#barry keoghan curtis biddick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sagesolsticewrites · 7 months

Note

No ones written for Curtis yet !! (Masters of the air) if you wanted and didn’t have any ideas, what about they meet at a pub - he’s loud she’s quiet but he charms his way in ? Something sweet to take away episode threes pain

Thank you so much for requesting, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! Our boy Curt deserves some love, too! 🥺 And… what Episode Three? I have no memory of Episode Three, all that happened in Ep 3 was our boys had a big mission and then they all 👀👀👀 made it home safe 😇

(Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

To the Rescue

You thank the bartender with a smile before turning towards your usual spot along the wall, martini safely clutched in your hands. The pub was positively crawling with soldiers— which was exactly the reason your friends had dragged you out of the apartment tonight.

“You need to get out more!” They insisted as they wrestled your hair into something slightly more stylish, Dot digging through her wardrobe for something suitable for you to wear.

“There’ll be plenty of very handsome soldiers there,” she had said, producing the soft blue dress you had subsequently been forced into, “It’ll be good for you to meet someone!”

You settle against the wall, resisting the urge to yank out the pins digging into your scalp, instead taking a sip of your martini as you scan the crowd.

Your friends had seemingly already chosen their targets for tonight— you spot Ruthie chatting to a blonde Brit over by the bar, and Dot had already managed to drag some poor soldier onto the dance floor with her and her two left feet.

Despite what your friends thought, you were perfectly happy being a wallflower. You enjoyed people watching— just as entertaining as normal conversation without the stress of having to contribute, you had once joked.

The theory was proven as you scanned over the crowd, picking up snippets of conversation, stories, jokes… usually coming from a particularly boisterous soldier speaking loud enough to be heard throughout the whole bar with a distinctive accent— New York or somewhere thereabouts, you guessed.

“Hey there, honey.”

Every part of you cringes inwardly at the voice interrupting your thoughts. British, you note immediately, with that hint of bravado that signaled he didn’t much care for your parts of the conversation— he was just looking to show off for his friends.

You couldn’t very well ignore him, though, and you try to hide your exasperation as best you can.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a bit lonely over here, figured you could use some company. Maybe a drink, maybe a dance…” the Brit grins, and you take notice of the pins decorating both his and his friends’ jackets— RAF boys. Ugh.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you assure them with the politest smile you can muster.

“Aw, come on,” one of his buddies speaks up, “Just one dance?”

At the clear refusal of that request, the other man that was with them chimes in.

“Or how about I buy you a drink? Seems like you could use a fresh one,” he says, nodding towards the martini glass in your hand— the one that was still nearly full.

“Thank you, but I’m alright, really…”

You attempt to edge away from them, mind racing for a way to politely let them down so they’d leave you alone.

Just then, a thick New York drawl breaks through the unsuccessful attempts at flirting, a welcome relief from the unfamiliar English accents.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the soldier says loudly, leading you away from the RAF boys, “Been lookin’ for you everywhere!”

One arm slung over your shoulder, he leans down to whisper in your ear “Trust me, okay?”

Speaking loudly enough to be heard by the other soldiers, he began leading you to a secluded booth in the corner, “I got us a table over here…”

As you slide into the booth, he turns to the RAF boys with a fierce warning glare and a subtle cracking of his knuckles, unseen by you.

The Brits scramble to find other targets, and the soldier — you still haven’t gotten his name — returns his attention to you.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says, “You just, uh… seemed like you weren’t havin’ too good of a time over there.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure him softly, shaking your head, “Thank you, um…”

He seems to realize what you’re waiting for, and sweeps into a bow as he introduces himself.

“Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, at your service,” he says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “But everyone calls me Curt,” he adds, straightening up.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as you smile and nod in acknowledgement, and then realize that you have absolutely no idea what to say now.

“…Well,” the soldier— Curt— says, once it becomes clear you’re not going to say anything, “I’ll leave you be, but if those guys bother you again just gimme a holler, yeah? I’ll sort ‘em out.”

“Wait!” You say as he turns to go, the loudest you’ve spoken all evening.

You pray the flush in your cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light of the pub as he turns back and you say hesitantly, “You can… stay, if you like.”

You gesture to the empty space of the booth, but add hurriedly, “Or if you don’t want to— I’m sure you’d rather—”

“I’d like that very much,” he says with a smile, cutting off your nervous rambling.

