tw: mentions of war, angst, grief, smut 🔞, fluff, alcohol consumption, unprotected 😝
pairings: john egan x british WO!reader
synopsis: Major Egan takes the stress off in a London pub, where he crosses paths with the apple of his eye. Their hearts collide in the heart of war effort. Only to find out soon after that their romance is strictly forbidden by the positions they hold.
-
Just another drink.
You told yourself. You didn’t even plan on going out in the first place but yet here you were downing your 5th glass of straight whiskey. But after 14 hours spent in a concrete bunker under a pile of headphone static and German code, you needed something stronger than tea and something louder than your own thoughts.
The pub was close. It was familiar. Buzzing with the kind of laughter that only exists when everyone’s pretending that they’re not one air raid away from becoming a name heard on the telegram.
You sat by the bar alone, your uniform buttoned high with your hair that’s struggling to keep its bun intact. You could feel stares from some of the American airmen, they stared like they haven’t seen a woman in months.
You sighed and sipped the rest of your drink, wincing as the alcohol seeped into your throat.
You ignored them- or tried to.
Then he sat down.
“Bet ya I can guess your name in three tries.” he said. The voice was raspy with a tone of lightheartedness.
You chuckled, bringing your glass down on the counter. “Bet you can’t.”
“Janet. Evelyn. Amelia.”
You hadn’t even shot a glance in his direction. You arched your eyebrow and scoffed. “Those are all terrible guesses.” You shook your head as you turned towards him.
“Alright, but I’ll buy you a drink til’ I get it right, how bout that?”
His eyes were blue, dark under the amber lighting. Tired, matching your pair only he had a liveliness that felt uncommon nowadays. He was handsome- in the way trouble often is. His cheekbones were sharp. Smiled like he knew it.
“Are you Americans always this forward?”
“Only when we’re about to fly into flak over France,” he said. “Name’s John. John Egan.”
You softened slightly at the weight of his honesty. He didn’t flinch when he said it. Didn’t bother to wrap it in charm. He looked at you like he desperately needed something solid to hold onto. And tonight, that might just be you.
“You’re from the 100th I take it?,” you asked. Nodding toward the patch he wore on his sleeve.
“Guilty. And you’re WAAF, so what’s your story?” He asked with genuine curiousity, you notice his eyes linger on your crown insignia for a brief moment. It was given to you when you earned your position as a Warrant Officer.
He brought you a dacquiri. You never had a taste for them but with scarcity of whiskey, what was the harm in trying?
You thanked him and brought the glass to your lips, taking a sip. The way he watched you intently sent a shiver to your spine. Almost exciting.
You took a deep breath. “Communications. Mostly listening to radios and pretending not to get attached to voices that disappear mid-transmission.”
He winced. “Guess we both got ghosts huh?”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Just true- and honest. The kind of silence that only people who have stared too long at death can share.
“So,” he leaned in, a grin returning. “You got a rule against talking to the airmen, or am I your first bad decision of the night?”
You smiled, slowly. “Who says I haven’t made three already?”
“Make me the fourth.”
You should have pushed him away. Should’ve just finished your drink, thanked him and gone home.
But there was something about the way he looked at you— like he wasn’t sure he’d be breathing by the morning- made you stay.
And when the piano in the corner started playing, and the lights dimmed for the blackout. You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him as he lead you to into a slow-swaying dance you’d never forget.
John’s hand was at your waist. Not low. Not greedy. Just there, warm through the fabric of your uniform. Steady. In the middle of all this chaos. His other hand held yours like it meant something.
You didn’t mutter any words as you danced. Words would’ve broken whatever fragile thing had just developed between you two.
His cheek brushed yours once — not on purpose — maybe — but he didn’t move away when it did. You just breathed together. One sway at a time. Just two people pretending like they weren’t afraid of tomorrow.
When the music ended, no one clapped. The world didn’t need applause tonight. You leaned back a little, and looked up at him. “You still trying to guess my name Major?”
The Major miled and shook his head. “I think I like not knowing your name. Makes you more dangerous.” You shared a smile.
And then did the thing you promised yourself you wouldn’t.
You said softly: “Come with me.”
He never asked where. He just followed.
The night was quiet—too quiet. The kind that only happens between bombings. The air held its breath like it knew it wouldn’t last.
John walked half a pace behind you, like he didn’t want to presume. Hands in his pockets and his shoulders tense. You didn’t speak and neither did he.
