to be, shortly after she brought up the fact that she had learned how to knit baby sweaters.

“God,” Gene chuckled, shaking his head in embarrassment. Y/n furrowed her brows and leaned over to place her glass of lemonade on the floor. “I’m sorry, sweets.”

“Why, why are you sorry?” She asked, her voice soft as she placed her hand on his arm. Y/n knew that Eugene wanted kids, he was so good with the neighbors’ six-year-old. The topic of family was touched on briefly, after being married for three years they hadn’t really thought about babies. “Baby, do you want a kid?” She asked, Eugene raised his gaze and answered quickly.

“Of course” his eyes darting all over her face as she processed his response, y/n simply smiled and scooted closer to him. Laying her head on his should she thought of the amount of love they would pour into a child of their own. Y/n could only imagine it, a little tiny baby— made from him and her. Maybe their child would have Eugene’s dark hair, his perfect little smile she loved so much.

“Do you want one now?” Her voice was low, speaking slowly making sure Eugene could hear every single word. The thought of her loving husband holding a tiny baby in his arms, she had seen first had how patient and caring he was with others during the war. She could only imagine how caring and loving he would be with a baby, their baby. “Because I do” she whispered, Eugene chuckled and shook his head after he processed everything y/n had said.

“Our back yard does look a little empty,” he reasoned, y/n gave his hand a squeeze before giggling herself. “You wanna make a baby then?” He asked, the little twinkle in his eye was enough to make y/n’s heart skip a beat.

“Right now? You want to make one right now?” Y/n laughed at his question followed by the shocked facial expression. She was positive about two things while she sat on that porch swing. One, she loved Eugene Roe more than anything in the world. And two, she wanted a baby, and she wanted one with him only.

She only leaned in, her lips pecking his before sighing contently. Eugene watching her every move in adoration, watching her lick her lips as she tried to form the right words. A giggle coming from her as she stood up holding his hand in hers, “right now, let’s make a baby right now.” she smiled mischievously as she tugged him along. The summer wind messing up her hair as she turned to see the widest smile on her loving husband's face.

#band of brothers imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers #eugene roe imagine #eugene roe x reader #eugene roe

[letscuttothefeeling]

season three episode one

Okay everyone, Siesta Key just ended and I must say – I’m overall VERY pleased with the premiere of Season 3. Even though I know everything that’s happening in this season because I created a reddit account specifically for access to a thread dedicated to all things SK, and because they posted everything that happens on the Siesta Key Instagram, I was still shocked by one thing: how much I enjoyed the episode. Let’s cut to the feeling.

Fade in. There he is – the mystery man I’ve been dying to meet – SCOTT. That’s right, Fabienne’s husband. You may know him as Juliette’s Father. Chic French queen Fabienne and confused husband Scott congratulate Juliette on her graduation from FSU and suggest she become an attorney. Juliette has plans of her own – retail. They look elated. After making a weird sex joke to her Dad, and having visible difficulty adjusting to her new veneers, Juliette has graduated, the scene is over, and I am feeling great about the season.

If you’ve ever watched SK, you know three things for sure. 1. Juliette is a hideous crier. 2. Canvas’ Mother has a complete lack of understanding when it comes to parenting. 3. Kelsey and Juliette do NOT get along. UNTIL NOW! It’s very exciting to see their first scene as not only friends – but also roomies! Even though Kelsey’s bizarrely shaped eyebrows, over plumped fake lips and orange spray tan make me feel like she must have NO real friends, because certainly, they wouldn’t let her butcher her appearance so thoroughly, she and Juliette seem to get along swimmingly by talking mad shit about Chloe. We love to see women supporting women by talking shit about other women.

Chloe, you minx! Chloe pulls up to Alex’s mansion in a Bentley toting about ten designer bags and a serious attitude. After she explains to his mother that she’s taken it upon herself to pickuppe some “luxury” clothing items for Alex in Sarasota, Florida, even though he’s quite literally in EUROPE, she also *subtly!* drops that he’s left behind his personal credit card for her own use. Weird brag, but more importantly: cha-ching! After talking shit about Juliette to a grown woman, they switch the conversation to Madisson’s new man. Queue Malibu by Miley Cyrus. Ma-jor props to whoever created the playlist for this epi.

After a stunning underwater montage from Florida to Cali, we see aspiring model/actress Maddison walking into a dinner date. Even though Chloe’s just gabbed to Alex’s mother that Braddison is no more, I still half expect BG to pop up and hold the door open for Madi. Just kidding, I don’t, because the producers of this show spilled quite literally every twist before it aired. Wait, speaking of producers – who is Madisson on a date with? Oh, it’s “ISH”, the FORTY-SIX-YEAR-OLD, BALD, AND OVERWEIGHT FORMER PRODUCER OF SIESTA KEY. Unlike Juliette’s father, Scott, I’ve met Madisson’s Dad before, so it’s not immediately apparent to me as to why she has serious Daddy issues. I’m hoping the root of this unfolds during the season. Ish, or “baby” as Madisson calls him, (again, he’s 46, so I’m not sure “baby” is the most fitting nickname, but to each her own) decides it will be totally normal to jet back to the key and surprise the children he used to exploit the cast with the announcement of his new relationship. I can’t wait.

Okay, we’re back at a dinner date – but a much more age-appropriate one between Juliette and her new man, former bachelorette contestant, Robby. I’m not a bachelor franchise fan and unfortunately for Robby, I’m NOT a Robby fan either. He’s not hot and he’s not cool. That’s literally it. Discussing this further would be a waste. Oh, it’s worth noting that new roomies Chloe and Madisson also meetuppe during this time to discuss Madisson and Ish. (Mish, if you will. Some prefer Dadisson.) Thank you, Chloe, for reacting to the news in a very relatable way by chugging alcohol and hiding in your clothing.

Um, who is this hottie emerging from a PJ? It’s the fabulous Cara, with a new nose! Normally I love to hate her - she has that je ne sais quoi – but right now, I just love her. Removing your nose job bandages on film is the kind of 2020 realness I need in my life. Enter G BABY! We’ve missed you and your utter lack of awareness, Garrett! But the love birds aren’t exactly happily reuniting – there’s def some tension in the air. Uh oh! Cara immediately becomes annoyed that Garrett both broke her heart AND kept his lips shut about her new nose. Poll – would you rather your boyfriend intentionally squeeze your fat as fuck thighs, or neglect to comment on your surgically enhanced face? The choice is yours.

While Juliette’s graduation party is great, if Alex doesn’t throw a start-of-the-summer rager, I’m suing MTV. More specifically, I’m suing YOU, Gary. Anyways, as Juliette and de ghurls are getting ready for the party, Juliette’s asked who she likes boning more – Boring Robby or shrek Alex. She hesitates for a moment but then says Robby. I take that pregnant pause as a confirmation of what I’ve known all along – Alex is great in bed and that’s the only reason Juliette was obsessed with him. (Edit – this has been confirmed on her Instagram story.)

Cut to: Cara, G baby, and Cara’s new androgynous and likely lesbian friend, Victoria, getting drinks. I don’t know what’s more confusing – the fact that Cara claims Victoria is her best friend or the fact that Garrett continues to piss Cara off by defending Kelsey while she incessantly brings her up.

Party time! But it wouldn’t be a party without Chloe intervening in something that has nothing to do with her in an attempt to destroy Juliette’s happiness. While wearing a Kentucky derby inspired hat/headband, nonetheless! Chloe and Amanda sit down with Boring Robby the second he arrives to grill him with some genual questions about his “intentions” with Juliette. And I can’t help but immediately think of that scene in Twilight when Police Chief Charlie Swan pulls out his shotgunné to intimidate his daughter’s 108-year-old vampire soul mate. Thank you, Catherine Hardwicke/ Stephanie Meyers, for this image.

At this point, I have to question Chloe’s sexuality because I can’t think of a single other reason as to why she would be so invested in Juliette’s relaysh with Robby. Is he a “phony”, simply using Juliette for fame? Maybe! But aren’t they all kind of doing that anyway? It’s like, they’re on a reality show for God’s sake. After Boring Robby says absolutely nothing of interest, (read: BORING Robby,) something actually exciting happens. Kelsey slithers over to publicly flirt with G baby in an attempt to piss off Cara, and it totally WORKS! Nice!

The second Cara sees Kelsey and G baby talking, her eyes fill with fire and she almost burns her new nose off. It’s funny that she portrays herself as such a sophisticated, cosmopolitan gal, yet she’s so blatantly insecure about trashy Kelsey and Garrett, the braindead body of meat, talking about absolutely nothing. Stop slumming it and start dating Zaddies like Madisson!

