#major john egan x reader
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The Only Truth... | Part Four
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader
The day Stalag VIIA is liberated ought to be one of pure celebration. Unfortunately, fate has other plans in store.
Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Brief Battle, Serious Reader Injury [gunshot wound], POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, References to Christianity, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.
Author’s Note: Thank you all ever so much for your patience! At last we come to the end of our tale. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 6267
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The morning of Sunday, April 29, 1945, dawned cloudy but bright. The chill of early spring still hung in the air, your breath hanging from your lips as you ducked out into the tent to collect the clean yet still-unfolded laundry that had been awaiting your attention throughout the drama of the rainstorm. You had just managed to tuck it away into your room when Fitzgibbons arrived with a new book for you to read, a more recently published fantasy novel called The Hobbit, though you had other priorities before diving into it.
You had almost gotten away with your clandestine chores, rags folded, and three-quarters of the bandages rolled, when your former surgical technician appeared at your door, knocking on the frame with an admonishing look on his face.
“I see you’re taking it easy on your day off, Ma’am.”
Huffing in irritation at being caught, you shook your head. “I’m off my feet, Fitz, can’t we just call a truce?”
He made a non-committal noise before cracking a grin. “Actually came to ask a favor, so I’m thinking we can come to an agreement. Menzies,” his deliberate mispronunciation of the British Captain’s name made you roll your eyes affectionately, “ordered me to flush a wound using your make-shift tools and honestly, I cannot make heads or tails of what you’ve jerry-rigged.”
Biting back a laugh, you nodded quickly, well aware that your cobbled-together system was more than a little unorthodox and not at all surprised Menzies had not taken the time to ensure Fitzgibbons knew how it worked. “Certainly, let me walk you through it.”
Grabbing the laundry you had thus far folded, you made your way down the hall to collect the items from the supply desk and followed him to the bedside of a new patient. Introducing yourself warmly, you learned the man’s name was Michaels and he hailed from the frigid wilds of Canada.
“Fitz and I are going to use this here to flush that wound, alright?” You nodded to the nasty laceration on his calf, your makeshift instruments cradled in your arms.
“Sounds fine, Ma’am.” He nodded patiently, vowels clipped remarkably short in that efficient Canuck way of speaking.
“Alright so if you take this, Fitz.” You held out a funnel with a piece of tubing secured to it, watching the tech take it carefully.
The mundane calm of the morning was shattered by the sudden hum of an airplane engine, your eyes shooting to meet Fitzgibbons’ sharply moments before the eruption of gunfire.
“Everyone get down!” He shouted and you both lurched into motion to begin helping your patients from their cots onto the wooden planks of the tent platform, abandoning your instruments on Michaels’ cot.
Panic rising as you once again found yourself in a wildly unsafe place while under fire, you urged the men from their beds to get low, presenting smaller targets for the errant bullets that were punching holes through the canvas of the tent every so often. The cacophony outside only increased with the rumble of approaching vehicles – tanks quite possible given the depth of sound that carried across the camp – and you nearly tripped over your own feet in an effort to reach the last two patients who simply could not move on their own.
Heaving one, Sidhu from India, out of his cot and depositing him onto the floor, you were just sliding your arms beneath the shoulders of the last, Hernandez from Texas, when searing heat and pain punched into your side. Your arms and legs gave out beneath you instantly, your body collapsing atop the poor boy still on his cot, both of you gasping for breath. With a grunt of annoyance, you flung a hand back to your hip, eyes widening as your fingertips were quickly covered in a warm, slick fluid.
“M…Ma’am?!” Hernandez warbled from beneath you, watching as you lifted your fingers to inspect just what was going on, his face blanching at the unmistakable scarlet of blood. “Doc?! Medic!! Help!!!” He began to shriek all the words he knew to summon assistance, making you wince at the racket as you forced yourself to roll off him, crashing to the floor in a pile of uncooperative limbs.
Taking a moment to try and catch your breath, pulse rocketing at an alarming rate, you began to realize that no matter how long you lay there, things were not improving. In fact the situation was growing a lot more serious as a deep ache was settling into your right side and you could feel your clothes growing damper with blood by the second. Rolling onto your stomach, you had just begun to feebly pull yourself across the floor of the tent when the racket outside subsided momentarily, Hernandez’s cries summoning several sets of boots to run in your direction.
A great, external cheer erupted in the same moment you were lifted by many hands onto one of the recently vacated cots, Chalmers, Menzies and Fitzgibbons all hovering above you as they yanked at your shirt and pants to get at your wound. The striking similarity between your plight and that of Simms set your teeth on edge, tears brimming in your eyes at the sudden thought that this could really be it. You might very well die here in these filthy, mud-covered clothes while the rest of the camp cheered on outside.
“Keep breathing for me, Nurse. You’ve got an entry and an exit wound, you just stay with us now.” Chalmers barked firmly and you managed a brief nod despite the shakes that seemed to want to rattle your bones. “Fitz go find out if they’ve got a Medic with them – we need sulfa and plasma, and she needs an aid station and surgery.”
“Sir!” He replied before you heard his frantic footfalls leave the tent.
Menzies applied a ruthless amount of pressure to the front and back of your hip and it was all you could do not to wail pathetically at the lances of pain that shot through you. “I know, Nurse, I know. For your own good, now. Why’d you have to go and get yourself shot in the middle of our liberation, hm?”
“Libe.r.ation?” It was difficult to form the word, your mouth clumsy and filled with cotton, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain.
Your heart was beginning to lose its rhythm, stuttering and skipping beats every so often. Your medical training offered a whispered explanation of ‘blood loss’ which did nothing for the suffocating feeling of panic in your chest.
“Looks like your American Army showed up to bring you home, so let’s make sure you can get there alright?” Chalmers added firmly and you nodded again, trying to take deep breaths.
You were so close. They were right there.
What had started as a frigid day seemed to be growing colder, your fingers tips positively icy by the time you heard Fitzgibbons return, giving someone a rundown. The familiarity of it made your heart ache for a simpler time when the two of you were the ones saving people, taking them from danger to safety. Now you were the one in peril, finding it remarkably difficult to keep your eyes open. The unfamiliar face of a young man in an Army helmet came into view before you felt the sting of sulfa on your wounds.
Your left sleeve was rolled up, your nonsensical protests going unheeded as the man began to search for a vein, inserting an IV for the bottle of cheery yellow plasma – the bright color anachronistic to the monochromatic color palette that pervaded the Stalag. Bandages were wrapped tightly around your middle once more and they were just about to lift you, cot and all, when another set of heavy footfalls sounded on the floorboards.
“Jesus christ…angelfish…” Bucky’s voice was unmistakable, though anguished, and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a weak smile.
“Bucky.” You managed to form his nickname at a volume no more than a whisper, vision narrowing in on his pinched, tight features, the normally rosy hue completely drained from his cheeks.
Suddenly everything tilted and whirled as your cot was hoisted onto the shoulders of Chalmers, Menzies, Fitzgibbons, and the Medic.
“Take the plasma, Egan. Hold it up, keep pace.” Chalmers ordered sharply and the ceiling of the tent began to blur as they rushed out into the daylight, your vision going completely white before all was darkness.
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The morning had seemed like any other, crowded around a small campfire trying to keep warm, trading suppositions about the end of the war with Jefferson, when the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine had broken through the din of the camp.
“Hey Macon, that’s a P-51!” Jefferson had shouted and instantly the entire population was on their feet, cheering on the pilot as he took out on of the guard towers.
Their elation was short lived, the abrupt sound of incoming artillery sending all the prisoners into the dirt as every single German soldier seemed to open fire as one, the camp instantly an active battlefield. Bucky’s eyes strayed to the hospital tent, its canvas walls helplessly pinned between the encroaching American tanks and the defending German guards. They needed to put a stop to this from the inside before any more lives were needlessly lost. Even as this thought crossed his mind, men were falling all around him.
“Fellas! Take out the tower!” Bucky shouted as he ran for the tent where the majority of the Americans were sheltering, seeking out the homemade stars and stripes they had carefully crafted and transported from camp to camp, kept hidden from goons, just for such an occasion.
It took a few tries before Jefferson successfully came up with the flag, passing it to him quickly. Dashing through the chaos of prisoners running hither and thither through the camp, some fleeing, some fighting guards, Bucky was boosted onto the roof of the administration building. The flagpole was less than sturdy as he climbed it but as he removed the Nazi war flag and tossed it to the cheering crowd below, the guns fell quiet. Securing the ragtag American flag, watching the breeze immediately catch and fly it high, an immense feeling of relief wash through him and after taking a moment to celebrate, he pressed his forehead to the hand-hewn timber of the pole to soak in his gratitude for making it this far. Though the ragged appearance of his country’s flag undoubtedly mirrored his own.
As he carefully climbed down the rickety pole, his eyes caught on a somewhat familiar figure running frantically through the crowd toward the gate, moving against the flow of those milling around the yard, celebrating. The man’s shouts carried intermittently on the wind across the crowd and Bucky managed to pick out “Medic,” his heartrate picking up at the word “Nurse.” His stomach dropped when the word “shot” reached his ears.
“Angelfish.” He whispered and quickly scrambled his way off the roof, wincing a little at his rough landing, before he began to shove his own way through the oblivious celebrants towards the hospital.
Skidding to a stop on the threshold of the tent, he was startled to find all the patients cowering beneath their cots while you lay on one of their abandoned beds, a bloody mess surrounded by men frantically trying to save you.
“Jesus christ…angelfish…” He choked out, throat clenching painfully as your head lolled to the side, slightly unfocused eyes meeting his.
“Bucky.” Your faint whisper of his name propelled him forward, a frown settling over his features at the state of your clothes, wanting nothing more than to cover up the expanse of your abdomen and the scar on your arm – you surely hated to have that so prominently on display.
Chalmers’ sudden directive for him to manage the plasma grabbed his attention and he quickly grasped the glass bottle, holding it high as they lifted the entire bed to begin carrying you out of there.
“Just hold on, angelfish.” He rasped, heart lurching painfully as your eyes rolled back in your head, your body going slack.
Running alongside you to the gate despite the way his lungs ached, the crowd mercifully parted before their odd little group. A jeep was waiting with a stretcher strapped to the back, and Bucky watched helplessly as your unsettlingly limp form was transferred from the cot, the bottle of plasma wrenched from his fingers by the Medic before he perched atop your legs. As the vehicle took off, the Lieutenant Colonel of the armored division strode over sternly.
“How the devil did a nurse end up as a POW?” He demanded as Lieutenant Colonel Clark came to stand on Bucky’s right.
Chalmer’s sighed deeply before sharing what he knew of your story, of your arrival back in January including the fact that the Red Cross was informed through the usual process, and how you were housed separately in the hospital. As Fitzgibbons, the very same surgical technician you had earned your burns pulling out of your plane, filled in the rest of your service history, Bucky could only reflect on how little he really knew you. How short his time with you had actually amounted to be. Hell, he would not have even known your squadron number if it was not for that conversation right then.
“What a SNAFU.” The man muttered and Bucky could certainly see the resemblance of the man’s commanding officer, Patton, in him. “Well, let’s get this formal surrender over with so we can get these boys home.”
Clark nodded in return and Bucky shuffled back to sit heavily amongst the men of the 100th, waving off Brady’s look of concern. Watching the salutes and handshakes, he was completely numb, his thoughts miles away with wherever they had taken you, only able to hope against hope that their aid station was of the highest calibre.
Bucky had not resorted to prayer often throughout the war. Sure he had worn a crucifix and crossed himself reflexively when flying into a hail of flak, but conversations with higher beings had never been something he had put much stock in. Faced, now, with this gnawing feeling of helplessness, your very survival in the balance, it seemed like the only tool left at his disposal.
Crammed into the tent that night, shoulder-to-shoulder with his neighbors, he felt rusty and self-conscious as he addressed the god of his childhood Sunday school and fairly begged for you to make it. He stopped short of bargaining his own life away, but barely, before sleep overtook his aching body, the exertions of the day overtaking him.
As he found himself jostling in the back of a transport truck on his way to Paris the next day, handpicked by Lieutenant Colonel Clark to be among the first sent back to England, he could not help but feel as though he was being driven further and further away from you. It was near night by the time they pulled into the base and Bucky took his first warm shower in over a year, changing into a fresh uniform and feeling almost human. They were served white bread that might as well have been cake, with steak and eggs that were too rich for him to endure more than a few bites before he crawled into a remarkably clean bed and slept deeply, exhaustion winning out over his continuous concern for your well being.
Climbing into the belly of a B-17 for the first time in over eighteen months felt awkward and painful, the crew from the 100th consisting of unfamiliar replacements, the space feeling more cramped than it ever had as he wedged himself into the cockpit behind the pilot. The deep-seated terror he had desperately been trying to supress, his fear that Buck had not made it to safety despite their planning and the beating he had taken to distract the guards, surged to the fore of his mind. It competed ruthlessly with his anxiety over whether you were still drawing breath, the fact that he may have to face the truth of losing both of you leaving him silent and withdrawn as the plane took flight.
There was no immediate answer awaiting him at Thorpe Abbotts either, no familiar faces lining the tarmac – not even Lemmons was around, which struck him as unsettlingly odd. Making his way to the CO’s hut, his eyes at last landed on a familiar face as Herrmann emerged from one the equipment sheds.
“Hey Winks! Where is everybody? Guy comes back after a year-and-a-half and no one’s around?” He plastered on a playful smirk as the boy’s face broke out into a grin of astonishment, shaking his hand vigorously as he rushed over.
“Buck took Rosie, Douglass, Croz, and Kenny up on one of those mercy missions they’ve been practicing for, they should be back any time now, sir. Gosh it’s great to see you back here.”
Bucky’s attention immediately snagged on the first name Herrmann mentioned, finding it immensely difficult to continue listening as he exhaled half of the tension that had strangled him all the way across the English Chanel. “Good to be back, Winks. Think you can give me a lift?” He raised an eyebrow, desperate for a moment of levity.
With a quick nod, Herrmann was promptly driving him towards the control tower. The most difficult part of getting up there was making it past all the congratulatory pats and handshakes, but Bucky was able to pull off his surprise, the sound of Cleven’s voice over the radio going a long way to mending some of the deep wounds he was still sporting.
More handshakes and pats-on-the-back awaited him at the hardstand and it finally felt like he was back amongst the familiar faces of these men. He did not miss the way Cleven’s eyes were quietly scrutinizing him, however. The gratingly familiar feeling that his friend was looking right through him was undeniable as he joked and smiled with the boys who had never been imprisoned. Who had not endured the things they had. As the crowd around them thinned out, Bucky turned to watch Cleven pull out one of his toothpicks, sliding it between his molars in a familiar yet long-lost motion.
“So what you been up to since I left?” His friend asked.
Bucky swallowed and shrugged a little walking over to the jeep, Cleven immediately sliding into the passenger’s seat out of habit.
“That terrible, huh?” Cleven muttered and Bucky sighed as the vehicle roared to life.
“Ended up in Moosburg.” He started out slow, with simple facts. “Got a little hurt on the way, so Brady and Hambone took me to the hospital. Turns out there was a Nurse there, POW since January.”
The look of shock on his friend’s face registered in the corner of his eye and Bucky did not have the heart to fully face him.
“The German’s held a woman prisoner?” Cleven shook his head with a sigh of dismay.
“She got shot during the liberation, stray bullet. Medics from the armored division took her and I have no idea if she made it.” Now that he had started telling the story it all just came pouring out of him.
“You care about her more than just on moral grounds.” Cleven stated matter-of-factly and Bucky sighed as he pulled up in front of what used to be their hut.
Who knew if it still was.
“Yes.” He begrudgingly admitted, though his admission was addressed to the steering wheel.
There was a long, drawn-out silence, the incessant chirping of sparrows filling in the gap in conversation and Bucky realized he had not really heard a bird his entire time in captivity. His head snapped sharply to look at Cleven as he suddenly spoke again.
“If anyone can find someone in the chain of evacuation it’ll be Smokey.”
Bucky furrowed his brows a moment before it clicked. “Doc Stover? You think?”
Cleven shrugged. “He’s our best shot I guess.”
“Our…”
“Are you going to drive us to the hospital, or should I?”
A grin pulled at Bucky’s lips as he started the jeep back up and took a sharp U-turn, heading for the base hospital. He pretended not to notice the way his friend’s eyes lingered on the stiff movement of his body as he climbed out of the jeep – he was definitely sore but was most certainly not going to admit to it. The wards were just as populated as they had been in 1943, something he found rather infuriating. It was another feeling he tucked into a neat little package and shoved down to be ignored until a more convenient time. Or perhaps never to be acknowledged again.
Stover was easy to find, dressed in his white coat, just finishing his rounds.
“Majors, what can I do for you?” He gestured for them to follow him into his office and Bucky sank down into a chair heavily, once again ignoring another man’s assessing gaze on him.
“Well it’s an odd request really but…” He trailed off, hesitating as he smoothed his too-long hair, reflecting once again that he needed a proper haircut.
“We’re wondering if you might be able to track someone down for us. Someone who was injured at a camp in Moosburg and evacuated to an aid station.
Stover raised an eyebrow curiously. “One of your fellow POWs?”
“Something like…. well yeah, she is.” Bucky corrected himself midway through, watching the doctor’s eyebrows shoot up dramatically. “Flight Nurse from the 802nd MAES, POW at Moosburg since January of ’45, shot during liberation and taken to the aid station of Patton’s 3rd Army – armored division. Which division I don’t know.”
They watched as Stover quickly grabbed a pen and started jotting down the important details, including your name.
“How bad was she hurt?” Stover asked and Bucky swallowed tightly.
“I didn’t see it happen but there was a gunshot to her stomach somewhere. They got her on plasma quickly.” He added hopefully but Stover’s face remained grim.
“I can’t promise you anything Major Egan, it doesn’t sound particularly hopeful either, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He nodded, leveraging himself out of the chair with a barely concealed wince.
“And what do you have going on?” Stover stayed seated, eyeing him expectantly.
Bucky noticed Cleven had not budged either, the bastard. Emptying his lungs with a heavy exhale, Bucky put his hands on his hips and shrugged.
“Couple of broken ribs, I’ll be alright.” He replied nonchalantly.
“And how old are these broken ribs?” Stover prodded and Bucky ignored Cleven’s pointed look up at him.
“Couple weeks, I’m halfway mended, just overdid it getting in the fort to come back.”
Stover rose from behind his desk and opened a cabinet, fetching a bottle and holding it out to him. “Aspirin, to keep you comfortable. Take two every four hours as long as you need. Come back if you run out.”
Bucky accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, the memory of you scrounging up two rare pills for him in the Stalag flooding back, furrowing his brows. The things you could have done in a place like this with limitless supply.
“Thanks again, Doc.” Cleven’s expression of gratitude pierced through his reminiscing and Bucky nodded quickly, tucking the pills into his pocket before heading out quietly.
Accommodations were procured and there was not much for him to do around base aside from rest and learn how to eat properly once more. It took several days for any news of your condition to reach him, via Stover’s connections, but when the man pulled him into his office on the morning of the May 5, he was stunned to learn that not only were you alive, but that you had been air evacuated to Redgrave Hospital just thirty minutes away from Thorpe Abbotts.
You were safe. You were close.
“Seems they weren’t quite certain what to do with her, but as she serves under the Army Air Force, they sent her to our main hospital.” Bucky realized Stover was still talking and he shot him a warm grin before grasping his hand to shake firmly.
“Well I really appreciate your help, Doc. I’ve gotta…” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the door, desperate to make his way to you.
“Yeah, go…” He chuckled and shooed him out of his office.
No longer a squadron commander, Bucky technically did not have a jeep of his own to disappear with off base and so he was in the process of grabbing one of the stray bikes outside the control tower when Crosby emerged into the daylight, eyes squinting in fatigue at the brightness.
“Where are you off to Major?”
“Redgrave Hospital!” He replied brightly, watching the younger man blink.
“Sir that’s a good eleven miles, that’s a terrible idea with your ribs.”
Word seemed to have spread fast…
“Take my jeep, I’m not gonna need it today.”
“Croz, you are a lifesaver.” Bucky dropped the bike he had been wrangling to slap him on the back before diving into the jeep allotted for use by the Group Navigator. “I’ll be back!” He shouted, taking off in a spray of dust and gravel.
