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lilacsnid · 3 months

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𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 | 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙔: Y/N is leaving work from Slough House rather late one evening and passes River's office to find him still sitting at his desk. She persuades him to not be so uptight & to come have a drink with her at the pub. She learns a bit more about him that night - including the fact that River Cartwright is a massive lightweight.

𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙨: she/her pronouns used, some dialogue in this fic is from slow horses season one, mentions of sexualization/slut shaming, fluff, river being a precious baby. in a world of boys, river cartwright is a gentleman.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: this is a work of fiction; any names, characters from slow horses, places & incidents will either be a product of my imagination or used fictionally (5.8k words)

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

Y/N sighed heavily as she finally managed to shut her computer down for the day, feeling the strain in her shoulders. She rubbed her temples, squinting tiredly as she began gathering all of her belongings together. She had opted in staying back a couple of hours to complete some paperwork, wanting to ensure that Catherine wouldn't be burdened with it in the morning. She switched off the lamp on her desk before making her way out of the office she shared with Louisa.

On her way out of the building, a faint glow caught her attention, causing her to stop in her tracks. Intrigued, she followed the light down the hallway that led to River and Sid's shared office.

She had initially assumed that she was the last one in the building, yet she was proven wrong when she peeked through the glass window and spotted River sat at his desk, bathed in the soft glow of his computer screen.

He leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed and a discernible frown etched on his face as he remained absorbed in whatever was on his computer. The black earphones that were placed in his ears suggested to her that he was engrossed in watching something.

His tousled blonde hair fell over his forehead, and in the faint lighting, his normally bright blue eyes appeared darker and wearier than usual. Y/N couldn't help but notice the fatigue evident in his slow blinks as his attention remained fixed on the glowing screen in front of him.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she moved towards the door. Leaning against the frame, she took a moment to watch him, wondering if he would notice her presence eventually. Unsurprisingly, he remained completely oblivious, engrossed in whatever he was watching.

Biting her lip, Y/N’s eyes quickly scanned around the room before grabbing a book from a nearby shelf. With another quick glance at him and a mischievous smile, she slammed the book down on the table near the door, creating a harsh noise that cut through the silence.

The abrupt sound drew River's attention like a magnet, his eyes snapping up from the computer screen. Despite the initial harshness, his gaze softened slightly once he spotted her in standing in the doorway.

“Fuck,” He sighed, reaching up to take his earphones out.

Y/N tried to suppress a giggle as she held her hands up in defence.

"Sorry," She apologised, taking in his slightly dishevelled state. "What are you still doing here?"

He met her gaze, taking in a deep breath in. "Just... sorting through some stuff."

“Such as?” She questioned, crossing her arms and giving him a skeptical look.

"None of your business," He shot back, a hint of sarcasm underlying in his voice.

She rolled her eyes at him before pushing herself off the door frame, sauntering over to where he sat at his desk. River rubbed his hands over his face, attempting to massage away the aches as he sensed her starting to make her way over to him.

“Seriously though, it’s 8:00pm,” She remarked, scrunching her eyebrows as she stood next to him. She leant back against his desk as she faced him. “I thought Lamb was the only one who practically lives here. Don’t you have a home to go to?”

He let out a small, sarcastic and dry laugh, leaning back in his chair to face her. “Says the one who is literally sitting on my desk. You should ask yourself the same thing.”

“God, you’re hard work,” She sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance.

“All right,” He sighed, shooting her a look that she couldn't quite place. “What’s your excuse for being here after hours, then?”

She crossed her arms as she spoke, “I finished up some extra paperwork from today so Catherine wouldn’t be swamped with it in the morning.”

“Wow,” River drawled out, fiddling with his earphones, “What do you want? A medal? Pat on the back?”

She groaned at his teasing. “You know what? I would settle for anything other than that contemptuous look you always have on your face.”

His face scrunched up as he squinted at her. “That’s a big word, Y/N. You sure you know what that means?”

She shook her head at him, sighing in defeat after attempting to lighten his mood.

“God, lighten up, Cartwright,” She quipped, reaching out to playfully tap her hand against his leg, “This whole 'I hate the world' attitude you’ve got going on is really starting to piss me off.”

“Well, any time you wanna leave, feel very free,” He joked, gesturing towards the door while still holding a straight face. “You know the way out.”

She shot him a pointed look, shaking her head as he raised his eyebrows at her.

“What? You planning on staying here all night?” He asked, challenging her.

“Nope, I give up,” She scoffed while standing up properly and began making her way towards the door. “I might go for a drink somewhere.”

River swivelled on his office chair, raising his eyebrows slightly as he nodded.

“Thanks for the invite,” He muttered, a hint of disappointed in his tone.

She rolled her eyes at him as she turned back on her heels to glance at him, “This is me inviting you, idiot.”

His eyes shot up at her words, making him tilt his head in surprise. He tried to act like he wasn’t flattered by the request and maintained a carefree expression in hopes she wouldn’t notice.

“You know what? I think I would rather sit here in the dark all night, thanks all the same,” He countered, pulling himself closer to the desk and picking up his earphones.

“River Cartwright, ladies and gentlemen,” Y/N mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. “Hard working MI5 agent but always the prude.”

He crossed his arms at her and raised his eyebrows, “A prude? I am not.”

“Oh, you’re not?” She questioned, walking back up to his desk and leaning over it from the front, maintaining eye contact with him. Her eyes took him in as she tapped her fingers on the desk. “Then prove it.”

He held eye contact with her as he inhaled deeply, trying to refrain from letting his gaze wander up her body.

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

The two of them left Slough House, making their way a few minutes down the road to her favourite pub. She crossed her arms over her chest as River walked alongside her with his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his corduroy jacket.

As she walked beside him, she glanced up at River as he managed to catch her eye.

"What?" He inquired, his face deadpan.

She shook her head as a small smile slowly creeped onto her lips. "Didn't think you would actually come."

"Yeah, well," He was quick to respond, "Maybe that’s because I'm not actually a prude."

She shrugged playfully, "Could have fooled me."

"You're unbelievable," He groaned, looking down at the cobblestone path beneath their feet as he shook his head.

“You love it when I’m hard on you,” A chuckle escaped her as she bumped her arm against his. She briskly rubbed her hands together, a futile attempt to ward off the chill that lingered the air around them.

After strolling for a few more minutes, they finally reached the pub, the welcoming glow drawing them in. River stepped in front of her, gracefully swinging the door open and gesturing for her to step inside before him.

"Thank you," She breathed out, revelling in the comforting warmth that enveloped her as they entered, the gentle sound of conversation buzzing around them.

River took in the ambiance of the place to where she had brought him and sidled up beside her as they approached the bar. She watched as he glanced over her shoulder and leaned down slightly so she could hear him over the chatter, “What would you like?"

She was caught off guard and opened her mouth in surprise. "Oh, you're buying me a drink?"

He nonchalantly nodded, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. "Yeah. What, would you rather I didn't?"

She chuckled, "Hey, no complaints here. I'll have a beer, please."

River shot her a playful glance, eyebrows raised as he tapped his fingers on the marble counter. "Wow, you're cheap."

Feigning offense, she gasped and playfully slapped his arm while shooting him a pointed look. He scoffed, rubbing his bicep for a moment as he glanced around. "Want to find a table? I'll bring the drinks over."

"Alright," She nodded, gracefully moving away as her eyes scanned the pub.

She soon spotted a snug corner table nestled towards the back of the pub and made her way over there. Taking a seat, she placed her bag beside her on the floor. As she settled into the chair, she let out a content sigh, not being able to resist stealing a glance over at River, who still lingered at the bar.

A subtle smile played on her lips as she watched him. His tall figure leaned casually against the bar, and she couldn't deny the particular kind of allure about his presence. Unbeknownst to River, his attractive good looks were well-known among those in the service. Despite his inclination to act as if the world were perpetually against him, she couldn't help but acknowledge the undeniable charm he possessed.

She reached for the hair tie around her wrist, skilfully securing her hair into a casual half-up, half-down style just as River approached the table with their drinks. Glancing up at him, she found him holding a beer in one hand and a whiskey in the other.

"Of course, you’re a whiskey drinker, how original," Y/N teased, her eyes bright with amusement as he set the glasses down on the table.

River let out a sigh, "You’ve always got something to say, don't you? Give me a break."

She chuckled and thanked him as he placed down her drink. However, as he set it on the table, she couldn't help but notice his hand – red and showing signs of a recent burn. Her eyes widened, a tinge of concern in her voice as she looked up at him, "What happened to your hand?"

He closed his eyes momentarily, a slight groan escaping his lips. He had attempted to keep his injured hand discreetly tucked away in his pocket, but it seemed he was now unable to let it escape her notice.

"Nothing, just," He began, then stalled for a second as he settled into the chair across from her, scrambling for a quick excuse, "Burned it on a grill."

Her head tilted inquisitively, and she shot him a pointed look, "Yeah right. So, are you going to tell me what actually happened?"

He let out a heavy sigh, his long fingers wrapped around his glass, deliberately avoiding eye contact. He could feel her gaze burning through him, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

After a brief moment of silence, he noticed her extend her hand, a silent request for him to reveal his injured hand that he was still trying to hide. He met her expectant gaze with a sigh and a sense of defeat as he reluctantly extended his hand towards her. With a gentle motion, she cradled his hand in both of hers, taking notice of the subtle tremor that seemed to steady in her grasp. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself softly at the size difference between her delicate hands and his own.

As she studied his hand with a caution, he found himself completely captivated by her focused attention. Strands of her hair fell over her face, framing a look of concentration. His eyes remained fixed on her while she examined his hand.

"Did it hurt?" She asked, her tone careful.

He felt her fingers tracing patterns on the skin of his palm, causing him to lose his train of thought for a second.

"No. Well, yeah, a bit," He admitted, with a sheepish glance.

She nodded, letting go of his hand to reach for her drink. "Yeah, I guess opening a flash box without the code will do that."

A quizzical look crossed his face as he glanced at her. "I never told you that."

"You didn't have to," She responded, taking a sip of her beer.

River scoffed softly, shaking his head. It seemed as though she had him all figured out.

"Why would you even do that? You are many things, but I didn't think you were stupid," She teased, arching her eyebrows as he met her gaze again.

"It's nothing to worry about," He dismissed, waving her off as he took another sip of his whiskey.

Y/N observed him for a moment, her gaze following the amber liquid as it passed his lips.

"What was in the box?" She couldn't resist asking.

River sighed, briefly glancing behind her before answering, "A laptop. With files taken from Robert Hobden."

She nodded knowingly, "Do The Park know that you opened a flash box?"

"No," He briskly shook his head, "And they aren't going to find out, are they?"

She shook her head in response, a silent confirmation of her discretion. He appreciated the unspoken trust they seemed to share between them.

"Was it worth opening a flash box over?" She teased, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

"Stop interrogating me, okay? Can we just not talk about it right now?" River redirected, tapping his glass with his pointer finger. "I thought you dragged me here to get away from work."

"I didn't drag you here," She chuckled. "And if you feel trapped here, you know the way out," a hint of jest in her voice as she playfully repeated his words from Slough House earlier.

He huffed at her, "Touché."

"I'll drop it," Y/N promised, lifting her glass again. "But you know I'll grill you about it later."

He nodded, letting out a scoff at the pun she managed to slip in. "Oh, I know you will."

They settled into a comfortable silence for a minute, during which River studied her again. Sensing his gaze, she looked across at him quizzically before asking, "What?"

Biting his lip, he contemplated the question that nagged at him in the back of his mind. Deciding to bite the bullet, he took a short breath in, leaning against the table on his elbows as he crossed his arms. "Why are you here, Y/N?"

She shot him a confused look, "Uhm-"

"Not at the pub," He corrected himself in a teasing manner, "At Slough House."

She sighed, "I thought Slough House was like prison. You're not supposed to ask what you're in for."

He sensed her attempt to sidestep the question, but it didn't seem to stop him. His curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t deny the subtle soft spot he harboured for her, something in which he often struggled to hide.

"Well, you know why I'm there," River stated.

"Yeah, but everyone knows why you're there," Y/N countered with a smile.

She laughed as he rolled his eyes, "I was gonna give you a compliment, but you can shove it now," He said, looking unamused.

"Suit yourself," She smiled, finding amusement in how easily she could tease him, "I get enough flattery from everyone else."

"But that's what I mean," River said softly, "Everyone can see that you're different. Because you are."

She glanced up at him, a gentle smile gracing her lips before she looked down again, avoiding his intense gaze.

"I mean," He continued, breaking the intensity of his gaze, "Min, Struan, Roddy—maybe not Louisa, but definitely Moody. They were always headed for the skids. They're useless. But you're…"

She looked up at him again as his words trailed off, and they shared a momentary glance, one with an unspoken meaning as River continued to speak.

"You know," He breathed, shaking his head slightly, "It just doesn't make sense. But whatever the reason for being put in Slough House, it must have come out of nowhere, right?"

She chuckled softly, taking a swig of her drink, "Always the MI5 agent, hey?"

"Sorry," He apologized, backtracking, "I'm just letting my thoughts do the talking. You don't have to tell me. It's your business."

"No, it's okay," Y/N smiled, but he watched it quickly fade as her mind ticked over. "Yeah, it did come out of nowhere."

She took a deep breath before continuing, "I was put in Slough House because of a rumour about me, that wasn't even true, got spread around at The Park."

"What kind of rumour?" River asked, dumbfounded.

"Wow," She expressed surprise, "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it already."

He gestured for her to continue, giving her his full attention.

"Someone came onto me, rather forcefully, one day at the office. And because I turned him down, it hurt his feelings. He couldn't accept it, so the next day, he went around to all of his mates at the office, telling them that I was a slut and that I basically begged him for it. His mates then proceeded to tell everyone at Regents Park, which marked me down massively. No one would even look at me after that. And because everyone took his word as gospel, I was shipped out to Slough House," Y/N explained, her emotions surfacing as she spoke the truth she had tried to bottle up for so long.

River was shocked to his core. The revelation left him not only astonished but also infuriated at how someone could do that to someone as honest and kind-hearted as her.

"I’m so sorry," He consoled.

She shrugged nonchalantly, attempting to downplay the impact, but he could sense that it bothered her deeply. Understandably so.

"I heard you worked at The Park," He said, before pressing further, "Was it anyone I know?"

Y/N stayed silent for a moment before nodding, releasing a sigh, "It was Webb."

River raised his eyebrows before scrunching them together in a frown, "Spider?!"

"Yep," She replied curtly, downing the rest of her drink.

He scoffed in disbelief, finding yet another reason to dislike James Webb. "What a dickhead. How is it that he is able to get away with something like that? It's bullshit."

She nodded, "Yeah, it was shitty. But I got my revenge on him."

He shot her a pointed look, "What do you mean?"

"I'm not usually the petty type..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced down at the table.

"Oh, come on," River encouraged her, "What did you do?"

Biting her lip, she tried to hide her smile, "On my last day at The Park, I broke into his office while he was at a meeting and went through his computer. I wasn't even looking for anything in particular. But then I found some rather revealing pictures he had of himself. So, being as pissed off as I was at the time, I sent them as an email to everyone in the building. I did it in a way that no one could trace it back to me."

River couldn't stop himself from bursting into laughter, hastily covering his mouth as he began to worry he was making too much noise.

"That is priceless," He chuckled, "Who is dumb enough to even have photos like that when working in the service? Let alone on your work computer."

"Clearly Spider," She grinned, propping her chin onto her palm.

River's laughter eventually subsided, but his smile remained, "So he never found out?"

She shook her head, "Nope. But I'm sure he won't forget it anytime soon."

"I saw him today while dropping something off at The Park," He said, thinking out loud, "I should have knocked his lights out."

"Can't change anything now," She said, "Just gotta keep moving forward."

He glanced at her, shooting her a sympathetic but genuine smile.

His chair scraped across the wooden floor as he stood up to go and get another drink, "You're one of the good ones, Y/N L/N," River smiled, tapping her shoulder as he walked past her and made his way over to the bar.

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

A couple of hours had drifted by since Y/N and River had first stepped into the pub. Conversation flowed between them quite effortlessly as they both enjoyed the opportunity to unwind outside the confines of Slough House. Y/N decided to grab another drink after her first initial one, opting to nurse the second glass River had kindly bought for her. She observed him from across the table as he indulged in several glasses of whiskey.

She furrowed her brows, finding it quite amusing to witness his demeanour shift from serious to carefree within the span of just a couple of hours.

"You gonna finish that?" River mumbled, eyeing her half-empty glass. Without waiting for her response, he quickly snatched her glass from the table and downed the remaining liquid in one gulp.

She watched him with wide eyes, shaking her head at his audacity. Leaning forward on her elbows, she tapped her finger against the silver watch on his wrist that caught the light, quickly managing to glance at the time herself. "It's late!"

"What? Tired, are you?" River asked, tilting his head at her.

"You should be," She retorted, "It's a school night."

He groaned at her words, screwing his eyes shut at the thought of having to get up for work tomorrow morning while nursing a potential hangover.

She leaned over the table, concern etched on her face. "I think you've had enough, River."

His head suddenly shot up at the use of his name. He narrowed his gaze towards her cheekily before also leaning over the table, mirroring her actions. His eyes very obviously trailed over every inch of her face as he studied her features.

"You never call me River," He whispered, his voice low, unaware of the subtle hitch in her breath caused by the close proximity of their faces.

She shook her head, her reply soft, "I never call anyone River."

"Yeah well," He cleared his throat, "You can thank my mother; it was her hippie phase."

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle as an unfamiliar feeling of warmth washed over her. It felt strange to her to witness River in such a drunken state, considering his usual serious demeanour that he held. She took in the blue of his eyes, the scruff of his beard, the way his hair fell over his forehead—absorbing every detail possible.

He glanced around, taking notice of the nearly empty bar they still sat in before mumbling, "I reckon we should go."

"Good call," She agreed, standing up and pulling her coat back on.

As she grabbed her bag, she watched River skeptically as he slowly rose to his feet. He tapped his jacket a few times, feeling to make sure he still had his keys and his wallet.

The two quietly made their way out of the pub, the cool night air hitting them instantly as they stepped out onto the quiet streets of London. Y/N stood beside River, casting a sidelong glance at him, unable to shake the amusement present from her expression.

"So, reckon you’ll be fine to get home?" She teased him.

He glanced down at her from his tall height as he towered over her, nodding as he swayed on his feet slightly. "Yeah."

"Okay," She smiled up at him, "Thanks for tonight, I'll see you tom-"

But he was quick to cut her off, "Walk with me?"

"Huh?" She questioned him, pulling on her coat tighter around her frame as she craned her neck to look up at him.

River chuckled slightly as he casually shrugged his shoulders. "I wanna keep talking to you, so will you walk home with me?"

Y/N narrowed her gaze at him, reminding herself of the fact that he had managed to drink a whole lot more than her tonight. Without stopping to give it much thought, she found herself nodding and shot him a smile. "Alright, fine."

While they started walking together, side by side, down the street, River stumbled a bit, causing Y/N to reach out and grab his arm in order to steady him. "Easy there, Cartwright. Don't want you face-planting on the pavement."

"I've got it under control," River assured her, though the grin on his face betrayed a different story.

As they continued walking, she could feel him subtly starting to lean against her small frame slightly. His head was spinning, and to him it felt like he was floating due to the amount of alcohol he had consumed. She stole another glance at him, observing the longer strides he took compared to what he usually would. There was a peculiar bounce in his step, and the usual frown that often adorned his face was long gone which amused her with every passing minute.

"How is it that I'm smaller than you but can hold my alcohol better than you can?" Y/N teased him, leaning against him slightly as the wind crept past them.

"Shut up," He breathed, while shaking his head and licking his lips.

Before long, they arrived at a set of apartments. She stopped in her tracks, watching as River walked ahead of her, towards a flight of stairs. It was only a couple of seconds before he noticed she was no longer following him. He turned around slowly, gesturing towards her with a confused look on his face.

"You coming?" River asked, tucking his hands further into the pockets of his jacket.

She curled her lips into her teeth, contemplating for a moment before she gave in, starting to follow him up the stairs which led to his apartment. He had slowed his pace down on the steps in front of her as he waited for her to catch up with him.

Once he had felt her place her hands onto his back, he sensed the warmth through the material of his jacket. She carefully guided him up the stairs, her presence a reassuring anchor until he stopped in front of his apartment door. He reached for his keys and fumbled with them, struggling to keep his eyes focused.

Y/N eyed him warily, observing the effects the alcohol had on his coordination. "Hey," She stepped closer to him, and spoke softly, "Give me those."

He chuckled, giving up almost instantly and passed her his keys. They stood close together, their fingers brushing against each other as she grabbed the keys from his hand.

"Which one is it?" She asked, glancing up at him with expectant eyes.

River leaned his head against the brick wall in front of him, turning slightly to look down at his keys before pointing to the right one. "That one."

She chuckled at him, biting her lip in concentration as she unlocked his front door. She could feel his eyes burning a hole into the side of her head, yet she tried to ignore it. As the door creaked open, she held it open for him, maintaining a watchful eye as he stumbled through his entryway.

His studio apartment was dimly lit, the soft glow revealing the lived-in but tidy space he occupied.

"Alright, Cartwright," She teased, handing him back his keys. "Get some rest and maybe lay off the whiskey next time."

River chuckled, giving her a nod of agreement. "Thanks, Y/N. And thanks for walking with me."

Y/N smiled with a genuine warmth in her eyes. "Well, you did buy me a drink. Consider it payback."

He stared down at her intently as he came to stand in front of her. He drew in a few deep breaths, the sound filling the silence that enveloped his apartment. River narrowed his eyes gently at her as a sheepish grin tugged it way onto his lips.

“What are you looking at?” She asked him, feeling a warmth beginning to appear across her cheeks.

With a nonchalant shrug, he maintained his silence as he simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

Y/N knew she should take her leave, but there was something about him that made her want to stay. He didn’t seem to mind as he tripped over the mat, and he kicked his shoes off. He managed to shrug off his jacket as he made his way over to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Deciding to stay, she placed her bag beside the lounge as she let her eyes wander around curiously, absorbing the surprisingly cozy charm of his apartment. The warmth enveloped her, leaving her torn between the sensible impulse to leave and the pull she was feeling that made her want to stay a little while longer.

River emerged from the bathroom, keeping quiet as he sauntered his way to his bed. As he settled down onto the edge of the mattress, he couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh, a release of tension he seemed unaware of carrying. Y/N approached him slowly, as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat, her gaze fixed on him.

“You alright?” She asked him, taking notice of the slump of his shoulders and the frown on his face that had managed to return.

There was a brief silence that lingered before she pressed on, concern evident in her voice, “What’s up? Hmm?”

She swore she could hear him sniffle slightly and watched as River reached up to run his hands over his face. He soon lifted his head to meet her gaze, shaking his head, a look of weariness etched across his features.

“I just…” He sighed, deliberately trying to hold back, leaving an unspoken weight lingering in the air.

Y/N found herself witnessing a side of him she never would have anticipated – vulnerable, burdened by the weight of emotions he desperately tried to hide. . Without hesitation, she extended a comforting hand, placing it gently on his shoulder. "You can talk to me, you know?" She reassured, offering him with a supportive presence.

River sighed, his gaze remaining heavy and fixed on the floor. "I just want to be actually useful, Y/N. Do something, I mean – I could not be more bored if I tried, and I have actually tried. It feels like I’m drowning there in Slough House."

She listened attentively, allowing him the space to voice the thoughts he'd been holding back. It was clear to Y/N in that moment that opening up like this wasn't something he was accustomed to. He had a perpetual need to prove himself, a persistent desperation that echoed in his words. The weight of expectations seemed to be wearing him down, and the vulnerability he displayed was both unfamiliar and exhausting for someone who typically guarded his thoughts so closely.

“I just feel like a failure, and it’s all my fault,” River murmured, completely defeated, his frustration evident as he began to rub at his eyes with his knuckles.

A brief silence hung in the air before Y/N gently placed both of her hands on his shoulders. "River," She whispered into the quiet, watching as he glanced up at her from where he sat in front of her.

She offered a soft smile once their eyes met. "When was the last time you had a hug?"

