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thatsrightice · 2 months

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THE LEGEND OF BRADY’S CREW AND THEIR CRASH WAGON

The crash landing we see John Brady’s crew conduct in Part 1 of Masters of the Air was not their first. On Christmas Eve of 1942, Brady’s crew took off on a training mission but crash landed in the snowy mountains of Evanston, Wyoming due to inclement weather and a lack of gas. No one was injured thanks to Brady’s skillful flying (and Harry Crosby’s Scottish descent, according to the young woman who found them).

Afterward, the crew received a brand new B-17F, serial number 42-30071. Though officially titled “SKIPPER”, the Fort had immediately been given a name: “BRADY’S CRASH WAGON” in homage to the legend of their training accident.

Their second crash landing, the one we see in the show, actually occurred at an Air Depot in Warton on the east coast due to the landing gear being frozen. Their belly-landing damaged their aircraft so they were forced to take a train to Diss and then a truck to Thorpe Abbotts.

42-30071 “BRADY’S CRASH WAGON” would be repaired and sent to the 96th Bomb Group. It was irreparably damaged in another belly-landing on April 18, 1944 and scrapped.

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major-mads · 4 months

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Thorpe Abbotts Airbase

Places of Interest in Masters of the Air

Masterlist

The Thorpe Abbotts Airbase/Airfield is located just outside of the village of Thorpe Abbots in Norfolk, England. It was specifically built for the 100th Bomb Group when they came to join the war effort. Flyers with the 100th were set to start arriving in June of 1943, so the engineers and builders had to even out the ground, lay miles and miles of concrete, and build the intricate roads and buildings of the base very quickly.

Many locals did not support the building of the base because it encroached on their farmlands. While the British were happy the Americans were joining the fight, there were definite feelings of animosity towards the 'yanks' (as they call Americans), but most of those faded when the Brits met the airmen who occupied the base.

Donald Miller: Masters of the Air, pgs. 1-2

"Thorpe Abbotts, an American bomber base some ninety miles north of London and a short stroll from the Norfolk hamlet that gave it its name. Station # 139, as it was officially designated, with its 3,500 fliers and support personnel, was built on a nobleman's estate lands, and the crews flew to war over furrowed fields worked by Sir Rupert Mann's tenant farmers, who lived nearby in crumbling stone cottages heated by open hearths. Thorpe Abbotts is in East Anglia, a history-haunted region of ancient farms, curving rivers, and low flat marshland. It stretches northward from the spires of Cambridge, to the high-sitting cathedral town of Norwich, and eastward to Great Yarmouth, an industrial port on the black waters of the North Sea. With its drainage ditches, wooden windmills, and sweeping fens, this low-lying slice of England brings to mind nearby Holland, just across the water. It is a haunch of land that sticks out into the sea, pointed, in the war years, like a raised hatchet at the enemy. And its drained fields made good airbases from which to strike deep into the German Reich. A century or so behind London in its pace and personality, it had been transformed by the war into one of the great battlefronts of the world, a war front unlike any other in history (Miller, 2007, pgs. 1-2)."

tag list: @ronald-speirs @footprintsinthesxnd @georgieluz @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @gloryofwinter

message or comment if you want to be added to the tag list! <3

#thorpe abbotts #gale cleven #john egan #masters of the air #gale buck cleven #major buck cleven #major john egan #rosie rosenthal #1940s #8th air force #mota #road to masters of the air #about masters of the air #hbo war #thorpe abbotts air base #100th bombardment group #100th bomb group #bloody hundredth #bloody hundredth bomb group

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majoregan · 2 years

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a photo of RAF Thorpe Abbotts posted by Michelle Lemmons Walker (Ken Lemmons' daughter) on the WW2 100th BG on facebook and an a set made for Masters of the Air miniseries!! gotta love the details.

#masters of the air #hbo war #ww2 #world war 2 #apple tv #100th bomb group #raf #royal air force #thorpe abbotts #mota bts #masters of the air behind the scenes #masters of the air bts #buck cleven #bucky egan

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lostloveletters · 1 month

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Woody and Holly every day of their damn lives

Literally! Also it's 1943 and that's not a discussion being had (although as previously stated on here, Holly's definitely said to Bucky "I kinda wish Woody were a guy so I could date her" and Bucky's response is "Yeah exactly, that's a normal way to feel about your best friend.")

🦇 Battie

#like girl you just found the one other weird mf in thorpe abbotts who feels some type of way about his bestie #ask tag #ch: holly #ch: woody

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reiverreturns · 23 hours

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for a man who would sit in curt's lap until he yielded the left seat of the B-17, buck's suspiciously chill about constantly riding right-shotgun with bucky in the jeep in my humble and hobjectively correct opinion

#the brits and their left-hand drives shipped it that's all i'm saying #i finished the series now i'm looking at the details rip your feeds #the buck & bucky & curt of it all... what is going ON in thorpe abbotts i need to know #masters of the air #mota

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obessedwithfictionalmen · 2 months

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You want my jacket?

John Egan X W.A.C! Reader

Summary: Y/n wants Bucky's jacket, but they have a little competition before...

Warning: Swearing/ sport inaccuracies (Wikipedia stats)/ use of Y/n/ flirting/ mention of erection/ kiss/ sexism (little bit)

Word count: 1.1k

The music was loud, Y/n and her friends made their way through the room, it was a party in their honor, and someone’s 25th mission. The W.A.C division Y/n was in just got transferred to Thorpe Abbotts. Y/n was a weather broadcaster, she was going to brief the men on the conditions they were going to fly. She liked her job, sure it was boring sometimes, but she got the insight on big mission and her job was important. She felt like she was truly having an impact on the war, not a big one, but still.

When John Egan learned that W.A.C were coming on the base, he was like every man on the base; excited. Unlike Buck, he didn’t have anyone to write to at home, he was single and loved woman! When his eyes stopped on Y/n, he knew that he needed to talk to her. Her uniform fitted her so good; her curves were highlighted, and he always loved woman with curves. So, when he walked up to her, he was a little nervous, but he tried to hide it.

‘’Hello ladies’’ he said, looking at all the woman, then he looked at the one he wanted. ‘’Hi, I’m Major John Egan, but please call me Bucky, what’s your name, gorgeous?’’ he flirted. Y/n blushed and hid a giggle. ‘’I’m Y/n, nice to meet you’’ she extends her hand for him to take. The other girls were a giggling mess. When Bucky took her hand, she felt something pass through them, maybe she was just nervous, but it felt weird. They went to sit at a table and Bucky ordered drinks. ‘’So, Y/n, what are you doing here?’’ he asked, looking at her. ‘’I’m the new weather broadcaster, so we’re going to see each other a lot’’ she flirted. Words of his reputation had got to Y/n’s ears, when the Colonel briefed them on the attitude of the men at the base, the woman were warned about Major Egan. Y/n was curious to see if his reputation was true. ‘’You’ll be Miss Sunshine?’’ he asked, with a grin on his face. ‘’Exactly, but with this English weather, I’ll be Miss Cloud, Rain and Fog’’ she joked. He laughed at her joke, he always thought English weather was shit. ‘’Maybe your presence will bring more sun over the base’’ he took a sip of his drink. Y/n tilted her head, before taking a sip of her drink.

‘’I highly doubt that, but hey I’ll probably die of cold, you on the other hand, you’re going to be okay with that beautiful jacket’’ she smiled. He looked at his jacket, then looked at her. ‘’You like my jacket?’’ he asked, with a crooked eyebrow. She nodded as she finished her drink. ‘’Yeah, they didn’t give us any jacket, they didn’t have the money for us’’ she chuckles. A wicked idea came to her mind, she was a fan of baseball, so was he… ‘’Okay, what about a quiz, on the subject of your choice, if I win, I get your jacket, if you win, what do you want if you win?’’ she says. ‘’I want a kiss’’ he grins. ‘’Then if you win, you’ll get your kiss. You in?’’ she asked. He nodded and called Curt, he was a fan of baseball and knew the Yankees. ‘’I’m on, and by the way, I hope your baseball knowledge is good, you know the Yankees, sunshine?’’ he teased. He was 100% sure he was going to win; nobody knew baseball as good as him, but that’s what he thought. Y/n was grinning like a devil, she was getting that jacket!

‘’Ok, last question since you’re both equal in points, Spud Chandler broke the record for what this season?’’ Curt asked. Y/n thought for a second and then took the apple, it was their buzzer. ‘’Y/n?’’ the room went silent; money was changing hands around the bar. Their little competition was the main entertainement right now, soldiers couldn’t believe that someone knew baseball better than Bucky. ‘’ Lowest earned run average in a season’’ she said, smiling. Curt pushed his tongue on his cheek before looking at other guys. ‘’That’s right, you officially win!’’ He exclaimed, making the woman and some guy’s cheer for her. Bucky’s jaw was on the floor, that woman knew baseball, was supporting the Yankees and she just beat him. Now he had to give her his jacket! Bucky looked at the woman, she was smiling proudly. He smiled as he shook his head. He went closer to her. ‘’Let’s get out of here, sunshine’’ he said, she nodded, and they went outside.