Turning onto the two-hundred-acre country estate, Redgrave Hospital, consisting of nearly forty Nissen huts, stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the trees and landscaped green. As he pulled up to the headquarters of the hospital, Bucky quickly realized that the staff there were not nearly as excited to see him. In fact, they were downright reluctant to allow him in to visit you, but assured him that while you were ‘heavily medicated and resting’ you were still ‘on the mend.’
While relief still permeated his system, it was a new agony to have you so very close and yet still out of his reach. If they were not going to permit him as a regular visitor, Bucky realized he was going to have to get a lot more creative in order to lay his eyes on you, and until he did, there would be not real peace.
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Moments of clarity punctured through the blackness – a blur of trees, the flurry of activity of an aid station, the masked face of a surgeon speaking to you reassuringly, the heartbreakingly familiar interior of a C-47 – but it was not until you were settled in a bed inside a hospital with four walls, windows, and nurses that true cognizance really returned to you. Casting your eyes around the sterile, white space, you noted you were situated at the end of a row and walled off from other patients with a set of privacy screens. The most striking feature of this hospital was the very stern-faced Bucky parked in a chair to the left of your bed.
As you began to stir, his eyes lifted quickly to meet yours, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Have a good rest, angelfish?” he whispered, and you furrowed your brows up at him, so full of questions. “They got you on the good stuff don’t they.” He chuckled fondly, reaching out to brush his fingertips across your cheek tenderly.
“Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you.” You sighed, speech slightly slurred from pain medication and the dryness in your mouth, but still capable of using his own lines against him.
His resulting grin contained all the brilliance of the sun and made you look down with a self-satisfied smirk. Your eyes immediately fell on your exposed arms laying atop the blanket, the scarring along your left forearm lain bare for all to see. Jerking your hands back roughly, you clumsily tried to shove them beneath the covers despite the warmth on the ward. Bucky’s gentle tut before his hand came to rest atop yours halted your attempt.
“Shhh, you’re just fine you brave, beautiful woman. Stay right there.” He murmured as he laced his fingers with yours, pinning your arm to rest above the blanket. “You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”
Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I think I’ve acquired a few more…” You sighed, the feeling of thick bandages padding your hip acutely registering as you spoke.
“Probably.” He nodded softly. “You also probably saved that boy Hernandez by taking the bullet, so I’d say they were well earned. Besides, they’ll make an excellent target for my mouth one day.”
Your soft smile transformed into a look of disbelief, your free hand rising to whack his shoulder gently. “John Clarence Egan.” You chided half-heartedly and he pressed his face to the side of your head where it lay propped up against several pillows, his heavy exhale ruffling through your hair. “We are in a hospital, and you are making inappropriate jokes.”
“Mmmm.” He hummed in agreement, stroking his thumb against yours affectionately.
“Which hospital is this, anyway?” You asked curiously, finding its curved roof and white walls lacked distinguishing features.
“Redgrave Hospital, you serve in the Army Air Force after all.” He pulled back slightly to answer.
“Redgrave…” you repeated thoughtfully. “Sounds awfully English.”
“Hit the nail on the head, angelfish. We made it.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your temple, and you smiled softly. “Despite our best efforts.” His teasing made you laugh softly, and you shook your head.
“If we’re in England, where’s the King?” You raised an eyebrow expectantly and he smirked, shaking his head.
“No King, unfortunately, but I did bring you this?” He reached behind him, pulling out a newspaper to lay across your lap.
“Victory in Europe.” You read the headline aloud, pausing a moment as the words sunk in before gasping and looking to him wide-eyed. “Truly?”
A look of solemn earnestness overtook his features and he nodded softly. “Truly. German army surrendered yesterday.”
You gulped roughly and looked back to ready to date of May 8, 1945, on the top of the paper – you had lost nearly nine days. You really had been so close, everyone had. And the fact that you were here, and others were not seemed so very arbitrary. Sighing heavily, you squeezed his hand gently.
“By the skin of our teeth.” You murmured thickly, looking up as a nurse shuffled past with a faint nod of acknowledgement before making a sharp about-face to come and check your vitals.
“How’re you feeling?” She asked you and you nodded slowly.
“I’m alright, thank you. Bit foggy but things are the clearest they’ve been in days.”
“I’m going to fetch the Doctor.” The nurse turned to eye Bucky sharply. “You’d best make yourself scarce.” She commented before continuing on her way.
“How on earth did you get in here?” You raised an eyebrow as you came to realize how unusual his presence was.
“Bought my way in with a few bottles of champagne – your flightless comrades are quite friendly if one knows the price.”
You coughed out a laugh as the comment made Nurses sound like some species of bird and his lips twitched into a smile, your eyes unable to look away from the soft, rosy skin of his mouth.
“Hey before you go…”
“Hmmm?” He turned to you, half risen from his chair.
“I don’t have the mental capacity to think of something self-deprecating right now, so can I just get a kiss?” You murmured before pursing your lips shyly.
His face transformed into a warm smile, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as the tips of his ears flushed pink. “I always said you just had to ask, angelfish.”
Echoing his smile, you turned your lips up expectantly as he braced his hand on the pillow beside your head, leaning in to gently brush his lips against yours, drawing a contented sigh from deep beneath your breastbone. Bucky’s lips pressed closer, a tender hum rumbling from his throat just as a sharp cough sounded from the end of the bed and he slowly pulled back with a rueful huff.
“Just checking her breathing, Doc.” Bucky grinned wolfishly as the man raised an eyebrow sharply. “She’s doing great.”
“Hn.” The doctor intoned, clearly unimpressed. “And how are your ribs doing, Major Egan?”
Inhaling sharply, you looked him over quickly, the litany of his injuries flooding back to you from your sub-conscious.
“Much better, thank you Doc. Who knew Smokey was such a gossip. Well, angelfish,” he brushed his knuckles down your cheek, “guess that’s my cue.”
Nodding slowly, wondering who on earth Smokey might be, you watched him leave before your Doctor took over, running through numerous checks with you before discussing the extent of your injury and the surgeries that had been performed to save your life. It was nothing short of remarkable, what they had thrown at you to prevent your death, the conversation a very sobering one. It would be a long road to recovery, and one, it turned out, you would mostly be taking back home in the United States.
After a week or so in Redgrave Hospital, you were deemed fit enough for transport back to the Zone of Interior for convalescence and recovery in a domestic hospital. Though the sympathetic nurses had not seen fit to permit Bucky onto the ward again, they had taken a shakily written note, the loss of strength you had suffered in just over a week was startling, and promised to deliver it to him. The trip via Prestwick to Greenland, then Newfoundland, and ultimately Grenier Field in New Hampshire felt luxurious on the much more spacious C-54. You were admitted to the Station Hospital there to continue your recovery and rehabilitation, enjoying phone calls with your family instead of delayed correspondence for a change.
It took two months for you to be fully back on your feet, back to yourself. The same amount of time, it seemed, for the 100th bomb group to be repatriated stateside. Freshly discharged and clad in a brand-new olive drab dress uniform, proudly bearing your silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia following your promotion and the ribbons from your two purple hearts, you had sweet-talked your way back onto the base. One of the more sympathetic MPs who had heard your story – admittedly there were few in New Hampshire who had not heard your story at this point – had not even protested your request. It seemed that fate saw fit to land Major John Egan in your life a second time, with Grenier Field the destination for his bomb group on their return flight.
Standing in the warm summer breeze, watching the sky for the silhouettes of their planes, it honestly felt odd to be wearing a skirt. The complexity of affixing your stockings to the straps of your garter belt had briefly made you long for the convenience of slacks, but with your properly cut and styled hair and feminine clothing you felt like an entirely new woman as you stood outside on the grass with the ground crew. Would Bucky even recognize you?
At last the distant droning of aircraft engines reached your, and everyone around you’s, ears, the shapes of B-17s multiplying on the horizon before they began to circle in for a landing. Honestly, there were so many of them you briefly doubted you would be able to find him with any manner of efficiency. Clamping a hand over your officer’s cap to hold it in place as a plane taxied onto a nearby hardstand, your eyes began to scan the crowd of men as they filtered past, surely headed for the mess hall or officer’s club. Catch a glimpse of those unmistakable ears, you stepped forward and called out to him.
“John Clarence Egan!”
His head whipped around so fast he nearly took out the man walking beside him.
“Do I really look so different in a skirt that you would walk right by me?” You teased fondly.
“Angelfish!”
His flight bag hit the asphalt with a sickening ‘crunch’ that had you worried for its contents, but the impact of his body against yours drove that thought quickly from your mind. Wrenching his cap from his head he tilted his face to nestle beneath the brim of yours and kiss you soundly. Distantly, you were aware of all manner of cheers and wolf-whistles from his comrades, but you were too busy clutching at his shoulders to truly mind.
“How did you-? What are you-? God, it’s good to see you.” He rambled before pressing his mouth against yours firmly, not even giving you the opportunity to reply.
Laughing brightly into the kiss, you became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching much nearer and pulled back slowly, smiling fondly as Bucky’s lips made as if to chase yours, but his friend’s question interrupted him.
“You gonna introduce us, John?” A tall blond man with striking blue eyes and a pair of unsettlingly symmetrical facial scars asked sardonically.
Bucky cleared his throat and stepped back, though you noted his arm slid around your waist in a rather proprietary move. You found you did not mind in the least, particularly as your fully healed wound gave no protest of pain whatsoever.
“Angelfish, this Gale Cleven – call him Buck, Robert Rosenthal – Rosie, and Harry Crosby – Croz.” He followed up by introducing you by your full name.
“He give you that nickname, too?” The one he told you to call ‘Buck’ raised an eyebrow and you laughed.
“It’s a long story….”
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The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8, @mads-weasley
#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#major john egan x reader#john egan x you#john egan fic#john egan imagine#john egan#mota fanfic#masters of the air fanfiction
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Modern Lonliness
Major John Egan x reader
Warnings - little bit of angst, but mostly fluff
Word count - 2159
a/n - this was literally supposed to be posted over a month ago for the ending of MOTA, but I kept writing for Austin lol. Might as well get it out the drafts now. I also basically had to rewrite the whole thing bc wtf was I thinking a month ago. I hope you enjoy :)
The war is finally over, allowing all the soldiers to go home, including the two best friends Buck and Bucky. The only thing holding Bucky back from being completely content about leaving is the fact that he doesn’t have that special someone to go back to.
Buck has Marge, and of course he’s happy for him, but Bucky just wishes had found a girl before he got sent off, someone who would know how he was before the war. Buck would always tell him not to worry and that he would find someone soon, but each time it doesn’t give him any reassurance.
You have been best friends with Marge since college, so when she told you her fiance was coming home you had nothing but joy for her. You had been a huge supporter of their relationship since the beginning, and while Buck was away you were always at her house comforting her for when she cried or just needed a friend. During his absence, Buck would write to you to check in on Marge because you and him both knew Marge would never tell him how she was really doing.
Currently, you are walking out of her front door to go back home when you see a taxi pull up in the driveway. You didn’t think anything of it until you saw Buck exiting the vehicle with his bags in hand. You shout for Marge to come outside, and it doesn’t take long for her to sprint into Buck’s arms after seeing him in the driveway. With a smile, you watched as he held onto her tightly and so lovingly, knowing this is exactly what Marge needed after a bad week.
Deep down, though, you were wishing you had someone coming home to you, someone whose arms you could run into and kiss you like his life depended on it. When it came to the dating scene you never had much luck, so after a while you just accepted the defeat and gave up, deciding it was better to put your energy towards your career.
During your girl talks, Marge would always tell you that you would find someone soon, and how perfect of a person you were, but year after year of not finding a relationship was making it hard to believe her.
A couple days after Buck’s return, Marge invited you over because she was hosting a barbeque for Buck and some of his friends. You tried your best to get out of it, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. She also mentioned that Bucky – Buck’s friend from the military who you’ve only heard while reading letters – would be there and that it would be an opportunity for you.
You didn’t find it unusual that she was trying to set you up with someone because this is what she always does, but you just weren’t in the mood to have small talk with a guy who probably wouldn’t find you attractive.
When Buck had invited Bucky – because when are they not together – he turned down the offer, and just like Marge, Buck wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
So, now here you were in Marge’s backyard surrounded by men and their partners. The only people you knew were the hosts, so you sat on the steps of the back porch with Marge beside you. Marge also didn’t know many of the guests given the fact everyone was Buck’s friend from the military, so she kept you company as she watched Buck man the grill with a few other guys beside him.
Bucky was among them, standing right next to his best friend and sipping on a beer as he talked. Every now and again, he would run a hand through his hair to push some of his loose curls, and you couldn’t deny the fact that he was attractive as you found yourself admiring him from a distance.
“Are you going to say something to him?” Marge asked you as she swished around the lemonade in her glass. She had been watching you this whole time as you practically drooled in the direction of the grill.
“Of course not,” you say as you turn your attention back to her, not before glancing around to see if anyone else had caught you staring.
Thankfully some of the women had formed a little group and were laughing and gossiping amongst themselves, so there was little chance anyone had noticed you.
“And why not?” asked Marge with furrowed brows. “He’s a nice guy, I promise.”
“I’m sure he is, but it’s not like I know what to say. Plus look at him, he’s way out of my league,” you reply as you take a sip of lemonade from your own glass.
“No he’s not, he’s just like any other guy,” she scoffs followed by a laugh.
“And just like with any other guy, I have nothing to talk about. What do we even have in common? He also just got back from a war camp in Europe, what if I say something that triggers him?
“You’re overthinking. Just start off with a simple hello, and then go from there. He’s a huge flirt so knowing him he’ll do most of the talking,” she smiles.
She was always so optimistic about these kinds of things, but you would be too if you were getting married to a guy who basically worships you.
You quickly finish the last of your lemonade before standing up. “I’m going to get a refill,” you mumble as you walk up the steps and into the house. You needed an excuse to get away from the conversation, and to get out of the heat. The sundress you were wearing was cute and gave you airflow, but it also exposed your arms and legs to harsh sun.
You head into the kitchen and open the fridge to take out the pitcher of lemonade Marge had made earlier in the day. After refilling your glass, you thought it was best to linger in the kitchen for a bit longer and decided to grab a plate of fruit out of the fridge to keep you busy.
Just as you jump up on the kitchen counter to get comfortable, you hear the back door opening. Next thing you know, you see Bucky walking into the kitchen, letting out a sigh that seems to be of exhaustion. He flashes you a smile when he notices you, before proceeding to grab another beer out of the fridge.
“You’re Marge’s friend right?” he asks as he shuts the door and turns to face you.
“Yep,” is all you say before sticking a grape in your mouth.
“I’m John, but everyone calls me Bucky,” he says. He makes direct eye contact as sticks a hand out for you to shake, which you do, before popping the cap off his beer.
“So I’ve heard. I’ve seen your picture in Marge’s letters,” you respond as you focus your attention on the plate in your hands and begin moving some fruit around.
“Oh, yeah? Did I atleast look good in those pictures? Buck never lets me read his letters,” He smirks as he leans against the counter opposite from you. You almost choke on the piece of fruit you had just placed in your mouth from his statement. You feel your face and ears turning warm so you turn your head and look out the kitchen window to avoid his gaze.
You stop yourself from smiling and cover it by clearing your throat. “Well you were in a uniform and in black and white, so I couldn’t really tell.”
“Understandable, black and white photos can be misleading,” he jokes, taking a swig from his bear. There’s a short silence that follows that isn’t completely awkward, but not exactly comfortable to you either. You hope he doesn’t notice.
The silence is interrupted by the back door opening and Marge sticking her head inside. She grins as her eyes flicker between you and Bucky before stopping on you to say, “Are you coming back out or what?”
“In a second, I’m just going to cool off in here for a bit,” you tell her. She gives you a nod before closing the door.
“Not a fan of big gatherings, I take it,” Bucky says once Marge is gone.
“What makes you say that?” you steal a glance at him before looking back out the window.
You smile as you watch Marge join Buck at the grill, making him turn his head to give her a quick kiss.
“I can tell you’re avoiding going back outside, and I don’t blame you. I’m doing the same thing myself,” he answers.
“What are you avoiding?” you finally turn your head to face him.
“Nothing specific really, I’m just not in the mood for conversating and answering people’s questions right now. That doesn’t include you though,” he looks over at you with a small smile. ” I used to love being around people and having fun, but now all I want to do is leave.”
You watch as Bucky stares at the wall, going distant. His mood seems to have shifted from the one he had when he first stepped foot in the kitchen. “Everything okay?”
Your voice interrupts his thoughts and brings him back to the present. “Yeah, I’m fine…I’m just…I can tell I’m a different person ever since I got back, and I’m not sure I like this version of me.” He sets his beer on the counter and folds his arms, no longer in the mood to drink it.
“I don’t think anyone expects you to be the same.”
“Well yeah, it’s just the fact that everyone I meet from now on will only know this version of me. They won’t know how different I was before the war, and they won’t understand what I’ve been through. Like Buck has Marge to talk to, and she understands because of the letters he would send her. I don’t have that,” Bucky says before adding, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump this all on you.”
You just give him a smile. Even though you will never understand completely what Bucky went through, you do have some grasp on what he’s feeling. To you it’s obvious that he puts on a mask when he’s around people, and won’t let his feelings show unless he’s alone – harboring his emotions.
“I know how close you are with Buck, have you ever told him about how you felt? It always helps to talk to someone.” you tell him.
He shakes his head, “No, I don’t want to bother him. He has his own problems.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” you tell him, but he just shakes his head again. “Well...I know we’ve just met, but you could talk to me. I mean, you just opened up to me in a kitchen within ten minutes of meeting me. I’m obviously a great listener Only if you want to, though,” you end with a hopeful smile.
Bucky finally looks away from the wall to look you in the eye with his eyebrows raised. “Really?” he asks and you nod. “That would be nice.”
And that’s where the bond between the two of you started, and it only continued to grow stronger. You would meet up with him for drinks, lunch, or just for a walk through the park. Bucky would tell you everything, from him joining the military and meeting Buck to what he has experienced throughout the past few years. You could tell that he would get emotional when he brought up certain topics, but he never cried around you, even though you always encouraged him to let his feelings out.
One day when he invited you to dinner, you brought it up to Marge. She quickly got excited and said it was a date, but you just brushed it off and told her it was just another casual meeting. Nonetheless, you still decided to put effort into your appearance – more than you normally do – and once the dinner was over, you realized she was right.
Bucky ended up confessing to you how his feelings for you have grown over the past few weeks. At first you were shocked, but when you realized he was being serious, you admitted that you felt the same way.
You didn’t care that Bucky thought he was a ruined person with a lot of baggage, everyone has their hardships, after all. Bucky loved how you enjoyed being with him after everything he had told you, and how you accepted him for who he is now.
When you eventually told Marge that you and Bucky were official, she wasn’t surprised at all and brought up how she always said you would find someone. When Bucky had told his best friend, Buck was happy for him and gave Bucky his fair share of I told you so’s.
#callum turner x reader#callum turner#callum turner imagine#major john egan x reader#major john egan#mota#mota fanfic#mastersoftheair#austin butler x reader#major gale cleven#austin butler
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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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home to you, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan (masters of the air) x black fem oc (amelia egan)
content: bucky returns home after spending time away in the war. inspired by this gif set
an: an anon asked me for more major john egan fics, so here we are! ask and you shall receive.
Amelia Mae Egan found it difficult to adjust to the absence of her husband. The sound of silence was daunting and nothing short of a haunting melody that kept her up at night.
The bed was cooler than Antarctica. The chill of the sheets stung like bitter cold. His pillow was left just as it was the day he left. Perfectly propped against the metal bedframe. She would lean over to inhale the remnants on his scent.
Amelia wasn’t used to making her own coffee. Only he knew how to make it the way she enjoyed. When her own hands attempted to make the rich goodness, she spewed it out like a stubborn child and chucked the remainder into the sink.
Breakfast was uncompromising without him. She couldn’t stomach more than a few bites before her eyes filled with tears and she slid the bowl across the table. It would stay untouched and crust over as the day went on.
