#WWII!AU

[viking-raider]

SALT IN OUR WOUNDS - CHAPTER V

Summary-> After being found out by the Patrol, you try to act the part, to lower the suspension on Gus's presence.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 3.3k

Chapters-> I II III IV

Warnings-> PG-13: AU, Language, Deception, References to WWII, Use of the word Nazi.

Inspiration-> The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> This is a work of Fiction, pulled from my imagination.

Divider by->  @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’ Ao3-> DRAGON_DWELLER

With the officers gone, Gus helped you to your feet, gently cradling your arm in his hands to look at the steadily bruising print on your bicep. His brows creased, as anger at the officer's roughness with you filled him again and guilt for getting you into this mess consumed him. Laying a hand on his chest, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile, nodding your head slightly.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, tracing the edge of the bruise with his thumb.

"It's not your fault, Gus." You cooed, brows pinching slightly. "It's not like you walked up here and asked us to take you in, We-" You looked at Edmund, who nodded at him. "took you in because we knew it was the right thing to do."

"So, he's not a worker from another village?" Your father's skeptical tone asked, as he regarded the three of you from his chair.

Edmund sighed heavily, rubbing the side of his face. "No, Pops. He's not." He answered, having not liked lying to your father to start with, despite it being needed at the time. Now he was going to have to ask something just as difficult. "She found Gus injured on the beach the other day, and we brought him in, so Dr. Tremblay could treat his wound. I know we told you he was working for me." He explained, moving across to sit beside him. "Now, however, the Patrol, and Trottier, think that Gus is her fiancé. We need to keep that story going. At least, until he's well again and, either they leave the area, or Gus can get back to where he needs to be."

"Can you do that, Papa?" You asked, frowning down at him, concerned for his well-being in the matter, knowing it was a lot asking your father to make merry with a random man who was pretending to be your future husband.

"Well, I have no choice in the matter, do I?" Mael answered, rubbing his shaky hands over his knees. "The mission has already been set up for me by the three of you. I'm just here as support."

"I'll make it as short a mission as possible." Gus replied, giving him a serious, but respectful, expression. "One Major, to another." He added, with a knowing glint in his blue eyes.

"I'll hold you to it." Mael stated, giving him a hard look.

"I guess there's no reason to finish the project downstairs." Edmund commented, sitting at the kitchen table with you and Gus, hands cupped around a fresh mug of coffee.

"Oh, I don't know." You chimed in, setting your tea down. "I really could use some shelves down there." You smirked, giving him a teasing expression.

Edmund gave you a squinty eyed look. "Use some shelves." He parroted, tapping the rim of his cup with his index finger. "Down-stairs."

"Mmhm." You nodded, brows going up, and giggling as Edmund's eyes flickered to Gus. "What are you looking at him for?"

"Wondering if he can get his fiancé under control." Edmund quipped, finally raising the coffee to his mouth.

"Well, I always heard, 'happy wife, happy life'." Gus answered, shifting in his seat, and glancing over at you. "So, if more shelves make her happy." He shrugged his shoulders, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Just because you give her everything she wants, doesn't mean she'll be happy." Edmund replied, an almost sour edge in his voice.

"Are you trying to compare me to Willamena?" You asked, cocking an offended brow at him.

Edmund finished off his coffee and pushed his chair back. "No." He said curtly, standing and striding over to the door, jerking his coat off the hook on the wall beside it. "I'll be back later." He huffed, going out.

"Is he all right?" Gus asked, look to you.

"Edmund will be fine." You sighed, shaking your head. "He and Willa, his wife, haven't been happy together in a very long time. So, it's a sore subject for him." You explained, getting up to take your and Edmund's cups to the sink, but glanced up at the clock. "I have to go down to the shop. We don't have anything for dinner in the refrigerator and I have to see when Remi wants me to work another shift."

"Is it far?" He inquired, coming up behind you and setting his own mug in the sink.

"No." You shook your head, biting your lip as you felt his intense warmth against your back. "Maybe a two minute walk."

"Why don't I go with you?" Gus suggested, cocking his head and smiling at you.

"Do you think you can manage with your wound?" You asked, a bit apprehensive. "I don't want you to over-extend yourself."

Gus's smile brightened and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "I'll be fine, I promise." He assured you, his thumb rubbing your wrist. "I could use the fresh air and sunshine. Plus, it'll help deter any of the Patrol, instead of making them more paranoid, if I stay inside a hundred percent of the time."

"You're right." You nodded, biting your lip, having not thought of what the Patrol would think of Gus staying hidden. "I'll get my shoes and something to wrap up in." You told him, before giving his hand a gentle pressure back.

"I'll wait for you here."

He let go of your hand and moved out of the way. Your cheeks felt warm as you hurried upstairs to grab your cardigan off the back of a chair in your room, pausing to fix your hair in the mirrored back of your vanity and spritz a bit of Soir de Paris. But you stopped, feeling silly.

"Acting like this is a date." You sighed, flustered, plopping down on your chair. fishing your shoes out from under the vanity and securing the buckles. "All right, I'm ready to go." You declared, coming back downstairs, finding Gus patiently waiting for you by the door.

"As am I." He answered, tipping his head politely, while pulling open the door.

"You mind her, Major." Mael called out to Gus, leaning forward in his chair to catch his eye.

"I would think of nothing less." Gus assured him, meeting your father's eye confidently. "I am her fiancé, after all." He quipped, with a wink, then followed you out. "Do we hold hands?" He asked, looking at you, but felt his heart kick at your startled reaction. "I'm only teasing you." He said softly, biting his lip.

"I know." You squeaked, flustered, before catching sight of your sister-in-law coming out of her home across the way. "Oh, that's Willa." You mumbled to Gus, before lifting your arm and waving to her.

"Morning, Willa!" You greeted her, grinning pleasantly.

Willa stared over at you and Gus, pulling a Rose-Tip out of her engraved case and her sky-blue enamel guilloche, sterling silver lighter from the front pocket of her knitted jumper. She didn't return your pleasant acknowledgement, instead lit her cigarette in a smooth and indifferent motion, eyes never moving off the two of you. Gus frowned, cocking a brow at her as he studied her standoffish demeanor; puzzled. She was just anti-social or if she was being rude.

"What’s her issue?" He asked you, his own eyes never leaving Willa.

"She's fine." You answered, sighing at your sister-in-law, your heart yearning to have a connection with her.

You had been excited upon hearing about Edmund courting someone; finally having another woman in the house to talk to, to share in the chores and just confide things to. Things you couldn't do with your father and brother.

However, from the moment you met, Willamena Badeaux had been distant from you.

She wasn't cold, per se, but she hadn't opened up with you either. Willa had been the first female in your close and personal circle, outside of the couple of elderly church ladies that would come over during the day. They would cook meals, clean the house, wash the laundry and just make sure you, Edmund and your father were well taken care of. After your mother had run off with her lover, the assistant shop clerk of the grocery store she frequented on her shopping trips. Which several of you figured were excuses to go and meet up with him; so she could cheat on your poor father.

But, the church women never went out of their way to be motherly or be a true confidant for you. Their love and friendship was out of pity. You were the little girl of a harlot and a mentally broken man, who could barely manage a job, dropping that weight onto his teenage son. So, when Willa came into the picture, you thought you would have a sister, not only to do sisterly things with, but to also learn how to be a woman. That's obviously not how it turned out.

She only came over to the house, if Edmund urged her to. She only held a conversation with you, if you were the one to start it and spurred it to keep going, otherwise she only spoke to Edmund or sat quietly. It only got worse, when the two of them married and moved into the cottage across the street from you and your father. Willa rarely came over for family dinners, meals you were still solely cooking for the four of you. Only occasionally getting a home cooked meal from her, after she and Edmund quarreled over her not performing her wifely duties and dropping the chores of two houses on you. As if you were their maid.

Part of you was sure, Willa detached from you, because she had been under the assumption Edmund only married her to be a mother figure to you. Not because he had been, once upon a time, madly in love with her.

"Do you need anything from the shop, Willa?" You asked, pulling yourself from sinking deeper into that emotional hole. "Gus and I are popping down there now." You explained, raising a hand and motioning to him, casually.

She stared at you for a long minute, before holding up her case, the sunlight glinting off the engraved bronze and mother of pearl. Nodding that you got the hint, you turned and started towards the center of town, with Gus following beside you. The sun was warm, heating the both of you, as well as the modest homes and buildings that lined the street, all converging on the limestone fountain round-a-bout in the middle of Saint-Thurney, spraying an arch of water from the top; a rainbow sparkling in the mist.

"This is really quite a quaint town." Gus commented, glancing about, following you across the sleepy street.

"It is." You replied, smiling up at him, proud of your little adoptive home. "It's almost like we're somewhere else entirely, instead of such a bustling and chaotic world." You told him, always feeling a sense of peace while in Saint-Thurney, even with a World War being waged around you and the town being occupied.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." You added softly, stopping beside Remi's General Store. "This is the place!" You declared, waving your hand at the store's front windows, plastered with advertisements for goods he sold inside, several crate displays lined the bottom of one window. "You'll like Remi, he's super sweet." You smiled, reaching out for the door handle, only to have Gus beat you to it.

"Allow me." He purred, pulling it open and standing aside, for you to go in first. "Only proper for your fiancé to open it for you."

You gulped, biting the inside of your lip. "Right." You nodded, clearing your throat. "You're right."

Composing yourself, you went inside, finding Remi at the only register with one of the residents, Mrs. Moulin, the Mayor's wife. They looked up at you and smiled, before their expressions twisted into apprehensive confusion, spotting Gus coming in behind you.

"Morning, Remi. Mrs. Moulin." You greeted them cheerily, while trying to keep casual, like there was nothing out of the ordinary for Gus to be there with you.

"Good morning." Mrs. Moulin addressed you, her eyes still on Gus, as if she expected him to lash out at everyone.

"Who is this?" Remi asked, ignoring his manners, unlike her.

"This is Gus." You grinned brightly, looking back at him and your breath catching in your throat at the feeling of him taking your hand. "He's my fiancé." You declared, heart racing in your chest.

Both Remi and Mrs. Moulin looked floored at the announcement, particularly Remi, who you had worked for for several years and knew you'd never mentioned having a male suitor. Let alone a fiancé! So, selling Remi on Gus being your betrothed was going to be one of the other hurdles you faced, on top of the Patrol and Director General.

"When did this happen?" Remi snapped, dumbfounded and looking almost outraged. "You never mentioned anything!"

Gus rested his free hand on the small of your back, his eyes taking the other man in, sizing him up. "Keeping me your own little secret, Peanut?" He asked, a sparkle coming into his eyes as he looked at you, bashfully.

A zing shot through you, hearing him call by your nickname, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. "I have been." You smirked, bashfully turning your face into his bicep.

"How did the two of you meet?" Remi asked, continuing his interrogation.

"We knew each other from before she moved here." Gus answered, surprising you on how casually he came up with the fabricated detail. "I reached out to her just after I enlisted, and well, I proposed to her a year ago." He stated, smiling at you and caressing your back with his thumb. "Thankfully, she said, yes."

"Would you have gotten yourself shot sooner, if I said no?" You teased him back, getting lost in the moment.

Gus grinned at you, amused, but he felt something deeper. "Definitely." He nodded slowly, his blue eyes soft.

Mrs. Moulin gasped, crossing herself. "You were shot?"

"Yes, madam. I was." Gus replied, tipping his head politely to her. "That's the reason I'm here, and not back in Belgium; fighting." He stated, lightly touching his wound. "This lovely gem is taking care of me." He cooed, touching his thumb to your chin with a wink, making your knees a little weak.

"I thank you, sir." Mrs. Moulin said, straighten her petite body, then glanced around the group. "Fighting those damn Nazis."

Your mouth fell open, surprised to hear the ordinarily prim and proper lady, curse. "Mrs. Moulin." You mumbled, in a state of shock.

"Well, it's true!" She huffed at you, gathering up her grocery bags. "I'm sick of them being in my town, marching about, like they own it."

"I'd be careful with what you say, Mrs. Moulin." Remi warned, as she moved for the door. "You never know who you can trust." He said, eyeing Gus.

"Luckily, everyone here is trustworthy." You chimed, with confused surprise. "Have a good day, Mrs. Moulin. Say hello to the Mayor for me."

"Oh, I will, my dear." She answered, reaching out to rest her hand on your arm, looking between you and Gus. "You make a beautiful couple. You must let my brother, Zane, marry you when the time comes." She said, with a sweet smile.

Your cheeks blazed at her words. "We'll put him at the top of consideration." You promised her, offering her your own soft smile.

"Good." She nodded, patting your arm and gave Gus a cheeky wink, before scuttling out the door.

"Do I have a shift this week, Rem?" You asked, turning your attention back to your boss, who hadn't taken his judging eyes off of you.

"I haven't gone over the schedule yet this week." He answered, gruffly. "So, I'll have to let you know."

"All right." You nodded, feeling the cold coming off of him in waves. "Well, I have a bit of shopping to do for the house." You said, trying to shrug it off as Remi's reluctance to trust with the uncertainty of war, having lost both his brothers.

Gus stepped away from you, to grab a small hand basket from the stack by the door, holding it for you as you puttered around the modest aisles and freezers, grabbing a few items and placing them in the basket.

"Everything is so bare." He commented, watching you grab a box of oatmeal, only one of four on the scarce shelf.

"We're being rationed." You replied, sighing as you tucked a box of dry pasta in with the rest of your groceries. "Remi only gets a shipment of things once a week to stock the shelves. If you want something and don't get here early enough for it..." You trailed off, shrugging your shoulders dismissively.

“Suppose, being enlisted for so long, I’ve been a bit blind to the tribulations of civilians.” Gus frowned, his brow creasing heavily. “Not that I didn’t know about rationing. I just didn’t…” He shook his head, a hardness coming into his blue eyes. “Damned Nazis.” He growled, rolling his jaw.

You rested your hand on his elbow, looking up at him with a soft expression. “It is what it is, Gus.” You told him, quietly. “But it will change. We’ll beat them and everything will go back to how it should.”

“As it should.” He echoed, meeting your eye for a long moment.

What will happen after the War ends? No matter who wins. I’ll have to go back to the Army. I’ll have to leave her. Could I come back after my service? Would you want me to come back? Could I…

He shook his head hard, trying to shove the thoughts away. It was delusional to think such things, he was getting too involved and attached. He needed to keep a barrier between the two of you, to protect you against the danger he presented as an officer of the British Army.

“Well, what’s for dinner?” He asked, forcing that wall back up and peeking into the basket he carried for you.

“Um..” You cocked a brow at the basket’s contents taking stock of it and what you knew was at home. “I could make a simple stew. Wouldn’t be too much, but it would be something in our bellies.”

“I have faith in your cooking abilities.” Gus smiled, the sparkle coming back into his eyes.

“Kind of you.” You giggled shyly. “I think that's about all we need.” You said, biting your lip and glancing about the modest shop. “We can get rung up.” You smiled, heading towards Remi at the register. “How’s your Mum, Rem?” You asked, as he slowly added up everything in your basket.

Remi’s mother had suffered great shock at the loss of her two older sons, Duncan and Andre, who had enlisted and been shipped off to the thick of the war. Duncan had died in the Battle of Crete, taking shrapnel that nicked a serious artery and bled to death before anyone could do anything for him. The most tragic though, was Andre. His squad was ambushed by a German one and overtaken. It had been a hard time for many in the town, when they received the telegraph informing them of Andre officially being MIA. Every time Remi’s mother was seen, she was balling her eyes out and lamenting, prophesying that he too would die as her oldest did.

Two months later though, another telegraph arrived informing them that Andre had been found alive, but being held in a German Prisoner of War camp. His mother was relieved to hear he was alive, however she was still devastated to hear of his situation. Andre survived for a while in the camp. Two whole years, to be exact. But the fated telegraph ultimately arrived, one blustery day, and practically the entire town heard her screaming.

So, in that sense, you and Remi had developed a friendship based on an understanding of parents with mental health issues, inflicted by wars in some way.

“She’s doing all right.” Remi answered, not looking up from his task.

You blinked at him, ordinarily he would elaborate on how his mother was doing when you asked, even if nothing had changed about her. But you realized quickly where his reluctance came from, feeling Gus shift beside you.

Men. You rolled your eyes.

“Can I have Willa’s usual as well?” You asked, ignoring the thick air between Gus and Remi.

“Sure.” Remi nodded, half turning on his heels to grab the red and white, Rose Tip box and tucked it into the bag. “I’ll put this on your tab.” He said, setting it in your reach.

“Thanks.” You smiled uneasily at him, as Gus scooped the bag up and tucked it carefully against his good side. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” You told him, before leaving the shop and tracing your steps back home.

“What’s wrong?” Gus inquired, glancing down at you.

“Nothing.” You informed him, licking your lips and shaking your head. “Guess he’s just having a rough day.” You brushed it off.

Gus moved out of the cellar and into the cramped guest room upstairs, nothing separating the two of you now, but the wall of your closet. The two of you agreed it was much more agreeable to have him there than the cellar in the event the Patrol and the Inspector returned. They know doubt would, their suspension of Gus was all too obvious. It would also be more comfortable for him in the guestroom, giving him a softer bed, the luxury of sunlight and fresh air from the window that overlooked the back garden. As well as the beach, beyond the garden wall.

But as Gus healed and regained his strength again, he knew he had to find a way back to his men, and the war. He had to find out what happened to his men, if they were still alive. How he was to do that, was another matter altogether.

The last thing he recalled of the group was infiltrating a Nazi Intelligence Camp to rescue one of their own, Geoffrey Appleyard. They had gotten into the camp and things had gone well. He and his second hand man, Anders Lassen, moved smoothly together before nodding at each other and Gus looked back to Henry Hayes, jerking his head for the younger man to follow him. They moved swiftly through the camp, taking Nazis out left and right and making the camp practically useless for any that tried to use it again; with Freddy Alvarez setting up a plethora of explosives as a finishing touch.

Gus was proud of his men. No one had been seriously injured, beyond a handful of scratches. It had been one of their best in and out missions in the two years the unofficial, rag-tag group had been put together. That alone should have given Gus a measure of paranoia.

Missions should never go so easily.

The shot rang out and everyone in the group tensed, the jolly celebration that filled them instantly vanished as they dropped their looted goods and scrambled for their weapons, pulling out guns and bows. Gus hated being caught by surprise, especially by damned Nazis. He gritted his teeth, returning fire, while trying to assess the situation. They were a mile and a half from shore, where their boat was waiting to take them back to the safety of Allied Lines. There was a sparse covering of forest between them and their extraction point, that could give them some shelter. As much as Gus March-Phillippss hated being surprised, he hated running. But hearing Anders call out that there were too many and ammo was running low, Gus gave the signal to retreat to the boat, taking up the rear to ensure none of his men lagged behind.

It was him that lagged behind.

He felt the hot burn of lead piercing his side, faltering only momentarily, his eyes focused on the back of Lassen’s head, breath from his lungs starting to wheeze in his throat and his vision spot. Gus’s memory skipped in and out from there, like a scratched record. Spotting the boat ahead of the group and urging them forward, the heat of blood soaking into his clothing and his knees feeling like jelly. He couldn’t recall if he made it to or onto the boat with the others, then somehow fell overboard, or something more happened.

There were dark bits lurking in his mind of freezing cold enveloping him, no doubt of him in the Channel.

“Your father’s very into following the movements of the War.” Gus said one morning, sipping a cup of coffee as the two of you finished breakfast.

“He is.” You nodded.

“Does he only follow the major events or…” He trailed off, meeting your eye.

“No, he follows whatever is reported on or gossiped about in newspapers and the radio.” You replied, sensing his intent and sudden interest in your father’s hobby. “Why?” You asked, cautiously.

“I need to know what happened to my men.” Gus told you, bluntly and honestly. “I have to know if they’re still alive, dead or in prisoner of war camps. Perhaps your father has some information that could be useful to me, on that front.”

