#*jet goes roaring by*

[ichbinmeltdown]

This happened when my mom and I were waiting for the bus after an appointment

*Really loud train horn blares a few blocks away* What my brain impulsively told me to say: SHUT UP ASTROTRAIN!!!

[rootedinrevisions]

Since Forever

SUMMARY: After a harrowing near-death experience in the sky when a routine training exercise goes wrong, you and Jake are forced to confront the unspoken tension that's always simmered between you. With a crash landing and a moment that changes everything, the line between squadmates and something more begins to blur.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I'm sorry it's been like 3 weeks since you sent it in, but hopefully, it's worth the wait! Hope you enjoy it! xx

WARNINGS: Angst, Mutual Pining, Plane Crash (Smoke, Impact, Head Injury, Blood), Cussing

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The dry California air carried the hum of activity on the tarmac, the heat shimmering in waves off the asphalt as you stood in your flight suit, clipboard in hand. The roar of jets echoed in the background, a familiar symphony you’d grown accustomed to over the years. North Island was as bustling as ever, a mix of old faces and new ones prepping for the upcoming training exercises.

You were focused on your pre-flight checks, meticulously going over every detail on your clipboard. Attention to detail had always been your strong suit, something that had earned you respect in the cockpit and plenty of snide comments from one particular squad mate.

“Still babysitting that clipboard, Ace?”

You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Jake “Hangman” Seresin’s voice was unmistakable—smooth, cocky, and always laced with that infuriating Texan drawl.

“Still babysitting your ego, Bagman?” you shot back without missing a beat, your eyes remaining on your checklist.

From the corner of your eye, you saw him saunter closer, his helmet tucked under one arm, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Jake had a way of walking that oozed confidence, like he owned every space he entered. It was both maddening and, if you were honest with yourself, slightly impressive.

“Touché,” he drawled, stopping a few feet away. “But seriously, Ace, you’ve been doing this long enough to know the damn thing’s not going to sprout wings and fly off without you.”

You finally glanced up, arching a brow at him. “Says the guy who spent fifteen minutes arguing with the crew chief yesterday about the ‘perfect’ alignment of his seat harness.”

“That’s called being thorough,” Jake replied, unfazed. “You should try it sometime.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to your jet. “Is there something you actually need, or are you just here to be a pain in my ass?”

Jake’s grin widened. “Can’t a guy check in on his favorite squad mate?”

“Favorite?” you echoed, snorting. “You must be losing your touch, Hangman. Last time I checked, I was the one gunning for top marks on this run.”

“That’s what makes you my favorite,” he said smoothly, his tone dropping just enough to make your stomach do a small, unwelcome flip.

You hated how he could do that—how he could make the simplest comment sound like it was loaded with a thousand unspoken things. It was part of the tension that had simmered between you two for years, a strange, undefined thing neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud.

“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” you replied, setting your clipboard down. “I’ve got a jet to fly, and you’ve got an ego to stroke somewhere else.”

Jake tilted his head, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “Careful, Ace. One of these days, that sharp tongue of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”

You stepped closer, narrowing your eyes at him as you adjusted the strap on your helmet. “And one of these days, Seresin, you’re going to realize that not everyone is impressed by your southern charm.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. It was like a standoff, the air crackling with the kind of tension that was all too familiar between the two of you. Then Jake stepped back, a soft chuckle escaping him as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Fair enough,” he said, his grin still firmly in place. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He turned and started walking toward his jet, his gait as cocky as ever. You shook your head, exhaling slowly as you tried to refocus on the task at hand.

Damn him.

Even now, years after you’d first met, Jake Seresin still had the ability to get under your skin in a way no one else could. And despite the irritation bubbling in your chest, you couldn’t entirely shake the small, secret part of you that liked it.

* * * *

The sky was a perfect blue—no clouds, just an endless expanse stretching out in front of you. It was supposed to be a simple exercise, just another day in the air, but your instincts had been nagging at you all morning. Something felt off.

You were flying at full throttle, running through the mission parameters, your fingers lightly grazing the controls as you focused on the task at hand. In the distance, you could see Jake’s jet—smooth and precise, cutting through the air just like always. You kept your distance, the tension between you two still palpable, even miles above the earth.

Then, without warning, the engine sputtered.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, eyes flicking to the gauges. The warning lights blinked red, and your stomach dropped like a stone. The engine—your primary engine—locked up.

“Ace, you copy?” The crackling voice of your Captain came through your comms, sharp and urgent. “What’s your status?”

You took a steadying breath, trying to keep your pulse under control. The jet was starting to lose altitude, slowly at first, but it wasn’t going to be slow for long.

“Engine’s locked,” you said, voice tight. You glanced down at your instruments again, hoping for a miracle. “I’m losing power. Going down.”

 Jake’s voice exploded through your earpiece. “Don’t do anything stupid, Ace. You hear me? Eject if you have to!”

The words felt like a slap in the face. He was always the first one to play the hero, always telling you what to do like you were some rookie.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Seresin,” you snapped, teeth gritting as you struggled to maintain control. You banked hard to the left, trying to level out, but the jet was sluggish—too sluggish. It was dropping faster now, and the ground was coming up at you way too quickly. “I’m not ejecting.”

“I said—” Jake’s voice broke through again, but you could already hear the Captain cutting him off.

“Ace, listen to me. You have two options right now,” the Captain said, his tone firm, no room for negotiation. “Eject, or try to bring her in. But you don’t have much altitude left.”

You had a split second to make a choice. The sky was shrinking, the earth creeping closer with every heartbeat. Your mind raced—ejecting would be easy, sure. But it would cost you the plane, and it would mean another mission down the drain. And there was always that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you had to rely on someone else to pull you from the wreckage.

You focused, blocking out the voices in your comms, focusing on the controls, on what you could do.

You had one good engine. It wasn’t ideal, but you had just enough altitude to make a hard landing. If you timed it right.

“I’m landing this bird,” you said, your voice steely with determination. You could feel the sweat building under your helmet, your pulse pounding in your ears, but your hands were steady. “I’ve got this.”

“Ace!” Jake’s voice came again, a mix of frustration and panic threading through his words. “You don’t have the altitude—”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you cut him off, your jaw clenched as you took a deep breath. The ground was closing in fast now, the harsh reality of the situation crashing over you. You had seconds to decide how you were going to do this. You could almost hear your heartbeat in your throat as you worked the throttle, pushing the remaining engine to its limits.

“Ace, eject now!” Jake was practically shouting now, but you didn’t have the time to argue. You were already lining up the rough terrain, calculating the risks in your head. You’d done it before—this was just another challenge to overcome. “If you crash—”

“I said I’ve got this!” you growled, pushing the throttle forward and making a last-ditch effort to pull the jet back into some semblance of control.

The sound of the engine was sickening now, almost wheezing, but it was still holding on. You could feel the nose of the plane dip, and you knew it was time. There was no turning back now.

You aimed for the small strip of flat ground, mentally calculating the distance between you and the crash site, praying to every deity that you could pull this off.

The jet dropped faster.

Your stomach lurched.

You could hear the voices of your team—your Captain—fading in the background, their instructions turning into static. All you could hear now was the roar of the engine, your breath, and the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.

And then the wheels hit the earth. It was harder than you expected. The jet groaned under the strain, the fuselage screeching as you fought for control. The wheels bounced once, twice, and the jet jerked to the side as you fought the controls with everything you had left. The impact was brutal. You slammed into the seat, the world going black for a split second before your mind jolted back into reality.

Your head throbbed, a sharp pain searing behind your eyes. You blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but everything felt off. Dizzy. The pain was sharp, but you couldn’t focus on it now.

Your hands still gripped the controls like you were trying to hold the whole world together. You could feel the tension in your neck, the tremor in your hands.

And then, the voice you hadn’t realized you were waiting for came through your comms, strained and desperate:

“Ace, talk to me. Are you okay?”

You were silent for a moment, trying to find your bearings. The crash had knocked the wind out of you, but you had to focus. You had to focus.

“I’m... fine,” you gritted out. Your vision was blurry, your head swimming, but you needed to keep it together. “I just need to—”

The world went black for a few moments. The crash had been rough, everything moving too fast, and then you were suddenly weightless, disoriented, and struggling to remember how you had even ended up in this situation. The impact had jarred you, rattling your body so hard you weren’t sure which way was up. The cockpit was filled with smoke, the once-pristine view of the sky now replaced by the harsh, metallic scent of burning fuel.

You could hear the sounds of the control tower in your headset, distant voices now muffled and indistinct. Your head throbbed, dizziness clouding your thoughts. Something was wrong—you were wrong—but the panic started to subside as your mind tried to latch onto something, anything familiar.

The sound of a plane's engines revving pierced the air, and that was when you realized you weren’t alone anymore. Jake's voice cut through the haze.

"Stay with me, Ace, I’m almost there" he barked, his tone uncharacteristically sharp, the usual cocky bravado gone. His voice was full of urgency, tight with a level of fear you hadn’t expected to hear.

You managed to open your eyes, the world around you spinning, but through the haze, you saw his plane descending in the distance—he was landing, landing without permission. Your heart skipped a beat, knowing he was disregarding protocol to get to you.

Within seconds, Jake's jet was on the ground, its wheels screeching as it touched down, and he was already sprinting toward you. There was no waiting for rescue teams, no giving orders. It was just him, and you.

Your chest was tight, your breath shallow, and for a brief moment, you wondered if it was all just a nightmare. Then, through the haze of your spinning mind, Jake’s face appeared—his eyes wide, his expression frantic as he reached the wreckage.

Without hesitation, he pulled open the hatch, the cockpit door groaning under the force. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t waste a second. He carefully pulled your helmet off of you. His eyes moving to the blood that was caused from the impact. His hands then started working to undo your harness, fingers shaking as he snapped the straps free, pulling you into his arms before you could even comprehend what was happening.

His breath was frantic, like he was holding it in, waiting for some kind of confirmation that you were really there. That you were still alive. And in that moment, as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, the world started to stabilize. Your breath came in shaky gasps, your head pounding as the dizziness slowly began to fade.

You blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from your brain. The weight of your body felt heavier than normal, your limbs still stiff from the crash. But it wasn’t just your body that felt like it was slowing down—it was your mind. Everything was racing too fast, the adrenaline still pushing you into action, but in Jake’s arms, there was a moment of stillness. A second where nothing mattered but the fact that you were safe.

"Don’t you ever do that again," Jake muttered, his voice trembling despite the tough exterior he always wore. His words hit you harder than any of the physical pain, and you felt a strange, overwhelming wave of emotion rush through you. It was as though all the walls you’d both built over the years had crumbled with one unspoken truth. Jake was scared, and in this moment, it wasn’t about flying, or missions, or protocols. It was about you.

You barely registered that you were leaning into him, your chest falling against his as you came back to yourself, your body reacting without thinking, your mind still spinning. His hands were gently running over your back, soothing you, grounding you, even though you could feel the anxiety still vibrating through him.

“J-Jake,” you stuttered.

"I'm here. I’ve got you." His words were a soft mantra, repeated over and over as if he needed to hear them as much as you did.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog. 

“I... I’m fine,” you said, your voice shaky as you pulled away slightly, lifting your head from his chest. But the moment you tried to step back, you felt his arms tighten, keeping you close. The intensity in his gaze was enough to make you stop moving entirely.

“No, you’re not fine,” he shot back, his voice low but full of conviction. His hands still rested on your back, holding you steady, like he wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He wasn’t just holding you. He was holding you like he was terrified of losing you.  “You scared the hell out of me, Ace.”

You swallowed, feeling a weight in your chest you hadn’t been prepared for. The vulnerability in his words was jarring. He had never let his guard down like this before. But there it was—raw, unfiltered concern.

The words stuck in your throat, but somehow you found yourself meeting his gaze, feeling the space between you two close, the tension palpable. 

"Since when did you ever care about me like that?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, more of a breathless thought than anything.

Jake froze, his hand still on your arm as he stared at you, his jaw tight, eyes searching yours. For a moment, the world felt suspended in that one breath between you two. He didn’t back away. Instead, his face softened, his expression caught between frustration and something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

“Since fucking forever, you idiot,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion, almost a growl.

Jake stepped closer, his hand slipping from your arm to the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the skin there in a rare, intimate gesture. The contact sent a jolt through you, and suddenly, nothing about this situation felt like just another close call. This felt like something else entirely. Something you couldn’t ignore any longer.

“I thought I was gonna lose you today,” Jake murmured, his voice low, steady now but still thick with emotion. His forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “I can’t lose you, Ace. I don’t think I’d make it.”

The weight of his words landed heavily in your chest. The truth between you two was finally out, raw and real. You swallowed, trying to hold back the lump in your throat.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jake,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Not without you.”

Jake sighed and then asked you again, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, your voice softer now. You still felt the ache in your head, the sharp sting in your chest, but it wasn’t nearly as important as the way Jake was looking at you now.

His hands slid down your back, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. You could see his jaw clench, the words stuck somewhere between his teeth, and then he shook his head.

“Are you? You sure as hell didn’t look fine in that damn cockpit,” he muttered, his voice low and tight. “You could’ve—You’re the closest thing I’ve got to family out here, Ace," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I... I don’t know what I’d do without you." His words were a stark contrast to the cocky bravado he usually carried. This was real, and it was raw. "You don’t get to put me through that again, got it?"

You swallowed hard, your heart beating so fast it felt like it might explode in your chest. All the tension, all the unspoken things that had hung between you two for years, were now laid bare in the open. There was no hiding anymore. No pretending like you didn’t feel it, too.

“Jake…” you started, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Instead, you pulled him down into a kiss—soft at first, tentative, but it was as if something broke open between you. You felt the fear, the relief, the longing all tangled up in that moment. His lips moved against yours, a little desperate, a little shaky, but it was real.

When you pulled away, you were both breathing heavy, eyes still locked, both of you trying to process what had just happened.

“I don’t know what this is, Jake,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly.

“I don’t either,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair as if trying to pull himself together.

The words hung between you two, thick with meaning. You didn’t know what was going to happen next, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe you didn’t need to figure it out all at once.

You both stayed there, in the middle of the wreckage, still alive, still here—and for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

But then, all too soon, reality crashes back in.

A voice from outside the cockpit, sharp and professional, cuts through the intimacy of the moment like a splash of cold water.

“Hangman! Ace!” The search and rescue team has arrived, and the urgency in their voice snaps Jake out of his daze. “We need to get them out of there, now. Base is requesting immediate transport.”

Jake pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself. His hand still lingers on your waist, the warmth of it grounding you, but his eyes betray a hesitation—reluctance to let go of the moment.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here, Ace,” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself as much as to you.

You nod, feeling your heart hammering again, but for a different reason now. His gaze softens, and there’s a flash of something unspoken between you—a promise, maybe. You can’t quite find the words for it, but you feel it deep in your bones.

The medics are waiting outside, and with one final, reluctant glance at you, Jake starts to lift you away from the cockpit. With his steady presence, and one arm around your waist, he helps you out of the cockpit.

“Easy now,” he murmurs as he guides you down, keeping you close to his chest as if he can’t bear to let you out of his arms just yet. “Take it slow.”

As soon as your feet touch the ground, the search and rescue team rushes to assist you, but Jake doesn't let go immediately. His fingers linger on your arm, his gaze flicking between you and the team as if he’s weighing something—like he’s not quite ready to leave you in someone else’s hands. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, but the team is already ushering you toward the waiting helicopter.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, voice firm.

“Jake, you don’t have to—” you start, but he interrupts, his tone brokering no argument.

“No. I’m staying with you.”

The hum of the helicopter’s blades is loud against your ears, but everything else seems muffled as you lie back on the stretcher, still reeling from the crash and the kiss that’s left a strange warmth in your chest. The medics are busy around you, but you can barely focus on them, your mind still racing, spinning from the events of the last few minutes.

The moment Jake climbs in beside you, his presence fills the space. He doesn't hesitate, sitting down next to your stretcher and taking your hand immediately, his fingers curling around yours like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. His face is tight with worry, but the way he holds your hand gives you a strange sense of comfort, something steady amidst the chaos.

The medics move quickly, checking your vitals and assessing your condition, but you can barely register it, your heart still thumping in your chest as the adrenaline from the crash ebbs away, leaving you exhausted. One of the medics starts to remove your flight suit, carefully peeling it off your shoulders to get a better look at any possible injuries, leaving you in nothing but a thin tank top that clings to your skin.

You feel exposed, vulnerable, as the cool air brushes against your skin. It’s an unsettling feeling, but Jake’s hand is still in yours, and when the medic starts to prod at your ribs, you squeeze his hand instinctively, a shiver running down your spine.

“Hey,” Jake murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he leans in closer, his gaze never leaving you. “Focus on me, okay? Look at me.”

His voice is calm, reassuring, and even though you're still reeling, his presence is grounding you, pulling you out of the haze of discomfort and medical poking. His thumb rubs small circles over the back of your hand as the medic continues his examination, but Jake doesn't flinch. He doesn't pull away.

“Just look at me,,” Jake repeats, his voice steady. “You’re fine. I’m here.”

You manage to meet his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze sends a strange warmth flooding through you, cutting through the nervousness. In this moment, it’s just you and him, as if the rest of the world has faded away. You want to say something—tell him that you're okay, that you don’t need all this attention—but the words get lost in your throat.

Instead, you hold onto him tighter, needing him to keep you tethered, to keep you from feeling so exposed and raw.

The medic moves on to checking your head, and you wince at the touch, the sting of pain making you flinch. Jake immediately leans forward, his hand tightening around yours as he shifts closer.

“Easy, Ace,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. Focus on me. That’s it.”

You nod, trying to focus on his words, trying to push the discomfort and the questions swirling in your mind to the back of your head. His presence is like a lifeline. His voice is the one thing that makes you feel like you’re not alone in this. Like you're not just another casualty.

“Once they’re done poking and prodding, we’re going to get you something strong to drink,” Jake says softly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile as his thumb brushes against your hand once more. “And I’m not talking about water. I’m thinking something a little more... celebratory.”

A part of you wants to laugh, but you're too exhausted, too wired from the whole experience. Still, there's a glimmer of something in Jake’s eyes now, something more than just the mission or the tension between you. There’s something new in his gaze, like a shift, and you feel it too—this unspoken understanding between you both that things are different now.

"You're gonna be the death of me, you know that?" you murmur, your voice hoarse from the adrenaline. "One minute, you're flying like a maniac, and the next, you're talking about taking me out for a drink like it's a... date."

Jake’s grin widens slightly, the kind of smile that only happens when he’s completely unguarded. “I’m thinking it’s more than a date, Ace,” he replies, squeezing your hand again. “Maybe it’s a... celebration. You know, to celebrate you not getting yourself killed.”

His tone is playful, but there’s something real behind it, a tenderness that wasn’t there before. Something that’s been waiting to come to the surface for a long time.

The helicopter ride drags on as the medics continue their work, but Jake stays by your side the entire time, never letting go of your hand, his steady presence like a quiet promise that he’s not going anywhere. His words from earlier echo in your mind, and you realize that, for the first time, you don’t feel alone. Not with him here. Not after everything you’ve been through.

When you finally land back at base, you’re still a little shaky, but the thought of what Jake said—of what he hinted at—keeps you grounded, keeps you looking forward to what comes next, whatever that is.

[callsigns-haze]

You knew? Part 1 of 3

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader! Callsign Ace

Chapter Summary: In a clever setup orchestrated by Hangman and Phoenix, Rooster and Ace, two colleagues with a tense relationship, unknowingly begin exchanging flirtatious emails under anonymous identities. As they bond over shared work frustrations, they eventually realize they’ve been emailing each other all along. The discovery leads to frustration and anger, particularly from Ace, who feels betrayed by Hangman’s manipulation. The revelation complicates their already strained relationship.

Warning: This story includes themes of manipulation and workplace tension, leading to conflicts and personal revelations.

The sun beat down on NAS North Island as jets roared across the sky, the rhythmic hum of engines echoing throughout the base. Inside the hangar, pilots and crew members moved with practiced ease, their chatter blending with the distant sound of drills.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw sat on a bench in the locker room, his flight suit unzipped to his waist. He absentmindedly ran a hand through his tousled hair, his thoughts far from the noise around him. Lately, a gnawing sense of loneliness had settled in, one he couldn't quite shake.

Just as he was lost in thought, the door swung open with a bang. Natasha "Phoenix" Trace rushed in, her boots skidding slightly on the polished floor. There was a determined look in her eyes, one Rooster knew all too well—she was on a mission.

"Rooster, got a minute?" she asked, barely giving him time to respond before thrusting a crumpled piece of paper into his hand.

He frowned, unfolding the note to reveal an email address scrawled in neat handwriting. Confusion crossed his face as he looked up at Phoenix. "What's this?"

"An email address," Phoenix replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I know you can be slow sometimes, but I didn’t think I’d have to explain that part."

Rooster rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. "I can see that. But whose?"

Phoenix crossed her arms, her expression turning serious. "Listen, I’ve seen you moping around here, and frankly, it’s pathetic. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you like this. So, I talked to a friend of mine—a good one—and got her email for you. The only rule is, you can’t ask her name. And she won’t ask for yours either."

Rooster blinked, taken aback. "You’re setting me up? Since when did you become a matchmaker?"

"Since you started acting like a lovesick puppy," Phoenix shot back, her tone teasing but her eyes sincere. "Look, just email her. No expectations, no pressure. Just talk. See where it goes."

Rooster glanced down at the email again, something about the mystery of it intriguing him. He’d never done anything like this before, and maybe that was exactly why he should give it a try.

"Alright," he finally said, tucking the paper into his pocket. "I’ll do it. But if this turns out to be some weird prank, I’m coming after you."

Phoenix laughed, the tension easing between them. "Trust me, Rooster. You might actually thank me for this one. Just don’t try to figure out who she is. Let it happen."

As Rooster watched her leave, he felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity. Maybe this was what he needed after all—a chance to connect with someone new, without the weight of the past hanging over him.

Across the base, in another part of the hangar, Y/N Y/L/N, known by her call sign "Ace," was finishing up a maintenance check on her jet. She wiped the sweat from her brow, satisfied with the day's work, when Jake "Hangman" Seresin approached her, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Hey, Ace," he called out, waving a folded piece of paper in the air as he jogged over.

She raised an eyebrow, instantly suspicious. "What’s with the look, Seresin?"

He handed her the paper with a flourish, like he was presenting her with a winning lottery ticket. "Just a little something I thought you might appreciate. It’s an email address."

Ace unfolded the paper, eyeing the email address written there. "Whose is it?"

"That’s the fun part," Hangman replied, leaning against the jet with a smirk. "I know you’ve been keeping to yourself lately, and I figured you could use a distraction. So, I talked to a buddy of mine and got you this. The only rule is, you can’t ask him who he is, and he can’t ask about you. Just email him. See what happens."

Ace looked at the email address again, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Hangman said, his voice uncharacteristically sincere. "No games, no strings. Just an honest chance to connect with someone. What do you say?"

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket. "Alright, I’ll give it a shot. But if this is your idea of a joke, Seresin, I’m not going to be happy."

Hangman laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Scout’s honour, Ace. I think you’ll like this one."

As he walked away, Ace couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. The anonymity of it, the chance to talk to someone without the usual baggage—it was intriguing. Maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of surprise she needed.

---

The day was winding down as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the base. The roar of jet engines had softened, leaving a quieter hum in the air.

Ace, tired but satisfied with the day’s work, was making her way out of the hangar. She was eager to get home, her mind already turning over what she might say in that first email to the mysterious address Hangman had given her.

As she rounded a corner, focused more on her thoughts than on where she was going, she collided hard with someone coming the other way. The impact jolted her back to reality, and she instinctively gripped her helmet tighter to avoid dropping it.

"Watch where you’re going!" she snapped, the words flying out before she even registered who she’d bumped into.

Rooster, equally caught off guard, scowled as he steadied himself. "Maybe you should try not walking around with your head in the clouds," he shot back, his tone sharp.

Ace narrowed her eyes at him, irritation bubbling up immediately. Rooster was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. Their relationship had always been rocky—too much ego and too many unresolved tensions.

"You’re one to talk," she muttered, brushing past him. "I’m surprised you didn’t trip over your own ego on the way here."

Rooster rolled his eyes, not willing to let it slide. "Yeah, well, at least I don’t need to be constantly reminded which way is up."

They glared at each other for a moment longer before Ace turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Rooster behind with a bitter taste in his mouth. As she walked away, she could feel the tension still crackling in the air, but she refused to let it ruin her evening.

From across the hangar, Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin watched the interaction unfold, exchanging worried glances. They had been casually chatting when they noticed their two targets—Ace and Rooster—heading straight for each other. Now, as they observed the icy exchange, Phoenix let out a sigh.

"Well, that went about as well as a mid-air collision," she murmured, shaking her head.

Hangman chuckled nervously, though his usual confidence was tinged with doubt. "Yeah, I’m starting to think this might have been a bad idea. They can barely be in the same room without biting each other’s heads off."

Phoenix crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Maybe… or maybe this is exactly what they need. You know how it is—sometimes the people who push each other’s buttons the most are the ones who end up surprising you."

Hangman shrugged, though he still looked uncertain. "I hope you’re right, because if this backfires, we’re both going to hear about it for the rest of our lives."

Phoenix smirked, her confidence returning. "Trust me, Hangman. We’ve seen stranger things happen around here."

-

Ace slid into the driver’s seat of her car, tossing her helmet onto the passenger seat with a frustrated huff. The encounter with Rooster still lingered in her mind, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her. Not tonight.

She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper with the email address, staring at it for a moment before finally unlocking her phone. With a deep breath, she opened a new message and began typing, her fingers moving more quickly as she decided what to say.

Hey there, she started, keeping it simple. I’m not sure how this whole thing is supposed to work, but I guess we’re both in the same boat. So, here’s to whatever comes next.

She hesitated for a moment, then hit send before she could second-guess herself. Leaning back in her seat, she let out a slow breath, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nerves.

-

Back at his apartment, Rooster had just kicked off his boots and was settling in when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he saw a new email notification.

Curious, he opened it and read the message, a grin slowly spreading across his face. The casual tone, the uncertainty—it was refreshing. Whoever this person was, they weren’t overthinking it, and he liked that.

Hey yourself, he typed back, his mood lightening as he responded. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

He hit send, feeling a flicker of excitement. There was something fun about the anonymity of it all—no names, no faces, just two people connecting through words.

As he leaned back, waiting to see if they’d reply, he had no idea that the person on the other end was the very same pilot he’d just butted heads with. And for now, maybe that was for the best.

-

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace sat on her couch, feet tucked underneath her as she scrolled through her emails. The mystery contact had quickly become the highlight of her evening, a welcome distraction from the routine of her day. She opened his latest email with a sense of anticipation.

Hey yourself, it began. I’m not sure how this is supposed to go either, but I’m game to find out. Let’s see where this takes us.

She couldn’t help but smile. There was something refreshing about this—no expectations, no judgments, just a conversation. She quickly typed a response.

Well, I guess we’re both in uncharted territory here. So, let’s start simple—how was your day?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster kicked back on his couch, his phone in hand. The quiet of his apartment felt more bearable with the company of his mystery emailer. When her reply came through, he read it with a growing interest.

Pretty standard—flew a few maneuvers, avoided crashing into anyone, and had a less-than-pleasant encounter with someone who seems to think they own the sky. You?

He chuckled to himself before typing back.

Sounds like a typical day in our line of work. As for me, I spent most of my day fixing things up and trying not to lose my patience with a certain someone who seems to thrive on pushing my buttons.

ACE’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Ace read his email and felt a spark of curiosity. The way he talked about his day sounded oddly familiar, like they might have more in common than she’d initially thought. She responded with a hint of playfulness.

Fixing things up? Sounds like we might work in the same field. My day involved some pretty similar frustrations—mostly with equipment, though a few people came close. What’s the most interesting part of your job?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT

Rooster raised an eyebrow as he read her reply. Was it possible they worked in the same industry? The thought intrigued him, but he decided to keep it vague.

The most interesting part? Probably the high-stakes situations. There’s nothing quite like the rush you get when everything’s on the line. What about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Ace’s curiosity deepened. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they might be closer in their professional lives than either of them realized. She replied with a smile.

I’d have to agree with that. There’s something addictive about the adrenaline, the way you have to think on your feet. It’s not for everyone, but it definitely keeps things interesting. Ever have a moment where you thought, ‘This is it, this is why I do this’?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT NIGHT

Rooster felt a connection growing with this mystery person. The way she described the job, the adrenaline—it all resonated with him.

Definitely. There’ve been a few moments where it all comes together, and you remember why you signed up in the first place. It’s those moments that make the tough days worth it. Sounds like you know exactly what I mean.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace smiled at the screen. There was an undeniable connection between them, something that went beyond the surface.

I do. It’s the reason we keep coming back, isn’t it? The rush, the challenge. So, what’s your favorite part of the day—when you’re up there, or when you’re down here figuring it all out?

She hit send, the thrill of the conversation growing with each exchange.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her email, feeling that same thrill. It was like they were dancing around the details, both aware they were probably in the same line of work, but neither willing to say too much.

Honestly? It’s a bit of both. I love the freedom and the rush of being up there, but there’s something satisfying about the process of figuring things out down here too. You?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s heart raced as she typed her response, the anonymity of their conversation adding to the excitement.

Same here. There’s a balance to it that I love. The thrill of being in the thick of it, and the quiet satisfaction of making sure everything runs smoothly when it’s all over. I guess you could say it’s a perfect mix of chaos and control.

She sent the message, feeling more connected to this stranger than she had to anyone in a long time.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster read her reply, a grin spreading across his face. There was no denying it now—they were definitely in the same field. He wondered if they’d ever crossed paths without even knowing it.

Couldn’t have said it better myself. There’s something about that mix that’s just right. Maybe one day we’ll get the chance to compare notes in person—who knows?

He sent the email, his curiosity about her growing with every word.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Ace’s pulse quickened as she read his last message. The thought of meeting him, of finding out who he was, sent a thrill through her.

Maybe we will. It’s a small world, after all. In the meantime, I’m enjoying getting to know you through these little windows into each other’s lives. Who knew this would turn out to be so fun?

She sent the message, already eager to see what he’d say next.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EARLY MORNING

Rooster leaned back, thinking about how surreal this all was. There was something almost magical about connecting with someone this way, without even knowing their name.

I have to admit, I’m enjoying it too. There’s something about the mystery that makes it all the more interesting. Who knows where this might lead?

He sent the message, his mind racing with possibilities. The night had turned out far better than he could have imagined.

---

The sun had barely risen over the base, casting a soft, golden light across the tarmac. Jets stood in neat rows, their sleek forms gleaming under the morning sun. The day was just beginning, but already there was a sense of energy in the air—a mix of anticipation and routine that every pilot knew well.

Ace arrived at the hangar, her steps quick and determined. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, especially not after the strange, unexpected thrill of the email exchange last night. She had stayed up far too late, caught up in the banter with her mystery contact, and now she was paying for it. Her mind was still partially back in that conversation, trying to piece together who the person on the other end might be.

But her focus snapped back to the present the moment she saw him.

Bradshaw was already there, leaning casually against one of the jets with that familiar, infuriating smirk on his face. He was chatting with a couple of other pilots, his easy laughter carrying across the hangar. As soon as he noticed her, the smirk widened.

"Well, well, look who finally decided to show up," Rooster called out, his voice dripping with mock surprise.

Ace rolled her eyes, her irritation flaring instantly. "Some of us don’t need to parade around like peacocks just to get attention, Rooster."

He pushed off from the jet and strolled toward her, his hands in his pockets. "Oh, I don’t know, Ace. A little flair never hurt anyone. But I guess subtlety isn’t really your style, is it?"

She glared at him, crossing her arms. "You wouldn’t know subtlety if it flew up and hit you in the face."

Rooster chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. "Maybe not, but at least I don’t go around with a permanent chip on my shoulder. Lighten up, Ace. Not everything has to be a competition."

She stepped closer, refusing to back down. "When you’re around, everything is a competition. Or maybe you just don’t like losing."

Rooster’s eyes flashed with a mix of amusement and challenge. "You think I’m losing? That’s cute. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night."

Ace’s jaw clenched, her irritation now fully transformed into a burning anger. "You know what, Rooster? One of these days, that ego of yours is going to get you in trouble."

He shrugged, unbothered by her words. "Maybe. But at least I won’t be the one who’s bitter and alone because I’m too stubborn to let anything slide."

Before Ace could fire back, the sound of a nearby jet engine roared to life, signalling that it was time to get to work. She shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and heading toward her plane. Rooster watched her go, shaking his head with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

The pilots gathered in the briefing room, a large, sterile space lined with chairs facing a wall of screens. The air was thick with the usual blend of tension and focus that accompanied every pre-flight briefing. Ace took a seat near the front, determined to focus on the mission and ignore Rooster, who had taken a seat a few rows behind her.

Phoenix stood at the front, leading the briefing with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She outlined the day’s manoeuvres and objectives, her voice calm and authoritative. But even as she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice the occasional, heated glances exchanged between Ace and Rooster.

It didn’t take long for the tension to bubble over.

Phoenix was in the middle of explaining a particularly complex manoeuverer when Rooster leaned back in his chair and spoke up, his tone casual but clearly intended to provoke.

"Some of us might need a refresher on this one. Don’t want anyone getting lost up there."

Ace stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. "If you’re worried about keeping up, Rooster, maybe you should take notes."

A few of the other pilots exchanged glances, sensing the tension and doing their best to stay out of it. Phoenix sighed internally, knowing that once Ace and Rooster started, it was almost impossible to get them to stop.

"Alright, knock it off, you two," Phoenix said, her tone firm. "We’re here to work as a team, not to see who can throw the best insults. Save it for after the mission."

Ace bit back a retort, forcing herself to focus on the briefing instead of the urge to wipe that smug look off Rooster’s face. Rooster, for his part, simply leaned back and smirked, satisfied that he had gotten under her skin once again.

The day’s exercises were intense, a series of high-speed manoeuvres designed to push the pilots to their limits. Ace was in her element, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she focused on every turn, every dive. But no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t completely block out the presence of Rooster’s jet nearby.

Every time she checked her radar or adjusted her position, there he was—always close, always just a little too close. It felt like he was deliberately shadowing her, testing her, trying to outmanoeuvre her at every opportunity.

"Stay in your lane, Rooster," Ace muttered under her breath, though she knew he couldn’t hear her.

But it was clear from his manoeuvres that he was trying to show her up. Every roll, every dive was executed with precision, as if he was daring her to do better.

Ace grit her teeth and pushed her jet harder, determined not to let him get the upper hand. She mirrored his moves, staying right on his tail as they looped and rolled through the sky. The rivalry between them burned hotter with each passing moment, the tension building until it was almost unbearable.

But no matter how hard she pushed, Rooster was right there, matching her move for move. The frustration built up inside her until she could hardly see straight, her focus narrowing to just one thing: beating him.

When the exercises finally ended and the jets returned to base, Ace felt a wave of both relief and exhaustion. She landed her jet with a bit more force than necessary, her frustration still simmering just beneath the surface.

Back on the ground, the pilots gathered in the hangar to debrief and cool down. Ace was in the middle of checking her jet when Rooster walked by, a smug grin on his face.

"Looks like you were struggling a bit up there," he said, his tone infuriatingly casual.

Ace straightened up, fixing him with a cold stare. "I wasn’t struggling. But it’s cute that you think so."

Rooster shrugged, clearly unfazed. "If you say so. Maybe next time you’ll actually keep up."