After Garrett tells Kelsey that Cara has banned him from talking to her, Kelsey marches up to Cara, grabs her by the hand, and you just KNOW the rumors are true – World War III is HAPPENING! Kelsey and Cara immediately establish that they’re not each other’s “kind of person”, and then Kelsey tells Cara that she can’t wait for Cara’s “life to explode.” Cara fires back with the ULTIMATE diss, claiming that Kelsey doesn’t even have her GED! We find out this is, in fact, not true via Instagram, thanks to Kelsey’s iconic photo of none other than GARRETT holding her on her graduation day. Okay, high school level educated kween! Go off!

Pls note caption

Here’s the thing: I dislike Cara and Kelsey, both for entirely different reasons, but IMO, Kelsey won this round. Cara came off as insecure, psychotic, and just plain mean! Cara, a word of advice? Stop gallivanting around tacky Florida and return home to America’s Kingdom – New Jersey.

 Pay close attention everyone - we’re almost done and you’re about to witness reality show television HISTORY. And it is a BAG. OF. WEIRD. After Boring Robby buys Juliette a trip to Greece, Madisson and her new Dad man walk in, and EVERYONE IS SHOOK. Seriously. The cast is genuinely shocked. Please note their faces when Madisson and Ish waltz into Juliette’s grad party hand in hand. Arguably the most thrown off person of all, of course, is BG. He hastily confronts his former producer, and refers to Ish’s relationship with his ex as a “bag of weird.” Honestly, Brandon, I have to agree with you. And so does literally everyone else in the world.

After Brandon huffs, puffs, and exits, everyone gets over the initial shock of Madisson’s upsettingly old “boy”friend and the episode winds down. But there’s one twist. We learn via Chloe’s texts that Alex is on his way back from Europe. Probably wearing all the luxe clothes Chloe shipped him from Siesta Key. Because who trusts European clothes, am I right? Anyways, something tells me that Boring Robby doesn’t stand a chance once Alex touches down on the Key. But we’ll have to wait until next week to find out.

Fin

[harrysbaebyhoney]

BEFORE THE BLITZ.

A/N: this story is about 10k words, so a bit of a long oneee! it’s part one out of a three part fic, and i’m not really sure when the other parts will be written, as it took a lot of work for this one to be done, but i’m hoping soon!!! i’m not claiming to be a ww2 scholar, so there might be some wrong info abt the time period, but i did my best based off the research i did. so pls remember this is a work of fiction and i’m not claiming for it to be 100% true! i really hope you enjoy this story, pls let me know any of your thoughts abt it bc i love hearing feedback. there is angst, smut, and fluff throughout it all!!! i’m not too good at writing smut yet so pls forgive me. anyways, enjoy, share, and lemme know what you think ((:

PART I.

1939, Birmingham.

“Helps me forget we're far apart,

I don't know exactly when, dear,

But I'm sure we'll meet again, dear,

And my darling, till we do

You are always in my heart!”

He watched as the band set down their instruments, announcing a short break in order to regain themselves before the night would take a more upbeat turn. It was December now, a few months after the proclamation of war against Germany was declared. Most people’s moods were shifted into one of plain anxiety and fear for either their own lives or their loved ones.

Coming to the bar tonight was an escape for all of them as jazz tunes would soon be played, and everyone would engage in swing dancing, forgetting about their worries and the threat to their lives that loomed over them. He came to forget about his lingering fear that he would soon be drafted, too.

Sipping on the rum he held in his large palm, his eyes danced around the room, hoping to catch sight of his friend, Nick. Fortunately, he found him mingling with three ladies in the corner of the bar. Harry chuckled to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. Leave it to Nick to attempt charming three ladies at once.

Pushing himself off of the bar he leaned on, he took long strides over to the group, pausing once he was behind his friend. “‘Been waiting fo’yeh, mate,” He announced his presence, his words silky and smooth as he clasped a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

Nick turned to offer him a sheepish grin, giving a small shrug. “Sorry, got a bit distracted. Ladies, meet my dearest friend and fellow prisoner of the factory system, Harry Styles,” He introduced him to the three, grinning widely.

Harry took the opportunity to peer over at them, granting them a small nod as his greeting. The blonde hardly seemed interested in either of them, her gaze wavering around the room for an escape. Meanwhile, the lighter brunette was latching herself onto Nick’s arm, practically giggling at the simplest remark he would make.

Then, his gaze shifted to the shorter girl of the three, a raven-haired beauty. To his delight, she was peering at him through her long lashes, memorizing the details of his face and the way his scruff was beginning to grow. He had woken up late this morning and didn’t bother to shave, considering he had almost forgotten to even put his shoes on whilst running out the door to his job.

Y/N had hardly wanted to come tonight, too preoccupied about starting her new job on Monday, but her friends promised her a night of dancing, drinks, and shameless flirting would ease her nerves. Now, under the gaze of an emerald-eyed beauty, she wished she had listened to her instincts. When she saw the lit-up sign, Interlude, hanging outside the bricked building, she should have turned the other way. She should never have come. Since the second her eyes met his, she knew she would be trapped, and she could not afford any more attachments right now.

“Hello, I didn’t quite catch your name,” He greeted her, a grin forming on his lips as he was obliviously unaware of the thoughts circling through her mind at the same moment.

Her lips twitched upwards slightly as she shook her head with light laughter passing her lips, “That’s because I didn’t say it, Mr. Styles.” His ears perked up at that, he could get used to her calling him that…

Clearing his throat, he looked down at her with amusement, his lean figure towering over her own silhouette. “Then, what’re we waiting for? What’s yeh’ name?” His brow arched as he waited for her response, but she merely stared up at him with a fond grin on her expression.

“We’re waiting for you to get me a drink first,” She quipped back smoothly as they both seemed to forget about their friends standing next to them. It didn’t matter, though. The blonde had ventured off on her own, attempting to find her own admirer for the night, while Nick and Elizabeth were too preoccupied with each other.

“Oh, so that’s how s’gonna be? Using me for a drink, hm?” His voice was scolding, but his expression read amusement. She merely shrugged back in response, hands entwined in front of her as she sweetly looked up at him with big, doe eyes. “Alright, only ‘cos yeh’re cute.”

Her cheeks tinged pink at the compliment, and she was suddenly glad that the bar was dimly lit. His head cocked towards the bar, inviting her to follow after him, which she did but his strides were long and she was practically tripping over her own feet to keep up.

Placing her hands on the counter, she jumped up onto the stool and took a seat with her elbows resting on the table. Harry was leaning against the counter beside her, raising his fingers to beckon the bartender over. She pouted slightly when she realized that his figure still towered over her even while being raised by the stool.

“Yeh’, we’ll have a…” Harry trailed off, his gaze flickering back to the girl sitting beside him.

“Oh, just a French 75,” She told him to which he perked his eyebrow at, but, nevertheless, ordered the drink for her. Her gaze shifted to observe the scenery of the bar and the vibe it gave off.

The entire place reeked of alcohol and a hint of oak, although she may have been imagining the latter due to the architecture of the building being composed mostly of wood. Heels clicked against the wooden floor as ladies begin to flood the dance floor, dragging their dates along with them. It felt cosy and safe, like their secret hideout from the cruelties and atrocities of the world that awaited them.

It was their last place of fun and freedom before times would shift and everyone’s focus would be on the telephone, waiting to hear from their loved ones, rather than on the trumpet player up on the stage. A breath was released from her lips, gulping as the memory of her brother began to reappear in her mind.

Shaking her head, she pushed the thought away, knowing her friends would scold her for failing the one duty she had to accomplish for the night: to have fun. Luckily, her thoughts were interrupted with the drink that was held out before her and the cheeky lad who seemed prepared to continue his act of charming her.

“Deal’s a deal, love. M’gonna need yeh’ name now,” He tried again, meeting her own smug grin with the slight quirk of his lips.

Taking a sip of her drink, she caved in— it was hard not to when such brilliantly green eyes were staring her down. “I’m (Y/N),” She officially introduced herself, watching as his small smile grew wider.

“(Y/N),” He repeated, trailing off as he seemed to be memorizing the exact pronunciation of it.

“Glad your ears work,” She cheekily responded, giggling softly as he nudged her shoulder with his elbow. He didn’t seem to mind her teasing, though. In fact, he could make do with it for however long she would like if he were allowed to hear that cute giggle leave her lips once more.

“Yeh’ come out tonight with your friends here often?”

“No, it’s just cause I’m starting a new job on Monday. M’really nervous and all that, so they thought it would be best to let me loosen up for tonight… ease my nerves,” Y/N told him.

“What job? M’sure yeh’re going to do great, love, they picked yeh’ for a reason,” Harry earnestly assured her, offering a small smile her way.