“How?” You shook your head, confused.

“I was injured during a mission.” He divulged to you, in a low voice. “It wasn’t an official or authorized mission, but there might be a possibility of it being reported on.” He cast an eye over his shoulder to the sitting room, where your father lounged in his usual spot. “Do you think he’d discuss it with me?”

You snorted at him and lifted your tea cup to your lips. “Do I think so? It’s more a matter of getting him to quit, once you get him going.” You said, taking a deep gulp of the rich, brown liquid. “But, yes.” You nodded, assuring him. “I’m sure my father would likely share any information he has on the War with you. Just wait until later in the morning. He likes to nap after breakfast, and he’ll be more receptive and energetic about the subject.”

“Excellent.” Gus smiled, patting your arm. “Would you like to go on a walk with me, to pass the time?”

“I think that would be quite agreeable.” You cooed, finishing off your tea.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Gus march Phillips #Gus March-Phillipps #Salt in Our Wounds #Salt in Our Wounds *Fic* #Gus/You #Gus/Reader #Gus x You #gus x reader #Gus March-Phillipps x Reader #Gus March-Phillipps x You #gus march phillips x you #gus march phillips x Reader #gus march phillips/Reader #gus march phillips/You #WWII #wwii era #The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare!AU #WWII!AU

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP

#WHERES THE FIC AT IF SOMEONE WRITES THIS I WILL PAY THEM A HUNDRED DOLLARS😭😭 #kunikida serving the country while dazai's serving cunt😔 #dazai was born to malewife but forced to manipulate and i think that's the greatest tragedy of bsd #anyway some facts i would like to share abt this au thay i came up w while drawing!! #takes place in 1939 (start of wwii) and there was a mandatory draft that required one male over eighteen from each house to serve #both of them are still twenty two and had been engaged for abt two years before getting married that year #newlyweds! unfortunately kuni had to go fight and they were seperated :( #before the war kunikida was a math teacher at the local high school and dazai obviously managed the household and didn't work #he's hopeless at cooking and meal prep even w recipie books so they either get those prepackaged meals or kuni makes dinner when he gets ba #so like when he's making lunch for kunikida he normally just packs a basic sandwich w raw fruit #kunikida always appreciates the effort even tho hes probably sick of having the same thing everyday but he won't complain abt it #when kunikida joined the army he was relieved that the mess hall had better food than dazai #he was the only one in his platoon that never complained abt the food so his fellow soldiers assumed it was bc he came from a tough bg #when in reality he was just used to being poisoned on a daily basis from his dumbass husbands cooking and was hardly fazed from army ration #they write to each other although its more dazai sending and kuni receiving bc hes off fighting and doesnt have time to write back #dazai talks abt life on the homefront and how he has to grow a victory garden (everything is DYING HE CANT EVEN RAISE TOMATOES) #and kuni writes abt his fellow soldiers and how the war is going and when he thinks he'll be home and how he misses sleeping in a bed #ANYWAY yea thought i'd share sry for infodumping in the tags again #this post is for like the four ppl that care abt this specific flavor of knkdz so hopefully this gets four notes at least #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #kunikida doppo #doppo kunikida #kunikidazai #knkdz #lotus draws #bro sry for posting at two in the morning i couldnt sleep until i got this out of my head they have infested my brain

[evyltalks]

Commission for anonymous inspired by the fic Cloudless Climes and Starry Skies by Eniaos on ao3

#marauders #marauders fanart #art #fanart #james potter #regulus black #james potter fanart #regulus black fanart #wwii au #soldier James potter #soldier regulus black #historical au

[tathrin]

Oh no help, why is my brain suddenly full of an RAF (or RFC) AU where Legolas is a pilot who gets the nickname “Greenleaf” because of how lightly and acrobatically he flies (and also he should probably be Irish or Scottish so the Brits can be derisive about his “more dangerous and less wise” people hmm? ooh or Indian! doesn’t really matter as long as he wears a lot of green so the nickname makes sense lmao) while Gimli was too short for the army but is a fucking amazing mechanic and basically single-handedly responsible for how amazing this unit’s planes are and how no matter how wrecked their planes are if they can get them back to base at all he can fix them, and Legolas fell in love basically the first time he saw Gimli work his miracles with that wrench and Gimli is not in love thank you, he is very very annoyed by this chipper pilot who keeps getting holes shot in his fucking wings and he definitely doesn’t like him at all and certainly doesn’t go out of his way to tinker with Legolas’s plane all the time and make sure it’s the absolute best machine in the air oh no nope definitely not dammit and he certainly doesn’t fret every time Legolas flies off into battle or comes back with his engine smoking again that fucker oh how Gimli loathes him! until one day he finally hops out of a just-barely-landed-successfully plane that is literally on fire Legolas what the fuck you idiot and oh and he stumbles what’s wrong oh no is he hurt oh no and Gimli runs over to help him up and instead they kiss right on the runway oh fuck—!

And the whole unit has been taking bets on this forever, so Commander Strider has to come break up the fistfight between Éowyn-who-definitely-isn’t-using-her-brother’s-ID-and-the-whole-unit-doesn’t-know-she’s-secretly-a-girl-NOPE and Boromir over who now owes whom money before Boromir’s little brother, the only one in the unit who hasn’t figured out that Éowyn is a girl yet, does something stupid trying to stop his brother fighting with “the fellow” he definitely doesn’t have a crush on Boromir please—!

Strider is so tired. He didn’t sign-up for herding idiots in love, he’s just trying to win the damn war, do you lads MIND???

Lord Mithrandir is sitting in his office watching the show from the window and laughing so hard, he fucking loves his deranged pilots so much. He has pulled  so many blatant cover-ups for their hijinks, and everybody in high command knows that he’s tossing aside regulations left and right, but his units are the most successful pilots in the damn skies so nobody can do anything about it dammit. (He’s also definitely in cahoots with General Galadriel, who pulls his ass out of the fire every damn time somebody tries to bestow some kind of reprimand or punishment, and who gets regular “briefings” about his pilots that absolutely aren’t just gossip in disguise, and which she certainly doesn’t pass along to her granddaughter who’s engaged to Commander Strider, who definitely isn’t royalty in disguise, nope nope and also nope.)

#i don't even DO aus like this what the FUCK brain???? #well i sure as fuck am not going to write it so if anybody else feels inspired PLEASE DO #plot for sale i offer it to you freely #gimleaf #gigolas #legolas #gimli #third wheel aragorn is the best aragorn #eowyn #faramir #boromir #aragorn #wwi #wwii #wwi au #wwii au #lotr au #lotr #my stuff #my writing #fighter pilots #snubfighter pilots #pilot au #aus

[desert-fern]

Ring Around My Rosie - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Nurse Reader (WWII European Theatre AU)

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Fem!Reader

Summary: The year is 1944 and the Second World War rages on. You have been a nurse in Belgium for nearly three years, having seen the effects of the worst things human beings can do to one another. One day, like always, an injured man is brought in. An American sailor too far from the ocean he came out of on D-Day and you both are entranced.

Warnings: blood, bullet removal, mentions of Nazis (it is a WWII AU so…), probably inaccurate depictions of wartime nursing, most likely factually incorrect WWII history, fluff so fluffy I gave myself a cavity just writing this, 1940s Bradley Bradshaw (yes, he is a warning)

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: If you can’t guess, this oneshot is a WWII AU inspired by a cover of Ed Sheeran’s Nancy Mulligan that I have linked here! I’m 90% I fucked up my Spotify Wrapped for this fic so I hope you enjoy!

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Well, I met him at Guy's in the second world war

And I was working on a soldier's ward

The scent of blood was thick in your nostrils as you dragged yourself out of the field hospital in Les Annais, Belgium. The Germans had been menacing your location for weeks, baiting your troops and sending fractions limping back into your capable hands.

You knew nothing of the tactics being used, very few did. You were here as a nurse, not as a tactician, not as anyone of note, save for being the longest serving nurse at the 51st Field Hospital. The others had bailed out as soon as they could, doing their duty but the gruesome fighting months earlier at the Battle of the Bulge had sent many fleeing.

It wasn’t like you could blame them.

You were still new, having joined up as soon as you could convince your father and while you were a month shy of 23, you had never experienced anything like this. Your grandmother had told your father off, reminding him that it was his own stubborn streak that raced through you.

But you were unprepared for everything you would have to do out here, hundreds of kilometers away from home, with the least amount of training that they could spare. At the beginning, you could only offer comfort to some of these men, being unable to save them from their wounds, as they cried for their mothers, wives, children, begging for the pain to end.

Sometimes - well, most times - these men were boys your age or younger. Lives that had only just begun were snuffed out in the most violent of ways and you were left to piece together your shattered heart day after day.

So you closed yourself off, choosing to help as many as you could. The conditions were brutal, the wounds you saw even more so. A year and a half ago, you didn’t know how it felt to hold down a screaming man so a doctor could try and save a septic leg. You were a shoulder to cry on, a smiling face despite the bleakness, and more often than not, an object of flirtation and admiration.

The sky was a miserable gray, like it always was. It seemed like the sky was trying to match the color of the tents scattered around the outside of the main camp, doing its best to hide you from the prying eyes of the German aerial patrols.

The Luftwaffe were always around. Luckily for you, they couldn’t aim for shit, but you couldn’t deny that the German movements had been far more frequent. Sometimes a young man crawled through the borders surrendering to the English and American forces and begging for help.

No one else would treat him, refusing to even get close to him.

You had chastised them all, reminding them of their promises to help those in need, and slowly you had gained some help in the care of these young men, though they were few and far between.

Shouts caught your attention, sending you racing through the muddy field back to the hospital. A group of soldiers, Americans by the sound of them, were calling for help and you would be a hypocrite if you didn’t help.

Hurrying through the door ahead of them, you saw a small group, maybe seven or so men approach. They were muddy, beaten and bruised, but your eyes fell upon the man being held up by his compatriots. “What happened?” You asked, quickly replacing a red headed man and half-carried the brunette towards the only open bed in the corner.

“A bunch of Krauts caught us by surprise, caught Rooster here with a few shots and some ass- pardon me ma’am, idiot jumped out of a tree and landed on top of him,” the man explained, helping you lay this Rooster on the bed.

You focused on the brunette’s bloody uniform, eyeballing the few bullet wounds in his arms, but you were the most concerned about the broken leg. It only took one infected wound and that limb would be gone. Not today, you thought. “Dot, I need the suture kit and a basin. You,” you stated, standing up to face the man standing next to you.

“Mulligan, ma’am,” he told you, standing up straighter. “Lewis Mulligan, US Navy.”

“Lewis, can you help me hold him down? I can’t stitch him up and hold him down at the same time.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dot hurried over with the makeshift kit, placing it on the bed along with a basin of water. Unbuttoning his shirt, you found that two of the three bullet wounds still had the bullet in them and that the third had begun to clot against his shirt. Pulling the scissors from the pants pocket of your uniform and cutting the shirt away, you finally had a better view at what you were working with. “Fucking Krauts. Guess they must be really desperate to keep using shitty ammunition,” you remarked dryly, dipping a set of tweezers in a basin of cheap spirits.

Lewis didn’t say a word, clearly stunned by your foul language. “Ma’am?”

Sighing, you turned to face him. “Lewis, I need your help holding him down. The longer this takes, the bigger the risk of infection. I can’t do that if you are going to be shocked when I cuss and swear. Can you help me or not?”

He nodded, coming to stand on the other side of the unconscious man. Hands placed on his friend’s shoulder and hip, Lewis gave you a nod and you began.

The bullets were soft and slippery. They slid out of your tweezers more times than you could count, but you made it work, finally prying the two out of his shoulder and side. Lewis wasn’t looking at you, his face green by the time the last bullet clinked into the porcelain tray. “I can take it from here, Mulligan. Go back to your group, tell them…”

“His name is Bradley.”

You gave him a smile. “Tell them Bradley should be okay unless he does something stupid.”

He left you alone, perched on the side of Bradley’s bed, stitching him up. You saw his eyelashes flutter as you finished the last stitch and quickly stood up. If he lunged at you, you had to be standing. Enough men had grabbed at you when they woke up and you had quickly learned not to make that mistake again.

Too many bruises, too many sprains, too many punches thrown.

To your surprise, Bradley let out a groan and his eyes slowly blinked open. That groan turned into a hiss of pain as he tried to sit up. “Stay down,” you said gently, approaching slowly with your hands up. “You’re in a field hospital in Belgium.”

His eyes flicked to you, taking in your bloody uniform and trailing over your face. “The others?” He said in a panicked voice. “Where are the others?”

“Lewis and the redhead are outside, they carried you here. Seven of you came up to us, that’s all I know Bradley.”

A nod. “Thank you Ma’am.” Relief was written all over his face, in the way his eyes fell closed for a moment and his shoulders dropped.

“I just finished stitching up your chest, but I need to look at your leg. Can I do that?”

“Anything for you doll,” Bradley replied with a wink as he tried to lay down. But he winced and you were there, your bloodstained hands firmly holding his shoulders and neck while you guided him back down.

Never had I seen such beauty before

The moment that I saw ya

You moved quickly to treat his leg, finding that thankfully it was just a broken ankle and not somewhere further up. The number of men that had come in with a broken leg and left with one and a half was a number that you didn’t like to think about. It was far too high.

But Bradley wouldn’t be one of them and you couldn’t help but send up a prayer of thanks. The minute he’d opened his eyes, you’d been transfixed by the deep amber of them. A deep brown like the whiskey that was saved for special occasions and sparkled like a polished gun barrel or belt buckle. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen handsome men. Quite the opposite. You saw all kinds of men at their worst. Lots of them lookers, but you hadn’t felt a connection to one until him.

His gaze made it hard to focus as you fumbled with his boot lace, finally undoing it after what felt like hours. The smell still made you recoil a little, even after nearly a year in the nursing corps. Regardless, you still had to do your job. So you worked quickly, removing both boots and socks and compared both sides to assess where the break was.

A soft touch to his foot had him chuckle and you glanced up at him curiously. “Sorry, just ticklish, is all,” Bradley said sheepishly, hand coming up to rub at his mustache.

You gave him a smile before returning to work, splinting his ankle and cleaning the blood, sweat, and mud from his skin. “Better now?” You asked him, tucking a blanket over his body and helping him into a clean-ish shirt.

His eyes met yours and despite being in pain, Bradley shot you a small smile. “Better now that I can see my guardian angel.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that one, sailor? More times than you’ve used that line on anyone in stockings.”

Bradley just grinned at your retreating form and let his eyes slip shut. The pain in his body was getting to be too much, but as he dozed off, he found himself listening to your voice as you reprimanded a soldier barely older than yourself for getting out of bed. You intrigued him, that’s all.

He said I was his yellow rose

And we got married wearing borrowed clothes

Weeks had passed since that first interaction and both you and Bradley had been writing to one another as often as you could spare. While in the hospital, you learned that he and his friends had been separated from their landing crew as they made their way inland from the coast. He’d been on Omaha Beach during what had become known as the “D-Day” landing in Normandy.

Not that he’d been allowed to tell you that, but he had anyways, trusting you implicitly. He’d had to leave after nearly a month under your care, but made a promise to come back.

You hoped he would, but neither of you knew what would take place.

The fighting had drawn closer to your hospital as the Allies fought for Belgium, liberating it in 14 days and wrestling it from German hands. There had been some celebration amongst your ranks, but your heart ached for Bradley, praying every night that he came back to you.

For now though, you had to settle for letters. Bradley’s smooth voice seemed to read every letter aloud to you, each word wrapped in that gentle, flirtatious tone he had used every day you had looked after him.

Doll. My darling Rosie, the most recent letter began. They usually started out with some endearment, God knows he had used enough of them as he tried to win you over despite your colleagues warning him that you wouldn’t fall.

You remember Lew? Well he told me that writing to you was a waste because I wouldn’t get any letters back, but I know you. You wrote me back like you always do. Means I’m going to have a nice big stack of letters waiting for me the minute the post catches up with us.

We’re still marching. It’s been hell on my ankle, but you patched me up nice and neat so I’m not too worried. At least the view is nice. I think you would like it where we camped tonight, crickets are chirping now as I write this and it’s peaceful. Kinda like those nights you spent sitting with me when we’d talk about everything and I would always get worried that you would get sick of me jawing and talking your ear off, but you never did. Spoiled me for a good listener. The boys here don’t talk much. Battle fatigue is crawling all over them and it is always quiet around these times cause no one says a word.

It’s awful lonely though, sweetheart. I miss your laugh, especially how you would have to cover it when it was the middle of the night. Closest thing to home I had in a while. I hope you can hear my voice in this letter because I know I hear yours every time. And I mean every word, Doll, I hope you know that.

When I come back, I want to take you somewhere nice. Get you all dressed up in something pretty but you would still be the most beautiful dame I ever saw if you came out in your uniform that I know you are wearing now. Maybe I’ll take you dancing like you talked about, holding you close for song after song and if I’m lucky we would be going steady after that. That kiss on the cheek you gave me before I left is just haunting me because I had a taste of the future, if you feel the same of course.

Call me a flirt, doll, but I’m just sweet on you. I’m doing everything in my power not to go AWOL and come all the way back to find you, but I hope this letter finds you well instead.

Thinking about you, my English rose.

Yours always,

Bradley.

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you carefully folded the letter back up and placed it with the others. They were all like that, yearning to be back here instead of wherever he was, thoughts of the future and he always, always, signed it off with “Thinking of you,” or lately “Yours always.” Every letter gave you hope and while you knew some of yours had likely been delayed, you always jumped up like you’d sat on a tack whenever the post arrived.

Dot had started teasing you the second that Bradley left, but one reminder of Lewis and she too was blushing. The two of you sat in your quiet fear, praying that neither one of you would get a letter from one of their unit mates saying that one or both was gone.

Your next letter went out the same day.

Hopefully, it would all be alright. So for now, you let yourself dream of dancing in Bradley’s arms, Glen Miller playing softly in the background as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Hundreds of miles away, huddled under a thin blanket, Bradley pulled a creased letter from his pocket, finally having the chance to read it. As the letter slid out of the envelope, a sweet smell burst free and filled his nostrils. He recognized your perfume, the scent having filled him with joy every moment he spent by your side as he recovered.

Shifting a little and adjusting the blanket, he opened it up, catching a second page that tried to escape in the sudden breeze. Bradley moved his lantern over and began reading your tight script that had his heart skipping a beat each time he saw it fill a page.

Bradley,

I received another letter from you today and I thought I had best get writing so I don’t miss the post truck. I do remember Lewis. Hopefully he remembers Dot because she is patiently waiting for a response to her letter. I don’t think it matters, the sentiment is still the same and I would rather see you at the end of this harrowing ordeal than have you replay thoughts on paper.

I had been meaning to ask about your ankle. If it ever gives way, splint it like I showed you. I don’t want you to break it again, even if that would mean you have to come back to me. But for the moment, I am glad for your letters. They make me feel closer to you. Describe the view for me, please. I see nothing but muddy fields, canvas walls, and wounded men. Is it raining a lot on your march? I know your boots were ruined when you were brought here. Did you ever find new ones? He had, but the source of them sent his stomach twisting in knots. Pulling boots off a man killed in battle felt savage, like they didn’t matter as a person.

I miss our talks as well. I learned so much about you so quickly and I feel like I know everything about you. I miss the snort you make when you laugh, especially when I told you that the other nurses called me Rosie because I was the only English nurse here. I was worried you would stop breathing some nights the way you clutched your chest as you laughed like you had never heard anything so funny. But I would give anything to see your smile, the one where it reaches your eyes and it seems you swell up with joy. I know there isn’t much time for smiles now but if I could just give you one of mine, I would.

Send my love to the boys with you. War is hard enough without having to deal with loneliness at the same time and you all are in my thoughts and prayers. I miss you terribly and find myself daydreaming of you every spare moment I have, which is not often anymore, but I drift off to sleep with your past letters in my hands and your words in my mind.