He looked away for a moment, genuinely trying to recall the last time he embraced someone. What shocked him was the realization that he genuinely couldn't remember the last time he had been hugged.

“I don’t know,” He mumbled, shaking his head.

Y/N frowned, taking a tentative step closer, as if testing the waters. “Can I hug you?” She whispered.

River nodded, with the word "Please" escaping his lips, quiet and hushed.

Without any hesitation, Y/N stepped forward, closing the gap between them and positioning herself between his legs. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him into a comforting embrace. At first River was initially unsure, but gradually surrendered to the solace of the moment, reciprocating by enveloping her in his arms. His head found a resting place against her stomach, and a contented exhale escaped him as he felt her nails tracing patterns on his back through the fabric of his shirt.

Her perfume acted as a subtle anchor, which grounded him, preventing him from falling apart completely. They lingered in their embrace, the gentle swaying of their bodies providing a soothing rhythm.

“Hey,” She whispered, her hands tracing up the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her, “You’re not a failure, I promise.”

River, too tired and fatigued to muster any words, flashed her a lazy smile as his eyes started to grow heavy. Resting his chin against her stomach, he glanced up at her. The effort to stay awake was a struggle for him, and her thumbs, rubbing soothing circles into his cheeks, only added to the struggle he faced.

“I think I need to sleep,” He mumbled, burying his face against the fabric of her shirt again, savouring the warmth of the hug for a few more precious seconds.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and settled back against the mattress. Y/N observed him, grateful that he was home safely.

"You need anything before I leave?" Y/N offered, lingering near the end of the bed, her gaze briefly caught by the city lights beyond his window.

One of his eyes opened, heavy with drowsiness, as he glanced at her from where he laid. It didn’t take long before he spoke up.

“Stay for a bit?” He asked, his voice sounding small and muffled against the pillows.

Without hesitation, she nodded towards him, slipping off her shoes and coat. Her body dipped against the mattress as she crawled up to the top, leaning against the headboard of his bed. To her surprise, she felt River shift closer, lifting his head to glance at her for a moment.

“Is this okay?” He asked, a vulnerable note in his voice that made her heart surge.

She nodded, motioning for him to come closer. River slumped down beside her, allowing her to hold him. Grabbing a blanket from the end of his bed, she draped it over the top of them. With an arm wrapped gently around his shoulders, she began playing with his soft, blonde hair.

“That feels good,” He hummed in content, draping an arm across her torso. The sensation of being held felt overwhelming to him, but in all the right ways.

As River slowly drifted into a peaceful slumber, Y/N felt his body starting to become heavier against her. In the quiet of his room, the city lights outside casting a gentle glow across his apartment, she continued to hold him, providing the comfort he needed in that vulnerable moment.

©𝙇𝙄𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙎𝙉𝙄𝘿

5801 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨

#jack lowden #jack lowden x reader #river cartwright #river cartwright x reader #river x reader #slow horses fanfiction #river cartwright imagine #apple tv #slow horses #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden imagines

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k-illdarlings · 4 months

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where is river cartwright fanfics y’all…

#river cartwright #slow horses #river cartwright fic #river cartwright x reader #slow horses fanfiction #river x reader #jack lowden

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albionscastle · 1 year

Text

We’ll Meet Again part 13

It’s been a long time coming this one. But it was time.

Collins becomes a father and a bombing mission goes awry with disastrous consequences.

Trigger Warning: battle, war, mentions of the Holocaust

This was always the plan.

Fic Masterlist all previous chapters are posted here.

We’ll Meet Again 13: The Way You Look Tonight/The White Cliffs of Dover

Jack was in the air when your daughter was born, but you weren't alone, you were surrounded by Violet, Della and Mary, though your heart still ached for him, even through the pain. One day you would tell her that she was born in an Underground shelter on the last day of the Blitz. You had hoped that meant it was the beginning of the end for the war, but how terribly wrong you all were on that count. A telegram was dispatched to inform Collins that he was now a father, the letter that followed told him she had his hair and eyes and a set of very healthy lungs. You had discussed names in your letters and decided to name her Carys for your mother, she would have loved that, and it wasn’t until you held your own child in your arms that you realized how much you still missed her. It was a month before Jack could get a day’s leave and he admitted that he now owed a lot of boys a great many favors in order to pull it off.

Standing at the door of the boarding house you cradled Carys in your arms as you waited for him. A proper party had been planned in the garden to celebrate your little family and you were anxious for Collins to arrive and just as anxious to hide the fact that you were already heartbroken at the thought of him having to leave again.

'Y/N!' you heard a shout and whipped your head around to see Jack trotting down the street, a small rucksack thrown to the ground as he opened his arms.

Tears were in your eyes as you flew down the steps, running to throw an arm arm around him as he spun you around, laughing. His arm wrapped around your waist, his mouth on yours before you could say a word. You kissed him back, not caring if your lips bruised, feeling like a thirsty man at a desert oasis. The whole world ceased to exist for a moment as six months of missing him came down to this one moment and you poured every ounce of love and longing you had into kissing him. It was Carys who eventually decided to bring you both back to reality, letting you know, loudly, that she did not appreciate being squished between her parents.

Jack pulled away, blue eyes shining brightly as he looked down to see his daughter for the first time.

'She's so tiny,' he whispered, his finger brushing her brow.

'Daddy, meet Carys Margot Alex Collins.'

"Alex?' He whispered.

"For Farrier.’

Collins nodded and you saw him choke down a lump in his throat. You hoped there would be news about his friend, good or bad, it had to be better than not knowing. Blinking away tears

he let you place her in his arms, holding her as though she was made of the most delicate glass.

"Hello there, darlin, I'm yer da.'

You watched, your heart swelling as he smiled down at her, rocking his arms with as much love in his eyes as you had ever seen. Looking back up at you he reached out a hand to cradle your cheek, his smile so blinding it made you sigh. He was so beautiful.

'I'm sorry I wasnae here, I wanted tae be so badly."

"It's not like you had much of a choice, Jack, you wrapped an arm around his waist, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked back to the boarding house. Everyone was gathered in the garden, just as they had been the first day he came to visit. There were new faces now, as well as the ghosts of those who had gone. Jacob and Mary greeted Jack as though he was their own son, a deep sadness in Jacob's eyes. There was no chance any of his family in Poland were still alive and it tore at him more than if he had lost them in a battle. They had been murdered, along with who knew how many others. Still, on such a day he rallied and mingled, keeping everyone entertained with funny stories you all knew weren't true.

Collins was never without a well-wisher and for just a few hours it was as though the war hadn’t even happened. There was even cake for the brave new father. Margot's photographer friend was there too, having kept in touch even after her death, and he made sure to take as many photos as he could. When questioned about it he simply shrugged and said, 'We should have as many reminders of those we love as we can. For when they are gone, they should be remembered.’ His picture-taking was encouraged after that and even he seemed content for a time, his subjects all happy and alive, unlike the ones he took photos of on a daily basis.

For his part, Jack had fallen head over heels with his child, never more than a foot away from either of you at any time. He looked on with wide-eyed wonder when you nursed her, and when she was unbundled for a nappy change he couldn't keep his hands off her, counting every finger and toe. When her fingers grabbed onto his thumb and she opened her eyes to look at him he

actually cried. Your strong, brave fighter was an absolute softie at heart and you knew Carys would have him wrapped around her little finger for life. You could already see them ganging up against you, knowing you would never be able to not give in.

Later that night as darkness fell, you placed the baby in her cradle, willing her to sleep for at least a few hours. You wanted time alone with your husband, who at that moment walked out of the bathroom in his skivvies and wrapped his arms around you. Looking down at Carys he squeezed you tightly.

Can ye believe we did this?’ there was wonder in his voice. "We

made a whole person together.’

‘And when all this is over we should make a couple more. Hopefully at least one of them will look like me. you chuckled.

"What? Ye dinnae want a litter o my carbon copies then? I feel almost hurt, lass.' he pouted before sneaking a peck at your lips.

"But I am glad tae have ye to meself fer a wee while. I missed ye."

For a moment you both stood there, your arms around his waist, head resting on his chest while he stroked your hair.

"I missed you too, Jack.' you murmured, squeezing your eyes shut and breathing in the smell of him.

‘Come.' he whispered, taking your hand and walking to the bed.

He placed your arms around his neck, leaning down to kiss you as though he had all the time in the world, his lips soft and warm on yours, his tongue teasing your mouth open. Even though you had cursed him and his whole sex while in labor, going so far as to swear you wouldn't let him touch you again, it took only seconds before you felt your desire for him break to the

surface. Heat gathered in your belly, your body coming alive for him as if no time had passed at all. You pressed yourself against him, moaning into his mouth as his hands ran the length of your back,grabbing your rear and tugging you closer.

"Wait.' he pulled away for a moment. 'Is it ok? I don't wan tae

hurt ye.’

"It's been a month, I'm all healed." Even if you hadn’t been you never would have stopped him.

"Alright then. You'll tell me if ye need me tae stop?'

You nodded your assent, fingers tangling in his head and pulling his face down so you could kiss him again. He smiled against your lips as he started undoing the buttons of your dress, making short work of it and your slip. Shivering in delight you helped him peel off his white singlet, running your palms down his chest, feeling him tense under your touch. Silently, you divested one another of your underclothes until you stood naked in front of one another. Collins

placed his hands on your waist, his eyes following their path up your sides to cup your breasts. He was gentle as he touched you, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they peaked, smiling sweetly as you trembled, goosebumps breaking out on your skin. His hands trailed down toward your belly and instinctively you tried to cover yourself. Still recovering from pregnancy you were self-conscious about the extra rolls and the marks that marred your skin.

"Don't.' he whispered softly, kneeling down in front of you and gently moving your hands to your sides. "You are beautiful, you know that right?’

He looked up at you earnestly, and you managed a nod.

‘Don't ever be ashamed of this,' he pressed his mouth to your belly, blowing warm air over your skin. ‘You brought a new life into the world, with this body, my child. That's an incredible feat and

you have never looked more stunning to be than you do right now.’

His words made you want to cry, but his mouth had other ideas, his tongue tracing the path of each stretch mark making you moan his name, dampness flooding between your legs. Sparks of electricity shot from where his lips brushed your skin, prickling through your limbs until they met at a point, throbbing and aching for him.

In a flash of movement he had you up in his arms, crawling onto the bed until your head met the pillows and his body covered yours. He kissed you senseless, your head spinning as his hand pushed on your thigh, opening you under him. Your back arched off bed as his fingers dragged through your wetness, circling around that tiny bundle with frustrating slowness, never quite touching you where you needed him to. Blood pulsed in your veins, rushing in your ears while he took his time, allowing you all the time you might need to be ready for him, which was too slow for you.

"Jack.’ you whined, rolling your hips toward him.

"Hold on love.' he crooned, his lips marking a heated path down your neck.

He slid a finger inside you, slowly, testing for any discomfort from you. His name slipped from your lips breathlessly, it wouldn't have mattered if there had been pain, you still would have wanted him. These moments you could steal away were precious, never knowing when the

the next one might be. Or even if there would be any more.

'I'm fine, I promise, I just want to be with you."

He caught your eyes, the same unspoken fear of the future reflected back at you, then acceptance, love and finally passion. Guiding himself to your entrance and pushing forward slightly, he never moved his eyes from yours, hands holding your head still as he kept searching and finding your love for him staring back at him. With a soft smile he moved again, slowly, but not stopping until he was seated inside you. Wrapping your arms around his back you encouraged him to move, pressing butterfly kisses up and down his neck, your body pulsating

and humming. With a groan, Jack moved, setting a leisurely pace that was loving, gentle, tender and sweet. You both took your time to simply enjoy one-another, to memorize every movement,

every sigh and every whispered endearment. Your pleasure grew slow and warm, spilling through you until you basked in it, blooming and opening until you gave over. He held you tightly as you shivered and trembled, swallowing your low moan with his mouth as you rippled around him. He followed a few moments later, lips against your ear as he whispered his love for you over and over. You held him close to you, and waited until you both stopped shaking, not knowing when the next time you could hold him again would be.

After a time Jack sighed, rolling over onto his back and tucking you in beside him. You lay silently for a time, listening to one another breathe, his fingers stroking your arm softly.

"Have ye given any thought tae going tae Scotland?'

'I have. I'm staying here unțil this is over. I'm not going somewhere where

we won't be able to see you.’

‘You would both be safer there, ye know.’

'I know, but what if this war drags on for years?"

He sighed again and you knew he was torn, while you wanted to grab hold

of any moment with him you could. It was selfish, you knew that.

"Promise me ye'll go if it gets bad again."

You nodded your assent, not wanting to think about all the terrible things that could happen, that had already happened. You talked into the wee hours of the morning, about everything except

the future. Instead you talked about books, music, how his parents farm ran, all happy things that helped you shut out the outside world for just a little longer. Carys woke up once, but fell back to sleep quickly after eating. You tried so hard not to fall asleep, there would be enough

time for that later, but sometime in the dark your eyes had grown heavy and with the soothing comfort of your husband beside you, you had surrendered.

Waking with a start you sat up in bed, the space beside you empty. For a moment your heart stopped, had Jack gone, had he slipped out in the night? No. He would never have done that, it would be too cruel to the both of you. A shadow passed by the window and you held your breath as you heard his voice singing so softly you almost couldn't hear it.

"Can ye no hush yer weepin'

A the wee lambs are sleepin'

Birdies are nestin', nestin' together

Dream Angus is hirplin ower the heather

Dreams to sell, fine dreams to sell

Angus is here wi' dreams to sell

Hush ye my baby un' sleep without fear

Dream Angus has brought ye a dream my dear”

You didn't move a muscle as Jack’s shadow rocked back and forth gently, repeating the chorus of the lullaby until he finally laid Carys in her cradle and backed away. Turning to the bed he saw

your shadow in the pre-dawn light and climbed beside you holding you tight against his chest as you both laid back.

‘I didna wan tae wake ye, she just had a wee nightmare. My mam

used that lullaby tae sing me that tha' lullaby when I was a we’en. Always did the trick.’

‘It's beautiful.’ you murmured, looking to see the tiniest purple tinge to the sky through the window.

Dawn was coming, and with it Collins would leave again. Tears stung your eyes and you blinked them back, you wouldn't make him see you cry. He had enough to worry about, and you had to be strong so he didn’t go back to war worrying about you rather than himself.

The mood at breakfast was much more somber than the day before, everyone knew what it meant to go back, and though none of you spoke of it, the specter of death hung over you all.

By midmorning he was showered and back in uniform, ready to catch the train north, looking grim when he thought you weren't watching him.

This farewell was like all the rest, and not the only one happening around you. The station was full of young, uniformed men, weeping women and fathers trying to hold it together as their sons went off to war. You stood in each other's arms until the train arrived, Jack quietly singing in your ear as you swayed gently.

"We'll meet again, don't know where,

don't know when, but

I know we'll meet again some sunny day.'

He kissed you when it was time to board, his blue eyes shining as yours were with unshed tears.Uniformed men were leaning out of the windows, saying their farewells, kissing their sweethearts as they smiled and promised they would be home soon. Realistically you knew probably half of them would die far away from all those they loved. Finding a window Jack leaned out with a smile, reaching out his hand for you to grab, all the while telling you he loved you, that he would be back, not be afraid. You held on as long as you could as the train started to move, but soon it was too fast for you and he slipped out of your grasp. You ran after him as long as you could, until you could do more than wave until he rolled out of sight and was gone

July 20 1941

Collins.

Collins barely made mail call and it was with much relief that he managed to toss the letter into the bag before it was too late. He had taken his newest RAF photo a few days earlier and was anxious to send you a copy, he had grown a mustache and hoped that you would find it rather

dashing when you saw him, he certainly liked it and was determined to grow a beard as soon as all this was over. He could already see you laughing and playfully pushing him away as he tried to nuzzle your face with it, then he would do the same to his children, enjoying their playful squeals when he chased them. The other men teased him good-naturedly for his eagerness, all of them having had to run to catch the mail at some point. The sooner you got a letter out the sooner you got one back and they all lived for those loving words from home, often reading them aloud and passing pictures around. He had done it two weeks ago after you had sent him copies of photos taken at the party and all the boys had awed over little Carys, a few of them had even offered to take his pretty wife off his hands. This had led to some friendly wrestling for the photo and sheepish grins when their Commander had come out to yell at them for behaving like children. The whole thing was a basic ritual between them now, along with the gathering of those things for the family when someone didn't come back. Which was more often than any of them cared to admit.

It was a beautiful day, bright sun and a cool, soft breeze and the men were all lying about on the grass next to the airfield. His squadron was stood down for a day so they could rest before

going back out there on their bombing missions. Collins was at war with himself about what he did now. In the spitfires, the enemy was easy to identify, and engage. The German pilots had the exact same mission as he did. When he shot down an enemy pilot he knew what he had done and who he had killed, though it never sat easy with any of them, the killing of another human being, no matter the reason. They tried to justify it by remembering that the same human would just have soon killed them without any hesitation, it was enough to bring a form of acceptance. But now, they crept through the skies under the cover of darkness, dropping bombs on the ground and most of the time sneaking away undetected. But on the ground were civilians, some likely innocent and that sat harder with him. There was not a small amount of guilt for the suffering he helped to inflict, but he would always do his duty. For King and Country and

all that, though he knew he would carry the guilt for the rest of his life. It was one of the many costs of surviving the war.

A football was produced from somewhere and several hours were spent kicking it about, right beside all the planes taking off and landing, the bullet holes in many of them a solemn reminder of reality. It was an unspoken superstition among the men at Feltwell and possibly everywhere else, that they didn't speak of the future after the war, it was considered a jinx and all too often it

had proven to be just so. Farrier had told stories about his plans almost every night and look at what had happened to him. His family may never know what had happened to him and they certainly would never have a body to bury, most of the families wouldn't. Where you fell was

where you stayed and if they found your tags and gave you a wooden cross with your name on it you were lucky.

Trying to shake the depression he was feeling, Collins pulled your photos out of his pouch and gazed at them. A smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how happy you had all been that

day, they had captured a moment of pure happiness frozen in time. A smile

spread across his face as he looked at his family, someone handed him a cigarette and he lay back in the grass, the sun hot on his bare arms as he remembered all your happy moments

together. The sound of laughter filled the air, the kind of raucous noises that could only come from the play of hot-blooded young men letting off steam. It could almost make him forget, at least until the next plane landed.

'Fall in!'' A voice boomed from near the hangar and every man on the field was instantly back in duty mode, lining up and standing at attention.

Their commander stood before them along with four men, all dressed in the uniform of the New Zealand RAF, all with bright, friendly smiles on their faces. Collins had a feeling he knew what this was about and judging from the grim faces on the others, so did they.

'Right lads, I’m looking for a volunteer to lend these Kiwis a hand tonight, their Flight Sergeant has the runs and they need a replacement for a run tonight, anyone want to offer their assistance?'

Dead silence, no-one ever actually wanted to go on a run. Collins looked at the four kiwis, all of whom looked younger than they had any right to be and saw the grim acceptance in their eyes. With or without a volunteer they would be in the air that night, with one they stood a better chance of surviving.

'I'll go!' Collins' hand was in the air before he even realized what he was doing. ‘Someone needs to show the colonists some real swagger. Aye lads?’

He stepped forward with a grin,trying to lighten the pall that had fallen over them all, the looks of relief on the Kiwi’s faces more than enough to convince him he'd done the right thing.

They all introduced themselves over tea, he would be flying with some great guys, and experienced at that, between them all they had almost 200 sorties done and dusted. In fact there had been more than one occasion when he and the Kiwi crew had been in the air on the same mission, flying alongside one another without ever knowing. The war may have been on many fronts but sometimes it shrunk down so small that it was uncanny.

The other men went back to their leisure time while Collins quietly got himself ready, photos in his pocket for luck and a shot of scotch for courage. The men of RNZAF Squadron 75 quartered on the other side of the base, and boy were they a rowdy lot. He smiled as he walked into the mess and the men started ribbing him about having a stiff upper lip. It was normal and he gave back by asking them if they all had pictures of their sheep. A few laughs and pats on the back later and he was one of the lads, although he was sure he understood their accents

about as much as they understood his..

As it started to get dark, Collins and his four crewmates silently dressed in their flight suits and parachute packs before joining the rest of the squadron on the runway. The ground crew were fueling the five Vickers Wellington bombers that would be flying the mission. There were no escorts, Bomber Command had deemed them non-feasible in the long term and the Wellingtons

were heavily armored and carried a considerable amount of fire power. But they weren't as maneuverable as fighter planes, which often led to problems when they were faced with them. Still, Collins thought, staring at the metal fortress towering above them, these missions were considerably safer than dog-fighting in Spitfires.

‘Time to go mate.’ The wireless operator slapped his back as he walked by, breaking Collins from his thoughts.

"Hey, I thought it was the Aussies that said "mate”’

'Nah, who do you think the thieving bastards stole it from?'

The Kiwi / Aussie rivalry rumors had apparently not been exaggerated. Collins laughed as he slid into his seat in the cockpit of the plane, buckling himself in tightly and immediately beginning

to check his instruments. The pilot, a lad of 19 took his own seat and set about doing his own checks. The others took their own positions and chatted happily as they prepared.

"Hey Collins, you got a sweetheart?"

"Aye, a wife and a wee bairn." he pulled a picture of the three of you out to show the others.

"That's a lovely family you have there, Collins,’ the front gunner showed you a picture of his sweetheart, a pretty blonde girl of about 20. 'Hattie's parents said I couldn't marry her until I got home, so we better move this war along fast, so someone else doesn’t have time to try and steal her away.”

"Right then lads, let's go show the Krauts a thing or two about superior races!”

Collins slid his photo into the instrument panel after kissing it for luck. The bombers powered up and taxied to the runway, taking off into the night in quick succession. For a moment there was silence as they gained their altitude and moved into formation.

“What’s the mission then?”

The Flight-Officer/Wireless Operator unfolded his bundle of papers and pointed to a spot on the map.

“Here.” he handed Collins the aerial photo of their target so the pilots knew what to aim for. “A munitions factory just outside Gelsenkirchen.”

“Where the fuck is that?’

“Near Belgium and the Netherlands, the biggest city close to both of those borders.”

“That’s Western Germany ain’t it?” The young pilot looked unnerved, and Collins couldn’t blame him.

“Sure is, but we are flying up and around to avoid the worst of the Front.”

Collins had flown into Germany many times, but never so close to the Front. From the sounds of things the other men had only done it a handful of times and none were happy about doing it again. Then again orders were orders and they were well trained to follow them without question.

“So then, the flight time should be about one and half hours and it’s hot as soon as we cross the Channel, so stay sharp boys and let’s get home in one piece.”

With that the Flight Officer took his place at the radio and silence settled on the small crew. They remained undetected as they flew over Belgium, their target was closer to the Netherlands but the Germans had control there, so a straight route was out of the question. It was amazing how quiet it was on the ground, at least until they flew closer to Germany and Collins could see the flashes in the dark, the fires and explosions. A prayer was whispered for the men down in the dark as the formation turned North North West toward the small town of Weseke, from where they would turn South toward their target. Intelligence had the area relatively clear of air traffic and at only 40 miles from the target it seemed they were well on course to complete the mission. They were only 20 minutes from dropping their bombs and getting the hell out of dodge.

There was a crackle through the radio and a voice came over sounding concerned.

“Be advised we think we spotted three Me.109’s, stay sharp lads.”

“Fuck.” Collins muttered under his breath, looking out the windows into the darkness.

There was barely enough moonlight to allow any of them to see any more than half a mile in any direction, meaning the Germans could be on them before they even had time to react.

“There!” He spotted a shape that seemed to be keeping pace with them. “One at 2 O’clock, about half a mile away!”

The gunner in the turret turned to aim, spotting the fighter where Collins said it would be. He was good, taking a mere second to open fire, the bullets streaking through the air, silver in the darkness. The German pilot easily dove out of the way before coming back into position. What the hell was he doing?

Collins didn’t like this at all.

“Anyone got eyes on the other two?” he asked into the headset.

“Confirmed, one Me. at 10 O’clock, half a mile out.” This from the other Wellington who was bringing up the rear of the formation.