‘’How come you know that much about baseball?’’ he asked. They started to walk around the base. ‘’Weather girl wasn’t my original plan, I wanted to be a sport reporter, but because I’m a woman, it’s impossible, but I know a lot about sports’’ she explained. He thought he was dreaming; this woman was surreal. ‘’That was really impressive, even though you beat me, it was amazing’’ he said, he truly meant it, he was in awe before her. ‘’Thank you, but I think you owe me something’’ she grins. Bucky rolls his eyes before taking his precious jacket off. ‘’Take care of it’’ he said, before giving it to her. ‘’Can you help me put it on?’’ she asked. Her back was facing him, he helped her put the jacket on, smelling her perfume properly for the first time. She smelled good, too good, it was going to be stuck in his mind now. Seeing her in his jacket kina turned him on, he didn’t know why, but it was a problem. ‘’Thank you, Major’’ she smiled proudly. ‘’I wish I could say it's my pleasure, but that would be a lie’’ he said, laughing to hide his pain. Y/n giggled as they continued their walk.

‘’That’s me, I have to go to bed early. I’m waking up at 0500 tomorrow I have to do my job’’ she smiles. Bucky nods quickly, expecting her to walk to her building, but she stays in front of him. ‘’Since we were equal, it’s only fair that you get your part of the bet’’ she says. Before he could process what she meant she quickly kiss him on the lips. By the time he acknowledges what just happened, she’s already at the door. ‘’Good night, Bucky, thanks for the jacket’’ she says, his name sounding like a prayer on her lips. ‘’Good night sunshine’’ he said. She blew him a kiss before entering the building, with his jacket on her. Yep, his problem was definitely growing more…

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #john egan x reader #master of the air imagine #major john egan #john egan

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flawdchaos · 1 month

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Opposites Do Attract

Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven x Reader

Word Count - 915

Based off of this request - Can I request a Buck x reader, where the reader is very extroverted, maybe even the opposite of Buck, but they fit so well together. They could be going out for drinks or her meeting the boys or something similar.

Anyone who met Buck Cleven and Y/N Y/L/N at Thorpe Abbotts shared a common thought - they were an unexpected pair. It had become all too common for the newcomers to assume Y/N was with Bucky with her loud, bubbly energy and it almost seemed brash for cool, calm, collected Buck to be with Ken Lemmons loudest female mechanic but damn, did it work. They had met one morning as Y/N was going over some last minute inspections on Buck’s plane for his daily missions.

“How’s she looking, ma’am?” his voice startled her, her head hitting against the plane’s metal.

“Good lord!” she exclaimed. “Give a girl a warning before you sneak up like that.” she complained, rubbing the back of her head. She fully stepped from under the plane's wings and caught a glimpse of the man behind the voice. Her eyes widened once she noticed a Major was standing before her awaiting her response. “Major Cleven” right hand flying to her forehead to salute “Plane is all ready, sir.”

“No need to salute, ma’am. Thank you for taking such good care of her. I put her through hell.” Buck spoke as he opened the plane’s hatch to stow his bag and she couldn’t stop the scoff that left her mouth. “I think that’s an understatement, sir.”

Most of the guys probably wouldn’t have taken this kind of attitude, per se, from a mechanic - let alone a woman- but he couldn’t care less. The sight of her almost made him want to laugh. There she stood, hip jutted out and hand secured atop it, eyes squinting up at him most likely awaiting some sort of angry remark but all he could do was shuffle the toothpick around in his mouth and nod in agreement. “I’ll be waiting to fix her right back up for ya later, Major.”

The couple had been sealed since. When Buck finally caved and spilled the beans about a woman to Bucky, he thought John was going to have a medical emergency right there in the mess hall.

“You have a woman and you just now think to bring it up?” Bucky said, astonished. “I didn’t want you to scare her away.” Buck quipped. If he only knew.

“Well.” Bucky clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. “When am I gonna meet this mysterious young lady?” he urged, squeezing his hands down before an idea crossed his mind “Bring her to the pub tomorrow!”

______

If Buck could have taken a picture of the looks on the boys’ faces when he walked in with Y/N on his arm, he would have framed it and taken it with him on every flight he ventured out on. “Well I’ll be damned, Buck.” Bucky uttered, for once in his life he was almost speechless. Almost.

“I’d suggest you pick your jaw up off the floor, Major. I’d sure hate for you to swallow a bug.” She teased and the entire table erupted in laughter. Buck couldn’t help the small smile that broke out on his own face, a sense of pride soaring through his body. Bucky took a long swig of his drink before retorting. “Seems you’ve got yourself a jokester, Buck.” He nodded. “She’s a little more than that.”

“Wait, ain’t you the girl who works with Lemmons?” Blakely spoke, realization washing over the faces of a few of the men. “Yeah! You’re the girl who fixed my landing gear the other day.” Brady sat up, pointing at the girl standing firm besides Buck.

“You’re welcome by the way.” she waved her hand towards him. “Actually, everyone is welcome. You can thank me for getting you up in the air in the first place. Now I’m getting a drink. Keep the gossip to a minimum while I’m gone, now.” She turned, patting Buck on the chest. “You want something, baby?” looking up at her doe eyed boyfriend. “Just a Coke for me, honey.” She jokingly saluted, walking off towards the bar.

____

Buck had full confidence Y/N would fit in with his crew of men. Whether most of them had realized it before or not, she was the sole reason they were able to make it off the ground in the first place. He couldn’t help but say it almost made his heart swell with pride watching her interact with his friends. “Should I sing?” Bucky’s voice broke through his train of thought, hands tapping against his arm chair. There wasn’t time for him to protest before Y/N jumped up from her place on his lap. “Let’s go, Bucky!” Y/N’s laughed.

He couldn’t explain the feeling that was coursing through his body but as he watched his best friend - more so a brother at this point - and his newfound love sharing a laugh together over the less than perfect singing, he only grew more confident in his relationship. Many would describe Buck Cleven as a many of very little words but if anyone asked about Y/N, his Y/N, he didn’t think there were enough words in the dictionary to explain just how he felt.

Once the song stopped and the singing duo had left the stage, Buck watched as Y/N headed to the bar and Bucky made his way back to him.

“Buck, I gotta say -“ pausing to take a drink of his whisky. “You’ve found yourself a keeper. You two couldn’t be any more opposite but man, does it work.”

#masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #anthony boyle #gale cleven #john egan #masters of the air imagines #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #gale cleven x reader #buck cleven x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader

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anachilles · 17 days

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sorry i just need to ramble a bit more about ep 9!post-rescue!gale after he makes his way back to thorpe abbotts because this has been rattling around in my brain like a peanut in a tin can.

like… the sheer force of the guilt he must have felt. for making a split second decision in pure, unadulterated panic (which he was loathe to do in literally any other situation) and running when he had the chance. the chance that bucky had given him.

and he left bucky behind without so much as a second look (<- as remembered by his anguished brain with tortured memories).

being back without him felt wrong. gale felt like a ghost trailing behind the men who were guiding him back around the base, like he was haunting them, not really fully there. one half of his soul was still lost somewhere in eastern germany.

and when bucky shows up, rougishly unannounced, the guilt only multiplies around the relief and joy and disbelief at seeing him back here, liberated so such sooner than he’d anticipated.

bucky himself is overjoyed. he can’t believe he’s here; that he and buck both got out of this thing alive and, okay, not as ‘together’ as they had hoped but they were now and that’s what mattered.

meanwhile gale feels sick to his stomach every time he looks him in the eyes, his body tense under the rigid smiles he puts on, partly for the other boys around them, but mostly for john himself.

how could john ever forgive him for just leaving like that?

(( i need to make a one shot out of this omg ))

#abbie.txt #clegan #I’m probably not phrasing this eloquently at all I’m so sleepy #but there’s some juicy JUICY feelings there that i *need* to exploit for literary purposes

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blurredcolour · 2 months

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IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?”

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Struggling with the forced separation of your transfer and promotion, it does not take long for you and Bucky to plan a trip to London together. But even while you're on leave, the world around you continues to do its best to tear itself apart.

Warnings: Language, Grief, Alcohol Consumption, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [oral - f receiving, implied virginity loss, protected vaginal sex, condoms, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Welcome to this massive installment. I have no excuses, only apologies. Also I only had the fortitude to proof this once, there may be more errors than normal, but I didn't want to delay it any longer - I will correct things as I find them. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

ETA: The image descriptions for the letters contain the text within to allow for a screen reader or anyone who cannot read cursive. Click the ‘ALT’ button to access.

Word Count: 8497

-------------------------

Wycombe Abbey could not have been more different than Thorpe Abbotts if it had tried.

The private, or in a most confusing twist ‘public’ as the Brits called such institutions, girls’ school had begun its life in the 17th century as a manor house before being transformed into a much grander residence near the end of the 19th century. The school had opened in 1896 with only forty students, but that number had swelled to over two hundred by the time the building was requisitioned for use as the Headquarters of the 8th Air Force.