“Well, it’s just a secretary position at this big corporation for now. I’m hoping I can impress them enough for a promotion, then maybe have enough experience to run my own business,” She informed him, before continuing on, “Nick said you work in a factory?”

“Yeh’, I do. Not exactly m’dream job, but it makes money, which is all that matters right now,” He told her, a slight frown pressed upon his lips.

“What is your dream job then, Harry?” She asked him curiously.

“‘ve always wanted to own my own bar, actually, and play music all the time like here— live artists, expressing themselves, yeh’ know? One day, I want to be one of those men up on that stage, performing, though m’not sure if that would settle well with everybody else,” Harry opened up to her, a sheepish grin adorned on his features.

Y/N gazed at him with admiration and a soft smile, nodding along. “You better achieve that dream, I’m tired of hearing the same old songs. It’d be nice to hear a new voice,” She assured him, their grins fondly matching one another.

“As long as I see yeh’ running your own business, (Y/N),” He promised her.

“I’ll drink to that,” She raised her glass before the two took a sip of their chosen drinks. Smiles were written on their face, unable to be erased.

As the music became upbeat, the trumpets blaring with glee, he turned to glance at the stage and the crowded dance floor before returning to gaze at her. “Dance with me,” He moreso ordered than asked her, though his hues held a pleading glint.

Setting down her drink, her nose scrunched up. She could make it easy, give in to him now, but that wouldn’t be as much fun for her. Her friends did tell her to have fun tonight. What was more fun than playing a game of chase?

“Dunno’ if I’ve drunk enough for that…” She began to reject his offer to which he frowned at.

“Oh, c’mon, love, it’ll be fun. Can’t come here without at least doin’ one swing da-“

“Sorry, hope I’m not interfering. Saw you just sitting here, was wonderin’ if you cared to dance?” A blonde man who stood a few inches shorter than Harry questioned the same girl Harry was attempting to win over.

Y/N turned her head sideways to peer at the newcomer, her lips shifting into a large grin. “I’d love to!” She exclaimed excitedly, hopping off the stool and taking the blonde’s hand in her own dainty one. As he began to lead her onto the dance floor, and while Harry was attempting to unravel what just occurred, she turned around to wink at the dumbfounded, curly-haired man.

“Thanks for the drink, Harry. I’ll see you around?” She offered before she was lost in the dance floor amidst the moving bodies.

Harry hadn’t missed how her lips were quirked into an amused, challenging smirk, though. Though he had felt blatantly rejected at first, he recognized the little game she was playing, and he was determined to win. Finishing his own drink, he set it down before marching off to find her.

Indeed, he found her, dancing with the same bloke who interrupted them. Her short figure was being spun around while she grinned widely, eyes shut as if lost in the moment. Approaching a redhead, he managed to cop his own partner and began to join the dance.

Y/N had her arms around the blonde’s shoulders who was babbling on and on about how he was here to celebrate his best friend’s engagement. It was endearing, really, but she couldn’t be bothered. Instead, her eyes began to roam the bar to see if the brunette was still there. When she couldn’t spot him at their spot by the bar, a pout settled upon her lips. Perhaps, he had not understood her game and had given up on her, too insulted to continue pursuing her.

Beginning to feel rather bummed out, she sighed softly as she was spun around in circles, twirling away from her partner. Hands grabbed her waist, pulling her close again, and she looked up, expecting to see the blonde but was met by green hues. A surprised gasp left her lips, brows furrowing in confusion.

“Traded partners,” Harry simply explained, cocking his head towards the blonde and redhead who were now dancing around.

A smile began to form on Y/N’s lips, looking back up at Harry. Relief flooded throughout her, glad that he had realized her challenge. “Missed me so quickly?” She pondered, gasping once more as he turned her around, pressing his chest into her back while one hand had slid into her own, the other resting on her hip.

He swayed his hips along with hers to the music, leaning down to whisper in her ear, so that she could hear him over the blasting, swing music. “Yeh’ left jus’ when we were gettin’ started,” He murmured, spinning her out with one hand. She turned her head to glance at him while she stood a few feet apart from him, still clutching onto his hand with her own.

“Starting what exactly?”

He brought her back in, chests pressed against one another as her hands moved to slide up onto his broad shoulders. “The rest of our fun night, of course,” He responded as if it were the obvious answer.

To that, she offered light laughter, shaking her head in amusement. “Oh, yeah? You decided we were gonna have fun, did you?”

“No, ‘course not. I was hopin’ actually, kind of why I wanted you to stick around, so I can see if that’s what you wanted, too,” His voice was softer, more questioning as he looked down at her with a questioning gaze.

Her light mood seemed to take a sudden twist as her grin fell. Removing her hands from his shoulders, she shook her head as she turned her face away from him. “I.. I gotta go,” She weakly offered before scurrying off the dance floor.

This time, he had recognized no challenge or game. She was truly attempting to escape, to flee him as if he represented some horrific idea. He was thoroughly confused, unsure of where he had crossed the line. Maybe she truly was repulsed by him and was mortified he would offer having a fun night to her.

“Fo’ fucks sake,” He mumbled to himself, cursing himself for crossing the boundaries too quickly. But, she had seem interested, hadn’t she? No, she had run off with the first man who interrupted their conversation and wouldn’t even give her name to him until she was bought a drink. Perhaps, he had thought too much into it.

Y/N, meanwhile, pushed open the doors of the bar to escape into the cold night. Shivering as she realized she forgot her jacket inside, she wrapped her arms around herself. All she had to cover herself up was the orange button-up blouse she had worn to match with her pleated skirt. Knowing the brunette would be after her, she decided to saunter a bit further until she stood behind the building where the path was rocky and the railroad tracks were only a few feet away.

Harry had frantically reached for his coat, tugging it over his lanky body before following her steps outside the building. He looked to either side of him, not spotting her figure in the darkness of the night. Huffing to himself, he frowned with furrowed brows, wondering where she could have gone.

Deciding to look around, he checked the alleyway beside the building. Disappointed when it turned out to be empty, besides a snogging couple, he was beginning to believe it was time to give up before he heard some sniffling.

Anxious, he followed the noise till he hesitantly approached the familiar, tiny figure that stared ahead at the empty railroad tracks. “I… I didn’t mean to make yeh’ cry, love,” He started to say, but she cut him off with a small groan.

“I’m not crying! It’s cold out here,” She defended herself, turning her head over her shoulder to peer at the nervous male. Her nose had turned red due to the cold surrounding her, but no tears stained her cheeks.

“Oh,” The word fell off his lips lamely before he hurriedly took off his jacket and wrapped it around her dainty figurine. “What’re yeh’ doin’ out here, then? Yeh’ could’ve stayed inside, just told me to fuck off,” He scolded her, his body still standing a few feet away from her— so not to cross more boundaries.

“M’sorry if I… I said anything out of line in there. I really do respect women, I don’t expect them to just come have fun wit’ me, just thought… don’t know what I thought, really. Seemed so clever in the mo’, but…” He was rambling on, so she decided it was time to save him from further embarrassment.  

“You didn’t cross any boundaries, Harry. I’m not upset about that.”

“Oh,” He said again, relief flooding throughout him that he hadn’t messed it all up, “Then… what happened?”

“I.. I can’t do this. I can’t have fun with you, Harry.”

His hands had shoved into his pockets, his own nose turning red as he had never been one to handle the cold too well, either. He was confused, honestly, by what she was saying, which is why he had kept quiet to what she responded with.

Once she realized he had no reply, she continued on with a sigh, “It would be no good for us.”

Her body turned to face him, arms crossing over her chest as her gaze shifted from his orbs to his boots. He stepped closer, waiting to see if she moved away before further advancing. Once he was close enough, his hands grabbed her elbow gently in his palms. “Why not? ’S just a bit o’fun, didn’t think it could be so bad,” He asked, perplexed.

“Because, for us, it wouldn’t just end up in fun. People like us, together, can’t just have fun, you know? It’s hard to explain, I probably sound crazy right now. I just knew the moment we started talking, you weren’t the person I would just have fun with. You’re the person I could fall for, and we can’t have that… not now.”

She was a bit scared that her rambling would scare him off. Here he was, merely asking for a bit of fun with the girl he had met in a bar, and she was ranting about how she could imagine herself falling in love with him. God, this would surely scare him off, so perhaps this was good for her— wasn’t this what she wanted?

She knew she sounded insane, but she also knew who she was. She could manage her emotions well enough, but with someone as charming and kindhearted as Harry had been, she knew she would not be able to prevent herself from feeling for him. One night of fun would turn into calling him the next day, eventually leading to dates and her obsessing over the curly-haired lad.

