#masters of the air x you
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Masters of the Air Fanfic
As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is
Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another
Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will
Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe
Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language
Word count: a monstrous 12k
They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.
Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.
Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.
Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.
Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.
Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.
You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.
“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.
Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.
It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.
Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.
You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.
Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.
“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.
If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.
“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“
“-I don’t have the authority-“
“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.
“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.
-Americans and their nicknames.
“Yeah.”
“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.
“It��s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”
“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.
“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”
“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.
“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”
“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”
“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”
“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”
“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.
“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.
He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”
You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.
“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.
“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”
Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.
Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”
“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.
“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”
“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.
“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”
The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.
“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.
“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”
“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.
“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“
“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”
“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”
You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.
“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“
You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“
“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”
“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”
“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”
“And now the texas girl has-“
“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”
You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.
“Well, no-“
“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”
His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.
There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.
You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.
Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.
There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.
Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.
“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”
You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.
On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.
You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.
“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.
Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.
It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.
“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.
There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.
“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.
“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“
“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”
“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.
“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.
“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.
The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”
“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”
“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”
“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”
“Where’s that?” he asked.
“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.
That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.
“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.
“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.
“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”
“To the Poles?”
“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”
“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”
“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.
“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”
“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”
“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”
“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.
“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”
You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.
“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.
“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”
“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”
“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.
“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.
“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.
“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.
You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”
You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.
“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”
His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.
He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”
“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“
“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”
“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”
“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”
You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.
Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.
Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.
Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.
Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.
It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.
Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.
Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.
“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.
“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.
“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?
“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.
“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.
“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.
“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“
-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.
He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.
“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.
After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.
“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.
He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”
After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.
“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”
“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”
“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”
“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.
He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.
“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.
“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”
“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.
“I guess that’s true.”
“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”
Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.
“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”
Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.
To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.
And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.
The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.
“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.
“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.
If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“
“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.
“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”
“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”
“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.
“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.
“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”
“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.
“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”
“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”
“None.”
“I’m terribly sorry.”
“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.
Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.
War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.
“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”
His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.
“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.
Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.
“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.
It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.
These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.
Only to kiss you.
To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.
One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.
You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.
“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.
“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:
-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”
“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.
“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.
“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.
“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.
“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.
“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.
“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.
If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.
If you’d have only known.
It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.
The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.
The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.
Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.
In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”
You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.
However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.
As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.
My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.
“There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:—
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:—
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.
Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.
Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.
“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.
Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.
“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.
Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.
“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.
That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?
“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”
It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.
Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.
Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.
A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.
He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.
“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”
“I know.” he agreed miserably.
You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”
“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.
He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.
“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.
That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.
“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.
If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.
That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.
“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”
“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.
“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”
“I guess you did.” you agreed.
“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”
“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.
“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.
“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.
“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.
“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.
“No?”
“No.”
“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.
“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”
Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.
“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.
“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.
“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”
“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.
Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.
“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.
“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.
“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”
“And I’m yours.” he concluded.
With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.
“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.
“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”
It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.
“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”
He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.
“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.
“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”
He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.
You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.
“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.
“Yeah, Buck?”
“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”
Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”
“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.
Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.
“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.
The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”
You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.
“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.
One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋
#masters of the air#mota#masters of the air fanfiction#gosh is that a first tag? i don’t think so I know I’ve seen schemes at the very least on here#mota fanfic#austin butler#gale cleven#john egan#Major Egan#Major Cleven#buck cleven#Gale Cleven fanfiction#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler x reader#austin butler x you#austin butler x y/n#austin butler fluff#Austin Butler imagine#Austin butler smut#callum Turner fanfiction#callum turner#harry crosby#anthony boyle#hbo war#band of brothers#the pacific
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Callum?? Oh you're awful!
#austin butler#callum turner#masters of the air#interview#major gale cleven#major john egan#mota#mota spoilers#I never thought it could be him!#imaginaryplaythings#you were right!#I don't want my buckies to fight#wouldn't it be sweet though if Bucky felt so guilty after that#buck x bucky#burner
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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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Major Gale Fantasy
(He Racks You Down and Knocks You Up)
The poll on this was so close! 172 votes
The winner 53.5 Sweet and Gentle 💖
VS. 46.5 Hard and Commanding ❤️🔥
Thank you for all the votes enjoy!
Major Gale (Austin) is obsessed with the thought of getting you pregnant before he leaves to war. After envisioning you pregnant with his child he goes through great lengths to ensure you conceive.
Label 18+ mature
Established relationship married
Domestic fluff then straight to breeding kink
Smut• fluff • domestic •edging • mutual stimulation •in heat •breeding kink •p in v •mating press •multiple orgasms • cream pie • aftercare
I have no idea what they did in the 40s or how they really speak 😊 just go with it it’s cute
Inspiration: Austin butler looking so seductive in that uniform
(Historically Inaccurate spelling errors, grammatical mistakes, repeat words etc)
Master List
He Racks You Down & Knocks You Up
You were putting the finishing touches on your dish a beautiful roast chicken with vegetables. The cherry pie was warming in the oven Gale would be home any minute. You briskly walk to the wash room and click on the lights. Your makeup kit readily available near the wash basin. You reach in and pull out your favorite rouge lip stick marking up your lips and dabbing some on your cheeks.
You coif up your hair staring at yourself in the mirror and run a hand down your dress blowing a kiss like a pin up girl, you look ravishing.
Even more risqué was the idea to wear a fastener corset under your form fitting dress tonight putting your décolleté on full display.
Your legs were caged by thigh straps holding up your stockings and satin panties covering your derrière rubbing deliciously against your heat.
Gale said to get yourself a treat, and now it’s a treat for him too. He would be deploying after all and you wanted to give him an experience he would never forget to write home about.
At that thought you hear his key in the front door and hurry back into the living room to greet him. He turns the knob and steps in slipping the key into his pocket as his tall frame ducks into the door way. He removes his officers hat and hangs it on the entry way rack.
His handsome features always stun you at first glance. His big blue eyes and wispy lashes, his perfectly angular nose, firm chin and plump lips. He is an absolute dream especially in uniform. His suitcase in one hand and jacket draped on the other, he finally locks eyes with you and your heart flutters. He is slack jawed in return admiring how perfectly pretty you look in this moment.
“Well well well let me get a good look at you doll, do a little spin for me” his deep rich voice breaking the silence as his eyes admire your form.
You twirl around on your toes smiling as you trace your hands along your bodice enjoying the corset hidden beneath. You blush once your eyes meet, he has a seduced look on his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, let me settle my things and come appreciate you.” he flashes his flirtatious grin.
He hangs his coat and sets his suit case by the door he struggles to unbutton the top neck of his military shirt but you are right there to assist him lifting on your tiptoes brushing up against him and easily prying the button open with your smaller fingers.
The closeness makes you swoon for each other. He stares into your eyes before taking a peek down at your breasts resting against his chest, a naughty smirk plays across his face. You place your hands delicately on the nape of his neck and trace your fingers lightly over his sensitive skin there giving him goosebumps.
He looks back into your eyes as you stare up at him seductively through your lashes, his breathing increases as passion begins to cloud his thoughts “Gosh I’ve missed you” he nearly whispers it staring at your sultry red lips going directly in for the kiss. Your lips meet passionately and he scoops you into his arms lifting you from the floor.
Feeling his strength and the smell of his cologne arouses you completely. You are overtaken by his presence feeling so safe in his strong arms. You kiss across his lips as he holds you up to his chest. He begins rubbing his soft plush lips back against yours the sexual tension stifling you both. He slowly sets you back to the ground holding fast to your waist with every intention of taking you to the bedroom and having his way with you.
His lips are the beautiful rouge color that you imprinted on him. “Oh my” you say covering your mouth with one hand “What is it darling?“ he asks holding you to him by your waist brushing his hand across your cheek. He’s mesmerized by you, the way he’s staring into your eyes makes your heart skip a beat.
“I..I.. have gotten my lipstick all over you…let me clean you up and come! I’ve made a wonderful supper for you” you pipe up as you regain your thoughts, so proud of yourself for making one of his favorite meals.
He takes your hand and you lead him to the dining room table. He sits in his designated seat at the head taking the time to unlace his shoes and remove his socks setting them in the corner. You arrange his plate and set his dinner in front of him. It is a beautiful display of herb roasted chicken breast, mashed russet potatoes layered in gravy and sautéed green peas.
As his eyes settle in delight on the meal you prepared for him you slip away to the liquor cabinet fetching his favorite brandy. You pour it in one of the set glasses on the shelf and bring it to place next to him on the table. You grab a cloth from the kitchen drawer and soak it in the sink coming back to dab the lipstick off his lips and wipe his hands clean. He smiles at you appreciatively.
You both begin to eat. He cuts into the delicate chicken and takes a bite. His eyes close and he nods enjoying the taste, opening his eyes looking to you admiringly to show his approval. You gush knowing just how much he loves your home cooked meals after a long day on base.
You really can’t focus on your meal watching him eat. As a fully grown man he still looks so adorable as he chews. He’s slender yet toned and you love to see him full it melts your heart. You begin to eat in small bites, enjoying each others company and the meal.
You finish first with your smaller portions and he clears his plate soon after. You collect the dishes and rinse them in the sink
Feeling sated he completely unbuttons his shirt taking it off and hanging it over the back of his chair. Now in a white undershirt and tan military slacks, he rests back holding his glass of brandy slowly sipping it down watching you work.
You fidget with the oven turning it off and opening the door. The smell of the hot pie wafting through the kitchen. You grab your mits removing the pie from the oven and placing it on the stove top. You blow a strand of loose hair falling in your face the heat from the oven making you perspire slightly. You are in an odd state today feeling so sensual wearing the expensive lingerie.
Gale is set back watching the whole thing you bent over your breasts spilling out of your dress. The flash of the back of your thighs to him when your dress lifts as you reach into the oven.
He suddenly has a vision of you mixing pancake batter in the kitchen. You’re wearing a satin gown hair pinned up loosely in a bun your belly big and round growing with his child. His heart skips a beat as you whisk the mixture placing your hand on your hip to support your back. He imagines himself standing behind you planting a kiss on your head inhaling your scent and gently squeezing his hands around your breasts which will soon be full with milk.
He delicately places his hands down around the front of you to embrace your womb. Once he touches it an intensity fires in him of pure unyielding love for you. It infatuates him so strongly he is unable to keep his hands away from your pregnant belly. He begins passionately kissing behind your ear and down your neck completely obsessed with you having his child.
He was so deep in his thought he didn’t notice you trying to get his attention until you sweetly asked him again “Is everything alright?”
He palms himself under the table his cock growing stiff with anticipation of fulfilling his desires. He smiles at you nodding reassuringly taking another big swig of his brandy and setting his empty glass down.
He then pushes away from the table in his chair setting his sights on you and spreading his legs wordlessly patting his lap for you to sit. You notice the change in his gaze, how his pupils have dilated, how his eyes are fixated on you. It’s such a sultry look you don’t know what’s gotten into him.
You approach his lap and try to sit pretty with your legs together but he grabs hold of your waist pulling you to straddle him. It makes your heart flutter from the abrupt closeness. He looks into your eyes with a coy smile wondering if you can feel his rock hard erection pressing against you yet.
Taking his left hand he softly runs it across the nape of your neck moving your hair over one shoulder, trailing his hand down your spine. He begins unbuttoning your dress with both hands looking you directly in the eyes, each pop of a button making the excitement of having you naked increases.
He unbuttons your dress down to your waist and slowly pulls it from your shoulders to reveal your chest. His eyes lock on the delicate lace covering your décolleté. He pulls your dress farther and his mouth falls open in delight at your breasts in lingerie on full display for him. “All this for me?” He asks staring intently at your chest he caresses the soft fabric covering your nipples “Yes of course” you answer your voice soft from arousal.
