#john egan x oc
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All The Things I Did (9): It's Not Fair To Make Me Feel This Much
a/n: john and cass' first time :) and then the end got really real and angsty and if you've been in my DMs recently...the conversation at the end between these two is fucking FORESHADOWING. and that is all i will say. i hope you all enjoy this and i would love to chat about this chapter because there is a lot to discuss and i made some deliberate choices to include things and not include other things. love you all so so much
warnings: smut
When Mary saw Major Egan with a towel around his waist, Lieutenant Cooper in his arms in her own towel with her ankles locked at the small of his back, their lips locked together passionately and the pair banging into the wall on their way from the showers to Cass’ billet…well she couldn’t say she was surprised. The two of them were nothing if not predictably unpredictable. She blushed and looked away quickly as his towel fell ever so slightly before the door closed.
Cass landed softly on her feet but kept her lips on his and her hands on his cheeks. Her pace slowed a little bit as she settled into the intimacy. He looked her in the eyes as he deftly freed her from the towel.
“The way you look at me…” she whispered as his eyes raked up and down her body before they locked back onto her own with a lick of his lips. “...like you worship me. Like you want to ravish me.”
“Both would be very true.” They swayed together gently as she kissed the spot where his jaw met his throat, down the length of his neck and across his clavicle before reconnecting with his lips. Her fingers played with the damp hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled her flush against him. He enjoyed feeling of her chest rising and falling with his. The reminder that she was alive and with him. That they had made it back to each other. One down, however many more to go. “I thought about you the whole time I was flying.”
“Did it feel good to be back up there?” she hummed as her fingers teased the skin of his lower stomach. He nodded as he twitched under the towel, his kisses slow and sloppy as her hand wrapped around his length. Their tongues tangled together and he massaged her ass as her hand moved at a torturously slow pace. “Does it feel good to be back down here?”
“So good.” John cupped her cheeks and stroked her with his thumbs as his hips began to move with her. Her thumb circled the tip of his cock and collected the moisture there to aid in her slow and steady and slow and steady, up and down. Her other hand reached to undo his towel so she was graced with him and nothing in the way of her hungry eyes. He was thick and flushed and leaking with his desire for her. His desire to be inside her and feel her around him and relentlessly drive her to the edge over and over again.
Cass kept her eyes on his as she dropped to her knees, pecking his tip like it was his forehead before tracing it with her tongue. She smiled at him sweetly before flattening her tongue on the underside of his shaft and tracing that delicious vein that started at the root of him. He watched her in awe, mouth agape, as he stroked her hair out of her face.
“You like it when I do that, Johnny?” Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she closed her lips around him and took as much of him as she could, her cheeks hollowed as she released him with a pop.
“Do that again, baby.” He sighed as all the tension left her body with the feeling of her tongue and lips and the look in her eyes. “Just a little more, Cass.” His hips moved forward slightly as she took another inch with a moan. John would work her into taking him to the back of her throat. They had plenty of time.
“I’m not done,” she whined as he pulled himself from her mouth completely. Her lower lip pushed into a pout and she looked up at him with sadness. Cass readily accepted the finger that he pressed between her lips and sucked it just as well as she had his cock. It twitched as if to ask him why he wasn’t letting her continue.
“We have all the time in the world, Cass. Time to do anything and everything we want to.” If only he believed his own words.
He held her hands and pulled her up, collapsing back onto her bed and catching her as gravity brought her down with him. John smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and leaving his hand around her cheek.
“When I first saw that day when you arrived from Greenland, I thought I had you all figured out. I thought you were a hotshot pilot who joined up to get girls and chase down some sense of righteousness.” She licked her lips and thought about how she could cry with the way his heart was showing through his eyes. “I don’t like being wrong but I couldn’t be more at peace with the fact that I am when it comes to you. You are so gentle and intentional and care so deeply I feel it even when you’re not with me.”
“I never want to be anywhere else other than with you,” he admitted. She laughed once and kissed him, John smiling against her lips over her happiness. A welcome change from her despair a few hours ago.
“That’s what love is, right?” she asked as she laid down on her pillow and used his dog tags so he was hovering over her. “Do you believe in soulmates?” He kissed down her throat and in a straight line to the apex of her thighs.
“I do now,” he replied honestly. His tongue flicked against her and her thighs dropped open further in response. “Just making sure you’re nice and wet for me.” He wanted to taste her. Was vaguely addicted to the hit he had gotten a few nights ago. Was chasing that high ever since.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve…done this with anyone.” Cass had fooled around and experimented and given herself to a boy in the loft of her horse barn before she graduated finishing school. Had fought like hell to keep Landry from ever even seeing her naked.
“It’s okay, baby. I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready and then we are going to go at whatever pace feels the best for you.” His thumb teased her entrance. “Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.” She flipped her hair off her neck so it was fanned out underneath her head as she settled in for whatever ecstasy that tongue of his was plotting against her. He slipped the digit passed her entrance and sighed at the tight, wet, warmth that pulsed around him. It was going to feel like heaven around his cock. “More.”
“Yeah?” He looked up at her and replaced his thumb with his middle and ring finger. She hummed.
“Better,” she whispered as she transferred her focus to the feelings he was stirring inside of her. “I fucking love your fingers. Your hands drive me-oh, fuck.” He did the trick she had liked earlier, the heel of his hand tapping her clit as he picked up the pace of his thrusting fingers.
“We haven’t even scratched the surface of the things my hands can do to you, Spook.” She moaned in response and her hips encouraged her forward to meet his thrusts equally to quicken the pace to her orgasm. “Open your eyes, baby, let me watch what I do to you.” It was a struggle but she managed to scrape together the control to look him in the eyes.
“Please, John, please. Make me cum, please.” After a few flicks of his wrist against the spot in the back of her pussy that reached all the way through her clit, the sheets of her bed were gripped between her fingers with white knuckles and her breath was replaced by moans. John watched with his own open mouth as her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her neck dropped back, leaving him the perfect view of the pert nipples of her breasts, and the silent writhing of her hips as they tried to escape his hand but he followed them closely.
“You think you’re ready for me, baby?” he asked as he offered his slick fingers to her lips. She tasted herself with a moan and a nod. John replaced his fingers with his tongue and Cass kissed him with a ferocity he could have only dreamed of. “Cass…do you have a…you got a…” He was struggling to get the word out as every time he pulled away to ask, she was pulling him back in for a kiss.
“Night stand. Top drawer.” She hadn’t packed any. Had only gotten them after her date at the pub with John. She had a feeling where the fire between them was headed. Cass had spent a night in town playing cards, enough to earn a whole pack of Lucky Strikes, then traded with one of the coffee girls for a stash of condoms.
She nipped at his throat as he deliriously reached in that direction and found the prize. He triumphantly ripped it open with his teeth and rolled the rubber down his length as quickly as he could find his bearings. For a moment, Cass felt a fleeting sense of panic. She thought of Landry and the way he had warped her mind into thinking sex was a tool for control and manipulation. Had made her believe there would never be anyone who loved and cherished and took care of her and took their time with her the way John did.
“Don’t disappear on me, Cass,” he whispered, his fingers threading through hers as he sat back and let his leg hang off the side of her bed. “Let me into that beautiful brain of yours.”
“Just thinking how…how I never thought I deserved something like this. Not after everything back home.” John smiled and pulled her up so she was now straddling his lap.
“You deserve more than I could ever give you. I’m just fighting every day to even try to come close.” She gripped at his shoulders and peppered his face with kisses. “You take the lead, Cass. Your pace.”
“Are you sure? That’s not very traditional of you, Major Egan,” she teased as she pushed his curls back from his forehead.
“I’ll have my time. Promise.” Cass lifted her hips slightly and centered herself over him, proud and ready, before locking her eyes on his. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the beginnings of him stretching her. More importantly was the look on the man whose lap she was in.
He looked carved from marble as his eyes flickered from watching the way he disappeared inside of her to watching her face. She could happily die in the crease between his eyebrows. Happily trace the contours of his neck as he strained not to ravish her like an animal. Happily bathe in the sounds of his moans and gasps. All for eternity.
“John,” she moaned, “I feel you everywhere.”
“Good, baby, want my cock to ruin you.” He wanted her to be ruined for anyone else. Wanted this to serve as his official notice to the universe that she was his and he was hers and that would be the case as long as the earth spun.
His arm wrapped around the small of her back as he helped her find her rhythm, their rhythm. She let out a gasp with each thrust up into her and pressed her chest to his so there was no space for anything other than love between them. “I love you,” he whispered, “I love you so much, Cass.” He was almost panting as she lifted her hips and brought them down at the same time his own were thrusting. With one particular grinding of her hips, John whined with pleasure and gave her the sloppiest kiss he could muster. Cass found that spot again and he seemed like he was going to burst.
“I believe you,” she whispered back, “I can feel it.” Her chest ached to return the sentiment to him, it was burning inside of her, but the ugly thoughts stayed rooted in the back of her mind that she was going to lose him. That loving him was not worth the pain that it would wreak across her life when she returned home without him to a life of despair and angry men. “Don’t ever leave me.” She could cry with the emotions bubbling in her chest. With the feeling of being held by this man like she was the most precious work of art. As if any loosening of his grip on her skin and she would float away.
“I won’t, I won’t. I’ve got you.” He held her face between his hands and brought her forehead to his, her kisses swallowing his breathless sounds as his hands on her hips worked him to his peak.
“Let go, John, let go for me.” Hidden in her words was that she had him too. That she was gripping him just as tightly, just as afraid he’d drift away, just as afraid she would take up from this dream to find herself in the sullen world she existed in before she had met John Egan.
He kissed her in a way she was sure was going to bruise her lips, as the ecstasy washed over him and cocooned them both in a bubble of warmth and comfort and commitment. His fingers sought purchase on the skin of her hips and her back as she continued to swivel them through his orgasm, milking him for all he had to give her, and holding him close as he sucked a bruised onto her neck as the high dissipated.
“That felt…better than fucking flying.” He removed his face from her neck and looked at her like he was drunk. She kissed him with a giggle and held her steady when she tried to lift off of him. “Let me stay inside you a little longer.”
“Flyboy’s found his nest, huh?” she teased. John smirked, hissing as she moved slightly and his cock twitched back to life.
“Do you think you’ve got one more in you, baby?” She nodded as her tongue tangled with his once more and his arms tightened around the small of her back. Cass kissed at his cheeks and his forehead and nose as he smiled and pecked her lips right back. “Lie down, Spook. Let me show you the stars one more time tonight.”
----
She had made sure to stop by Mary’s room on the way back from the bathroom to apologize for the sight she had witnessed earlier.
“Did you promote while I wasn’t looking, Lieutenant?” Cass blushed as Mary nodded toward the oak leaf pin on the collar of the shirt she was donning. She was only able to offer a sheepish good night in return before retreating back to the love den her and John had created.
She shed John’s shirt before falling into his welcoming arms. Cass was deliciously sated as she closed her eyes with a hum and snuggled against John’s chest.
“Thank you for listening to me. For holding me earlier and just listening and not trying to convince me the way I was feeling was wrong.”
“I get the sense, Cass, you’re not used to opening up to people.” She propped herself up on her elbow so she could look at him properly. “Even less used to hearing your emotions are valid.”
“I was raised with the fear of God and Elizabeth Cooper. If you feel anything, make sure the door is closed. Especially be sure it’s not in front of a handsome, eligible bachelor,” she added with a tap of her finger to the tip of his nose.
“Not that eligible anymore,” he murmured. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” John, by no means, viewed Cass as fragile or delicate. He touched her like she was because it was a reverence that she deserved. A care she had earned. A purposeful choice of a man to caress and trace and whisper his love for her across his fingertips. And by no means was John Egan raised that he was allowed to wear his heart on his sleeve. By no means was he allowed to show weakness or fallibility. He was raised to be a man. Strong and sure and stoic in his dogged pursuit of an archetype.
Now, with an angel in his arms, that was exactly what he wanted to be. He wanted to be her shield from all the pain the world was trying to bring down on her. Shield her from the reality of the world they were making their way through. Shield her from the blue of her past and the red of her present but usher in the gold of their future. No longer were they separate entities drifting through the cosmos but rather their paths were converging in a beautiful display of life and spirit and love. It was music across the skies. A symphonic solar burst of two souls merging for eternity.
“You promise you don’t think less of me because of what I did?” she whispered as she focused on twisting his cross around her fingers and avoided his gaze. A finger under her chin tipped her eyes back to his.
“I promise.” She was scared that she believed him. Scared that he could speak two words and soothe the type of trauma that was currently rooted in her chest. Scared that she could get used to the healing salve of his voice and his touch. “You promise that even when I leave, you’ll know I’m doing it for you? That I’m leaving my heart here with you for safekeeping?” John could feel how tenuous the love between them was. That no matter how real it was and how hot it burned that the world around them was testing its limits. He was so afraid to leave and lose any progress they made. The progress he was making towards Cass allowing herself to feel worthy of his love and deserving of returning the sentiment back to him.
“I promise.” She kissed his lips softly and did her best not to shy away from the intensity of his blue eyes as they sought to memorize exactly how she looked in this moment, a lock of her hair twisted around his finger.
“And promise me, Cass, that no matter what happens you’ll know my love for you is real. And that you deserve all the happiness in the world and you don’t have to go back to the life waiting for you in South Carolina if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t need to worry about that because we’re going home together after this. I’ll always know you love me because you’ll be there to tell me. And you’ll fall asleep every night to the sound of my heart beating for you, John Egan, only for you.” He brought her against his lips fiercely, her tears staining his cheeks as she kissed him back with tenderness.
“I’m scared,” he admitted quietly as they changed positions so she was looking up at him. “I’m so scared the universe is going to take you from me.” John needed to know she would fulfill all her hopes and dreams for the after even if he wasn’t there to live them with her. That she wouldn’t resign herself to a life with Sidney Landry and the trappings of traditional domesticity. He needed to know she would be safe and spread her wings and fly to every corner of the world she wanted to. John Egan had understood on that observation mission that he was not guaranteed making it out of here.
He couldn’t love her enough to end the war. No matter how hard he tried.
“The universe gets no fucking say.” She was leaving with him or she wasn’t leaving at all. “Where you go, I go. Nothing will ever separate us because I will always find you.” Even in death, she would find him.
“I’m going to give you everything you could ever want when we get out of here, Cass.” She smiled softly and traced her thumb along the top of his cheeks.
“I got everything I could ever want right here.” She would only ever need him. All she could ever want, ever need, was in her arms.
All Cass had known her entire life was how to fight for what she wanted. She had scratched and clawed and bled to be where she was. She had killed to get back to John in one piece. Would again without blinking.
She had meant what she said. The universe no longer had a say in the trajectory of her life. Cass had chosen him the same way he had chosen her. And she would move heaven and hell to keep choosing him if that is what it came to.
Because the only way she was going to get the future she wanted and deserved and that he was so desperate to give her was for John to be in it. There was no future without his presence.
She meant what she said. She would always find him.
Even if that meant following him to her death.
#masters of the air#john egan#callum turner#mota#masters of the air fanfiction#john egan fanfiction#callum turner fanfiction#mota fanfiction#masters of the air fanfic#john egan fanfic#callum turner fanfic#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#cass and bucky
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Still Crazy After All These Years (Bucky Egan x OC)
Summary: It's a perfect Saturday evening in spring, which means only one thing for the Egans: baseball (specifically their son's Little League game).
Note: Fluffy post-war fic of Holly and Bucky being unhinged Little League parents (but we love them for it🥲) Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: None.
“C’mon ump, that was out!” Bucky shouted from the bleachers. “Foul ball my as—butt,” he muttered to Holly, who had three-year-old Cynthia in her lap, her chestnut hair pulled up in twin ponytails that blew along with the late spring breeze.
The mid-May air was heavy with DC’s summer creeping up on them. The swampy, humid season dragged along until he finally reached fall’s reprieve. Spring was perfect, though, with its early season baseball games and cherry blossom festival.
“It’s ridiculous.” Holly shook her head, her hand in the bag of pretzels she brought along, having carefully broken some into smaller pieces for Cindy.
“Who’s pitching? Is that the Baker kid?”
She nodded. “Yeah, Terry and Lynn’s youngest boy, Danny. He’s pretty good when he’s focused.”
“I can’t see,” Cindy pouted.
“Come on up, princess,” Bucky said, lifting his daughter and holding her on his hip. “Better?”
She nodded, wrapping her small arms around him as best as she could.
“You know, when you’re a little older, they have leagues just like this for girls.”
“Honey.”
“I’m just letting Cindy know she has options!”
“Where’s Henry?” Cindy asked.
“You see him, right over there?” Bucky pointed at the boy playing shortstop whose dark, curly hair was barely contained beneath his blue baseball cap, a big orange ‘B’ for Bears embroidered on it. All of the local Little League teams were named after some type of animal, and Henry’s game schedule made him feel like he was in the Wizard of Oz with how many lions and tigers and bears were on the sheet of paper he brought home from his first day of practice.
“Henry! It’s Cindy!” she shouted, waving frantically at her brother.
The boy looked up, waving in the general direction of his family. Bucky and Holly had been in the middle of packing up the Christmas decorations when Henry asked them if he could sign up for the neighborhood Little League team that upcoming spring. Holly nearly dropped a box of glass ornaments in excitement.
Watching a major league game, Yankees or not, paled in comparison to cheering on for his own son. Even strikeouts and missed catches made Bucky overwhelmed with pride, because Henry was out there trying, making mistakes he could improve on in their backyard with Bucky’s encouragement to buoy Henry’s spirits if he felt a little discouraged—or got distracted. He had to give the coach credit. Keeping the attention of a dozen six- and seven-year-old boys long enough to teach them how to play a decent game of baseball couldn’t have been an easy feat.
“Out!” the umpire shouted.
Holly clapped as Henry’s team left the field to line up near home plate. “Now we’re talking.”
The kid batting before Henry hit a pop fly and was out before he could even make it a few feet from home plate. Bucky heard Holly take a deep breath when Henry walked up to bat. First pitch was a strike, but the second was almost perfect, the crack of the bat breaking through the crowd’s murmuring. The ball flew into the outfield, landing just in front of the chain link fence that separated the baseball field from the playground.
“Nice hit, Henry!” Bucky shouted.
Holly jumped up, bag of pretzels spilling across the bleachers. “Way to go, sweetheart!”
Bucky grabbed Holly’s hand as they watched their son pass first and make it to second before the centerfielder could throw the ball back to the infield.
“Kid’s a natural,” Bucky whispered excitedly, as all good parents do, adoration filling his chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of Cindy’s head. Holly liked to joke that the day Henry was born, Bucky cried more than their newborn baby did, but their son, and later their daughter, too, were the culmination of every hope and dream he desperately clung to for the better part of two years of just surviving. Because of that, he’d do anything for them.
He watched as the inning continued, his eyes on Henry the whole time. The next batter managed to get to first, but Henry flew past third and made a break for home just as the second baseman caught the ball.
“Go Henry!” Holly shouted. “Go go go!”