Her frustration grew even more when the overhead light in the bedroom went out. Her day had been long, and the last thing she needed was to enter a dark bedroom. Amelia found herself running around the house like a chicken with her head cut off searching for a new lightbulb. Of course, it was on a shelf taller than she was, so she had to use a chair to retrieve it.
Amelia’s heartrate quickened as the agitation within her seeped through her pores. Her fingers flicked the side lamp aggressively. She kicked off her shoes and climbed unto the bed, the springs squeaking gently. She reached above her, but her hands just barely met the unlit lamp.
“Son of a bitch,” she cursed in frustration.
“Nasty language for a pretty woman.” Amelia’s head flung up like a spring. She released a noise--a mix between a gasp, a sob, and a laugh. Last time she checked, she wasn’t going to see him for another two weeks. But, there he stood, in all his beauty.
John gave her a small smile and placed his suitcase on the ground. He gently placed his hat on top of it. His shoes kissed the floor as he quickly made his way to her. Amelia smiled like a child in the candy store and dropped the lightbulb on the bed.
“Hi darlin’.” His voice was deep like ocean waters yet smooth like silk. His rough hands trailed up her soft calves and to her hips. He clenched the flesh of her bottom; she leaned into his touch, leaning down to cup his cheeks with her hands. Her tear filled eyes gazed into his loving blue eyes.
She wasted no time connecting their lips. Relief and comfort washed over her body like tidal wave. Her baby. In that kiss was an intense fuel of passion that transcended all other emotions she felt before. Amelia released a soft whimper when his hands cupped the back of her thighs, hoisting her in his arms.
One of John’s hands searched for the bed, laying her against it gently. Amelia giggled softly as her husband wrecked her neck with kisses, “Johnny.” John nudged her thighs open and slotted his body between them; she trapped him in position.
“I’ve missed you, doll,” he whispered lowly, fondling with the thin shirt that covered her chest. His nose brushed against the valley of her breasts. “Did you miss me?” His ears caught her heavy breaths and soft expressions.
“I did. So much. So happy you’re home.” Amelia’s fingers carded through his hair as she tried to maintain the small amount of self control she had left.
“How about you show me how much you missed me, darlin’,” he commanded softly, looking into her eyes. She smiled mischievously and lowered her hands to his belt. Four months without her, there was much to make up for, and she was more than happy to oblige.
#saturnville#original writing#black!reader#black reader#major john egan x black!reader#major john egan#major gale cleven#major john egan x reader#callum turner#callum turner x reader#callum turner x black!reader#masters of the air
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The Force of a Curl
Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan was hungover, wet and missing a shoe. Hungover because those boys in the 389th challenged him to a drinking contest, wet because his mother stopped pestering him to take umbrellas when he was twelve years old and missing a shoe because of that damned English mud.
If the boys could see him now, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He could practically hear Curt and Buck’s laugh all the way from the US.
Sighing loudly as the storm increased, the pilot moved to pick up his shoe. But as his fingers brushed the shoe, the Major was shocked to find that the rain had stopped. No, not stopped he amended noticing the umbrella extended above his head.
“Are you alright, Major?” Asked a feminine voice conveying a mixture of concern and thinly veiled amusement.
While he had only been at Thorpe Abbots for two days, John Egan recognized the woman before him. Lieutenant [last name] was a notable figure to many. To most on the base, she was the pretty faced WAC lieutenant included in the upper brass briefings. To Bucky Egan, she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Though their interactions had been limited to a short introduction and shared proximity during meetings, he already knew she was beautiful, smart, calm and confident. Even when facing the asinine questioning of Colonel Huglin. However, this interaction was offering something entirely new…
Standing to his full height, John ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was because of the rain or self consciousness of being caught in this position by her was something he’d never tell.
“Oh, I’m doing great, Lieutenant. Just enjoying the feeling of the ground.” Shooting her a confident smile despite his sorry state.
“Just with one foot?” Raising an eyebrow, [y/n] struggled to keep the laugh from escaping. “Guess you pilots really do forget what it’s like to be on solid ground. Bit of advice then, try to avoid the puddles. They’re deeper than they seem.” [y/n] teased as the Major moved to rescue his shoe from the mud.
“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” He responded airly feeling his grasp on the situation slip. With no teasing retort brewing on his mind, the pilot was left feeling mollified by the teasing glint in her gaze.
Raising the umbrella to adjust for the height difference, [y/n] watched transfixed as a stray curl fell in front of his eye. He really was a handsome sight to behold [y/n] mused as his hand brushed hers to take the umbrella from her grasp.
If anyone were to pass by them, the pair offered the illusion of intimacy and familiarity through their shared laughter and proximity. However, an illusion was just an illusion unless perceptions were altered.
“You been here long?” Like in any small town, she had heard of the new Major before she met. His singing alone had reached her ears before she entered the pub two nights prior. Though his voice was loud and brash when singing, the deep Midwestern baritone during conversation was far more pleasing. “I hope you’ve fared better with the mud than I have, Lieutenant ''.
“5 months and yes I have,” [y/n] began before pausing to giggle at a memory, “but two weeks in being here I…” Looking up into those inquisitive cerulean eyes, [y/n] stopped herself from continuing. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself that he wasn’t just any handsome man, he was a Major. And therefore, it was probably best to not inform her superior of some slight trouble that happened to find her. “Nevermind, sir”.
Noticing the tone of professionalism that blended into her dulcet tones, John frowned. He had heard this tone before, it was how she responded to him when he introduced himself and when she spoke during the Brass meetings.
“No, don't give me sir, I don’t want sir. I’m soaked and missing a shoe, rank’s off. Call me Bucky or I’ll even take John.” He liked this version more, because there’s nothing he loved more than someone he could laugh with. Even if it was at his own expense as Bucky Egan wasn’t a man who took himself too seriously.
“Come on, can’t leave me hanging like that. You’ve seen me at my lowest, it’s only fair that you share as well.” He countered, his determination to get her to smile at him again unwavering. To further emphasize his point, he wiggled his sock clad foot hoping to get another laugh.
She could see why many were transfixed by the new Major on the base, he carried himself with a genial ease that was both disarming and charming.
Deciding she might as well dig her own grave, she relented with a sigh. “Two weeks in I got locked in the enlisted men’s mess hall on an unnecessary errand for Colonel Huglin.”
Eyes crinkling in delight, John took in her deadpan delivery that was obviously a pass fake to her underlying embarrassment. “How’d you get out?” John asked in response, knowing it would be a worthwhile story.
“As the metaphor goes, when one door closes another one opens. Namely a window in the back of the kitchen.” She remarked casually as if any rational person’s first idea would be to climb through a window.
Laughing in warm boisterous bursts, Bucky’s gaze was unwavering and full of affection and intrigue.
The implication of his gaze was enough to make any girl flustered, [y/n] included. Deciding to busy herself with pointing in the opposite direction, she hoped to quell the butterflies. “Can I walk you somewhere, Major?”
“How chivalrous of you.” He responded softly, with a matching grin. Watching the rain drops land on her otherwise pristine uniform, he stepped forward. Leaning closer, he was captivated by the teasing curl of her lips.
“Well if being one shoe down and soaked doesn’t make you a damsel in distress then I’m not sure what else would.”
With the way she was smiling at him, he wouldn’t mind being saved by her again, John thought. “Well you got me there. Walk me to my billet kind knight?”
Up until this point in the war, her mindset had firmly been 'loose lips sink ships’. No unnecessary comments or connections or else her heart would be broken. However, watching that damn curl fall across his face, [y/n] knew she had lost this battle. And if she was so easily defeated by Major John Egan then she feared for the poor unsuspecting Germans.
“Lead the way, Fly Boy.”
#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#major john egan x reader#john egan imagine#mota x reader#mota fanfic#john egan x female reader#masters of the air imagine#masters of the air x reader
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SUNDAY, MONDAY OR ALWAYS
pair : major john 'bucky' egan x fem!reader
summary: you hate bucky egan– could a song drunkenly sang at a pub change that? based off this ask
warnings: drunk bucky, language ig?, bad writing
notes: masters of the air has completely taken over my life.. also on that note this fic may be awful while im trying to figure out how to write for this series but its okay because theyre pretty men in uniforms ! also i changed the song from blue skies to fit the fic better :) i dont know about timeline so if the song wasnt written before this scene was supposed to take place then ignore that 🙏🏽
The pub was loud, soldiers spread all across the room. In a sea full of people, Bucky could only notice as you stood against the wall with a drink in your hand. He started to walk towards you, as soon as his eyes met yours, you looked away and rolled them– taking another sip of your drink.
"Oh c'mon! I was barely even halfway here and you're already rolling those pretty eyes of yours?" His voice got closer, before he stood against the wall right next to you. "May I help you Major? Or are you just here to bother me again." Annoyance was laced through your words, eyes scanning the room for Buck.
"C'mon sweetheart you know its Bucky!" He smiled at you before you looked up at him. "Well Major, its always a pleasure talking to you." She spat sarcastically before making her way over to the bar, a small pout gracing Bucky's face.
He watched as another soldier sparked a conversation with you, watching as you give him a polite smile. He stared for a moment before feeling a pat on his back, Buck coming into view. "What'd you even do to piss her off this time?"
Bucky scoffed. "Nothing! Why do you always assume I did something?" Buck stayed silent for a moment, staring at him with an eyebrow raised. "Do you really want me to awnser that?" Bucky stayed silent, a small chuckle leaving Cleven.
"Just give it up for the night, we both know she isn't gonna budge." Bucky sighed. "I didn't even get to try before she walked away!" Another laugh left Buck, smiling at his friend as he spoke. "Gotta take the hint- go get another drink, you look like you need it."
He in fact, did not need it. Half an hour later Bucky made his way over to where Buck and a few guys from the 100th were sitting. He was clearly drunk, slightly stumbling before plopping down in the chair, tapping his foot against the floor as music played.
He looked over at Buck, a grin on his face. "You know what this is missing?" Without even turning, Buck replied. "Nothing" "Vocals!... I'm gonna sing" As soon as Bucky tried to stand up, Buck's hand pulled him back.
Bucky pouted for a moment before leaning over. "Jack! Should I sing?" Jack shook his head, a quick 'no' leaving his lips. Bucky leaned back disappointedly, before turning over again to another member of the 100th. "Should I sing?" "No"
He leaned back in his chair again, fixing his hair as he stared at the musicans. "Alright, you're right... you're right." He sat back for a moment, biting his lip and tapping his hand before shooting out of his seat. Dancing over to the middle of the room before turning to Buck.
"It's my song!" Buck shook his head, watching as his friend grabbed the mic. As he was about to start singing, he saw your eyebrows furrowed as you both made eye contact before sitting next to Buck.
"What's he doing up there?" You asked. Buck sighed, "He said he was gonna sing." Your face turned into a grimace, a big smile on Bucky's face before he started singing, making eye contact as he started.
"Oh, won't you tell me when, we will meet again! Sunday, Monday or always" He was loud, a big smile still on his face as he sang. You sat back and watched, a small smile starting to grow on your face as a small laugh made its way out of you.
There was no possible way he knew the song was a favorite of yours, but there was something nice about the sight of him singing up there- even if it wasnt objectively the best thing you've ever heard. Bucky watched as a small smile appeared on your face, growing more estatic as he sang.
"If you're satisfied, I'll be at your side! Sunday, Monday or always— No need to tell me now, What makes the world go 'round!" Bucky made his way closer to your direction, clearly making eye contact as he continued. "When at the sight of you, my heart begins to pound and pound! and what am I to do?"
A small blush started to appear on your face, trying to bite back a smile as you shook your head, a laugh leaving your chest as he danced around, shaking your head 'no' as he motioned for you to come up. He finished the verse, grabbing your hand and pulling you up onto the dancefloor, mic held up to his mouth. "Can't I be with you, Sunday, Monday or always."
You laughed as he put the mic back on the stand, spinning you around. He smiled down at you as he pulled you close, speaking softly, but loud enough for you to hear. "If I knew I could get you to stop glaring at me everytime I talked to you by serenading you in a bar I would've done this ages ago."
You shook your head, holding back a smile, dancing with him as the music continued. "Don't get cocky with me, this is a... a one time thing-" You couldn't ignore how his face fell for a moment, before being replaced by a smile. "Why do you hate me so much anyways?"
She shook her head. "I don't exactly hate you- I just didn't like your approach the first few times we tried talking." Bucky smiled softly, "And now? What's the verdict sweetheart?" You paused, feet no longer moving to the music. "Hmm... ask me in a few more days and i'll give you an awnser."
She walked away, Bucky sighing in disappointment. He walked back over to Buck before hearing you call him over. "I'm going back to the bar to get a soda, you coming or not?" Bucky looked wide eyed at Buck before smiling and jogging over to you.
Maybe he would finally get his shot.
#masters of the air#masters of the air fic#callum turner#callum turner x reader#major john bucky egan#major john egan#major john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan#mota#mota fic#john egan x reader
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Proverbial Dark Clouds • Part 3
Major John Egan x Reader
A woman finally snuck her way into the heart of eligible bachelor Major John Egan, he is all too soon reminded of why he fended off love for so long.
Warnings: Angst. Themes of war, death and violence. Heart break. Spoilers to episodes 1-4. A little bit of steam but nothing graphic.
Word Count: ~2.7k
Final part of Proverbial Dark Clouds. Thank you so much for reading!
Masterlist Part 1 Part 2
x x x
Every moment they were stuck in the Algerian sand, Bucky kept his eyes on the sky, hoping that maybe a straggling plane would come along. The sun and sand were hot, most of the men had stripped to their underclothes hoping for some relief, many thinking about their lost comrades and the prospect of an ice-cold beer.
The only thing on Bucky’s mind was you. He could picture you sitting along with the boys in the sand, hounding them about sunburns and heat sickness but you would be as undressed as your modesty would allow with sweat dripping down your brow- so in love with the fact that you both had made it through alive.
It had all been a blur, the past two weeks or so for John. Being a leader amongst his men meant he couldn’t allow himself to be effected by the disappearance of you and his friends, he couldn’t lay his pain on the shoulders of his men. It had become a morning routine to visit the infirmary. The visits had started as a daily occurrence until Buck had caught on to his pre-breakfast disappearances, but he still stopped by when he could sneak away from Gale’s watchful eye. He’d stand near the doorway, expecting you to walk by, beautiful as ever even with blood spattered on your uniform. You never did.
You quickly learned that the base was always abuzz before and following a mission. While the pilots rested as much as their minds would let them the night before, all the other personnel were preparing to bring the men home as successful and safe as possible. For you it meant one more checkup for any soldiers who were cleared to leave the infirmary, preparing a general medical kit for each plane and hundreds of smaller medical kits for each soldier, a precaution should they need to bail out of the plane.
“Is there a man you fancy on this mission?” Doctor Williams asked, earning a confused frown as you shook your head. “If you keep pacing you will wear a hole in the middle of my floor.”
To put it lightly, you were bored. All of the patients had been tended to, every other task that the doctor had requested you complete was finished and you were full of trapped energy as your body overcompensated for your lack of sleep.
“They should be arriving anytime now, put on a jumpsuit and meet them in the field.” The doctor suggested, glancing up from his paperwork as you continued to pace.
“Am I permitted to do that?”
The man shrugged, just as tired as you. “Well, I’m permitting it. It would be more of a hassle to replace this floor if you wear a divet in it.”
You watched as the planes landed one by one. Most of the men had small treatable wounds until one particular plane caught your eye. The crew worked together to lower a bloodied man from inside, the rest of the medical team quickly rushed toward them with a stretcher. You followed, working to roll up the sleeves on your jumpsuit, ready to get your hands bloodied if need be.
“What’s his name?” You asked, your feet following along with the stretcher as you moved the injured soldiers jacket away from his wound.
“Duval.”
The familiar voice had you glancing over your shoulder as the men loaded the stretcher into the truck. Those gray eyes had been ingrained in your thoughts for the past week. Recognition dawned on his features, and what you could only decipher to be distaste flashed across his face. You had been someone he was not expecting to see again, after all, England had an array of American bases and neither of you had specified your destination during your previous encounter.
“Alright Duval, let’s get you fixed up.”
After helping Doctor Williams assess and treat Duval, you had been placed in charge of treating the men with smaller, more superficial wounds. Since most of the men had smaller wounds requiring only proper cleaning, bandaging and maybe a few stitches the lineup at your station was quite lengthy. Needless to say, your lack of sleep had you on edge and when the final man sat in the chair across from you, you couldn’t help but sigh.
“Don’t sound so sad to see me, sweetheart.”
“I heard you’re the one who treated Duval on the plane?” Your fingers gently gripped his chin to turn his head to the perfect angle for proper light.
“Impressed?”
“Confused.” You dipped the clean cloth into the bowl of water, “You could treat a wound like that but not take a shower to wash this blood off your face?”
“And miss my chance to be patched up by you?” He teased, but you could see it in his eyes, the nervousness he tried to hide. With your time in the medical field you had learned to read people through their eyes and body language, an important part of your job was to detect when people were in discomfort or pain.
“Earlier, you looked at me like I was a ghost or something.”
“I was just surprised is all.” He winced from the sting as you dabbed the dried blood from his hairline, “You this heavy-handed with every soldier?”
You scoffed, “The man before you did not flinch when I put 6 stitches in his brow.”
“Are you calling me weak?” John playfully leaned away from your touch “Maybe I am weak, weak in the knees for you.”
“Do these lines usually work for you?” Your fingers paused their work, your eyes jumping from inspecting his wound to the mischievous glint in his gray eyes.
“That depends. Will you agree to have a drink with me?”
“You are infuriatingly charming, Major.”
“Please, call me John.”
He had been tense lately, slipping closer and closer to the edge. It had become clear to Buck at Dye’s 25th Mission celebration that his friend was in dire need of a break. He sent John to London for the weekend, hoping that it would ease some of the tension in his shoulders and cast away the dark cloud that hung over his head. John felt the hotel was too quiet, escaping to a local pub for some noise and a beer and when a beautiful woman had approached him to share a drink he had tried to entertain her, maybe that would help him forget about you, but when she had gone to powder her nose he had slipped out undetected.
Sometimes John had trouble sleeping before missions, he would still be tossing and turning when a runner was sent to wake them up for their briefing. Now, he had trouble sleeping every night. Nearly two months had passed since you had disappeared, still nobody had any answers of what exactly had happened, either you had died a gruesome death or become a prisoner of war. The dark truth was John wasn’t sure which one he would prefer, resting at peace like the angel you were or trapped, possibly facing cruel acts of violence every day.
When exhaustion took over and sleep was impossible to avoid, he dreamt of you. Always so beautiful, always so you- those nights caused a deep ache to spread through his chest. He almost felt silly for the whole thing, you two had not been together long but he had been so captivated by your whole being. For so long he had sworn off love, not because he did not want it, but because he was certain that he would never experience it.
You smoothed down the soft skirt of your dress, no longer accustomed to wearing such a luxury item. The dress had been gifted to you by another nurse upon hearing through the grapevine that you had a date with the handsome Major. Unbeknownst to you, that Major was the “grapevine”.
A fast moving jeep suddenly stopped in front of your billet, the sound of it skidding along the gravel road pulled your attention away from the small crease along the dresses hem. The handsome Major stepped out of the jeep, his smile grew as he took in your form. There was a glint in his eye as he approached, gently brining your the back of your hand to his lips to lay a gentle greeting kiss.
“Your carriage awaits.”
You inspected the jeep and the patiently waiting solider in the drivers seat. “Have you ordered that man to chauffeur us around this evening? Or is he doing this with his own free will?”
“Half and half,” John shrugged, leading you toward the vehicle, “But that is because I have a plan.”
“A plan?”
The Major hummed as he opened the passenger door of the Jeep, “Do you happen to know how to ride a bicycle?”
Your chauffeur dropped you off at your destination and quickly drove off into the sunset, presumably back to Thorpe Abbott before anyone realized he was gone. John led you into a quaint pub, his familiarity with the other patrons and bartender told you that he had visited it often since arriving in England. He led you to a table in the corner, leaving you by yourself momentarily while he went to get drinks.
“It feels like you are sitting a whole world away,” He gripped the edge of your chair, pulling it closer to the corner of the square table, “Much better.”
“So, what are the components of this master plan?”
