#lance corporal blake x reader

[ditch-witches]

Farmer’s Son - Dean Charles-Chapman x reader

(PART ONE) - (PART TWO)

Ivanna, I love you. Thank you for always hyping up our stuff and BLESSING us with your amazing artistic talents.

request: (jfc yall)

"I would do literally anything for more farm dean (can we eventually get a cute wedding? Take it slow tho dw)”

“I would kill for farmer's daughter part 3.”

“Okay wow I love Majesty it’s amazing but can you please give us some more farm Dean!! Love y’all!”

“Aight so can we pleaseee get another part for farmer’s daughter cause I never knew I needed farmer Dean in my life prior to that”

“I NEED FARM DEAN TO BE A COMPLETE SERIES WITH MANY HOT SUMMERS AND A WEDDING EVENTUALLY”

“Please give us farm/country Dean part 3 IT MAKES ME SO SOFT🥺🥰 They need to get married at some point sksksk”

“I’m the one who requested farm boy Dean and whew boy you guys did not disappoint! IT WAS SO GOOD."

warnings: ?language? 

word count: ~4000

You furrowed your brows as you looked over the field of workers, tilling the dark earth beneath the hot summer sun. The living room radio was cranked up loud enough that the lulling tones of the singer could be heard from your front porch, mixing in with the calming noise of the wind-chime and cicadas in the trees. The scent of summer wafted through your hair with the same wind swirling through the chime, playing it as if it were a musician. The warmth of the sun settled against your exposed skin as you marched out to the field, throwing your hat over your wild hair. The cooler you were lugging behind you was nearly reminiscent of when your mother forced you to apologize to the men for your manners when now, it seemed that you could be wearing a winter coat and she’d nearly faint in embarrassment. Still, you were greeted with bright smiles and the welcoming of the refreshments. 

You tucked your hands into your back pockets, searching the small crowd of college boys almost too dirty to be recognized. The offset chorus of sentiments and thankfulness blended into the wind in your ears. “He’s not here today,” one of the boys you knew from high school piped up beside you, leaning against his trow and following your eyes towards the horizon over the field. You moved your head to look in his direction, perking an eyebrow as you did so. He ran one of his grimy hands through his sandy hair, taking a deep breath of the summer air you were also admiring a few minutes prior. 

You chuckled lightly. “Well, don’t write a novel, sparky,” you joked, making him snicker, a small gleam in his eyes as he looked at you fully this time. 

“Apologies, ma’am. Dean took up another shift at the station. He needs the money before he heads back soon,” he disclosed, his hand moving to rub at the nape of his neck. You felt your heart drop three stories into hell at his words. 

You wet your lips, searching his eyes. “Soon?” 

He nodded. “Didn’t he tell you? His mom sent him a letter or something.” You shook your head, thanking him for the information and handing him one of the drinks from the cooler, your mind racing at what soon meant. How soon? Next week? In a few days? Tomorrow? What happened to summer? You parted ways with the men, tying your hair back and deciding that waiting for him to get off work would eat you alive before you got the opportunity to figure out what was happening. 

It seemed as if your bike wasn’t quick enough to keep up with your legs and pacing heart. The vast cornfields and wildflowers you regularly would have stopped to enjoy, zipped passed your ankles alongside the gravel road into town. Your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving so soon after you had so much planned for these few precious months you had the opportunity to spend with him. 

The reality of the situation was that you both were getting older. Soon, at least by your mother’s standards, you’d need to be settled and on the road to having children before your life completely passed by your ears. There were only so many summer vacations you could enjoy before you were tied into a job or a family. It was only a matter of time before you’d be looking back on these summers and wishing you could curl back up beneath the large willow trees, pressed against Dean’s side after a long day. When you were old and harsh like your mother, would you regret it if Dean wasn’t the man you were spending the rest of your life with? Did he even feel the same about you, or were you still a summer fling to him? 

Your throat tightened at that thought. Were you becoming too attached when he had his own separate life back home, with no intention of blending you into it? The idea of him with another woman that wasn’t you boiled your blood. Yet, you still skittered on the edge of whether or not your father would even allow the two of you to be together. 

Who were you kidding? You were on your mother’s timeline, it didn’t matter if you wanted to marry him tomorrow. Maybe you could convince yourself that there was still time. Your fears seemed to wash away into the cracks of the sidewalk as you pulled up to the gas station, tucking your bike into the rack beside the front door and greeting the few cars of townspeople you recognized. You were now on a mission, your mind almost blank with everything else. The handful of Cadillacs full of couples in swimsuits that you had familiarized yourself with in school attempted light conversation with you as you vaguely surveyed the station before finally spotting Dean. His dark jumpsuit was, of course, already filthy as he wiped his hands on a towel, in mid-conversation with another mechanic. Your heart felt heavy looking at him again, as if you were seeing him for the first time again. His bright eyes turned to you as if he had sensed your presence, his smile brightening at your appearance as he headed for you.

You fought your blush as you excused yourself from the group and walked to meet him half-way. His usual dapper mood was still prevalent as he stood before you, seemingly pleased that you were there to see him. “Hey, I’d kiss you but-” He began but your impatience and slightly distraught expression sent his brows furrowing. He seemed hesitant to ask you what was wrong, like he knew what you’d chased him down for. He pulled his bottom lip between his gleaming teeth, tucking the towel in his back pocket. 

“I heard you’re leaving soon,” you mumbled, fidgeting with your fingers. You wanted to reach out and touch him despite his begrimed appearance. It was almost your new normal now: not seeing him covered in dirt or grease was almost foreign to you. You fought against begging him to stay with you rather than go back again, or at least take you with him as his curious eyes blueprinted your appearance into his memory. “What kind of soon are we talking?” 

Dean sighed regretfully, looking over his shoulder and gesturing at one of his co-workers before taking one of your hands lightly and stepping into the small station. The one-room business was empty and nearly pristine, evident that only tourists passed in whereas the locals knew not to step foot near it. “I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how to. This is probably going to be my last summer here.” You inhaled sharply, attempting to keep your noises of upset to yourself as his eyes saddened, the blue hue deepening. Is this how he felt when you left for school? At least there was a promise you’d be back. “My mum’s getting old and I’ll have to take over soon.” Your mind raced at his words. It seemed like he was finally back in your life and now he was leaving. This time for good. 

Despite your fast track mind trying to figure out how to sneak into his trunk and force him to take you with him, you couldn’t think of what to say to him. “When?” Was all you could manage. 

“Next week.” His words were soft and apologetic. You felt guilty for making him feel like this. You understood; if you were in his shoes you would be doing the same. You looked away from him, blinking towards the ceiling in an attempt to hide your blurring vision, misting by your budding tears. You swallowed harshly, stepping away from him and shaking off your sadness. “Hey,” Dean called for you gently, his hand reaching to touch your wrist to turn you towards him. The way you led into his closeness seemed to make him forget about not wanting to dirty your appearance. He settled his hands alongside your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him. You relaxed into his touch almost instantly, your eyes fluttering shut against the stinging tears threatening to fall. His calloused thumb brushed against your cheek. “Just because it’s my last summer doesn’t mean I won’t come back for you if you’ll let me,” his words were like a warm embrace of their own. You sighed and locked eyes with him, hoping to keep the memory of their brightness in the back of your mind. He pulled you closer to him, his lips hovering over yours with a softness like you were a rare flower he was struggling not to crush in his fist. You let your eyes drift shut against the blissful feeling of his breath fanning against your cheek before he pressed his lips against yours, the mix of sadness and worry bleeding away from your mind as the gesture seemed to tell you not to fret over the future anymore. 

The bell above the general store rang into the cool air, breaking the silence in the small shop. You untied the scarf around your head as you stepped towards the cashier’s counter, vaguely thinking of back home when you’d usually be greeted by someone you’d grown up with or someone who’d babysat a friend of yours. The man behind the counter stood up straighter, tucking away the magazine he was skimming and attempting to take in your appearance. You felt like a foreigner in the desert as you stood before him. He was rather tall, with clean overalls strapped over his shoulders. “Can I get a fill up?” You asked, gesturing towards your car parked outside. The man raised his eyebrows before nodding and following you outside. “Do you mind if I wait beside you? I’ve been driving all day,” you added as he flipped open your gas lid and began filling your car. You peered around the two of you, taking in the scenery. This part of England wasn’t much different from your hometown, yet it still felt like you had wound up in an alternate reality. 

“What are you doing across the pond, miss?” The man asked, his eyes quizzing your every move. 

You gave him a small smile, slightly nervous. “I’m visiting my boyfriend actually. He lives down the road, or so I think. I’m kind of lost to be honest...” you mumbled the last part more to yourself as you fished the small scrap of paper out of your pocket with Dean’s address scribbled down. The man gestured slightly, asking if he could take a look and you shrugged, flashing the paper to him. His eyes lit up with recognition and a small chuckle. Before you knew it, the two of you were leaning over the truck of your car with your road map spread out beneath you both, the man explaining the twists and turns on how to get to the house, and you scribbling down a few words to get you out of the woods. 

He closed your car door for you after you climbed in. “Remember, left at the fork, two rights, another left-” 

“And around the bend,” you finished with a grin to match his. “Thank you for your help.”

“Thank me with an invite to the wedding. They’ve been trying to get that boy married off for years!” He jested before sending you on your way. The run-in with the shopkeeper took your mind off the stroke of nervousness that seemed to rattle around in your chest with each turn in the road. You turned up the radio in hopes that your mind would wander away and stay there until you were in front of the man again. After Dean had left, the distance between the two of you was once again agony in a way you’d never have expected it to be on that first day of summer when you met him. You felt like a crazy person as you slowly checked off your list of directions. What were you doing? What if he didn’t want you here? What if he’s moved on? 

You finally made it past the last bend, your hands clammy as your eyes drifted between the road and the scrap of paper once again, looking for the correct numbers. The paper looked about as thin and crumpled as your mental state as you finally spotted a small house surrounded by cherry trees. A school bus sat in front of the driveway and as you grew closer, there he was. Dean stood in front of the door with a young boy clinging to his hand. Dean looked as if he were talking to an old friend, which you weren’t the least bit shocked at. His ability to hold conversations with anyone and everyone was almost annoying to you, but now seeing him like this, it was charming. Then something had been said involving the boy, who shied away, hiding behind one of Dean’s legs. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, attempting to remember who the kid could have been. Surely he wasn’t Dean’s.

Right? 

Dean chuckled and knelt down beside the kid and murmured a few words before the child nodded at him and stepped onto the bus. Dean smiled and waved at whoever the bus driver had been as the vehicle took off. You opened your door and stepped out, catching Dean’s attention. He furrowed his brows as if trying to place you in a setting so far away from what you were used to. He’d cut his hair again, his nose slightly red from the colder air, making his eyes nearly crystal. You wet your lips, unsure of your next move. “Is he yours?” You asked. It seemed like his mind had finally allowed him to recognize that it was indeed you standing at the edge of his yard. 

He shook his head. “My brother’s. First day of year one, you know.” He gestured in the direction the bus had gone with a small smile. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he stated, taking a few steps towards you. You looked at your feet mildly in embarrassment, realizing how out of left field it was to just show up unannounced halfway across the world. He leaned against your car, stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket. A flannel shirt peeked out from beneath his dark coat, you noticed. The yellow and red leaves around the two of you seemed so out of place compared to the summer flowers and bright blue skies. 

You cleared your throat. “I’m sorry for just showing up…” 

He scoffed softly, a smile creeping across his lips. “I’m not.” You forced yourself to make eye contact with him, his excited expression warming your heart and reaching your nearly frozen fingertips. He stood up and wrapped himself around you, digging his face into the crook of your neck and breathing deeply. You let the tension from the last few months evade your body as you tucked your hands around his waist, yearning to touch the softness of his flannel. You weren’t sure how it was possible, but Dean still smelled like the summer sun was settling against his skin. He moved to kiss your cheek, and you met him with a chaste kiss against his lips. You relaxed against his touch. 

“I met your friend at the gas station,” you hummed, turning to look at him. His mouth twisted into a smirk as a flash of disbelief beckoned behind his eyes. “He was very nice.”

Dean laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure he was.” He knotted your fingers with his and pulled you towards the small house, placing a kiss to the back of your hand as you continued up the pathway. The home spelled like apple pie and warmth that only a full house in fall could protrude. “Wait, I just remembered,” he stopped you after you both were in the house, discarding a layer or two to hang on the coat tree in the corner. You gave him a tilted expression of worry. “Are you okay with meeting my mom?” You were taken aback slightly with a grin but before you could answer, a woman’s voice beckoned from another room around the corner. Your smile widened and you nudged him in that direction. 

The woman that had called for Dean was stout, with short hair and a kind face which was furrowed in concentration as she bustled around the stove, nursing a freshly made apple pie. “How’d he do? Did he get on the bus okay?” She asked, her expressions still focused on the task at hand. Dean cleared his throat, making her eyes snap up towards the two of you as Dean stepped out of the way between you and his mother. He put a hand on your shoulder, introducing you to her with a rather proud smile on his face. Her hand was warm and inviting as she greeted you after a moment of hesitation. Her sights flashed between Dean and you, as if asking him to pinch her. She smiled brightly as Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, recounting how he found you digging through the trash like a raccoon, making you roll your eyes and shrug his arm off playfully. It seemed like a click of time went by before she was shooing Dean outside to join the rest of the boys gathering leftover cherries. She looped her arm around yours, dragging you towards the back porch and offering you a seat. 

You smiled to yourself, a rush of memories flooding from the back of your mind as Dean caught your eye. He played bashful, smirking at you from his position on a ladder beside a man that looked almost exactly like him. His cheeks were already a deeper red from the cooler temperature. It seemed like just yesterday you were perched on your own rocking chair, hungry to catch a glimpse of the new farmhand with dark curly hair and bright eyes. His smile was a carbon copy from the first time you met him, yet this time it seemed he looked at you with a sense of content as he watched his mother take to you so easily. “I’m not surprised you showed up here finally.” The woman broke the echo of calming silence that had settled between the two of you. You turned to her in your chair, pulling your eyes away from Dean. “He never shuts up about you. His brother thought you were fake to be honest,” she joked, making you chuckle lightly. “I’m glad you’re not,” she winked. You gave her a small smile before looking out towards the orchard again. 