Your breath fogged in the cold. But it was no different to the cold you already felt deep within. The only warmth you’d felt in days was from the stranger you met not even an hour ago. But it was familiar and new at the same time.
Your boots echoed just slightly, not loud enough to draw attention but just enough to remind you that you were still here. Still walking. Still flesh and blood in a city built of grief and ghosts.
Somewhere in the distance, an engine droned. Not a bomb. Not tonight.
But the sound still made your stomach tighten.
You noticed his glance from the corner of your eye. But he didn’t say a word. A block from your building, you slowed your steps.
“You live far?” he asked finally — voice low, not breaking the quiet so much as folding into it.
“No,” you said. “Close enough to run to the shelter if I need to.”
He gave a small, grim smile. “That’s practical.”
“It has to be.”
Your building loomed ahead — narrow, tired, bricks blackened by time and war. A few steps led up to the door. You paused at the bottom, hand on the rail.
You glanced at him. “You don’t have to come up.”
It was the last chance either of you had to walk away. And you gave it to him — because whatever happened next, you needed it to be his choice too.
John didn’t move for a second. His eyes met yours in the dark. And then he said, just loud enough to be heard:
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
The door creaked when you unlocked it, you hated it. Always felt like it betrayed you— let the night follow you in too easily.
He stepped inside behind you, slower now. Looking. Taking it in. His gaze swept over the coat hooks, the bookshelf, the narrow little table you ate at alone most nights.
You turned on one lamp, just enough to make shadows dance on the walls. “It’s not much,” you murmured, taking off your gloves. “Just enough to sleep and drink tea and wait.”
“It’s yours,” he said.
That word meant more than it should’ve.
He stood in your flat like he didn’t want to touch anything. Like being here meant more than he could say. Your coat hit the hook with a soft thud, and for a moment, you just stood there in the quiet.
“You can sit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You nodded toward the small sofa you’d gotten — it added sense of homeliness you thought.
“I didn’t come here to sit,” he replied. You turned slowly. He was watching you with that look again — not hungry. But steady. Like he saw you for you. All of you.
“Why did you come here then?” You mumbled.
He stepped forward, just one pace — closing the gap between you two. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt the warmth he held. “Because you looked at me like I could be the last thing you wanted to feel.”
Your breath unstuck, you closed the minimal space between you.
You kissed him first.
It was a deliberate thing. It wasn’t soft nor shy. You pressed your lips to his with an urgency you’d been holding back since the pub—maybe even longer.
His hands came down on your waist, pulling you flush against him. The kiss deepened—it was slow at first but thick with tension. Heat blooming in your stomach. He groaned softly into your mouth as you gripped his neck. Your hands moving down to grip his uniform just barely above the buttons.
His voice was low and rough when he pulled away to speak. “Tell me to stop if this is too much.”
“Dont you dare.”
The man smiled into your collarbone. You could feel the heat of him through your uniform. Every breath, every shift of muscle under skin.
“Take it off,” you whispered.
His hands were big and warm, sliding over your stomach, your ribs, the undersides of your breasts before he finally cupped them — thumbs grazing your nipples, slow and teasing. You arched into him instinctively, and he chuckled, breath hot.
“There you go. That’s it.”
He dipped his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking slow and deep, his other hand kneading gently. You gasped, one hand flying to his hair as your hips twitched forward against him.
He moved slowly — too slowly at first like he wanted to memorize this moment. Your uniform came undone by his fingers, a button at a time, dragged with aching patience down your arms. He undressed you like he was unwrapping something fragile — peeling each layer off with care, pausing to trace the skin he uncovered with his fingers, his mouth. The cool air hit your bare skin in wave yet still he didn’t touch—not fully.
By the time he dropped to his knees in front of you, you were already soaked. He ran his hands up your thighs, slowly, thumbs tracing the insides, until he reached the damp patch in your underwear.
His eyes locked with yours.
“You’re this wet from just kissing?”
“From you.”
That earned you a groan.
Suddenly, his hands were everywhere — your throat, your breasts, your waist — fingers digging in like he couldn’t believe you were real. “God, look at you,” he groaned. He kissed your hipbones, then mouthed at the fabric, wetting it further with his tongue through the cloth. “I’ve dreamed of something like this. Never actually thought I could have it. You.”
He spread your thighs, guiding one leg over his shoulder, and buried his mouth between your legs.
You let out a sharp gasp as his mouth met your inner thigh, then higher. His tongue flicked against your clit, slow at first, teasing, coaxing your hips to move with him. He gripped your thighs and held you open, licked into you with focused heat, until you were arching and grinding into his face, chasing the edge like it was the only thing left in the world.