“My crew is set to arrive tomorrow, if all is according to plan. Bicycles are hard to come by at Thorpe Abbott right now and I sure as hell could use one, trying to get one for a friend of mine too.” His breath brushed your face as he leaned closer, keen on hiding the next phase of his plan from any nosy patrons. “He always said that drinking leads to gambling, and where would a better place be than here?”
You gasped, feigning shock. “Major, I hope you are not planning to swindle some poor locals for their bicycles?”
“If all goes according to plan.” His charming smile returned, “But of course that is simply only a singular component of my plan, enjoying a beer and the company of a compelling lady are my highlights.”
You spent your evening tucked away in the corner, John coaxing stories from you about your past, eager to learn more about you. You were both so enthralled that neither of you had noticed your bodies slowly gravitating closer as the night went on. You were sitting on the same side of the table now, shoulder to shoulder, feet tangled together and hands lingering merely an inch apart on the table top.
“It’s getting late.” John glanced at his watch, turning his wrist to show you the face of the timepiece.
You sighed, not wanting the evening to end. “Time flies when you are having fun.”
“That it does.” He finally stopped playing coy, boldly taking your soft hand into his rough one. You felt a chill run through you as his thumb swiped over the back of your hand. “I should put in a little work on acquiring those bicycles, then get you back to base.”
You waited patiently, unsure of what his gambling entailed. What you had not expected was for John to bet another man could hit a bullseye, the target though being an apple resting on top of Johns very own head.
“John, as a medical professional I must advise you against this.” You spoke over the rowdy patrons in the pub “There has to be another way for you to acquire a bicycle, you’ll lose an eye.”
“No I won’t, I trust Tommy.” He assured, the additional beer and adrenaline now running through his blood stream providing him with extra confidence. “Now he wins this, I get both those bikes.”
“Yeah, you’re on yank.”
“And I get a kiss.” John sent you a wink as he stepped in front of the dart board. “Alright, Tommy, not my eyes. Not my eyes, Tommy. All right?”
He placed the apple on top of his head and covered his eyes with his hand, letting a big breath out. “Alright Tommy, whenever you’re ready.”
You held your breath, pulling at the skin on your fingers to keep yourself from covering your eyes as well. The possible outcomes filtered through your mind, puncture wound of the face or hand, loss of an eye; both would not have great outcomes for any pilot. You had to close your eyes as Tommy took aim.
Gasps echoed through the pub as the dart pierced skin, luckily for sake of most peoples it was the skin of the apple.
“Tommy!”
John brushed past you to hug Tommy for their victory, before circling back to pull your body into his arms. You were too shocked with the contact to return it before he retreated for one more celebrity cheer with the other patrons who had witnessed the unbelievable sight.
You gripped your dress in your hand while trying to maintain grip on the bicycles handlebar, not wanting your dress to get caught in the wheel. Only a minute after you had departed the pub, the clouds opened up and the down pour started. You had laughed in disbelief at first, just your luck to be caught in the rain on a night like this.
“Nothing but blue skies do I see,
Not in England though,
Got shitty weather and blue skies, smiling at me.”
John sung at the top of his lungs as he weaved along the road in front of you, making the most of the poor weather with his clever lyrics and self-identified singing ability.
The bikes were abandoned in the rain on the walkway to your small cabin. Against all the rules, you had invited the Major to step inside to escape the rain to say goodnight. He stood in the threshold, his confident demeanor dwindling as a near awkwardness hung by the threshold.
You were grateful that the other ladies in your cabin had been granted weekend passes, you couldn’t imagine this moment if you had five other women watching this moment like it was the next best movie.
“I enjoyed tonight.” You found a shirt abandoned on your bunk, using it to quickly dry the water droplets running down your scalp. “Despite you nearly blinding yourself for a bet.”
“Actually, I do recall the bet including a kiss.”
His words hung in the space between you. You dropped the shirt onto your bunk as he took slow steps forward, almost unsure if you were open to fulfilling the wager.
“You’re right, I think it did.” The words sounded like a whisper coming from your lips, nearly being drowned out by the sound of the heavy rain beating against the tin roof above your heads. You slowly stepped forward, closing the space between your bodies until your finger tips brushed.
“This alright, sweetheart?” His warm breath fanned your face as he asked. Your nod causing your nose to briefly rub along his before your lips connected in a slow kiss. Your hands found his hips as his snaked around to the back of your head, slowly increasing the pressure of the kiss as your body relaxed against his. The kiss had unleashed an array of feelings that continued to smolder throughout the night.
His short trip to London had done nothing to help ease the spreading darkness of his mind- 30 bombers lost.
The headline in the newspaper and his phone call to Thorpe Abbott was all he needed to solidify the fantasy he had of what he must do moving forward in this war. The only way he would make it through without losing the rest of his sanity was to find you, and now Gale with the other missing men.
The heart breaking truth was you had never made it out of your reverie, the last words gracing your thoughts was your Majors sweet whisper.
“My pleasure, sweetheart.”
x x x
@canyousmelltheflowers @mads-weasley @groovin2beats @major-john-bucky-egan @finelinetimothee @surazim @orphancains @danny-boy27 @eugenedream
#major john egan#mota fanfic#masters of the air#mota#major john egan x reader#john egan x reader#john egan#callum turner#john bucky egan
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It is absolutely ludicrous that there are no Callum Turner fics for Masters of the Air 💀
I need my Major John “Bucky” Egan fix ASAP
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Living to See Another Day
John “Bucky” Egan x Reader
Summary: As the 100th bomb group get ready to fly their next mission, Bucky is uncertain of his fate or his relationship.
This is based off the scenes in episode 5 of MOTA
Warnings: angst, crying, heartbreak
Words: 1.8k
Next
• • •
Thorpe Abbotts Airbase,
Norfolk, England
October 10, 1943
The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the air force base as Bucky stood on the tarmac, his heart heavy with worry. The supposed "disappearance" of his friend Buck and his crew on the mission to Bremen had shaken him to the core.
The unease in the air was palpable, a sense of foreboding hanging over the base like a dark cloud.
In front of him, Y/n’s crew were making their way to the jeep which would take them to one of the replacement aircrafts. That didn’t soothe Bucky’s nerves one bit.
There weren’t enough aircrafts to make the mission over the English Channel. And once they’d reached enemy territory, the rest would be left undetermined.
Bucky watched the squadrons getting in vehicles that would take them to their planes and possibly their last destination. His mind kept drifting to Y/n, the pilot who stole his heart all because of her sheer determination to prove that she could fly a mission even as others looked down on her. And that she did.
But no matter how talented one was, there was no guarantee of survival. You had to expect the worst.
The thought of something happening to Y/n or himself filled him with a deep sense of dread. He couldn't shake the feeling that he or anyone else could be next. No one knew.
As Y/n walked past him, her face a portrait of determination, Bucky felt a sudden surge of panic. He knew he had to do something, anything, to protect her from whatever invisible threat loomed on the horizon that could harm the future of their relationship.
Without thinking, he reached out and pulled Y/n aside, away from the prying eyes of their fellow pilots. Of course, they all noticed and whispered among themselves. Y/n, embarrassed and a bit confused, followed Bucky as he held onto her arm.
Hiding behind a building, Bucky scanned the area for any wandering eyes, making sure no one else was listening.
Y/n stood there dumbfounded. This behavior was very unusual. She knew something was wrong just by the look of desperation in his face.
“Y/n, we need to talk,” Bucky said, his voice low and urgent.
Confusion flickered in Y/n's eyes, her brows furrowing in concern.
“What's wrong, Bucky? Why are you acting so strange?”
Bucky hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He knew what he had to do, even if it tore his heart to pieces. “Y/n, we can't do this anymore. We need to end things between us.”
The girl's eyes widened in shock.
“What? Bucky, what are you talking about? Why are you leaving me all of a sudden?”
Bucky's heart ached at the hurt in her voice, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her the real reason behind his sudden decision. She would see him as a coward if he even bothered to bring up his motive for wanting to leave her. Instead, he shook his head, his jaw clenched in determination. “I can't explain it, Y/n. But please, just understand that it's for the best.”
Y/n stared at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she nodded in disbelief. The man who she’d always trusted had dropped this news on her right before their biggest mission. Could the timing have been any worse?
“Fine. Then consider all of this,” Y/n moved her index finger in a circular motion as she got in Bucky's face, her face growing angrier. The tears continued to pour from her eyes and drip down her face.
“Over.” She turned on her foot, not willing to hear another word from the man who had just broken her heart.
As Y/n walked away, her shoulders slumped with defeat, Bucky felt a pang of guilt stab at his heart. If he could have it another way, he would’ve, but he didn’t see another way out of it.
He pushed aside his emotions, his mind consumed with the looming mission ahead. The more he thought about Y/n, the more he’d drive himself crazy. And crazy was not something he needed to be on an important mission. Now was no time for screw-ups.
“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Bucky thought to himself.
• • •
The fleet of 17 aircrafts soared through the sky, cutting through the clouds like silver arrows as they headed for Münster. The tension in the cockpit was palpable, the pilot's grip on the controls white-knuckled as they braced themselves for whatever lay ahead.
Only flying 2 aircrafts behind Bucky’s, Y/n still felt as if she wanted to rip the Major’s head off. She kept her calm composure even through the many questions and assumptions she had heard upon getting in the aircraft. The crew could see her tear-stained face and they had already guessed that Bucky said something that set her off.
Y/n didn’t explain the whole ordeal, but instead sold them a lie that the Major had only warned her of her flying abilities.
Part of the crew bought it, but the rest knew better. Y/n was just covering Bucky’s ass so no one would try to confront him later on.
“Don’t try to get us killed, sweetheart!” A crew member yelled with humor, all aware of Y/n’s lack of patience at the moment. She was much too focused on keeping watch for enemy aircraft.
She had been lucky enough to survive the missions she'd been on. They all came with their complications, but in the end had resulted in her and her squadron getting to live a little longer.
But today's mission felt different. There wasn't a feeling of security. and it all had to do with the shortage of inventory of aircrafts. they could easily be taken out. They were sitting ducks.
And then it happened.
German aircrafts descended upon them like a swarm of angry bees, outnumbering them with ruthless precision. Chaos erupted in the sky as the metallic glint of gunfire filled the air, the deafening roar of explosions drowning out all other sounds. There was no escape.
In one direction, German planes would be firing at you, and in another, one of the fleet's aircraft would be seen going down on fire or blowing up before it even hit the ground.
In the midst of the chaos, Y/n's aircraft was hit, a burst of flames erupting from its engines as it spiraled out of control. Bucky's heart clenched in terror as he watched her plane plummeting closer to the ground, a trail of smoke marking its descent.
As her crew finally got out, Y/n quickly jumped out of the cockpit and made her way out of the aircraft, her parachute billowing out behind her like a white flag of surrender. Bucky held his breath as he watched her fall, his heart pounding in his chest as he prayed for her safety.
On their aircraft, Bucky and his crew faced their own battle for survival, the enemy bullets raining down on their engines, not giving them much time to think of a backup plan. With a high-pitched whine, their aircraft shuddered and lurched. It was then that Bucky urged the pilot to hit the bailout bell, giving the rest of the crew enough time to get out.
Once they were out, the pilot, along with Bucky would be the last to leave. Unable to decide who should jump out first, Bucky eventually jumped out into the open skies.
As he plummeted towards the earth, the wind whipping past his ears, Bucky braced himself for the impact, his mind a whirlwind of chaos. Was Y/n alive? Where did she land?
But miraculously, he landed safely in a rural area of Westphalia, the soft earth cushioning his fall. As he picked himself up, he quickly gathered up his parachute, rolling it up so no one could see it.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure in the distance, a familiar silhouette standing amidst the rolling fields.
Heart pounding in his chest, Bucky stumbled towards the figure, his legs shaky with exhaustion. And there, under the vast expanse of the open sky, he saw Y/n, her parachute deflated at her feet, her eyes wide with disbelief.
For a moment, they simply stood there, the world around them silent save for the rustle of the wind through the trees. And then, with a rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, Bucky reached out and pulled Y/n into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear.
"Y/n, oh thank God you're okay," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.
Y/n buried her face in his chest, clinging to him as tears streamed down her face. "I thought I lost you," he whispered, his voice filled with relief.
Bucky held her tightly, feeling the weight of his words from earlier. "Y/n, I'm sorry." he said, his voice filled with distress.
“I take back everything I said earlier,” Bucky whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I was a fool to let you go like that.”
Y/n gazed up at him with a small, sad smile played on her lips. “Bucky, you’re an idiot. Do you know that?”
“I know- and I’m so sor-”
Y/n brought her finger to Bucky’s lips as soon as she heard the sound of voices. He quickly closed his mouth, and moved up next to Y/n. Both of them peeked through the tall pile of hay, only to see people occupying the farm they landed on.
They listened closely to the words being spoken by the occupants, only to realize none of them were in english. They were in German.
“Oh, shit.” Bucky muttered in a low voice, receiving an annoyed glance from Y/n.
“We need to get out of here before they find us,” Y/n continued to keep a close eye on the man walking around the farm. If they stayed there for too long, there would be a higher likelihood of them getting caught.
“Maybe we can escape through those trees. It’ll give us some cover so no one can see us.”
“No. It's too dangerous. Someone might’ve found out that our plane crashed in this area. They'll be looking for us. We have to lay low for a little.” Bucky shook his head in refusal as he knew this territory was unfamiliar to them and too risky to wander around.
Never in a million years would he have imagined that he and Y/n would go down together. Their lives were still in danger regardless of each others’ company, but at least they wouldn’t be going through it alone.
The specter of the missing crew still loomed in the shadows, and they both silently prayed that the crew made it out alive.
Now all Bucky and Y/n had to worry about was getting out of Germany. Alive.
#mota#mota fanfic#masters of the air#major john egan#john egan#bucky egan#major john egan x reader#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader
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COMING SOON: In The Skies
[Major John "Bucky" Egan x Reader]
Summary: On a night out in London, you meet fellow American Major John “Bucky” Egan of the 100th. As war rages on, you take a leave of absence during the spring of your third year at Oxford to sign up as a nurse on the front lines in England. Time and time again, you and Bucky find yourselves thrown together in the hospital ward as you tend to him and his teammates after missions gone awry. What happens when you find yourself falling for a man who might never return from the skies?
Pairing: Major John “Bucky” Egan x Reader
Sneak peek here
#masters of the air#mota#bucky x you#john bucky egan#bucky egan#cal#masters of the air series#major john egan#bucky egan x reader#major john egan x reader#pilot#new wip#austin butler#band of brothers#callum turner
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ONE SHOT
strawberries and dirty talk (pt. 2)
or: Bucky surprises Gale with another weekend pass. A little hopeful spark in John's mind lights up and gives him an romantic and crazy idea: Why should it be all temporary and hidden with him and Buck when they both deserved so much?
It had been a long, exhausting few weeks. Between all the breakneck, dangerous missions over Germany, where more of John's friends were shot than he could count. It had been a constant dance with the devil and death. A power struggle that was different every day and a single moment could change and decide everything.
Every pain he felt, every blow he took and every enemy plane he shot out of the sky. Even though he was exhausted and at the end of his rope, it was Gale who kept him alive.
John had finally found a piece of peace in all this chaos - his own reason to survice all of this god damn war...Gale was worth it.
It had taken all his charm and persuasive arguments to talk Colonel Harding into a weekend pass for him and Major Cleven. Harding had slid into his leather chair, grumbling, with a cigar between his lips, and had finally waved him away with a gesture of surrender.
Bucky hadn't been able to wipe the broad grin off his lips that morning. Nothing could dampen his spirits, not even when only 11 of the 21 planes that had taken off returned to base.
A soothing and calming warmth had spread throughout his body when he walked into the canteen and saw Buck sitting there. Almost completely alone, his head bowed and a steaming cup of coffee on the table in front of him. One of his arms was resting over the back of the chair next to him and with the other hand he was shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. But as John came closer, his footsteps getting louder, Gale raised his eyes - almost automatically - and that small, barely visible twitch of the corners of his mouth almost made Bucky go crazy.
The urge to circle the table, to pull Gale up from that uninspiring wooden chair and just kiss him almost overwhelmed him. This urge was so strong that it squeezed all the air out of his lungs and his chest suddenly felt terribly constricted. God...he got my fully heart and soul, Bucky thougt. He's only smiling at me and i go crazy.
While fragments of him and Buck danced around in front of his inner eyes, he cleared his throat instead and dropped into the chair opposite him.
"Mornin' Major…" Gale had murmured in a pleasantly low voice, looking at him under half-lowered eyelids. The blue of his eyes so bright, warm and engaging that John's heart threatened to explode in his chest.
Unobtrusively, their feet had touched under the table, bumping against each other, and Bucky had smiled as if drunk.
"I've got a surprise for you," he'd said, and Gale hadn't let his curiosity get the best of him, but John had noticed the way Buck's fingertips had tightened around the back of the chair beside him and his pink lips had parted.
Gale had raised an unimpressed eyebrow and pushed a toothpick between his lips: "Oh yeah? Tell me, Bucky"
That had been the start of everything and John had come out with the tingling truth. Harding got them permission to left the base for a few days for recovery. Afterwards, they had both packed their bags, joking around with Bubble and Crosby before they thrown their bags into the back of John's jeep and driven out of the barracks.
A contented sigh escaped Bucky's lips as the thoughts and memories of the past 24 hours rolled over in his head. His mind was in chaos and his thoughts blurred, dancing salsa and leaving nothing but a warm, sluggish feeling in his body.
It was saturday morning, 6:30 a.m. and the sun rised slowly. The sky was painted in different shades of red, orange and pink, and it was almost silent outside. The only noice was coming from singing birds through the open windows and a light breeze blew the curtains in gentle waves. There could be nothing more beautiful John thought in the moment when he finally woke up.
Looking at the sky almost staying in flames...there couldn't be much better.
Being pressed against Gale's sleepy-warmth and bare skin, his palm laying on his stomach and his fingertips drawing circles. The white sheets around their legs and hips, a total mess, but it didn't boather Bucky at all.
He blinked sleepily and looked around the bedroom. There were clothes all over the floor and he couldn't help but smile happily.
The last 24 hours felt like a distant dream that was finally within his grasp. Bucky didn't need to be told twice and reached for it when Harding agreed to let him and Buck go. Not forever, but for a while.
Now that he had Gale all to himself, time could stand still. He was pretty sure he could stay in this small, hidden house by the lake forever. As long as he could feel Buck's body against his, hear his heartbeat and taste his sweet lips, this twisted world was all right with him.
Sighing, he buried his face in the crook of Gale's neck again. His lips brushed over the soft, sensitive skin and John noticed how Gale presses closer to him, still half asleep.
Circles, unrecognizable patterns … His fingertips traced out lifeless lines and shapes on Gale's skin. He savored the peace and quiet and the fact that Buck lay beside him in bed, completely relaxed and healthy.
There were only a few bruises on his chest and a lightred scar on his cheek. In a few days or weeks, it would all be gone. It would just be a shadowy memory in Bucky's head.
His lips tingled as he let them brush over Buck's skin again and again, slowly opening his mouth to brush his teeth over the dark red hickey. John smiled as Gale winced slightly and moaned sleepily.
John was convinced that he had never heard a more beautiful, raw and beguiling sound. His hand automatically traveled over Buck's abs, up his chest, and he tried to memorize every ridge and valley. The thought that he could find every freckle, ridge and hard valley between Gale's muscles blindfolded in record time made him chuckle. It was the most sensual of routes he had ever explored with his fingers. Bucky's hand curved half around his jaw, half around his neck and his fingertips brushed over Buck's soft skin. Beneath his touch, he took in Gale's sleep-warm skin and the contrasts that brought out the blond stubble. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."
Buck grumbled into his pillow, making John laugh. He knews only too well that Gale wasn't a morning person, and god it was 6.30 a.m. on a saturday.
"You're such a son of a bitch, waking me up so early," Buck complained, sighing as Bucky stroked the sensitive skin on his neck again. His lips opened slightly, and John didn't miss the opportunity to slide his thumb over the curve of his lip.
Gale's opened his mouth a little wider and sucked John's thumb in. For a tiny moment, Bucky's heartbeat stopped. He breathed once, then a second time deeply and then exhaled again until his heartbeat galloped off again. Buck's tongue left a moist, warm sensation on his finger. The tingle of the touch spread throughout his body within seconds and his muscles tensed in joyful anticipation.