Your confessions for after this war sound like heaven. I hadn’t let myself dream too long about what will become of us. We have both heard the stories of wartime romances often enough to know how precarious they can be, but if you have hope, dearest, then so do I. I’ll wear my best dress and you in your uniform, we will be the best dressed pair at the dance hall. Nothing sounds better than dancing close with you. I don’t care how presumptuous it is, the way my heart yearns for your nearness, I can give my answer to your most secret hopes without hesitation.

If you asked, dearest, I would be yours in a heartbeat. So long as you are mine as well. Bradley breathed out a laugh, trying not to wake his comrades. He had been kicking himself ever since he had sent that letter, hoping you felt the same and by the grace of God, you did. I may be English but we aren’t always prim and proper when angered. I could and would write a million pages with barely any thought, but the truck is waiting for me, so I must end this letter here. I hope my words keep you warm in this autumn weather and please, if you can, come back to me.

Stay safe, dearest.

Your Rose

The letter crinkled in his grip as Bradley bit back a wide grin. You were okay. You wanted to go steady. You cared for him. Fuck the war, he though. His doll was waiting for him back in Belgium and not for the first time, he hoped that the war would end for purely selfish reasons. You were waiting and his mama had raised a good boy who never left a woman waiting, he wasn’t going to start now.

The radio in the small hospital crackled as the BBC broadcast announced Germany’s surrender as Russian troops poured into Berlin. Cheers went up amongst the nurses and the men they were caring for, but you knew that the casualties were high on both sides. The United States still fought with Japan in the Pacific, chasing them back towards their island, and you knew that the fighting would go on for a long time.

The only thing? You hadn’t heard from Bradley in months, not since March of this year; 1945. It was now May.

The worry in you grew every day, trying and failing to hide it from Dot and the others around you. It hadn’t affected your work, but it affected nearly everything else. You were hardly sleeping, rereading his letters so often you had them memorized. “Thinking of you” was written in his neat handwriting against the back of your eyelids, and everytime you blinked, you thought of him.

A few days went by since that monumental announcement of the war’s end and some fighting was still happening but Germany’s surrender had a lot of Nazi sympathizers fleeing like rats. But world leaders were acting quickly and you knew that while it would be some time before you would return home to England, it would also not be enough time for Bradley to come back to you here in Les Annais.

So, like always, you went to work. The soldiers around you were still flirtatious, some even outright admitting that they were sweet on you, but you politely told them that you were waiting for your man to come back to you, and that while you were flattered, you just couldn’t.

Sweet smile after sweet smile. Bed bath after bed bath. Infected wound after infected wound. And still, no Bradley.

Then you heard your name shouted from outside. You had been packing your things, having received your letter to head back home, when Dot yelled so loudly you thought a hoard of Nazis were marching toward you. Racing outside dressed in your one non-uniform dress, you saw a Jeep full of men pull up. They too were yelling, and when you ran up, you saw a familiar face not half a meter away.

He was covered in dirt and grime, his hair longer than you had seen and his cheeks were covered in stubble like he hadn’t shaved in a few days, but it was still your Bradley in every way that mattered. “Bradley…” you breathed, coming to a stand-still with your hands over your mouth. You stood stock still, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you took him in disbelief. “You’re safe…”

“Hey doll,” the rasp in his tone gave you shivers as you met his eyes. They were still the same color as the whiskey you all had drank the night the war was declared over, the same sparkle twinkling like the stars as he took you in. “Look at you. You look beautiful.” Bradley clambered over Simon, nearly elbowing him in the face in his haste to get out of the Jeep. “Prettiest picture I ever saw.

You blushed, ducking your head a little at his compliment. Bradley’s heart soared as he took you in, marveling at how his imagination had been unable to capture the picture perfect moment of you in that dress. You had lived in his thoughts for months, each letter sending pangs of loneliness through him as each moment without you passed. Now, standing in front of you, your hair curled and dressed like a million bucks, Bradley felt his love for you grow infinitely larger.

“You…” you began, looking up at him, your eyes wide in shock. “You came back, sailor.”

“‘Course I did. What kinda man would I be if I left my best girl waiting.”

Dot and the others were still watching intently, keen on seeing what happened when you both finally let your resolve snap. “Come on Rosie! Give your man a kiss!” Lewis hollered from where he stood with Dot in his arms. “He’s only been dreamin’ about this since forever!”

“Mulligan, I swear to God, shut your fucking yap for one minute,” Bradley yelled back, shifting his focus from you to his friend. “Sorry doll, Dot, shouldn’t have said those words with you around. Can you forgive me?”

Shooting Dot a wink, you caught his hand. “If you kiss me hard enough, sailor, I just might forget the whole thing.” You weren’t sure where the boldness came from, but it was worth it when Bradley’s face lit up.

“Is that right?” He said in a low voice. “Just one kiss?”

You shrugged as your gaze fell from his amber eyes to his lips and back again. “I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?”

That was all it took because next you knew, Bradley had picked you up in his arms and let his lips fall against yours, kissing you so soundly your breath left you in a rush. His hands around your waist held you so securely you didn’t fear falling. Your own hands cradled his face, subconsciously brushing away the tears that fell from his eyes.

He set you back on your feet, but his hands didn’t leave your hips. “So, did you forget about it yet?”

Smiling cheekily back at him, you replied “Forget what?” He chuckled and you let your palms slide down his neck to rest on his chest over his heart. “All that being said, dearest, I leave today. And I know you aren’t down yet.”

“We got separated from the Navy landing crew, doll. Kramer sent a telegram to the high ups and they are sending us on leave for a little while. Especially since we weren’t supposed to be in Berlin,” Bradley told you, a big hand running up and down your back. “So as long as I get to port at a reasonable time, I’m still doing my duty.”

“And when is that, Bradley?” Toying with his jacket, you found yourself chewing on your lip in thought.

“Hey.” His gentle tone had you looking up at his face that was filled with compassion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. I’ve got it in writing and up here,” Bradley told you, tapping his temple. “My mama always said I had a mind like a steel trap.”

You leaned up onto your tiptoes, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I’m still going to worry, Bradley. I don’t know how not to. But I trust you. If you say you have it, then you do.”

Bradley leaned down to kiss you again, this time the fierceness of the gesture had you gasping against his mouth. “God I love you.”

The world stood still as you looked up at him. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course, Rosie. Unless you have some other beau running around London that I don’t know about.” He paused, looking down at you. “Wait, you don’t have a beau waiting on you, do you?”

Looking shocked, you shook your head. “No. No, I don’t. My sister was the looker of the two of us.”

By now, Lewis and Dot had run off somewhere and the other men traveling with Bradley had scattered throughout the camp offering help to the pretty young nurses still there.

The two of you were alone.

“Come on,” you said, tugging him towards your tent. “I have something to show you.”

“You could lead me off a cliff, Rosie and I’d follow you happily,” Bradley chirped, relishing in the pretty blush that dusted itself across your face. His body hurt from sleeping sitting up, he hadn’t had a shower and probably smelled terrible, yet even just being near him flustered you to no end.

And he loved it. Maybe not as much as he loved you, but how could he deny you? Your grip on his hand tightened as you pulled him to you, your other hand coming to rest on his jaw. “I didn’t want to do this in public, but I’ve been daydreaming about you kissing me like I’m all you have ever wanted, Bradley.”

The words raced through him, excitement building as he let you guide his face to yours. The first gentle touch of your lips to his had him smiling broadly, and he knew that you were smiling just as hard by the way you pulled back just a little. The next attempt went similarly; the two of you too giddy in the other’s nearness to kiss the other properly.

But he made it work, catching your chin and kissing you soundly. The gasp that fell past your lips gave him an opening and he took it, slipping his tongue past your lips.

Bradley had anticipated some kind of resistance, the feeling probably new to you, but he found none as he continued to kiss you like you were the oxygen he needed to breathe. If anything, you brought in your own fierceness to the gesture, your tongue tangling with his.

When you finally pulled back, cursing your need to breathe real air and not just Bradley’s closeness, you found that his eyes were still screwed shut. “Pinch me,” he breathed out. “This has to be a dream.”

“This is real, dearest,” you replied with a giggle. “Would I lie to you?”

“You promise?” The tone of his voice seemed so young to your ears, reminding you that for all your 25 years, and his 27, he was still too young to have seen everything he likely had seen.

“Of course.”

His eyes fluttered open, shining brightly with unshed tears. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would do if I had imagined you.”

“I’d say that you have a very vivid imagination then, dearest,” you replied softly, turning his face back to yours. When he’d looked away, you didn’t know, but you loved the sight of those warm eyes looking down on you and you would do anything to keep them in your life. “Besides, where would I go then? If I weren’t real, as you say.” Your fingers ran along the back of his neck, gently playing with the short curls. That was something else you hadn’t noticed until now; the natural curls that had emerged once his hair had a little length.

“Marry me.”

You froze, shock filling you from head to toe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Marry me, Rosie. I don’t have a ring, hell, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a home when I get back stateside.” The words poured out in a rush, but the emotion in his tone was palpable. This wasn’t just a wartime distraction to him. “All I know is that if I don’t tie you to me, if I don’t make every effort to keep you near, I’ll regret it forever doll.” Bradley’s eyes held nothing but sincerity, truth seeping from every pore as he held you, his big hands pressing you to him.

A deep sigh left your lips, the silence thundering in Bradley’s ears as he waited. You glanced up at him, your eyes misty with tears. “If I say yes,” you began, swallowing thickly. “If I say yes Bradley, you don’t get to leave because this is hard. I would be your wife, and you my husband. We do this together or not at all.” Tears had begun falling and you didn’t know if this was an accumulation of emotion from finally having him close or if it was fear. Fear of being wed and left in a heartbeat.

“Rosie, I would find the Chaplain now if it meant that I could spend the rest of my life with you. I would march to the Pacific now to end this war if it meant I could marry you faster. I fought for us just as much as I fought for my country and my mama would come down from Heaven like a shot if I even so much as thought about leaving you behind.” Bradley had ducked his head down, holding your teary eyes with his own. In the growing darkness, you could barely make out the ring of his honey-coloured iris, but you knew that he meant what he said.

How could he not?

“So, doll. What do ya say, hmm? Feel like being Mrs. Rosie Bradshaw?” The usual humor in his tone returned when he saw the meaning behind his words sink in. You understood him and trusted him deeply, after all he’d come back, hadn’t he? In what world would he do all of this and not mean it, not swear by it? Bradley had taken a step to close the distance between you both for the rest of time, pulled his heart out of his chest and held it out to you.

You met him halfway. “I’ve certainly been called worse, Mr. Bradshaw,” you teased gently, as you toyed with the collar of his jacket. “What makes you think I’ll come running when you call that name?”

“Because I’ll come running if you promise to call me that everyday, Rosie doll.” A giggle broke loose from your chest and the matching smile seemed to split your face in two as you watched Bradley’s face light up once he heard your reaction to yet another sweet name he could drop. “You never did answer my question, doll. Are you gonna leave me standing out in the cold like some sort o’ schmuck or are you gonna let me in to get all the good lovin’ my weary bones need?”

You slapped his chest, cheeks burning under his attention. “My mother raised me to never let a man starve nor grow cold, therefore I believe I ought to marry you, dearest. How else am I to go on living when I have a very handsome sailor practically begging for my hand?” You were still smiling broadly and as you watched your words get processed.

“Yeah?”

“Of course.”

Bradley let out a whoop of joy, grabbing you suddenly before picking you up and twirling you around the yard. “Well dammit all! Rosie said yes!”

Cheers broke out from around the hospital. Nurses and the G.I.s were clapping and whistling in celebration that only got louder when you brought your hands to his face and kissed him so hard you could feel your lips bruise from trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it. “God, I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

Setting you back on your feet, Bradley dipped you over a strong arm, bringing you into another sweet kiss that had you wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself as close as you could to his chest. “So,” Bradley mumbled. “When I find my mama’s ring, it’s yours. She would have loved you, Rosie. My pop too.”

You leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “I’m certain that they’re very proud of you, Bradley.” The softness of your tone combined with the sincerity filling every word was a shot straight to his heart. Tears sprouted in his eyes and Bradley brought you back up, hugging you tightly.

“I really lucked out, didn’t I? Meeting the most perfect girl this side of the Atlantic.”

A week later, you married Bradley William Edward Bradshaw in a simple ceremony at a small chapel outside London. His mother’s simple diamond and gold ring had slipped into your finger on the voyage across the English Channel while you had been staring out at the ocean around you.

You had scarcely noticed it at first, but when your eyes fell upon it for the first time, you swore that your heart had nearly fallen into your shoes at the sight. Bradley had laughed at your reaction, pulling you close and wrapping you in his arms for the remainder of the journey, all the while watching you trail your eyes over your hand time and time again.

It was all he could do not to press a kiss to your left hand every time he saw the ring catch the light, which was often, especially by lantern and lamp light.

Needless to say, the pair of you were very happy, and while Bradley had been tapped for deployment into the Pacific theater, his ship had only just made port somewhere in Spain before the US detonation of their super weapons in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Japanese emperor had surrendered almost at once and from your position in London, you couldn’t blame them. You had always hated the unnecessary violence, the casualties just because and this was no different. The innocent civilians hadn’t needed to die in such a way as they had, though you couldn’t see a way of changing the course of the war.

But Bradley was safe and on his way home to you. In the end, you couldn’t help those affected by the tragedy any more than you had during the war in Europe. You would be trying to wrap a wound made by a cannonball with a tiny sliver of fabric, so you set about waiting for him to come back to you.

Now though, you needn’t worry as much. You were Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw and he had made many a promise yet never broken a single one. So the mere sight of his form on the dock eased it all.

Today started the rest of your life.

We got eight children now growing old

Five sons and three daughters

She and I went on the run

Don't care about religion

I'm gonna marry the woman I love

Down by the Wexford border

She was Nancy Mulligan

And I was William Sheeran

She took my name and then we were one

Down by the Wexford border

===

A/N: So, I hope your heart has a big ass cavity in it and that you enjoyed the cotton candy level of fluff that I just threw at you! Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for being the best beta reader ever and @sarahsmi13s, I’m sorry for making you sob when I was sharing snippets

Read Roo and Rosie’s Christmas fic here!

Tagging: @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl @roosterforme @@eli2447 @nobody7102 @gigisimsonmars @dcyllom @bobgasm @multifandomlover4life @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls

#fern writes #Ring Around My Rosie #wwii au #bradley bradsaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #American Sailor Bradley X English Nurse reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader

[wearerandomlyyours]

I had the goddamned strangest dream which led to a weird story idea but I have no clue if I'll ever get around to writing it:

TimeTravel!AU where post Layton IceMav end up back in time in WWII, and after convincing the US that they're not spies (Ice: I'm a goddamned Polish Jew you think I'd willingly spy for the Axis? Interrogator: That's fair) they convince the Navy to let them fly for them.

It's a little rocky at first, having to get used to much slower aircraft, but once Ice and Mav settle in, they're deadly. Their kill counts quickly soar past Ace to Ace-of-Aces, with whoever is in the top spot swapping dogfight to dogfight.

It takes three years for the Luftwaffe to finally take out the two deadliest pilots to ever fly, sacrificing 20 of their brand new jet fighters to bring them down, losing over half in the process.

Iceman and Maverick wake back up in the future and finally understand why everyone had always compared them to the legendary WWII pilots 'Blizzard' and 'Wild Thing'.

#top gun #top gun maverick #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #icemav #fic ideas #fics i'll never write #but i wanna #time travel #wwii au

[bradshawsbaby]

Letters to My Love // Part X

Rosie the Riveter

Series Masterlist

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Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I'm so sorry for how long it's taken me to update this story! One of my goals for 2024 is to get this series completed. Although it's taken me so long to update, Bobby and Peach are never far from my mind and are always in my heart. I hope you enjoy this latest installment of their story!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter is obviously a tribute to the iconic figure of Rosie the Riveter. But it was also inspired by the song of the same name by The Four Vagabonds, which you can listen to here!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, Clara (@luminousnotmatter). She was the first person to listen to all my endless ramblings about this universe, and she has never stopped supporting me or believing that I can get it finished. Thank you, Clara!

Warnings: Alternating POV, references to casualties of war and grief, slight angst, lots and lots of fluff.

July 8, 1943

My Dearest Peach,

I want to start by saying that I’m terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter. I think I’ve worn down the paper to nearly nothing with how many times I’ve read it, but it’s been hard to get a free moment to sit and write you the response you deserve. Things are really heating up over here, and we have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat down to start a new letter, only for us to be called up just as I set my pen to the paper.

To set your mind at ease, I want you to know that I’m alright. I’m not sure how much information they’re sharing with you all back home, but I know one of the fellas got a letter from his wife recently and she told him that three different families on their street got notified that their boys had been killed in action in just one week. It made her real scared that she was going to be the next one getting a knock on the door. I won’t lie to you, Peach, because I don’t think that’s fair—we’re losing a lot of men over here. It’s scary to think that any day now, it could be me they’re sending a flag home for.

I hate to start this letter off so morbidly, but there’s been something weighing on my mind lately, especially since my buddy got that letter from his wife. If anything happens to me over here, you won’t know. They’ll tell my family, sure, but not you. And I can’t stand the thought of you waiting for another letter that isn’t going to come. So I’ve spoken to Paul, Tommy Boy, and Benny about it. If anything happens to me over here, Peach, they’re going to write to you and let you know. It gives me some comfort to think that their words will be a little softer and kinder than the formality of Uncle Sam.

I hope this doesn’t make you sad, Peach, although I admit it makes me a bit sad to write. The truth is, I’m quite alright right now, like I said, and I don’t plan on letting anything happen to me over here. We have to take that drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier, after all. I tell you, that thought alone is enough to get me through even the hardest days over here.

Alright, enough of all this. Time to get back to your lovely letter. They’re calling us for dinner right now, but as soon as I’m finished, I’m coming right back to continue this letter. Nothing’s going to stop me from getting it to you.

I’m back, Peach. All the fellas were teasing me in the galley because of how quickly I scarfed down my dinner, but I didn’t care because I knew I was getting back to you and your sweet words, and that means a whole lot more than the crummy food they’re serving over here. Boy, I tell you, I sure do miss home-cooked meals. They even had—I’m not lying, I promise—they even had peach cobbler for dessert tonight. It made me think of you, but I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as the cobbler your family makes, so I didn’t even bother giving it a taste.

Now I do have to say that you’re right, of course. I hate hearing you call yourself shy and mousey. If that’s the way you feel when I call myself boring, then I certainly promise I won’t ever do it again. It’s a deal—neither of us will talk about ourselves like that anymore.

Nothing you say could ever sound silly to me, Peach. Even though we only got to spend a few hours in each other’s company, your letters have made me feel like we’ve known each other for years and years. I’m honored that I’ve been able to make you feel seen. I do see you, Peach. You’re the most beautiful, interesting, intelligent girl I’ve ever known, and I hope you can see that in yourself. For what it’s worth, you’ve helped me to come out of my shell, too. Paul was just saying the other day that I look like a new man—that I’m standing taller and seem more confident than he’s ever seen in all the years he’s known me. I had just finished reading one of your letters when he said that. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You’re turning me into a new man, Peach, and I like it. I like it a lot.

I’m glad that you passed along my well wishes to Emily. Even though part of me still thinks her fiancé is a dunce, I do wish them all the best. Has she heard from Eddie? I don’t know where he’s stationed, but if you’d like to find out and send the information to me, I can try to keep an ear out. How has the wedding planning been going? I’m still confident you’re going to make the prettiest bridesmaid.

I did pass along your invitation in my last letter home to my family, and my mother said she would certainly inquire after the Sheridan residence should she ever happen to find herself in Charleston. I think she’s happy that you and I are still writing to each other. She’s even happier about the thought of swapping recipes with you. Watch out—if the two of you ever do meet, I think she’ll hold you hostage in the kitchen all day.