It was almost too much.
His tongue was relentless, but precise — stroking up and down your slit before focusing on your clit in slow, tight circles. Then faster. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you steady as your hips bucked.
“Let go,” he said against you. “Come for me. I want to feel it.”
You listened, completely coming undone before him. You moaned through clenched teeth, muttering his name like a prayer. You felt your orgasm roll through you like thunder.
He didn’t stop. Not until you were gasping, trying to catch your breath, thighs twitching from overstimulation. Then he kissed your inner thigh, “That’s one.” He smirked, coming up to your face to leave a kiss on your cheek.
He scoops your knees with his arms in a swift motion, he picked you up like it cost him nothing. Carrying you to the bedroom, you guide him blindly — your hands intertwined on the nape of his neck.
The room was cool, contrast to the warmth you both shared. Your sheets were still rumpled from the last dream you couldn’t finish. John backed you toward the bedroom, kissing down your jaw and your neck.
The kiss that followed was messy, longing and frantic at the same time. He pushed you gently but firmly onto the bed, and not once did his lips leave yours. Settling over you with a weight that felt grounding and good.
Th sensitivity of your skin intensified under his touch. You arch your back as his tongue circled your nipples.
You moaned his name, and begged for his touch —consumed by the daze you both were trapped in. “C’mon tell me what you want of me and I’ll do it.” He whispers, bringing his lips to yours — it was eager and hungry.
You reached for his shirt, yanked it up and over his head. No further words needed.
Rough wool and warm skin giving way to the lean heat of his chest. He was all taut muscle and war-shaped edges. Your fingers brushed the scar on his ribs. He didn’t flinch.
“Does it hurt?” you whispered.
“Not when you’re touching it.”
You kissed him then — chest to chest, bare skin to bare skin, heartbeats stuttering as you climbed back onto the bed, dragging him with you. Your hands slid over his chests, and felt the heat of him. The raw realness of a man who might be gone tomorrow.
He caught your wrist in his hand.
“Are you sure about this?”
“No,” you whispered. “But I want you anyway.”
And that was all he needed.
His mouth was everywhere — your throat, the space just under your breast, the line of your hip. His hands explored like he had all night, though you both knew you didn’t. Time was never generous. But he acted like he could stretch it, just for this.
Your thighs parted for him with ease, and he settled between them like he belonged there.
His hand slid down, fingers teasing, touching, coaxing gasps from your throat as he pressed circles where you needed him.
He climbed up your body, kissing you deeply — letting you taste yourself on his tongue — and reached down to free himself, his heavy cock hot and thick and already pressing against your slick heat.
“There,” you moaned, hips bucking. “Please.”
“If I start,” he murmured, voice rough and ragged, “I won’t stop.”
“Then don’t stop.”
He pushed into you with a low, guttural groan — the sound of a man trying not to fall apart all at once. Sliding in with one long, slow thrust — his length filling every empty space inside of you as he stretched your walls.
“Jesus,” he rasped, stilling deep inside. “You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven. Like home.”
You whimpered at the foreign feeling of a size like his. He held still for a moment — forehead pressed to yours, lips brushing as he whispered:
“God… you feel like something I forgot I needed.”
He moved in deep, hungry strokes — not fast at first- just enough to make you feel every inch of him. You wrapped your legs around him, his cock feeling suffocated by the confines your warmth had him in.
Your head fell back against the pillow, breath catching at the stretch — the weight of him, the heat. He filled you so completely it made your toes curl, and when he started to move, it wasn’t gentle anymore.
He fucked you like a man who’d waited years for this moment. Like he was trying to erase every bad day, every mission, every loss with the feel of your body wrapped around his.
His fingers slid down your waist, over your hip, between your thighs. He touched you like he’d done it before — not with you, but with ghosts of women he never had the chance to love properly. You arched into him, gasping quietly as he eased your body into his rhythm.
Swiftly, he pins both of your wrists above your head. “Look at you,” he gasped. “Taking what you want.”
“I want you.”
You barely had the time to process what you’d said under the heat of the moment. The words came out not as an elicit response — but a truth you couldn’t deny.
“Then you have me.” The tension built again — faster and more intense than previously.
His pace was yearnful and relentless, his length hitting deep, over and over, until you were crying out his name like a prayer. “Yes—God, John—don’t stop—” .
“I’m not fucking stopping.” The grip on your wrists tightened just enough to make you gasp — not pain, but control. Ownership. His free hand slid under your thigh, pulling your hips higher so he could angle deeper.