Stained glass windows, stonework, archways, and wood panelling now replaced squat concrete buildings and rough-and-ready Nissen huts. Though everything was just as drafty, so at least the temperature provided some familiar consistency to your new surroundings. As you descended from your quarters tucked away in some forgotten corner of the attic, down a set of precarious servants’ stairs, you nearly took a wrong turn – again. To your credit you had only been here three days and the maze of corridors and rooms further divided into offices for USAAF purposes was nearly unnavigable.

Chiding yourself softly under your breath that your office was to the right and not the left, as though the sharpness of your tone might really drive it home this time, you quickened your steps still hoping to beat to postal clerk to the outgoing mail box that sat on the corner of your desk. It had been more of a challenge than you were expecting to write the letter clutched in your hand, but the daily meetings that senior operations officers held at 1015, 1600, and 2200 were your responsibility to attend and record via frantically scribbled notes to be typed up in a more professional format later.

These were the meetings at which mission targets for the entire 8th were chosen. The strategic value of various locations was discussed alongside weather reports and aligning with the RAF’s Bomber Command for maximum impact against Nazi Germany. After the first meeting, it would be decided if a mission would even be conducted the following day, and each Division, Wing, and Base involved would be put on alert to allow them time to begin planning the operation. By the time the last meeting ended, the target and approach would be finalized, and the official field orders would be issued.

It made for a remarkably long day, even with breaks for meals, and though you were guaranteed every other Friday off because of this, by the time you crawled into bed near midnight, you only had enough energy to add a few lines onto the letter you had begun to Bucky as soon as you arrived. It made for a rather disjointed and rambling piece of correspondence, in your opinion, but you could not bear to keep him waiting any longer – not wanting him to assume you had forgotten to write and not knowing how long the thing would take to reach him regardless.

Dashing into the office you shared with Myrtle, a very stoic young woman with dark hair and thick eyelashes from Rhode Island, you exhaled in relief to see the post still waiting to be collected and added your letter to the pile. Unlocking your desk drawers, you began setting up for the day, hoping it would reach him quickly.

His reply arrived in your inbox just over two weeks later, near the end of September. Sliding it into your brown leather utility bag, you did your utmost to ignore its very existence throughout the first daily meeting, and your subsequent production of the official report thereof. Taking your lunch break a little earlier than usual paid off in that the line was much shorter at that time. You inhaled the mystery stew and rolls, hardly tasting them, before taking your letter outside to read in the rare afternoon sunshine.

It was short, and it was unspeakably adorable that Bucky did not write in cursive, but there was no lack of his personality in his response. It was as though the very essence of him had been distilled into the ink itself and you could not help the broad grin that bore its way into the muscles of your cheeks, making them ache as you read it.

Glancing quickly at your watch, you realized there was still time to send a reply before the second post pick-up but based on the length of time it had taken for this exchange of letters, it was unlikely another would reach him with enough time to plan for October 8 – your next Friday off. Worrying your lip between your teeth as you considered your options, you landed on a rather devious idea, one that quite honestly would have never come to you if not for the deep need to reach Bucky immediately. Vi had a telephone on her desk in the weather office, a number that you had access to given the strategic importance of weather to the senior operations officers.

Myrtle would be on her break for another fifteen minutes…you had not even realized you had made up your mind before your feet began to carry you back inside, up the stairs into the mercifully still-empty office. Digging out the directory, you found the number for Thorpe Abbotts’ weather office and took a shaky breath as you sank into your chair.

‘Keep it brief, keep it free of classified information. Worst you’ll get is a reprimand.’

The devious, deceptive voice in your mind was a new one, fostered, perhaps, by the rather carefree man you found yourself deeply entangled with, but it was not one you were about to disobey. Lifting the handset of your phone from its cradle, you cleared your throat as the operator answered.

“Norfolk 7315, please.” You tried your best to sound calm and collected as the line clicked and began to ring.

“Phillips.” An unexpected voice answered, and you gulped, knowing Ruth would be less likely to participate in some romantic scheme.

You greeted her in kind, trying to ignore the ache of loneliness as she gasped softly.

“I was hoping you might pass along a message for me?”

“To a certain Major?” You could hear the grin in her voice and felt the pressure on your chest ease.

“Indeed. October 8. I will arrange accommodations.”

“Your line should he need to reach you?”

Hesitating a moment, you ultimately decided to provide it as well, wanting to ensure he could in fact contact you if something came up. Or perhaps any of them could – should the worst happen.

‘Don’t think about that.’ You chastised yourself internally.

“You’re well?” Ruth asked and you smiled softly.

“I am, please tell everyone I miss them terribly.”

“Will do, have to go.”

There was a ‘click’ as she hung up and the line went dead but the lightness in your heart could not be extinguished.

Nine days later you found yourself waiting on the platform at Liverpool Street station awaiting the arrival of Bucky’s train from East Anglia. Given the proximity of High Wycombe to London, you had arrived much earlier that morning and checked into the hotel already, dropping off your small bag and come to wait for his train – well you assumed he’d be on the first train of the day, but as the carriages disgorged a sea of humanity and you had yet to spot him, your brows began to furrow in doubt.

You were about to fish the folded schedule you had picked up from the ticket counter to check the next arrival time when he was suddenly wrapping an arm around you, pulling you tight into his chest as you gasped softly in surprise.

“There you are doll.” Bucky sighed, dropping his bag at your feet to slide the other arm around you as he pulled back to nudge your cap out of the way and deliver a breathtakingly thorough kiss that you were not entirely sure was appropriate for the public setting you were in.

Not that you stopped him, you own arms snaking about his midsection to cling to him tightly.

Pulling back, his eyes raked over your features lovingly as you both inhaled deeply to fill your greedy lungs.

“Well, well 1st Lieutenant.” He smirked proudly as he lifted his hand to stroke the chrome insignia you now wore on your lapels courtesy of your promotion, leaving smudges of his thumb print.

“You are leaving my uniform in disarray, Major.” You chided playfully, unable to hold back you grin, even for a moment, to sell the joke.

His forefinger hooked behind the knot in your tie, tugging it out from beneath your jacket and pulling you closer – eliminating the last few inches of space that remained between your bodies.

“Good.” He rumbled against your lips before kissing you deeply, severely undermining the infrastructure of your knees.

The loud racket of the train cars as they shunted into one another jolted the pair of you apart, making you realize you were among the last few remaining on the platform as the now empty train left the station.

“Let’s get you checked in and your bag dropped off.” You murmured, clearing your throat as you unbuttoned your uniform jacket to straighten and re-secure your tie.

His hand slid into yours as the pair of you made your way out of the station and he happily followed you to a hotel you’d found near his station, knowing that he’d be here longer than you and it would be easier for him to find his way back to base this way. Sitting patiently in the lobby as he checked in and ran his bag up, you smiled as he returned to hold his hands out to you.

“C’mon doll, I have a whole plan.”

Taking his hands, you rose to your feet, raising your eyebrows curiously. “A whole plan?”

He leaned in to murmur against your ear, “you’re not the only one involved in planning you know.”

You pulled back quickly, eyes wide with a touch of panic. You were quite certain you had never told him just what your new position entailed, and there was no way he could simply guess it.

“Easy doll, your phone line.” He winked as he maneuvered your arm through his, turning to lead you out the front door.

Slowly exhaling, it clicked into place. Of course. Just as you were able to find Vi’s desk number in a directory, it seemed Bucky had been doing a little research of his own.

“Well, shhh.” You chastened him firmly, laying a finger over your lips, looking very much like an anti-slander campaign poster.

His hearty laugh in response did little to convince you that he took in the message.

“Now, how do we get to Hyde Park…” He murmured, pulling a crumpled leave guide out of his pocket.

“The underground.” You answered easily, leading him back towards the very station he had arrived at but this time down to the tube station entrance where the pair of you purchased your tickets.

His touch rarely left you – even if he was forced to release your hand, you could feel his palm pressed against your lower back as you made your way through the crowded subterranean space. You were glad to have him with you this time, not particularly a fan of this mode of transportation, but it certainly was an efficient way to get around London. Pressed close together on the train, you took the opportunity to simply gaze at him, basking in his presence after nearly a month apart, not missing the way his mouth ticked up at the corner cockily.

“Missed you too, doll.” He winked and ducked a kiss to your ear before guiding you off the train at your stop – once he had confirmed with you it was indeed your stop.

Blinking your way back into the light of day, you pointed at a directional sign guiding the way to Hyde Park.

“Perfect, now apparently there are…sandwiches!” He crowed and tugged you over to a sandwich truck that seemed quite popular based on the line of waiting patrons.

Your face was starting to hurt, driving home how infrequently you had found the opportunity to smile in his absence, making you squeeze his hand fondly. Bucky looked back to you quickly as he joined the queue.

“You really did plan everything.” You gulped quickly and he beamed proudly.

“Anything for my girl. What kind would you like?” He gestured at the menu written on the side of the truck.

By the time you reached the front of the line, Bucky was able to easily place your order, including two bottles of lemonade, insisting on paying. Opening your utility bag, you carefully packed the lunch away, earning a rather damp and enthusiastic kiss on your cheek as he snatched your hand to continue onto the park.