He slides into the booth across from you rather than next to you, to your surprise, giving you enough space to feel comfortable.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me your name, or am I just gonna keep calling you sweetheart all night?” He asks, adding a wink to make sure you know he’s teasing.

You tell him, just barely loud enough to be heard over the band, and he grins, testing out the pronunciation. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Like with most compliments, you’re not sure how to respond until—

“I don’t normally look like this,” you find yourself saying and oh of all the times you had to actually start talking, why did it have to be now? “I mean— my friends decided to doll me up for tonight, but I’m not normally—” You trail off as your mouth finally takes the hint to stop talking now and silently pray for the ground to swallow you.

“Hey, I should ask them for some tips,” is all Curt says, though, and you find yourself fighting off a smile as he rambles on about “wanting to find something for myself, it feels like everyone’s doin’ the same thing these days…”

The way he sighs forlornly, staring out at the sea of uniforms identical to his, is what breaks you, and the two of you collapse into peals of laughter.

You hear your name being called, and turn to see Ruthie — apparently having abandoned the blonde Brit— flagging you down, until she realizes you have company.

“Oh— sorry!” She says, before gesturing to where your other friend seems to have gotten a bit too deep in her cups, “I’m gonna take Dot home. You take your time, though!” She adds, nodding towards Curt encouragingly in her usual unsubtle manner.

You wave her off and tell her to be safe, blushing furiously at the expression on Curt’s face— he looks entirely too amused by Ruthie’s reaction.

“She gonna be okay?” He asks first, though, nodding towards where Ruthie’s leading Dot out the door.

As you assure him your friends will be perfectly fine, he nods, seeming to consider you for a moment.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

You nearly choke mid-sip of your martini, surprised at his bluntness.

“What gave it away?” You manage to quip once you’ve recovered, waving off his concern.

“Your friend there,” he nods to the door, “I’ve seen my fair share of girls excited that their friend snagged a soldier, but… never that excited.” He concludes with a laugh.

“I guess I’ve always found all this,” you gesture to the room around you: the dancing, the laughter and occasional shouts from the soldiers, the music, “a bit much? I’ve never really been one for parties or bars or… any kind of socializing, really. Ruthie and Dot were plenty eager to get me out of the apartment for once, though.”

“Well I, for one,” Curt says with a crooked grin, “am very glad they did.”

You meet his gaze for a moment before smiling down at your lap, “So am I.”

The two of you continue talking through the night— Curt dominates the conversation, but in a way that you don’t mind; he fills what would normally be an awkward silence for you with jokes and stories, all the while leaving enough space for you to chime in when you feel like it.

The pub empties as the night goes on, and before too long it’s only the two of you and a handful of other people remaining.

You glance at your watch, wincing as you realize how late it’s gotten.

Curt takes note, already moving to stand as if he had meant to be heading back at this hour and asking with a smile:

“Can I walk you home?”

The easy conversation continues on the short walk to your building, and you find yourself on the front walk with Curt, dreading the moment he walks away.

“Wait— I—” you interrupt as he opens his mouth to bid you goodnight, digging in your small clutch for any scrap of paper you can find.

Producing a torn piece of what apparently used to be a grocery list and a small pen, you scribble down your address, holding it out to him.

“Write to me?”

A bright grin transforms his face as he tucks it away in his breast pocket, next to his heart, “I’d love to.”

The two of you simply… stand there in the moonlight, grinning at each other.

Your gaze scans over him, taking in the hat sitting at a jaunty angle on his head, his slightly crooked tie, the equally crooked grin of this boy who took you under his wing for the night.

Summoning all your courage, you rock up onto your toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek.

As your turn to sprint into your building, though, something stops you.

Or more specifically, someone.

Curt reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you back towards him. You’re the closest you’ve been to him all night, barely a breath in between the two of you.

He scans your face, gaze dipping down to your lips then back up, searching for permission.

At your almost imperceptible nod, he dips down and captures your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading through you down to your toes in the brief eternity his lips are on yours.

He pulls away, remaining close enough that your noses brush as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“Sweetheart, when I get back to base,” he begins softly, “I am writing you the cheesiest, corniest love letter you’ve ever seen.”

His laughter is infectious, and you hope your giggles hide the flush on your face at the mention of love.

“I look forward to it,” you simply say, barely able to speak around the grin on your face.

With one last gentle kiss planted on your cheek, he bids you goodnight, and you float into your apartment, waiting impatiently for a love letter from Curtis Biddick.