“You got this Henry! Come on buddy!”
Bucky was sure his heart was going to explode by the time Henry slid to home plate, barely a second before the ball flew into the catcher’s hand.
“Safe!” the umpire announced, nearly drowned out by Holly’s screaming.
“Attaboy Henry!” Bucky cheered.
“He did it! He fuc—flipping did it!” Holly gave Bucky a celebratory kiss, the two of them hardly able to contain their smiles long enough for their lips to meet for all that long.
The rest of the game flew by. Nothing could compare to the rush of watching Henry steal home. The Bears won by a run, and Holly and Bucky were equally convinced it was thanks to their son. As soon as they found him after the game was over, Holly engulfed him in a hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“You did fantastic, sweetie! What a game!” she exclaimed, almost looking a bit teary-eyed when she took Cindy’s hand in hers.
“Look at you! Stole home like a champ,” Bucky said with a smile, pulling off Henry’s cap to ruffle his hair.
Henry smiled, front tooth missing, the first of his baby teeth to fall out. The tooth fairy had left him a quarter to mark the occasion. “Thanks, dad.”
“I think this calls for ice cream,” Holly said, as if they didn’t go for ice cream after every game Bucky was able to go to.
Bucky nodded. “Definitely. Whatever you kids want.”
——
Scoopland was one of the first places Holly had taken him to when they were stateside and he made the move to DC with her. A neighborhood staple she frequented before the war, she’d been excited to bring him there. The place boasted over 20 different flavors of ice cream, and after trying them all over the course of their first summer together after the war, found he liked their Rocky Road the best. Holly was partial to mint chocolate chip, a newer flavor which he thought tasted like toothpaste.
Bucky walked up to the counter, tasked with ordering the ice cream while Holly wrangled Henry and Cindy into a nearby booth. She had the most difficulty getting Henry to sit down, since he spotted some friends from his baseball team on the other side of the ice cream shop.
“How’s it going Mr. Egan?” the teenage boy behind the counter asked.
“Can’t complain.”
“The usual for you guys?”
Bucky smiled. The usual. He wasn’t sure he ever figured himself to be the type of guy to have a usual at an ice cream place, but parenthood changed a lot of things. Sometimes, Cindy dealt out tea parties and temper tantrums in the same day. Henry got himself a trip to the emergency room just a few months prior while he was sledding on a snow day with his friends and went straight through a neighbor’s fence. He wasn’t sure how Holly managed on her own when he’d go away for work. At least her parents were nearby and took every opportunity to spoil their grandchildren that was presented to them.
He brought the four cups of ice cream over to the table, two in each hand, and placed the hot fudge sundae in front of Henry and tutti frutti with extra rainbow sprinkles in front of Cindy. He gave Holly a kiss as he handed her the cup of mint chocolate chip and snickered to himself when he sat down next to Cindy and saw Henry’s nose scrunched on the other side of the table.
“Listen champ, if there’s ever a day I don’t kiss your mom, that’s when you should be making that face.”
“‘S gross,” Henry said through a mouthful of ice cream.
“So is talking with your mouth full.”
Cindy stuck out her tongue, a distorted rainbow of ice cream and toppings that made Henry laugh.
“Next time, we’re taking you both to the zoo and leaving you there so the monkeys can raise you,” Holly said.
“We’re going to the zoo?” Henry asked. “When?”
“I wanna see a zebra and a giraffe!” Cindy exclaimed.
“How about next weekend?” Bucky looked to Holly for her approval, which was given in the smile that’d begrudgingly spread across her face.
Everything said and done, they made a damn good team as parents. Maybe he indulged the kids a little more than he should have, but Holly did her fair share of it too, letting Henry skip school to bring him and Cindy to weekday Nationals games for the hell of it.
“Can I go say ‘hi’ to Danny and Paul?” Henry asked, looking over his shoulder at his friends who were waving at him.
“Fifteen minutes, but we’re heading home soon. It’s past your sister’s bedtime,” Holly said. “Don’t climb over the seat, Henry, that’s—” She sighed as he climbed over the back of the booth anyway, leaving a streak of dirt from his sneakers behind him. “He definitely gets it from you.”
“Me? The first time I met your parents, they made a point to tell me how much of a wild child you were,” Bucky reminded her with a grin.
Her parents were gracious enough to let him stay with them until he and Holly found a place of their own, although he was sure her returning with a ring on her finger made it easier for them to welcome him into their home. Holly must have done a hell of a job talking him up in her letters to them, because none of the awkward tension he’d been expecting was there when he first walked through the door to meet them.
Holly laughed to herself as she wiped off the seat with a napkin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Drawing on your bedroom walls?” he pressed.
“Can I draw on my walls?” Cindy asked.
“No. It wasn’t good when mommy did it.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have nice paper we bought for you to draw on, baby,” Holly said.
“It’s not as fun.”
“Sure it is,” Bucky said. “Remember the other day when we drew that castle with the unicorn and the dragon?”
She yawned. “You made the unicorn look funny.”
“Are you sleepy, Cin?” Holly asked.
Despite shaking her head, Cindy rubbed her eyes. She always did whatever she could to push out her bedtime, as if she were afraid she might miss something big if she went to sleep.
“I guess I should’ve asked mom and dad to watch her, huh?” Holly said. “I didn’t think we’d be out this late.”
Cindy mumbled something incomprehensible before dozing off.
Holly laughed softly, “And she’s out.”
“I got her,” Bucky said, picking up Cindy from her seat and placing her in his lap. She immediately curled up against him, and he tried not to think too much about how he wouldn’t know when the last time she’d ever do that would be. Hell, Henry was six and already ditching them to hang out with his friends. He glanced over at his son, face scrunched up in laughter at a joke one of them told him. His smile was like looking in a little mirror.
Bucky ate a spoonful of ice cream, trying to tamper down the ache in his chest.
“You ever thought this would be how you’d spend your Saturday nights?” Holly asked teasingly.
“No.” Bucky smiled. “This is a lot better.”
#bucky egan x oc#john egan x oc#masters of the air x oc#masters of the air#bucky egan#john egan#mota#mota oc#mota fanfic#hbo war#hbo war fanfic
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True North
Gorgeous banner by @lady-cheeky
Chapter XV
Excerpt:
She took a seat on the patterned armchair a few doors down from her own hotel room, legs crossing as she waited for the operators to connect her, and when they did she was surprised to hear a bit of music in the background before the familiar voice that she was starting to grow fond of came over the line, “This better be my pilot.”
“Good evening, Major.”
“God, I love the sound of that,” Bucky grinned and she could tell by his voice he was happy, “I tried callin’ about an hour ago, but they said you were on a train.”
“I was,” Frank nodded, leaning back against the cushions, “I’m in London.”
“London?” Bucky asked, jazz music continuing to play in the background, “Overnight?”
“Mhmm,” Frank nodded, although he couldn’t see it. "I'm—"
Before she was able to finish her thought, a loud voice came from Bucky's side of the call, and while she couldn't make out all of the words, she did manage to catch, "But does she have any friends?"
"Ignore Curt," the sound of Bucky shoving his friend away echoed next and Frank chuckled softly, "he's been hounding me all day."
“Tell Curt I said hello.”
“She says hi, go away,” Bucky’s words were quick and pointed and Frank smiled softly, “you were saying…?”
#john bucky egan x oc#john bucky egan x reader#john egan smut#john egan x oc#john bucky egan smut#bucky egan smut#bucky egan x oc#masters of the air fanfiction#mota fan fiction#mota fanfic
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bucky who very openly manspreads, he always sits down with a grunt, slumping down into the seat with his legs instantly parting from each other. and it’s not like it was a little part, something barely noticeable— no, his legs were spread as far as they could possibly be. buck always gripes at him about it, telling him he looks ‘easy’ in which bucky just scoffs, rolling his eyes and spreading even farther just to annoy buck.
bucky who reeks of mint, coffee, and the cologne he deems the best ever made, pour un humme.
bucky who rarely ever gets hurt, but when he does? he loves to put on a show for the nurses, wincing and groaning in pain over something simple like a paper cut, or stumbling into the infirmary with a busted lip after he decided it would be funny to box one of the majors on the british air forces. he’s always flirting, too, saying something cheesy like, “gonna take good care of me, doc?“
bucky who makes you call him sir when you’re in the empty barracks with him, as everyone else is attending the bar, he’ll tease and tease you until you’re pathetically begging him for him to fuck you— but you left out the one thing he wanted, making him click his tongue disapprovingly, “please who, huh? you gonna be good for me and call me sir, right?”
bucky who puts his military visor hat on you when you’re riding him, chuckling whenever your thighs shake at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, making some idiotic joke like, “tryna ride me like ‘m an airplane, huh, doll-face?”
#୨୧ (jules yapping) .ᐟ#♡ ׂ bucky ៵ 💋 ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆#major john egan#masters of the air#john egan x you#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john egan fanfiction#bucky egan#mota smut#mota fanfic#mota#mota spoilers#mota cast#mota edit#mota oc#major john egan x reader#major john egan x oc#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x oc#callum turner major john bucky egan#callum turner fanfiction#callum turner x reader#callum turner#callum turner imagine#austin butler
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ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ’ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ
Chapter 2 - “Hates the Perfect Word”
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“Don’t stay out here too late, Baby.”
Sergeant Ken Lemmons was only partly joking with Baby when he said this to her. However over the three weeks of getting to know the stubborn blonde, he realized it wasn’t so far fetched for her to lose track of time.
And that would be proven correct as Baby was still out on the Airstrip, working away. She found it difficult to leave seeing as the view was so beautiful. The sunset painted the sky a warm orange and pink tone. A calm breeze briefly passed her, ruffling the tall grass, the trees, and even the bottom of her dress as it did so.
Sighing, she found a comfortable spot on a nearby crate. Busying herself by screwing two engine pieces together with a basic rod. The action was done smoothly like muscle memory.
A loud sound of an engine and the screech of tires had broken her peaceful state. Internally rolling her eyes, Baby prepared herself.
That could mean only one thing.
The jeep made a rough stop in front of her causing her to look up at the person responsible for the interruption.
Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan.
Even the thought of his name sparked annoyance in Delilah. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that was so infuriating.
Maybe it was the way he walked around base like he was the king of the world. He had everybody under his spell, especially her brother Gale. She couldn’t understand how the two had ever became friends.
Or maybe it was how he would sometimes get caught looking at her but would never say anything.
It was like a game of tug of war. Always giving her signs of interest but then taking it back as if he physically and mentally couldn’t bring himself to go there with her. Like something was stopping him, more like someone.
She had a pretty good idea of who.
“A little birdy told me you were out here.” Leaning back in his seat, Bucky faced the woman.
Delilah, uninterested, gave him a nod before focusing back onto her work. “Never really liked birds.”
“Sad to hear that. They’re real fascinating creatures. I’m more of a unicorn guy myself-”
“I bet you are.”
After a beat of silence, Delilah glanced up to see him staring at her once again. It could’ve been because she had just rudely interrupted him but by the way the corner of his mouth twitched into his signature smirk made her think differently.
His eyes held nothing but admiration as he kept his gaze on her. The way she smoothly worked away like it was her second nature was wildly attractive. Not to mention the quick wits that shamelessly left her pretty mouth, which instead of feeling insulted he would always feel more amazed by her.
“Gale send you out here?”
“No.”
“So tell me…Major Bucky,” The name rolled off her tongue as a taunt. Placing the tool and engine piece down beside her, she leaned back onto her hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure of being in your presence?”
Bucky watched as she seductively crossed her legs and tilted her head awaiting for an answer. The reminder that she was his best friends little sister kept blaring in the back of his mind. But it was so damn hard to listen to.
“Maybe I just want to be in yours.” Copying her action, Bucky tilted his head. “You ever think of that?”
”It’s hard to when you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”
He knew exactly what she referring to. Part of it was intentional but at the same time he really never knew how to approach her. Which was odd for him.
John Egan never struggled in talking to women. However he would always overthink with Delilah. She made him nervous, in a good way.
“Can’t say I know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Bucky let out a nervous scoff knowing he had been called out.
The use of the nickname made Baby raise her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s a new one.”
“You like it?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been called many things, Major Bucky, but sweet has never been one of them.”
“What?” He dropped his jaw dramatically, pretended to be shocked. “You’re the sweetest.”
Bucky watched as she let out an adorable laugh as she threw her head back. A small wave of pride washed over him at the fact that he got her to smile, let alone talk to him for more than five seconds.
“If I’m sweet then you’re a good singer.” She playfully jutted.
“Oh,” He placed a hand on his heart. “You wound me, Baby. I’d have you know I’m an excellent singer.”
“A little birdy told me differently.”
Looking away Bucky chewed away on the piece of gum in his mouth. Damn, she was good.
“If this birdy happens to be tall, boring, and has a head full of blonde hair on his head than you should ignore him and come see for yourself.”
Delilah laughed not taking him seriously. “Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.” He said. Eyes connecting with her honey brown ones. “There’s a dance, day after tomorrow. Come and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Might skip out on this one.” She declined.
Nodding Bucky looked down. An idea popped into his head that might change her mind.
“Huh, guess you Clevens are more alike than you want to admit.”
If there was anything he learned from witnessing the Cleven sibling duo was that they both were complete opposites. Buck was more serious, rule follower, and never really liked to do anything risky.
And although he didn’t talk to Delilah much, he would notice how she liked to do things in an untraditional way. Her presence here as one of the first female mechanics proves that. She also loved to make fun out of most situations. A small joke was always at the tip of her tongue and she could never keep it there.
He’d like to bet she loved to dance too.
Picking up the tool beside her she pointed it at Bucky with an annoyed glare. “Take that back right now.”
Bingo.
“Makes sense.” He shrugged his shoulders innocently. “Guess the ‘never have a good time’ genes got passed down to both of ya.”
“I can have a good time.” She rebutted.
Bucky nodded, not really convinced at all. “Okay.”
A moment of silence passed as Bucky continued to poke fun at Delilah as she thought over his words.
Letting go of her cheek, the one she was anxiously biting, Delilah sighed. “What times the stupid dance?”
A smile of victory took plastered across the Major's face as he mentally celebrated. “I’ll be there at 8:00, that’s when the real party starts.”
“Can’t wait.” She gave him a fake smile.
Taking a look around, they both knew that it was about to get dark soon and should head back.
Reaching over the passenger seat of the Jeep, Bucky propped open the door with one arm. “Hop in, sweetheart. I’ll give you a ride back.”
“I have a bike, you know?”
“That old thing?” Simultaneously the two turned to look at the bike leaning on the side of the crate she was sitting on.
“Yeah,” Delilah smiled proudly. It was one of the things she built on her own when she first got here. “Isn’t he pretty?”
“He?”
“Well you men always refer to your cars and planes as woman, so I’d thought I’d return the favor.”
As the blonde continued to admire her piece of work, Bucky’s gaze shifted to her. Taking in her smooth tan skin and pretty freckles that he’d like to individually kiss. And finally her full lips that were just calling his name.
He watched as she grabbed the handles of the bike and easily kicked her leg over to get on it. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Baby?”
“I’d rather ride a thousand miles on this old thang than one in there with you.”
He was left speechless as she petaled away without a second thought. The fact that her and a Buck were siblings was still a shock to him.
No matter how different the two were they both had something in common. The Clevens had captured John Egans heart. With a Buck it was respect and friendship. And with Delilah.
Oh, Delilah. He hadn’t even got to know her fully yet and she already had him hooked.
Snapping out of his trance he started the engine before catching up and riding along beside her. Now he was back to looking between the road and her pretty side profile.
“Still got you to go to the dance with me.” He gloated.
Once again, John Egan had managed to make her smile. Shaking her head she tried to petal faster but he would just match her speed. “I hate you!”
“Hates a strong word.”
“Hates the perfect word.”
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A/N : As y’all can tell I love a good slow burn. Hope y’all liked it! Let me know your thoughts on it please, I love to hear feedback.
ALSO DAYUM YALL REALLY CAME THREW WITH THE LIKES ON MY POSTS
Tag list(I can’t believe I have those now🤭):
@valenftcrush
@justheretoreadthhx
#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#madelyn cline#callum turner x reader#bucky egan#gale cleven#callum turner#buck cleven#austin butler#masters of the air#mota fanfic#motaedit#mota#mota spoilers#ken lemmons#harry crosby
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Birdie
John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader
Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.
Word Count: 2.9k
Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"
A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)
You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!
Songs Mentioned in This Fic:
Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters
G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer
The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.
Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.
Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.
You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.
It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly.
All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.
Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.
“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”
Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.
Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.
“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”
You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”
Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.
An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.
“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.
“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.
You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.
“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”
They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.
“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.
“He brings you coffee every morning.”
“I thought he does that for everyone.”
“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”
“He takes care of his appearance!”
“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”
“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”
“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”
“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”
“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”
“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”
“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”
“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”
“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”
That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.
“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.
“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.
“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?”
You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.
“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.
Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands.
“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.” You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.
Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.”
“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.
“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”
You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely.
“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”
You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.
One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her.
The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.
He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way
He had a boogie style that no one else could play
He was the top man at his craft
But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft
Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.
One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.
Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,
“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”
She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her.
“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”
“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.” You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd.
“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”
The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you.
The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.
You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.
Meanwhile….
Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.
“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”
Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.”
As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?
A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over.
Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.
DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”
“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.
I’ll catch you up
When I’ve emptied my cup
When I’ve worn out my friends
When I’ve burned out both ends
Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.
His little Birdie.
“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.
When I’m pure like a dove
When I’ve learned how to love
He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.
As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love”
It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.
John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.
Then the world starts back up and carries on.
Right here in the old therebefore
When nothing is left anymore
Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base.
The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.
Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred.
Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.
“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.
His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.
Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.
“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”
Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.
His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“I know, Buck. I know.”
Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.
“She kinda snuck up on me.”
#masters of the air#mota#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john bucky egan#john bucky egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#john egan x female reader#bucky fanfic#bucky egan fanfiction#mota spoilers#ken lemmons#gale cleven#buck and bucky#buck x bucky#john egan#bucky egan#crank cruikshank#charles cruikshank#curt biddick#buck cleven#gale buck cleven#harry crosby#bubbles payne#hbo war#hbo war fanfic#hbo war fandom#hbo war oc
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Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series
Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.
Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.
Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.
Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.
Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.
Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton
Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith 
If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.
By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.
It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.
In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.
And then handed them back over.
And on and on it went.
It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.
But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over fifty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.
But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.
The SS.
With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.
Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.
As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.
“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”
It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.
One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.
When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?
Nothing, not even where she was.
When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.
They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.
That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.
Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.
Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-
“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”
“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.
Nothing but ranks and serials.
The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.
A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.
Civilian status for a seat.
Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.
By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.
“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.
“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”
“We’d rather die.”
Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”
“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”
“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.
“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”
With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.
When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.
“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”
The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.
“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.
She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.
The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”
Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.
Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.
And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.
Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.
When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.
By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.
But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”
All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.
What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.
There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.
“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.
“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”
“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.
“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.
Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.
“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.
She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”
“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”
“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”
“I know that Lieutenant.”
“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”
“Mm.”
Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”
Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”
“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”
“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”
“It kinda is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”
“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.
“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.
“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?
“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,
“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”
Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”
Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”
“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty eight and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.
Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”
“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.
“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.
“To bitches who bite back.”
——————————————————-
Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.
He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.
“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”
“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.
Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”
“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”
He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.
“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.
“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.
As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.
And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.
“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”
“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”
“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”
“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”
Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.
“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”
“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”
Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”
“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”
“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.
John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”
Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.
“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.
“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.
“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.
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#masters of the air#mota#masters of the air fanfic#mota fanfic#mota oc#hbo war fanfic#hbo war#mota Au#gale cleven x oc#john egan x oc#john brady#Maureen Kendeigh#Ida Brady#Tallulah Smith#Austin butler#austin butler fanfiction#Gale Cleven fanfiction#john egan fanfiction#Bucky Egan fanfic#Bucky Egan#buck cleven
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Chapter 5: The Dangerous Sky
John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)
Series Masterlist
A/N: We've been planning this chapter for months now, and it's so exciting to finally post it! It's another long one lol! Please comment or reblog and tell us what you think!! Thanks for reading!! <3
Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd
Word Count: 12.7k
Monday, August 23, 1943: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base, Norwich
Regensburg, Germany…the mission that earned the Hundredth its nickname was finally over.
Nine forts lost.
Ninety men gone…just like that.
Ninety boys who would not return to their families.
Among these ninety men was Curt. Buck and John were still in shock when their small group of officers tiredly pushed through the doors into their nissen hut. A few beds were made with fresh sheets, all remnants of their previous owners long gone.
The nightstands and walls that held the pictures Ruth had admired the week before were bare, a fresh slate for a fresh face that would be arriving soon.
As he walked by Biddick’s bunk, Bucky couldn’t bear to look at it. The wound was still too fresh.
“Knowing Biddick,” he had told Buck in the Algerian desert,” He’s probably sipping on a bottle of schnapps right about now.”
Oh, how he wished he was right.
“Looks like you’ve got mail, Bucky,” Jack spoke up, pointing at the man’s bed that had a few letters thrown on the mattress.
Dropping off his bag with a thud, John sat on the edge of his bed and collected the letters silently, immediately recognizing the neat cursive handwriting on the front.
He let out a gentle sigh and smiled to himself, the corners of his lips curling just slightly. Flipping through the letters, he discovered that all three of them were from Ruth.
August 17th, August 19th, and August 21st
John opened the first one, carefully unfolding the precious letter, and began to read.
John,
Hope and I were barely able to sleep last night. Our worry for you both ate away at us, keeping us awake until the early hours of the morning. Based on what we’ve heard from Frank, that is around the time you were probably waking up in preparation for the mission. I pray for you constantly, John. I pray that God will look out for you, that He’ll protect you, and that He’ll allow you to come back to me.
I also pray that Granny’s necklace does its job. Keep it close. I like to think that it’s a little piece of me with you.
I don’t think I could imagine not seeing you again. My heart couldn’t take it. I’m afraid I have become very attached to you and your mustache, Major, so I am pushing this thought as far from my mind as I can. It has been difficult.
As I sit writing this in the loud mess hall of our base, I can’t help but think back on the dance. That first night we shared with the buzzing crowd surrounding us…the way you calmed my nerves without a word, made me smile, made me laugh. You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known, John Egan, and I worry that you may never be rid of me if you continue to treat me so.
I hold every second we’ve shared very near to my heart, and I can’t wait to see your handsome face again. If by some miracle you are back to base by the time this letter arrives, send me a response as soon as possible. I need to know you’re safe, Johnny.
I’ll be waiting for you and your letter.
Yours,
Ruth Morgan
John could almost hear the nurse’s voice in his head reading her words, and his chest filled with warmth as he traced her name lightly with his finger. If he was being honest with himself, he was taken aback by her sincerity. No woman had ever expressed feelings like these to him before.
His relationships with women had always been about a night of pleasure, physical attraction with not much feeling behind it.
But her words…
‘I worry that you may never be rid of me…’
Ruth was different in every way possible, and when he told her that first night, he had no idea just how much. Placing the letter onto his nightstand, he opened the second one from the 19th, his grin widening when he saw the first line.
Dear Hotshot,
I wanted to be the first to inform you of the Yankees’ seven-to-five loss to the Indians today. Yes, I remember our truce, but seeing that you got one last jab on Monday before we parted, I decided that I had one left myself. This makes us even now.
Now that that’s out of the way, I can revert to the loving sweetheart who is worried sick for your safe return. I really do mean it when I say you are always on my mind, John. I’ve managed to make it one singular day without seeing or writing to you before giving in and penning this letter. I simply need to get out my nerves and anxieties, thoughts and feelings, and this is the best way to do that.
Hope and I went on an evacuation run yesterday, and as we were flying, we wondered if we were near the two of you. Did Buck tell you he proposed? Well, he didn’t technically, but he told Hope he wanted to marry her after the war. Needless to say, she’s been worried sick just as I have, maybe even more with Hugh gone as well (if that’s possible).
Eyes widening, John’s gaze rose from the letter and shot across the room to Gale, who was quietly talking with Hugh at his bunk as he unpacked his bag.
Why did he not tell him?
“Got any big news you wanna share with the class, Buck?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at him while holding up Ruth’s letter.
Gale confusedly looked over at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Rolling his eyes at Hugh, Buck sauntered over to John, standing over him with hands on his hips. “What are you talking about?”
“Mrs. Hope Cleven,” the older man grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
A bashful smile appeared on Gale’s face. “I’ve got a ring and everything, now. It’ll be after all this is over.”
Standing to his feet, Bucky pulled him into a tight hug and lifted him off the ground. “Whenever it happens, I better be the best man! That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“Yeah, yeah, you will be,” Buck chuckled as John put him down, releasing him from his grip. “Just don’t tell Hugh that.”
“Hey, I heard that!” Hugh shouted across the officer's hut causing Gale to groan.
“Well, it makes sense. I am Buck’s best friend,” John retorted, sending a sly smirk Hugh’s way which only riled the man up further.
“Yeah, and Hope’s my sister. I’m his future brother-in-law.”
Gale stepped back as Hugh stomped over to them, coming chest to chest with John who just continued to playfully glare down at him.
“So what? You're a St. Louis fan,” Bucky pointed at him, a grin tugging at his lips. “That instantly makes you not best man material.”
Hugh snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and I suppose you being a great Yankees fan makes you the right choice, huh?”
“Absolutely,” John replied matter of factly. “How can you cheer for a team who lost 11-3 to the Pirates? The Pirates.”
“At least we didn’t get shut out by the Indians.”
Gale knew this wasn’t going to end well. No one could insult the Yankees to Johnny’s face and get away with it...except Ruth, of course. Before John could find a comeback, Gale stepped up, moving to stand between the two men.
“Now, now. I’m not having you two fighting over being my best man. If it’s that much of a problem, I’ll make Demarco my best man and Meatball can be the ring bearer.”
Neither of the men seemed too pleased with that outcome.
“Not Demarco!”
“Yes, Demarco.”
John groaned, pursing his lips, and Hugh remained silent, looking at the ground solemnly at their childish behavior.
“You should choose whoever you want to be your best man, but-” John began with a nod before Hugh interrupted.
“Yeah pick who you want, Gale. Hope will probably want me to walk her down the aisle anyway so I’ll probably be in the bridal party instead.”
John snickered with raised brows as he imagined Hugh in a bridesmaid’s dress, but he fell silent when Gale elbowed him in the ribs, shooting him a glare..
“Come here,” Bucky pulled Gale into another hug and slapped his friend’s back, “Congratulations, Buck! You’re a helluva guy.”
“The best,” Hugh added.
As they stood there celebrating Buck’s life-changing news, the trio couldn’t help but think of their close friend who wasn’t. Their group got even smaller…
“Curt…he would,” John cleared his throat and nodded, forcing down the emotion that threatened to creep up his throat. “He would be happy for you, Buck.”
Gale’s eyes met Bucky’s and they mirrored the same emotions…hurt, regret, sadness. The men who came back never talked about those who didn’t, and both of them knew this was the one time they would.
“Yeah, he would,” Buck breathed, one side of his lips barely turning up into a mournful smile.
Silence filled the air around them there for a few moments, all three stuck in their minds until Gale spoke up.
“That from Ruth?” Buck asked, gesturing to the letter in Johnny’s hand.
He nodded once and sat down on his bunk with a soft smile, suddenly remembering the last half of Ruth’s letter he still had to read. “I’ve got another one to read after this one. Then I’ve gotta write her back.”
As Gale looked down at his friend’s lovesick gaze, he smiled to himself and shook his head. If someone had asked him if John Egan would be rushing to read love letters and send a response to a woman, one woman, whom he’d been seeing over a month, Buck Cleven would’ve told them they were crazy.
“Tell her I said hello,” Gale said quietly, patting Johnny’s shoulder before returning to his bunk.
He muttered, “Yeah, sure,” before his eyes found the paragraph he left off on. The major’s aching heart was soothed by her words as he continued to read them.
We have been busying ourselves around the base, finding things to keep our mind off the fact that we don’t know where you are…if you’re safe. I’d like to think I’d know in my heart if you were gone. I pray I don’t ever have to face that feeling.
Take care of each other wherever you are, alright? I know you watch Buck’s back like he watches yours, Johnny. Keep an eye on Hugh, as well. We both know he can be a troublemaker…like someone else I know. He, however, doesn’t have someone to reel him back in when he gets a little too crazy like you do.
I know I’m writing this like you will receive it where you are right now, and not when you return to base, but I’m doing so because it’s the closest thing I have to talking to you.
I miss you, John. Please write when you get this.
Praying for your safe return,
Your Ruthie
Scooting onto his bunk more comfortably, Bucky leaned back against the wall and opened the last letter. It was dated just two days prior, so at her current rate, another would be sent before his could reach her.
My Hotshot,
Please come home soon. The past five days have been torture. I go to see if I’ve gotten mail every single day, and each time, I leave a little more disheartened than I came. I feel my heart can’t beat inside my chest until I know you’re safe. I know you’re doing your job…a job that has to be done…but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I’m sorry, John, but I don’t have too much time to write. We’re about to leave on an evac run. I long to hear your voice and feel your warm touch. Don’t forget your promise, hon. Come back to me…sooner rather than later. I can’t handle two boyfriends, remember?
Missing you,
Your Girl
Johnny swallowed thickly, lowering the letter to his lap as his mind raced. He knew that it very easily could’ve been him that went down that fateful day over Regensburg…it was all luck.
There was a bigger chance than he’d like to admit that he’d go down, that they’d all go down, and the thought of never seeing Ruth again brought a burning to his chest. Reaching up, he grasped the necklace around his neck beside his dog tags, feeling the coolness under his fingers.
Her Granny’s necklace sure did its job.
John brought the cross to his lips, kissing it softly as he silently thanked Virginia Morgan up above for the good luck.
Once the letters were carefully stored in the growing bundle of her correspondences he kept in his nightstand, he pulled out a fresh sheet of paper and a pen. Using his book as a backer, he began to write.
Ruthie,
Hey, sweetheart. I’m glad that you kept your promise about the letters, and I’m also glad to say that I’ve managed to come back to you in one piece. By now, you’ve probably read about the raid in the papers. It was a tough one, and reading your letters helped more than you’ll ever know.
Thanks for telling me of Buck’s “proposal.” The chump hadn’t even told me about it! So much for a best friend, right?
He says ‘hello,’ by the way.
Hugh thinks he has a chance at best man, but we all know that’s not gonna happen. You’ll be the maid of honor and I’ll be the best man…I can see it now: Buck crying like a baby and you looking like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I’ve missed you, Ruthie. I still can’t believe that a wonderful woman like yourself would ever spare a poor sucker like me the time of day. Each time we part, I find myself replaying our every moment spent together. When we were stuck in the Algerian desert under the scorching sun, my thoughts always wandered back to you.
Your skin, your hair, your smile, your lips…the way you make me laugh. You are unlike any woman I’ve ever known, Ruth Morgan, and if I am never rid of you (as you wrote), I would consider myself the luckiest man in the world.
Stay safe up there on your runs for me.
Your Hotshot,
John Egan
P.S. Tell your other boyfriend that I’m back and not willing to share.
Saturday, August 28, 1944: Thorpe Abbotts AAF Base
John, Gale, and Hugh were riding from their nissen huts to the mess hall when the familiar roar of a C-47 filled the air. The sound meant their girls were on base, and it filled them with excitement as they peddled faster towards the landing strip.
“Did you know they were coming today?” Buck asked, quickly glancing over at Johnny and Hugh.
John shook his head, a lazy grin curving his lips. “No, Ruth didn’t mention it in her last letter.”
Gale nodded to himself but couldn’t shake the feeling deep down that something was wrong. As they approached the airstrip, Colonel Harding appeared, calling out to John.
“Bucky! I need to talk to you,” he yelled from the balcony of the nearby flight tower.
Holding in a groan, Johnny nodded at Hugh and turned his bike toward the tower. “Tell Ruth I’ll see her in a minute.”
It all happened so quickly.
The flight had been uneventful.
All their patients were stable, and Frank and his fellow pilot were singing together in the cockpit. Hope and Ruth had taken their seats and were enjoying resting their legs for a while.
That was until the Ack-Ack’s had started firing.
Hope hissed, resting her palm against her injured thigh as she slid out of the plane. The bloodied bandage did nothing to stem the steady flow of thick blood. It hadn't been gushing with a constant flow but seemed to increase as her heart pounded faster and faster in her chest.
Memories of the shrapnel piercing her thigh, having pranged around the aircraft before embedding itself into her, flashed in her mind. Looking back, she shouldn’t have pulled it out, but despite Ruth’s protests, she was stubborn, and without the blonde’s quick thinking at applying pressure and a tourniquet, she wondered if this would have been a different situation. Hope hated feeling weak and not being in control, but her stubbornness could have cost her life.
“You need to get that leg checked out, Hope,” Ruth glanced over, her usually soft features etched with fear and concern, but Hope, still being her stubborn self, shook her head.
“Ruth’s right, Hope. It’s a bad wound and we’d all feel a lot better if you got it checked out,” Frank added, helping the blonde with getting a stretcher into the ambulance.
“We need to tend to our patients first,” Hope shuffled over to the nearest man on a stretcher, quickly informing the stretcher-bearers of his condition before they carted him towards the ambulance.
Glancing at his watch quickly, the pilot cursed under his breath. “I’ve gotta go radio the base and let them know what happened.” He pointed at Hope as he hurried off. “Get it checked.”
“Do you need that leg looked at, Miss?” One of the young men asked, “There’s room in the ambulance.”
Hope shook her head, politely declining any assistance. That was until two familiar faces came rushing over, a mixture of fear, anger, and horror on their faces as they noticed the side of their C-47.
“What the hell happened, Girls?” Hugh asked, glancing between his sister, then Ruth, then back to Hope. “Shit! You’re bleeding.” He reached forward but Hope pulled away, shrugging him off.
“I'm fine, Hugh. It's just a scratch. I'll get it looked at later,” she dismissed him.
By now she could feel Gale’s eyes boring into her, his sharp blues missing nothing. He felt her discomfort as she hobbled along, trying to avoid resting her hand against the wound to draw attention to it.
“That looks a hell of a lot more than a scratch, Hope,” Gale stepped forward to stand beside Hugh, his movements stiff and mechanical, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to act. “You’re covered in blood.”
Hope looked down at her uniform, noticing that from her waist down both her legs were soaked in blood and she was beginning to feel lightheaded. “I said I'm fine,” Hope snapped, exasperated and in pain.
She just wanted to do her job, why couldn't they understand that?
“What happened, Hope?” Gale’s eyes were dead serious as they watched her, clearly annoyed but wracked with concern. Hope just looked back at him, unable to move or speak for fear she might cry.
“It was the Ack-Ack’s,” Ruth quietly spoke up, and the men turned to see her own blood-soaked uniform, her hands still shaking at her side. “The plane was hit by flak fire. A chunk of shrapnel went flying around… got Hope in the thigh,” Ruth sighed and let her gaze fall to the ground, knowing that Hope might not forgive her for the next part. “She pulled it out herself. We applied pressure and a dressing but she needs to see a doctor.”
If looks could kill, Ruth would be six feet under the airbase by now.
“YOU DID WHAT?” Gale cried out, his face white with horror but his sharp eyes burning in a way none of them had ever seen before. “Are you some sort of idiot? Everyone knows not to pull things out of a wound. You could have bled out.” Gale’s chest was heaving as he fought the anger that built up within him. His hands clenched in fists at his side as he continued. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
Hugh reached out to him, trying to cool the situation down but Hope intervened.
“I had patients on board. I'm no good to them if I bleed out everywhere. I thought quickly and went with the best possible outcome.”
Gale snorted, waving his hands out in front of him, “Of course you did. You thought of the best possible outcome for you. What about the rest of us, Hope? What would happen if you had died?”
Hope sent him a hostile glare, jaw clenched and her lip curling slightly as she spoke, “Do you realize how selfish you sound?”
Gale scoffed, “I’m selfish. Did you for one-second think of what we'd have done if you had died?”
Despite being outside surrounded by wounded soldiers, you could have heard a pin drop.
Hope’s eyes scanned over the group, looking into the faces of her friends and seeing the same hurt looks. Ruth’s face was still tilted toward the ground with closed eyes as she listened to the bickering. The fear, the explosions, and the sound of Hope’s pained scream replayed in the woman’s mind, and she felt like her heart was going to explode inside her chest.
It was too much. It was all too much.
Ruth was vaguely aware of the rest of the group leaving the airfield, Buck trailing off after Hope as she stormed away, and Hugh marching off as well. She stood there silently, trying to keep herself from falling apart…
The second Bucky was dismissed by Colonel Harding, he jogged down the stairs to his bike outside. Pedaling to the airstrip, he could only think of Ruth’s smiling face that he would soon be seeing. The hum of engines reached his ears as he turned around the corner of a shortcut, and the sight of her familiar figure standing before the C-47 sparked even more excitement within him. A grin formed on his face and he pedaled faster, eager to greet her.
As the plane came into better view, his smirk fell as he noticed a giant hole in its fuselage. Johnny’s gaze snapped back to Ruth, and when he looked closer, his initial excitement transformed into horror. The world seemed to blur when his eyes focused on the blood-soaked flight uniform that clung to her. Panic seized him, and without a second thought, he leaped off the still-moving bicycle, letting it clatter to the concrete behind him as he sprinted toward Ruth, his boots pounding against the hard ground.
“Ruth! Ruth, what happened?” he cried desperately, his voice echoing off the nearby buildings.
Johnny reached her in a whirlwind, taking her face in his hands, his panicked blue eyes inspecting her face intensely, scanning for any sign of injury. He then moved to her torso, his hands running over her body frantically.
As his hands desperately searched Ruth’s uniform, his voice trembled with fear. “You hurt?”
For a moment, she didn’t respond, and then suddenly, her tear-filled eyes met his. The Major’s hands, once frantic in their search, were now pleading. "Ruthie, come on. Talk to me. I need to know you’re okay."