He tweaks your nipples making them stiff then gently squeezes them with his fingers he looks up to gauge your reaction. It makes you part your lips wanting to cry out, you clench inside involuntarily pressing your heat against his stiff cock. He has a smile on his face sensing exactly what you need. He begins grinding his hips up gently rocking his massive erection against you. It’s so naughty and good at the same time a high moan escapes your lips as you double over onto him wanting more.
He grabs ahold of you by your arms pressing you down on him and grinding against you harder. He’s so strong and resolute with his actions it has you breathlessly panting and dizzy for him building an ache inside you that needs relief.
Seeing your face flush as your breathing increases he pulls you to him and plants kisses along your exposed neck and jaw line. The smell of you is devine to him he reaches and grabs the base of your neck tilting your head back farther to kiss his open mouth along your throat, It makes you close your eyes and grind back onto him the feeling so good building between your legs you don’t want him to stop.
He pulls back his lips from your neck and stares into your eyes as you grind each other fully clothed completely drunk in love “I want to fill you up tonight” he says kissing your lips and you taste the brandy “ I want to satisfy you completely” he kisses your neck again. Then he places his hand on your stomach “I want my baby growing inside of you” his voice almost a hush full of so much contained passion.
You grab onto the back of his neck pressing your forehead to his and closing your eyes “Yes…Gale please fill me and get me pregnant tonight ” your voice shakes with anticipation. The way he’s making you feel between your legs has your mind reeling as you grind against him with your panties absolutely soaked.
Hearing your words he slowly picks you up from his lap and gently places you to stand in front of him. He rises from the chair and removes his shirt then unbuttons and unzips his pants before unbuckling his belt. As he releases the leather his pants fall to the floor and the buckle clatters. You stare in awe at his massive erection strained back against his woven boxers shorts.
“Finish showing me that lingerie doll “ his deep voice breaks the silence redirecting your thoughts. He sits back into his chair spreading his legs and placing a hand on his cock to watch you. He wants to thoroughly enjoy the surprise you have for him.
You turn your back to him and peer over your shoulder. His eyes are completely fixated on you as you slide the dress down from your shoulders to the floor bending over to show him your black silk panties as you deliberately step out of it. You turn around to face him and he sits back in awe of your beautiful body.
The black silk bra and panties with the corset elaborate your curves, accentuating your hips and chest in the most delicious way. You begin swaying your hips and tracing your hands over your body as if they are his own giving him a show of how badly you need him.
He stands up from his seat and slides his boxers down stepping out of them his large cock slinging as he walks toward you. Your knees buckle a little as you hold the table behind you bracing yourself in anticipation.
He reaches for your corset and begins quickly unsnapping the clasps rocking your body as he looses each one. The corset breaks free and falls to the floor. He easily picks you up by your waist and sets you down on the dinner table.
Your legs are wide open and he eagerly moves himself to stand between them. He grabs you by your hips pulling you flush against him kissing you passionately parting your lips with his tongue his cock caged between your navels. Hes trying to go slow but his mind is racing with the thought of feeling your tightness squeeze around him as he’s pumping you full of his seed.
He refocuses on your pleasure placing his hands on the sides of your breast softly rubbing into your silk brassiere pressing your nipples up and down with his thumbs . A moan escapes you into his mouth everything he’s doing sending pleasurable sensations where you need to be touched the most. You begin winding your hips in small circles on the table to relieve the tension.
He senses your need as the heat is now emitting from your body your eyes pleading him for more. He takes a step back noticing his empty liquor glass behind you on the table and takes it safely to the sink.
As he returns to stand between your legs he places his hands behind your head lovingly holding your gaze. “I would do anything for you” he says softly his heart swelling wanting to make you his forever, the vision of you pregnant with his child burning in his mind. “I’m going to push you over the edge tonight I want to spill my seed into you and I want you to take it all for me”
You stare at him drunk from arousal your heart is pounding so hard you feel the strongest pulses in your pelvis you'll to do anything to make him tear your lingerie off and take you now.
“I want to hear you say it “ he says noticing you are not able to focus on his words.
You regain some composure to respond
“I will take it all tonight every drop you give me” you loosely repeat his words too distracted now staring at his perfectly chiseled naked body down to his large veiny erect cock wondering how good it will feel when he fills you up for the first time instead of pulling out.
“I’ll give you what you need “ he says with a coy smile knowing you’re not paying attention anymore. He’s never seen you so riled up, it warms him seeing you want his baby so badly it’s giving you a fever.
He places his hand on your chest pushing you down to lay flat on the table. He grabs your thighs and slides you down to him your heat directly against his cock your legs on either side of his waist. Your breathing quickens and your heart skips you need him inside of you he has you exposed in the perfect position on the table like you are his meal.
He brushes his hand against your silk panties admiringly not wanting to remove them just yet. His touch there alone makes you feel like he’s set a fire all over your body.
He reaches his fingers between your legs hooking your panties rubbing his knuckles against your slick folds. Your back arcs from the table as you restrain yourself from grinding against his fingers so aroused and needing to be touched so badly you begin panting loudly unable to calm down.
He knows you need him now and quickly pulls your panties to the side. His cock is pulsing hard as he rests it on your wet entrance, it’s covered in a silky liquid so he rubs his tip up through it and groans as you moan not thinking it would feel so good. He looks down into your eyes now needing you too, he lines himself up and slowly pushes inside your tight entrance.
You both cry out in a pleasurable moan his cock guiding in perfectly your walls greedily sucking him in. He penetrates you inch by inch making you gasp as the stretch becomes wider.
He gently caresses your pelvis making you feel the pressure of how far he’s gotten inside. You are impossibly more wet as his cock is going in.
He stares down at you in admiration when you finally take his full length. He stays still inside you for a moment letting you adjust. You feel so full of him, the pleasure coursing through your entire body as you try to focus gazing up at him.
He begins to work you gently, sliding himself halfway out and fully back in. His cock becoming completely covered in your slick making you feel every sensation as he begins gliding in and out it’s already earning the sweetest moans out of you.
You close your eyes as he begins rocking into your body against the table each thrust making your heart want to explode. Your continuous moans are music to his ears he stares at the reaction on your pretty face while you take him the perfect mix of pleasure and pain.
He has a drive to impregnate you tonight that he’s never had before. He wants to paint your walls inside and make you cry out for him before he finishes. It makes him high at the thought.
He releases his hands from your waist and hoists your legs up holding onto the back of your thighs spreading you like a “V” he pushes slowly into you on the table the new angle he’s hitting makes you delirious with pleasure he has you in a mating press and it sparks something deep inside you that tightens your core making it feel like it will snap at any moment.
Hes going so much deeper using your legs as leverage, he wants to feel you all the way through he presses his length the farthest and touches his cock head against the deepest part inside you making you moan out incredibly loud for him. He loves that feeling and thrusts into it repeatedly wanting his strongest and deepest ejaculation there.
You begin to feel hotter against his throbbing cock he keeps rocking you back and forth on his length jostling you on the table. He’s working into you with so much virility youre seeing stars. You are so overwhelmed with passion you can’t even think straight each hit pressing the exact button inside to cause a riot in your core. He pauses at the end of his deepest thrusts feeling like he will split you, your body tenses your voice in your ears sounding so foreign as you moan in an unending rhythm, the tightness building inside your core finally snaps.
A relief washes over you as your back arcs from the table your walls flutter tightly around him as liquids pour from your core squishing around his cock as you scream for him. It makes him start sliding into you at breeding speed. He thrusts into you deeper and harder your legs bouncing around at each strong jolt. His abs tighten as he is sucks in breaths through his teeth.
He presses your legs back farther grunting and angling his cock pressing his deepest inside you it pushes him over the edge “Im going to cum so deep in you …take it …all for me” he says through clenched teeth he pushes forward all the way into you and spills thick ropes of hot cum deep inside you painting your walls. He leans forward between your legs heavily breathing from exertion, laying on top of you and propping up lightly on his elbows he holds your face as he continues to empty every last drop inside to get you pregnant. His final thrust hits so deep you squeeze his cock with your walls a second time and moan for him almost crying at how good it makes you feel. You stare at each other panting and sweating you both start spontaneously laughing deliriously high with a sudden surge of endorphins.
As you calm down he stays completely still inside of you laying on top. Propped on his elbows he holds your head lovingly. He pets your hair back and stares into your beautiful eyes “I think we did it” he says suddenly as if the thought was ruminating in his mind . You smile at him “I’ve never felt anything like that” you admit gently stroking his sweaty hair from his face in return. He leans in and kisses your chest just at your heart, he loves you completely. He puts his ear on your chest listening for your heart beat to slow down so he can pull out saftey. When your breathing and heart rate decrease he lifts his chest off on yours.
“Are you ready?” He asks adjusting himself to pull out of you “yes” you say completely void of thought only how wonderful you feel. He holds your upper thighs and slides his cock out slowly when he pulls out the head you both moan from the loss of contact. Slowly you feel his seed trickling out of you. His eyes grow wide and he uses his fingers to push it back inside you. You lift your head to see as he pushes more back in and cups his hand to hold it. “put your legs up” he says quickly thinking. You put your legs up and hold them to your chest.
“How long?” You ask giggling this whole concept so foreign to you “I don’t know but until it takes” he laughs at how absurd he sounds. He grabs a wash cloth and rinses his hands. He turns to check on you and doesn’t like the way you are curled up on the table you look so uncomfortable.
He comes to your side and scoops you into his arms he easily carries you to the bedroom and kicks the door open walking you to the bed and laying you down. It’s so much softer and comfortable for you. He pets your head “ that’s much better “ he says seeing your face relax. He runs to get a washcloth and soaks it with water.
When he returns your still with your knees up. He kneels on the bed in front of you “You can put your knees down now you’ve been so good for me” he says gently as he caresses your thighs. He doesn’t see any more cum spill out of you so he starts undressing you. He uses his hands to slide your panties off with your stockings and fasters. As you lower your legs down he pats and wipes you carefully. He climbs on top of you reaching around your back and unclasping your bra you sit up and pull it off discarding it at the foot of the bed with your panties. He stares at you now fully naked glowing so radiantly from sex. He pulls the covers down behind you and you lift up to pull the covers back over you both as he lays beside you. He kisses your temple staring at the side of you face deep in thought about how much he loves you. He places his and on your stomach thinking about how much he wants his baby growing there, you place your hand on top of his
“honey?” He asks shyly a new thought popping into his head “ yes ” you answer sweetly “I …want to keep those panties with me when I deploy” he divulges.
You blush thinking of what he wants to do with them “Alright I’ll do them with the laundry then the day before you deploy I’ll wear them all day and slip them in your pocket when I kiss you goodbye.” He smiles so big and squeezes you to him. “ I would like that” he says whispering in your ear and kissing it. “And Gale” you ask “yes?” He answers intrigued “I want to write you when I find out if I’m pregnant…” you turn and look into his love filled eyes he wants that more than anything. You kiss his forehead and he tilts your face lower to him and kisses your lips. You reach over his head and click the light off you both rest your eyes and he keeps his hand on your stomach the entire night as you sleep.
~*To Be Continued*~
#austin butler smut#austin butler#austin butler x reader#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler smut fic#smut#fanfic#austin butler fic#austin butler x fem!reader#austinbutler#austin butler fandom#austin butler x you#austin butler reader#austin butler imagine#austinbutler x#MastersoftheAir#masters of the air#masters of the air smut#mota fic#mota#mota fanfic#major gale cleven
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Via: https://robertviglasky.com/masters-of-the-air/
#ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME#ARE YOU KIDDING#GOING FERAL#ABSOLUTELY FERALLLLL#*throws hands up*#i am DONE with BOTH of you#FUCK#buck x bucky#clegan#mota#masters of the air#john bucky egan#john egan#gale buck cleven#gale cleven
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could u write something for austin where reader is obsessed with his hair especially when she goes with him on set and they get wet bc he’s sweating too much, and once it turns her on sm that it ends up with him eating her out with her hands buried in them and when it’s too much she pulls it a little harder and austin just loves it
“You're so good at this.” — austin butler x reader
Summary: see request^^
Pairing: austin butler x fem!reader
Word count: 1.2K
Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, oral (f receiving), probably typos im sorryyyy
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You stood nervously outside the set of Masters of the Air, clutching your pass, waiting to be let in. Your boyfriend, Austin, was in the middle of filming, and you didn't want be any cause of distraction. His manager, a familiar face to you, greeted you and whispered, “Just slip in quietly, Y/N. They should be done with these takes in about 20 minutes.”