Slowly, Gale turned onto his back and looked lovingly at Buck. John's hair was completely ruined. Strands of his dark brown hair were sticking out of his head in disarray and some strands were falling into his face.
Gale lifted his left hand and brushed a few loose strands of hair from John's forehead. He buried his fingers in them and opened his mouth. Bucky withdrew his thumb and leaned forward. Their noses touched and Buck whispered, "Mornin'."
"Was that an attempt to suck me off?" Bucky teased him with a dark glint in his eye.
"It would have been a ridiculous attempt if it had been one. You know I can suck you off much better…making those forbidden erotic circles with my tongue around the tip of your hard cock," Gale whispered in a low, husky voice that sent a shiver through John's whole body. He pressed his bare chest against Gale's and moaned softly. He was already hard and ready to fuck Buck's tight ass. But he was patient, because they had all the time in the world and after last night, they both needed a break and then a first slow, sweet fuck.
"I can still remember what that potty mouth can do…" John pressed his thumb against Gales' lips again and they both shuddered as they felt a warm explosion in their stomachs.
Last night had been a total mess of impatient fingers, swollen lips and passionate snogging. They had hardly been able to wait to finally be naked again and enjoy each other. It was restless and hot - almost like the first time, when they had been so nervous and shaky. They didn't know what to expect, and then every touch had simply exceeded all expectations.
So they spent the whole morning stealing kisses from each other, laughing and enjoying this carefree time out. At first, they had both stood up, staggering rather than steady on their feet, and staggered towards the outdoor rain shower. Only to kiss there under the warm water jet, jerk each other off and then come to orgasm together.
Reaching this tingling high was exhilarating, and for a moment John's eyes blurred black. Various veils of color danced behind his eyes. A soft sound echoed in his ears, as if a swarm of bees were buzzing repeatedly past his head.
Gale had knelt in front of him and taken him so deep in his mouth that he had become dizzy. The magic of the tip of his tongue and the rhythmic movements of his hand had given him a tremendous high.
His breathing was loud and heavy and it took him minutes to calm down. Then he had grabbed Gale's face with both hands, pulled him back to his feet and kissed him so passionately that they had both lost their balance. Buck had laughed without breath against his swollen lips and the smell of freshly cut grass, sweet apples and John's salty, slightly bitter cum had mingled on their tongues.
Afterwards they had fallen back into bed with only towels wrapped around their hips and had exchanged more sweet kisses until they were both breathless and sleepy.
Gale had grabbed the shaving cream and a razor, stood between Bucky's thighs and shaved him. This intimate moment of closeness and vulnerability had felt somewhere special and precious to them both. Like a sign they had both been waiting so long for, and in the aftermath, the afternoon had passed them by in a few breaths.
When evening came and the sun slowly disappeared into the distance with a spectacular play of lights, they were both still in bed.
Bucky was leaning with his bare back against the headboard of the bed. The comforter was spread over his legs, pulled up to his lower abs. Gale close beside him, lying on his stomach with a crossword puzzle from The Times in front of him. A pen in his left hand and his eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Buck repeatedly stroked his lips with the pen while John scrutinized him. The last rays of sunlight fell through the open window and bathed the entire room in an exclusive play of pink and orange - Bucky and Buck in the middle of everything.
"A seven-letter word…a synonym for passionate," Buck read aloud with a deep voice.
Bucky grinned and stroked Gale's sun-warmed back with the flat of his palm. His fingertips left fuzzy goose bumps, which John noted with self-satisfaction. Buck's body shuddered softly under his touch and John heard Gale gasp audibly.
"Stop distracting me…" Buck complained, grumbling, but he could also hear the grin that resonated in his words. "A seven-letter word…a synonym for passionate", he repeated.
"Sorry darlin'," Bucky replied, still smiling and leaning closer to Gale. He bent halfway over Buck's back from behind and positioned his hands next to Buck's torso on the mattress. Then he lowered his lips to Gale's sensitive skin and savored the way he looked again. More forcefully this time, and when Buck lowered his head momentarily, John sucked gently on Gale's neck. "It's just too easy to distract you. Besides, it gives me great pleasure to taste and touch you."
To emphasize his words, he rubbed the tip of his nose against the shell of Gale's ear and blew gently into it.
Buck's hands crumpled the pages of the newspaper and he lowered his head further. "John," he whispered hoarsely. "That feels good."
"Hmmm..." Bucky breathed a series of soft kisses on the side of Buck's neck and throat, and approached his ear again. Then he whispered in a quivering voice, "How about amours?"
For a moment, unspoken confusion floated through the room and Bucky enjoyed how much he managed to distract Gale. He nudged him with the tip of his nose, tickling his cheeks and repeating, "Try amours."
Buck took a deep breath and checked the available letters. "It doesn't fit," he mumbled back, swallowing hard as John stroked his right hand over his shoulder blades and then down the side of his ribcage.
"How about burning? Does it fit?" he asked, intensifying his kisses. He opened his lips slightly and began to suck on Buck's neck. From behind, he lowered himself further onto Buck's backside and when their naked, warm torsos collided, Gale let out a soft, stifled moan.
"No," Buck replied, feeling his body temperature slowly rising. His cheeks took on a pinkish-red hue and his heart beat as fast as a hummingbird's wings. "It doesn't fit…there's an "I" and an "N" in it….God, Bucky," he groaned. The groan that slipped over his lips mingled with John's heavy breaths as he rolled his hips against Gale's ass with definite, rhythmic thrusts.
As his hard cock slid between Buck's firm, warm ass cheeks, a tingle ran through Bucky's veins. The fluffy towel increased the pressure between them. "You feel so damn good, Buck. I really wanna fuck this tight ass", Bucky whispered in a voice veiled with lust.
"Bucky," Gale replied, sounding breathless, excited and yet Bucky could hear the hint of doubt in his voice. So far, they had never gone further than kissing each other wildly, wet and hard, touching each other. Just the fact that Gale's swollen lips already felt so forbidden, what would it be like when he slid his cock between his beautiful ass cheeks.
"I know, darlin'. We'll do everything in your tempo...but it almost kills me to fully have your attention here and can't have all of you", he reassured Buck.
Bucky wrapped one hand around Gale's neck from behind and tilted his head to the side. With his lips, he breathed a trail of kisses on the exposed skin and when he found that one sensitive spot, he began to suck. He felt Buck's body relax beneath him and he leaned closer into John's touch. "I know you're not stressing me out…I want you too, but I'm scared too."
"I'll catch you…how about intense?" Bucky suggested in a warm voice and Gale was glad he was offering him this little distraction. In an instant, his racing heartbeat calmed a little and the agonizing tension left his muscles, giving way to the tingling and prickling that shot through his veins.
"Yeah," sighed Buck. "That fits perfectly," he added, filling in the last gaps with trembling fingers. His handwriting was barely legible, but his thoughts were already drifting off into darker abysses.
Bucky replied: "Good." He could think of other, more sensual things that went perfectly together…or into each other. For example, his hard cock in Buck's tight, warm ass.
"Now turn around and let me see your beautiful blue eyes", he commanded.
He gave Gale just enough room to turn around under him. As soon as their eyes met, Buck reached out for John's cheeks and pulled him down to him. The kiss was different - more intense and fiercer than the breathy kisses on his neck before.
Invisible bonds formed between them and Gale's body vibrated and with every second that John touched him, his desire increased. He opened his mouth and asked Bucky's lips to let him in with his tongue. John intensified their kiss and opened his lips wide so that their tongues could touch. They both breathed loudly and heavily through their noses as they kissed. Gale's one hand traveled from John's cheek to his neck and then his fingers buried themselves in his dark, soft hair. The small touch of Gale's fingers in his hair made Bucky moan.
"You're driving me crazy," Bucky confessed as their kiss ended and he leaned in on his elbows. His weight pressed them both deeper into the soft, yielding puss and Gale spread his legs wider so their hips were touching.
"Not as much as you drive me crazy," Gale fired back with a wink. His hand still buried in strands of John's hair, he pulled him down for another brief, fierce kiss.
"You know how much you mean to me, don't you?" murmured Bucky, stroking his thumb over Gale's chin. His blue-green eyes sought reassurance and security in Buck's gaze, and when he found all of that, his heart warmed terribly.
Gale, lying beneath him, blinked a few times and whispered, "Why are you asking me that? It almost sounds like you want to leave me, John"
Bucky opened his eyes in shock and shook his head wildly. "What? No way…I don't know why I said that either…but actually I did…" he gloried in his words and it was a rare, amusing and refreshing moment for Gale.
He could only remember a handful of conversations where Bucky hadn't known how to phrase something.
"Relax…I love you, okay?" whispered Buck, kissing his jaw.
"That's exactly the problem," Bucky replied, smiling wistfully. His thumb brushed over Gale's bottom lip and he added, "I love you so much and knowing I'll never have you completely-never kiss you in public or hold your hand - almost kills me."
Buck swallowed and his throat suddenly felt dry and terribly constricted. He frowned and cleared his throat, hardly trusting his own voice. "I'll always be with you. No matter what the others will say…there will be a time when all this will be possible."
"What if it takes our whole lives and we have to live a lie?"
Buck shook his head slightly and stroked John's neck. "Who knew you could be so sentimental and brooding, Major Egan?" he teased, and when Bucky's features relaxed a little, Gale leaned forward and kissed him briefly. Then he added: "There won't be a lie as long as we know the truth, okay?"
"Marry me," Bucky murmured, leaning back until he was kneeling over him. His thighs pinned Gale to the mattress on either side of him and he unfastened the collar of his dog tags.
A strangled laugh escaped Gale. "John what are you talking about? Are you going crazy?"
Bucky shook his head, barely visible. An engaging smile on his lips as he repeated, "Marry me, Gale Cleven." Then he leaned down to him again. The tips of their noses touched and Gale could barely breathe as he realized the seriousness in John's words, the meaning of them catching him completely off guard and burying him like a wave.
"You know we can't...", he started when closes his mouth again, struggeling finding the right words. The bedroom was filled with loud breathing and pounding heartbeats, and when Gale moved in again to shatter Bucky's dream, John simply kissed him.
"Forget this world for once. No more prohibitions, no more judgments, no more hiding…. would you marry me then?"
Before Gale could fully comprehend the words, his heart had already made a decision and he blinked several times. He was so close to John that he could feel his warm, minty breath on his skin. Time seemed to stand still between them and it seemed like an eternity to Bucky, but it was only a few seconds before Buck finally answered, "Yes, I would marry you, John Egan."
The next kiss between them got completely out of hand. Their lips collided and their loud breaths mingled as Gale opened his lips and they both kissed with their mouths half open and their tongues dancing together. Sometimes John gained the upper hand in the kiss, sometimes Gale reclaimed it, and when they breathlessly broke away from each other, John breathed another loose kiss on Gale's forehead and sat up.
As Gale tipped his head back and gasped for air, he watched Bucky undo the clasp on his one necklace and as he held his dog tags in his hands, he took one off and placed it on Gale's bare stomach.
"What are you doing?" asked Buck, taking the small, cool metal plate in his hand.
"I'll give you a piece of me," Bucky explained, smiling gently. "Hold her tight," he added, running both palms over Gale's chest. His thumb stroked one of his nipples and as it hardened sensitively, he grinned in satisfaction. "Lift your head," he ordered Gale and took off his own necklace. Still speechless, Buck watched as John exchanged a dog tag and then closed the clasp so that Gale now wore his own and John's dog tags around his neck. John did the same with his necklace and when he had closed the clasp, he bent down to Gale. "…and you give me a piece of you, baby. Unfortunately, I can't put a real engagement ring on your finger, but this way you have my promise that I'm yours."
"…and I'm yours," Gale whispered, sounding hoarse, and breathless, and hopelessly in love.
Then the next few minutes blurred between them and there were only restless kisses, wandering hands and desire.
Bucky kissed Gale's lips slowly at first, gentle pressure, soft, wet touches echoing in his ears before he eased away from him and attacked his neck.
Gale's hand settled on his cheek, holding him close, and the love he felt in that moment made his heart pound desperately. The only sound Buck could hear was his and John's loud breathing and the blood rushing through his veins. He threw his head back and closed his eyes in pleasure as Bucky opened his mouth and scraped his teeth across his collarbone.
"John," he sighed excitedly, lifting his hips. Hoping Bucky understood his restlessness and his urge for more, he slid both hands over John's back and placed his palms on his hips. "I need you closer."
Bucky finished his kiss trail and smirked, "This hickey looks absoluty stunning on your skin, darlin'."
"I want that you mark me all over with your lips," Gale whispered, his blue eyes momentarily losing their focus as his thumbnail scratched over the fresh hickey.
"Are you challenging me?", John asked slowly and his controll almost fliped away.
"Maybe a bit." Gale closed his eyes in desperate lust and bit down hard on his lower lip as a shiver ran through him. His fingertips twitched, digging them deeper into John's hips.
"Fuck," he groaned, blinking at Bucky under half-closed eyes. "Are you trying to get me so turned on I'll go crazy?" he asked with a smirk on his lips, snapping at John's lips.
"No, just drive you crazy enough that you relax and let me touch and fuck your beautiful ass", he teased him back.
Gale inhaled deeply through his nose and as he looked at Bucky. Memorizing every detail of him, a feeling of deep satisfaction spread through his belly. Suddenly there were no more doubts or fears. There was only lust, desire and …. love left in him, and he didn't care that it wouldn't be perfect or maybe hurt a bit first, because the only thing that mattered to Buck was that he made every moment with John count.
Gale blinked and rested his forehead against Bucky's. He closed his eyes and as his finger stroked Bucky's lip, tickled by his beard, he finally said, "I'm not afraid anymore, John. I'm ready for the next step, I'm ready for everything as long as I do it with you."
"Are you sure?" Bucky's voice sounded raspy. "You don't have to feel forced into it."
"Yes, I'm sure." As soon as those words crossed Gale's lips and got through to John, he kissed him. These kisses felt more passionate and special - they were reckless and heated.
Gale lost himself in the taste of John's lips and skin as he pressed his face into Bucky's neck and kissed him there. He lost himself in the taste of him, a little salty, a little sweet, and absolutely addictive.
Then a fever suddenly broke out in him and an unstoppable heat raced through his limbs. Gale opened his mouth and licked over Bucky's warm, slightly damp skin.
"Hmmm", John moaned loudly. "I like your mouth on my skin."
Meanwhile, John's hands stroked his ribcage and as they undid the knot of his towel and pulled away the soft white fabric, he shivered slightly.
In the next breath, a warm, rough fist closed around his hard cock and an electrifying wave shot through Buck's body. He bit his lip and tried to hold back his lust, but he couldn't fight the urgent feeling in his arms and legs that was driving him wild. A shiver rippled down his back and made his spine tingle, making him squint as Bucky stroked his tip with his thumb.
"You're already wet," John whispered, ecstatic and surprised. "So sensitive", he added with dark glinted eyes. Then he lifted his gaze from Gale's cock and licked his lips seductively as he brought his thumb to his face. Inevitably, Gale held his breath and stared at him as Bucky opened his mouth and licked his thumb. Another wave of heat rushed through Gale and within a breath his face was in flames. "You taste the sweetest of all drugs."
A strangled sound escaped Gale's lips and made the corners of John's mouth twitch. His slightly swollen, full lips curled into a traitorous, hot smile. "Want more?"
Buck's throat was dry as dust and not a word escaped his lips. He didn't trust his voice and wrinkled his nose slightly as he nodded.
"Let me hear you, baby," Bucky begged him, closing his fist around Gale's erection again. He encircled it with light pressure and began a steady, slow rhythm. Sometimes Bucky slid his thumb over the sensitive tip of his cock again and Gale lifted his hips toward him each time. A desperate attempt to increase the friction, and at other moments John would twist his wrist slightly and increase the pressure around the base of Gale's cock. Hot cold shivers chased over Buck's body and veiled his eyes.
"Fuck John. Please…" Gale begged, sliding one of his hands under the pillow to find purchase in the soft fabric. But the various sensations racing through his body were unstoppable and merciless. They burned him from the inside out and left him with nothing but insatiable desire.
"Please what?" Bucky teased him, sliding his open mouth across Buck's chest. His lips brushed his right nipple and as he gasped for breath, John repeated the process. He slowly closed his lips around the sensitive bud and said, letting him feel his teeth. Echoing Gale's heartbeat beneath his lips, John lifted his gaze and stared at him under half-closed lids. Buck lifted a hand and wrapped it half around his neck, half around his shoulder. His fingertips dug into John's warm, firm skin with gentle pressure. With light, barely perceptible pressure, Gale invited him down further - a desire, a wish Gale would never have spoken aloud.
We'll get there some day, Bucky thought boldly, sucking harder on his nipple one last time.
"I want your mouth", Buck replied huskily. His eyes almost on fire and dark.
"You have my mouth, Baby."
Gale grumbled angrily and exhaled loudly before lifting his head from the pillows and frowning. "You know where I want your lips."
"Yes," John smirked dirtily. "Here?" he asked, kissing Gale's upper stomach.
"Further down" Gale directed him, dropping his head back into the pillows.
"Here?" asked Bucky innocently, blowing two or three kisses on Gale's lower belly. Under his lips, his muscles tensed deliciously and John dipped his tongue into Gale's belly button.
"Shit, further down." The grip on his shoulder tightened, and when Gale finally buried his fingers in his dark hair, he knew he'd broken through an invisible wall. Mouth open, he licked further down to Gale's hipbone, where he scraped his teeth.
He was pushing Gale's patience to the limit. John could feel under his lips how close he was to pushing Gale over the edge. As he sped up the rhythmic up and down movements with one hand, he sucked on Gale's easily irritated skin with his lips. He left another hickey in his wake.
Gale let out an almost silent scream and looked Bucky straight in the eye before asking hoarsely: "Can..can you please suck me off?"
It only took John a second or two to react. Then his lips closed around the tip of Buck's cock. The feeling of being surrounded by wet warmth made Gale dizzy. Watching John's pink, swollen lips stretch around his cock almost made him cum. His hips jerked and he inevitably pressed his cock deeper into John's throat.
"Sorry…" Gale gasped, trying to hold back. But Bucky shook his head imperceptibly and wrapped his other hand around Gale's wrist, which was still resting on his shoulder. "You want me to…" Gale asked breathlessly and Bucky's eyes flashed brightly.
Bucky raised his head briefly and took a breath. "Don't hold back and relax. Don't think about what comes next." He breathed a wet kiss on Gale's thigh and slid further down his body until his elbows were resting on the mattress, spreading Gale's legs.
A hint of panic flitted across Buck's face, but when John curved his lips around his erection again, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the tingling in his body.
Then John's tongue licked over his entire length and he shuddered again. The combination of firm, twisting hand movements, Bucky's wet lips and the cool air hitting his heated skin drove him further towards climax.
Bucky's warm palm rubbed over his lower abs and then fingers wrapped around his thigh. With gentle pressure, John spread his legs wider and for a tiny moment Gale felt terribly naked and vulnerable.
"Bucky," Gale whispered, cupping John's chin. He sounded throaty and slightly uncertain, but he suppressed the hint of fear. "Can you move your fingers…I'd like to feel it," Gale stuttered and sighed. Once again, he found it difficult to express his desires openly and dirty. But that didn't matter because Bucky knew exactly what he wanted and needed.
"Don't worry about it," John encouraged him and leaned over him briefly, kissing his lips and then reaching over to the bedside table.
Gale closed his eyes, embarrassed, and when he felt a soft rustling and then John's body heat again, he shuddered.
"It's still a mystery to me how you can be so embarrassed and at the same time so uninhibited when I'm sucking you off and hopefully fucking you soon," Bucky whispered, stroking his heated cheeks with his knuckles.
"Shut up, John." Gale pressed a hand on his's shoulder and pushed him back between his legs. "Do it before I change my mind."
"Yes, Major," Bucky winked and kissed his groin and thigh. Again, he closed a hand around Gale's erection and pumped a slow, firm rhythm. With his other hand, he opened the lube and dipped two of his fingers into it. He then rubbed his fingers together and warmed the gel.