She gently placed her hands over his, stopping him. “It’s not mine,” she finally whispered, her voice strained. “We flew into a flack field, and, uh, Hope. She got hit in the leg. Buck’s with her now.”
‘Ruth’s okay,’ John repeated in his frazzled mind. “She’s okay.
A relieved sigh escaped his lips and John wrapped his arms around her, pulling the woman into him tightly. Her head was tucked into his chest as uncontrollable tremors ran through her body.
“You’re okay, doll. I’ve got you,” he murmured against her temple. “I’m here.”
His heart broke as he felt a sob rack through her body, her weak cries reaching his ears. “I-I was so scared, John. I thought we were gonna die.”
Bucky pulled back slightly and moved his hands to grasp her tear-streaked cheeks gently, her pain-filled blue eyes nearly tearing him apart.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, leaning down to meet her gaze as he wiped her tears softly with the pad of his thumbs. “You didn’t, okay? It’s over now. You’re safe, Ruth. It’s over.”
She took a shaky deep breath, trying to calm herself, but another cry fought its way up her throat and the nurse let out a choked sob. With each breathless gasp that left her lips, Ruth’s heart pounded faster and she suddenly felt her chest tightening.
John knew what the startings of a panic attack looked like, and he tried to recall how Franny had taught him to calm Lena down all those years ago when they were teenagers. Seeing Ruth’s usually bright and loving personality in such a fearful and panicked state sent his mind into overdrive.
“Ruth,” he urged, his hands still cradling her face. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
Her watery gaze met his, her breaths coming out in short uneven gasps.
“I need you to breathe.”
Taking a deep breath through his nose, John nodded at her with raised brows, worry etching his face. “With me, now.”
Ruth shook her head. “I-I can’t-”
“Yes, you can,” the Major asserted firmly, reaching for her hand and holding it against his chest. “Feel that? Breathe with me. In…” he breathed through his nose. “And out.”
After a moment, she shakily followed suit, her eyes never leaving his. The warmth of John’s hand enveloping hers and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her touch grounded her in the moment. Gradually, her breathing began to regulate, the erratic gasps giving way to steady inhales and exhales. Johnny watched her closely, his eyes searching for any signs that the attack might return.
“There you go,” he murmured. “Just keep breathing with me, doll.”
With each measured breath, Ruth felt the tightness of her chest gradually ease, the weight of her fear lifting. After a few minutes, her breath completely steadied, and the panic attack passed, leaving her drained but calmer.
Ruth leaned into John’s comforting embrace, her forehead moving to rest against his chest as she let out a shuddering sigh.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I-I’m sorry you had to see me like this, covered in blood and…and a mess.”
John placed a soft kiss to her temple. “None of that. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”
As she stepped back into his arms, her eyes welled up with tears once more. “But look at you,” she protested weakly, gesturing to the smears of blood that marred his brown button-up undershirt. “I’ve ruined your shirt.”
Bucky shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “This old thing? I’ve got a million of ‘em anyways, Ruthie. It’s just a shirt. Wasn’t even my Sunday’s best,” he reassured her gently. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t wear my lucky jacket today.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and slowly led her toward the nearby operations building, still feeling her body shaking beneath his touch. As they turned the corner, they were met with Bubbles walking past a jeep. His face scrunched in concern and the usual smile fell from his lips at the sight of the bloodied woman.
“Shit! What happened, Bucky?” he asked, quickly approaching them. “Do I need to go get Doc Stover?”
“No,” Ruth piped up, mustering the best smile she could. Even Bubbles could see straight through it.
John shook his head. “We’re alright, but I’ve gotta take your ride, Bubbles. Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s not mine. It’s Kidd’s.”
“Even better,” he smirked, opening the passenger door for Ruth before climbing behind the wheel. “Tell him I owe him one.”
Bubbles raised a brow with a barely concealed grin. “He’s gonna be pissed, sir.”
“Ehh, he’ll get over it.”
Nodding, the lieutenant turned to enter the building, but Bucky called out to him. “Oh! Bubbles, could you grab my bike? It’s somewhere near the ‘47 back there. Tell Jack it’s his for the day! Thanks!”
As the jeep roared to life, John tucked Ruth under his arm much like he did the night of the dance, and then they were off. She laid her head on his shoulder and her eyes slowly fluttered shut, sleep calling to her after the day’s events.
John peered down at her with a saddened smile as he took in her splotchy face and the blood that seemed to coat the bottom half of her uniform. Some of it even clung to her hair, the light blonde strands covered by the sticky, maroon substance.
As he felt her finally relax in his hold, he let out a shaky breath, his heart finally beating regularly in his chest again. The Major knew how terrifying flack encounters were, and he was trained in how to handle it…well, he was used to it. Ruth, on the other hand, was not. It was her job to keep men alive while in the air, not worrying about being shot out of the sky by some German on an anti-aircraft gun.
Rage bubbled from within him at the thought. If the blast was just a little closer, there was a chance that he wouldn’t be holding her in his arms. If one more-
“I missed you,” she murmured, breaking Bucky from his thoughts as she nuzzled into his shoulder. “I was so worried about you, John.”
He took a steadying breath, pushing down his anger as he ran his hand along Ruth’s arm softly. “I missed you, too, doll. And I guess we’re even now, ‘cause I think I just lost ten years of my life back there.”
A tired laugh escaped her lips. “Imagine feeling that way for 9 days.”
Johnny could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and he squeezed her shoulder, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her hairline.
“Get some shut-eye, alright? We’ve got a stop to make before we go back to my hut.”
She nodded against him as her eyes fluttered closed again, sleep quickly overtaking her.
As she slept soundly under his arm, he pulled up to a hut with a familiar figure smoking outside. “Miss Tatty,” John whisper-shouted, careful not to wake up Ruth. “Could you do me a favor?”
Raising a brow, she took a drag of her cigarette and approached the jeep, her smile falling when she saw the nurse’s bloody figure beside him. “She alright?”
“Flack hit her stick,” He sighed, running his free hand down his face. “She’s alright, but Hope got pinked in the thigh. Scared her half to death.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Could you find some extra clothes for her? She’s gonna need some fresh ones.”
Tatty nodded at him, a determined expression gracing her face. “I’ll get some now.”
It only took the woman a few minutes to emerge from the hut with a small bundle in her hand. “This should be enough,” she said, placing the bag into the back of the jeep. “But please stop by again if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Tatty. I owe ‘ya one.”
A tiny chuckle left her lips as she pointed her finger between Ruth and John. “Just don’t screw this one up, John, and we can call it even.”
“I don’t plan on it,” he grinned toothily, putting the jeep back in drive and starting down the road again. John’s hut was across the base, and he spent the short drive tapping the steering wheel to the tune of One O’Clock Jump while stealing glances at the sleeping woman in his arms.
When the jeep rumbled to a stop outside the officer’s hut, Johnny rubbed Ruth’s shoulder. “Wake up, doll. We’re here,” he said gently, a soft smile playing at his lips as she lazily sat up, blinking away the sleep in her swollen eyes. “You need to get washed up.”
Ruth lazily looked around them and realized where they were. “How long was I out?”
“Not long. Only about half an hour.”
Her eyes fell to her lap, the slick blood still staining the uniform. She was suddenly aware of how terrible she felt. It was everywhere. On her skin, in her hair…
“I feel disgusting,” she whispered, holding up her red-stained hands.
“I know, doll. Here are some clothes you can change into after you shower.” Bucky reached back and grabbed the small bag that Tatty had given him, squeezing her shoulder before getting out of the jeep. “Let me go grab my kit for you and I’ll be right back.”
The second the door shut behind him, Ruth’s gaze fell back down to her hands, on the crusted blood under her nails, on Hope’s blood. At the thought, a strike of anxiety coursed through her, and the nurse could feel her heartbeat speed up. The shaking of the plane and the sound of the hot metal flying through the cabin rang in her ears as she closed her eyes tightly.
Among the chaos in her mind, she heard Johnny’s calming words.
‘I need you to breathe…in and out.’
Following his voice, she took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to calm her racing heart. Ruth repeated the action and ached for his comforting presence beside her.
‘Breathe. In and out.’
Inside his hut, Johnny was strutting to his bunk when he heard a soft snore from his left. His eyes followed the sound to a bed across the room, a smile growing on his face when he realized it was Buck and Hope. Her dark hair was splayed on his chest, and Gale had an arm around her waist as the couple peacefully slept, their faces free from worry.
It was the most peaceful slumber Bucky had ever seen Gale have throughout their three-year friendship.
He let out a chuckle under his breath and quietly gathered his shower pack, sparing them one last glance before closing the door behind him. As John emerged from the hut, Ruth’s eyes rose to his figure. His gaze locked with hers and he could once again see the worry in her blue eyes. He quickly approached the jeep but was stopped when someone called out to him.
“Bucky?”
Johnny turned to his left, seeing Majors Dye and Veal jogging toward him with wide eyes.
“You good?” Dye asked, eyeing the smears of blood on his shirt. Bill just stared at him warily, the only emotion on his face visible by the slight crease in his brow.
“I’m fine, boys,” Bucky replied with a smirk, his eyes floating to Ruth over their shoulder. “Thanks for the concern, but you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”
The pair followed his gaze, sharing a silent look when they saw Ruth in the jeep.
“Wait,” Bill spoke up gravelly, nodding towards John’s shirt. “Is that her blood?”
Scratching his mustache, John glanced at Ruth before lowering his voice and leaning closer to them. “No, but it’s Hope’s. Buck’s in there with her. They’ve both had a real shitty day.”
Dye nodded and sent her a sympathetic smile which she shakily returned. “We’ll tell the guys to steer clear for a little while.”
John could tell Ruth was teetering again, and he clapped Glen’s back, throwing a quick ‘thanks’ over his shoulder as he walked back to the jeep, his attention completely on his girl. He rounded the bumper to lean against the passenger side, offering her his hand. “Come on, let’s go get you squeaky clean again, Ruthie.”
Nodding silently, she let him lead her to the bathhouse. Ruth stood in the corner while he turned on the shower, the hot steam already fogging up the mirrors when he stepped back and held his shower pack out to her. “I-uh don’t know how hot you like it, so I just-”
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” she replied softly, taking the pack. ”Thank you.”
He stared at her for a few moments and took in the pure exhaustion on her features, his hand instinctively reaching up to push some hair behind her ear as he spoke softly. “I’ll be right outside. Gotta make sure no one sneaks a peek of my girl.”
Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss against her lips before backing toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle, her voice stopped him in his tracks.
“John?”
He turned. “Yeah?”
“Can, um, can you stay?” she asked nervously, her eyes trained on the floor. “I don’t want to be alone.”
As Ruth’s request hung in the air, John’s mind went into overdrive. He felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks and his heart pounded in his chest. Swallowing hard, he struggled to find the right words.
“Yeah, I’ll stay,” he finally replied softly.
Even as he spoke the words, his mind was in turmoil and his thoughts spiraled out of control. John was unable to tear his gaze from her as she slowly began to unzip her flight uniform, revealing her red-tinged tank top underneath. When Ruth caught his stare, her cheeks flushed.
“Um, John,” her voice broke through the silence, her tone hesitant. “Could you…could you look away please?”
“Right,” Bucky muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the running water as he snapped out of his trance and spun to face the door. “Sorry.”
As she continued to undress, John tried to focus on anything other than what was happening behind him. He stared at the cracked cement floor, willing himself to remain composed, to keep his thoughts in check. When he heard the rustle of the curtain opening and closing, he let out a shaky breath as relief flooded through him.
Despite his efforts to focus on anything else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman on the other side of the curtain, her presence a constant in his mind. Bucky knew he should respect her privacy and give her a moment to decompress after the day’s stressful events, but the temptation proved too strong and before he could stop himself, he found his gaze drifting back to the shower.
John stole a glance through the opaque shower curtain, his body heating up at the sight of Ruth's silhouette moving gracefully beneath the spray of water. But as quickly as the temptation came, a wave of shame washed over him, and he quickly averted his gaze, chastising himself for his lack of self-control.
He traced the outline of her body in his mind, and then the shame came rolling right back again. Bucky knew he had to take his mind off of the woman…or at least try to…so he began to sing under his breath.
“Never saw the sun shining so bright,
Never saw things looking so right.
Watching the days hurrying by,
When you’re in love, my how they fly,
Blue days, all of ‘em gone,
Nothin’ but blue skies from now on…”
Ruth stood beneath the warm spray of water, letting it cascade over her weary body, washing away the dirt and grime of the day. The hot water soothed her aching muscles and eased the tension that had settled deep within her bones. Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh of relief, allowing herself a moment of rest.
As John’s soft singing filled the air, Ruth couldn’t help but smile. His voice, though not the most melodic, calmed her frayed nerves and eased the knot of fear that had lodged itself in her chest.
“John,” she called out over the sound of the water.
“Yeah?” Came his muffled reply.
“Could you sing a little louder?”
Bucky ducked his head with a grin and raised his voice, switching to a new song.
“And when I told them how beautiful you are,
They didn’t believe me. They didn’t believe me.
Your lips, your eyes, your curly hair,
Are in a class beyond compare,
You’re the loveliest girl that one could see…”
Ruth closed her eyes and let his deep voice wash over her, allowing herself to get lost in the rhythm of the song.
“And when I tell them,
And I’m cert’nly gonna tell them,
That I’m the man whose wife one day you’ll be.
They’ll never believe me. They’ll never believe me.
That from this great big world you’ve chosen me!”
As she listened to him, she began to scrub the blood from her skin, feeling a wave of emotion course through her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as the memories of the day flooded her mind, but John’s voice calmed her, and she rapidly blinked them away. She knew that she wasn’t alone…that she had someone to stay by her side…someone to take care of her.
It took her a few washes to get the dried blood from her hair, and she sighed in relief when she could run her fingers through the strands without getting caught in a tangle. The water turned off with a click, and she stuck her head out the curtain, making sure only her face was visible.
“Could you pass me my towel?”
Johnny turned back towards her and quickly averted his gaze as reached for her towel hanging nearby. “Here,” he said, extending it towards her without making eye contact before facing the door once again.
“Thanks,” she replied, accepting the towel and beginning to dry herself off.
Ruth quickly got dressed, making a mental note to thank Tatty later, and ran the towel over her sopping wet hair. Once fully ready, she spoke up, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “Okay, you can turn around now.”
Turning towards her slowly, John’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in. Her short blonde hair was slightly tousled from the shower, its natural waves making an appearance, and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. Ruth wore some navy pants that fit her perfectly with a dark, oversized wine colored sweater. Despite the exhaustion that lingered in her eyes, Johnny’d never seen something as beautiful in his 27 years.
“Wow,” John chuckled, approaching her slowly and cupping her cheek. “Would you look at that. Damn gorgeous.”
Her cheeks flushed even deeper at his words, a shy smile tugging the corners of her lips as she leaned into his touch. “You’re such a flirt,” she murmured.
Without hesitation, Johnny leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss, his hand weaving into her blonde waves. As they pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the bathhouse.
As he slowly leaned back, Ruth’s eyes caught sight of the raised scabs on his nose, cheekbone, and forehead. She reached up tentatively, barely touching them as she inspected his face.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern. “I didn’t even notice before.”
John’s gaze softened as he met her worried eyes. “Just a few scratches, Ruthie. Nothing to worry about.”
She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Was it from Regensburg?”
The Major hesitated for a moment, the mental image of Curt’s plane exploding flashing in his mind before he could stop the thought. He nodded once and forced his face to remain neutral. “Yeah.”
Little did he know that the blonde could see the pain in his blue eyes.
Ruth shook her head, a frown tugging at her lips. “You’ve been taking care of me all day, and I-I should have noticed sooner. I’m sorry.”
He reached out, gently taking her hand. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured her, giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “I’m really fine, doll. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
He forced all thoughts of the mission from his mind, focusing on the present.
“You’re lucky,” he smirked down at her, mischief floating in his eyes. “I don’t give free concerts to just anyone.”
Ruth couldn’t hold in a laugh at his remark and the soft sound echoed through the small room. “Well, lucky for you,” she teased back. “If you gave out tickets for free, nobody would show up anyway.”
John rolled his eyes playfully, his heart swelling with relief as he listened to Ruth’s laughter, even her small smile warming him from the inside out. It eased the tension and guilt in his chest and filled him with a sense of happiness that he couldn’t quite put into words. He leaned in to kiss her forehead gently, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his lips.
“You feeling any better?”
“I feel clean,” Ruth sighed wistfully. “Tired but clean.”
Gathering all her used items from the bathroom, she threw them into the dirty bin in the corner of the room. Bucky took her hand and brought them to his hut’s door, holding a finger to his lips.
“What?” she yawned as he opened the door for her. “What are-”
She cut herself off when she spotted them. Buck and Hope were still sleeping in each other’s arms, and a wide smile formed on her face when she looked up at Johnny who was already peering down at her.
‘Hope’s fine,’ she thought. ‘They must have made up.’
Ruth had to throw a hand over her mouth to keep in the excited giggle that threatened to escape her lips, and John shook his head, tugging her away from the couple to his bunk.
She sank into his bed and inhaled deeply. Ruth closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the scent of his pillow, a mixture of his cologne and the army-issue shampoo they all used. It was a comforting smell, one that made her feel at ease.
As Ruth settled onto the bed, John made his way to the footlocker at the foot of the bunk, rummaging around for a clean shirt. Turning onto her back, she stared up at him as his fingers loosened the knot of his tie, pulling it free from around his neck. He tossed it into his footlocker before moving on to the buttons of his brown uniform shirt, revealing the pink-splotched tank top beneath.
Ruth couldn’t tear her gaze away if she tried.
She watched in silence, her face burning as he shrugged off the shirt, exposing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. When he finally pulled off the tank top, leaving him shirtless, a lump formed in her throat and heat surged through her.
‘Get it together, Ruth,’ she thought.
John caught her gaze and smirked, raising an eyebrow as he placed his hands on his hips. “So you can look, but I can’t?”
Ruth sputtered for a moment, her cheeks turning an impossibly deeper shade of red, but John chuckled softly. “I’m just joking, doll. Look all you want.“
She couldn’t help but admire him openly, her eyes tracing the lines of his chest and the curve of his shoulders. He was undeniably handsome…she knew that. But seeing him like this took her attraction to a whole new level and her heart fluttered in her chest.
Ruth eyed the few things that dangled from his neck: his dog tags, a small Virgin Mary pendant, and her Granny’s cross.
Ruth silently thanked her Grandmother for bringing him back to her.
Grabbing a fresh shirt from his footlocker, John slipped it on and kicked off his shoes before settling onto the bed, sliding back to sit against the wall. Ruth shifted to make herself comfortable and rested her head on his lap as Johnny’s fingers brushed over her damp hair.
They talked quietly for a few minutes, their conversation meandering aimlessly as they both enjoyed the other’s company. Soon, Ruth’s eyelids grew heavy, and her words began to drift off mid-sentence. Bucky watched her fondly, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as she slipped into sleep, her warm breaths against his thigh.