He didn’t seemed too shakened by her words, though. In fact, he seemed to understand them better than she believed he could. He had recognized it when he first saw her, too. He knew he was not picking out some random girl from the bar, but someone who had intrigued him by her appearance then her smart banter. She allured him, and he wanted to dive into her— completely, if he could.

“Why not now?” He settled on asking instead of consoling her thoughts.

“Because…” She whispered, her eyes darting from the ground to his enchanting hues, “It’s a dangerous time to fall in love.”

A faint smile eased upon his lips, staring down at her with a knowing glint in his orbs, “There is never safety with falling in love.”

Her eyes raised to meet his at that, a bit stunned that he was comfortably approaching this topic with her. She had been so sure he would be freaked out by her worries. Here he was, though, still listening to her. Perhaps, he was the insane one.

“Still, we can’t,” She pushed herself to say the words, moving away from his grasp once more with a small step backwards. He could see her walls falling down, though. He recognized the way her mind was screaming at her to leave, but her body was desperately craving more.

She recognized it, too. Her brain was logically bringing up her fears and worries, but she felt herself growing weaker under his gaze. She imagined where else his hands could travel, farther from just her elbows. She wondered what the toned chest she had felt pressed against her own looked like. She wanted him. Badly.

“I lost my brother,” She admitted to him, wanting to give him an explanation for her fears. “I can’t lose somebody else, so I can’t get close to anybody— not now.”

“Yeh’ won’t lose me, love. M’right here.”

“You don’t know that,” She scoffed, “It could be anybody tomorrow.”

“Stop worryin’ about tomorrow, then. We have right now. ’S the beauty of life, isn’t it? Livin’ in the present mo’ and all tha’?” He stepped closer, watching as she bit down on her bottom lip.

“Why are yeh’ resisting something that yeh’ want?” He questioned her, index finger grazing her cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She gulped, frowning as she attempted to regain control over the situation. But, the way his fingers grazed along her cheek had ignited a fire within her, had left a burning feeling throughout her, and she wanted more. She wanted more than innocent touches, but she wanted his hands digging into her hips as he pressed into her.

“Just fun, okay?” She whispered so quietly that he almost missed it.

He was a bit shocked that she had given in, thinking it would take more convincing but she stared up at him with a hard, determined gaze now.

“You can’t fall in love with me, and I can’t with you, got it? No calling me the next day, no asking to get lunch together, just… just one night together, and that’s it.”

His lips began to perk upwards, licking over his bottom lip. “Alright, if that’s what yeh’ want— as long as yeh’ won’t be askin’ me to cuddle you after, hm?”

She rolled her eyes at that, her hands lifting to grab at his shirt collar and tug him forward. “Trust me, Styles, I won’t be,” She shot back defiantly.

“We’ll see,” He hummed in response, his voice dropping lower than before as he leaned into her. His forehead was pressed against hers while their eyes met for one last time before he closed the gap and pressed their lips against one another.

Her fists around his shirt collar grew tighter, while his head tilted to the side, deepening the kiss. His hands had held her face in his large palms, holding her in a position he liked, so he could angle himself better in relation to her shorter figure.

The kiss was desperate and passionate— it was fiery and challenging, as if questioning which one would give up on their promise first, which one would succumb to the ecstasy of their bond sooner.

“Let’s go,” He murmured as he pulled away though his body was fighting against him, simply wanting to taste the softness of her lips against his once more. His hand dropped to intertwine with hers, the two sharing a soft smile before stumbling back into the alley during the dark night.

—— — — —

“Careful, love,” Harry warned her as she had her arms looped around his neck, pressing soft kisses along his jawline. His arm was wrapped around her waist, walking her inside his flat and making sure she wouldn’t bump into any walls. “Should be watching where yeh’re going, yeh’ know tha’?”

“You want me to stop then?” She questioned, pulling her head back to glance up at him with a questioning brow.

“Didn’t say tha’, did I?” He quipped back, lowering his head to leave a gentle kiss on her lips. He kicked the apartment door shut with his foot, his hand reaching back to lock it before moving back to its placement on her waist. “Proper minx, yeh’ are,” He murmured as she continued her assault on his neck.

Deciding he had had enough of her little fun and games on him, he thought it best to take control. Lifting her off her feet, he held her to his body with one arm wrapped around her waist while the other hand slid down to the back of her thigh. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his torso, ankles crossing against his back.

Their faces were leveled with one another as he leaned in to kiss her again but harder this time, not bothering to be soft and gentle because the fragile girl with her worries was left by the railroad tracks and was replaced by someone teasing and daunting.

He had recognized the shift when she attempted to give him a stiffy while he was merely trying to rush along their walk back to his apartment. But, no, she had to stop him in the middle of the sidewalk to kiss him again and run her hand down his chest towards his crotch. All that could stop her was a harsh grip on her wrist and a stern look, but even then, she was still daring.

The second they had gotten into the elevator, her lips were attached to his flesh— all the way up to his front door.

“Thought yeh’ could have all the fun, didn’t yeh? Get me all riled up fo’ what, hm?” Harry asked her as he walked her back to his bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress. Her back hit the cushioning while a soft gasp left her lips, not expecting it. “Not how it works wit’ me, angel. Yeh’ don’t get all the fun here.”

He began unbuttoning his shirt as he watched her big eyes trail from his own orbs to his toned chest. She bit down on her bottom lip, getting more eager for him as she moved to unbutton her own shirt. Slipping the fabric off her shoulders, she laid in her skirt, lifting her hips up to take that off, as well.

His hands paused at his belt buckle as he saw the sight of her in her white, cotton undergarments. She looked so pure and innocent like this, but he knew she was far from it.

“Such a pretty girl, aren’t yeh’?” He murmured, leaning down to cup her face with his hand. She hummed in response, her face leaning into his touch and lips pressing a soft kiss to his wrist. “Been a bad girl, though. Think it’s time yeh’ get taught a lesson, hm? What do yeh’ have to say fo’ that?”

She chewed on her bottom lip, suddenly at loss for words even though she had been a rambling mess earlier. Nodding her head slowly, he smirked at her, amused by the sudden submissiveness that washed over her, considering how bold she had been before.

“Turn over fo’ me,” He directed, watching as she obeyed his demands and moved to lay down on her stomach. Her head turned around to peer him at over her shoulder curiously, wondering what he possibly could want to do with her.

His large palm ran along her back down to her bum, tapping the flesh gently. “Pretty, little bum yeh’ got. Think it’d look even prettier with my handprints on them, what d’yeh think, doll?”

When he got no response from her besides a small gasp, his hand twisted into her hair to force her gaze on his own orbs. “Asked yeh’ a question, didn’t I?”

She nodded, at loss for words, as her cheeks had reddened drastically. Soon, her other pair of cheeks would match that color, too. “Y-Yes, it’d look prettier.”

He smirked at that, his hand releasing its grip on her hair and sliding back down. It happened in a quick second— one moment she was anticipating the impact, and the next a gasp was leaving her lips as her hips raised off the mattress. Her flesh stung from his hand, but she liked the feeling of it— the rapid pace of her heartbeat and the adrenaline surging throughout her.

“Such a good girl for me,” Harry murmured, more to himself, as his hand struck her bum once again. He did so a few more times, each time relishing in the soft whimpers and gasps that left the girl’s lips. Kneading the flesh in his palms, he massaged it soothingly. Deciding he had tortured her enough, he knelt down onto his knees.

Grabbing her ankles, he pulled her down the mattress till her legs dangled off the bed and his face was in line with her wetness. Moving her underwear to the side with his fingers, he leaned further into her, peppering kisses along the insides of her thighs.

Y/N anticipated his next move, feeling more than relieved when his lips met her wetness. Gasping at the first touch of his warm tongue against her clit, her hands shakily gripped the sheets. He sucked on her clit, tongue flicking over it before moving down to lick along her folds teasingly.

“Harry, please,” She forced out, hips pushing back further into him— body begging for more. He answered her pleas as his tongue slid past her folds into her, tasting her for the first time. His eyes shut as he hummed in content. She tasted as sweet as she looked.

A soft moan escaped from her flushed lips, head resting on its side as she tried to glance down at him. Though, as his tongue began to swirl against her walls and flick back and forth, her eyes fluttered shut, lashes resting on her cheeks.

He memorized the sound of her whimpers and moans, wanting to play it on a never-ending loop. “Taste so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” He told her as his fingers replaced his mouth by rubbing her folds up and down.

While, Y/N loved the feel and sensation of it all— she just wanted him. She wanted to cave into her desires and have him fully with no more playing around. “Please, Harry, I need you,” She whimpered, feeling his hand pause against her as he grinned smugly.