Now I am very proud to hear about all the fine work you and Dottie have been doing with your Victory Garden. I’m sure there must have been a lot of progress since you last wrote to me! I eagerly await news about the beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I’m sure you’ve been able to make lots of hearty soups and healthy salads. My mouth is watering at the notion. Like I said, the food in the galley has been pretty crummy lately.

I’m sorry to hear there’s been some trouble back home. I’m sure it can’t be easy for anyone, with all the rationing and the fear and the worry. I promise that we’re doing our best over here to bring this war to an end quickly so that life can return to normal for all of you over there. For us, too. We really can’t wait to be home again.

Peach, I want you to know that it is our duty, our honor, and, quite frankly, our privilege to be fighting for you over here. I know the other fellas would agree with me saying so. So I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything at home to “earn” us fighting for you. That said, I think it’s incredible that you want to contribute to the war effort in that way. I’m sure you haven’t been waiting for my response or my approval—which you shouldn’t, by the way—but I give a wholehearted yes to you applying for that position at the air station. We just recently saw Mr. Norman Rockwell’s illustration of Rosie the Riveter on the cover of the Post, and I have to say that I think you’d wear those coveralls a hundred times better.

I’m so proud of you, Peach. I want you to know that.

Speaking of the war effort, we have a couple big campaigns coming up very soon. I can’t say much more than that, but your well wishes and prayers for success would be very much appreciated. I’m always thankful for them.

Until next time, Peach! I’m already counting down the days until your next letter arrives.

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

P.S. I almost forgot! I told Paul how much you loved the fact that he sends drawings home to Clara and Paul, Jr.—by the way, that reminds me, how is little Frankie doing?—and he was more than happy to create a few illustrations for you. He did a couple portraits—one of me and one of you, based off your beautiful photograph. He said to apologize that he’s too much of an amateur to capture all of your beauty. He did say that he thought he did a fine enough job capturing my likeness—I’m telling you, Peach, I think my friends officially like you better than they like me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

July 31, 1943

My Dearest Bobby,

Please don’t ever feel like you need to apologize for how long it takes you to write back to me. I can only imagine how difficult it is to find the time to write with everything that must be happening over there, and yet you always find the time to pen the most thoughtful and wonderful letters. I cherish each and every one of them, and I promise that I’m more than content to read your old letters as I await the new ones.

I’m so sorry to hear about how many of our boys we’re losing. Just last week, our neighbors, the Pattersons—you remember I mentioned Mrs. Patterson had helped me and Dottie with our Victory Garden?—received news that their son, Clarence was killed in action in France. It was devastating. Dottie and I had just been coming home from the grocery store when we saw the officer standing on their front steps with a telegram in hand. We knew what that meant. Mrs. Patterson has been inconsolable since. Mr. Patterson is equally devastated, but I think he’s trying to be strong for her. Dottie and I have been taking turns cooking meals for them and spending some time over at their house. We just want them to know that they’re not alone.

I admit, Bobby, that every time I hear news of someone else being lost in this war, I immediately think of you. It feels selfish, but I’m always so relieved when the news is about someone else and not you. I don’t know how I would bear it. I pray every day that I never have to receive that letter from Paul or Tommy Boy or Benny, but I am touched that you’ve thought about how I could be notified. Oh, Bobby, I hope more than anything that your parents never have to experience what the Pattersons are going through.

But you’re right—you’re going to come home safely. We have too many plans for you to do otherwise!

I’m sorry to hear that the food aboard your carrier has been so crummy lately. I wish that I could whip up a home-cooked feast and send it in the mail with my letters. Every time I sit down to dinner now, I think of all of you, and I count my blessings. Things aren’t perfect on the homefront, but I know that we certainly have no room to complain with all you boys are going through. I promise to have a peach cobbler waiting for you when you come home—and a pumpkin pie, for good measure.

If I’m turning you into a new man, Bobby, then you simply must know that you’re turning me into a new woman as well. I hardly remember the girl that I was before I met you. Can you believe that it’s been over a year now since our paths first crossed? I feel like my life is totally different now. The way that I see myself, the way I interact with others, the way that I’m not so terrified to step out of my comfort zone anymore—so much of that is thanks to you, Bobby. I’m still me, of course. But I feel like I’m a stronger, braver version of myself now. I like it, too.

It’s so kind of you to offer to keep an ear out for Eddie’s infantry! Emily received a letter from him around the same time that I received my letter from you, and he seems to be doing well, same as you, thank goodness. Eddie is part of the 1st Infantry Division. Emily said that last she knew, he was stationed somewhere near the Rhineland. The wedding planning has been going very well. Pretty much everything is set now—all we need is the groom. Emily can’t wait for Eddie to come home for good. Once he does, they’ll be able to officially set the date. Us bridesmaids are going to be wearing lilac-colored dresses. Dottie says she already knows how she’s going to style my hair. I hope that you’re home, too, when the wedding finally happens. Emily said that I could invite you to be my date. Only if you’d like that, of course.

I would be very happy to be kept hostage in the kitchen with your mother! I’m sure there’s so much I could learn from her, and it sounds like a splendid way to spend the day. I look forward to meeting her one of these days!

Oh, the Victory Garden, Bobby! You wouldn’t believe how it’s grown! Trust me, no one is more shocked than me and Dottie. Well, maybe Paddy. He knows firsthand what brown thumbs my sister and I normally have. At first, we weren’t so sure what was going to happen—the cucumbers seemed a bit small and some of the tomatoes didn’t really take. But by the end of June, everything was thriving! It’s been such a joy to watch, and I have to admit, both Dottie and I are feeling extremely accomplished. Frankie loves to spend time in the garden with us, although he spends a bit more time digging in the dirt than helping us pick vegetables, I’m afraid. Now that we’re in the middle of summer, we’re experimenting with zucchini and eggplant. We might also try radishes and turnips. We’re turning into quite the farmers! If your mother has any recipes to share, we’d be more than grateful and happy to try them out!

Now I admit that I’ve saved the most exciting news for last. At the beginning of June, I decided to go for it and I applied for the position at the air station in Goose Creek, the one Paddy told me about. I’m sure being his sister-in-law gave me a bit of an advantage, but it only took a couple days for me to hear back from them. I got the job! I’ve officially been working on the assembly line since the middle of June. It’s hard work, and I’ve never been so tired in all my life, but I have to say that I’m really proud of the work we’re doing. It’s funny that you mention Rosie the Riveter—my job these past few weeks has actually been to fasten pieces of the planes we’re assembling with rivets! So I guess you could call me Peach the Riveter. Doesn’t have quite the same ring though, does it?

I know that the chances are small that anything I’m helping to build is going to reach you specifically, Bobby, but I can’t help but smile every time we finish a new part, or get a new plane put together. I imagine you and Paul, or Tommy Boy or Benny hopping inside and it brings me more pleasure and pride than I could possibly explain. I feel like I’m doing something important, something meaningful and special. If spending hours riveting until my fingers turn numb brings you home even a day faster, then it will all have been worth it. And it gives me a real sense of purpose, driving to work each day with Paddy. I feel proud of myself.

I’ve made some new friends at work, too! Florence and Virginia—we call them Florie and Ginny—are the loveliest, kindest girls. They had already been working on the assembly line for a few months before I got the job, so they’ve been showing me the ropes and teaching me everything they know. They’ve made me feel so welcome, so a part of things. I have to admit that I was terrified my first week or so, terrified that I was going to mess something up or make a fool of myself. But I’ve settled in quite well, thankfully.

It means a lot to me to know that I have your support, Bobby. Truly, it does. Thinking of you and all that you’re doing to protect us is what really motivated me to take this job, so thank you.

Of course I’m sending all my best wishes for the campaigns you have coming up! Wherever you are right now, I pray that you’re safe and that your missions are successful.

You’re so brave, Bobby. Have I told you that lately? Even if I have, you deserve to hear it again. I’m so, so proud of you. You’re my hero.

I hope this letter gets to you soon. I wish it could grow wings and fly to you. I know time is going to pass so slowly until I’m holding a new letter from you in my hands. But until then, Bobby, I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart.

Most Truly and Affectionately Yours,

Peach

P.S. Paul is quite the artist!!! I now have his portraits hanging right beside the photographs you sent me. Please tell him how talented I think he is, and how much I love the drawings he made for me! I was especially touched by the little note he wrote me on the back of your portrait. I hope he’s doing well. Send my best to him and Tommy Boy and Benny!

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @cadencebeat2662 @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos @callsign-magnolia @the-wayward-daughter @becks-things @jostyriggslover96 @solo-pitstop-vibes @wretchedmo @muddwheelz123 @ryebecca @lewmagoo @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #WWII AU #1940s AU #lewis pullman

[wintereyed]

Oh, dear diary, I met a boy

He made my doll heart light up with joy

#winterbaron #bucky barnes #helmut zemo #tfatws #the winter soldier #sebastian stan #daniel bruhl #bucky x zemo #peggy carter #wwii au #spy zemo #i love them your honor #i will never tire of this au #young n flirty bucky #im a baron james

[absurdthirst]

An American in Paris {Ezra x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Mentions of war/missing limbs, flirting, innuendo, oral sex(female receiving), body image issues, vaginal sex, loss of virginity, miscommunication, secrets revealed, angst, making up, happing endings

Comments: When you escape your family's expectations by fleeing to Paris, you meet an ex-pat named Ezra who stayed after the war. Touring the city with him, you fall in love until your past catches up to you.

A/N: Post WWII AU - set 10 years after war, mentions of finishing school but no mentions of skin tone or hair texture

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Ezra (Prospect) MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here

Paris. The sounds of hammers and grunts of men working mingle with the hustle and bustle of the city. The sight and air of restoration and recovery nearly compete after the devastation of the war. There wasn’t as much as in some of the countryside, where the worst of the fight took place. Still, the scars of brutality of men can be seen on the roads and buildings, much like they can be seen when glancing at Ezra.

Finding comfort in the sounds and lights, he walks down the streets where he had once patrolled with a gun. No longer wearing the uniform of his former country, his now ex-pat status in this country is accepted since he can fluently speak the language. Almost feeling more at home here than he ever had in Tensa Parish, feeling a little morbid about returning to the city that had claimed his youth to the horrors of war, and his arm in battle. Over his shoulder, a bag contains the makings for a lovely, simple meal, and a bottle of wine to take the edge off the phantom pains that plague him from time to time, but it’s been nearly ten years since the war and he has gotten accustomed to dealing with the issues that come from losing his right arm. 

You glance up at the building, suitcase in hand, and sigh as you try to speak to the building owner in French. Your finishing school classes allowed you to speak well enough to get by but the owner doesn’t seem to understand you are his new tenant. A man approaches, a bag slung over his shoulder and the owner’s eyes widen. 

“Ah Ezra!” The man proceeds to rattle off French words faster than you can understand them and the man hums, nodding his head. 

He turns to you and tilts his head, “American?” He asks and you nod, “yes. From Boston. I just got here. I’m renting 302 and he doesn’t understand that I am the new tenant.” You explain and Ezra nods, turning towards the owner to explain who you are and Louis finally goes “ahhh.” 

He opens the door behind him and reaches for your other suitcases, helping you into the building. “Thank you so much. I’m not sure how I can repay you.” You tell Ezra but he shakes his head. 

“My pleasure, chérie.” He says and wishes he could assist with your luggage but he doesn’t have a free hand. You’re guided to 302 and Ezra follows, standing outside 301. “It appears we are to be neighbors.” Ezra says softly as Louis unlocks your front door and sets your suitcases down. 

“Then I must cook you dinner to repay you for your assistance.” You tell him and your eyes drift down to the hanging arm of his jacket, noticing his missing arm. You quickly avert your eyes, focusing on his handsome face.

Ezra notices your glance at his arm, or lack of one, and slides into a self deprecating grin of amusement. “Couldn’t pay my rent, one month.” He jokes. “Louis is a man who takes his pound of flesh.”

You giggle at his joke as Louis shifts to grab your key off of his heavy ring of keys. “I’ll be sure to pay my rent on time to avoid suffering the same fate.” You joke softly, “but I insist on dinner one night.” You tell him, wanting to make sure you know your neighbor in this new life you’re creating for yourself. 

Ezra nods, “very well, chérie. I shall inquire once you’ve settled into your new abode.” Ezra says and you offer him a smile. 

“Merci.” You tell Louis who nods and you step into your new apartment. 

“Another American.” Louis says to Ezra after you’ve shut the front door to 302. “And a pretty one at that. If you don’t go to dinner, then I will.” Louis winks and makes his way downstairs. Ezra chuckles, shaking his head at the sneaky old man. 

****

It’s been a few days since you arrived in Paris and you’ve spent that time organizing your new apartment. It needed some cleaning and you have ventured out to buy groceries. You are struggling with the bags up the stairs when you see Ezra again. “Let me assist you, ma’am. Well, as best as I can.” Ezra reaches for one bag and you thank him. 

“Anything helps. I am not used to the stairs just yet.” You admit and start to ascend the steps.

“One of the many benefits of living in Paris is the exercise you will become accustomed to.” Ezra follows you up the stairs respectfully keeping his eyes off your ass. Though he does get a few glimpses of your silky slip. You are a gorgeous little bird. No doubt about that, but he is sure you are not looking for a man like him to be eyeing you.

“I am sure I’ll be whizzing up and down these stairs soon enough. The cobblestones and my heels…now that’s a different story.” You chuckle, sighing in relief when you make it to the third floor. Ezra follows you to your door and you set the bags down as you reach into your purse for your key. “I appreciate your assistance, Ezra. For the second time. I really do owe you a dinner now. I have enough food. If you do not have plans, would you like to join me for dinner this evening?” You ask him, biting your lip as he sets the bag down next to your feet.

Your eyes are bright and almost pleading with him to accept your invitation. He wonders if you are lonely since he has not heard anyone knock on your door since you have moved in. “Only if you will permit me to bring the libations for this evening?” He asks, offering a small smile. “I know the most delightful champagne that will make you feel as if you are as light as a bird.”

Your answering grin makes his heart thump, unbeknownst to you, and you nod your agreement. “Very well. Champagne and I shall cook. See you at seven?” You ask and he nods. “Excellent.” You turn to unlock your door, “see you at seven, Mr. Ezra.” You smile and bend down to pick up your bags. “Don’t be late.” You warn playfully, stepping into your apartment. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He promises and you shut the door behind you. 

****

“Shit.” You hiss to yourself as the water boils over. It’s been hard to cook on a stove you aren’t familiar with and you struggle to make sure everything is ready as there’s a knock on the door. You sigh, rushing over to the mirror to check your appearance and you struggle to remove the apron around your waist before you compose yourself and open the door to Ezra. 

“Good evening, chérie.” He smiles and you can’t help but smile back, “come in.” You insist and step aside for him.

Stepping into the apartment, Ezra smiles at the way your own balcony doors are thrown open like his. “Dinner smells delectable, little bird.” He turns around with the champagne bottle tucked j def his arm. “Shall you show me the ice box to stow this in, or shall we open it now?” He doesn’t know how much longer you have for dinner to be ready or if you would rather wait to have the bubbly with the meal.

“Let’s open it now.” You tell him, “dinner is nearly ready. I just need to mash the potatoes.” You walk over to the cabinet to take out two of the four glasses that came with this apartment. “Not exactly ideal for champagne but it will have to do.” You tell him, setting the short glasses down on the table. 

“It all tastes the same.” He winks and manages to take the foil off of the bottle. You want to ask if he needs help but he tucks the bottle under his arm and twists his hand, popping the cork and you are surprised at how agile he is. He pours two glasses and you take the glass he holds out towards you. 

“A toast to two Americans in Paris?” You ask and he nods, “two Americans in Paris. Let us find what we are looking for in these cobbled streets.” He toasts and you clink your glass against his. 

Taking a sip, you hum in surprise at how delicious the champagne is. “So what brought you to Paris?” You ask him, curiosity getting the better of you.

He had known you would ask. It’s natural to be curious, just like he is curious of you. Setting his drink down, his hand unconsciously reaches for his missing limb, grasping the small nub that is left where his shirt is neatly pinned up. “I was here in the war.” He explains, his voice low and reflective. “I am sure you are much too innocent to remember the horrors.” You have to be in your early - maybe mid - twenties, just experiencing your first burst of freedom. “I came back two years later, feeling more at home here than where I am from.”

You aren’t surprised. Back home, a lot of men came back with injuries. Physical or mental. They were never the same so you can understand why he wanted to leave. “You’re from…Louisiana?” You ask, figuring out his accent, and he nods, “born and raised.” You smile, “that explains the accent. I like it. It’s smooth. Like whiskey.” You compliment him and take another sip of the champagne.

“What’s your story, little bird?” Ezra wants to change the subject, his heart aching at all the other information that you would have no interest in. “I must confess that I was surprised to find you alone with no chaperone, though times are changing.”

“Times are changing.” You echo, setting your glass down so you can drain the potatoes to mash them. “I - I wanted to escape.” You answer honestly, “to explore and find myself. All my life…I’ve been what my parents wanted me to be. I attended finishing school in London and after returning to Boston, I found that I didn’t belong there anymore. I decided to come to Paris, explore myself and this beautiful city. My parents weren’t happy but I had to grow up.” You confess and turn around to finish cooking the dinner.

He senses that there is more to your story but he doesn’t push. Knowing that he is just a stranger and not a confidant. “You have chosen a wondrous time to come, little bird. Paris at night is magnificent. Have you gone out to explore the city so far?”

“Not yet.” You admit, “I find myself falling asleep while reading guide books and I suppose I need to summon the courage to get out there and explore. The museums, especially. The Eiffel Tower. The Arc de Triomphe. There’s so much to see.” You confess and mash the potatoes.

“If you would permit me,” Ezra hums, biting his lip before he continues. “I could extend my own presence as a makeshift guide? I have spent extensive hours roaming this fair city and speak fluently.” He smiles. “I can give you the experience you wish, if you can bear my poor company for extended periods of time.”

You plate up the meal and smile to yourself as you turn back towards him to set his dinner down in front of him. “I will certainly take you up on that offer, Ezra. I wish to see the real Paris. The tourist things too, but I want to know the true Paris. It’s people. It’s food. The secret places.” You confess, setting your own plate down and you sit down.

“It’s food is delicious and the people are not as unfriendly as some would claim.” He wishes he could help you, offer a hand, but he offers a toast. “To Paris being exactly what you want.”

You clink your glass with his, a smile on your face. “To Paris being exactly what we want.” You correct and he hums, taking a sip of champagne. “Please, dig in. I’m not the best cook, but chicken and mashed potatoes, I can do.” You tell him, picking up your knife and fork.

“Cherie, it is a meal that I did not have to labor over myself.” Ezra reminds you. “It will taste like the most delicate foie gras I have ever sampled.” The use of a fork and knife at the same time is impossible, but instead of asking you to cut up his food, Ezra picks up his knife to attempt to cut the chicken without pushing food around too badly.

You bite your lip as you watch him try to cut into the chicken. You decide to help and you haven’t cut into your dinner yet so you move fast to cut up the chicken. Once it’s all cut, you reach out to swap your plate with his. Acting fast once again to cut up your own chicken and you set your knife down, just using your fork like he is.

“Thank you.” His voice is low, slightly embarrassed by the fact that you needed to cut up his meal as if he was still a child. He had come a long way in the last ten years but he still couldn’t do some things without a second hand. “I apologize for any grief that it might have caused.”

You tut, “don’t be silly. I can’t understand how difficult it is for you. It’s nothing for me to help.” You shake your head and start to eat using your fork. You want him to be comfortable in your home and he’s the only person you know in Paris.

Ezra’s smile turns onto you with simple pleasure. “You should not have feared about your cooking, little bird.” He assures you after the first bite. “It is divine to sample your culinary skills.”

