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floralcyanide · 14 days

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ɪғ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ — ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ (Part Two)

john “bucky” egan x fem!reader (nsfw)

You finally have that dinner Dr. Egan promised.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23-25, Bucky is in his 40s), smut, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, face riding, cum eating

word count: 1.5k

author’s note: as requested, here is the second part of the fic part of the series!! I hope yall enjoy (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | (If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Wanna Be Right - Barbara Mandrell

(the use of "Dr. Egan" is dropped by pov towards the end of the fic.)

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

You’re very much aware of Dr. Egan’s eyes on you, drinking in your appearance. You had decided on a nicer dress for the dinner that your superior had promised. And ever since you’ve arrived at the table he had reserved, his eyes have done nothing but wander. You couldn’t help but stare as well, admiring the patch of chest revealed by Dr. Egan’s button-down. He had some graying hair there, and from what you could see, he was still very toned. Dr. Egan had let his hair be natural today without much product, and it curled stunningly. You wanted so badly to run your hands through it. You had not forgotten why he had offered dinner in the first place. And apparently, neither had he. After you had finished your meals and glasses of wine, you felt a hand on your knee.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

So here you are, walking into Dr. Egan’s home yet again. This time, the purpose is different, and the tension is thick. He walks over to the record player and puts on something before sitting on the couch. He pats a hand on his thigh, motioning for you to sit. You nervously walk over to where Dr. Egan sits and slowly perch yourself on his thigh. His hands find your hips, comfortably massaging your flesh through the fabric of your dress. You look down at him- there’s a small smile resting on his face and something gleaming in his eye.

You boldly take hold of Dr. Egan’s face, eagerly pressing your lips to his. You can feel his light stubble underneath your palms. He moves you up further along his thigh until your knee is flush against him, and the contact makes him groan into the kiss quietly. You take the opportunity to slip your tongue through Dr. Egan’s lips, battling him for dominance. You willingly let him take over, nearly jumping out of your skin when he presses your hips down against his leg. But your shock is quickly replaced with pleasure as Dr. Egan guides your body against his thigh. The movement of your hips brings your knee into his slowly hardening bulge at a delicious angle.

“Just like that,” Dr. Egan sighs, “So pretty sitting on my thigh like this.”

“I’d be prettier sitting somewhere else,” you say out loud, not entirely meaning to.

But your words hang in the air like a promise.

Dr. Egan pauses his movements, his grip stilling on your hips, “Like where?”

You gulp, bravely running your hands across his face and through his hair, “Here.”

“My face?” Dr. Egan smirks, and you feel your ears burn.

“Yes,” you bite your lip, “Is that okay?”

“Couldn’t imagine anything finer,” Dr. Egan grins, moving you off his lap so you could stand up and he could lay down on the couch.

He takes a pillow and shoves it under his head as he makes himself comfortable, his hand reaching out for yours, “Ready?”

You slip your fingers underneath the band of your underwear, letting it slide down your legs before you step out of them and your shoes. You carefully climb over Dr. Egan’s face, planting your knees on the sides of the pillow as you hover. He grabs your thighs, pulling you down flush against his mouth, where his tongue immediately darts out to lick a stripe up your slit.

“So wet already? All for me, hmm?”

“All for you, Dr. Egan.”

He pulls away momentarily, “I told you to call me John, sweetheart.”

You chuckle, wiggling your hips against his nose, “Okay, John.”

John hums contently as he laps up your wetness, moving his tongue to swirl your essence around your clit before he suckles it gently, making you moan quietly. He does the action again, suckling a little harder to make you moan louder. He succeeds, and your hips buck against his face as you grow louder with every sharp suck of your bundle of nerves. John starts fucking you with his tongue, letting his nose prod your clit. as you ride his face without shame. Your fingers grip his curly hair harshly as John eats you like he’s starving, and your cunt is his first meal in forever. You feel yourself growing close to the edge as the older man doesn’t let up on eating you out.

“I’m close,” you warn, panting as you snap your shaky hips forward.

John moves his head from side to side, flattening his tongue against your clit as he brings you to your orgasm. You feel yourself gush on his tongue as you ride his face slowly, letting your orgasm fizzle into a high. John licks you clean of your cum and arousal, despite your mewls of overstimulation.

“Your turn,” you say, catching your breath as you climb off John’s face and settle on his lap.

You palm him through his dress pants, causing him to grab your wrist.

“I wanna ride something else now, John,” you say, a mischievous smile taking over your features, “Is that okay?”

John’s grip on your wrist loosens, and he allows you to unzip his pants and pull him out of them. You lazily stroke him a few times before moving up on his lap, gathering your wetness on the tip of his length before slowly pushing onto it. John hisses at the feeling of you enveloping him, your cunt swallowing every inch of him greedily. His hands grip your hips as you take him fully.

“Been thinking about this view for a while,” John admits, and you can’t help but smile.

“Really?’ you ask, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him inside you before pulling off and slamming back down, “How is it?”

“Fuck,” John curses, “It’s good, very good.”

His hands move to squeeze your breasts through your dress, and much to John’s delight, you aren’t wearing a bra underneath. His thumbs brush over your pebbled nipples as you gain a steady rhythm, rocking yourself against his hips. John runs his hands all over your clothed body, wishing he could see you naked. But he’s too distracted by the dragging of your walls along his length to think about doing anything else.

“I’m glad to impress you, John. Or should I say Dr. Egan?”

John growls lowly at that, snapping his hips upward to match your pace.

“I hope my performance is everything you hoped for,” you tease, your hands finding the buttons to his shirt and popping them open. You let your palms move across his chest, your nails grazing the hair that scatters the expanse of it.

“Never thought I’d see the day that my star pupil would be riding me,” John plays along to your professor-student comment, “I’d like it even better if she came on my cock like the good girl she is.”

Your moans are audible by now, the pleasure becoming too much to remain silent. The feeling of your older counterpart hitting your cervix dead-on is dizzying. Your nails start to press into the skin of John’s chest as you feel your second orgasm creeping up into your abdomen. You raise your stuttering hips up almost entirely off of John’s body before pushing back down as hard as possible, fucking him with what energy you have left.

“You relax, baby. I got the rest,” John flips the two of you over, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder as he pounds into you.

This maneuver takes you by surprise, but you allow him to take you on the couch like you dreamed of ever since you felt that spark between you. You never would have guessed your pursuit for your M.A. would end up like this, but the feeling of you sinking deeper into the couch with every thrust makes it worth it. John feels himself losing control as your cunt flutters around him, on the edge of convulsion as your orgasm begins to take hold. You cry out, gripping John’s biceps as you feel him hit the spot inside you perfectly, and it sends you to the point of no return. You cum around him hard, causing him to finally spill inside you with a groan.

You’re gasping for air as John pulls out of you, rushing to the restroom for a hand towel to clean you with. He’s gentle and waits for you to come back to Earth on your own time.

“You alright, doll?”

You nod, putting a hand on his cheek as he leans down to give a soft kiss on the lips.

“I just thought I’d remind you your thesis is due to me next week,” John cracks a smile, and you throw the pillow behind your head at him.

“Ruined it,” you roll your eyes, “Ruined my high, John. But thanks for the reminder.”