“That’s it,” he hissed. “You take me so fucking well.”
He evoked a feeling so strong — next second you were coating him with your slick as you rode our second orgasm. Much so to his sinful words that pushed you over the edge as your free from his grip to drag your nails across his back.
He didn’t slow down — not yet. He fucked you through it, his breath ragged, teeth clenched, his pace wild and unforgiving. And when he came, it was with a broken moan against your throat. Instinctively gripping you tight to his chest, shaking — gasping against your mouth like he just survived a crash. His hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside you as he emptied himself with everything he had.
He stayed buried in you, chest heaving while his forehead pressed to yours. Both of you trembling, trying to come down from the instensity you both shared.
Silence fell.
Only your breathing filled the room— harsh, uneven,
human.
He let go of your wrists, gently. Traced his fingers over the faint marks he’d left. You didn’t flinch — you grabbed his face and kissed him, long and slow, like you didn’t care what tomorrow held.
Neither of you spoke for a long time. It wasn’t awkward—it was content. A mutual contentment.
You were a blink away from sleep until he whispered, “Tell me your name now.”
“Vera.” You whispered in response.
He closed his eyes like it was a secret he’d carry into the dark. “You’ll forget my name in the morning.” You murmured.
John turned to look at you. “You alright Vera?” he whispered, voice hoarse. Earning a small smile from you—your cheeks heat up from the way your name rolled off his tongue.
“More than alright.” You let out a tired chuckle.
He exhaled a laugh and lowered himself beside you, still tangled in your limbs.
“Can’t promise I won’t make a mess of your sheets,” he murmured.
“Can’t promise I won’t ask you to do it again.” You bit your lip gently as you locked eyes with him.
He smiled at that. But the tenderness in his eyes stayed.
Wartime wasn’t meant for love.
But sometimes it made something even stronger: need.
summary: what’s a girl to do when her man comes in groaning in pain besides give him a much needed massage?
warnings: joe being a lil shit, reader providing everything he needs, implied smut, massage, whimpering
ੈ✩‧₊˚ y/n was completely zoned into her homework, she had a huge final coming up and she refused to give into any distractions.
until..
“damn it.” she heard joe groan out, trying to lower himself onto her bed.
“what is it?” she asked, not even turning around. she continued to furiously scribble onto her paper, mapping out equations for her engineering class.
“rowing.” he said through gritted teeth as he leaned down to untie his shoes. “shit’s gonna end up killing me.”
a beat of silence went through the room, only joe’s heavy breathing and the sound of pen writing on paper.
“baby, can you help me?” joe hated to bother her, but every time he tried to lean down to untie the other lace of his shoe, he felt a shooting pain go from the lower part of his back all the way up to his neck.
“yes, one second.” she answered absentmindedly, her tongue was slightly poked out of her lips in concentration and joe would’ve awed in adoration if every muscle in his body weren’t cramping.
“baby.”
“coming.” she said, but made no move to get up. so, joe, not without difficulty, stood to his feet and bent down to look over her shoulder. her paper was absolutely covered in writing. notes were in the margins, quotes and equations that she thought important were underlined or had a cute star next to it.
y/n could feel his breath on her neck and she subconsciously leaned into his presence.
“you need to take a break.” he said into the side of her neck, kissing the skin sweetly. she giggled at the feeling and sighed, turning around in her desk chair to face him. he looked tired. his hair was disheveled, the bags under his eyes were heavy, but she thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. she leaned up to catch his lips in a kiss. “come lay with me.”
joe grabbed her hand and brought her to her feet, watching her plop onto the bed with a sigh. he took a much slower approach, trying to squat into a sitting position on the side of the bed. his groans were loud and y/n was sure the other girls in her building would suspect they were doing something more than just laying down together.
“here, let me help.” she sat up, swinging her legs onto the floor and walking to his side. she kneeled down, untying the laces of his worn out boots and pulling them off his feet. “lay on your belly, if you can.”
“what are you doing?” he asked, clenching his eyes shut when his muscle tweaked as he laid on his stomach. he felt her climb over his sore body and straddle him, sitting on the back of his thighs.
“i’m gonna give you a massage.” she said matter-of-fact. joe couldn’t help but smile in excitement, god, he needs one.
“do i need to take my clothes off?” she could hear the smirk in his voice, but she just rolled her eyes with a smile.