They were being flanked and there was no sign of the third one anywhere. Their new 'companions' seemed in no rush to engage which had a shiver of unease running down Collins' spine. Looking over at the pilot he saw the same unease mirrored back at him.

Something was very wrong here.

“Heads up, they're moving.”

Collins watched as the fighter beside them banked away and out of sight, a voice on the radio confirming the same move from no. 2.

'This is it! Whatever their plan is it's happening now"

In almost perfect harmony, the five Wellingtons moved defensively, zig zagging across the sky in the hopes the Germans couldn't get a fix on them.

"Fuck me!" Where the hell are they?” he craned his neck to look out the window at all angles but there was nothing, except darkness.

"How are you as a gunner Collins?" the flight officer asked, poking his head into the cockpit.

"I'm a better pilot than gunner, Sir.”

"Actually, I'm good as a gunner, I have excellent aim." the young pilot spoke up.

“Collins, you have control, keep zig zagging” Gunner we need you in the rear in case those bastards come from behind.”

The bullets that hit the perspex in front of his face came out of nowhere and Collins felt his heart start to race from the unexpected shock.

'We're takin fire from the front!' He banked the Wellington as hard as he could, barely escaping the next barrage.

Like a monster rising out of the darkness, he saw the Me. coming straight ahead at him and he pushed the plane down, the bullets streaking overhead by centimeters, followed by lines of return fire, like shooting stars into the night. The Me. was gone before the bullets even got there. He heard the rear gunner firing and a loud curse.

"It's like he's a fucking ghost'' he yelled, searching for any sign of their enemy.

From the radio Collins could hear that the rest of the formation was under attack, men were shouting and the sound of gunfire was alive in the air. They were all well-trained men and if

anything they were going to make it bloody difficult for the Germans to get the better of them.

They were so busy trying to stave off the German fighters that everyone had forgotten one thing.

The third one.

The blast came out of nowhere and if Collins hadn't been strapped into his seat he would have hit the roof of the cockpit. The Wellington shuddered and groaned, the sound of metal buckling and crumpling screaming in the air. He could smell fuel, taste the heavy tang of metal in the air, and could hear the men crying out behind him.

“We’ve been hit!’ he barked into the radio, forcing himself to stay calm while the fear tried to overtake him.

They were still in the air. Chancing a look behind him he saw that the middle of the plane was caved in, trapping the young pilot in the back of the fuselage where he continued to fire relentlessly on the enemy. The Flight - Officer and Bomber were either unconscious or dead, their bodies trapped under crushed metal and framing. Sparks cracked in the air and at any moment one of them could ignite a fire, killing them all.

"Sir, he's coming again!' The gunner in the turret cried out, letting loose a barrage of bullets while Collins tried to bank the Wellington out of the way with no luck. The ability to maneuver was gone, none of the pedals or sticks would respond and it was pure dumb luck that they

were even still in the air. The plane was dead. For the first time he felt terror. They

were going to go down and there was nothing he could do about it.

“If you can bail out, do it!' he called out to the two men, even though he already knew there was no way out.

“No chance for me, I'm stuck in here!” The rear Gunner called

back.

“Same up here.” The front gunner responded. “Let’s at least try and take the Nazi bastard with us!”

Collins could hear the fear in their voices. He could feel it rising in his chest, catching his breath away from him. He was trapped as well, the only escape route now buckled into the middle of the fuselage. His eyes darted around with the speed and terror of a caged animal. Less than a minute had passed since they were first hit, and yet it seemed like hours. In what seemed like slow motion, Collins saw the Me. coming back at them and he called out to the others, bullets flying back and forth in the sky, the other bombers under attack and moving ahead. Banking

and turning sharply, the Me. flew overhead until it could come down behind them, like a lion coming in for the kill.

He heard the bullets, the scream of the pilot as they pierced the tail of the plane, managing to tear it off, along with half the rear gun compartment.

Immediately the Wellington began to whine, the nose falling forward toward the unseen ground. As the plane began its final dive, Collins looked at the photo in front of him. Suddenly he felt no fear, only a heart-aching heaviness in his chest. He could see every memory, every moment you had spent together flashing in his head. So many happy memories. He felt sad that he would never see his daughter grow up, or see your eyes light up again, but he was thankful for the time he'd been given.

The plane fell fast, spinning as it dove, trailing acrid smoke behind it. It took a minute and as it crashed into the ground, crumpling into almost nothing, Collins smiled as he slipped into unconsciousness. He was at peace.

Then the world went dark.

Author’s Notes

On July 20 1940 a Vickers Wellington bomber carrying five souls, was lost near the town of Weseke. They were on a mission to bomb oil and coal infrastructures near the city of Gelsenkirchen in Germany. All on board were killed.

Nothing is known as to how they were lost, only that they were there and then they were gone..

Other crews with them that night reported seeing Me. 109's “Messerschmitts” in the area, so it is

assumed that they were shot down. It would have taken no more than two minutes.

German Ace Pilot (he was not an Ace yet as this was his first confirmed kill), Siegfried Wandam

reported downing a Wellington bomber in the same vicinity on the same night. He was later killed coming in to land, badly damaged in 1943, having claimed 10 kills.

The crew of the Wellington consisted of four Kiwis and two Brits, the Kiwis part of the famous 75th Squadron, the first non- British to fight and suffer losses in the air. The 75th were known for their high success rate and tenacity, they flew the most missions of any squadron, dropped the second highest payload, and suffered the most losses of any other unit.

Bomber and Fighter Command did not believe that fighter escorts were necessary for night-time bombing raids, a belief that left the Wellingtons vulnerable as they only had the ability

to defend themselves from the front and back. In one mission in 1942, 20 Wellingtons were lost out of 33 Allied aircraft downed. A total of 73 men went down . Only 13 survived as P.O.W’s.

The crew of Wellington Mk. Ic R. 3165 AA-L were buried in a communal grave by persons unknown, a marker with their names erected. The only way to identify them was with their dog tags which were collected and returned to their families. At a later time the remains were transferred to be interred at Reichswald Forest War Cemetery in Germany.

7671 men are interred there.

Their names were:

Samuel Miles Mackenzie Watson Age 27

Edward Colin Joseph Cameron Age 19

Ronald John Alexander Anderson Age 26

John Lewis Owen Age 24

G. M. Cumming Age 27

H Wilson Age 21

Ronald Alexander John Anderson was my great-uncle.

From top left: Anderson, Reichswald Forest War Cemetery, Cameron. Middle Left: Final resting place1, communal grave with marker, final resting place 2. Bottom left: Watson, Wandam, Owen.

I could find no photos or information on Wilson or Cumming, who were the two Brits on the sortie.

#jack lowden #collins x reader #dunkirk fanfiction #dunkirk collins #jack lowden fanfiction

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 5 years

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Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 39: Check

Summary: Babies. Adorable little nightmares, aren’t they? Or are they awful dreams?

AN: Happy Dunkirk Release Anniversary for yesterday!

Took another while but I’m writing a new story to replace this one hopefully. It’s coming close to finishing Complementary now.

Triggers under “Read More”

Previous Chapter Masterlist Gif Credit

Trigger warning: Allusions to portpartum depression

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Unfortunately, that first day was the start of a staircase, the first step down. And Genevieve, with her leg, hated stairs.

It started like every other day the past couple of months: Stella crying at five in the morning after falling asleep at half one and waking up again at three. Genevieve was awakened from an unpleasant dream that was in fact a memory she cared not to remember. With a stretch to the sky, she began taking her turn to go check in with her baby. Her body felt like it weighed tons; heaving it out of bed was a trial she grew weary of more and more every time she had to do it. Feet dragging along the floor, she left behind Jack and followed the noise to the nursery.

That sound, it was not the screaming siren like it had been before. Just a simple cry that was as tired as Genevieve, who took up the child and held her close in her chest.

“Hello, darling,” She whispered against Stella’s head, “I’m here, shh.”

In a daze, she took the pair of them downstairs. Her hand gripped the banister tightly to keep her balance. Made the trip slower, but that was part of her newest daily task: ignoring her leg pain in favour of Stella’s care. This began as she sat on the sofa and tried to get Stella to have some breakfast.

“Come on,” She whispered as Stella’s head turned away, finding interest in looking everywhere but where she needed to get her feed. “Stella, love. This isn’t fun for me either.”

Both of them moaned at each other, their wants and needs repelling like the matching ends of magnets. Genevieve sank back into the sofa, still begging to a baby who couldn’t understand her until eventually Stella took to her. With a muttered thanks, Genevieve waited whilst her patience rebuilt itself brick by brick.

The burping was always a nightmare. Within a couple of pats, Stella was squirming to get away from her own spit-up with a strong grimace that her Da would be proud of.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Genevieve dabbed at her mouth while Stella made her displeasure known to all. A trial and a half, but then again Stella was too young to understand that it would be over a lot quicker if she just sat still.

Neither had expected to fall asleep. Coupled with the clock on the fireplace chiming eight o’clock, footsteps travelling down the stairs woke them up. Sitting up and carefully waking Stella, Genevieve spied Jack in the sitting room door frame, his work clothes clean from the wash yesterday. She didn’t know whether she loved or hated the moustache that he was “just trying out”. She was simply indifferent at the moment. Bigger worries at the moment.

Jack crossed over to her side, greeting her with a gentle “good morning” and a hand on her shoulder. A hum was the reply he got as Genevieve let him take Stella from her, falling back onto the couch with eyes closed as soon as she was gone.

Only a couple of minutes could be spared for Genevieve. She didn’t even think she actually went to sleep; sounds of Jack mumbling to his daughter filled her ears, even as she buried her head under the throw. But just resting her eyes, a soft space embracing her, felt glorious. Even her leg was giving her a break before the long day ahead; the pain had slipped off her thigh and been forgotten somewhere on the stairs. As a result, she prolonged her time on this sofa as long as she could, only removing the throw to let in the morning when she heard Jack stop in front of her.

“Stella, you be good for your Ma, alright?” Jack kissed Stella’s cheek then passed her back over to Genevieve, “Call me if you need anything, if the doctor says anything.”

And he kissed her on the crown of her head. It tilted to follow him as he pulled away. Genevieve’s mouth fell open, but she bit her tongue, holding back the desire to tell Jack her dream. It would help no one; he was already leaving the house, what could he do to help her in the seconds spare he had before driving away?

The lock in the front door twisted into place, and Genevieve began counting. Her thumb brushed across Stella’s cheek for each count, keep her quiet for just a moment. Genevieve reached the number twenty-three before she heard the car engine being switched on. It rumbled away from the house, shrinking into the distance until it disappeared. With a sigh, Genevieve lightly pinched Stella’s cheek and exhaled as she made a noise connoting a smile in return. Sure enough, when she looked, Stella was grinning up at her. Sort of. It was a wide-open mouth with the corners turned up ever so slightly.

From the floor, Genevieve collected the steaming cup of tea and a plate of buttered toast beside her cane – all of which Jack must have left for her. She wished she noticed sooner, to thank him. As she ate her breakfast, she kept Stella lying down in her lap.

“Ready for the doctor’s today, my lovely? We’re gonna do some house stuffs first though.”

Changing her nappy for a clean cloth did not go as planned. It never did. Stella’s legs kicked wildly and – like today – landed themselves in poo. Mock crying to the ceiling helped Genevieve cope as she wiped away the mess; holding her breath played its part too.

Even when clean, Stella continued to writhe. Mostly away from the arm holes, leg holes, head holes, in her clothes and she whined despite Genevieve’s assurances. Her aversion for cooperation was sated when Genevieve rested her head to Stella’s belly, curled up in front of her, and Stella thought this exhaustion was a game. Bit of a dick move, but Genevieve took advantage of Stella’s longing for play time to force her into an outfit. Stella seemed shocked at this, her eyes wide, her body stiff.

She remained that way as Genevieve lay her amongst pillows for protection – so that she could keep her eye on her while she cleaned the sitting room. It was slow work, the cleaning of clutter and the dusting and polishing, and slower now that Stella required seeing Genevieve every few seconds to stop her crying as much.

This was just killing time until lunch, which would be killing time until Stella’s nap was over, which was killing time until the doctor’s appointment. The whole day really was planned around the baby.

When lunch time arrived, Genevieve was glad to stop faffing around. None of her efforts seemed to show in the room. She put Stella down after rocking her to sleep for twenty minutes. Sat beside the crib, her hypothesis was proven: upon sitting down, she would be stuck and want to stay there for a nap. That was, until Stella drifted off and Genevieve had to perform a delicate act to place her down without disturbance.

No sooner was she in the kitchen, her forearms were drawn to the table like a moth to a flame, weariness flaring in her chest to reach up her spine. It wasn’t long before she was lying beside her poorly made sandwich instead of eating it. Not sleeping though. Somehow she didn’t have the energy and her longing to close her eyes swapped for opening them the second she gave into it.

Counting the minutes before Stella should be woken, a new hobby that Genevieve did not enjoy but partook in nevertheless. Always it was such an enticing opportunity to let Stella oversleep, just a little more peace. As much as she wanted to, it would be worse for her in the long run.

In no time at all, Genevieve was creeping back into the nursery. She knelt before the bars of the crib; she held them loosely. Stella lay there with her arms and body folded in a bundle. Her eyes were closed, face still. But her feet were moving beneath the blanket, snuffling softly between noises, so she was definitely awake. To prove it beyond doubt, Stella’s brow crinkled and her mouth was drawn open wide.

“Hello you,” Genevieve spoke under her breath as Stella blinked over at her. With care, she stood and reached into the crib. A grizzling accompanied the baby as she was lifted up and into her mother’s arms, the top of her swaddle unfolded to free her arms. Genevieve traced her fingers along Stella’s chubby chin, “Let’s go.”

As was with every outing, damage control was created with the blankets. Stella enjoyed wrapping her hand around a corner, chewing on it. Genevieve thought perhaps it brought her baby ease because she often moaned when they went outside, the bump of the pavement and bright weather unfamiliar to her. When the summer months would come, they would sit in the garden and Genevieve could work while Stella played, maybe she would be sitting by then.

With the pram taking both hands, Genevieve pushed them out the door. One last look at her cane hanging up with their coats and she left the house.

_______________________________________________________

A clinically quiet room greeted them. Stella ensured that whoever was in the building knew they were there with her grizzling. Too weary to shush her daughter, Genevieve checked in and sat right beside the desk in a stiff chair, avoiding the temptation to rest her head against the handle by looking instead at a pamphlet that discussed the merits of penicillin.

“Mrs Collins?”

Into another rigid chair she sat, this time in a smaller office. Taking Stella out of the pram, Genevieve discussed with the nurse from her first visit what Stella had been like in the last two months. Some questions were asked: “what are her nappies like?”, “how does she take to feeding?”, “how often does she cry?” etc. The answers were as follows: “she uh, doesn’t do solid poos. I’m sure she empties her body weight in slush”, “she started off ok, but now she struggles a little, won’t take for minutes”, “all the time, I hardly know how to stop her”.

The nurse then weighed her – Stella, not Genevieve – and checked her little body. Going against all that Genevieve had said about her behaviour, Stella smiled for the nurse and barely made a sound. Genevieve was almost angry about that, but channelled it into a sardonic request for the nurse to teach all she knew about keeping babies quiet.

Scribbling all this down, the nurse took the sheet of paper off her desk and placed it into a file, “Despite all that, she’s very healthy, already started teething. You’ll need some medication for that.”

Genevieve prepared to place Stella back in the pram, when the nurse pulled out another form and asked, “How are you coping?”

Stopping, Genevieve frowned slightly at the question. Obligation and honesty began a tug of war in her heart, pulling it painfully back and forth. She looked down at Stella, who was rubbing her cheek into her mother’s chest to bring her back.

“Honestly?” Genevieve looked up at the nurse.

“Honestly, Mrs Collins,” The nurse nodded.

Drawing in a deep breath, Genevieve felt honesty win and she allowed herself to unload onto the form: “I feel like I’m not good enough for her. I can’t do anything anymore. I don’t want to. I’m so, so tired, but I don’t even want to sleep. I love her so much but feeling like this all the time makes it hard. I can’t tell anyone either; I know what they say about mothers who aren’t always delighted by their bundle of joy.”

“That’s understandable, Mrs Collins. You’ll be surprised to hear that a lot of mothers feel the same as you, unsatisfied by life, questioning why they became mothers, fatigued all the time.”

“It’s not just that,” “I keep thinking about my… time in France.”

The nurse tapped her pen against the desk before gesturing to Genevieve, “You know, the hospital had developments made to it towards the end of the war, in the psychiatric ward.”

The last two words froze in Genevieve’s ears, burned her brain with cold. Her grip on Stella tightened just a touch, grounding her with the feel of the soft clothes and the funny smell that mixed with her soap.

“They’ve altered part of the ward to allow mothers and their young babies to stay together. It’s voluntary, and you can check yourself out whenever you like.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I need that,” Genevieve said, eager to leave this office as soon as possible. Thankfully the nurse concluded the visit shortly after passing Genevieve a slip of paper detailing what would happen if she did need that.

Stella began crying again upon being returned to the pram; she grew louder when outside, likely missing the warmth of the office. Another reason to move quickly. Along with her leg aching, that was only allowing her to move so quickly, Genevieve was feeling rather overwhelmed by her discretion and felt the need to return to her bed.

“Genevieve!”

A familiar face parted from the crowd. Mariane waved to her eagerly; Genevieve immediately forced a smile that she really didn’t have the energy for.

“Oh, hey Mariane.”

“Hello!” She embraced Genevieve then let her go, too quickly for Genevieve to respond. Then Mariane peered into the pram where the crying Stella looked up at her, “Oh she’s getting big already!”

Pushing the pram back and forth to soothe Stella, Genevieve said, “How’ve you been? How’s work?”

“School’s still standing. And yourself?”

“Oh, tired, with this one,” Genevieve tried to laugh as if it were all joke, shake it off, “Sometimes I think I’ll take all those bratty privileged girls back. At least they sometimes quieten down.”

There was no doubt in Genevieve’s mind that her baby’s wailing was at the front of Mariane’s mind, as well as everyone walking past. Swallowing, she made her excuses and an empty promise to meet up when she could with the others from work before pressing on. For once, she was pleased Stella was crying. Home was where she needed to be now.

Fifteen minutes could be a long time or no time at all. Genevieve did not compare this to the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Thinking about her boat torpedoed was not going to be helpful to getting back to her house. Even though she knew this, and told herself many times not to think on when she was sinking into the Channel, she felt it. That anxiety, that chill, a memory of it at least still pressing on her body amongst the pressure of being a mother. From the debilitating enervation that now filled her life, it had lowered her defences and made her immune to thoughts of war.

Getting inside, Genevieve could barely put Stella to bed, before collapsing into her own.

It felt like only seconds later that she opened her eyes at the sound of Stella crying again. Genevieve did not go to her child though. She pulled herself deeper into the duvet, the pillow over her head, and she counted down from ten as slow as she could. But, even as Stella did not settle, Genevieve did not move for a long time. Her eyes stayed closed now, grown accustomed to their contradictory need to open. Feeling like this was familiar, oddly enough, but she couldn’t put her finger on where it came from.

Minutes dragged until Genevieve couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved away from the bed and found the nursery, looked down on the red face of her baby.

“Oh Stella, you’ll be alright,” and she hoisted her from the cot.

The afternoon mirrored the morning with Genevieve and Stella taking their places back in the sitting room. A book fell off the arm of the couch. Another attempt to calm her daughter, Genevieve collected the book from the floor and began to read aloud to Stella. It was a book of little importance, a how to do manual for calligraphy that had made it in the move from her old flat. She barely took in the words, eyes scanning over them without lingering for more than a stammer should she get a word wrong. Every paragraph or so, she would stop reading and look at Stella. But every time she stopped, Stella would begin to whimper again - a warning that anything could set her off.

Eventually Genevieve dropped the book back to the floor and held her face to Stella’s.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” She whispered, “My lovely baby. You hungry?”

It seemed they were both beat: Stella took to her feeding almost straight away.

“Thank you,” Genevieve said, falling back into the cushions and feeling like she hadn’t really achieved anything since she was in the same position hours ago. Her peace, however mediocre, was not meant to last.

_______________________________________________________

The radio playing an unnaturally jaunty tune cut out with the engine. Jack was pleased to be home, only slightly worn out from work.

Upon entering the house, he heard the crying. His shoes were off, his bag was dumped. His brief sprint landed him in the kitchen where Genevieve was consoling the screaming Stella.

“Ginny?”

“She doesn’t stop,” Genevieve sniffed, “She just keeps crying and I don’t know how to help her. Oh!”

Her voice raised at the end, for Stella had thrown up. It missed the rag and splashed down Genevieve’s shoulder, splattering across her face when Stella coughed then continued to cry.

At her side, Jack spoke quick, “Ok, ok, love, get to bed, I’ll clean her up.” He collected Stella in his arms, “I’ll bring you some tea, Ginny, go clean yourself up.”

Insisting she go to bed, Jack watched Genevieve collect her cane and climb back to their room. She made it only to ball up a towel and scream into it. She hadn’t done that before. Lilly suggested it as therapeutic when she had James. It was not. Genevieve had gotten spit-up that had dribbled down her front onto the towel.

Once his wife was out of sight, Jack looked on his child to assess the situation. Stella was already in her pyjamas, so Jack wiped Stella’s mouth clean and then her clothes until only a faint stain was left. Then he spoke to her. Whatever thought his mind picked out of many, he said to his daughter: what happened at work today, what he was like as a tyke, what colours were around them. As he chatted, Stella soothed herself with his sentences stroking her into stillness. Upon the instant her serenity was achieved, Jack placed her in bed, kissed her head, and left the nursery with only the lamp on and the door closed.

Both parents let Stella cry for a little, Jack while he was making the tea, Genevieve while she washed her face. It was different to when she had been sick; there was less effort in it, just a soft moan. Stella had worn herself out to the point where she simply dropped off. Genevieve leant on the sink, deep breaths from the nurse’s office returning to calm herself. Using the flannel, she wiped away a tear that forced its way down her cheek.

On tiptoe, Jack ascended the stairs at a snail’s pace. Every creak of the staircase was amplified to tear across the house. Every tick of the clock downstairs was like a gun’s steady firing.

His tea was abandoned by Genevieve, who simply lay down in bed. Now she could define this feeling, drinking tea didn’t feel like a priority.

_______________________________________________________

The negative of sleeping early is waking early. For once, Genevieve opening her eyes before sun up was not caused by a wailing down the hall. The bedroom door was being closed and the click of the doorknob was what pulled her from her sleep that was lighter than a feather. She sat herself up to see Jack, holding a glass of water in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. Once again, she didn’t recall actually going to sleep.

And suddenly now seemed a good time to ask.

“Can I talk about something please?”

“Of course,” and Jack moved to her side of the bed. Genevieve looked down, pushing her hand back and forth on her thigh, across her scar.

“I had a dream about the plane the other night. The German one we saw on the way back to Dorset. The noise it made, and it just kept coming closer. It was like I was stuck in treacle. I couldn’t even scream; it just clogged up my throat and I couldn’t breathe.”

During her speech, cautiously, Jack had knelt in front of her. The couple flinched at the floorboards beneath the carpet making themselves known with a groan, harmonising with the clink of his glass on the bedside table. Once they had ceased their song, Jack leant closer between her legs, his forehead close to hers.

“It’s not coming back, you shot that plane down,” He whispered.

However, reality wasn’t comforting to Genevieve. It rather had the opposite effect on here, setting her stomach ablaze with anxiety. Her head ached at his words.

“I didn’t think. I just took your flare gun, made you stand so I could use you to kill someone, like that.”

“Would have killed us if you and Dawson hadn’t done anything.”

Shaking her head, Genevieve disregarded what he was saying, tried again to say what she wanted to say that morning, “I didn’t think then but it’s all I do now. Think about how many people I got killed. I missed on that one too, was aiming for the cockpit. Quick death. Just like the others, because that’s all I could offer. You praised me for it!”

Her rambling ceased before it could reach a volume that would the sleeping babe next door. It was in a tense ten seconds that she took deep breaths to calm herself and waited for Jack’s reply.

It came in the form of her face being held, her eyes held in a gentle stare with him as he spoke: “You did what you had to. We both killed people, but we had to. Or else we wouldn’t be here, and Stella would be going through that. She might not have existed. Or worse: she’d be under the Nazis’ rule.”