John squeezed Buck’s dick in time with his thrusts, as sweat dripped from his brow onto Buck’s thigh. He speeded up and then slowed down the movements of his fist and suck again - hard and deep this time.
Bucky groped blindly beside him and grabbed a pillow. "Raise your hips," he demanded and Buck did so. The soft fabric and the elevated position would make things a lot easier, Bucky knew from previous experiences. It had been that way with many women…why should it be any different here?
"Jerk you off, baby," John demanded in a raspy voice. He watched as Gale's hand replaced his own and began to pump. "Slow down," he laughed as Gale rolled his hips. Buck wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed him back into the sheets.
"God damn…make me come," Gale hissed breathlessly.
"I'll darlin'…just relax," Bucky begged. "Close your eyes and just feel." Gale sighed and pressed his head into the pillows. Then John kissed his thigh one last time and ran his palms over his firm, twitching muscles to his ass.
As his hands gripped Gale's butt and he slowly spread his ass cheeks, they both inevitably held their breath. John only realized it when his chest began to burn. Gasping hard for air, he whispered again, "Relax. You're beautiful."
He slid his hands over Buck's thighs and bottom several times until he clearly felt his muscles relax. Only then did he continue, blowing a kiss on the base of Gale's cock and further down. He ran his fingertips carefully between his ass cheeks.
"Ahh," Buck gasped and John paused. He repeated the touch and pressed his thumb gently against the firm ring of muscle. Along the way, he spread kisses and applied light pressure to Gale's tight hole. "That feels intense…" Buck whimpered.
"To much?"
Gale shook his head, "No...keep going!"
Bucky breathed a sigh of relief and drew a few circles with his thumb. Gale's firm muscles worked under the tip of his thumb and when John lowered his lips again, licking his tongue between his ass cheeks, Gale moaned loudly and deeply.
"Okay?" Bucky asked slowly.
"Better than okay," Gale whispered, squeezing his cock hard to curb his desire.
John rubbed his thumb over the ring of muscle again and when it was soft and wet, he pressed the tip of his thumb against Gale's ass with gentle but firm pressure. Half-lowering his eyelids, he squinted up at Buck and followed every movement on his face as his thumb broke through the muscle.
He paused and waited until Gale's muscles relaxed a little. "You're doing so good," he praised him. "You feel amazing around my finger - it's hot and tight."
He continued to look up at Gale as he moved his thumb slightly and slowly began to slide it in and out.
"God…this feels…more Bucky. Give my a little more," Gale begged in a raspy voice, sliding his own thumb over the tip of his wet cock.
John moved his thumb in and out a few more times at a slow pace before dipping his tongue in and then sliding his ring finger in. "You look breathtaking…I can't wait to take you…slow and deep," Bucky murmured, swallowing hard to control and ignore his own desire and the urgent throbbing in his cock a little longer.
"I'll add a second finger," he warned Buck. A few breaths later he pressed his wet fingers against Gale's tight hole and this time it was much easier for him to thrust through the tight ring of muscle.
"I won't last much longer," Buck groaned, licking his dry lips. "I'm ready."
Gale's cheeks were on fire and his muscles shook with the effort. The slightly stinging friction of John's fingers inside him triggered waves of emotion he had never felt before. Heights he had never thought possible. His mind was blank - all thoughts completely swept away as Buck's fingers slipped out of him and for a strange, brief moment he felt empty and cold. Then the next few breaths blurred, and as he felt Bucky's body weight and searing heat against his skin again, he grabbed John's wrist with one hand. "Don't leave me," he pleaded breathlessly, his voice tinged with fear.
"Never," Bucky replied in a heavy voice. His tongue felt sluggish and he clasped Gale's left cheek. "We can stop anytime," he reminded Buck.
A tiny nod was all John needed before he positioned himself at Buck's entrance and leaned down for an all-consuming kiss. Just before their lips met, he whispered in a husky voice, "Take a deep breath."
Gale's grip on his wrist tightened and John followed Buck's every reaction with his eyes. He thrust his hips forward slowly and deliberately, feeling the resistance of Gale's hot, tight muscles. John lowered his head and rubbed the tip of his nose over Gale's heated cheek. His lips breathed kisses on his smooth skin as he pushed himself centimeter by centimeter into Gale's tight hole. They were both breathing loud and heavy, and when Buck let out a huff of air, John slid fully into his ass.
Reassuringly, he rubbed his nose over Buck's heated skin and held still, waiting for some sign. A sigh, a moan, or Gale's muscles tensing and relaxing.
Bucky didn't know how much time had passed when Gale licked his lips and exhaled. Fingertips brushed over John's slightly sweaty skin as Buck slid his hands over his torso and finally placed them on his hips. "Are you okay?" Bucky asked worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Gale whispered in a raspy voice and when John moved his hips, pulling back and then slowly thrusting forward again, he let out a strangled groan.
"You feel fantastic." Buck felt dizzy and on the verge of passing out as Bucky began a slow and sensual rhythm with his hips. His right hand slid from his hips up to his neck and he pressed his lips hard against John's.
The kiss was wild and unbridled. Their mouths collided, teeth scraped over lower lips and their tongues took turns fighting for dominance. Buck felt like John was setting him on fire with each successive touch, each kiss, each rhythmic thrust of his hips. He was about to explode like a spark of dynamite and burst into a thousand pieces.
"Fuck…John," Gale moaned as he changed the angle of his hips and thrust deeper, somehow even more intensely into him. "Just like that", he begged and started to jerk himself off again. This time rougher and faster.
"Looking at you and feeling your heat is killing me," Bucky gasped. "You feel great…you're taking me perfect, darlin'"
Bucky felt weightless. Having Gale beneath him, feeling him completely and watching him burst into flames was almost like flying. As electrifying and ectastic as jumping out of a plane without a parachute and being shaken by a thousand volts at the same time. A tingling sensation rushed through his veins - one hotter and more urgent than the previous one and as he accelerated his thrusts and now thrust deeper and a little harder, his heartbeat began to falter.
They were both about to burn alive and burn to ashes. John pressed his face into the crook of Gale's neck and breathed a few kisses on the salty skin. His breath caught in Gale's ear and when he wrapped one hand around the back of Bucky's neck and the other around his hard cock, John lost control.
"I'm close," he whispered in a raspy voice. Gale pressed his lips to his skin and stifled his moan.
"Me too…a little harder," Buck gasped, intensifying his own pumping motions. "John," he warned him brittlely. "Make me come…make me fly."
"I will," Bucky promised, thrusting harder and more rampantly. An urgent heat gathered in his belly and as he lifted his head, his eyes meeting Gale's, a fireball exploded in his chest. "I'm about to come."
Gale cursed quietly to himself and arched his back. His hips thrust against John's and he sank deep into Gale's ass a few more times.
Bucky thrust into Gale as deep as he could, his hips rocking in unison with Gale's. Some thrusts hit Gale so hard and unpreparedly intense that he bit his lip, shuddered and his muscles tightened around John's cock
"God…you're so tight and hot, and perfect," Bucky gasped, dropping his sweaty forehead against Gale's as his hips jerked uncontrollably and he shuddered to climax. "Fly with me, Buck."
"I'll come...I...John", Buck moaned surprisingly loudly and in a sensually deep voice. At the same time, he felt Gale tense beneath him and seconds later, warm, thick cum shot between their torsos.
Bucky breathed a wet kiss on Gale's forehead and stroked his red cheek with his fingertips. His heartbeat raced in his chest and he let out a breathless laugh. "There aren't many things, but this…with you…felt better than flying," Bucky murmured.
Beneath him, Gale's muscles twitched and his bright blue eyes glittered in the last of the sunlight. He was slow to come down from the climax he had just experienced and the wild rhythm of his heart thundered in his ears.
His hips were still rolling back and forth in small, lazy thrusts. Bucky tried to prolong the aftershocks a little longer. They had left a mess everywhere, but especially on Gale's stomach and he could feel the cum drying up.
"How are you feeling?", he asked und kisses Buck's lower lip softly.
"Giddy, satisfied, overwhelmed," Gale murmured. "I've never felt anything so intense...but I'm good, baby."
As the words filtered through to Bucky, he couldn't help but think of The Times crossword puzzle and everything that had happened afterwards. "Feeling like this every time i look at you", he teased.
Gale laughed and the sound was beautiful. He propped himself up on his elbows and slowly slid out of Gale. They both shuddered at the sudden loss of contact and John quickly scrambled to pull the covers over their sweaty, sticky bodies.
"You made a mess," Gale whispered with a glint of pure contentment, snuggling into him sideways.
The corners of Bucky's mouth twitched and he cupped his hand around his chin, lifting it and smirking dirtily against his lips, "I just like rocking your world and you've never looked better to me…relaxed, sweaty, covered in love bites and really well fucked."
Gale blushed again, making Bucky laugh. For a moment it was timeless - the two of them happy, naked and deeply connected. His heart threatened to explode when Buck wrapped his fingers around his necklace and pulled him close by the dog tags. "I love you…I've never flown higher than with you."
"Fyling high…say yes to heaven, say yes to me…" whispered Bucky.
"A thousand times yes," Gale smiled. "I'll be your co-pilot today and forever."
"Good," Bucky replied and kissed him. "I couldn't fly without you."
Nothing could touch them, and when Bucky realized he never wanted to hold anything but Gale in his arms again, everything was pretty much perfect.
#mota#masters of the air#gale cleven#buck x bucky#john egan#john bucky egan#callum turner#mota fanfic#let’s talk mota#austin butler major gale buck cleven#callum turner major john bucky egan#major john egan x reader#major cleven#major john egan#men loving men#men kissing#fluffy#smut
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The Only Truth... | Part One
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader
While your journeys are very different, fate brings both you and Major John Egan to Stalag VIIA in Moosburg, Germany.
Warnings: Language, Angst, Descriptions of Aerial Combat and Plane Crash, Reader Injury (2nd Degree Burns), Death, Blood, Gore, Angst, John Egan Injury, Forced March, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.
Word Count: 7531
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January 8, 1945
A cacophony of thunderous explosions and shrieking metal shredded your restful state where you lay perched on the bottom stretcher in the back of a C-47, desperately trying to recover from the routine 0400 wake-up that came on mission days before your arrival at the advance airfield where some eighteen wounded men would come under your care. As the plane lurched and shuddered again, you bolted upright, cracking your head on the middle stretcher above you with a sharp expletive as the rows of jerry cans that you had helped load to fight off pre-flight jitters rattled against the floor where they were strapped down.
You had never experienced flak before. You had trained for the possibility of it at the School of Air Evacuation in Bowman Field, Kentucky, but the reality of it was something entirely different. Watching pinpricks of daylight appear through the alarmingly thin skin of the aircraft flooded your mouth with the bitter taste of adrenaline, your heart pounding violently as it prepared to fight or flee – but given that you were thousands of feet in the air, neither of those options were really available to you. Scrambling to your feet, you stumbled along the narrow path between the supplies that had been crammed onto the plane to be left at the front, to be traded for wounded patients on landing, and tried to get to the nose of the plane. Tried to get to cockpit where Major Roy and Captain Mercer were, pilot and co-pilot – the senior officers. They would surely know what to do.
Grateful for the decision to add your sheepskin flight jacket and gloves to your uniform of olive drab jacket and slacks with shirt and tie, a garrison cap pinned onto your sensibly styled hair, you still felt a shiver run through you despite the added warmth as you neared the radioman Warren and the brand new, baby-faced navigator Schmidt. With brown eyes wide as saucers and freckles splattered haphazardly across his face, you would not have believed the boy to be a day over fifteen. Given the fact that the plane had wandered into the range of enemy guns, your suspicions were growing all the more likely. Turning to see the back of your surgical technician, Fitzgibbons, blocking the entry into cockpit, you were about to tap his shoulder when a shower of wet, hot viscera splattered across you from the left – the only trace of Warren that remained, as a ragged hole in the fuselage now replaced his radio operator’s position.
You were vaguely aware of someone screaming, not realizing the haunting and horrified noise was emanating from your throat until Fitzgibbons grabbed you by the shoulders and shook you firmly.
“Lieutenant!” He shouted, seemingly exasperated with you. “Are you hurt?!”
Snapping your mouth shut, you smeared your hands across your face and down your body, shaking your head as the acrid smell of fuel flooded your nostrils, returning your senses to you. You quickly looked to Schmidt on your right, worried he might have been in the line of fire, and frowned to see him trying to yank a sizeable piece of metal from his shoulder.
“No, don’t!” You shouted firmly and grabbed the first aid kit from the wall above him, quickly padding the penetrating object with gauze and wrapping it, finding the purpose and procedure of it steadying. “It’ll keep the bleeding slow, ok? Keep it in, Schmitty.” You offered what you hoped was a reassuring smile, but with the remnants of Warren, mixed with the contents of the fuel tanks, splattered across you, who was to say what image you presented in that moment.
“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault Ma’am, we shouldn’t even be here, got lost in the clouds an…” He began to blubber, and the plane shuddered and lurched again as Mercer tried banking out of the hail of flak, fairly dumping you into his lap.
“Easy now, easy…” You cleared your throat as it began to burn with irritation, lifting your head to see smoke billowing in from the hole in the fuselage.
“That’s it, we’re bailing out!” Roy yelled from the cockpit as he hit the bailout bell and Fitzgibbons quickly collected your parachutes, but you insisted on sending Schmidt down the aisle and out the door behind the wing first, given that he was injured.
“You know what to do Schmitty, try not to land on that shoulder.” You nodded firmly as you strapped your parachute on, fumbling slightly due to shaking hands and your thick gloves, but the repetition during your training paid off with your eventual success.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded before seeming to vanish out the side of the plane.
“Sergeant.” You turned to Fitzgibbons, but he shook his head.
“You may outrank me Ma’am but you’re still a lady.” He muttered stubbornly, gesturing insistently toward the door.
“Get a move on!” Came Mercer’s impatient cry from the now-distant cockpit and you glared at Fitzgibbons.
The smoke that had been curling around you ignited then, a wall of flame licking through the air, fixing to separate Fitzgibbons from the door. A look of pure terror crossed his face – in a plane loaded with fuel, carrying dozens of jerry cans and tanks of oxygen, fire was certain death. Gripping the doorframe tightly with your right hand, you flung your left forward in advance of the encroaching, fierce heat, somewhat protected by the leather you wore, though the searing pain on your wrist assured you the flames had still found a way through. Grasping the surgical technician by the collar, you yanked him toward you just before the oppressive wall of fire sealed off the front half of the plane, checking that he nor his parachute were alight before shoving him out the door. You did not wait long to follow him.
Tears were streaming down your cheeks as the sleeve of your jacket was smoldering, the leather hardening and shrinking, the fleece on the inside trapping agonizing heat against your flesh. But your first priority was gravity. Yanking on the ripcord, you cried out at the sharp jolt from your midsection as the parachute caught the air and flung you upward before you began a gentle descent. Then you were able to begin frantically smacking at your coat, trying in vain to stop further injury. But it was not the leather itself that was burning, rather the fuel that coated the surface of it, and it refused to be put out. You had to get the damn thing off.
At last the disorienting cloud gave way to mercifully flat Italian farmland, the ground rushing up to meet your feet. You punched the harness free from your chest, yanking off your gloves, and wrestling free of your coat before stumbling forward toward the sound of a nearby stream, collapsing onto your chest to submerge the screaming flesh of your arm into the icy water. The relief of it drew a soft sob from your throat. The sliver of skin that had been exposed between your sleeve and glove was already starting to blister, would surely scar. You could not see the rest of your forearm trapped beneath your uniform sleeve, but it might have faired somewhat better.
You could have happily lay there for all of eternity, numbing the agonized nerve endings in your arm, but the sharp press of a rifle muzzle between your shoulder blades brought an abrupt end to your moment of bliss.
“Up.” A sharp command was issued in an angry, accented voice and you carefully, if awkwardly, raised up onto your knees with your hands in the air, turning to face the man.
The German soldier’s eyes widened, and his jaw hung slightly open for a moment, his shock more than evident as you revealed yourself to be a woman, before a hardened mask fell over his features once more. He gestured sharply with his rifle for you to rise to your feet and you were quick to obey. He stepped forward, reaching out as if to search you and then stopped, once again looking to your face.
You had read a pamphlet once, on what to do if you were captured. At the time, the situation had seemed utterly preposterous and unlikely, but standing face to face with a German solider in the middle of occupied Italy, you were suddenly grateful you remember something of what to do. You gave him your name followed by,
“Second lieutenant. N-741432.”
“Leutnant?” He muttered, nose crinkling, but his gaze moved to the gold butter bar on first your right shoulder and then your left, the second lieutenant’s insignia. His eyes narrowed further to see the silver wings on your left breast with the prominent N denoting your status as a Flight Nurse. “Schwester…”
The first bit of German was easy to extrapolate, sounded very much like the English version of your rank, but the second sounded like ‘sister’ more than anything else and you were not entirely certain what he was trying to communicate. He seemed finished with the conversation when he motioned to the left with his rifle.
“Go.”
And so you went, keeping your arms raised despite the arching protest of the left, past the still-smoldering remains of your flight jacket and your gloves, past your parachute tumbling across the field on the icy breeze, towards a group of two more German soldiers who seemed equally shocked as your face came into view. You supposed the slacks and loose fit of your jacket made it difficult from a distance to determine that you were a woman, but each of them was quick to smother their reactions as soon as they were revealed. One of the new fellows, so blond he barely had eyebrows, motioned for you to drop your hands and you were barely able to conceal your pain in doing so.
A flurry of Germany left his lips, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion before he gestured at the wet sleeve of your jacket. “Hurt?”
Nodding emphatically, you swallowed, pulling the fabric up slightly to reveal some of the blistered skin. The three men turned to one another, and a rather heated debate ensued, or at least that was the impression you gleaned from their tones of voice and body language, before the loudest among them seemed to prevail.
“You, come, medic.” He grasped your uninjured elbow and led you through the field on a slightly different vector toward a semi-ruined barn where several German soldiers were receiving treatment.
A soldier bearing a white armband with the Geneva cross came over when your guide beckoned and after their brief exchange, gestured for you to take a seat on an old barrel. Taking a pair of scissors, the medic carefully cut through your jacket and shirt, revealing angry, blistered skin all the way up to your elbow. Very gently, your arm was bandaged before he offered you a couple of pills that you did not recognize, and you refused them with a soft shake of the head. He shrugged and tucked them back into his pocket.
“Go, schwester.”
You frowned and pointed at yourself. “Schwester?”
The medic nodded and pointed to your golden nurse’s Caduceus insignias pinned to the lower lapels of your jacket and your eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, nurse.” You muttered quietly and stood. “Thank you.” Nodding to the medic, you followed the soldier out of the farmhouse as you rolled up the ruined ends of your sleeves to keep them from flapping obnoxiously.
What followed was a seemingly endless amount of walking, your entire body beginning to shake with cold and shock, as the soldier sought out his commanding officer. Everything felt surreal, the sound of battle so close at hand, German soldiers all around you, casting repetitive glances your way – it felt as though you had stumbled into the wrong side of a John Wayne film. When, at last, you plodded into the correct house on the outskirts of a small village, you were unspeakably grateful for the fire roaring in the hearth behind the desk of the imposing German officer who glared down his nose at you.
“Too bad you’re a woman…” He muttered in startlingly good English, making it your turn to look on in shock as your legs threatened to give out. “I suppose you also only know name, rank, serial number?”
Clenching your jaw, you nodded stubbornly, trying not to let your face betray the way your heart lurched hopefully at the word ‘also’ and he exhaled a long-suffering sigh. “You can put the contents of your pockets in here.” He held out a small burlap sack and you frowned, but obediently surrendered your favorite tube of lipstick, the four spare hairpins you always carried around, and your change purse – things all stored in your uniform jacket as you found the pockets of the flight jacket too unreliable for storage anyway. Satisfied you were carrying nothing more, he nodded to the man behind you and issued an order in German.
It was difficult to convince your legs into motion again as you were led down to a grimy root cellar with a dirt floor and only one window letting in little light. You had never seen a more welcome sight in your entire life as Schmidt and Mercer lifted their faces to meet you, their equally grimy and worn-out but elated expressions quickly blurring behind tears of relief that mortifyingly flooded your eyes. Dabbing them away, you quickly moved to Schmidt’s side and frowned to see he still had the remnants of your hasty bandage job and the piece of shrapnel in place, seemingly not afforded the same medical care you had been.