Then you realize you have another year and a half to spend working alongside John- Dr. Egan. And you wonder how that will work out after all of this.

#mota #masters of the air #masters of the air au #john bucky egan #john egan #bucky egan #john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #masters of the air fanfic #callum turner #callum turner x reader #john bucky egan smut #john bucky egan x reader smut #john egan smut #john egan x reader smut #bucky egan smut #bucky egan x reader smut #floralcyanide writes

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bucking-mustangs-with-wings · 4 days

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Game of Survival edit (buck x bucky au)

read it HERE

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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In my feels and thinking after the war thoughts for the integrated universe of Those Who Can, —thinking of Rosie Rosenthal Esquire surviving the war to go on and prosecute some of the bastards who hurt those Lady Officers at trials in Nuremberg.

#those who can #mota asks #Maureen Kendeigh #Ida Brady #masters of the air #masters of the air Au

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mercurygray · 2 months

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Merc,

Could we get a glimpse of Kurt interacting with the MotA characters? Thanks! 🥺

We are shocked to report that as he is in all things, Kurt is being an ass.

If anyone had any ideas about what Captain Warren's boyfriend looked like, Kurt Havermeyer wasn't it.

They were stood down for the weekend, and Harding had been liberal with 48 hour passes, the whole base practically packing themselves off to points south. London felt like a stretch, but Cambridge was handier and the beer cheaper anyway, so they'd shined their shoes and polished their wings, and those among them with an inclination to misbehave made sure all the right tools were in all the right pockets.

"And how 'bout you, Captain?" Douglass had asked with a grin, as the train swayed and screamed out of the station, the flyboys packed into the cars and the corridors, hats cocked just so. "Any hot dates waiting for ya?"

"Meeting up with my boyfriend, actually." Joan had offered, cagily as they came, and glances were exchanged. The Ice Queen - a boyfriend? And just what did he look like? It wasn't like she'd been quick to make friends, the intelligence officer, fresh from OCS and a press tour that would have made a princess proud. That's what she was, wasn't it? A princess?

Well, a princess needed a prince, and here he was - blond and blue-eyed, he proverbial golden boy sunning himself under his own artfully crushed cap, fresh from fighter command and as cocky as they came. When they turned up at the same pub, him proud as a peacock, it came out that he'd shaken down Joan about meeting her freinds, that he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"What is she, ashamed of us?" Bubbles asked Crosby, as Joan almost hid. But after a while, Crosby wasn't inclined to agree - it wasn't them Joan was ashamed of. It was him.

He was loud, Captain Havermeyer, loud and full of his own self importance, rattling on about his plane and his wing like they were only ones fighting the war. Rich, too - he'd been all too clear about that, buying a few rounds for the room like money was nothing. Not a single kind word for the crew, or the plotters - and nothing but noise for the bomber boys. All while Joan sank back quietly into her seat, her own beer untouched, and the men from Thorpe Abbotts fumed and tried to stay on thier best behavior, and not be the yokels from Nebraska he assumed them to be.

They tried to offer common ground - about the beer, and the weather, and the state of the army, and everyone was getting along fine until Kurt, laughing, made some pass about promotions for pretty faces and how they'd let anyone in if she had a good ass - just like Joan, right?

The next moment happened so fast that later on that evening several people were almost sure they'd imagined it - Major Cleven's fist, shooting out to connect with Captain Havermeyer's eye, Havermeyer staggering back with the force of the blow, and Joan's face, stunned behind the two of them shouting in horror, not for Kurt, but for Gale.

"Apologize to the lady." It was a command, not a suggestion, Cleven's voice a half-note lower than his usual gravel.

Kurt surged forward from the floor, quickly held back by the remaining pilots, straining at his coat, his collar. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"An officer and a gentleman," Cleven said, serious as a open grave. "Neither of which seem to apply to you."

Kurt snarled, trying to shrug back into his coat, but no one was letting him go just yet. "Joanie, we're leaving."

"No, you're leaving, buddy," Bucky said with a stare that could have spit bullets. "She's staying right here."

He took a step forward, blocking her in, and the others closed ranks around Joan, now very much part of the crowd and staggered a little by her inclusion in a group that until ten minutes ago she'd had never quite been sure she'd had a single friend in. Every man there looked ready to fight, and a couple of the women, too, and Kurt had the good sense, finally, to see that if he tried to start something else here he'd defintely lose.

"We're finished, Joan Warren!" His face was starting to redden and there was split flying when he spoke. "You hear me?"

"Good," some joker (Douglass?) roared from the back, "She can do better."

He sneered at the lot of them and made a quick exit for the door, and the minute he was gone the whole group burst into laughter, with slapped backs for Cleven and beers for everyone and appreciative pats, too, for Joan. "What an asshole." "We can find someone better." "-clean as a whistle and BAM, right in the kisser." "Fuckin' fighters, man. No sense of the team."

Joan made her way to Cleven's elbow, leaning once more against the bar with his cola. "That was…very gallant, of you, Major."

"No one ought to speak like that about a woman he claims to love," Gale said quietly, gently flexing his fingers and rubbing his hand. "You're very good at your job, Captain. Anyone who says otherwise doesn't know what he's talking about." He met her eye and gave her one of his rare small smiles, and she nodded, accepting the compliment as it had come.

#i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #joan warren #masters of the air au #tds cinematic universe #kurt havermeyer #all the alternate universes

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hogans-heroes · 2 months

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Master AU List 1/?

Gale is the leader of a feared biker gang and Bucky has nowhere to go

#welcome to my mota AU series #buckle up #mota #masters of the air #my mota AUs #buck x bucky #feel free to use/write!

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swifty-fox · 20 days

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Harry Crosby your crimes will never be forgiven

Doodle requests from the other day!!! I’ll probably open them up again soon!

#swiftyart #buck x bucky #John Egan #gale cleven #Harry Crosby #mota #masters of the air #mota hockey au

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anachilles · 18 days

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firefighter!bucky x bartender!buck AU

Gale works at the haunt of the local firefighters to put food on the table and a roof over his (and his cat’s) head while he studies for his doctorate.

Bucky’s ex-military, having enlisted to the Air Force straight out of high school, but is now a firefighter and dedicated patron of the station’s most beloved dive bar. Even more so when he meets who he’s convinced is the love of his life.

It becomes a running joke that Gale refuses to both A) wear a name tag and B) tell Bucky his name.

So obviously the only choice for Bucky is to flirt with him shamelessly and relentlessly every time he’s in the bar. Pulling his metaphorical pigtails and running away.

Also: “Well if you’re not gonna tell me your name, suppose we could just share mine.” And so, ‘Buck’ was born.

Even the other bartenders start calling him Buck. When they know his actual name!!

Becomes known around the station as Bucky’s teetotaller barmaid crush. Antics, mutual pining, and falling in love ensue.

Featuring:

Curt, Douglass, Demarco, Veal, and Hambone as fellow firefighters.

‘Chick’ Harding as Station Chief.

Crosby, Brady, Blakely, and Helen as fellow bar staff. Rosie’s also here, Buck’s good friend from college who comes and hangs out at the bar often to catch up and work on legal cases on the quiet nights, etc.

Jack Kidd as the bar manager. Of course.