“just your shirt, rantz.” she pushed the back of his head playfully and watched as he grabbed the back of his crewneck over his head, tossing it to the floor. at first, she just scratched his back. he always loved when she did that. whenever they would sleep together, she would always run her nails through his hair, which would end in him asking her if she’ll scratch his back.
“feels so good, baby.” his deep voice grumbled into the mattress. she hummed, rubbing her hands harder to try and relax the taut muscles of his back. his shoulders were broad, and him being on the rowing team was just adding onto the bulk there.
when she hit a particularly sore spot, joe whimpered into the mattress. y/n hated herself for enjoying the sounds he was making, her legs involuntarily clenching around his. joe could feel her action, to her dismay, but not to her knowledge. he knew she liked when he was more vocal in bed, it spurred her on like nothing else to know that he was feeling so good, just from her.
so he did it again.
and again.
y/n worked her hands against his skin, working the tops of his shoulders since that seemed to be where he was hurting the most. every time the heel of her hand dug into the muscle, he would let out a groan, whine, whimper, or praise. she was practically soaked by now.
“are you doing that on purpose?” she halted her hands and leaned down to his head to hear his answer.
“doing what?” the smug bastard knew was this was doing to y/n.
“you are!” she stood up from the bed with tinted cheeks.
“aw, cmon, baby!” he sat up, sitting on his knees in her dorm bed. it was funny, really, how small her bed looked compared to him. they could barely fit on it together, but they liked being close anyways.
“no, you’ve made me mad.” she turned her back to him and looked out of the window. she wasn’t really mad. embarrassed? perhaps. but she just wanted to see how well he would apologize.
“seriously? i- okay.” he stood from the bed, taking into account how good his back felt now. he circled his arms around her waist, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. “i’m sorry.” she stood her ground, though it was hard to hide just how much she loved his body being this close to hers. “y/n…” she didn’t move an inch, so joe braced his hands and spun her around to face him. so quickly, in fact, that she lost her footing and fell into joe’s strong chest. she looked up at him with a smile and blush rising from her neck to the tips of her ears.
“i’m not mad.” she giggled. “but i would like a better apology.”
“but i wasn’t doing anything.” he was slowly leaning down, hoping to get a kiss, but she brought her fingers up to his puckered lips.
“first, you get me all flustered and embarrassed and then you make me trip onto you! joe rantz, i’ll need flowers, and chocolate, and a homemade card-” her sarcastic rant is cut off when he pulls her hand away from his mouth and entraps her lips with his.
“hush, and lay down. i’ll show you how sorry i am.”
The softness of Joe’s raspy voice in your ear makes you shiver as he tries to coax you to open your legs.
You don’t know why you were being so shy since this whole thing was your idea.
“I like your eyes on me…”
Was what you had said late one night when he had climbed through your window for a impromptu visit just to catch you in the middle of changing and was immediately remorseful until you told him that it was okay, that you didn’t mind; in fact, he was more than welcome to watch you finish getting ready. So he did. There was something so sensual and strange about it that he couldn’t keep from asking..
“What else would you let me watch you do?”
That’s how you ended up here.
Naked back against his chest, legs hooked over his, with your ass snug against his clothed erection while he looked down over your shoulder as you touched yourself for him…or tried to.
Shyness had hit you last minute and even though you were wet and beyond excited to have his exact attention on you, you couldn’t get yourself to fall off that edge. You just couldn’t get over how you’d look, the mess, if he’d like the theory more than the practice.
Joe’s groan jolted you out of your thoughts as he cupped your tits, rolling the stiff nubs between his fingers before sucking hotly at your throat.
Wet gasps spill from your mouth, warmth rolling over in waves so strong that you don’t even notice when you start rolling your hips into your hand, thumbing messily at your clit and you quickly lose yourself.
But your hand gets tired from how many times you almost got yourself there before it faded and you whine in frustration. Joe’s watching you with rapt attention. Soft skin, prettily arched back, stiff peaks on your breasts just begging to be in his mouth while desperate noises fell from yours.
“Let me help you, angel”. Whispering against your lips as he tilts your chin up, his other hand trailing down to rest on top of yours and he’s reeling at how he can already feel your wetness without his fingers even close to being inside you.
You’re fighting internally because you know he could help. He’d be the best helper, actually. And even in the face of your reservations, he’d been so patient…which only served to make him hotter. Almost as if he was sensing your struggle, Joe leans down to kiss your cheek, effortlessly melting you.
“Please, sweets…can I see?”