Ace stepped closer, her frustration boiling over. "I don’t need to keep up with you, Rooster. If anything, you’re the one who’s slowing me down."

His grin widened, as if her anger was just what he’d been hoping for. "Slowing you down? Maybe you’re just not as fast as you think."

The two stood toe to toe, the tension between them crackling in the air. It was always like this—one little comment, one tiny spark, and they were at each other’s throats. Neither was willing to back down, and it was only a matter of time before one of them said something they couldn’t take back.

But before it could escalate any further, Phoenix walked over, her expression exasperated.

"Will you two knock it off already?" she said, stepping between them. "We’ve got enough to deal with today without you two bickering like school kids."

Ace took a deep breath, forcing herself to step back. Rooster, too, backed off, though the smug look never left his face.

"Fine," Ace muttered, turning her attention back to her jet. "Just stay out of my way."

Rooster gave a mock salute, his smirk still in place. "Whatever you say, Ace."

As he walked away, Ace’s frustration simmered, but she forced herself to focus on her work. She didn’t have time to let Rooster get under her skin—not when there was so much at stake.

But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, the tension between them was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to flare up at a moment’s notice.

The day had been long, and by the time Ace returned to her quarters, she was exhausted. Her body was sore, her mind was racing, and all she wanted to do was collapse into bed. But as she sat on the edge of her bed, her phone buzzed with a new email notification.

She picked it up, her mood lightening slightly as she saw it was from her mystery contact. The memory of their flirtatious exchange the night before brought a small smile to her lips, a welcome distraction from the frustrations of the day.

Hey there, the email read. How was your day?

She sighed, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she considered how to respond. Part of her wanted to vent about Rooster, about how infuriating he was, but she held back. She didn’t want to taint this connection with the negativity that seemed to follow her

---

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster was sprawled out on his couch, his guitar resting on his lap as he strummed absentmindedly. The buzz of his phone drew him out of his musings. He saw the email from his mystery contact and smiled, eager for a distraction from his day.

Hey there! My day was pretty intense. Spent most of it dealing with some annoying issues at work and got into a few heated exchanges. How about you?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his response and couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed like they were both having a tough day. She typed back, her fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard.

Intense is definitely the word for it. I had a rough day with some tricky equipment and a certain pilot who seems to think he’s invincible. But enough about me—what’s your idea of a perfect way to unwind after a day like that?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s smile widened as he read her email. Her mention of a troublesome pilot made him wonder if they might be talking about the same person, but he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he focused on her question.

Ah, a perfect way to unwind? I’d say a good jam session or maybe just kicking back with a favourite movie. Something that takes my mind off the chaos of the day. What about you? Any special routines to shake off the stress?

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace considered his response while taking a sip from her cup of tea. His laid-back approach to winding down was something she could relate to. She quickly typed her reply.

Sounds pretty good. For me, it’s usually a mix of hitting the gym or getting lost in a good book. Sometimes, a good meal with friends can do wonders too. It’s nice to have a little routine to fall back on after a hectic day.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster liked the idea of winding down with friends—it was a nice contrast to the solitary nature of his typical evenings. He began typing his response with a relaxed grin.

Sounds like you’ve got a pretty solid routine. I’ve got to say, a good meal with friends sounds like something I could use more of. Maybe I should work on that. Anyway, what kind of books are you into? I’m always looking for recommendations.

ACE’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Ace’s interest was piqued by his question. She enjoyed talking about books and was happy to share her favorites.

I’m a bit of a mix—I love thrillers and mysteries, but I also have a soft spot for classic literature. Recently, I’ve been diving into some historical fiction. How about you? What’s your go-to genre?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Rooster read her email with interest. Her love for thrillers and classic literature was something he could relate to, though his tastes leaned a little differently.

I’m a fan of thrillers myself, though I’ve been known to get into sci-fi and fantasy from time to time. It’s always nice to escape into a different world for a while. Historical fiction sounds intriguing, though. I might need to check that out.

ACE’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Ace felt a genuine connection through their exchange. She was enjoying this conversation more than she’d expected. She responded with a hint of her playful side.

Sci-fi and fantasy, huh? That’s a pretty interesting mix. You might have to convince me that they’re worth diving into. And if you ever need a book recommendation, just let me know. I might have a few hidden gems up my sleeve.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he read her playful offer. He liked the idea of her recommending books—it felt like a little inside joke between them.

I’ll definitely take you up on that. And I’m always up for a good book challenge. Just don’t be too surprised if I end up recommending a few sci-fi classics in return. It’s all part of the fun, right?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace’s smile grew as she read his response. The playful banter was exactly what she needed after a long day. She decided to keep the momentum going.

Challenge accepted. I’m ready for your recommendations anytime. And who knows, maybe we’ll end up with a shared list of must-reads by the end of this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Rooster’s grin widened. He liked the idea of a book exchange and was intrigued by the way their conversation was flowing. He typed his last message of the night.

Looking forward to it. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, especially after a day like today. Here’s to new books and unexpected connections. Talk soon?

ACE’S APARTMENT - VERY LATE NIGHT

Ace finished her tea and read his message with satisfaction. She felt a genuine connection growing and was looking forward to continuing the conversation.

Definitely. Here’s to more chats and less stress. I’ll be here.

She sent the email and closed her laptop, feeling a sense of calm settle over her. The mystery contact was turning out to be a much-needed bright spot in her hectic life.

---

The hangar was alive with the usual pre-flight activity. Rooster was inspecting his jet, but his attention kept drifting towards Ace, who was absorbed in her tablet. Her brows were furrowed, and she seemed completely engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

Rooster, never one to miss an opportunity, strolled over with a casual swagger, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, Ace,” he called out, his tone light but laced with teasing. “Looks like you’re pretty absorbed over there. Texting someone special, are we?”

Ace glanced up, her expression a mix of irritation and surprise. “What’s it to you, Rooster?”

Rooster leaned in a little closer, clearly enjoying the moment. “Just curious. I saw you typing away like your life depends on it. You’ve got to be talking to someone pretty important, right? A special someone, maybe?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed as she tried to hide the screen of her tablet. “It’s none of your business. Can’t you just focus on your own stuff?”

Rooster’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. Don’t be so secretive. I’m just wondering if you’re setting up a hot date or maybe just chatting with a certain someone who’s been on your mind.”

Ace’s face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. “Seriously, Rooster? Not everything’s a joke. I’m just dealing with some work stuff.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying riling her up. “Work stuff, huh? If it’s work, why’re you so secretive? You can tell me. I promise I won’t judge. Or is it that you’re afraid I might find out it’s someone...well, let’s say, more interesting?”

Ace’s frustration peaked. She shoved her tablet into her bag and took a step toward Rooster, her voice low but fierce. “You’ve been on my case all morning. If you don’t back off, I swear—”

Rooster chuckled, stepping back slightly. “Whoa, calm down there. I’m just making conversation. Didn’t realize you’d be so touchy about it. Guess it’s a sensitive topic.”

Before Ace could respond, Phoenix and the other squad members noticed the growing tension. Phoenix stepped in, her expression serious. “Alright, enough. If you two can’t handle a little teasing without it escalating, I’m going to have to step in.”

Hangman and Coyote, catching the edge in Phoenix’s tone, moved closer. Coyote placed a hand on Ace’s shoulder, gently pulling her back. “Hey, Ace, take a breath. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Hangman approached Rooster, his expression one of mixed amusement and exasperation. “Rooster, you’re really pushing it today. Maybe give it a rest, huh?”

Ace, still seething, shook her head. “I’m done with this. I just want to get through the day without dealing with his nonsense.”

Rooster, now more subdued but still smirking, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll back off. Just trying to lighten the mood.”

Fanboy and Bob, who had been watching from a distance, approached to help defuse the situation. Fanboy clapped Rooster on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s focus on the mission.”

Bob nodded in agreement, glancing at Ace with concern. “Everyone needs to stay cool. We’ve got enough on our plates without adding personal drama to the mix.”

As the squad began to gather for the briefing, the tension between Ace and Rooster lingered, but they both knew they had to refocus. Phoenix took a deep breath, addressing the group. “Let’s all get it together. We’ve got a briefing coming up, and we need to be professional.”

Ace and Rooster, now separated by the intervention of their teammates, walked toward the briefing room, the earlier animosity still simmering but temporarily set aside. The squad’s intervention had helped to de-escalate the situation, but the morning’s drama left a mark on everyone’s mood as they prepared for the day’s mission.

---

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace slumped onto her couch, exhausted from the day’s events. Her laptop was open, and she continued her email conversation with her anonymous contact, hoping to unwind a bit. She began typing with a mix of curiosity and irritation about the ongoing mystery.

Hey,

Today was a disaster. Had a big argument with a colleague who really knows how to get under my skin. Not the best day for me. But this email exchange has been a good distraction, I guess.

How about you? How’s your day going? Anything to share?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster read her email with a smirk. He was enjoying the light-hearted banter but was curious to see if he could draw out more information. He typed back, subtly hinting at the similarities in their work environments.

Hey,

Sounds like we’ve both had our share of drama. My day wasn’t any better—had some heated exchanges with colleagues. It’s like we’re living in the same soap opera.

I’m starting to think our work situations might be more similar than we realized. Anyway, got any funny or surprising stories from your day?

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his email with increasing suspicion. His description of his day seemed all too familiar. Deciding to push further, she typed her response, trying to get more clues about who he might be.

Hey,

It’s funny—your day sounds almost too familiar. I’m starting to wonder if we might be talking about the same environment. If you’re in a high-pressure job with lots of drama, I might have a pretty good guess about who you are.

Any hints?

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster saw her email and felt a spark of recognition. He decided to give a direct clue to see if it would lead to an answer.

Hey,

Alright, here’s a hint: I work in a place where tensions are high and everyone’s on edge. Sounds like you might be in a similar boat. Does that help?

I’m curious—any idea who I might be?

INT. ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace read his clue and felt a sharp pang of realization. Her frustration from the day mixed with the sudden clarity about her correspondent’s identity. She quickly typed her response, her irritation clear in her words.

You’ve got to be kidding me. With your “high-pressure” job description, it’s pretty obvious that you’re Rooster. I should have known, I can’t believe I’ve been having these conversations with you, of all people.

This is ridiculous. And to think I was actually enjoying this exchange. I’m so done with this.

ROOSTER’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Rooster’s eyes widened in shock as he read Ace’s email. The realization hit him hard, and his amusement turned into frustration. He quickly typed a reply, his tone reflecting his annoyance.

Seriously? I had a feeling, but this is just perfect. So it turns out I’ve been emailing with Ace. I should have known you’d be the one on the other end. What a surprise.

I can’t believe you were getting so worked up over these emails. Great, just great. I guess we’ve got a lot to talk about now. Or maybe not.

ACE’S APARTMENT - EVENING

Ace’s frustration flared as she read Rooster’s reply. She cursed under her breath, the realization that Rooster was behind the emails making her even more upset. She slammed her laptop shut, her annoyance with both Rooster and Hangman boiling over.

“Damn it, Rooster. And damn Hangman for setting this up!” she fumed. “This whole thing was a setup from the start.”

She paced the room, trying to calm herself. The surprise and anger of discovering her mystery contact was Rooster left her seething. The day had been a mess, and the email revelation only added fuel to the fire.

Please comment, like and reblog!

[writing-for-marvel]

Day 1: Mile High Club

Mob!Bucky’s Kinktober Honeymoon

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky start your honeymoon off the right way - by fucking in his private jet.

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, sex on a plane, semi public sex, fingering, fingering in front of an unsuspecting flight attendant, oral (fem receiving), face sitting, unprotected vaginal sex, creampie

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: the start of our honeymoon adventure! I hope you all enjoy all the fun smuttiness! Dividers by me, please do not use. Banners by @vase-of-lilies

💋 Join my Kinktober Taglist 💋

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Library | Ko-fi

Bucky’s large, tattooed hand, adorned with a gold wedding band, is splayed on your thigh as his luxurious private jet roars to life, racing along the runway until you sense the drop in your stomach as it lifts off the ground and into the air.

Your heart begins to race as you feel Bucky’s hand slowly inch further up your thigh as the plane climbs higher in the sky. You take a deep, steadying breath as the force of the plane pushes your body back into your seat, appreciating the plush leather against your bare skin as Bucky’s electric touch reaches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your honeymoon hasn’t even technically started and he is already proving that he can’t keep his hands off you. Just one of the many reasons you married him in the first place.

“I can’t wait to finally have my wife all to myself.” Your newlywed whispers as his hand reaches the apex of your thigh, your heart races just that little bit faster at the prospect of being caught by the stewardess required to accompany you on the flight.

“Hmm, and what have you got planned for when we’re all alone my dear husband?” Your breath hitches in your throat as Bucky’s cold finger slips underneath your panties and ghosts across your warm core.

A dangerously cocky grin curves onto his plump lips and even before he says the words to confirm your fate, you know he is going to make this a honeymoon you’ll never forget.

“I’m thinking about all the different ways I can ruin you and keep you stuffed full of my cum for the next four weeks.” He whispers seductively directly into your ear as his middle finger breaches your entrance. You inhale a sharp breath and bite the side of your lip as he pushes all the way in, smirking at you as if he knows this is just the beginning of every way he plans to ravage you.

A ding rings out through the cabin and before you can so much as flinch, an impeccably dressed hostess appears in front of you.

“We’re at cruising altitude, you can now unbuckle your seatbelts. Sir, is there anything you need?” She asks in a sweet voice, her tone indicating she either cannot see Bucky’s finger knuckle deep inside your dripping pussy, obstructed by the table in front of you, or is choosing not to acknowledge that fact.

Bucky answers without taking his eyes off you.

“To be left alone with my wife.”

The stewardess disappears as quickly as she materialised, but when Bucky adds a second finger to your pussy, stretching your walls by scissoring his fingers, your periphery goes blurry.

He picks up the pace, thrusting both fingers in and out of you relentlessly, his calloused thumb swiping over your clit with the perfect pressure he has learnt with experience does you in.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it darling.” He whispers in your ear as he curls his fingers to graze over the spongy patch inside you which makes you see stars. You nod but it’s superfluous, Bucky knows every inch of your body and is fully aware he’s got you figuratively and literally in the palm of his hand.

You grab hold of his veiny forearm to keep you tethered to reality as his motions bring you ever closer to floating off on a cloud of bliss.

“Cum for me.” Your husband demands. With a vigorous thrust of his fingers and a swipe of his thumb over your clit, the band in your lower stomach snaps and you comply with Bucky’s orders.

It is only once you’ve come down from your high that Bucky removes his fingers from your drenched pussy. He teases your lips with his slick covered fingers until you open wide and begin sucking on them, tasting your own sweet release.

“You know, I had a bed installed in the back of the jet just for this very occasion.” Bucky comments, nipping at your earlobe as you swirl your tongue around his fingers.

“What are we still doing here then?”

Bucky leads you to the back of the plane with your hand intertwined with his. As soon as the sliding door to the small yet private bedroom shuts behind you, Bucky’s lips attach to the column of your neck as every piece of clothing covering both your bodies gets thrown to the ground.

You’re held protectively in his arms as Bucky falls backwards onto the soft expanse of the bed. He kisses you assiduously as his hands roam your body, eventually making their way down to your ass, manhandling you to pull your body above his face.

“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. Can’t believe she’s all mine for the rest of my life.” Bucky hums before diving in. He starts with licking one long stripe up your slit, and you can feel his lips form a grin against you as your thighs tighten around his head. “You taste so good. So sweet.” He eats you out as if he’s been fasting for months, when in reality he was between your thighs on your wedding night less than 16 hours ago. He switches between his tongue being buried in your cunt, fucking up into your puckered hole and slurping obscenely, lapping up all the juices through your folds, twirling the tip of his tongue around your clit.

“Bucky, please, I-, please.” Your hands grasp onto his hair, tugging harder as his fingertips dig into the meat of your ass. The vibrations of his voice and the plane as it races through the atmosphere sends sparks firing up the base of your spine through your whole body.

“Are you desperate for your husband's cock, Mrs Barnes?” He asks teasingly against your folds, knowing referring to you by your new title will only make you wetter.

“Yes, Buck! I’m fucking dripping - need you so bad.” You plead with a sob, your pussy clenching around nothing, the ache within you burning like a forest fire which could only be quelled with him deep inside you.

Bucky’s soft lips place a feather light kiss to your sensitive clit before his strong hands grasp your hips tightly, lifting you onto his thick thighs. Your mind is dizzy with lust and pleasure, but Bucky’s dazzling blue eyes, the same ones that were the first feature of his you noticed the night you met, stand out clearly in your haze.

“Then take it. Take it like the good little whore I married. Take every inch of this dick and show me why it’s yours.”

Bucky’s large, rough hands don’t leave your hips as you stroke his thick length with both your hands a couple times as you lift yourself above him, rubbing his bulbous tip through your soaking folds. Lining yourself up with him, you press your hips back down on him slowly, feeling him fill you up to the brim.

You let out simultaneous groans, your eyes never once leaving Bucky’s as you focus on the sensation of how deliciously full and satiated you feel, how his eyes widen and lips fall apart is exactly like the first time you slept with him after making this formidable mob boss prove he’d treat you right.

You’d never forget the feeling of the first time he thrust into you, the fervour in which he worshipped your body and the way those ocean eyes gazed at you like you were the most precious gem he planned on treasuring for as long as you’d let him. This hardened man, who strikes fear in the eyes of the toughest of crime lords, is soft for you and only you.

It was the moment you truly understood what sex could be like - should be like.

You knew then that there was no one else for you. That you’d eventually marry him.

Both your hands find his strong, tattooed chest to steady yourself as you begin circling your hips, grinding against him, moaning at the sensation of your puffy clit rubbing the coarse hair at his pelvic bone.

“Oh God, Bucky, you’re so deep.” With Bucky’s strong hands assisting you, you push yourself up and sink back down on his cock. He lets you set your own pace, finding the right angle where he strokes all the right spots that makes your knees weak.

You can feel his heartbeat quicken under your fingertips, his mesmerised gaze fixated on how he’s filling you.

“Fuck, baby, look at you swallowing me whole.” Once you’ve built up a rhythm, one of Bucky's hands navigates to your breast where he flicks your pert nipple with his thumb, the other moving to where your bodies join, rubbing tight circles on your clit.

The pleasure feels like it’s coming from all directions, from both externally and within you, it’s too much and not enough at the same time, every nerve firing with pure euphoria, threatening to send you straight to heaven.

“I’m so close, Buck…” A sob bubbles up your throat, all cells in your body swelling with immense pleasure. More than ever you can feel each ridged inch of Bucky stretching out your pussy, every sensation heightened as with each rock of your hips you hurtle ever closer to your second high.

“Go ahead, my love, let go. Cum on your husband's cock.”

Ecstasy overtakes your entire body at his permission, your eyes roll backwards, your whole body seizes and your bouncing motions stop as your walls flutter around his thick, veiny length. But Bucky doesn’t let you off that easily, he grabs both of your hips and starts fucking up into you hard and fast, prolonging and heightening your orgasm with each graze of your g-spot, making your legs shake and you scream out his name so loudly you’re sure the pilots can hear.

You collapse into his chest as his thrusts become staggered, closing in on his own high. Placing a gentle kiss to his sharp jaw, Bucky grunts, moans your name and stalls within you, ropes of his cum painting your walls.

You tap his strapping chest three times as you both pant, catching your breath cuddling up to one another. I. Love. You.

His embrace feels like home, even thousands of feet up in the air. You’re certain that no matter where in the world you are, James Bucky Barnes will always be your safe place.

“Now, let's see how many more times I can make you cum before we land.”

💋 Join my Kinktober Taglist 💋

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[revelboo]

It Had to Be You

Megatron x Reader-spark

• It’s amazing that something so precious can even be taken for granted. It’s just there, that sense of connection. Of Cybertron, a living Cybertron, being so much a part of Megatron that he never thought about it. Didn’t understand the extent. None of them had until it was too late.

• How long had it taken to feel that loss after Cybertron was dead, ravaged by their war? A spark-deep ache that echoed through them all with Cybertron’s fall. They'd all lost something they hadn't even realized could be lost. Cybertron wasn't just home- they needed that connection to their source to stabilize their sparks. Consigned to slowly fade away, growing accustomed to the loss. It becomes an old, familiar hurt. But it doesn't stop the fighting, it only fuels the hate.

• The battlefront has changed so many times. So many worlds suffering just because they arrive. He's lost track of all of the broken worlds. That first world, his, is the only one that mattered. And it had been stolen away by what had once been his friend. His brother. It didn't matter if the universe burns now. He can't stop, not when so much is already lost forever. What's one more world he won't remember?

• It’s so hot you can barely breathe, the wind whipping your hair into your face in little stinging lashes. Overhead, the sun bakes the desert, your truck, and the winding road. You'd never meant to end up here in the Midwest, but its where the money had run out in your bid for the coast. Staying hadn't been the plan, either. Everything had gone a bit sideways. You'd dreamed of the ocean, not scraggly nothingness that still somehow managed to catch on fire every year for sheer spite.

• The semitruck that overtakes you on the narrow ribbon of cracked asphalt is speeding, its engine roaring as it passes you in the left lane. In a hurry to be somewhere else. Something you could envy, but then another car, sleek and red is tearing by. And another. It's the weirdest convoy you've ever seen. A police car, several foreign cars, a couple of sports cars, an ambulance. All hellbent on keeping up with that big semi.

• You're speeding, but not nearly like they are. Maybe it's a shoot for a movie? But where are the cameras? Distracted in you musings, you still hear the screaming over your radio. A roaring shriek that makes your skin crawl, then there are jets tearing by overhead. You lean forward, staring up through the dusty windshield as the three fly by so low it’s frightening. It must be a movie. The nearest airbase is in the next state. Why hadn't they shut the road down to film, though? Unease spills through you as you ease up on the gas.

• They're running. It’s stop them now or they just go to ground again. Megatron’s played this game so many times on so many worlds and he’s so tired of it. Once Prime and his followers take alt modes, they disappear and then strike on their terms. Not this time. His Seekers tear after them, loosing a barrage of missiles as he draws near. There’s an almost giddy satisfaction in watching them swerve and dodge as he drops through the clouds, rotors humming. This form isn’t as cumbersome as his last, but it’s still new. It’s only when he releases his own missiles that he feels it.

• A flicker of something that feels like it should be familiar. Something he’s forgotten, but can almost recall. He sees it then, the truck swerving and bouncing off the road. Not an Autobot, but one of the squishy, little natives in the wrong place at the wrong time. Irrelevant, short-lived insects.

• Except, somehow he can feel their biofield pulsing in panic as they go careening. And his own spark constricts with something frightening and hungry. Responding. He’s dropping too fast, aware of his Seekers engaging the Autobots. Transforming as he lands, he’s pulled toward that truck as it runs into the rocks and nearly goes sideways. There’s a battle around him, but it’s nothing compared to the storm inside him. His spark aches. The metal roof of the truck comes away under his fingers as he stares at the little creature struggling with some sort of restraint. It’s biofield. His spark. He knows this feeling even if he can’t put a servo on it. It hurts. He needs it even as it hurts so much.

• There’s a monster. You can’t breathe and there’s a monster staring down at you from where the roof of your truck’s cab had been five minutes ago. Clawing at the seatbelt, it finally comes loose and you throw yourself at the door handle. Away. That’s all you can think of. Getting away. Things are exploding, there’s smoke, and yelling. And monsters with glowing red eyes. You fall out of the truck when the door opens and that thing is reaching for you, huge fingers snagging you as you finally catch your breath just so you can scream.

Next

[avocado-writing]

Could I have Halsin x afab!enby!reader smut with some breeding kink, please?

notes: darling you're so polite when you request smut, like you're ordering from a menu of course you can 😌

rating: E. This is filthy. Minors dni

pairing: halsin x reader

words: <1k

It feels like every aspect of your existence has been narrowed down to this point - here, now, speared on your druid’s cock.

Halsin is an attentive lover; he fucks you like it is his duty. You’re laid out on your back beneath him, candyfloss-brained and pliable like clay, every aspect of you his. He unmakes you with his touch, brings you to ecstasy over and over, content just to watch your pleasure - he told you once that you were nature’s most exquisite sight and, given the way he’s staring down at you now with pupils so wide that his irises are obscured, you might just be able to believe it.

“Ahh… Halsin…” you manage, pawing up at his thick chest with boneless fingers. He takes your hand in a firm, sweet embrace, raising it so he can kiss you on your wrist, your palm, your knuckles. 

“My love. Perfect. I want you in every possible way.”

His eyes flash with a devilish delight, and in that moment you know what he’d ask of you. It’s something which you freely give.

“Halsin… put a baby in me…” you sigh, linking your ankles at the small of his back to drive his cock even deeper into you. He is thick, wonderfully so, and long too - he reaches further inside of you than anyone ever has before. You are full to the brim with Halsin, Halsin, Halsin; the warm rub of him driving you wild. 

But you want to be overflowing.

When he hears those words stumble from your lips his thrusting goes erratic for a beat, you can feel him throb. He makes a low, bestial growl in the back of his throat. A primal noise, possessive.

“Hmm… If you ask me to do that, I will be unable to stop having you until I’m certain that you’re pregnant. I can barely keep my hands off of you anyway. but if you want me to give you a child you… there is a chance you won’t leave our bed until I can see how round you are.”

You moan at the idea of him keeping you in one place and pumping you so full of spend that your puffy hole is constantly dripping with it. That he has to bring you food and water to keep you contented because you’re so cock-drunk that you can’t move. No room for thoughts. Just open legs and willing cunt until you can feel your womb quicken with him.

“Do it, Halsin, fuck. Mark me as yours. Show the world who shares my bed every night. I want everyone to look at me and know what you’ve done…”

Another growl, this one louder, and marked with the snapping of his hips forward into you. The sounds of wetness coming from your coupling are lewd and gorgeous as he pounds into you over and over. You don’t think that you’ve ever been this wet. 

His hand spreads out across the expanse of your stomach, warmth from his skin seeping into you. It is as if he is picturing his seed taking root inside of you. You are ripe, willing, and desperate for it, for him, and he is vicious about the idea of you swelling with a cub he breeds into you. 

Hips move faster. You’re going to finish. He’s going to finish, and as the head of his cock bounces into the sweet spot against your walls you feel him come harder than he’s ever done before - he lets out a bitten-off roar as he spills, filling you over and over with his hot jets. As the inside of your cunt is coated you follow him over the precipice and experience an orgasm so intense that it feels as if your soul has left your body for a moment - but Halsin brings you back with a fierce kiss.

He continues to ride out his release inside of you, tender little rolls of his hips until he begins to soften. Even then he remains inside of you, connected in the most intimate of embraces, forehead resting against yours as the two of you breathe the same air.

“Gods,” you manage eventually, and Halsin laughs, low and gravelly.

“Oak Father preserve us all. You will be the end of me, you know.”

“Yes, and won’t it be fun?” you say with a cheeky grin. He groans.

“I don’t know if my old bones can take it.”

“Well, I believe in you. Fancy trying again? I want you to make good on your promise, you know, and the more we try the better our odds are…” 

He lets out another low noise, and with glee you feel him harden again.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @infinitely-kate @trappedinlimbo15 @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

[shakespeareanwannabe]

As You Wish, Chapter 14

Summary: When arriving at Camp Silver Star, Abby Floyd was anticipating a summer of adventure with an ocean separating her from the three people she loved most: her mom, her Uncle Bob and her Aunt Natasha. But after a run in with Charlie Seresin, an extremely familiar looking and irritating camper in a different cabin, her summer plans take a turn that neither girl ever could have expected.

Trigger Warnings: reader's children are described as being blond with green eyes because genetics are wild and Jake's genes are strong, reader is canonically Bob's sister (but biological relation is never discussed), reader goes by Buttercup and is tattooed, angst, drinking, sadness, reference to divorce, kids doing sneaky things, swearing, references to the loss of a parent or parents, reference to past bedroom activities

Seresin Ranch, Clifton, Texas, Now

The ride home was spent in silence. The girls had quickly packed their things and mounted their horses after Savannah had shrieked at their father that she wanted to go home, right that second. Jake had nodded at them that they were going home, and they were all fully packed within a half an hour.

Savannah hadn’t made a peep since, only hissing at their father that his ‘chances’ with her father were now impossible before plopping herself onto a boulder and ignoring them all. Jake had only huffed a sigh and packed both of their bags up before tacking up the horses.

They had taken the short trail back to the ranch and took no stops, so they ended up back at the ranch just before dinner time, their mother peeking her head out of the curtains and frowning at them.

Savannah clumsily dismounted, Angel stomping her foot in discomfort until the petite blond had her designer cowgirl boots on solid ground. With a huff, Savannah whipped her hair as she turned towards their father and hurled her engagement ring at his chest.

“You could’ve been so much more than this,” she hissed at him, jerking her chin at his girls. “We could’ve sent them to a boarding school or to live with their mother, and you could’ve joined the Navy again like you wanted to! Instead, you’ll never be anything but some…some…farmer!”

Jake shook his head slowly at her, his eyes locked on her with a look that Charlie was very happy she had never seen directed at her.

“I would never have let you send my girls to boarding school. Being their father is the best thing I have ever done. And if you can’t see that, then it’s your fault,” Jake’s voice was calm and cool, but Rooster recognized it as he and Buttercup emerged from the house, trying and failing to look nonchalant as they rushed towards the tense looking confrontation. It was Jake’s mission voice. His Hangman voice. The same voice he had used when he had confronted Rooster about the Uranium Mission, about him not having what it takes to fly, about how he was only there because Maverick had flown with Rooster’s old man. Hangman was pure arrogance and jet fuel, with none of Jake’s tenderness and homespun, golden boy manners.

“Or is it your fault for not telling me there were two of those little demons?” Savannah sneered.

“Watch it,” Buttercup stepped forward. “Nobody gets to talk about my girls that way.”

Savannah rolled her eyes. “You can have him,” she scoffed as she turned her back on them all and strolled towards the big, black SUV that was thundering up the drive. “Nobody will want him now anyway.”

Rooster moved to stand next to Jake as Savannah clambered up into the SUV that her father was driving, offering the retired Air Force Colonel a sarcastic salute before crouching and retrieving the fallen diamond ring.

They watched in silence as the SUV roared away, a collective sigh of relief rippling through them all as it disappeared into the distance.

“I feel like I should burn this thing,” Rooster mused, staring down at the platinum band. “Y’know, douse it in holy water and set it on fire so it doesn’t attract any more hell spawn.”

Jake groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Shut up, man. Hey! Slow your roll, you two!”

Rooster peered over his shoulder at the twins, who were trying to make a sneaky exit into the house. Rooster chuckled as they glanced at each other and slowed their footsteps but didn’t stop.

“Freeze, ladies!” Buttercup barked, striding towards them. “You know what your father meant.”

With a sigh that heaved their shoulders, Abby and Charlie halted on the porch and turned towards their parents.

Jake crouched in front of them and scanned their faces with his pilot’s precision.

“Someone better start talking…” he murmured into the still air.

“Well, you see—”

“We didn’t actually do anything wrong—”

“It’s only that—”

“Nothing dangerous—”

Jake held up a hand and the air went still again.

“Chipmunks don’t just miraculously appear in a closed saddlebag,” he started, staring between them. “They have to be placed there. And I don’t know anyone better at handling rodents than my daughter Charlie, who has been helping remove chipmunks and squirrels from the hay loft since she was a toddler.” Charlie flushed, kicking at a stone beneath her boot. “And while I appreciate the concern you both had about Savannah having an allergic reaction, that doesn’t explain this.” He pulled the open packet of itching powder out of his jeans pocket. Abby gulped. “And don’t think I didn’t notice the hay around the tent spikes of Savannah’s tent either.” He looked between them. “All I want to know is why?”

He stared at them for a long moment, green clashing with green, until Abby groaned and crumbled. “I’m sorry, Dad, but Savannah was awful. She bragged about being a champion rider, but anyone with eyes could tell she had never been on a horse! And she was always hanging off you like she couldn’t do anything by herself. And…”

“And her vibe was way off, Dad,” Charlie added, stepping forward. “And I think you knew that. That’s why you didn’t introduce us until after you proposed.”

“I didn’t introduce you because you were off at camp,” Jake argued, biting back a groan as he stretched back to his full height. “And I’ll admit that I should’ve told her that you’re twins, but at the time, I thought you didn’t know about each other.”

“So, you kept Abby a secret from me, and I kept my feelings about Savannah a secret from you,” Charlie grinned slyly. “Sounds like we both did the wrong thing, old man.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Maybe…but I’m the adult here. Which means I’m the one who gets to dole out any punishment for unnecessary pranks pulled on the trail ride.”

Charlie gulped. “You’re not going to make Mom and Abby go home early are you?”

Jake’s eyes softened. “I would never do that, Charlie-girl. But you and your sister are going to be doing extra chores around here. You’re going to have to muck out all the stalls in the morning, feed the horses, and polish the tack.”

Abby and Charlie grinned at each other. “Is that it?”

“Restricted phone time,” Buttercup shot them a stern look. “You can have your phones for an hour in the morning and an hour at night. But that’s it. I have no doubt you used your phones to help coordinate these schemes of yours, so this is just a natural consequence.”

“Can Abby still sleep in my room?”

Jake met Buttercup’s eyes and nodded. “We’re okay with that.”

“And we can still go to Uncle Javy’s football game?”

Buttercup grinned at Jake and rolled her eyes fondly. “I suppose that’s alright.”

The girls cheered and hugged each other. “We’re okay with that!”

They grabbed their backpacks and ran into the house, chattering away, and Buttercup sighed before following along behind them.

“Not so fast.”

She blinked and turned to him. “What did I do?”

Jake folded his arms across his broad chest and cocked an eyebrow at her. “You know what you did.”

Buttercup’s hands met her hips as she shifted her weight to jut a hip out. “Do I?”

Jake rolled his eyes as a smile played on his lips. “What exactly did Savannah say to you to make you bail on the trail ride? I know you. Spending time with Abby, getting to know Charlie, the opportunity to see me potentially make an ass of myself? You were ready and willing to go on the ride until I went outside to get the horses ready. So, what did my ex-fiancée say to my ex-wife to scare her off the ride?”

Buttercup scoffed. “I wasn’t scared. I figured it was a good opportunity for the girls to get to know their stepmother.”

“And if their stepmother got the chance to get to know them, and didn’t like what she saw?” Jake’s grin was sharp with challenge.

“Then that would be her loss, just like you said.” Buttercup tossed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows at him. “I don’t know what you’re implying here, Hangman.”

Jake’s answering chuckle sent a small thrill through her. “I’m implying that I spent three months with Savannah, and the only way she would get near a horse would be if there was a risk of her losing face. And the only person who would be willing to put her in that situation is you. But you wouldn’t do that without reason, so c’mon, darlin’. Out with it.”

Buttercup sighed lightly. “She asked me to write her wedding vows for her. Her vows to you.” She could’ve giggled at the way Jake’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head, but the whole situation had left her with an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. “It was a power play, plain and simple. So, yeah. Maybe I got the feeling that the girls didn’t like her and would probably make her life hell on the ride, so I might have suggested to Savannah that she should go on the ride because it would make you happy and she would be able to bond with the girls.”

Jake chuckled in spite of himself. “You’re just as diabolical as they are, you know.”

Buttercup shrugged delicately. “They had to get it from somewhere. Too bad for you, I’m an adult too and you can’t dole out any punishment to me.”

Jake shifted on his feet, his quiet chuckle sending tingles through her body as the air around them spiked with…something.

“Not like I haven’t before,” he breathed, mostly to himself.