Sighing, he carefully reached for his beat-up copy of Guys and Dolls on his nightstand and began to read, holding it up with one hand. His other hand rested on Ruth’s head as he absentmindedly stroked her hair as he read, only lifting it to flip the page.
‘Only a rank sucker will think of taking two peeks at Dave the Dude’s doll, because while Dave may stand for the first peek, figuring it is a mistake, it is a sure thing he will get sored up at the second peek, and Dave the Dude is certainly not a man to have sored up on you. But this Waldo Winchester is one hundred percent sucker…’
The only sounds filling the room were each of the four’s quiet breaths, and John was able to read a few chapters before he heard rustling across from him. He lowered his book to see Buck sitting up slightly, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” John grinned, his voice hushed.
Gale’s head lifted to get a look at his friend and a chuckle escaped him seeing Johnny with a wide-mouthed Ruth lying in his lap, her blonde hair covering his thighs. “Look at us.”
“Yeah. Who would’ve thought.”
Silence filled the air again as each thought of the woman beside them. A few moments later, John broke the stillness of the nissen hut. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s…She’s good,” Gale replied as he fought to keep a blush from his cheeks at the memory of their confession and what came after. “How’s Ruth?”
Johnny shook his head with a saddened sigh. “Real shaken up, Buck. You should’ve seen her earlier. I was…I was worried.”
“I know the feeling. She doin’ any better now?”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Finally cracked a smile and seemed herself when she saw you two.”
A gentle smile tugged at Buck’s lips as his gaze drifted down to Hope who continued to sleep soundly. Her breathing was shallow and her nose wrinkled occasionally as she dreamed. At some point, she had moved her left hand to clutch onto his shirt and he could see the ring glisten in the dim light. “I popped the question.”
“So it’s official?”
“Yep.
“Congratulations, Buck,” Johnny smiled, a brow raising a few seconds later. “I am gonna be your best man, right?”
With an eye roll, Gale nodded at him. “Of course, you are, lardass.”
“Good.”
“As if I could watch Hope walk down the aisle without you by my side.”
“Exactly. You'll be crying like a baby anyway. I’ll have to bring plenty of tissues,” John chuckled, pleased that a sleeping Hope was keeping Gale anchored to the bed. Otherwise, he thought something would have been thrown his way.
“I can’t say you’re much better,” Gale pointed out, nodding his head toward them. “Look at you. Never thought I’d see the day that John Egan wrote love letters, much less something like this.”
John chuckled and thought about how different his life had been since that day in July. “Well, I finally found one worth writing to. Ruth…she’s uh, she-”
As if she had heard her name, the blonde stirred on his lap, stretching and yawning loudly before her eyes made contact with Gale who smiled at her.
“Good morning, Gale greeted her, causing Ruth to blush. She hadn’t realized she had an audience watching her wake up and only hoped she hadn’t been snoring loudly.
She rolled onto her back to face John and was met with a gentle smile and loving blue eyes gazing down at her. “Hey there. Feeling better?”
“Still tired,” Ruth sighed and sat up, rubbing away the sleepers that had accumulated in her swollen eyes. “But I don’t think I can sleep anymore.”
John had to hold in a laugh at the way her blonde waves stuck up in all different directions from where they had dried on his lap. “Well, your wish is my command, doll, so what do you wanna do?”
“What is there to do?”
“Have you seen the hard stands yet?” Gale spoke up. “Lemmons might even have Billy and Sammy over there.”
“Billy and Sammy?”
“Two little squirts that Kenny’s taken under his wing,” John answered with a nod.
At the mention of the kids, Ruth’s face lit up, and a wide grin grew on her lips. All evidence of sleep disappeared from her features as she excitedly clambered off the major’s lap and stood to her feet, brushing her fingers through her hair to tame the wild locks.
As he watched her, Johnny felt a pang of sadness at the sight of Ruth’s sudden enthusiasm. It hit him then, that she probably hadn’t seen many kids since becoming a nurse. As a teacher, she was surrounded by them every day, and now, their innocent faces were likely a distant memory in her mind.
“They’re a handful, those two,” Bucky chuckled, rising to his feet beside her. “But they’re good kids. Come on, let’s go see if Kenny’s putting em’ to work over at the hard stands.”
Walking out of the hut, the couple sent Buck a “thanks” as they walked by him. Ruth’s eyes fell on Hope’s still sleeping figure, her heart twinging at the memories of the morning, but she didn’t worry. Gale was there to take care of her.
John and Ruth spent the short ride to the hard stands talking about their weeks, and he almost let the news of Gale and Hope’s engagement slip a few times before they rumbled to a stop in front of Muggs’ hardstand.
He was determined to keep his mouth shut for once. Bucky knew Hope should be the one to tell Ruth about her engagement, and he didn’t want to be the one to ruin the surprise.
Hopping out of the jeep, John’s eyes searched for Lemmons. “Kenny?”
Ruth glanced over at him skeptically. “He here?”
“Should be. He said he’d fix the old girl up today.”
They approached the fort, and Ruth was shocked by its sheer size. Yes, her C-47 was big, but the B-17 was different. Her plane carried supplies, people, almost anything…but this was a weapon. A weapon that took the fight to Hitler’s doorstep.
It really did look like a fortress.
Ruth reached up and trailed her fingers along its yellow nose paint, the metal rivets cool from the chilly English air as she followed John to the small hatch just in front of the right wing. Before he could stick his head into the hatch, a small boy’s face appeared sideways out the hole.
“Boo!”
Both the adults jumped, Ruth more so than Bucky, and the man jokingly groaned. “Billy! I thought Lemmons was supposed to be keeping you out of trouble?”
“Did I scare you, Major?”
John raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
“Yes,” he giggled as another boy stuck his head out the hole.
Sammy.
“Whatcha think, Ruthie?” Bucky looked over at her with his hands on his hips. “They get me?”
She grimaced playfully and nodded. “He about jumped out of his boots, boys.”
They shared a shocked look, then broke out into cheers, their faces disappearing from the hatch. “Lemmons! We got him! We finally got him!”
“They’ve been trying to scare me for weeks,” he explained, a fond grin tugging at his lips. “Finally got me.”
Before Ruth could respond, a pair of feet dangled from the hatch, and John helped each of the boys to the ground, setting them down in front of the couple. They went running off toward the tail, and then a few seconds later, a ground crewman hopped out of the hatch, his dark curls peeking out from under his beanie.
“So they finally got ya, huh, Bucky?” he asked.
“Looks like it,” he replied.
Ken’s eyes fell to Ruth beside John and he smiled, wiping his oily hands on a rag. “You must be Ruth! I’ve heard a lot about you.” He held out a hand, “I’m Ken Lemmons, but you can call me Kenny. I’m one of the ground crew chiefs.”
“Nice to meet you, Kenny. I hope you’ve heard good things,” Ruth answered, cheeks flushing at the notion that John had talked about her. She glanced up at him with narrowed eyes before shaking Ken’s hand. “There’s no telling what this one’s said.”
“Don’t worry,” Lemmons chuckled. “Only good things. I promise.”
Giggles sounded from the back of the plane, and Ruth leaned to see them, her gaze instantly drawn to the boys. Following her eyes, Ken called them over. “Come here! The Major’s got someone he wants y’all to meet!”
They bounded over, just noticing her presence even though she had spoken to them minutes before.
John grinned and wrapped an arm around Ruth's shoulders as he introduced her to the boys. "Boys, this is Ruth. She's my girl."
The boys' eyes widened in disbelief, and Billy blurted out, "No way! You're way too pretty!"
Ruth busted out laughing at their innocence. "Ohhh, he’s not so bad once you get past the mustache…and the jacket…and the bad jokes…and-"
“Alright, alright. We get your point,” he groaned, pretending to be offended by dramatically clutching his heart. "Way to kick a man when he’s down. Besides, that’s a lie about the mustache."
She shrugged and ignored his question. “Nice to meet you, boys.”
They exchanged mischievous grins, clearly enjoying the banter. "Miss Ruth," Sammy said, using his hand to hide his words from John. "You’re way out of his league."
John still heard the comment and raised an eyebrow, playing along. "You think so? Well, I guess I'll just have to keep her around to make me look good."
Ruth nudged him playfully. "Smooth recovery, Major."
The boys shared another toothy and excited glance before launching into a barrage of questions. “Do you live on base? Are you a nurse? Do you fly planes? Have you ever shot down a Jerry plane?”
Ruth laughed at their enthusiasm, sparing John a blissful look as she felt almost at home in the kids' presence. “I’m a flight nurse, and no, I don’t live at Thorpe Abbotts. I fly in planes but leave the actual flying to the pilots. I just take care of my patients and leave the rest to them.”
Billy and Sammy listened intently, hanging on her every word. “Do you ever see any action?” Billy asked.
Ruth hesitated, the day’s events flashing in her mind, but a warm, reassuring hand on her back brought her back to the present. “Sometimes,” she replied carefully. “But most of the time, my friend Hope and I are too busy taking care of the wounded soldiers and getting them safely back home to notice.”
“Wow,” they marveled.
“So what do y’all do around here?”
Out of the blue, Sammy grabbed Ruth’s hand, tugging her from the men. “Come on, Miss Ruth! We have to show you the plane!”
“Yeah, you gotta see the tail gun up close!” Billy added eagerly, his toothy grin stretching ear to ear. “And the ball turret!”
Ruth glanced back at John before allowing herself to be led away by the boys. As he watched them go, he shook his head at how Ruth affected everyone she met…she was captivating.
Ken and Johnny began conversing about the Muggs’ repairs from the previous day, but the Major’s attention kept drifting back to Ruth. After the boys gave her a plane tour, the trio moved to a grassy patch nearby, plopping onto the ground with Ruth sandwiched between the two boys. They continued their animated conversation, and their laughter filled the air as she told a story of a soldier who got airsick and threw up on her shoes.
As he watched them, a thought crossed John Egan’s mind. A thought so unexpected that it caught him off guard.
She’d make a great mom.
The realization startled him. He’d never entertained thoughts of a future like that before, never met a woman who made him long to settle down and raise a family. But there he was, watching Ruth with Billy and Sammy, and the idea didn’t seem as far-fetched as before.
Ken noticed Bucky’s distraction and nudged him gently. “She’s great with ‘em.”
“She is,” he breathed, grinning as the boys broke into another fit of giggles across the hard stand. “Ruth was a teacher before she became a nurse.”
“A teacher?”
“Yeah.”
Lemmons nodded. “Makes sense. What age?”
“Junior high.”
“Well, that’s how she can handle you, then,” Kenny laughed. “She’s used to wranglin’ 13-year-olds all day!”
John threw an arm over the younger man’s shoulders, jostling him lightly. “You know, you’re probably right,” he cackled, his eyebrows raised. “You’re wise beyond your years. Sometimes I forget you’re still a squirt yourself.”
Once Billy and Sammy had to go home for supper, the couple drove back to the Officer’s Hut to catch up with Gale and Hope. Later that evening, Hugh arrived with food for the two couples, Meatball following at his heels. The large husky made a beeline for Hope, greeting her at the side of the bed.
“Hey, Meatball,” Hope mumbled, leaning as far as she could to ruffle the dog’s fur. Meatball groaned when she began scratching his ear, and he closed his eyes and tilted his head, expressing his enjoyment. “Who's a good boy?” Meatball hopped up on the bed, snuggling into Hope’s side.
“You can keep him if you want. The damn thing keeps howling. It’s driving me insane,” Hugh complained, passing Hope a bowl of steaming soup. “When Demarco gets back, I’m giving him a piece of my mind, leaving me to watch his dog all afternoon.”
Hope accepted the soup gratefully but could only manage a few mouthfuls until the wave of nausea washed over her once more, and she placed the bowl down.
“Ugh, I feel so sick.”
Gale was at her side in an instant, his hand resting on the small of her back as she bent over, head in her hands. Ruth looked anxiously at John from their seats on his bed and started to put down her bowl to help when Hope spoke up.
“It’s okay, Gale, it’s just the morphine,” she reassured him, squeezing his hand, to which he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade.
Hugh snickered, “He didn’t get you pregnant while I was away, did he?”
“With us in here? Sounds like a nightmare,” John retorted, rolling his eyes at the same time Ruth grimaced from beside him. She knew a signature Hope Armstrong comeback was incoming.
Hope glared at her brother, ”The fact that you have so little knowledge on pregnancy concerns me for your future wife.”
Hugh stuck his tongue out in response, “That’s not a no, though.”
The pillow from Gale’s bed was a near miss as it sailed past Hugh’s head, and he dodged it dramatically, glaring at his sister.
“Come on, with all the ‘Dear John’ letters Sparky gets, I’d be surprised if he ever settles down,” John joined in.
“Look who’s talking, Bucky,” Hugh retorted, pointing at Ruth with his spoon. “At least I got letters. You didn’t get a single one before Ruth came along.”
“Really?” Ruth asked quietly, surprise etched on her face.
The Major nodded with pursed lips, pushing the vegetables around his bowl before looking over at her with a small smile. “There was no one worth writing to.”
The blonde’s cheeks heated at his words, and she got caught in his gaze.
From their position across the room, Gale and Hope watched the interaction with fond smiles, both happy to see their friends with someone who so clearly adored them. The moment was interrupted when Hugh burst out laughing.
“Well, that didn’t stop you from-”
He was cut off when a pillow came sailing into the side of his face, knocking some of his soup onto his pants as the pillow fell to the bed. Hugh’s gaze flicked towards the cot the projectile came from, ready to yell at Hope, but he wasn’t expecting to see her wide eyes as she stared up at Buck in awe.
“Sorry, Charlie,” he shrugged. “It just slipped.”
Ruth and Hope broke into chuckles, but John just sent Gale a thankful glance. Bucky then turned his attention to Hugh, and the two pilots glared at each other. John was frustrated about the cheap, low-blow comment, and Hugh was still clearly sour over the best man situation. They soon gave up and went back to their soup. John’s mind, however, got stuck on Hugh’s words.
Once they’d finished their supper, a knock sounded at the door. “Everyone decent in there? Girls?”
Frank.
“Uh, yeah,” John called, lifting an eyebrow at Ruth.
The door swung open, and the Captain walked in with his lips in a straight line. “Thought you two’d be in here,” he nodded before turning to Hope. “How’s the leg?”
“I’m okay. Still hurts like a bitch, though.”
“Did you get it checked?”
Her face shifted into a grimace at the question. “I took care of it.”
“You, Hope Armstrong,” he sighed. “Are the reason I drink.”
“You know you love us,” Ruth added, tilting her head with a grin.
Frank’s attention drifted to Ruth’s figure beside John. “And how are you, Ruthie?”
The blonde looked up at John, thinking of how he’d taken care of her throughout the day. “Better now.”
“Alright, enough of the lovey eyes, you two,” he called out to them, taking a deep breath and placing his hands on his hips. “The Angel’s out of commission, and the Grove can’t send anyone tonight with the blackout, so we’re stuck here for the night.”
Both couples perked up at the news, but Hugh just groaned.
“As much as I wish I could make you stay with the Red Cross girls, I know I can’t. So you two,” Frank pointed at Gale and John. “No funny business, okay? None.”
Johnny’s mouth twitched, almost quirking into a smirk, but he was able to hold it in as Buck replied with a “Yes sir.”
“Zero funny business,” Bucky fake saluted from his bunk.
Running a hand down his tired face, Frank scratched his mustache. “Hugh, I’m counting on you to keep an eye on them.”
“Trust me, I will.”
“Alright. I’ll see you guys in the morning.”
The door closed behind him with a slam, and they all visibly relaxed. Hope moved to shuffle back onto the bed beside Gale, the wave of nausea having passed when the door flew open again.
A cool breeze filled the hut as five men strolled into the hut, apparently oblivious of the girls until the one at the front of the column spoke up.
“Would you look at that? Major ‘no girls in the hut’ Cleven has a girl on his bed,” he pointed at Hope before the man behind him tapped his shoulder, causing him to turn and notice Ruth. “And Egan, too. Shit, I’m surprised Charlie hasn’t joined in.”
Gale sighed, standing up and placing his hand on Hope’s shoulder, “Hope, Ruth, these are the boys.” Buck took a breath to introduce them, but John beat him to it.
“DEMARCOO!!” John hollered, causing Gale to groan at his friend’s childish antics.
The man at the front just smiled.
“Egan,” he greeted him before motioning towards Ruth, “How did you manage to snag yourself such an attractive broad?”
Ruth’s cheeks flushed under the other man’s gaze but John just chuckled beside her, “Must be my endless charm.”
“Sure thing, Major,” Demarco snorted, his voice lowering to a whisper as he glanced down at Ruth. “Blink twice if you need help.”
With a shove from John, Benny laughed and turned his attention back to Hope and Gale while Bubbles moved over to greet Ruth.
“Hi again,” Bubbles waved at the blonde with a kind smile. “Glad to see you’re feelin’ better, ma’am.”
Ruth nodded from where she was tucked into John’s side. “Me too. And call me Ruth, please.”
“Oh, your bike’s outside, by the way,” Bubbles added, looking over at Bucky and pointing toward the door. A smirk appeared on the lieutenant’s face as he stepped closer to the couple with a hushed tone. “Kidd was, uh, not amused, to say the least.”
“Like I said, he’ll get over it,” John remarked, glancing over Bubbles’ shoulder at the Major in question who was conversing with Bill quietly. “Looks like he’s over it now. Jack!”
“Wait-” Bubbles tried to stop him, but it was too late.
“Thanks for letting me borrow your jeep today.”
Jack scoffed bitterly and sent Johnny a sharp glare. “When you stole my jeep, you mean.”
“Come on, Jack,” John groaned. “I left you my bike.”
“A bike and a jeep are nowhere near the same thing,” Kidd argued, shaking his head with a sigh as his gaze fell on Ruth. “I know today was rough, and I’m glad you two are okay. I saw your skytrain, and you’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”
Ruth felt the familiar lump of anxiety growing in her throat, and she cleared it quietly, keeping her voice steady. “Thanks.”
“Just don’t do it again, Bucky,” Jack nodded.
“No promises.”
Kidd’s gaze shifted to Ruth with his brows drawn together. “How do you deal with him?”
“I have no idea,” she answered tightly, the anxiety still working its way up her throat. John inspected her face, noticing the way her eyes darted around the room.
“It’s a little stuffy in here, don’t you think?” he asked, meeting her anxious gaze.
Ruth nodded as Bucky waved bye at Jack and ushered her out the door. When the pair exited the hut, they were met by a beautiful sight. The sun was setting over the base and vibrant colors painted the sky above the runways. Silhouettes of B-17s lined the horizon, and the distant rumble of engines, with the occasional chatter of ground crewmen, filled the air.
Ruth took a deep breath and crossed her arms over herself, the warm sunlight on her face helping to calm her racing heart.
“Sorry, I know that was a lot of people,” he said quietly.
“It’s not that. Today’s been a lot,” Ruth sighed, pushing her hair behind her ears as she continued to stare out at the English countryside. “I just needed a second.”