You smile, pleased that he likes your cooking. “Thank you. Looks like I got something for that God awful finishing school I went to.” You chuckle softly and watch him enjoy the food. “I will have to cook for us more often. A balance between savoring the rich food of Paris and some home comforts. I make a mean fried chicken.” You tell him with a wink, enjoying his company despite harshly knowing much about him. “So how do you spend your days? Are you working?”

“I do not work.” Ezra admits, shrugging slightly. “My check from the military covers my expenses, although I do write poetry, badly might I add.” His words are wonderful, but he had yet to master writing left handed. “Sometimes I will deliver papers if I am bored or wish to have more money in my pockets. Or translate.”

You lean a little closer, “I should like to hear some of your poetry sometime.” You tell him, “and if you ever need someone to write for you, I am more than happy to volunteer my hand.” You say and fluster slightly when you realize how that sounds.

His thoughts are more than obscene as he imagines your soft looking hand wrapped around his cock. It would look much better than his own. “I will have to take you up on that.” He murmurs, enjoying the way your eyes flutter in embarrassment and you look down at your plate.

You clear your throat and scoop up some mashed potatoes. “Have you found love in the city of light?” You ask with slight curiosity. “Perhaps a beautiful French woman to occupy your days when you aren’t writing poetry.” You muse, your gaze flicking up to him.

“I fear that love has eluded me.” Ezra murmurs quietly. “Perhaps I am not looking in quite the correct spaces.” Your lip pulls between your teeth and he has the urge to bite it, then kiss away the sting. “Although perhaps a muse is right in front of me.”

You playfully glance behind you until you turn back to meet his dark gaze. “Me? I am no muse.” You assure him, “but perhaps we will discover one during our sightseeing. I- I am afraid I am of no use. I’ve never been in love.” You admit with a sigh, “my experiences would not assist you in your poetry.”

“Then perhaps I shall be granted the glorious privilege of witnessing your fall into the depths of amorous pleasure.” He smiles. “You are a beautiful woman and no doubt many men will court you. Wine and poetry, dancing and romance.”

You fluster again at him calling you a beautiful woman, ducking your head, “perhaps. We shall see.” You hum, picking up your glass of champagne and you admire him. He’s a handsome man, weathered like so many after enduring the war, but his eyes are sparkling and you know it would be easy to fall into their depths. He mentions other men when your current wish is for him to court you. “Shall we begin our exploration of Paris tomorrow? Unless you have other plans.” You add, not wanting to push yourself onto him if he is busy.

“I am at your disposal.” He nods his head and smirks when you fluster again. Wondering what could be going through your pretty head. “Whatever you wish to do.”

You hum, “I would like to go to the Louvre. There’s so many wonderful pieces. Pieces I’ve read about and I want to wander the halls and admire the beautiful art.” You admit, picking up your fork to finish your meal.

“It is a date.” Ezra hums. “I know of a charming cafe where we can have lunch if you would like to join me. Let me provide a meal for you, although my own cooking skills are non-existence.”

You nod, watching him finish his meal. “It’s a date.” You repeat, heart beating faster at the thought and you imagine walking along the Seine by his side, enjoying the city and his southern drawl. “Now…I got an apple tart for dessert. You fancy a slice?” You ask, standing up to take the empty plates.

“I must confess I am in possession of an enormous sweet tooth.” Ezra groans at the idea of a sweet dessert, and he loves apple tarts. “I would be honored to sample your tart, chérie.”

You giggle as you carry the plates over to the sink, working fast to cut a decent slice of tart for you and Ezra. “I picked it up from the patisserie down the street, I hope it’s good.” You tell him as you sit down and pick up the smaller fork you had set out. “I love sweet things too.” You confess with a smile.

“Then we will get along perfectly.” Ezra winks and groans at the sight of the tart. “It is delicious looking, little bird.” He promises.

You and Ezra enjoy dessert with comfortable silence and when it’s finished, you gather the plates to wash. “I best be leaving you to your peace. I’m certain you want to be with your thoughts after so long of hearing me wittering on.” Ezra says as he stands up from the table. 

“Absolutely not. You’re a great dinner guest. If you wish to leave, I shall see you tomorrow for our lunch and Louvre date.” You giggle and Ezra nods. 

“I’ll call for you around eleven.” He says and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Thank you for the delectable dinner, chérie. I will return the favor with a less deadly dinner cooked by a professional lest I am unable to cook.” He jokes and you grin, shaking your head as you escort him to your front door. 

“Sounds like a plan. Goodnight Ezra.” You say as you lean against the door frame. 

“Goodnight little bird.” He returns and steps into the hall. You watch him for a moment as he retreats to his apartment next door and then you close the door, leaning against it to close your eyes. You’ve never met anyone like Ezra. Certainly never met anyone who makes you feel like he does. After you wash up, you’ll pick out your outfit. You want to look good for Ezra, and hopefully he likes what he sees.

The next morning, Ezra takes great pains with his appearance. Waking up early, he decided to treat himself to a shave and a haircut from the barber down the street, knowing that he can often miss small patches of hair and he wants to be worthy of your presence. He dresses smart, his button down shirts slightly larger than fitted so he can slide them on without fiddling with the buttons. Once eleven comes, he steps out of his door with a small clutch of flowers he had impulsively purchased on the way back from the barber.

You inhale deeply, adjusting your dress for the umpteenth time, and you take a beat before you walk over to open the door to Ezra. "Good morning." You smile when you see him, his hair slicked back and freshly shaven. He looks handsome and your heart thumps in your chest. "You look handsome." You tell him, wanting him to know you appreciate the effort he's clearly put in. You hope he likes your efforts.

“Little bird,” Ezra slowly peruses your appearance, enjoying the way your hips sway slightly as you twirl around. “For the first time in my loquacious existence, you have rendered me speechless with your exquisite beauty.” He proses breathlessly. “While I must apologize for my own humble appearance, you would outshine the brightest star in the night’s sky.” He extends the flowers to you. “A humble offering to a veritable goddess.”

His words combined with the look in his eyes has you breathless, your jaw dropping slightly and your stomach twists. "I - you are a wonderful poet, Ezra. Truly, you've - no one has ever been so poetic about my appearance. Especially when I will be walking alongside such a handsome gentleman. Thank you, these are beautiful." You take the flowers, your fingers brushing his, and you bring them to your nose to sniff them. "I will put them in water and get my things." You smile, turning to walk towards the kitchen.

He’s proud that he could put such a look on your face, the quiet pride of a compliment. He believes it to be true however, you are a goddess and he is fortunate that you speak to him. Many beautiful women have uncomfortably avoided him, as if his loss of limb at the scar on his cheek were from accosting a woman. When you return he offers his one remaining limb. “Shall we?”

"We shall." You smile, taking his arm after you lock your front door, and you let him guide you down the stairs and out onto the bustling streets of Paris. Springtime in Paris is beautiful. The breeze, the flowers, it's incredible. "No wonder you wanted to return here. Paris is...unlike any place I have ever known. It has an aura around it that seems magical." You sigh.

Ezra chuckles, "clearly you have not been to Boulevard de Clichy." 

Your eyes widen, aware that the Moulin Rouge is there. "I wouldn't mind going there. To explore all of Paris." You say timidly, hoping he doesn't think you are scandalous.

Grinning, Ezra wishing he could pat your hand. “Then we shall have to make plans to go one evening.” He decides. “Dinner and dancing. Allow me to show you the more….jubilant side of the city.” He hums, imagining the wonder in your eyes. Would you be scandalized or enchanted with the display of eroticism? He feels the passionate side of you would be enchanted. “Perfectly respectable with an escort.”

You smile, pleased he isn't scandalized by your request. "That's a date." You squeeze his arm and he winks at you, making your heart stutter. You've never felt like this before, so smitten by a man so quickly. You know you must remain friends to preserve the only friendship you have managed to discover thus far in the city. 

"Here we are." Ezra declares when you arrive outside of the cafe, reluctantly letting go of your arm to greet the cafe owner. 

"Bonjour, Monsieur Ezra." The owner greets him and Ezra nods, unable to shake his hand. You are escorted to a small table in the window and Ezra uses his hand to pull your chair out. 

"Thank you." You smile as you sit down and take the menu.

“As you might have deduced, little bird, I am a frequent patron of this establishment.” He hums, nodding towards the menu. “Everything is splendid, although the quiche and Croque Monsieur are particular favorites of mine.”

You hum, “the quiche sounds good.” You look over the menu for a few more moments before you set it down. The waiter comes over and Ezra orders a glass of white wine, asking if you want the same and you agree. The waiter takes your order and you listen to Ezra order in perfect French and you fluster as you try your best to order. When the waiter leaves, you glance out of the window, admiring the Parisians leaving.

“Do not fret, little bird.” He assures you, watching as you turn your head to look at him again. “Your French is solid and you will only improve as you are immersed in the language.” He promises. “Often I do translations and I will assist you however I can.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I appreciate your help.” You say and release his hand when the wine glasses are set down in front of you. “To new friendships.” You toast, clinking your glass against his.

Ezra nods, smiling as he takes a sip of the wine he always enjoys. Somehow improved by your company. “So the Louvre today. I feel like we should be able to spend a lovely afternoon there.”

You nod, sipping the wine before you set it down. “Yes. I am excited. I studied art at finishing school so it will be wonderful to see so many famous pieces in real life. I am sure you’ve been before and are going to be utterly bored.” You joke, keeping your eyes on his.

“I assure you, every visit to the Louvre is special.” Ezra smiles. “But this visit might be the most special. The company is much better than my own.”

You fluster once more at his words, aware that you barely know the man but you can’t deny that he makes your stomach twist with desire. The food arrives and you start to eat, groaning at how delicious it is. “Oh my God. This place is a gem.” You tell Ezra after you swallow your first bite.

Your groan is sensual, almost erotic and Ezra’s cock twitches at the sound. He grins at you. “Do you see why I enjoy it so much, little bird?” He muses, picking up his own sandwich and taking a bite before setting it down to wipe his mouth. Just because he had one less arm does not mean he is lacking manners.

“Absolutely. I love it.” You promise, “it’s going to be a favorite of mine in days to come.” You assure him, taking another sip of your wine. After you’ve both polished off your delicious lunch, Ezra pays despite your protest. 

“You made dinner last night. It’s the least I could do.” He tells you and you nod, “fine but I’ll be making dinner again.” You promise and he nods, “and I’ll bring more champagne.” 

You stand up after he pays the bill. “That sounds like a fine deal to me.” You wink and take his arm as he guides you out onto the street.

The line for the Louvre isn’t incredibly long and soon the two of you are walking into the cool interior. The smell of the building always makes Ezra sigh. The scent of thousands of paintings and pieces giving the air a heady tone. “What shall we take in first, little bird?” He asks, curious to see where your interests will lead you.

You bite your lip, guiding him towards the nearest hallway, eager to see it all. “I want to see everything.” You tell him and he chuckles. You look up at the ceiling in awe of the paintings and the tapestry and you smile at Ezra. “This is incredible.” You exhale in amazement. “Thank you for coming with me.” You tell him as you start to admire the first piece of art.

“You are most welcomed.” Ezra watches you. Smiling as you get lost in the wonder of the museum. Lips parted as you gaze at the beauty in front of you, though he doesn’t even know what you are looking at. Too busy staring at his own version of art.

You don’t notice him staring at you as you admire the piece, in awe of the detail and you turn to finally catch him watching you and you reach up to pat down your hair. “Is there something on my face?” You ask, touching your cheek, feeling self conscious.

“Every hair is in place and your skin is as clear as a cloudless sky, chérie.” He assures you, smiling softly. “Forgive my lack of manners. I found your reaction to the art breathtaking.”

You fluster, shaking your head at his insanely generous compliments. “You flatter me too much, Mr. Ezra. I am a mere woman, not a goddess.” You reprimand him softly, “Now, let’s continue before I have no choice but to melt into the marble from your kind words.” You tell him and pat his hand, continuing to walk and admire the art.

“I am mistaken.” Ezra hums, his steps jaunty beside you and he grins when you cock your head in curiosity. “You are an angel, fallen from heaven to walk among us mere mortals.”

You playfully roll your eyes, “then you are the devil himself come to tempt me. With his perfect jaw and that gorgeous nose.” You compliment him, “come to shower me with flattery when it’s he who looks like Adonis.” You murmur, wanting him to feel just as flustered.

He preens, just every so slightly, at your compliments. Shaking his head and winking at you. “Adonis, huh?” He asks, smirking. “I can accept that. As long as my own fair observations are taken as the gospel truth. You know the devil was God’s perfect angel, until he wasn’t.”

You slap his hand playfully, “let’s agree to disagree.” You tell him and he hums, “very well. I am nothing but a gentleman.” 

His words still have your stomach twisting and you realize it feels like you’ve known Ezra for your entire life instead of one day. “And when the devil fell from heaven…he was temptation incarnate.” You add playfully.

“And what can I do to tempt you?” He teases, frowning slightly when he realizes how sordid he sounds. “Apologies, little bird,” he murmurs sincerely. “Please do not allow me to make you uncomfortable if I overstep.”

“Do not fret, you aren’t making me uncomfortable. In fact, I like it. I like our banter. As for tempting me…you’re already doing a fine job.” You assure him with a smirk, glancing at the piece of art you stop in front of, feeling his gaze burn into the side of your face.

Ezra hums, wondering what kind of temptation he’s providing. Since the war, his own companionship has been the occasional woman he has paid for a night between her thighs, not ashamed of that, but he knows that he is not a man most would look at as a potential partner. Especially after his return to the states.

You see his curious face and you giggle softly, “come on Ezra. Let’s continue. I want to see the Mona Lisa too.” You stroll through the museum, knowing you won’t be able to see it all but you want to see the pieces you’ve seen in books, that you’ve longed to see in person.

The two of you debate. A friendly conversation about pieces that you come across and observations that have you both in stitches as you continue into the museum and Ezra points out some of his favorite paintings. The hand tucked around his arm slowly morphs into your hand in his, allowing him to point as he brings up your hand with it. Standing in front of his favorite, ‘The Battle Between Love and Chastity’, he hums as he lifts your hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

Your heart thumps at his soft kiss and you offer him a soft smile. “Something you have experience with?” You joke softly and he winks at you, “perhaps.” You giggle and shake your head, looking back at the piece. You’re enjoying holding his hand and admiring the art beside him.

Ezra explains why he loves the piece in great detail, shrugging slightly at his impassioned he had become. “There is something about throwing away society’s expectations that I enjoy.” He tells you with a smile.

You smirk, “that I can already tell and I admire it. Being outside of the social norm. That’s what I wanted to escape. I didn’t want to conform or be a puppet.” You sigh, revealing slightly why you came to Paris. You squeeze his hand, “shall we continue?” You ask, clearing your throat when he starts to open his mouth, clearly wanting to ask questions you don’t want to answer.

“Of course, little bird.” You are not comfortable sharing and he would not dream of pushing you. Nodding, he guides you on to the next exhibit, simply enjoying being your escort.

You explore as much of the museum as you can, spending far too much time exploring the Louvre and soon you are back out on the bustling streets of Paris. “Thank you for today, truly. It’s been a day to remember.” You tell Ezra, squeezing his hand.

“I should be extending my gratitude to you, little bird.” Ezra protests, smiling at the way the low sun shines off your hair. “I cannot recall a more enjoyable or relaxing day.” He tucks your hand back around his elbow. “Perhaps we can reproduce the experience another time?”

“Absolutely.” You assure him, “I would be honored to be escorted around Paris by a handsome man.” You wink at him, “hardly a difficult thing to agree to. Next time though, lunch is on me.”

He shakes his head, knowing that you will argue with him if he insists he pay. “Then I will show you the best little cafes in Paris, you will be astounded with how much there is to offer in just our little neighborhood alone.”

“That sounds like a deal.” You smile at Ezra as he escorts you back to your apartment building. He’s charming and intelligent and you know it’s dangerous to feel this way so quickly but you can’t help it. He’s enchanting. “Today was incredible.” You sigh when you arrive outside of your door, “thank you for spending today with me.”

“The sublime pleasure was exceedingly mine, little bird.” Ezra reaches for your hand to kiss softly. His thumb rubs the skin before he presses his lips to it as he looks up at you. “Your beauty still surpasses all of the greatest works in the Louvre.”

Your heart pounds in your chest and you look at him, “you flatter me far too much.” You softly reprimand him, “especially when you are carved like the Greek statues.” You return his compliment and you love the way he ducks his head shyly.

“Perhaps by the profile with the hawkish nose.” Ezra chuckles. “Although my hair does curl when longer than its current styling.

“I’d like to see that sometime.” You tell him and you lower your hand from his, reaching into your purse to pull your keys out. “Thank you for today, Ezra.” You repeat and lean in to kiss his cheek, taking a beat until you lean back, turning to open your front door. “I’ll be inviting you to dinner again soon.” You warn him playfully, “you’ll be sick of me soon.” You joke, getting your door open and turning back to look at him.

“I am most dubious about that assertion, little bird.” Ezra nods and smiles at you. “May your evening be soft and luxurious.”

His words wash over you, calming you like a warm bath, and you offer him one last smile before you disappear into your apartment. He has wiggled his way into your mind and heart after a ridiculously short amount of time. You know it would be easy to fall in love with him. 

****

“Good evening Ezra.” You greet your neighbor when he opens the door  to your apartment and strides in. You’re at the stove finishing up dinner and he comes over to set the bottle of wine down on the counter. You’ve spent the past month getting to know the man and you’re in love. He’s smart, charming, and devastatingly attractive. It’s a combination that has you thinking of him nearly every moment of the day.

“Good evening, little bird.” Ezra smiles as he notices the glasses are already set out. “I will pour us a generous serving of wine and set the table if that is agreeable with you?” He has insisted that he help in some small ways since you are feeding him, never allowing him to help clean up.

You nod, “that sounds like a plan.” You turn back to the stove to stir the sauce, wanting him to enjoy this piece of home you’ve decided to cook for him. He works fast to set the table and soon enough, he’s sliding a glass of wine into your hand.

“It smells divine, chérie.” Ezra groans, leaning over to get a better whiff. “I must confess I will need to have the local tailor let out my trousers if you continue to feed me such scrumptious meals.”

You chuckle, “we can always walk more now that the evenings are lighter and the weather is better.” You compromise and he hums, “very well. We can indulge and then walk it off.” He winks and you sip your wine, setting the glass down before you bend over to check the meatloaf.

He can’t help but admire your shapely bottom as you lean over the little oven. Groaning quietly as the racy thoughts filter through his mind and he reminds himself that you are his friend and neighbor.

You stand up, unaware of his internal battle, and you get to work on the mashed potatoes. “Go take a seat. It won’t be long.” You promise and he nods, making his way over to the table with his glass of wine. It’s only another five minutes until you’re plating up the meal and Ezra groans as you set his plate down in front of him. After you’ve sat down with your own plate, you pick up your glass, “to home comforts.” You toast playfully, liking his answering grin as he clinks his glass against yours.

“I must commend you, chérie.” Ezra groans after just one bite of the meatloaf. “When we first met you claimed to be lacking in the culinary arts, yet every meal seems to be near ambrosia.”

You shake your head, “you flatter me far too much. Soon, I won’t be able to fit my head through the door.” You joke and he chuckles, “I am merely stating the truth.” You hum, chewing your first bite and after you swallow you say, “then I guess finishing school wasn’t the waste of money my parents think it was.” You half joke, knowing your parents must be furious at you for leaving without a word. “It’s nice to cook for you. I- I cook with passion instead of duty because I want you to enjoy it.”

“Passion instead of duty is always preferable.” Ezra acknowledges, tilting his head at mention of your parents yet again. You speak of them in a way that makes him believe that they are ashamed of you. “If you will give me your parents address, I will write a strongly worded letter telling them exactly how your finishing school has benefited and that you are a model lady.”

You smile sadly, “I appreciate that but I highly doubt they would believe you.” He chuckles softly, “I said strong worded, little bird. I can be quite convincing.” He assures you and you snort, remembering the time he convinced you to try escargot and you hated it. He had made it sound so delicious. 