Buttercup folded her arms across her chest, almost as though she were afraid that her heart would beat right out of her chest. The memories of them, the things they had done together, surged through her brain, her bloodstream, lighting her up like a firefly. But he was still Jake, and any fire between her and Jake had been doused a long time ago, and it had to stay that way. For the good of everyone involved.

“Um,” she swallowed. “Rooster made chili. He said it was some sort of post-trail ride tradition. We were just setting the table when we heard the commotion.”

Jake nodded and patted Firewall’s flank. “Let me just take care of these guys, and I’ll be right in. Make sure you save me a bowl, alright? Charlie would eat the entire pot if we let her.”

Jake groaned as he pushed his bowl away.

“That was your best batch yet, Uncle Roo,” Charlie grinned a sleepy smile, inching towards food coma territory.

“I’m still pissed you couldn’t cook like this when we lived together,” Natasha grumbled, though the smile on her face stole any bite the words might have held.

Bob nodded in agreement. “The whole squadron would be shocked that Mr. Ramen and Burnt Toast has a degree from culinary school.”

Rooster grunted at them. “I only burnt my toast once. You two just won’t let me forget it.”

“More than once,” Javy grinned at him, leaning back in his chair, and Jake smiled. It seemed like, for tonight at least, Javy and Nat had called a truce. They hadn’t glared or shot thinly veiled remarks at each other all night. Of course, they hadn’t spoken or looked at each other either, but Jake found himself grateful for the lack of anything between them.

“Alright, well maybe I should prove my badass kitchen skills then, huh?” Rooster leaned forward, a smirk tugging on his lips. “I think it’s high time for a Daggers Reunion. What do you say? We can celebrate the fact that Jake isn’t gonna marry that absolute pain in the ass he called a fiancée.”

“Rooster!” Buttercup looked shocked. “I know you didn’t like her, but Jake wouldn’t have asked her to marry him if he didn’t have feelings for her.”

Javy scoffed. “More like feelings about his future. Your boy here didn’t want to have an empty nest when Charlie grows up, so he was gonna—ow, shit!” Javy winced as Jake’s foot connected with his knee. “Dude, what the hell?”

Buttercup felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “It’s alright, Jake. I get it. They’re almost 12. In six years or so, they’ll be off and we’ll be left on our own. I don’t know what the future holds for me either, and it’s a scary thought.”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Abby yawned, leaning against her sister. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Buttercup grinned. “Thank you, baby. But I do think maybe you two should go upstairs to bed. You’ve had a busy day.”

Abby nodded and tugged Charlie off her chair before hugging her mother, then her father.

Charlie followed suit but stilled at the landing of the staircase. “I like Uncle Roo’s idea. A Dagger’s reunion sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Alright, kiddo. We’ll see if we can make it happen,” Jake smiled softly at the girls as they ascended the staircase.

“Can we also go out to dinner tomorrow?” Abby paused a few steps from the top. “Just the four of us? As a family?”

Jake nodded. “Sure, baby. Whatever you want.”

“Okay. Night, Dad. Night, Mum. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” their parents chorused.

“Dude, you’re such a softie now,” Natasha smirked at him over the lip of her wine glass. “They just cost you your fiancée, Bagman. And you’re letting them call the shots.”

Jake fixed her with a look. “I’m not soft, Phoenix.” He grinned. “In fact, everyone else on this ranch have been pulling their weight, except you two. So, I’d really appreciate it if you and Baby On Board would do the dishes while Javy and I go make sure everything is locked up tight.”

Natasha gaped at him. “What about Buttercup? Or Rooster?”

“Rooster cooked,” Jake shrugged. “And Buttercup’s been working on her novel. What have you and Bob been up to? Other than drinking my wine, eating my food, and eating up my Wi-Fi?” Natasha glared and he grinned. “Enjoy. C’mon, Javy.”

The two men rose from their seats and left the room, clearly headed to make sure the ranch was locked up for the night. Rooster rose with a groan and mumbled something about watching the football game in his room, leaving after patting Buttercup on the head.

Natasha looked around at all the dirty dishes and grumbled. “Your husband is such an asshole.”

“Ex,” Buttercup clarified quietly, running her finger over the lip of her glass. “Besides, you shouldn’t have shot your mouth off with the softie comment. You had to have known he’d retaliate.”

“Yeah, but did he have to bring me into it?” Bob sighed, already gathering dishes and taking them into the kitchen.

Buttercup giggled as her family disappeared into the kitchen, the soft sounds of their bickering carrying through the archway as she stared at the darkened front door, waiting for Jake to return.

The next day passed smoothly, and the four occupants of the main house (plus the grumpy uncle living in the attic) fell into a rhythm of sorts. Jake and the girls were out of the house by the time Buttercup woke up, jetlag and a sleepless night weighing on her mind. However, she found a breakfast of cinnamon oatmeal and fruit salad waiting for her on the stove and a box of her favourite tea sitting next to the kettle. Buttercup settled into the desk in her bedroom and cranked out a few more pages of her book, the characters finally deciding to play along and follow the plot, though the plot wasn’t turning out exactly the way she had imagined it. By the time noon came around, she had wandered down into the kitchen, where she helped Rooster prepare barbecue chicken Ceasar wraps for everyone before going out into the ranch and calling her family home to eat. After their meal, Jake stole them all away to the local high school, where he assisted Javy with coaching their football team. Even when they had been together, Buttercup hadn’t been much of a football fan, but she found herself enjoying the time spent in the bleachers, especially when Jake would demonstrate a play for the rookie quarterback (though she would deny that last part to the ends of the earth and back).

By the time they got back to the ranch, the girls were hustling their parents into their bedrooms to change for their family dinner.

“Babe, we didn’t even make a reservation,” Buttercup sighed as Abby shoved her make up bag into her hands and pushed her towards the ensuite bathroom.

“Any place that would dress code me for not wearing a suit would be booked up months in advance, kiddo,” Jake protested as Charlie tossed his navy-blue suit onto his bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” both girls had reassured their parents. “Our aunt and uncles took care of everything.”

The statement had been less than reassuring, but both parents were determined to play ball. Buttercup had conceded to wearing her aqua coloured midi dress (a dress Charlie had insisted she pack once she had seen it in her mother’s closet back in London) and had even put on the diamond necklace that had been a joint Christmas present from her family last year. Jake had begrudgingly put on his navy suit and the silver and blue aviator watch he had bought on a whim a few years back. The girls had dressed up in matching black dresses (no doubt a gift from their Uncle Bob) and ushered them out of the house before they could say goodbye to Bob, Rooster or Natasha. 

“Alright, ladies,” Jake grinned, spinning his car keys around his finger. “Ready to tell me exactly where we’re going?” He started as Charlie clamped onto his wrist, dragging him down the dirt path towards the dude ranch.

“Right this way, old man.”

Jake craned his neck back just in time to see Abby take a much gentler grip on her mother’s arm, steadying her as the heels of her shoes sunk into the dirt.

“Charlie, your mother is going to break her neck out here without much light.” In truth, the sun would be going down in a few hours, but the way it hung low in the sky had shadows painting the path in darkness. Charlie blinked up at him, a challenge gleaming there, and Jake sighed. “Let me go, kid.”

He shook off his daughter’s grip and strode backwards until he could offer Buttercup his elbow. “C’mon, darlin’,” he murmured. “Can’t have you breaking an ankle out here. Don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”

Buttercup chuckled as she wrapped her arm around his. “Thank you…” she whispered as Abby pranced up the path to join her sister. “Honestly, I don’t know how they come up with so many harebrained schemes.”

“You think they’re scheming?”

She shot Jake a knowing look. “Do you know any family friendly restaurants where the diners dress up like this?” She gestured to their semi-formal clothing. “And if you do know any, are any of them located down this dirt path?”

Jake nodded his head towards her, conceding her point. “They’re your daughters, alright.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “I’m not the scheming parent, thank you very much.”

“Seriously? Wasn’t eloping in Vegas your idea?”

She bit her lip to hide her grin. “That wasn’t a scheme. That was taking advantage of the air show in Vegas and the fact that everyone we loved was there. Besides, that didn’t run the risk of potential bodily harm.”

Jake shook off the zing of pain that ran through him at the memory and forced the smile to remain on his face. “Maybe for you, but I have only the haziest memory of the morning after our wedding. Rooster and Fanboy kept pouring marga-beers down my throat even though you told them to stop.”

Buttercup giggled, and something warm flared in Jake’s chest. “Maybe they get it from them then. Rooster, Javy, and Natasha are all pretty heavy handed with the schemes, aren’t they?”

“Oh, more than you know,” Jake laughed as they approached the gazebo that overlooked the manmade pond. They’d put both features in a few years previous, trying to make the dude ranch more attractive for people who wanted more of a vacation than a chance to prove themselves on a ranch.

“Girls?” Buttercup called as they jumped up onto the gazebo before ducking out of sight. Within seconds, the whole structure was lit up, the tiny fairy lights glittering off the water.

“Speaking of schemes…” Jake muttered, guiding Buttercup over the rocky terrain and up onto the gazebo.

In the center, a small, round table for two sat invitingly, a vase of fresh wildflowers pushed to one side to make room for the plates, cutlery, and linen napkins that waited to be used.

“Hoo boy,” Buttercup whispered as he pulled out one of the wrought iron chairs and helped her sit comfortably.

“Girls, what are you doing?” Jake turned to find them standing by the stairs of the gazebo.

“We…wanted to thank you!” Charlie grinned. “Y’know, for being so nice about us switching places.”

“And blackmailing you,” Abby added.

“And blackmailing you,” Charlie nodded her agreement. “Oh! And we wanted to apologize for chasing off Savannah.”

“And you decided that a romantic dinner for two was the best way to do that?” Buttercup’s face was filled with such bemusement that Jake had to laugh.

“Well, if you’re going to coparent, you need to be able to get along,” Abby chirped cheerfully. “Consider this our way of trying to make that happen!”

“We’re going to leave you to eat,” Charlie grinned. “I really hope you can make it through a simple dinner without arguing. That would bode really well for all of us.”

Jake groaned as the girls skipped away, then groaned again when a shadowy figure stepped into the gazebo, carrying two serving trays.

“Hey man, don’t groan at me. Those two little demons are your spawn,” Javy muttered as he set the two trays of food on the table. “They’re better at finding information and using it to their advantage than the freakin’ Navy.”

Natasha scoffed as she stepped up beside Javy, brandishing a bottle of wine in each hand. “If they weren’t so damn cute, I’d want to kill them.”

Buttercup blinked at them. “You got sucked into another one of their schemes?”

Natasha shrugged. “Apparently, I need to watch what I say when Abby and I are watching trashy TV and eating junk food. The kid’s got Fort Knox as a memory. Don’t know what his excuse is though,” she added, jerking her head at Javy. “Now, do you want red or white? Because Rooster said either will work with the food, but Abby will throw a hissy fit if I don’t play along.”

“They got Bradshaw into this too?” Jake turned to Javy, who shrugged.

“You two somehow managed to raise two extremely intelligent blackmailers, with zero input from the other person and an ocean between you. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t kinda terrifying.” Javy sighed. “Natasha and I will be watching from the cabin. Buttercup, as much as you may want to, please don’t drown him in the lake.”

Buttercup stifled a giggle as their friends strolled away. “Well, at least they’re not arguing anymore,” she mused before lifting the lid off her meal and smiling. “Penne a la vodka with a side salad. How did they know?”

Jake gulped and hoped the dim lighting did enough to hide the redness in his cheeks. They had gone for Italian food for their first date, and that’s what they had both ordered. Buttercup because it was her favourite, and Jake because he’d been so taken with her that he had just said “Same” so that they could get back to their conversation without the waiter being present.

“I might’ve mentioned it once, I guess,” he murmured, taking the lid off his dish and picking up his fork.

“Should we toast or something?”

Jake smiled softly and picked up his glass of red wine. “To…fresh starts?”

Buttercup smiled so sweetly at him that his chest ached with it. “Yeah, fresh starts sound good.”

Buttercup couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard. Her sides ached and her cheeks hurt and she desperately hoped that she had put on waterproof mascara because, otherwise, she would have racoon eyes from the tears of laughter she had shed.

She had to keep reminding herself that it wasn’t real. This was the part of her relationship with Jake that had been easy. Falling in love with him had been as easy as breathing. He could make her laugh until she cried, and he would hold her while she cried until he could make her laugh. He made her want to pull her hair out, but one look at those bright green eyes and that sinful smile, and she would forget all about why he frustrated her. She always counted herself lucky that he was there to frustrate her. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that she would rather run the gamut of emotions with Jake Seresin than risk not feeling anything so strongly with another person.

Loving him was easy. Making it work with him was another story. And now, they had two young daughters who were depending on them. She wasn’t about to risk letting them down again. Still, she found she couldn’t quite keep her guard all the way up around him.

“…and that is why I will never take Charlie to another baseball game,” Jake finished his story to Buttercup’s peals of laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you two,” she giggled breathlessly.

“Hey, she’s half you. She doesn’t get those nerves of steel from me.”

Buttercup rolled her eyes. “Oh please. How many confirmed air-to-air kills do you have under your belt?”

“Hey! That’s totally different. Having nerves of steel in the air while facing down enemy aircraft is completely different from having your six-year-old daughter try to beat the shit out of the opposing team’s mascot because it kinda looked like a monster from her nightmare.”

Buttercup snorted. “I don’t know about that. Sounds like you were both protecting yourselves with those nerves of steel.”

“You were too,” Jake said quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

“When?”

“When you left…” Buttercup froze, and Jake almost regretted saying anything. Almost. “It took guts to leave. I didn’t want to admit it at the time, but you were doing what was right for you.”

“I…” Buttercup took a fortifying sip of wine. “I hope you know I didn’t leave just because of you. I mean, I hope you know that I didn’t leave to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emboldened by the wine, Jake reached out and took her hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Of course I know that. I know you never wanted to hurt me, and I know it felt like you were ripping your own heart out to leave Charlie behind.” He gave her hand a firm squeeze and something squeezed in his heart when she returned the gesture.

“I wish the pandemic had never happened,” Buttercup sighed. “It would’ve been so much easier to keep to the custody schedule if air travel hadn’t become so dangerous.”

Jake nodded. “I wish the court lady hadn’t transcribed our phone numbers wrong.”

Jake had called his lawyer earlier in the day and found that both of their numbers had been written wrong in the paperwork. It had happened to a few other clients, and that’s how they had come to realize that the court stenographer had been drinking on the job.

Buttercup scoffed. “Yeah…the odds were stacked against us at every turn.”

“You really think so?”

Buttercup blinked at him. “You don’t think so? Your deployments, my diagnosis, the pandemic, the clerical error? You don’t think that was fate stamping a big red X on our family?”

Jake leaned forward, close enough to her that she could smell the sharp tang of his cologne and the deep woodsy undertones that were pure Jake. “I think we had a hell of a lot going for us but neither of us knew how to handle the bumps in the road and we fell apart. Tell me, Buttercup. If we knew then what we know now, would we have made it?”

The question made her pause, made everything inside of her freeze. If her past self had all of her present knowledge, would they have made it? Would they have been able to dig through the tunnel of bullshit and make it out clean on the other side? She could imagine it. The open communication, the therapy, the fights they’d have, but together, not against each other.

She shivered at that imaging and met his green gaze. “I’m getting cold,” she whispered. “I think it’s time we go inside.”

Jake sighed but nodded, taking off his suit jacket and draping it over her shoulders. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

Knowing that Javy and Nat were on dish duty, he offered Buttercup his elbow and slowly guided her down the path, the silvery light of the moon illuminating mere feet in front of them. She leaned against him more now than she had when they had initially walked the path, but Jake knew that was the jetlag and wine working against her.

“We’ll have to thank Rooster for dinner,” she mumbled as they strolled. “That was probably the best penne I’ve had since—shit!” Her heel caught on a rock in the path and she pitched forward. Quick as a flash of lightning, Jake had her secure against him, one arm wrapped around her waist and one pressing between her shoulder blades.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair, only realizing how close they were when the scent of Hawaiian orchid wafted over him.

“S-sorry,” she whispered, leaning into his chest more as she steadied herself. She looked up and met his gaze, their noses almost brushing. All it would take was a tilt of her head, and they would be—

Buttercup abruptly pulled away from him, leaning down to take off her shoes and dangling them between her fingers.

“Sorry,” she murmured again. “I didn’t mean to…I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jake’s hand warmed the middle of her back. “No harm done, right?”

Buttercup gulped back the knot in her throat as she nodded. “Yeah…no harm done.”

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[therealslimshakespeare]

Kiss it Off Me 💋

A Dear John Installment || John “Bucky” Egan Fanfiction

Summary: Julie Jean is in England for once -and for once, Bucky Egan is too

Warnings: 18+ one long smutty fluff fest

Please note and thank and give a round of applause to my baby and my dear friend and my brilliant co-author Bri! She first requested this series and concept and has become the engine driving this story and the one who infuses it with so much heart. I literally couldn’t have written it without her. This segment is fully co-authored. Love you baby and this was a joy to work on together 💋

Additional thanks: to all of you who waited ages for this to finally lurch its way to competition. Thank you for both your patience and your continued interest. Also to my bestest gal pals Ashley and Christi- to the latter, did you ever think our midnight screaming about Bucky Egan fogging up a phone booth would actually make it in print? What a wild night, what a happy fever dream.

“Bucky, John, JOHN, MAJOR, JOHN EGAN SLOW DOWN!!!”

Distantly, through a ear ringing fog he could hear them calling his name, there were quite a lot of them and many didn’t really know him, not well, and even those he cared for -Buck and Harry and Ev and Jack- their greetings had turned desperate and they called his name in a effort to stall, not welcome.

But holy shit, she was in England, and he was in England, and fucking fate thought it was real cute to yank the string once more and he wasn’t going to play nice anymore. He was gonna show fate where it could shove its little game of marionettes.

He was gonna keep Julie Jean on the damn ground if he had to climb on the wing of her soon departing jet to do it.

And to do that, to get there in time to do it, he needed to kindly disregard the flock of squawking pals behind him.

“John if you go now you’ll only miss her!” Gale’s rising voice warned, beginning to try to physically restrain his friend’s headlong rampage towards the nearest jeep.

“That one’s low on gas.” Ev helped the cause laconically from the back.

“I’m not just sitting here while she goes-“ Egan informed them without a hitch in his stride.

“Let us send a telegram!” Crosby begged, “She told us to alert her, to call or to wire, anything if you were to come back. Going now you’ll just miss her! Sir, sir please! If I get to her a-a-and you’re on the road w-w-what will I-I-I say?”

“Yeah,” Gale agreed, “gonna make us tell her you’re alive but we don’t have you ‘cause you’re broke down on some backroad in East fuckin’ Anglia because you couldn’t wait to call?”

“Yeah, think of it Bucky,” Demarco came in to aid his copilot, “it’s sweet but, it’ll suck if she makes it.”

“How’d you let her go?” John suddenly railed at Buck who took it like his decent, patient self in the face of a half starved, lovelorn maniac he was glad to find alive again, who’d only just touched down on English soil half an hour ago and was taking news of his girl being here and then being gone pretty well, all Buckyisms considered, “How could you, when she was here! HERE, Buck! How-“

“She said she hadta go, John, and after everything she did for us, for all of us-“ Gale sighed, “I wasn’t about to ask her for longer. She was in trouble as is, seems, with her mother.”

That seemed to frazzle Bucky worse, even if it shut him up for five seconds of wordless scoffing before, “Trouble? She’s in trouble, yeah, yeah, wanna know what kinda trouble her mother is? Shitty Fucks!!!” he roared at the sky and it was ferocious and crass enough to scare of some of the gathered newbies.

Croz exchanged a glance with a hunger carved Brady, “Shitty Fucks” he repeated, “-that’s a new one.”

Captain Brady nodded solemnly. “Makes one wonder if it’s metaphorical or literal.”

Croz processed this gravely.

“Like is it -a shit lay? or shitty lay, ya know?”

“Gentleman?” Gale turned to them for backup with blatant and frigid exasperation.

“Major,” Crosby addressed Egan as pacifying as possible, “let me send that cable, hold tight sir, hold tight -”

John didn’t recall much between that and Red Bowman coming down from the old familiar tower, holding a transcript. A “welcome back major” and a “says she’s comin” sent Bucky’s motor into a higher state of being, one thrumming with useless anticipation and bizark energy.

“From Heathrow. That’ll be a couple hours.” Ev cautioned as he started striding towards god know’s where. His bunk was likely long gone. The one he’d written so many letters from. The one across from Brady’s. The one they said she’d laid in when she first got here. Julie. In his bunk. Without him.

Gale overtook him, stood in front of his trajectory down one muddy lane very like the next; Thorpe Abbots was heart achingly familiar and foreign all at once.

“Ya look like shit.” Gale informed, eyes kind and smile less tired than he’d seen it in ages and John tried not to take that to heart, in fact it was easy, he had far more than his feelings to worry about right now. “And Miss Lana likes her men clean. First thing she did with me was feed me and dunk me. You’ve been in a stalag for two years, you’re gonna need every single one of those hours it takes for her to get here to make yourself presentable.”

“Need a shave to spare her the beard burn.” Benny remarked.

“One to talk, Demarco.”

“I’m not the one vowin’ to do all sorts of sordid shit to tender female flesh.”

“Bet you would if you could.”

“Who says I can’t? Huh? Who says I can’t?”

They got to the showers somehow. Someone found a spare change of class A’s. Maybe they were Jack Kidd’s. They looked like they would fit, maybe a tad tight but Bucky had lost weight and the height was right, trousers hit the top of his boots when he held them up.

“Get in, Bucky.” Buck told him from under his own tepid spray; it felt like heaven after the Stalag’s frigid blasts and the complete lack of even a rag and pale in Mooseburg.

He was gonna see her. In a few hours he was gonna see Julie Jean. In the flesh. And after the past year and a half, having nothing but photographs to trace over - sweet photographs with the teasing posture of her mouth-watering curves, the arch of her lower back, but not being enough to sate his need for the real thing.

How many times had Bucky held her photo besides a newspaper clipping to clock the differences? The vulnerability of her eyes, the loose sway in her shoulders, the lack of any rogue or lipstick to match because she never needed any of the Hollywood facade with him. The missing pieces of clothing because she wanted him to see her. The natural curls of her hair falling down her back. How many times had he held a photograph to his face and taken a deep inhale - sure he could smell her Chanel 5 and cherry blossom and something innately Julie Jean and nothing Lana Tierney.

Buck stood beside him in the shower and held the razor to his jaw, scoffing every few seconds when Bucky couldn’t help a nervous twitch from racking his body. He knew he was liberated but he didn’t feel any different from when he was stuck in the Stalag.

Bucky felt trapped and useless, unable to chase after his girl once more and miles away still. He wondered if Julie Jean had felt abandoned by him like she did everyone else in her life. If she’d thought his promise to her had been broken because Gale had returned home first. Did she understand that Bucky had stayed behind because he needed Buck to be alive and safe first and foremost? Would she fault him for that, or would she still hold to what she wrote years ago, saying his dedication to the men, to the cause, to what had to be done was his most attractive trait. Even more attractive than his shoulders, she had said, but perhaps less arousing.

“It’s real, John.” Gale’s voice matches the soothing scratch of the razor against his skin, going through the motions of a wedding morning without the promise of a bride. “Her feelings for you, whatever was written in the letters between you two - it’s all real.”

And Bucky had wished upon a shooting star in Germany and hoped and prayed to a God his mama pleaded to every night and morning but to hear it from Gale Cleven’s lips leaves him with no doubt.

Because Gale would never steer him down a path of pain or delusion. Because Gale Cleven, mighty and loyal and aloof as he may be, wouldn’t waste his time on something that he deemed to be unworthy or a waste of time. The same way he didn’t take any swigs of alcohol or puffs of smoke. The same way in which he never lingered in bed at the camp and made every moment count for their boys.

“What’d she say?” He asks, and he doesn’t even care that he sounds like the gossip session his fifteen year old sister has - or had, she’d be older now - and he doesn’t care that Gale’s gonna make fun of him for it sooner than later.

But because Buck is anything but a mean bastard he retains any teasing comments or laughs and says, “Told me she didn’t want to tell me anything that she didn’t get to tell you first.” He meets Bucky’s eyes for a moment, for two, and in them is reflected the sharing of warmth in a bunk and the playing of pretend for both their sanity. The remembrance of when Buck admitted to proposing to Marge and Bucky confessed he’d dropped the love bomb on Julie in his last letter. “When I, uh - ” he coughs, as whatever he wants to say is hard to get out and lodged in his throat. “When I told ‘em, her and Marge, how you let me go first and there’d been gunshots and I wasn’t sure if you were hit,” the blue in his eyes became mirrors of guilt, “she said something funny. Said me and her - we’d somehow know if you weren’t okay. We’d feel it.”

And Buck was never one for spiritual beliefs but he was a pilot through and through and although many would probably call Julie wacky, Buck would consider her to be a good partner to have up there with that intuition of hers. The girl had a radar and it radiated Bucky Egan. If Buck ever lost Bucky he only needed to follow Julie Jean.

“All done, Major.” He claps Bucky on the shoulder, having spent his most precise devotion on evening up that mustache, “Let’s get you out of the shower before you become all wrinkly like a prune.”

It’s only when he’s dried off his curls and he’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and Buck’s got one foot out the showers that Bucky calls him back.

“I’d do it the same all over again, Buck. Wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

“Even though your girl would still be here if you’d have saved yourself?”

Bucky shrugs, “My girl’s on her way back, Buck. And because of you I don’t gotta worry whether it’s real - I just gotta go work on my big move.”

His big move was gut impulse when, standing in new duds, shiny boots, starched crush cap, glinting oak clusters, with brushed back curls and a trimmed mustache, he saw a Rolls Royce careen through the flimsy barrier gate of the base after a barked clarification from the chauffeur. John Egan saw her coming, it had to be her, and he went a’runnin’ towards her. There was a small throng already getting in their way, servicemen trying to stop the trespassing vehicle and civilians clamoring to see the starlet back, all gathering around as the sexy black car careened past them before screeching to a well considered stop, still yards from Egan’s sprinting figure.

The door opened without the aid of outsiders, a shiny glint of bottle blonde barely shone above the top of the ajar door, face obscured by the top of the tinted window, then it was slammed shut and a diminutive figure, top heavy and bundled with tiny little legs that seemed to wobble upon their foundation of sky high heels, wheeled ‘round to face him -it tripped him up worse than a roadblock.

At his back John sensed more than saw or felt Buck directing, not himself but others, the boys he guessed, the crowd maybe, he didn’t care. There was a ring of others around them but that’s just what they were, others, about as real or important as the ropes around the ring when two boxers collide. No one was between them and she was bundled in his jacket and she was blonde and her legs were tiny and her ankles spindly for such balance and she looked like a woman who was crying or had been and Julie was panting with an open garnet red mouth and eyes so young and wild and wanting that there wasn’t anyone else there.

Just Julie Jean finally come, just like she said she would. And Bucky sure hoped he wasn’t dead right now, he had so many living promises to make up to her. If he could just touch her -his hand twitched at his side and he heard himself grunt, like a racehorse straining at the bit, like some unknown thing was stalling him.

She swam closer, the clip clop of her heels on shitty pock marked pavement the only thing he could hear besides the wild racket of his heart, crowd noise and the hum of engines he knew should be present weren’t even audible. If those footsteps had clopped along the floors of somewhere as unlikely as Stalag Luft III, he’d have known her, without ever meeting her he knew her. He felt close to staggering, it was mercy his feet knew his heart well enough, it brought them closer. Still a few paces away from each other, she’d have to stagger too if they wanted to touch.

Her young sweet face, the one she had shown him alone, it was plain to see here and now as a catalog of betrayals and hopes flitted across its schooled mask, breaking apart the starlet and letting out the heartsick girl. A loud pop jarred them both, a camera going off. A brief flinch. The rest of the world would see this face too, now. It only broke the facade further. Her lips moved wordlessly once, twice before her throat buzzed to life and the warmest voice Bucky had ever known spoke:

“You kept your promise.”

John Egan was alive, brazenly so, still wearing marks along his face of a grapple or ten with death, darling creased face with its prominent cheekbones sallow and looking deprived of any nourishment apart from stubborn hope. But he was alive, he’d promised he’d stay alive for her, try his damndest and here he was, looking at her like she was the reason, half reverence, half accusation. He was alive, this first promise ever made to her that had been kept.

Could he even comprehend what it meant to her? What he meant to her by consequence? He had kept his promise to her and he was so very alive, an absolute mountain of a man, taller than she had ever imagined, and she had imagined him larger than life, built him up to impossible proportions, saddled his shoulders with impossible expectations and he swore he was man enough. She didn’t know they made men like that but it had been nice imagining him being so. He was every inch what he’d reported, soul and body, if anything he had shorted himself and Julie felt her chest growing tight enough to burst as he stood there, surrounded by his friends and her hangers on, a step or two and they’d be proof of life to each other. But he stood and she wondered if he knew she didn’t care, if he didn’t care she didn’t care anymore: the whole world could know it, hear of it, see it in newsprint

—She loved him.

He had said he loved her first. She saw his hand shake by his side.

“You kept your promise.”

Bucky Egan wasn’t likely to forget the way Julie Jean had reprimanded him for his false politeness in his second letter, how she had been the only woman he’d ever known who asked for honesty and meant it, called it honesty when he’d been so used to being told he was only good at vulgarity, at talking shit, running his mouth, saying the things a grown man should know better than to admit he felt. She had called it honesty.

She’d want him to be honest now. That thought, a conviction more than anything, filled his body with power again, his heart kicking up with resolve instead of terror. Gale said she loved him, or likely did, and John had long ago known he’d never have love for anyone the way he did for her. What was the meaning of being here on this spinning globe after all the reasons he shouldn’t be if not to act on it?

He thought of a disapproving mother, a spineless fiancé, and angry producers and the demanding public — all things his girl had to bear alone because he’d been busy doing his bit. Hurt confessions written on crinkled paper where tear tracks lay, sealed inside an envelope that she sent his way with the press of her gorgeous lips every time no matter what she was enduring, crossed his mind. Never once had she asked for anything besides his honesty and him and he vowed in that moment to never put anything before her again — no, he had kept his promise because he had a vision in mind already: Julie Jean with his ring on her finger, his babies in her belly, and glowing with the love he would devote to her.

Julie thought he looked big from afar, up close and in sudden motion he was like a pillar that could float, some strange grace tempering the bulk of him as he rushed her, not a stagger or a stroll, he marched right up to close the final distance and his hands were expectantly reached out to claim her so that when he was to her, they had her right away, grasped her around the waist, impossibly large and impossibly warm, they lifted her up, right beneath the ribs to get her on some level playing field and then, then she felt him kiss her.

He smelled of aftershave and tasted of bubblegum, and once she’d knocked off his cap with a hand needy to cup his head, she felt the tacky traces of pomade and smelt a heady tang of what had to be sweat. She’d never been kissed by so manly a man in all her days of being smooched, and she thought she’d been smooched before but if that’s what all that playacting of her previous life had been, she needed a new word for the way his lips molded to her own, vigorous, joyous, sure as anything, and somehow possessive like she’d never known. Like he was claiming something promised, not conquered. It felt like a kiss she’d been told to film, but never knew how to make real. The scritch of his mustache was real. The burn of her lungs as a firm hand to the back of her neck stole all her air -that was real. The implacable forearm barring her little self to his body, keeping her aloft and snug, that was real.

Bucky Egan was real and that made Julie Jean sure that she was, too.

Miss Lana Turner of Hollywood fame and canteen acclaim weighs next to nothing in Bucky’s arms; it allows him to keep her up with one alone while sparing a hand to rustle under golden curls and bring her forcefully close. He finds no resistance, his issued cover flies off the back of his head and she is carding through his neatly styled hair with crimson talons and he feels like moaning into her mouth right then and there at how sharp and tangible and real it is. She is tiny and she is feral and she is wearing his jacket and she’s the one who wrote him back.

“I love you.” he reminds her desperately instead of breathing when they break apart, a fraction of an instant to stare cross eyed at the closeness of the other before colliding again.

Her hands are soft and small on his cheeks, her thumbs swiping away what might be an errant tear and: “I love you, John Egan.” Julie swears in turn and his world falls into place, peaceful and right and wrapped up in five feet of wickedly tailored rayon and his flight jacket. He went in again and her tongue met his this time, unreservedly; and this was all he wanted to do for eternity.

But then there was, “uhem, Major,” and it was Crosby tapping Bucky’s left shoulder that allowed them a reprieve for some air, even as Julie continued peppering light presses of her lips to the line of Bucky’s jaw and any part of his face she could reach. “Sir, meet Spangles Egan.”

A white fluffy shape, reminiscent of a muff or a stole, was shoved into the crook of his elbow, now holding Julie with one arm and using the lower curve of her pert backside as leverage for sturdiness, and a bunny with a light pink nose in his other.

“Egan, huh?” He turns to Julie.

“The adoption papers aren’t finished yet but Croz took it upon himself to rush the process.”

Crosby beams. “Ain’t he perfect Major?”*

Bucky had gone down having left his heart behind in a letter written to Julie, sick at the thought that he had built most of it in his head, only to come back and see she had made a family for him to return to. His friends and their bunny and all that was left was taking her to his Mama.

“Yeah he is, Croz,” he agrees, accepting the peck that a lovesick Julie Jean gives and only pulling away because he feels scuffing at his ankles. Meatball howls, low, and Bucky raises the arm holding Spangles higher. “Don’t think Meatball’s a fan.”

“Help Bucky out, Croz,” Brady speaks up, “he can’t stand there holding his girl and their bunny and fending Meatball off forever.”

“Who says I can’t? Who says?” And Brady disguises an eye roll at the similarities between all the boys on base. From beside him, Benny bumps his shoulder with a laugh.

As Crosby nears once more, Bucky does find the arm holding Julie tightening to keep her closer to him and extending Spangles back. Paranoid with the thought of her being taken — like if Crosby would opt to take her from his hands to hold instead.

The boys all release a knowing laugh and it finally spurs Buck into action, the handful of cameras that had followed Julie back to base continuing to snap but at least they were so busy trying to eavesdrop and shove their microphones closer that they hadn’t spoken up to ruin the moment.

“How about we take this somewhere more private?” he suggests and Julie can feel with the precision of radar the hovering agreement of Herb somewhere near Major Cleven’s side.

“Yeah let’s.” Herb agrees vocally, and from the elevated height of John Egan’s gently jostling arm as he moves them on, Julie blows kisses to the scarecrow boys who look as underfed as they are happy to be back, and in their midst is Marge, with two local kids who’ve both confiscated one of her smooth hands to hold in Buck’s absence.

On the walk back to -to somewhere, Julie doesn’t know where they’re headed, she relishes the feeling of being a bobbing little weightless cork in his embrace and the feeling of his large hand cupping the ticklish flesh of her under thigh, when she glances back to tease or encourage him, she finds pale blue eyes already locked on her and it makes her belly flip.

“You might trip.” she titters in warning.

John just kisses his teeth playfully and shrugs his eyebrows, she wasn’t sure that was something a person could do until him, but that’s what he does before his low voice rumbles out, cushioned by soft discretion for those nearby, “I ain’t gonna trip.”

There’s nothing salacious about that sentence but his surety and his rebuttal makes her thrum and maybe he sees the way her eyes start glowing because he gives her a dark little smile to match that looks exactly like his letters sounded and she attacks his neck and ears with kisses for lack of a better thing to do as he keeps walking and walking. “I love these so much.” she complains, nibbling at the prominent ridge up top until she hears him laugh, delight that swings incredulous when he realizes she’s in earnest and she likes the damn things that’ve always stuck out too much, being too big for his own damn head. “Where are you taking me, Major Egan.” she asks.