#clegan #buck x bucky #masters of the air #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #things i do instead of sleep: this #no joke this idea was the first thought I had upon waking yday #mapped out a good majority of it while I was getting ready for work and commuting there 🫠#if/when (probably when) I write this this is all subject to change lmao #like idk where exactly I’m gonna put him but I have croz in here so I gotta get bubbles in too #leave it with me x #📝: firehouse!au

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jakes3resin · 19 days

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Modern Reincarnation AU

"Sorry," Bucky grins, stepping out of the way. The other man stares up at him, blue eyes wide. "You alright there?" "Coffee for Buck!" The barista calls out behind them, jolting the other man out of his stupor. The man grabs the coffee. He thanks the barista in a rush, barely even looking at his coffee. He turns back to Bucky, lips pursed as he stares at him. His grip on his coffee, Bucky notes, is verging on too tight. The poor cup looks like it's going to crumple. Bucky smiles, gesturing for the other to walk by, but Buck just stands there. "Sorry, this is weird, but you look a lot like a guy I once knew from Wisconsin." Buck says, not once taking his eyes off of Bucky. "Also went by the name Bucky." "Wow," Bucky says. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What a coincidence!"

You know those reincarnation AUs where one person remembers their shared past while the other doesn't? Well, what if only Buck remembered, and he met Bucky, who didn't?

#mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #clegan #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #bucky egan #john egan #gale cleven #buckbucky #should i be working on england arc? yes but i can multi task #got inspired seeing stills of callum from only living boy in new york #mota au #mota fic

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majoregan · 1 month

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can someone make a fic where buck is tired and bucky notices and then he takes care of his buddy but buck is like "no im fine" but bucky insists "you need to rest, big boy"

#masters of the air #gale cleven #buck cleven #john egan #bucky egan #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #mastersoftheair #austin butler #callum turner #masters of the air fanfiction #buck x bucky #clegan #clegan au #sickfic

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floralcyanide · 24 days

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ɪғ ʟᴏᴠɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ɪs ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, I ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ — ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ

john “bucky” egan x fem!reader

Lunch with Dr. Egan leads to him showing you old photographs at his home, which opens a door to a new side of your advisor and your relationship with him.

(Headcanons: One | Two)

warnings: age gap (reader is 23-25, Bucky is in his 40s), descriptions of war, the insinuation of ptsd, smoking, drinking, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2k

author’s note: here is the first part (maybe) to my Professor Bucky au!! if ya'll want more just let me know, I'm indecisive about it tbh. I probably won't write smut for this series though. feedback is appreciated!

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

based on this song | (If Loving You Is Wrong) I Don't Wanna Be Right - Barbara Mandrell

(when it’s from Bucky’s point of view, I will use Bucky rather than Dr. Egan.)

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

You’re giddy, like it’s the first day of class all over again, except it’s a different type of nervousness. It’s not like you’re going on a date or anything, but you’re seeing your advisor outside of campus. It’s a little nerve-wracking. Especially because he’s so interesting and attractive and… are you crushing on Dr. Egan? Absolutely, positively not! He’s your superior and advisor, and you will never cross that line. Even if you find him fascinating in numerous ways.

The small restaurant that Dr. Egan suggested is bustling with people when you arrive. You sit patiently in the booth as you wait for your superior to show. When he finally approaches, he apologizes profusely for being late.

“It’s okay, Dr. Egan. You’re a busy man.”

This launches the two of you into a conversation about your extracurricular activities and life outside of work and school. Dr. Egan wants to know more about your work at the museum. You tell him all about how it started and where you see it going. He listens intently the entire time, asking questions throughout the conversation. You eventually order your meals and continue discussing the museum until the topic strays.

“I have a lot of photos of us from where we were stationed,” Dr. Egan mentions around a sip of water, “I think I have some of your father, actually.”

You sit up at that, “Really?”

“Quite a few of me too. Would you want to see them?” Dr. Egan chuckles at your sudden interest.

“Of course I would,” you say with a grin, “When and where?”

“If you’re okay with it, I don’t live too far from here. I have a lot of stuff you can look at if you’d like.”

After lunch concludes, you and Dr. Egan head over to his quaint home near downtown- a mere walk from the restaurant. The living room has a large array of books and records on a bookcase the size of a wall, some paperwork is strewn on the couch and on the dining room table. Dr. Egan profusely apologizes for the mess.

“I can’t imagine how many assignments you have to grade,” you say, taking in the various novels and history books on the bookcase, “I don’t mind the mess.”

“All the stuff is in the extra room,” Dr. Egan says, motioning to the hallway with a smile.

He appreciates your love for literature and history and your patience with his lived-in home. Bucky would never ask if you had a partner as it isn’t professional or his business, but he’d be surprised if you’re single. If he were your age all over again- he would stop his train of thought there before it travels any further. You giddily follow him into his guest room, where there are shelves full of things, including photographs.

“Here’s one of just your father,” Dr. Egan says, holding the photo over his shoulder to you as he scuffles through other pictures.

You carefully take the photograph, look over it, and take in your father in his youth. He’s never shown you many photos of him from the war; usually, they’re of him with other soldiers or aren’t of the best quality. But this photo is up close, and your father is alone.

“You can have it if you want,” Dr. Egan says as you stand next to him, still eyeing the picture.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

“I’m certain. I collected most of the photos and stuff the others didn’t want. If I can pass them down, I will.”

You smile at Dr. Egan, who returns it as he looks back down at the table, “This one is me.”

You grab a hold of the left side of the photograph, and Dr. Egan lets you take it from his grasp to look closer, “This Is you?”

“Sure is,” he says.

Dr. Egan was beyond handsome- still is, of course. His curls were darker, and his skin less freckled. He had a little more light in his eyes. You happen to glance up and see a photo of him where he appears much different. Dr. Egan has quite a bit of facial hair and looks shell-shocked. He quickly moved the photo, which looked like a POW card, under some others. You glance over at him, and he gives you an uneasy look before turning his attention to a photo of another young man.

“This is my good friend, Gale,” Dr. Egan clears his throat, “he was with your father and me a lot through training and overseas.”

Sensing a change in the older man’s demeanor, you change the subject, “We don’t have to go through your things if it brings back sore memories.”

“Ah, don’t worry about me. I’d rather tell the stories over and over than forget.”

You hesitantly reach for the area where he shoved the POW card out of sight, sliding it out from under some other pictures.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know more about this,” you hold up the photo, giving Dr. Egan an earnest look.

“You’ll have to get a few drinks in me first,” he half-jokes.

You raise an eyebrow with a smirk, “That’s all it takes, Dr. Egan?”

The layered comment doesn’t go past him as he takes a step closer to you, your chests almost touching, “Just know my life can get a little dark.”

You stare up at him, your gaze careful, “I can handle it.”

The tension is palpable but Dr. Egan breaks it by taking a step back, “I hope you like whiskey ‘cause it’s all I’ve got.”

You follow him to the living room, where he pours two glasses of whiskey, handing one to you as you take a seat on the couch. Dr. Egan sits on the side of the couch that’s by the record player, where he puts on something to play quietly as you talk.

“I was shot down back in forty-four and landed in Germany,” Dr. Egan pulls out a cigar from his pocket before clipping it and lighting it, “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head and let him continue his story.