You nodded, your heart racing with excitement, as you followed her onto the set. The lights were blindingly bright, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and costume fabric. You spotted Austin immediately, his chiseled features set in a determined expression as he delivered his lines. His voice too —deep, commanding, and authoritative— it sent shivers down your spine as he barked orders at his fellow actors.
You sat down quietly and out of view of him and any of the other actors. You couldn't help but notice how good he looked, his blonde hair mussed and his eyes gleaming with intensity. The layered costume added bulk to his already impressive physique, and the sweat dripping down his face only added to his sexiness. You felt that familiar fire ignite in your tummy as you watched your man at work. You pressed your thighs firmly together, trying to contain the desire that was building inside you.
After what felt like an eternity, the director called for a lunch break, and immediately the chatter in the room began.
“Austin!” You called. He perked up, a bright smile spreading across his face as he heard your voice, his eyes locking onto yours instantly.
“Baby, hi,” he said, striding towards you with long, purposeful strides.
You smiled, feeling a little shy but also incredibly turned on. You felt a flutter in your chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pulling you into a gentle kiss.
“I didn't know you were coming today,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Sorry,” he apologised for being sweaty, tugging on his thick coat, “I feel like I’m melting in this thing.”
"I wanted to surprise you," you whispered back, your hands sliding up his chest to toy with the buttons on his costume, “and you look amazing.”
Austin chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do I?”
You nodded, responding to him. You found yourself getting more and more turned on by Austin's proximity. You could smell the sweat on his skin mixing with his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body, and see the way his eyes seemed to devour you, and the way his wet hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. You knew you had to get him alone, and fast.
“How long do you have?” You asked, your words came out heavy, thick with desire.
Austin's eyes narrowed, his pupils dilating with interest. “40 minutes ish, why?”
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. “I need you,” you whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body.
Austin's eyes flashed with desire, and he pulled back, his face set in a determined expression. “Let's find a quiet spot,” he growled, taking your hand, leading you to his trailer, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on his knees, his fingers deftly undoing your pants and pulling them down. His mouth closed over your pussy with a hungry growl.
"I've missed you," he said, his voice low and husky. You felt your body respond to his words, your nipples hardening beneath your shirt. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled your core even closer to his lips.
You moaned as his hot breath washed over your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. Your hands buried themselves in his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers as you pulled him closer.
“Fuck, Austin,” you breathed, your body trembling with pleasure. “You're so good at this.”
He chuckled against your flesh, “I know.”
He groaned, allowing you to feel the vibrations of his vocal cords, his mouth working magic on your clit. He slid his middle finger inside of you, curling upwards as his tongue lapped over your most sensitive spot. You gasped, your body tightening around his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. Your legs began to shake. You felt yourself building towards orgasm, your hands tightening in his hair as you tugged and pulled.
“Yes, baby, like that,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.
Austin loved when you pulled at his hair, and he responded by increasing the pressure, his tongue lashing against you with reckless abandon. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter.
You were so close, your body trembling with anticipation. The pleasure was getting too much, you pulled his head back by his hair, when you finally let out a loud cry and came all over his face. Austin groaned, his eyes closed in ecstasy, as you pulsed against his mouth.
He gently pressed his tongue on your clit, allowing you to milk yourself of your orgasm using his face until you were empty.
For a moment, you just sat there, panting and trembling, as Austin slowly got to his feet, his face smeared with your juices. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and pulled you into a deep, wet kiss, his saliva and yours mixing with your slick.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice husky.
“I love you too,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face too. Austin's gaze never left yours as he reached for a towel that was draped over the back of a nearby chair. He gently wiped the remnants of your orgasm from his chin. Then, with a gentle touch, he brought the towel between your legs, softly wiping away your fluid. The intimate gesture sent a flutter through your chest, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this man.
As he helped you to your feet, Austin's hands lingered on your waist, his fingers brushing against the skin beneath your shirt. He zipped up the fly of your jeans, then fastened the button with a gentle tug. The simple act felt like a declaration of ownership, a reminder that you belonged to him, and he to you.
“Come on, let’s get food,” Austin said, his voice still thick, as he held your hand, leading you back to the catering area. He handed you a plate and took one for himself, both of you eyeing all the delicious looking food that was provided. Just then, the ten-minute call rang out across the room, a reminder that your break was drawing to a close. Austin's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his voice low and teasing.
“You’re terrible,” he kissed your temple, pulling your head to his chest, “making me miss out on half my lunch break like that.”
You laughed as you leaned into him, “I’ll return the favour tonight.”
His stomach flipped at your words, he shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Hush,” he teased, shoving a strawberry in your mouth. You bit down innocently, humming with delight at the sweetness.
a/n I know for a fact no one eats pussy like Austin Butler does end of conversation
#austin butler#austin butler smut#austinbutler#austin butler x you#austin butler x reader#austin x reader#austin butler imagine#austin butler fanfiction#austin fanfic#austin#austin butler elvis#austin butler feyd rautha#austin butler x y/n#austin butler x yn#dune part two#dune 2024#dune part 2#dune#masters of the air#masters of the air fanfic#austin butler major gale buck cleven#austin Elvis#elvis 2022#reader x austin butler#you x austin#yn x austin butler#austin x yn#y/n x austin#reader x Austin#yn x elvis presley
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It was a goddamn miracle that this man, Everett Blakely, landed her at all.
#masters of the air#motaedit#hbowaredit#james douglass#ev blakely#blakely x doug#get you a man who looks at you like doug looks at blakely#(crank u have competition)#edit#**#goblin fort appreciation society
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clearup tower this is chowhound one requesting landing instructions over chowhound one you are clear for overhead approach runway two eight one at one thousand two hundred indicated winds are three zero zero at one two altimeter two nine nine six over clearup tower please repeat over you heard me the first goddamn time gale well i’ll be damned look who it is stone in my shoe oh i’m back!
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masters of the air: a summary
#masters of the air#clegan#bucky x buck#john egan x gale cleven#john egan#gale cleven#antiquitea.pdf#otp: what took you so long?#john bucky egan#gale buck cleven#is this anything?
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Me when there’s gay people and they’re at war
#YOU DONT UNDERSTAND!!!!!!!! *telepathically throws furniture across the room* *shatters lightbulbs* *doors slam* *whole building shakes*#I am a parody of myself with this trope at this point#capvers#bbc ghosts#gauntwood#in memoriam alice winn#patrochilles#the song of achilles#tsoa#the iliad#baumer x katczinsky#all quiet on the western front#aqotwf#buck x bucky#mota#masters of the air#schofield x blake#1917 movie
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Brady: Can you keep a secret?
Bucky: Yeah, we can keep a secret.
Brady: What?
Bucky: Yeah, me and Buck are like a vault. No one else will know.
Brady: No, I want you to know. I don't want Buck to know.
Bucky: If you don't want Buck to know, then why are you telling me?
#masters of the air#mota#clegan#john bucky egan#gale buck cleven#otp: what took you so long#ben radcliffe#buck/bucky#bucky/buck#buck x bucky#bucky x buck#austin butler#callum turner#john brady
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summary: you wake up in major john egan’s bed and remember he drunkenly kissed you the night prior—you wonder what that means for your relationship.
cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, fluff, kissing, confessions, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drunkenness, cuteness, but also cheesiness, 1k words
<3
It’s quiet when you wake, the sun peaks through the curtains, creating a ray of light that just misses your face. The sheets are comfortable, warm with your own body heat, but they’re not yours. You sit up with a start, the realization as to where you are washing over you. You were in Major John Egan’s bed, oh my god, what were you thinking? You whip your head around, desperately searching for the man you spent the night with. Throwing one of the pillows off the bed, you hear a quiet grunt from the floor, causing you to scramble over to the edge of the bed. Carefully leaning over with a cautious gaze, you see Bucky laying on the ground, a blanket half covering his bare torso and the pillow you previously threw next to him. Heat rises to your cheeks as your eyes find his. His arms are behind his head and there’s an agonizingly charming smile on his face as he looks back at you.
“Good morning.” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears and you feel weak. Your lips part and you draw in a nervous breath, blinking a few too many times, you struggle to gather your thoughts before finally managing to speak.
“You’re on the floor.” you state simply, chasating yourself for the obvious observation.
“It appears so, yes.” Bucky responds with a hint of amusement in his tone, his smile grows wider and you grow more nervous under his gaze, so you look away.
“You don’t need to be.” you offer softly, a gentle invitation hanging in the air as you lean back onto the plush comfort of the bed. Bucky, catching the subtle implication in your words, lifts himself onto his elbows, his expression curious. With a simple nod, you confirm your desire for him to join you on the bed.
Without a word, Bucky rises, his movements fluid and controlled, as he gathers the scattered pillows and blanket, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet room. With practiced ease, he arranges them on the bed before settling himself beside you, his presence a comforting weight against the mattress. As he sits next to you, the warmth of his body radiates, drawing you closer. You catch the scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of musk and cedarwood, mingling with the faint aroma of lingering alcohol from the night before. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, a silent invitation for you to move closer. You shift, your shoulder brushing against his as you settle into a comfortable position beside him.
For a moment the two of you sit in silence, the memories of what happened last night weighing on your conscious. You’re overwhelmed, confused, and attempting to put the pieces together.
“You were drunk.” you remind him, the words a hesitant admission of the truth. “I was drunk.”
“That is also true,” Bucky acknowledges with a nod, his gaze softening as he senses the rising panic in your voice. Your breath quickens, and your eyes widen, “Look, honey—” Bucky begins, his voice gentle and reassuring, but before he can finish, your words tumble out in a rush of desperation.
“Oh my god.” you gasp, leaning closer to Bucky, your voice barely above a whisper as you say your next few words, “Did we have sex?”
Bucky's laughter fills the air, a warm, affectionate sound that doesn't quite match the gravity of the situation. Your reaction is immediate, confusion and annoyance contort your features.
“It's not funny,” you insist, your voice tinged with frustration as you search his expression for answers.
“Honestly, honey, I couldn’t tell you.” Bucky replies with a shrug, his demeanor nonchalant despite your obvious distress.
“John,” you whine, the plea in your voice betraying your need for him to be serious and clarity of the situation. As your words dissolve into incoherent mumbles, Bucky reaches out, his hand gently squeezing yours in a gesture of reassurance.
“Hey, I’m sure nothing happened,” he interjects, making an attempt to alleviate your worries, “if we had sex, you probably wouldn’t be wearing anything right now.” Bucky adds, with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows and a smirk.
The implications of his words send a shiver down your spine, mingling with the warmth of his touch as you recall the kiss shared between the two of you the night before, “You kissed me last night.” you say with a hint of uncertainty, searching his face for confirmation.
“And you didn’t stop me.” Bucky counters, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes.
“Why would I?” you admit softly, “You’re all I think about.”
Bucky's smiles, that adorable smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. You watch as his gaze flickers to your lips and back up to your eyes. A giggle bubbles up from your throat, a nervous sound expressing your uncertainty of the moment.
“What?” you ask in response to Bucky’s wordless expression. Your heart pounds in your chest as he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, before leaning in to whisper.
“I’m so in love with you.” Bucky confesses in your ear before leaning back with a wide smile, eager to see your reaction. A smile spreads across your face and you turn to slowly wrap your arms around his shoulders.