“Gonna take you to my favorite joint, Miss Turner,” he returns, accepting each peck she gifts him between every word. “I’d find it hard to believe these boys did it justice without me here to liven them up.” Bucky doesn’t need to look over to know Buck and Kidd are rolling their eyes.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to protest and let him know she didn’t go anywhere without him there because it would have hurt too much, but someone else speaks first.

“You and Julie must have the same mind, Bucky. she chose to not visit any place you frequented without you here.” Crosby’s walking in pace beside them, cap in his hand, and he chuckles. “Must’ve known we’d be missing you too much to enjoy it truly.”

Bucky’s head swivels in disbelief, wide eyes jumping from where Crosby trails beside them at a demure two paces on the cobbled street to Buck a few feet ahead, who nods in confirmation. Bucky’s eyes return to Julie Jean, sheepish and pink in the face. Her eyes are watery again but still bright and full of light, she finds the hurt of missing him returning as she remembers every time she denied visiting the base again or the pub nearby. He’s going to need to keep squeezing her for that horrible lonely feeling to dim in the slightest, it was too strong to be transient even in his hold.

“It wouldn’t have been right without you.” She’s still bobbing in his arms as he continues taking careful steps. She strokes his cheekbone, trails down and thumbs his mustache. “Didn’t want any of it without you.” She’s whispering now to keep the words secret between them.

Love and devotion pour into her confession making Bucky feel more special than he ever has in his life. She had chosen him since the first letter and had been more loyal than he ever thought anyone capable as she continued choosing him, choosing to believe in his luck and chances to stay alive, a devout belief for him to return home and give her everything he ever wrote and promised. A home, a life, happily ever after.

Bucky has no words. He puckers his lips for another taste of her and this time he has to stop walking to ensure he won’t drop her, finding no resistance or hesitance as she immediately allows his tongue to slide besides her. He was an ocean away still but her mouth meeting his felt like home, warm and loving, a big smile threatening to break both their faces at being together.

His boys whistle and holler again, stopping and creating a crowd once more to join their bubble of happiness. At this rate Bucky thinks the five minutes to the bar was going to be closer to thirty.

He steals one more kiss before pulling back to look at her. He jostles her into one arm only once more to push a stray hair behind her ear, allowing his thumb to trace a blushing cheek.

“Then let’s make sure we do it right, huh?”*

The Kings Head is the quintessential English pub, and Julie finds a gasping commendation of it leave her instantly on sight of it; from its squatty white washed and gabled exterior, with flower boxes and lounging hound on the threshold, to its dark and pungent interior, homey and oak, yeast and hearth soot filling the air, hazy evening light filtering through a thousand dust motes and the rest of their illumination is provided by bare bulbs only recently freed from the shackles of black out curtains. The ceiling is so quaint and low that Major Egan adopts an almost constant stoop upon entering and he deposits her on her feet lest she bonk her head amongst the rafters; it’s gratifying the way he sets her down and frees her to shake hands with the barman and his son and Bucky’s friend -the best dart thrower he knows- and all of it without his own hands leaving her waist a single time.

Julie thinks so long as he keeps touching her, holding her to earth she can keep functioning enough not to ruin it, embarrass him, make someone feel awkward about it all. “My girl Julie Jean” he tells them all, she’s been much talked of and not her movies, the recruits know her otherwise but she’s merely Bucky’s girl to most of the elderly locals gathered round the bar when he plops her on his knee up on a stool, and Julie ponders living in this tucked away little world where she’s never anything special but by association with John Egan.

“Yeah, yeah, Donald, the usual!” Bucky is ordering with gusto that’s properly out of place at dinner time and with cheeks as sallow as his are, but it livens everyone else up and many of his recently returned boys dare the same, ordering gin and ciders and whiskeys like they never left. Martini’s not being in the menuc Julie graciously settles for a rum and coke and sips it while Bucky’s large hand engulfs her glass and they remain that way, staring and silly until she runs out of breath and must let the straw go from between her lips.

It’s a bit like watching dominos fall as the freshly liberated boys throw down their shots, smack their lips with appreciation, slam their glasses down before suddenly going green and very worried. Demarco is the first to bolt, Brady after him and Julie isn’t sure which one is in it for companionship and which for necessity.

“You be careful with that.” Gale murmurs on the other side of Egan and his second shot, “Don’t follow those fools out the door.”

Bucky doesn’t vomit, and he doesn’t intend to get plastered while on his first date with his dream girl, but two shots used to be an easy chaser and he isn’t worried. As is, after feeling the second he doesn’t vomit but he does feel the rush to his head of being distinctly buzzed. After two shots. Well shit, that’s what going teetotaler does to a body’s capacity for a good time. There’s a distinctly new and frankly sickening after effect of the world spinning around too, and that he could do without and he shuts his eyes closed for a minute to regroup. It lends to the heightened sensation of feeling, and what he feels is Julie’s lap beneath his palms, her hair at his cheek, the jostle of her arm as she grabs her drink from the bar, the weight of her on his thigh.

She’s actually real. And he’s a sicker man than he thought. He has to manage this for her, somehow.

“Baby drink a little of this.” There’s a straw poking his lips and when he opens his eyes Julie is tending to him with rum and coke on his tongue, “Little sugar crash, huh?” Her hands are in his hair and he feels like unraveling on this very stool.

The sugar does help, or maybe it’s her doting and Bucky is sure he’s got the dopiest grin on his face when he sways near and pops the straw out just in time to lock lips again. They taste like sweetness together and he licks eagerly into her mouth again, chasing that taste, his hands squeezing at her waist and he can tell she likes that, she shudders and her tongue lolls when he does. The barman is not so enthused: to his credit he gives them a good half a minute before letting out an “oi, more o’tha’ and I’ll be givin ye the keys to yer auld room upstairs and requestin’ ye tae make use o’it.”

Out of desire to indeed do the hangout justice, celebrate their liberation, wait for the mince pies to cool for dinner and avoid being perceived as disgustingly ravenous for each other’s flesh alone, Bucky and Julie abscond further into the pub and take up their places by the dart board- where, to everyone’s delight, it is discovered Miss Tierney has never played.

“Stand like this, baby cakes.” Bucky happily instructs her and his hands move her about like they would his own little doll and a recently recovered Brady and Demarco trade looks that say all too much, enough for Crosby to grin with them in a way Brady didn’t remember him grinning when he last saw him. Knowingly. He’s holding the damn little bunny to his chest again and Brady wonders if he’s ever going to give it back to Lana; Herb being very glad to be free of its keeping as he chats over a pint with one of the farmers.

“Ya know it ain’t yours.” Brady feels compelled to remind, feeling faintly sick still and very drunk despite puking it back up.

Crosby just keeps stroking its blue satin collar. “Someone has to see to him when Bucky and Bucky’s girl go at it later on.”

“If I remember straight, Buck had said that was Marge’s sole job.” Demarco muses, eyes a million miles away and light slightly agape, the cider hit him too before it came back up. “To tend the bunny.”

“The bunny is named Spangles and Marge is no longer a fit companion for him.” Crosby declared and nodded at some scene behind the two men. They wheeled around and when they’re spotting vision cleared, they observed Gale and Marge playing at checkers in one of the booths but the game seemed very secondary to the way they were staring at each other, hands in slow motion and lips parted heavy and freshly licked.

“I gotta get me a woman.” Demarco realized and ordered himself and Brady and Crosby another pint.

As the night waxed on, Bucky found himself and Julie as alone as they’d been all night, a paltry sort of privacy mostly gained by placing his shoulders between the ongoing dart game and the sultry dancing behind him and the small little lady tucked into his side, legs over his and her warm hip half in his lap. There’s nothing but her warm face and his jacket and her halo of hair against the paneling of the pub booth and it's intimate suddenly, like he’s not felt all night. It hits him like a wave, the want and the love. Judging by her darkening eyes, she feels the same.

“Buck, he mentioned some trouble,” Bucky broaches the topic, voice gone gravelly and low for her ears only, his hand rising and gently tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, “trouble with your mother?”

It feels odd to say these things aloud, subjects they’ve written each other about a million times and yet saying them, she feels half stranger, half twin, like he should know this entirely and yet -and yet.

Julie’s laugh is short and weak, seemingly too overcome by his nearness, the timbre of his voice, the undivided attention. “Well- well yes she, she was in a state. And now that I’ve not arrived I-“ Julie imagines her mother is in more than a state, indeed a rage seems most likely. She wants to shudder but he’s too warm to allow the gooseflesh to form, she hopes he’ll never let go, he’ll never let her shudder again.

“She’ll have quite the morning with those pictures served alongside her danish and coffee.” Bucky remarks in wry conversation and Julie smiles, watery, unsure where he’s going with this.

“I imagine she will.”

His face sharpens, attentive, commanding and she feels her heart quicken even as the hand on her waist keeps on its loving palming of her flesh, “You alright with that? With what she’ll think?”

She can’t imagine he doesn’t know yet- “I don’t care, Bucky, I really don’t care what, what anyone really, what anyone thinks but you.” she whispers.

Bucky merely nods his head nearer, warm and generous lips pressing to her brow and she feels a thrill at the fatherly caress, down to her very toes, she’s never been sat in a lap and asked about her future. “Don’t need to care what I think right now, Julie Jean,” he gently steers her, “just need to know what ya want, sweet girl.”

She pulls her head away to look him dead in the eye, this man who clawed out of a grave to be here for her, the answer is the same, “You Bucky.” she swears, “That’s all I want, you’re all I’ll ever want.” she’s never been so sure of anything in her life. She delivers her line with more conviction than any script, she means it this time, she can see forever spanning forever ahead and it’s him, it’s just him and she is going to have it.

She loses sight of him again and his mouth claims her, promising and rewarding and she moans into it, yearning too long deferred and the run and the late evening and the talks of forever making her desperate for some consummation to it all. He must feel it too, his kiss is not for the public and her moan makes his hand spasm on her waist, greedy and lewd. He pulls away with a hoarse gasp that is anything but restrained.

“You can have me.” he grants Julie the keys to the kingdom, and only the tiniest edge of caution remains, “But if we’re gonna give ourselves, we need to do it proper.” he tells her softly and wedding bands and sleepy priests and a midnight wedding dances in her mind and her head thuds in mild shock, “You need to cut that lilly livered coward of a fiancé off before I so much as get a finger up your sweet self, you hear me?”

In a daze Julie hears him, and like a child salivating for the proffered candy, she nods, frantic and wanton, she’d do anything to have any part of him tucked inside her. “I’d forgotten him.” she admits sheepishly and he barks out a laugh at that.

“I haven’t.” he replies and something about the gruff jealousy of that sentiment makes her heart soar.

She cranes her neck for a clock.

“Whatcha lookin’ for shorty?”

“The time.”

Bucky flashes his wrist watch toward the light in a move so elegant and well practiced that even that simple gesture is utterly erotic in her mind. The hands of the watch swim in front of her. “Quarter to three.” he pronounces.

That means it’s horribly late here. Lust and sleep deprivation make for strange incentives. “That means it’s morning in New York.” she realizes and Bucky's surprised face is utterly gratifying, “I can catch him before he goes out.”

Her man grins at her with a wild look in his sharp blue eyes, like he’s starting to believe this isn’t at all in theory, he looks mildly crazed and she wants him to take it out on her body. “You could.” he agrees.

“Is there a phone booth nearby?” She asks, loathe to make the call here with all the eavesdroppers and hooting friends, lovely as they are.

“Half a mile.” Bucky informs and he’s already scotting them both out of the booth, “I’ve got a bike. You can ride. Handlebars.”

Julie’s never been more excited to slink out of a party in all her life, she’s never been more excited for a date to pick her up as she is when Bucky and his bicycle that she has no reason to think is indeed his, serves as her noble carriage as he pedals them along the muddy lane in the pitch black of a early summers morning to the tiny, golden beacon of a telephone box.

The war is close to over, she realizes, as the booth’s happy bulb glows unabashed ahead of them in the inky countryside. The war is over and the lights are back on.

Bucky props the bike against the booth, lone wire sentinel on the destroyed landscape and there's a barrenness to these flatlands that give Julie Jean the creeps, like wandering out into the Oklahoma flatness as a child. Brings with it the fear of falling off the edge of the world.

Bucky opens the red and glass paned door for her, ever the gentleman, his expression one so serious she realizes he really needs this.

Julie tugs John into the tiny red phone booth by his tie. It must be done and his presence gives her determination. He’s a warm, solid, looming presence behind her, heating her up as she keeps her truthful cruelty terse and cold.

She dials the number, she endures the switchboard, she cajoles Vincent’s valet to interrupt his breakfast. She tells the man who’s hurt her it’s quite over. Utterly over.

It’s over. She’s cruel about it.

Exactly like Vincent is, exactly like he deserves. Now she knows what warmth is, she cannot possibly go back. She simply tells him it’s over, and when he asks why she says it once again and hangs up on his rebuttal of ownership.

She wonders if Egan has even fully heard what she’s said, she thinks he might think poorly of her if he did but he doesn’t seem to be aware at all. When she hangs up the receiver and turns round to him in the small space, his eyes have gone dark and the most alarming concentration paints his face.

There is a crackle between them that has nothing to do with the fuzzy phone line or the patter of falling rain on the glass panes around them, no lightning in the sky but her finger tips buzz and like magnets; they meet each other. A brutal, awful, needy kiss. Smashing their faces together without much finesse but pouring out an admittance of so much need it’s quite painful. She can feel Bucky tugging at her hair and forcing her face closer when his nose is already shoving aside her own and his lips are working desperately against hers and oh -he’s got such fire in him! He’s thrumming around her and she can hear herself squeaking like a choir girl at the way he helps himself to her body like he saw through her timidity all along, knows she is only shy to take what she wants. She hardly recognizes the crazed creature that meets him at every step with hunger and provocation, when his tongue gently dabs at her lip she swallows him whole, when his hand strays from her waist to her breast she finds herself expanding a breath to fully fill his palm, begging him to take take take.

“I want you so bad.” he hisses like he’s angry at her for being so intoxicating, for robbing him of the ability to breathe. Egan shakes her as he says it, jolts of her neck that fling her hair back with each jerk and her mouth goes dry at his brute strength just barely restrained.

“You’ve waited this long, can’t you be good?”she teases him only to provoke in hopes of being repaid with another snarl and a bonk of her head against the glass as he kisses her again.

Devours more like. She’s not sure why she teased, her nylons are soaked and her own kisses suggest how dire it’s all become for her, having him so near and potent. It’s only she’s not at all sure what she meant by it, what could possibly be finished in this open space. It’s a little fishbowl and the stormy night gives all the ambience to lull her into imagining it’s private but god knows what’s in the jet black night, looking on at the spectacle of the looming Major and his little floozy smashing faces and gripping shirts. She’d let him take her in a hedge at this rate, just not under the bare bulb hanging above them.

But oh, he looks so beautiful in this light.

And if ever anyone spelled need, in its rawest, basest, most flatteringly primal way, it’s John Egan pressing her to the red paned glass of a rural phone booth, an oddly calming smirk on his face and an unarguable thigh beginning to wedge its way between her legs. There could be anyone out there but somehow that doesn’t seem important anymore, not like his large hands do, tenderly cupping her cheeks. Or his belly pressing into hers with his next kiss, the way his lips have grown more insistent while regaining some measured dominance. She finds herself rocking against his strong leg without even thinking, following the instincts his passion raises in her.

She doesn’t know when she grabbed back ahold of his collar. Did she ever let go? She doesn’t know but she fists it all the same, dragging him down to her height as she pants and mewls into his mouth, heels slipping on the rough floor, grit sounding loudly at each scuff.

It’s flattering really, how pathetically wanton she has become under some heavy petting and deep kisses. His suspicions of being wanted are more than confirmed -it’s still a little astounding coming from an Angel like her, wanting a rake like him. But she’s a warm blooded girl with lush tits that seem to expand with each tortured gasp and her little clamshell that’s making a wet spot on his slacks. It’s not the rain, can’t be, there’s no leak.

“I’ll show you good, sweetheart.” He threatens in retaliation for her tease, tweaking a nipple through the soft rayon of her dress, hand wedged beneath her/his jacket once again.

“Don’t, don’t be awful, I can’t breathe.” she begs and he draws away from her lush lips in mild concern.

She splays her hands against his chest to keep them apart as she gulps in air, not phased by the way his hands are groping her. He watches her squint her eyes up at the bulb above them before she shakes her head as if to clear it. When her eyes drift back to his they are startlingly clear and terribly dark. “I’ve got to get out of these nylons.” she whines and suddenly she is reaching under her swishy rayon skirt and yanking at the clips and the hosiery.

His gentlemanly instincts kick in a beat late yet still he offers his hand to balance her -only late due to the prospect of her bare and the possibly imagined musk thats suddenly pervading the air as she shimmies them down her thighs and wobbles on one heel, and then the other, before pulling the nylons out like squid legs between her own. He can see her fingers flutter to drop them.

A tragedy waiting to happen. He’s dreamed about using those for all sorts of-. “No!”

She startles and he hastily snatches them from her pretty hand before she can discard them on the dirty floor. He leans against her before bringing them to his face, closing his eyes and breathing deep. She sounds like a wounded cat and it makes him smirk, some wet smear catching his upper lip and he dares stick out his tongue, dabbing at the traces of her excitement caught in his mustache.

“Your belt.” she doesn’t ask him, she informs, and her hands have gone to his buckle, undoing the flat metal with more ease than he’d like, it nearly makes him jealous of who she’s perfected the movement on, only it’s him she’s pantsing right now and he’s not sure he’s even got condoms with him. He swings the panty hose round his neck and does his best to assist. “I-I-need, I need-“ she’s angrily begging as she wrestles the material down and exposes the pristine white of his briefs and sturdy pale flesh bracketing them. She swings a leg back over his own and suddenly the sweet flowy little skirt is bunched up and Bucky registers a warm, wet quim sliding against his thigh. “I need-this.” she sounds satisfied and begins a grind in earnest, his muscles dragging against her and the tickle of leg hair making her jerk.

“Filthy, you’re goddamn filthy.” he praises, voice gone to hell and raspy as anything. He squeezes her jaw so tight she winces and kisses her again, egging her on with harsh grips on her waist and sweet nips to her lips. “You gonna get off like this? Hmm? Like an alley cat? Rubbin’ on the first fella who bought you a drink over the channel?”

Her look is venomous and she releases her grip on his shoulder to squeeze his face in return. “I just canned my fiancé for you.” she tries to put every bit of what this means into words for him, to remind him how very much even this depravity means to her. “You.” she slurs as a flash of anger crosses his face at the rebuttal, at being made to be serious, even as his grip on her is deathly possessive. “I’m getting off on you, Major.” she leans her head back against the glass and shuts her eyes, the better to concentrate on the thick feel of him against her and the ragged sound of his own breathing. “Please cooperate.” she sighs, lips tugging up in a smirk, already anticipating the temper she’s stoked.

“Call me Bucky.” he asks, a little desperate but he’d never admit that.

“You’re lucky I’m so close, Bucky.” she warns.

“Then let me in you.” he cajoles and she can hear his own smirk in his tone, hot and breathy against her ear.

“No, no this will do just fine.” she gasps, almost there as it is, “Besides, I don’t trust you not to blow.”

“I-don’t have condoms.” he admits, eyes glued to the wet streak visible on his upper thigh every time she slides towards his knee.

“I know.” she laughs, merry and wise.

“How?” he’s outraged but he’s laughing, and her eyes are happy little slits when she opens them to watch him smile.

“I saw you patting your pockets, the minute you saw me across the way at the pub.”

“Well, well that was -shit.” he concedes after a minute of open mouthed deliberation on his next lie but it falls short, her heavy breathing and pinched brows suggesting a crisis at hand. “Lemme rub you though it.“ he begs, wheedling in a strangely attractive way for a grown man and his fingers are dancing over her hips.

“No, this, this is doing it just fine. You just -just be, be all big and strong for me.” She pants, her eyes rolling about the closer she gets and he buries his face into her throat, licking and nibbling at her jaw, letting her rake her nails down his neck as fire shoots along his spine and lodges in an ever growing ache between his legs. He might be dribbling himself at this rate, her breathy mewls so near and her desperation so satisfyingly resonate with his own. “Bucky!” she searches for him desperately as she nears and he pulls his head up from her shoulder and finds a face, one that’s been like a beacon to him this whole long war, staring up at him in adoration as she shakes apart in his arms.

“Tell me some of those nice things again, please Bucky.” she begs him and she can see him wet his lips, his forehead pressed hers, their movements becoming in tandem. “Some of those nice things you used to write me.”

What he’d write to her, before she met him and learned he was about as dangerously volatile as a lit fuse and every bit as addictive as danger.

“Nice things?” he ponders, grinning smile flashing white in the dull light, “Like- what a doll you are? How I’ve spent every night for two years pretending you're mine?”

“Yes, yes.” she chants and he doesn’t know if it’s from the nearness of her climax or in reaction to his words. Maybe it’s all the same for girls, if he was inside her he could no doubt feel the reaction each little praise had on her fiery hole. They were marvels that way.

“And your prissy fiancé’s a fuckin’ idiot under-appreciatin’ you like he does-“ it’s from the heart but he seems to have misfired, she shakes her head and moans,

“No, don’t bring him up right now. Not now.”

Bucky digs his forehead against hers, belligerent of the order, “I think I should talk about him,” he decides, “so I’m gonna. He’s a goddamn pansy if he can’t even get himself a real war job then cuts yours down. He should shut up or man up. Bet he whines about everything you do, doesn’t he?”

“I- mayb- oh, oh gosh!” the rock of his body against hers, wipes her mind of anything except his own brand of niceness, that happens to be tearing down her old beau and cranking his thigh between her legs.

“Bet he was always complainin’,” Bucky surmises she’s close by the gasping, wordless flutter of her eyes, “stupid sunnuvabitch, anybody who’s got you oughta be proud as anythin.”

“You proud of me?” she chokes out, begging for it and she watches as his caddish grin melts into some recognition of her need and he peppers her face with little pecks before taking an earlobe between his teeth, schmoozing her with,

“Course I’m proud of you.” his voice is husky and low this statement is followed by a nip of his sharp teeth, “You know I think you’re the swellest dame that ever walked the earth and all my friends know I think so, too.” he bites his own lip as her movements become frantic and the heat they’ve built up between them has the place steaming, his hair gone jet black and her nose shiny, “I’m proud of all the work you do, all the money you’ve raised and for cannin’ that useless sunnuvabitch and I’m proud of you for havin’ such pretty yams -a bold choice, ya know that, don’t ya Jeanie? Bold choice to carry around knockers this size, can’t order these up and plan on being’ discreet all your life. No sir. You like that? Huh? Yeah? Mm, well I like most how you ain’t ashamed to ride a leg when you need it. And I bet you need it, stupid whiny fucker probably got cramp every time, right as it got good, didn’t he?”

“Oh god Bucky, oh god.” she never expected the spewing of compliments and insults and such prejudiced loyalty to herself to send her flying but it did, his jumbled, idiotic stream of love flying out of his panting mouth the same way it flew from his pen. “Oh God, Bucky!”

She’s not sure she’s ever felt this much want in her life. Satisfaction rips through her white hot to the very tips of her ears and soles of her feet and all the while it’s not enough. His hands are clasping her own and she white knuckles her grip on them. She chomps at his kisses angrily, wanting to eat him alive and thank him all at once. It doesn’t seem to end, the buzzing shocks and he seems to sense it too, how she’s too chicken to make herself mad with the pleasure. She feels Egan’s hands disentangle and descend on her hips, engulfing them in his large palms, fingers dug into her backside, forcefully jerking her against him, his leg moving in an angry tandem until she’s writhing from the overwhelming feel of it.

The phone booth creaks from the force of something besides the gale outside and the horribleness of their animalistic indulgence only makes her clench harder and grin wider at his own ravenous face.

“Bucky!”

Bucky looks down at her with the face of a man well satisfied with himself and utterly enamored with her, “That’s it, scream it, scream my name, sweetheart. This ride ain’t slowin’ till you do.”

“Bucky! Bucky! Bucky!”

At her screams, Egan honest to god laughs, loud and merciless, the laugh of a man who knows how to wring the best out of life. “You don’t want me to use my hands?” he taunts through gritted teeth, “Ok then. Don’t need ‘em. Look at you.”

“Johnny!” once more and the one his mama gave him, higher in pitch and she’s not sure when she stopped being in charge of this endeavor and instead became his little ragdoll.

“That an sos?” he chuckles.

“Yes, gosh yes, I can’t anymore! Don’t make me anymore!”

“Alright, alright, shhh, shh, that’s a good girl, shh.”

He ruffles her hair at the nape of her neck like he’s calming a puppy and, face planted into his chest as she is, shaking and quaking at the residual aftershocks, she doesn’t even think to take offense. He’s warm and solid and loving and she sags against him, the mess she made of his bare thigh not yet cooling.

Finally it lessens, the madness calms only to be filled by heavy intent. And still, Bucky delights in her pleasure and despite the way he handled her to get her over the finish line, his hand is nothing but tender as it pushes her hair out of her eyes and his nose nuzzles her own as she pants the stars out of her vision.

“How’s that feel, huh?”

“Good,” she sighs, hopelessly fond, “just like you promised.”

“Good? Good? Good my ass, you're crosseyed and my leg’s soaked.” he goads her and she’d smack him for being so insufferably arrogant but he’s turned her limbs to putty and after what he’d been through he deserved to be smug after a job well done.

“Did you mean it?” she asks instead, green eyes looking like fragile little ponds apiece, one word of his, no, a lack of word, an expression, a micro expression and they become a whirlpool, tears spilling over and years worth of longing returned to sender.

He takes pains to tuck a falling strand behind her ear, those starched victory rolls of hers beginning to flag, his thumb lingering, caressing her cheek once the job is done. “Every word.” he swears with quiet vehemence and can feel the answering sag of relief from the woman in his arms, “From the very start. Every word.”

“Knew it.” she sighs in relief, a smug look of joy taking the place of wariness and she gloats in his love, a drunken, pacified little thing as she clasps his own face again and kisses him soundly. “I knew you were a good man.” she mumbles into his plush mouth, hands yanking on ebony hair, misted and curling from the drizzle outside. Could he be any more delectable? His hands were large as paws around her waist and the scorching weight of them makes her dizzy with speculation. “Told all my friends you were worth every sleepless night.”

“Can’t believe you cared that much.” he moans in appreciation, the horrid years of incarnation no less dull a memory for all the grand to-do’s and peacetime jubilance of the present. The war was almost over but he wasn’t sure he’d get a full night’s unhaunted sleep for the next decade.

“I’ve never cared about anybody the way I care for you.” Jeanie looks at him then, as earnest as Buck in her devotion and John swallows hard, something alarmingly wet and stinging beginning to collect in his eyes and if he were a crying man he’d very much fear they were tears. “Silly man, couldn’t you tell?” she whispers mournfully.

“I-I guess I hoped.” he acknowledged, biting his savagely until the mist clears from his vision, he cleared his throat loudly to begin afresh, making a racket in the small space and it’s pattering curtain of rain, “But it was just that -a hope.”

“Mmm.” she understands, cocking her head to the side before gently circling one of his wrists with her hand and slowly bringing it off her waist and higher, to the plush swell of those assists that began it all. “Do these feel like hope?” she asks, smile broadening as the hip pressed against him feels a jerk in the inseam of his trousers at the contact.

“Feel like heaven, more like.” he grunts, eyes squinted in a vain attempt to recall the trajectory of the conversation.

“But not ephemeral, intangible, hope?” she presses.

His hand squeezes her just shy of painful and he smirks at her gasp, “I think I’ve got to test ‘em to make sure they stand up, don’t vanish on me, but yeah, I’m inclined to agree, they’re pretty tangible.”

“I’ll give you tangible, Major.” she’s suddenly determined, a foreign and entirely odd desire rising in her as she gives him one last parting kiss and slides to her knees in front of him. Pebbles and grit dig into her poor kneecaps and the squalid little floor provides hardly enough room for this, but the look on his face! Oh it was worth every little discomfort as her hand travels up his inner thigh, bare and sticky from her wantonness earlier, and palms over the large swell of him in the hammock of his white briefs.

“Oh Jeanie,” he breaths as if he couldn’t credit his eyes, “you don’t have to, you really don’t!”

“I want to.” she is surprised to hear herself say it, but here was no movie producer or oil heir or hotel owner, it was just a young man who had gone through hell and back for her and thought himself well repaid by her kisses sent over the phone and a racy photograph or three. She wanted to thank him and she wanted to wipe that ever so maddening smirk off John Egan’s face. So far just being at eye level with his crotch had achieved the latter. “I want to -to suck you.”

-To suck you off.

She couldn’t say the whole of it, and she trailed off on the end of her aborted sentence as it was, yet the sentiment came through as did the darling innocence still lingering under years of man-eating under the pimpish guidance of Metro Goldwyn Meyer.

“Well, ok.” John decides after shaking his head, like trying to make the words rattle a little clearer in his ears. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” he admits his doubt of walking back the surge of flaming hot need that’s coursing beneath his collar at the sight of her so willing, so fresh, so bundled in his jacket. Ruby red lips blurred by his kisses and the tip of a pink tongue too near to where he’s close to taking matters in his own rough palm. “But stand up a minute, sweetheart.” he tugs her to her feet and it’s a sign of her trust in him that she’s only puzzled and hasn’t stopped grinning all the while.

“What’ve you got planned?” Her voice is hushed as he begins to unbutton his jacket, the cloth falling apart at his chest with each buttonhole slipped, dark shirt and tan tie coming into view and a chest so broad she could float on it at sea.

“Something for yer knees, m’lady.” he jokes with crinkled eyes and the sweetest smile as he squats and lays his jacket on the filthy little square that serves as a floor in this phone booth. “There.” he sniffs, satisfied with his preliminary courtesy and Jeanie just about bursts at the gesture.

“You’re too good to be true, Johnny Egan.” she moans into another kiss she forces on him as he laughs off her praise.

“I can be quite awful if you’ll let me.” he warns, “Ask Buck. Or make me wait any longer for that promised blowjo-“

“Shh, Shh!” she blushes at the threatened vulgarity and slips to her knees as if the act is somehow more elevated than any talk of it.

“There you go.” he pats the top of her shiny hair affectionately as she takes her place kneeling again, her hands tiny and delicate against his strong thighs, enjoying the flex of them beneath her palms as she slides them higher and slips a finger into his waistband.

He’s riled and ready when she lets him out of his constraint, flushed and glistening in the dull light of the single bare bulb, much like his bitten lips above her. Daunted and hungry all at once she finds herself falling back on old Mister Selznick’s corny script language, laughing lightly as she watches the hefty length of him bob against the beautiful plane of his lower belly. “Well, I see the little Major is at attention.”

He snorts above her, heartily amused but he pushes her face away briefly just as she begins to pucker her lips, nothing strong, just a firm little press against her forehead with his fingers.

“Just a minute now,” he stalls her, sounding almost pleading except for the explanatory tone he uses as he flicks the dangling curls at her neck back over her shoulder, out of harm’s way, “if I’m gonna get blown by The Lana Tierney, I wanna do it right. Call me picky, just wanna do it perfect, like -perfect like you.”

“Well,” she smiles indulgently up at him without a clue as to what he means, “show me then. Have at it Major, I’m down here for you, after all.”

“Yeah, yeah you are, aren’t ya?” he marvels, cocky and awed all at once and then she watches him heave in a breath and widen his stance with a calculated shuffle of his feet and his pulled down slacks. It makes her blush furiously to realize he’s getting himself a braced, strong stance so he can move his hips freely. “There we go.” he sounds pleased as he leans over her, his strong arm flung out to brace himself on the glass wall opposite, looming over her like a deity sheltering her under his shadow.

Jeanie wonders what it looks like from the pitch black of outside, this tiny, foggy, glowing haven in the storm with her worshipful pose and his imposing figure inching nearer and nearer until she can duck her chin just that little bit and press her lips to the salty head of him.

John’s loud groan fogs up the glass he has his forehead pressed to and he swallows hard at the initial feel of her timidly breaking her jaw wide apart to fit him further, more, he feeds it into her mouth with one hand at the curly thatched base, down, almost halfway, red painted nails digging into his hip and making him twitch on her tongue. “Yes, yes, hell yes.” it feels so good it breaks his heart and Bucky feels sweat roll down his temple as his blood pounds and his brain begins to fuzz. The fingers of his left hand twitch uselessly at his side before gently resting on her shoulder, squeezing in rhythm as she chokes herself in her eagerness to please. “Shh, shh, it’s perfect, you’re perfect.” he calms her with a voice shot to hell and dipping a full octave below that of the man who’d kissed her knuckles in greeting earlier that evening.

Jeanie wishes she had more expertise, some ability to dislocate her lower jaw from her palette and take him down all the way but she hopes he’ll give her time to learn.

In a hotel room. In the back seat of her car at the drive in theater. On the bench of the gazebo at the Nantucket country club. A million and one places she wants to learn him.

That’s for the future.

For now she loosens her desperate grip on his flexing hips to work the length of him with her hands, that part she can’t lathe with her tongue. That’s a lot of it, she realizes with some discouragement and not a little admiration. He goes on for ages, large enough around it takes both her hands to surround him and it’s a long slide root to tip, the feeling of a large ridge protecting the underside and its vital vein making her thumbs glide along it like a track, tacky and wet from her spit and his dripping excitement. She works what she cannot suck and she can hear him gasp above her in appreciation as he finally gets the friction he needs.

“Julie, oh Julie baby!” he praises so loudly she finds herself aflame at the idea of them being overheard on this quiet country lane.

She peers up at him as he stares her down with brilliant white teeth gritted in delight, his dark hair tumbling in a sweaty cascade of curls into his sharp eyes, his cheeks painted in a high blush as his arousal stampedes away from him. She can’t seem to go fast enough with her mouth too wide, her tongue hampered by the sheer impossible weight of him, the stretch of her lips that gives little room for finesse, and so his hips begin to buck and chase her suction without thought. She ends up sputtering at one disjointed thrust as she goes to breathe.

She pulls off him with an obscene pop and with lips shiny and a chin slick she gives him the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever seen. “John, don’t hold back.” she gives him permission with hands folded in her lap and her face tilted back for his use.

She can see the relief clear on his face, his thanks too. “I’m close.” he assures and she shrugs, not caring except to make him happy, she hopes it ruins her. His roguish face quickly morphs to a look of faux sympathy followed by a smirk that suggests she should run for her life. Too late, the thrill of his shuffling near again seizes her as he gently cups both her ears, getting himself a nice little swirl of her hair over each of his palms. Her pretty stage-perfect hair is destroyed and when he slides in, deep enough for a flash of panic to widen her big blue eyes, he gives her a quirk of his eyebrow which says all that needs to be said -you did offer, Jeanie.

Frantically she nods in agreement, feeling filthy and wanted as he uses his grip on her hair to pull her back down on him and back to the tip and down and back, a horrible, debauched chorus of wet, slurping, groaning pleasure steaming up the quaint little booth. “Angel face.” Bucky grunts down to her, his thumbs leaving her temples to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes to the hollow of her powdered cheekbones.

When he lets go it’s a combination of rigidity and fluidity, he shakes out a leg like he’s bracing for a punch and slaps repeatedly at the glass by his head, rattling it and cursing as molten pleasure overtakes, a fistful of her hair in his other hand as a lifetime of desire melts out of him and into her warm mouth.