“Yeh’re having me, aren’t yeh?”

“You know what I mean,” She grumbled, cheeks pink as she felt too shy to say the words.

“Do I?” He tested her, grinning amusedly as she refused to let the filthy words pass her lips, so he helped her out, “Yeh’ want m’cock, is that it? Yeh’ wanna feel me pressed up inside yeh’ till yeh’re screaming for me?”

She whined at the thought, nodding her head hastily, “Fuck, please…”

Standing on his feet, he undressed himself entirely, shedding his boxers, as well. He reached towards his nightstand, grabbing a rubber and slowly putting it over his cock. He leaned down to kiss along the back of her shoulders before his hands unclasped her bra and peeled off the undergarment. Grabbing her by her hips, he flipped her over, so he could look into her eyes once more.

“Alright, yeh’ll have me then,” He promised her, pressing small kisses along her jawline before he positioned himself, slowly pushing into her. He forced himself to go slow, to give her time to breathe and adjust to his size. Her eyes had squeezed shut as he slipped inside her, mouth falling open as he continued to press into her until she had fully taken him.

“Yeh’ okay?” He asked her softly, eyes scanning her face for any painful or uncomfortable expressions. She nodded in response, hands moving to grasp onto his shoulders.

“Mm, keep going,” She assured him, as he moved his hands to rest on either sides of her face. He began to thrust into her, slowly but deeply as she threw her head back in bliss. Though as her moans grew louder, it edged him on.

He remembered how teasing she had been the entire night, and his thrusts got harder. “Open your eyes, want yeh’ to look at me,” He demanded, one hand going to cup her jaw as he tilted her head up and pressed his lips to hers hastily.

It was hard to do so, but she forced her eyes to peel open. She didn’t regret it once her own hues met his emerald ones, gazing at each other like there was nothing else going in the world except this very moment. There was no war, there was no bloodshed. It was only them and the passion flowing between them.

She moaned out his name as he pressed into her, thrusts quick and hard. She could feel him pressed up against her walls, hitting the one spot that had her eyes rolling to the back of her skull. “S-so close,” She warned him as he continued pushing into her.

Her toes curled as her back arched off the mattress, nails digging into his shoulders. If it hurt him, he made no effort to halt her from pressing her nails into his flesh. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the pain of it, just as she had liked his palms against her ass.

“Yeah? Yeh’ gonna come fo’ me? Alright, princess, come fo’ me,” He permitted her, his hand going down to rub against her clit in circles, helping her reach her brink as she came with a shrieking moan.

It didn’t take him long to cum after that, hearing the way she had let out one last whimpering moan. He spilled inside of the condom, pulling out shortly after as he rolled over to lay on his back beside her.

Both of them panted heavily, sweaty and breathless. There was merely silence, but it was a comfortable one— one neither one of them dared to break.

Instead, Harry peeled back the covers of his bed, covering it over both of them. He turned to his side, facing her, and shorty after, she did the same. They stared at each other without exchanging a word.

She didn’t have to ask him to hold her, because he already knew to do it. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close into his body. She didn’t argue or resist his grasp, but further snuggled into him by laying her head and hands against his chest.

They fell asleep, cuddling.

— — — — —

It was safe to say that after they had already broken one rule of theirs that night, many more failed to be followed.

The morning after, Harry had woken up to her resting comfortably in his arms. He smiled down at her peaceful, sleeping body and kissed her temple gently. He slowly took his arm off her, so not to wake her, and slid out of the bed quietly. He learned that she was a rather deep sleeper for even as he stumbled over their clothes on the floor, she remained asleep.

Smiling, he moved to his kitchen where he began fixing her a breakfast, despite her ordering him earlier not to do so. She wouldn’t mind though, he assured himself.

Soon enough, Y/N was being woken up to her body being softly shaken. Creaking her eyes open, she winced at the sunlight pouring through the windows only to see the lean figure before her. Moving to sit up on her elbows, she glanced down to see a tray being held out for her with a boiled egg and toast being prepared.

“Made you a cuppa’,” He offered her, setting the mug of tea on the nightstand beside her. She grinned softly up at him, grabbing the plate from him.

“Thank you, Harry, you didn’t have to,” She mumbled, rubbing her eyes with her fists. Glancing down, she realized she was still entirely naked and flushed. Harry seemed to notice for in an instant, he was offering her his shirt. Smiling up at him gratefully, she pulled the fabric over her body and allowed the material to fall against her thighs.

He joined her on the bed again, grabbing his own plate. The two ate their breakfasts, both ignoring the fact they had promised not to do this. They had promised not to grow an attachment, but they also refused to acknowledge their promise. It felt better to give into what they wanted.

Y/N was hesitant, but she didn’t want to ruin their morning. It was just a breakfast, that’s all. They would eat, and she would leave soon. Then, she would never see him again, just like they had agreed to. A night of fun, that’s all. Well, also a night of cuddling and a morning of breakfast.

It wasn’t long before they had finished their meals and worked to washed up, clean themselves from the filth they had acted in previously. Soon, Y/N was back in her orange attire and walking to the front door, with Harry falling closely behind her.

“Well, this was fun,” Y/N announced, her hand moving to open the front door as she swung it open and stepped out, before turning around to face him.

“Yeah, it was,” He agreed, nodding as he stared down at her. He bit down on his bottom lip as they stared at each other, unknowing of what to do. Silence settled upon them before she cleared her throat.

“Well, I’m gonna go then,” She told him.

“Right, okay. Get home safe, yeh?”

She nodded, turning on her heels and she sauntered towards the elevator. Disappointment settled throughout her, desperately wishing he would chase after her and coax her away from her fears. For, she so desperately wanted to see his green eyes again, more than just for a night.

Harry chewed down on his lip as he watched her retreating figure. He knew he should stick to his agreement and not chase after her, because that’s what she told him to do last night. But, hell, he hated to see her walk away like this.

So, he spoke up, “Can I call yeh’?”

Y/N paused in her tracks, surprised her wishes were being granted. A soft smile began to twitch along her lips. Her mind told her to say no and to walk away. This would just be another attachment that she did not need. He would leave like everyone else would. It was wartime, and it was dangerous. She lost her brother, she couldn’t deal with losing another. But, then she remembered his soft smile as he gazed at her in bed with his arms around her. She remembered his cheeky attitude and his determination to win her over, and she gave in.

Looking back at him, she nodded, “Yes, you can.”

A wide grin spread along his face, nodding back at her as she smiled towards him before walking to the elevators with relief flooding throughout her. This wouldn’t be the last time she would see him.

As she pressed the elevator button, he suddenly shouted to her, “Wait, I don’t have your number!”

“I’m in the book, (Y/N) (Y/LN)!” She shouted back at him as she stepped inside the elevator, the doors closing shut as he caught one more glance of her beaming figure.

Nodding to himself, he grinned widely as he stepped back inside the apartment and shut the door. Then, he moved over to the phonebook to find her name.

—— — — —

One phone call had led to dinner later that week which led to more dinners and more fun nights. It didn’t take long for them to grow attached, considering Harry even walked to her job after his shift from the factory was over, in order to walk her back to her loft.

It was February now, two months since they had met. They never brought up the conversation about their rules ever again since that night. It seemed like a promise worth forgetting, so they merely allowed it to fade away into oblivion. It was easier that way and more beneficial to them both, though perhaps not in long-term circumstances.

Y/N, of course, still dealt with the loss of her brother as a fresh wound. There were nights she couldn’t get a blink of sleep because she imagined his falling corpse on the battlefield. However, having Harry beside her in bed, with his arms securely wrapped around her in protection from the world around them, made it a lot easier to get through. So, while her mind screamed at her to end it before their bond grew, her body would relax into his as she kissed him goodnight.

There were days where she believed it would be alright. After all, not all the men in the country would be drafted for war, right? Just a bucket of them. Perhaps Harry would be lucky and fall short of belonging in that bucket.

He wouldn’t be drafted and they would stay exactly as they were right now, with her bare body being covered by her sheets and Harry stumbling back towards the bed after grabbing them both some water.

“Here, drink some,” He instructed her, holding out the glass as she sat up slowly, stretching.

“Wore me out today, H,” She teased him, though she particularly liked when he went rougher than usual. That only happened after a stressful day at the factory for Harry.

“Mm, sorry, button,” Harry apologized, but his smug grin said differently, causing her to nudge him with her elbow as he laid back down beside her. She took a sip of the cold water, savoring the taste before setting it down on the table next to her.

Shifting so she was laying on her side, she slung a leg over his and wrapped her dainty arms around his lower torso. Her fingertips drew shapes on his bare chest, pecking the skin softly. “Missed you today at work, everyone was looking at me like I didn’t belong,” She sighed quietly.