“I’m sorry to impose, really,” you apologized, a pang of worry thundering in your chest. 

She scoffed. “Please! We were bound to meet sometime anyway,” she gestured towards Dean lightly. “Figured he’d ask you at some point.” Her comment was set at an ease you didn’t think your mother could ever have been at. Her welcoming calmness was comforting to you.

Still, you wet your lips cautiously. “Speaking of that, I actually wanted to talk to you,” you chewed. She put her glasses on top of her head, her eyes searching yours much like Dean’s had so many times before. “I was wondering if I could get your blessing. I want to marry Dean.” You held your breath as she blinked at you. Her eyebrow quirked up and she settled back in her chair with a sly smirk painted across her thin lips. 

“I had to ask his father to marry me, you know? Those Chapman boys,” she sighed. “Where would they be without us.” You scoffed, shocked at her statement. She turned to grin at you before answering her own question. “Probably dying alone, right?” You chuckled lightly. She patted your hand, which rested on the edge of your rocker. “From what I’ve heard, you’re perfect for Dean. I don’t think I could have picked better for him.” You sighed in relief, your nervousness and unsettled stress had finally subsided with her words. 

You waited until the sun had set, spending the day getting to know Dean’s family and attempting to understand the cherry farming business when you barely understood your own father’s crops. Dean’s nephew had nearly jumped into the house after he had finally been released from school for the day; the family members around welcomed him like he had been off to war. Members of the small community in town had shown up at the door bearing casseroles and pies, a tradition for fall nights like this one which you figured you could get used to. And before you knew it, you and Dean were perched side-by-side on the back steps, looking out over the orchard to gaze at the stars overhead. You snuggled up against Dean’s side as he looped an arm around yours, his eyes twinkling with the light from the moon. One of his thumbs absent-mindedly slipped into your sleeve to rub against your wrist. You were beat from the events of the day, or maybe just your ridiculous nerves skyrocketing up and down, but finally you could say you were at peace. You were right where you’d want to be, for as long as you could be. 

You cleared your throat mildly. “Dean, will you marry me?” You asked, seemingly into the dark void of the night, rather than to the man braided into you. He shifted slightly to look at you, making you sit up a bit straighter. 

A cocky grin spread across his face. “I thought you’d never ask,” he jested, making you shove his shoulder and send him into a small giggle fit. “I’m joking,” he breathed, pecking your lips gently. “I’ll marry you if you marry me,” he added. 

You shook your head at his petulant jinxing. “All right, then it’s settled,” you responded. 

“Is there some kind of dowry or do I take you for free?” He taunted with another giggle. 

“I take it back,” you groaned sarcastically. He laughed harder, pulling you closer to him to seal the moment in a kiss. 

[royalbluehues]

Hope and Wait.

Title: Hope and Wait.

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  No warnings. BUT. This is an AU where the thing that happens to Blake doesn’t happen to Blake. 

Pairings: Tom Blake x Reader

Author’s Note: Yeeyee, the fic for the man without a plan is here.  If you like it, and if you really do, let me know. Thank you for all the wonderful and sweet comments I’ve been receiving, it makes my little heart go pitter patter :’)

I think I’ve watched 1917 seven times now. I have a problem.

Also, was I supposed to find out that the girls in the postcard that Schofield keeps were his daughters and the woman was his wife? Also, can someone also please tell me why I thought that was his mother despite her looking so young?

Mad respect to the cinematic Mrs. Schofield, but, deuces. We’re vetoing her because I’m too in love with him. Let’s use the free artistic license we’ve been born with and write her off as his mother in her prime. And his daughters as his sisters. (Isn’t it sad I feel like the cinematic Mrs. Schofield is fuming at me?)

The next installments of Come Back To Me and I Promise are in progress! (Yay!)

The young man sat angrily outside, only a few yards away from his home, hidden beneath the trees that met the land his father had owned.

He sat, thinking, twirling blades of grass between his index and thumb, feeling the edges press gently into the pads of his fingers.

When Joe had left a year prior everybody spoke of his brave valor. They were proud of him. For Christ’s sake, they were even excited to have someone in the family fight the Great War. 

Now that it was his turn, he was met with a lesser degree of enthusiasm. 

His mother had looked aghast when he proudly held his voluntary draft card in hand, “You will not go.”

His proud smile had fallen, “What? Of course I will. It’s bound to become mandatory eventually Mum.” 

She grimaced at him, shaking her head vehemently as she wiped her hands on her apron, “No. I can’t lose you either.”

His shoulders slumped as he frowned, “You act like Joe’s died. He’s not, you know. He’s perfectly fine, as will I.”

They had argued more, eventually leading to his mother crying which made him feel terribly guilty. He had straightened at once, moving to her weeping form to wrap her in his arms. “Mum, I know you don’t want me to go. But I have to. I have to, mum. Besides, what if I get a medal? Then you’ll be able to hang it up and finally say you’re proud of me.”

His mother ceased crying, her stony face displaying a mix of disappointment and sadness, “You speak like a boy, Thomas.”

She then had walked away in silence, leaving him to stare after her in anger and confusion.

So there he was, sitting on earth and leaning against one of the wooden posts lining his home, internally complaining about his circumstance and lack of enthusiasm he’d received. 

“Mrs. Blake told me you’re set to leave.”

He jumped at your voice, turning to see you standing a foot away from him. You were standing with your hands clasped in front of you, still and silent as you gazed upon him with a look Tom couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“Christ, love. You’re as silent as a fox.” He moved to roll onto his feet, pushing off the ground with his right hand, letting go of the blades of grass in the mix. “How’d you get word so fast?”

He moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, but you remained stagnant, not moving a muscle, as emotions flickered through your eyes.

“I had made a pound cake and brought your mother part of it.” Your answer was short. Quick. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Tom wrinkled his nose and let his arms drop, taking a step back, “Don’t tell me you’re angry, too.”

You were silent, biting on your tongue for fear of wilting into a puddle of tears. There was a tightness in your chest.

“You know,” Tom’s voice underlaid annoyance, “It’s not as if parliament won’t be making the conscription mandatory-”

“But you could have waited until then,” You shot at him, balling your fists at your side, “Why on earth would you put yourself into a position of risk?”

Tom’s eyebrows slanted in anger, and he jutted his chin out and straightened, ready to defend himself. “Nobody said that when Joe left.”

You stuck your chin out as well, looking up at him with a set jaw, “Your brother was called for deployment. Mandatory deployment, not voluntary. Tom, I-”

You cut off, unable to form anymore words.

“‘Tom’ what?” He shot back hotly, taking a step closer in a defensive stance, “Are you going to tell me that you don’t want me to go?”

His tone was borderline mocking, rushed and angry. His annoyance was wearing thin. At you. At his mum. At Joe.

It was completely unfair.

You stared at him in silence, the tightness in your throat worsening with each passing second. You were biting the tip of your tongue to keep your composure again, but possibilities of him dying somewhere without you potentially ever knowing caused you to slump forward in defeat, hanging your head as the tears you were holding finally broke loose. 

“Yes,” you croaked out sadly, “It’s exactly what I was going to say. It’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Tom’s eyes widened a fraction, one of his hands immediately taking hold of your waist and the other moving to cup your jaw. He bent downwards to attempt to look into your eyes, “Love, I’m sorry- Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to make you angry, I-” He let out a sigh, “Christ.”

The hand that cupped your cheek moved to the back of your head to cradle it, guiding it towards the area of his shoulder that you regularly dug your nose into when he held you.

You let out a small sob, unraveling your fists only to grasp tightly on to his ironed shirt.

“Love, I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.” He kissed your crown, kissed your temple, kissed your ear. His thumb moved circles into your hip, the cotton material of your skirt bunching and releasing with his ministrations, “I’m sorry.”

He continued doing so until you calmed.

“I’m sorry.” He told you, “Please forgive me.”

The birds sung somewhere in the trees, and the soft breeze rustled the leaves above and rolling the grass on the hills north of you. 

You moved your face, angling yourself to rest your nose at his shoulder as you stared ahead of you, focusing on particularity nothing. 

Now he moved to dig his face into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled as he apologized once again.

You didn’t accept his apology. And you wouldn’t be accepting it anytime soon. But to make amends, you moved your right hand to cradle the back of his neck, fingertips lightly grazing the hair at the nape.

You felt his lips kiss your neck. Then again under your jaw, gently bumping his nose with yours in search of your lips.

With lidded eyes, he kissed you. Slowly, and passionately. 

Your heart broke as his lips danced against yours, searing this moment into your memory. When he released to allow you to breathe, he rested his forehead against yours, “I love you, you know.”

Your eyebrows knitted together, and he watched as the tears pooled at your waterlines, “I love you as well.” 

“Don’t cry.” he ordered, frowning at your saddened features, “When I come back, I’m going to marry you. I’m going to marry you when the first blossom blooms.”

The tightness in your throat returned at his proposal, and as he stared deeply into your eyes, he told you softly, “On that day you’ll be crying because you’ll be happy. We’ll have a house, and we’ll have children.” He stroked your hair, and you breathed in broken sobs, shaking your head as you downcasted your eyes. Tom caught your chin between his fingers, shaking his head in disapproval at your movements, “I’ll take care of you. But until then, I’ll have to take care of you away from home.”

His young blue eyes continued searching yours, “I’ll come home to you.”

~~~

He had left with a grin and mischief sparkling in his eyes. He kissed you upon the lips, once, twice, three times before he bounced away, excitement evident in every fiber of his being. 

Mrs. Blake clutched at her small beaded purse, using her handkerchief to wipe away the tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Let’s go home, Mrs. Blake,” you had told her, offering your arm so she’d loop it with yours once the train left the station. 

You wrote to Tom. 

You wrote four to five page letters, explaining your days in vivid detail and what you had heard. On the days that were not particularly interesting, you wrote to him your favorite verses or some memory of him that would make you laugh. 

When you would finish, you would ask his mother if she would like if you both sent yours together, so that he would have a nice surprise when his mail would come in. 

She would always agree. 

Waiting for word for him was nearly excruciating. At first, his letters would come in more frequently. Four letters during the month. 

The it slowly stretched from four to three, three to one. You were a ball of nervous energy, attempting to rid it by participating in caring for your mother and father and for Mrs. Blake. 

You helped her with her garden, helped her pull the weeds that were growing by her rose beds in vain to rid the ache in your chest when you thought of him. You knitted socks and scarves, vests and mittens in your free time, sending them to any poor boy out there with lack of thereof. You sent bundles of socks to both Tom and Joe to keep and distribute amongst their comrades.

You kept Mrs. Blake company. 

It was set routine. 

One night, in particular, when you had brought over a small basket of groceries to save her from taking a trip, she turned to you. She looked tired. She looked worried.

The small wisp of hair that had begun to turn gray contrasted starkly against her dark hair. But her eyes, the same eyes Tom had, were soft and filled with fondness, “You are perfect for Thomas.”

The day the telegram arrived, Mrs. Blake nearly fainted. 

She handed you the letter, closing her eyes, “Oh, dear Lord.”

You yourself had turned a paler shade, moving to take the crushed letter in her hand, gently pulling it away. Mrs. Blake began praying quietly, knitting needles now strewn aside and forgotten. 

You tore open the top, hands shaking as you fished for the letter, biting your cheek as you unfolded it.

“Is it Joseph or Thomas? Heavenly Father, please-” She cut off, hands moving to cover her face. You were holding your breath, reading with the familiar tightness in your throat threatening to overtake you. 

                                            To MRS. MARY BLAKE

MADAM,

IT IS WITH MY DEEPEST REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT Lance Corporal Thomas Blake 8TH INFANTRY HAS BEEN SEVERELY INJURED IN ACTION ON THE 6TH OF APRIL. NO FURTHER PARTICULARS ARE AVAILABLE. YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED SHOULD ANY NEW DETAILS BE RECEIVED.

                       GEORGE BARNETT, MAJOR GENERAL COMMANDANT

“Who is it?” She repeated, panic clear in her tone.

“Tom’s been injured,” you told her, gulping, “severely injured.” 

You handed her the letter, which she tore from your hands to read. She was stiff and rigid, but all the while you saw she was relieved. 

“As long as he’s not dead.” She mumbled to herself, flopping tiredly into her armchair. “As long as either are not dead.”

You were still rattled, however. Yes, you were grateful to the heavens he was not dead. But the possibility still loomed. You sunk into the wooden chair in which you had been sitting in, the fire crackling the only sound that was heard in the small countryside home. “Yes,” you agreed quietly, gulping down your fears as you reached for the teacup that you had placed by your side. 

You had to come to terms with the only option that was available to you- something that you have been practicing in the passing months:

To do nothing, but hope. Hope and wait.

You took a sip, the heat scalding your tastes buds as your stomach churned, but you paid it no mind. “As long as he’s alive.”

~~~

Tom was mending. Somewhere in France at a military hospital deep within the Allied side. He had nearly died from a stab wound, the report read, but was on the mend and was most likely to survive.

You and Mrs. Blake had cried in relief. 

~~~

On the twelfth day of the eleventh month, you had been in town. The group in which you participated with to sell war bonds decided to try their luck with the townspeople. 

You had been hanging the British flag above your small post, talking with the girls. 

“The war is over!”

You turned your head to the source of the yell, an older gentleman was running down the main street clutching a bundle of newspapers, “It’s over!”

Your breath caught in your throat, reaching over to hold onto Marie. 

One of the girls ran to snatch up a newspaper, jogging back to where you were all huddled. She unfurled it, where the headlines wrote:

                                                  WAR IS OVER!

                                  ARMISTICE SIGNED BY GERMANY

“The war is over!” The man continued to shout behind you, causing the townspeople to come outdoors and into the streets, “It’s over!”

“Oh!” You cried out in true happiness, feeling the sensation rush over you and warming your bones, hugging Marie next to you who held onto you with elation. 

Tears of joy fell from your eyes, and cheering broke out around you. 

It was the first time in a very long time that happiness trumped the fear you were all feeling. 

You ran the two miles home. 

First running to tell your mother the news, then running off to tell Mrs. Blake.

She had been polishing the silver that had been given to her as a wedding present.

“Mrs. Blake,” you told her gasping for breath as you held onto the door, “It’s over.” You gulped, chest heaving from exertion, legs threatening to give out beneath you, and letting out a strangled laugh, “Our boys are coming home. Germany signed an armistice. It’s over. By God,” you breathed out, moving to hug her, shutting your eyes tightly, “It’s over, Mrs. Blake.”