“Managed to hide for a day before I was found. It was a rough few days of being captured. I thought I was going to die for sure until I made a run for it when I had the chance.”

You watch Dr. Egan carefully, his eyebrows furrowed as he replayed the memories in his head. He puffs the cigar before sighing, “Then I got captured for real by the Nazis, and they interrogated me. Didn’t say a word.”

“I bet that was terrifying,” you frown.

“Yeah,” Dr. Egan nods, his face breaking out into a solemn smile, “Before I got shot down, Gale had been declared MIA. I was worried he had gotten into trouble, but Gale is Gale, he always got himself out of any trouble he got into. Anyway, when I got to the POW camp, I found him there. So we stuck together.”

“That’s good that you had someone you knew there,” you say.

“Knew a few men there, actually. Some didn’t make it out.”

You put a hand on Dr. Egan’s knee, the whiskey making you a little brave, “You don’t have to keep talking about it if you don’t want to, Professor.”

Dr. Egan glances down at your hand before moving his eyes back to yours, “Like I said, I’d rather remember than forget.”

Your hand doesn’t leave his knee as he continues his story, describing the work he had to do over the months he was at the camp. Dr. Egan finally gets to when he escapes, and they end up at another POW camp, where the Nazis fail.

“I ran around like a madman looking for a flag,” Dr. Egan chuckles, shaking his head, “Did finally find one. Scrambled up to the pole and put up that American flag, and for the first time since the war started, I felt safe.”

“Do you still feel that way? Safe?” you ask.

“I don’t think there’ll be another war anytime soon if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Egan lets his cigar go out.

“No, I mean, do you feel safe in general? My father still has nightmares about it all. He refuses to get help,” you say sadly.

“There are times I’ll wake up sweating without remembering what I dreamt about, and there’s no doubt it’s about the war,” Dr. Egan polishes off his second glass of whiskey, “But I’m in a good place. I do what I love, and I get to teach brilliant minds like you.”

“That’s great. What more could you want?”

Dr. Egan snorts at that, waving his hand dismissively, “Nothing that I could discuss without embarrassment.”

“We tell each other just about everything, Dr. Egan,” you say, leaning in a tad closer, “You can trust me.”

Dr. Egan lets his eyes flutter to your lips for only a second before boring his eyes into yours, “But can you trust me?”

“I do. I do trust you,” you say softly, taking in the odd look on your superior’s face.

“I’m just alone whenever I’m not in class or on campus. And it gets to me sometimes,” Dr. Egan shrugs, “No big deal.”

“Many of us wish for more in the romance department, Dr. There’s no embarrassment there.”

Your palm burns through Bucky’s slacks, and he feels fidgety when making contact. It had been a while since anyone had laid a hand on him in any way. It didn’t help that you made him nervous. You’re quite the looker and intelligent beyond your means. You’re compassionate about everything and seem to notice Bucky more than everyone else. Maybe it’s because you knew there was something about him the day you met him that was different. And now that you know what it is, you don’t treat him any differently.

“It’s just that not everyone wants to be with someone with a past like mine or deal with the current consequences of that past, you know?”

Your face contorts into one of sadness, “Oh, that’s not true, Dr. Egan.”

“You can call me John, you know,” Dr. Egan says abruptly.

“There’s a lot of people who wouldn’t mind being with someone with a rough past, John. A lot of us have things we carry that we aren’t proud of,” you say.

“Would you mind?”

“Mind what?”

“A rough past.”

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t mind it.”

You suddenly notice how close the two of you have become in proximity, and you struggle to snap out of the haze filling the room. Bucky knows better, but he still lets his hand find your hip. His touch is blazing hot, and you nearly gasp at the sensation. He gently guides you onto his lap, where you perch yourself without much thought. Bucky’s other hand finds itself on your other hip, his fingers squeezing deftly into the fabric of your skirt. He stares up at you without a word, the room now quiet as the record had long since stopped playing.

“What else would you not mind?” Dr. Egan asks you, his gaze taking in your form.

You exhale shakily and let a laugh escape your lips, “Not much.”

Dr. Egan lets his right hand slide up your body until he reaches your neck, his thumb lightly caressing your pulse, “That doesn’t help me any, doll.”

You know it’s wrong, but it feels so right. It feels so perfect to be the center of Dr. Egan’s attention and to be so close to him physically. You’re both adults and are capable of making decisions, even if they have consequences. You decide to end Dr. Egan’s teasing and you move your hands from where they were on his shoulders to his cheeks. Pulling him to you, you meet halfway to press your lips to his. Something in that moment feels complete, like the stars are aligned and the world is standing still. Dr. Egan’s hand grasps the back of your neck as he kisses back, throwing all caution to the wind.

You feel yourself getting too warm, so you pull away from the embrace with a little reluctance. Dr. Egan follows your lips before opening his eyes.

“Why’d you stop?”

“It has been a while for you, hmm? Take a lady to dinner first, John,” you fix a piece of hair behind his ear, chuckling at his expression.

“Dinner it is, then.”

#john bucky egan #john egan #bucky egan #john “bucky” egan #john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #mota #masters of the air #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air au #callum turner #callum turner x reader #floralcyanide writes

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bucking-mustangs-with-wings · 22 days

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my moodboard for @avonne-writes latest fic in their mota highschool au Broken Things

I highly recommend reading this one! Heed the tag warnings though people just in case!

Listening to this song while making this and re-reading this made me shed a few tears 😭

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antiquitea · 15 days

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─── 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧.

1986 somewhere in wisconsin

the last place that john egan wants to be the summer before he graduates high school is the egan family cottage, a place where time and everyone else seems to have forgotten. having been intent on finding a summer job, spending time with his friends, going to parties, and making out with pretty girls, john is irked that the egan family matriarch has other ideas and wants the family to spend "one last" summer together.

john's sour mood shifts just a little when he meets local, but also not-so-local, gale cleven, a boy his age who works at the small town's one pizza joint. through teenage angst and a desire to break free of the awkward position of not being children anymore but not yet men, the two form a bond that makes their summer a little more bearable. a bond that comes to shock the both of them.

but what happens when more than the summer comes to an end?

─── 𝐂 𝐎 𝐌 𝐈 𝐍 𝐆 𝐒 𝐎 𝐎 𝐍 ───

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fan fiction #mota fanfic #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #clegan #bucky x buck #buck x bucky #john egan x gale cleven #1980s summer au #making mood boards is totally the same as writing right?#antiquitea.pdf #antiquitea.fic

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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Those Who Can || integrated Female Air Force series

Introductory part 1: Flintenweiber, or “Rifle Broads”.

Summary: The American War Effort had conceded to the enlistment and commissioning of women into the Air Force at semi-integrated status. Deemed a more reliable if not safer combat post, the going rank of officer in the Air Force was intended to secure fair treatment and combatant status for these women, as it had for their male counterparts. Like most things in war -or life if one is a woman- such recognition must be fought for.

Authors Note: this is an Au, obviously, and I intend for the de-segregation in the force to not be entirely full, in fact in some ways they would mirror that of the Tuskegee Red Tails where they were held back from many opportunities and placed at a disadvantage, to say the least. However, as this is primarily a POW fic that aspect only effects their reception into the Stalag and the timeline of their crashes.