There’s so much of it. She wonders in a breathless, half gagged malaise if it’s a war’s worth of desire flooding her tongue and mouth and down her throat as plentiful as the drinks earlier tonight. When he sees her swallow him without protest his face crumples in the soft afterglow of release and he grinds his hips a last few times, puffy cockhead raking along her palette, grief stricken by how utterly she accepts it. His breathing sounds ragged as a beast, and for those few quiet moments before he regains himself, and after he has spent his ferocity down her throat, Julie basks in her softening mouthful and the heave of his belly above her and the height of his shoulders far ahead of her and the face that’s looking down on her with such adoration as the fog clears that she realizes she never has seen it before in a man after they’ve used her up.

Bucky is more enamored after he’s surrendered his potency to her tongue. Even when the lust clears he is blatantly, unashamedly, gloriously in love. It twitches on her tongue and it floods her nostrils and it scratches her scalp and it beams down at her with watering blue eyes.

She’s never been looked at like this before, not after the sex, not ever, she doesn’t think.

She will wait until he pulls out. She will make him understand this is all she wants to do, as long as they both live, she wants to make him love her. She wants to love on him.

Slightly softened, his girth grants her enough room to finally wiggle her tongue against him, playfully swiping along the thinning underside and he grunts, sensitive and amused. With a grin on his face Bucky takes the hand once snarled in her hair and strokes her still hollowed cheek, petting its calloused way down to her lax lips, the corners of which are collecting with sticky, pink tinged spunk from his release and the residue of her lipstick. He collects all around the ring of it, swiping and nudging his fingers alongside his cock into her mouth, making her suck to bring it further in, and he has to fight to stay on top of the sensitivity that brings him, she can tell, but he seems adamant in keeping himself in the warm haven of her mouth and she copes with his fingers and the salty tang of what he collects and pushes in to be properly discarded into her belly, along with the rest.

No one has ever played with her this long, after the fact. She thinks she might drip all her primarily female organs straight to the floor with wanting him like this. And then Bucky has the sweet gall to say, “What happens next, sweet thing, requires a bed and a half a dozen pillows.”

It takes them a full ten minutes to leave the phone booth, giggling and clutching and kissing, they do their best to straighten each other out but it’s quite useless and when Bucky tells her there’s no other place for a man to know his woman properly except back upstairs at the pub, she gives a hopeless little giggle, pure girlish nervousness coursing through her at the realization she looks quite loved up and will have to wade through all her new friends on her journey upstairs to be further used up.

With love. Suddenly the concept is utterly delightful.

For once the walk of shame excites her. And the throb between her legs and the incessant need to touch him always and the hot smothering heat of his jacket still around her prompts her acquiescence as Bucky lifts her once more into his handlebars and takes off into the chilly night. He stops halfway back, a sudden breaking and a dissatisfied grunt, it almost pitches her headlong into the mud.

“You’re too far away.” he’s reaching forward and patting her hips, making her hop off, backing her round the handle bars, patting his own thighs. “C’mere doll, c’mere, we’ll just have ya close and you’ll hang on.”

It’s everything she was feeling too. It’s terribly precarious and if he were a smaller man it mightn’t work, but that’s the thing -he isn’t. He’s Bucky and all the things that wouldn’t work otherwise, wouldn’t please and wouldn’t captivate her, now do. And so she slings her arms around his neck, spreads her legs achingly wide to anchor around his waist and lays her head on his shoulder so he still has a view of the road. He’s got the smell of her perfumed hair and his stinking sheepskin in his nose as he shoves off the pavement and pushes down again on the pedals. The bike only wobbles a little with its new uneven load but he rights it easy as flying, and she can feel his legs working strong and forceful beneath her own and it’s thrilling, as thrilling as the feeling of his sweaty neck against her lips.

“There we go.” he proclaims it good, once they’ve got the wheels going again, and Julie Jean is drowsy with the safety of his decisions being her own wants.

The atmosphere inside the pub upon their return had only gotten thicker, hazier, chummier; haggard ex-jail birds and fresh flyboys fall over their tables and games and catch themselves on each other’s shoulders like the distinction between the two groups wasn’t a matter worthy of throwing punches just a few hours ago. They’ve got a song going, Bucky doesn’t recall Brady ever playing the piano before but he is now, and it’s passably the best sounding thing amongst the accompanying raucous of all occupants trying out the lyrics to Anything Goes. Gale and Marge aren’t to be found, and Bucky would pursue that very intriguing development if he hadn’t better things to do, tucked into his side, tiny white palm clutched in his, stockings with their soaked gusset in his pocket.

“Donald, I’m gonna need that key, after all.” Bucky leans over the bar and tries his best at a discreet stage whisper over the caterwauling songbirds. Julie shrinks so far behind him her forehead is buried in the sleeve of his jacket, a pressure to the back of his arm, just above his elbow. Like a bunny hiding their face and trusting it’ll make the rest of themselves invisible. She deserves the Ritz and a secret tunnel to get her there but this is all they’ve got. At least everyone didn’t notice when they came back in.

Donald is strangely respectful when he hands over the little golden key and it’s familiar, thick oaken fob. No wink and no rabald comment, Bucky wonders if the camp has made him so obviously pathetic that even moments before getting laid he is still an object of pity. The way Donald’s eyes skitter to the young darling behind Bucky, a respectful little nod of acknowledgement to her, dissuades him.

“Night Major, night miss.”

“Good night Donald.” Julie warbles soft as anything while Bucky tugs her gently towards the stairs.

They have to hedge around the outskirts of the partners gathered in their path. Bucky turns Doug’s shoulder with a gentle hand to get past a table and there ended all their peace, when Doug’s drunken eyes beheld who had returned he vocalized his joy loud and ecstatic. His rambunctious response bringing the attention of all the young soldier boys as they parade their Major and his gal.

Bucky feels Julie’s hold on his arm tighten, the sleeve of his jacket being pulled down. He’s afraid for a moment that the sentimentality of his boys will have her convincing him to stay down here with them — despite the fact that he’s been stuck in a worn down shit hell hole with half these boys for over a year and the tip of his cock weeps with the need of Julie’s tender flesh and warmth. But when he looks down her eyes have grown dark, impatient, and she rubs her thighs together, the only tell tale sign of her desire, urging him to get them out of there.

“Alright, boys,” he adds bass to his voice, the way he would from the cockpit leading a mission or telling them to quiet down when the Colonel was speaking. Julie shivers beside him and he knows their clock is ticking. “Gotta excuse your Major tonight, gonna get my girl somewhere warm and comfortable.”

There’s more whistling and cheers to follow, hands clapping him on his back and shoulder and he moves Julie Jean to walk in front of him and finish leading the way. Suggestive comments and shrewd gesticulation are sent his way and Bucky’s only happy Julie Jean walks ahead and doesn’t look back, unaware of the actions of his boys. If she’d see she would get flush faced and shy and Bucky doesn’t want to take the time to reprimand or punch one of the men for making her uncomfortable.

“Oi, Bucky!” It’s Blakley running to catch up with him again, hand in the air and Bucky extends his own to accept the slap from his friend. “That's all I could scrounge up for you on such short notice. Make it worth it.” And then with a wink he backs off, joining the rest of the boys at the bar.

When Bucky looks down there’s a gold tin foil package in his palm. He coughs, smiles, sliding it into his pocket. Bucky turns back to Julie who waits patiently, squeezing at her tiny waist to slightly lift her from the ground in his sudden haste.

Julie giggles, having only been in his presence for a couple of hours but she’s spent more time in his arms and his embrace than she had on the ground and she loved every second of it. “I love you,” she reminds, because she can and he’s in front of her and not an ocean away. There’s a tug on her heartstrings, her body, mind, and soul used to missing him and uttering the words into empty rooms.

This time Bucky is there and he is quick to respond, “And I love you, doll,” with a kiss to seal his oath.

They finally get inside, tripping over one another’s feet as they refuse to disentangle their limbs. Julie only had two glasses of rum and coke but he’s ninety percent sure she’s drunk on the essence of him. A lightweight when it comes to true love. She can still taste him in her mouth, salty and musky, no sweetness, but it’s delicious and she’s thirsty for more. She wants to see more of the lipstick stains she left on his cock. Wants to see him naked like she promised herself a million times, so that when she tries again, she can watch every little movement he makes.

“You promised me I could try again,” she whines into his mouth, “I can try until I can take all of you in my mouth,” and she’s swiping her tongue against his, licking stripes into his open mouth and a wet saliva string connects the two of them even when she leans away to talk.

And John’s never been so hard in his life, never had an innocent yet sexy gal like Jean Julie Jean be so nasty and so innocent at the same time. Wanting to practice gulping on big cocks and massaging balls when every man in her life before has only used her as disposable.

“They were so big,” she’s still trying to get words in between his kisses, “dark and hanging -“ foggy, he realizes she’s describing his ball sack, or what she was able to make out in the dark of the phone booth.

John shudders, trying to imagine a world where golden haired angels wax poetic about ballsacks the way he does on her tits. I mean, he’s justified- look at them! Actually, that’s an idea, he should ask if he can look at them. Fucking finally.

“Wanna see you.” he mumbles into her mouth, a clack of teeth as they time it wrong, it doesn’t matter, every point of contact makes his body thrum. He runs his hands along her sides, along the sweet cello curve of hips and waist and tits, squeezing emphatically at the fleshy swells that make a good showing in filling his giant palms.

Julie giggles, “I was thinking the same. About you.”

“Agh, nothin’ to see with me.” he dissuades, pulling away far enough to note the sheen of sweat that has broken the barrier of her immaculate powder, rose gold blush in the dim light of the humble room.

She seems to notice the place at the same time, attentive eyes scan and flit, arms still interlocked with his own and he prefers to stare at the sweeping dance of coal dark lashes as she surveys the place than look around at a stuffy old room he’s a little ashamed to admit he’s crashed in one too many nights black out drunk and wishing the old hound that always came in under the sheet at three am was her.

“It’s so quaint.” she murmurs, like someone who doesn’t get laid out in scratchy sheets and lumpy mattresses very often. It fits, he hasn’t got anything to offer besides this anyway, at home or here.

Quaint. God, how long will quaint be enough?

“Bucky?” she asks. The lashes are lifted, fanned out beneath tiny arched brows, spider fringe to guileless baby blues.

Releasing his lip from between his lip he lets out a small scoff that sounds more winded than he hoped. “Hey shorty.” he should take her to bed, he should kiss her again, he should tell her every dream he’s ever had is in his arms and he doesn’t know what do with that, can’t kiss without keeping his eyes open to watch the next shoe drop, save them from it crushing in their skulls.

“I’m -I find I’m a bit -nervous.” she whispers.

Fuck, this is why they work, and with her blushing, looking up at him so hopeful it’s enough for him to close his eyes and let this work. “Was thinkin’ the same.” he rasps, admittance that sinks soothing into her timid heart.

Julie lets out another giggle that John is starting to learn hides the same feeling his scoffs do. “Isn’t that silly of us?”

“Mhmm.” He agrees, fingers trailing to brush her hair back.

“Guess it’s just- just we’ve built this up and all and-“

“It’s gonna be.” he tells her firmly, hands and voice and heart, “Everything we’ve dreamt of. Gonna be that and more. Cause it’s us. S’finally us. Just us..”

“Yeah?” she begs.

Bucky smashes his lips tight and determined. “Yeah.”

Their lips lock again, going somewhere this time, headed towards the cliff, arm in arm, necks craned to get there first. It’s close to flying, it’s such a thrill. He drags his hand up her ribs and to her shoulder, snaking under the stifling weight of his jacket still encompassing her little frame. Bucky’s got a glint in his eye as he takes in the top of her breasts that are so generously popping out of her dress. Thanking God for whoever took her measurements and decided to always go smaller in the brassiere area. He can’t help it when he leans down and sucks on the top of what part of her port breast is available. He reaches to drop the shoulders of the jacket off her again when she finally seems to sober up, lips pouty and eyes hazy, taking in how she’s stained his face and his mustache is glistening with their mixed saliva.

His hand lifts under the collar, lifting, shirking it off her neck, one sleeve down her arm, aiming to get it off her and her dress after and her garters and her-

Julie snatches the jacket back onto her shoulder.

Blink and its back on.

Like Bucky hadn’t just slipped it off very intentionally. No, it’s back on alright and she clutches it instead of him suddenly, chest heaving and eyes a little too wide.

“Baby doll?” he asks, at a loss but feeling wrong.

“This, this is-“ she whispers, vacant and vague and her eyes are scanning the room unseeing, “this jacket is, it’s very special to me, it stays, it belongs to a man who loves me and it- it stays. I won’t take it off. He loves me and it’s all I’ve got -I won’t. Won’t take it off.”

Bucky blinks, grit and film in his bleary eyes adding an exhausted filter to this duty consecutive breakdown of the night. Goddamn it; -about breaks his heart to think his old ratty sheepskin was all she had. “You’ve got me now.” he clasps her cheeks, careful but warm and solid and alive; her eyes focus. “Real deal, I’m here, baby. Better than any jacket, warmer at least.” he cracks a smile and her own wavers into being.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah baby?”

“You’re gonna make love to me?”

“That’s the idea, sugar.”

“Ok.” Julie takes a bracing breath and lets her arms fall, lifts a shoulder and allows one heavy, leather sleeve to slip down. Her heart melts when Bucky helps it fall with a cautious finger, the backs of his roughened knuckles sanding against the ivory her arm as he drags it to her wrist and off, his eyes locked on her own. He has the tenderest expression crinkling around his eyes and it keeps her panic at bay as the other arm slips out and the heavy fall of the jacket gets caught by his deft hand.

John tosses the precious garment on the bed. “You’d like it with ya, maybe?” he offers and she nods violently, eager to smell it and him while at their pleasure.

“Might get messy.” his grin is primal, wolfish.

She presses her lips to his again, hand anchored on his bent neck, “I want it too.” she nibbles along his jaw, “I want it to smell like you. I’ve rubbed myself on it, must’ve been a hundred times. I want it to smell like both of us.”

“Goddamn.” he articulates in appreciation, “Goddamn! Filthy, my baby is filthy.”

His cock aches with need at the imagery fo her pretty pink oussy rubbing itself raw on his sheepskin, it’s pressing against his skivvies, trousers tight and making him uncomfortable but first Bucky’s aware it won’t be right until he is sure Julie has gotten it into her pretty little head that his jacket wasn’t something she had to cling onto anymore. It would be hers for as long as she wanted, forever if she so wished — but he’d be damned if he bed her and continued to let his woman think every single line he had written in every letter had been anything but the truth. She had asked for his honesty and he had taken it seriously, jotting down every thought to send to her no matter how filthy or grand anyone thought it to be.

Bucky takes her small hand in his, noting another size difference between them as her entire hand fits in his palm, his fingers outstretched to cover her tiny fists. He untucks his shirt, the buttons having been ripped open courtesy of his ravenous woman.

“Gimme this,” he grunts, opening her fist to press her palm flat against his chest. Over his heart. A tear falls and Julie lets it, the strong thump of his heart in tandem with the beat of hers. Reminding her that he was real, he was alive, he was breathing. “I’m real, Julie Jean. You got me now, baby, it’s all fucking yours.”

Somehow, John Egan was hers. Life was giving her something good, something pure that loved her for who she truly was, that fought to keep her safe and survived hell to get to her. Millions had posters with her face taped on their walls, waited outside her home and studio for photos, but only one person in the whole world had told her he loves her and meant it.

Bucky’s skin is burning underneath her hand, slick with sweat, and she lets her hand tighten against wiry, chest hairs that clump together against his heat and perspiration.

“I love you,” she swears, words venomous with her truth and passion. “I’ll die if you ever even think of leaving me, John Egan. Or I might just kill you if you attempt it.”

The smile that threatens to split his face is blinding in the dark of their room but Julie vows in that moment to make him smile like that every day. And if being smothered to death with threats from love was what it took, well then good thing Julie had a few more roaming around in her head.

Bucky has no business ripping the buttons off the only dress Julie Jean had up here in this room, but that was tomorrow's problem and he trusts Marge for that. By the way Julie Jean moans at this disrespect for her tailoring -he’d say they’re tracking.

“Off, off, off!” her breathy command is as dainty and insistent as silver bells, little hands tugging open his slacks and pawing off his shirt while forgetting the tie until it half strangles him. “Off, I need you.” she pants.

He throws her to the bed. No great distance, but from the height of his arms it makes her bounce and the creamy jiggle of skin as she lands makes his masculine brain sizzle from the sight. It’s obscene and it’s holy and she is his and he lays himself atop her like he needs to make her a part of him.

Julie spreads her legs to accommodate him and finds it unnecessarily thrilling how wide she must stretch just to cradle his hips, John is broad in every way, and laying on top of her the disparity in size between them is only magnified, and she feels a girlish thrill at how helpless she is. How much of a man is now wanting her, spread on top of her, nestled where she’s most needy and vulnerable. She wonders if he can feel the dribbling mess between her spread thighs. She tilts her hips to chase his own and he groans, loud and appreciative. It sends gooseflesh down her arms. The heat of her jacket is under her arms, soft shearling and a stray zipper digging into her back.

She is surrounded by Bucky. And no one can take this away.

And he is staring down at her, her face and her breasts, what’s started it all. He lets a noise out, in the back of his throat, caught in his lungs, like he got punched, but it's such a monumental moment for him.

“Christ! These.” he grunts as he mouths at her breast, kneading and abusing with his huge hand the one he is not suckling. “Can’t even fit one in m’mouth.” he tries anyway, most valiantly, Julie thinks. Sloppy and worshipful. Just like she imagined when he wrote about them. She feels herself tingle and clench, every nerve alight. The room smells of his sweat and his saliva is coating her boob and his mustache tickles against her skin and he’s a furnace against her and already a soreness is setting in the spread of her hips —

“Bucky I’m almost-“it seems absurd as soon as she voices it but she’s sure of it, she has gone demented with sensation and heat and the earthy smell of him all around, his finger on her ripe nipple and his mouth clamped like a babe at the tit and the sweat of his hair sliding through her fingers “-almost…there.” she melts with it, a coil that’s been alive all evening, that wound tighter in the phone booth even when the pleasure snaps, it melts and pools now and she gasps out her breathless delight.

And Bucky continues on as is, speeding the pad of his pointer finger against the bud of her hard nipple, allowing his teeth to pinch the one in his mouth and suddenly Julie finds her hole clenching around nothing, legs spasming but pinned by the weight of him on top of her. She sighs, content.

That was new. So is his sharp grin when he pulls away to stare up at her, chin pillowed by her glistening breast, his calloused hand snaking down her belly to explore the mess he coaxed into being.

His touch makes her jolt, even though the others pad of his finger swiping through her is a slimed, easy glide. One of his fingers is enough to span the entire breadth of her inner petals. If her poor pussy wasn’t so flutteringly distressed by its current emptiness, Julie might dread the burn of those large digits plunging in. As is, she nods eagerly, “Please, please I’m going mad up here.” she tells him and doesn’t miss the roguish look of satisfaction that flashes across his face.

There is enough of him -everywhere- that she is gifted a kiss on the mouth the same time that she feels his finger circle her pearl, slow and lazy. The combination feels so right, the care and the savoring, the way he licks all the way to her molars while his finger swirls down the slope of her entrance, roughened finger tips sending sparks along her spine.

“I love you.” he tells her again, because he can.

She tightens her fingers around a fistful of curly black hair, longish and sweaty, utterly real: because she can. “I love you.”

Everything is that. Each kiss, each nuzzle and clasping of flesh. He breaches her mid giggle, for even their laughs say the same: I love you, I love you, I’ve loved you so long let me love you.

Bucky bites his lip as he gently sounds her cunt with a single finger, palm upwards, callous tickling inside like he’s searching for the root of her desire along the silky walls. Julie can feel when she clenches around ole thick knuckle.

“Can barely fit a finger in here, Shorty,” Bucky teases her, gravely cautionary yet not meaning it

one bit, “and you’re begging for my whole cock?”

“Yes!” Julie Jean begs back without pause and it makes Bucky’s heart flip again, its been doing that all night but then again, she doesn’t stop wanting him, “You can teach me. You can stretch me please. Johnny- I’ve waited so long.”

Bucky slips his second finger in there, obligingly, and tries to scissor her, an attempt to stretch her out until Jeanie is clamping her thighs together and trapping his arm -he finally finds it, that spongy spot inside her that has her going pale white and screaming, “YES YES — oh Jo-Johnny YES!”

Lovingly cruel he fits a third finger in there right before she comes, “Give it to me, Jeanie, give me all of it.”

Her thighs release his forearm but his torture isn’t over, a raspy groan shaking her belly as he writhes his way down her belly until his face is in between her thighs where he slurps at her like he’s still got that straw of hers he carries around on his tongue.

“I can’t - Johnny please - SWEET MAN HAVE MERCY ON ME - oh - oh, oh, OH!.” the sounds of her ecstasy and the feeling her hands clawing at his shoulders spur him on, drunk off the feline smell of her, the slippery wet feel of her on his cheeks and chin, tongue dipping into the honeywell- nothing could be further from that vile camp and its harsh starkness of human flesh. Here is humanity in all its warm, wet vibrancy, buzzing and twitching beneath him. This he’s good at, he knows, learned it a long time ago and something clicked, the enjoyment of giving and having to hide it as taking somewhere along the way, so that nobody would guess what a goddamn wretch he was for some praise.

The kind that spills from Julie’s lips like it’s the only song she ever wants to sing again, only tune she’s got left.

He feels her pushing at his shoulder to get away but he’s got an iron tight grip around her hips, while Julie knows she's trapped his head between her spanking thighs until she can hear ringing in her ears and sees spots as he sucks on her clit through the orgasm. When she comes to, he’s pressing kisses to her belly, her breasts, her face, smeared with the taste and smell of her but she welcomes them nonetheless.

“Now can I have you? Please.” she is pleased with herself for managing to remain polite despite her jittery quakes and the terrible craving she feels remaining.

And he laughs, Bucky laughs, because she’s still asking for cock, after all that. She’s still asking.

With a mustache sopping wet and teeth that sparkle like a wolf’s, he kisses her, splat on the mouth, smile to smile.

“You’re sticky.” she giggles, breathless

“That’s you, Jeanie.”

She licks his chin because she suspects he’ll like it, being met with unabashed enjoyment of the dirty communion they’re sharing. She was right,it gets him going, something frantic creeping back into his worshipful enjoyment. He tries to get up to get that condom that’s somewhere in his slacks but she refuses to let him get off of her, holding his weight down on top even though he’s twice her size; not that he’s trying to fight her off.

“I- goddamn, i- baby- i, need-“ he gets between bitten lips and clacks of teeth, “need to grab the condom, Shorty.”

Those are the magic words that allow her to release him but not before she says “hurry make it quick!” in so breathless a way he halfway thinks of trusting his rather shit pull out game than chance leaving her bosom. But Ev Blakley didn’t give up his pro-kit for such negligence, so -Bucky tumbles out of bed like a lumbering god out of his element of white crisp sheets and Julie lays back biting her thumb, enjoying the chance to watch him in the lamplight. She watches him as he quickly searches for his slacks, broad white back bending over, large thighs with their shadow of hair stippling, the soft swell of his thigh creases and the dark cleft of his backside where hair grows and spreads to the barely discernible outline of his sack hanging between. He’s shaking out the drab olive; a tiny little plop sounds in the quiet room. He picks it up.

Foil packet between his teeth, Bucky turns back to her, tosses the pants once more, they litter some new space on the floor, and Julie’s heart bounds in her throat at the look of him. This, watching this, watching him, this is what she promised herself. But she never got it quite right, he wasn’t so big in her dreams, not so pale either, with ribs as defined as hia sinews, bruise mottled clavicles and a Lowe belly that has a slight dome. His glittering eyes, those she imagined though, in fevered dreams about actually being wanted by somebody good and brave and willing to give this whole business of loving a real try.

She watches him slip on the condom, enjoying the way his magenta-angry and bulging veined cock is smothered by the thin, clear rubber. It looks painful as she watches him slither it on. Bucky makes sure to pump himself a few times, kneeling in front of her spread legs, grin in place and she mewls, hand coming to her clit as it pulses between her lips with a heartbeat of its own.

“Ready, dearest?” John asks, forehead pressed to hers, a hand beside her cheek and another between her thighs, holding the massive, blunt tip of him to her aching core.

It makes her eyes water: the reference to their many letters and she pulls him down to kiss at him in response, the head at her entrance has her tensing, feeling thick and fat compared to her small hole. He is going to destroy her, change her utterly, there’s only the Lana Turner of before and this Julie Jean after. This is Bucky’s effect, this is Bucky’s creation, this happy, trembling, heartbrokenly happy girl tensing at an act she’s done a hundred times before.

“It’s us,” he whispers lovingly, “relax.” He presses a kiss to the side of her head as he traces the skin of her hip, “You’re in charge here.*

Julie knows if it hurts he’ll stop but she doesn’t want him to, that’s the catch, so she gives him a daring little look, “I want all of you.” because she’s determined, legs locking around his hips to cage him in. “You won’t deny me, will you, Johnny?”

As for Bucky, he’s so fucking in love as he looks in her eyes, “Never, Jeanie. Whatever you want, it's yours.” as he slides another inch in, a groan escaping from deep in his chest while her legs twitch around him “Every part of me is yours, dearest, even the fucked up parts that i don’t want you to see.”

At his confession, she relaxes enough that he’s able to slide more than half of his cock inside her before her body’s tightening and locking him out. Her mouth holds in that sexy shape of an ‘o’ he imagined a million times as she lets out a silent gasp at the intrusion, stopping right before his hips meet the cradle of her thighs, the base of him thick and pulsing with the threat of finality.

Her sounds of joy grow from gasps to genuine little cries, the shock of his size untenable despite the gentleness with which he introduced it.

“-and if this is all you can take, Jeanie,” he declares, sliding an inch out only to slide it back in, like all her panicked thoughts have been a conversation they’ve been sharing all this time, “if this is all, then we can make it work, baby. it’ll be enough.”

He kisses away the tears that are escaping down her cheeks but she still shakes her head, “No, John. I want all of you.”

Yet Bucky is aware of their size difference and even though he wants more than anything to give her whatever she wants, he’d never hurt her. So he refuses her this for now, refuses to move his hips, nuzzling his nose along her tear stained cheeks and pecking at her still parted, mewling lips -as if opening up there will help her down there, it makes him smile. Like showing a baby to how open their mouth for a bite. He runs his obviously along her dampened hairline, platinum strands fanned out in a golden halo. She leans her face into his touch, her belly heaving beneath his in a desperate struggle still, her lips pressing to his wrist.

“I missed you every fucking second,” he’s says into her temple, “every minute of every day was hell without you, Jeanie. And I fought it, I survived, for you - all of it so my dreams with you can come true. I love you. I love you so goddamn much. You’re it for me.”

All his sweet talking has her becoming pliant and relaxed under him until, suddenly, he’s plunged all the way in deep. Her eyes spring wide and her hand flies to her throat, sure she can feel the tip of him there. “oh - OH JO- it hurts, oh yes, oh god, john, john, oh-oh, goodness sweet man -YOU’VE BROKEN ME!”

Bucky’s tender heart lurches in worry at his reckless instinct to thrust, to go far, too far, all the way, as she pushes back against his shoulder in primal defense from the pain. But Julie refuses to unlock her legs or let go of the grip she has on his hair, shaking uncontrollably and stuttering over her screams, like his cock takes up too much space for her to get in a breath.

“Baby, babydoll shh, shh s’alright, it's alright.” He tries to soothe but he isn’t even sure she can hear or see him, her face turned into his wrist by her head, her grip on his neck turning his own into her shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” she says instead, “don’t leave me, don’t move, don’t leave me.” she repeats as she clutches at him, pain and pleasure mixing like they never have before, he stays still as she shakes and comes apart for an estimated three minutes on his part. Pilot to the last, one eye on the gauge while the rest is pure gut instinct of performance. He feels it though, when suddenly her hips open and she’s releasing a large sigh like her body has finally accepted the intrusion. He lifts his head and her eyes are clear and bright, looking up at him, “Don’t you dare slip out,” she warns with an irrepressible grin, “We’ve worked too hard to lose our progress.”

His Julie Jean is a trooper, a damn brave soldier if he’s ever seen one, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles at her, so in love he thinks it’s gonna burst out his chest. The things this woman wouldn’t do for him are nonexistent it appears.

Bucky guffaws, loud in his relief, “You’re so drippin’ wet, I’m liable to slide out with any movement.” he returns, not exactly joking

“Nuhuh, I’ll die.” she warns him again, “Don’t move.” and he kisses her, just to show her he’s teasing and because he can.

“This’ll do, Shorty.” he promises, and there’s no sliding out as he thrusts his hips deeper into her, humping Julie into the mattress to get his friction. “This’ll do for me.”

“Always?” she begs.

“Always.”

“Always.”

“Yeah.”

He humps her like she’s a part of the mattress, the motion nothing like the mechanical, horizontal slide of anatomies she’s used to. Instead she feels him buried somewhere further than her womb while each flix of his solid hips stretches down where she’s most feminine and torn apart to accommodate his manhood. She can feel his coarse pubic hairs against her clit, becoming sticky with the mix of them, her hole becoming fiery with excitement.

“You’re are a dream, John Egan, you are unreal.” she fears she's slurring, eyes rolling back and sensation becoming preeminent, “I’m so lucky. The luckiest woman alive, I'm sure. Oh, I’ve waited my whole life for you, John. You’re perfect. You love me perfectly.”

He keeps it up for a couple more minutes, grunting, muttering how good she is and how brave and that they’ve broken her in. But throughout Julie remains aware it isn’t enough for him, can’t be with such little friction, that he’s gonna need to actually move to get what he needs and be able to come, but he’s a sweet man and he can see she’s in pain and he wouldn’t ever hurt her. She knows that. Not even if she asked. She knows she has to take it into her own hands. She grasps his hip and slightly pushes him away. Then she pulls, the message clear: deeper. Go deeper.

“No,” Bucky is emphatic, “Not if it’s gonna hurt you.”

“It won’t!” It’s an asinine thing to promise with the way she can barely cope with his mild shifts inside her. But she knows she’s got to play this up if she wants to get her way. She pinches a nipple, watches as his eyes fall to it, and uses her free hand to guide his face there. If he’s focused on his precious knockers he won’t focus on her face and the winces she is sure she won’t be able to hide.

Like she assumed, Bucky takes her nipple in between his teeth, humming and creating a vibration she feels right to her core, “Oh John, you’re so wonderful to me.” she tells him and means it, trying to focus on the pleasure his sucking is bringing and not the pain as he slides out “We were made for each other. I'm sure of it. it has to work the way God intended.” and then he’s pushing back in and she’s gasping, loudly, pushing his face deeper into her breast so he stays lost in his pleasure.

“Yes, right there,” she moans, even as tears slip out the side of her eye, this part she is well practiced in, the repetition of a gasping: “more, more please … keep going please, ah, please more!”

The pain is stronger than the pleasure but she doesn’t want him to stop, she wants him to find his release, wants to keep feeling him spread out on top of her, sweat dripping on her, thighs burning from the width of his lower back. He's been so generous with her the entire night, she wants to feel his body shudder inside hers. But Bucky is no blind fool, he isn’t a stupid man, and she never thought him so, so when he pulls away from her breast with a knowing look, eyes accusatory as he takes in her tear stained cheeks, she knows she’s met her match, and failed him all at once.

His voice is terribly low, raspy in a way that shakes her somewhere molten in her belly when he speaks up, “This ain’t good for me if you aren’t creaming around me, Jean.” he tells her, fully sitting back on his haunches while reaching for a pillow and using one arm to lift her and stuff it underneath her. “You want all of me? That's fine but we’ll find our pleasure together.”

The pillow beneath her helps, the angle elevating slightly where it feels more pleasurable than it had before, he teases her hole before reentry. Slow, purposeful. The weight of his heavy cockhead against the easy glide her pussy allows him. She’s so wet that the sounds of him wiggling himself against her sweetness are similar to those of kids jumping in rain puddles. The grin on his face is akin to it as well. He continues at it until she thinks he will go mad, and when he does, every slide deeper skims along a million happy nerves and she forgets the painful bump when he knocks on some inner wall deep inside, as far as he can go, sounding her shallows. “Yeah?” he asks, taking in the way her brow smooths her belly softens from its braced rigidness.

Julie just about beams up at him, stretching beneath him like a well pleased cat, coloring over the notion he has more experience than her. “Oh!-my man works wonders - yes, yes, miracles. Lord Johnny- oh you’re an angel! -a gift! oh! yes right there! yes!”

She meets his thrusts with abandon that can only signify a genuine enjoyment and he feels that at last he’s free to grab at the headboard and pound into her because he knows she’s no longer faking it. Her legs kick up to rest against his chest, sparkly done toes barely reaching his shoulders and he takes it upon himself to take one into his mouth. Sucking on the fat little pad as her mouth goes slack and her eyes roll dangerously. He can see the ripple his cock makes under the pale skin of her naval, it drives him insane to see his intrusion from the outside. The way his rhythm makes her flesh jiggle obscenely and her ever adored breasts go round and round in a hypnotic swirl of feminine allure punctuated by pinpoint dots of pebbled cherry nipples. His orgasm feels like it’s building behind his eyes and at the base of his neck as much as it is at his spine and in his sack.

He powers though the first time she clenches around his cock in a death grip while shrieking his name to the heavens, he does so by biting his cheek so hard he tastes blood. It’s worth it for her shocked terror as he doesn’t stop, pummeling and bully another peak out of her poor pussy by sheer size and will power, finesse gone as his malnourished hulk of a body remembers some nostalgic pride in this pursuit, in making a girl lose her goddamn mind from being throughly and properly fucked.

By the third he loses his own faculties, she is clawing at his back and digging her nails into his ass and her breasts are knocking his chin and he’s got to glaze those things one day but for now he simply feels too much. Feels the tacky softness in the cradle of her thighs, the knuckle of her toe on his tongue, the feel of her tit in his palm, the way her vagina hasn’t stopped milking him for minutes in her state of overstimulated state. It’s all these things but more so the promise of collapsing on a soft pair of homemade jugs that undoes him; he shudders and lurches, driving in harder than he should but he can’t help it, he jams himself deep and squeezes every muscle that can possibly force out another drop of ejaculate- and lets go. Spilling into the condom and feeling the warmth of her plush walls milking him dry.

When he collapses, there is a lush pair beneath his sweaty cheek and the beat of a faithful heart beneath, jackrabbiting in time with his own as she catches her breath from the best damn love making she’s ever known. It’s Julie, and he clings to her after, feeling himself shake apart in something close to weeping but without the tears.

Oddly, he somehow feels his body more in this moment of shaking lethargy than he did during the sex, each muscle tremoring and his heartbeat resounding places it shouldn’t and he knows for certain it wasn’t the drink, as his mind runs a rapid catalogue of his ailments and their possible causes -that is not impaired. Instead he is left with the crude likelihood of his body giving out, not enough food, not enough medicine, bones not put back right, emotions on fucking lockdown, last reserves of grit used up on that march. Now he can’t fuck his girl without shaking like he’s got some real special sorta weakness afterwards.

The only comfort is: he can feel Julie’s thigh still jumping beneath his hip, a mimicry of his shaken self.