“Yet you didn’t convince me to enjoy snails.” You retort and he chuckles, shaking his head, “touché.” You continue eating and once you’ve finished, you carry the dishes to the sink and Ezra stands, wanting to help you clean. “Leave them to soak. I want to go dancing tonight. You did promise to take me dancing.” You remind him with a playful nudge.

“If we are going dancing, little bird, you must change into your finest dress.” He hums, wanting to make you smile. “I will change into a suit better suited for escorting a lady as lovely as yourself.” He smirks at his words and winks at you again.

“Meet in twenty minutes so we can get freshened up.” You pat his shoulder and he nods, making his way out of your apartment to get ready. You rush around, changing into your finest dress. It’s bright red and hugs your curves, wanting him to be taken back by your appearance. You’ve known him for a month now and it’s hard to deny that you love him. You’re in love with him. He’s handsome but he’s so much more than that. He’s clever, funny, and he manages to make you feel like you’re walking on air. You fix your hair and makeup and grab your purse, heading to the door after you hear Ezra knock on it.

His hand shakes, pulling it back from the door so he can check his hair once again. He had checked in a charcoal gray suit with a red shirt and back vest. Slicked his hair back and dragged his razor over his jaw so that his skin is smooth, beside his mustache. The cologne was the finishing touch, and he hopes he is presentable for you.

You open the door to him, a wide smile on your face when you see him. “You look so handsome.” You coo, reaching up to caress his cheek, and he reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it. 

“You look like Aphrodite herself. A true vision.” You fluster and squeeze his hand when he lowers it from his lips. “Shall we go?” He asks and you nod, turning to quickly lock your door, and he guides you down the hall and down the stairs, out onto the streets of Paris.

“Now chérie, I am going to take you to a club that is rather….risque.” He announces, grinning at you. “Is that agreeable? You will be perfectly safe, I assure you.”

You nod, “I came to Paris to experience life. I am most agreeable.” You promise and he guides you along the still bustling streets. “Where are we going Ezra?” You ask, curious now that you’re heading out of your normal walking paths.

“Folies Bergère.” Ezra chuckles. “There is also a dance floor after we are inspired by the cabaret dancers.” He wants to take you to a place that is famous and fun. One that you will remember your first experience. “We will drink champagne and dance the night away.”

It sounds like the perfect night and it is. When you arrive, you are escorted to a small table off to the side of the rows of seats and Ezra gestures for you to sit, immediately calling the waiter over to order champagne. “Now this truly feels like Paris.” You declare as you look around the ornate theater, in awe of its grandeur.

“Wait until the performance starts, chérie.” He hums, reaching for your hand as if it is second nature. “I know you are aware of the female form, but the act is nearly erotic in nature and I hope you enjoy it.”

You bite your lip, a little nervous to see what the show will bring and you sip the champagne after it’s poured and Ezra toasts to “new experiences.” You offer him a nervous smile and he winks at you since he’s holding his glass. The lights go down after everyone has taken their seats and you anxiously await the start of the show.

As soon as the music starts, Ezra turns towards you. Wanting to see your reaction as the scantily clad women rush out onto the stage and immediately break into a very perfectly choreographed dance. Every step is perfectly struck and position posed, fun and flirty, sexy and thrilling.

Your eyes widen as the women come onto the stage, starting their routine, and you’ve never seen anything like it. Back home, your parents would’ve had a heart attack at just seeing a woman wearing a dress that clung to her curves. This is beyond that and it’s thrilling. “Oh my God.” You grin, watching the dancers with delight. This is what you wanted, to see things you’ve never seen before.

You are entranced, bewitching to look at and Ezra happily falls under your spell. Watching the lights shine across your face when the spotlights move and your laughter and clapping is the music he hears. He’s fallen in love with you, completely and totally in love. “You’re gorgeous.” He blurts out, flushing slightly when the music is quiet and his proclamation was louder than intended.

There’s a moment where Ezra could have pulled back or rethought the idea that rushes through his mind. He doesn’t though. Caught up in the moment, he lunges forward and presses his lips to your urgently. As if he would expire if he did not sample your lips. Watching your eyes widen in surprise and then start to flutter closed as you moan quietly against his lips.

You reach up to cup his cheek, letting his lips press against yours while the music continues to play. When he pulls back after several moments, you smile and he nudges his nose against yours. "Ezra." You whisper so only he can hear with the music coming to an end and the crowd claps the dancers, making you pull back to look into those dark eyes.

By the time the show is over, Ezra feels tipsy. Not from the champagne, he is drunk on you. The feeling of knowing that his romantic feelings are reciprocated has him flying and he stands, still holding your hand and smiling down at you. “Chérie, would you permit me to escort you to the dance floor, where I might hold you closer than socially acceptable for the duration of as many songs as our feet can tolerate?”

You stand up, letting him guide you to the floor after you say “I’ll dance with you all night, my love.” You let him escort you to the floor where the band is playing and you inhale sharply when his arm pulls you close. You reach up to grip his shoulders, leaning on towards him until your forehead is pressed against his, as tight as you can get while the song plays.

“Little bird, I must confess something.” He whispers, swaying with you gently and wishing that he had his other arm so he could hold more of you. “I must admit that I have fallen for you. Hopelessly and desperately in love with you. With no possible end in sight.”

You giggle, almost drunk off of your emotions, and he leans back, hurt clear on his face but you quickly cup his cheeks, barely swaying as you force his eyes to meet yours. “I’m yours, Ezra. You have my heart, my soul, my body. I love you. Every part of me loves every part of you.” You vow. He’s told you the horrors he endured during his service and it didn’t change a thing.

He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nuzzling your hand. “Perhap, when you are ready, we might….explore the art depicted in my favorite painting at the Louvre?” He ventures. He would never dream of pressuring you, but he aches to touch you, to caress your skin and lose himself in your body.

You shiver at the suggestion, your body lighting up at the mere thought of him touching you. You slide your hands down to his chest, “I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a while but there’s something you should know.” Your eyes flick up to meet his, “I have never…it’s - you’d be the first.”

Ezra’s breath catches and he stares into your eyes solemnly. “I am honored you would trust me with such a wondrous gift, little bird.” He murmurs softly. “I can assure you that nothing will be done without your enthusiastic approval.”

You nod, trusting him implicitly, and you stop moving as the song ends. You stare into his eyes, “take me home and make me yours, Ezra.” You demand, wanting him tonight and to give him all of you.

“I- yes.” Ezra breaths. “Whatever you wish, chérie.” He takes your hand and brings it up to kiss the back of it. “Let us make our way back to our abodes and we shall begin to become more intimately acquainted.”

You let him escort you through the crowd and out onto the now chilly streets of Paris, walking a little faster than you have known him to walk before as he guides you back to your building. “We have all night, mon amor.” You giggle playfully and squeeze his hand, “I’m yours for tomorrow too, not just tonight.”

“Forgive me, chérie.” Ezra flushes slightly. “It has been awhile for me and I must admit that I am eager to learn what makes you moan.”

You fluster, glad he’s eager to be with you. “I have wondered many nights what your touch would feel like. I’ve…explored my own body and know what feels good but I want to feel you, I want to hear you moan my name. I want you to feel pleasure.” You murmur, leaning against him as you turn onto your street.

“My little bird is a seductress.” Ezra groans, his cock twitching in his suit pants and he wants nothing more than to feel your heat around him. “Tell me, have you ever heard of fellatio or cunnilingus?” He asks, his voice dropping. “Using my mouth on your cunt to make you feel like you are flying?”

Just his words make your cunt bottom out and your stomach twists with anticipation. “I- I’ve read about it in my books. Novels. Books my parents didn’t know I had.” You confess to owning erotica and his voice has your cunt dripping and you walk a little faster, eager when you see your building in sight.

He chuckles, watching you pull away in your eagerness. “Then you won’t be scandalized when I tell you that I want to slide my tongue through your cunt until you are crying out my name and soaking my face.”

You gasp at his scandalous words but not because you are shocked. No, you are turned on. His words send a wave of arousal and need through you and you are practically sprinting to the front door of your building. When you fumble to open the door with your key, Ezra’s hand slides down your back to squeeze your ass and you drag him inside, pushing him against the door to press your lips to his, uncaring of your neighbors possibly witnessing your display.

Ezra groans and when he can, his tongue slides inside your mouth, drinking down your moan. His cock is swelling, rapidly hardening against your body as you press yourself against him. Wishing again he had both arms so he could pick you up and carry you to your apartment.

You kiss for several moments until a door slams from the floor above and you pull back, giggling as you start to climb the stairs to your apartment. Ezra struggles a little due to the situation in his trousers and you are fumbling with your lock when he comes up behind you, caressing your back. “Are you sure, little bird?” He asks, his voice rough and full of lust. It’s enough to make you shiver. You open the door and step inside, reaching for his hand. “I’m sure, Ezra. I want you. I love you.”

Nodding, he doesn’t insult you by questioning you again. He steps into your apartment and kicks the door shut. “Chérie, you tell me if there is anything you do not like.” He demands. “I wish for this to be nothing but joyous.” He will do his damndest to make it exactly what you want. “Now show me your bedroom.”

You take his hand after you set your purse down to guide him to your bedroom. He’s never been in here before and you fluster at the clothes that are on the floor from your rush to pick an outfit for going dancing with him. “Sorry about the mess.” You murmur and he chuckles, shrugging off his jacket to drape it over the chair in the corner. 

“Do not fret little bird, I’ve seen far worse.” He assures you and you swallow harshly, the quiet of the room brings the seriousness of this night but you still want him. You reach up to unclip his tie, knowing he uses those since he can no longer tie his own, and you reach for the hem of his shirt after you toss the tie to the chair. “I want to see you.” You request, keeping your hands on the hem in case he doesn’t want you to remove it.

“My arm-“ he swallows nervously. “It is not pretty.” He fears that you might still turn him away. “They did the best they could, but it is still a missing arm.” He holds your hand for a moment and then lets go. “But if you wish to see me, there is nothing I would deny you.”

“My love.” You let go of his shirt to reach up and cup his cheeks, “I want to see all of you. Let me love all of you. I do not care about your imperfections. I have my own. I simply wish to see the man I love. All of him.” 

Ezra nods, a lump in his throat, and you reach down to lift his shirt over his head. When it flutters to the floor, your eyes meet his until they shift to his body. The scars that scatter his skin from battle and the jagged edge of his missing limb. You aren’t repulsed, in fact, it makes you love him more for enduring such hardship. You lean down to press your lips to his shoulder, kissing along the scars that lead to his amputation.

He shudders, inhaling a ragged breath as you show him more acceptance than anyone ever has before. Standing before you in his trousers, he stands proud, enjoying the heated look in your eyes when they find his again. “I only wish I could assist you out of your dress, little bird.”

You shake your head, stepping back to reach behind you and pull the zipper of your dress down. “Do not worry about that, Ezra. You can take my panties off.” You wink and try to cover up your nerves as you let your dress fall to the floor after you kick your heels aside, revealing your underwear to his hungry gaze.

“Aphrodite herself.” Ezra groans, his eyes drinking in every inch of skin you have revealed to him. “I am a mere mortal in the presence of a goddess.” He declares, stepping closer and caressing your waist as he leans in to kiss you. You are still wearing a bra so he slides his hand around to try to unclip it while you kiss.

His tongue slides against yours and you can feel him fumbling so you reach behind you to help him unclip your bra, letting him drag it down your arms until it’s falling to the floor. You caress his chest, sliding your hands up until you are wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against his. His hard cock digging into your hip and you want to see all of him. Your hands let go of his neck so you can reach between you to undo his pants, shoving them down and he kicks his shoes off so he’s only in his briefs and socks. 

“Can I?” You ask, wanting him to be comfortable and when he nods, you hook your fingers in his underwear to drag them down. Your eyes wide when his thick length bounces free in front of your face. “Oh my God.” You gasp at him and reach up to wrap your fingers around him instinctively.

“Shit.” Ezra hisses, his length pulsing in your grip. “I- I have imagined your hand around my cock many times, little bird.” He confesses. “And yet I find that my imagination was sorely lacking in the realization of how good you would feel.” He doesn’t want you to be fearful so he reaches down and grabs your hand so he can help you back to your feet. “I wish to taste you.” He croaks. “Lay down on the bed so I can strip off your panties and lay my eyes on heaven.”

You don’t deny him. Shifting back to lay on your bed, head on the pillows, and you watch him as he kicks his briefs off his ankles and is left only in his socks as he kneels on the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest as he reaches out to hook his fingers in your panties on one side of your body and he carefully manages to shimmy them down until you are naked. Once he tosses them aside, his hand slides along your calf until he’s gripping your thigh and you grant him his silent wish, spreading your legs for him.

“Heaven.” Ezra proclaims, his eyes fixed on the thatch of neat curls that cover your sex. “I will be washed clean of all my sins in the pool between your thighs.” He traces lines over your skin with his fingers and he bends down to press a kiss to your knee. Shuffling down, he lowers himself down as he kisses along your thigh.

His words seem too poetic for such a naughty act but your chest heaves as his kisses get closer to your cunt. When his breath washes over the sensitive skin, you whimper and his deep chuckle echoes in your bedroom. “Ezra.” You gasp when he leans closer and his tongue dips between your folds, sampling your tangy arousal, and your eyes close as the pleasure tingles over your body.

Ezra groans, the sound vibrating directly into your core and immediately he’s entranced. Addicted to you and the way your thighs tighten around his head. Flicking his tongue over your clit, he wishes he could spread your legs wide and hold you open while he devours you like the feast you are.

Your head is thrown back when he sucks on your clit, the pleasure making your head spin. You’ve never experienced anything like this. His wet mouth on your cunt has your heart pounding in your chest. “Fuck, Ezra.” You curse, panting as he pushes his tongue inside of you. “So good. It feels so good.”

Moaning, he loves the way your walls pulse around his tongue, trying to draw him deeper. He shuffles down until he is flat on his belly, turned slightly so he can lay on his right side. It doesn’t hurt to lay against his amputation and it allows him to still stroke your thigh and stomach with his left hand. Wanting to make this amazing for you and get you ready to take him.

"Shit. You - you feel so good baby." You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair, and your heart pounds in your chest when his dark eyes meet yours. "Oh God. So good." You pant when he slides his hand down, gathering up your slick, and he pushes a finger inside of you.

He has practiced this. With the women he had paid, so he is not fumbling like he might have been. Though you would not know there was finesse to his touch either way. Your cunt squeezes his fingers and he groans before he pulls his head away. “I am going to prepare you for my cock, little bird, you might feel very full but it is so I do not hurt you.”

You are nervous but you know he would never hurt you. You watch him, eyelashes fluttering as he scissors his fingers inside of you. "Oh God, Ezra." You whimper when he resumes sucking your clit. It's more pleasure than you've ever known and you love the man giving it to you. "Please." You beg, not sure what you are begging for but you feel the tension building in your belly.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He coos, pulling off your clit before he dives back into your folds. His fingers pump and curl up inside you, pressing against the spongy spots until your hips jolt up and you cry out letting him know he’s found it. Determined to make you cum, he presses against that spot again and again while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh shit.” You hiss, back arching as the tension coils tighter until you’re falling apart. Clamping down on his fingers, you moan his name and wonder how on earth you survived without his touch. Soaking his fingers, you grip the sheets and squeeze your eyes shut as the pleasure surges through you.

Liquid gold. That is what rushes over his fingers as you fall apart. Coating them and his wrist while your walls squeeze his fingers like a vice. Making him groan at how tightly your body will hold his cock as he works you through your high.

“Oh God.” You pant, slumping against the mattress as he withdraws his fingers and you open your eyes, shifting to look down at him, loving the smirk on his face after he sucks his digits into his mouth. “Kiss me.” You beg, wanting to feel him over you.

Crawling up your body is not as graceful as it might have been before the war. He cannot pause and kiss or nip here and there as often as he would like. When he finally settles between your thighs, his cock against your mound, he smiles softly at you. “You wish for a kiss, little bird? I will grant you all the wishes you desire. Just call me your genie.”

You chuckle at his smooth words, your hands caressing every inch of his body that you can touch. “I love you.” You murmur before he leans in to kiss you. You feel his smile against your lips and you love how happy you feel in this moment. His weight is braced on his forearm and you reach between you to grip his cock, wanting to stroke him but you don’t really know what you’re doing.

He grunts, closing his eyes slightly. “Loosen your grip and slide your hand up and down.” He breathes out raggedly. “Feel how the skin moves over the hardness underneath?”

You follow his order, amazed at how he feels like velvet despite the hardness beneath. You slide your hand up and down, your thumb swiping over the leaking head unknowingly and he groans in response. “You’re big.” You tell him despite not having anything to compare him to. He’s big in your grip and that’s all you can go by.

“It will fit, most assuredly.” He groans. “The clutch of your cunt will be like the hottest glove I have ever worn.” He rocks his hips into your grip and twitches in your hand. “Little bird, I fear I am much too enthusiastic for you to continue. Otherwise I might cause myself great embarrassment by finishing before we can truly begin.”

You loosen your grip and he sighs in relief, making you smile. You’re pleased he’s just as affected by you as you are of him. “Put me in.” Ezra orders and you swallow harshly, suddenly nervous as you guide him towards your cunt. When he’s notched at your entrance, he starts to slowly push inside of you and your hands grip his back, eyes closed as you brace yourself for the pain you’ve heard about.

Ezra takes his time, breaking you forward an inch at a time. His jaw is clenched and his arm trembling from the effort to take it slow. When you close your eyes, brows knitted together, he drops down to his elbow and kisses you. “Relax, little bird.” He promises, feeling your walls tighten in anticipation.

You slide your hands up to cup his cheeks, keeping his lips against yours, and you whimper when he pushes deeper, trying to relax when he tells you to. “God.” You pant, half wishing this was over and half wishing this would last forever.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He promises, pushing his hips slightly deeper into the crevice of your thighs and smoothly through your innocence to completely fill you.

You gasp in pain but he soothes it away by leaning in to kiss you, distracting you, and you kiss for several moments, tongues tangled while your body adjusts to the intrusion. “Please, Ezra.” You whimper when his cock twitches inside of you. You want him to move, the pain now transforming into the beginnings of pleasure and your heart pounds in your chest at having the man you love take your innocence.

“We have all the time in the world, my love.” He assures you, not wanting you to feel like you have to rush towards bliss. His kisses keep you occupied for another moment and when he feels your inner muscles start to quiver, that he knows he can move without any resistance. “You feel perfect, the feeling cannot be described.” He is nearly speechless as he starts to pull his hips back slowly, keeping the movement measured when he slowly sinks back into you.

Your chest feels tight with emotion as he rocks into you, making you lift your legs higher. His groan vibrates into your chin after he presses a soft kiss there, and you slide your hands along his back. "It feels so good. Never- never imagined it would feel like this."

“Love making is supposed to feel good, like you never want it to end.” His words roll out, groaning slightly at how perfect you are. “I want you to feel nothing but pleasure with me.”

You chuckle softly, "I never want this to end." You confess, kissing along his neck as he moves inside of you with measured thrusts and when you lift your leg higher onto his hips, you whimper at the new sensation. "No one else I want to feel like this. Only you. I love you." You murmur, loving how you feel like the only people in the world.

“I adore you.” Ezra groans, closing his eyes as he rocks in and out of you. “My perfect little bird. So beautiful and trusting, so giving.” He kisses along your shoulder and groans when you squeeze him tight.

His honeyed words wash over you, making you feel like it's a struggle to breathe, but you pant out, "all yours." You feel that tension coiling in your stomach but it's slow, not as intense, just building with each rock of his hips. "Oh God, Ezra. I need-" You don't know what you need, just that it feels good and you want more.

“I wish I could do it, my love.” Ezra huffs, wanting to be the one to bring you all your pleasure tonight. “But reach down and rub your little button. The one I sucked on so satisfyingly.”