Genevieve pressed her hands against Jack’s, “The nurse thinks I should go to the hospital, with Stella.”

Jack stilled between her palms and her cheeks, his voice hoarse, “A hospital?”

“I feel worse than when I did before she came, when you found me in the garden,” and Genevieve felt such frustration that she was crying again, “I feel so helpless here on my own. I know I’m not, but I feel it so deeply.”

Her hand flapped against her chest, reaching for her heart where all the pain boiled up. It slapped against her thigh when the build up of crying

“I’ll be check on her,” Jack said, kissing her lips quick with a rough bristle of his moustache, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jack hated seeing both his loves in pain. So he resolved to help Stella quick to get back to Genevieve’s long term problem. Part of him felt she had spent too much time in a hospital to go back. That part went into the back of his mind as he flicked on the light to the nursery.

“Oh, Stella Cosmos Josie Blancmange Collins!” Jack yawned. Stella didn’t hear him over her crying, such a gut-wrenching noise to hear that Jack didn’t even laugh at his joke. Dropping to her side, he wiped each of her tears away, clicking his tongue. When she was soothed enough that she had stopped shaking, Jack autonomously lifted her up from the cot and sniffed her nappy. Though he was in the know about late night romps with his baby and her crying, he would never grow accustomed to how stiff she would be when he held her in these times.

“Hey, it’s ok,” He hummed, lowering her onto the changing mat already out on the floor, “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna clean you up and then we’re gonna get you back to a comfy ole sleep.”

He started popping off her sleepwear. It wasn’t a marvellous smell and Jack had to hold her feet still as he undid the latches, for her thighs had smeared themselves in what was in the cloth. It was then that Stella started to cry again, and not just tears, with screams too.

“Please, stop crying,” Jack stroked her wobbling cheeks, “Please. Your Ma needs rest. Stella, my darlin’.” God, why couldn’t she understand him? Why couldn’t he understand her? He quickly wrapped her back up, nice and clean as promised, but still she screamed. Her face was red with effort. The downy hairs on her brow were damp.

“Your Ma’s not doing well either. I’m sure she’ll bounce back. She always does. Strongest woman ever, your ma.” He consoled, trying to stay positive but he could already feel how Genevieve felt all day, every day. “Come on, Stella, work with me here.”

As he spun on the spot to try and entertain his baby into a slumber, Jack found Genevieve had followed him to the nursery and was watching him.

“Hey, I got the night shift,” He quietly reminded her.

Still, Genevieve moved closer and offered to take her, “It’s too hot to do anything, even sleep alone in bed.” With that, she eased Stella from him, and into her arms, “Hello, love, let’s try to get you off to sleep.”

When she was lowered her back into the cot, Stella began to whimper again. Genevieve knelt beside it, her arm through the bars and her hand carefully landed on Stella’s tummy. Jack followed her to the floor, sitting behind her and leaning his head between her shoulder blades. One hand rubbed next to his head.

“You should go to bed,” Genevieve said as quietly as she could whilst still trying to be heard, “You have work.”

“As do you, with this one. Plus, I’ve been given the day off tomorrow.”

Not once did he budge in the hour that Stella cried before settling down. He didn’t even crack his overdone joke: that if they had named her Sunny, the irony would have killed them.

It was never white noise, her gasping for breath before bawling with all her might one of the most unsettling to hear. When she finally rested her lungs to sleep, she still whined. Genevieve almost joined her in sleep, her head against the bars, Jack in her back. Both slumped at the same time, catching each other just before colliding with the floor. Only then did they collect each other and take their leave of the room.

As they fell into bed, Jack turned to his wife, “Ginny, would you hold me please?”

And Genevieve kicked away their covers and embraced her husband. His body was like a furnace bundled in cotton pyjamas. Nuzzling into the back of his neck, she kissed on his hairline and breathed in the lingering aftershave smell from his neck. He must’ve shaved this morning.

For both their sake, Genevieve whispered, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Jack squeezed her hand, then he kissed it, “Of course. The team.”

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Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

#collins dunkirk #collins x oc #collins x series #collins x imagine #collins x reader #jack lowden #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden x oc #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden series #complementary #dunkirk series #series #r: female #my writing #I imagine the gif is him talking to Stella

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lowdenfordays · 5 years

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Aight chums, it’s been a wee while (I’m aware that that’s a slight understatement). I won’t make excuses as to why I haven’t written in so long, and I won’t tell you I’m back either - I haven’t a clue if/when I’ll write more. All I know is, after Jack’s post the other day, I was struck with inspiration. This is the result. Enjoy.  Painter/Decorators  You stood, staring down an empty hallway, and took a deep breath. You were finally there; after months of house-hunting you were finally in your new home. All the ups and downs — trying to find a place within your budget, on the right side of Edinburgh so that travelling to Jack’s parents’ place wasn’t too difficult, big enough to start a family but not so big that you would rattle around in it while Jack was away — all of it had finally paid off. You’d found a beautiful townhouse, three bedrooms, with gorgeous high ceilings and fireplaces. It was bright and airy and everything you’d dreamed of, even if it was a little more than you care to spend. But Jack’s career was going so well that the indulgence didn’t feel too bad — after all, if anything is worth splashing out on it’s a home. You stood with your hands on your hips, imaging the place with furniture, your pictures on the walls, lamps, houseplants…  Two large hands snaked around your waist and pulled you in tight, and a slightly bearded chin came to rest on your shoulder.  “Are ye gonna stare at an empty hall all day or do ye fancy helping me bring the gear in?” He softened the sarcasm in his question by nudging the collar of your oversized shirt out of the way with his nose and kissing the bare skin just below your neck. You spun to face him and he stood up straight, his arms draped lazily over your hips and clasping his hands together behind your back. You cupped his jaw softly and gazed into his blue eyes, noticing their mossy tinge against his green t-shirt. “Might just stare at you all day…” you purred, a smile landing faintly on your lips.  “Then we’ll never get anything done.” You sighed, “No, I suppose not.”  You kissed him tenderly, then allowed him to disconnect you from each other. You trudged out to the car, collecting cans of paint, paintbrushes, and rollers from the boot.  Before long, old sheets were laid out on the floor, tape carefully covering the edges of the door frame, skirting board, and fireplace, and the slightly bluish green paint had been poured into trays. Your sleeves were rolled up and you had a bandana tied around your head to contain all those wispy stowaways, in full Rosie the Riveter mode. With paintbrush in hand and classic rock blasting from your little speaker, all that was left to do was start painting. Jack looked over to you, a grin stretched across his cheeks, dimples in full force. “Ready?”  This felt like the beginning of the next stage of your life. The first step towards making your new house a home. This townhouse was going hold so many memories with Jack; it felt as though the walls and floor were imbued with promise. Your dreams for the future were coming true. Visions of your future children chasing each other through the room raced through your mind, images of penciled marks on the doorframe charting their growth. A dog lying quietly in the corner, keeping one eye on the commotion. The smell of freshly baked bread wafting in from the kitchen. The jangle of keys in the door marking Jack’s return home from work in the evening, his beautiful children leaping into his arms the minute he walks through the threshold. That life that you had always wanted, that home, was finally in your grasp, and the fact that Jack was beside you, building it with you, made it all the sweeter. That first stroke of paint was the start of it all. With a nod and a smile, you dipped your brush in the paint and began.  Just as you finished painting around a plug socket, humming along to Fleetwood Mac, Jack walked in with two cups of tea and handed one to you. You mumbled a quick “ta” and took a grateful sip, letting the warmth trickle down your throat and into your soul. You hummed, “I needed this.” “The hard work’s paying off though, it looks really good. Almost ready for a second coat.” “I think we’ve earned a break before diving into round two.” Jack chuckled and pulled you into his side, planting a kiss on your head before turning back to admire your joint handiwork.  “We should have a big painting over the fireplace,” you mused.  “Of what?”  “A landscape, the highlands or something. The greenery will match the paint.”  He hummed in approval, a deep vibration that resonated in your body. It was filled with comfort and warmth. If home was a sound, that was it.  You slid your arm around his waist, only to find the crust of dried paint on this t-shirt.  “You’ve splashed your shirt.” He looked down, and picked at it, “Ah it’s fine, it’s the same colour anyway.”  You sniggered, and pulled his face to yours, capturing him in an embrace.  Hours, and much spilled paint later, the wall was a solid, pine green. Jack had picked up a takeaway and a bottle of wine. You sat, cross legged on the floor due to an evident lack of furniture, eating Chinese from the foil dishes and drinking wine from a mug like you had done in your student days, because they were all you had brought with you.  “Ye know, this is our first dinner in the new place,” Jack said.  “Yeah, I guess it is. Nothing like starting in style,” you grinned.  “Cheers. To us, and the start of a beautiful life together.” You clinked your mugs together with a grin, locking eyes as you both took as sip. The early evening passed with easy chat, musing about the decor, plans for tomorrow (you were going to make a start on the kitchen), logistics of moving, and the like. But all the while the air was draped with the unspoken promise of what the future held for the two of you. You were excited and nervous and elated all at once.  A comfortable silence settled over the room as you finished the food. Jack shifted, releasing a foot from beneath him and massaged it with a grimace. “Pins and needles?”  “Aye,” he nodded.  You snickered and collected up the debris from your food. “I’ll clear up.”  You wandered into the kitchen and did your best with the washing up, considering there was no washing up liquid and just a tatty old sponge. The plan was to move in properly in a week or so, once the bulk of the decorating was done, but for now you had to make do with the few bits you’d brought with you from the old flat. Once you’d disposed of the last remnants takeaway, you went back to find Jack, only to find the room empty.  “Jack?” You called.  “M’upstairs,” you heard him reply faintly.  You found him in the doorway of the smallest bedroom, leaning against the doorframe. He was silhouetted against the dim evening light, his hair tousled and arms flecked with paint. Even with his back to you, he looked so inviting. You strolled over to him, allowing yourself to be drawn to him. You stroked his back gently, tracing your fingers over his shoulder blades and tangling them in the hair at the nape of his neck. He seemed quiet to you, lost in thought, contemplative. He would tell you what he was thinking when he was ready, so you contented yourself to wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek against his back. You breathed in the scent of him, musty with sweat and infused with paint fumes.  After a while he muttered, “I think this room would make a good nursery.”  You smiled as he turned towards you, gently tucking an escaped hair behind your ear. Your eyes met, and you saw the same hope for the future in him as had blossomed in you. Reaching up on your toes, you captured his lips in yours, wishing to express all the affection in the world in that embrace. All the love you shared would one day create a family, the prospect of which excited and delighted you.  You settled into his arms, wrapped up in him, imaging the room with a crib and mobile. You giggled to yourself.  “Maybe we should start with a dog.”

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden blurb #imagine #fanfic #jack lowden fanfic #jack lowden fanfiction #cute fanfic #soft #fluffy fanfic

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hazzaastyless · 5 years

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Dating Jack Lowden would include:

• when you guys are in public, he always has his hand around your waist

• major pda vibes. Holding hands, kissing, hugging, you sitting in his lap, everything

• he will literally fight anyone who tries to hit on you when you guys are out

• laying in the bed by his side while he reviews his scripts

• he loves to play with your hair

• sitting on the bathroom counter trimming his beard, while he scratches your thighs

• scratching his back when he gets sick

• him holding your hair back when you get sick and carrying you back to the bed

• taking you on spontaneous adventures on the weekends. “Babe please tell me where we’re going.” “Na, love. Et’s a supreise!”

• after visiting your nieces and nephews, Jack has major baby fever

• tries convincing you that we should have a baby

• Jack stalking your Pinterest, to look at engagement rings for you

• takes you on a trip for your dating anniversary

• he calls your name and you turn around to find him on one knee

• you tackle him to the ground and hold on so tightly, you forget about the ring

• absolutely loving the ring because he did so good

• spending the rest of the day making love, thinking over the rest of your lives, and admiring your new fiance

• “Now, wouldn’t ya love te have our own ‘itlle one at our wedding, dahlin’?”

#jack lowden #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden imagine #jack x reader #jack lowden x reader

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jacklowdenss · 6 years

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AUTUMN STROLL ━ JACK LOWDEN.

AUTUMN STROLL.

━ The one where Jack and Y/N go for a stroll in the Autumn season. (Gif belongs to it's rightful owner!)

You had always loved the fall. Ever since you were mere a toddler, walking your first steps in a pair of wellington boots that were too big for you small feet, you had fell in love with the colours of the leaves that fell from the trees, the chilly weather that allowed you to wear big woolly jumpers and multiple layers, the season where it was perfectly acceptable to drink hot chocolate every day; you loved it all.

And your love had only grown for the season after you met Jack. It was Autumn when you first met him, the leaves had only just began to turn varying shades of browns, oranges and yellows, the weather growing considerably colder with each day that went by. You were dressed in a jumper that was far too big for your body, with thick leggings and boots, a hat, scarf, and gloves to complete the look. London was cold, a bitter chill that had you craving warmth as you walked along it's streets. You were too busy looking down at your shoes to notice where you were heading, or who you were heading into. Another pair of feet had landed into your vision just as you had bumped into a body that sent you hurling to the ground and landing on your ass.

That would be bruised in the morning, you thought just as a voice began to speak. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry. A didn't see yer there!" A hand was thrusted into your face, and you blinked at the rather large body part, dazed as to what was happening. "Ere, let me help ya."

You took the hand that was outstretched, allowing it to pull you up from your position off the damp ground. The voice apologised again, and you realised it held a Scottish accent as you dusted yourself off, still not yet looking up at the owner of the voice. "A really am sorry, you're not hurt anywhere are you love?"

That's when you glanced up at the person, just about to tell him that no, you hadn't hurt yourself, and he really didn't have anything to apologise for (you were the one not looking where you were going after all), but the words had died in your throat once you looked up and caught sight of the man you had ran into.

Good God, you couldn't help but think as soon as you caught his eyes. This man was beautiful. Quite literally stunning, he was. He had blonde hair, and the Autumn sun that shone down on it made it look golden. His eyes were a rich blue, and by God, they were possibly the nicest colour you had ever seen. You never wanted to stop looking into them, you had decided in that moment, and you never wanted to stop looking at him.

How was it legal for one man to be so bloody attractive?

You had been quickly broken from your trance after he had asked you again if you were okay. You found your words after a moment, and told him that you were indeed okay, and apologised for running into him. He smiled at you, and shook his head. "You don't have to say sorry, love. It gave me an excuse to talk to you didn't it?"

You had grinned then. This man was ready for stealing your heart.

After that, the rest was history. He had told you his name was Jack, and that he was pleased to meet you and he loved your name after you had given him it. You blushed and told him thank you, he had a nice name too. He had then asked you if you'd like to grab a quick coffee at the cafe across the street. You of course said yes.

Now it was almost two years later, and your love for Autumn had grown immensely. Not only was it so pretty, and you loved the colours and weather and festivities, but it was the season you had met Jack, the love of your life (you were sure of it). You had never thought you could be so happy with someone, but Jack brought you joy from the very first day. He was kind, a cocky little bugger at times, he was funny, he was lovely, he was everything you could have ever wished for in a boyfriend. Your family absolutely adored him too, as well as your friends. He had changed your life, all for the better. You quite literally loved him with everything you had.

"Isn't it so pretty?" You murmured into the skin of his shoulder one morning, as you both lay in bed, watching the sun set from your bedroom window, the light shining onto the tree that was situated just by your shared flat, the Autumnal colours making you smile.

"Aye," Jack said back, pressing a soft kiss onto the top of your head as it lay on his chest. "Not nearly as pretty as you though." He grinned and you rolled your eyes, hiding your face into his neck as he chuckled at your reaction. "Wha? I'm being nice!"

"You're being cheesy," you snorted. Jack's hand travelled down to your waist, and you squealed as he grabbed at your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. In return, you blew a raspberry into his neck, causing his head to jolt away from yours as he made a noise of protest against your attack.

"Fu' off!" He mumbled as laughter tumbled from your lips, your hand moving to cover your mouth as you giggled. Jack sat up in the bed, glaring playfully down at you as he shook his head. "You're a right little madam you are, don't know wha' I ever saw in you." He teased, long fingers dancing across your belly as your stomach lay exposed from your shared actions the night before. You tried to catch your breath when you slapped his hand away, watching as he stood from the bed and you shielded yourself with the covers. "I'm making coffee, if you want one, get your ass up. We're going out soon."

"Out?" You repeated as you peeked your head up from under the covers to watch him throw on your dressing gown. "Out where?"

He grinned at you. "You'll see."

You and Jack were wrapped up warm in multiple layers as you walked along the streets of London. It was a relatively quiet day in town, being only a Wednesday, but Jack still gripped your hand as if someone would come along and sweep you away from him in the crowd. You didn't mind of course, having lost your gloves, Jack's warm hands were a great substitute of keeping yours warm. Your neck was swallowed in the scarf you were wearing, and your winter coat swallowed your figure. Jack wore a hat that you had gotten him only a few days before, a dark grey colour with a black bobble at the top. You thought he looked adorable in it, and he did too. As well as his thick bomber jacket and dark jeans and boots, he looked rather dashing.

"I told you it was pretty out," you said as you pointed towards the tall trees across the street. With the sky a light blue, the city of London really did look a nice sight. Jack looked down at you with a soft smile, swinging your hands in between your bodies as you walked. "It's almost exactly like the day we met. Do you remember?"

"A course I remember!" Jack exclaimed, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in close, squishing your body against his own as he pressed a sloppy kiss onto your forehead. Your nose crinkled at the loud 'mwah' sound that came from the action, and you looked up at him with your eyes narrowed playfully. "You really did fall for me from day one, didn't ya love?" He teased.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn't help but grin. "You're a cheeky get, you know that?" You asked rhetorically, wrapping your own arm around Jack's waist and squeezing him tight.

"I may be a cheeky get love, but I'm your cheeky get," he retorted quickly. You smiled as your heart swelled in your chest. God, you really did love this man. And looking up at him, in that moment, the sun making his hair look golden, the bitter wind turning his cheeks a flushed red, the Autumn lights mirroring in his bright blue eyes, a wide smile on his lips as he looked down at you, you never felt so in love.

"Yeah," you agreed softly, laying your head on his chest. "You are my cheeky get, you get."

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden imagines #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden x yn #jack imagine #autumn #cute #my writing #dunkirk cast

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from-the-clouds · 6 years

Text

Bullets - Collins x Reader

Gif cred: @jack-andrew-lowden

Masterlist

Summary: Reader, a searchlight operator, comforts their boyfriend after his plan crashes and he is injured in battle.

Prompt: Five word prompt requested by anon: “Please, you can’t die now”

Word Count: 1,075

Warnings: War, blood, death mention, angst

A/N: I cried writing this, so I’m sorry.

Jack Tag: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff @la-fille-en-aiguilles @maiden-of-gondor @crayonwriting

You watched in horror as your boyfriend’s Spitfire plunged to the ground, crumpling like tinfoil amidst the heavy gunfire and shelling that was wreaking havoc around you. Pedestrians and soldiers alike were screaming for help, lying on the ground, injured. But now your only focus was the man inside the crashed plane lying several hundred meters away.

As a searchlight operator, you hadn’t really expected to find yourself in the throes of a battle, but you’d always known it wasn’t out of the question. Collins had been stationed nearby to where you worked and you knew the second you saw the German Bombers rolling in towards your hometown, three Spitfires tailing them closely, that it was him, based on the radio transmissions coming through to your station on the ground. His two counterparts had been shot down quickly, but they had ejected themselves and appeared to have made it out alright.

Collins, however, did no such thing, so you could only watch helplessly until his plane hit the ground. Ignoring all reason, you sprinted forward to help him, relieved when you saw movement within the cockpit as Collins opened his roof, smoke billowing out.

“Jack!” You yelled for him, voice hoarse.

His face contorted as he locked eyes with you, struggling to remove himself from the remains of the wreckage, and you saw the bullet holes littering the hull of the aircraft.

“Are you ok-“ You felt your voice trail off when the hand that had been clutching his side lifted slightly to reveal a deep stain in the fabric of his uniform above his abdomen.

“I’m,” he winced. “Just fine,” he said, but slowly slumped against the side of his ship, the color draining from his face.

“MEDIC!” You screamed, your head whipping from side to side to find help. “Can I get a medic?” You knew it was nearly pointless as chaos raged around you.

“It’s okay,” Jack insisted.

“I need to find someone to help,” you said, removing the scarf around your neck, pressing it firmly to his wound. “Hold this here, apply pressure,” you guided his hand over the injury. Moving to stand, you were stopped by his free hand.

“No,” he said. “Don’t leave me,” he coughed. “Please stay,” you saw the tears welling in his eyes and immediately knew. “I don’t want…” he trailed off then. “I don’t want to die alone.”

It wasn’t possible to process what was happening, you’d never felt so powerless in your life. “You’re going to be fine, Jack, you said so yourself.”

Collins didn’t respond, just let the tears fall quietly from his eyes as you moved to comfort him, brushing away the tears and cradling his cheek.

“I wanted so much more for us,” he said, his voice fading.

“You’ll get all of it, I promise,” You reassured him. “You’re going to be okay, we’re going to get you help. And we’ll have that big wedding you always talked about, and buy ourselves a house in Glencoe near your family-“ you began, trying your hardest to stay composed as you relayed to him the future you’d spoken about so many times in the letters you’d passed back and forth.

He laughed bitterly, you could almost see him imagining their future together, a garbled, choked noise leaving his mouth as his hand swiped under your eyes, wiping away tears that had begun to fall without you knowing. “Don’t cry, lass. You’ll be okay,” he said, giving you a weak smile.

“Not without you,” you answered him, but at that point he didn’t appear to be listening.

This wasn’t supposed to be the way he left you; crying, bleeding out, and terrified. Collins was meant to see the end of the war that had already tore you apart in more ways than one. He was supposed to grow old and die surrounded by your children and grandchildren, knowing he’d seen and done everything he’d wanted to, finally at peace. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. You thought of all the other people who had died this way at the hands of the war, anger boiling inside you.

“I love you,” he managed, a weak cough bringing with it blood that stained his lips.

“I love you, Jack,” you answered, kissing him gently. “This isn’t the last time you’ll hear me say that.”

He just gave you sad smile, his eyes fluttering closed. All the color had drained from his face, he looked sullen and empty. The gunfire was calming down now as the German forces retreated, and despite the victory you’d never felt so empty.

“No, no-“ You said, whatever shock that had kept you calm was gone as you became frantic. “Wake up, Jack. You’re okay, we’re going to get you help. Please, you can’t die now,” your voice gave out on you as a sob quaked through your body.

He didn’t answer as you pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist, his pulse still evident as you clung to him.

Then abruptly, you were pulled from his body. “You need to take a step back,” you heard a voice as you turned your head and met the eyes of a medic, who was standing with a few other medical personnel, one of whom knelt in front of Jack, examining him.

“Gunshot wound to the upper right abdomen, there appears to be an exit wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood, he’s in critical condition.”

Despite their presence being the one thing you’d been screaming for, it wasn’t much of a comfort. “Is he going to be okay?” you asked, but the medic didn’t answer, as Jack was lifted unconscious onto a stretcher. “Is he going to be okay?” you spoke louder this time, trailing behind the group of nurses. The medic who had pulled you off stopped you with his arm.

“He’s in the right hands for now,” he said, and even though it was meant to be friendly only frustrated you. “I suggest you report back to your commanding officer and let us do our jobs.”

Paralyzed, you stared after the man you loved as you watched him get carried away into the distance, the one beacon of hope you had left in your life suddenly obscured.

#writing #prompt #requested #requested writing #jack lowden #collins #dunkirk collins #collins x reader #collins imagine #collins fanfiction #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden imagine #dunkirk cast #dunkirk fiction #dunkirk imagine

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theres-no-paradise · 6 years

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Hi! Do you think you could maybe write a Dunkirk one shot in which the reader is engaged to Collins, and she's what gives him strength and courage when his plane goes down and during his darkest moments of doubt in general, promising himself he will marry her as soon as he comes back home and all that stuff? Could be extra angsty because I looove angst, but some fluff too? Take your time and thank you!