“May I ask what it is about this park in particular?” You inquired as the pair of you dashed across the road.

“You can ask…” His cheeky reply had you scoffing in return as you entered the canopy of trees, following a path further and further away from the traffic of downtown London.

Plenty of men in uniform seemed to be out, enjoying the nice weather with women on their arms. Women who, unlike you, enjoyed the luxury of being allowed to dress as they chose during their leisure time. It had been one of many reasons that nearly twenty-five percent of women had chosen not to remain enlisted during the transition from the WAAC to the WAC, the army requirement to remain in uniform even when off-duty. In all honesty, you had not really missed your civilian clothes until just then.

Watching the sheer femininity of those women as they swirled about in their colorful fabrics only drove home how drably olive and plainly cut your uniform truly was.

“You’re a million miles away, doll.” Bucky’s voice cut through the dark clouds that had gathered in your mind and you looked to him quickly.

“Sorry Bucky, it’s beautiful here. Like another place entirely.” You offered him a smile but by the way his eyebrow lifted slightly he did not seem to be entirely buying it. “Have the leaves started changing around the base yet?” You tried changing the subject.

He shook his head, releasing your hand to slide his arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer. “Seems everything will happen later here than back home.”

You hummed thoughtfully, glancing ahead and gasping a little at the glimpse of a sizeable body of water that seemed to be filled with rowboats.

“That’s why were here.”

You turned back to him to see a broad grin had overtaken his face and laughed in excitement as it was terribly romantic.

“If I had known, Major Egan, I would have brought my parasol.” You grinned and he snorted, squeezing your hip fondly.

“No need to put on airs, 1st Lieutenant,” he smirked, “the ride will be enjoyable all the same.”

“Bucky!” You hissed sharply, slapping his chest as he laughed deeply, ducking your head slightly as more than a few passersby shot glances your way.

“C’mon doll.” He chuckled and led you over to the booth beside the dock, paying the fee for a thirty-minute rental before the pair of you headed down to climb into one of the waiting row boats.

Setting your heavy bag on the floor, you carefully stepped into the rather unstable watercraft, settling on the passenger’s bench – denoted as such by the ornate ironwork arms. Bucky followed, seated across from you at the oars, his knees nearly brushing against yours, legs too long for so small a boat. Unbuttoning and sliding off his jacket, he tossed it and his cap to you before rolling up his sleeves and began to row the pair of you out onto The Serpentine, you now knew the small lake to be called.

“I trust you know what you’re doing?” You asked as he appeared to easily manage the oars, seeming at ease in the small boat.

“Mostly.” He teased with a wink before laughing at your slightly aghast expression. “Grew up on the shore of Lake Michigan, doll. Boats are like planes to me, easily managed.” He soothed.

It was difficult to decide which view to settle your eyes upon, the verdant green of the still-lush trees, the throng of boats around you, or Bucky working up a remarkably attractive sheen of sweat with his forearms on display as he propelled the rowboat through the water. A feathered fan would have been a very useful tool in that moment, to hide behind or cool yourself down, or perhaps both.

Belatedly, you realized that Bucky had been speaking this whole time – about events back at Thorpe Abbotts. Giving you the update about the people you knew, the trouble Meatball had caused with a farmer down the road, but he trailed off when he realized you were staring once more in dumbfounded silence at him.

“Doll, you’re going to give me a big head if you keep looking at me like that.” He winked as he lifted the oars from the water, letting the water sluice from the blades before tucking them into the boat on either side of you.

“Y…you’re good at that.” You replied lamely and shook your head. “Hungry?” Leaning forward for your bag, which was in all honestly a lot closer to his feet in the floor of the boat, you froze as everything tilted precariously in response to your movements.

Bucky lay a gentle hand on your shoulder to steady you. “Allow me.” Bending down slowly, he scooped up your bag and opened the flap to retrieve your sandwich and lemonade. “It’s sure tight in here, how did you even make this all fit?”

He tugged a little harder on the packet containing your lunch and your eyes widened in horror as, while he was triumphant, he also managed to send the three condoms you had tucked into your bag scattering to the floor of the boat. His eyes followed the distinct, square, paper packets and you could see his throat bob as he swallowed viciously.

“Doll…” His voice came out rough as a gravel road as he slowly raised his eyes to meet yours. “…been doing some planning of your own?”

“‘A WAC is always prepared.’” You quoted in a mortified whisper, struggling against the urge to lunge forward and hide the evidence, knowing it would only send both of you over the side and into the lake.

You watched another swallow ripple down Bucky’s throat before he offered your lunch to you, carefully collecting the offending items and returning them to your bag before he retrieved his own food.

“Would you mind,” He spoke after taking a rather ruthless and oversized bite of his sandwich, words muffled between slices of bread and chicken salad before he swallowed to start over. “Would you mind if, instead of following the rest of my plan, after these thirty minutes are up, I take you back to the hotel?”

Taking a thick swallow of your own, you shook your head slowly as you felt your cheeks heat up at the implications of that invitation. “I would not mind, no.” You clarified breathlessly and he nodded sharply, gesturing for your as-yet-unopened bottle of lemonade.

Handing it back to him, you watched silently as he lined the edge of the cap with the metal plate holding the oarlock in place, popping it off the bottle with one sharp blow of the heel of his palm.

“Thank you.” You murmured quietly as he passed you the opened drink, taking a deep sip as he repeated the process with his own, draining nearly half the bottle in one go.

Tilting your head back to take in the feel of the sun on your face, you slid your cap from your hair, adding it to the pile of his neatly folded items on the bench beside you, continuing to enjoy your picnic on the lake.

“You heard about Dye hitting twenty-five?” He broke the silence, sounding much more like himself again and you nodded quickly.

“Big news, everywhere in the 8th. Lucky crew all heading home – how did Lil take it?” You tilted your head curiously, raising your bottle to your lips, his eyes following the motion closely.

“Hm? Oh, she’ll be alright…they’re both good at letters.” He nodded, leaning back a little.

You knocked your knee against his affectionately. “Don’t sell yourself short you sweet man, I thoroughly enjoyed yours.”

His eyes flicked to yours quickly as a small smile curled his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded firmly. “Yeah. Promise to give you more to reply to soon, phone was just necessary to make this happen.”

His hand landed on your thigh gently and he squeezed the flesh through your skirt. “Worth it. Just how long are your days though, doll?”

Your fingers played along the empty glass bottle, and you shrugged. “As long as they need to be.” You replied evasively.

“Mm, I’m going to get a better answer out of you than that.” He threatened playfully as he leaned forward to grasp the oar handles, swinging the blades back into the water and taking the pair of you on a loop around the corner of the lake before returning you to the dock.

Bucky climbed out first, taking his cap and jacket before helping you out easily, kissing you firmly as soon as you were on solid ground. “Let’s take a cab…” He breathed impatiently and you laughed, shaking your head.

“The cost would be astronomical, come on.” You affixed your cap on your head as he rolled down his sleeves and slid his jacket back on before the pair of you made your way back to the Underground.

Bucky’s body was practically pressed against yours the entire trip back to Liverpool Street station, seemingly unable to tolerate any form of separation. As you neared the hotel though, you looked to him slowly. “We should go in as colleagues…I booked us that way.”

He looked at you utterly confused, and you swallowed.

“We’re unwed, there was no way I could book us here together, and they will be none to please if they realize I’ve tricked them. I’ll get my key, you get yours, I’ll come to your room…”

He nodded slowly, arm reluctantly unwinding from around your waist before holding the door open for you to step inside.

“Thank you, Major.” You nodded, sliding your cap from your head as you stepped inside, heading to the counter to fetch your room key as he did the same, the pair of you walking up the stairs to the fifth floor together before parting ways so you could fetch your small overnight bag.

It was rather a waste of money, to book a room knowing you would most likely never sleep in it, but such things were necessary for women like you. Women who chose to go to bed with a man they were not married to in the long light of the afternoon. Taking a steadying breath, you left the perfectly made bed behind, walking down the hall to Bucky’s room and knocking on the door softly.

It promptly swung open to reveal a smiling Bucky, his jacket and cap long gone, along with his necktie, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He stepped back and gestured for you to enter his much larger room with a small brown paper wrapped packet clasped in his hand. Once the door was closed behind you, you let out the laugh you had been holding.

“I did book this under Major John Egan, I suppose they felt the need to give you a nicer room than a Lieutenant.”

He smirked and kissed your cheek, taking your cap and bag from your hand, then pressing the package into it. “Before I forget, again.”

“Bucky you didn’t have to get me anything, you came to see me…”

“Open it.” His eyes danced with anticipation, and you began to pull at the piece of twine holding the package closed, unfolding the utilitarian paper to reveal a brand-new pair of stockings.

You let out an audible gasp as your jaw fairly fell to the floor.

“To replace the pair that got wrecked when you fell.” He smiled, obviously pleased by your reaction.

“How on earth did you…?!” You trailed off, staring up at him in wonderment.