Julie Jean can feel the shift. When the ear ringing daydream slowly ebbs into sticky bodies and labored breaths, boneless, sated flesh melded to each other, and for once there is no disgust or yearning for more to be found in her heart. This too, is perfect, just like the feeling of him striking deep inside and fast as violence at the end, just like the feel of his ass clenching beneath her ankle, just like the tickle of his mustache to her cheek as he buzzed her ear with the most gratifying groan she had ever heard. She finds herself wanting this part to last, too. And it does, he goes from boneless climax to shuddering atop her and she finds herself rubbing his broad, slick back on instinct. Like she would any creature needing her comforting, his jacket a soggy softness behind her and his weight a blanket atop. She pets him like she would Spangles, and the thought makes her smile.

“Shh sweet man, you’re alright. We’re going to patch you up just fine.” she whispers, and feels something suspiciously like tears or drool hit her collarbone, “A regimen of eggs and bacon and copious love making. We’ll have to crack a window, this room traps the smell like a cork. That’s the prescription. Doctors orders, don’t even try to wheedle your way out of it.” When she can feel his laugh vibrate her belly where his chest is pressed, she knows she’s winning against whatever dark place he’d gone. It makes her feel triumphant and giddy and- needed, really.

Which is a thrill: being needed after sex. Usually it’s a bundling up and out the door after her hole served its use. Usually it’s a tossed wet cloth if she’s lucky or a reminder that she’s welcome to the guest bed. But her hole has been utilized, has been ripped open and milked every drop her man had to offer her even if spilled into a condom and still he lays over her, face in her tits, and a hold that says he wishes they never have to let go.

Julie tightens her legs around Bucky, freeing her toe from his hold and wiggling it in amusement over his having put it in his mouth. It didn't seem strange at the time, but then again, none of Bucky’s expressions of desire ever did. And that’s why she knew they belonged together. “You’re going to be cooperative, yes?” she probes, a little breathless from his weight and her exertions but managing to poke at his ticklish side.

John for his part does his best to pull his act together. He never meant to lay the full weight of himself over Julie’s petite frame but it’s as if his bones have given in on him this time with his elbows refusing to bend, hips refusing to thrust, nerves that won’t stop their fucking shaking.

He shakes the way he did in the stalag, on that sorry excuse of a mattress with a thin blanket and an even thinner pillow. That one night it was negative degrees; the chattering of all their teeth keeping them up for the whole night until finally Bucky had had enough, ordering the men to heap together in groups of three or even four to increase body temperature. Gale and Bucky forcing a stubborn John Brady in between them because he was a hell of a pilot and a tough son of a bitch but a scrawny one at that.

Bucky thinks of letters he wrote to the luscious gal beneath him, with her glorious blondeness and her lush lips and perky tits now soft beneath his cheek, allowing him the privacy as he sniffles in between them. Thrown back to conversations with Buck, when Bucky had been aware he would never be who he was again and who he was now would be no use to any woman, let alone one as marvelous as Julie Jean who continued to believe the Major John Egan who wrote her existed somewhere in the skeletal remains of what the war had spit back.

“Useless,” is what he mutters into her heated skin instead, his eyes tracing the splotches on her chest. A year ago he would have made sure she was quivering beneath him, legs spasming around his hips and although Julie’s hole was pulsing around him still in aftershocks and every once in a while he felt her clit pulse against his pelvis, he was the one being wrapped around and held to her chest like a mother holding a newborn to her tit. “W‘kind of man am I if I can’t even be well enough to give my woman a good pounding?” He continues on, losing himself in the comparison he continues to draw in between the promises he made in the letters and his actions of the night.

Julie tightens her hold on him, pressing his face further into her bosom in the process and causing one of his nostrils to slide deeper, cutting off air supply but feeling confounded that Bucky thought she hadn’t been absolutely loved on, devoured, and destroyed in the best way under his touch tonight.

“ … will be of no fucking use to you, Jean. No fucking better than that coward of a fiancee you just cut off - ” she means to interject somewhere, to stop this farce and show him how wrong he is about himself but Julie’s been in the pit of these demons before. Knows the beliefs flow deeper than the words of anyone else and she feels her eyes burn as she withholds her tears, remembering how many nights she spent uttering words on how she would be no good, never enough for the likes of a man as brilliant and wonderful as John Egan. Only for him to be here now, his breath hot against her skin, tears drying on her breasts, and his shakes jolting her thinking those same thoughts about himself.

She’s never been more certain he is the one. Has never craved so deeply in her heart than in this moment to have Bucky’s love forever, to be held by him until God deems it to be time for her last breath.

She’s never prayed that she could outlive him before but she does now because she is certain she will never be able to live without him.

John Clarence Egan is her mind, her breath, her soul: for now and all eternity she will be of his belonging.

“To have these gems here, fuck Julie - these,” he runs his tongue alongside the swell of her breast, grunting as he dives his face between them. “ ‘kind of man am I, huh, to not be sliding in between this sweet pair right now? What’d I write to them huh? What did I promise them I’d do?” His hips thrust now but it’s weak and Julie thinks it involuntary but still it works in drawing a whimper from her.

“They’re yours sweet man,” she releases a watery laugh, a tear running down her cheek in protest at being withheld for so long. “Your knockers now, baby. They ain’t going anywhere.”

“They’re so fucking good to me. Been so good for me,” his desire is earnest now, awakening, she feels the swelling and hardening of him inside her. It’s still no easy feat for her body to adjust to the size of him hard again, her thighs spasming around him once more.

“Johnnnn,” she whines, can’t help herself, her body trying to mold itself to adjust to his large self inside her. “Yes, oh - fuck, yes.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” he warns, humping down into the mattress again but with no real tenacity, his body protesting against any and all of it even as his cock pulses and weeps for friction inside its safe, warm new home. “We’ve got tomorrow. We’ve got forever,” he complains, hips twitching even as his mind protests. He’s got to get up and get rid of the condom, he’s got to clean them up and make sure Julie Jean still has mobility but his mind and body protest action even as his penis betrays them and begs for more.

John curses, a fist coming down on the mattress.

“It’s okay, darling,” she consoles, a hand petting his hair back, “it’s - oh - we can rest now, baby.”

“Fuck,” he roars, feeling no more found than he was lost minutes ago. Desire heats his underbelly, hungry, but there’s no will he can find to chase it.

Julie’s at war herself, attempting to calm him even as she flutters and tightens around him. Her body not used to the size or girth but recognizing the love entering inside.

“We got so much time now, Bucky. So much to do.” Her mind races with ideas on how to relax him as he shakes on top of her, hands clenching her waist as his body refuses his need to take, take, take her. “Tell me about your mama, baby, and your sisters. Tell me what it’s going to be like when I meet them.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about them right now,” he warns, a sweaty, spasming mess on top of this beautiful, voluptuous girl who’s naked beneath him. With the jiggliest, softest pair he’s ever encountered pillowed beneath his head, the tightest hole fluttering around him and the prettiest whimpers filling his ears even as she tries to calm him. “Fuck, they’re gonna love you Julie Jean. Gonna see the way I worship you and thank you for bringing me home to them.”

She moans loudly, unable to help herself with the love and desire he showers her with. At a war between his body and mind because he can’t fathom not taking her, fresh out a prison camp and winning a war.

“I’m going to take you home to them, John. Going to go with you so we can make a home,” she bites her lip as he gives an unexpected hump, knowing her desire only fuels him, “but first, we have much work to do, my darling man. I’m gonna fill your stomach with only the best East Anglia has to offer, even if that means I got to ship it in,” she remembers their letters now, how he’d bow to her wishes and preen at her demands, always in charge but never any less eager to please her. Always willing to give her anything she asked for because that was the man he was and continued to be. “Going to force you to sleep for a month straight and only wake you for meal times and your favorite pastime.“

He moans again, mind straight to the gutter.

“Baseball. Isn’t that right?” She playfully hums, scratching her nails against his clammy skin.

Bucky folds like a kid, lurching and showing his face; which was smiling if beet red, much to her relief. “Course, ma’am.” he tries on a show of respect while still balls deep inside her with an erect penis and a gumming condom he really oughta dispose of. “Orders are orders.”

That made Julie Jean tingle in happiness. “And we both agreed that I’m the boss here. So my orders go.” She phased it like a question and Bucky bit his lip in renewed arousal, concession apparent in his general expression but rebellion brewing in his sharp eyes.

“Sure. You’re the boss then, shorty.” he agreed, dragging a finger along her neck, gentle and contemplative before his eyes flicked up, mirthful and wicked, “But I’m your daddy.”

Julie let out a gasping cry, shock and reprimand on her face and he didn’t need telling why, he felt when her little pussy spasmed around him, as shocking to her as it was to him. “Bucky!” she squealed, winded, “You can’t just- just go saying stuff like that I-i oh, dash it, now I’m horny again. Move please, baby move in me, this is your fault!”

Bucky cackled at her petulant little wiggle beneath him. “Baby I only got the one.” he referred to the condom, propping up to pull out and do some tidying of the scene.

“And yet you got me flustered. Now you won’t fix me. How’s that for taking orders?”

Bucky froze and stared down at her arch expression, her face more Lana at the moment than Julie with her playacting displeasure, but damn if it didn’t get him going all the same. “I- sure doll. Whatever you say doll.” he muttered, “What about-“

“We appreciate your conscientiousness, Major Egan,” she raised one hand to her face and began inspecting her nails, a tactic of dismissiveness he knew, and yet it had his cock swelling back up like it was half its length and belonging to a far healthier man, “and we recommend you continue it. We only need a little maintenance, please be so good as to dispose of that horrid little rubber and wipe yourself and come back. I said I only needed a little movement,” her grin broke wider, “and when that’s satisfactorily met, you can put it between these to finish-“ Julie pressed her milk white tits together and every connection in John’s brain fried and fizzled for a brief moment before reconnecting and he bounced out of the bed to set in action her game plan.

He yanked the condom off, more forcefully than his smarts might suggest -what with the way it snapped on his sensitive and hardening shaft and flung spunk along the wall above the waste basket. The stalag-man in him forgot to care for poor Donald and his housekeeper and ran instead to the small sink in the corner of the room by the closeted privy and grabbed at the hand towel and wet it before scrubbing himself vigorously like his spattered seed was a rash of fire ants. The rough treatment made him hiss but did nothing to dissuade his filling member and when he turned and stalked back towards the bed, it was with a face so darkened and determined that Julie felt a quake of desirable fear shoot through her.

It was magnified when he stopped at the end of the bed and instead of climbing atop her again, reached out and grabbed at her ankle instead, yanking her down the expanse of sheets until her legs dangled off the mattress and their hips collided. He was so tall above her like this, even with their most private places aligned and she shuddered as she realized she’d actually asked for him to take her again after such rough usage and such a desperate first attempt to even get him inside. They’d have to keep at it, keep her open and work to make her used to him. She supposed frequency was key and spread her legs again in defiance of the scared little voice that told her riding telephone poles wasn’t a pastime to over indulge in on the first night.

Damn fear. She spread her legs. Damn fear and damn all thought entirely, when he fucked back into her in practiced, measured pumps that sank him deeper each time and rubbed at the need that had built so suddenly at his words earlier. “You sounded- you sounded like your letters.” she tried to gasp out an explanation as Bucky put his standing leverage into his thrusts and smiled down at her from his height, hair hanging over his forehead, lookin’ like a dreamy novel cover.

“Ya sounded like yours.” he rasped back, the proof of it drilling her into the bed right now as he plunged again and again into her clenching belly and tugged apart her abused little hole.

When she came it was sudden and hard, and lest he torture he through it to another like last time, and lest he forget himself and let himself go inside her, she shoved him back with a foot to his sternum when the satisfaction had been fully wrung out, and this time he staggered back agreeably.

“Now for your reward.” she recalled as Bucky stood there, breathing raggedly himself and with his massive cock drooping in a bobbing wave, untended and without a haven, too heavy to curve up to his belly when standing. God it was impressive looking there in its lonesome glory, as impressive as the owner of the tool looked lost and dazed like a boy who needed to be led back home.

At the sight of her tits pressed together he seemed to recall himself. His face lit up and his eyes regained their sharp intelligence and he took a step forward before pausing and wheeling back to the sink. “Washcloth.” he explained, he hadn’t any intention or anticipation of being able to get back up to clean them both after this round. His body felt like it was operating on borrowed time as is. “Scootch up for daddy.” he tugged gently at her wrist until she was back in her proper spot in the center of the bed. “That’s it, that’s my good lil girl.” he murmured before carefully climbing over her, like a beast from the fairytale where to cherish his beauty in this way, all lumbering tenderness and brute strength restrained for her sake.

John’s thick thighs bracketed either side of her tiny rib cage, the ghost of his weight felt along her sternum as he kept himself off her, the burning heat emitting from the most sheltered place of his body.

“That’s it dearest, push ‘em together, nice and tight f’me. Goddamn, that’s it, baby, jus’like that. Uhuh.”

She had wanted to give him this since he wanted it so dearly, and asked for it so worshipfully, and came up with an entire darling acronym for the act, but she hadn’t expected to enjoy it so much. The crowded, loomed over, helpless little joy of Bucky Egan crouched above her heart, gripping the throbbing base of his cock and poking his length through the tunnel of her breasts.

That she hadn’t anticipated. It made her moan as loudly as he did at the first give of her butter-soft flesh.

When he pushed out the other side of her little tunnel, his goey plum tip tapped her chin and she giggled in delight, feeling the cool wake of his sputter on her chin when he withdrew, then thrust back and there it was again- a tap to her chin. She was ready on the third thrust, when his leaking tip breached through the other side, she dipped her chin and stuck her tongue out, getting a good lick at the salty precum that gushed from his deep slit.

She had been ready but Bucky had not, he had stared at this dream scene when he first slid between them, but then the sight combined with the sensation grew too strong and he threw his head back, eyes screwed shut and lungs close to collapsing, so that he no warning when he felt her clever tongue dip into his sensitive slit and lap at his oozing tip.

It undid him, quicker than even he expected and with a hoarse cry that mingled praise and apology for what was about to occur, Bucky painted her pretty face in ropes of sticky hot ejacuculate, the last reserve of his body, looking like ticker tape streamers of celebration, landing in shiny streaks across her nose and eyes, scrunched in celebratory delight. The puff of pleased shock her shiny lips let out was the final pop of merrymaking, chased by the visual of her eyes tight shut to keep out his salty spend but her wild tongue chased the dripping mess running down on her cheeks, eager for a final taste of him. He wanted to laugh at the thought that she was chasing the last bitter, year old stores of a ill fed prisoner, that he’d have better and sweeter and more fitting cream to give in the morning. But for now…

Welcome Fucking Back, Bucky Egan.

He collapsed to the side and smacked at the bedside table in a blind grab until he found the washcloth, rolling over on his belly and hissing as he did so at the scratch of sheets against his raw cock. “C’mere, lemme clean up my baby doll. Hell Julie, that was-“ he didn’t have words for it, she deserved them but he didn’t, not really. “-have to write you about it sometime.” he realized and she giggled, eyes opening as he wiped away his sticky glaze, and when he did, they met his: blue and dazzling and trusting that he would.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Johnny Egan.” she murmured. “But you won’t need postage. You’ll be right in the other room.”

Bucky squeezed her cheeks together emphatically in one hand, pressing his lips to hers as their worn out bodies fitted together like puzzle pieces in the churned sheets, “No postage,” he agreed soberly, his nose still brushing hers, “cause I’ll write it on your thighs.”

[worldofheroes]

Hii

Can I request a young maverick × reader where reader had a fight with her parents (she still lives with them and she's super angry and freaking out, pete goes to her and he says something like "let's get out of here, sweetheart" and he takes her to a road trip and they have a little adventure? thank uuuu💗

Hi all I am alive!!! Please enjoy!! ❤️❤️

Wings of Comfort

pete maverick mitchell x gn!reader

summary: after an argument with your parents, you look to maverick for comfort

warnings: fluff, parent/child tension

wc: 776

The door slammed behind you as you stormed out of your parents' house, your heart pounding in your chest. The argument was still fresh, their words echoing in your head like a relentless barrage. It wasn’t the first time tensions had flared, but tonight, it felt different. Everything you tried to explain—your choices, your dreams—seemed to fall on deaf ears, and the disappointment in their voices had been too much to bear.

You didn’t have anywhere else to go, no safe haven to retreat to, but one thought crossed your mind: Maverick.

You find your way towards his house, not even thinking about how to get there. You’ve walked this route a million times before, tonight is no different.

The sun continues to lower in the sky when you knock on his front door.

Like he was waiting for you, Maverick opens the door just seconds later.

“Are you okay?” Maverick asks. He’s always been able to read you within seconds of seeing your face.

You shake your head, holding back tears.

Maverick opens the door wider and steps aside, allowing you to enter. As soon as the door closes, he wraps you in a hug.

“I got you,” he whispers.

You can’t hold it in any longer. A few tears escape, and Maverick tightens his grip.

"Let it out," he murmurs. "You don’t have to hold anything back here."

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your face into his chest. He smells like leather and old jet fuel, but there’s something calming about it. You feel safe here.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you admit, your voice breaking.

“I know. But we’ll figure it out. One step at a time.”

He doesn’t pull away, just holds you, his hands warm on your back.

“You’ve always had my back, Maverick,” you say, a bit hoarse.

“Always will,” he replies, his tone steady.

For a while, there’s just the sound of your breathing. His hands move in soothing circles on your back. You close your eyes, letting the silence settle around you.

After a moment, Maverick steps back, but only just enough to look at you. “You want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Then how about we get out of here, sweetheart?”

“Mav, it’s Tuesday evening.” You wipe your nose with the back of your hand.

“So? Let’s go for a ride, get your mind off things.”

You nod, wiping your wet face dry. Maverick takes your hand and leads you back outside, and onto his bike.

The roar of the engine overtakes your thoughts as you wrap your arms around Maverick. He takes off down the road.

You rest your head against his back, watching the scenery rush by for a while before he comes to a stop.

“Come on,” he says, getting off the bike and offering you his hand.

You take it and he leads you down to the beach, where you walk hand in hand. Neither one of you says anything, but each other’s presence is comforting enough.

“You know I love you, right?” Maverick’s voice breaks the silence.

You nod. “Of course I do.” Pause. “I love you too.”

Maverick smiles at your words.

"And.. thanks for this," you say softly, your voice still hoarse. "I didn’t know what I needed, but this… this helps."

Maverick glances at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a half-smile. "Sometimes you just need to get away from everything for a while. Clear your head."

You nod. “Definitely.”

“Feeling better?”

“I guess so,” you admit.

“Good,” he smiles again. “I think I better get you back before your parents freak out.”

“They don’t care where I am.”

“Everything they do for you is out of love.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it, sweetheart. I know when you get back home tonight they’re gonna apologize and all three of you are going to care deeper for each other.”

“How do you know these things?” you half tease him.

“Because I wish I had these opportunities with my own parents. I’ve seen it with Goose’s family. I see it in yours. It always works out in the end.”

“You are wise beyond your years, Mitchell.”

“You’re the first person to ever say that to me,” Maverick laughs.

You laugh too, happy to be feeling better.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Maverick brings your back to your parents’ house, giving you a quick kiss before you walk away.

You walk into the house, where your parents are watching TV, and they turn to you with their faces full of love.

That Pete Mitchell was right.

[marsdreamworld]

How Sweet It is to be Loved by You - LN4 x reader:

Mars’ Notes: I’ve never ever written anything like this before, but after rambling at @love-belle for a stupid amount of time, i thought why not? surprised it ended up being for lando and not charles but if this goes well i might j start writing a bit more!! anyways, i’m excited, please lmk what you think <333

Warnings: None!! super super fluffy :)

Description: Lando comes home to you, and everything is ok again.

————————————————————

Lando was exhausted. He loved his job, the roaring of engines, the loud shouts that always seemed to accompany the mechanics as they made any pre-race adjustments to his Mclaren, the screams of fans in the grandstands and during fan stages, but god, sometimes all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around your waist, bury his face in your neck and never leave. You were his peace, his moment of quiet in an otherwise hectic day. He missed you, and you were his rock during race weekends. He had spent the last week wishing you were with him and cheering him on from your spot in the garage.

“Lando? You ok, mate?”

Danny’s voice broke him out of his stupor, bringing his mind back to the private jet he was currently sat in, accompanied by the older driver. Just three more hours, and you can hug her all you want, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, fine, mate. Just wondering what’s for dinner.” he said, a smile on his face.

“If you say so” comes the reply, accompanied by a bright, dimpled smile.

————————————

After a hectic run through security and the throng of fans that were waiting diligently for him at the gate, Lando had finally made it home, his hands trembling at the prospect of finally kissing you again as he pushed his key into the lock of your shared flat.

“Lando? Is that you, my love?”

Your voice floated through the hallway, and he visibly relaxed - he was finally home, he was finally with you, and there was nowhere he’d rather be.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me. Were you hoping for someone else?” he teased, seeing you emerge from your bedroom, clad only in one of his favourite Quadrant hoodies, and fluffy socks, your hair falling around your face in messy waves, silver wire-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of your nose. You padded over, soft footfalls echoing, until you were stood in front of him.

“Oh shush and hug me, you muppet.”

He closed the gap between you, and wrapped his arms around your waist, melting into you.

“God, I missed you”, he said, his voice muffled by your neck. You giggled and reached up to hug him back, carding your hands through his hair and leaving sweet kisses wherever you could reach.

“I missed you more, love. Would you mind helping me with something quickly?”, you mumbled into his hair, “I know you’re tired, and it’s been a long day, I just think my brain’s gone to mush and I can barely read what I’m writing.”

He lifted his head, and simply smiled at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek, “That’s what I’m here for, remember? Moral support and grammar police” he said, winking at you in an effort to make you laugh. You looked stressed, and he could tell you had been working away at your essay for far too long already, the pressure weighing heavily on your shoulders. “I’m assuming it’s another essay for class?”

“Mhmm, the professor decided it would be a good time to assign a stupid essay two weeks before midterms.” Your eye roll and answering nod was all it took for Lando to toe his shoes off, leaving his bags and coat by the door before he dragged you back into the bedroom, dramatically flipping into the double bed that occupied the corner, landing amongst the multitude of stuffed toys that had migrated to his side of the bed in the short time he was away.

“Right then, Ms. L/N, get your pretty arse over here and read me this essay.” he said, posing and putting on his best posh British accent, earning a laugh out of you. This was what Lando lived for, these quiet moments of domesticity where all he could hear was your laugh and he could revel in the fact that it was him, him who made you laugh and him who had the pleasure of hearing it.

You grabbed your notebook from the desk you had set up opposite the bed, claiming that you worked better when you knew Lando was close to you, and walked over to the bed, climbing in and placing his head in your lap.

A reporter had once asked him a question along the lines of “If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” He had, of course, answered with the typical “on a race track”, the answer that wouldn’t have the Mclaren PR team screaming at him post press conference, but if he really had to pick, he would say with you. Anywhere with you was where he wanted to be, but he felt so at peace here, in your bedroom, with his head on your lap and your hand in his hair, your voice soft and sweet as you read him the opening paragraphs of your midterm essay.

Lando nuzzled further into your thighs, your nails now scratching across his scalp in a way that made him feel boneless. He could feel his eyes slowly slipping closed, the warmth and comfort lulling him into a peaceful sleep.

———————-

You were three paragraphs in when you stumbled on your words, struggling to understand a sentence you’d written.

“See, that’s the sentence I really don’t get. It just sounds so chunky and I really have no idea how to make it flow more, you know? I know it needs to be technical, it is an engineering essay after all, but it just sounds so hard to read and I don’t know how to make it sound better.”

You waited for Lando to tell you that you’d made a silly grammar mistake, or that you just had to split the sentence in two to make it more digestible, but you were met with silence. Looking down at your lap, you saw Lando asleep, smile painted on his face, a hand placed on your thigh, grip tight as though he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t move.

Lando had come into your life in the most unexpected way you could have imagined - cliché, but unexpected. You’d been waiting in line at a coffee shop, needing your daily dose of caffeine before your 9AM university lecture, and he had walked straight into you, a steaming hot Americano cradled in his hands, which had eventually made quick work of staining the cream bodysuit you had chosen for the day. He’d apologised countless times, turning back to grab a stack of tissues, even going so far as to attempt to rub the stain off, but had only succeeded in making it worse. You’d simply laughed, and told him that he really should go order another coffee, before the morning rush took over. He’d stared at you, open mouthed and speechless, before stammering through an affirmative and walking away. The next 5 minutes were spent throwing glances at each other through the crowd of people occupying the store, before he broke and asked for your number, stating that he at least owed you a new shirt, and perhaps even a date? It had been natural, and felt right from the moment he picked you up at 8 the following Friday, dressed in a suit and armed with roses.

You took one last look at the essay in your hands, and made the incredibly easy decision to call it a day. You placed the stack of papers on the bedside table, shifting in order to reach, only to have Lando grip onto you tighter, a mumble of “stay” escaping his pouted lips. Your heart clenched, and you couldn’t help but coo back that you weren’t going anywhere, my love, go back to sleep. You cleared as much of the bed as you could without disturbing your boy, and leaned back into the pillows you’d stacked behind you earlier in the day, Lando nuzzling further into your stomach, whining until you bring your hand back to his curls. As you shift, Lando reaches out to wind his hands around your waist, pulling you closer even in his sleep. You smile to yourself, and turn the small lamp on the side table off - your boy was home, and everything was alright.

[mickandmusings]

iv. so high school

part of the 'hangman & honey' series!

summary: With Honey and Jake's senior year coming to a quick end, Honey is more than thrilled to dream about her upcoming days in the Austin sun as a future UT student. Blindly, and perhaps naively, she assumes Jake will be at her side for another four years. Jake has a secret he's refused to tell her, and the weight of it threatens to collapse his chest. He knows it's the right decision, but he can't help but think of the hurt it will cause the girl he loves.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: fluffy->angsty, building up to some major angst, folks, buckle up, also two posts in one week is crazy, just let me be mentally ill thanks <3

-

'And there he goes! #86, Senior Jake Seresin catches the ball from #19, Senior Ethan Williams, and runs towards the end zone for the touchdown and...it is good! That's a win for the Haven High Bobcats! The Blue and Gold Nation is officially in the playoffs!'

The crowd roars in Honey's ears as she jumps up and claps in elation at Jake's score-saving play. Haven had been behind by just a handful of points, and he'd won the game just before the buzzer sounded for the end of the fourth quarter. She smiled as she watched his teammates pummel over him, lifting him above their heads as he slings off his helmet, sweaty blonde hair shining under stadium lights. His Hollywood smile is blinding, and although she can't hear it, she can see him laugh.

Honey turns to Janet and Jacob Sr. moving next to her, both of them picking up their stadium seats and filing out of their row in the bleachers. Honey picks up Jake's football sweatshirt and slings it over her shoulders. She sported a solid navy long-sleeve under Jake's spare gold jersey she wore, but Jake had insisted she bring another layer. He had been right, of course, she had shivered through the first half of the game, but after halftime, she had broken into a sweat cheering Jake on. She trailed behind Janet, making their way back to the parking lot to meet up with her small-town football star boyfriend. Honey chatted pleasantly with Janet and Jacob Sr. as she stood next to their truck, telling them about she and Jake's after-game plans. They had decided on their usual post-game dinner at The Basket, then they'd slip off into one of the empty pastures far from the farmhouse and simply enjoy some alone time, not that the grandparents needed to know that detail. She waved them goodbye when they parted to their truck, and Honey walked across the parking lot to Jake’s truck. She leaned against the side of it, waiting for him to arrive. She didn’t bother to pay attention to the stares in her direction or the whispers filling the air, Jake was the senior football star hanging out with her, so she’d expected the push back.

She heard him before she saw him, his hearty laugh filling the air. He’s fist-bumping and bro-hugging his teammates before he makes his way over to her. His smile widens, throwing down his duffel at her feet and lifting her up off the ground, kissing her lips. Honey's own smile appears, lightly chastising him to put her down. When he does, he notes her appearance, fondly looking at his own numbers across her torso, but concerned she’d be freezing.

"I told you to wear that sweatshirt, not tie it 'round your waist. You're gonna end up with a head cold and you're gonna be all mopey and miserable."

Honey gave him a pointed look.

"Okay, Dad, cool your jets. I'll put it on when we get to the truck."

He opens her door and she slides in, and he opens the back door to throw his duffel bag on the floorboard. Honey waits for him to slide around to his spot at the front, but a voice calls out his name.

"Hey, Seresin! You comin' out tonight, man? Everyone's coming down to my place, gonna have a bonfire."

Ethan Williams' voice calls after him. Honey listens in as they speak, her eyes cutting awkwardly to her hands, fiddling with the hem of the jersey she's wearing. Truthfully, all Honey wanted to do was grab their dinner, go back home and plop into Jake's bed, and sleep until noon the next day. She understood why Jake would want to go, Ethan was captain of the football team, quarterback, and Jake's friend. It was their senior year, the last chance to soak up any childish memories before their impending adulthood. Jake was funny, the life of any party, but Honey was still learning to adapt to that sort of environment. Jake cut his green eyes to look at Honey, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what she wanted to do. Honey nodded slowly, a forced smile plastered across her face. Honey hated parties, especially ones like these, where almost everyone in attendance was friends with one another, while she was just there by association. She took a deep breath and calmed herself, it’d be fine, she’d go along with Jake for a few hours, let him laugh and mingle, and then they’d go back home. There she would have him to herself.

“Yeah, follow you there?” Jake replied back quickly. Ethan nods and walks toward his own truck. Jake quickly slings into the driver’s side of the truck, cranking it, and waiting for Ethan to roll out.

“Honey, you say the word and I’m blowing this party, I know-“

“No, no,” her voice is confident, at least to her. “These are your friends, and you just took us to the playoffs, Jake. You should celebrate, you deserve it.”

He gives her a wide grin, one that makes her heart swell with ridiculous adoration for the boy across from her.

-

A few hours later, Honey finds herself sitting on a bale of hay a few yards away from the bonfire, nursing a beer she hadn’t taken more than two sips of. She didn’t care for the taste of beer to begin with, often starting one and letting Jake finish it, but this one tasted particularly sour. It likely had nothing to do with the beer at all, her attitude had been sour for the past hour or so, and she was more than ready to go home. She had sat and listened to the other player's girlfriends gossip amongst themselves-who was sleeping with who, who cheated on who-typical high school gossip. She had tuned them out mostly, her eyes following Jake as he laughed with his friends. His eyes would meet hers occasionally, checking on her without having to say a word. She wasn't sour at him for having fun, she had wanted him to have this, childish teenage memories to look back on ten years from now. It wasn't his fault she wasn't having fun, it was hers, she should've tried to talk to other people in school these past four years. She remained relatively uninterested in their blabber, but when she heard something that perked her ears, she simply couldn't stop listening in.

“I know you all saw those scouts tonight, they were hard to miss in that bright orange.”

“Of course I did, they’re always at Haven games when the season is good. The question is, who are they scoutin'? Ethan has already announced he’s going to A&M, they’re not there for him.”

“They’re at the games for Jake Seresin, duh! He hasn’t accepted a scholarship anywhere, it’s got to be him. None of the other guys are good enough, my own boyfriend included.”

“Well there’s only one person who would know his plans, you just have to ask her,” Brett’s girlfriend Haley spoke. She was turning to Honey, her pale blue eyes kind. “Hey, Honey, why don’t you come sit over here with us?”

Honey stilled, the condensation on her beer can making her hands cold. Haley had always been kind to her, their boyfriends were close friends, Brett was one of Jake's few friends that spoke to her, and it made for easy camaraderie. Before she could overthink it, her feet carried her over to the group of girls, sinking onto a hay bale next to Haley.

“So, Honey,” Sarah Grace, Ethan’s girlfriend, started. “Where does Jake plan on signing to?”

Honey’s mouth felt as if she’d been eating cotton, her eyes wide. She, truthfully, had no idea. It wasn’t something Jake had ever talked to her about. She’d assumed he would go to UT Austin, it was his preferred team, and it wasn’t too far from Haven. It was Honey’s future school, hopefully, because she’d follow him anywhere.

“Um,” she started. “I don’t really know, but if I had to guess, probably UT Austin. I mean, he’s been a Longhorns fan since before I knew him, and that’s where I’ve sent my early decision application, so..." She ends her statement with a shrug. She feels like everyone’s eyes are on her, feeling a blush forming at the unusual attention.

“No matter where he goes, he’ll be a star, so it’s a win-win for you either way.” Haley smiles encouragingly, now turning her full attention to Honey. “On a more important topic, have you picked out your color for prom? Because Brett and I are doing pink, which he hates, but I’ve had my heart on this dress since freshman year so-“

Honey listens to Haley, but her mind is far from prom and dress colors. How was it this far into their senior year and she had yet to talk about college plans with Jake? She had just assumed they’d go to UT Austin together, but maybe she’d read it all wrong. What if he didn’t want her to follow him?

“-so you should come with us, we’re all going together, it would be fun, having another girl around.”

Honey’s eyes widened, realizing Haley was inviting her to come prom dress shopping. Her eyes widened, she’d never been invited anywhere, not sincerely at least.

“Um, yeah, that sounds great. I-I’ll be there.”

Haley lets out a squeal of excitement as she smiles, making Honey smile too. She’d spent the rest of her night engaged in conversation with the other football girlfriends, finding herself laughing as the girls welcomed her warmly. Jake watched from afar, smiling to himself as he watched Honey's body language begin to settle in the small group of girls. He gave her space to socialize amongst them, proud of her for stepping even a foot out of her comfort zone. He finds her a few hours later, bidding the other girls a swift farewell before sweetly grabbing her hand and whisking her away back to the truck, back home. As the pair walked away into the distance, the girls began a new discussion.

“So, who wants to bet on how long those two have been more than friends?” Sarah Grace starts, her eyes still on the couple fading into the distance.

“Jake Seresin and her? Listen, she’s a sweet girl but they’re polar opposites. No way they've got somethin' going on. They’re nothing but friends.”

“Bullshit, she’s worn his jersey every single game, and he’s always got his arm around her. And those eyes he gives her? No way they’re not at least fooling around.” Ethan's girlfriend pipes up.

“Rumor has it she lives with the Seresin’s cause her mom’s a deadbeat. I mean they share a bed and everything, I bet they fuck like rabbits. We all know how well-off the Seresin's are, not to mention the influence that comes along with it, what if she's like, baby trapping him or something? I'm calling it now, she'll be pregnant before prom."

“You’re all wrong,” Haley finally piped up, shaking her head at the ignorant girl's statement. “Those two have been dating since sophomore year, are you truly that blind? For God's sake, have you ever seen Jake let anyone else borrow his clothes like that? Fuck no. Not to mention his obsession with touching her every time she's in his vicinity-they hold hands, she'll intertwine her arm around his, sleep on his shoulder-they're not hiding it. You just didn't notice it because you don't think someone shy like Honey could pull a ladies man like Jake Seresin. You should’ve seen them at Brett’s New Year’s Eve party last year, I swear Jake wasn’t going to let her breathe he kissed her so hard. Those two are in love, crazy about each other, but Jake is…not like other guys. He'd never let something like that happen to Honey. He isn't the idea you have in your head, at least not with her."

-

Jake cranks the truck and swings his arm around the headrest, his head peering out the back glass to back out. His hand lands on Honey’s thigh when he finally gets on the road. It's routine, his hand always rests against her when they ride together. She made no move to scoot closer, and when Jake looked at her, he expected to see her eyes shutting with sleep, but he instead found them wide awake, eyebrows pinched in thought. He sighs, he should’ve known from her being abnormally quiet when it was just the two of them.