I’m Alive

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairings: Collins x Reader

Y/N Your name.

Word Count: 1002

Warnings: none.

A/N: This is not as long and detailed as I wanted it to be but I still hope you like it! (Sorry if its not what you imagined, I tried my best (Even rewatched a little of Dunkirk for the feels of it)

The sound of the Rolls-Royce-Merlin-engine and the erratic clicking of the radio were the only noise, that Collins could hear at the moment. He focused on an enemy plane in front him that tried to escape but he was on her with all his attention. No thoughts were wasted at anything else, his whole concentration and mind focused on the aircraft in sight.

Once the single-engine plane was in the right spot, Collins pushed the lever, firing bullets at the enemy. “Got him! Got him!”, he informs Fortis One, Farrier.

Said Pilot was chasing another plane of the Luftwaffe, shooting more bullets at it, as it turned away. Collins was having an eye on his colleague, not losing sight of him. “Oh she’s turning. You must’ve damaged her.” “Where’s the escort?”, Farrier wondered and looked around, trying to figure out what happened to the other plane that was circling around earlier.

“Well I got one of-” Collins got suddenly interrupted by some loud shots that hit the right side of his plane. Startled, he checks his instruments if everything’s still okay but soon he finds out that there was no way out of his situation. His Spitfire was losing altitude fairly quick. “I’m going down”, he murmurs into the Radio, informing his colleague of his current situation. “I’m on him now, bail out”, orders Farrier while Collins tries to figure out what the next steps would be. Suddenly every second seems to go by way faster than before. The blonde Pilot had only limited time to decide what to do and while he was figuring out what his best survival chances were, a face suddenly appeared in front of his sight. Beautiful eyes, he couldn’t stop staring at. A voice so lovely and passionate, singing him to sleep every night. A sweet smell, the most delicious and beautiful thing he ever got the taste on. While Collins fumbled on his gear, getting closer to the water, his only thought was you. Every move he did in the aircraft felt mechanic, as in checking the sound of the engine, pressing buttons and making sure everything was prepared for the drop, he pictured you beside him. He remembered the first day he saw you, knowing that you would be the girl he wanted to take out. Your laughter filled his mind, your voice telling him that everything was gonna be okay. He promised you to be back as soon as possible, and he wanted to keep this promise.

But as the surface came closer, anxiety rose in neverending heights. Collins was tense, as he stared at the water, praying to survive the impact that would soon follow.“Best of Luck, Collins”, Farriers voice crackled through the Radio. He didn’t answer though, way too focused on what was about to happen in just less than a minute.

“Collins, do you read?”, Fortis One asked one more time, hoping that his colleague would make it out of the situation safe.

Collins steered his plane directly over the water, preparing his body for the hard impact that would follow once he’d shut off the running engine. As the aircraft crashed into the ice cold water, Collins could feel the adrenaline sink quickly in his blood flow. He survived the hardest part - landing the plane safe and sound. He unbuckled his seat and tried to open the cockpit but it got stuck after a few inches. Collins cursed under his breath as he stuck his arm through the opening. It wasn’t going to open any further so he had to try a different way to get out or otherwise he’d drown miserably.

As he tried to break through the glass of the Spitfire, the pressure of trying to survive was getting tighter. The blonde Pilot wasn’t a big believer in god but in this moment, he started praying to him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’, he thought. ‘I’m such a fool. I shouldn’t have volunteered for that mission, should’ve stayed home with her instead, leaving to be a hero was so stupid.’ He pulled out a gun and started to punch the glass above him. ‘Please god, if I had one wish, please let me see Y/N again. I’ll never ask for anything again, I promise, if I could just see her one more time’ he begged internally as the water rose even more. His situation seemed desperate. The water already chin high. Collins dropped his weapon in an attempt to hit the glass again, another silent curse leaving his lips. Adrenalin was building up once more and the Pilot got hold of the gun again, trying to push through. But it seemed hopeless. He couldn’t get through and his thoughts formed goodbyes to your figure in his mind. ‘I’m so sorry Y/N’, he thought over and over as the water was already surrounding him. ‘I wanted to marry you. I wanted to be with you and now I’m gonna disappoint you’ were his last words before giving up.

A sudden impact above his head gave Collins a sign to break through the surface and swim out of his sinking spitfire. Thoughts and mind for a second blank, trying to figure out what just happened last minute.He glanced over to a blonde boy who was holding a hand down to him, giving him a questioning look. “Afternoon.”, he spoke, sudden relieve flowing through his body and while he swam to the boat, the Moonstone, thoughts of going back home to his beloved Y/N flooded his mind. The prayer Collins sent to god were worth it. He was able to go back home and see you again. That was the only wish that filled his mind at the moment. The thought of you, his home and safe haven. He knew, once he was back home in England, he’d propose to you. Make you his wife and never leave your side ever again.

No war on earth was worth leaving you, the love of his life.

#dunkirk #collins #requested #jack lowden #collins x reader #jack lowden x reader

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lilacsnid · 4 months

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𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐔𝐩𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐭 | 𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦)

➪ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝙎𝙐𝙈𝙈𝘼𝙍𝙔: They despised one another & barely tolerated each other while working at Slough House. Tensions rise as they are sent out into the field together, working undercover to search for a sleeper agent in the cozy village of Upshott. To avoid being caught, they are forced to pretend that they are "together". Being so close in each others company causes certain feelings rise to the surface that they have both tried to bury for far too long.

𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙨: she/her pronouns used. this story is based on the episode - from upshott with love, but I have changed the storyline line slightly, so it might not be the exact same as the show.

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: this is a work of fiction; any names, characters from slow horses, places & incidents will either be a product of my imagination or used fictionally.

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

Music blared through her earphones as Y/N sat outside Gloucester train station, perched on an uncomfortable bench. One leg crossed over the other with her bag resting underneath her feet. She kept peering over the bridge of her sunglasses, surveying the station's surroundings. With a quick glance at her watch, a flicker of annoyance crossed her face. She had received very particular instructions from Lamb earlier that day to be at Gloucester station by 2:00 pm, and now it was already 4:45 pm. She was starting to grow impatient. The prospect of a mission outside Slough House had completely and utterly exhilarated her. She felt as if she had been withering away there and craved an opportunity to prove herself. The anticipation of action was a welcoming change.

Her fingers picked mindlessly at the chipping paint on the seat beneath her, trying to stop herself from going crazy. Out the corner of her eye, she spotted a black car pull up in front of her. No cars had entered the car park since she got off the train, so she jumped up, fairly confident that it was Lamb.

She stood to her feet with a heavy sigh, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her gaze remained fixed on Lamb, who briskly got out the car, meeting her eye before closing the door.

“Oh, you are here. Didn’t expect you to show,” Lamb quipped sarcastically, retrieving a cigarette out from his pocket.

Through her sunglasses, she rolled her eyes, retorting, "You're hilarious, really. What the fuck took you so long? I've been off the train for at least two hours."

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Had a few loose ends to tie up. Surprisingly, you weren't at the top of my to-do list."

"Sure," Y/N scoffed, pushing her sunglasses up to rest atop her head, shooting him a glare.

A sudden realization hit her as she drew in a deep breath - Lamb hadn't been the one driving the hire car. Before she had the chance to voice her confusion, the other car door opened, and River emerged from the driver's seat.

Her narrowed gaze locked onto River, looking at him from head to toe before shifting her attention back to Lamb.

"Why is he here?" She asked sharply.

Lamb took a long drag of his cigarette, replying rather nonchalantly, "He's going with you."

Y/N raised her eyebrows in disbelief, her expression twisting in bewilderment. "You've got to be kidding."

"When do I ever joke?" Lamb retorted rhetorically. "Didn't have enough assignments to go around, and frankly, I could do with a break from the constant bickering between you two."

His words caused Y/N to shake her head, her gaze shifting over to River, who raised his hands in a gesture of surrender from where they rested on the roof of the car.

"Trust me," He said, his eyes briefly glancing off into the distance, "I'm not exactly thrilled about it either."

Approaching her with a file in hand, Lamb handed over the contents. "New ID, brief, funding package and dossier. Try not to fucking lose any of it," He remarked, met by another glare from Y/N as she snatched the file from his outstretched hand.

"Enjoy yourselves," Lamb said, already heading towards the train station's entrance. "Oh, and one more thing I forgot to mention. Your cover story: you two are engaged."

"WHAT?!" River and Y/N both yelled in unison as they stared him down, their voices echoing through the station.

Turning back to face them, Lamb explained, "The point is to stay undercover, right? You need a believable story. No one will suspect two lovebirds exploring the cozy villages of Cotswolds."

"Seriously?" River objected, disbelief etched in his voice.

Lamb let out an exasperated sigh at the two of them. "Listen, I really couldn't give less of a fuck about the specifics, but for your own sake, make it look fucking convincing. Real lives are at stake here, and I don't need to remind you how that weighs on the line. I know 'acting' might be a stretch, especially for you two."

"Such a prick," Y/N muttered under her breath as they watched Lamb stride away.

River couldn’t help but steal a quick glance at her, watching as Y/N strode toward the boot of the car in frustration. With a forceful heave, she tossed her bag inside beside his, the resounding sound of her slamming the car boot shut making him cringe. Reclaiming the driver's seat, he waited for her to slip into the passenger seat beside him before reversing out of the carpark and back onto the gravel road.

An uncomfortable silence lingered within in the car, thick with tension, as they kept driving. Y/N couldn't believe just how unlucky she had gotten — being paired with the one person who drove her absolutely crazy. Their snide comments and constant bickering would undoubtedly always drive their colleagues mad.

She opened the folder Lamb had handed over, skimming through the documents detailing the individuals they were tasked to surveil. She made sure to read over the brief, absorbing all of the pertinent details.

"Just when things seemed to be looking up," Y/N murmured, her gaze now fixed on the passing scenery as they drove.

The audible sound of River sucking his teeth showcased his patience that was wearing thin. "You're not the only one feeling like that,” He grumbled, sinking back into the driver's seat. One hand gripped the steering wheel, while the other casually rested on his thigh.

A few moments passed in silence, the air growing even more thick with an unspoken tension between them. River drew in a deep breath, the air of annoyance dissolving momentarily before he spoke up again.

"Look, I get it. You're not my biggest fan, and I've never quite figured out why," He began, stealing a quick glance in her direction. "But I really want to nail this. Chances are, you do too."

She responded with a nonchalant shrug, though her eyes held an expectant look, urging him to continue.

"Regardless of our history, let's set it aside while we're out here," He proposed, gesturing towards the road ahead. "As Lamb pointed out, people's lives could be on the line."

Y/N sighed, knowing deep down that there was some truth in his words. Their clashes had been a staple at Slough House, a constant battle for dominance. Ultimately, she knew the mission took precedence, regardless of who she was partnered with.

"Fine," She relented, nodding in agreement.

"Great," River replied, raising his hand from his thigh, offering it for a shake. "So, are we good?"

Glancing at his offered hand, she hesitated briefly before accepting it in her own, giving it a firm shake. "We're good."

She felt the unexpected warmth of his hand leave as she released his hand. She offered a soft smile as she watched him maintain his focus on the road ahead. There was a palpable shift in the air, a mutual understanding settling between them.

“This doesn’t make us friends though, Cartwright,” She pointed her finger at him, “This purely for the sake of the mission.”

“Agreed,” He grumbled, a flicker of agreement laced in his tone.

As River continued to drive, they dove into the dossier. She continued firing off questions about the individuals that were listed while River shared what he had found from earlier on in the day. They planned their trip, discussed accommodations and went over their cover story multiple times to ensure it held up under scrutiny just in case anyone came asking questions.

“Harriet Madden,” She spoke, reading the name off her fake driver’s license, “And what is the name of my so-called fiancé?”

River chuckled softly, leaning across her to reach into the glove box, retrieving his own counterfeit driver's license.

"Jonathan Walker," He stated, extending the card for her to inspect.

With a playful eye roll, she accepted the card, examining it with a smirk, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

The sun was starting to set, casting a warm amber glow across the car park as Y/N lounged in the passenger seat of the hire car with her feet resting on the dashboard, engrossed in her phone. She had quickly changed into high-waisted jeans paired with an oversized sweatshirt, finding comfort in the casual attire as night would soon be approaching.

A while later, she heard the car door creak open causing her to glance up. She instantly did a double take at River's transformed appearance. He now wore black jeans complemented by a black button up shirt and topped with a forest green jacket. What really grabbed her attention was the reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, altering his usual look entirely. It was a change Y/N wasn’t entirely opposed to. She couldn’t help but stare at him with an evident furrow in her brow.

He caught her stare, returning it with a curious gaze of his own. He couldn't help but admire the relaxed vibe about her in the casual outfit—a side of her he had never witnessed before. The contrast between her usual demeanour and this relaxed appearance intrigued him, causing a subtle shift in his perception he had of her.

"What?" River queried, arching an eyebrow in response to the smile she wore.

Her grin widened, her gaze lingering on him. "You actually pull off the specs, you know."

"Was that a compliment I just heard?" He chuckled, fastening his seatbelt.

"Don't get used to it," She shot back, crossing her legs with a playful glint in her eyes.

Shaking his head in mock disbelief, River took a quick glance at his watch, releasing a short sigh. "Right, we better get going," He announced, turning the key in the ignition.

Y/N nodded in agreement, securing her seatbelt as they prepared for the last fifteen minutes of their drive.

"Oh, I almost forgot," River interjected suddenly, grabbing her attention as she watched him reach into the pocket of his jacket. "Here." With a deft toss, a small box landed in her lap.

Her curiosity piqued and she picked up the box, examining it with a quizzical expression. "What's… this?" She inquired.

He hesitated momentarily before responding. "Well, considering our 'engagement'," he emphasised the word with air quotes, "It might help if you had something to wear, you know?"

With a mix of surprise and intrigue, she slowly opened the box, revealing a ring that sparkled in the light that filtered through the car window. She gazed at the ring nestled inside, caught off guard by the gesture.

"It wasn’t expensive or anything, so don't get carried away," River remarked, his cheeks flushing slightly as he averted his gaze.

Her laughter was soft and genuine as she carefully examined the simple gold band with its oval-shaped rhinestone. It’s cheap appearance, most likely bought from the convenience store's jewellery section at the service station they were at, didn't change the thoughtfulness of it.

River tried to ignore the sudden tightening in his chest caused by the unfamiliar but pleasing sound of her laughter.

“Oh, so that’s what it sounds like when you laugh!” He teased, glancing down at her with a funny look.

Shaking her head, a lingering smile tugged at her lips. She purposefully avoided his expectant gaze, a playful edge in her voice. "Shut the fuck up."

It was quiet for a moment as Y/N bit her lip, a teasing glint in her eye as she remarked, "Who knew River Cartwright had a romantic streak?"

"Shut up, Harriet," He retorted, playfully jabbing at her with the fake name.

Y/N scoffed before sliding the ring onto her finger, finding it a tad loose but still manageable. She lifted her hand to display the ring, wiggling her fingers and drawing his attention to the now deadpan expression on her face. His eyes caught the sight, and he scoffed while rolling his eyes.

"Set your expectations low," He quipped, beginning to reverse out of the carpark with a hint of amusement laced in his voice.

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

It was dark by the time they had made it into Upshott. Y/N peered through the car window at the pub they had just arrived at, her brow furrowing at the peculiar name. Despite the late hour and it being midweek, "The Downside Man" appeared rather inviting, glowing with dim lights and a bustling atmosphere.

"The Downside Man," Y/N recited the name aloud, pondering about the way it rolled off her tongue. "Why is it that all these small villages have such peculiar names for their pubs?"

River casually unbuckled his seatbelt, shrugging slightly. "You tell me and we’ll both know."

They jumped out of the car, the cold air greeting them almost instantly. They both hopped out, heading towards the boot of the car to grab their bags. River took a moment to survey the surroundings, locking the car before turning his attention to Y/N.

He waited for her to glance up at him before asking, “You ready?”

"Absolutely," She replied with a sigh, gesturing for him to take the lead as they moved towards the welcoming glow of the pub.

Opening the door to the pub, he held it open courteously for Y/N to step in first. As she entered, the warm embrace of the cozy atmosphere and the lively hum of conversation instantly enveloped her. River walked ahead of her as she followed him through the animated crowd until they reached the bustling bar area, filled with patrons enjoying their evening. River spotted the barmaid, and Y/N took a quick moment to observe her as well. As they shuffled through the small crowd of people, he quickly glanced back at her over his shoulder, ensuring she was still in tow.

She came to stand at his side, glancing around at their surroundings while as River approached the bar. The distinctive sound of him placing his bag on the floor caught the attention of the barmaid, causing her to look up.

"Hi," She greeted with a hand on her hip. "What can I get you?"

River cleared his throat slightly before speaking, "Actually, we're just checking in for the night."

Y/N suppressed a scoff as she watched the barmaid blatantly check him up and down. The barmaid then quipped, "Johnnie Walker?"

Her lips curled under her teeth, and she glanced up from where she stood beside him as he hesitated. It only took a brief moment for him to regain his composure, shaking his head slightly.

"Yes. Yes, I am," He replied with a smile, recovering smoothly. "Sorry, you threw me. It's- It's Jonathon or Jon. It's not Johnnie, sorry."

The barmaid laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Do you get that a lot?"

River chuckled in agreement, "Yeah, mainly in pubs."

Y/N's gaze narrowed as she observed the scene unfolding between River and the barmaid. A subtle cough from her drew his attention, as she discreetly fixed a pointed stare at him. She couldn’t help but suspect that he might have been appreciating the barmaid's charms a bit too much.

Breaking the moment, River suddenly introduced her. "This is my fiancé, Harriet," He announced, resting his hand on Y/N's shoulder. She offered a polite smile towards the barmaid, "Hi."

However, the barmaid, simply turned around, completely blanking her as she grabbed the key to their room. "I’m Kelly, follow me," The bar maid instructed, leaving Y/N feeling like she was somewhat invisible.

She trailed behind River as they followed Kelly through the lively pub, a flicker of unease beginning to settle within her.

“What brings you to Upshott?” Kelly questioned, twirling the key in her finger as they began to climb the stairs.

River discreetly glanced back at Y/N, a silent exchange passing between them, before responding, "I'm a journalist, and Harriet is a photographer. I've been working on a piece about village life, and well, Upshott just seemed like the perfect place to start, really."

As he smoothly recited their rehearsed story, Y/N listened intently, realising that every detail matched their car conversation word for word. Kelly finally looked at Y/N for the first time, offering only a slight nod before unlocking the door to their room. Y/N couldn't help but narrow her eyes at Kelly as she turned her back, surprised by the lack of a proper greeting.

Despite “Jonathon” mentioning his fiancée, Kelly still refused to even acknowledge her presence.

"Who do you write for? Insomniacs Weekly?" Kelly joked with a playful smirk as she stepped into the room.

River chuckled slightly, "No, uh, The Times."

"Oh!" Kelly exclaimed, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on him.

Unable to stay silent any longer, Y/N stepped around River, walking further into the room. "This is lovely!" She exclaimed, raising her voice and briefly glancing at Kelly as she walked past.

Once again, Kelly ignored her and turned her attention back to River. "Well, I can give you the headlines. Apart from the village pub downstairs and the village shop, there really is fuck all going on."

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at her behaviour, Y/N had to bite her tongue. It was evident that Kelly was captivated by Jonathon Walker, and River Cartwright's undeniable charm and good looks played a significant role. Despite their personal differences, Y/N couldn't deny his ability to make a woman feel weak in the knees. He was an incredibly attractive man.

The barmaid's blatant disregard for Y/N's presence surprised her, and she couldn't help but notice the tension in the air. River could also sense her discomfort and walked across the room to stand next to her rather than alongside Kelly. Y/N felt the subtle brush of his arm against her shoulder, and she kept her gaze fixed on Kelly who was standing at the door.

"Well," He continued, maintaining the facade, "Where there's people, there are stories."

"Boring stories," Kelly retorted.

"No," He countered, "You ask the right questions, and you can usually find something interesting. You know, everyone has a secret."

The barmaid smiled, her sharp gaze fixed on him. "Well, don't be asking too many questions. We tend to sacrifice troublemaking strangers to the Green Man."

Observing their conversation, Y/N discreetly narrowed her gaze towards her as she spoke, feeling an unexplained unease. There was something about the way she watched them talk that unsettled her, though she couldn't quite pinpoint it. River maintained a polite smile but glanced down at her, his eyes searching hers as if to say - you okay?

Y/N maintained her smile, playing her part as she leaned against the bedpost.

"Oh," Kelly said, turning around. "I need to get you some towels. I need to get back downstairs, but I will leave them outside your door later."

"That's alright," River replied, glancing down at Y/N. "Think we're both pretty keen for bed, aren't we, darling?"

She looked up at him, her breath catching at the unexpected pet name that momentarily threw her off character. Nonetheless, she smiled and nodded in agreement. Sensing Kelly’s stare, Y/N felt his hand slide along her waist before resting on the bedpost where she leaned. In a spontaneous move, perhaps to irk the barmaid further, she wrapped her arms around his torso, leaning into him to present the image of a normal, happy couple.

"Alright," Kelly spoke shortly, glancing quickly at Y/N before offering the key to River.

Stepping forward, Y/N interjected, taking the key from her hand instead. "Ta," She said as she nodded, her face completely deadpan.

"Anything else?" Kelly asked, the question clearly directed at River.

"Uh, no," He answered, pulling Y/N back into his side. "All good, thank you."

"Right, see you later," Kelly said as she approached the door, pausing momentarily before adding, "Johnnie Walker."

River laughed, calling out, "Just Jon."

Y/N couldn't help but let out a dry, sarcastic laugh at the nickname. As the door closed, River glanced back at her with an oblivious look.

"What?" He asked, throwing his arms up in question.

She couldn't resist rolling her eyes at him.

"I'll see you later, Johnnie Walker," She said mockingly, tossing the room key onto a nearby table.

He scoffed, starting to take off his jacket. "Fuck off."

"She's clearly into you," Y/N observed, "And making it rather obvious that she doesn't give a fuck about me being here."

River scoffed again, this time playfully. "Not like you to care that much about something like that."

"I don't care," Y/N insisted, attempting to dismiss the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach at the mere thought of River with someone else.

A brief silence lingered between them, both their gazes settling on the solitary double bed in the middle of the room. Y/N had just about forgotten the obvious fact that there would be only one bed.

"Oh, great," She muttered, gesturing towards the bed.

River sighed, "I'll sleep on the floor."

A wave of guilt washed over her almost instantly, prompting her to abandon the bratty demeanour and take his comfort into consideration. The night was exceptionally cold, and the thought of him trying to sleep on the hard wooden floor seemed rather harsh.

"No, I'm sorry. Don't do that," She said, crossing her arms. "It's freezing, and I doubt you'd get a wink of sleep on this floor."

He looked at her, trying to figure out what she was implying.

"We can share the bed; it'll be fine," She suggested.

He half-smiled, "What if I would rather sleep on the floor?"

"Well, then knock yourself out," Y/N retorted. "Just trying to look out for you."

"That's unlike you." River remarked, furrowing his brow.

"River..." She sighed, growing a bit annoyed with his teasing.

"Alright, alright," He relented. "Thanks."

He watched her as she sat down on the bed, falling back against the mattress with a content sigh.

"Take what you can get, Cartwright," She remarked, "It's actually really comfortable."

River nodded, his gaze fixed on her as he stepped closer. Standing in front of her, he glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed, and her hair sprawled out across the mattress. Despite everything, he found her beautiful, though he thought admitting it to her face was a step too far.

She heard his footsteps across the floor, and when they stopped, she opened her eyes to find him standing in front of her, towering over her as he looked down.

"What?" She asked, watching him chew on his lip.

"If I'm sleeping in the bed, you're going to have to move," He stated.

She shot him a perplexed look. "Excuse me?"

"I always sleep on the left side," He explained with his hands in his pockets, his silver watch on his wrist catching the light.

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that right?"

"Yep," He confirmed, shifting his weight on his feet. "So, shove over."

She scoffed. "Not a chance. You're lucky I'm even letting you sleep in the bed at all."

"C'mon, move," He urged, tapping her on the leg.

"No," She shook her head, staying put.

River sighed. "Move."