Inspo: thanks to all of y’all who contributed with suggestions and advice on this fic. I want to say that I based a great deal of the brutal treatment and indignity heaped on these fictional OC’s on the true and horrific treatment of the Soviet Female Soldiers taken as POWs. Taking into consideration that American ties would give these OC’s some leverage, I have moderated these horrors if anything, however as I intend for these girls to be some of the first of their kind, they in many ways endure the brunt of the cruel initiation. If you’ve got any questions or suggestions about this, have at the inbox.

Warnings: 18+ for disturbing content. War, brutality, cruelty, and references to sexual violence. Specifics: a woman’s head is forcefully shaved, a woman is kicked to death, a dog turned loose, concentration camps, brief infighting between Soviet’s and Americans, past tense illusions to rape which are underplayed and may be consequently more disturbing to some. Quite angsty ok?? It’s women at war. Rampant misogyny by Nazis.

Familiar faces: Gale Cleven, Benny Demarco, John Brady, “Hambone” Hamilton

Original Characters: Lt. Maureen Kendeigh (bombardier), Lt. Colonel Ida Brady, Lt. Tallulah Smith

If Maureen Kendeigh heard the word “degenerate” used one more time in regards to her profession, her sacrifice and skill, -she just might do something regrettable.

By this point she was ready to get off this cattle car and go back to talk with Interrogator Glasses about stupid and unnerving shit like why the clock in the mess hall at Thorpe Abbots had a broken arm. Her distressed inner monologue of “how did he know that??” at the time was preferred to this newest method of demoralization: death by aspersion and suspense.

It was nice to be back with the girls, ones she knew and ones from other squadrons. But that held a misfortune too, the fact that it was just the girls, still not a single male crew member in sight. Apparently the Gestapo and the Luftwaffe were having a spat over who got to keep them, these Flintenweiber: “Rifle Broads”.

In the meantime Maureen and her fellows got punted back and forth between the two institutions like unwanted stepchildren. First the horrible isolation but humane treatment of the Air Force interrogation cells. Then back to the prison where all bets were off and the hope of safety came from a herd-like defense of each other against the ever more erratic guards. In these holdings, if one of their members hadn’t been executed by a pistol to the temple by end of day, it was considered a successful defense by the whole. All other atrocity, indignity and assault were unbearable’s that required bearing for the time being until the Luftwaffe took them back.

And then handed them back over.

And on and on it went.

It was effective, Maureen gave them that, after each hosting by the Gestapo, the girls were softer, tenderized and more susceptible to any deal that might procure them a shred of honor and safety. Only Ida Brady, the most senior amongst them at the incomprehensible rank of Lt. Colonel, had held ranks together, spine of steel and bearing more terrifying than most men’s, she’d fought for every grueling respect of rank they had been afforded. Even if it landed them in harsher conditions, worse interrogations -anything to ensure that what happened to her girls were considered as war crimes against lawful combatants when the time came for justice.

But they’d been collecting the downed girls and holding them apart like prized anomalies while conflicting orders came in from Berlin, and while the Red Cross fussed regarding combatant status. Now they had a tidy number collected, well over fifty by the time Maureen saw Ida Brady pushed into the cell, having been downed with a significant portion of them after Munich.

But now they hadn’t seen Brady in over a day. Not since they’d been loaded on this rail car headed to god knows where by soldiers with the dreaded lightning bolts on their collars.

The SS.

With Brady missing, Maureen supposed that made her and Lieutenant Smith a leader of sorts. Most of her “leading” currently took the form of not responding to a single vile threat or taunt by the guards mingling amongst them in the ever rocking car. Ida would be proud of her emotionless detachment at one guard’s suggestion to let the dog loose and see who it chose to maul.

Lieutenant Smith -tender hearted Tallulah with the bronzed skin and knack with animals that rivaled Snow White’s- had made the cryptic observation in Maureen’s ear that she’d never known a dog could be trained away from the throat to go for the breasts instead.

As of last Sunday they now knew, and none of them were likely to forget.

“I’ll be faster next time,” Smith had mumbled in a simmering rage, “I’ll be faster. I’ll have my fist down that cur’s throat before they finish slipping the leash.”

It was a nice sentiment, would’ve been made more so if Maureen wasn’t so sure it would land dear Smith with a bullet in her head. Would be made more so if Sergeant Forsyth had lived from her injuries long enough to benefit from it. Lots of things would be made nicer by heavier coats and the presence of drinking water.

One of the new ones, a terrified little replacement who wore her ordeal on her face, made the rookie mistake of asking for a drink. She’d been given the predictable initiation of being pissed on by a guard in answer and now she bore her thirst as doggedly as the veterans.

When the train cars rolled to a halt, and the great door was hauled back, sprawling out before them appeared the most idyllic scenery one could ever hope for. A crystalline blue lake, dotted on its border with charming structures adorned with red tile roofs, a quaint church of the same, lush fields and sparkling water and deep forest for miles. Maureen did not think they would haul them so near a town only to execute them. But then what did she know?

Nothing, not even where she was.

When they had lined the girls up, some in worse shape than others and a motley collective group from various military branches, they hauled off Ida Brady to the head of the pack, her bruised face considerably more busted than when she’d been loaded on. Maureen could see her craning her neck as she was drug past, counting down her flyer girls, looking for any missing from the trip.

They were marched, four abreast and with guns at their backs, down a wide and well traversed road into town, past cottages on its outskirts with little garden plots and clothes blowing on the line. Maureen was reminded of the idyllic countryside she had landed in with her chute before being seized and hauled off. There were women and children in row boats on the lake and the path they took through the woods was more peaceful than ominous. A traitorous sort of hope began to bloom in Maureen’s heart.

That was dashed when the tree line broke and out before them stretched what seemed to be miles of wire. And beside it a sign, welcoming them to Ravensbrück -a concentration camp. A camp for civilians, a camp to never return from.

Their new guards were ready for them, smiles on their faces and whips in their hands. Among them were a few remarkable for their sex, they were women too -if women who enjoyed such craft could still be called that. And for all the horror inflicted on them by their male captors so far, there seemed to be a general presentment amongst the arriving girls that the finer arts of terror had not yet been endured.

Standing for hours in the infamous square inside the compound, roll call and registration took on a form of torture yet unheard of. Round and round it went, repetitions of ranks and serials over and over and each time they were met with two alternatives. Renounce the ranks and be admitted as civilians with no further targeted harassment. Or-

“If you insist on being special, we will be forced to make you special.” as one officer put it to Brady’s stone cold face. “Ask your Soviet compatriots, the ones who wanted to be special like you. They claimed to be officers too, and now they service officers in Buchenwald. They have not left their beds in months. Special, no?”

“I’m not ‘claiming’ a goddamn thing.” Brady would go round and round with them in turn and up and down the line was the echo of ranks and serials.

Nothing but ranks and serials.

The minute they dropped one or the other, they’d be freed from this standing purgatory, and they’d be as good as dead. They might wish it were so anyway, if the threat was carried out but they’d suffer as officers, with honor. Whatever that meant this far from home and any appreciation of it. A fresh batch of guards relieved the first and the banter continued, even through roll call of the general camp where a mass of the most miserable specters of female kind poured out of the huts and were made to await the call of their one single number.