Harry frowned at that, his hand moving to run his fingers through her hair, which was a bit messy due to his tugging. He hated that Y/N had to go through that— hated that women, in general, had to face the blatant sexism in the workplace. He wanted to protect her from all those men working alongside her, but he knew she was strong enough to protect herself. Those men just never gave her the chance to prove herself and show that she was more than a domestic worker.

“Jus’ jealous of yeh’, petal. They know yeh’ could do their job so much better that they’re scared of yeh’, so they’d rather try to keep yeh’ out. Proper cowards, they are, the whole bloody bunch,” Harry assured her, his hand rubbing her arm reassuringly up and down in soft strokes.

She smiled at that, looking up at him with only admiration in her eyes. That was what she adored the most about Harry, his sense of consoling her as if it were a second nature to him. Every time she ranted about another mean man at work, her skirt getting dirty as she walked back home, or her cooking burning yet again, Harry always knew what to say to get that frown to transform into a grin. He didn’t even try, it was effortless.

“You’re the best, you know that?” She whispered, leaning up to kiss his lips gently. She rested her head on his chest afterwards, still tilting her head up to keep her gaze on him.

Harry shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. “I know tha’, love,” He quipped back, chuckling to himself as she huffed and rolled her eyes at him.

Her sweet, charming Harry also had quite the ego, and she learned that within a few days of knowing him. God, especially after that time he got especially rough with her, leaving her a trembling mess even as she tried to walk to the bathroom. He never stopped teasing her for that, how he had to help walk her to the bathroom because she was still shaking from their fuck.

“I hate you,” She joked as a smile was still written all over her face. She loved moments like these, laying with him and talking about anything.

Harry didn’t know why the next words that came out of his mouth did, but it seemed like a reflex to him, almost as effortless as comforting her, “Well, I love yeh’.”

They both paused at that, their bodies tensing up for opposite reasons. Harry tensed for he was afraid of scaring her away, knowing how uncomfortable and frightened commitment made her. Even though, they were together without ever announcing it, and would never be with somebody else rather than each other, it still scared her. So, he had left the topic behind, never daring to bring it up in fear of pushing her away. Yet, here he was, laying in bed with her and professing his love.

Y/N tensed up because this was the time her fears were finally confronted. All this time she had promised herself fun would not lead to attachment and commitments. It was easier to lie to herself rather than face the truth. The truth that she, too, loved Harry— she had fallen for him, just like she knew she would. And, while she had tried to prevent it before they first shared a bed together, afterwards, it got much harder to resist. So, she had caved in to her feelings and desires and allowed herself to betray her mind in falling for him.

Harry’s lips parted to say something else, to apologize… but for what? He wasn’t sorry for how he felt, he did love her. He loved her bratty, clumsy self. He loved that she pouted whenever she didn’t get a kiss goodbye in the mornings. He loved that she threw herself on his lap with a grumble after a particularly hard day at work. He loved that she still attempted to cook for him even though it always ended up burnt, so he would just cook up a new meal for them. He loved that she would launch herself onto his back when she was too tired to walk, forcing him to carry her around her apartment and retrieve whatever item she beckoned for.

So, he couldn’t apologize for loving her, because it was truly how he felt. He was only sorry that she was so afraid of love, so afraid of where it could lead them. He was sorry that he couldn’t protect her from the losses war brings.

But, before he could ramble out any apologies or whatever nonsense would spurt out of his mind, she cut him off with her own soft, quiet murmur, “I love you too, H.”

His eyes widened in shock. He was certain she would scramble off his body and kick him out of her flat. Instead, here she was, confirming that she, indeed, felt the same way for him.

She loved him for his idiotic, cheesy jokes that still had her giggling, moreso at the corniness of it rather than the joke. She loved him for the way he sang to her, reminding her that she would one day see him up on the stages like he dreamed to be. She loved him for the way he still tried to eat her burnt meals before she would feel too guilty and throw it away, allowing him to be the chef once more. She loved him for always supporting her, quite literally too, as she often threw herself on his back, mostly because she liked the feeling of being tall.

His smile could not be erased from his face after those words left her lips. Instead, he flipped them over, attacking her face with kisses before leading them down to her neck. “Love yeh’,” He would repeat after every few kisses, loving the sound of her giggles fleeing from her lips as his scruff tickled her neck.

He pulled back after a few moments, staring into her eyes as he pressed one last kiss to her nose.

“Love you,” She responded shortly after, the two beaming up at each other. They fell asleep like that, soft smiles meeting one another as they continued to converse about their days. Every so often, they would remind each other of their love for one another.

— — — — —

The next day, both of their moods could not possibly be crushed. Harry, especially, felt as if he were flying on cloud nine. After all, the girl he had trouble winning over at first had just admitted to loving him back.

He truly believed nothing could destroy his mood, that was, of course, until he got home. Seeing the letter on his doorstep was confusing enough, but seeing it sealed by the British government had his heart thundering in his chest.

Y/N had waited for about twenty minutes after her workday was over for him. He usually came by to walk her back home. Though, he hadn’t promised to do so today. He never did promise, though, he just showed up without needing to be told or asked. It left her a bit worried about whether he was alright or not. She assured herself he was, but she had to make sure. It wasn’t like Harry to skip out on her.

That’s what had her walking towards his apartment in a rushed pace. It didn’t take her long to be knocking on his front door. And when she did, Harry already knew who it would be. He didn’t want to talk to anybody right now, too shocked with the news to truly deal with it. But, he knew he couldn’t avoid her. He was just afraid of how she would feel. Her fears had come true, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Come in,” He yelled from his living room, voice a bit a raspy and hoarse as he sat with his head in his palms and elbows resting on his knees.

That’s when she knew something was really wrong. Harry never missed a chance on being a gentleman, so she knew him not coming up to greet her was a clear sign something had occurred. Her stomach twisted as she walked inside to spot his distressed figure on his couch.

“Harry… you didn’t come to get me, I got worried,” She started, setting her purse down on his counter before sauntering over to him. She sat down on the table in front of him, hands resting on top of his knees beside his elbows. “What’s wrong?”

“M’so sorry, love, I…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as he gulped the lump forming in his throat.

“Hey, what’re you talking about? C’mon, H, talk to me,” She pushed, her voice soft and gentle as she tried to catch his eyes but he looked away. He moved so his back was slumped against the couch, head tilting upwards to stare at the ceiling, which is when she noticed the red outlining his hues.

Worry stirred deep inside her as she moved to sit on his lap, straddling his thighs as she grabbed a hold of his chin and forced his head to look down at her. “Harry, baby, you can talk to me, you know that, right? I wanna help you, hate seeing you like this,” She frowned, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Got a letter today,” He forced out unevenly, his eyes moving to glance over at the letter sitting beside him. She rose her brow, a bit confused, but reached for the envelope anyways. She pulled the letter out, her eyes scanning over it, until the words finally sunk into her mind.

He had been enlisted.

“W-What?” She breathed out, rereading the letter to make sure she hadn’t messed up, that it was true. That her fears and worries had come true, and her Harry was being sent away, just a day after they confessed their love for one another. But, she was moreso worried about him. Her sweet Harry dressed up in a military attire, standing alongside other soldiers as he engaged in warfare. Killing was not a thing Harry was designed for, she couldn’t imagine the kindhearted man to ever have that violent tendency within him.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she knew she had to be strong for him. If she showed worry, if she showed fear, it would only worsen his mood. For the countless times he had been there for her, it was her time to be there for him. She would worry about her own fears later, but right now, she would listen to his.

She set the letter down, trying to control her breathing as she moved her gaze back to him. He was finally looking at her. “Talk to me, tell me what you’re thinking,” She started, her hands cupping his face in her palms softly.

He was a bit stunned at her reaction, fully expecting to see her wobbly lip and watering eyes. But, he recognized the strength inside her, and he couldn’t appreciate it enough. He hardly had the strength inside to keep himself from tears, he wouldn’t know how to do the same for her.

“Wasn’t supposed to happen, s’all. I was a student at university when the conscription first came along, which kept me exempted. Only a few weeks after, I had to drop out, cus’ of money issues. S’why I’m working at the factory now, trying to make some money so I can go back one day. I-I thought they wouldn’t know, wouldn't find out I left university, but they are the bloody government, aren’t they?” He scoffed, shaking his head as his hands cautiously moved to hold onto her waist. “Came home today to see this letter, that I’ve been enlisted now that m’no longer a student. Have to go for training, then they’re shipping me off to someplace where I’ll be killing people I don’t even know.” His eyes were watering once again at the thought, and it hurt Y/N to see him in so much agony.