“Shit, Schmitty, they didn’t do a thing for you did they.” Kneeling beside him you began to unravel the bandages and gauze. “This needs to come out, then. Captain, would you mind holding him still, sir?”
“I’ve got him.” He nodded and grabbed the boy’s hands as you took a steadying breath.
Wrapping your fingers around the protruding end of the warped, jagged piece of metal, you began to carefully pull it from his shoulder, angling it forward as an uneven, wider piece was revealed on the end. Schmidt did an admirable job of relegating his protests to whimpers and murmurs of ‘oh god,’ only letting out one great yelp as you pulled the last of it free. You would have preferred to flush the wound with something, but there was no water available. Encouragingly, though, there was no great gush of blood.
“You did so good, Schmitty.” You smiled broadly and frowned a moment at the filthy bandages you had removed from him before beginning to unravel the relatively clean ones from your own arm.
“M…Ma’am!” He protested, voice cracking as he saw the state of your skin.
“You’re at much higher risk of infection than me, Sergeant, I won’t take any argument.”
“I don’t suppose I have any say in this?” Captain Mercer arched one of his rather elegant, black eyebrows and you swallowed.
“I’m sorry sir, but not when it comes to medical treatment. Besides, they went out of their way to bandage me once, maybe they’ll do it again.” You muttered and tied off the dressing on Schmidt. “Let me know if it gets hot or more painful, ok?”
He nodded quickly, settling back against the wall and you followed suit, feeling quite fatigued, sore, and to your surprise, hungry. Resting your throbbing arm atop your knee, you leaned your head back against the bricks of the foundation, closing your eyes to listen to the scuff of jackboots across the floorboards above you. Your mind wanted to whirl like a top, to turn questions over and over like ‘Where are we?’ ‘What will they do with us?’ ‘How long will they keep us down here?’ ‘Where are Fitz and Roy?’ but it would just be a waste of energy. Your fate was no longer in your hands and what would happen next would come no matter how hard you dwelt upon it.
The sound of the door at the top of the stairs scraping across the worn floor had all three of your heads snapping up as three sets of feet tromped down into the cellar. It was difficult to hold back your smile as Fitzgibbons peered out from between two German soldiers, the first gesturing for him to join you all on the floor while the other set down a tin plate of thick slices of dark bread covered with thin smears of margarine and four mugs of bitter smelling, black coffee. The first soldier crouched down and pointed at your arm, speaking in German.
“I needed bandages.” You pointed at Schmidt, and he frowned, either not understanding, or unimpressed. Perhaps both.
He straightened with a huff before digging around in his woolen jacket to produce a thick, rectangular bundle, tossing it at you. The two of them then retreated upstairs, shutting the door firmly behind them. Fitzgibbons was on you almost immediately, grasping the folded bandage to unravel it curiously.
“This does not look good, Lieutenant.” He looked at your arm pointedly and you huffed.
“Schmitty was worse off, Fitz, needs must.” You muttered but held out your arm without further protest as he quickly familiarized himself with the foreign bandage and carefully wrapped as much of your burn as he could.
“Thank you for what you did, Ma’am.” He murmured, voice barely audible, and you shook your head quickly.
“You’d have done the same.”
He lifted his eyes to meet yours, gaze filled with a vulnerable uncertainty, and you squeezed his shoulder with your free hand.
“Let’s eat something you two.” Mercer chimed in once he had finished bandaging you and the four of you descended on the plate of food, which tasted a lot better than it appeared. The coffee was just as bitter as it smelled, but was hot and that was entirely welcome.
After the plate was emptied, Fitzgibbons looked to Mercer slowly. “Roy?”
The Captain shook his head and you swallowed your gulp of coffee painfully – of the six of you that had left the airstrip outside Rome that morning only four had made it. Two of you were injured, and your journey had most certainly only just begun now that you were captives of the German army.
As the slim shaft of light that penetrated the cellar began to fade, your companions were fetched one by one for individual questioning by the German officer who had greeted you upon your arrival. When it at last came to your turn, the sun was well set, and though you tried to pay more attention to the detail of the rustic country house, it was hard to pick out much in the low light of the sporadically placed candles.
There was a chair waiting for you opposite the desk this time and you sank into it gratefully, every muscle in your body tight with pain as it felt distinctly like someone was rubbing sandpaper over your superheated flesh with every movement you made.
“I’m terribly sorry about your radioman and pilot, must have been horribly shocking to see such things. What a terrible day you’ve endured Lieutenant.”
Shifting quietly in your chair, you shook your head as he offered a cigarette from a pack of Lucky Strikes – surely confiscated from one of your crew members as they were not so readily available in occupied Italy.
“Is there anything I can get you to ease your discomfort? Blankets? A coat? More bandages?”
Pressing your lips together in a thin line you dropped your gaze to your lap, focusing on filling your lungs to a count of three before slowly exhaling, then repeating the process. Each offer of comfort, each word of kindness was horridly tempting and yet the source also filled you with revulsion.
“It’s a far cry from Lido De Roma where you’re going, no beaches or sea air…” Your head jerked up in shock and a slow, devious smile curled onto the German officer’s thin lips as his mention of the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron’s posting finally garnered a reaction from you. “I hope you like the Alps, Lieutenant. You will see them on your way by.”
Tears of shame pricked the corners of your eyes, and you blinked them away furiously, looking to the side. Slamming his leather-clad palms flat onto the desk, you jumped and eyed him warily as he stood slowly. “If you have nothing of value to add, then?”
Inhaling slowly you repeated your name, rank, and serial number one last time – much to his ire – before he barked out an order to have you removed from the warmth of his office and returned to the cellar. This process was repeated several times at random intervals throughout the night, the four of you taking turns resting and watching for the unfriendly arrival of an errand boy soldier to haul you upstairs for another ‘chat’ with their English-speaking officer. Sometimes he was friendly, other times he was intimidating. Once he simply sat opposite you in the near-dark and glowered.
Eventually, time or patience ran out and just as the grey light of dawn began to permeate the misty winter morning, the four of you were marched as a group up the stairs and loaded into the back of a canvas-covered truck partially filled with crates. Wedging yourselves into what open spaces you could find, you had barely sat down before the vehicle lurched into motion and began its long and jolting ride to your next destination. The sun was much higher in the sky by the time you arrived at a small train station, emerging into midday, the mists long burned away. Herded across the tracks towards a cattle car, you were startled to see a group of other American soldiers – infantrymen, being loaded in.
“Up.” Came the command from the German soldier at your back and you reached up gratefully for the broad hand of corporal already in the car who helped hoist you inside.
“How the heck did you wind up here?! Ma’am…” He quickly tacked on, and you could not help but laugh a little at the bewildered expression on his face, shuffling further into the car as the last of your comrades were loaded in.
“Well the long and the short of it is, we ran into a bit of trouble during our flight…”
Captain Mercer scoffed as he came to stand behind you. “You could say that again, Lieutenant.”
The space was suddenly plunged into darkness as the door was slid shut and barred closed. You nearly toppled over as the train jostled forward, thanking Fitzgibbons as he steadied you. You embarked on a seemingly endless journey in darkness as the train ascended and descended, stopped and started, climbed and came down across unknown landscape. It was nigh impossible to see through the thin gaps between the slats of the car itself, but you knew from your ‘conversations’ with the officer that you were crossing the Alps. Could feel the air grow cold as you huddled closer to the men around you for what warmth you could glean as your breath hung from your lips in foggy exhales.
Your bladder ached until you could no longer deny needing to use the squalid bucket in the corner. Mercer, Fitzgibbons, and Schmidt formed a human wall with their backs to you, loudly clearing their throats as you took quite possibly the longest piss in the history of womankind. With that basic need met, the ravening hunger set in. Those slices of bread were long digested by the time the train came to a stop and disgorged the lot of you, blinking into the daylight like mole-people, squinting for signage.
“Moosburg.” Mercer muttered under his breath, and you hugged your arms tightly around yourself as you stumbled through the snow to form two lines as instructed by new soldiers whose uniforms sported the double lightning symbol of the SS.
You would had never thought it possible to envy a dead man, but standing there shivering in the snow as cruel-faced men in well-cut uniforms marched up and down the lines with their snarling dogs, you wondered if perhaps it would not have been better if that piece of flak had taken you out at the same time it had struck Warren. You were not entirely certain if you were strong enough for what was to come.
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April 11, 1945
Every step was an agony. It was remarkable, really, how many injuries two goons had managed to inflict on Bucky’s body in the brief moments between Buck’s escape and Lieutenant Colonel Clark’s intervention. At least two of his ribs were cracked by the butt of that rifle, severely hampering his ability to breathe properly. Then there had been the sharp kick to the back of his calf, wrenching his knee. The coupe-de-grace had been the left hook to his jaw, shredding the inside of his lower lip across his teeth and flooding his mouth with blood. If Clark had not called them off with the threat of riot, Bucky was not entirely sure he would have made it out of that village.
As it was, he had barely made it off the floor of the church the next night, requiring a great deal of prodding from DeMarco. Teeth gritted against the raw ache in every limb, every joint, he had risen to his feet through sheer force of will, knowing the alternative was a bullet to the brain. Somehow even though Buck was well on his way back to the American lines – by god he truly hoped so – Bucky could not face the thought of disappointing him by dying like that and so he had persisted. Had kept putting one foot in front of the other as they had trudged through the mud, crossing the Danube, putting another twenty kilometres between them and Nuremberg.
It had not made it any easier to keep up, however. Bucky had felt himself slowing, felt his body refusing to keep pace with the rest of the men. Every time he had lifted his eyes from the boots of those in front of him plodding through the endless muck, he had been surrounded by different faces. As he had neared the back of the group, lightheaded from pain and lack of oxygen, he had taken a second glance as he realized the faces around him were those of Brady, Cruikshank, DeMarco, Murphy, and Hamilton – all men from the Hundredth. All had been keeping pace with him.
“We’re almost at 20, Bucky.” Brady had murmured quietly under his breath, glancing back at the pair of goons bringing up the rear.
“Keep it up.” Cruikshank had nodded encouragingly.
By some miracle he had made it into the half-collapsed warehouse, crawling into a corner that was still partially covered by its patchy roof and had promptly fallen asleep. There had been a gentle prodding against his shoulder sometime later, daylight filtering in through the dust motes drifting thickly in the air and an offering of bread had been waved in front of his face. He had pushed it away clumsily before falling back asleep. Bucky’s next return to consciousness had been with his arms slung across the shoulders of DeMarco and Brady, a great amount of protest falling from their lips about the size of him.
It had been dark again. Darkness meant more walking and so he had awkwardly planted his feet. Relieved sighs had filled his ears from both his companions as the three of them worked together to propel him out of there and down the muddy road. Night had yielded to the hazy light of dawn and at last a sea of barbed wire fences, clapboard buildings and canvas tents came into view. Bucky had quite honestly never been so pleased to see a Stalag in his entire existence.
“Almost there.” Groaned Hamilton, who had since switched off with DeMarco, though the stalwart Brady had yet to budge from beneath his right arm.
As they stepped through the gates into the main courtyard, Bucky lifted his head to eye Clark blearily. “Guess they’re not gonna process us.” His words were slightly slurred as he tried to present his usual level of joviality, but the man’s brows only furrowed deeply in response.
“Get him to the hospital immediately.”
There was a chorus of ‘yes sirs’ and some hesitation before Hamilton and Brady got their bearings, but then they were on the move again. Bucky’s legs were barely responding by this point, toes mostly dragging through the incessant muddy landscape that seemed a consistent feature of every Stalag he’d had the misfortune of visiting thus far. As his vision began to go fuzzy, black dots eating away at it while it simultaneously began to dim at the edges, Bucky began to worry this might be his last camp.
“Put him right there please.”
Bucky tried to swing his head towards the most musical sound he had heard in over a year, but Hamilton and Brady were turning him to lay on his stomach, rambling about the broken ribs on his back and all he could see were worn wooden floorboards. Until suddenly your gorgeous face flooded his vision as you knelt beside his cot, your shockingly feminine fingers cradling his face to gently turn it and ensure he was not smothered in the pillow.
The style of your hair, the lashes framing your eyes, the cupid’s bow of your upper lip – the unmistakable womanliness of you; it made his heart ache.
“Must be in heaven…” He slurred as there was certainly no way he could be alive anymore. Women did not exist in this reality of underfed men and murderous goons.
“They got you good, Major, but you’re still very much with us.” You smiled warmly up at him, and he groaned out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You’re killing me, angel face.” He wheezed, lips clumsy and barely responsive, before promptly blacking out.
------------
Your heart plummeted as you watched his eyelids fall, shuttering those stunning, if exhausted, blue eyes, terrified you had lost another one before you even had the chance to try and save him. Fingers delving beneath the collar of his shirt, you were greatly relieved to find his strong pulse. Holding your cheek in front of his notably plush lips, the bottom one all the more pronounced by his recent injury, you were even more encouraged to feel the caress of his steady breathing. Sitting back on your heels, you nodded up to his mismatched pair of friends reassuringly.
“Did he just call her ‘angelfish?’” The blond one with angular features and a mouthful of gold muttered as they watched over their friend protectively but also seeming shocked, as everyone before them had been, to find an American woman in a POW camp.
“Maybe he was going for ‘angel face?’” The brunette with sturdy eyebrows replied in a hushed voice.
“Are you gentlemen in need of anything?” You asked, fighting hard against the amused smile that wanted to break through. They were truly a distraction when you had a patient in need of attention before you.
“No, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Ma’am” They shuffled off to leave you to your work.
Taking a moment to assess the length and breadth of your patient, you carefully worked off his leather flight jacket before untucking his uniform shirt and undershirt to reveal the deep purple bruises on his back. His friends had been very right to be worried about broken ribs – at least three by the span of the contusion. Kneeling back down you looked over his face once more, gently lifting his head to inspect both cheeks and confirm the bones were all intact. There did not appear to be anything in need of bandaging. It was most likely that undernourishment, the march, and the broken ribs all compounded to extreme exhaustion.
“What do we have here, Nurse?”
You looked up as Major Chalmers, a British surgeon, and head of the hospital emerged from one of the exam rooms. He had been a resident POW of Stalag VIIA for nearly eight months when you arrived in January, happily surrendering one of his exam rooms to become your separate quarters in return for your work in the camp hospital. It was an arrangement that benefited both of you, kept you safe and out of the male population and occupied the long and lonely hours that seemed to pass at their own pace in this place.
Chalmers had done what he could to care for your burned arm, re-bandaging it daily. However, by the time he had been able to start giving it proper care, the damage had already been done. The skin was now permanently mottled by scars, unnaturally smooth, with a texture akin to crumpled cellophane. You were always very mindful to keep your mended sleeve down to your wrist. It was not all that difficult to cover your shame when the rest of your wardrobe consisted of standard men’s POW wear from the Red Cross – the sweaters draping over half your hands and the winter coat blissfully warm but nearly swallowing you whole.
It was only due to Chalmers’ temerity that anyone walked away from the camp hospital at all. With supplies chronically low, men were dying of the most preventable and treatable things. All you could do most of the time was put on a brave face and hold their hand, give them a little comfort at the end. Even Schimdt, despite your best efforts, had found his shoulder wound quickly beset with infection in the less than sanitary environment. Penicillin was non-existent here and he had faded fast, lost in a feverish delirium as you held tight to his hand, watching the light fade from his burning eyes. Your brave façade was second nature to you by this point, showing itself more often than your real, bedraggled self who only showed her face in the cold isolation of your locked exam-room-turned-solo-combine at night.
“Newly arrived American Major, force marched over eight days, beaten two nights ago. At least three broken ribs, damage to lower lip, abrasions to the face and contusions to the back but nothing else I can see. Pulse is strong, breathing is steady, but lost consciousness almost as soon as we laid him down, sir.”
“Hmmm.” Chalmers made a noise of displeasure at the last and conducted his own exam, digging out one of the makeshift charts to add some notes before glancing at his watch. “Do we know when he last ate?”
“No, sir.” You shook your head.
“Alright, I want you to sit with him and keep an eye on his vitals. Hopefully, he’s simply sleeping this off, but I want you to get some water and broth in him as soon as he wakes up alright?”
“Yes, sir.”
Collecting the requisite liquids, you settled onto the sliver of floor space between the Major’s cot and his neighbor’s, working at folding some boiled and dried bandages, now ready for re-use. The actual hospital itself was unspeakably crowded, men nearly stacked atop one another around a small cast iron stove. Originally built for 10,000, the camp’s population had been well over that when you had arrived in January and seemed to multiply every week now. Things had become so dire, a tent hospital had been erected adjacent to the building you lived and worked in to allow for the treatment of more men. It was crowded and ripe, and even surrounded by all these humans you still felt alone as the sole representative of your sex.
As you pulled each strand of once-white fabric from the basket, carefully rolling and tucking the ends to form neat bundles, you studied the unconscious man’s face. Errant dark curls were dangling across his tall forehead and the most absurd and yet endearing dusting of hair graced his upper lip. Clearly, he was going for a Clark Gable, but it was not quite there. Even with one ear poking a mile out to the side, however, you swallowed tightly as you realized you would not change a thing about him. Taken individually his attributes seemed odd, yet combined to make an incredibly handsome whole. Not to mention his feet were dangling off the end of his cot, his shoulders barely contained by the sides of it. If he woke up, no when he woke up, he was going to be a devastating sight to behold.
Reaching the midway point of your task, you slid forward onto your knees to check his vitals, pleased they were holding steady and noting so on the chart, before settling back onto the floor. You had nearly reached the bottom of the basket when a pair of boots entered the hospital. Not German, you had long since become familiar with the way jackboots reverberated across wooden floorboards. Most likely American or British. Peering around the end of the bed your eyes widened as you caught a glimpse of a silver oak leaf – a Lieutenant Colonel! That was the highest rank you had yet to encounter in camp.
Struggling to disentangle yourself from your laundry and not kick over your patient’s waiting fluids in the process of trying to rise to your feet and accord the man the proper greeting that his rank entitled him, you looked up startled as he addressed you first.
“At ease, Nurse.”
He was the first man to seem utterly unfazed by your presence and you somehow found that unspeakably reassuring.
“Thank you, Colonel.”
“How is Major Egan?” He peered down at the still very much asleep man.
“Major Chalmers, our Surgeon, is certain it is no more than a case of exhaustion and he will recover with rest and fluids upon waking. He’s just down the hallway behind you there if you’d like to speak to him yourself, sir.”
He nodded thoughtfully as he glanced over his shoulder before looking back to you. “The Red Cross knows you’re here?”
“I filled out the card when I arrived in January, sir.” You nodded.
“Where have they put you?”
“Converted one of the exam rooms, sir. I eat, sleep, bathe separately.”
“Good.” He nodded in return, seeming quite satisfied with your answer. “Name’s Clark, please find me if you need anything.”
“Thank you very much, Colonel.” You smiled warmly, feeling strangely fragile as the warmth of it actually emanated from deep inside you rather than a mask plastered on for the comfort of the recipient.
Dismissing himself from your presence with one sharp nod, he turned to follow your directions down the hall, most likely in search of Chalmers. Turning back to eye your patient, Major Egan, you sighed a little as he remained blissfully unconscious, lips parted against the thin pillow to allow heavy exhales to fall rhythmically. There was little change to his condition as the sun made its way across the sky before hovering at the horizon, preparing to set. Your dinner was delivered to the bedside and there was a rather heated exchange between Chalmers, Clark, and a few of the guards before they conceded you could remain unlocked for the night to keep an eye on your fragile patient. This Lieutenant Colonel was obviously not someone to be trifled with.
You waved off Chalmers when he asked if you were up to the task, taking advantage of his presence to make a quick bathroom run and fetch a blanket before returning to your post. It was your first night spent amongst others in months, their soft snores and nightly noises combining with the sound of rain pattering onto the ramshackle roof to do their very best to pull you under into sleep. The downward slide of your eyelids was halted abruptly by the first vocalization from Major Egan since his contested term of endearment – angel face? Angelfish? Whatever it had been, silence had since reigned over his mouth until he began to mutter and emit soft sounds of protest, his features tense and furrowed. Shifting up onto your knees, you lay one hand over his clenched fist, trying to smooth the crease in his brow with the thumb of your other.