~~~

You married him on the first day of May. The sun shone brightly above the spring morning, and birds twittered happily in the trees. 

Your white dress had been made specially for you, cherry blossom petals made of ivory silk cascaded from your breast to the hem of your dress. In your pinned hair, you wove the first blooms of that season. 

You had met him at the altar, taking his hand as you stood side by side with one another and clutching it tightly.

You turned your head to look at him, noting, for the millionth time, the way he looked much older. Gone was the boyish mischief that sparked his eyes. Gone was the playfulness that crinkled the edges when he spoke to someone. 

Since his return, there were days when he would have episodes of nervous breakdowns. It pained you, for you could do nothing but stay there with him, wrapping your arms around him and whisper words of encouragement.

There would be days where he would remain silent for hours. There would be days where he would cry. For life. For stolen youth. For the horrors he would not share.

The soft features he had were now more pronounced, his jaw set as he looked onward at the priest. 

A nervous tick he had developed in the war.

You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, making him blink and turn to meet your gaze. His sea colored eyes softened at the sight of you. He raised your intertwined hands to his lips and kissed yours, giving it a tight squeeze before bringing them down again to their original position. 

When you had said your vows to one another, with your friends and family gazing upon the two of you with unsaid blessings, he gently jutted his forehead with yours.

 “I’m not quite the same man who left,” He mumbled quietly for only you to hear, “but I’m still the same man who’s always loved you.” He wiped at your tears with his thumb, his voice cracking just slightly, “You’ll have to be patient with me.”

He knitted his eyebrows together as he released your hand to cradle your face.

“My love,” You whispered, your voice full of emotion for only him, “We have all the time in the world.”

He closed off the distance by kissing you, holding silent promises and unspoken incantations of his love for you, and you for him. 

.

.

.

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Tags: @sexyskywalker @aathepenguin @4lendow-norris @ellar21 @shooky-and-mang

[s1ater]

dating jack marrowbone would include.

summary 📣: dating jack marrowbone would include

warning/s 🚫: n/a atm

slater’s note 🗯: there’s no jack marrowbone fics/imagines on here and it makes me sad!! so i decided to write something myself to put my mind to rest

➪ he’s very protective of you

➪ and always wants to have a hand on you when you’re around, which sounds weird but he low key has separation anxiety and wants to at least hold your hand

➪ cheek and forehead kisses

➪ dancing

➪ i absolutely adore this idea and it would be something like a quiet night with the record player playing in the background to fill the silence and he’ll just stand up and offer his hand to you

➪ you’ll stand and it’ll just be a silent, peaceful dance with his hand wrapped around your waist while the other holds yours gently

➪ he would hum along to the song quietly, causing his chest to vibrate against yours in a calming way

➪ you absolutely adored sam and would hold him tightly anytime you’d see him before it all went down

➪ jane was like your best friend and you could tell her anything

➪ she’s the one who got you and jack set up together

➪ billy would try to teach you how to fish before jack took over

➪ he’d always ask you whether or not if you liked jack before the two of you started dating and you’d shamelessly say “yes”

➪ when he has nightmares, you’d comfort him

➪ he always wants to keep you safe but sometimes he lacks to realize he’s the one that needs saving

➪ he tries to put on a big front to try to protect the people he loves and never wants them to see his breaking points

➪ you always try to help him but he wants to think he doesn’t need any and pushes you away

➪ “jack, please just let me help you, please.”

➪ “i don’t need your help, i’m fine.”

➪ but whenever he has little anxiety attacks, you try to catch them in the beginning by squeezing his hand tightly, even pressing kisses on the back of his hands

➪ he’s very sweet though and gentle with you

➪ he likes running his finger tips along your bare skin

➪ like dipping his finger down along your hip bones, stomach, cheek

➪ he absolutely adores you

➪ he reads to you at times, such as like before the two of you go to bed or just sitting out on the porch swing

➪ nature hikes

➪ walking along the beach without your guys’ shoes while holding each other’s hands, swinging back and forth

➪ he likes brushing your hair out of your face so he can see your eyes better

➪ he loves touching your face, dragging his thumb along your cheekbones and jaw

➪ he preps your face with kisses

➪ whenever your sad he holds you tightly with his hands wrapped around your waist, pressing kisses in the crook of your neck while he whispers sweet things in your ear about how much he loves you

➪ he’ll pick flowers in the field out back behind the marrowbone house for you

➪ he’ll write nice notes whenever he’s out when you get home

➪ “i think of you always and forever. i saw these flowers today and they compare nothing to your beauty. see you soon love x”

➪ he has the prettiest laugh and you just melt every time it rings through your ears

➪ attempted to braid his short strands of hair and sticking small flowers throughout it

➪ he loves you in sundresses, he thinks you absolutely glow more then you usually do

➪ he likes the way it flows around you body as you dance around mindlessly

➪ “you look stunning, love.”

➪ the two of you talk about marriage a lot and he says things mindlessly like:

➪ “i’m going to marry you someday, dovey.”

➪ “i’ll make you mrs. marrowbone.”

➪ being absolutely in love with each other

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[heffrcns]

william schofield x wife reader (headcanons)

this is another request, so i hope you all like it <3 (not to be confused with the will x stenographer headcanons, this is a completely separate request and i’m still considering a part 3 for the stenographer ones!)

also THANK YOU for the amazing support and feedback over my last few pieces, it’s really appreciated :,) enjoyyy

will, or as he was currently known: lance corporal schofield, was counting down the days until he could return to you

well, more like praying every morning that it could be the day that the war ends

because he couldn’t count down the days to something that he didn’t know the date of

back home, you were doing the exact same

hoping, praying, pleading that any day your front door would open, to reveal your beloved husband

and the worst part: it had only been a few months since he left

and recently, you’d been getting sudden waves of sickness, that would come and go whenever they felt like it

even the idea of getting your hands on favourite food, which should of been a dream due to rations, made you feel queasy

you ignored it at first, blaming it on the fact you felt uneasy at the thought of will being out there, fighting for his life

but it got to the point where it got so bad, you had to do something about it

so you went to see your local doctor, deciding maybe it was for the best

just to be on the safe side

you went there expecting just to be told to rest, and that it would pass within the next couple of days

which was the exact response you got - after a few tests were taken that you’d get the results back for a few days after

so a few days passed, nothing unusual happened, except a wave of your reoccurring sickness feeling

but a completely different kind of sickness hit the pit of your stomach when you opened the test results, originally not thinking much of them

pregnancy: positive

no no no no no

your mind clouded with so many thoughts, worries, queries, etc, that your brain couldn’t keep up with itself

before the panic started to fully set in, you decided to read down the paper a little more

it says approximate length of pregnancy: 12 weeks

which, after some quick mental arithmetic, you figured was about right

will left about 11 weeks ago, which adds up perfectly

‘but it hasn’t worked out perfectly, has it?’ you thought to yourself

that was precisely the problem

will left 11 weeks ago

and you were there, now pregnant with his baby, and he can’t be there to share the moment with you

so you had to write to him

immediately

without a second thought, you frantically grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, beginning to scribble away

your handwriting had never looked messier, but you didn’t care as long as it was readable

will had to know as soon as possible

because although you wished nothing more than to tell him in perosn

this was the next best thing

so as soon as the rushed yet so very important letter was complete, you sprung off to get it posted

already, even with just a walk to the post office, you couldn’t help be aware of the tiny human growing inside you

and you thought about how your bump would be showing very soon

with the child of you and your beloved husband

okay so, it of course took a short while for your letter to finally reach will

he was expecting one sometime soon anyway, as you promised to write to him as regularly as possible

but oh boy, was he not expecting what this particular one had in store

a smile reached his face when one of the officers handed him the letter with his name on, instantly recognising your handwriting on the envelope

so he wasted no time into ripping it open, looking forward to reading about what you’ve been up to

you started your letter as you usually would

telling about what you’ve been doing, asking him how he is, etc

but he instantly noticed your shaky writing, causing his eyebrows to furrow in slight confusion

he then read further down, to where the reasoning behind your shaky writing all become too clear

‘oh and by the way, i have some big news... i may or may not be pregnant. with your baby. you’re going to be father, will. we’re going to be parents. so please come back to me soon. come back to us.’

and will? well, he spontaneously combusted upon reading those words

he was going to be DAD?!??

the biggest, widest grin spread across his face, as he felt like the entire world stopped around him

he held the letter to his chest, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, picturing you at home, pregnant with his baby boy/girl

which is when he thought - he definitely wants a girl

a beautiful baby girl that takes after her mother, but still has some of his features to show that that’s his daughter

his ray of sunshine

will was so deep in thought that he didn’t even notice blake approach him

“what’s got you looking like the cat that got the cream? your girl send you a raunchy photo or something?” tom smirked, trying to peer at the letter still held against will’s chest

“no, i’m going to be a dad. y/n is pregnant” he beamed, oh how that sentence felt so good leaving his mouth

the other lance corporal’s eyes widened is shock, before matching the grin that was still on will’s face, holding his hand out

“oh wow, congratulations! that’s amazing”

“i know, right” will shook tom’s hand, “i’ve never wanted to be able to escape this place more than i do now, not even during that battle the other day”

“soon, will. it’ll be soon, i’m sure” blake affirmed, giving a determined nod to his companion

will returned the gesture, before blake walked off, probably going to tell all the other guys about his friend’s exciting news

blake did love to tell stories

will however, stayed put

he read over the paragraph again, heart pounding at the thought of starting a family with the love of his life

he was thinking about getting some paper to write back, to tell you just how exited he was about the news

but he stayed there a little longer, his grip on the letter tight, as he pondered over the words that he read again, and again

oh, how he couldn’t wait to return home to his little family

thank you for reading - i’m deciding to post it now, so i don’t overthink every single bullet point i’ve written lmao

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[varls]

Title: About Courage Chapter: One Characters: Reader and her family Pairing: Blake x female Reader Request: Not sure where to put this and idk if you have any use for this but I need to get this off my brain. I had this idea: the reader dressed up as a man to go to war instead of somebody from her family (Mulan-Style if you want) and Tom Blake finds out. Again, idk if you want to make it fluffy or angsty or if you want to use it at all. I just needed to get it of my mind and I like your writing/blog a lot so here you go. — anon Summary:  Two of your brothers already died during the Great War and you could see your mother getting sadder and more desperate every day. When your youngest brother is referred to as missing, you make the decision to go to France as well, to find him and bring him back home. But when you arrive, you soon realise you may have not thought it through. Acting like a man isn’t as easy as it sounds and Lance Corporal Blake is a lot smarter than most other men. Warnings: none Word Count: 2.642 A/N: I never planned on making a multiple chapter fic for 1917, but here I am. I will only post this on Tumblr so all I ask for is, that this fic won’t be reposted anywhere else. Also, this first chapter will only include the reader and her family. Just to explain how she got to France. Tom will appear in chapter two.  Special Thanks To: @rubinstein1798, who’s an amazing proofreader. I’m so glad you’re doing this. 

Until the 28 July 1914, you were living a happy life. Your family wasn’t rich nor poor. Still, you had everything your heart desired. Worries seemed so far away that you would have never believed in the things that were about to come in the next following years. You were your parent’s only daughter. Then they were Harvey and Milton, your older brothers and Finley, your twin brother. You barley ever argued with them. Milton was a little annoying sometimes, but just in ways, every older brother was. Harvey was a nice man. One of the kinds every girl dreamed of. Cunning, kind and strong. He was intelligent but not as smart as Finley. Your twin was a very quiet person. You could nearly always find him sitting on the armchair in the living room, reading one of his many books. He and mum would spend hours sitting there in silence — him reading, her knitting. Your father spent a lot of his time at work. The only times you’d see him was in the late evenings and on Sundays. But he liked it that way. He loved his job and valued the time with his family even more than most other men who’d be at home more often than him. You always knew you had an extraordinarily beautiful family. There has never been a day on which you weren’t thankful for them. But things changed on the 28 July, when you felt the ground falling from underneath your feet. As the war started your father was one of the first ones who had to leave to fight — alongside Harvey and Milton. It was a devastating day for all of you. You still remember your father’s pale face and the sadness in his eyes as he was caressing your cheek, telling you everything would be fine again and that he’d come back soon. In March 1915 your mother received a letter. A letter which made her cry as she took the framed photograph of your father from the stack and vanished into her room. It was at this moment you and Finley realised your father wouldn’t come back. It took your mother three days to come back to both of you. She would still seem a little absent from time to time, but you never said a word about it. As always you let Finley and your mother sit quietly in the living room. The radio was silent for once. No one dared to turn it on. It wasn’t until February 1916 when you received another letter. This time it was you the postman handed it over to. There was a sad look on his face. You didn’t want to know how many of these he had to hand out every day. Probably far too many. This time it was Harvey who didn’t make it. You were beginning to feel anxious. Milton was now the only one left. That meant until April when Finley would finally be old enough to leave home and to join the Great War. You couldn’t say these to words without sounding disparaging. There was nothing great about this war. Young men were dying every day and for what?

The day Finley had to leave was horrible. Your mother was screaming, crying, begging him not to go. She looked like she’s gone mad. It took all your strength to hold her back as Finley was joining seven of his classmates. The uniform didn’t seem to fit him. And he wasn’t wearing it with pride like the others. It hurt how much he reminded you of your father. The following weeks seemed to be a lot longer than they used to before. Your mother barely ever spoke a word. She wouldn’t leave the house anymore, while you were strolling through the nearby forest more often. The feeling at home was oppressive. Being outside alone, breathing fresh air made you feel a lot better. Just cleaning your head until you’d go back to your mother. You felt like it made no difference if you were there or not. It was like your mother was gone as well. A huge part of her seemed to have died alongside your father and Harvey. So you wrote a few letters to your brothers, but they never responded. You weren’t sure if they couldn’t answer or if the letters simply didn’t reach them. You couldn’t wait for Christmas when both of them would come home for a few days. You missed them terribly. And you were just as worried as your mother. Maybe she’d feel better if she saw them again. Though you were already afraid of when she would have to say goodbye again. But the war wasn’t kind to your family. In September 1916 it was Milton who lost his life at the German front line. And in November you received a letter saying that Finley was missing in action. You mother suffered yet another mental breakdown. It was worse than ever before. You hadn’t had the time to mourn Milton’s dead or to worry about Finley. To take care of your mother, so that she would eat and sleep and take the medicine she got from the doctor took all your strength. In the end, it was too much to handle and so you finally wrote a letter to your uncle.