“A man never reveals his secrets, doll.” He grinned and let out a grunt as you launched yourself into his arms, kissing him fiercely at the thoughtfulness of his gift and in recognition of the sheer determination it must have taken to achieve such a feat in rationed England.

His fingers gently plied the items from your grasp, setting them on the bedside table, freeing your hands to latch onto his arms as he cupped your face gently.

“You sure about this, my beautiful girl?” He whispered and your breath hitched in your throat at the tender look on his face just inches from yours.

“Yes.” You nodded quickly, sliding your fingers into his hair to pull his lips back to yours greedily.

A pleased noise rolled from his throat and across your tongue as he coaxed your mouth open, his fingers shifting to make steady work at the buttons on your jacket before he unwound your hands from his dark curls to slide the garment off, tossing it in the general direction of the chair that held his. You could not help the giggle that bubbled up from your chest at that as you moved to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one.

The tug of his teeth on your lower lip quickly transformed your laughter to shuddering breath as you held tightly to the open sides of his shirt, feeling him tug your tie free from your collar before it joined the pile of clothes somewhere on the plush blue carpet of the hotel room floor. Your shirt and skirt were quick to join it, leaving you in your brassiere and slip, garter belt and underwear still hidden from view.

“You have a remarkable number of layers on, doll.” He huffed as his mouth descended along your throat to suck at the crook of your shoulder, installing a dramatic curve in your spine as you arched against him wantonly with a half-swallowed cry of pleasure.

“Y…you have almost as many…” You protested, tugging the ends of his shirt from his trousers before pushing it from his shoulders only to be met with his undershirt.

The sheer broadness of him had never quite been so very apparent and had you licking your lips as you struggled with the last barrier between you and his torso, your ID tags rasping metallically against his.

“Not nearly as complicated though.” He muttered as his fingers worked at the hook and eye closure of your bra until you felt the band go slack and he leaned back to slide the straps down your arms, making you shiver as your breasts were revealed to his hungry gaze.

Bucky’s heavy exhale fluttered against your collarbone, grown cool by the time it traversed the distance between you, and you shuddered slightly, looking to the side shyly. He leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly, pecking your lips.

“Whatcha hiding for, gorgeous?” His tone was gentle and had your eyes slowly sliding to meet his, an action he rewarded with a deep kiss.

He continued to distract you with repeated meetings your lips, each time with growing intensity as his palms slid upwards along your sides to cup your breasts. The meeting of flesh had you inhaling sharply through your nose, hands seeking anchor as your fingers twisted into his beltloops where his trousers hung open around his hips – yet again delaying you in your purpose of undressing him. As his thumbs honed in on your sensitive peaks, Bucky elicited all manner of noises from your throat only to eagerly devour them.

“D’ya have any idea how soft you are doll?” He sighed against your lips as he kneaded your tender flesh. “’Cept right here.” He smirked as he tugged at your nipples and you whined his name, pressing impossibly close against him, realizing he was anything but soft.

Your shimmies and writhes against him seemed to serve as a reminder of the greater purpose at hand and Bucky’s fingers ceased their torment, sliding down to your hips to divest you of your slip before beginning to work at your stockings. Toeing off your shoes, you pushed his trousers from his hips, letting gravity do the rest.

“So many hooks and straps and loops…” He muttered as his mouth dipped to the hollow of your throat, though his fingers seemed more than capable of stripping you down to only your underwear.

Seizing your hips, Bucky guided you back onto the bed, and you could not help the sigh at that flew from your mouth at the feel of a real mattress with springs and a duvet, drawing a broad grin across his face as he crawled over you, coaxing you to lay back.

“Precious women like you should always have luxurious beds like these. None of those stinking Army cots…” His hands slid beneath your spine to half guide, half drag you up to rest on the obnoxious mountain of pillows.

Staring up at him in awe, at a complete loss for words, you settled on pressing up onto your elbows to kiss him firmly, hoping to convey your appreciation physically rather than trying to summon speech. As his lips parted from yours to begin sliding down your body, you let out a slight huff of annoyance, earning a chuckle against your collarbone which rumbled through his chest and into your body. He lifted his head slightly as his fingers wove through the ball chain of your ID tags as he seemed to notice them for the first time.

“I always wondered if you ladies had these.”

You bit your lip to smother your grin as he never hesitated to say what was on his mind, a constant stream of commentary on the world around him, and rather than annoying, you found it utterly adorable.

“Are you laughin’ at me, doll?” He smirked and gave a gentle tug, pulling a genuine laugh from you, to which he responded with a brilliant grin. “Alright then, I’ll give you something to laugh about.” He bowed his head to drag the flat of his tongue across your nipple, your resulting whimper bouncing off the walls as he resumed his teasing of your opposite breast.

“B…Bucky…” Your eyes shot wide as his plush lips sealed around that tender peak, applying a positively euphoric suction that had you burying your fingers in his hair and pressing your body closer to his mouth in silent demand.

With careful precision, his knee slid its way between your thighs, applying coaxing pressure to each in turn until you provided enough room for him to settle between them. The feeling of his hard length slotting against your core with only the thin barrier of your underwear separating your intimate flesh had your jaw dropping open in a silent ‘oh’ – a revelation unto itself despite all the experiences you had enjoyed with him thus far. Undulating your hips against his experimentally, you shuddered at the ragged, abbreviated groan he pressed against your sternum, caught in the midst of traversing your chest. Thoroughly encouraged, you repeated the action, savagely gnawing on your lip as he bit off a curse before his mouth reached its destination and laved at your neglected nipple.

Nestling tighter against you, Bucky began to roll his hips against you in earnest, obliterating your ability to think and scheme against him at the blinding pleasure his combined actions induced. You could feel the smug angle of his lips against your abdomen as his mouth was trailing lower on your body, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear to peel it from your body. Shifting back to free the interfering item from your legs, he gazed down at you with almost black eyes, his pupils having nearly devoured his irises in his arousal, before stretching forward onto his stomach.

Blinking rapidly, you raised up on your elbows to watch him hoist one of your legs over a strong shoulder and then the other, shuffling embarrassingly close to the apex of your thighs.

“Bucky?” You squeaked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow up at you, his pink tongue darting out the wet his lips, nearly matching the flush that had painted its way across his cheeks and down his neck. “Yes, doll?”

“What…” You swallowed thickly as your throat clenched erratically.

“Making good on a promise.” He replied seriously before stretching forward to deliver a thorough kiss to your folds that fairly sucked the air from your lungs, an odd whistling sound echoing through you as you savagely burrowed your fingers into the bedding.

When his tongue narrowed in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, it was your turn to bite off a curse, slumping back onto the pillows as he hummed against you in what was surely mock sympathy as he most certainly did not let up, his efforts only doubling. As your hips began to jerk and writhe, he slung a heavy forearm across your pelvis to pin you in place, only shifting closer and tracing his forefinger around your entrance teasingly. It was all you could do not to kick and wail as you felt yourself becoming embarrassingly slick, the noises he was making growing ever so obscene and filling the hotel room.

“Fuck!” You whined against your palm as his finger finally sunk into your wet heat, its passage remarkably eased by your arousal, hips bucking hard enough to jar his arm slightly.

“Damn you’re delicious, doll.” He growled against you, lips smacking loudly as he began to suck at your pearl, finger working you open enough to add a second before beginning a demanding rhythm.

“Oh…oh...god…” You cried out in agony, too far gone to remember your desire to be quiet, feeling the tension of pending release growing ever closer under his amorous onslaught.

“I know, I know…” He soothed, only quickening his pace, hooking his fingers towards the front of your body, sending your back into a dramatic curve from the mattress, a tortured moan ripping from your throat. “Oh, I have to see that again.” He rasped and sought that precise spot with a ruthless single-minded precision until he was rewarded with not only the same reaction, but your strangled cry as your orgasm slammed into you with breath-taking force.

As you returned to earth from your visit to the celestial plane, the first sensation you became aware of was tender, damp kisses being pressed to your inner thigh as Bucky murmured soft words of encouragement to you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl, holy hell that was incredible, did you enjoy that half as much as I did?”

You managed a wordless noise in the affirmative that summoned him to your side, his lips feathering kisses up your jaw to your ear, the tickle of his moustache making you laugh breathlessly.

“Good?” He murmured and you nodded quickly, turning to look at his still-expectant face.

“Yes.” You cobbled together a verbal response, and he blessed you with a warm smile which you leaned in to press your lips against in gratitude.

“Good.” He swiped his tongue along your lips before suddenly slipping from the bed, making you raise your head in confusion.

Stalking over to find your utility bag amongst the sea of discard items and clothing, he proudly retrieved the three condoms that had announced your hopes and intentions for you by appearing in the rowboat, unceremoniously shucking off his boxers as he made his way back to you. You had held his length before, stroked it to completion, but that paled in comparison to seeing the full expanse of him in the light of day.

“My gorgeous doll, you might not say a lot, but you sure don’t mind looking at what you like.” He smirked unabashedly as he set two of the paper packets on the night table beside you, unwrapping the third to unroll the protective latex onto his cock.