A serial for a serial. Maureen would keep hers. By dawn she had kept it, as had all but one of her group, a navy nurse with a broken leg who’d succumbed to the allure of a chair.

Civilian status for a seat.

Maureen thought a drop of water might be her own undoing were it offered, but one look at Smith's cracked yet unmoving lips cemented her in her own determination. As did Ida Brady’s talk, straight back in front of her, trousers bloodied on the inseam but not a cringe to be discerned in her stance.

By morning roll call for the entire camp, their guards were tiring of them, or else thought a new method of persuasion more likely to bring success. Off they were marched to their new billet to “meet their Allies” and what Smith wouldn’t give to have her brass knuckles back when met with a hut full of Soviet soldiers. Females, if females could have shoulders like that. They were impressive women with murder on their faces at the intrusion of a new gang of American blowhards.

“Did you give up already?” The one with the most English taunted and for the first time since capture, Maureen saw Ida Brady’s spine bow backwards just a fraction -a pacifying gesture in the face of the Russian’s nose to nose staredown.

“Hey, we’re not here to make trouble.” she insisted, cool and stern. “Did you?”

“We’d rather die.”

Brady gave a sharp nod, “Then we’re Allies in that, too.”

“Your precious Red Cross won’t come for you here.” That likely verdict seemed to bring the woman satisfaction, and Maureen wondered how many months, weeks, hours of this grueling place it would take before she too took savage satisfaction in another’s misfortune. How long before all better impulse to be glad for others was stamped out and all that was left was crowing self preservation. “You are not the firsts. There were others, Americans, like you, they are now wearing the ink of field whores- or they are dead.”

“One might assume the same of your predecessors.” Brady pointed out mildy, and both groups shifted behind their leaders, ready and tense.

“Anyone who accepts-“ the Russian warned, “-we kill.”

With that incentive clear, a tentative peace was made, which included a few trying to fraternize, converse and share news. There was little that aligned to create any cohesive figure, despite their shared experiences and sufferings.

When night fell they were hauled out for roll call amongst the masses, and together after hours of waiting to be called upon, they answered with their ranks and serials, each in their own language. The Russian who had confronted Brady was beaten so badly she did not rise again after it. The guard left her lying there and asked Brady herself what her occupation was.

“Lt. Colonel in the United States Air Force.”

The unfortunate rookie who had so ill advisedly asked for water on the train stood beside Brady; and got a bullet to the head for her superior’s answer. What Colonel Brady thought of her judgment being given to another did not show, her face white and her lips sealed, only the speckle of blood on her profile stood in stark relief in the early morning.

“Kneel.” a very shiny Luger barrel was pressed, still smoking to Brady’s temple.

She did so, braced for the inevitable execution. A soldier's death, it’s what they’d signed up for. The Kommandant waved over one of the female guards and spoke to her in German. She took off at a run to one of the buildings with a bright smile, and Ida Brady stayed kneeling, the splattered brains of the unfortunate dripping out of her hair and into the leather of her jacket, a mockery of her own upcoming fate.

The female guard returned with scissors. “Your poor hair, so pretty. Now it is ruined.” the Kommandant bemoaned, gloved fingers sliding though Brady’s wet tresses, “See what happens to beauty when you pervert the order of things? Now it must be sacrificed. Perhaps then you will see how ugly you are become.”

Maureen felt Smith’s restraining arm before she had even registered her impulse to charge forward, caught about the middle she strained against her friend's surprising strength and in the end was forced thusly to keep ranks and watch with the rest as the Nazis fucks scalped the Colonel of her femininity with a pair of sheep shears.

Dribbling blood down her face and shaking with rage, Ida was in better shape than her Russian counterpart. When her ordeal was over, she rose again, even if she swayed dangerously upon doing so.

And when asked, she had her serial at the ready.

Crowded back into the hut, Maureen and Smith watched the Russians hopelessly fuss over their insensible leader, knowing all too well how likely it might be that they could be found doing the same tomorrow, in a week’s time, who knew. For now, Brady sank down against the wall with the rest of them, the scowl of her formidable brows deflecting any potential commiserations for her battery.

When the navy nurse was pushed into their hut next evening, a dead silence greeted her. One of the Soviets, a sniper by her markings, came up to her and unceremoniously tore open her shirt. If the girls had doubted the Russian’s warning about “wearing the ink of field whores” upon their skin as mere hyperbole, such speculation was removed. It was a dreadful tattoo, large and damning as was the reaction it elicited amongst the servicewomen.

By the end of the night there were two dead bodies on the hut floor. And it didn’t seem to matter who had killed which. One had died for honor, the other for giving it up. And in the end? Where was this ephemeral honor? Ida Brady could only find it in the tense faces of her girls, lining the room from their places along the wall, waiting for another roll call or worse.

But in war, as in peace, sometimes the dead sent favors and in this instance it came to them with screams of:“Amerikaner Soldat!” in the middle of the night. They were marched out to the square and stood to attention once more in the sweep of the spotlight, all the while were shouts of “Amerikaner Soldat!”

All they knew was the bitter waiting in the gray dawn chill and the choking anticipation of some sick, final joke, or some methodical mass execution. Maureen wished she could knock her shoulder into Ida’s one last time and tell her she’d been a rock -she was a rock- but Brady stood there in front alone, as was her privilege and her curse. Talullah Smith would not meet Maureen’s side eyed glance for a farewell. Maureen wished she had less of a roar inside her, wished she could step off calmly into whatever was on the other side but the idea was repulsive, even after all she’d endured, and she looked about in vain for some semblance of the same revolt on her fellow’s faces.

What came instead was the dreaded whistles and the order to march. They were marched right out of the gates and down the idyllic lane they’d been marched up days ago, back through town to the railway station. There the soldiers herded them back up into a cattle car that smelled more of death than livestock, and then the train pulled away, hurtling south -perhaps the only one to do so with living cargo.

There were no guards inside the car, only the cramped space to keep them docile and the lack of promise that the great door would ever grind open again.

“The hell do you think happened?” Maureen hissed to Ida, finding her superior propped up in the corner in a suspiciously casual pose that she suspected hid a limp and unfathomable fatigue.

“Haven’t got a clue, Kendeigh.”

“Maybe someone got word out.” Maureen suggested, thinking of their predecessors, thinking of the useful dead.

“Or we’re headed to a nice rural dumping ground.” was all Ida would speculate. “Or brothels.” she added after a long minute.

Maureen chewed her cheek and kept peering out the slats at the beautiful countryside flashing past. “Well, at least they’ve ensured you’ll be least wanted of the bunch at such an establishment.” she joked and watched with the careful precision of a trained bombardier as her mean joke landed and Ida Brady’s legendary eyebrow ticked up in something that might have been amused disbelief, had she any energy left for such a display.

“Pistol whipped in the mouth and still no respect for rank, Kendeigh.” Brady observed and it was so like her brother John’s flat lined humor that Mauren’s heart throbbed with something alarmingly akin to sentimentally. For John Brady -and all the other lucky souls still at Thorpe Abbots, God willing. “I’m not laying on any damn beds for them.” Brady suddenly broke the silence again in a low voice, one Maureen knew was meant between officers only.

She pitched her head closer in agreement. “Me either.”