They both silently watched the sun slowly disappear behind fields of wheat as far as the eye could see, each of their minds stuck on the day.
As Johnny stood beside her with his hands on his hips, Hugh’s comment about his past replayed in his head. Before he met Ruth, everyone knew he wasn’t particular about who he spent his nights with or where he spent them, and these women didn’t seem to mind either. But all that changed when Ruth walked into his life.
Despite his pickup lines and physical affection, John wanted to make sure Ruth knew she wasn’t just another of his “floozies” as Hope called them. She had to know that he felt something deeper beyond physical attraction, something real for her...as real as he’d ever felt.
Mustering up his courage, John took a deep breath and broke the silence of the quiet sunset.
“About what Hugh said earlier, or started to say,” Ruth turned to him. “It’s no secret I’ve been around,” he confessed, his eyes falling to the ground. “I’ve been with women-”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted, placing a hand on his arm.
“Yeah, I do,” he urged, moving a hand over hers. “I’ve done things I’m not too proud of. But I’ve been trying to do better…”
John acted like he wanted to say more, but stopped when a conflicted expression appeared on his face. Sensing his apprehension, Ruth squeezed his arm reassuringly.
After a moment, he decided to keep going, his voice laced with nervousness. “You make me want to be better. You make me feel…something…everything. The other girls were…I don’t know. Distractions, maybe? Something to keep my mind off of what goes on up there.”
As Ruth watched him pour out his closely guarded heart, she saw a glimpse of a man who wasn’t as secure and confident as it seemed. She saw a man who longed to be held, taken care of, and loved but was unsure how to go about it.
“But I like this,” John gestured between them. “I like us…a lot. Today made me realize just how much. And I-I don’t want to mess this up.”
Biting her lip gently, she stepped closer, reducing the already small gap between them. “I like us, too. I meant what I said in my letter, you know. About you not being rid of me.”
“I meant what I said, too,” he replied softly, tilting his head towards her as he gently placed his hands on her hips. “You’re a unicorn, doll. One in a million, one of a kind…however you wanna say it.”
Ruth’s hands slid up John’s chest and looped around his neck, her lips slowly curving into a small grin despite the burning sensation within her stomach. “Yeah?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” John nodded as a line appeared between his brows. “I wanna do this right, and I’ve never-,” he paused, inhaling deeply. “I’ve never done this before…you know? Gone steady. But I care about you. So damn much. And I want that with you.”
“I want it too.”
They stared at each other for a few moments, the setting sun casting a golden hue on John’s face as he held her in his arms.
“Good,” he finally sighed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at her. “Cause I didn’t have a plan B if you rejected me.”
Ruth chuckled under her breath and shook her head. “I could never reject you. I’ve been letting you kiss me for almost a month now, remember.”
“Well, you’d be surprised. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
She rolled her eyes, meeting his gaze again to find him searching her face for some answer to a silent question.
“So…what happens now?”
“Well,” Ruth whispered, her eyes flicking to his lips. “I was expecting you to kiss me, Major, but-”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he quickly replied, tugging her flush against him and landing his lips on hers. It was a gentle kiss that confirmed their deep attachment to the other, and their future together.
Pulling away, Ruth answered his question out of breath, her words coming out in shorts pants. “How about we take it slow and see where it goes?”
Shaking his head, John’s hands slid from her waist to her cheeks and gave her another chaste kiss. When he leaned back, he peered down at her blushing face with a wide, toothy grin. “Did you know the unicorn’s my favorite extinct animal?”
As they settled in for the night, John lounged under his covers with one arm behind his head and stared up at Ruth with a mischievous grin. “Looks like the floor’s all yours, doll,” he said, gesturing to the space beside his cot.
“Oh really?” Ruth arched an eyebrow, feigning deep thought as she glanced around the hut. “I'm sure someone else has some room if you’re kicking me out…”
Without missing a beat, Bucky quickly made room for her on the narrow bed, playfully pulling back the covers and throwing his arm out for her. “Oh wow, would you look at that? A vacancy just opened up.”
She rolled her eyes and accepted his invitation, slipping into the bed beside him, immediately feeling the comforting warmth of his body. John wrapped his arm around her, his touch gentle as he settled her close against him.
“Don’t you dare hog the blankets,” she teased, her voice soft as she nestled against his side, her hand finding its place on his chest.
Bucky squeezed her waist slightly, grinning up at the ceiling. “Don’t you worry about me. I don’t think I’ll have any problem staying warm tonight.”
Beside them, Bill grumbled in response, his voice muffled as he turned away. “Bucky, just shut up and go to sleep. Some of us are flying tomorrow.”
“Night, doll,” John whispered, chuckling under his breath before tenderly kissing Ruth’s hair.
Her eyes became heavy with the day’s exhaustion, and she lazily kissed his shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”
“Oh, they will be if-”
“John! Shut the hell up!” Jack hissed through the darkness.
Finally following their request, Bucky stopped talking and instead focused on how Ruth’s small figure fit perfectly into his bulky one like a missing puzzle piece. He let the steady rise and fall of her chest against him lull him into restful sleep that he’d been lacking since they touched down in Algeria.
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#masters of the air#hbowar#hbo war#john egan#john bucky egan#callum turner#gale cleven#austin butler#buck cleven#major cleven#major buck cleven#gale buck cleven#major john egan#john egan x oc#major john bucky egan#major bucky egan#johnny egan x oc#bucky egan#bucky egan x oc#major john bucky egan x oc#masters of the air x oc#masters of the air fanfiction#masters of the air fanfic#john egan fanfiction#bucky egan fanfiction#mota fic#mota#mota fanfiction#oc: ruth morgan#oc: hope armstrong
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Lost Letters to a lover
Part 1
Annie Hamilton was Marge's best friend. Currently, they were both saying goodbye to Gale Cleven, also known as buck. It was crowded, people all around saying goodbye to their loved ones. Lots of wives sobbing into their husband's chests begging them to stay alive, many girlfriends, and some parents. Annie was looking around as Marge was doing what most other girls were doing, crying. Annie felt bad, but as she looked around, she noticed a man, a very attractive man, standing alone. No one was saying goodbye or hugging him , she was surprised he didn't have a wife with him. She knew no one was there for him because the men were about to leave and everyone had just arrived. She noticed he was looking around as well, and then they happened to lock eyes. Something about the way he looked at her made her cheeks feel hot. He then smiled and winked at her before turning away and getting on the train.
John egan was waiting for buck as he was saying goodbye to his girl, Marge. No one came and said good bye to him. He looked around for buck then locking eyes with a gorgeous woman. She was beautiful. She had brown shoulder length hair, captivating brown eyes, and red lipstick that matched her perfectly. He smiled at the woman and winked. Knowing he would never see her again made him want her. He didn't even know her name. But yet he was in a trance he needed to know who this woman was. He noticed how she was with buck and Marge. Buck had to have known her.
Once all the men were on the train John had asked for all the details on her. Buck was confused he knew that bucky never wrote to anyone so why did he need all this info.
He found out her name was Annie Hamilton. He liked the way her name rolled of his young. He also found out her and Marge were bestfriends, she was going to college to be a am elementary teacher, and she was 23.
Once Annie and Marge got back to the college, Marge was acting weird. "Why are you acting so weird?" Marge laughed and said "oh nothing just something buck had said." Annie was confused " and your laughing about it now?" Marge laughed and went to change for bed.
That night buck was sitting in his cot and began to write
Dear Annie
You may not know me but my name is John Egan. I saw you today, with Marge and Buck. I must say you are very Beautiful, you have a face hard to forget. I barely know you but I am already in love. Buck told me all I needed to know that you were and amazing woman.
If you wish to not write me back just know you will never leave my mind.
-Major John Egan
About a week later Annie received the letter, she immediately knew who sent it and that made her happy. The man at the train station. The one with no one to say good bye to. She was definitely writing back.
Dear Major John Egan,
Your letter was greatly received and I will say it made me wish I could see your face again. I might have to ask Marge about you to see if your an amazing man.
I noticed you had no one to say goodbye to. Know that I am with you John, I will pray you make it back from you missions every time. I would like to get to know you better. For now I'll start, I don't know how much buck had said about me but I'll take a wild guess. I'm 23, I Major in elementary education, I wish to be a teacher, I love kids, some day I wish to have one of my own, and I also wish to help in the war somehow.
Marge says to volunteer as a flight nurse, but I am far to scared to go up in the those planes. Tomorrow I'm going to put my name on the list to be a nurse. I hope it wont interfere with letters I wish to send to you.
With love Annie
Dear Annie,
I hope you like the photo I added in this letter, you said you wished to see my face again. The camera buck took this photo on was horrible, he took when I wasn't looking. I was also only 22 in the photo. As long as you like the photo than I do too. But I hope that means I get a photo in return, for a Goodluck charm. Your beauty will get me through these missions.
Our base is low on nurses but my guess is they will put you on some base far away. You will probably go with a large group of woman also volunteering.
Since you want to know about me, I'm 24, I'm a major, Major John Egan, and I also wish to have a child some day.
- John egan
Dear John Egan
Your photo has captured everything I remember seeing a month ago. With that I hope you like mine. Me and marges highschool class didn't do senior photos, so we did them for college senior year.
By time this letter reaches you I will probably be on a train going to the base where I have been placed. I will most likely be nervous, not knowing anyone. I will still write to you.
With love, Annie
Part 2
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✶ Whiskey (1) ✶
- John "Bucky" Egan x OC
- Masters of the Air fandom
- Multi-chaptered story.
⚠ Warning: Rating 18+ ⚠
This story will contain explicit sexual content, mentions of unwanted pregnancy/miscarriage, cursing, violence, spousal abuse. Please read at your own discretion/risk. This story is a work of fiction and simply based on the portrayal of the actors on the show. It has nothing to do with any of the real men that these actors are playing.
A/N: Hello all!
So, this is my second Bucky story and to say i'm a bit obsessed would be an understatement. There's just something about the way Callum Turner plays him that is... I don't even know if I have the right word to describe it. I posted a couple days ago about my idea for this fic and i've finally narrowed down my choice The OC for this story will be the new Colonel's wife at Thorp Abbotts and of course drama will ensue. I just want to point out that since this story is so heavily smut driven, i'm sorry if my writing of smut is not that great. I've never written a fic so centered on it before, so this is a bit new. If you have any suggestions or comments, just let me know! Lastly, I just want to thank everyone that's read It Had to be You. I greatly appreciate each and every one of you!
If you would like to be added to the tag list, just comment your username ☺︎
Heavy breathing filled the darkened space as the distant sound of the bombs could be heard exploding on the outskirts of town. Both of us too lost in one another to care of the threat that could be dropped onto the city at any minute.
His arms wrapped tightly around my thighs, holding me down on the bed as his tongue lit a fire through my body. The whimpers slipping past my lips – begging him for mercy – our eyes meeting as he flattened his tongue against my core. My hands pulling at his messy locks, pulling as the pressure intensified as he sucked my clit.
“Oh, fuck – “ I tried pulling away – my heels digging into the mattress below.
The pleasure was something I had never felt before – my heart beating erratically as he smiled at the state I was in. “John, please.” My legs closing around his head as my walls clenched, sending me into a state of pure bliss.
My dam quickly opened, the floodgates soaking the linen sheet below as he stayed in the same position admiring his work. His hold on my legs loosened, giving me the opportunity to quickly move into a sitting position, pulling his lips onto mine. My taste on his tongue sending me into a primal state as he pulled me into his lap, the pressure building in my stomach as I take all of him, moans building in both of our throats.
“Holy fuck – “ He cursed against my lips as our hips moved in sync. The new position sending us both into an utter state of delectation.
Bruises were sure to form as his fingers dug into my hips, pulling my body harder into his as I felt him swell inside of me. His hot breath hitting my ear as my teeth pulled at his neck, no doubt to leave a noticeable mark in the morning. The friction between us was so strong as we started to reach our climax – our ragged breathing and moans probably heard through the thin walls.
My body fell limp against his as we recovered from our high – his soft lips placing butterfly kisses behind my ear.
“Pretty good, huh?” He smirked against the skin – taking my earlobe between his teeth.
I whimpered in reply – too tired but still too turned on to speak to him in a complete sentence. Talking was what got me into this position – into his rented bed – into his arms and underneath his masculine body as he made me his own...
I was the first to wake the next afternoon – my legs acting like that of a newborn fawn as I stumbled towards the bathroom. I glanced at the mangled bed as I closed the door behind me – his body barely covered by the thin sheet. “Lord, give me strength.” Whispering to myself as I looked in the mirror. My red curls in disarray – red lipstick smeared around my bruised lips. The markings he had left littered my body – small and large – thankfully low enough to be covered from the public eye. The memories of last night replaying in my mind like an old Nickelodeon – heat pooling in my stomach at the thoughts of how he made me feel – over and over – all night long.
My fingers gripping the sink as the feeling of his lips danced across my skin. His teeth pulling as he moved along my shoulder blades – his arms wrapping around my middle.
“You’re thinking too hard.” His morning voice hinting at a rasp, causing my core to throb with want and need.
The temptation to reach back and connect my lips with his was damn near impossible – my knuckles turning white as my grip on the cast-iron intensified.
“I have to go.”
The words slipping out between low moans. His hold pulling me flush against his bare body – his cock twitching against my lower back. I knew that if I turned around in that moment, I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from him – from his kiss – from his Goddamn touch.
His nose nuzzled in my hair as his hand moved tantalizingly down my stomach, stopping just above the point of no return. “And if I want you to stay?”
I squirmed uncomfortably, rubbing my legs together, already wet just from his proximity.
“If you tell me to stop –“His index slowly moving over my slit. “I’ll quit and you can go on your merry way.” I leaned my head back against his shoulder as he added the middle finger, making slow strides as he hummed against my outstretched neck.
“You’re killing me.” My words slurring together.
He smiled against my skin as his pace increased. A slew of curse words flowed through my lips, his own finally meeting mine in a heated and much needed kiss. My arm laced around his neck, pressing our faces harder together as his fingers continued their assault. I felt like I was on the verge of fainting – dropping dead from the euphoria that was coursing through my exhausted body.
My body reacted to his touch seconds later – the sticky substance running down my legs as he removed his digits. Our bodies still pressed together – both breathing as if we’d just ran a mile.
“John – “
His hooded eyes casting down as he hummed in response. I paused for a moment, my brain and heart arguing for dominance.
“Take me to bed.”
#john egan#john egan smut#callum turner major john bucky egan#john egan x reader#john egan fanfiction#john egan x oc#callum turner x reader#callum turner smut#callum turner imagine#callum turner#masters of the air fanfiction#masters of the air#masters of the air imagine#bucky egan x oc#bucky egan#john bucky egan#bucky egan fanfiction#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan smut
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"gamble" or "quiet"? kissing out where nobody can catch them? - for Jo & Egan, of course, because I live the life of an enabler handing you another juicebox 🧃
You are the best, Killy, and thank you to you and @mercurygray for helping me break my little sick-time writer's block ♡
Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!
close to you
She’d gone with Kay back to London for a few days. Enough time to catch herself up, wire the stories she hadn’t already, knock her head against the wall a few more times over what did and didn’t go through. The damn blue slashes. Black ones too. Hell, a woman at the corner newsstand had showed Jo a letter from a boyfriend, cut into the RAF’s version of a paper snowflake. It fluttered strangely in the humid breeze, in the young woman’s hand.
She’d seen Bill March’s broken arm, sustained in some manner during an air raid, though the correspondent still had his usual cheerful smile for her, and the pallbearers carrying a distant cousin of Kay’s out of the church in Marylebone, all of twenty when his ship had been torpedoed off the coast of Italy.
She’d gotten back to Thorpe Abbotts on a Friday afternoon, the air still soupy, her suitcase with a half-broken latch and her bitten nails, a growing hole in her last pair of stockings.
It wasn’t raining. Maybe that counted for something.
Trousers then, and maybe she was optimistic, thinking she felt the air cooling a bit around her. There were small scraps of blue sky, like she’d found them in the bottom of her mother’s rag bin. Calico up in the firmament.
The coffee’s warm, if bitter, she hardly pays attention to that now. A few Clubmobile women cleaning trays in the kitchen take pity on her and sneak her a donut. She dips, sloshes, remembers the good old days of milk and cream, and wanders back outside, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming here straight from London. Her room is still hers in Norwich. Mrs. Fitzgerald had made sure she knew that. It’s a kindness she doesn’t quite have the words for.
She’ll stay in the Clubmobile quarters tonight, on the extra cot. She’d left a book in Crosby’s care last week and he’d returned it to Tatty Spaatz, a piece of stationery stuck in the middle with neat, if hurried, observations. His handwriting reminds her of Evie’s, the block print of a planner.
“Major Egan will be happy to hear you’re back,” Tatty says, and there’s almost a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her lipstick the color of red wine.
Jo hardly keeps stone-faced, a little scrunch somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement, distaste and curiosity. “I haven’t seen him,” she says.
They yawn, the seconds between the conversation outside and when he’s walking, seeing her, redirecting his path. His eyes look like he’s been squinting in low light, the mask-marks raw across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’d come out of his office. Post-mission administration, she thinks. Letters home. He writes them longhand, someone had told her. He’s never spoken about it. She’s never asked him.
And she’s not sure happy is the word she’d use, right now. But Tatty knows what she said. Happy is on the ground. A girl smiling at you. The smell of her hair, clean.
The question comes on an exhale, the tie loosened around his neck. “You wanna go for a walk?”
It feels faintly ridiculous, the way she’s not used to being asked. And it’s faintly ridiculous too, the way propriety and a respectful difference between his boots and her lace-up shoes becomes a sneak-around, a glancing journey to the far edge of the airfield, the side of an outbuilding backed by trees.
Maybe he wants something else, she thinks. Another jigger of whiskey, playing cards on the table, chips or dice or jacks. Someone else. Someone who lets him forget.
He kisses her before they’ve even stopped moving, as she rounds the corner in the half-tall grass.
She hasn’t snuck around like this in — god — she can’t remember. Years.
She can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this. A sunlit kitchen, softer. Before the leather interiors of fancy cars and class rings. She never thought it could be dressed like this, callused hands and muscle. The flutter of tiny wings falls still. A fly buzzes around their ankles; she can hear it between the sounds of his mouth, breath hot between them.
She can feel that little swatch of damp at the small of her back, the feeling of her hipbones beneath the wool of her trousers. He breaks away to kiss the side of her mouth, the short hairs of his mustache brushing her upper lip.
John, she wants to say, but maybe she can help it, the desperate act of naming him. It all sticks in her throat, like a glob of too-soft caramel. Hardening. John, John, John. “Afternoon, Major.”
He looks like he’s trying to decide something, kisses her again by her nose while he does. She’ll do the same if he’ll let her, the cuts of the oxygen mask and the freckles she can see in the light. “Afternoon, Captain.”