And that’s all it takes to have your legs dropping open while his hand instantly drops to your heat, the thick fingers get slathered in your arousal right away. You let out a throaty moan at the gritty hiss Joe breathes in your ear as he lightly smacks your exposed clit, sticky strings clinging to his fingers.
“Mmm-fuck….you’ve made a mess, hmm?” Reducing you to a puddle as he coos lowly in your ear.
The response you had gets swiped straight from you when he dips his fingers between your soaked lips, dragging them up to the focus of your need. Still, his touch wasn’t picking up enough, and you needed more. “Faster,” you whine out, as you wrap an arms around his neck and pulling him back to the crook of your neck as he watches his fingers fuck in and out your dripping cunt. It felt so amazing, pleasure lighting through you and you cry out.
“Shh, I know. I’ll give you what you need,” he drawled, wet fingers thrusting into you with increasing speed. The arousal in his voice set your skin tingling, before another loud, wanton moan was torn from you when he began circling your clit in slick, firm circles. Even your own touch had never been this good.
Every noise you made, every involuntary jerk of your hips, spurred him on faster, to give you more.
Joe could feel his cock leak as your cries turned to wails the closer you got. Crooking his fingers every slide in, pounding the sensitive nerves inside your twitching cunt so deliciously that you white out, so overstimulated by the force of your own orgasm, you gush. Liquid spraying out around the digits stuffed in your tight hole. He pulses watching tears roll down your hot cheeks as he slows his hand to a soft caress, easing up on your nub, helping you ride out your orgasm until you go slack against him.
Slowly taking his fingers out, he brings them to his mouth, sucking on them and moaning as your taste hits his tongue. He looks down at your limp form and thinks that this is when you look prettiest.
SUMMARY: five times you almost say i love you and the one time you do
PAIRING: callum turner x gn!american!reader
TAGS: FLUFF, inspired by “so american” by olivia rodrigo, established relationship, song references (some obvious, some less obvious), fluff!!
A/N: started this when i was in my callum turner era and had this song on repeat so here we are… it’s vaguely set in socal bc i was feeling a tad bit homesick at the time… anyways, i’m not going to be writing out the lyrics to olivia’s song but the scenarios are heavily inspired by them. knowing the lyrics is ofc not a requirement to read this, you can 100% go into this without that knowledge and enjoy some cute fluff! i hope yall enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing it <3
WORD COUNT: 1.4k
masterlist || request box <3
The first time you almost said “I love you” was when he took you on a date to the beach.
Your feet were up on the dashboard as he drove, head against the seat and hand lazily weaving through the breeze out the open window. It was beautiful out—the sun blazing high in the sky with no clouds in sight and the temperature just right. When the starting beats to Cruel Summer roared through the car’s speakers, the brightest smile grew on your face. When the chorus hit, you turned to face Callum and sing, eyes widening when he starting singing along with you.
“You know this song?”
He chuckled. Gosh, his smile. “Of course, I know this song.”
As the bridge of the song played, you both shouted along.
And I screamed for whatever it's worth
"I love you," ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?
Almost as if the universe timed it perfectly, the song came to an end as Callum parked. As you giggled in the aftermath, you couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. The way his eyes matched the sky. The way his curls fell on his head from the wind. The way his cheeks grew as red the larger he smiled. “S’rude to stare, sweetheart.”
“I-“ Before you could finish your sentence, you cut yourself off.
“What?” he asked.
“I can’t help it,” you played off. “You’re just so pretty.”
The second time you almost said it was while he was dying his hair in preparation for The Boys in the Boat.
“How’s it lookin’, love?” Callum asked as you rinsed the bleach out of his hair.
You leaned back to get a better look at him. “It looks very… yellow,” you giggle.
He quickly stands and goes to look in the mirror, a hand stretching his hair to see for himself. “Is it supposed to look like this?”
You grinned in amusement as he cringed at the color of his hair. “S’a good thing we got purple shampoo.” As he sat down on the edge of the tub, you rummaged in the plastic bag you had bought the hair supplies in. Replacing the gloves you had on, you stood in front of him and poured a little bit in your hands, carefully spreading it through his hair. Even as you focused on getting his hair done, you didn’t fail to notice the way he stared at you as you worked.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that it’s rude to stare, Cal?” His face flushed.
“S’not my fault you’re so pretty,” he whispered, his hands going to rest on your waist. Your chest clenched at his words, your own cheeks reddening. Looking down into his icy blue eyes, it almost slipped out of your mouth, but you caught yourself.
“Such a charmer, Mr. Turner.”