Chester Thompson was your mother’s older brother. He was one of the few men who didn’t have to go to war. He was leading a big cloth mill. Of course, he delivered the fabric for the soldiers’ uniforms. That was his duty during this time of war and you know he was glad that he hadn’t had to leave home. After he received your cry for help he didn’t hesitate. He would send you and your mother a car that would bring you to London, where he lived in a mansion outside of town. He told your mother in a letter that it’d only be for Christmas and that she wouldn’t have to stay for long, knowing that otherwise, she would have declined his offer. The truth was, he was going to get her to stay longer than just a few days. If necessary until the end of the war. He loved his sister dearly and just wanted to make sure she’d feel better soon. That she’d be able to live on her own again.

It was Christmas eve and you were sitting in the living room with Chester and his son. Your cousin was a bit younger than you and Finley. Smaller and very thin, he still looked like a thirteen-year-old boy. But soon it was his turn to leave home to fight for his country. Just by looking at him everyone could tell he wouldn’t last long. You felt sorry for him, but there was nothing you could do to help. “Your mother really doesn’t look well.” Chester broke the silence between the three of you while lighting his pipe. You finally looked up at him again. He was wearing an expensive suit, but he didn’t put much effort in his hair today since a few grey strands would fall into his face as he leaned over a bit. His hair was just as curly as your mother’s. “It was a wise decision to write to me. I haven’t heard from her in a long time. But you know me, (y/n). I’m not worried about something until I know for sure there’s a reason to fret.” “Father always tried to make mother write to you, but she always refused to do so. She said you should be the one to speak first,” you explained with a tiny frown on your forehead. You haven’t seen your uncle a lot in all your life, so you always thought he and your mother wouldn’t get along. But a soft laugh escaped his lips. “That’s exactly what has always been the problem between me and your mother. We’re both too stubborn to make the first move.” Sometimes adults made no sense. You couldn’t imagine not speaking to your brothers. You could be stubborn, too, from time to time, but not like this. You always tried to be as honest as possible. And if you missed your brothers, you told them. Just like you told them when they were being annoying. To not talk to them simply because you were waiting for them to talk first… That just sounded weird to you. It was silent again. You looked away from your uncle to watch the snow falling outside the window. It looked beautiful. Was it snowing in France as well? You let your mind wander. You know it was possible that you lost everybody except for your mother and yet… “Ches? Do you think, Finley could still be alive?” you spoke quietly. If you wouldn’t have spoken to your uncle directly one would think you were talking to yourself. Chester didn’t answer right away. He puffed on his pipe. Now he was the one frowning. Your cousin was moving on the couch as if he was feeling uneasy. You know it wasn’t a nice topic to talk about on Christmas. But hell, you should have been here with your brothers, your father… But they weren’t here. Even your mother prefered to go to bed early instead of spending some time with you. Yes, it made you sad, but you were also feeling anger. This damn war was destroying your entire life. You still didn’t know what you’d do if it ended. You never thought about a life without your family. All of this wasn’t meant to happen. “Well,” your uncle began to speak slowly. “He’s missing in action, right? They didn’t find his body. He could still be alive. But…” Oh no. You didn’t like the word but at all in this case. “Where could he be? Maybe he ran away. You know, many young men flee from the war. Or maybe his body just hasn’t been found yet.” “Excuse me, please.” It was your cousin who stood up at a pace that nearly made you jump. You looked at him through wide eyes. “I’m heading to bed. It’s late and I’m tired. Good night, father. Good night, (y/n). I hope you’ll sleep well.” And with that, he vanished into his room. Your uncle and you stayed silent until you heard a door being slammed shut. Chester sighed. “You have to excuse Charlie’s behaviour. He’s not feeling well for a couple of weeks now.” “He’s scared,” you stated. It wasn’t even a question. “Yes, very much. He believes he will die as soon as he arrives in France. He… He-” Chester’s voice left him. The older man closed his eyes. You could feel his pain as if it was your own as you were watching him from your seat opposite of him. He was going to lose his only child. You knew he didn’t have much hope for him from the way he spoke about Finley. He was trying to be optimistic, but he couldn’t. Charlie was going to die in just a few weeks. The training at the barracks wouldn’t help him. Chester already told your mother in private that Charlie’s skills weren’t improving. As if his mind resisted learning something that could harm others. Charlie had one week left at home. Just one week. Finally, you stood up as well. “I’m going to bed, too, uncle.”

It was a terrible 25th December. Yes, all of you were handing out Christmas Presents, but no one was as happy or joyful like it should have been. None of you got, what you really wanted. All four of you wished for things which were impossible to give. But you had an idea. A foolish one that could go awfully wrong, but… Maybe it could save your brother and Charlie’s lives. Just as expected you stayed longer at your uncle’s place. One week passed and finally the day you were waiting for came. It was early in the morning and Charlie just went to the bathroom to get ready. You’ve seen him walking through the floor. His legs and hands were shaking. He was so scared. It would be a lie to say you weren’t, but you felt like you needed to do this. Not just for yourself, but also for the rest of your family. Chester and your mother went to church. Probably to pray for Charlie before they would have to come back to say goodbye. So it was just you and the boy. Carefully closing the door to your bedroom, you sneaked over to the bathroom. Nobody seemed to have noticed the missing key you took the night before. Now you used it to lock Charlie up in the bathroom. You hated yourself for doing this, but otherwise, he’d probably stop you from following your plan. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to yourself, before walking away to get into your cousin’s room. His uniform was spread out on the bed. It was clean and neat, ready to be worn. Your hands touched the fabric carefully. Were you really going to do this? You knew the risk. You knew it was going to be dangerous. And you had no training at all. But all you wanted to do was to find Finley. To make sure he was alright. And if your family would play along, it would give Charlie a little more time to stay at home. He wouldn’t have to die. You took a deep breath. You still could have changed your mind, but there was no going back for you. You needed to do this. You had to try. So you took on Charlie’s uniform. To your surprise, it fit you perfectly. You even managed to hide your breast by binding them. You also spend the night cutting your hair. It was short now. Looking into the mirror you found there was not much left of you. You looked like a boy now. And that’s exactly what you wanted.

A sudden and loud noise made you jump. It was Charlie. He was banging his fists against the bathroom door, screaming for help. Again you felt guilty for locking him up so you ran through the floor to talk to him. You knew you had to leave. Your mother and uncle would come back soon and you needed to be gone until then. “Charlie, I’m sorry,” you said as your hands touched the wooden door. “I can’t let you out.” “What? Why?” Your cousin sounded like he was having a panic attack, which did not necessarily make this whole situation easier for you. The uniform felt just as heavy on you as the guilt. “I’m going to find Finley. And… And you are going to have some more time at home,” you tried to explain, knowing what you said sounded insane. “(y/n), what-” “Just hide, okay? Don’t let anybody see you’re still here or we’ll both be in great trouble.” Your voice was shaking. “(y/n), you can’t just-” “Goodbye, Charlie… And good luck.” You let go of the door and turned your back on it as you were walking down the hallway to leave the house. You could hear Charlie screaming your name. He punched his fists against the door again, but it wouldn’t stop you. You were certain to do the right thing. You stopped abruptly in front of the chest of drawers. There was an old picture. It showed your uncle and your parents. Your mother was holding a baby. It must have been Harvey. You touched the cold glass of the picture frame. They all looked so happy. Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t allow yourself to cry. Charlie’s screams seemed far away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whispered again before stepping out into the freezing cold.

[blueeyedheizer]

Nursing - Tom Blake x reader

WARNING: blood

A/N: And the award for the worst ending goes to....🙋🏻‍♀️ Anyways...I just love Blake so much, he deserves so much more appreciation so here a little something I wrote after seeing the movie. Tom Blake deserves better, that's all I have to say.

---

You were exhausted, body aching like crazy as you rushed towards your next patient, grabbing some alcohol on your way to disinfect your hands as carefully as possible. Today was one of the busiest day you've had since the war had started. Emergencies kept coming your way and you had to take care of all kinds of wounds, including some that required hours of treatment or worse, amputations. It was almost twilight and your legs were barely keeping you up as you were called to take care of another injured soldier.

''What do we have?'' you asked as you put on some gloves and grabbed your medical supplies.

''Stab wound.'' the older nurse answered. ''It's pretty deep, it looks bad. He might not make it if he's not taken care of right now.'' she continued and you nodded, internally cringing at her use of words before wiping the sweat off your forehead with your sleeve.

''Am I gonna die?'' the young boy sobbed. As you finally laid your eyes on him, your eyes widened a bit. He looked younger than any of the soldiers you'd already nursed, he was around your age. He was panicked, his face was extremely pale due to the immense quantity of blood he must have lost, and you knew you had to act quickly if you wanted to save him. You quickly recomposed yourself and leaned forward so he could see you.

''No, you're not gonna die. I'll take care of you, alright ?'' you answered. The other nurse made sure you didn't need any help before quickly rushing back outside to help as she was called away to another patient. You then carefully lifted up the soldier's shirt, giving you full access to the wound to inspect it.

''It hurts...God it hurts.'' the boy whined as more tears streamed down his cheeks and his face contorted in pain. His sobs weren't helping either as they shook his entire body, which caused more blood to come out of the wound.

''Hey, I know. I know.'' you grabbed his hand and squeezed it slightly ''Listen to me.'' you continued. ''You're gonna be okay, alright? You've already lost a lot of blood and I'm going to have to stitch the wound closed. It's going to hurt, but I need you to stay as still as you can. Can you do that for me?'' you said with a sweet, caring voice and the young boy nodded, biting his bottom lip as his eyes fluttered close in anticipation. ''Good.'' you gave him a small smile before taking out several tools and alcohool to clean the wound. You started working carefully around it, delicately removing particles of dirt and anything else that might cause infection. The boy winced loudly but did his best to try and stay still. When the wound was clean enough for you to start working, you prepared a sterilized needle to start the stitching. ''I'm Y/N. What's your name ?'' you asked, trying to distract him from the pain as you began sewing the wound, neatly, stitch by stitch.

''Tom...Tom Blake.'' he whispered through gritted teeth, his voice weak and shaky from the tears he was still shedding.

''You've got this, Tom. You're doing great.'' you looked away from the wound for a short instant to smile up at him, and he nodded. He winced and groaned out in pain as you continued sewing, putting all of your focus into your job. After five minutes that felt like an eternity for the boy, you finally straightened up, cut the thread and set the needle down on the table next to you.

''Alright...We'll probably send you home for maybe a month or two. The wound could open itself again, and we don't want to take any risk.'' you explained as you carefully wrapped bandages around his torso. You could tell he was struggling to stay awake, exhaustion taking over him as you finished wrapping the bandages. Finally, you made sure the lance corporal Blake didn't have any more wounds that needed medical attention before rushing towards your next patient.

***

You were startled awake in the middle of the night by loud screams. Despite your overwhelming exhaustion and tiredness, you decided to get up and walk to the source. As you passed by the beds, you could hear some groans and unintelligible mumbles coming from the soldiers who'd been woken up. Your eyes scanned over the sleeping men until you laid your eyes on your youngest patient, the lance corporal Tom Blake. He was shifting in his bed, his body moving so violently you feared he would open his wound. You quickened your pace and sat down on the bed , placing your hand on his forehead before letting it slide to his cheek.

''Let me go, please let me go...'' you heard him, his voice cracking.

''Lance Corporal,'' you whispered as you shook his shoulders slightly with your free hand. ''It's just a bad dream. You're going to hurt yourself, wake up.'' Your attempt at waking him up didn't work as he kept shaking and breathing heavily, his body refusing to wake up.

''Please...no, please, don't...'' he repeated.

''Tom!'' you continued a bit louder, your eyes filled with worry as you continued shaking his shoulder. ''Come on, Tom. It's Y/N. I'm here, you're safe. Just wake up.''

His eyes suddenly shot open and you were quick to place a hand on his chest to prevent him from sitting up. His eyes were wide open in terror, and you could tell he was still trying to process if he was still dreaming or not as he blinked several times and checked his surroundings.

''It's okay...'' you said softly. ''You're alright. You're safe.'' you continued as you ran your fingers through his hair, trying to bring him some comfort. His eyes finally found yours and more tears started streaming down his cheeks. He looked so lost and terrified, his body frozen in fear. Your heart broke at the sight. You were used to take care of the soldiers and calm them down during their nightmares, but it was never easy to witness. You could only imagine all the horror, pain and trauma they had to go through everyday.

''I''m- I'm sorry.'' Tom managed to blurt out, his voice weak.

''No, no, no. Don't be sorry. It's okay.'' you answered, shaking your head as your other hand grabbed his. His hand was still heavily stained with blood, but you didn't care. He squeezed yours tightly in response and you gave him a small, reassuring smile. You continued stroking his hair in silence until his breathing slowed down and slowly began going back to normal. You felt him begin to relax under your touch and smiled softly when he finally drifted back to sleep.

''It'll be over soon...I promise.''

[ditch-witches]

Stormy Morning (Dean-Charles Chapman Smut)

requested: yes/no (thank you to the lovely @fatbottomedcurls​ and anon for your Dean requests! I, Grayce, uwu about Dean, religiously and I'm so glad everyone is requesting Dean imagines. I have some others on deck so keep an eye out! :))

pairing: Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: smut, fluff, boring filler ish :/ 

word count: 1,479 (yikes he short)

a/n: I finished a whole thing of cheese whiz writing this and I'm not ashamed. Also, this is boring asf. Give us a comment if you want to be tagged in our next writes! And shoot us some more requests! We love to hear what you guys like (as well as don't, I guess).

A crack of thunder shook you from a deep sleep. Well, as deep as sleep could have been with Dean home. He was always a kicker and a cuddler when he dreamed, a trait you had forgotten while he had been gone for his new movie. In all honesty, it didn’t really bother you. It was just one of his many quirks. Your gaze lifted to peer at the clock on your nightstand as the rain seemed to hammer harder on the windows of your bedroom and that’s when you felt an arm tighten around your waist as Dean dug his face into your hair. You bit back a small grin as you rolled over, him instinctively raising said arm so you could move. He kept his eyes closed as you settled in, inches from his face. 