“If you don’t kiss me—”
Before you can finish, Bucky leans in, closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. A hand holds your cheek, while the other rests on your waist, pulling you closer. He kisses you like he needs you and he knows he does. You melt into his touch, surrendering to the warmth and intensity of the kiss. Before you know it, you're straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss.
“I love you more.” you murmur against his lips when you pull away and Bucky chuckles, his airy laugh fanning across your face.
“That’s not possible, honey.” he replies, his voice filled with adoration as he leans his forehead against yours.
“Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” you tease, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky says with a grin before capturing your lips once more, sealing your love in a sweet, lingering kiss.
<3
masterlist . john "bucky" egan masterlist . taglist
thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!
alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.
#my works ──★ ˙☕️ ̟ !!#masterlist#john bucky egan#john egan#john egan x reader#john egan fluff#john egan angst#john egan x female reader#john egan x fem!reader#john egan x you#john egan x y/n#callum turner#mota#masters of the air#john egan mota
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One Last Buck
Label Mature 18+
Bucked & Fxcked sequel
The next morning after the threesome with the two Majors, Gale wakes you up to sneak you out of the military base. He steals you right out of John’s sleeping grasp. When he brings you back to your dorm he doesn’t want to leave and begins heavily making out with you again in the parking lot until you are so hot you have to invite him up to your dorm room.
Once inside you discover your room mate is still out and the place is yours, you begin devouring and undressing him again eventually laying under him spread until you both freeze hearing the door unlock. Your roommate returns with her soldier date blissfully unaware and begins doing the exact same thing. Once they hear you giggle and discover you both in the next bed it becomes a wild competition of who is pleasuring their girl the hardest; making whoever gets their girl to finish first the declared winner.
No established relationship
shameless smut•edging •sex with a foreign object•degradation •oral sex male receiving •stimulation while sleeping•objectification•p in v •group sex•desk sex•competitive sex•multiple simultaneous orgasms •pull out ejaculations• ejaculated on females•after care
Inspo: Multiple requests to follow up with you after sleeping with Buck and his best friend Bucky, realizing you definitely want Buck more.
Part 1
❤️ Love you guys when I’m quiet I’m writing my a** ff for you. I made it extremely full of different types of sex enjoy 🥰
One Last Buck
You are stirred awake in the dark by a gentle hand caressing your shoulder. You lift your head from the pillow confused trying to remember your surroundings. Your eyes grow wide suddenly realizing you are still with the two Majors you slept with last night.
The bathroom light is on with the door cracked in Major Gales office. It casts a sliver of light on the form kneeling beside you as you rest on a pull down Murphy bed.
Completely dressed and smiling as he shushes you is Major Gale. He motions you to get up but as you move to leave the bed you are snagged by Major John’s hand holding steadfast to your hip behind you.
You pull the covers down to show Gale your predicament. He silently chuckles then pries John’s heavy hand off of your hip dropping it to the bed.
John is a heavy sleeper and doesn’t even stir. Gale helps you climb out of the bed and pulls you close whispering in your ear. “Get dressed we’re leaving” you nod and tiptoe to the bathroom softly brushing your teeth.
Gale gathers your discarded clothing from the floor. When he picks up your silk panties he vividly rememers how he and John ravaged you on his desk last night. He smiles to himself and pockets them as a keepsake. He puts the rest of your clothing in his rucksack.
You finish brushing your teeth and emerge from the bathroom still wearing his boot camp shirt with nothing underneath. You squint as you walk around the dimly lit room looking for your skirt and shirt.
Gale knows exactly what youre looking for and hands you a pair of sweats and a cap he pulls you in close to whisper against your ear again “You have to dress like a soldier so I can sneak you off the base” then he looks into your eyes, his flashing excitement from the reward of sneaking you in and now the thrill of sneaking you back out.
Once you are out fitted he looks you over. “Youre still too beautiful ” he whispers and grabs a hand full of your backside squeezing it making you cutely yelp.
You cover your mouth holding in a snicker. He pulls your hand down planting smooth a kiss on your lips. “Alright let’s go” he whispers and guides you out of his office. He carefully closes and locks his door not to accidentally wake John. You exit the building and get your own car door walking tall trying to be masculine. He lets out a chuckle because you look like you are playing pretend macho.
You get in the car and he quickly drives heading off base. He stops at the gate to hold his identification card out. You sit up tall and pull your cap lower over your eyes feeling apprehensive, but the soldier on guard doesn’t even peek into the car when he sees it’s Gale he immediately chats him up instead “Wild fucking night major” he says and it makes you sit up on edge thinking he knows what you did but he’s talking about something else entirely.
“What happened did the boys destroy the dance hall already?” Gale smiles jokingly.
“Major let me tell you, so many fellas got write ups tonight with all types of dames in here, theres even rumors there was on orgy!” Gale whistles
“Doesn't surprise me with this wild bunch, I’m off to go check for any ones left at the dance hall for this unlucky fella right now” he gestures his thumb to you as the unlucky fella and you almost burst into laughter. “Have a good night major” the soldier chuckles as he salutes Gale letting him through.
You drive past the dance hall and direct him to your college, pulling into the parking lot of your dorm. Once parked you point up at the second story window “That one’s mine” you say. He moves closer and slowly pulls your cap off revealing your pretty hair. “Is that where you do all your learning?” he asks seductively.
He’s teasing because you all but admitted you invite college boys up to your dorm room to ‘learn’. You look over to him innocently “Gale please don’t tease me” you ask softly. He gently grabs your chin before you can look away “I won’t tease you for long” he admits. He leans in and kisses your neck running his hand between your thighs. The feel of his strong hands touching between your legs as he passionately sucks kisses along your neck drives you wild.
He brings his lips to your mouth and starts passionately kissing there too. It turns into a heavy makeout session both your breaths increasing as he slips his hand in the band of your sweats. He knows you’re not wearing any panties because he already pocketed them. He pulls his fingers up and down between your folds to circle your clit. He’s heating you up by edging you on.
You pull your face from his, your heart is beating faster feeling the pleasurable heat creep up your neck. You lightly moan as your nipples harden. You rest your head back against the car seat face flushed and panting. His fingers spread the wetness around pooling between your folds. You open your legs wider wanting his fingers to do more.
He teases you, slowly drawing circles around your tight entrance not going any faster, not slipping them in. You look into his eyes begging for more “Show me your dorm room” he says so deeply it makes your stomach pulls tight. “yes alright ” you say. Your tone is hushed from arousal. You hope your room mate is still out as he removes his hand from between your legs.
You push open the car door exiting before he can get it for you. He quickly collects his rucksack from the back seat with your clothing coming around to your side. You grab his hand and smile pulling him to start running to your dorm building.
You both have big grins on your faces from the thrill. Sprinting across the dark courtyard trying not to get caught. You get to the main doors of the girls dorm, hearts beating excitedly as he pushes and holds one open for you
The activity board on the wall rustles with all the papers tacked on as you enter. You look left and right down the corridor in jubilation the building is quiet everyone is sleeping.
You grab his hand again running for the second floor stairs. You sprint up shoes clacking loudly on the steps making echos. You try to shush each other through giggles while stepping softer. On the second floor you find your dorm room. When you reach the door Gale eyes all of the Elvis Presley pictures tacked to it and smirks.
You pull your key from behind a picture of ‘Elvis combing through his hair’. You and your roommate kept losing your keys, taping them behind your favorite Elvis photos worked wonders. You unlock the door and both of you slip inside.
Once you are in you lock the door behind you both and let out big breaths. You both grin at each other.
“Any one home?” You ask into the dimly lit room. When there is no answer you are relieved. Gale puts his rucksack down. “You’re a pro at sneaking people up here aren’t you?” he says smiling teasing you again. This time he sneaks his hand around your waist and pulls you in to a deep kiss before you can protest.
You slip your tongue inside of his mouth as you press him back against the door. You surprise him with your dominance. You begin undressing him getting right to business. He smiles watching you take his clothing off clearly in charge, comfortable in your own territory.
The dorm room is equally split; two desks two beds two wardrobes and two windows all opposite sides. The desks are conjoined under the windows between your beds. Your side is on the right, the room is aglow with moonlight shining from both windows.
Once you undress Gale you step back to admire his body. He has his seductive look in his eyes. Your eyes wander down his chest to his long solid cock between his firm thighs. It drives you mad with lust.
He sees you go weak and quickly begins stripping you. He slides off your sweats and pulls your shirt over your head. Both completely naked his lips are on yours. He kisses you hungrily as he walks you backwards to your bed. He pushes you down, as you crawl back up to the headboard he climbs on top of you. His hand pushes under your pillow once he reaches the top. He l feels an object there as he settles his weight between your legs.
He pulls the object from under your pillow discovering it is a wooden handled mirror. Your face turns bright red as he studies it in his hand. He wonders why you would keep a mirror in such an odd place then he eyes the thick cylindrical handle and grips it in his hand. It’s cock shaped and he slowly smirks. You shrink into yourself beneath him knowing he figured out your dirty little secret you forgot to put away.
“Your such a needy little things aren’t you” he says holding the mirror side and sitting up between your legs. “Is this how you pleasure yourself?” he asks and your face turns bright red as you nod. Your body so hot from embarrassment you could burst into flames beneath him.
“Every time you pleasure your self with it now I want you thinking of me” he says as you stare at him dumbfounded. Not a single thought forms in your head until he slowly pushes the wood handle inside of you.
You gasp and lift up on your elbows spreading your legs wider. You prepare your body as he sinks it deep inside of you. Your heart beating wildly it’s so much harder than a cock, you tense thinking he won’t understand but he knows and he is gentle. He tips it up and down as he slides it in and out of you releasing your first moans.
He watches how your entrance sucks it in making his breath shudder you are so wet the squishing sounds of him pushing the wood handle in and out of you is tightening his cock.
He leans over you making you lay flat on the bed. His eyes burrow into yours as he pushes the handle farther into your tight hole at this angle. He twists his wrist making the handle twirl inside of you.
Tingles explode across your body. Your face flushes and you shudder letting out a string of high pitched moans. He’s doing new things you never though of. He leans in closer seeing your almost at ecstasy “Tell me you’ll be thinking of me when you pleasure yourself ” he gives another light twist making you gasp. You try to you get your words out but it’s too late you are already a weak mess feeling yourself coming undone beneath him.
You muster up a small nod and just start moaning his name and saying yes repeatedly. It sounds so good to him he knows he’s all you’ll be thinking about.
His breaths increase as he enjoys sliding the wood handle all the way in and out of you, he does it several more times until your body trembles and you shudder out a moan.
“You’re close” he says watching your body writhe from what he’s doing “And your such a needy little thing you’re going to cum from me sexing you with your own mirror” your face flushes as he says it. Your body tingles and your core tightens. You are filled with so much arousal and humiliation from his words.
He holds the handle firm and knocks on the mirror glass with his knuckles. The tapping of the handle up inside of you causes a riot in your core. You squeeze your eyes shut as the tightness inside of you suddenly releases and you orgasm. He covers your mouth stifling the noises as you cry out in pleasure. He continues to plunge the handle in and out of you until your legs stop trembling and your cries go quiet.
He releases your mouth as you come down from your high. You open your eyes and feel a wash of so many emotions seeing his handsome face gazing down at you. As you lay there staring up at him you think about how such a risk with a stranger has been rewarding you the entire night.
He slowly slides the handle out you and places his hand gently on your pelvis signaling you to relax. He gets out of bed and heads to search your dresser. He opens the second drawer filled with school stationary before pulling the top drawer and finding your wash cloths. He wipes down the handle and sets the mirror on top of your dresser then returns to lay in bed with you.
He settles next to you looking over your beautiful features. He tucks your hair behind your ear as he listens to your soft breaths. He’s so sickly obsessed with you he losing all rational thought. He’s fingered you, eaten you out, sexed you on his desk, shared you with his best friend and now he’s just sexed you with a mirror handle …and he still wants more. He traces his thumb on you lower lip, surprised he hasn’t filled your mouth with his cock yet.