She laughed, "Fuck off!"

He groaned in annoyance as she sat up, starting to playfully poke and prod at him with her hands.

"You're annoying me, stop," He said, holding his hands up while trying to avoid her playful gestures.

She found it incredibly amusing, knowing all too well that she was the only one that could get under his skin the way she always managed to. Her teasing continued as she started to sense his patience wearing thin. River groaned, gripping her arms forcefully, yet still being careful not to hurt her. With a mischievous squeal, she tried to resist, but he leant over her small frame while skilfully trapping her arms at her sides.

In this unexpected proximity, their faces were mere inches apart, a closeness they hadn't experienced before. A wave of familiarity swept over Y/N, a sensation she hadn't associated with River until this very moment. He felt it too, yet he tried his hardest to dismiss what he was feeling.

"I said, stop," He breathed out, shooting her a stern look.

Their eyes held each other's gaze for a few moments as they found themselves both getting lost in the silence. A quick idea sparked in her head, and she purposefully alternated her gaze between his eyes and his lips, enticing him to lean closer. She could feel his grip on her arms starting to loosen and she seized the opportunity. Without warning, she expertly wrapped her legs around his waist, flipping him over so that he was now laying on the bed, with her on top. Placing her forearm against his neck, she made sure not to press down too hard.

He grunted, attempting to stay as still as possible, but the feeling of her pressed against him became overwhelming, causing him to throw his head back.

"Great," He huffed, not being able to move as she had him pinned down. "Bet you’ve pulled this move on many people before."

"Only a few times," She chuckled. "Just be glad you had the bed to land on, unlike that poor policeman who you dropped onto the concrete at Stansted."

River sighed, shaking his head. "It was a training exercise."

"Don’t think he’ll be forgetting that in a hurry," She teased.

She soon released her hold from him and rose, briefly sitting back on his thighs. River followed suit, propping himself up on his elbows to gaze at her. Eventually, she stood up and headed over to her suitcase.

Grabbing some pyjamas, she made her way to the bathroom. "I’m having a shower."

As soon as the bathroom door closed, he fell back onto his back and stared up at the ceiling.

What the fuck just happened?

✘ ✘ ✘ ✘

As the hot water cascaded over her weary body, Y/N found her thoughts drifting. Despite her efforts to focus on the mission, River kept intruding into her mind. Each time, she attempted to shake off the distraction, but it proved to be quite a challenge, especially given their close proximity.

She didn't want to get side-tracked, but she couldn't seem to help herself. Unfamiliar feelings were beginning to surface, starting to complicate things.

Stepping out of the shower, she went through her night-time skincare routine before changing into a pair of light grey pants and a matching singlet top. Towel in hand, she left the bathroom and entered the dimly lit room. Her eyes fell onto River, who was sorting through his clothes near the end of the bed. She scrunched her hair with the towel as she sat down at the desk in the corner, observing him pick out clothes he wouldn't have chosen for himself.

Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed him glancing over his shoulder and out the window, a shift in his demeanour quickly catching her attention.

"What is it?" Y/N asked softly.

He held a finger up to his lips, quickly switching the bed side lamp off to avoid being seen as he shushed her, gesturing for her to join him by the window. She hung the towel over a chair before approaching him. Standing together, they gazed down onto the street where a figure stood.

"Hey, Dad," They heard a voice say as Kelly emerged from the pub.

Y/N squinted, trying to discern the figure on the street below, and continued to eavesdrop.

"Just out for a stroll," The man spoke. "Thought I’d walk you home."

He then glanced up at their room. "Who's staying in the guest room?"

"He's a journalist, here with his fiancé, writing an article on village life," Kelly explained.

Y/N quickly glanced up at River, noting his focused expression in the moonlight, his eyes trained on the street below. They were so close, he tried to ignore the fact that he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume.

"Is he a proper journalist or a pretend one?" The man inquired as they began to walk away from the pub.

Kelly sighed, "Says he works for The Times."

They both watched sneakily through the window, peeking behind the curtains as the pair walked off down the street.

Y/N sighed, turning to face him. "Well, at least our story checks out."

River hummed. "For now."

She eventually finished her night-time routine, quickly brushing her teeth and running a brush through her damp hair. She then made her way over to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping beneath them in an attempt to avoid the night chill. River took his turn in the bathroom, closing the door behind him causing the darkness to envelop her. She closed her eyes, trying her best to seek relaxation for the night.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door opened, and River emerged, clad in sweatpants and a loose shirt. She heard him approach the bed, sensing the movement as he pulled back the covers and the mattress dipped when he settled in beside her. Even in the confines of the small double bed, they still managed to maintain some space between them.

Y/N lay on her side, facing away from him as she could feel his gaze on her. He drew in a deep breath before speaking, "I reckon we take a look around the village tomorrow, try and see what we can dig up."

"Okay," She hummed.

They fell into a breif moment of silence before he mumbled, "Night, then."

"Night," She replied.

Despite a couple of hours passing by, sleep became impossible for Y/N. The room was cloaked in darkness, with only the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Frustrated, she tossed and turned, unable to still her mind that was racing at a relentless pace. She turned onto her side again, facing the wall, and shook her head, unable to silence her thoughts. Suddenly, she heard a voice breaking through the silence.

"What's wrong?" River asked groggily, his voice laced with sleep. "You've been tossing and turning for ages."

She sighed, feeling guilty for waking him. "I just... can't sleep."

He sighed gently, turning onto his side to face her back. "You're the worst person to share a bed with."

"Yeah, thanks," She grumbled, tossing the sheets off her shoulder.

River breathed out, opening his eyes to peer at her back. The moonlight casted a gentle glow, revealing the cascade of her hair down her shoulders and back. A yawn escaped him, and after a moment of contemplation, his hand instinctively reached out.

Y/N felt her hair being pushed aside, initially thinking it was her imagination. Yet she soon felt a warm hand resting on her back, between her shoulder blades. Her breath hitched as she turned her head slightly to look at him.

"What are you doing?" She whispered.

"Just shut up and close your eyes," He teased. She gave in, turning back to face the wall. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck with every exhale he took through his nose.

His hand traced soothing patterns on the soft, exposed skin of her back. Despite the space between them, she could feel the warmth radiating from him as he inched closer just slightly. She surrendered to the sensation of his fingers tracing her back, gently lulling her into a deep, peaceful slumber.

©𝙇𝙄𝙇𝘼𝘾𝙎𝙉𝙄𝘿

5296 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨

#river cartwright #river cartwright x reader #jack lowden x reader #slow horses #slow horses fanfiction #river x reader #jack lowden #apple tv

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ohstardust · 6 years

Note

Really happy that you're back! I've missed you loads, my love

I Will Find Any Way To Your Wild HeartA/N: Thank you so much my love, I’m so happy to be back. Hope you like this xSide prompt: ‘this person just fell asleep on me in the subway but they’re cute so whatever’ AUTitle: Wild Heart by Bleachers

Long commutes were often tiresome and boredom inducing. There were only so many videos you could watch, news articles to sift through and tweets to scroll through before the frustration of mobile service dropping every five minutes became too much and one found themselves ready to drop their device through the small window gap into the mossy countryside.The carriages had been all but filled to the brim shortly after Y/N had stepped on and found themselves a seat tucked into the corner, ready to unwind and devour their book for the duration of the journey home. The stiflingly hot carriage only intensified once the working commuters filed in from the city’s main stop and filled the unoccupied seats surrounding Y/N. They pulled their bag off the seat beside them to allow another passenger to be seated and focused their attention back on the book in hand, paying no mind to the person that filled the open space.

Y/N glanced at their watch before taking in the blur of the scenery sailing past the large train windows and rubbing their eyes, one hour ten minutes to go.Their eyes wandered over the thinning passengers and scrunched their eyebrows realising they’d been so lost in their own fictional world that a fair portion of the travellers had left the train without any interruptions. Returning to their book, they sat themselves upright and let their head rest back on the seat, finding a more comfortable stance. It hadn’t escaped their attention that the young man beside them kept shaking their head and flinching to stay awake, weariness evident in their posture and fidgeting, a feeling Y/N was all too familiar with. Only a few minutes later, after thumbing the page over, a weight dropped onto their shoulder shaking them from the fantasy.Y/N took in the sight of the stranger, resting on their arm, ready to shake them off, already feeling uncomfortable with the situation at hand, but the man looked so peaceful and relaxed that Y/N could do nothing but watch them for a moment or two. They were swift to realise that the stranger in question had been the very same one that Y/N had seen on their commute from time to time, one that had often piqued their interest and had a soft handsome face that Y/N had also lingered on on occasion. With that revelation in ming, their surmised it didn’t harm to allow him a few minutes peace at the end of the day. So instead of shrugging him off or nudging him awake, they allowed their eyes to slip shut and contemplated dozing for a half hour or so.

The train slowed as it reached the next station but the breaks that brought it to a stop knocked their book to the floor and jolted the sleeping pair awake. The man groggily startled himself into an upright position and scrubbed at his bleary eyes, blinking rapidly. He turned to the passenger beside him, eyes wide and a mild look of mortification washing over him.“Christ, I’m so sorry about that, I really didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” his face flushed furiously.“Don’t sweat it, I fell asleep too, no harm done.”“Thank you, I’ve been wanting to sleep since I woke up at the ass crack of dawn and apparently when I’m tired enough I’ll literally sleep anywhere,” he shook his head and let out a small laugh.Y/N softly grinned and nodded, “I hear you, it’s been an impossibly long day and I could easily sleep for the next forty-eight hours, train or no train.”“Preach,” he quickly took note of the abandoned book on the train floor as it nudged his foot and he leant down to retrieve it, offering it back to it’s owner, “I think this is yours.”“Oh thanks, yeah apparently even this couldn’t keep me awake,” Y/N waved the item and huffed out a laugh, pushing it back into their rucksack and closing the flap over.The man righted himself and moved over slightly to put further space between them before turning to look at Y/N, his eyes narrowing, “I feel I’ve seen you before, do you do this journey often or have I seen you elsewhere?”“I recognised you too, it’s from this journey, I’m sure of it.” You’re sounding eager, knock it off.“Jack,” he offered his hand as they replied with their own name, and they shook on a formal introduction. There was something welcoming and comforting about their exchanges as they made small talk until their next stop, mostly commenting on their typical journeys and reasons for travelling. People were usually too consumed with their noses stuck into their mobile phones to speak to a stranger fleetingly.As the train approached the next stop Jack gathered his belongings from his feet and cheekily smiled at Y/N, “Thank you for letting me sleep, I hope we can do it again sometime.”Y/N lips quirked, “Me too, I look forward to our future collective nap.”Jack stood as the train came to a stop and fished a folded scrap of paper out of his denim jean pocket and handed it over, “See you around, Y/N.”And with that, he sauntered off the train and didn’t look back.Confused, Y/N unfolded the paper as the train set off again.If you’re reading this then I’ve finally found you again and I’ve plucked up the courage to speak to you. Should you ever find yourself short of a book to read, I’ll happily recommend you some of my favourites, I think you’ll like them. Jack (The Train Guy) 07574829746

A/N: It really goes without saying but please don’t try and call that number because I have no clue who it belongs to.

#jack lowden #jack lowden fic #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden imagine

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albionscastle · 5 years

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We’ll Meet Again - Chapter 12

It’s been a long time coming I know, but I’m feeling Collins again even though I’m working 60+ hours a week (soooooo tired).

For this chapter we have a reunion between husband and wife, a new friend made and a cute moment.

There are mentions of Holocaust themes such as camps and ghettos as well as missing families and the idea of impending extermination.

The book she is reading is The Time Machine by H. G. Wells.

MASTERLIST

WE’LL MEET AGAIN 12

HOW DEEP IS THE OCEAN?

Christmas came and went, spent in a bomb shelter even though the bombs didn’t fall that day by some miracle. Jack was able to spend a few hours with you at the boarding house before returning to duty, all puffed up and chuffed at his impending fatherhood. You couldn’t have loved him more than in the moment you told him you were pregnant and his face had lit up. You’d been afraid to tell him, deep down you had thought he would run, he wouldn’t be the first. London was rife with young women, expecting, waiting for a lover who wasn’t coming back. Not every young soldier was a good man.

But yours was.

There were more letters than usual, often several arriving at once due to the mail delays. As the new year began and the conflict was no closer to finishing almost every one of Jack’s letters were imploring you to leave the city and go to his parents. You were tempted, London wasn’t safe you knew it, but it was close to Jack and you felt as though you couldn’t just leave the other girls. In the end you agreed to wait until the baby came and then you would go to Scotland. What little time you could spend with him until then you would make the most of, knowing that it could be some time before he got enough leave to go North.

There was no end in sight to the war, it was 1941, the second full year of conflict and it seemed like there was a new casualty list daily, the list of names endless. You remembered the talk about the Great War, how whole villages had their men wiped out and you could suddenly see how that had been possible. But even the old timers were spooked by this one, the rumors and stories coming out of Germany and Poland were terrifying. The last conflict had been war, this was something more, something else, something sinister and evil.

You sat on the corner eating your lunch after working for the Red Cross all morning. Another bombing, more injured, more dead. While not immune to the sight of it you were at least acclimated enough that you didn’t cry or vomit each time you carried off someone’s mangled body. Although you wanted to. There was a pile of rubble in the middle of the street, a group of young children who hadn’t been evacuated yet were playing on it while some older folk watched. It still amazed you how there were still pockets of hope and laughter in the city, normality in the face of so much destruction and death.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up into the face of an elderly man, one of the Jews who populated the East Side. His black jacket was worn in places and very old fashioned, but his smile was wide and his eyes kindly. You gestured for him to join you, offering him half your sandwich with a smile.

“Nice to see em playing about.” he remarked, declining the food politely.

“We see a pile of bricks, they see a castle.” you laughed softly. “You have to love the imaginations of children.”

“And the hope of them.”

For a moment you sat in silence, watching them, your mind wandering to your own child. In your thoughts you saw a blonde head of hair ducking in and out of the rubble, heard a higher pitched version of Jack’s laughter. The fact that you could picture your child in this place, in this condition terrified you. Would the war even be over by the time they were old enough to run around with other kids? Would there even be children left in London after all was said and done? So many had been evacuated into the countryside, their parents many times sadly victims that you and the others pulled out of the wreckage. You wondered if their children even knew they were dead. It broke your heart to think of it.

“They take the children in Germany too, don’t they?” you whispered, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

The old man nodded sadly, never taking his eyes off the kids in the street.

“My family is in Poland, the last I heard they were all rounded up and put into ghettos. It didn’t matter if they were babes or 100 years old. Jews are illegal to the Nazis.” he spat the last word in loathing.

“You’ve not heard anything since?”

“Not since November, no. I don’t expect to. I fear it will only get worse. Today its ghettos, yesterday it was encouraged emigration. My son thought it would pass, so they stayed. I am only here because I married an Englishwoman after my Sarah passed. We had talked about going to Poland before all this started.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just the rumors coming from over there…” you trailed off.

“Are all true, I’m afraid. We should talk about it, we all should so that the world knows what is happening to us. They have started putting us in camps, they call them work camps but I fear…” he swallowed hard. “What is left to do with people who are, in their words, not people but animals?”

The answer was left unspoken, the reality of what could happen to these people was too horrible to even contemplate. Others had talked about it, you had overheard some soldiers talking about how the Nazis were gearing up to “put them down”. Like animals. They had laughed, like it wasn’t anything big to think of but the idea had stuck in your head. These were people, human beings that were being treated like animals, worse than animals, because Hitler deemed them to be “illegal”. You couldn’t comprehend the kind of mindset it took to consider humans that way. And you also wondered what the rest of the world was going to do about it.

“I think it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.” You admitted sadly, not knowing what else to say.

“I fought in the last war, 37 years old and I was straight off to enlist, we fought for the Russians back then. Thought we were on a grand quest to make the world a better place. Took two bullets over four years and watched seven of my friends from home die in the trenches. I always believed we were doing it because we had to, because when we were done the world would see and not make the same mistakes again.”

“The war to end all wars.” you murmured. “My dad went on his 17th birthday, lied about his age to enlist. He and my mother were sweethearts since childhood. She said he was never the same.”

“No one came back the same, and no one will this time. Even you, you are changed by what you are experiencing here. You have lost people, yes?”

“Margot, she was my friend. A bomb landed right on her in the middle of the day, I saw the whole thing. And she had lost her fiance in France.”

“And your husband?” He looked at the ring on your finger. “Where is he?”

“He’s RAF, a fighter pilot. He was at Dunkirk.”

“This kind of evil, it touches everything, leaves nothing unstained. Your man, he kills and he does it because he has to. You try to save, because you have to but you would kill, for the same reason, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And I killed, many young men, many mother’s sons, because I had to and I never can forget it. I ask for forgiveness every day of my life. I was never a violent man, I am a botanist, but if you put a man in a German uniform in front of me now and gave me a gun, I would kill him. I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. That is how it has changed me, this time.”

“I don’t think many would fault you for that, considering.”

“Except those many people the world over who also agree that Jews are not humans. The world sits and waits, watching to see what will happen, trust me they will not intervene until what happens to us affects their interests.”

“Even if they start killing?”

“Start? Young lady they have already begun killing us, for years they have. All that is happening now is that they are speeding up the process.”

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of it. In the grand scheme of things you had it easy. This man’s whole family’s fate was unknown, a whole race of people were being imprisoned for their blood and for no other reason. Children too, locked in ghettos and cages, their whole lives stolen from them.

For what? What was it all for?

“I’m so sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

His lined hand patted yours, squeezing your fingers.

“I had meant to simply say hello and sit for a minute, I did not mean to upset you.”

“Please,” you implored, wiping your eyes. “Don’t say that, you are entitled to be angry. I’m glad you sat down, no one else talks about it. Everyone wants to pretend it isn’t happening, that nothing exists outside this island. I don’t want to be that person.”

“What is your name?”

You told him your name, told him Jack’s and for a while you told him the story of how you met and fell in love. He laughed at stories from the boarding house, especially your landlady’s ability to turn any moment into a party. He told you in turn of his Sarah, their only son Samuel and his wife Elsa and their children. Samuel was or at least had been an attorney and the cantor at their temple, he was a good, kind man according to his father, but naive in his belief of the inherent goodness of man. It was something they had debated many times. It was that belief that had led him to stay in Poland long after they should have tried to escape.

You learned how, after Sarah’s death some ten years ago, your new friend Jacob had come to England for work and met Mary, a widow who became his close friend. Over the years the friendship had grown until they married finally three years previously, allowing him to stay in England. It was Mary who had procured visas for the rest of the family and her sadness at what had happened was acute.

As the sun went down and the chill sharpened in the air you walked Jacob to his street, promising to go straight home after and to come visit as soon as you were able. Your heart was heavy as you walked away, your mind in turmoil. The whole story made it onto the page as you wrote to Jack that night, including your soul wrenching sadness at what was happening on the Continent. For once you held nothing back, pouring onto the paper your conflicting hopelessness at the state of the world and your unrelenting joy with him and your unborn child. You felt so guilty stealing even a moment of happiness when Jacob’s whole family, and so many countless others were suffering so greatly.

Oddly it was Mary rather than Jack who was able to make you feel less so. Jack’s letters, while admitting that the stories were seemingly true and worsening, were full of love and hope, talk of your future, of a life after the war. You loved it, loved reading and imagining it, dreaming of the days when you would finally be together. The way he described his home you could see it so clearly, the mountains and the mist, the valleys, the stone houses. He was so ready for it to begin and so were you, but you couldn’t escape the black cloud that hung over you, the knowledge that you had the possibility of a future that so many people were being robbed of.

What you never told Jack in your letters was how that guilt and horror at what was happening made you cry yourself to sleep at night as much as his absence did.

As winter drew on, edging toward spring you found yourself at Jacob and Mary’s often, especially once she started brewing you her special tea for morning sickness. Mary swore up and down that it was the tea that had gotten her through five pregnancies without even a day in bed being sick. You weren’t one hundred percent sure of it, but it actually seemed to work and she did love fussing over you like a mother hen. It was Mary who had sternly told you one day, as you all sat in their basement, that it was right and proper to grieve the situation on the Continent, that to be horrified and aching for the Jewish people was the mark of a good and caring human. But she also said that the suffering of others shouldn’t make you lose hope and joy, because otherwise what was the point of fighting? What was the point of living if you couldn’t be happy, that each person on the earth was put there to live and that the ability to do so amidst so much suffering meant that humanity was worth fighting for. You saw her point and the guilt at least eased, if not the sadness.

As the months dragged on you saw the sadness in Jacob’s eyes too, each day without word from his family hurt him more and the moments of laughter that you had experienced when you first met were fewer now as the hope for their survival dimmed. Still, he told endless stories of them, and Mary of her children, two of whom hadn’t survived the Depression. Her three remaining daughters were all married with families of their own and each of them had asked for their mother to go to them. But Jacob wouldn’t leave the last place his son knew to look for him, and Mary wouldn’t leave Jacob.

In March Jack was transferred to RAF Feltwell, a newer Air Force base located in Norfolk almost two hours away. He was given three days leave before he was to report for his new duties and to say that you were devastated was an understatement.

“I wish you weren’t going.” you sighed as he hung his jacket in your wardrobe the first day.

“Aye love, me too, but I haf tae go where I’m ordered. They need me there.”

“Doing what?”

You saw the look on his face, even though he tried to hide it. Whatever it was he didn’t want to tell you. A wave of panic wafted over you leaving you dizzy and gasping for air.

“Ye need tae lay down love, come on now there’s naught tae be getting upset about.” Jack helped you to your bed, kicking off his shoes to lay beside you. “They need trained pilots fer the bombers, that’s all.”

He had mentioned this in his letters, or the prospect of one day bombers being sent over the channel. Nothing specific of course, but now it looked like that prospect was a reality. “So you are a bomber pilot now? No more Spitfires?” In your mind the fact that he wouldn’t be a fighter pilot anymore wasn’t exactly soothing.

“Aye, I’ll fly wi a crew o six an all we’ll do is fly over, drop the bombs and leave. Nothin tae it.”

“Nothing to flying over enemy airspace and being under attack constantly, it sounds unbelievably dangerous.”

He pulled you closer so you could rest your head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing your arm gently.

“I’ll no lie tae ye, it’s war lass, anythin I do is goin tae be dangerous, this is no exception.”

Pushing yourself up to sit facing him you looked down at your husband. Trying your hardest not to cry you took him in, from his soft, bright hair to the straight length of his nose every inch of him as precious to you as your own life.

“Promise me…” you sucked in a deep breath before continuing sternly. “Jack Andrew Collins you promise me that you will come back to us.”

Sitting up, Jack wrapped you up in his arms, holding you as the tears fell.

“I mean it Jack, you come back, don’t leave us alone. Don’t be a hero, please, just do your job and come home. Don’t make me live without you.”

He buried his face in your neck, his arms so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m comin back tae ye, love. I promise. I swear I’m comin home.”

Jack held you like that until after the sun went down, until you were forced downstairs to eat, him holding your hand and gently lecturing you about taking it easy with the baby on the way. He knew you well enough by now not to tell you to stop your Red Cross work, only to tell you to be extra careful. You had already scaled back your duties as you started showing so you were one step ahead of him there. Later he admitted that he felt a little useless, all things considered, you already had so much under control and you didn’t really need him.

“You’re right Jack.” you said from the bed as you watched him change. “I don’t need you, I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But I don’t want to. I want you and I want us, that’s a big difference.”

Jack chuckled, climbing under the covers to spoon you against him, rubbing his stubbly chin against your shoulder.

“Ye think ye will see tha way in twenty years? When I’m no the handsome, fit man I am today?”

Giggling, you snuggled closer to him, lacing your fingers with his.

“You’ll always be handsome to me, Jack. I’m the one who’s going to get all fat and out of shape.”

“Nay, lass yer pregnant no fat and besides well be goin walkin every day so as we donna let ourselves go.”

You could feel him snickering.

“What about in the winter? Are going to go walking in the snow?”

“I’m sure we can think o summan tae do tae stay active during all those long,” his mouth pressed against your shoulder, “dark,” your neck, “nights.” his teeth grazed your ear sending a familiar, warm tingle down your spine.