#masters of the air oc#mota oc#john egan x oc#bucky egan x oc#title from listening to the sinatra vdiscs while writing#not to be confused with the carpenters#i mean. you could. it would be fine also.#i've had a really fun cold for the better part of a week so this may be a little....interesting. but i'm feeling a lot better!#hope people enjoy <3#motaverse#jo's tag#anyway!#shoshi writes
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I am obsessed with your writings - like they literally make my day! I’m a sucker for some angst, so is there anyway we can have some more Cass and John angst?
THANK YOU! I am so happy to share in all my little thoughts and the fact that you all respond in the way that you do makes me so happy.
Angst...how about a little post-war this isn't as easy as we thought musings...
If there was any time for Cass to test the allegedly relaxing properties of cigarettes, it felt like now. John was looking at her with nothing behind his eyes. Like he was made of stone. Her hands were twitching at her sides and she thinks maybe a cigarette would help.
"Please don't speak to me like that." Her arms were crossed over her chest as she put physical distance between them.
"Like what? Like your emotions are invalid to me? Should be fucking familiar to you." Neither of them can really remember how this fight started. Maybe it was the martini or two she had dared to order with dinner. Maybe it was the glasses that had fallen from a waiter's tray and startled John into a cold sweat. Maybe it was the way the man who had shown them to their table looked at the skin of her thighs for an extra beat. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
"Oh? Yes, John, I'm such a cold person who never understands your heart." He lit his own cigarette and stood from where had been sitting on their bed.
"It's hard sometimes, Cass, to be with someone so capable of closing off their humanity." She felt nauseous at his words. They were a punch straight to her throat. "I'm sorry we can't all shut it off like you. I'm sorry I can't just forget it all and move on the way you have."
"I never asked you to do that." He scoffed as he looked at his shoes.
"You don't have to. It's there in the way you look at me every morning." John was having trouble getting the nightmares to stop. Cass looking at him like he would break was not helping.
"No, I don't want to force you into talking about something that you don't want to. I'm trying to meet you in the middle."
"It's fine. Just another thing we'll hopefully figure out before it ruins us, right? Add it to the fucking list." The tear rolled down her cheek as he walked past her and out the door.
Her hands were shaking.
She needed something stronger than a cigarette.
#john egan#masters of the air#john egan fanfiction#masters of the air fanfiction#mota#john egan x oc#answered#cass and bucky#john egan x reader
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Damn Yankees (Bucky Egan x OFC)
Summary: The Great American Pastime puts Sergeant Holly Dean and Major Bucky Egan’s friendship to the test when her struggling Nationals play yet another game against his beloved Yankees.
Note: I introduce you to Miss Thing herself. By the way, the Yankees and the Nationals (also interchangeably referred to as The Senators back then) played 8 or so games against each other in mid-to-late June 1943, which I don’t think is a point of accuracy anyone cares that much about. Anyway, do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.
Word count: 2k
Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Internalized thoughts about death and loss. Holly and Bucky are extremely annoying about baseball so if that’s not your thing…
Holly didn’t flinch when the door to the Air Exec office abruptly opened, and she didn’t have to look up from her typewriter to see who pulled up a chair in front of her desk and made himself comfortable.
“Morning, Bucky,” she said.
“It’s a good morning to be a Yankees fan, Holly.”
The first time Major John Egan walked through the office door, restlessness radiated off of him. Holly didn’t understand why he was assigned to Air Exec in the first place. He didn’t seem to either, but he gravitated toward her, initially amazed at how quickly she could type. When the novelty of that wore off, her feverish devotion to the Washington Nationals made him hang around anyway.
“You’re not even from New York."
“Sure, but who doesn’t love a team that wins?”
She bristled at his gloating. “Being a Nats fan builds character.”
“You know what they say about Washington, first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League.”
“We’re second this year,” she reminded him.
Mostly because all of the good baseball players enlisted, including Bucky’s hero Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, who had enlisted the USAAF earlier that spring. Bucky hoped he’d get assigned to Thorpe Abbotts at some point. Holly figured he’d stay stateside as a fitness instructor.
“Behind the Yankees,” he said.
“We’ll see after tonight’s game.”
“We’ve been wiping the floor with you.”
She scoffed. “Wiping the floor? It’s been pretty even wins.”
“You tell yourself that.”
“Well, we’re gonna win tonight.”
“Wanna bet?” he asked.
The incessant clicking from her typewriter stopped as she lifted her gaze to him. “When the Nationals win tonight, you have to do all of my filing tomorrow.”
“Alright.” He rapped his knuckles against the top of her desk as he considered his wager. “When the Yankees win tonight, you’ll do as much of my paperwork as I can get away with giving you tomorrow.”
Holly stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
Bucky gave it a firm shake. “Looking forward to my day off.”
“I’ll bring a radio to the hardstand tonight. Woody’s gonna be working late on Brady’s fort, so you can eat your words when no one else is around.”
“More like you’ll want Woody to tell you a joke to cheer you up when the Nationals lose again.”
Easy-going Woody was the perfect chaperone. Otherwise unnecessary, considering Holly and Bucky were both adults, but Holly quickly learned that just about everyone at Thorpe Abbotts had an opinion as to what constituted acceptable behavior between a man and a woman. She already had enough people talking about her, anyway.
Colonel Huglin approached, making a beeline for Bucky.
Holly resumed her typing without missing a beat, keys clicking along with the others in the room. “Good morning, Colonel,” Holly greeted.
“Good morning, Sergeant Dean,” he said, kindly enough. “Major Egan, I need to speak with you in my office.”
“‘Course, Colonel.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Major,” Holly said.
Bucky smiled, giving her a nod. “Sure will, Sarge.”
The game was technically at one in the afternoon on the East Coast, but the time difference made it a night game for those listening across the ocean. Unless Bucky got held up by Huglin, she knew he’d be there. He practically had the Yankees’ schedule memorized.
——
The summer sun wasn’t close to setting by the time the game crept up and Holly made her way to the hardstand. She kept the portable radio tucked securely under her arm while she walked. Silently prayed she wouldn’t somehow trip on the way and smash the radio to pieces just because she wanted to listen to a baseball game.
Woody waved at her in the distance, arm sweeping excitedly through the air.
“I haven’t seen you all day!” Holly shouted.
“Too long to go without seeing the likes of you!” Woody yelled back.
Woody, of course, being Private Kate Woodward, part of Ken Lemmons’ ground crew and her best friend on base, probably in general, the more she thought about it. Blonde hair in twin braids, green eyes that glistened with determination, grease smudged on her face, and a wrench in hand, Woody was practically the poster girl for the fearless wartime woman, in Holly’s biased opinion.
“What brings you to my humble hardstand?”
“Bucky and I are gonna listen to the Nationals-Yankees game. He has to do my filing tomorrow if the Nats win,” Holly said.
Woody laughed. “Good luck.” She scratched her forehead, marking her face with another streak of grease. “Just so you know, Brady might be coming out here later.”
“Checking on his fort?”
“I think he doesn’t trust me or something. He’s been coming around almost every day to see how the repairs are going,” Woody said. “I’m certainly not complaining about his company, though.”
“I’m sure.”
“Maybe one of these days he’ll give me a personal tour of his cockpit.”
Holly choked out a laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand. “Woody!”
“Get your head out of the gutter. I’m strictly talking planes here.” Woody grinned. “Your Yankee’s pulling up.”
Bucky parked the jeep next to the women, raising an eyebrow at Holly’s attempts to stifle her giggles. She handed him the radio as she climbed into the passenger seat.
“Hey Woody, how’s it going?” Bucky asked.
“It’s going, Major.”
He nodded toward the plane in question. “Everything coming along okay?”
“Just like Kenny said, it looks a lot worse than it is. It’ll be back in the air in no time.”
“Wouldn’t expect any less from you guys.”
She shook her head, an amused smile on her face. “I oughta get back to it. You have fun doing Holly’s filing tomorrow.”
“Hey, I thought we were friends!” Bucky shouted as Woody jogged away, leaving them to listen to the game.
Holly took the radio from Bucky, setting it on her lap. “I’ve used this one before,” she said. “It should pick up the station well enough.”
“How’d you get that out here?”
“Said it was your orders.” She smiled, tuning the radio until the boisterous announcer’s voice emerged from the speaker and nearly drowned out Bucky’s laughter.
“It’s a beautiful afternoon here in the nation’s capital folks! We’ve got the New York Yankees in DC up against the Nationals at Griffith Stadium. Now, the Nats have been down the past two games, but we’re hoping they’ll be able to rally this time around—”
“Is Early the starting catcher?”
“Yeah, pretty sure he is.”
“There’s a National I like.”
“‘Cause he’s the only person who might be chattier than you.”
“It’s one hell of a distraction strategy.”
“You’d know,” she joked, lightly elbowing him in the side.
Jake Early was one of Holly’s favorite players on the Nationals. Not a great hitter, but one hell of a catcher who took to imitating radio announcers and auctioneers or even singing to throw off opposing batters. It was one of the highlights of watching a Nats game in person, in her opinion.
“Have you ever been to a Yankees game?” she asked.
He nodded. “A couple. Listening on the radio is one thing, but seeing them in action? I felt like I got struck by lightning. How about you?”
“I went to a few Nats games every season growing up, but Stan and I went on a lot of dates to home games. One time he nearly broke his hand catching a ball that got hit into our section.”
Bucky shook his head. “What a souvenir, though.”
He knew about Stan. Everyone did. Bucky had the sense to not walk on eggshells if she brought him up. Holly had taken the news better than most people expected. She and Stan had a long discussion about it before he shipped out. Allowed herself to cry at night for a week or so afterward, but pulled herself together and pushed forward. At least, she tried to.
Every now and then, her sailor’s bloated corpse would inevitably be dredged up for curious newcomers to Thorpe Abbotts. Her ears rang with the whispers, always some variation of, ‘Her fiance—Navy, I think—yeah, at Midway—I know—poor girl.’ Stanley Conway’s ghost did little more than serve as an explanation to strangers as to why his former fiance could be…weird was the nicest way someone put it, though a plethora of less than complimentary adjectives had been applied to her and her odd behavior over the past year.
But Bucky liked her. Hung around her even when he wasn’t working in the office. Sometimes her melancholy made him do more of the heavy lifting conversationally. If he minded, he never told her. His friendship made it tough for her to remember to refer to him as Major Egan and not just Bucky, sometimes. Stan would be proud of this Holly, though, the one who made stupid bets on baseball games with an officer.
Bucky took out his flask, taking a swig before offering it to her. She regretted how quickly she accepted, her throat burning as she shoved it back in his hands.
“What is that?” she hissed.
“Whiskey.”
“That’s not whiskey.” She coughed. “You could put that in the gas tank and drive into town with it.”
“You’ve got the taste of a sailor, that’s what the issue here is. Should’ve joined the WAVES if you wanted rum.”
“I was going to. Stan said he didn’t think it’d be a good idea for us to be in the same branch and all that,” she said. “I kinda wish I had. The Service League is almost better than the Majors right now, especially the Navy league since they got Ted Williams.”
He balked. “You sound just like Crank! And DiMaggio’s in the Army league—he’s one of us!”
“So what? If it’s about who’s the best, Crank’s got a point, Williams can bat 400 no sweat.”
“DiMaggio did during his ‘41 streak.”
“Yeah, during his streak. Williams ended the whole ‘41 season with 406.”
“I was gonna be nice and drive you back after the Nats lose. You can walk, toots,” he half-joked.
“Woody can drive me,” she said, turning to glance behind her. Between the dusk and distance, she couldn’t tell if Brady had made his way out there yet. “I’m staying out here with her, anyway.”
“Want me to hang around?”
“If you want.”
“I’m asking what you want.”
She hummed, slouching back in her seat, a far away expression on her face. “I want the Nats to win.”
Bucky slouched against her, shoulder-to-shoulder. Glanced between her face and the radio a few times, hoping the Nationals would pull off something big for her.
He didn’t pry for details. Wasn’t quite sure how to ask her about it. Part of him was too afraid to know. He was afraid of a lot of things he’d never admit, but the place Holly drifted off to terrified him. So he took it upon himself to get her out of there. He talked about the game. And how he won the bicycles for Buck. And that he was just kidding when he said he wouldn’t drive her back to the womens’ barracks—couldn’t leave her and Woody out by themselves, after all.
Bucky didn't know how much time had passed before Holly finally spoke again.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
He blinked. “For what?”
“You know.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, the Yankees are down bad, and I’m having a ball,” he said. “So you’re apologizing for nothing, doll.”
He felt like someone poured club soda over his brain when she smiled, brown eyes glimmering gold. His gaze fell to her lips, his tongue darting out between his own for a moment. His shadow fell over her like a blanket as he leaned closer.
“And it’s strike three, you’re out for the Yankees in the top of the ninth!” The announcer’s voice blared through the radio, nearly making him jump in his seat. “That’s the game folks! The Washington Nationals win on their home turf against the New York Yankees—“
“We won! Oh my god, we won!” Holly sat up, nearly knocking the radio off of her lap in her excitement. She landed a few playful punches on his arm. “Take that, Egan!”
He rolled his eyes, smiling nevertheless. “It’s a good thing the Nats don’t win more often, because you’re the sorest winner I’ve ever met.”
“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it. That’s what I’m hearing.”
“Hey, I’m a man of my word. I’ll do your filing tomorrow,” he said, bringing his flask to his lips. “Damn Yankees.”
#bucky egan x oc#bucky egan x ofc#bucky egan#john egan#john egan x oc#john egan x ofc#masters of the air#masters of the air x oc#masters of the air x ofc#mota x oc#mota x ofc#mota fanfic#hbo war fanfic#hbo war#ch: holly
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The Lady and the Major - Part 1/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC
Summary: Major Bucky Egan is on leave in London, and what else is there to do than to drink, sing, have a good time, and... of course, ladies. But then he meets Liz, a Lady of the Court, and Bucky is immediately entangled in her net.
Warnings: Language, teasing, use of alcohol - soldiers being soldiers
A/N: Okay, wow... I thought today: "Uh, I have an idea for a OneShot with Bucky Egan," and now I'm sitting here with a three-part story. Jeeeeeez... Uh, but what you gonna do. (I've only seen the first two Episodes of MotA as of now, but... I just love Callum)
Here is my Masterlist
Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere
(Sorry mates, you just have to be tagged ;))
The Ritz, London, 1943
The opulent bar of the Ritz in London, brimming with the raucous laughter and chatter of soldiers on leave. The air is thick with smoke, jazz music fills the background, and the atmosphere is charged with the night's excitement.
Major John "Bucky" Egan, surrounded by a rowdy group of fellow American soldiers, is the life of the party. His laughter is loudest, his stories the most captivating, and his gaze roams freely, appreciative of the scenery—particularly the women who add a touch of glamour to the smoky room.
Bucky, with a glass of whiskey in hand, leans back, surveying the room with a smug grin. "Gentlemen," he boasts, "London's no match for a Yank with charm. Watch and learn."
His eyes, however, catch a sight that stops him mid-sentence—a vision of elegance seated across the bar. Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, unbeknownst to him, sits alone, her posture the epitome of grace, a long, slender cigarette holder elegantly poised in her hand. The soft glow of the bar lights catches her blonde hair and the sparkle in her blue eyes, making her seem almost ethereal.
Bucky's usual confidence wavers for a moment, his friends noticing the sudden change. "Well, I'll be damned... Who's that?" Bucky mutters, more to himself than anyone else.
One of the British soldiers, a man who has seen his fair share of high society, leans over, a knowing look in his eyes. "That, Yank, is Lady Elizabeth Cavendish. The Duke of Wellington's daughter. I'd tread carefully if I were you. She's out of your league."
Bucky's grin returns, cockier than before. "Out of my league? Buddy, there's no league I can't play in. Watch me."
With a swagger in his step, Bucky makes his way over to Elizabeth, his comrades watching eagerly, some with admiration, others with skepticism, and some with knowing faces.
"Evening, miss. Can I say you light up this room brighter than the London Blitz," he says cockily, letting his charm play.
Elizabeth doesn't even glance up from her drink at first, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. When she finally turns her gaze towards him, it's with an air of amusement. "And can I say that's the most American pickup line I've ever heard?"
Bucky, undeterred, flashes a grin. "Major John Egan, at your service. But for you... You can call me Bucky. And you are?"
Elizabeth finally offers him a small, knowing smile. "Elizabeth Cavendish. And I'm quite aware of who you are, Major Egan. Your reputation precedes you."
Bucky, leaning against the bar closer to Liz, his confidence seemingly unshaken. "Is that so? And what have you heard?"
Liz, taking another slow drag from her cigarette, eyes Bucky with a mixture of interest and challenge. "Oh, just that you're quite the charmer. A real ladies' man. Or so you believe."
The air between them crackles with a mix of tension and intrigue. Bucky, for once, finds himself having to work to maintain his usual smug demeanor. "And what about you, Lady Elizabeth? Do you enjoy games?"
Liz's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, Major, I don't just enjoy them. I excel at them. Care to play?"
The challenge hangs in the air, a silent dare that Bucky, despite the warnings and his better judgment, finds himself unable to resist. "You're on. Let the games begin."
As Bucky signals the bartender for another round of drinks, his fellow soldiers exchange glances, some shaking their heads, others betting amongst themselves on the outcome. What none of them realize is that in the game of seduction and wit, Liz is a master strategist, and Bucky might have just met his match.
Bucky leans closer, his confidence unwavering. "So, Liz, you don't mind me calling you Liz, right?" he starts, the smug smile never leaving his face, "I've flown some of the most dangerous missions over Germany, you know. But I must say, navigating this conversation with you feels like my most thrilling challenge yet."
Liz lets out a soft, amused laugh. "Major Egan, I've met many men who believe their war stories could sweep a girl off her feet. And maybe it actually does some. But it's going to take more than tales of aerial feats to impress me," she replies, her voice laced with a teasing sarcasm that only someone of her breeding and wit could perfect.
The night progresses, and with each drink, Bucky becomes more audacious, his hand finding its way to the small of Liz's back, a bold move that, in any other circumstance, would have guaranteed success. Liz, however, is not any woman he's encountered before. She plays along, leaning in as if captivated by his charm, her lips tantalizingly close to his, only to pull away at the last moment, leaving him wanting more.
Their conversation ebbs and flows, with Bucky regaling her with his exploits, each tale more daring than the last. Yet, Liz remains unimpressed, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement rather than awe. It's a dance they're both familiar with, but in this instance, Liz leads, her every move calculated to keep him on his toes.
As the night wears on, Liz finishes her drink, placing the glass delicately on the bar. She rises from her stool, the movement graceful and deliberate. "Well, Major, it has been... interesting," she says, her tone implying a myriad of things left unsaid.
Bucky, taken aback by her sudden desire to leave, scrambles to his feet. "Wait, Liz, why don't you stay for another drink? The night is still young, and I feel we've barely scratched the surface."
Liz turns to him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "I'm afraid I have other engagements to attend to, Major. But I must thank you for the entertainment," she teases, her gaze piercing through him with a challenge that silently says she's not one to be easily conquered.