He locks eyes with you and suddenly sits up wrought with emotion. He rests his legs over the edge of the bed and places his hands on his head pulling his hair deep in thought. His heart is doing back flips trying to decide how he should feel. You sit up and comfort him rubbing his back. He quickly pulls you to sit across his lap.
He gives you a few kisses, his face wrought with guilt. He holds you staring in to your eyes. “Do you feel good?” He asks and you smile nodding playfully pulling your hands through his blonde hair. You slick it back making him look different and you giggle.
“I’ve never felt this way about somebody I’ve just met, you just make me feel so different” he admits as he trails his hands up and down your waist. You see his eyes go soft as he looks at you. Your smile dissipates and a knot of anxiety forms in your stomach. He’s catching feelings for you.
The heart break and trauma of your first love ruined you so badly you vowed never to go through that again. You also can’t even begin to think about dating him. He’s a validated Major you are a sophomore in college. You set your intentions right at the start you wanted sex with him AND his best friend.
You distract him and bring his hands to cup your breast slowly grinding on his naked cock. “What makes you feel so different Major? That you have a college girl to play with ” you say it seductively but his eyes flash in confusion he wants you more than that. You quickly just begin kissing him bringing him back to the physical.
His kisses become more passionate and full of lust. He holds you behind your shoulders and grids his hard cock into your wetness coating his shaft. His breathing becomes ragged. He breaks the kiss to look in your eyes he needs relief he’s craving it from you now.
He quickly guides you off of his lap onto the floor wanting your mouth on him he has to know what each part of you feels like.
You settle between his legs and spread his muscular thighs wide apart and take his heavy cock in your hand. You look into his eyes wanting to wipe every lovey dovey thought he has right out of his head “I want you to use me and call me every dirty name while I suck your cock Major, and if you stop I’ll stop” you say sternly.
He looks down at your pretty angelic face wondering why you would want that but he nods and agrees to it. You lean in and part your lips tongue sliding out to lick around the base of his shaft. He rests his hands back on your bed getting comfortable groaning in pleasure until you suddenly stop. He looks up to see your mouth poised at his shaft waiting for his insults. He grows nervous changing his mind “I don’t wanna call you names..” his voice trails off as you release his cock. Your eyes burrow into his reminding him of his agreement.
His eyes widen thinking fast “you’re twisted” he says making you both smile, that will count. You lean in and lick a stripe up his cock from the base to the tip holding your hand to the other side keeping it straight. “your a seductress” he says starting to breathe heavy you suck your mouth on his tip hard making him gasp. “you please me so well” he says it with his eyes closed clearly forgetting his assignment to call you dirty names. It makes you giggle and hearing it he snaps out of his trance.
As you begin to suck down his length he struggles to form even a single thought. He keeps starting and stopping what he’s going to say a few times before finally saying his most honest insult yet “ You took me…and my best friend…at the same time… you’re …a Harlot!” his voice is strained from pleasure. You moan and whimper on his cock that one hurt, but it hurt so good.
You team your hand with your mouth hallowing your cheeks gliding your mouth and hand up and down on him sucking simultaneously. He lets out a deep moan from his chest and you feel his body tense he’s about to cum. His words stagger enjoying the suction of your mouth so much “your such … a …cock hungry whore!” he gasps “ and I’m gonna fill that …needy…mouth with… all my cum..” he cries out in pleasure and his cock throbs as his tip ejaculates into your mouth. You lick and suck the head as it shoots rope after rope coating your tongue with his seed. You swallow all of it.
He stares down at you in euphoria, he’s completely drained and empty. He feels like a weight has lifted off his shoulders mentally and physically. His chest rises and falls watching you slide your mouth off of his cock. You stick your tongue out to show him your mouth is empty and his breath shudders at the erotic sight.
He rests back on your bed opening his arm to you “Comere” he says. You climb in bed next to him as he relaxes. “I didn’t mean any of it” he says caressing your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said those things” you look up at him smiling that he feels so guilty.
“Gale your no angel yourself. You a harlot loving, sexually depraved group sex enthusiast. You and Bucky decided so easily how to split me, like it was your back up plan all along. The way you both used me you’re a sexual degenerate yourself” as you complete your rant his face flushes bright red and he covers it with his hands. “you got me dead to rights” he mumbles against his palms “I didn’t realize I am all those things until you said it ” he confesses.
You pry his hands open wanting to enjoy the shame in his pretty blue eyes. You both stare at each other two sides of the same sexually depraved coin. He pulls you to him and kisses you connecting you even deeper, like two moths to flame. He lays you against him and you turn your back and curl up finally feeling vulnerable. He makes you lift your head and use his bicep as a pillow. He holds you reassuringly.
When he checks his watch he realizes he only has a few more hours until he returns to base. He snuggles against you thinking how he can make the most of his time with you, why didn’t he meet you when he was stationed here for months why the night before he’s deployed.
So many questions fill his head.
He peeks over and you’ve fallen asleep. He smiles and carefully removes his arm from under your head. He sneaks to his rucksack and pulls out a small picture of himself and collects your clothing items from inside placing them in your hamper. He goes to your dresser and pulls out the stationary writing you a note. He folds it up and gets a tiny piece of tac sticking it to the wood rim of your special handheld mirror.
You don’t know how long you slept but when you awaken up it’s still dark. Gale is sitting between your legs. He spreads your thighs wider apart and settles between them resting his full weight on your chest.
He kisses your neck and you can feel the hardness off his stiff cock slipping between your wet folds. He’s already played with you while you slept your core is throbbing for him. The thought turns you on even more. You are completely his to use, whatever he wants.
He places his hands above your shoulders, then lifts his hips up and pushes his cock into your tight entrance. He buries down deep inside of you, his hips press between your legs as his cock head touches your cervix making you both pleasurably moan.
Suddenly he stops, turning his head hearing noises in the hall. His body tenses and he slides his cock all the way back out as you hear them too. Foot steps staggering and approaching the door then stopping. He grabs the blanket pulling the covers over your nakedness. “I think your room mate is back” he instinctively guesses.
The key slips in the lock and the door opens spilling light into the room. Two shadowy forms enter, fully locked in a passionate kiss making small sounds of pleasure as the door slams shut. The room is shrouded in darkness again.
You hear them begin taking off clothing dropping pieces to the floor still kissing absentmindedly. They make their way across the room falling onto the left bed the squeak of the metal springs adjusting to their weight.
“Yes just like that ” you hear your room mate Pam say “Yea you like that?” says her solider date (you assume she pulled from the dance hall.)
“ Mm yea don’t stop” she moans
“Call me daddy” the soldier says
“Oh yes daddy” you hear her say finally making you and Gale both snicker and giggle together.
“What the hell? There’s someone else in here” the soldier quips sitting up
“ It’s me! And um Gale” you sheepishly announce to Pam
“Major Gale? “ you hear the surprised soldier ask in the dark.
“ At ease” Gale says with a grin making you both giggle and snicker again.
“Didn’t think I’d be serving with you tonight Major, it’s me private Dalton” when Dalton says it he and Gale burst into laughter. The idea they are serving together, serving two women.
“Should we go?” Pam asks because you claimed the room first. Dalton wants to stay he has no other place to have sex and tries riling Gale into leaving. “Oh no you stay right there baby I’m going to show you what a real soldier fucks like tonight “ he says to Pam. She giggles and they begin to kiss.
It instantly triggers Gales competitiveness “First one to get their girl to finish first wins then” he says securing that he’s not leaving. Dalton is shocked but sees a silver lining being able to sleep with Pam “How do I know you and your girl won’t cheat over there ” he asks grinning accusingly in the dark.
The question makes Gale get up and click the desk lamp on clearing it of clutter. He pulls you from the bed laying you chest down flat on it parting your legs ready to take him.
“Holy hell“ Dalton says as Pam’s eyes widen staring at Gales large erect cock. Dalton is stunned Gale wants to have a sex competition with the lights on.
Dalton pulls Pam up and lays her flat on her desk next to yours. You look at her and see the giddiness in her eyes and turn away hiding your smile you girls are extremely naughty enjoying this, the word is definitely harlots.
Dalton stands behind Pam and Gale stands behind you. They steady and hold your waists both inserting their cocks at the same time for the start. Everyone lets out a moan, Gale sinks deeper into you, and you relax for his size completely. You let him penetrate your body wanting to feel every good inch he’s giving you. As he starts to thrust you let out small moans, his pushes feel so good inside of you. When you don’t hear Pam you turn your head to look.
She is staring her eyes fixated on Gale watching how he fucks you practically drooling. Dalton wants noises out of her too so he pulls her by her hair to stop looking at Gale. He begins powerfully thrusting into her from the back making her body rock against the desk. She starts to get into it spreading her legs wider, arcing her back more and letting out soft moans.
Gale keeps his pace and places his hands on your hips pulling you harder on his cock making you lose focus moaning louder.
“Oh fuck why does she moan like that” Dalton asks as he thrusts in to Pam. Gale smirks “Yea she gets real loud when I make her cum let’s set them closer together it’ll help keep her quiet ” they force you and Pam across the desks to be elbow and elbow as they take you from the back.
You are trying to stifle your moans but Gale feels so good working you in a rhythm that has you ready to cum. Your moans escape loudly from your lips again.
“She’s going to wake the whole damn dorm!” Dalton snaps. Pam puts her gentle hand over your mouth giving Dalton an even bigger idea “Baby kiss her quiet“ he commands, he and Gale slow their thrusts to watch.
She looks you in the eyes cutely conveying she wants to give them a show, and you two go at it, tongues licking,lips smashing, mouths wanting. Gales cock pulses inside of you as he squeezes your hips tighter.
“Ooooh fuck” Dalton says and starts pounding into Pam making her lips jostle against yours trying to keep kissing. She grabs the back of your neck to hold your lips close making Gale lose it. He drives his cock into you completely unfocused.
You and Pam moan into each others mouths in constant harmony making the men fight for their lives not to cum yet. Gales thrusts intensify as he holds your waist higher pulling you back on him harder. His cock is pulsing begging to release. You feel the force in your chest from his deep hits. He juts his tip into your cervix perfectly so many times in a row you finally orgasm.
Pam holds the back of your neck sealing your lips together and taking your final moan. It’s like she can feel the intensity of how good he makes you feel and it causes her to orgasm as well. She releases your neck and you both lay flat on the desks panting as the men use you.
Dalton pulls out first and ejaculates all over Pam’s back. Just seeing him cum on her is so pornographic you clench inside. Gale gives you what you want pulling out and pumping his shaft over your too.
Pam gets to watch him so overcome with arousal as his hand slips rhythmically over his large cock. When he spreads his silky cum on your back she moans without thinking. You and Gale look over at her and laugh as her face flushes.
“I think I made both girls cum ” Gale announces making Dalton mock pout ” Yea Gale you have all the luck” he says. Gale pulls a set of washcloths from your top drawer and throws one to Dalton. Gale wipes you down and you sit up to find his boot camp shirt on the floor putting it back on with a new set of panties. Pam slips on her night gown.
John and Dalton get dressed back in uniform. You quickly go to Gale and wrap your arms around his neck, knowing this is good bye.
You tiptoe up and kiss him. He holds your head close whispering in your ear “I’ll write you, send me back something” he smiles against your ear you nod but he still holds you close “ I’m coming back don’t go too crazy for these college boys” he nudges his nose against your ear.
You smile up at him blushing “I won’t I promise” you do well at keeping promises and fighting your feelings. You keep telling yourself he’s a stranger you hooked up with for one night having the most incredible sex of your life with.
Pam and Rick embrace, Gale picks up his rucksack hoisting it on his shoulder, then both men head to leave the dorm room. Gale gives you one last look goodbye and you freeze wanting to go kiss him but feel like your heart will shatter into a million pieces, he grins and beckons you over with his finger making you smile eyes welling with tears of relief . He makes it one quick simple kiss and smiles lovingly as you step back and he pulls the door closed. Pam runs to the window sill waiting to see them emerge from the building. You walk over head cloudy lost in thought as you sit next to her.