You sat for a second, looking at him as he fought the grin attempting to break his concentrated face. “For an actor, you suck at pretending,” you teased, leaning forward to press your lips against his cheek, nose, and finally settle against his lips. He smiled into your kiss. As you rested back in your spot beside him, his eyes seemed to light up at his first sight of the morning. The light that was somehow still peering through the rain clouds cast into the room and you would have shut the curtains if it weren’t for the way Dean’s eyes seemed to glow in the subtlety of it. 

His hand moved from your lower back to rest in your hair, playing with your soft locks. “You need to brush your teeth,” he joked, his accent thick and low, swimming with sleep still. He giggled as you thumped his chest with the back of your hand for breaking the moment. 

“That’s not something you say to someone!” You all but shrieked, wiggling out of laughing boy’s grasp and attempting to get to the bathroom. He could barely catch his breath as he pulled you back into bed and wrapped his arms around you so you were pressed tightly against him, unable to move. “Stop you’re crushing me!”

“You like it!” As the two of you settled down, Dean’s arms were still around you, watching the raindrops falling against the window beside you, his heartbeat keeping time with yours. “I had a weird dream about a bumblebee and a honey bee going on an adventure and I just realized it was the plot to 1917.” 

You laughed at his light-hearted comment. “Are you okay?” 

“No, I didn’t want to be the honey bee.” He hummed in response, sounding like a preschooler.

“Honey bees are cool,” you reasoned, a small smile playing at your lips. “Just don’t think about it. You’ll forget about it in an hour anyway.” 

“Rude.” You laughed at his remark. 

His soft, warm breath on your neck could have put you to sleep as one of your hands knotted with his. He pressed a light kiss to the back of your shoulder before pressing his cheek against your skin. “Can we stay like this all day?” He sighed. He tugged on your hip, rolling you over to face him again. Your arms snaked under his to wrap around his torso. He moved his hand to settle on your neck, his thumb brushing against your jaw before pulling you close to him and sealing the space between you with a gentle kiss that deepened as he knotted his hands into your hair. Your fingers brushed along the soft fabric of his t-shirt before slipping to rest under the material against his back. He broke the kiss only to move to lean over you, tugging the covers around the two of you, making you laugh at his less than graceful mannerisms. He took a moment to admire your dumb smile as you looked up at him. 

"I'm glad you're home," you whispered to him, moving your hands to rest on the back of his neck. His icy blue eyes softened as he searched your face for something. He leaned down to kiss his favorite corner of your mouth---the one that usually quirks up slightly when he tells a joke that really isn't funny---and then pressed a kiss against your cheek. 

"I love you…" he mumbled, brushing his lips against the skin behind your ear. His fingers grazed the length of your arm to move one of your hands, resting it beside your head and lacing his fingers with yours. He began to press open-mouthed kisses against your neck and collarbones and you could already picture the tiny bruises that were going to come out of his ventures. His slight whiskers from the few days he had neglected to shave tickled your skin as his chin brushed against your chest every so often. Your fingers played at the curls forming at the base of his neck. Softly sighing in pleasure, you felt almost like you were sinking further into the mattress as his lips met yours again, forcing as much passion as possible behind each movement. He sighed with every touch, basking in being against you once again after so long and having the ability to take his time. You were his today. No plans meant no sharing. 

He let go of your hand, only to settle it against your hip, digging his fingers into your skin as he pressed himself against you, grinding into you enough to make you want more. You picked up your hips slightly, following his suit to create more friction. You could feel him getting harder despite the lazy actions the two of you were ensuing. Dean's hand slipped beneath your shirt to grasp at your breast, goosebumps rising as his thumb ran over the sensitive skin. Dean broke the kiss. "Are you ready?" 

"Yeah, I don't want to run a marathon," you jeered. 

Dean rolled his eyes with a small chuckle. "That's fine. I don't have enough energy to fuck you like a rockstar this morning, anyway." 

"And they say romance is dead." You both reacted with a slight laugh at each other and Dean slipped his boxers off as you wiggled out of your underwear. One of Dean's hands found your upper thigh to hold onto as he pressed himself into you, letting out a slight moan as you adjusted to him. You brought him closer to you, connecting your lips in a rushed kiss as he began to move his hips against yours, drawing out a moan of your own. You weren’t sure there was any more room between the two of you, but Dean somehow found a way to bring you closer to him as he tangled himself around you. Light from a strike of lightning flashed into the room, capturing the attention of the two of you. “Are you scared?” You teased, your voice coming out almost breathlessly and Dean smiled down at you. 

“Shut up, that scared you too,” he mumbled, digging his face into the crook of your neck and thrusting into you again to cut off whatever you could quip back at him. You let out a soft moan to mix with the sound of the rain, egging Dean on as he quickened his pace. 

"Dean, go slower…" You almost whispered and he obliged, picking his head up to kiss you again, resting his forehead against yours momentarily. He began to take it softer with you, seemingly wanting to savor every inch of your body with every minute of the rainy morning. 

He let out a small chuckle. “I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.” You pressed your lips against his and tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth, your fingers diving into his hair once more. His hands moved to grip at your hips again, pulling you up to him, an angle that was somehow driving you closer to the edge. You moaned as you swirled your hips against his, making him break the kiss. “I love it when you make that noise,” he leered. 

You dug your fingers into his upper arms. “Stop being gross.” He only smirked at this, quickening his pace, his lips parting slightly, probably getting off on your blissed-out expression. He kissed your shoulder and collarbone, reaching his climax. 

His voice was still husky and tired. “I love you,” he spoke, pressing a kiss to your ear as he brought to your finish. A rush of ecstasy spread to your toes accompanied by some form of shock. 

“I love you too,” you muttered, wrapping your arms around him again. He rested his head on your chest as he caught his breath. 

You laid in comfortable silence, merely enjoying each other’s company before he decided to fill the air. “Should we get a dog?” 

You all but kneed him. “wHat?” 

“What?”

[ditch-witches]

Dramatics (Dean-Charles Chapman Fluff)

requested: yes/no

pairing: Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: fluffnone

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Thank you for all your love and support! It really lights up our days hearing from you guys! Send us some requests and let us know what you think!

You pulled Dean's suit jacket closer around you as you waited for him to get the front door unlocked. Your feet were killing you but the pain was nothing compared to what 1917 had just put you through. He pushed the door open for you and stepped in after you, tossing his keys in the bowl beside the entryway. You felt his gaze attempting to catch yours as he kicked off his dress shoes.

"Are you alright, love? You barely said anything on the way home." You finally turned towards him, your eyes locking to his almost crystal blue ones. You could tell he was tired from the night out, but he softened as you looked at him. He sent you a small smile and tilted his head at you.

You felt tears welling, clouding your sight. You still held tightly onto his jacket. "Are you aware of how many times I have seen you die, Dean?" You nipped, your voice slightly breaking in hysterics. It took every ounce of his being not to grin at how distraught you were. He opted to part his lips slightly and furrow his brows, plastering on an understanding expression. "I could handle it with Tommen. Caster---well that was obvious. I could even stand Thomas, despite how awesome your hair was and you were literally a knight in shining armor..." he let out a soft chuckle and ran his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger. "But Blake." Your shoulders dropped like you had been defeated. "God, Blake was something else."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, realizing how serious you actually were about this topic. "Yeah... I know." His shoulders seemed to angle towards you like he was ready to pull you into a hug after you were finished explaining yourself. "I got pretty attached to him too. But you know, people died."

"Haven't you seen Scream? The virgin is supposed to live!" Dean's eyes snapped to the ceiling, knowing that if he looked into your eyes, he would laugh and ruin the moment. "Come on, you can't tell me Blake wasn't a virgin!"

Dean took a step to engulf you in a hug this time, wrapping his arms around you tightly. His shirt smelled of the cologne your sister bought him that you could only describe the scent as "blue," mixed with expensive champagne and a cigar that Sam insisted on giving the boys in celebration of the premiere. His lips pressed against your neck before he sighed into your hair. "I think that only counts for scary movies..."

"Fuck off. Blake should be included in the rule." You gave in and relaxed against him, stringing your arms beneath his and around his waist. "I think I liked him so much because he was so... you." Dean leaned back, the sparkle in his eye prominent as he looked at you lovingly. He rested his hands against your jaw, a thumb darting out to wipe away a tear that had fallen. You tilted your head to rest your cheek completely in his palm and he grinned. "Stop looking at me like that."

He chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like I'm being overdramatic."

A smile danced behind his eyes as he jumped to defend himself. "Hey, I never said that." You rolled your eyes and bit back a grin, unable to feel down in the dumps for much longer. Dean could always make you feel better, even if he wasn't really trying. Something about the way he looked at you---even in situations bigger than one of his characters dying---made you felt like everything was fine.

He brought you closer to him again, his thumb lightly brushing the base of your neck in a soothing manner as you held onto him for dear life. "You're definitely thinking it," you quirked, digging your face into his neck and breathing deeply.

"I mean, Blake... he doesn't have to go away completely..."

"What?" You hummed in response.

He paused momentarily. "Maybe Blake can make an appearance once and a while if you're really good."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance and pushed him off of you as he giggled at his own joke. "Don't be gross, Chapman!"

He pulled you back to him and gave you a sweet peck on the lips, letting his laugh die out. "Go change. I'll order take out and we can finish that episode of Survivor."

You smiled. "Fine, you've convinced me. Give me your tie." He kissed you again before slipping the garment into your hand and heading towards the kitchen, rolling the sleeves on his white collared shirt. His suit jacket still perched on your shoulders, keeping the feeling of his hug on your mind. Even if Blake hadn't made it through, you were glad Dean was around.

[ditch-witches]

Beginner's Luck (Dean-Charles Chapman Smut)

requested: yes/no (your requests are everything to us! send us your monkey brain, sad boy hours, thot thoughts, etc. and we’ll try our absolute best to deliver!)

thank you for the request @obsessedwithfandomsx​!

pairing: Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: smut, fluff, slow burn asf. (im so sorry)

word count: 2,197

a/n: Hello dear readers. Resident Dean stan, Grayce, here! I hope everyone had a safe weekend and I wish everyone luck in this upcoming week! I got super carried away with this for no reason (maybe it’s because it’s my birthday and I’m emo) so I hope y'all enjoy it! Happy reading!

You wrung your hands as your nerves began to build while thinking about the situation in front of you. There was Dean across the room, chatting with some friends and seemingly carefree with the night as his oyster. You watched him laugh at a joke, your mouth curling into a smile at the sight out of instinct. His laugh was contagious, even if you couldn’t hear it.

Tonight was the night. The two of you had declared it the week before and under Dean’s nose, you stressed and planned to no end. It was your first time, not just with him, but ever. He was aware of this, of course, but after finding out that he had been with someone before you, it was clear you had competition. Even if it seemed like he wouldn’t be comparing the two of you, you would be. You bit your lip with a small chuckle, cursing yourself for coming into the metaphorical game so late. You rolled your eyes at yourself, attempting to contribute to the conversation in front of you.

Dean knocked the neck of his bottle against his friends before walking over to you. You jumped slightly as his arm found its way around your waist. He greeted your group before slyly leaning towards your ear. “Ready to get out of here? This is kind of lame…”

You snickered at his comment before parting from the group. He took your hand when you both left the house booming with music, lacing your fingers together. Dean smiled at you in the dark, your breath coming out in translucent clouds to mix with the light snowfall. You almost slipped on an ice patch, causing Dean to pull you closer to him and let out a light-hearted laugh. Sliding into the car beside him, your heart was beating a thousand times quicker than normal. The two of you had left parties together, spent the day together, etc., more times than you could count yet tonight it felt like you were a stranger in your own body.

Dean turned down the radio and moved his hand to rest on your thigh. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in your chest. His thumb rubbed against your jeans in a soothing manner. “Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, quirking a small smile in your direction before turning back to the road. You wet your lips, chewing on your words in an attempt to gather your response. It was a short distance to Dean’s apartment from his friend’s, causing your nerves to jump a bit higher.

“I’m nervous if I’m being completely honest.”

You could tell he was furrowing his brows in concentration, only getting to see glimpses of his reactions as you passed under street lamps. “About what, exactly?” His tone was even and more understanding than anything.

You took the hand that was on your thigh into your own, tucking your arm under his. “I don’t know. I guess I have the jitters about our first time…”

Dean let out a small chuckle. “That’s what you’re worried about?” The two of you made eye contact momentarily. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to if you-”

“No! No, I want to. It’s just… I’ve heard horror stories about people’s first times. I’m worried I’m not going to be good enough and that, I don’t know, it won’t be fun. It’s just my brain working against me.”

He thought for a moment about how to react. “How can I make it better?”

You leaned closer to his side, wishing the console wasn’t between the two of you. “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll make sure it’s okay. If you wanna stop at any point, let me know. We’ll go at your pace. It will be okay. I promise.” Your heart fluttered at his response and he pulled into his driveway.

“All right then. Let’s fuck.” He laughed at your comment, squeezing your hand.

Dean sat beside you on the bed, his hands in his lap as you fought to settled your nerves. You were grateful for his laid back approach to the situation, yet he still made it seem like your worries were valid. He reached a hand out to you, brushing your hair off your shoulder gently. You smirked slightly, still looking forward, your eyes concentrating on his light switch. His hand traveled to rest on your back, rubbing in slight circles before he leaned towards you to place a kiss on your cheek. You turned to him, looking into his soft eyes and relishing in this moment. You decided you didn’t want to go back. You were all in.

You closed the gap between the two of you rather abruptly, pulling him into a kiss and pushing one of your hands into his hair. He pulled you closer as one of his hands moved to settle on the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, the familiarity of it in a situation like this put you further at ease. You broke away from him to push his jacket off his shoulders and you both moved further on the bed. You found yourself sitting cross-legged in front of Dean, attempting not to make the situation any more awkward than it already was. He smiled at you, pressing his lips against yours again as you tugged at the hem of his shirt. You had seen him shirtless plenty of times, but at this moment, he was different. He was unexplored terrain to you, just as he was treating you like a new piece of art, worried to bend an edge or wrinkle beyond repair.