As she walks away, Bucky watches, a mix of frustration and fascination written across his face. For the first time, he's encountered a woman who not only matches his wit but exceeds it, leaving him in uncharted territory. Liz, with her aristocratic poise and undeniable charm, has turned the tables on him, making it clear that if he wishes to pursue her, he's in for a game unlike any he's played before.
Returning to his comrades, Bucky's expression is a mix of irritation and resolve, a stark contrast to the confident swagger he had before approaching Liz. The British soldiers, having observed the entire exchange, can't help but wear smirks of "told you so" on their faces.
"Well, Major, looks like the ice queen has claimed another victim," one of the Brits comments, clapping Bucky on the shoulder with a laugh that's both sympathetic and mocking.
Bucky, undeterred, shoots back, "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."
Another British soldier chimes in, swirling his drink, "Mate, many have tried to climb that mountain. From viscounts to earls, not a single one has reached the summit. Lady Cavendish is... well, she's a fortress."
"Yeah, heard she loves to make sport of men, seeing who can try and fail the most spectacularly," adds a third, his tone laced with a mix of admiration and warning.
One of Bucky's American friends, attempting to find a solution, suggests, "Did you pull the pilot card? Chicks love pilots." The suggestion hangs in the air until another British soldier, who had been quietly listening, interjects, "Her brother's Captain Edward Cavendish, Royal Air Force war hero. Your pilot card might as well be a library card."
The revelation doesn't dampen Bucky's spirits; if anything, it fuels his determination. His jaw sets firmly, the challenge now more personal than ever. "So, she's used to high-flyers, huh? Well, she hasn't met anyone like me. I'm not just any pilot; I'm Major Bucky Egan. And I don't give up that easily."
The group looks at him, a mix of skepticism and intrigue in their eyes. They know Bucky for his tenacity, his charm, and his unwillingness to back down from a challenge. But Lady Elizabeth Cavendish is not just any challenge—she's a high-stakes game that many have lost.
As the night winds down and the group disperses, Bucky's mind races with plans. He knows winning over someone like Lady Cavendish won't be easy, but he's always loved a challenge. The thought of her, with her piercing blue eyes and that untouchable aura, only makes him more determined. He's ready to prove that he's not like the others, that he's someone who stands out, even in a crowd of heroes.
The stage is set for a captivating game of wit, charm, and strategy. Bucky's resolve and Liz's cunning promise a tale of intrigue, where each move could either draw them closer or push them further apart.
In the soft morning light filtering through the hotel's dining room windows, Bucky and his fellow soldiers are halfway through their breakfast, the air filled with the light-hearted banter typical of men who've faced much together. The sudden approach of a concierge, bearing the unmistakable posture of formal importance, silences the table. With a discreet cough to announce his presence, the concierge presents a silver platter to Bucky.
Bucky, eyebrows raised in surprise, picks up the envelope resting on the platter. The envelope itself is a work of art, the calligraphy on the front flawlessly executed, hinting at the significance of its contents. His name, "Major John Egan, US Air Force," is inscribed with elegant flourishes that speak of a bygone era of meticulous attention to detail.
As he carefully opens the envelope, the anticipation among his comrades is palpable. They watch as Bucky's initial confusion shifts to an understanding smile, a silent acknowledgment of the ongoing saga that had captivated them since last night. He pulls out the invitation, and it reads:
Major John Egan,
It is with great pleasure that Arthur Cavendish, Duke of Wellington, and Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Wellington, extend to you an invitation to a gala being held at our family estate, Wellington House, on the evening of this day.
This event will assemble distinguished individuals from various sectors of British and Allied societies in a celebration of unity and resilience in these challenging times.
Date: This evening at 7 o'clock post meridiem
Dress Code: Formal (Black Tie)
Location: Wellington House, Kent
We anticipate the honor of your presence and look forward to an evening of meaningful exchanges and spirited fellowship.
Kindly present this invitation at the entrance.
Sincerely,
The Duke of Wellington
Bucky's grin now spread wide across his face, confirms the unspoken thoughts of his table. "Looks like I've got plans this evening," he announces, his voice a mix of amusement and intrigue.
The soldiers around him, well aware of the story behind the invitation, erupt into a mix of cheers and playful jeers. Bucky's encounter with Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, a tale that had quickly become legendary among them, was evidently far from over. This invitation was not just a call to a social event; it was the next chapter in a story that promised to be as unpredictable as it was entertaining.
As the concierge departs, Bucky's mind races with possibilities. The gala at Wellington House was not just an opportunity to step into the world of British aristocracy; it was a chance to see Liz again, to engage in their game of wits and charm. With a sense of adventure stirring in his heart, he knew one thing for sure: the evening promised to be unforgettable.
House Wellington, Kent, 1943
As Bucky steps into the grandeur of the Wellington estate, the opulence of the gala immediately envelops him. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfumes mingling with the faint aroma of quality tobacco. The chatter of the high society fills the room, a mixture of refined British accents and the occasional foreign dialect. Bucky, in his crisply pressed formal uniform, stands out—not just for his attire but also for the aura of confidence he carries with him, an unmistakable mark of a man not easily intimidated.
He navigates through the crowd, champagne flute in hand, his eyes scanning the room until they find what they've been searching for: Liz. She's a vision in her gown, embodying the grace and elegance of her status, yet with a glimmer in her eye that hints at her spirited nature. As he approaches, he can't help but admire the way she holds herself, the center of attention yet seemingly uninterested in the adoration she commands.
"Seems like I can't go anywhere without you showing up to steal the spotlight," Bucky teases, offering her a playful smirk as he closes the distance between them.
Liz turns to face him fully, her expression one of amused defiance. "Oh, Major Egan, I was under the impression that an officer of your caliber would know how to read a simple dress code," she retorts, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she gives him a once-over. "But I suppose we can't all have the luxury of choice in our evening attire, can we?"
Bucky chuckles, unphased by her jab. "Well, Lady Cavendish, it seems I'm at a disadvantage here. While you dazzle the room in that stunning dress, I'm stuck in this old thing," he says, gesturing to his uniform with a mock sigh. "But let's be honest, we both know I could show up in a burlap sack, and you'd still find it hard to keep your eyes off me."
The air between them crackles with the tension of their banter, a dance they've both come to enjoy. Liz takes a slow drag from her cigarette, held elegantly in a long holder. "Confident, aren't we? Just don't let that confidence get you into trouble, Major. This isn't the front line, and the battles here are fought differently," she says, blowing out a stream of smoke, her gaze locked with his.
"Then consider me armed and dangerous," Bucky replies with a grin, his eyes never leaving hers. "But I'll admit, this is one battlefield I'm looking forward to navigating, especially if it means crossing swords with you, Lady Cavendish."
Their exchange, filled with the playful yet pointed jabs of two individuals equally matched in intellect and charm, sets the tone for the evening. Around them, the gala continues in its whirl of music, laughter, and conversation, but for Bucky and Liz, the rest of the world fades into the background. They are each other's focal point, engaged in a game where the stakes are undefined but unmistakably high, each moment building on the tension and attraction that simmers just below the surface.
As Bucky and Liz continue their verbal dance, the arrival of a British Captain momentarily shifts the atmosphere. The Captain's demeanor is one of polite curiosity mixed with the protective scrutiny of a brother. When he inquires about Bucky, there's a brief tension, a moment where the social games of the evening meet the reality of wartime alliances and personal connections.
Bucky, with the straightforwardness that military life has ingrained in him, extends a hand. "Major John Egan, US Air Force," he introduces himself with a respectful nod, recognizing the familial resemblance in the Captain's features.
Edward's expression warms slightly at the mention of Bucky's service. "Ah, a fellow pilot then. And where might you be stationed, Major Egan?" he asks, a hint of camaraderie entering his voice upon learning of their shared skies.
"With the 100th Bomber Group," Bucky responds, his answer earning a nod of respect from Edward. The reputation of Bucky's outfit precedes him, known even among the British ranks for their bravery and contributions to the war effort.
The conversation takes a turn when Edward's attention shifts towards his sister, curiosity piqued. "And how did you two come to meet?" he inquires, his gaze bouncing between Liz and Bucky, searching for a glimpse into his sister's enigmatic social life.
Bucky opens his mouth to answer, perhaps a little too eagerly, ready to dive into the tale of their first encounter. However, Liz, ever the master of her own narrative, interjects with a grace that belies the quick thinking behind her words. "We met at a charity event just last week," she states, her voice carrying a tone of casual innocence. "Major Egan was kind enough to share some fascinating insights into his experiences in the war so far. It's not every day we have the honor of hearing such stories firsthand."
Edward's expression softens, a mix of brotherly concern and pride evident in his gaze as he looks at Liz. It's clear he's unaware of the full extent of his sister's adventurous spirit and her propensity for finding herself in the company of intriguing characters. "Well, I'm glad to hear our allies are not just brave but also charitable. It's important, especially in times like these, to remember what we're fighting for," he comments, directing a respectful nod towards Bucky.
The moment passes, and Edward excuses himself to greet other guests, leaving Bucky and Liz alone once again. Bucky raises an eyebrow at Liz, impressed by her quick thinking and ability to weave a story that protects her reputation while not entirely dismissing their actual encounter. "A charity event, huh? You're quite the storyteller, Lady Cavendish," he teases, the corners of his mouth turning up in an amused smile.
Liz, taking a delicate sip of her champagne, meets his gaze with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "One must always be prepared to tell the story that needs to be heard, Major Egan. Besides, I couldn't possibly let you ruin all my fun with the truth, now could I?" she replies, her tone playful yet laced with the underlying thrill of their shared secret.
Their exchange, now even more charged with the thrill of their clandestine understanding, continues to weave a complex tapestry of attraction and intrigue, each moment adding to the layers of their unfolding story.
Next Part
#Masters of the Air#MoaT#John Egan x OC#Bucky Egan x OC#John Egan x reader#Bucky Egan x reader#John Bucky Egan#BoB#Callum Turner#Sorry not sorry
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major gale ‘buck’ cleven and major john ‘bucky’ egan loved to share the pretty things they picked up at the bar. it always started the same, bucky scanning all the girls at the bar with their perfect dresses and rosy perfumes that reeked off them as he walked by, until one eventually caught his eye. you. and as soon as he saw you, he’s bumping his elbow to buck’s arm, who would roll his eyes and remind him of marge. well, at first he would care about her. poor marge, awaiting him at home, she had no idea how many girls he had picked up whilst away, how many lipstick stains coated his skin at the end of the night.
buck was more quiet, as opposed to bucky’s cocky, loud demeanor— so bucky always made the first move. “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ here all alone?”
he always loved watching the sweet girls like you bat your lashes up at him, sweetly hitting him with a, “major?” which is soon followed by a shy, quiet, “‘m not sure.”
and that was bucky’s cue now, of course, to wave buck over, “y’know, we could give you some company.”
and of course, like all the others you would agree, nodding your head and following them back to the barracks. when you did eventually get there, it seemed like a ritual for bucky and buck with how quick they were to put you between them on one of the nearest beds. bucky sat to your left, and buck to your right. buck always took it slow, pressing soft kisses to your cheek where you melted into them, whereas bucky would move your jaw so you were looking at him, lips pressing to yours.
it wouldn’t take long for bucky and buck to assume their typical positions, bucky always called dibs on the mouth, whilst buck prefered to be balls deep inside of you, watching the way your lashes flutter as you slobber over bucky’s cock. something about it was so dirty, so sick, and yet they loved it so much— and of course, bucky loved to play with you as you’re being fucked dumb by buck, teasing his tip on your tongue and making you call him sir.
he always had a thing for that.
#masters of the air#mota spoilers#mota#mota fanfic#motaedit#john egan#gale cleven#austin butler#callum turner#john egan x reader#john egan x oc#john egan x you#bucky x reader#bucky x you#buck x you#buck x reader#mota smut#callum turner imagine#callum turner x reader#callum turner edit#austin butler x reader#austin butler x you#austin butler smut#austin butler fanfiction#callum turner icons#bucky egan#buck cleven#major john egan#major gale cleven#major john egan x reader
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ʙᴀʙʏ ɪ’ᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ
Chapter 1 - “Buck’s Baby Sister”
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The sweet sound of jazz filled the speakeasy that occupied both Bucky and Buck. Like usual, the night before a mission was always spent this way. Other pilots were scattered through the place but the inseparable duo situated themselves in a booth not too far from the bar.
“Take a look around, Buck.” A drunken smile was present on Bucky’s face as he gestured to the bristling place around them. “We’ve got the drinks, we’ve got the music…”
“You know what’s missing?”
Gale let out a sigh with a shake of his head. “Don’t start.”
“We’re missing girls.”
There really was no surprise that women were at the top of John Egan’s priorities. You’d never catch him leaving the bar without one, sometimes even two.
The blonde across from him opened his mouth to retaliate but John quickly corrected himself. “I know Marge has you wrapped around her finger. I’m talking about me, Buck.”
“So, who’s the unlucky lady for tonight?” Raising his eyebrows in curiosity, Gale took a sip of his drink before returning it to its original spot on the table.
It was always the same with his friend, Bucky. No matter how much he tried to spread his influence of settling down with a nice woman on him, it never sounded appealing to John.
Bucky threw his head back with a genuine laugh. “Guess I’ll have to look around and see.”
His eyes scanned the room in interest. Wondering from face to face but nobody seemed to catch his eye. There was a brunette who had been trying to get his attention all night, she seemed to be looking for more of a long term thing so he shut that idea down quick.
His focus turned to the entrance as the door opened, ringing off the bell as it did so. In walked an unfamiliar but entrancing face.
The first thing that caught his eye was her confidence. Even though her presence attracted many onlookers and judgmental stares she never shied away.
In fact, she made eye contact with every one of them as if she was trying to find someone. Determination radiated off of her as she held tightly onto the duffel bag that she brought with her.
As her head turned it gave Bucky a view of her unique hairstyle. Unlike most ladies here, her honey blonde hair cascaded freely down her back. Only two upper pieces were pulled back into a messy braid. It seemed she had a long day by the way a few strands had escaped and were now framing her face but she made it look so damn beautiful.
The top of her navy blue cargo dress fit her perfectly giving Bucky a display of her slim waist. As she continued to look around the bottom of it softly swayed with her like she was a princess in one of those old time movies.
Bucky didn’t even feel ashamed or embarrassed when her gaze had stopped at his and Bucks table. It was hard to look away from her and he wanted her to know that.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The gruff voice of Buck reached his ears causing him to glance over.
There was an apparent smile of what Bucky could decipher as pride on his friends face as he too stared at the new lady.
Returning his attention to the pretty stranger, he noticed a cheeky smile make its way onto her face. And she was looking at Buck.
She was looking at Buck. Not him.
A million questions clouded his mind wondering how the two could possible know each other. I mean, his buddy was head over heels in love with Marge.
Buck stood up as she started to head toward them. “They let you in?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” With a mischievous shrug of her shoulders she let out a playful giggle that was music to Bucky’s ears.
Once she was close enough she dropped her bag and brought the taller man in for a long hug which he returned a little too quickly for Bucky’s liking.
“I missed you, Gales.”
Gales?
“I missed you too, Lilah.”
That’ll do it. This has to stop.
With an obnoxious clear of his throat Bucky smiled sarcastically as the pair turned to him. “Hate to break this cosy reunion up but my pal Buck here isn't a free man.”
That statement caused the two to quickly jump away from each other like one had burned the other. A look of disgust made its way onto the woman’s face as she tried not to gag.
Noticing, Bucky tried not to laugh at the reaction but was even more fascinated by her sense of humor.
“No, John.” Nodding his head to the girl next to Bucky he denied the ridiculous statement. “This is my baby sister, Delilah.”
A sense of recognition made its way onto Bucky’s face. Gale had mentioned her many times before.
His baby sister who he had taken care of since he could remember. His baby sister who held the biggest place in his heart. His baby sister who was one of the main reasons he was here in the first place.
Now up close, Bucky took a good look at the unusually short blonde and only one thing could come to mind.
Buck’s baby sister had to be the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen.
“Ah, Delilah.” Slapping his hands on the table in excitement, Bucky stood up to softly grab her right hand. He brought it to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it. “Bucky’s baby sister.”
Although she was flattered, Delilah ignored the warmth rushing to cheeks and took her hand back from the charming pilot. “And the new mechanic, yeah.”
“Oh? Gotta admit I’m a little surprised. Usually the new mechanics aren’t pretty like you. Or a woman for that matter.”
“Guess those mechanics aren’t as good as me either considering I’m here to teach them.”
Now it was her turn to give him a sarcastic smile. It was very rare for a woman to be sighted on the station, let alone on the front lines of it all so Delilah didn’t hold it to him.
Bucky rolled his tongue along the side of his mouth as he stared at the girl impressed with her comeback. Another box to check on his list of things he likes in a woman.
“Guess so.”
The two seemed to forget there were people around them as they stared at each other in curiosity.
“John Egan. They call me Bucky.”
It was nice to put a name to the face. Whenever Buck had written back to her he would always mention him.
Bucky the man who had given Buck his own nickname. Bucky who had kept him on his toes. Bucky who he had spoken so highly of as a friend.
“I know.” She nodded. “The way Gale speaks about you in his letters I was expecting maybe a cape, a fan club-”
Before she could continue Buck urgently picked up her bag and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Glad you two could meet but it’s getting late, yeah? I’ll walk you to your quarters, help you settle in.”
“But I didn’t even get an autograph yet.”
Looking between the sibling duo, Bucky couldn’t help but laugh. Never in his time of knowing Buck had he seen him act so nervous. The two seemed to be close by the way she felt she could joke with him so freely. It made Bucky miss his family.
“Maybe I’ll tag along.” He spoke breaking the siblings teasing. He left a few bills on the table for the waiter and threw on his jacket. His eyes finding Delilah’s once more. “Get to know Bucks little sister more.”
“You really don’t have to.” Not only did Gale decline for the sake of avoiding another embarrassing encounter but he also caught the looks Bucky and his sister were stealing of each other.
And he didn’t like, not one bit.
“I insist, Buck.”
The three made their way to the exit. Turning around Delilah kept walking backwards as she faced the two. “Well, only if you insist. But this whole ‘Buck’s baby sister’ thing will just not do.”
“Okay,” Bucky nodded. That was fair. Opening the door for the two he smiled as Delilah passed him. “How bout ‘Baby’?”
“What? From like Dirty Dancing?”
Bucky nodded to her, a little embarrassed to admit that he watched Dirty Dancing. He almost regretted his words until she gave him a look that read ‘where have you been all my life?’
“Baby…” she tested the name before smiling.“I like it.”
Chapter 2 here!
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A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Comment and lmk your thoughts. I kept getting Bucky and Buck mixed up so if you see a little typo just ignore it😘.
How do you guys like Delilah so far?
I tried to make her and Bucks sibling relationship as real as possible.
And you already know Bucky’s down bad for her but I want it to be a little slow burn
#bucky egan#mota spoilers#john egan#buck cleven#mota#john egan x oc#major john egan#john egan x reader#mota fanfic#gale cleven#Masters Of The Air#madelyn cline#callum turner#callum turner x reader#austin butler
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