Rather than letting his teasing words dissuade you, though they did cause your teeth to sink into your lower lip, you chose to allow your eyes to linger on his actions, rather fascinated by the whole process. By the male anatomy as well. Task managed, he was climbing over you once more, blocking the golden light of afternoon that was filtering in through the windows with his body, warmth radiating from his skin. He settled easily between your legs once more, still parted from his early activities as you really had not summoned the wherewithal to move yet, and stroked his length through the lingering slick gathered along your folds.

A broken sigh fell from his lips before they clashed with yours, not quite aligned, but the sentiment was still there, body shuddering as you slid your arms around him to cling to his shoulders. It was difficult to tell just whom Bucky was teasing as he continued to rut against you, the tip of his cock brushing against your overly-sensitive bundle of nerves, both of you huffing through your nostrils until at last he began to sink into you.

Tearing your lips from his, you sucked in gasping breaths at the feel of the foreign intrusion, appreciating the fact that his pace seemed to slow in response to that. Appreciating the pause he afforded you when his pelvis slotted snuggly against yours once he was seated fully inside you. Cracking open your clenched eyes, you gulped tightly as they were immediately met by Bucky’s, crowned by a furrowed brow, but flicking over your features studiously as if awaiting your instruction.

“I’m ok.” You breathed and he nodded, immediately seizing your lips in a kiss once more as he rocked forward, earning a ragged moan as your fingertips dug into the skin of his back.

His familiarity with this sort of activity had always been apparent, but was exceptionally obvious now as he slowly began the rhythmic push and pull to drive you both towards climax. The sheer intimacy of it was too much and yet it was not nearly enough, your body craving ever more, ever faster, with increasing desperation. The rare moments that Bucky’s lips were not on yours, they were filling the room with choked-off moans or statements of the filthiest order.

“God doll, you feel so fucking good around me.”

“So tight. I can feel how wet you are too, even with this rubber on.”

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t ya? You’re gripping on me like a…fuck I can’t think when you do that…”

His ability to even speak while experiencing such mind-numbing pleasure, rambling though it was, was fairly awe-inspiring. Your responses were limited to moans and whimpers and cries of his name as his supposition was correct – your orgasm was indeed imminent. All it took was the solicitous stroking of his forefinger against the apex of your pleasure to send you flying over the cliff into paradise, clinging to his body as you cried out in ecstasy.

A string of rasped curses mixed in with several sighs of your name heralded his release as Bucky finished not long after, rocking against you sloppily before sinking down onto your chest with a comforting heaviness. Stroking his back tenderly as he nestled into your neck, you grinned stupidly at the ceiling as you felt quite pleased with your choices.

The pair of you made good use of the rest of the condoms you had brought, with a short break for a meal Bucky procured while you took a bath. He returned with a bottle of brandy as well, finding you still in the bathtub. A lot of water ended up on the floor, a pile of water-logged towels your testament to the attempted clean-up. Eating in bed, you shared stories of your childhoods – Bucky’s about growing up on the shores of Lake Michigan, yours of the small two-storey house with its screen door and front porch from which you had watched your brother play with the neighbourhood boys.

You fell asleep in one another’s arms after the final condom was disposed of, the sun long set, but awoke sometime in the night to the unsettling sound of an air raid siren. Not as common in 1943, yet being as close as you were to Canary Wharves, the Luftwaffe still made the occasional bomb run. Startled to find the bed empty, you sat up sharply to see Bucky sitting in front of the window, completely naked, intermittently illuminated by the flashes of distant explosions and anti-aircraft fire.

“Sorry doll, didn’t mean to wake ya.” He muttered and you shook your head, sliding to the end of the bed.

“You ok?” You tilted your head, blinking into a particularly bright flash.

“Hmmm…” He replied noncommittally, turning back to the scene before him with a frown. “I’ve dropped a lot of those. Done a lot of killing.”

Swallowing tightly, you slid to your feet despite the way your heart was pounding in your throat, padding across the carpet towards him.

“Done your job, Bucky. Done what was asked of you.” You assured him, coming to stand behind him, setting your hands on his shoulders.

“If there’s any balance to all this, my ticket was punched a long time ago.” He muttered sullenly and it was your turn to frown.

Bending down to press a kiss to the crown of his head, you stepped in front of him to block his view, perhaps, hopefully, to block his darker thoughts as you shifted to sit on his thighs.

“Whatcha doin’ doll?” He quirked an eyebrow, mouth falling open in a silent moan as your fingers slid between your bodies to gently stroke his length.

“Lightening up.” You replied, invoking the words of your dead brother’s inscription.

It was impossible to think of a more important piece of advice or a more importance source in that moment. A young man who would never get the chance to spend one more time in his lover’s arms, who knew you better than anyone in the entire world. And you were most certainly going to follow it. You had to be up in less than three hours, to catch the first train to High Wycombe, and you would not pass up this moment with Bucky. The future was unknowable, your brother’s death had certainly taught you that.

Bucky’s fingers curled into your hips as his mouth descended onto yours greedily, clearly in agreement with your plan, despite the lack of remaining condoms. Shuffling closer, you guided his now fully hard cock into your body, your soft noises of pleasure colliding with his in the space between your parted lips. Working together, with plenty of guidance from his firm grip, you began to rocking your hips, using his shoulders for leverage. His head fell back to stare up at you in awe, jaw slack, adam’s apple bobbing viciously.

“Christ, I love you…” His face betrayed such vulnerability, lips trembling slightly, that you quickly lifted your hands to cradle his cheeks, even as your lashes grew suddenly damp.

“I love you too, John. So much.” You replied thickly, rather resenting the dramatic wobble in your voice.

The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips before his face grew serious once more and he lunged forward to kiss you hungrily, hands anchoring your shoulders so he might thrust up into your body with a sudden need. It was all you could do to hang on, though pleasure itself still managed to sweep you away, leaving you only with the vague recognition of him half pulling out mid-release.

It was terribly difficult to leave him in that comfortable, if messy, bed a few hours later. He did not make it easy either, impossible to untangle from your body like an unwieldy piece of seaweed. Yet somehow you managed to make your trains and arrive at your desk at the appointed hour. Focusing on the task at hand with the pleasurable ache between your legs was altogether another challenge, forcing you to sit on first one hip and then the other.

You had just returned after the lunch break when your phone rang, your greeting barely out of your mouth before Bucky’s question came down the line.

“Did you know you know where they played yesterday’s match?” He asked flatly and it took you several seconds to comprehend that he was speaking in code and just what he was getting at.

You swallowed painfully. “Yes, I did sir.”

Of course you did, you were in the room on Thursday night when they had chosen Bremen as the target for yesterday’s mission.

“A lot of our best players struck out, you know. Buck included.”

He sounded utterly unlike himself, cold and distant, not the man you had left just hours ago in that hotel room in London. All the same, your heart broke for him, and for yourself too. You liked Major Cleven – this war was nothing but cruel.

“I’m so sorry B-Major Egan.” You corrected yourself quickly, eyeing Myrtle across the room.

“Well I hope you all pick a better field for tomorrow’s match because I’m pitching.”

You opened your mouth to reply as your heart dropped through the floor, but the sound of the handset slamming into the cradle resounded over the line before it went dead, giving you no opportunity to speak. To wish him luck or, heaven forfend, goodbye. You hung up your phone with a slightly shaking hand as a deep sense of dread threaded its way through your stomach.

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Read Part Five - "I Trusted You!"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot, @darylas

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan imagine #john egan fic #john egan #john bucky egan #mota fic #masters of the air fanfic

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thatsrightice · 1 month

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The Army General Classification Test (AGTC) was a 40-minute, 150 multiple choice question comprehensive test used in WWII to evaluate verbal, quantitative, and spatial abilities of recruits. The Army used this exam to divide up men into one of five categories based on their raw scores:

Class 1: 130+

Class 2: 110-129

Class 3: 90-109

Class 4: 70-89

Class 5: 69 or lower

Though intended to measure one’s intelligence, the test seemed to be more of a measure of education. Regardless, it was still a reasonable way of measuring a recruit’s ability level.

The Army Air Corps received a very high number of men who scored in Classes 1 and 2. In 1942 and 1943, approximately 44% of men in the AAC scored in Class 1 or Class 2, with an additional 35% scoring in Class 3. But it’s important to remember that the Army Air Corps ONLY accepted volunteers. Of course, there’s more intensive training and exams that recruits must pass in order to become a Pilot, Copilot, Navigator, or Bombardier, but scoring high was an important first step.