Turning in his arms you pushed Jack until he was on his back and you straddled him, leaning down to kiss him hungrily.

“I say we start going through ideas right now.” you murmured against his skin.

Three days wasn’t nearly enough time, but you and Collins made the most of it. Most of the time you spent alone, everyone understood why and you weren’t interrupted. You walked over to see Jacob and Mary, eager to have them meet the man you had told them so much about. Jack and Jacob were instant friends, the camaraderie between them apparent from the get go. You didn’t even mind that the two men spent the whole day chatting while you and Mary made dinner and looked at each of them fondly from across the room. When you left, Jack was full of admiration for the elderly man, expressing his hope of seeing a lot more of the couple in the future.

“I feel awful about his son,” he admitted.”I canna imagine knowin what’s happenin there and bein helpless to save them. Not knowin is the hardest part.”

You knew, from the sombre look on his face that he was thinking of Farrier, his friend who’s fate after Dunkirk had never been determined. You couldn’t imagine not knowing what had happened to someone and imagining the very worst.

The last day, he had to leave that night for Norfolk so that he could report the next morning, you spent in bed. Neither of you felt hungry enough to go get breakfast, even though Jack scolded you saying you needed to feed the baby at least. You managed to distract him from that train of thought. Later, after a bath and a sandwich or two you sat against the pillows on the bed, Jack’s head in your lap as he gazed up at you, his ear pressed against the small swell of your stomach.

“…The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or fungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; brilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of preventive medicine was attained. Diseases had been stamped out…even the processes of putrefaction and decay had been profoundly affected by these changes.”

Your fingers threaded absentmindedly through his hair as you read, his fingers reaching up from time to time to brush your arm, or your face before returning to rest on his stomach.

“Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social nor economic struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all that commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It was natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of a social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been met, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase.”

You read him the entire book, taking delight in his almost childlike enjoyment of such a simple pleasure. Time ceased to exist for those few hours and you saw your future clearly, a child lying between the two of you as you read until they both fell asleep. It was a future you wanted so badly that it almost hurt to think about it.

Before he left, you made love one last time, savoring the slow, gentle slide of his skin against yours, the feeling of his mouth against your lips and the overwhelming feeling of being held tightly in his arms. Jack kissed your tears away when you cried, let you help him dress when it was time and didn’t even try to tell you to buck up.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’ll write every day, I promise.” he punctuated his words with kisses as he hugged you goodbye. “Jus stay safe an take care o yerself and our girl.”

“You’re sure the baby is a girl then?”

“Aye, an she’ll look like ye and I’ll be the most envied man in Ballachulish wi ma two princesses on ma arms.”

“What if it’s a boy?”

‘Same goes.” Jack shrugged, grinning down at you. “As long as I have ye, I’ll be the luckiest man in Scotland, and our bairn will be the luckiest kid tae haf ye as a mum.”

“And you as a Dad, Jack. It’s us who are lucky.”

Jack’s hands cradled the back of your head as he kissed you again and your arms wrapped around his waist, locking so that you wouldn’t have to let him go.

“Let’s say we are both lucky, shall we?”

“I love you Jack Collins.”

“And I love ye Y/N Collins.”

You had to watch him walk away, as much as it hurt you had to watch, waiting until he got to the corner and lifted his hand to wave goodbye. With tears streaming down your cheeks you waved back, even when he turned the corner and vanished out of sight. For the longest time you stood there, staring at the spot where you had last seen him, willing him to reappear.

When would you see him again?

#jack x reader #jack lowden #jack lowden fic #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden blurb #dunkirk collins #dunkirk fanfiction #dunkirk imagine

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pagesoflauren · 6 years

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A Thousand Years (vampire!Jack x reader AU) - Epilogue

A/N: Wasn’t quite ready to let this go yet. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS! It’s been almost six months since I started, and I almost didn’t finish. I’m so happy I got to finish with your guys’ support. It’s been such a fun run with vamp!Jack and his cats, and I hope you guys loved this series as much as I did. I’m hoping to focus all my attention on “Without You” and also play around with a Tom Glynn-Carney AU or maybe a sequel to this who knows. ANYWAY, I hope you guys love it. Thank you so much again. You guys are wonderful. :)❤️

Summary: The newlyweds go on their honeymoon and come back to a new house.

Jack smiles as he opens the curtains to a gloomy sky, the filtered sunlight casting a glow on his wife, still asleep wrapped up in the duvet. Her eyes crinkle as she squeezes them against the light, a soft moan escaping her throat as she stretches.

He sits on the edge of the mattress and cups the back of her head with his hand, softly coaxing her awake. She looks up at him, bleary-eyed, before her eyes drift to his waist.

“Mr. Old-Fashioned couldn’t even have the discretion to put on a pair of boxers before opening the window?” “You’re one to talk, checking me out first thing in the morning,” he quips back, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “You’re my husband, I think it’s acceptable for me to do that,” she laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him close. He kept his lips on her cheek, making exaggerated puckering sounds as she giggled.

They had come to Paris during the rainy and foggy season, perfect for Jack to walk arm-in-arm with his wife. Though, still in the state of wedding bliss, whenever he introduced her to somebody, he referred to her as his “bride.”

Their trip was nothing short of touristy, visiting the Louvre and going to the top of the Eiffel Tower, sitting at sidewalk tables and watching fireworks in Trocadero Square, walking through gardens and snapping photos of and with each other, especially on Jack’s end. Many days were spent wrapped up in each other, between the sheets, soaking in the bath together or lounging on the couch to watch movies. Other days were spent taking in the charm of the City of Lights, Jack using one hand to catch Y/N as she tripped over cobblestones while his other hand held an umbrella to keep them dry or sitting on park benches to people-watch.

Soon, they were on the train back home, hands latched together as Y/N rested her head on his shoulder and face tucked into his neck. They take a taxi to their new address outside of the city, a bigger house with an open space for Jack to have a greenhouse built. They had hired movers to bring the boxes of things they had managed to pack between planning for their wedding, supervised by Y/N’s parents. After the taxi driver brings their luggage to the front door, Jack pays and Y/N unlocks the front door, pushing it open and finding stacks and stacks of boxes for them to unpack.

Before she can step in, a cold hand grabs her wrist, causing her to stumble back in shock to land against Jack’s chest. He smirks before scooping her up into his arms, much to her delight.

“Can’t I carry my wife through the threshold of our new house?” he smiles. “What’s next?” she asks as he steps through the door, “You gonna carry me through the door of the bar too?” “That’s a thought,” he says as she lands on her feet, “But for now, I’d like to just be in this moment with you, my bride, my beautiful wife, in our home.”

tagging: @albionscastle

#Jack Lowden #Jack Lowden x reader #Jack Lowden AU

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 5 years

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Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 38: New

Summary: It’s her baby’s first day in the world. Genevieve and Jack are too tired to celebrate it. For better or for worse, no one else is.

AN: This is for @itsmillartime who’s comments really pushed me to finishing this series. This is a looooong chapter. Those >1k word chapters seem like so long ago.

Thank you for bearing with me, uploads are real slow. But this story will be finished one way or another.

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

Upon the midwives’ return, they found Genevieve in uneasiness. But that emotion was being tipped off the scales by the comfort she felt holding her baby. When she passed the child over to Jack, there was an emptiness in her chest that distracted her from listening to the midwife about passing a blood clot. Genevieve’s eyes stayed on him. He was still crying with a close-lipped smile as he cradled his daughter for the first time. What a feeling, that passed between the couple while they watched their baby interact with them. Years of waiting for such a moment.

There were more tears to come when it came to injecting inoculations into the newborn. Leaning back into the pillows, Genevieve did not strain to watch for she was too tired. But she could hear the wailing perfectly well; it made her cower into her bed. Such a heart-breaking noise, the baby did not yet understand how to cry.

“Oh darling, I know, I know! It’s awful,” Jack spoke to the baby the entire time and held her hand while the midwife prepared the final injection, “It’ll be over soon, just one more.”

The moment it was over, he scooped her up into his arms and consoled her. She felt so tiny against him, his hand covering her back completely. Her frame shook, her face red until, back in Genevieve’s arms, her gulping came to a stop.

“There we go,” She kissed the baby’s head twice and the calm that washed over the pair would only ever be known by them.

And whilst both Baby Collins and Genevieve were declared healthy by the midwives, Jack dashed downstairs to ring everyone he could - without a care for the fact that it was the early hours of the morning. The Collins’, the Hastings’, Farrier’s landline, Jack was busy ringing all he knew. He had to be quick because, every time someone answered the phone, he would start to cry a little more, until only one phrase was uttered down the receiver:

“I’ve got a baby girl. We’ve got our baby girl.”

Once he’d dragged the crib into their room, a lot of Jack’s night was spent laid beside Genevieve as she slept. She had not wanted to sleep, but her eyes were drooping and body slouching as she protested against the idea of getting rest. The baby was taken to bed, and every ten minutes or so, Jack would stand and sit down next to the crib to keep an eye on the child in there. Somehow, she was still ready to sleep despite arriving a few hours ago mid-nap.

At some point in the night, he rested his head beside Genevieve’s hand and woke up with the shock that three hours had passed. Instantly he made to check on Genevieve (still asleep and fine). He peeked over the cot next in hopes of not disturbing the occupant. The tiny baby was awake now and carefully turned her head to look around. Her arms were enfolded into the blankets, so she couldn’t free herself. It was not a fight to stretch, more a test to learn about her body in this new world. Jack met her curious stare with a small smile.

“Hello,” He whispered, “Do you remember me? I was talking to you while you were in your Ma’s tummy. I gotta hold you after you got your nasty injections.”

The baby licked her lips then tilted her head back slightly, her eyes taking in the ceiling instead of her daddy’s face. She made little noises as she moved, her breathing blending with some gurgling.

With shaking arms, Jack lifted her against his chest. He beamed as she wriggled into him. She smelt delightful. It was not something he could put into words, but she just did. Jack then realised perhaps he should have put on a shirt first as he spied it strewn over the bed’s edge. Contemplating on what he should do now, he looked to the baby who had closed her eyes again but left her tongue poking out between her lips.

Eventually he decided to take her for a walk, showing off her new room, the presents that people had bought her, and the poster that was in it. He stroked the bear’s paw across her cheek then quietly described the time he took Genevieve to see the real Sunflowers. When her eyes were open, the baby looked mostly at Jack as he spoke. Very polite of her.

“You shoulda seen your Ma in that moment. I hope the paintings come back one day so we can show you too,” Jack said as they headed downstairs, his voice raising a little more once out of earshot of the bedroom. “You have lovely eyelashes. Didn’t think you’d have grown them yet but there they are.”

Once the lower floor had been explored with all its limited interest, Jack stepped into the garden with the baby held in one arm so that he could shield her eyes from the rising sun. A new day. It was a little chilly for him, but the baby seemed content in her blankets even as they loosened, with her fingers bending and straightening around her new blanket. Crisp spring air renewed his energy, the dewy grass soaking his slippers. The flowers were all thriving that year. Bending down slightly, he picked one taller cosmos and showed it to the baby.

“I told you about these. I bet I’ll have to tell you again,” He said with a smile. The flower bounced about on its stem and the early morning breeze, its petals caressing the baby’s nose. She stared at it, mouth open, after which she sneezed. Her arms flung out in front of her, her legs kicking forward with effort in the blanket.

“Oh dear! Bless you,” Jack beamed for it was such an adorable sound. But then the baby began coughing out her cries, her face contorting to screw up her delicate features.

“Darling, it’s ok,” Jack shushed, lifting her closer so that he could kiss her head, “It’s just a little flower, it won’t hurt you anymore.” He took a seat on the bench and cuddled her closer in his chest. Not that he realised, but he swayed in his seat as he continued to talk to her, to calm her down as her cries muffling into quiet against his shoulder.

“I know, oh I know, everything’s all new to you. God, you’ve never sneezed before. What must be going on in your little head?” Jack sighed, glancing behind him as if to see through the wall where Genevieve was. Then he looked back down at the baby, her arms hardly reaching above her head, blinking up at him with a crumpled pout. As gently as possible, he lowered her back into his lap, one hand under her head, and kept his face close so she could see him sniffing as he felt a tear slip past his notice:

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit emotional right now too.” The baby seemed to listen to him now and began to interrupt with a hum or two, her way of telling him it was ok: “I’m not gonna fill your mind with that kind of thing. God, you’re so small, I feel like I gotta beat everything off with a bat. I was never really great at cricket.”

Jack trimmed the stem of the accused flower to a significantly shorter length and tucked it over her left ear. “Maybe your Ma can teach us. She had the right idea, bowled me and Ethel into the ground last summer.” The infant didn’t complain at the flower or after her bare feet slipped out the end of the blanket. In fact, she seemed to find it enjoyable when Jack played with one of them, pinching lightly her toes.

“That was one hell of a tangent. But you’re really helping Da out here.”

The sun warmed them both. Jack carefully unfolded the blanket to rest on her tummy, her arms flapping weakly in front of her as she practised movement. Meanwhile, Jack ceased conversation to watch her, fascinated with her learning, and unconsciously he leaned even closer to her. Her hands reached up to his temples as he kissed her belly. Under his lips, she tensed and shifted. Jack sensed that she might want to cry again, and he felt for her; feeling her skin against his incited such an intimate feeling he was not prepared for. It made him tear up again.

“Shall we go see if Ginny is awake, your Ma?” He whispered, his nose lightly bumping hers as she tried to move her head. Rocking carefully as he ascended the stairs, Jack soothed the baby’s grizzling. Her face did not connote one of positivity.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” He whispered. Though her funny little expression remained, the baby quietened down (beside from an occasional noise), something Jack rewarded with a kiss on her head. “There we go, baby girl. Hey, guess what? I love you. You’re my little girl, and I love you. I’m always gonna be here for you. Your Ma too.”

At the door, Jack gently pushed into the room, looking for whether his wife was asleep. She was not. Genevieve was wide awake and sat up in bed, clutching her bed sheets in tight fists.

“I heard her crying,” She looked at the blanket with an expression of mild terror.

“It’s ok; she just got a little scared by her sneeze.” Jack passed her over and Genevieve carefully checked over her, eyes darting across every part of her baby to see if there was truly nothing wrong. Her hand moved aside the blankets and traced over the baby’s skin. She spotted the flower still behind the baby’s ear then moved on. She found a splodge on the baby’s wrist that the midwives had informed her about then moved on. She landed on the baby’s tummy and stopped.

“She’s got a belly button,” was her conclusion.

“A cute belly button,” said Jack in agreement.

Genevieve thumbed over the baby’s cheekbone as she slowly moved her head to look around. It dislodged the cosmo, landing it beside Genevieve’s thigh. But she didn’t try to replace it. She was already occupied, taking in the weight in her arms.

“I never wanna let her go,” She whispered, not looking at Jack though she was speaking to him. Pulling her close, Genevieve took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek to the baby’s head.

When she let out a noise that sounded like she was about to cry, immediately Jack and Genevieve tensed, ready for action to do whatever they could to calm her. But the baby took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed onto the baggy front of Genevieve’s nightshirt and whined.

“I think you might be hungry.”

Jack stayed at their sides as Genevieve fed their daughter for the first time. It was weirdly mesmerising to watch how quickly she adapted to becoming a mother. Even Genevieve was surprised by herself, the words of the midwife and instinct guiding her actions. Her eyes fixated on the baby’s wispy hair, her hand stroking it. Despite the minor discomfort, Genevieve felt her face softened with a smile as she clicked her tongue and spoke, the baby’s blinking slowed down and with a hand curled at her mother’s chest.

Forgetting that he was meant to get breakfast for his wife, Jack was completely in awe. Once reminded, he sped downstairs to make it and returned with a few minutes, not wanting to miss a moment. The tray rattled louder than he wanted as he placed it on the floor.

“Oh, finished already?” Genevieve whispered as she lifted up her daughter, “All full?”

“Can I burp her?” Jack asked, already reaching for the muslin rag. He just had to hold her again.

“You’re volunteering for her to be sick on you?” She joked, before nodding at him to come over.

Eagerly, Jack took a seat beside her on the bed and carefully arranged himself to hold his daughter. Genevieve did a little intervening, making sure he held her properly, before falling back into her pillows and watching them with half-closed eyes. The baby whimpered a little at the movement before she settled into regular breathing. Jack gently rubbed circles into her back then lightly patted between her tiny shoulders. He felt obligated to kiss her little head again after he held his nose to smell that freshness about her. Then he heard a wet sounding belch.

“There we go.” He patted her back once more then lifted her into his lap to wipe her mouth properly. The baby coughed, wincing away from the rag, and Jack anxiously sat her up in his chest to pat her back again. When she stopped, Jack looked at Genevieve, clearly grinning over the mug of tea.

“You’re so good with her,” and she sipped from the mug. The novelty of the mint tea was wearing thin against her tongue, but she didn’t tell Jack just yet. Still feeling the fatigue, she replaced the mug beside her and adjusted her posture until she was almost flat on her back. Jack lowered the baby onto her chest, the head beneath Genevieve’s lips that grimaced at the sight of a splodge of sick on Jack’s shirt shoulder.

The doorbell was heard and thus began a steady flow of people coming in to visit Genevieve and make sure she was alright. First visitor was surprisingly Farrier. He arrived in the early morning with flowers, Westley, and a bottle of whiskey - to make up for being stood up the night before. Nervously he stood in the doorway of the bedroom as Genevieve waved weakly from her bed. A toast was made to the pair – although they opted to go for tea instead of alcohol at eight in the morning.

Farrier didn’t stay in the room for long, not even to get a closer look at the baby. But he did decide to stay to help out. While Jack assured him that it was fine for him to go if he had plans, Farrier was already prepping to do some chores downstairs.

“Besides, I haven’t been in your gaff before. Give me a chance to explore,” He winked before heading to the kitchen to do the washing up left from the previous day. Westley followed him, his tongue hanging out. It was with profusive thanks that Jack followed and shook Farrier’s hand. His help was going to be needed if he was to spend the day looking after his wife and his baby.

His wife and his baby.

It almost didn’t feel real. In a daze, he rung up his place of work and informed them of his newfound status as a father. Then he went to open the door which was already knocking again.

“LET ME SEE THE BAIRN!”

Breezing into the house, Cora had kissed both his cheeks briefly before bellowing this demand again, running past and up the stairs. Jack proceeded to greet the rest of his family a little more calmly and allowed them indoors.

Genevieve heard Cora from her room upstairs. She snorted pathetically as she climbed back under the covers, her eye on the cot still. The softness of the room was incongruous to when Cora appeared in the doorway, frenzied with wild hair until her eyes too landed on the cot. Then she eased up into grandmother mode and dropped at Genevieve’s side.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Genevieve.” Back to the baby, she bent over to see the child sleeping peacefully despite the disruptions. Her entire face stretched in utter elation as she was overcome with her first grandchild.

“Oh, she’s the bonniest thing! Look at that nose, just like you when you were this size.” Cora patted Jack’s arm in recognition, but without tearing her eyes from the cot.

The rest of the Collins clan popped up in the doorway, trying not to overwhelm the family. Cora began to commandeer those with her, ordering everyone to the side of the room so that the new parents could awaken the baby in peace before providing the opportunity to hold her.

Karen and Ethel went up first, insisting no one would get a turn holding the baby if Cora went before anyone else. They took turns, with Toby and Jack leaning over their shoulders. The four siblings watched the baby breathe slowly, falling back to sleep in her auntie’s arms only to be woken when being passed to another person. She barely cried though, for she could hear Genevieve talking nearby to her in-laws. There was recognition there and in the smell of the blanket that the baby was wrapped in, the same blanket Genevieve had slept with it for the past few weeks. Familiarity filled the room and the baby was good as gold for the Collins.

When it came to Cora’s turn, she paced up and down the room whilst playing with one of the baby’s hands. Her husband followed her about with his body in a crooked position so that he could see his granddaughter. The siblings were downstairs with Jack and Farrier, though what they were up to Genevieve had no idea.

“When will she be able to wear those clothes, the ones she got for Christmas?” He asked as he took a break, Cora continuing to move about the room.

“Not for a long time,” Genevieve sighed into her mug of tea, “She’s got some growing to do first.”

It would take some time, but Cora would eventually stop her drill marches and settled on the end of the bed. She didn’t speak so much then, at least not until she and Genevieve were alone in the bedroom. Her husband had gone to check on his kids (”make sure they’re behavin’ themselves”).

That was when Cora said quietly, “We’re so glad you’re alright, you and the baby. After everything that happened. Might I suggest ‘Cora’?”

Appreciating the lack of focus on “what happened”, Genevieve wiped her nose on the corner of her blanket and answered, “You might, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be chosen for her name.” And the pair shared a smile, knowing full well that Cora was not to be the name of the bairn.

“Might as well throw my hat into the ring.”

With kisses on everyone’s cheeks, especially the baby’s, Jack waved his family goodbye at lunch time, which when Genevieve’s family arrived. A five-minute exchange, the Hastings’ appeared with more muted joy for the baby. Except for two people.

Beryl peeked at her granddaughter and had to take a moment outside the room, weeping into her handkerchief. James on the other hand leapt onto the bed to meet his cousin. Lilly followed, though with more control than her son. She climbed beside Genevieve on the bed, and the sisters sat together.

“You remember when James was just a baby?” Lilly touched her forefinger to the baby’s head.

With a slow nod, Genevieve said, “I was scared of him.”

James cocked his head in confusion, “Scared of me?” Then he began laughing uproariously at the idea. Contrary to popular belief, in James’ eyes, she wasn’t scared of anything. It wasn’t long before Genevieve joined in.

“Yeah, you were so tiny, I was scared to hurt you,” She explained through her laughter. Once settled, she finished: “And now look at you, big boy.”

When it came to his turn, Tony - Genevieve’s father - cradled the baby with such care, as if he were destined to hold her.

“A strong and healthy little girl, just like her mother,” He said quietly, kneeling down so that James could see her too. It reminded Genevieve of one of the few photos in her family home: Tony sat in his ancient arm chair, holding a baby Genevieve with Lilly sat at his side, looking over with a screwed-up expression at her baby sister. He even kissed the baby’s fist that was enclosed about his finger.

Evidently the baby didn’t like the feel of his moustache and began to snivel, the start of a crying fit. Genevieve held out her hands and instantly the baby was placed back with her. Tucking her blanket back around her, Genevieve consoled her down to a whimper.

“That’s a good girl,” She said with a kiss. She liked kissing the baby; her hair felt all fuzzy.

When the baby was calmed, Genevieve looked to her fidgeting nephew. He was staring still at the bundle in her arms. His hands were wriggling his fingers together, his body bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would you like to hold her, James?”

The question was barely out in the air, but James was already atop the bed again, with his arms outstretched for his cousin. The adults of the room were nervous. James himself assured that he was a big boy now, his legs swinging. Genevieve carefully helped him to carry his cousin with Lilly sat beside him to steady him.

“She’s heavy,” He said, though it was more of a statement rather than a complaint. But he was smiling, the whole time, and he didn’t stop. Not even as he passed back the baby, not even as he left with his parents.

More and more visitors came and went: friends from Genevieve’s workplace, Jack’s RAF mates, random cousins and the like. More to meet the new member of the Collins family but they brought gifts and they were quiet, so that was acceptable.

But there came a time – specifically three in the afternoon – that Genevieve was tired of speaking and just wanted to sleep. She was too hot, too stiff, too exhausted to see anyone else. So, she kicked the blankets off pathetically and seized her opportunity while the baby had a nap. Didn’t take long to join her in slumber.

She woke up, hardly refreshed but her baby was hungry and making sure that everyone knew about it.

“I guess my schedule revolves around you now,” She mumbled to the crying baby as Jack entered and passed her to her Ma.

There was a knock at the door just as Baby Collins finished feeding. Preparing to burp her again, Genevieve granted both Jack and an anxious Farrier entry. Forearms damp from washing up, Farrier sat awkwardly at Genevieve’s side and watched the baby resting in her Ma’s arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jack asked, tucking the rest of his sleeve in the fold at the elbow.

The poor man started spluttering but Genevieve was already holding the baby out, “Farrier, I need the bathroom; please take her.”