“I can feel you thinking all the way over here. Talk to me. What's the matter, baby?” Jake’s voice is calm, soothing, as his thumb rubs lazy circles on her leg. Honey looks over at him, catches a glimpse of his concerned eyes, and looks back out her window before responding:

“There were scouts there tonight, from UT Austin. Word around the party says they were there to watch you.”

Jake shrugs, confused at where the conversation was heading. “That's a bad thing?”

Honey shakes her head. “No, it’s just, Haley and the other girls were asking if you were hoping to go to UT, and I realized I couldn’t even tell them, because I didn’t know. I-I even put my early decision application there, because I just thought that was where you’d go. It occurred to me I didn't even ask, I just thought we'd go together.”

As Jake processes her statement, he swallows thickly. He knew Honey's college plans, and as much as he'd wanted to follow her, he knew in the depth of his heart he wouldn't be following her to Austin. He had no aspirations for a traditional college route, and had already sent in his application to the Naval Academy. He hadn't told her, he hadn't told anyone, with the exception of their guidance counselor.

“I, um, I’m sendin' my application to UT too, just trying to scope out some other options, ya know? If I get hurt during a game or somethin', I’m over, I’ll lose my scholarship. I-I mean, my grades are there, but they’re not perfect, not like yours. Grandpa Seresin, he went straight to the Naval Academy after high school, paid for everything until he retired to the farm. Danny did too, played football there and everything. I just, need somethin' with some padding like that, just in case, so I’ve been holding out on a definite answer.”

His answer hadn’t been a complete lie, just, not the truth either. Honey nods in understanding, satisfied with his answer for now. Finally, she scoots over in the seat and leans her head on his shoulder, burying her head into the crook of his neck. She’s comfortable, content.

“That's good, just know I’ll follow you anywhere. I couldn’t imagine not having you around for four years, no way I'd survive without you."

Jake gulps, his heart breaking in half in his chest. His mind raced, if he told her the truth, it would kill her. There was no guarantee he'd be accepted into the Academy, but he hadn't even told her that he'd tried for it. He knew he had to tell her, but he kept it to himself for now, trying to enjoy their moments of being seniors together. He leans down and kisses her head, his mind swimming with thoughts of how he would tell her if he got accepted into the Naval Academy. He could already picture her big eyes swimming with tears, the fake smile she’d plaster across her face for his sake, telling him how proud she was, and how she would be hurting on the inside the entire time. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t face that, so, as fall turned to winter and then winter into spring, he’d neglected telling her completely.

-

When her early acceptance to UT Austin came in December, Honey had been all smiles and excited rambles, and that night, as they ate the celebratory dinner Janet made Honey, his stomach turned with guilt. Come the spring, when everyone else was announcing acceptances, he would no longer be able to lie to her, to defer the truth. But he pushed it to the side, letting both himself and Honey focus on all the exciting things that came with the last few months of high school, but they passed quicker than he wanted them to. They’d made it into the playoffs, won a few rounds before their luck run out and the football season was over. Christmas was done and over before he blinked, and his heart all but shattered at Honey’s blinding smile when she opened her very first orange Longhorns sweatshirt of her own-a gift from his grandparents. Honey had let her shoulders fall in happiness, tossing off Jake's Cowboys sweatshirt she was wearing to throw it over her head. She’d cried and squeezed both Janet and Jacob Sr. so tightly, but Jake could not smile, his entire chest was tight with words he couldn’t say. So when he opened an identical box with the same sweatshirt in a bigger size, he had to wipe on a smile and swallow the lump in his throat, because everyone still believed he’d be tagging along with Honey come August, his grandmother included. He had spilled his secret months before to his grandfather, who listened earnestly, but gave him a raised eyebrow look.

"This got anythin' to do with Danny?"

Jake had sighed, choosing not to say anything. Nothing got past his grandfather. His Uncle Danny had served in the Navy his entire life, as long as Jake had been alive. When Uncle Danny hadn't come back from his last post with the Navy, it had sent the entire family into shambles. It wasn't until months later that they'd found out the truth-he'd been shot down and lost his life.

Jacob Sr. had only nodded his head, sort of shocked by Jake's sudden announcement, but not surprised. His grandson had always had a flair for the unexpected.

"He'd be proud of you, kid. Just, the truth is better out than in. I know you haven't told Honey, that sweet girl deserves the truth, Jake. And you better tell ya Granny too, if she finds out from someone other than you, she'll kill you before you even get to Maryland. Believe me, women always find out the truth."

Jake suddenly wished he would've taken that advice sooner.

For the entirety of the next few months, he burned as he listened to Honey talk about them at UT: the apartments they'd move into together, joining him for football games, being his tag-along at parties, and him joining her in the library to help her study. She was so excited, happier than Jake had seen her in, well, ever-she was getting away from everything: her mother who she despised, this small town that felt suffocating at times, the people who talked shit about her, but she’d still have him, the one person she truly loved. She'd make him stop and let her check the mail each day as they came in from school, waiting for an acceptance letter for him that would never come. Honey would give him a sweet smile and assure him it would come sooner or later. He wouldn’t burst that bubble for-he couldn't-at least not yet.

-

As the colder days turned into a particularly hot April, Jake had five weeks before graduation, meaning he had T-minus thirty-five days to tell her. He had prolonged it this far, because after he told her the news, it was likely he’d never see her again. He'd received his Naval Academy acceptance letter two weeks ago, and as proud of himself as he was, he knew the disaster that would lay ahead of him, all at his own hand. He had broken down on the couch the night that Honey was out with Haley and Sarah Grace prom dress shopping, and his grandmother had gotten the truth from him. Janet had wrapped the boy in her arms, the boy who now towered over her, as if he was a toddler again and let him cry, knowing his decision had been made, but it didn't mean it would be easy.

Instead of focusing on the imminent pain, he spent his free time working on the old farm house on the south side of the farm. The house was nice, built years ago for a group of farm hands hired for the summer, but was in desperate need of a deep clean and some minor fixes. He had thought it’d be a great place for Honey and her new friends (Haley and Sarah Grace) to get ready for prom together, and a place he and Honey could decompress afterwards without any prying eyes, or worrying about waking up Janet or Jacob Sr. His grandparents had thought it was a good idea, happy to see Honey bring around more friends than just their grandson. As he scrubbed the floors and moved furniture into the house that week, his mind raced with ideas of how he would tell her, and, more importantly, when. After an internal pep-talk, he decided on telling her after prom, after the last fun before graduation was over. He wanted her to have one good night after her hell of a high school experience, but he needed to get the truth off his chest, and fast.

-

For now, he's wrapping his fist against the wooden door of her bedroom across the hall from his. He stares back at the Dawson's Creek poster plastered across it as he speaks.

“Honey, can I come in?”

“Hold on!” Her voice pipes up, and a shuffling noise is evident behind the door. “Okay! Now you can.”

Jake pushes open the creaky door and notices nothing out of place, which makes him raise a brow.

“What was all that racket about?”

“I had to hide my prom dress, I don’t want you to see it before prom night, it’s supposed to be a surprise! Haley said it was a ‘crime’ to look that good, so I should keep it a surprise from you.”

Jake shakes his head, kissing the top of her head as he pulls her into his arms.

“Well that poses a bit of a problem, darlin’. Don’t know what color tie I need, or what flowers to put on your corsage.”

Honey blushes, forgetting about that.

“For the flowers, do whatever you want, just something pretty, and the tie, black.” She attempts to mask her sly smile.

“Black?” Jake’s green eyes widened, his arms pulling her closer as he looked down at her. The sight of Honey in a black dress would probably kill him on the spot. "Don't think I've ever seen you in a black dress, baby."

Honey smiled as he spoke the nickname that still gave her goosebumps nearly three years later. She shrugs nonchalantly, as if the sudden change was nothing.

"Wanted to switch it up, leave our whole class with the whole 'wallflower is hotter than you think' dramatic exit, like a movie."

Jake chuckles, "You've got to stop watching so many of those cheesy romances. C'mon I got to show you somethin'."

He pulls her forward by the hand as she quickly slides on her sandals at the door. He brings her out the door and pops open the passenger side of his vehicle, helping her in. He slides into his driver's side and backs out, leading to her incoming question.

"Jake, where are we going?"

"That field with the house in the middle."

"Care to tell me why?"

"You'll see, darlin', patience, please."

Honey rolls her eyes at him as she looks out the window at the fields full of animals passing them by, slowly morphing into empty ones. Jake pulls into the driveway of the house, and Honey notes the lights on in the house.

"Did they hire some hands for the summer? You should've told me, I'm not really dressed to meet strangers, Jake."

Jake opens her door, and helps her out.

"Nobody's here but us, Hon. Just c'mon," He leads her through the front door and into the house, and she's immediately in awe of how nice it looks. There's no more layers of dust, or the sort of weird, tangy smell a shut-up house has. She turns to her boyfriend again.

"You did all this? You cleaned this place up?"

He nods, pulling her into him, her back to his chest.

"Thought it would be nice for you and the girls to get ready in, since me, and Brett and Willie and Ethan are getting ready at the house, no way we could share a bathroom with all of us."

"You fixed the bathroom in this place?" Honey's eyes widened, launching from his arms and into the hallway. She opens the door and audibly gasps-he added lighting around the mirrors, something the bathroom was once lacking, giving the perfect spot for them to get ready. "You are somethin' else, Jake Seresin."

She approaches him as he's standing in the door frame, kissing his lips sweetly. When they break apart she catches sight of the open bedroom door, immediately moving to look at it. She pushes the door completely open, finding the once broken headboard fixed, clean sheets, and the curtains are no longer filled with dust. The boy who she had to force to pick up his laundry had vacuumed this house from top to bottom.

"It looks amazing here, J, seriously." Her eyes are round as she looks around.

"I, um, I thought it'd be nice for us to have this place for just us, ya know? For prom obviously, but also if you wanted to come home during school or the summer? Wouldn't have to be cramped up in the house with the old folks."

He didn't have the heart to say he had done it so she would have some space away from the memories of him if she decided to come home. He didn't like imagining her working her ass off for some overpriced apartment during the summers when she could live here. The place wasn't anything fancy, and it's interior was definitely aging, but that was something she could fix, if she wanted. It gave Jake peace of mind to know that even if he wasn't around for her, that she would have somewhere to go, that she would be taken care of. She leans back into his embrace, taking in the house's appearance.

"Hey, J?" Her voice is quiet, but not somber.

"Yeah, baby?" He replies, his chin falling to her shoulder, planting a chaste kiss on her temple before he rests there.

"Do you think, someday-, maybe-, maybe s-someday we'd fix this place up together? It could be ours? I mean, it's perfect, a decent size house on a big patch of land. We could make it our own."

Jake's heart sinks to his feet, feeling like he might hurl with the amount of guilt swirling in his stomach. Her eyes are so wide, full of hope, and she gives him that smile, the one that's so rare it's practically reserved for him alone. He swallows down the round of tears threatening to choke him, and gives her a smile of his own.

"Someday, I'll give you the house of your dreams, baby. I'll give you whatever you want, if you'll let me."

-

taglist:

@djs8891

@unattainablesillygoose

@psuedochakra

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

-

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors skiddaddle pls

Chapter 009: Nina

There’s a new girl at Hellfire and Eddie is seemingly wrapped around her finger. Meanwhile, Max makes a shocking new discovery…

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 3.8k words

disclaimers & warnings — ⚠️ this is a verrrryy emotionally intense chapter. pls read at your discretion ; generational curses, physical altercations, profanities, throwing objects, heated arguments, implications of suspected grooming, shy girl being delulu, lmk if anything else

“Shouldn't have to listen to the shit you say.”

♡

"C’mon... COME ON!" Dustin roars in frustration. "What starts with a T and ends with a C?"

Slow Monday afternoons call for Wordle with the Party.

With little else to do in Hawkins on your day off, you find yourself situated at DRAGON’S BREATH with Steve, Dustin, and Jonathan’s younger brother Will.

Figuring out the last Wordle is a daunting task. Thankfully Argyle has been periodically swinging by, his emotional support nachos being the only thing keeping you from ripping out your hair.

"Tunic," Will suggests.

"Tonic," Steve contributes. "Like tonic water."

"Topic?" you pitch in. “Like Hot Topic.”

This is taking all of your last brain cells combined.

"Topic was one of them, Shy Girl,” Dustin sighs irritably. “I said that already.”

You raise your arms, surrendering. It seems you’ve poked the beast.

It’s been hard for you to focus anyway. The hot and heavy night you spent with Eddie a couple nights ago is taking up all the space of your dirty little mind.

You think of Eddie. His moans. The O-shape his mouth made as he chased his own pleasure on you. How full your pussy felt with just his three fingers pulsing in and out, and how full your mouth felt with Eddie's cock ramming the back of your throat with no mercy. The taste of him. How shocked he looked when you swallowed. How rough he was with you, but oh so thoughtful at the same time.

Truly an experience from another dimension. And you’re already fantasizing about the next time.

But you still want to keep it on the down low. Considering Eddie might still be seeing his Lady Friend, and you're still getting shagged by his roommate whenever he’s not home, you can't exactly get mad at him for texting someone who isn't you.

“Pssst,” you nudge Steve while the others brainstorm. “I think Eddie is talking to Nina again.”

Confusion sets in on Steve's face. He raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Yeah,” you smirk, trying to pretend that it doesn’t hurt. “Saw a message exchange between them a couple days ago.”

“Who’s Nina?”

“Isn’t that the Lady Friend’s name?”

“No…” Steve shakes his head. “Lady Friend’s name was Heather.”

It really has you wondering now... who is Nina?

"Yeah, the kukris are cool huh?" you hear Eddie's soothing voice come into earshot.

Odd. He stopped coming in on Mondays, you thought.

"That's the cool thing about owning a business,” you hear Eddie explain. “You get to choose where the money goes, when it goes, how it goes — at least most of the time."

Where have you heard that before?

Then Eddie comes into view, with a girl walking very closely behind him.

She’s stunning, standing to be about five-foot-two with a youthful face, petite body, and straight, long jet-black hair. Both conventionally, and legitimately beautiful, the girl looks to be at least 20 years old, dressed in cream-colored Chuck Taylor's, tattered booty shorts, and a playful white off-the-shoulder blouse. Scattered fine-line tattoos ornament her body. Her makeup has been flawlessly painted on, her lash extensions a hybrid between voluminous and wispy. And because you’re from Southern California, you can spot lip injections from a mile away.

A new dancer.

"This is where you clock in," Eddie explains to her. "I'll be sure to get you your punch in code by the end of the week. Over at the lounge we have Will, Shy Girl, Steve, and Dustin. Hey guys!”

Now you know why it sounds familiar. You received a very identical run down when you first started.

You're too shocked to wave so you feign a smile at your new colleague. Also, Eddie is too quick for you to react.

"We call the hookah lounge Dragon's Breath," Eddie continues. "And main-stage-slash-tip-rail is called Vecna's Lair."

They walk over to VECNA'S LAIR and you crane your neck to watch.

You observe Eddie give the girl a very familiar run down of Hellfire, using his arms to talk and eyes to listen.

She laughs at Eddie's charm, as anyone would. They talk for a bit more before he walks, what looks like to you, a predatory circle around her — a lion and a gazelle — and then spins her. Then Eddie does something that just about snaps your heart in half.

“MWAH!” he exclaims. “You are gonna do great. I just know it.”

The verbal kiss. The spin. The drowning her in compliments. Everything he did with you.

If Eddie’s gonna do his job, could he at least make every interaction with his employees unique? It all makes you feel betrayed. As if you were just another number in the factory.

"Traitor." you hiss sharply under your breath.

You abruptly stand up to start towards Eddie, hands balled into fists at the blatant disrespect displayed in front of you. You feel sick to your stomach, skin seemingly dragon-green with envy.

"That’s seven letters not five!" Dustin calls after you.

Eddie sees you in his periphery and waves. For the sake of keeping the peace, the smile you exude is fake to him, but friendly to the girl next to him.

"Hey, Hargrove!" Eddie smiles. "We've got a new person on board."

"I see that!" you exclaim. "Hi, I'm Shy Girl."

"I'm Nina," she introduces herself with a bright smile. "It's nice to meet you."

You two shake hands. Nina is just darling. Her eyes are so kind and bright, full of wonder. Her energy is warm. For a second there she was making you nervous.

“Y-you gonna be starting with us soon?” you investigate.

“Yeah, I start on Friday!”

“First dancing gig?”

Eddie shoots you a look, almost as if what you said was disrespectful. It wasn’t your intention. You were just wondering, after all. Nina looks really, really young.

“Uh, no actually,” Nina smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been dancing since I was 18. So two-ish years now.”

Your soul hurts.

Eighteen is just a baby. Twenty is a fresh adult. Nina is only a year older than the kiddos and can't even be near POTIONS without redirection from Henry.

Now you’re disgusted with Eddie. Why would he ever get so close to someone so young? You thought teenagers at Hellfire made him queasy. Nina is 20 now, but still. What would she have in common with a 28 year old? What about her was so appealing to Eddie?

“Oh! That’s cool… I think?”

Eddie’s harsh lines deepen across his face.

“Nina, why won’t you put your bag down by the cubbies, sweetheart?” Eddie suggests. “Then I’ll have Argyle make you something to eat. My treat.”

“Okay!” Nina chimes. "I was eyeing the chicken wings."

"Done deal. Wings or flats?"

"Flats!" Nina says as she skips away. "Please."

Eddie's admiring eyes trail after her as Nina acqauints herself with Hellfire.

So many questions arise in your head. Is Nina who Eddie’s been texting all this time? Did she come in and audition like you did? Did he ask her out on an 'orientation' lunch/dinner that he apparently does with all of his dancers? It wouldn't surprise you. None of this behavior is new.

This jealousy feels icky. And most of all, it hurts.

"Ugh!" Eddie clutches his chest. He turns to you. "I love her already."

You remain stiff as a board as Eddie slowly leans into you. A part of you is aching to lean in as well, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

Eddie hovers his hand over the small of your back because he knows Steve is watching. His eyes are out on a prowl per usual the way they burn into you.

"Looking beautiful as always," Eddie compliments you. "How are you? I haven't stopped thinking about you since Saturday."

He looks over your shoulder at the Wordle group.

"What was the last word?"

“Don’t know,” you huff. “You seem to have gotten it.”

“What?” Eddie questions cluelessly.

“With Nina,” you cross your arms. "And all your words that you've been wooing her with."

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie scowls. His hand drops back to his side. “You're mad because I... hired a stripper? Cause that’s kinda what I do.”

“I'm not mad that you hired a stripper, you literally own a strip club,” you shrug. “It’s just that…I didn’t know you use the same script with every new hire.”

"I'm sorry? Script?”

"You used almost the exact same words with me, Eddie," you explain. "Like you do with everybody I'm guessing.”

Disbelief sets in on Eddie's face, accompanied by an ounce of fear. Eddie is scared of something.

"Well, I don't know what you expected me to do when you first started," Eddie shrugs. "I'm not gonna come off strong and hit on you like some creep. Of course I'm gonna give you the same treatment I give everybody."

Eddie's got a solid rationale, but it didn't take away from the fact that you simply felt ordinary. When you compare the interactions side by side, nothing about Shy Girl stuck out from Nina.

"Why are we even having this conversation right now?" Eddie asks you. "We're not even together."

“I’m not trying to pick a fight, believe me,” you cross your arms. “I’m just disappointed is all. You made me really think you were falling for me.”

“Oh so all it takes is me walking with a girl to have all of my words not ring true anymore?”

Your tongue and stomach are in knots. All you can do is stand there and blubber like a baby. You’re making no sense, you’re aware. But why does it hurt you so bad?

Eddie paces back and forth. "I don't even know why I feel the need to explain myself, Hargrove,” he continues. “I’m not the one fucking the other’s best friend."

It's a reasonable standpoint. Still. You felt disgusting.

“Yeah but..." you argue softly. "How can you feel so comfortable touching…kissing…interacting with someone like that after being so intimate with me?”

Your boss can only release a chuckle, a baffled one at that. He shakes his head rapidly.

“Just because we hooked up over the weekend, you think you have a say in who I associate with or what goes on around here?" Eddie spews. “What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

Your lip quivers. “I never said that! Where did that even come from? Why are you so fucking defensive right now?”

Eddie’s nose flares angrily as he tries to keep himself collected. Suddenly, Nina calls out for his attention and he softens up again.

“Eddie!” the new girl cheers. “Argyle gave me some of his flats and it's so good! I think I’m gonna shoot for Creeping Death next!”

“Hey, nice!” Eddie smiles. “You like spicy, huh?”

“Mhm!”

It would be a lot easier to hate her if she did something to you. But Nina didn't do anything.

Eddie turns back around to face you, kicking at the ground before he thinks of something to say.

“Let’s not do this right now,” Eddie resigns, placing his hands over his hips. “You uh…clocking in?”

“No, I’m going home actually,” you respond. “It’s my day off.”

Eddie makes a face. You project it back onto him. For a moment, you two are staring at each other, appalled at one another's behavior. Being infatuated with the literal mirror version of yourself is hell.

“Hey Eddie!” Will calls. “Do you know a five-lettered word that starts with T and ends with C?”

Eddie’s eyes don’t leave you.

“Sure do,” he answers. “TOXIC.”

There’s a pause.

“BADA-BOOM!” Dustin hollers. “That’s the one.”

Eddie doesn't bother to chase you after your mini altercation. Just then, another pair of heels that don't belong to you click across the hard club floor. Chrissy comes into sight, holding a tray of slushees and her car keys in her hands.

“Hey guys!” Chrissy sings. “I got us some slushees from 7-Eleven. They're Cherry flavored...”

“I’ll pass,” you huff. “You can give one to Nina.”

“Ooh we have someone new?!” she chirps. “Where?”

Chrissy notices your shift in attitude when you walk away and Eddie’s stand-offish posture.

“What the fuck did you say to her?” you hear her snap at Eddie as you walk away.

“Nothing,”

“Bullshit. You look guilty as fuck.”

You stomp your way back over to your section and ask Steve to hand you your purse. It's obvious by the look on his face that Steve caught onto what you were feeling. He doesn't question it. He hands you your things.

"I'm not feeling too well, guys," you announce. "I'm going home."

You collect your trash and organize it neatly for Argyle when he comes back over with some waffle fries. Showing your appreciation for him, you thank him and give him a soft pat on the shoulder.

"Argyle, you should've seen the new girl," Dustin fawns. "She's so pretty."

"Yeah?" Argyle quirks up. "What's her name?"

"Nina."

"Was she hot?" he turns to the guys. "Byers, what do you think? Was she a 10 or what?"

Will, who never seems to pay the Hellfire girls any mind, eyes glued to his sketchbook instead of their sultry outfits, squirms around in his seat. He shrugs. "I-I don't know."

"Steve?"

"She was pretty cute."

Your blood boils. Not her stealing Steve's heart too!

"Nina…” Argyle repeats. "How exotic. She sounds like a small feisty Latina woman."

“Bet Shy Girl can vouch,” Dustin comments. “Right, Shy Girl?”

Intrigued, the line cook turns to you.

"Well, Shy Girl? Is she giving chunti, chingona, or what?”

Steve encourages Argyle to stop as you walk away, hair covering the sides of your face on the way out.

“What?” Argyle sounds bewildered. “What’d I say?”

"Was I made from a broken home?"

A girls day with Max would surely take your mind off of the Nina situation. She always knew how to make you feel better. Lucky for you, she is home today, evident by her skateboard that is situated neatly in the garage.

You hear some commotion coming from your shared bedroom and go in to greet her.

"Hey girl hey!" you call out to your sister. "It's my day off so I was wondering if you wanted to go t-"

You pause in your tracks, horrified.

"Hmm," Max ponders aloud. "Last time I recall, stilettos and G-strings aren't really part of nursing home etiquette."

Propped open on Max’s bed is one of your unpacked suitcases, the one that you hid all your lingerie, heels, and the Hellfire shirt Eddie gave you when you first started in. Typically you lock it but you left it open this morning. Out of all days Max had to look through your room, it had to be today.

Max has a tennis racket in her hand, the handle acting as a hook the way it swept up a thong of yours so effortlessly. You feel your knees buckle.

"What are you doing looking through my stuff, you little shit?" you bark.

"Looking for my sports bras," Max replies nonchalantly. "Still can't find 'em."

She dangles the thong in the air like it's something she caught at the lake.

"Found some other goodies though."

"You couldn't have just waited to ask me?"

"I would've had to wait a day or two since you work nights," Max snaps. "Now I know why. And do I even need to ask where?"

Just what you needed. This is JUST what you needed.

You feel exposed. Violated. Disrespected. In every aspect and every situation. There was no safe place to turn. It makes you angry.

Fine. If people are going to disrespect you, you'll be disrespectful too.

"When is it EVER okay to snoop?" you hiss. "Have you any respect for others and their belongings? How would you feel if I started picking apart at your shit?"

"I wouldn’t care because I don't have anything to hide."

"That's not the fucking point, Maxine."

"Oh, not the government name!" Max exclaims, sassily putting a hand over her chest.

That really tips you over the edge.

"I should've known," Max proceeds, shaking her head. She chucks the racket back onto her bed. “You haven't renewed your CPR cert since you graduated high school. And you need that to even work as a caregiver. Didn't catch that loophole when you were LYING, did you?"

"I was lying to protect you."

"You still lied, Sis," Maxine argues. "You're missing the point..."

Oh, now she wants to mimmick you.

You're blind-sided. Tunnel-visioned. You are feeling all five stages of grief all at once. It’s all too much to bear. You feel the bomb ticking...

As much as you love your sister, it sure was a bitch to raise her. You spent most of the time explaining to Max what social cues are, what is acceptable and what is not. It often made you short-fused because what was common sense to you took ages for Max to understand. Like how you shouldn't look through other people's things.

Max learns best when she puts herself in others' shoes. You've learned that the hard way, over the years.

“How would you feel if I was looking through your drawers and shit?” you walk over to Max’s corner of the room, prying open her drawers and tossing whatever is in there out. “And just tossing your shit out onto the floor?"

“What the fuck?!” Max exclaims. "What are you doing?!"

“Or what if I just went to your side of the mirror and…” you knock her perfume bottles off from the dresser mirror in numbers and watch them fall onto the floor. "Knocked all your shit down because I was looking for my own things?"

"I get it now, stop."

“Or," you brainstorm. "What if I just started unpacking your vinyls and shit and just not care about the packaging?”

Max stops you right there. "ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?! I said STOP."

“How would YOU FEEL?” you yell. “HOW WOULD YOU FEEL IF I DID THAT TO YOU?! IF I PULLED A 'YOU' ON YOU? NOT GREAT, HUH?”

How would everybody feel if you acted the way they did? Would they be mortified? Would they be disgusted?

Would Dad not hit anybody?

Would Mom have chosen to stay?

Would your first love never want to see you again?

Would Eddie be angry at your behavior?

Would Max think you're the worst sibling ever?

You would hope so for all the above.

Your heart couldn’t take any more pain.

"SHUT," Max screeches. "THE FUCK UP!"

She tosses an acrylic storage box at you. It hits you and you yelp in pain. When she realizes what she has done, Max punches the pillow on her bed. Physically aching for the last word, you take it upon yourself to chuck your empty Hydroflask at her. Thankfully, it misses and the ear-piercing CLINK sound is enough to startle her. Max shrinks herself down in fear, trying to process what you just did.

You regret it immediately. You didn't want to hit her. You mainly did it for intimidation.

It puts you to shame. You are toxic.

Suddenly, Max inflates again, her entire face extending to her ears redder than her fiery amber hair.

"YOU," Maxine growls. "ARE JUST LIKE BILLY!"

Silence.

You take a look around the trashed room. Never did you think you had it in you to be someone like your brother. But of course, the Wolf who is fed the most prevails.

The amount of hurt and anger you actually harbored was way more than you thought. You can’t take back the fact that you’ve exploded on everyone you love now. But at least you can hold yourself accountable.

"I didn't mean that," Max mumbles. “I’m really sorry.”

"No, Max," you sigh. "You're right. And I'm sure you've been wanting to say that for a while..."

But Max refuses. “NO! I just wanted the last word again. Like I always fucking do even when I know it’s never worth it.”

You and your sister join each other by sitting criss-crossed on the floor, pushing the debris off to the side to be handled later. Max leans her head on you and you let her, combing through her knotted hair with your trembling fingers.

"We have a lot to unlearn, don't we?" she sighs.

You nod. "Oh yeah..."

She grabs your hand.

"Are you safe at least?" Max questions. "At work? Any creeps I gotta beat up for you?"

A laugh escapes you. "Nah, someone's already got that covered. Bones snapping and all."

Max flinches.

"That's how you got all that money real fast, huh? Stripping?”

You nod to confirm. "I did it for you. Well, us."

You watch as Max takes out her phone and shuffles through her camera roll. Her most recent in the gallery are videos of her shooting free throws at the Y and playing tennis. She cancels out some apps for more storage, one of them being Messenger. The tab reveals that Billy was spamming her again.

You both shudder. Max puts her phone away.

"Because of you I have a membership," she beams. "And I have a safe place to rest my head and I have money to do what I want and I have food on the table."

She hugs you.

“I hope you know how grateful I am for you. For putting my needs before yours. For throwing yourself into something so terrifying just so I can have a better life than you did growing up.”

“I never thought for a second you were being ungrateful,” you hug her back. “And no matter what I say or do, I’m sticking by you no matter what.”

“Even when I’m being an asshole?”

“Even when you’re being an asshole.”

Max giggles. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

Suddenly your door swings open, causing you and Max to jolt in place. Thankfully, it’s just Robin and Vicky, both worried and confused about the state of your room.

"ToTo," Robin says. "We're not in Hawkins anymore."

"What tornado rummaged through here?!" Vicky exclaimed. "Guys. Are you okay?"

You and Max burst into laughter.

"Yeah, we’re good," you nod. "Just Hurricane Hargrove passing through."

As long as you have Max and your sisterhood with Robin and Vicky, you know you're going to be okay.

You refuse to mope around for the rest of the day, so in the evening you go bowling with Max and your roommates, loading yourselves up with carbs and soda. You ignore Eddie’s “can we talk?” messages, along with Billy’s routine “where the fuck are you” texts followed by rage-calls without a care in the world . Towards the end of the night, however, when the “Sad Boy Hours” hit, there’s a text from a man you simply can’t ignore.

Maybe: Henry

Hey 🧍🏻 it's Henry from work. Can I ask you something? Pls be honest.

tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerrr , @jxpsi i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123

[natrogersfics]

Always Remember Us This Way - A Romanogers AU

Artwork by @faith2nyc Part of the So It Goes... 'verse

Heels click against the marble, and it’s not until Steve’s own feet are moving that he realizes how attuned he’s grown to the sound, following suit without so much as a second thought and stationing himself by the closest pillar. Before him is the vast expanse of the newly renovated penthouse floor of Red Guardian’s Midtown property, its far most wall made entirely of glass windows boasting a panoramic view of the sun setting over Manhattan’s skyline and providing the perfect backdrop behind Natasha as she makes her way to the sprawling bar. Loki and Ophelia trail not too far behind her, and momentarily, he lets his eyes drift to the latter.

He hadn’t learned much else about the woman from the report Maria Hill, his contact at the FBI, had given him. There were some rumblings about her tendency to be tactless, but given the social circles she runs in, that hardly comes as a surprise to him. Nevertheless, her lack thereof of any criminal history did wonders for assuaging his concerns about this last-minute meeting – especially in light of the venue change from Natasha’s office to here.

“As you could probably tell from the gray and gold veining,” Natasha begins, looking at Ophelia as she traces the surface of the counter with a finger. “This is made entirely out of Calacatta imported from Italy. Now, obviously, this bar is intended for refreshments, but given that slabs like these are rare, I was thinking-”

“That it’d make a great backdrop for my products,” Ophelia finishes for her, and though her back is to him, he can tell from her tone that she’s clearly impressed.

“It could be a nice touch if your team is planning on taking some flat lays for your socials,” Natasha says. Her tone is cool and casual, but he catches the way the corner of her mouth quirks ever so slightly, her tell that she knows she’s on the right track. 

And she’s right. He doesn’t have to see Ophelia’s expression to know that the woman is already sold on the idea. She may not be aware of it, but what she’s currently experiencing is Natasha Romanoff in her element, and he’s observed enough of her meetings to know that it’s all but impossible to walk away from her, uncharmed, when she’s dialed in like this.

It’s as Natasha leads the way towards the center of the room, talking about the craftsmanship of the pair of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that he brings a hand up to the side of his face, tapping on his earpiece. “Give me a floor run down.”

Sam’s response comes a second later. “Floor below is clear. As is the lobby.”

“And the construction site across the street?”

“I have eyes on it,” Clint pipes in. “Lots of workers, but no suspicious activity so far.”

“Copy that. Thank you, both.”

Some semblance of relief washes over him as he puts his mic back on mute. By all accounts, he knows that having two members of his team run surveillance during a routine client meeting is overkill. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s accompanied Natasha to site visits just like this one, and never once has he required backup. Nevertheless, as he thinks back to the events that have occurred since they returned home, the part of him that believes that it’s always better to be safe than sorry can’t help but roar loudly.

It was instant, the way he knew something was wrong when he and Natasha walked down the steps of the jet to be greeted by the stoic faces of his team. Sam was the first to speak, informing them both that out of an abundance of caution, they would be taking Natasha back to her suite at The Empire instead of her apartment. It was on the car ride over that the team had started to brief them, and while his gut began to sink as he listened to their theory that someone had been keeping tabs on Natasha’s apartment while they’d been abroad, it wasn’t until he was presented with the letters – letters that were similar to the ones Natasha’s father had shared with him when he’d first sought his services – that he felt his blood run cold.

Finding the culprit had become their team’s primary focus in the days that followed, the intensity with which they had treated the objective reminiscent only of his days running covert operations in the Army. With confirmation that Natasha’s initial stalker was still incarcerated, they had set out to ID another suspect, exhausting every avenue from the CCTV footage from her apartment to leveraging what contacts they had in law enforcement. His patience (and quite frankly, his sanity) was beginning to run thin when a week had passed and they had yet to find any concrete leads, the four walls of his office becoming unwantedly too familiar to him as he spent his nights obsessively poring over all the information the team could gather, trying to piece it all together. It’s the most time he’s spent at his desk, and while he normally hated being confined to a space, he found it difficult to peel himself away. It was one thing to protect Natasha from the unknown. That was always going to be a challenge. What he couldn’t stomach, however, was how he had let a horror from her past haunt her once more.

The breakthrough they’d been desperately searching for finally arrived a few days later when a forensic analyst from the NYPD was able to confirm a handwriting match from a previous case. “I was never going to harm her,” he recalls the suspect, Sonny Burch, saying with that distinct drawl of his as he watched the authorities interrogate him from behind the one-way glass at the precinct. “I just wanted to know that if I wanted to, I could,” Burch added, unable to conceal his sickening joy. “And now I do.”

Burch was far from the criminal mastermind he’d been picturing, the man’s gel-stiffened combover that gleamed under the fluorescent lights making him look more like a caricature of a villain than anything else. And though the pursuit of infamy may have been Burch’s only objective, it made no difference to him. Physically harming Natasha may allegedly not have been in his plans, but in sending her those letters, Burch had drudged up one of the worst experiences of her life, and that was enough for him to want to see him behind bars.

He wants to say that knowing Burch has been apprehended helped him sleep better at night, but that would only be a half truth. Perhaps justice had been served. But if there’s anything the incident had highlighted even deeper for him, it’s that danger continues to lurk, and now, more than ever, it’s clear that he needs to keep his eyes open.

“Was there anything else you’d like to see Ms. Sarkissian?”