#I just know Crosby scored the highest of our flyboys and I REFUSE to believe anything else #everyone’s at Thorpe Abbotts boasting about their scores and he doesn’t immediately offer his up #but then someone asks and he’s like uhhhh but bubbles is like ‘he got a 129’#then Crosby complains about how the wording on the question was ambiguous #mota #masters of the air #wwii #8th air force #100th bomb group #agct exam #agct #Army General Classification Test #army air corps

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johnslittlespoon · 14 days

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buckbucky meet–cute where they first meet at thorpe abbotts; john and curt are the ones who met at flight school instead

john and curt are biking back to base very drunk after a night in town their first day after transferring and john goes "look no hands" as they're approaching the base entrance and promptly crashes into the gate and gale watches it happen as he's walking to his barracks

john hits him with a slurred out "are you an angel?" when gale rushes over to help him up, making a face at where john's lightly scraped his forehead (while curt leans against the wall weeping with laughter at the sound john had made when he flew over the handlebars)

gale walks with the two of them and their bikes to make sure curt gets to his barracks okay, then brings john to his own barracks where he's got a little medkit to patch him up, all while john shamelessly hits on him and embarrasses himself and is half convinced he's somehow hallucinating this pretty blond in a state of alcohol induced psychosis

#hashtag will write this soon #been floating around in my head for literal months atp #i don't feel normal about it one bit #could take it the curtbuckbucky route too and have both curt and john be equally enamoured when they sober up the next day <3 #can you tell i was thinking about the bucky bike rain scene for the 100th time this week #johnslittlespoon brainrot #buck x bucky #buckbucky #clegan

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darylas · 2 months

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Chapter 2 - It’s Only a Paper Moon

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

Bucky is realizing that your performance doesn't end when you leave the stage, but he's determined to see what lies under the mask.

1.8k words

Warnings: Language, Smoking, Bucky being a little shit

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

You stood outside the officers' club, slouching against the back wall and using one hand to massage your cheeks. Before joining the American Red Cross and moving overseas, you’d never realized just how sore one’s face could get from smiling all day long. How tired one could become of the sound of their own false laughter. Never appreciated just how valuable a quiet moment alone could really be.

Your days at Thorpe Abbotts had quickly grown monotonous, though you supposed that rehearsing and performing with the band multiple days a week made your experience a bit more unique than the other volunteers’.

For you, the most difficult part of the job was not waking up before dawn to prepare doughnuts and coffee for the airmen, though you were counting down the days until your next morning off.

It also wasn’t the fact that you and your fellow ARC girls were nothing less than amateur psychiatrists, offering a comforting and listening ear to soldiers who were fresh out of combat to process their violent experiences. You felt that you had become quite adept at keeping your attitude from being too bright, thus seeming uncaring, or too sympathetic, which might evoke even darker emotions from the soldier. Thanks to these revealing conversations, you came to know a lot more than you anticipated about the horrors of war.

It certainly wasn’t performing in front of large crowds; you had always been good at that.

No, for you the most draining aspect of your job was moments like this one, the moments between musical numbers. Making small talk, smiling at all times, laughing at the same joke you’d already been told at least thirty times as if it were the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Truthfully, it felt like a much grander performance than anything you’d ever done on stage. Ever since you were a child, you cherished your alone time and preferred genuine, intellectual conversation to what felt like pointless small talk. At this point, the mask you wore during these moments seemed to be plastered to your face at all times. You would never reveal this to the men, of course. This was why you were here, to give these brave men a piece of home and to raise morale.

Of course, while ARC girls were expected to attend parties and socialize, they were not required to accept every invitation. While most of the men were harmless and polite, there were some who you would prefer to avoid interaction with altogether. Major Egan being one of them.

You had always been one to trust your instincts about a person, and something about the major kept you at a distance. For one, he was full of himself, or at least he seemed to be. You supposed that was not uncommon in young officers with higher ranks. For another thing, word spread among the women fast enough for you to know that a dance with John Egan often didn’t end once the music stopped. You had no interest in being anyone’s conquest of the month.

Right now, you knew you had a few minutes before your next number. You had been able to sneak out for a moment with the rather poor excuse of needing some fresh air to boost your lung volume and vocal control. You took out your sad little lighter and a cigarette from one of the packs of four rationed to each soldier. This pack was gifted to you by a young private who said he didn’t smoke. Fresh air, indeed.

You flipped open the lid and thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times with no flame. You kept trying, but the damn thing still wouldn’t light. “Oh for crying out loud, you goddamn son of a b-”

“Need a light?”

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Bucky watched you transform before his eyes. Your posture went from slouched to straight-backed; your expression from one of annoyance and frustration to unnervingly neutral. You could certainly teach a thing or two about standing at attention to many of the airmen under his command. He had to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier.” While it was impressive, it was not the reception he had been hoping for.

“Major Egan,” you said. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he replied, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket. “And you can call me Bucky.” He ignited the lighter.

You glanced at the flame and then back at him gratefully before lighting your cigarette. “Thank you for the light, but if you don’t mind I would prefer to continue addressing you professionally.”

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me John. Mind if I have a smoke with you?” he asked, already taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth.

Bucky noticed a slight pause before you replied, “Of course not, but wouldn’t you rather join everyone else in the club? From what I gather, you’re often the life of the party.” You looked toward the door.

Bucky grinned. “I don’t know about that. Since you started singing here, I’d say you’ve earned that title yourself.” He leaned against the wall next to you, though you were now standing straight. “‘Sides, I see too much of those guys as it is. Trust me, you’re much better company.” He winked.

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and said “You’re too kind,” then gave him a close-mouthed smile. You looked away and tapped your foot absent-mindedly to the muted sound of the lively music coming from inside. Bucky took a drag of his own cigarette. You remained quiet, the tapping of your foot on the gravel and the muted jazz tune being the only sounds for several seconds. Bucky frowned. Every other Red Cross girl he interacted with made small talk, asking him questions about his home town, listening excitedly as he talked about baseball. Hell, you had more to say to your dead lighter than you did to him.

It appeared that flattery was not the key to unlocking your clearly well-protected personality. It didn’t convince you to dance with him the other night, and it certainly wasn’t working now. He scoffed to himself. Buck would smirk and say that he should’ve asked Bubbles for advice before making another attempt with you.

He could give up. Accept the fact that you clearly didn’t like him, go inside, and have a drink with the boys.

Or he could try something else. Something Buck would call him a loony for even thinking.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “Don’t, uh, don’t they interview you Red Cross girls? Before you can come overseas? I thought the ones that got sent over here had to have killer personalities or somethin’.” He glanced toward you while taking another drag.

Your brow furrowed and you turned your head toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

There you are.

“Aww, you don’t gotta beg me, sweetheart. It’s okay, I get that not everybody is cut out for this.” He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette. “I just find it odd that you made the cut. I was under the impression that the competition to get this position was pretty fierce, but maybe there are fewer girls gunnin’ for it than I thought.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, keeping a serious expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes and slightly cocked your head to the side. “I expect you to apologize for that, Major.”

Bucky nodded quickly and tossed his cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt beneath his heel. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the wall once again, this time facing you. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. You do seem a little tired.” He looked at you sympathetically, then glanced down to watch you bite your bottom lip. Miraculously, he was able to tear his gaze away to look you in the eyes again, not wanting to miss your reaction.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, you looked away and disposed of your cigarette. “Thank you again for the light. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the door.

What the hell was that?

He must have inadvertently spoken the question aloud, because you abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. He started to apologize for cursing at you, but instead he said, “You’re not gonna say anything? Not a ‘how dare you?’ Not gonna call me a goddamn son of a bitch? Or do you just save that fire for your lighter?” You continued to watch him silently. “I guess you also save all the laughs and dances for every other guy here.” He pointed hard with both index fingers to his chest. “But me? Oh, lucky me, I get nothin’.” He stopped talking and looked at you with anticipation, both of his brows raised.

You finally shrugged and said, “I suppose I’m just too tired,” then started again for the door. Bucky forced himself to unclench his jaw and pry his feet from their current spot. He hurried to beat you to the door and hold it open for you.

You muttered a quiet “thank you” as you walked through, but before you could get far into the crowded room, Bucky was once again by your side.

“You know, I got a theory,” he said, his voice a little brighter than it had been just moments ago.

Whether you had meant for him to or not, he heard you let out a huff from your nose. “Oh, please,” you said under your breath.

“I told you, you don’t have to beg me, sweetheart.” He continued. “I think you know that if you dance with me, you’ll realize I’m not such a bad guy,” he said, leaning in quite close to you but giving you enough space to back away. You didn’t. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.”

You didn’t blush or move away. Instead, you maintained eye contact as the band began playing It’s Only a Paper Moon. You responded with that polite, cryptic smile that was beginning to drive him nuts, and said softly, “I guess we’ll never know.”

You didn’t wait for him to reply before making your way toward the microphone. The crowd cheered eagerly as they saw you approach. You beamed at the crowd and began to sing.

Say it’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

You motioned to the crowd to sing along with you for the next line, a silent command that everyone except Bucky obeyed wholeheartedly. For once, he was the only person in the room not singing.

But it wouldn’t be make-believe

If you believed in me

As the band played a brief interlude, you said into the microphone, “Wow, you all sound fabulous. I’m not sure why they’ve got me up here. Heck, they aren’t even paying me.” The crowd laughed and remained enraptured with your performance. As burnt up as he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t help hanging onto every note. As he watched you sing and smile and joke, he had one thought run continuously through his mind.

Just who the hell is this woman?

A/N: This one's for my fellow masking introverts. Yeah so Bucky decided to use kindergarten tactics on reader. Next chapter, he pushes her off the swings. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

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gloryofroses19 · 2 months

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Because the Night

The atmosphere in the pub was already in full swing by the time Major Bucky Egan led his group to the table Tommy saved for them.