You reach down between you, your fingers finding your clit, and you whimper as you get the pleasure your body craved. His cock moves inside of you, hitting the right spot to make you whimper, and when he shifts his hips again, your head tilts back into the pillow as you cry out his name.

“Magnificent.” Ezra grunts, clenching his teeth together as your walls clamp down on his cock and you soak him in your pleasure. “Good girl. Good girl.”

Your eyes are closed and Ezra is leaning down to kiss along your neck, making you whimper, and you want Ezra to cum. “Baby. Oh baby. I want you to - please. Inside. I don’t care. I want to feel all of you.”

He shudders, imagining that feeling of filling you up and even though he knows it’s risky, he does. His pace picks up and he rocks into you with less measured thrusts. Half a dozen more times before he is moaning your name, pushing deep as his cock throbs and he paints your walls with his seed.

You close your eyes, loving how it feels to be totally consumed by him like this, and you whimper when he works himself through his orgasm, his seed pushed out of you, and you tangle your fingers in his hair to bring his face to yours, pressing your lips against his.

Ezra sighs against your lips. Enjoying the feeling of his high and he shifts so he can move his weight off his left arm, lowering himself onto you so it is not too uncomfortable for you. “I love you.” He murmurs against your lips.

“Love you too, baby.” You smile against his mouth, your hands shifting to caress his back. You love all of him, even the parts he’s missing. You adore him and you know you want to be his. You shift so he can lay on his side and you immediately move to curl around him, his cock sliding out of you at the move, and you don’t care about his seed dripping out of you as you breathe him in.

“I must confess that words are failing me, little bird.” His arm wraps around you, caressing your back as he tries to catch his breath. It had been such a long time since he had felt this way. Like he is whole. Not because of a missing limb, but because of your love.

“No words. Just us.” You murmur, closing your eyes as the events of the night catch up on you. He kisses your hair and you know you made the right choice coming to Paris. “Sleep, little bird.” Ezra urges, knowing you are exhausted. You hum, breathing him in and you fall asleep surrounded by him. 

****

* knock knock * 

The front door is shaking with the knocks, several in a row, and you are still asleep. “Coming!” Ezra calls out, struggling to pull his trousers on as he walks over to open the door before it can wake you up. “I think the door just about survived your incessant attack. How can I help you, sir?” Ezra asks, his shirt barely pulled over his head and untucked and he feels the other man’s anger as his eyes assess Ezra. He announces that he’s looking for you. “She’s thankfully still asleep right now, no thanks to your monstrous knocking. May I inquire as to whom is seeking an audience with her?” Ezra asks. 

“Tell her it’s Jacob. Her fiancé.”

Ezra’s stomach drops, his mouth parts but for a moment no words come out. “I believe you might be mistaken.” He manages after a moment of disbelief. “The lady is not engaged, she is unattached and has been for the duration of her time in Paris.” This is some kind of mistake. It has to be. You would not lie to him and keep a fiancé a secret.

“You are the one who is mistaken. She accepted my proposal. Her parents and my parents are close friends. She escaped to Paris and we thought she’d come back but it’s been a month and she’s - it looks like she has kept herself busy.” Jacob says in disgust as he looks at Ezra. 

You come out of your bedroom, robe hastily tied around your waist and your eyes widen when you see Jacob standing at your door. “Jacob? What are you doing here?”

“You are acquainted with this man?” The shock on your face is answer enough and Ezra feels like he has been played for a fool. He hears Jacob scoff and he can’t even remember to excuse himself before he is pushing past you to gather the remainder of his clothes so he can leave. You are engaged. What was this? Some kind of power trip for you? Making the poor fool fall in love with you before you go back to your life in America? Ezra growls, pissed that he doesn’t have two hands as he shoves his feet into his shoes without socks and grabs his tie and jacket.

“Ezra. Wait. Let me explain. Please.” You beg, trying to reach for him but he shrugs your hand away, spinning to push past Jacob and he storms down the hall. “Ezra. Please!” You beg, pushing past Jacob to follow him. 

“What do you want?” Ezra growls as he faces you. 

Your lower lip trembles at the disgust you see in his eyes. “Please let me explain. It’s complicated.”

“It is not complicated.” He hisses. “You led me to believe that you were unencumbered. When you have a doting fiancé waiting at home for you to warm his bed.” He is so hurt that he feels like he is going to lash out at you. “Go back to your fiancé.” He spits. “You can tell him that you slept with me out of pity.” Turning back around he tosses his jacket over his shoulder and quickly opens the door to his apartment, slamming it shut behind him.

Your eyes sting with tears and you turn to make your way back onto your apartment where Jacob is still waiting for you. “Looks like you’ve settled into Parisian life.” Jacob scoffs and you shut the door behind you. 

“I- I can’t go home with you. I love it here. It’s my home now. I belong here. Please Jacob. Don’t - don’t make me go home.” You plead and he shakes his head. 

“Your parents wanted me to bring you back. You know they are anxious for us to be married. When you left, they were frantic until they got your letter. They have been looking for you for weeks. They sent me here to bring you home so we can get married.” He tells you and you shake your head. 

You walk over to him, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You know I love you, but as my friend. Our fathers…they always wanted us to marry but - you didn’t even propose. It was - it was arranged and I didn’t want that. I want love. Don’t you want love?” You ask him. 

Jacob swallows harshly, reaching for your hand to lower it from his face. “I have love. Her name…Cheryl. She’s perfect and I- I want to marry her.” He admits for the first time out loud. 

You grin, squeezing his hand, “then marry her. You and I are good friends but that’s it. I love you but I’m not in love with you.” You tell him and he nods, “you’re in love with him.” 

He jerks his chin to the door and it’s not a question, its a statement. You nod and Jacob sighs, “your parents are gonna be pissed at me for not bringing you home.” 

You chuckle, “when have we ever cared about what they think? I ran away because they have controlled me for too long. My father is still engrossed in war time but we are at peace now and I want to live, to love. Tell them I’m sorry, but I’m happy here.” You tell Jacob who nods, 

“I’ll tell them.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, “be happy.” He murmurs and you nod when he pulls back to look at you. 

“You too.” 

He lets go of your hand and walks over to your front door, knowing he’s going to have grief when he gets home but it will be worth it if he can marry Cheryl. You watch him close the door and decide to get dressed and find Ezra.

In his apartment, the few tears he had shed have been replaced by stifling anger. Scowling and ripping through his closet, the bag on the bed lays open to be stuffed with clothes. He cannot live here any longer. The furnished apartment had been a very comfortable place to be but he will be reminded by your betrayal. Curses hissed out from under his breath accompanying his hurried packing, hoping that he gets done and leaves before the sounds of love making come through the walls.

You open Ezra’s apartment door that he neglected to lock in his rush, and you find him packing a bag. “You’re leaving?” You choke and he doesn’t even look at you. 

“Aren’t you? Heading back to your pre-planned life in America? What was I? Just a joke? Seduce the one armed man so I can titter about him when I have luncheons in Boston?” Ezra hisses and you shake your head. 

“My love-” 

“Do not call me that.” He growls and you swallow, “Jacob and I were arranged to be married. Our families have been close friends for our entire lives. Our fathers served together in the Great War and they wanted us to be a family. Jacob never proposed properly. I never received a ring. It was on paper. That’s why I ran away. I didn’t want to marry him. I love him as a friend and nothing more. I swear to you, I wasn’t engaged to him in my heart, only in the eyes of my parents. I love you. I’m sorry I lied. I didn’t - I thought that it would brush over and Jacob would get married and I’d be free. I should’ve told you. I should’ve disclosed why I was here.”

He doesn’t believe you, shaking his head, he scoffs. “Yet there was a man on your doorstep, disgusted to see me in his place.” He reminds you. “I do not believe you little bird, I regret that you believe me to be so gullible. You’re just like her.” He hisses. “Pitying me and believing my lost arm has rendered me addle-brained as well.”

You shake your head, "just like who? Baby, I love you. Please don't do this. I love you and I - I'm so sorry I lied. I didn't - he isn't - we aren't engaged. Not in the traditional sense." You urge him to believe you.

“She was my fiancé.” He reveals, his frantic packing paused and he looks up at you with anger and sadness mixed together. “She told me in letters that she didn’t care that I had lost my arm. She loved me. She wanted me. Until I went home. She had been sleeping with my best friend. Told me that she hadn’t thought of us engaged once I had been wounded.”

“Oh God, Ezra. I’m so sorry.” You choke, fingers twitching with the need to comfort him. “Baby. I- oh God. I know you must hate me now and I understand. I get it. I- I’ll go. I’ll go. I’m sorry. Just - just know that I love you. I’m so in love with you and I’ve never felt this way before. I know you think I’m a whore and just like your ex fiancé. I’ll go.” You choke, tears now streaming down your cheeks because you know it’s over. He can’t forgive you.

Ezra closes his eyes, his shoulders slumping and he sighs. “Little bird….” He chokes out, gripping the shirt he had been packing in a tight fist. “You- swear to me that you are telling me the truth.” He demands. “That you never wanted to marry this man and he felt the same towards you.”

“I never wanted to marry him. He’s my friend. Nothing more. I swear to you.” You sob, “he - he’s in love with a woman called Cheryl. He - we have been friends our entire lives. He’s protective and I - he didn’t know that I was in love with you but when I told him, he agreed to leave me here.”

Ezra swallows, hating to see the tears in your eyes. He drops the shirt and moves towards you hesitantly. “I am sorry.” He whispers, ashamed that he had made you cry. You are telling the truth, you love him and you never wanted to marry that other man. “Are you staying?”

You nod, “if you’ll have me. If not…I guess I’m heading home.” You murmur, glancing back at the door after you wipe your eyes. Still dressed in your robe, you feel vulnerable.

He takes another step towards you and cups your cheek, guiding your eyes back to him. “If you stay, I wish for you to be my wife.” He murmurs softly. “I want to be your husband. Not to own you or to make you unhappy. But to build a life with you here.”

Your eyes widen as his response, and you are surprised he wants to marry you. If he’d asked last night, you would’ve said yes without hesitation. “You want to marry me?” You ask softly and he nods. You lean forward to press your forehead against his cheek, “I love you. It would - I’d marry you right this second if I could.”

“I do not think we could find someone to marry us at this hour.” Ezra hums, lowering his hand so he can wrap his arm around you. “There is also the small matter of procuring you a ring. I am a man who believes in tradition, and will be wearing my own with pride.”

You let him pull you into his chest and you swallow harshly, “you want -” You’re speechless as you reach up to cup his cheeks. “I love you. I want to marry you as soon as possible. I want to be yours in every way.” You murmur, pressing your lips against his.

“You will have me, little bird.” Ezra promises, smiling at you softly. “Every bit of me. I love you. I want you to be mine and I will be yours. Forever.”

You nudge your nose against his, “forever. Maybe we can get a chateau in the country and I can have your babies?” You suggest playfully, sliding your hand down his chest to feel his heart pounding beneath your touch.

“You wish to live the life of a French country woman?” Ezra grins, “chérie, I will make sure you have your chateau and your babies. We might have even started our little family tonight.”

You sigh in bliss, “I hope so. I love you, Ezra. I am so glad I met you. You’ve changed my life and I - I hope we spend the rest of our days together.” You murmur, knowing you would never regret coming to Paris to escape your family. You are going to create your own family with Ezra. 

****

“Mon cher, come in. Lunch is ready!” You call out to the garden where your son is playing. Your daughter on your hip as you place the bread on the table. “Ezra! Lunch is ready!” You call out to your husband who has been painting in the garden.

Looking up from his painting, Ezra smiles. Setting the brush in a cup of turpentine, he calls out to André. “Come, we must eat.” He tells him as he walks over to kiss you and take his darling little girl out of your arms. “Thank you, chérie.” He murmurs, not just talking about the lunch. He’s talking about the life he has with you, something he had never hoped to have after the war and now he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

#pedro pascal #ezra prospect #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra prospect smut #ezra prospect imagine #ezra prospect fanfiction #Post WWII AU

[carbone14]

Douglas A-20C Havoc en cours de maintenance à la base aérienne de Langley – Virginie – Etats-Unis – Juillet 1942

Photographe : Alfred T. Palmer

©United States Library of Congress - LC-USW36-203

#WWII #united states army air forces #usaaf #aviation militaire #military aviation #avion d'attaque au sol #ground-attack aircraft #bombardier #bomber #bombardier moyen #medium bomber #chasseur de nuit #night fighter #douglas a-20 havoc #a-20 havoc #havoc #base aérienne de langley #langley field #langley #virginie #virginia #états-unis #usa #07/1942 #1942

[dodounchained]

#ai generated #bradley bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #roosmav #wwii au #1940s #last Hollywood superstar™️ #tom cruise #miles teller

[just-anotherrandomartist]

it’s art block so bad i can only draw in the bullet journal time, anyway more of my nonsensical WWII au, deadeye being a good brother helping moonshine say goodbye to hardwon at the train station

#my stuff #my art #naddpod #not another dnd podcast #hardwon surefoot #moonshine cybin #hardshine #deadeye cybin #naddpod wwii au

[alicefromwhichplanet]

WWII tfa Humanformers Headcanon: Channel World

I got this idea when I was binge watching German war films two months ago (still watching more and more now). I easily came up with a human version of Blitzwing (he’s German, anyway), and then I assigned positions/ nationalities to other tfa characters I made as the main cast in my fiction Heroic Nonsense.

Characters/Relationships:

Blitzwing/Bumblebee

Megatron/Optimus Prime

Strika/Lugnut

The background:

After the war, the Cybertronians became quite conceited and joked about humans’ lives being too short and easy. Sari just made a machine/game that can provide users with immersive experiences as humans in a certain era. She decided to let her friends try human life back in 1944.

The Cybertronians were assigned random roles on earth in 1944 (based on their original identities…). They have video calls once in a while in a special comm link in the game, which they later call “Channel World”, because they’re calling from different parts of the world.

Blitzwing:

Blitzwing is of course thrown into the worst case scenario. He is at the East front, retreating… as a 19-year-old German soldier. He squeaked a lot, wet his pants, ran away and was dragged back, saw many deaths and injuries and was captured by Strika’s troops and let go, because it was Strika that caught him. He cried on the phone to Bumblebee saying he missed him, but refused to stop the game, because he didn’t want to be seen as a coward.

Bumblebee:

Bumblebee is assigned to South America as a Mexican boy, 17. He was quite contented with his identity first, but after seeing Blitzwing’s situation he was desperate to go and meet his lover. He signed up for Mexican Air Forces that fought for the Allies with great efforts, only to find himself bombing Blitzwing’s side…

Strika:

Strika was assigned to Soviet Union. The reason being that she reminds me of experienced Red Army women soldiers with her characterization… She is a leader of a squad, 24 or 25. Fought bravely to Berlin. Captured a German soldier (Blitzwing). But he ran away ( she let him go).

Megatron:

Almost no doubt Megatron was made a high ranked Soviet official, in his 30s, and in the battlefield as well. This is because in tf g1 there is an implication of Decepticons being the Soviet side of the Cold War. Megatron and Strika will be a crucial factor why Blitzwing survived in the POW camp after the war ended.

Optimus:

Of course. He’s an American soldier. White male, 28 or 29. Optimus is closest to the position of an observer. His humanoid character is almost like the “default mode”. He went to Europe to attend the war with his friend Lugnut.

Lugnut:

African American soldier, only a little younger than Optimus. Also fought in the war and laughed at his best friend on Cybertron Blitzwing when he got too immersed and called him “American scum” on video call. Will join civil rights movements in US after the war.

I may put this idea into fiction, or maybe will just post random short stories under this au. It requires a lot of historic backgrounds and I’m still lacking time now. But later. Anything can happen. Let’s call it Channel World AU.

#tfa #headcanon #au: channel world #megop #optimus prime #megatron #blitzbee #blitzwing #bumblebee #tfa strika #lugnut #damn it do they have a couple name? #maccadam #wwii #history #writing #my little crazy ideas #fake history #humanformers

[izloveshorses]

Remind Me

ao3

It was even darker down here, but once her eyes adjusted she could just make out the silhouette of his profile. She rushed down as fast as she dared, needing to make sure she wasn’t just seeing what she wanted to see.

“Dmitry?”

“Hey,” he croaked. She reached him, kneeling beside him, touching his face. Her eyes adjusted more to see his lips pulling at the corners. His face, though caked in a layer of dust, was, as always, too handsome and smug for his own good. “You okay?”

The question was so ridiculous coming from him she wanted to laugh. “Can you move?”

“I’m a bit stuck,” he said, the sound of metal creaking and fabric shifting.

She could make out jagged masses around them, stone and concrete and steel, the bones of the building exposed. The fact that he hadn’t been crushed— that neither of them had been crushed, really— was probably a miracle. But she probably shouldn’t speak too soon.

read on ao3!

#dimya #my writing #fanfiction #anastasia #anastasia broadway #nobody really asked for a whumpy wwii home front au but. here <3

[swifty-fox]

Closeup of Buckys custom helmet featuring WWII Memorial stamp, his jersey number, a B-17, an air force wwii propaganda poster and then bomber shark teeth

#hc in this au Johns grandfather was a MIA pilot in WWII so it’s for him #he was never recovered and declared KIA when Bucky was young #mota hockey au #swiftyart

[desert-fern]

(Holi)Day by Day - 1940s Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Fem!Reader (historical AU)

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: After everything you and Bradley had gone through during the war, you both had scars (both mental and physical) and nothing seemed to remedy them better than each other. When the Christmas season comes around, the tree needs decorating, and maybe even a new tradition for you both.

Warnings: small flashbacks from the war in nightmare form (bombings, blood, death all mentioned but not described), a little self-doubt, lots of love and teasing, and other than that first bit of dark stuff, this is cute and fluffy!

Word Count: 4.8k

Author's Note: Welcome back to Roo and Rosie! This little oneshot was written for @bellaireland1981's Winter RomCom Challenge with the prompt “Home for the Holidays” and while I might not have hit the comedy part of a RomCom, I do hope that you won't be too disappointed in this. Also, this sweet little fic was inspired by Frank Sinatra's Day by Day (which is also the song they are dancing to at the start).

This can be read as a standalone or as a continuation of Ring Around my Rosie.

===

Day by day 

I'm falling more in love with you

And day by day 

My love seems to grow

There isn't any end to my devotion

Frank Sinatra’s voice crooned quietly from the small radio perched on the windowsill of yours and Bradley’s small apartment in Washington. The street below was noisy, with shopkeepers closing up for the night and night shift workers greeting one another as they met up. White snow blanketed the roofs and windowsills, giving the world an angelic sort of peacefulness as you swayed in your husband’s arms. Boots crunched on the sidewalk below, the sound crisp yet soft under footfalls that left tracks back and forth in the snow.

It hadn’t been easy, these passing months. Bradley was still serving as a Navy officer, choosing to follow this path that he had started on before the U.S. had entered the war. But for all his successes, you were stuck at home. Being married, wearing Bradley’s last name as your own and his mother’s ring on your left hand meant that no one would hire you, despite your skills developed overseas. 

Both of you struggled with shell shock, waking up in a cold sweat nearly every other night as your memories replayed the worst moments of both of your short lives. Bombs falling, the screams of men, blood, so much blood everywhere you both turned in these dream states. You had shot awake late the night before, feeling blood on your hands and got up quickly to wash your hands over and over again, trying to free yourself from the stickiness and coppery smell that always lingered no matter how hard you scrubbed. 

Bradley had found you in your small kitchen, scrubbing your hands while tears coursed down your cheeks and had gently turned the water off, mumbling a soft “Oh Rosie…” before pulling you into his arms. He held you tightly, letting his sleepy warmth envelop you and pull you from the horrors of your mind. “I’m here sweetheart. Ain’t never letting you go.” 