“I don’t care if they shoot me first,” Ida went on, as if reciting it to herself, “-and I don’t care if they shoot all of you first. I’m not going to.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Maureen agreed again, vacillating briefly in her intent before proceeding to say, “That Sergeant -she wasn’t your fault. The nurse either.”

“I know that Lieutenant.”

“I know you know,” Maureen muttured, “but some stuff bears repeating. Places like these, we’re liable to lose our bearings without a little repetition.”

“Mm.”

Maureen shuffled beside her and wracked her brain for pleasant conversation, something besides the Soviet girls they’d abandoned and the skeletons they’d seen at Ravensbrück. “Ya know,” she remarked tiredly, “if someone in here’s hydrated enough to pee, I might be ready to drink it.”

Brady slowly turned from her view out the slats to give Maureen a blank faced stare. “Should I make an announcement or are you hoping to keep that between us?”

“Oh hell, Colonel,” Maureen grinned, mischief bubbling to the surface at the first chance, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else but you, liable to get stds from this lot.”

“Kendeigh.” Ida hissed warningly but there was that disbelieving wobble to her stern mouth, “That’s not funny -not with where we’ve come from.”

“It kinda is.”

“It’s not.”

“It is- a little. Admit it, a little.”

“It’s not.” And still her cheeks were pink with suppressed amusement, just like John’s got when Maureen pressed him on a dig about basic training.

“You sure you’re ok?” she ventured again, eyeing Brady’s extensive injuries visible above her clothes.

“Yeah?” Ida looked nonplussed, “I mean -what’re you ranking as ok, these days, Lt. Kendeigh?

“It’s just,” Maureen bit her own busted tongue briefly as a spur to get it out,

“-you’re bleeding a lot, Ida. Couldn’t help but notice.”

Ida Brady didn’t even glance down at her trousers or make a motion to feel her lacerated scalp, instead she answered in the same, almost bored way she always did, “Yeah, Candy, it’s called being a good Catholic.”

Maureen blinked. “Oh. Oh Shit.”

“You know, maybe some of you girls had the right of it,” Ida actually winced before staring back out the slats, “go off and do it ahead, in peacetime. But here I am, twenty eight and as sacrosanct as the Virgin Mary, dropping into occupied territory. What could go wrong!” To her credit, her snort was wonderfully genuine.

Maureen kept after her, “You signed up to fight, to get fought against. We all did -never this.”

“Mm, well, couldn’t choose a better gang to get put down with.” Brady smiled, begrudgingly raising an imaginary glass of her own to Maureen’s already raised one.

“To bitches who bite back.” Maureen toasted.

“To bitches who bite back.”

——————————————————-

Two cases of MIA troubled John Brady the most: Egan, who he had seen jump first after their dispute, and Maureen Kendeigh who he had learned from Blakely had jumped over Bremman. That’s two flyers who should’ve been here by now, before him even, in the case of Kendeigh, and yet they weren’t.

He went round and round the argument with Cleven and Crank and Hambone, all three downed from separate missions yet here together - proving his point. Cleven held staunchly to the belief they were being kept segregated, as befitted their ranks and sex. They could be one sector apart and not hear of them. It was the only hopeful response, it was a leader’s response. There had been women downed before Kendeigh, not many but a few of the escort fighters, and none of them had showed either. Brady wasn’t sure that was a good sign at all.

“So where’s Egan then?” he’d always hit back with, “They mistake his shoulders’ for a dame’s?”

“I dunno John.” Cleven would reply with that newly blank gaze of his somehow enhanced by the twin cuts on his cheeks.

Demarco took Brady aside when he arrived to tell him that whatever had happened to Cleven in interrogation wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t ethical. Those cheek scars weren’t both due to flack. Like a dog with a bone, Brady took this already suspected information about his stoic superior and ran with it, pointing out hotly to an uninterested Demarco, “if it’s happened to Cleven, what about them?”

“What can we do about it?” Was Cleven’s demand that always wrapped up the little circular arguments as they sat huddled in their hut. “Red Cross knows they’re not here, no colored flyers either. They know where they are. What can we do besides ask after them?”

He was right, there wasn’t anything, but still, like a presentiment hung over him, Brady found himself leaning on the wire each time a new batch was marched in, counting heads and scanning faces.

“Ida hasn’t even been shot down, John.” Crank kindly reminded again and again.

“As of two weeks ago.” John snapped.

As of two weeks, and then as of three, and then it became four and -where the hell was Kendeigh? Gale had stopped arguing when the subject came up, apparent but impotent fury slowly racking his wiry frame, face gone wane already above his grimey fleece collar. Winter wasn’t even here and they were fading.

And then it happened, what John had been waiting by the fence for, and boy was there a crush at the wire to see them marched in when they came up the muddy enclosure through the gates.

“The fuck are they bringing the women here for?”

“They don’t belong in here, bastards!”

“Ar’those Brady’s Banshees?”

“They’re not gonna hold ‘em here are they?”

Like he’d been reanimated by the presence of a cause, Major Cleven cut his way through the rabble to the front, addressing the German officer escorting them.

“Hey, hey you can’t bring them in here. They’re women, they belong in their own section.”

“If they are women,” the Commandant pointed out, not unkindly, “then perhaps your country should have recognized that before enlisting them? They belong here.”

Cleven shook his head, vehement in his conventions and rules, “It’s not right, you know it’s not.”

“Then tell your Lt. Colonel to stop fighting for combatant status.” he jerked his chin towards Ida Brady and Gale’s eyes widened at her injuries and tufted hair, “The SS had them tucked away at our most prestigious female camp. But they would not accept. They want to be men.”

“Combatants!” Gale argued the point Ida had been making since her feet touched occupied soul.

John Brady yanked his arm, whispering urgently in his ear, “She’s makin’ sign to me, torture, she says. Don’t fight it, Buck.”

Cleven searched the battered faces, some he knew like Ida, T.Smith and Maureen, and some from other squadrons, -ones who must’ve been damned unlucky to get captured considering their safer postings.

“If it can happen to you it c-“ John Brady was a bit of a pain in the ass, Cleven had found, but he had never found him to be wrong.

“Roger, loud and clear, captain.” Cleven warned him his point was made with a bite in his own tone.

“Have we come to an understanding?” The Commandant, amused by the fluster his female charges had caused, it was ample proof that women could never be fully integrated, not even by a society so pervertedly equal as the American’s. “Ja? Sehr gut. It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway, was it?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writer’s life blood, let me hear your thoughts and screams, they mean so much to me.

We have so many prompts already thrown around for this AU, I can’t wait to explore them, and I welcome any more if you have them.