“Only for you, love.”
The third time you almost said it was when he took you to the Masters of the Air premiere in LA.
Thankfully enough, despite now having been together almost two years now, you’ve both successfully been able to have kept your relationship away from the public eye. Having seen the work he put into this project, you wanted to celebrate with him and suggested you walk with him on the carpet.
He stepped out of the car first, buttoning his jacket before turning back and offering his hand to help you out of the car, a bright smile on his face. At the sight of just your hand, the flashes from the paparazzi cameras mere feet away flashed even quicker, and their roars got louder. “I got you, love,” he whispered, his hand never leaving you as you walked the carpet.
Eventually, the both of you caught up to Austin and Barry, whose faces lit up at the sight of you. “Well, well, well,” Austin greeted, the southern drawl from his time playing Elvis peeking through. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he teased with a smile as if he hadn’t seen the pair of you a few days ago.
Barry ran over to Callum to give him a quick hug before turning to you with an even bigger smile. “S’lovely to see ya. Let’s take some pictures, aye? ”
You, Callum, Barry, and Austin stopped to pose together for a bit before they left the two of you to do some interviews further down the carpet.
To your left!
This way, Callum!
To your right!
Give us a kiss!
He was quick to notice the fatigue growing on your face the longer you stayed in front of the sea of paparazzi. As you sat in your seats in the theater, he gave your hand a quick squeeze. When you glanced over to him, the look on his face made your heart swell. His blue eyes were soft and so filled with admiration. Just as you opened your mouth to say those three words, Barry barreled past you two into his seat next to Callum.
The fourth time you almost said it was on a random Tuesday in the weird period between spring and summer.
“It’s raining again,” you commented, both a little sad and happy with the weather. You and Callum had planned to go to the farmer’s market today but with the weather on top of the mood you had woken up in, it didn’t look like those plans were going through anymore.
Callum hummed as he turned on his side to look out the window. “Fucking June bloom,” you groaned, dropping your head back on your pillow. He turned back to face you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in closer. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you relaxed in his hold.
“That kinda morning?” he gently asked to which you nodded. “I don’t mind a night in, love,” he whispered, placing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. “As long as I’m with you.”
Your heart warmed at his words. “Thank you,” you mumbled against his chest.
The fifth time you almost said it was on your birthday.
“What’s this?”
“Open it,” he encouraged, his eyes soft as he watched you. You narrowed your eyes before doing as he said. As you carefully unraveled the cute purple bow he wrapped around the tiny box, Callum watched with bated breath.
Lifting the lid revealed a small locket in the shape of a heart and when you opened it, one side with both of your initials carved into the metal and the other a picture of the two of you. You remembered when this was taken. It was from when you took him to Disneyland for the first time. It was a bit blurry but that didn’t matter.
“Callum…” you whispered, tears slowly filling your eyes at the sentiment. You quickly surged forward to pull him into a hug.
“Do ya like it?”
“I- I love it. I love it,” you smile, placing a kiss to his lips which he gladly reciprocated. You could feel him smile as he pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours.
“Happy birthday, love.”
When you do finally say it, he had just finished doing an interview for Deadline magazine.
Callum did the interview on the phone and sat across the room, so you were within earshot of it all. “Your new film, Eternity, is said to explore who you’d want to spend an eternity with and where, so I have to ask: who and where might that be for you?” the interviewer asked. You tried your best not to eavesdrop, but the question intrigued you. What would his answer be?
The deepness of his voice brought you out of his thoughts as he answered. “If I had to spend an eternity with anyone, it would definitely be my partner. Where specifically is a little tough to say if I’m being completely honest. Anywhere they go, I’ll follow.”
Your heart melted. Did he really mean that? Soon enough the interview ended and you padded over to where he sat. “You’re such a sap, Cal.”
He smiled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in for a kiss. “Eavesdropping now, are we?”
“Just a tiny bit,” you grinned. The way he looked at you sent your heart racing—a look filled with so much love. “I think I love you,” you blurted out. His eyes widened for a second before softening again.
“I think love you too,” he whispered, nudging his nose against yours.
A/N: btw the deadline magazine refers to an actual interview he did but skewed to fit the purposes of this fic <3
Summary: Joe come back home after winning the gold
Word count: 850
⋆. ୨୧˚⋆
You were at your college bar, listening attentively to the radio. Everyone was on the edge of their seats rooting for the American boys. You could feel the mix of nerves and thrill in the air, when everyone was huddled up listening to the rowing competition. The adrenaline was pumping through your veins as if you yourself were competing for medal.