He hadn’t even gone to war yet, but he was already mourning the actions of what he would soon be doing. Y/N pushed his head into her chest, holding him close to her as his arms tightened around her waist, clutching onto her as if she were the last piece that was keeping him here— safe at home, and not bloody in a battlefield.

That’s when the tears finally sprung to her eyes, falling down her cheeks slowly as she sniffled. His grip tightened around her as he heard that, hand rubbing circles on her back soothingly. “M’sorry, button. I told yeh’ that yeh’ wouldn’t lose me, made yeh’ come to dinner with me after promising yeh’ just one night, and I fell in love with yeh’ just like yeh’ knew would happen. And now, I’m being forced to go and leave yeh’ here. It’s all so fucked up, I…”

She cut him off, lifting his head so their eyes met and shook her head. “Harry, it’s not your fault. You didn’t start any wars, and you didn’t ask to be a part of it. You didn’t make me grow attached to you, I did that by myself for continuing to see you. I wanted to, and I don’t regret it, okay? But, don’t… don’t say I’m going to lose you, okay? I’m not going to lose you, you’re going to come back to me.” Her voice cracked by the end at merely the thought.

He nodded his head firmly at the thought, leaning up to press a firm kiss on her lips. “Yeh’ won’t lose me, promise.”

Y/N nodded in response, her body sinking down so her head was now pressed against his chest. She cried into his shirt as he held her. It continued like this for a while, both of them crying and taking turns with holding one another. They were both scared and upset, unknowing of what would happen to them. They did know one thing, though: they loved each other, and they wouldn’t give up on that, ever.

— — — — —

The pair walked together, hands entwined and clinging to one another desperately. Their anxieties increased as they reached the train station destined for London where Harry would begin his training. Five minutes left.

“Alright,” Harry breathed out, turning to glance down at her with a sad smile on his lips.

Though she desperately tried to hold back the tears, they came flooding in anyways, which didn’t help Harry’s upset mood much either. They had attempted to prepare for this the best they could, making love to each other last night until they grew too tired and stared at each other for the rest of the night.

Neither of them slept, too scared on missing out on their final moments together for who knew how long. They cried, laughed, smiled, and reminded each other of how much love they had between them. They were terrified, but they promised each other to be strong and to keep pushing forward. Pushing forward was the only way they could make it out of this.

“C’mon, poppet, know I hate to see yeh’ cry,” Harry cooed as he pulled her into his arms, his chin resting on top of her head as he squeezed his eyes shut, few tears slipping by. She sniffled, nodding, as she wrapped her arms around him and attempted to brush away her tears, using his shirt.

“S-Sorry,” She whispered, hiccuping shortly after as sobs wracked throughout her.

“Shh, baby, no apologizing,” He reminded her, pulling back to grab her face in his palms and wipe away the tears with his thumbs. “What’d we decide on, hm? Need to be strong fo’ me, doll, right? I can only be strong out there if I know yeh’re holding up back here.”

Y/N nodded at that, her hands resting over his as she nestled her face into his touch and left a kiss against his wrist gently. “I k-know, I’ll be strong for you, I promise. Just, please, be safe and don’t do anything dumb because you’re trying to be heroic, okay? Need you to come back to me, H,” She urged, eyes searching his.

Harry’s lips twisted upwards into a smile, or as much of a smile it could possibly be at this moment, as he nodded. “M’coming back to yeh’, petal. M’not missing out on seeing yeh’ conquer your own business or yeh’ finally becoming a good cook,” He promised her to which she let out a soft laugh at, shaking her head.

Two more minutes. Y/N turned to glance around them as other couples and families were bidding their loved ones goodbye. Sadness surged throughout the atmosphere as tears ran down innocent faces, loved ones being kissed for the last time before they would rest their eyes for eternity. It was a hopeless scene, there was nothing anyone could do to save the future from occurring.

“I should let you go, then,” She slowly spoke, biting down on her bottom lip as he nodded hesitantly.

He leaned down to kiss her once more, their lips meeting one another in a soft, gentle touch with no rush. It was only them and this moment. There was nothing else surrounding them besides this. They pulled away from each other with much resistance, tears filling their eyes but not allowing them to leak.

“I love yeh’, (Y/N),” He told her firmly.

“I love you, Harry,” She responded with no hesitation.

He let his hands drop from her face slowly, hands reaching for one another for a final time as she squeezed his palm gently and his thumb ran over the back of her hand soothingly. He picked up his duffel bag, stepping inside the train and turning back to wave at her. She waved back, a sad smile on her lips as the tears poured down once more.

She watched him settle inside the train, sitting by the window with a bag on the either side of him.

Their eyes met once more, as the train’s horns went off, signaling its departure.

And, their gaze never broke until the train was too far out of reach for her to spot him anymore.

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[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine if Jamie travelled through the stones, but instead of finding Claire in Boston he found himself having arrived years too early, when the War was still happening and Claire had yet to meet him... What would he do?

Notes from Mod Bonnie 

Trying something a bit new as a palate-cleanser, lads and lasses! 

Please do note that I am blissfully, unapologetically putting next-to-no effort into making this historically accurate. Soooo, if you’re in a military history/fact-checking/date-referencing mood… best take those efforts elsewhere ;D 

Hope you enjoy! 

The Last All-Clear 

September 17, 1942: A Rusty Nail 

C. E. B. Randall

Camp Nightwing, France

17 September

Daytime rotation today.

No new battle casualties & all quiet in the distance, thank God. 

Did tend M. Danton (scored on the arm w/ rusted nail; antibiotics & sterile bandage to finish; strict instructions to report in 3 days for follow-up). 

A strange sort, and no two ways about it. 

“Claire—darling—dearest—You know how much I ADORE you, don’t you?”

I was already smirking—fondly, but smirking nonetheless—by the time I turned from restocking the supply cabinets for tomorrow. “How much do you adore me, Nance?”

“So much that I’ll do absolutely any of your chores—ALL your chores!!—for a week if you’ll go tend Danton??”

“Danton? The frenchman?” A glance revealed a familiar set of hunched shoulders (spilled over with filthy black hair) just visible through the cracked partition of the infirmary tent. “What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing serious. Says he got scraped by a nail or screw or something this morning and needs to be cleaned up a bit, but oh, please, Claire??” Nancy whined, grabbing both my hands in hers. “I know you were supposed to go off-duty at eight and it’s nine-thirty already but puh-LEASE will you take ten minutes before you go and be the one to tend him?? Please-please-pl—” 

“Good Lord, no need to go into a tizzy about it,” I laughed, a bit taken aback by how truly distraught she seemed. “Surely the man doesn’t bite!” Though in truth, I didn’t know that for certain.

I’d never spoken to him, nor even so much as looked him in the eye, but Danton—was his first name even known?— was a legend in camp. He’d joined the company a month or two ago, they said, one of the men-of-all-work that alternately served as laborer, orderly, handyman, gravedigger, or any other role requiring a strong back. Though I’d always gotten the sense he was past his prime, from the state of his clothing and posture and hygiene, a strong back Danton did have, and whatever his age might be, he was indispensable.  The camp always had to be ready to go into action, or even pick up and move entirely at a moment’s notice. In this chaotic wartime reality, with life and death so often on the line, a spare set of hands was always needful. 

There were a dozen such men in camp, all of them civilian frenchmen, but Danton was the only one people seemed to talk about; which was quite the irony, given that he was a man of notoriously few words. He kept always to himself, speaking only when directly addressed, gruffly and shortly when he was, crossing the verge of sheer bad-temperedness more often than not. Rooms tended to shift to low whispers when Danton entered, if not empty entirely.

It didn’t seem to bother him. The entirety of my experience with the man consisted of glimpses from across the camp or mess-hall. Yet, even that barest of acquaintance was enough to have convinced me that the unsmiling, grubby Danton—with his hunched shoulders, with that profoundly-unkempt black hair and drooping cap that together hid his eyes—wished to be left alone. 

My skin had prickled, though, whenever I had studied him, crawling with something I couldn’t quite put into words or even—

“He gives me the absolute heebie-jeebies!!” Nancy summarized neatly in a whisper. “I can’t do it, I just can’t! Anything you ask, Claire, and it’s done, but PLEASE be a brick and get me out of this??”

I would have agreed in any case—if for nothing more than to satisfy my own slightly-morbid curiosity— but I had absolutely no qualms over letting Nancy take my bedpan duties for a week out of the bargain.

….and surely the man DIDN’T bite?

“Monsieur Danton?”