You had said nothing, your eyes staring unseeing out the small kitchen window at the frost clinging to the pane. Snowflakes dancing on the howling wind, but you hadn’t heard it. Not over Bradley’s heartbeat in your ears. He had coaxed you back to bed after a while, clutching your hand like he was afraid you would vanish if he let go while you both walked back to your cozy bedroom. “Dearest…” 

“I’m here.” Bradley’s soft voice murmured close to your head as you settled back under the covers. You had drawn a few shaky breaths and curled into his chest, letting a few more tears fall against his chest while Bradley’s strong arms wrapped around you. “I mean every word, Rosie Doll. I’m here.” 

And in his sleep-heavy voice, you believed every word. You had married him, knowing your own trauma and quickly realizing his own after the first few nights spent together. Bradley thrived on touch, choosing to curl into you or hold you to him whenever his demons crept up from the darkest parts of his mind. Even when his memories remained just that, he had a hand on you as often as he could. 

But for now, Bradley held you close, running a large hand up and down your back as he watched sleep claim you as snow whirled past the window. If he could take away everything, he would. His father’s words rattled around in his head as your breathing evened out, “When you love a woman, love her with everything you have.” 

Sleep snuck up on him, and before you both knew it, the alarm clock trilled and Bradley was slipping out of your bed to get ready for his work day. But he never left without waking you gently to murmur an “I love you” against your temple and kiss you sweetly before slipping out the door and making for the Navy Base nearby. 

Now though, now he was here with you, pressing loving kisses to your temple whenever he felt like it. You both were safe, warm, and wrapped up in each other’s embrace as the radio seemed to hum along to your gentle swaying circles around in the dwindling light from the kitchen window. 

“You never did answer me,” you said softly. “I asked you how your day went.”

Bradley hummed noncommittedly. “Better now that I’m here, Rosie doll.” Even now, after nearly a year of marriage, he still was as big a flirt as he had been when the two of you had first met. “But, I do have news. Good news.” 

Pulling back a little to look up at his face, you had to smile as you took in his closed eyes. Bradley looked so content in this moment, like the neighbour’s cat Spot when he curled up in the sunlight down on the street below. For a minute, you could imagine that the two of you hadn’t met in the midst of a brutal conflict as he swayed your bodies gently to and fro in time with the man crooning over the tinny device. “And? What sort of news?” 

“So nosy, my sweet Rosie,” Bradley teased, shooting you a wink as his mouth widened in a boyish grin, the one that quirked his mustache up a little each time. “I ought to make you wait now.” 

“Bradley William Edward Bradshaw,” you began, trying for unamused but you knew your tone betrayed you. “Tell me this instant. If I need to bake up your mother’s shortbread for your big news, I need to know.” 

He shook his head at you, the grin only growing wider as seconds passed. “And what if I wanted your mother’s awful fruitcake instead?”

You shot him an unimpressed look. “Bradley, dearest, that recipe is older than us both combined. It was my grandmother’s pride and joy during the holidays.” 

A quiet chuckle bubbled in his chest. “I know doll, I know. I’m just teasin’. I’ll tell ya the news.” Bradley pulled you back into his arms, smiling as he felt you sigh into his shirt when you relaxed into his arms. “Bossman says that I could be promoted in the next round if I keep performin’ the way I am now.” 

You stiffened in his arms, coming to a standstill. “Promoted? Bradley, that’s wonderful!” A quick glance up had you sealing your lips to his and kissing him deeply. “I’m so proud, my dearest.” 

“All thanks to your love and cooking, Mrs. Bradshaw.” And God help you if your knees didn’t weaken at his words. The pride in both his whiskey-brown eyes shone down on you and his tone, his tone only served to make you more flustered. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

Certain that your cheeks were as red as the flower he called you, you turned away shyly. “Oh come now. A few meals doesn’t equate the hard work you’ve been putting in.” 

“Nonsense!” Catching your chin and directing your face back to him, Bradley continued “Without those meals and the incredible woman waiting on me back here in OUR home, I wouldn’t be nearly half as successful. So, Rosie. You were instrumental in this.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Alright then, Mr. Bradshaw. Maybe I did help a little.” His thumb traced gently along your cheekbone, and you leaned softly into his touch. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised, leaning down to kiss you once more. “I won’t stand to have you go unappreciated, you hear?”

You found your hand creeping around the back of his neck and toying with the fine hairs at the base of it, wondering at how you had gotten so lucky to have this man, this gentle, kind, loving man. 

It's deeper dear by far 

Than any ocean

I find that day by day 

You're making all my dreams come true

Bradley had become everything you were unknowingly looking for. As much as you hated everything that had transpired for the two of you to meet, you had to admit that the stolen moments between the two of you during the war had given you a hope you had both been lacking. 

So come what may 

I want you to know

I'm yours alone 

So as Bradley spun you gently, you hummed in response. “I suppose not.” The music changed, joyfully opening Nat King Cole’s Joy to the World, and trumpets kicked in jovially, startling your husband to the point he grabbed you tightly and pulled you to him like he was trying to protect you from some unseen enemy. 

He chuckled awkwardly, letting go of his tight grip on your hip and shoulder. “Sorry Rosie honey, damn trumpets scared the wits out of me.” But despite the smile plastered on his face, you saw the haunted look in his eyes, the same one that crept into your own on occasion. “Didn’t mean to give you a fright.” 

Instead of replying, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “No harm done, dearest.” In these moments, all you could do was offer your presence like he did for you. The time spent together during the war had been far removed from the realities the two of you had faced apart and now, standing barefoot on the cool living room floor, you couldn’t have pictured your life now. 

“Rosie… I’m not… perfect. I still… ya know. I barely sleep through the night, I can’t hold my wife in my arms and dance to her favorite Christmas song because the trumpets startle me every time. Why…?” 

You gave him a firm look, stilling in your movement. “None of that. You hold nothing against me, dearest. Not even my most insane moments. Why on God’s green Earth would I do the same to you?” The words poured from your lips like a fountain, racing free and refusing to let you breathe. They had choked you from the moment Bradley had pulled back, freezing like he expected to find himself curled in a foxhole, fighting for his life. “I married you. I knew you weren’t a perfect man, but you were perfect for me, and that’s all that matters. Do you hear me?” 

He nodded, pulling you into a hug and buried his face in your neck. You could feel tears pouring down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking as he cried. Saying nothing, you let your eyes fall closed, running a gentle hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him. “I love you,” you murmured softly. “My handsome sailor, so strong and brave. You saved me.” 

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that, only that a few songs had started and ended. Bradley’s neck and back had to be hurting him, but he was content to stay in your arms, hiding from the world. Eventually, he pulled back, wiping his eyes with a shy look. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice raspy. “I needed that.” 

The two of you were a few inches apart, chests nearly touching, yet unlike the last minutes, hours, you weren’t touching. “I know.” The words were soft, like saying them any louder would shatter the bubble around you, like they would let in the darkness. “I married you, Bradley Bradshaw, don’t you dare tell me that I made a mistake taking your name and your mother’s ring.” 

He grinned at you, the previous moment’s sorrow seemingly falling to the wayside. “Yes ma’am. Now, do I get my mother’s shortbread or not?” 

You swatted his chest, hiding your smile. “If you don’t get out of my kitchen, then you won’t get anything,” you teased, moving out of his grabbing hands and further into the room, hissing as your feet touched the cold floor. 

“Is that so, my Rosie?” You could hear the grin in his voice, knowing that it was all over his face without even having to turn around to face your husband. “Your kitchen, your house, anything else you want to label as yours?” 

Spinning around, your hands on your hips, you faced him and rolled your eyes at his antics. “I believe I did a year ago when I married you. Isn’t that right, my husband?” The fondness in your voice betrayed the sharp look you were trying and failing to muster up. 

Bradley stepped forwards, crowding you. “I will never cease to love hearing you say those words, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he whispered lowly, pecking the side of your mouth before pulling away and meandering into the small living room. “Need any help with the tree, doll?” 

Drawing a deep breath, you brushed your hands over your apron, taking a minute to collect yourself. “I think I have it under control, dearest,” you told him, coming around the corner to see him elbow deep in the crate of Christmas decorations that you and he had collected from your families. “Unless you want to get started while I start with the shortbread?” 

“Rosie, honey. We just finished dinner and I had to fight you to let me help with the dishes. Take the apron off and let’s decorate the tree, okay?” Bradley wheedled, gently placing the tree angel on the table before making his way to you and taking your hands in his own. “Please doll? Who knows if I’ll be home next Christmas and I don’t want to start without you.” 

“Alright, alright, but I’m making tea before I do anything else.” Under his brown-eyed stare, now shining like the colour of good ale, you were helpless to resist. 

The smile Bradley gave you was so full of happiness that you couldn’t help but smile too. So, minutes later, when you emerged from the kitchen yet again with two cups of tea and you found your husband tangled up in a garland that had to have been your mother’s given the shade of red, you had to laugh. “Bradley! What in the world…?” 

“Sorry Rosie, got a little caught up in the excitement.” The grin he shot you was sheepish and you burst out laughing at the sight. “Okay, come on. Quit your cackling, neighbours are gonna think it’s Halloween not Christmas if you keep that up.” 

Setting the teacups down, you pressed a hand to your mouth, shoulders shaking as you stifled your laughter. Bradley had somehow looped the garland around his neck and shoulder, pinning his arms to his sides as he tried to glare in your direction. “How in the…. You really tied yourself up tighter than a Christmas goose, didn’t you dearest?” 

Bradley snorted, the sound so undignified and unexpected that it startled a snort of your own to escape through your hands. “Okay, okay. I know, I look ridiculous.” 

“Only a little, dearest. Let me help you,” you replied, trying your best to look sympathetic to his obvious plight. You began to unwind the garland from his arms, smiling to yourself as you watched yourself in his brown eyes. A combination of love and embarrassment seeped out of him and you hummed along to the brass band playing from the radio, trying to keep your mind from wandering. 

A few minutes passed, the room filled with little more than the faint music and the sound of your’s and Bradley’s gentle breathing. Then you found the loop of the knot and gave it a pull. The garland fluttered to the floor, landing with a soft ‘thump’. “There we are,” you said softly, stooping to pick it up. “Finally free. Now to put it on the tree where it belongs.”

Bradley’s hand on your hip stopped you in your tracks. “Rosie…”

“Yes, my love?” 

“Thank you,” he whispered, lips brushing against the skin of your cheek. “For freeing me, for loving me. For everything…”

You turned into his touch, leaning up on your toes to kiss him sweetly. “You needn’t thank me for something so simple, Bradley. Thank me when it becomes a chore to do something so simple, which will never be.” A brush of your fingers against his forehead, moving his hair, had him melting into your touch, sighing softly. “Now, let us decorate the tree.” 

Bradley nodded, smiling down at you. You had so easily become the best part of his life, then again, you two had met in the middle of one of the biggest conflicts the world had ever seen. But beyond that, you gave him a reason to smile, filled his heart and your home with light even when it felt like the dark was closing in. He appreciated you more than you could ever realize and he had known the minute he proposed that you were the very balm to his jagged soul. 

The softness in your touch despite horrors unseen stunned him at every opportunity and if he had the chance, he would marry you all over again, if only to see the love in his own eyes mirrored in your once more. 

“But,” Bradley said to himself. “All I have to do is meet her eyes now. She loves me for me, not in spite of my demons.” 

“Bradley?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Can you help me?” He snapped out of his head, finding you on your tiptoes, trying to string the rest of the garland through the tree branches, but failing because you couldn’t reach. “You bought another damn tree that is too tall for me to do it on my own.” 

 “Maybe I want you to ask me for help,” he replied, smiling at you. “Maybe I should start putting things on the higher shelves if only so you would ask.”

You dropped the garland in your hands, glaring at him in the most mocking way. “Bradley Bradshaw. You wouldn’t.” 

“Would too,” he replied with a wide grin. “I know you can do it, but I always want to help.” 

“Here.” You handed him the end of the red ribbon. “Work your magic on those upper branches and I will start on the bows.” You had intentionally ignored his last statement, doing your best to maintain a straight face, but his words had turned your spine to liquid and you fought the urge to swoon. 

“As you wish, Rosie,” Bradley said with a wink in your direction, beginning to effortlessly weave the garland through the top boughs all while you stood ramrod straight like a doctor was chewing you out. The only difference was the warmth in your cheeks was from the flirtatious nature of your husband rather than shame at a perceived error in care. 

Red bows in hand, you began to tie them to the green boughs, smirking when an idea popped into your head. As gently as you could manage, you brought a bow up, tying it to the belt loop of his pants as quickly as you could. You continued in this pattern, one for the tree branches, another added to the now impressive collection of red bows around Bradley’s hips. 

You were being as quiet as you could, but giggles still escaped you when you went back to the crate full of decorations. What you didn’t know however, was that Bradley had noticed your little prank almost immediately. 

His focus on your soft humming to Glen Miller had been broken when you stopped suddenly. One look down and he saw a bright red bow tied to his trousers, all the while, your shoulders were shaking with silent giggles. Bradley had elected to ignore it, trying to see if you would give yourself away, but you never did. 

“Rosie…” he began, turning to face your back as you grabbed the last of the bows. “Why do I have bows all over me?” 

A giggle broke free as you faced him. “I don’t know, dearest.” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, humor glinting in his eyes. “Is that so? You have no idea?” 

“Not the foggiest, my love. Perhaps some elves snuck in and decided that you were worthy of being under the tree.” You shrugged, a grin playing on your lips as you approached him. “I can’t say I blame them either.” 

Bradley reached out, grabbing you by the hips. “That’s my line, Rosie doll,” he chided in a teasing tone. “If you wanted me that badly, all you had to do was ask.” 

Heat spread from your face down your neck and up to your ears under his cocky smile. “The tree is half-done, Bradley. Let’s finish that first before we get distracted by… other things,” you tried to compromise. 

“Sure thing, doll. But first,” Bradley leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. You gasped against his mouth, hands balling up his shirt as he pulled you closer. His tongue mingled with yours and you seemed to fall into him, surrendering the kiss to him and letting him take control. 

When he did pull away, he was pleased by the haziness of your eyes and the redness of your lips. You stammered a little before snatching one of the bows from his waistband and set it atop his head. “There. Now you are ready,” you said with a wide smile. “The only gift I need.” 

Bradley laughed, shaking his head at your antics. “You call me a flirt and a tease nearly every day, Rosie… are you trying to take that from me?” 

You shook your head, still smiling widely. “No. I just… I can’t help it. Maybe the Christmas spirit is infectious and I caught it from the Hilsmans and their obnoxious lights display?” The smile only grew when he bent down to kiss you sweetly, your eyes fluttering in the softness of the gesture. 

“Come now. As you said, the tree is only half done. It won’t match the goddamn Hilsmans and those lights so bright they would blind the damn Air Force if they flew over the block, but it’s just us,” he hummed, pulling a bow from his trousers and tying it to the boughs overhead. 

The two of you worked quickly, the gentle silence broken only by the crooning of Bing Crosby as he sang about a winter wonderland and snowmen. It added to the warmth in your heart and your eyes as they were drawn over and over again to your husband, who was fixing a small bell to the highest branch he could. 

Side by side in the warmth of your apartment, you both finished the tree shortly. As you stepped back from the tree to admire your handiwork, you felt Bradley’s hand on the small of your back, the heat from his palm warming through the fabric of your shirt. “Rosie,” he began, smiling down at the little angel in his other hand. “My folks had this tradition of sorts…”

“Oh? And what was it?” You ask softly, turning into his side. The heat from his body sunk into your skin, wrapping you in an embrace. “Why didn’t we do it last year?” 

Bradley swallowed and you could tell that he was fighting tears as he looked at the small tree topper. “My pop used to… he used to lift my mama up every Christmas while they were putting the tree together, joking about how she was the real angel and should be on top of the tree, not this little thing,” he chuckled wetly as he looked at you. “Figured we could keep that tradition going if you wanted, Rosie.” 

“Oh Bradley…” You soothed, squeezing his arm gently. “That sounds like the sweetest tradition.” 

He sniffed, nodding as he met your eyes. “It really was. I always told myself that if I were ever lucky enough to find someone I loved as much as they loved each other, that I… well, ya know…” 

“You wanted to keep their love alive,” you finished softly. “I’d be happy to continue that tradition, Bradley. It sounds just lovely.” And you meant it. From everything you had heard about Nicholas Bradshaw, or as he had been known to friends, Nick, it sounded exactly like something he would do. “Come on, let’s get that angel on the tree and then I’ll make us some tea that isn’t cold.” 

Bradley handed you the cloth small angel, no bigger than six or seven inches tall, dressed in white with hair made of yellow thread. You cradled it gently, tracing over the dress with a soft touch. “Pops always said that it looked like my mama, it was the reason he started the joke in the first place. I asked him about putting the angel on the tree and he lifted up my mama like she weighed nothing. He asked me if I wanted to help put her on top of the tree. I laughed and laughed, I had never heard anything so funny…” He trailed off, looking wistfully at the tree before you both. “I remember telling him that that was mama not the angel and he just got this look on his face… told me to grab the angel and give it to her so that our angel could stay with us and the tree had the fake one. It never failed to make her smile…” 

“That’s beautiful, dearest,” you hummed, glancing up at him. “Your parents sounded like they had so much love to give, Bradley. Just like you do. And while I might not necessarily look like this angel here, why don’t we fool Heaven a few days longer, hmm?” 

The look Bradley gave you was so full of gratitude that you swore he nearly fell over. “Yeah?” He asked, scarcely able to believe what he heard. This was something so unique, so personal, something that he was convinced that he would never be able to find outside his parents. The tradition had been something he had only ever heard of from his parents and here you were, so open to accepting this tradition as one of your own without hesitation. 

“Of course. It means this much to you, I would be a horrid, evil little troll if I said no. Not that I ever would, because it is such a beautiful idea and something that is a part of the Bradshaw name,” you replied, a small smile adorning your features. “And this ring on my finger made me one of your small, but very loving, kind, and gentle clan. I would be honored to continue this with you.” 

Fingers brushed against your cheek, gently tipping your head up to face your husband. His whiskey eyes shimmered with unshed tears, a furrow had seemed to take over his brow, one that you quickly smoothed over with a gentle touch. He leaned into your hand, his eyes falling shut while he tried to rein in his grief. “Bradley… shall we?” 

“Hmm?” he answered in a broken voice. “Yeah Rosie, let’s put my angel on the tree.” His hands found your hips, spinning you around and lifting you up high enough to jokingly put you on the tree. 

A giggle fell from your lips before you could stop it and Bradley lowered you back down, the angel still in your hands, while you shook in his arms. “I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I couldn’t help it.” 

Bradley smiled at you, the tears in his eyes receding a little. “I know, but my mama always laughed too, so it’s perfect. One more time?” 

You nodded and up you went once more, but this time, you stretched your arm out, gingerly placing the angel on top of the tree. A tap to his arm had him lowering you back to the ground, and when your feet touched the floor, you surged forward, wrapping in your arms with a soft “thank you.”

“What’re you thanking me for, Rosie doll? I should be thanking you.” 

“Thank you for letting me be a part of this, Bradley. Your family is just lovely and I love that I can keep their memories alive,” you whispered. 

Bradley didn’t say anything, just let himself be wrapped in your embrace all the while looking up at the angel sitting atop your tree. This wouldn’t be the last time this tradition would be done, all thanks to you. So while Ella Fitzgerald sang about Santa Claus, Bradley held you close and began to sway under the watchful eye of the angel and for a moment, he swore she smiled at the sight. 

His love for you grew three sizes that day, and Bradley knew that without a doubt you were the reason his life was as good as it was. You, his Rosie, had brought him back, piece by piece and he never wanted to leave you. 

He was yours forever, never once wavering in his devotion to you. The reason his house became a home during the holidays.  

And I'm in love to stay

As we go through the years 

Day by day

===

A/N: Hey all! Hope you enjoyed this latest instalment of Roo and Rosie. Big thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for kicking my butt a little and making sure that this wasn’t complete garbage and thank you to @sarahsmi13s for being so incredible when it comes to these two!

Tagging: @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27

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