Your mother always said she felt what your father felt. It never made sense to you before, but here in this moment you felt the same heart dropping feeling your boyfriend probably felt when the commentator reported that the JV boat was falling behind.
Breathing was forgotten, cracking your fingers was all you knew at that moment. Mrs. Ulbrickson place a comforting hand on your shoulder, but that didn't stop the anxious feeling that sores through your body.
Miracle and talent happens then and there. It felt like you were on cloud 9, you couldn't believe your ears. The photo was captured, America had won the gold. It was an out of body experience when you sprung out of your chair cheering and celebrating. You had prayed for this moment. Joe deserved it, the whole team put there all into the completion and won.
⊹☆~⟡⋆
Joe was anxiously bouncing his leg. After 3 days spent in Berlin, he was glad to be going home. He stared at the blurs of trees and fading green fields as the train continued its way back home. All Joe quenched was you in his arms.
Every time he sat down in a chair, his thighs felt awfully cold, since you weren't there to sit on his lap. Joe had only been apart from you for 3 days but somehow it felt like 3 decades. He was in that puppy love chapter of your relationship. Every thought and breath was you.
When Joe heard the screech of the brakes, and the hoot of the whistle, he had shot out of his seat like there was no tomorrow. Bobby and Thomas had made fun of him for being so pussy whipped, but Joe was deaf to all their comments, moving out of the compartment.
Joe was the 4th guy to get off the train. A big crowd of noisy and static people greeted the winners. It felt nice to be seen, but his ocean blue eyes scanned the crowd looking for one specific excited person.
He mindlessly shook hands, searching the crowd with such urgency. Bobby was right next to him soaking in the praise and attention. Joe leaned forward close to Bobby ear so he was able to hear him through the loud group of people.
"Have you seen my girl?!" Joe yelled over the crowd. Gosh all he wanted to do was kiss you silly and let you wear his medal.
The freckle faced boy shook his head at his teammate. Bobby eyes began to look through the flock of people. A frown tugged at Joe's lips. He wondered if you were throwing elbows at strangers to get to him, or if you were even there at all. Joe started to feel hopeless like a kicked puppy, as a news reporter started pressing him.
After answering a question then came another one after that. Joe didn't care at all, trying to give enthusiastic responses, while he felt grumpy he hadn't seen his girlfriend yet. Mid answer, Joe felt a small tap on his shoulder. He knew that shy touch from anywhere, quickly snapping his head to the right.
"Too famous to remember you have a girlfriend huh? Alright I see."
Your arms were crossed, and your nose was scrunched while you playfully nodded your head. Even more beautiful than the day he left. Joe abandoned the reporter and was taking two steps closer to you.
"Oh you little tease!" Joe said in a stern tone after not being able to find you for 10 minutes. Before you could continue with your cheeky teasing. Joe hands were on the angles of your face and kissing you hard and parting your lips with his, in a filthy kiss. "You think I still don't remember you?" Joe breathlessly pulled away, loving how his hands engulfed your angelic face.
"No, I think your still a little lost Joey. Maybe one more kiss to get your memory goin- eh!" You squealed out, when his lips were peppering kisses all over your face with a big smile on his face. Oh he would give you all the kisses you would ask for. Joe felt you squirm under his hold making him grin even more.
His tongue stuck out tasting your jaw. He could smell your perfume, Normandie. The warm and elegant floral sent tickled his brain, back to every time he hugged you and smelled your perfume. Joe's trail of affection stopped at your ear. He leaned down, so you could adjust to his taller height so your arms could wrap around his neck. Joe buried his nose into your neck inhaling your scent, like a puppy.
"You smell like home." Joe confessed nuzzling his head deeper into the crook of your neck.
I know this is actually Callum and Jack arguing and not Don and Joe (for which Callum takes responsibility) but I love that they kept it in. Making it a character moment instead of an actor blip that should be cut, actually lets Don lose his temper, for the audience to be shown what it would take for Don to lose it, to show that much emotional response, that even Don, stoic, reserved, calm, non-responsive Don can be pushed to an extreme, that he does want this as much as the rest, that it means as much to him even if he doesn't talk about it, and that the boat being out of sync is effecting him too.
Just such a great editing decision
And also how lost, and then amused, and then trying to be calm Bruce Herbelin-Earle is entertains me endlessly. A real journey he takes us on in 0.3 seconds! Plus, y'know, Don swearing and getting angry is hot as fuck, I'm not proud