“It’s alright Major Egan, you’re safe.” You soothed in a hushed whisper, hoping to dispel whatever unseen terror was plaguing his thus far peaceful sleep.
He shifted slightly in response, lips smacking a little as his hand moved with alarming speed to engulf yours in a tight grip and hold it close to the side of his chest. Barely smothering your gasp of surprise, you held your breath a moment until he stilled completely, features relaxing and breath evening out as he slipped deeper into sleep once more. Exhaling slowly you gnawed on your lip a moment before shifting to sit on the floor with your back against the cot, hand still very much held captive by his. Allowing yourself to drift a little more, quite certain any movement on his part would now alert you to his wakening, you barely noticed the hourly checks the goons were making on you – clearly uneasy about having you roam free amongst the hospital patients, but for whatever reason Clark’s demands had been honored and it was a refreshing change around here.
It was just before dawn of the following day when Major Egan began to shuffle and groan behind you, your hand slipping free from his. You straightened stiffly, turn to watch him roll onto his uninjured side and take stock of his surroundings.
“Good morning, Major, have a good rest?” You asked quietly, hoping not to wake the others sleeping around him.
His head immediately snapped down towards you and he eyed you in bewilderment once again. “I thought you were a hallucination.” He rumbled, voice roughened by disuse.
You smirked slightly and nodded. “I got that impression. Thirsty?”
He bobbed his head in a small nod, and you slid to your feet, grasping his elbows to help him sit up. Grabbing the mug from the ground, you offered it to him, only allowing him to take a small sip before pulling it back. He blinked at you sluggishly for a moment before you offered him the mug again. After three limited sips, which he clearly found frustrating, you allowed him to keep hold of the mug as you wrapped your fingers around his thick wrist to track his pulse.
“How long was I out?” He asked once you were finished noting your findings on his chart.
“Almost a day. Seems as though you really needed the rest. Ready to try a little broth?” You smiled as he nodded once more and picked up the other mug from the ground. “I saved you some, I’ll get it warmed up.”
He slowly lay back down as you took the mug of broth over to the stove in the centre of the room and set it on top, swirling the liquid until it was steaming and then decanting it into his now empty water mug so it would not burn his hands. As you returned to his bedside, he leveraged himself up with barely concealed, painful effort and you frowned as you set the mug in his hands.
“I’m here to help with that, Major.”
“Please,” he took a sip of the steaming liquid, “call me Bucky.”
You smiled and introduced yourself properly as well before your lips tugged into a mischievous grin. “But do feel free to keep calling me angelfish, I certainly haven’t gotten that one before.”
He choked a little on his next sip, giving you a rueful albeit lazy smirk. “Kick a man when he’s down why don’t ya, angelfish.”
You were unsuccessful in smothering your answering giggle, several of the men around you muttering and tossing restlessly as you had accidentally woken them. Bucky pressed a long finger to his lips teasingly before turning back to his broth, slowly finishing it before setting the empty mug on the floor beside the low cot.
“I uh, am sure the facilities are lacking but…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully and you swallowed, gesturing for him to follow you, and assessing his movements with your medically trained eye.
It was of course a test, of his balance, pain level, and energy to see how he moved across the floor and into the rustic patients’ washroom. You, of course, left him to his own devices in there, but walked him back to the bed, noting how he grew stiffer with each step.
“I’m sorry we don’t have anything for the pain.” You whispered when he lay down once more on his stomach, small grunts of discomfort escaping him.
He shook his head. “S’fine, angelfish.” He mumbled softly, sleep tugging at him again already as you tucked him in with the worn blanket.
“Rest then, Bucky.” You soothed, relieved that he was quite cognizant, able to keep his food down, and resting well.
This one might make it.
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Read Part Two
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747
#john egan x reader#major john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#john egan fic#john egan imagine#john egan#mota fanfic#masters of the air fanfiction
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Whiskey
Major John Egan x reader
Warnings - few swear words, flirting, alcohol
Word count - 1418
a/n - it's been sooo long, mainly because I've been focused on doing applications to transfer colleges. I also didn't know who to write about for a while after farleigh, lol. I hope you enjoy :)
“How much longer are you going to be back there?” your friend groans from the other side of the bar. The bar staff requested extra hands since a large number of pilots and crew had arrived, and for some reason you volunteered to help out.
“I have another hour left, and then I’m finished,” you say as you hand the guy next to her his drink. She just groans in response. “Plus, you said you were planning on ditching me and finding someone to entertain you for the night.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same when I’m doing it alone.”
“You do realize I’m not the only person you know here, right?” You tell her as another uniformed man walks up to the bar.
“Can I get a round of whiskeys and a ginger beer, please?” the man asks before your friend could answer. You nod and get started on his order.
“Ginger beer?” you hear your friend ask in a judgemental yet light tone.
“Don’t worry it’s not for me,” the man lets out a small laugh. You hand him his drinks on a tray, and he thanks you before walking away.
“You may not be the only person I know, but you're the only one I really like. But I’ll leave you alone to do your job and make my way to where that man just went,” your friend nudges her head in his direction. After following him with your eyes you give her a ‘really’ look once you spot the table and she gives you an innocent shrug in return.
The table is surrounded by nothing but higher ups. It also happens to include the inseparable best friends Major John “Bucky” Egan and Major Gale “Buck” Cleven.
“Maybe once you get Major Egan you’ll be able to put in a good word for me with Major Cleven, or if I get to Cleven first, I could put in a good word for you. We could do the whole double date thing. Their names have a nice ring to it don’t you think?”
“Lower your voice,” you shush her as you glance around for any listening ears. All of the men in the bar know one another in some way, and word travels fast.
“What? You’ve had a crush on the guy for the longest time, and you do nothing about it every time he flies in,” she tells you. “If you ask him out and he turns you down, it's not like you have to see him for long.”
“I’m sorry, have you met me? What makes you think I would ever go up to a guy and ask him out?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess I’ll just have to be bold for the both of us. Can I get a shot before I go, I’m going to need some liquid courage to take these men on.”
“Take your shot and go,” you say as you wave her off with your hand after placing her shot down in front of her. She takes her shot and wanders off, but not before giving you a smirk. You just playfully roll your eyes in return.
You don’t realize how much time goes by with the constant swarm of men coming up to the bar, but when you decide to look up at the clock on the wall you notice you only have ten minutes left until you're free. It has pretty much slowed down given the fact that most of the men were already drunk out of their minds, but the room was far from quiet.
“Next time it’ll be me who knocks his ass out,” you hear a voice say as they come up to the bar you currently had your back to.
You turn around confused, planning to question the person, but you freeze a little once you notice Major Eagan infront of you. You feel yourself panic a little given the fact that this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. He must see your confused expression though because he begins to explain himself.
“Sorry not you, I was talking to one of my buddies. He knocked some brit out on the first punch,” he says, but not before quickly adding, “It was well deserved though, the man was a prick.”
You just nod in response, not knowing what to say to that other than, “Can I get you anything, Major?”
“Yes, whiskey please,” he smiles as he leans his uniform covered arms on the bar top.
“You wouldn’t happen to belong to the table that requested all those whiskeys tonight would you?” you ask as you turn around to grab a bottle and glass. You also try to keep your hands steady and your face as neutral as possible.
“Guilty,” he lets out a small laugh as you set his drink in front of him. He doesn’t reach out to touch it, but keeps those blue eyes of his on you. “Got a problem with whiskey?”
“No, why do you ask?”
“Because I could’ve sworn you made a face when I said it,” he tells you, but there’s no attitude behind it. Good observation skills on his part, bad concealing skills on your part. He is a soldier after all.
“Oh, you caught that,” you let out a little laugh as you try to busy yourself with something behind the bar. As much as you would like to keep talking to him – because you would most likely never get the chance again – you kind of wish he would walk away so you could control your sweating. Your friend would probably slap you if you turned this interaction down though.
“Yeah, is there a story behind it or you just don’t like whiskey?”
“I just don’t like it,” you say, and it’s true. You feel it’s way too strong, especially to be drinking so casually.
“You have one of the best whiskeys sitting on that shelf behind you, and you're telling me you don’t like it?” you’re not looking at him, but you can hear a playful tone in his voice. If only your friend could see you now, wherever she is.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Uh huh,” he replies in a tone that tells you he doesn’t believe you. “When are you able to leave from behind there?” he motions to you behind the bar.
You take a glance up at the clock at the wall and notice you’re not supposed to leave for another three minutes. But, then again, a cute guy is standing across from you so who cares?
“Now actually,” you respond.
“Well then pour yourself a glass, and I’ll drink it with you,” he tells you, and you feel your stomach flutter. It also could be that you’re nauseous from being so nervous.
“This sounds an awful lot like peer pressure,” you joke and he lets out a laugh.
You do as he says and pour yourself a glass because what the hell. He raises his up as a form of cheers, and you do the same before you both tilt your heads back and drink. You pull a face as the liquid burns going down your throat; he just laughs.
“You really don’t like it,” he says as you set your glass down.
“I prefer sweeter things like wine. You know, the stuff that doesn’t taste like acid,” you say, and he just lets out another laugh at your response.
“Well I’ll remember that for next time,” he says, and you almost drop your guys’ cups, which you just picked up to put away.
“Next time?” you pause before looking up at him.
“Yes. I’m going to be here for a while, and I figured the two of us could do something,” he tells you like it was obvious,” Without any whiskey involved of course.”
“And what makes you think I want to?”
“Because you just spent the past ten minutes having a conversation with me. Oh, and your friend told me to come over here since I helped her get with my buddy Buck,” he gives you a smirk.
Your heart practically slaps the ground, and you feel like you actually might throw up. Part of you isn’t surprised because you were never going to do anything about your crush and your friend knew, and the other part of you is shocked because what happened to girl code?
“Well now I definitely don’t want to,” you tell him, half joking, as you resume cleaning up.
#callum turner#callum turner x reader#john egan x reader#callum turner imagine#major john egan x reader
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bucky is that bf that is so cocky and annoying and insufferable but hes just so sweet and treats you so good after annoying you all day, hand on your hip and kissing your temple saying something like, “c’mon, sugar, you know i was just messing with you, love to see you all riled up ‘nd pouting.” OH I NEED HIM BAD…..
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stolen moments, major john egan
pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (amelia mae egan)
content: john manages to call amelia after not hearing her voice for weeks.
an: this was the top choice in the poll so far. I've been anxious to write so we knocked this off the list first lol. enjoy!
“Are you alright, Major?”
They’d just arrived at a new station. It smelled like sweat and fear. Men streamed throught the doors like a school of fish. Their deep voices shook the brick walls as their conversations bellowed throughout the building. Dozens of men struggled to keep their composure. He was one of them.
He was overwhelmed. Tired. Desparate. His clothes felt tight against his body. The scent of gasoline and fumes clung to his vest. His hat damp and chilled against his forehead. His shoes were coated in black soot.
John’s eyes caught the telephone in the corner of the station. It was secluded from the rest of the quarters, in a corner, protected by a frosted glass divider. John's shoes grazed the dirty floor as he strode purposefully towards the telephone.
“M’fine. Head in and get your rest. Long day in the morning.” He didn’t know how he was able to make out coherent sentences. Gale stepped in, noticing his friend’s disheveled state and guided the men to the resting quarters.
John’s shoes kissed the dirty floor as he stood long strides to the telephone. He shrugged off his backpack and slid it by his feet. His hands trembled as he plucked the phone off the hook and typed in the number he had engraved in his heart.
It rang. And rang. And rang. His heartbeat was in his ears. His nails scratched as the black paint around the phone as he succumbed to his anxiety. He sent a silent prayer to God above.
Then he heard it. “Hello?” John’s forehead tapped the frosted glass as he rested against it. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He’d never been particularly sensitive, but he was overwhelmed with emotion, good and bad, and hearing her sweet voice made his eyes well with tears.
The words were stuck in his throat and all he could release was a heavy sigh. That seemed to be enough for her to identify the caller. “Johnny?”
He shut his eyes. A lone tear fell from his eye. “Hey, Rosie.”
Amelia let out a soft cry. “Oh, thank God! I-I thought something happened to you; I hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Are you okay, where are you now? Is Gale alright, when are you coming…” His first instinct was to cut her rambling short, but the sound of her voice was the choir-like song his soul ached to hear.
He’d gone three weeks without hearing her voice. It was the most tortuous three weeks of his life. For 21 days, he survived by remembering the last words she said before they hung up, Whatever you do, do not die on me, do you understand? I love you, John. I love you. I love you. I love you. It kept his heart beating.
A small smile tugged on his lips. “I’m okay, baby, I promise. Things got a little rough; didn’t stay in one place too long. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m just happy to hear your voice…are you okay?”
His stomach churned at her question. A feeling of despair threatened to creep upon him. Thirty men lost. A plane in the middle of the ocean. An uneasy stomach and even more uneasy mental state. His head pounded, his body shook with unwanted adrenaline, and his hands craved the feeling of her hot skin. He was not okay.
“No,” he replied honestly, rubbing his eye with the stump of his palm. “I’m not okay but I will be. Especially because I get to talk to my favorite girl. Tell me about your day..”
He heard her heavy sigh. “Deflection won’t rid you of what you’re feeling.”
“Talking about it won’t do too much good, either. It’s…it’s hard, Rose. I just.” John’s jaw clenched as he struggled to articulate what he felt. “I just can’t talk about it right now, Amelia. If I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together.”
Silence stretched on, interrupted only by the sound of her shuffling on the other end. She was probably sitting at the edge of her bed. He imagined her, looking pretty in her long-sleeved pajamas and satin scarf, with a blanket tucked under her chin.
“Then how about this,” she started. “You make it home in one piece to tell me about it later, yeah?”
“Always making demands,” John laughed. The first genuine sound of joy he’d made all day. And it made her smile. So wide that her cheeks were sore and her dimples made an appearance. “But you’ve got a deal.” He readied himself to speak again, but a tap on his shoulder interrupted him.
Gale. Meeting with the CO in five minutes, he mouthed. John nodded. He ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Darlin’, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes; I’m sorry. If I don’t call in the morning, know I love you, alright?”
“I know. I love you, too. Don’t apologize. Just make it back to me.”
“Always.”
#saturnville#original writing#black!reader#black reader#major john egan x black!reader#major john egan x reader#major john egan#callum turner x black!reader#callum turner x black reader#callum turner x reader#callum turner#major john egan x amelia mae egan#mota#mota fanfiction#masters of the air#gale cleven#john egan#curtis biddick
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Because the Night
The atmosphere in the pub was already in full swing by the time Major Bucky Egan led his group to the table Tommy saved for them.
“Jesus, it’s like those paratroopers never seen a woman before.” Curt wiped his uniform jacket, “They took one look at [y/n] and it was like Niagra Falls.”
Taking the seat Bucky held out for her, [y/n] thanked him as she sat.
“I think Ol’ Faithful Geyser at Yosemite might be a better choice Curt.” Buck replied taking a seat across from Bucky.
“Yeah, yeah whatever cowboy.” Looking at the expectant faces of Bucky and Buck, Curt sighed “Yes, Bucky I wouldn’t mind getting the drinks. Why thank you Buck, I am the kindest man in this bar.”
Ignoring Curt and Buck, Bucky leaned in closer to [y/n] watching the paratrooper across the bar tense. “So, who is he?”
Major Bucky Egan was not shocked that men looked at [y/n]. She was not only one of the few women around, but she was as pretty as a picture. And she knew it, hell it was on the reasons Bucky liked her. Her beauty caught his eye but her self assured nature drew him in. So while he didn’t love the looks men gave her in general, the look of recognition and remorse in this paratrooper in particular sent air raid sirens through his mind.
Twisting her earring with a sigh, [y/n] met Bucky’s inquisitive gaze. “My ex.”
Raising his eyebrows as if to ask for confirmation of what he just heard, [y/n] nodded to the brunette. From across the table Major Buck Clevens sat up straight as he watched the growing opposing demeanor of the pair. One that spoke of apathy while the other spoke of interest in the topic.
“Who we fightin’?” Dropping the drinks on the table, Curt rejoined the trio, “Bucky’s got that rabble rouser look on his face.”
“The ginger at 12 o’clock doing a shitty job at secretly surveying [y/n].” Buck drawled watching Bucky attempt to catch the ginger’s eye. Major Gale Clevens knew John Egan well enough to know when he was looking for a fight. Gale had seen John protective over his friends and his men, so he could only imagine what he would be like over his unofficial girl.
“No shit? Want me to fuck him up for you?” Turning around in his seat, Curt assessed the paratrooper and his friends. “There’s only four of them, we can easily take ‘em.”
[y/n] leaned back in her chair contemplating the situation she found herself in. Before she had walked into the bar, her biggest concern was how she was going to keep Bucky from serenading her tonight. But walking in and seeing her ex’s face and John’s reaction threw that concern right out of the window.
“While that is sweet of you Curt, no. It’s been two years, I’m long over him and if anyone should be scared, it should be him. I’m not the one who cheated.” Since their breakup, she hadn't put much thought into her ex or dating. And it certainly wasn’t because she was still in love with him. Rather the war broke out and she joined the WAC leaving her with little time or interest to date. Or that had been the case until Major John Egan swaggered his way onto Thorpe Abbotts base.
“That fucker… makes me wanna punch him more now.”
“If it makes you feel better Curt, I broke his nose when I found him cheating.”
“Atta girl.” Buck chuckled while sipping his ginger beer. He expected nothing less from the spitfire who stole his best friend’s heart.
“Didn’t you say you were getting harassing letters from an ex?” The arm that had been carelessly thrown over the back of her chair suddenly wrapped around [y/n]’s shoulder pulling closer to John.
“I was exaggerating, John. It was just a letter!” Placing her hand over his, [y/n] squeezed his hand in a silent plea. “Please don’t do anything stupid...” Looking for Buck for support, [y/n] was however, met with the profile of the blonde major.
Bucky chuckled as he watched [y/n]’s attempt to deter him. While he and Gale Clevens may have been opposites, Buck was a true friend. And true friends let other friends knock out the guy bothering his girl. “Won’t be considered anything stupid if it comes to you, sweetheart.”
Between the protective glint in his eyes and baritone voice, [y/n]’s heart began hammering in her chest. Grounding herself in the contrast of his rough hands against her softer ones, she was reminded of who Major John Egan was. “Look if he comes this way then you can be my knight in shining armor but right now can we just go back to flirting and listening to Curt rewrite a story about how amazing his flying is?”
Curt put hands up in defense. “Hey, I am amazing at flying and I don’t rewrite stories, I just…embellish them.”
Hooking an arm around Curt’s neck, Buck tapped a fist against Curt’s chest. “Oh embellish, what a big word for you Curt.”
Deciding that it had been far too long since he had her attention all to himself, John Egan tucked an escaped curl behind her ear before leaning in to whisper. “…So you are flirting with me, Lieutenant? Keep that up and someone might think you like me.”
The warmth of his body and the smell of his aftershave left her all but lightheaded. They had unofficially officially been an item since his second day at the base. When she decided to share her umbrella and laughter with the handsome hapless Major who lost the battle and a shoe to the English mud.
“Oh the horror Bucky…”
“Oh, calling me Bucky, you must really want me to do this for you.” Caressing her the inside of her wrist, John considered if tonight would be the night he could kiss her like he always wanted to. As a promise for it their last first kiss because the night belongs to lovers like them.
“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you don’t start a bar brawl.” [y/n] supplied in response watching the smile light up across his face, knowing she had opened a can of worms. But she couldn’t say she regretted it; Bucky Egan was the sun and she basked under his warmth.
“Oh, with a request like that how can I say no?… for now.” Sharing in her laughter, John placed a lingering kiss on her cheek.
Sipping his whiskey, John turned back to the group and sought counsel on his new dilemma. “What do you think boys, handsome, the way to go? No, maybe I should go with pretty boy? No, too soft. Mhmm, how about my darling future husband? Now that has a nice ring to it!”
A/N: I apparently have a thing for hand holding... I appreciate any and all feedback!
#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#john egan x female reader#major john egan x reader#mota x reader#mota fanfic#john egan imagine#masters of the air imagine#john egan fanfiction
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