He JUMPED as though shot, and I startled so violently (absurdly searching for elongated canines in the momentary panic) that I swore and dropped my tray, the bowl, cloth, and other impedimenta clattering and scattering all over the floor with great metallic crashes.

I was utterly mortified, positively dove to my hands and knees to gather the scattered supplies and hide my face, and then the sensation doubled to realize that the frenchman was on the ground beside me. I had only enough time to notice the juxtaposition of the fine leather glove on his left hand with the wretched filth of his clothing before he was placing the last item on the tray. “Thank you,” I mumbled awkwardly, glancing up to smile in thanks, and caught a momentary glimpse of vivid blue eyes before he recoiled, leaping to his feet and busying himself with getting the tray on the table. 

Shy, whatever else he might be. 

“Well, we’re off to a bumpy start, sol—Sir,” I managed with a weak laugh as I got to my feet, throwing myself fully into that ‘jovial commanding-officer’ character that had weathered many an awkward encounter in my career to-date. My usual script felt a little bereft without the useful address of ’soldier.’ “I’m Nurse Randall,” I said more briskly, clearing my throat with a smile.  “I’m told you need medical attention for your arm?”

He rolled up his sleeve without so much as a word. Very well, down to busin—

“Good LORD!” I gasped, stepping forward and reaching for the arm, then pushing him down into the chair. Not merely a scrape: it was a slash, a wicked, deep one, about two inches long, just below the right elbow. “This needs stitches! What the bloody hell happened?” 

No answer. 

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I said more kindly in French, “Monsieur, will you tell me what happened to your arm?”

No nod. No grunt. The brute didn’t bother even to raise his chin from his chest. 

No language barrier, then: just an arse.  

I reached for the antiseptic, my nostrils flaring. “Will you look at the state of this?” The blood had long since clotted, but the wound clearly hadn’t been washed, let alone sterilized. “Why in God’s name didn’t you come and get help for it right away?”

Silence.

“Excuse me, I am TALKING to you,” I snapped, choosing to stick with French for castigation as I prepared the suturing supplies. “Why didn’t you bother coming for help unt—?”

“Do what’s-must to prevent the festering and I’ll be going, yes?” he snapped back with such venom that I would have gasped if I weren’t so grounded in pique. 

So: he was both capable of speech and every bit as ill-tempered for it.  Lord, give me the strength not to SLAP this man. I bit my tongue and cleansed the wound in icy silence.

“Far from home?” I blurted testily, when the tension became too insufferable even for me. 

His head snapped up.

“Your accent,” I clarified as I reached for a clean cloth, genuinely curious despite my ire, “—your syntax. It’s not a standard dialect…nor like the other frenchmen in camp, I think?” 

“No.”

I had about an ounce of pleasantness left in me and I scraped it up to force a smile. “Grow up in the country, eh?”

“Yes.”

“…Care to share where?” 

“No.”

“Well, you’re just a blooming basket of violet-scented rainbows, aren’t you?” I snapped in English. “Hold bloody still, this will hurt and you’ll deserve every blasted bit of it.” I gritted my teeth and swore under my breath as I began stitching, in absolutely no mood for grumpy man-children. “Jesus H. Roosevelt CHRIST.”

By complete chance, standing bent over his arm as I began to stitch, I happened to be looking down at his mouth as I said it. To my absolute gobsmacked surprise, I saw a smile twitching at the corners, small and restrained, as though he were trying very much not to show it, but clear as day: a tiny smile verging on a grin. 

Well…! Not a *complete* automaton, then. 

I was taken still further aback when the mouth opened and said quietly in French without looking up, “Forgive me, please, Madame. I do not mean you ill.” The tone told me he was being genuine.  “It is only that I do not very much like—speaking.”

“It’s good to work at things you don’t like doing,” I said, fixing what I could see of his face with a sardonic glare between stitches, but trying not to smile. “Builds character.”  

Another infinitesimal twitch of the lips before he dropped his head, strings of wavy black hair hiding his features entirely. “It is—a small bit more easy to manage, in French.”  

“We’ll stick with the Français then,” I said, letting a smile show in my voice.

I finished the stitching and sterilization in a more comfortable silence. He took the hypodermic needle without so much as a wince, though I could see him watching it intently, sternly almost, as though not entirely sure what to make of it. From the country, indeed. 

“You’re so much younger than I would have supposed.” 

“…I beg your pardon, Madame?” 

I could hardly fault him for being taken aback, as I had blurted it with absolutely no thought for context, let alone grace. I recovered as best I could, all things considered, focusing over-intently on wrapping the bandage around his forearm. “From a distance, I had assumed you to be far older.”

Honestly, for a man with such a beard and posture, that default manner that could charitably be described as cantankerous, it was alarming to find that not only was he not middle-aged, but he couldn’t possibly be older than— 

“Thirty? At most?”

“Thereabouts.” After a pause, he added with a shrug. “I am far older in spirit, Madame.”  

I made him promise to come see me in a few days so I could see how the healing was progressing and give him more antibiotic if need be. He nodded, then stood and shrugged back into his coat (Lord, was he huge), and was just beginning to move toward the doorway, when—

“Are you well-treated here, M. Danton?”  Why could I not keep my bloody mouth shut tonight??

“Why is it that you ask such a question of me, Madame?” Though I still could barely see his face through the hair, I could hear the wariness in his voice. 

“You just seem…” I struggled to find the word in French, to express my concern without giving offense. “…..hunted.” 

Yes, a beast at bay. That’s what I had discerned and yet been unable to name in those vague, distant glances across camp: the utter wrongness in the sight of a man so tall and strong keeping his head low, avoiding eye contact, as though cowering before an invisible blow. Then there was this slash to the arm…

He caught me looking at the bandage, so I summoned my courage enough to ask directly, “Is someone bothering you? Hurting you?” 

“No.” He relaxed, and I saw his throat muscles working.  “No, it truly was a rusted nail; an accident, entirely my own.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the first statement. “And my manners and ways are mine as well, Madame. Of my own choosing, I mean to say. Better, it is, that I keep to myself.”

There was nothing morose in the way he said it, nothing maudlin or self-pitying.

 ….but it still was so very sad. 

“Nonetheless,” he added quite suddenly, one hand on the tent flap, “I thank you for having asked.” He gave a graceful bow and said in heavily-accented English before vanishing off into the night: “You ‘ave a kind ‘eart, Nurse Randall.”

Strange, yes. But not as bad as all that. 

-CEBR

5 1 9

Ye touched me, today, mo nighean donn. 

Spoke to me. Looked at me. Stopped my beating heart. 

You were supposed to go off-duty at eight. I let that damned wound go untended all the day because I was waiting for when I kent you’d be away and abed. I couldn’t take the chance of it being you. God above knows I meant for us never once to come face-to-face in this camp.

More than a year since I ran up the hill after ye and the world went black; more than a year of trying to find my way in your world; of trying to find you; these last months of staying hidden in plain sight that ye never should see my face…. All undone by a rusted nail and your damned heedless self working at all hours instead of taking to your damned bed. And yet…. ye always did see fit to undermine my plans, my wife. Mo ghraidh. 

….Lord, and you’re so young, Sorcha; so heartbreakingly young, and it makes me want to weep. And yet I weep still more to have witnessed with my own eyes and ears that you’re exactly the same. Even now, at three-and-twenty, you’ve the same fire that I myself have known in you, that same brilliance and compassion and—

Jesus. 

Oh, God, Claire. 

From a distance, keeping to my duties, I have been able to separate myself from it all; keep myself and my thoughts in check by mere will, knowing that it is my place only to watch over you, never in any circumstance to know you or seek you out.  But so close to ye today, mo chridhe, SO CLOSE with you touching me, that deepest part of yourself reaching out to heal and care for me, even in disguise, even though ye dinna yet know me— It took all my strength not to take ye in my arms and crush you to my heart.

I long for you, mo nighean donn. I long for my wife; to hold ye again; to speak all my heart to ye. My truest friend. 

And yet, beyond longing, there is that uttermost of terrors that fills me day and night. 

I wait for this war to end—this war of unspeakable horrors, the like of which I could never have fathomed—and still I dread the sounding of that last all-clear. At least here, now (and for three years more, at the least) I have a place in your world. I can watch over ye, see your face each and every day, if only for a moment from afar, and be able to close my eyes at night only because I ken that you are safe. 

But when the fighting has ceased, when ye leave France, I shall have to bid you yet another farewell….silently, this time, unseen….and hope that in April of 1948—

…Pray with all my soul that you and the bairn make it to April of 1948. 

That you won’t be— That you haven’t already been—? or that you aren’t now—?

Lost among the years. As I have been.  

#;mod bonnie #The Last All-Clear #...so what if I can't name AUs without songs or poems...sue me