Taglist (if you’d like to be added please drop a note below):

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

@storysimp

@javden

@sexualparkour

@jointherebellion215

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eganeyes · 10 days

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indulgent domestic modern!au clegan headcanons for the soul:

they're both really good in the kitchen!! i see them both as well functioning adults ngl so they both do the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc working together like a well oiled machine.

bucky's more of the savory cook out of the two of them—I've been so into tinned fish talk on tiktok lately and been busy imagining this man just doing easy recipes for dinner and lunches. he likes making donburi, the air-fryer is his best friend, a risotto recipe he stole from benny's mom, wine marinated steaks, etc. he's the type to have to be in action to be calm so it's pretty common to see him running around the kitchen doing like six things at once.

buck's more of a baker, he has a sourdough starter on the counter and in the refrigerator bucky stays far, far away from. he makes the bread bucky uses for avocado toast breakfasts, cupcakes he shares liberally, dog friendly peanut butter cookies he made specifically for meatball, etc. rolling and smacking thick dough is like a stress reliever for him, so nearing the anniversary of him finally leaving his childhood house, the oven is on near 24/7 and the entire house smells like a bakery. everyone pops by now and then to take home some of the overload of baked goods and offer distraction in the form of chaos—at first by bucky's invitation but nowadays it's like an unwritten yearly calendar thing.

buck's usually in charge of breakfast. he makes fluffy pancakes more often than not, scrambled eggs on toast, always has two coffee pots ready for each of them because they go through it like its water. brady has made some very pointed suggestions on their kidneys, especially bucky's, but gets called out right back on the actual tobacco pipe he still smokes with in this day and age. if bucky wakes up earlier, he makes them avocado toast because he tried it at this hipster cafe as a joke but it's really not a joke anymore now.

they're both morning people it's revolting. when curt stays over he makes it very clear he won't be up before 9 the earliest and fuck them both if they try anything to actually wake him up. they wake him up. there's a guest room that may as well be curt's and his clothes are folded neatly in the dresser.

buck likes cantaloupe, so bucky regularly cuts up the fruit and packs them into lunch boxes for him.

brady shares the same birthday as meatball. so every year without fail, aside from his actual cake, bucky gets an extra plain cake with meatball printed on it with the words happy birthday meatball!! in large letters and a tiny (and brady) under it.

two of the shelves displayed in their house is just full of tchotchkes from all over the world from their adventures. yes there is concerning amount of unicorn statues. buck always looks moderately pained when someone asks about it. among them is a rock that tripped bucky up one random hike and somehow caused him to fall of cliff and get stuck in an outcropping of rocks. air rescue had to be called and he was an absolute nightmare of a broken ankle patient. again, buck always looks moderately pained when somebody asks about it.

they're hemming and hawing over getting a dog which the others find absolutely bewildering and when asked about it they both say its like cheating on meatball, which makes zero sense because the dog is benny's do not even think of stealing him cleven i swear—

they do get a dog from the shelter though!! they get a beagle. no really the dog is literally the bane of their existence they just had to choose the most exuberant 5yo dog with a powdered sugar face that's literally the antithesis of meatball. they name him tomato. benny despairs on how his dog isn't even really just his.

obsessed with the thought of them building their house by themselves like grey's anatomy's derek no hear me out architect!blakely helping them design the house and they have an open plan design which i kind of hate but the image of buck cooking in the kitchen yelling at bucky who's got his feet up on the coffee table oh

they go on these planned little adventures for dates and one of said plans is doing a pilates class together. hear me out: they both suck at it 😭. an hour in and bucky is literally stuck on the machine terrified of moving, he has cramps in muscles he didn't even know could get cramps. he looks to the left and buck is flat on the ground unmoving. they sign up for another class but bring curt into it thinking it'd be hilarious but no curt becomes the instructor's favorite within minutes. they sign up for another class in protest and bring brady and nearly kill the guy from sheer anger. their competitive asses work overtime and somehow end up getting instructor certificates just to prove they could.

the day they discover kahoot is honestly a mistake because when they host get togethers they do little presentations on what they've been doing since they last met and do full on kahoot quizzes and several expensive glasses are sacrificed for the worser worse. 'what was the shirt color of the lady photobombing us in that beach selfie?' and dougie straight up lobs his phone at bucky's face.

some extra casually possessive clegan hcs:

passenger princess buck with bucky's hand always casually draped over buck's closest thigh, absentmindedly playing with the inseam of his pants when they hit a red light

or: buck laying a hand on bucky's thigh to calm him down when some asshole cuts them off, or when bucky starts going past the speed limit, or just for comfort during a long drive

sitting thigh to thigh during breakfast/lunch/in the bar, sometimes even overlapping, buck's arm always around the back of bucky's chair

when they're sitting on high stools, bucky's leg is always propped up on buck's footrest

buck sitting on the only high stool available, bucky leaning by his side with an arm tucked around his hip

this pose of dua/callum insanity. squinting down on a tourist map of madrid for a random trip together, bucky's arms around buck with their heads bent trying to read tiny spanish lettering under the overbearing sun, buck tucking his hand into bucky's backpocket and tugging him closer like that'll help them find their hotel easier

some vacation fun: actually from this post I've added a few to and had brainworms on

the buckies go on a 7 day trip to somewhere with beaches and resorts and spa days and fruity little drinks with tiny little umbrellas and tell literally 0 people. they get ambushed on day 4 anyway.

in every beach outing thing, there has got to be a scene where they do each others' sunscreen. doing buck's, bucky purposefully leaves some parts of his skin unsuncreened on his back spelling out 'I SUCK' with an arrow pointing down to his ass. thankfully buck's blessed with perfect golden skin so he doesnt sunburn like at all.

buck brings a whole rack of books to read while sun tanning, a cute little folded table, cooler, bright towels for mats, and a rented umbrella setting up his downtime perfectly.

bucky leaves him to it for the first two hours because he loves the man: he goes to play beach volleyball with some random people he charms within minutes, saves a kid's sandcastle from being eaten by the waves and somehow ropes the kid and 4 other random children to build a giant fortress with a moat, accidentally step on a few crabs, takes hundreds of pics with other random tourists for some strange reason (they think he's a movie star and he does nothing to dissuade that), does karaoke near the beach bar with several equally enthusiastic drunk people, and pets every dog in his vicinity. he acquires exactly 9 numbers despite telling people he's very much taken, several insider local attractions added to his knowledge, and finds out the dirty sordid underground clubs in the area. all within 2 hours.

he comes trotting back to buck without a single hit to his stamina, and finally starts lobbying for a jet ski race.

in the two hours he was gone, bucky had flirted heavily with the jet ski rental managers, and rented 2 jet skis with a discount he refused and without an actual boating license but he's like really persuasive guys you don't get it. they do know how to ride it though because they're the kind of couple with a terrifying amount of qualifications in their CVs.

buck pretending not to be as competitive as his partner and hemming and hawing about going on the jet ski but the minute the race is on their trash talking gets so loud beach security has to stop by to calm them down.

buck leaves bucky with their kit to get some ice cream and comes back to bucky lounging on the mat. without pause, he kicks up sand directly on top of bucky and buries the man within minutes without giving the man the chance to defend himself from buck's onslaught.

buck sends the 100bg gc a pic of bucky buried under the sand with a coke right beside his head and a straw poking out straight to his mouth for easy access and it becomes the gcs new pfp.

the boys trace their location within days and on day 4 of their vacation they get ambushed in their hotel room and it turns into a big outing. jack scoffs at the buckies' itinerary and types out a new one for their entire group.

#a no pain day <3 #gathered all my eggs in one post so i could be done with them #mota #masters of the air #buck cleven #bucky egan #clegan #buck x bucky #mota headcanons #mota hcs #mota modern!au #just indulgence honestly #curt biddick #benny demarco #john brady #james douglass #jack kidd #this is literally just for me im sorry 😭#eganeyes

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