“Nice momento” she says tugging your bootcamp shirt snapping you out of your daze. You look down at it smiling thoughtfully. “Oh I got it at the base from him” you say starting to cheer up wanting to share your exploits.
“He took you to the base?! Dalton said he shares barracks and there was no way I could get in there unseen“ she explains
“Gale took me to his office I was there there most of the night“ you say with a big grin.
“Gosh I ended up dancing and drinking the night away with Dalton until 1am then he snuck me into a storage room at the dance hall to give him a handy. I finally had the bright idea to walk him back to the dorms thinking you were still out…” her voice trails off as she looks off daydreaming . “They took us at the same time” she sighs resting on her elbow. Her first time having group sex, your second.
You bite your lip ready to tell her the juiciest bit “I slept with Gale and another Major at the same time in his office” she gasps and grabs the collar of your shirt pulling you close“Tell me everything!” She practically yells.
Gale and Dalton emerge from the building walking so tall and proud you see Gale usher Dalton to the car to give him a ride back to the base
“Gale !” You shout and he looks back up at you smiling and waving before he blows you a kiss. You blow one back to him and he pretends to catch it and put it in his pocket. You bite your lip and grin like an idiot. Pam waves a farewell to Dalton.
“I was wondering when I saw you leave arm in arm with two decorated officers at the dance hall… but I never expected at the same time.” Pam says eyeing Gale lustfully “What a wild stallion” she says day dreaming about his perfect cock.
You push her shoulder “Getting ideas?” You tease. “Yes of course I want him look at him and he’s such a sexual dynamo” she smiles seductively remembering how he came, she lets out an exasperated sigh tossing her head back. “When he comes back tell him we’ll take him together” she says deliberately now open to group sex. It makes you roll your eyes “If he wants.“ you say flatly trying to stifle your sudden possessiveness over him.
Then you pipe up “The other major I slept with was named John” you smile hinting at her option.
“Which one blew your mind be honest” She asks directly.
You laugh aloud “ Both of them …several times John’s cock is large” you show her the size parting your hands “I didn’t ride it but he does this thing with his fingers” you show her with your fingers what he did inside of you and she bites her lip smiling.
“Well then definitely introduce me to John” she says batting her eyelashes making you both laugh.
Now it’s your turn to rest your elbow on the window sill and daydream . You watch Gale drive off campus.
As the military car disappear into the distance you and Pam leave the window sill. Pam collects her toiletry basket and heads to the girls dorm showers.
With no classes on Saturday you plop back onto your bed to rest, you feel a lump under your pillow, and lift it to find your mirror with a folded note on the outside. Gales name is written on the front and your heart flutters as you unfold it.
Enclosed is his rank full name and base number it reads:
For my special girl
I want you thinking of me every second, and I want you writing me every chance you get. I’ll be sending letters to your dorm.
- Love from Gale
His handsome picture is enclosed and you practically shriek holding the note and picture to your chest. It’s imprinted in your mind forever now. Major Gale is in love with his little harlot because what else could you even be considered to him. Your chest fills with excitement as you reach in your desk and grab your diary to write every single detail down to store the memory forever.
~*End *~
Major Gale Fantasy 1-7 ⬇️
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The Only Truth... | Part Three
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader
There are all sorts of hazards inside a Prisoner of War camp - guards, disease, injury, infection. One that none of you were banking on was the weather itself. Despite it all, and a severe lack of time to linger in one another's presence, you still find yourself growing ever closer to a certain Major.
Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Disease, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, Kissing, SS Officers, Depictions of Nazi Atrocities Against Russian Soldiers, Threats, Fear, 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: 6337
-------------------------
April 21, 1945
Despite heeding your request and allowing others to bear the body of the late Freddy Simms, the boy whose name he learned only after his death, from the hospital to the corner of the camp where other bodies were also awaiting transport to the graveyard, Bucky still found himself tremendously sore the next morning. If not for roll call, he would have much preferred to remain on his makeshift sleeping palette tucked beneath the eaves of a fully occupied tent only half-protected from the elements. As it was, the resident goons needed him upright and counted, and so, with no shortage of grunting and grimacing, he had forced himself up and into line.
Considering the overwhelming population present, it was a wonder the guards did not just spend all day counting the prisoners to satisfy their twice daily checks. A few mouthfuls of broth later and Bucky had just lain back down to rest before it seemed like he was having to repeat the arduous process all over again. It had taken another day of rest to recover from his overexertion, but when he awoke this morning, things seemed a little less torturous. The warmth in the sunshine certainly helped, and he felt energized enough to accompany the delivery of the hot loaves of dense, black bread to the hospital. As his eyes scanned the rows of cots in the tent and then the clapboard building, he barely concealed his frown as you seemed nowhere to be found.
“Major, would you mind taking this pail of bandages out back for me? The Nurse seemed to miss them when she collected the laundry this morning.” There was a knowing tone to Chalmers’ request that made him swallow sheepishly, his ears heating up slightly, but he quickly nodded.
Grabbing the rather light pail with the hand of his uninjured side, he walked down the hallway to drop off a loaf of bread in your sparse quarters, brows furrowing at the lack of windows therein, before continuing out the back door. The sight of you crouched beside a basin, sleeves rolled up as you scrubbed at the sudsy rags with a large pot of bandages boiling away on a small fire nearby was so utterly domestic, Bucky could not help but let his mind wander. To imagine you in a kinder place doing something so very mundane without the fear of being shot or starved to death. That was where you ought to be – not here trying to scrub blood and other filth out of tattered cotton under the thumb of SS goons.
Bucky swallowed painfully as you paused a moment to smooth some errant strands of hair from your face and he was able to fully see the painful scars on your left arm. Scars that he had previously caught small glimpses of, despite your best efforts to hide them from him, but the full extent of them made his skin ache in sympathy. That explained why your nightmares featured fire.
Your sharp inhale, swiftly following by the sound of your boot impacting the pail behind you, pulled him from his reverie. Sent his eyes flying back up to see your horrified expression. You were frantically tugging down the rolls of your sleeve as you backed away from him, gait horribly off balance due to the obstacle you had encountered, and he was both afraid you would fall over and that he had offended you. Dropping his own pail, Bucky once again found himself chasing after you across the small, mud-filled yard behind the hospital, sliding his arms around you to haul you tight against his chest.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. It just looks like it hurt a lot.” He murmured into your hair, hating the way your entire body was rigid and stiff against him.
There was an agonizing, drawn-out silence where the ambient sounds of the camp bled into the intimate moment until finally some of the tension melted from you.
Sniffing indignantly, you muttered against his chest, “it did. Well not at first, I was too busy trying to get out of the damn plane and take my surgical tech with me. But after…” He felt your head bob in a nod against him and he pressed a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades.
“He make it?” Bucky whispered, immediately feeling guilty for prying, but he could not take back the words now.
“Fitz? Yeah, he’s here – helps out at the hospital once a week…” You leaned back in his arms to look at him with dewy eyes, that wicked grin tugging at your lips and the depth of his longing to kiss you took his breath away. “Don’t see him quite as often as certain prisoners, though.” You teased, making him grin warmly in response.
“Maybe I’m still a patient in a way, angelfish. Maybe you’re still healing me.” He had meant to parry your jest with one of his own, but instead all that had come out was a vulnerable truth, and you both stood there, eyeing one another intensely before Bucky felt your arms, previously trapped against his chest, slide around him properly.
The way you pulled him closer should have felt comforting, reassuring, but instead all it resulted in was a lightning bolt of pain ripping through his back and he was barely able to smother the resulting hiss. You pulled back quickly, fairly ripping yourself from his arms as you frowned at him with your hands on your hips.
“John Egan you are still very injured.” You chided, gripping his shoulders to maneuver and guide him back to the stairs before forcing him down to sit on the edge of them.
“Like it when you say my full name, angelfish. Middle name’s Clarence if you want to really give it all you got.” He smirked up at you incorrigibly and you huffed in what he hoped was a mix of fondness with that obvious infuriation.
“Don’t think I won’t add that to my arsenal Major. Now you stay right there, that way I know you’re not off getting yourself into more trouble.”
“Yes Ma’am.” He grinned, loathe to admit it aloud, but it really did feel better to be sitting down.
Nodding sharply, you grabbed his abandoned pail of bandages to add them to the pot of water, fanning the flames of your small fire until they burned hotter to boil off anything infectious, before returning to your bucket of rags. You continued to scrub at them, casting scrutinizing glances his way every so often before transferring them to a rinse bucket.
“Did you really meet the Pope?” Bucky suddenly asked the question that had been burning at the back of his mind since he had heard you speak the words to the Simms boy.
“Yes, I did.” You nodded, wringing out the clean rags one at a time before draping them across your ersatz clothesline. “The whole squadron did.”
“You were in Italy then…” He mused quietly and you nodded with a quiet hum of agreement, the pair of you swapping information without giving too much away to anyone who might be listening in. “Well I definitely did not meet the King.”
Your sudden peal of laughter had him both grinning and bristling defensively.
“That far-fetched an idea, hmm, angelfish?” He raised an eyebrow demandingly and your hand pressed against your lips, trying to smother giggles you seemed to be unable to stop. “Alright, alright… If I wasn’t stuck on these steps on your orders.” He threatened playfully, basking in the way that only made you throw your head back and laugh harder.
God, you did not belong in this place.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You apologized as he huffed, coming over to tousle his hair fondly.
It took all his willpower not to press up into your touch like some demanding housecat. Slinging an arm around your waist, he pulled you down to sit on his broad thigh.
“Think all this hard work is making you hysterical, angelfish, take a load off.”
“Bucky…” You murmured, reluctantly holding your full weight off him until he forced your hips down fully.
���Rest dammit, isn’t that what you’re always tell me to do?”
“But you’re actually injured…”
“So were you. They let you rest when this was fresh?” He asked softly, fingertips trailing across the abnormally smooth yet ridged surface of your burned and healed flesh.
Bucky could feel you twitching slightly in his arms, obviously not entirely certain how you felt about his touch on your scar and so he shifted to lace his fingers through yours instead.
“There were too many people to help.” You sighed. “Still are, I–”
“Just sit another minute. Can’t save ‘em all if you’re too tired to stand up.”
Your fingers closed around his as you exhaled shakily, head coming to rest on his shoulder. “I do want to save them all…and it’s never enough.”
“I know.” He whispered squeezing your side, lips brushing against your forehead.
The sound of voices caught his attention then – voices growing louder, growing closer. You leapt from his lap, and he reluctantly released you, assuming a casual posture as you grabbed a long stick to pull sterilized bandages from the pot and dump them into the sudsy water for scrubbing. Two guards rounded the corner, immediately barking at him.
“What are you doing back here?!”
“Hospital staff only, get out of here now.”
“Major Chalmers asked me to assist the Nurse, you can confirm it with him.” Bucky replied with a shrug, watching your eyes widen with curiosity.
“We will go confirm with him together, up.” The first guard spoke again, and Bucky rose stiffly, nodding to you before they led him inside.
------------
As you awoke the next morning to the sound of rain hammering against the roof, you were filled with relief that you had managed to wash and dry all of the laundry yesterday. It was still waiting in its baskets to be folded, but it would hold until your next free moment. Forcing yourself to feel satisfied with a few slices of the loaf of that black bread that had appeared in your room – you held your suspicions that Bucky may have played a role in its arrival – you dressed and emerged as your door was unlocked, blinking in surprise as Fitzgibbons entered the hospital along with Chalmers and Menzies.