He helped you remove your shirt as well and you struggled not to cover your chest, but Dean’s soft expression gave you the confidence to be vulnerable to him. His hands rested on your hips as he kissed you with as much passion as he could muster, sighing into each brush of contact he had with you. You broke the kiss, resting your forehead against his as your heart hammered in his chest. You took one of his hands in yours, catching your breath momentarily.

“You are absolutely gorgeous, you know?” He whispered, leaning back from you to send you a small smile.

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Stop being weird and grab my boob, Dean.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just really excited,” he said with an almost childlike expression. You snorted at his enthusiasm, causing him to laugh. He pressed his lips against yours, smiling behind the action. He couldn’t help himself. You pulled his hand up to settle against your breast, and in a switch, he was back to gentle caresses and taking things one step at a time. One of your hands knotted in his hair as his warm breath brushed against your cheek. You held onto his forearm softly as he slipped his hand between the fabric of your bra and your skin. You moaned against his lips, mentally cursing yourself at the sound, but it seemed to egg Dean on as he deepened your kiss. You leaned back into the pillows, pulling Dean with you as you both buried yourselves in the covers. “Are you still okay?” Dean murmured, tucking one of his arms beneath yours.

“I’m fine. I promise. I’ll scream bloody murder if I’m not,” you lightly joked.

He smiled down at you, brushing his nose against yours slightly. “Okay, deal.” You kissed him lightly before wrapping a leg around one of his, bringing him flush against you. His teeth grazed against your bottom lip before you reached between the two of you, unbuttoning your jeans. He leaned back to watch your actions, his pupils larger and almost animalistic. He withdrew from you, resting back on his knees, helping to drag your jeans down your hips. You sat up to meet him, your hands trailing down his chest towards his zipper as well. His hands played with the ends of your hair, his lips finding your collarbone and placing light kisses while nipping at the skin. You slipped your hand behind the fabric of his boxers and began to palm him, but he caught your wrist in the process. “You don’t have to do that.”

You furrowed your brows at him. “I want to.”

“No, I mean,” he bit back a smile, “I’m ready when you are.”

You attempted to hide the taken aback reaction you registered, your face heating up. “oH.”

He held your face in his hands and you rested yours on his hips now. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush,” he leered and you rolled your eyes, causing him to laugh. He loved it when you did that for some reason. You brought him down with you to lie between your legs. You bit your lip slightly looking at him.

“Go slow, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay. Are you ready?” You exhaled and nodded rather quickly. The two of you fumbled around in a mess of giggling attempting to get both your underwear and his boxers off without ruining the moment. “I’ll be gentle,” he finally said, angling himself towards you.

“Ew,” you nervously tittered in response. You were on the verge of resorting to humor to cover your anxiety.

“Are you sure?” He asked once again, lifting his eyes to yours and you exhaled again nodding. “It’s okay. Relax,” he hummed softly, his eyes looking to yours for any sign of retreat.

“I’m ready. I trust you.” He pressed his lips to yours before shifting his weight from the hand that was holding him up to the other. “Ow!” You barked. Dean froze in his position, eyes widening as he searched your face. “I’m joking,” you leered, biting back the wicked grin spreading across your face.

His shoulders fell slightly in relief and he fought not to roll his eyes. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack and it’ll be Gerald’s Game all over again.” You couldn’t help but snicker, now feeling more relaxed in his arms. You nodded at him one last time to give him the go-ahead and he pushed himself into you, waiting for you to adjust to him. You groaned slightly, the pressure of him a foreign feeling but surprisingly not as painful as you had been warned it would be. You reached up to bring his lips to yours as he began moving. You began to feel every inch of him in you as his hips ground against yours. His lips left yours to press against your jaw and your ear, one of his hands interlocking with yours, binding the two of you further together in the act.

“I haven’t screamed bloody murder yet,” you said, almost congratulating him, causing him to let out a low chuckle as your eyes found his.

“I love that you’re still a minx even while you’re under me,” he added rather darkly and you laughed.

“You bring out the best in me, D,” you unintentionally moaned. He grinned before sealing your lips together in a sloppy example of his love as he quickened his pace ever so slightly. You had a feeling he was close, so you began to grind into him as well, wanting to find the right position so you could join him. He noticed your attempt, burying himself in your neck, driving himself deeper into you, causing you to let out a small whimper as your hands plunged into his dark curls. His movements brought a feeling of tension within you. Getting to your orgasm was like feeling a distant sneeze creeping up your nose. Dean began to ride you with less of a rhythmic pace. You pulled him back to look at you as he brought you closer to the edge. He somehow looked at you with so much longing in this moment of passion that you fought not to tell him you loved him. With every movement, a feeling of relief began to spread through your body and before you knew it, you fists were tightening in his hair, head falling back in pleasure. You swore you saw him grin before you shut your eyes to ride out the rest of your ecstasy. Breathlessly, he pulled out of you, jerking himself off a few times before finishing as well. The two of you were a panting mess as he lowered himself on the bed beside you.

You laid your head against his chest, the only sound in the room to you being his heartbeat as his hand softly ran up and down your back. He took your hand in his, examining your palm, brushing his thumb against your heartline. “Thank you,” you sighed. It began to sink in that Dean would now be carrying around a piece of you with him for the rest of his life.

“You act like you’re the only one who benefitted from that,” he answered with a short chuckle. The vibration of his accent in his chest was music to your ears.

You scoffed. “Just take my gratitude, dammit.” He laughed again at your response. “Now what do we do?”

“We could take a shower?” He offered.

“I love your mind,” you quipped.

[ditch-witches]

Through Sick and Thin (Dean-Charles Chapman Fluff)

requested: yes/no (Thank you all for your requests! We have a bunch set up to be posted this week! If y’all have any other ideas, send them our way :))

pairing: Dean-Charles Chapman x reader

warnings: fluffy stupid shit, like two(2) swear words oof

word count: 1,238

a/n: *insert crying cat reaction* I just had the flu. I needed this. Let me know what you thought! :)

Your alarm blared monotonically, echoing around the room. Dean groaned and rolled away from you, pulling the covers up around himself so only his nose peeked out from the fabrics. Your fist came down on the button and interrupted the shutter of noise, silence now filling the room. You felt groggier than usual but attempted to push the ache in your throat out of your mind, figuring you just needed coffee and a hot shower.

As the water squeaked on, you pinched the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger, your head feeling ten times heavier than usual and your sinuses were completely clogged. It didn’t help that you looked just as horrible as you felt. The shower was not as rejuvenating as you had hoped, only making you now feel light-headed and sleepy. Opting out of makeup to match your attire, you shuffled downstairs rather slowly. “Fuck,” you murmured to yourself, realizing that what was living in your head was preparing to be one of the most annoying colds you could add to the list of stuff you had absolutely no time for.

Dean bustled around the kitchen, a welcomed sight as he poured you a cup of coffee and sent you a grin. “I thought you went back to bed?” You muttered, your voice coming out in a raspy whisper causing him to raise his eyebrows. You attempted to clear your throat as you sunk into one of the high-legged chairs, trying your best to hide how awful you felt. You knew that if you let on that you were sick, Dean would baby you and that’s the last thing you needed. Your fingers curled around the ceramic mug he sent your way, basking in the warmth it brought to you as you realized you were borderline shivering.

Dean eyed you before leaning against the counter. “I mean this with all the love in my heart, honestly,” you met his eyes and a grin crossed his face, “but you look like shit.”

“What a magnificent way to greet the woman you share a bed with,” you quipped back, your voice having more husk in it than his was proving to be your downfall. He sent you an almost excited smile, moving to lean over the counter in front of you. You sent him a puzzled look, resting your chin in your hand.

“You gonna call in sick so I can take care of you?” He moved his shoulders slightly, unable to hide his enjoyment due to the rarity of occasions like this. “It’ll be fun.”

You sighed. “Yeah and you’ll get sick and I’ll have to take more time off because you’re a baby when you get colds,” you nipped at him.

His grin grew wider. “I’ll saran wrap myself, pinky swear.” It didn’t help that while he was making his oath, he had moved around the bar separating the two of you to wrap his arms around you from over the back of your chair, pressing his cheek against your shoulder.

“No, I need to go,” you stated, biting back a laugh at his actions.

He reached a hand up to press against your forehead. He hummed. “No, you’re burning up. You could die from that alone, you know?”

“Really? You’re joking,” you teased, your laugh coming out dry and he gave you one of his famous know-it-all looks as you were building his argument for him. You rolled your eyes as he took your face in his hands.

“I’ll make you grilled cheese.”

You sighed. “Fine.” He’s smile somehow grew more and he leaned forward to kiss you in celebration, but you pushed his face away. “Stop!”

“Sorry! I keep forgetting!” You groaned at his giddy response, pushing yourself out of your chair and leaving to change. Before you knew it, Dean had you bundled up and all of the humidifiers in the house positioned on the floor around you. You absent-mindedly typed away in your laptop as Dean clamored around in the kitchen, refilling your tea mug when you had barely taken a sip and asking if you needed anything or what you were working on every few minutes.

“What do you usually do all day when you’re home, love?” You asked, peering through some of the layers of blankets at Dean, who was eagerly waiting in the threshold of the living room for you to give him a job to do.

He shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. Laundry?” You chuckled at his response, shrugging out of the mountain of comforters and closing your laptop.

“Why do you like my sick days?” You asked him, tilting your head at him slightly, trying your best to give him some kind of an appreciative smile. After all, the man you adored was waiting on your every beck and call without a second thought.

He moved to sit on the coffee table across from you. If you weren’t so sick, you would have reached out to bury yourself in his soft sweatshirt. His immune system was shit. He always got sick. “I enjoy your company.”

You chuckled slightly, rubbing your eyes. “Yeah, sure.”

Dean grinned at you, standing and grabbing your arms to pull you up as well. “If you’re done, you should probably get back into bed, sicky,” he mocked. You pushed his hands away from you as he laughed. “Go on. I’ll be up in a minute.”

As you climbed into bed, you fought not to smile, thinking about your other half who was absolutely giddy about little things the two of you shared. Finding joy in a simple sick day was difficult to do and it almost frustrated you at how well he always took care of you. The only problem was the fact that the bed was cold without him in it beside you. It was going to be difficult falling asleep without him there.

You heard Dean’s footsteps up the stairs and he was peering inside the bedroom shortly after. He had a fresh mug in his hand, as he moved through the room, setting it on the stand beside you. “I noticed you drank a bit of the last one so I brought you another.”

You smiled up at him and he seemed to soften around his edges even more. “Thank you,” you hummed, digging into the sheets more.

He placed a hand in your hair, rubbing his thumb against your cheek slightly before leaning forward again, this time stopping himself. “Dammit, I’m just going to leave before I get whatever you have because I can’t control myself.” You laughed at this.

He turned on his heel and before he made it back out the door, you spoke. “I love you,” you called after him and bit back his smile.

“Okay, you’re just going to have to take more time off because I don’t want to leave you alone.” He practically jumped into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your body and snuggling against you. You didn’t fight him this time; his warmth made you realize just how tired you actually were.

The next morning you woke up refreshed---tired---but refreshed. You realized your illness had miraculously cleared up as you shut the alarm off, leaning over to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek. As you made your way into the bathroom, you heard him cough slightly, causing you to roll your eyes. “Called it,” you mumbled.

[ditch-witches]

imagine Blake survives the war and when he gets home he rushes to see you. you’d probably be at his house anyway, helping his mum in the orchard while the boys are away. but he comes running to you and holds you so tight, whispering “marry me” over and over, holding your face in his hands. long story short you’re married within the week at the local church. after, you’d celebrate in the orchard, dragging the kitchen table and chairs out to the blossom tree, just you, him, his family and schofe

Whoever is making these up, God bless you and I'm sorry I can't think of anything to add. I might have to write this pretty soon because,,,, dayum.

[royalbluehues]

Come Back to Me.

Title: Come Back to Me.

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  SPOILERS.

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Author’s Note: I’ve watched 1917 twice in a week’s span. I was floored by the movie, characters, cinematography, score, you name it. I’ve also fallen in love with another George MacKay, another Brit, but what’s new.

Next part should be coming soon.

As always, comments are truly appreciated.

April 7, 1917

“Thank you, William.”

With a nod, Schofield released Lieutenant Blake’s hand and walked off.

He looks like me, Blake had mused to him only the day before, just older.

He was tired. His feet ached, and his head hurt. There was that dull throbbing sensation in his hand he hadn’t noticed before, and of course, the injury at his head. 

But most of all, he was tired. 

The tall grass danced against his fingertips and the areas of uncovered skin at his hands. They guided him in a trance-like state to a lone tree that beckoned him invitingly. 

Away from people and away from any horrors. 

With eyes closed, he withdrew the metal case he kept at his breast pocket only to reopen his eyes he felt the photographs under his fingertips. 

They grazed over the faces of his two younger sisters and his mother. 

                                            Come back to us. x

Clutching the photo, he nodded slightly to himself, a tight feeling settling in his throat, closing his eyes before he could feel the prickle just above his waterlines.

He’d try and go back.

How long he stayed beneath the tree, he could not say. 

He thought of nothing and everything all at once.

Blake. The Huns. Nothing. Home. Rats. Food. Cherries. Nothing.

How many years does it feel like he’s aged? Decades.

When was the last time he had bathed? He couldn’t remember.

How long ago was it that Blake had died? It felt like a millennia ago.

The thought alone made the tightness in his throat tighten even more.

He reopened his eyes and stared lifelessly out into nothing. The morning sun was setting and the gust of wind became colder, and he was still wet. 

He watched the sun set and could hear the bustling activity behind him, but soon drowned it out.

He was tired. 

So, slipping the two photographs back in the tin case and away close to his heart, he closed his eyes once more, and attempted, for the first time in nearly three days, to sleep.

September 16, 1917 

A nudge. Then, a shake.

William’s eyes flash open when he feels fingers taking hold of his wrist.

He breathes in sharply as he snatched the hand touching him, clutching it tightly and twisting it upwards with his nails digging into the skin.

His chest heaved and his eyes moved frantically to make out the dark silhouette who cried out before him. He felt muscles under his fingers tense and saw the figure freeze.

They both started at one another for what seemed like an eternity until the figure spoke.

“Sir,” you said slowly, quietly, “sir, you’re hurting me.”