Not wanting to argue with the lady, Farrier wiped his arms down his jumper. He clumsily organised his arms into a cradle and accepted the frowning baby. He swallowed hard, looking helplessly at Jack. In silence, Jack helped Farrier to coordinate his arms in a more comfortable way for his friend and his daughter. Then he moved over to Genevieve, carefully helping her out of bed and walking her to the bathroom. Her limp was rather prominent, a sharp spike up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and kept walking.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Jack whispered to Genevieve.

She snorted as the door to the bathroom was opened to her, “He better be. Unless he fancies getting in here. I’ll be fine too.”

She held up a hand to signal that Jack should not follow her into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Despite wanting to check in on Farrier, Jack remained outside the bathroom door in case Genevieve needed anything.

Genevieve was indeed fine, half smiling at Jack’s indecisiveness when she heard his nails tapping against the door handle. She took a breather, sitting on the toilet and leaning against her folded arms on her knees. She still felt too warm. It was a stale feeling that hung about her head. But it was good to have a moment of peace. Sitting up, she stretched and felt many cracks in her back snapping the further she reached.

The stale feeling was still there after she finished her business by washed her hands then splashed cold water on her face. Genevieve prepared a flannel under the tap. It was welcomed with a sigh of relief on the back of her neck.

Jack took her arm again as soon as she stepped from the bathroom. He turned in time to catch Genevieve in a hug. The flannel dripped excess water onto his shoulder but Genevieve barely noticed. Her breathing soothed into deep intakes. He was a little sweaty, but a) she knew she smelt worse and b) he would always be her favourite smell because it was the only warmth that she loved, rocking her from side to side with a hand in her hair, a shoulder to lean on, and no space between them.

“Want me to carry you?” She felt his words buzz against her ear.

“I’m a bit sore for that but thank you. Some toast would be nice though.”

She felt that giddiness he gave her when he walked her back into bed. Once back in, she left the blankets off and placed the flannel folded behind her head.

When Jack was out of the way after a kiss on her forehead, Genevieve saw that Baby Collins was still glaring up at the stranger holding her, her lips smacking slowly and her arms hitting his jacket as they came loose from the swaddled blankets she was in. Farrier looked genuinely worried that he’d upset her but, paralysed by that worry, he did not move.

“You alright?” Genevieve prompted, almost smug from her leisurely place on the bed.

It took a moment for Farrier to register her question, for the baby was taking all his concentration. But he managed to get out: “She’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, she’s never seen you before,” Genevieve smirked, “And you’ve got a funny looking face.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” But Genevieve heard the smile in Farrier’s words and saw his stiff back had begun to relax. Jack appeared over his shoulder, looking at the baby who was waving one of her arms at him. Such an image led Jack to decide: now was a good time to ask a question much-discussed between himself and Genevieve.

“Ginny and I were thinking; the baby would love a funny looking face such as yours to be her godfather.”

Farrier looked as though he was about to drop the baby in shock, finally looking up at his friends. “Really?”

Genevieve hummed from the bed and Jack concurred, speaking on her behalf as she began to doze off, “You’re a big part of our lives, Edward. We want you to be a big part in hers too.”

It was rare that Jack would use Farrier’s first name. Genevieve even acclimatised to that and used his surname in conversation with and in reference to the man. He seemed to find it difficult to process this, instead looking at the baby. She looked back and finally she seemed to stop frowning.

With a sniff and a swallow, Farrier said in a strangely soft voice, “I won’t let you down, either of you.”

He left shortly after that and was very emotional about saying goodbye to his soon-to-be goddaughter. After the day spent at the house, he had plucked up the nerve to kiss her, his lips grazing her forehead which wrinkled in response as she yawned. No one brought up that his eyes were very misty as he departed. Westley sprinted out the front door and leapt at his side, leaving the house quiet once again.

Jack stayed downstairs for a little bit, said he had some thinking to do and some toast to be making, and gave Genevieve some space with the baby. She was grateful for this alone time. Lying down properly, she rested with her baby in her chest. The baby was awake, pressing her cheek into Genevieve’s nightshirt as her mother stroked across her back and held her little hand. It rested over the scar on her shoulder.

“Are you worn out?” Genevieve mumbled, “Me too. All these new people coming to say hello, it’s tiring isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips against the baby and whispered, “It’s scary but I think I’ll love you no matter what. Like Jack, your dad, and I hope we can tell you all about it, so you know you’re loved, unconditionally.”

Her hand was so much larger than the baby’s. It encompassed her whole arm, a chubby little limb that was so soft. The thumb carefully turned the baby’s wrist around to show to Genevieve the birthmark that had grown darker over the day: a little blob in the same spot as her mother’s.

“Look at that, we match.” Her voice cracked at that and she admitted aloud to the pair of them, “I’ve fallen for you so fast.”

They were both quiet for a while, not sleeping but sitting in each other’s company. With vases of new flowers about them, a breeze through the window, Genevieve felt calmer than she had in the last few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t last for long, so she embraced it as she embraced her child.

When she did speak, it was hushed, “We still have to give you a name. I wish you could have a say in this, tell me what you like. What to call you…”

Genevieve mulled over the options she’d found in a baby name book browsed months before, ones she’d talked to the bump about, “I’m still not sure. You don’t look like a Peggy or a Connie or a Freya. Freya means ‘lady’ too and your Daddy already has that problem with his name.” Then she sniggered to herself, “‘Man Son of Collin’, imagine having that for a name. You’re gonna have a really cool name, like me, your Mummy.”

The baby exhaled loudly and unbent her arms, shaking inside Genevieve’s gentle grip.

“Yeah, that’s my hand. Nice to meet you… Stella. I like Stella. What do you think? For your name, I mean. I told you about it before. Because you’re a bright star in my Starry Night. I know your Da told you about it, it’s all he’d do at night when I was pretending to sleep. He’s a Sunflower, I love sunflowers but he likes cosmos more. I was gonna plant some sunflowers this month, they say to plant them in April, grow in three months. They’ll be taller than you in no time.”

All between her words, Genevieve heard the baby gurgle. She liked to think they were in conversation.

“Not that we need more flowers, it’s like a botanical garden in here!” She said as Jack brought in another bouquet from downstairs.

“You don’t seem to mind, spending all day looking after flowers,” he arranged the bunch into another vase.

“That’s a retirement plan, not a career.”

“Right,” He smirked as he delicately arranged the bouquet into one of their jugs. Once satisfied, he plucked two carnations from it and trimmed the stems. Tucking one behind Genevieve’s ear, he swept his hand over her head and around to touch her cheek. He fell over with controlled care to make eye contact with the babe, “Hello, Baby Collins.”

Then he tried to do the same with the baby. There was little success. The flower was too big. Another reason why cosmos were better. Still, he brushed the petal across her rosebud lips and tucked it behind his own ear. This earned a smile from Genevieve who was pleased as punch that they matched. Jack lay down beside them, his hand joining Genevieve’s in running their fingertips across the baby’s back before he played with one of her feet again. It flexed in his hand, soft as anything, with toes tinier than his smallest knuckle.

“I guess we can’t call her Cosmos or Star,” He mumbled.

Laughing weakly, Genevieve brushed her daughter’s wispy hair with the back of her forefinger, “Cosmos Collins? No chance, not even as a middle name.”

“Sunny, short for Sunflower?”

She shook her head.

“What about naming her after your Ma?”

“Mm-mmm, and not after your mother either, even though she asked. Baby and I were actually thinking about Stella. ’S Latin, for Star.”

“Stella for Star,” Jack tested out, rolling the letters about his mouth to see how they fell off the tongue. Said enough times for the word to nearly lose all meaning, Jack turned back to his daughter, “You seem to like it, don’t you? Well, hello there, Stella.”

Genevieve laughed again, weaker still, “You keep saying hello to the baby.”

“I keep saying hello to Stella, my daughter,” Jack said, his grin widening as he spoke. The pair shared a giggle as he continued to talk to Stella, “Better that your Ma makes the decisions, she’s a smart one.”

When Genevieve went to sit up, Jack swooped in instantly, cupping the back of Stella’s head and under her bum to rest her in his shoulder. He noticed that Genevieve did not stay sat up for long, already sliding back down after sipping some water. So as not to strain her neck, he took a seat on the bed beside her.

“For the middle name, d’you know what ‘blancmange’ is in Latin?”

“You know what, Jack?” Genevieve lifted an eyebrow and Jack knew that, despite giving birth not twenty-four hours ago, she would verbally beat him in their quips. “Did you have another idea?”

He fidgeted with Stella’s blanket, adjusting it around her middle, “Still think that blancmange is a viable option, but I had another in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

After a substantial silence, Genevieve prompted the reluctant Jack, “Well? Go on then.”

“… I also like Josie.”

And all sound suddenly became muffled.

Ears plugged, mind dizzy, Genevieve vaguely heard Jack’s explanation that it was short for Josephine but that he liked Josie as a whole name over the ringing. With a blankly vulnerable expression, she felt her eyes welling up at the mention of her old girlfriend. Such an impact was expected from his words, but it still took her time to realise that Jack was waiting to hear her response.

“Are you serious?” and there was a crack in her voice.

A little thrown off by the question and its tone despite his best preparations, Jack cautiously continued, “Hmm. I mean it’s only fair since we nearly named her after Farrier. I just think it would’ve been nice to know. Get some closure.” Such closure Jack was lucky to get with Farrier. He had moved on.

Genevieve looked down at her hands, empty, and sniffed loudly before drawing a pillow from behind her to clasp it in her chest.

“I don’t think that’s the sort of closure I need,” She said quietly, pressing her mouth into the pillow.

Jack avoided looking at Genevieve. He could feel his neck and ears filling with a red shame. Part of him knew perhaps he should have waited. The two days had been so taxing on her mentally, this was probably the last thing he needed. Swallowing, he instead glanced at Stella who was slowly falling to sleep.

He spoke quickly, already stood up, “I think she needs to change into her pyjamas. I’ll do the honours, don’t worry.”

Whisking her away to the changing mat on the floor, Jack kept his eyes trained on Stella. Her legs refused to straighten, jerking sporadically. The carnation that had been behind Jack’s ear had fallen to her right cheek, the petal gentle in its contact.

“Sleepy?” He asked quietly as Stella yawned with tremendous effort, “You and me both. Bet your Ma’s more tired though.”

While it took some time to settle in, Genevieve now felt the force of her comment’s connotations. She was upset that she’d embarrassed him so, not to mention the implication that closure she wanted contradicted what she had previously said on the matter. It was a lovely suggestion too, after the whole name betting with Farrier. Over the pillow, she spied her tags on the bedside table. With care, she leant over, collected them, and wrapped the bootlace around her fingers, traced over the name engraved as part of the Big Six: COLLINS J. She thought about what Jack must have been like upon signing up, and the immense joy of finally getting his tags. Did he call his parents? Show off with his fellow trainees? Did they celebrate by going out to a pub, in their fresh blues? She’d never really asked about him just before the war. Baby to teenage years, yes, but never in his early twenties. Putting her pillow back behind her, Genevieve saved this question and its many tangents for another time.

Her finger stroked over her wedding ring on the bootlace, still awaiting their reunion. It made Genevieve let loose a tear at the thought of being able to wear it again. Jack did not see this, too busy adjusting Stella’s mittens so that she wouldn’t hurt herself while she slept.

“Bring her to me please,” Genevieve asked, her arms already outstretched while she sniffed.

That was when Jack spied his old tags tangled in her fingers. But he said nothing, lifting Stella over and into her mother’s care again. They watched as Stella rubbed her cheeks with the mittens with a yawn stretching her features.

Lowering herself back into the bed, Genevieve turned to her husband, “I knew you wanted another J. Collins in the house.” And she let out a wheeze at her little joke. Jack laughed along to pretend he knew what she meant, unsure about the variety in her behaviour. He only realised the weight of her words when she spoke again:

“Lucky for her, Stella Josie Collins has a nice ring to it. But I don’t think we should make a habit of naming our children after our first loves.”

A heavy sigh was the prologue of Jack’s second – and this time genuine – chuckle. His head dropped, his chin against his chest, shaking with relief that boiled over in his body. Seeing this as approval, Genevieve gestured for her husband to lie beside her again, which he did with mild exhaustion. There, she took his left hand to kiss his wedding ring, snugly tucked on the scar from when he gotten it trapped in a car door. Jack could only snuggle closer to her, turning on his side but still propped up.he kissed a spot on her neck, trying to hide that he was crying a fair bit. Jack sniffed, wiping a tear away in time for another to run down his cheek.

“I love you so.”

“I love you too.”

As Jack made a stronger attempt to stop crying, Genevieve watched him pull a face similar to the babe in her arms and let out a loud laugh. Her head fell back into the pillows as she muffled it to a snort before looking back down at Stella.

“She looks a bit concerned,” and the new parents leant together to catch their daughter’s eye, “Why’s your Da crying now? Hmm? Why’s he doing that, Stella?”

While she teased, Jack watched Stella’s frumpy face blinking up at him, slow as she began to doze off. He touched Stella’s cheek with curled fingers to be gentle on her skin.

“I’m being a silly boy, Stella. Worrying about nothing. Loving your everything.”

________________________________________________________

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

#collins dunkirk #collins x reader #collins x oc #jack lowden #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden x oc #complementary #my writing #r: female #dunkirk series #dunkirk #series #collins imagine #collins series #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden series

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lowdenfordays · 6 years

Text

Settle Down With Me, Part Two

Part One

Your phone buzzed lazily beside you, as you sat waiting for the scene to be set up. You looked down to see the screen illuminated with a text.

Jack: Fancy comin for a drink in the hotel bar wi me tonight? x

You gave a soft sigh, contemplated for a second whether to reply, and picked up the phone.

Y/N: Who else’ll be there?

His response was instant.

Jack: What if it was just me? ;)

The groan that escaped you then was not so soft. In the few weeks that you’d been filming you and Jack had gotten close quickly. He was sweet and kind, but mostly he knew how to make you laugh like no one else. The number of times he’d been in your room late at night, making your sides split and tears stream down your face, as you bit your hand to keep the laughter at bay. At times, you’d catch yourself staring at him, watching the way his lips moved when he talked or how he ran his fingers through his hair when the floppy bits at the front were bothering him. It was those moments when it occurred to you that you might be falling for him – the thought was terrifying.

Perhaps it was just his nature, but you couldn’t help but feel he was being flirtatious with you, especially since he found out that you were Chris’ goddaughter. Everyone else had backed off a little, seemingly worried you were spying on them for Chris or something silly. They’d warmed to you again quickly, but Jack… it seemed to make him more provocative. He would tease you incessantly, and then turn around and give you the most heartfelt compliment; he would touch you often, be it brushing his hand past yours, leading you by the small of your back, tucking strands of hair behind your ear. These were not the actions of a friend who was only looking for a platonic relationship, and as the days went by you only became more and more certain that he was trying to seduce you. Honestly, you wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and finally get a response to the thought that popped into your head often; ‘I wonder how his lips feel’. But you couldn’t let yourself do that, and with every advance, each less veiled than the last, it was getting harder to say no.

You simply could not allow yourself a relationship with Jack, for your own good. You were suspicious of his affections. The timings, his ambition, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had a hidden agenda, and was using you to get to Chris. The very fact that he was interested in you, when we would have a world of beautiful women falling at his feet as soon as the film came out, made you sceptical. Plus, even if he was genuine, you had to be professional. Chris had trusted you with a position on his most ambitious project yet, you couldn’t betray that by dating one of the stars.

Your phone vibrated again.

Jack: Don’t worry, I’m jokin, the lads are comin too

You waited a few moments before typing,

Y/N: What time?

That evening you got ready, putting a bit of effort into your appearance even though you knew it was a very casual drink, just to let off some steam and relax together. Against your better judgement you put on a pair of black skinny jeans, and a sheer blouse with a bralet underneath. You knew you were dressing up for Jack’s benefit, and were angry at yourself for it, but in your heart, you wanted him to like you. Was it teasing? Were you trying to lead him on? That would be completely the wrong thing to do given that you had told yourself you couldn’t date him, much less sleep with him, but your hands were dressing you before your head knew what was happening. You knew you had to level with him and make it clear that nothing was going to happen, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to do that either.

You went down to the hotel bar, it was fifteen minutes after Jack had told you to meet, and as you walked in you saw everyone huddled around a table, pints in hand. Jack’s head snapped up and he spotted you instantly; you watched as the smile spread across his face like warm butter on toast. Sod’s law, the only empty seat was next to him so, in an effort to avoid contact for a few moments longer, you walked right past the table and went straight to the bar for a drink. You were waiting for the gin and tonic you had ordered when you sensed someone walk up behind you. For a single second you felt his breath hot on the back of your neck, before he hooked his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, hugging you from behind. Jack. You could smell it was him.

He smelled of forests, and old books, and just the slightest hint of citrus, of which you often wondered about the origin.

After that initial inhale, taking in the scent of him, you forgot how to breath. Your chest was inflated, your naval cinched back against your stomach, your lips pressed tightly together. He was warm against your body. You felt the undulations of his chest against your back, and the gentle rise and fall of his breathing that you failed to mimic. His arms were solid either side of you, both protecting and dominating, and you supressed a shudder when his hair brushed against the side of your neck. You wished it were his lips.

“I haven’t see ye all day,” he lilted, his voice caressing your ear so gently in the bustling bar.

“I was filming with Fionn, Ni, and Harry,” you managed to croak out before your oxygen supply got low and you started feeling lightheaded.

You were saved when the bartender presented your drink, and Jack let go so you could go back to the table. As his hands dropped, they skimmed your hips. You took the empty seat beside Tom Snr (as he had been dubbed since Glynn-Carney was much his junior).

“You look very lovely tonight, Y/N. Dressing up for someone in particular?”

“Myself,” you lied effortlessly. But he gave you a knowing smile as you stiffened when Jack sat beside you and draped an arm over the back of your chair. He quickly engaged in a conversation with Barry across the table, apparently oblivious to you, and Tom continued yours.

“You know how much he likes you, right?”

You huffed, “He hasn’t exactly been subtle about it.”

Tom stole a glance at Jack to check he wouldn’t hear and said, “You would rather he was, then?”

Before you could respond, Jack cut in grinning, “What are you two muttering about?”

“You, of course,” you half teased, half groaned. You instantly regretted it, however, as he smirked smugly. His eyes skipped to yours lips and your heart skipped a beat. You lowered your gaze to your lap, to your wringing hands, and tried to ignore that Jack’s arm was now touching your back.

In fact, you spent the whole evening trying to ignore Jack’s touches, and glances, and the occasional wink. You tried to ignore the fluttering in your stomach every time he smiled at you, and you spectacularly failed to convince yourself, and him, that you didn’t have feelings for him. He made you laugh and your whole world lit up. If he was ever to make you cry, you were fairly certain you’d thunderstorm. When Jack got up to get another round of drinks, Tom took the opportunity to question you again.

“Y/N, you clearly like him, why don’t you let it happen?”

“Yeah, he talks about you all the time, he’s not going to let you go,” Aneurin chimed in. You were reminded that there were other people present, besides Jack, when he was gone.

“You two would be great together, and it’s going to happen eventually,” Harry said.

“So you’re all in on this, are you?” you objected, exasperated.

“Come on Y/N, give him a shot,” Cillian coaxed.

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but I can’t. Chris did me a massive favour by getting me this job, and he took a gamble to do it, so I won’t let him down by getting myself involved with one of the cast. It would be unprofessional, and worse it would be a betrayal. I won’t do it.”

You looked around the table, all eyes on you, and felt extremely vulnerable through your confident facade.

“There’s no rule against dating in the workplace,” Harry commented. You loved that boy, of course you did, but there were times when you felt he could be quite childish.

Jack came back over to the table, beers in hand, and sat down again, placing your drink in front of you. You looked down at the glass, the liquid fizzing irrationally, a slice of tart lemon floating on top, condensation dripping down the outside, and couldn’t bear it any longer. Everyone’s stares of confusion, surprise, even condescension, made you feel sick. You abruptly stood, announcing, “It’s getting late, I’m going to bed.”

“It’s no even 10 o’clock, and I just go’ ye another drink,” Jack queried.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want it. I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You started to head towards the door, and got halfway before Aneurin tugged on your arm.

“He just wants to be near you. Look at him, he’s like a sad puppy.”

You did as he bid, and saw he was right. Jack’s eyes were fixed on you, filled with longing and dejection, the blue irises giving meaning to the colour’s melancholy connotations.

“There must be something else,” Ni continued, “You wouldn’t deny you both happiness just because he’s a colleague. Loads of people meet their partners at work. What else is going on?”

You looked to Ni, then back to Jack, before setting on Ni again. You sighed and relented, “I don’t trust him.”

The shock was clear on his face, “Don’t trust him? Y/N, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

“He’s an actor!” you exclaimed, “And a fucking good one. He lies for a living.” You brushed an agitated hand through your hair, before continuing in a calmer tone, “Look Ni, I’ve been hurt before. I’d rather not go through that again, so please just leave it.”

“It sounds to me like you’re hurting yourself,” he sassed.

Biting back your anger you simply said, “Goodnight, Aneurin,” and left.

The next day you were filming on the Moonstone, and constantly being around the guys had you agitated. You were still angry after the night before, and having Tom and Barry constantly making eyes at you whenever you spoke to Jack (and when you didn’t, for that matter) was only souring your mood further. If you were honest with yourself, you were frustrated that you couldn’t get the thought of him out of your head, that you couldn’t stop daydreaming about what it would be like to kiss him, how it would feel to be held by him. When you sensed him come up behind you, you couldn’t bear to turn and face him, instead opting to look out over the vast expanse of water.

“So, Miss Y/N, what’re ye up to later?”

“Getting off this damn boat and having some time to myself,” you replied to Jack, a little more curtly than you had intended. You sighed, and turned around to apologise for snapping, but as you did you found Jack towering over you, only inches away. Taken aback, you stumbled and Jack reached out a hand to grab your arm.

“Whoa there lass, I dinnae know ye were tha’ keen te get rid of me,” he chuckled.

You blushed, “Sorry, I’m not. I guess I’ve just got a bit of cabin fever.”

He leaned down, close to your ear, his hand still wrapped loosely around your arm, and whispered, “Well, I think anyone would have trouble being in such close proximity to Barry and Tom all the time.”

You smiled, letting him lighten your mood, and headed below decks for some solitude. Little he knew, it wasn’t Barry or Tom causing the problem.

You found Mark already sat in the cabin, humming quietly to himself. Everyone else was above decks, waiting for a set piece to be put into place. You contemplated leaving Mark to what appeared to be his alone time, until he noticed you in the doorway and smiled.

“I fancied getting away from all the hubbub too,” he said, in that calm, paternal voice he always used, “Would you like to sit with me?”

You sat on the bed beside him by way of reply, and allowed your shoulders to deflate.

Silence lingered in the room, that you knew you ought to fill, but as you searched for the words they evaded you, bouncing off your tongue before you could articulate them.

“It’s that young Mr Lowden, isn’t it?” Mark finally said.

And you collapsed. Your shoulders slumped and your head fell into your hands, dejected and exhausted.

“I can’t stand this anymore Mark, it’s doing my head in.”

Resting a kind hand on your shoulder he said, “Perhaps if you told him what’s going on in your head, it wouldn’t feel quite so full.”

“I can’t do that. I can’t lead him on, it’s not fair,” you lamented.

“Who said you’d be leading him on?”

You looked up at Mark, uncried tears glistening in your eyes. “I owe so much to Chris, if I was unprofessional, if I compromised the shoot-”

“Has Chris ever said you can’t date one of the actors?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Then where’s the issue?”

“What if he’s just using me!” All your fears rose to the surface, and the tears finally fell, tracing tracks down your cheeks. Mark pulled you into a tight hug, stroking your hair and letting you weep. After a few moments he pulled back, looked you in the eyes and confided, “I’ve been around for a while now, and I know what love looks like. It’s genuine, and pure, and kind, and I see it in Jack’s eyes every time he looks at you. He doesn’t want to use you, he wants to love you.”

You knew Mark was wise, but his words in that instant made you see the world anew; he made you see what an idiot you had been.

Part Three

#jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden series #jack lowden x reader #tom hardy #dunkirk #Dunkirk movie #dunkirk cast #Dunkirk imagine

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