You had honestly lost track of the days, a serious risk in the camp, and the fact that it was now Sunday, his shift and your day of rest, had completely slipped your mind. As a medically trained Sergeant, it was well within Chalmers’ rights to order Fitzgibbons to work in the hospital more often, but an early clash of personalities between Menzies and your surgical technician meant that his presence was only requested on a more limited basis.
“Morning Ma’am. Brought you a book to try and keep you off your feet.” He held out a battered paperback and you shook your head with a fond sigh as you accepted the copy of The Great Gatsby.
“Thank you, Fitz…sure you boys don’t need any help today?”
“You can help us by taking the day off as intended, Nurse.” Chalmers replied in a tone that brooked no argument and you nodded, retreating to your room to sit at the small table to crack open the book curiously.
The selection of reading material in the Red Cross library in camp was limited, dated. This book had been published twenty years ago, and you had a feeling you might have read it before, but it was hopefully going to keep you relaxed and your mind off the dozens of tasks you felt like you ought to be doing instead. Despite your predilection to turn inward and get caught up in an overwhelming sea of introspection, the story proved engaging enough to lose yourself in until a knock on the door jamb startled you.
“Mail call.” One of Bucky’s friends stood there, the blond with the gold teeth, grinning. He had a box tucked beneath his arm.
Confusion bloomed unabated across your face as you had not once received a piece of mail since you had been taken prisoner in January. No one had.
“I didn’t think that we were getting mail…” You slid a piece of scrap paper into the book to save your place.
“We’re not, Hambone, stop confusing angelfish.” Bucky appeared over his friend’s shoulder and snagged the box out from under his arm. “It’s those Red Cross boxes we thought we might get.”
“Man, I just wanted to say it once, still a kind of mail.” He grumbled as he strode back down the hall.
Bucky sighed, shaking his head as he set the box down on your table. “Sorry if he got your hopes up.”
Laughing dryly, you set your book down to pry open the already portioned box – each package meant for two servicemen. “Don’t worry, I’ve learned not to expect anything here.”
Spotting the can of powdered milk you held it out to him. “You take this.”
“Angelfish, why are you giving me your rations?” Bucky eyed you suspiciously and you raised an eyebrow in response.
“You’re healing bones and I’m not?”
“At least take half, put it in one of your old cans…”
Glaring at him a moment, you relented with a sigh, unable to deny the fact that it would be nice to have some to add to the bitter coffee. Digging through the remnants of your last box, you found the empty can from the allotment of powdered milk that had arrived in February and began decanting half of the fresh supply.
“You haven’t gotten a single letter? Not even your parents?” He asked quietly, leaning against the door frame.
Swallowing tightly, you slid the metal lid back into place on the cannister, shaking your head. “Figure things must be pretty bad if they can’t get the mail through. Not that I got a lot of mail before but…” You shrugged and held out the powdered milk to him. “Pretty sure it’s got a hole so use it quick.”
Stepping forward to take it carefully, Bucky’s eyes traced over your face curiously. “No handsome fella desperate for your scented stationery, angelfish? I find that hard to believe.”
You could not help but roll your eyes with a sarcastic noise. “Fellas don’t want girls like me, Bucky. They want some pretty thing waiting back home with the time to write pages long letters in looping cursive and those saucy acronyms and pretty spritzes of perfume. Not girls who spent so much time making a living they forgot to make a life.” Your eyes dropped to study the cans of corned beef, of ham, the fresh box of crackers, and small block of American cheese in your ration box. “I’m sure you’ve got a beautiful girl waiting stateside. Sweet and kind and not a whisp of a scar on her. Doesn’t know the sound of jackboots on floorboards or how to use a parachute or what it looks like when the life leaves someone’s eyes. That’s the kind of girl a man like you deserves, Bucky. To completely forget this nightmare even happened. Not this beat up, grungy, girl who wouldn’t even remember which fork to use at the dinner table–”
You barely registered the press of his lips against yours at first, mouth fumbling against his as you continued your litany of reasons why you were utterly unsuitable for him until at last you became fully aware of his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his kiss growing firmer until you stilled against him. An exhale sighed its way through your nose as the tension seeped from your bones, melting against his tantalizingly firm and broad chest. With a noise of deep reluctance, you forced yourself back, licking your lips slightly.
“You could get yourself in serious trouble doing things like that John…”
“Long as it’s not in trouble with you, angelfish.” He murmured fondly, tracing his fingertips along the curves of your ears before slowly pulling them back, tracing your jaw as he went, your nerve endings shimmering in the wake of his touch. “I just couldn’t bear to hear another word of that horseshit.”
A smirk tugged lazily at your lips, the tender flesh of them still humming slightly. “So if I spout nonsense, I get kissed, is that how this arrangement works?”
He exhaled sharply through pursed lips. “You can just ask, too. No need for all the absurd self-deprecations. Because the ‘fellas’ you speak of are idiots. You are a damn treasure, angelfish. Anyone who can’t see it isn’t worth your time.”
Feeling moisture gathering at your lash line, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him in to lay a firm kiss of appreciation on his lips, briefly glimpsing his look of surprise before your mouths collided. Mindful of his ribs, you slid your other hand to his hair, holding him close as his arms encircled your waist.
“I like this ‘arrangement.’” He breathed against your mouth when the pair of you were forced to come up for air.
“Mmmm. Well you’d better get out of here before someone comes looking for you.” You muttered, not making a move to release him.
“Absolutely.” He replied, only pulling you closer into him.
“Bucky…” You sighed, tone not nearly admonishing enough.
“Thirty more seconds.” He whispered.
The unmistakable and aforementioned sound of jackboots scraping across hardwood echoed down the hall and you started to shove at him. “Goon, goon!” You hissed and he back pedaled quickly to the threshold of the room, cradling the powdered milk under his arm.
“I tried reading that book, didn’t really understand the green light business.”
Chest heaving, you furrowed your brows, watching him gesture sharply to the paperback on the table beside your ration box and you inhaled in recognition.
“I think it’s some kind of metaphor in futility?” You blurted out, a long-lost lecture on the novel suddenly flooding back to your rescue as a guard strode past him down the hall, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Yeah, got enough of that in my real life.” Bucky huffed with easy nonchalance before shrugging. “Well, see you around, Nurse.”
“Thank you again, Major.” You nodded, desperately trying to even out your shaky breaths as Bucky disappeared down the hall and the guard continued out the back door, sending you slumping into your chair in relief.
Your trembling fingers traced the tiny smile that curled at your lips, not at all certain what had just transpired, but things between yourself and Bucky had definitely changed.
What most certainly did not change was the weather. The deluge persisted through the night and into the next day, Chalmers and Menzies arriving mud-splattered and damp after being released from their combines. The humidity was of absolutely no help to Desmond Brown, an infantryman from Pennsylvania who had been battling pneumonia for nigh on a week now. Dusty, as he was affectionately known, only seemed to grow weaker, and you were quite dismayed to note a bluish tinge to his fingernails and around his lips today.
“Won’t be long now.” Menzies uttered as you made your rounds and you nodded silently. “Doubt we have anything to prop him up and make him more comfortable?”
Scouring the hospital with your gaze, you shook your head with a frown. “I’ll move his cot against the wall and try to prop him against it – not the best but better than…” You left the fact that he surely felt as though he was drowning in his own fluids unspoken.
Menzies was smart enough to understand and nodded firmly. “Try and sit with him as much as you can today.”
“Yes, sir.” You nodded and the pair of you parted ways to put your various treatment plans into action.
Pushing the cot flush against the wall, even with its occupant still in place, was not terribly difficult. Malnourishment and illness had devoured much of Dusty’s muscle mass, though you did need a moment to catch your breath and recover, given that you too were three months into your POW diet. What proved hardest was keeping the man propped upright. Any time you would leave his side to check on another patient or help one of the surgeons with a task, you would find him slumped to the side or slid down into what he deliriously claimed was a more comfortable position.
Most concerning of all, a soft rattle had taken up residence in the back of his throat, audible with each exhale. It was worryingly known as the ‘death rattle’ and usually signalled the end was not far off. Fetching a cool cloth, you settled him into the most comfortable yet still propped-up position you could manage with a combination of his pillow and blanket and the wall before laying the cloth across his fevered forehead. Dusty blinked his glassy hazel eyes at you once, then twice, before his eyelids fell shut for the last time. His labored, rattled breathing continued on for a remarkable duration, and all the while you sat at his bedside, cradling his hand in yours.
You tried to remember sweet things to talk about – spring and its flowers, family dinners, Hershey bars from his native Pennsylvania, anything at all so he would know he was not alone. The men in the adjacent beds grew quiet, the only sound the insistent rain striking the roof and the fading breaths of your patient until even those were gone too. Confirming Dusty had passed by checking his pulse, you shifted his body to lay flat on the cot and covered him with the blanket, standing with a start to find Bucky leaning against the wall, soaked to the skin, watching quietly.
“You know where his friends are bunking?” He asked in a hushed voice, and you nodded, fishing out his chart to find the number of his combine, providing it softly. “I’ll tell ‘em.”
“Thank you, Major Egan.” You nodded, looking quickly as Menzies arrived to note the time of death as you glanced back at another meaningless loss, wondering when it could all just be over.
Bucky’s knuckles brushed against yours gently and you offered him the ghost of a smile before Chalmers was calling for you. “Try and stay dry, this is perfect trench foot weather.” You gave him a meaningful look, willing him to not become another tally on the death sheet, another hole in the POW graveyard.
Bucky nodded sharply in return. “Doin’ my best, angelfish.”
“Good.” You breathed before rushing off to try and keep someone else alive.
Another night, followed by another day of incessant rain, had the yard outside resembling a sea of mud. It kept everyone trapped indoors, even the prisoners who had been sleeping outside found their fellow men making room wedged between sleeping palettes lest people get swept away in the night. There was no meeting Bucky out back whilst doing laundry, nor any excuse to sneak off to quiet corners for a moment of privacy. There was simply too much to do and so all you were able to share, when he and his compatriots delivered another allotment of black bread that day, was an intense look of yearning before duty pulled you away once more.
The state of the tent had been weighing on your mind as it sagged lower and lower beneath the three-day onslaught of water, and it was no surprise when the canvas gave way the morning of the 25th, a mighty sound of rending fabric echoing through the space. A deluge of frigid, accumulated rainwater poured down onto the three men who had the misfortune of being positioned below the gaping tear, its ragged ends flapping in the breeze. Grabbing some towels of rough cotton, you were rushing along the slickened wooden floor to try and move them, dry them off, when the entire corner of the tent lurched and collapsed with a groan and further cries of distress.
“Help!!” Was all you had the mental capacity to yell in the face of the sight before you, hoping to summon Menzies and Chalmers.
To your immense surprise and relief, a flood of men began to pour in from the yard, most likely summoned by the sight of the collapse, but also perhaps your scream. As the lot of you began to unearth men from beneath the debris, you recognized Bucky’s friend with the gold teeth – Hambone, he had called him – as well as the brunette who had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt over ‘angel face.’
“Where should we put ‘em, angelfish?” Bucky’s voice broke through the cacophony from behind you and you turned back to him quickly, wondering when he had arrived.
“In the hall, towards my room.” You thought quickly on your feet, the very last available space in the hospital coming to mind.
With over half of the tent still intact, you worked with the group of volunteers to reinforce the structure that remained standing and ensure the men resting there were all right. Mercifully, the rain slowed for the first time in days, before stopping altogether. Barricading off the collapsed portion of the tent with the sodden, unusable cots, you turned to take stock of the rest of the patients, pleased to find them resting as comfortably as possible. You were drenched and filthy, but that was a secondary concern. Squelching your way inside, you gnawed on your lip to see a total of eight patients now sheltered in the hall with no bedding to speak of.
The feel of a towel being draped over your shoulders jerked your head to the right to see Bucky roughly rubbing at his dripping curls with a towel of his own.
“I am once again in your debt, Major Egan.” You sniffed, wringing out your shirt slightly into the rough cotton.
“Don’t mention it. I’m guessing the only beds you have for them are out there in Lake Moosburg?”