William didn’t know what had surprised him more, the fact that the voice that had spoken was feminine and American, or that he was still gripping onto your forearm with a talon like force that his nails most definitely broke your skin.

He let go immediately, feeling his breathing calm, but still staring up at you in bewilderment.

It was dark out.

He moved to stand, using the bark of the tree he had napped on as leverage, watching as you took tentative steps back.

He watched as you looked down to inspect your arm despite the darkness, invoking the young man to spew out an “I’m sorry”.

You shook your head, looking up at the frightened man, “I was only trying to check your pulse,” you explained, “I just- I needed to be sure you were alive, I- I’m terribly sorry to have frightened you in that manner.”

William’s breathing calmed, but he still had not moved from his spot, “You’re a woman.”

“Yes,” you replied smoothly, nodding, “I am part of the Red Cross, sir.”

He nodded then, using this index finger and thumb of his right hand to rub his eyes and exhale deeply in embarrassment, “Well, thank you, but I’m not dead yet.”

You frowned at his words.

He blinked to look at you, realizing how long it had been since he had seen someone of the opposite gender. You looked pristine, prim and proper in your uniform. He explained himself tiredly, watching as your brows furrowed,  “Just a joke among us.”

“A terrible joke.” You reached forward to take his hand, gently pulling him lightly with you, “Come, it’ll begin to rain. You’ll catch a cold.”

You let go when he moved to bend down and retrieve his rifle. He was compelled to ask the first question that popped into his head: “How did you find me?”

“I was taking a walk.”

“Why did you come to France?”

You placed your hands in your pockets, shrugging your shoulders, “I felt it my duty.”

William let out a hollow chuckle, “You made a poor choice to come here. You must be insane.”

“How funny. A British sergeant I had the pleasure of meeting back in July told me the same thing,” you mused, only to stick out your hand and introduce yourself, “And your name?”

“Schofield. William Schofield, miss.” He told you, suddenly becoming very self aware at how dirty he was.

You smiled up at him, “I had a schoolmate named William Reddy. I was very fond of him, though he moved away when we reached fourteen.”

Your smile was another thing that caught William off guard, it was something genuine and warm. Something that wasn’t yet tainted from the gruesome horrors that he had experienced years ago. The last person he had seen smile as warmly as you had was Blake.

“Where are you from?” You asked him, looking up at the French night sky, taking note of the way the air smelled of rain.

He adjusted the strap of his gun, and used his left hand to straighten his helmet, “A small village named Cookham.”

You nodded, “I’m afraid I don’t know where that is in England. It sounds livening, though.”

The two of you walked on, “It’s just southeast of Oxford, and northwest of London. And you?”

You nodded, tugging the blue coat closer to your body, “California.”

“I’ve never heard of it before. Is it close to New York? I imagine you’re homesick.”

A sad smile tugged at your lips, “Close, but no cigar. It’s on the other side of the country, in the west. And, I do. But only when I think about home too often. Which is constantly. It’s beautiful there. Beaches that stretch on for miles and miles. Pleasant weather.”

“We don’t have beaches in Cookham. But the River Thames passes through.” He commented, looking off at the path, “Mum used to take me for picnics there when I was little.”

It was quiet thereafter, the both of you walking in silence as you approached the small camp his battalion had made. All the soldiers had fallen asleep, with only a few awake and talking amongst themselves. 

“How long will you be here?” He asked you, finally being able to take you in by the light of the camp.

“They’re building a hospital not too far from here. Once they finish it, I’ll be working there,” you told him. “Are there more of you?”

“Of nurses? Yes. At least another four. Two British and two American, myself included.” You replied, turning to drink him in. William Schofield stood at a tall height. He was dirty and looked exhausted. His face was long, and serious. The dark circles under his eyes stood as a testimony of the little sleep he got. 

There was a cut just below his jaw. The blood had smeared and mingled with the dirt there. He was pale and lithe.

He was handsome. “Did I hurt you badly?” He asked quietly.

You shook your head, “Not too terribly.”

“You must forgive me,” he apologized, “It’s just-” He cut off, a red blossoming on his cheeks.

“Why are you apologizing? I caught you off guard. I understand. Had you used your bayonet, then I would have to hold you accountable, lance corporal.” You then lifted your hand, gently taking hold of his chin, and moving it upwards, “Have you been seen? You’ve been cut.”

“It’s just a scratch,” He peered down at you, gazing at the way the small piece of hair that had escaped it’s pinned style was billowing in the wind.

“It’s a scratch until it’s infected. Then it’s much worse.”

“There are men far off worse than me.”

You let go of his chin, taking a step back from your close proximity. You looked down at your watch, and with a sigh, you said, “Well, Mr. Schofield, I fear the hour is late and I’ve been gone far too long. The other girls will suspect something happened to me.”

He stared at you, not saying a word. You gave him a small smile, “It was a pleasure meeting you,” you said.

He blinked, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

You smiled at him, “I will accept it if you come by the nursing tent in the morning. I need to take a look at that scratch, and any other wound you might be hiding.”

Schofield cleared his throat, feeling himself blush around his neck, giving you a nod, “I-alright. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

With a nod to him, you turned your back, walking in the direction of where your tent would be.

He awkwardly took a step after you, gripping the leather strap that hung on his shoulder, “Would you like me to walk you?”

You turned back to him, arms crossed, “No, I’m quite alright. Perhaps tomorrow night, though. It’s far too late and without a chaperon, the other girls would suspect something scandalous. But I thank you kindly,” you told him gently, “Goodnight, lance corporal.”

“Goodnight.” He replied, taking small steps back, watching as your figure disappeared in the lines of tents.

He blinked, standing there and pinching himself, wondering if the interaction he had with you was real.

Or perhaps I’m just dreaming?

He lifted his fingers to the cut below his jaw, dabbing it with the pad and then bringing it up to his eyes. 

Faint bleeding.

For the first time in nearly two years, the weary soldier was able to say he looked forward to seeing the sun rise for the next day.

Masterlist

[heffrcns]

just confess already - william schofield x reader (headcanons)

okay so this was a request, and i thought it could be a really cute idea, so let’s ignore the historical inaccuracies - i mean fanfictions can be what they want, right? :D

also, this is actually open for a part 2 (i’m so sorry i didn’t finish it all in one) because i didn’t want to make this one too long or cut it down too much to make it just one part. so let me know if you want me to continue it!

warnings: SPOILERS!! slight graphic content? but no worse than what’s in the film, and blake doesn’t die in this💅

you, schofield and blake were all sent to deliver the crucial message to colonel mackenzie in order to save 1,600 men

you knew both will and tom pretty well, having become good friends with them since the war started

and as much as you loved blake, he was a great friend, things just felt different with will

you’d never admit it yourself, but you’ve recently been feeling stronger feelings towards the lance corporal, being completely oblivious to the fact he also felt the same

will felt warm whenever you spoke to you,

and he couldn’t help feel jealous when other soldiers inevitabley flirted with you a little

so over the past few weeks, you’ve both settled with stealing glances and smiling at each other from a distance whenever you saw each other

you justified it to yourself saying that three years into a war was no place for romance

and although you were right, it didn’t change the butterflies you felt whenever you were around will

during your mission, walking across no man’s land (not knowing if the germans had retreated from the other side or not) was one of the scariest things you’ve ever done in your life

and it got scarier upon reaching the (thankfully) empty trenches, when a rat set off a booby trap that almost killed schofield

but both you and blake managed to help him and get you all out alive, which caused you to let out the biggest sigh of relief ever

god, the thought of losing will made your heart feel like it weighed a dozen tonnes

but you pushed those feelings aside to focus on the task you still had to complete

after some more cautious advancements, the three of you reached some sort of abandoned farmhouse

you each took a different position around the farmhouse in order to scope the area, checking there wasn’t anything (or anyone) that could pose a threat

“all clear?” you asked, after checking around the back of the apparently abandoned building

you heard two replies giving it the all clear from both inside and outside the farmhouse, allowing yourself to relax a bit

your relaxation was short lived though - as a german plane was shot down above your heads

it all happened in a matter of seconds, your mind processing that it was an enemy and it was coming towards you

diving out the way with a thud, you, schofield and blake all shared a look as if to say ‘should we help him?’

it was a horrible sight - the german pilot was screaming out in pain, the plane around him in flames

blake was the first to approach the plane, demanding help to get him out

and he was right, you couldn’t just let this man die a painful and horrible death in front of your eyes, no matter what the war had taught you

so the three of you hauled him out the cock pit as fast as could, coughing and trying to avoid the ever-growing flames

the german was then lay on the ground, you and blake either side of him, as blake shouted at will to get him some water

your head was pounding, as you were still trying to process what was going on

there you were, with a burning plane behind you, trying to save a man who was both an enemy and a stranger, which is exactly what you were trained not to do

and it all made sense as to why you were trained not to do that, when you noticed what was happening

the german was silently leaning forward towards the weapon in front of him, before fiddling it around in his had to aim it at your friend on the other side of him

he was going to stab blake

having to act quickly, you grabbed the back of the hand he had the weapon in, yanking it away from blake

you didn’t even have time to think it through, before you turned it around to aim it at the german himself, and do to him what he was going to do to blake

you grunted in displeasure as you stabbed the pilot, a flood of feelings running through your body

mostly of anger, as he almost got blake when he was the one who wanted to save the german in the first place

that boy was too kind for his own good

your actions caused both will and blake to turn to look at you, in both shock and confusion

they both then realised what was going, as will quickly shot him a few times to put him out of his misery

both you and blake shuffled away from his now dead body, all of you breathing heavily, looking at the scene in front of you

“you saved me. he was gonna go for me, wasn’t he?” blake spoke up, still shocked at everything that just happened

all you could do was nod, not being able to form any words to reply to him

“thank you, y/n. so much. will was right, we should’ve just put him out of his misery when we could of. i seriously can’t thank yo-”

“it’s okay” you cut him off, having finally steadied your breathing “he’s gone now and you’re still here. let’s not dwell on it, yeah?”

blake nodded at you in agreement, before looking up at will, as he hasn’t yet said anything since he shot the pilot

he noticed that will was staring

at you

and blake couldn’t help but think back to the countless times he’s done this now

will liked you, and blake was very aware of this

but he was made to promise (by will of course) not to say anything, as he said he didn’t want to ruin the friendship you two had

but that didn’t mean blake couldn’t tease him every now and then

“alright mate, you can stop staring at her like that now. she saved me not you, you know. no need to look at her like she just pulled you out of a burning building” he snickered, causing both of you to blush

will then cleared his throat, “well, we’ve still got the 2nd devons to get to havent we? we best get going”

“yeah, let’s go” you agreed, very happy to change the subject

blake just rolled his eyes at the two of you but started to walk nonetheless - will was right, and blake had his brother to save

you and will both walked behind tom, both of you glancing up at eachother at the same time, causing you both to look away and blush, again

“just confess already” tom stated, as if he had eyes in the back of his head and saw what just happened

neither of you said anything, but will prayed you both completed this mission in one piece, so then maybe he could finally tell you how he felt

and you were secretly hoping the same

what a pair of oblivious lovesick idiots

part 2!

[varls]

Title: About Courage Chapter: Two Characters: Reader and Blake Pairing: Blake x female Reader Request: Find it here. Summary: Two of your brothers already died during the Great War and you could see your mother getting sadder and more desperate every day. When your youngest brother is referred to as missing, you make the decision to go to France as well, to find him and bring him back home. But when you arrive, you soon realise you may have not thought it through. Acting like a man isn’t as easy as it sounds and Lance Corporal Blake is a lot smarter than most other men. Chapter Summary: After taking your cousin’s place you finally reach France and until now nobody realised you’re actually a girl. You decide it’s best to talk as little as possible. Unfortunately, there’s one young soldier who notices your silence and decides it’d be a good idea to keep you company, so you wouldn’t end up feeling alone.  Warnings: none Word Count: 3.373 Special Thanks To @rubinstein1798

France looked like a place straight out of a nightmare. You already expected it to be bad, but this was far worse than you imagined. Your mind could run wild with thoughts about what the war looked like. You could make up the most horrifying pictures in your head and yet, as someone who had never walked through an actual war zone, you could never understand it’s true impact. It wasn’t really about what you’ve seen while you were led through the country, sitting in the back of a truck between two boys who looked just as dejected as you. You could tell they were expecting something different, though you couldn’t tell exactly what it was since none of you spoke a single word. And that was exactly what was awful. Not walking or driving past a meadow with dead cows lying in the grass, or houses which were destroyed or simply just abandoned, or even the corpses of men scattered around your feet. What really made you feel quite frightful was the strange feeling in your chest. It was very hard to explain, but it sure was tormenting. It was like a combination of every bad feeling you ever experienced — fear, uncertainty, blame and an odd kind of queasiness. But they all blended together at once, making you feel something inexplicably new. And you sure weren’t the only one going through this painful process of puzzling together thoughts and feelings. It was so very quiet around you.

On the other hand, that was good for you. You needed the others to believe you were a boy and to this point, everything was going well. Besides the fact that right now everybody was still too busy with their own minds, they still believed you were Private Charlie Thompson. The first time someone called out your cousin’s name to reach out to you, you found yourself reacting just a little too late. You were lucky the Sergeant just assumed you were just deep in thought. He only gave you a quick warning to stay attentive and walked on. You had to be careful here, more than anybody else. The boys surrounding you at least had a little training at the barracks before they were sent here, but you? You were scared to accidentally shoot someone with that rifle in your hand, which was a lot heavier than you had imagined. You knew your idea was foolish from the start, but dear lord, you really had no idea what you’d gotten yourself into when you stepped into Charlie’s uniform. And your poor mother, what was she doing right now? Were they going to tell anybody? No, they couldn’t. They must’ve known how much trouble the truth would cause you. There was no going back. You were in France now. And you were going to stay. But to keep up your cover you decided it was best if you talk as little as possible. You weren’t sure if you could make your voice sound deep enough to make it sound like a man’s. Though most boys you’ve met until this point were so young, they didn’t even have their change of voice yet. Still, you decided to keep quiet. Better safe than sorry. And you had a lot to lose.