“Jesus, it’s like those paratroopers never seen a woman before.” Curt wiped his uniform jacket, “They took one look at [y/n] and it was like Niagra Falls.”

Taking the seat Bucky held out for her, [y/n] thanked him as she sat.

“I think Ol’ Faithful Geyser at Yosemite might be a better choice Curt.” Buck replied taking a seat across from Bucky.

“Yeah, yeah whatever cowboy.” Looking at the expectant faces of Bucky and Buck, Curt sighed “Yes, Bucky I wouldn’t mind getting the drinks. Why thank you Buck, I am the kindest man in this bar.”

Ignoring Curt and Buck, Bucky leaned in closer to [y/n] watching the paratrooper across the bar tense. “So, who is he?”

Major Bucky Egan was not shocked that men looked at [y/n]. She was not only one of the few women around, but she was as pretty as a picture. And she knew it, hell it was on the reasons Bucky liked her. Her beauty caught his eye but her self assured nature drew him in. So while he didn’t love the looks men gave her in general, the look of recognition and remorse in this paratrooper in particular sent air raid sirens through his mind.

Twisting her earring with a sigh, [y/n] met Bucky’s inquisitive gaze. “My ex.”

Raising his eyebrows as if to ask for confirmation of what he just heard, [y/n] nodded to the brunette. From across the table Major Buck Clevens sat up straight as he watched the growing opposing demeanor of the pair. One that spoke of apathy while the other spoke of interest in the topic.

“Who we fightin’?” Dropping the drinks on the table, Curt rejoined the trio, “Bucky’s got that rabble rouser look on his face.”

“The ginger at 12 o’clock doing a shitty job at secretly surveying [y/n].” Buck drawled watching Bucky attempt to catch the ginger’s eye. Major Gale Clevens knew John Egan well enough to know when he was looking for a fight. Gale had seen John protective over his friends and his men, so he could only imagine what he would be like over his unofficial girl.

“No shit? Want me to fuck him up for you?” Turning around in his seat, Curt assessed the paratrooper and his friends. “There’s only four of them, we can easily take ‘em.”

[y/n] leaned back in her chair contemplating the situation she found herself in. Before she had walked into the bar, her biggest concern was how she was going to keep Bucky from serenading her tonight. But walking in and seeing her ex’s face and John’s reaction threw that concern right out of the window.

“While that is sweet of you Curt, no. It’s been two years, I’m long over him and if anyone should be scared, it should be him. I’m not the one who cheated.” Since their breakup, she hadn't put much thought into her ex or dating. And it certainly wasn’t because she was still in love with him. Rather the war broke out and she joined the WAC leaving her with little time or interest to date. Or that had been the case until Major John Egan swaggered his way onto Thorpe Abbotts base.

“That fucker… makes me wanna punch him more now.”

“If it makes you feel better Curt, I broke his nose when I found him cheating.”

“Atta girl.” Buck chuckled while sipping his ginger beer. He expected nothing less from the spitfire who stole his best friend’s heart.

“Didn’t you say you were getting harassing letters from an ex?” The arm that had been carelessly thrown over the back of her chair suddenly wrapped around [y/n]’s shoulder pulling closer to John.

“I was exaggerating, John. It was just a letter!” Placing her hand over his, [y/n] squeezed his hand in a silent plea. “Please don’t do anything stupid...” Looking for Buck for support, [y/n] was however, met with the profile of the blonde major.

Bucky chuckled as he watched [y/n]’s attempt to deter him. While he and Gale Clevens may have been opposites, Buck was a true friend. And true friends let other friends knock out the guy bothering his girl. “Won’t be considered anything stupid if it comes to you, sweetheart.”

Between the protective glint in his eyes and baritone voice, [y/n]’s heart began hammering in her chest. Grounding herself in the contrast of his rough hands against her softer ones, she was reminded of who Major John Egan was. “Look if he comes this way then you can be my knight in shining armor but right now can we just go back to flirting and listening to Curt rewrite a story about how amazing his flying is?”

Curt put hands up in defense. “Hey, I am amazing at flying and I don’t rewrite stories, I just…embellish them.”

Hooking an arm around Curt’s neck, Buck tapped a fist against Curt’s chest. “Oh embellish, what a big word for you Curt.”

Deciding that it had been far too long since he had her attention all to himself, John Egan tucked an escaped curl behind her ear before leaning in to whisper. “…So you are flirting with me, Lieutenant? Keep that up and someone might think you like me.”

The warmth of his body and the smell of his aftershave left her all but lightheaded. They had unofficially officially been an item since his second day at the base. When she decided to share her umbrella and laughter with the handsome hapless Major who lost the battle and a shoe to the English mud.

“Oh the horror Bucky…”

“Oh, calling me Bucky, you must really want me to do this for you.” Caressing her the inside of her wrist, John considered if tonight would be the night he could kiss her like he always wanted to. As a promise for it their last first kiss because the night belongs to lovers like them.

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you don’t start a bar brawl.” [y/n] supplied in response watching the smile light up across his face, knowing she had opened a can of worms. But she couldn’t say she regretted it; Bucky Egan was the sun and she basked under his warmth.

“Oh, with a request like that how can I say no?… for now.” Sharing in her laughter, John placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

Sipping his whiskey, John turned back to the group and sought counsel on his new dilemma. “What do you think boys, handsome, the way to go? No, maybe I should go with pretty boy? No, too soft. Mhmm, how about my darling future husband? Now that has a nice ring to it!”

A/N: I apparently have a thing for hand holding... I appreciate any and all feedback!

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan x female reader #major john egan x reader #mota x reader #mota fanfic #john egan imagine #masters of the air imagine #john egan fanfiction

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zevred · 1 month

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Good Friends

pining and in denial rosie is doing something to my brain chemistry

rosie rosenthal x gn!reader

wc; 699

Rosie likes to think he’s friends with everyone at Thorpe Abbott. He’s been with his crew for years and he makes an effort to befriend the new guys when they come in, even if they won’t be around for long. Even John Brady’s stopped making snide remarks, and Rosie swears the band has started playing more of the songs he likes.

He’s definitely friends with you. That’s what he says when Pappy elbows him in the ribs, grinning, and when Crosby wags his eyebrows over the rim of his glass. It’s just that you like to dance and Rosie’s usually the one to indulge you. He can’t control when the music slows down and he can’t help but pull you close because he’d never ruin the last song of the night for you.

Maybe he’s given you a ride or two on the handlebars of his bike, or when he’s conveniently forgotten his bike at home, he takes the time to walk you across base. He likes hearing your laugh and even during those late nights, your smile is radiant under the moonlight. He’s chased you through the rain and let you muss his water-logged curls. Rosie’s hands tense at his sides when he sees the hair plastered to your neck. He tells himself he’d do the same for any of his friends and brushes the wayward tendrils into place. He says goodnight but Rosie knows you’ll haunt his dreams. The curl of your lips is superimposed on the inside of his eyelids. Your whispered taunts linger, brushing up against the shell of his ear. Even the smell of you is stuck on his skin.

He does his best to scrub himself of you before each mission. Rosie knows there’s a job to be done and he hates that the thought of you might distract him. So, he uses extra aftershave the morning he flies and slicks his curls into submission. He doesn’t have time to think about his friends flying in other forts, certainly not enough time to think of you. There’s only him, his crew, and the mission. There’s no room in the plane for the ghost of you.

When he lands and interrogation is over, Crosby tells him you’ve been a live wire, on edge for hours up in Air Exec. Rosie aches to know you’ve been fretting, but when he sees you, he plasters on a cocky smile—the one that always has you rolling your eyes—and asks if you’ve been missing him.

You always look a little shaken, a little like a ghost when you see him again, but without fail you scoff and turn to walk away from him, allowing him to sling an arm around your shoulders and haul you into his side. You walk like that, hip to hip, and Rosie can almost feel your ribs folding, making room to interlace with his.

You stop outside the gear room, and the rest of Rosie’s crew is already inside, stripping out of their flysuits. It’s the two of you alone in the hallway and his name is a hoarse whisper on your lips. Rosie. He’s never Captain Rosenthal when it’s just the two of you. You called him Robert once, to accuse him of cheating in cards, and the aghast look on his face sent you into such a fit of laughter, the game of cards was abandoned. But when you say his name like that…

Rosie.

Your bodies are pressed close, near enough to share breath. You’re looking up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, cheeks flushed and—he shouldn’t notice but he does—your lips are bitten-red. He doesn’t need to hear your question to know he’ll say yes. You could ask him to fish down the moon and he’d steal it from the sky. Usually, you’re asking to see his plane or to swap sides at meals. There are some things, some things that make his breathing hitch, that Rosie wonders if you’ll ever ask. He could ask, step just an inch closer, but the question tangles in his throat and he repeats the same mantra he’s been saying for months.

You’re just friends. Good friends.

#rosie rosenthal #mota #rosie rosenthal x reader #mota fanfic #robert rosenthal #rosie x reader #masters of the air

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