A small, incredulous snort escaped you despite your ragged state and he huffed an exhausted laugh in reply. Shaking your head with a sigh, you furrowed your brows. “We’ve got nothing but a few more towels, and an abundance of dirty rags and bandages…It stopped raining though.” You tagged on the tiniest piece of good news and lifted your knuckles to rap against the wooden wall for good luck, to help it hold, grinning fondly as he practically mirrored the motion.
“Small mercies. I’ll see if I can convince some of the others to part with their blankets in the name of the unwell. I’ll be back, angelfish.”
“You’re a good man, John Clarence Egan.” You murmured tenderly.
Bucky froze, eyeing you intently, unmoving. Not even breathing for nearly a minute before he exhaled heavily. “Suppose you did warn me you’d weaponize my full name, angelfish…” He rasped, fingers wrapping around your wrist to squeeze in a subtle but emotive gesture, his thumb stroking across the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, making you shiver.
“Sorry.” You whispered, having not anticipated the heaviness of the blow it would land, but Bucky quickly shook his head.
“I look forward to you almost killing me again, soon.” He smirked and squeezed one last time before releasing his grip on you to head outside, sloshing his way around the camp to scrounge up enough bedding to keep the displaced patients comfortable.
A variety of guards and their officers came to inspect the damage throughout the day, Lieutenant Colonel Clark making his presence felt as he appeared on Bucky’s heels and immediately demanded the tent be repaired to provide appropriate care for the men.
The next morning dawned sunny for the first time since the 21st, but the cheer brought by the change of the weather was significantly dampened by the appearance of the skeletal figures of Russian labourers. You had glimpsed them from time to time through the barbed wire of the fence behind the hospital, ghoulish figures forced to work in the kitchens, on camp maintenance and repairs, and burying the dead, but you had never been this close to them before. Clearly summoned to complete the repairs on the corner of the hospital tent, they moved in a slow shuffle, clothing barely more than limp rags around their spindly frames. Rumor had it they did not even receive Red Cross ration boxes, subsisting solely on the scraps provided by the SS camp administrators.
Your heart ached at the sight, and you longed to smuggle them food or something of comfort, but they were, at all times, surrounded by a ring of guards to keep them separate. To keep them apart from the rest of the POWs. Casting sympathetic glances their way, you collected the rest of the cots and bedding they unearthed from beneath the partial collapse and shifted it all outside to dry out in the sunshine, noting the increased presence of guards kept Bucky and his compatriots from dropping by.
You assumed the same would be true throughout the 27th as well, however, shortly after the sun reached its zenith, you straightened from a patient’s bedside to see him leading in an unfamiliar face, the shorter man cradling a bloody hand to his chest.
“McLeod here sliced himself good on one of the ration tins.”
“Sorry to trouble you, Ma’am, it just won’t seem to stop bleeding.” The Scottish brogue tumbling from McLeod’s lips matched his shock of red hair impeccably, even if it was a bit difficult to decipher.
“Take a seat right here and we’ll take a look.” You smiled and gestured to one of the freshly dried cots, wedged between other patients at it awaited the completion of its normal resting place.
As you perched on the edge of the cot beside him, setting a pile of bandages in your lap, you noted Bucky eyeing the crowd of SS guards and their waif-like labourers hard at work in the corner of the tent. Gathering McLeod’s injured hand in yours, you gently dabbed at the blood pooling in his palm, nodding as the depth of his cut was revealed.
“Think you might need some stitches here, let me fetch the surgeon.” You smiled reassuringly, pressing a wad of bandages over the wound, coaxing him to apply pressure to it before approaching Chalmers who was working just a few beds away from the construction zone.
The clatter of tools striking the wooden floor caught your attention before the frail body of a workman collapsed to the ground. Acting on instinct, you surged forward to check on him, a professional hazard when on duty in a hospital. The nearest guard, not quite so tall as the others and thereby twice as mean to make up for it, barked at you sharply.
“Get back, schwester.”
He gave you little warning before the butt of his rifle cracked against your shoulder, making you lurch back in pain and chastisement. The cramped quarters combined with the mud-slickened floorboards to send you sprawling backwards onto your hip, mortified, but as you immediately tried to scramble back up to your feet, a wall of humanity was in your way.
“She’s just tryna do her job, keep your shirt on.” You recognized Bucky’s terse growl first, followed by Chalmer’s British accent, made all the crisper in his annoyance.
“You would strike a woman who is only trying to help an unwell man?!”
Sliding backward across the slimy wood, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder.
“Let’s get you on your feet, lass.” McLeod grasped your elbow with his uninjured hand and hoisted you up despite the way your boots seemed reluctant to find purchase on the ground, holding you steady until you nodded that you were, in fact, stable.
“Nein!” The guard shouted back through the men who had formed a barricade between you. “No help!”
Frowning deeply you balled your fists to see the Russian POW laying in the mud, unaided, unacknowledged by any of the guards or his fellow labourers.
“Nurse, go get cleaned up.” Chalmers’ orders snapped your eyes to his face, and you swallowed tightly before turning on your heel, making your way to the utility room to fetch some water.
You could vaguely hear the surgeon arguing for the man’s life as you transitioned from the tent into the main hospital building, but you narrowed your focus to carefully stepping over the men sheltering in the hallway. To trying not to cry at the meaninglessness of it all. Stopping at your room to grab your wash basin, you looked yourself over in the mirror, sighing as you were thankfully not as mud stained as Chalmers’ order led you to believe. Bucky’s reflection as he peered into the room made you turn sharply to face him, gulping back tears as there were patients just steps away.
“You hurt?” He asked softly, seizing your hands.
You shook your head quickly. “Just a little bruised, but I’ll live.”
Bucky tugged on your hands to pull you against him, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “You’d better.”
Burrowing your face into his neck, you could only muster a nod in reply, clinging to him, careful not to hurt him, until you felt able to take more than just the tiniest sips of air for breaths. As the crushing weight lifted from your chest, you lifted your head to look at him apologetically. “Sorry…”
“Don’t apologise, angelfish, you were just trying to help that poor man.” He sighed, pressing his lips to your forehead. You felt one of his hands leave your back and heard him huff a laugh. “You might want to change your shirt though, your back’s covered in mud.”
Tensing, you craned your neck to look over your shoulder, muttering bitterly. “So that’s what Major Chalmers meant…”
“I’ll get you some fresh water and make myself scarce, too many goons watching.”
Nodding softly, you passed him the basin, hoping the construction would be done soon and things could go back to their bleak yet relative normalcy. As if hearing your wishes for the first time in months, the universe actually conspired to have the repairs to the hospital tent completed that evening, all eight patients returned to the cots in the corner, the hallway cleared. Everyone seemed to breathe a little easier that night as you settled them down for sleep, awaking to yet another gloriously sunny day and finally the chance to catch up on the overwhelming backload of laundry.
Setting your water to boil out back and prepping your wash basins, you returned to the hospital to collect the pails of rags and used bandages, smiling warmly as you found Chalmers in conversation with Bucky about one of the American patients. He sent you a friendly nod without breaking his concentration and you bent down to grab the pail that rested between the central desk and the cot where one of the medium-term residents, Pete Thompson from Ohio, was recovering quite well.
“Nurse, you gotta be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He gushed, as he was prone to do, fluttering his long, dark eyelashes.
The young man had lain it on pretty thick since the moment he had arrived several weeks ago, before traversing a brutal course of bronchitis, which he was thankfully coming out the other side of.
“Oh come off it, Thompson.” You laughed warmly. “You boys are so desperate for female company, I’m sure you would propose to Eleanor Roosevelt if she had the misfortune of crossing your paths in this place.”
The guffaw your joke earned had you grinning brightly in return, and you made sure he was comfortable before turning to grab the last couple buckets, blinking to find them in Bucky’s hands.
“This all of ‘em?” He raised an eyebrow and you nodded, leading him out the back way to set your load down in the nearly dry yard.
You hard barely turned around when his lips were crashing into yours, hands gripping your elbows, kissing you breathless.
“Wha…” You tilted your head at him, stunned, when he finally pulled back.
“That’s for slandering our First Lady but also diminishing yourself. Couldn’t just kiss you right there in front of everyone though, angelfish. Specially not that soldier boy getting fresh with you. Had to wait ‘till we were alone.” He smirked and pressed his lips against the tip of your nose, making you giggle airily.
“John Clarence Egan, never change.” You sighed dreamily.
His chest rumbled softly before his lips surged forward, already parted, to take advantage of your surprise and slide his tongue along yours hungrily. In retrospect, his ‘attack’ may have been well warranted, give your twice use of his full name. It was also not unwelcome, making you cling to his shoulders and whimper down his throat as he seemed to taste every inch of your mouth. The way the hair dusting his upper lip brushed against your face threatened to undo your knees, your head swimming with lack of oxygen and emotion until the sharp snap of the door’s hinges had Bucky wrenching back from you.
Pressing your lips together to take greedy breaths through your nostrils, you watched Menzies moodily deliver a missed bucket of rags, eyeing the pair of you suspiciously.
“Best move along Major, we have guests inspecting the handiwork of our unfortunate neighbours.”
Bucky nodded to him firmly, sucking in a deep breath as though to muster a reply. “Thanks for the heads up, Captain. See you around, angelfish.”
He tipped his imaginary cap to you, and you nodded in return, watching him disappear around the side of the building, heart hammering beneath your sternum, before lurching back to focus on the task at hand. To say that your thoughts stayed to him often throughout the course of the day would be an understatement.
-------------------------
The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist
Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8
#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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Worth
John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader
Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.
Word Count: 3.0k
Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff
A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)
Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!
A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.
“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.
You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone.
You, of course, said yes.
Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.
“Good evening, Major!”
“Good evening, Major!”
You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.
“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”
“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.
“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.
“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.
“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”
“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.
You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.
“What? I was just trying to..!”
The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.
“Your friends seem nice.”
Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes.
“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.”
You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond.
“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word.
You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.
“You look beautiful.”
Another pause. “What?”
“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”
Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.
“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.
John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his.
You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.
✨
“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”
The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.
He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.
Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.
You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.
Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”
You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?”
Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.”
“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.
“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.
“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”
You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food.
By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption.
Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.
“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!”
You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing.
Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”
You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.
The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.
Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.
John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.
“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”
You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.
“No, no problem at all.”
Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”
You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind.
“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”
You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.
“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”
You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap.
“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”
The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.
“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”
The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.
“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”
Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.
Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.
As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,
“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”
You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.
“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”
You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.
“Sorry if I ruined the night.”
You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”
“Yep.”
“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”
“Oh, for sure.”
“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”
His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”
“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”
“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.
“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”
Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.
“My lady.”
You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves.
He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends.
The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.
“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.”
You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly.
“Really?”
You continue to sway.
“Yeah.”
You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”
He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.
“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.”
The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.
“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”
You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.
He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.
“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”
He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you.
“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”
You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.
“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.”
He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.
So, you close your eyes and take the leap.
Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.
A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.
After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted.
Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.
You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.
Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.
“You are most definitely worth it.”
#masters of the air#mota#mota fanfic#mota fanfiction#john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#bucky egan fanfiction#bucky x reader#bucky x you#john bucky egan x reader#john egan x female reader#john egan x oc#major john egan#masters of the air fanfiction#mota fic#bucky egan x oc#bucky egan x female reader#bucky fanfic#hbo war fandom#hbo war fanfic#curtis biddick#mota spoilers#hbo war oc#WWII era#jada writes sometimes#callum turner fic#callum turner fanfiction#callum turner x reader#callum turner imagine#john egan imagine
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#masters of the air#motaedit#hbowaredit#james douglass#charles cruikshank#crank cruikshank#crank x doug#every friendship has its own particular dynamic so I can't judge hambone for not flinging himself bodily at blakely by way of hello#but that said. get you a man who looks at you like crank looks at doug#edit#**
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