It was six in the morning. You and the other new soldiers had reached the camp the day before. All you did yesterday was to grab some food and find a comfortable spot to sleep — neither proved to have been easy. It took you some time to find a nice place underneath a tree near the camp. Another Private came along a few minutes later, asking you if he could lay down next to you. He didn’t seem comfortable as he looked back to the camp, so you agreed and he lied down at the other side of the tree. “You’re Charlie, aye? My name’s Henry.” Those were the only words spoken between the two of you. Neither of you were very eager to start a proper conversation. Now it was time for you to get up. You didn’t wake up by yourself. It was Henry who leaned over you, softly touching your arm. He was probably afraid you might get angry at him for waking you up. “Charlie, c’mon, get up. You forgot our command for this morning?” Of course, you didn’t. The General wanted to greet the recruits and he seemed to have more than one appointment today given the fact that you and the others seemed to be his first stop today. “We’ll be late, mate. Now c’mon.” Henry’s hand appeared in front of your face and you took it. He pulled you up and you grabbed your helmet. It was the first time you took a moment to eye up the boy who was now walking next to you. He seemed to be terribly young. You knew he was probably eighteen, but he looked closer to fourteen. It was scary. His eyes were bright blue and there was a little mud on his rosy cheeks, but he didn’t seem to care. A smile appeared on his lips as he turned to look at you. “I saw you actually slept tonight,” he said before laughing softly. “I wanted to talk to you, ‘cause I didn’t sleep at all. But I thought it’d be better to not wake you up.”

“SELLARS, THOMPSON! YOU’RE LATE!” The booming voice of your Captain made you jump. “Shit,” you heard Henry say before he sped up a little. You followed and nearly bumped into him as he stopped at the end of the perfectly ordered queue of soldiers, who were already waiting for the two of you. Great. There were other soldiers around you, who were just grabbing food or having quiet conversations. But some of them were watching you and you could hear them giggle. Good job, (y/n), you thought to yourself as you stood up straight, finally joining the others in their routine. Your Captain seemed to be angry as he stepped closer to you and Henry. “This is your first day,” he raised his voice. “So I’m letting this slip. But next time your tardiness will have consequences. Understood?” “Yes, Sir!” you spoke in unison with Henry. This was your first day and it already felt like a nightmare. You would probably still be asleep if it wouldn’t be for Henry’s courtesy. If you didn’t want to attract any further attention, you needed to put much more effort into it. Right now you studied your fellow recruits to make sure your posture was according to the specifications.

General Erinmore’s visit was short. He gave you a speech about how thankful he was that you’re all here to serve your country, but also to warn you about the dangers and painful sides of war which were ahead of you. He was also talking to some of you personally, but you tried to avoid him as best as possible. Which meant you looked away. Anywhere but in his direction. You should have known better. If there’s one thing that’ll attract attention, it’s trying to avoid it. The older man stepped to the end of the line where you stood and still looked ahead of you, focusing on two boys who were playing chess. But you know you couldn’t just ignore your General, at the latest when he started to speak: “You seem to be nervous, Private. What’s your name?” You gulped. “Thompson, Sir. Charlie Thompson.” Your voice was as low as possible and it seemed to be enough. Well, at least you hoped so. Erinmore showed little reaction to your words. “Well, Thompson, let me give you some advice: you should always look at your superiors. Just like you should always look at your enemies. To look away always makes you seem weak in one way or the other. And you don’t want that, do you? Especially in front of the enemy.” He waited until you shook your head, mumbling a quiet “No, Sir,” under your breath. “Find your courage and find your tongue. You have to be stronger if you want to make it through this hell.” “Of course, General,” you answered fully and finally looked at him.  He took your helmet off and sighed. “Those things are likely not going to save you from bullets. This uniform is not going to save you. It’s just you who can keep you safe. The others are counting on you to do that. They need you just as much as you need them. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?” Stay alive. Keep others alive as well. Have courage. “Yes, General.” “Good.” Erinmore gave back your helmet, but his gaze wandered to your hair and you couldn’t help but look a little confused as a soft laugh escaped his lips. “Who cut your hair, boy?” he asked, but again you didn’t answer. It didn’t seem to bother him. “I can’t let you walk around like this. Your next command is to go to the hairdresser, alright?” You nodded. Did it really look that bad? You thought you had done quite a good job, but you heard a giggle from Henry which meant he agreed with Erinmore. Damn. The General left and you were searching for your Sergeant’s eyes. As you met them he gave you a slight nod. “Go follow your order, Thompson. Come back to me when you’re done. There are sandbags which have to be filled.” Filling sandbags didn’t sound like an exciting task, but you weren’t complaining. You wouldn’t even if you could. You still had no idea how to use a gun and definitely had to learn it before it was too late. The General told you to stay alive. That’d be an even harder task if you didn’t know how to defend yourself. And just asking the Germans to stop shooting at you for sure wouldn’t do you any good.

You had no idea where to find a hairdresser, so you spend the next minutes aimlessly walking around the camp. You were ready to just give up and ask someone for the way when you finally found the open tend you were searching for. There were three seats. One of them was taken already. Sitting on the right side was a boy who looked like he was close to falling asleep while the older man behind him was cutting his hair with a more than bored expression on his face. You sighed, pretty sure that both of them wouldn’t try to talk to you as long as they didn’t have to. “Sit down, son. I’ll take care of you when I’m done with this one,” was the only thing the hairdresser would probably say to you. You followed his instruction, took off your helmet, your bag and the heavy leather equipment before sitting down on the seat next to the other boy, who didn’t even look at you. Just like you assumed, none of you spoke a word. You let your mind wander as your eyes were scouting the camp. Most people here seemed to be so young. Those weren’t the great and strong men as shown by the advertisement at home. Those were boys. Like the ones from your neighbourhood, the kids you used to play with before the war started. They didn’t belong here. Finley didn’t belong here. You didn’t belong here. You had no idea how you should ever find your brother. All you could do was keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe, just maybe, you would find some clues which would lead you to Finley. Or at least to the truth about his whereabouts.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice the other boy who entered the tent, although he tossed his things right next to yours. It wasn’t until he sat down on the chair next to you that you finally looked at him. You were looking him straight in the eye. It was as if he wanted you to look at him the moment he sat down. Or even before, when he entered the tent. There was a huge grin on his lips. One which irritated you. It looked like he was up to something. But what could he possibly want other than getting his hair done? He surely didn’t come here for you. Perhaps he always looked at others like this. He looked like the only one in the entire camp to be in a good mood. It was probably not easy to keep that up. “Hello,” he finally said while leaning over to you just a little. You backed away. Did he have to come this close? “You were the one coming too late to the General’s visit today, right?” Ah, great. So he did come here to make fun of you. “Sellars or Thompson?” “Thompson,” you answered quietly.  He seemed to notice you felt a little uneasy because he leaned back again and nodded. “Happened to me, too, on my first day,” he admitted. “At least you weren’t alone. I was the only one late and I was running through the camp like a madman, I’m telling you. You should have seen. I probably looked like a fool.” “You did.” It was the boy on your left who finally raised his voice. You turned to him and found a slight smile on his face. His eyes were still closed. “Thanks, Dolan. I was just trying to cheer our new friend up. Didn’t need your consent.” “You’re gettin’ it anyway. And for free, Blake.” You couldn’t help but smile. This whole conversation reminded you of your brothers. Blake shook his head, but he was laughing. He didn’t take Dolan’s raillery too seriously. Instead, he leaned back, relaxing his body and finally looked away from you. “Was I right, though?” It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you. “Uhm… what?” “Was I right? Assuming you need someone to cheer you up?” You kept quiet for a moment. He wasn’t wrong, but he also wasn’t right. You didn’t need anybody to cheer you up. What you did need whatsoever was someone to help you. Someone who could teach you how to use a gun and all that. There was so much more to being a soldier than you thought. But you couldn’t be honest about it now, could you? You were afraid this might blow your cover. You couldn’t be honest. Especially now, while two other people were listening. “You’re done”, you heard the older man speak. Silently you watched Dolan getting up and leaving the tent with a quick ‘thank you’. He didn’t bother looking into the mirror. Why would he? The hairdresser cleaned his seat a little before moving on to you. He clicked his tongue while his fingers ran through your hair. “What kind of idiot cut your hair, boy?” You felt your cheeks heating up. Me. I’m the idiot. But you didn’t tell him. You didn’t even bother to lie about it. You could have said it was your mother, but you didn’t. You kept quiet again.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” It was Blake who raised his voice again. You would’ve looked at him, but the older men behind you stopped your head from moving before you even tried. You could feel Blake was looking at you. “Is it because you’re afraid? Because you don’t feel comfortable? Or are you just shy?”  He seemed genuinely curious, but he was asking way too many questions. You thought if you didn’t speak you would stay unnoticed, but it seemed it was your silence which attracted Blake’s attention. “I just don’t like talking,” you finally answered. “But that’s not good, you know?” Blake leaned in closer again. This guy didn’t seem to care about personal space too much. It made you nervous. “I mean, maybe this whole thing works out for you at home, but it won’t help you here. You need friends and you won’t find them if you don’t talk to anybody.” You had the chance to shoot him one sceptical look before your head got turned again by the strong hand working on your hair. “What are you? The camp’s motivational coach?” Blake laughed and you could hear a soft snicker from behind you as well. “No. I’m just trying to help,” he stated, suddenly sounding very serious. But it was just for a short moment before he loosened up again. “But I’d be a good motivational coach, don’t you think?” The hairdresser walked around you, now standing right in front of you. You tried to look at Blake and he must have noticed because he leaned forward to appear in your field of vision. His cheeky grin was back again and this time you began to smile as well. “You’re probably a little too intrusive for this job.” “What?!” His voice sounded sorely shocked and it fulfilled his purpose in making you laugh, although you were trying to hide it. “I’m sorry,” you said, still with a bright smile on your face. He narrowed his eyes, watching you closely. Suddenly you felt uneasy again. You didn’t like him looking at you like this. What if he sees? He already noticed you being too quiet. You could tell he was very smart, even though he wasn’t bragging with it. “Well, okay,” he finally spoke as he disappeared out of sight. “I trust your honest opinion, mate. Though I don’t even know your full name.” “It’s Charlie. Charlie Thompson.” “Is it really Charlie? Or is it Charles?” You honestly had to think about his question for a second. “It’s Charles. But nobody calls me that.” “Okay, Charlie. Well, my name’s Tom. Actually, it’s Thomas. But nobody calls me that.” You knew he was grinning again without having to look at him. You could hear it in his voice. “Except for my mom when she’s angry at me.” You smiled, softly shaking your head. It was at this moment, the hairdresser stepped back and took a long look at you. “We’re done as well. Looking much better now, son.” “Thank you very much, Sir,” you said as you got up from your seat. You could feel Tom’s eyes follow your every movement. Was it possible he already figured out the truth? Either way he made you very nervous, even though he probably didn’t even mean to make you feel this way. He was just trying to be nice. To make you feel less alone perhaps? You grabbed your things, taking on your leather equipment as the hairdresser stepped over to Blake. But the boy stood up, waving his hand in refusal. “You know what, Steven? I changed my mind. My hair is perfectly fine.” “No, it isn’t,” Steven stated. “It’s way too long.” Blake’s hair wasn’t actually too long. Not in your opinion at least. You had no idea about army standards, but you could imagine him always walking around looking like this when he was at home. “What? You don’t like my curls?” he asked Steven with a smirk. Said curls were falling onto his forehead. He actually looked kind of cute. You nearly jumped when Tom turned to look at you. Oh God, you were staring. A little too fast you grabbed your back and threw it over your shoulder. Blake stepped closer to take his things as well. “Where are you going now?” “Going to look for the Sarge. Seems like my duty for today is filling sandbags.” “Mine, too!” he exclaimed in excitement. You raised your brows, not sure if he was telling the truth or just said that so he could join you to… Whatever his intentions were. You could not read this boy at all. “No, it’s not the most interesting job. But there are worse, believe me. You’ll know soon enough.” You didn’t react to his words. It seemed like you were not getting rid of this boy so easily. All you could do was to hope he wouldn’t find out about you. You weren’t sure how he’d react and you couldn’t risk getting into trouble just because he couldn’t keep a secret.

[varls]

       1917:

Along Came You — Schofield & Blake — A young soldier named Tom Blake joins the Great War with lots of questions and chooses Lance Corporal William Schofield to answer them.

Here For You — Blake x Reader — You don’t really understand why Tom chose you to come with him and Will and you’re not happy about it. But as it turns out, it’s a good you’re with them.

About Courage — Blake x female Reader —  Two of your brothers already died during the Great War and you could see your mother getting sadder and more desperate every day. When your youngest brother is referred to as missing, you make the decision to go to France as well, to find him and bring him back home. But when you arrive, you soon realise you may have not thought it through. Acting like a man isn’t as easy as it sounds and Lance Corporal Blake is a lot smarter than most other men.

find all chapters here | chapter 3 in progress

       coming soon —

Come Home Again — Schofield x Reader — You’re a german girl who’s saved by Will from the man you were going to marry. When it is time to leave France, the General gives you a minute to say goodbye to Will.

Dark Dreams — Schofield & Reader — You follow Will as he is walking through the battlefield. Just yesterday you were part of a group of fifty soldiers. Now you’re the only ones left. Will seems to be lost in thought and you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him so downhearted.

By My Wonder — Schofield x Reader — Wonder Woman inspired AU — Growing up alongside the other amazons you grew tired of training and reading all day long, so you decited to escape the only life you've known to learn more about humans, seeing it as a great new adventure. Instead you found youself in the middle of the Great War, but being trained to be a warrior you decide to fight instead of running away, which let to you not only finding, but also losing the love of your life. Many decades passed and you never stopped loving him, despite knowing that you'll never see him again... until one day your biggest wish is finally granted.

       GOTHAM:

Number Two — Jerome x Reader — For such a long time Jerome has been the most feared, respected and most adored by his followers. There’s no one quite like him. But even a reputation like his has to be maintained. Everyone needs to keep their fans entertained, even Jerome. He never had a problem in doing so. An occasional murder, a blown up building — no big deal. But while he’s working on his next bigger coup, his plans come to a sudden stop and much to his displeasure he has to realise that someone is on their way to not just steal his much loved attention, but also his place in Gotham’s underground. And this someone happens to be you.

       OTHERS:

       coming soon —

Heroes & Villains — Dean Charles Chapman x Reader — When Dean gets to play the villain in his next project he seems to take things a bit too far. At some point you are no longer able to tell if he’s still playing a part or being who he truly is.