Loki’s question breaks him out of his reverie, and he blinks to see the trio of them walking towards the front of the room. Silently, he follows, finding his post close to the elevator when they pause just a few feet away.

“No, I think I’ve seen everything I needed to see,” Ophelia says, a pleased smile forming on her lips. “I look forward to Viper Cosmetics inaugurating Red Guardian’s newest space in the Spring.”

Natasha shares a glance with Loki before beaming back at her. “As do we.”

“Wonderful,” Ophelia says, adjusting her purse on her wrist. “And again, I do apologize for having to make a hasty exit, but I have to run to my next appointment. That being said, I’ll have my team contact yours to discuss getting a contract together.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Loki says, offering his arm out to her. “Allow me to escort you downstairs?”

“Please,” Ophelia says, linking arms with Loki, who begins to lead her towards the elevator.

He takes a step forward to get the button when he catches Loki gesturing for him to stop, and with a nod of acknowledgement, he unmutes his mic instead. “Client is on their way down.”

The elevator dings just as he hears Sam’s affirmative in his ear, confirming that he’s already stationed at the lobby. Loki and Ophelia step inside, the latter sending another smile at Natasha, who’s come to stand next to him. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Natasha.”

“You too, Ophelia,” Natasha says as the doors begin to slide closed. They wait for the hum of the elevator as it begins to descend, and it’s as the numbers on the panel above start to decrease that Natasha turns to him, eyes expectant. “So, what do you think?”

He shrugs. “She’s demurer than I expected,” he says. “Compared to her online presence, at least. But as far being a threat goes… what?”

“I meant about the deal,” she says, and though she looks away, he catches the way her expression falls. 

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, you have her ready to draw up a contract after your first meeting. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a home run.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Her company is going to be a great addition to your client list,” he adds, taking note of her less than enthusiastic response. “I’m sure the board will be thrilled.”

When she looks back at him, the smile she flashes his way doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Would be nice to get them off my back for a few days, wouldn’t it?”

His brows furrow in concern as she turns away from him to walk to the credenza where she’d set her belongings at the beginning of the meeting. It would be easy to ascribe her sudden forlornness on her being worried about the board watching her every move. But that’s a perpetual worry for her as long as she’s in this job, and he knows that for the most part, it’s something she’s incredibly adept at coping with. Whatever it is that’s weighing on her now, it certainly has nothing to do with work.

“Natasha,” he says, coming up behind her as she slips her tablet back into her purse. His hands fall to her shoulders when she doesn’t respond, and he frowns when he feels how stiff they are. “Tell me what you need.” He slides his hands down her arms, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when she leans back against him, melting into his touch. “If you’re tired, I can ask Daisy to book an appointment with your masseuse.”

She hums at the thought. ���Tell her to call my bodyguard while she’s at it,” she mutters. “Tell him I miss him.”  

His hands still at her words. “Hey,” he says, gently turning her so their eyes can meet, only to find the emotion in hers difficult to pin down. “I’ve been right here.”

“Physically, maybe…” She pauses, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip – the way she always does when she’s hesitant. A beat passes before she sighs. “But Steve, ever since the letters-”

“Nat,” he interjects, “I-”

“I know you’re just doing your job,” she concedes with a nod. “But then there’s your job, and then there’s… you and me.” She shakes her head. “I just worry that maybe it’s beginning to be too much.”

“What? Natasha, no,” he says firmly. “That’s not it. Not in the slightest.”

“Then why have you been keeping your distance from me?” she says, giving up any pretense of hiding her frustration now.

It’s then that he sees it – the hurt in her eyes that’s clear as day. The anguish that’s been lingering from the moment they got back home, he realizes, flashing every single time he’s left her in the care of someone else to go and dive right back into the case. He had mistaken it for fear of the situation, and in his determination to never see that emotion on her face ever again, it seems he’s only made it worse.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, his eyes turning downcast as a curse slips from his lips. “But you having to see those letters again? Having to relive…” He shakes his head, refusing to even voice the words. “I guess I stayed away because I’ve been feeling so ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” she repeats, only to cup his face in her hand when he nods. “None of that was your fault, Steve.”

“I failed you,” he says, swallowing the lump that’s formed in his throat.

“No, you didn’t.”

With a shake of his head, he pulls away from her. “It happened under my watch-”

“And it’s under your watch that it got resolved,” she insists, sighing when he doesn’t look quite convinced. “Hey, listen to me. I won’t downplay the fact that the world’s a dangerous place, Steve. We both know that. But when the facts tell us that this time around, the danger is just a lunatic looking for some fame? We need to leave it at that and count putting him away as a win.” She steps closer to him, imploring him to meet her gaze. “Otherwise, we’re just living life afraid, and I don’t want that… And I know you don’t, either.”

His eyes fall shut at that, huffing out a breath that’s long and winded. Despite his never ending list of worries, he knows that she’s right. While he couldn’t stand the idea of any kind of harm coming to her, protecting her has always been about making her feel safe enough to live her life the way she wants to. It was never about keeping her in a gilded cage or making her privy to and fearful of all the dangers that lie ahead – something his actions had inadvertently done in the weeks since this all unfolded.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” he says, and for the first time in weeks, he allows himself to give into his urge to pull her into his arms. She goes willingly, burrowing her head in his chest as he wraps his arms around her. He drops a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “If something happened to you...”

She pulls away just enough to look up at him. “You would never let anything happen to me.”

Her words take him back to the very first time she had uttered them to him, her hand in his as she sat in the bathtub that night after they’d finally given into their desire for one another. He recalls the certainty in her eyes then, certainty that’s only somehow been fortified as she stares at him now, even after everything that’s occurred. “You said you trusted me… Did you mean that?” 

“I mean every word I tell you,” she says solemnly, then in the same breath, she allows mischief to flicker in her expression. “Well, almost every word.” He arches a brow at that, and as she rests her palms flat on his chest, she juts her lower lip out in a playful pout. “I said you would never let anything happen to me, but seems you have no problem letting me miss you.”

He scoffs, amusement pulling his lips up into a smile. “A demented sociopath was running amuck and that’s what you were worried about?” Her shoulders lift in a nonchalant shrug, prompting him to chuckle. “Your mind, Miss Romanoff, is always in the gutter.”

“Weeks, Rogers,” she whispers, pulling him closer by his tie and looking up at him from underneath the fan of her darkened lashes. “I’ve been missing you for weeks.”  

A quip makes its way to the tip of his tongue, but before he can say it, he’s interrupted by Sam’s voice in his ear. “There’s a pileup on the BQE, Cap. Barnes will be late for his shift, but I’ll fill in until he makes it out.”

Natasha stiffens in his hold, confirmation that with their proximity, she heard Sam’s words loud and clear. “Don’t bother,” he replies, running a hand reassuringly down her back. “I’ll take the night shift.” She smiles widely at that, and as Sam voices his confirmation, he takes off earpiece for good measure as he adds, “Seems I have weeks to make up for." 

“Bold of you to assume you can make up for all that time in one night," she says, smirking. 

He tips his chin up at that, the corners of his lips quirking when he catches the little breath she takes in. 

READ THE FULL CHAPTER ON AO3

[rebeliz7]

The Key

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Part 1: The Sling Ring

This is my third time posting this, so lets hope this time works

Yelena

Consciousness comes accompanied by a tight grip of terror for Yelena, but she keeps her eyes closed for a few seconds before deciding to face whatever she’s up against. 

The sudden bump on her back and the sound of an old engine roaring alive tell her that she’s in the back of a moving truck, which only confuses her more than she’s comfortable with at the moment. 

How the hell did she end up in a truck? Scratch that. How the hell is she on the ground when the last thing she remembers is being twenty thousand feet up in the air with the team?

Hell! How did she end up alone?

…

Bucky

The splash of water wakes him up abruptly, and when he notices that he’s sinking fast he swims up to the surface in a frenzy, and in dire need of air. 

He comes up in the middle of a wide luxurious pool in the back of some fancy mansion, with absolutely no recollection of how he ended up there whatsoever. 

Instincts kicking in, he swims to the edge as quietly as possible, but the eerie absence of sound tells him he’s alone and this place is empty. 

Getting out of the pool, he inspects the place quickly and inaudibly, but he’s completely alone in the remote mansion. 

The last thing he remembers is flying the jet and the team, so how the hell did he end up here by himself? And where the hell did he leave the quinjet? 

…

Natasha

“Out!” An old woman’s raging yell brings Natasha out of her slumber faster than she can comprehend. 

“Out of here! Get out of my house!” The woman yells as she threatens to hit Natasha with her cane. 

Confused but agile as ever, Natasha avoids the cane and leaves the woman’s house in a rush as an old cat watches her from above the couch. Outside, the sun is at its highest peak and the neighborhood is alive with activity. 

She has no idea where she is, or how she got there. 

The woman’s still screaming inside the house, so Natasha goes down the sidewalk with measured steps and on high alert. 

The last thing she remembers is Bucky flying the jet--and then nothing. 

Where’s Yelena? Where’s Wanda, and where are you? Where’s Bucky? And most importantly, where the hell is her phone or any of her gadgets?

…

You

You’re running. You don’t know how long you’ve been running for, but all you know is that the thing following you is not giving up and damn it! Neither are you! 

The growling-green goo spitting monster is just a few feet behind you, and you--you just have to keep running and avoid being eaten by it. 

The magic ring on your fingers feels heavy and cold, and you have no idea how to control it or why it’s opening up portals for you when you’re not a wizard yourself. 

Out of breath and your heart rate going a mile per minute, you move your hands once more while simultaneously trying not to trip on your own feet, and the air sparks in front of you before another portal opens up. 

You jump through it without a second though, and the monster jumps right behind you. 

“Damn it!” You curse out loud and without being able to help it. 

“How the hell do I close these things?!”

…

Wanda

Wanda wakes up to a blue eyed little girl softly tapping her cheek, and the bright sun shining above her, blinding her for a hot second. 

“She’s up.” The child says with a smile so sincere and voice so adorably small, that for just a second Wanda forgets what’s really happening. 

The second comes and goes though, and dread washes over her as she looks for you and doesn’t see you. She’s in the backyard of a modest house, where there’s meat on the grill and a huge golden retriever sleeping on the grass just a few feet away from her. 

“Woah, careful there.” A woman says when Wanda stands up from the hammock, where she was sleeping, apparently. 

“There was someone else with me.” Wanda speaks with urgency as the woman guides her towards a nearby chair.

“You landed alone.” The woman tells her calmly. 

“Landed?”

“Right there.” The woman points to a spot on the grass. “You came through one of those Dr. Strange ring things, portals or whatever they are. But you were by yourself.”

The portals, the memories come back all at once and Wanda sighs to herself. 

“We call them portals.” She clarifies for the woman, just as the memory of you grabbing Wong’s sling ring and discovering that you can actually use it flashes through her mind. 

Sparks flew when you moved your fingers and everyone ran. 

She sighs again. It’s gonna take forever to find you and the rest of the team and---oh god, wasn’t there a green monstrosity following you the last time she saw you?

…

Yelena

“I’m gonna fucking kill them.” Yelena murmurs under her breath. 

“Bajate! Afuera!” The owner of the truck yells and even gives her a -not so gentle- push to get her off his vehicle. 

“I’m going!” Yelena snaps too, as she jumps from the back and is left standing in the middle of a relatively empty street in---well, she has no idea where the hell she is. 

“I’m going to fucking kill them good.” She promises, hands fisting angrily and patience running out. 

First a phone, and then planning your demise. 

She’s not sure who’s fault it is that she’s now stranded in this godforsaken little town, but she’s ninety percent sure that it’s your fault. You did this, she just knows it.

This has you written all over it! 

“I’m just gonna fucking strangle her first. I will.” She promises out loud, head nodding as she promises harder. “I’m gonna see her, slap her and then strangle her. In that order. If Wanda kills me after, it’ll be damn worth it.”

Just as she’s picturing your pleading face as she chokes you in her mind, the memories of what happened come back to her and she stops walking, stomping her foot on the ground. 

“I knew it!”

…

Bucky

After finding dry clothes and a working phone, the Winter Soldier sets to call Natasha but instead he takes a deep breath as he suddenly remembers exactly how he ended up falling in the pool. 

“She has magic.” He thinks out loud, dread building inside his chest against his will. “Oh, no. She has magic. God saves us all.”

In retrospect, he could have chosen his words better. 

Through one of the large windows he sees a portal opening above the pool again and just as he’s about to run outside, you come through the other side and the same monster that started all this, falls behind you. 

He runs outside to help you as the creature begins to wail and flap around in the water with it’s six long arms helplessly. 

“Bucky.” You gasp as he pulls you out of the water and both of you are caught staring at the dying creature just a few feet away from you. 

“Is it dying?” You ask, holding onto his arms, as he pulls you even closer against his chest. 

“I think so.” He says as the creature gives one last crying weak wail of pain and goes immobile. 

You both stare for a little bit longer as it floats, expecting it to come at you again, but when a minute long passes you let out a breath you’ve been holding since you first saw that thing. 

“It actually looks kind of adorable.” You say as you step away from his arms, and miss the incredulous look he’s giving you. “I mean, now that’s not trying to kill us.”

“Are you serious?!” 

Jumping back at hearing him scream, you watch as a flock of birds flies away, startled by the loud sound as well. 

“You threw everyone through different portals to heaven knows where!” He continues yelling when you turn to face him. 

“To save your lives!” You point out.

“After you read a book that clearly said ‘Do not read me’ and opened up a damn portal for this thing to come after us in the first place!”

“How was I supposed to know that the book actually meant that?” You ask him, and he opens his mouth but closes it again while obviously swallowing more yells. 

You begin to feel bad as he tries and fails to find words, time after time. If you didn’t know him well enough, you’d think he’s about to slap some sense into you. Not that you need it. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize after a beat and he visibly deflates. Even the vein on his forehead stops palpating as he relaxes.

“Where are the girls?” He asks you, but he doesn’t need an answer from you, not when he can read the guilt clear as day in your eyes. 

“I think we might need to call Strange.”

“Ya think, huh?”

…

Wanda

Wanda stares at the burrowed phone in her hand while inwardly debating if she should divorce you after this. 

In and out. In and out. 

Breathing isn’t helping. 

She’s overreacting, or maybe she isn’t. She hates you right now, but she knows that her love for you is bigger than the current mess you made. In reality she’ll never divorce you but god, how she hates you right now!

She’s about to dial Natasha’s number when a portal opens up in the middle of this family’s backyard, again, she supposes. 

“Strange.” She sighs, and Susan yelps somewhere close. She did mention being a fan of Stephen earlier. 

“Wanda, what on earth is going on?” The Doctor asks her, the portal closing behind him as he moves towards her with urgency. 

A million thoughts run through Wanda’s mind in a millisecond then. She doesn’t want to throw you under the bus, but throwing you under is key in securing his help in solving what you did, and she needs him. 

You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom for a month, she swears it. 

Two months! 

A whole year!

“Rocket contacted Natasha earlier this morning, and told her about an object he came across on a planet called Mortuorum.”

“Planet of the Dead?” He asks for clarification, and his face morphs into something akin to despair. 

“We were just supposed to retrieve it, bring it here and---”

“Why?” He cuts her off, and rightfully so, she admits. “Why would you bring something from the Planet of the Dead here?”

“Rocket thought the Avengers could keep it safe, since a rebel space gang was after it.”

“Okay. Okay, hold on.” Taking his hands to his face, he takes a moment to breathe and Wanda’s anger towards you grows considerably. 

You just had to do it. 

“We’ll deal with that in a bit,” Stephen says. “I’m curious about how there are several sightseeings of monsters all over the world, and portals being open left and right. How did this ‘space gang’ come in touch with a sling ring?”

Wanda closes her eyes then, contemplates lying out of embarrassment, but ultimately decides to just give in.

“The sling ring was in the jet from Wong’s last visit. He was meant to retrieve it later today. The object we were supposed to keep safe was a rare book,” she says and takes a deep breath, hesitating one more time.  “Y/n took it.”

“Let me guess,” Stephen interrupts again. “She read the damn thing.”

“She read the damn thing.”

…

Natasha

What the hell did you do? Natasha’s lost count of how many times she’s asked herself the question in the past five minutes. 

Everyone’s phone is going straight to voicemail, which tells her that whatever you did caused all their tech to vanish for some reason. 

She dials Strange’s number next, guessing that’s the next logical step, but when he answers Natasha can barely hear him above the sound of people screaming somewhere close to where she is. 

Natasha sees a small crowd running in her direction, but they’re running away from something and dread washes over her one more time. 

“I’m with Wanda. Natasha, where are you?” Stephen asks her, loud enough to carry and Natasha loses her breath as she sees---zombies, actual zombies stumbling back to their feet after they continue to fall from an opened portal above them. 

She murmurs an address before taking a couple of steps backwards, still having trouble believing her eyes. 

“Oh y/h.” She murmurs under her breath, lamenting the day Fury left you in the Compound. “If you could only just stop opening portals.”

…

Yelena

“I’m gonna kill her. I’m gonna kill her.  I don’t care how hard I have to try.”

Out of breath and running for her life, Yelena still has the strength to curse your name as she escapes from two six foot tall blue aliens that crossed a portal when it suddenly opened in the middle of the street. 

“I’m so gonna kill her.” She promises, as she hides behind a dumpster to catch her breath. 

But it seems like she just can’t catch a break!

Another portal opens up just in front of her and before she has a chance to react properly, you and Bucky run through it and the arms of the giant monster that began all this get sliced as the portal closes behind the two of you. 

Yelena scrunches up her face as green gooey blood is splashed all over her, and Bucky grimaces at the scene.

“That was close.” You sigh and Yelena turns to you, blood murder in her eyes as she sees your innocent smile. “Dude, you’re covered in goo.”

When you double over about to throw up--at the sight of her, she almost breaks your neck, right then and there. And she would have if the two aliens hadn’t spotted her from down the street. 

“So that’s where they went.” Bucky says as you gag and he grabs your arm. “Get us out of here. Now!”

Tears in your eyes and on the verge of getting sick, you do the thing with your hands and another portal opens up. The three of you cross it without looking back. 

…

The first thing Yelena does when her life is no longer immediately threatened, is to go for your neck. 

You’re still trying to keep your lunch down when she slaps you and then leaps at you, throwing you into the ground, hard. Her hands are on your neck in the blink of an eye, and you’re caught off guard completely. 

Bucky grabs her by the waist though and carries her away from you, just as fast as she came at you. 

“Let me go! I’m gonna kill her! I’m gonna kill her!”

…

Wanda

“The hell you are!” Wanda screams as she runs to your side and raises her hands, ready to attack Yelena. 

“No! We’re not doing that!” Bucky yells, struggling with a feisty russian in his arms but managing to keep her in his hold. 

“She’s not touching my wife again.” Wanda tells him firmly, voice ice cold and magic swirling in her hands. 

You, on the other hand, lose the battle between being sick or not. 

Wanda hates you right now, more than she ever thought possible, but she also loves you---a little bit more than anyone should ever be allowed to love another human being. 

She grabs your hair, running a soothing hand on your back and then guides you towards the nearest bathroom where you can clean yourself up a little bit. 

God, she’s so happy you’re okay and relief washes over her with a strong wave of emotion that instantly brings tears to her eyes. Not that she lets them fall. 

“I’m sorry.” You speak, voice raw and tearfilled eyes locked on her. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know.” She nods as she runs a wet paper towel on your forehead and notices the red bruise on your left cheek. 

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” You tell her, your voice cracking somewhere in the middle and she shakes her head. 

“I am so angry right now.” She admits, although she doesn’t pull away when you take her hands and throw the paper towel in the bin. 

“I’m so sorry.” You say again, meaning it. 

She looks at your hands, pleadingly squeezing hers and takes a couple of deep breaths. 

“Chain of command is important for situations exactly like this one.” She says, noticing how you flinch at the hard tone she uses. “When someone gives you an order, you listen. What part of ‘do not read that’ did you not get?”

Tears spring to your eyes so quickly that she instantly deflates. The anger that’s been bubbling in for the last couple of hours vanishes completely, even more so when your shoulders shake and she has to wrap her arms around you, however reluctantly at the moment. 

She caresses your hair and kisses your temple as you apologize, over and over again. After long minutes, you finally look up and she kisses your cheek before handing you another papel towel. 

“This is gonna bruise.” She runs a finger on your cheek and even notices a faint bruise on your neck as well. “I could kill that girl.”

“And then Natasha would kill you.” You tell her, but she just shrugs. 

“It’d be worth it. No one is allowed to hit you.”

“Even after what I did?”

“You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom for a month for this, but no. No one gets to hit you over it.”

…

You

When you emerge from the bathroom Wanda stands in front of you like a brick wall, unwilling to let anyone put their hands on you again. 

That doesn’t stop Yelena from glaring. It’s like she’s not even blinking while she chokes you in her very vivid imagination. 

In retrospect, everything that’s happened today might actually be your fault. Okay, you should have never read the book, that was on you. 

“What were you thinking?” Strange asks you, and you laugh nervously. He also takes your hand and removes Wong’s sling ring from your fingers. 

“I only read the introduction. When has an introduction ever hurt anyone?”

“The mummy.” Bucky provides for you.

“Evil dead.” Yelena ads. 

“It was the introduction!” You try to defend yourself, but the look Wanda gives you shuts you up right away. 

“It’s done.” Wanda says with finality. “We have to make things right, we can have a meeting about the events that brought us here when everything is sorted out.”

“Where’s Natasha?” You ask when you don’t see her anywhere, and Yelena goes for your neck one more time. 

…

This time Wanda catches Yelena midair, before she gets to touch you and you watch in slight terror as your wife grits her teeth before letting Yelena down with a snarl. 

“Let me go!” Yelena screams, but your wife holds her in place with her magic. “I won’t kill her! I just want to strangle her for a second!”

“I’d watch my words if I were you.” Wanda threatens her, calm and low. 

You’d forgotten how terrifying she can get, as has Yelena, judging by the new look on her face. 

“We know where Natasha is.” Strange intervenes, as you reach out and gently place your hand on Wanda’s arm. 

Wanda gives you a look and hesitantly lowers her arm, letting Yelena free of her hold. You intertwine your fingers through Wanda’s and pull her into you, pressing your lips on her clothed shoulder from behind and letting her know that you’re okay. 

This fear she harbors over losing you is something that you can’t protect her from. She’s lost so much already, a part of her is convinced that she’ll lose you too. 

…

Natasha

Natasha is not sure if the zombies feel lost, or scared, either option puzzles her anyway. 

The thing is---the thing is, the zombies haven’t moved, not an inch. They’re just there, in the street one of your portals obviously dropped them at. They look at each other, look around them, don’t recognize where they are, and they just refuse to move. 

She’s grateful for it, most definitely, but still puzzled. 

“They’re just not moving, huh?” A civilian says, striking a conversation as if he knows her. 

“They’re not.” She confirms anyway. “It’d be best if you leave though. Maybe take your friends with you.”

His friends are a bunch of teens standing a few feet away, as if they’re afraid to come any closer but with their phones in their hands, filming everything. 

“Nah, you’re kidding? I’m gonna record all this!” He exclaims excitedly. 

She’s about to tell him off, but a portal opens up behind him and she sees the team on the other side. 

“About time.” She says, moving towards everyone. “We have a situation here.” 

“Holy mother of God!” You exclaim, hand on your chest and eyes on the zombies. 

“You.” Natasha snarls, making your wife step in front of you again. “I’ll deal with you later.” Natasha says, her eyes never leaving yours. Her very angry eyes. 

You swallow. 

Strange deals with the zombies quickly while Natasha hacks into the security cameras around the area, just to make sure that no one was actually bitten or scratched. 

Natasha is tempted to slap you, she really is, but by the slight bruise on your cheek and the imprint of fingers on your neck, it looks like Yelena already bit her to it. 

She leaves you alone for now. 

…

You

Strange brings Wong along, and the stare he gives you makes you feel like the worst thing that’s ever happened to this team. 

He takes his sling ring from Strange with pursed lips and a glare sent your way. You involuntarily move behind Bucky, but his broad shoulders don’t protect you from the feeling of shame that washes over you. 

They don’t even ask you where you opened up the portals, not that you know exactly, because the sling ring takes Wong to every place you did. 

They spend the entire rest of the day, and night, fixing up the mess you made. 

…

Wanda

Wanda finds you on the roof of the highest building in the Compound, knees pulled up to your chest as you look blankly ahead. 

It doesn’t come easy to you, being part of this life, she’s always known it. 

You’re not a superpowered individual, a genius or a multimillionaire. No, you just happen to be the daughter of a God that left you in the care of Nick Fury when he left this world. 

Fury’s always referred to you as a bit of a loose cannon, saying that olympic blood running through your veins makes you careless to a fault. Wanda knows it’s something deeper than that. 

Calling you a loose cannon or a wild spirit, feels so abstract. You’re the only one left of your kind on earth, abandoned by a father who didn’t deem you worthy of Olympus. 

Careless, you are, but not because you don’t care but rather because of who you are. 

Gods are not meant to live among humans. Gods are not meant to have limitations. Gods never hear the word no. Gods don’t deal with consequences. 

You try so hard though. 

You try to fit in, you try to follow the rules, you try to be part of the team and you try to act like it’s enough. 

She knows you’re sorry, that you regret what happened today and she doesn’t need to tell you how much of a mess you made. You know---you just know. 

She can’t help but contemplate you now, sitting on the edge of the roof, surrounded by nothing but air, wind softly blowing your hair every few seconds. 

You’re the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen--she’s ever touched. 

“Hi, stranger.” She softly says, as to not startle you. You look up at her with red sad eyes, and she feels like melting. 

She carefully sits by your side and wraps her own jacket on your shoulders, before pulling you into her side. 

“How mad are they?” You ask, your cold nose rubbing the soft skin of her neck. 

“No one’s mad, darling.” She assures you, but you remain quiet. 

The air is chilly up here, but she knows this is why you like it so much. She thinks you feel closer to your family up here, your eyes always focus on the same place and she’s certain you can see it, the home you were denied so long ago. 

You mentioned it once in passing, but you don’t like to talk about it. The mount is something so sacred to you, so painful and yet, so beloved. 

“Do you think this is why he left me here?” You ask after a while, and Wanda doesn’t need you to elaborate to know what you’re hinting at. Not when she can hear the heartbreak in your voice. 

“No.” She says after a while. “He left you here because he knew I needed to find you.”

She waits, and waits, and you eventually crack. 

“You’re such a sap.” You tell her, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “Why did I even marry you?”

“I must have bewitched you.” She jokes, and you laugh, and she loves that laugh. 

She loves that carefree-dorky laugh that always manages to warm her up from the inside out. 

“Come here.” She pulls you in for a kiss, hand on the back of your neck and eager to have her lips on you. 

You oblige and kiss her wantonly, with a smile and familiarity. She loves you, she loves the way you kiss her with a laugh and plump lips. She loves the way you fit in with her, like a piece of a puzzle that was lost until you inevitably ran into each other. She loves, loves---loves you. 

“I love you.” You whisper against her lips, as the august wind rattles your hair and the smell of your shampoo invades her senses. 

“You’ll sleep in the guest bedroom for a week.” She finally tells you and the distraught shriek that leaves your lips is most definitely ungodly. 

“I adore you,” she tells you. “But you sent us all through unknown portals after you read a book in the Planet of the Dead.”

“A week sounds reasonable.” You nod right after, and she can’t help but to kiss you again. 

… 

She pretends she doesn’t feel you crawling in your bed in the middle of the night, but she can deal with that later. 

…

[tobiasdrake]

Digimon Adventure 01x42 - Silence on the Ocean Floor! Whamon / Under Pressure

Previously on Digimon Adventure: Piximon's sacrifice got the kids away from the Dark Masters, but only for like five minutes. Chomping at the bit for some action, MetalSeadramon bolted straight out there set Anomalocarimon on fire. Whamon snuck away the kids. That's a whoopsy-doodle.

As with last episode, before we can begin this one, the dub needs to finish the previous episode.

We open back up in the ocean, with the kids floating in the water and MetalSeadramon towering over them. His River of Power finishes off Zudomon, launching Gomamon straight into Joe's face. Sadly, this goes unremarked upon.

Gomamon: AUUUUGH!!! (sploosh) MetalSeadramon: You're finished, you upstart DigiDestined! In a word, you're sunk! (Whamon's silhouette passes under them) MetalSeadramon: Huh? Who is that? Tai: IT'S WHAMON!!!

Whamon headbutts MetalSeadramon into the water, then scoops up the kids in his mouth.

Tai: Come on, everybody! I never thought I'd want to be fish food but we'll be safe in here! Izzy: Technically, it's a mammal!

Okay, Tai's quip was cute but Izzy Um Actually-ing him in the middle of this crisis sells it. XD

MetalSeadramon: Grahh! You've escaped this time, but you've escaped for the last time!

Once MetalSeadramon's finished shaking his proverbial fist at the kids and threatening revenge next episode, we begin next episode.

MetalSeadramon: Curse those Chosen Children....

Four little Digimon with sea jets turn up, reporting in to MetalSeadramon.

MetalSeadramon: Hangyomon? Hangyomon: We're sorry to be late, sir.

Hangyomon is a Perfect-stage Data-type Aquatic Beast Man Digimon. Lot going on with that classification. The name comes from the word 半魚人 hangyojin which means "Half Fish Person". It's a mermaid. Hangyojin are Japanese mermaids.

Hangyojin aren't as consistently designed as mermaids, though. The uniformity that dominates mermaid designs isn't present in traditional hangyojin lore. Basically any combination of Fish Stuff and Primate Stuff can be a hangyojin.

So we get Hangyomon whose name is "Half-Fish mon". It would be super easy to call them Mermon in English, it's right there, but I guess they aren't mermaid enough so they end up being Divermon. That's fair, probably less confusing that way.

In any case, Hangyomon is a Deep Saver from the .5 updated release of the V-Pet. Super fittingly in a "I see what you did there" way, they replace Anomalocarimon on the roster for the updated version.

Narrator: Hangyomon. An Aquatic Beast Man Digimon who swims deep in the oceans while wearing a wetsuit. His special attack is Strike Fishing. MetalSeadramon: Forget it. I control these waters. The Chosen Children can't escape me no matter where they try to run; Not even with Whamon helping them. Now go! Capture the Chosen Children! All Hangyomon: (English) Aye-Aye, Sir!

The Hangyomon dive beneath the water. MetalSeadramon lets out a furious roar that honestly sounds more like a death rattle and then plunges into the water as well.

In the dub, MetalSeadramon has questions.

MetalSeadramon: Why did Whamon stick his spout in my business and save the DigiDestined? (The Divermon pop up) MetalSeadramon: What are you doing here, Divermon? Divermon: We just came up for a little air! MetalSeadramon: (rundown) Those Divermon! If it wasn't for their Striking Fish attack, they'd be useless to me. MetalSeadramon: No matter. Wherever those kids try to hide, I'll find them. I rule this ocean with an iron hand, an iron tail, and an iron everything for that matter! I'll catch them even with Whamon on their side! ...well, don't just sit there treading water; I told you to GO FIND THOSE KIDS!!! All Divermon: Aye-Aye, Sir!

That "iron everything" bit is nicely punned. MetalSeadramon is proud of his near-completely Chrome Digizoid body and frankly he should be. He worked hard for it.

Striking Fish. Oh my god. XD Like. Conceptually, it's not that different from what Strike Fishing implies but it somehow sounds way lamer. That's not a mistranslation; Like most proper nouns, the attack name was in English. They made a choice to move the -ing and make it Striking Fish.

Weird choice to imply that the Divermon came by purely out of coincidence. The dub's still downplaying that his "minions" are a formal military.

Whamon ferries the children back up into breathable air once they're far enough away from MetalSeadramon.

Taichi: You saved us back there, Whamon! Koushiro: Really! I thought we were done for. Whamon: I'm glad you're safe. Yamato: Hey, Whamon? Do you have any ideas for how we can defeat the Dark Masters? Sora: Why did they do this to the Digimon World? Whamon: Unfortunately, I don't know all the details. I just felt the world shaking all of a sudden, and then the world became like this. That was when MetalSeadramon took control of the oceans.

Taichi angrily punches Whamon.

Taichi: Damn that MetalSeadramon! Hikari: (hug) Onii-chan, cheer up. Taichi: (sheepish) ...yeah. You're right. Let's all stay positive! Group: Yeah! Whamon: Yes, let's all keep our spirits up. I don't know if there's anywhere safe left in the world, but we should try to find somewhere that MetalSeadramon can't reach.

Also, if we can, try not to punch our friends anymore, Taichi. :P

In the dub:

Tai: Thanks for saving us, Whamon! Whamon: Aww, don't mention it! No, seriously, don't mention it. I don't want it to get around.

...not sure what that's supposed to mean. Is Dub Whamon embarrassed to be associated with the DigiDestined? This feels like they slapped in one of those jokes where the punchline is just the characters being mean to each other, without any regard to context.

I could get it if it were someone like Ogremon delivering that line, but it seems weird here.

Matt: Hey, guys? We still have a problem. How are we gonna be able to defeat the Dark Masters? Sora: I wonder how they took over the Digital World in the first place? Do you remember, Whamon? Whamon: Of course I remember Whamon! Big fella. Snappy dresser. Oh, you mean the Dark Masters? I don't know all the details, but soon after the Digital World began to warp, MetalSeadramon began to take over the ocean. Tai: (punches Whamon) DARN!!! Whamon: Ow! Tai: Oh, uh, sorry, Whamon! Kari: (hug) Tai, don't get upset. We'll fix things. Tai: You're right. We'll do it. We've done it before, haven't we? Group: YEAH!!! Whamon: That's the attitude! I'll find a safe place for you outside of MetalSeadramon's reach even if I have to swim to the far corners of the ocean! By the way, did I mention I charge by the mile?

Yeah, they're definitely having Whamon reach for whatever punchlines he can get his flippers around to try and ease back the tension.

"Of course I remember Whamon!" got me though. XD That's the best of the lot. I also appreciate that they have Whamon react to Tai punching him.

If you look closely in the image, you can see others around him looking with wide eyes down at Whamon as if to imply a "Uh, Taichi, maybe don't?" reaction but nobody says anything and the scene moves on, more focused on addressing Taichi's frustration than the fact that he punched Whamon.

I do like the "Let's stay positive and keep our spirits up" conversation better than the "Yeah, we'll figure out how to solve this" conversation, but it's nice for someone to remark on the punch before segueing into that.

From here, we briefly see the Hangyomon searching an undersea ruin for the Chosen Children, as well as hassling some of Gomamon's Marching Fishes. Then we rejoin the kids at a crescent-shaped island, stopping for lunch.

Yamato plays his harmonica while Taichi and Jou fish with traditional poles. Meanwhile, the Digimon strut their stuff and demonstrate their own techniques.

With flying fish jumping overhead, Tailmon steps up to the plate. She finds her moment and leaps into the air, slicing two of the fish into neatly cut segments which fall nicely onto the plate. Then she does a little bow to complete he maneuver.

After that, it's Palmon's turn. Utilizing her Poison Ivy, she manages to rip a huge fish right out of the ocean! So huge, in fact, that it crushes her on landing. Whoops.

This error also un-catches the fish Tailmon caught. It happens so fast that it can be difficult to make out, but when the giant fish lands, you can barely make out the plate getting knocked offscreen and scattering its contents. Goodbye, nicely cut flying fish.

None of this has any dialogue, but you know how the dub feels about that. They kick us off with Gatomon singing a little blues ditty to go with Matt's harmonica.

Gatomon: Cats land on their feet / But we still need to eat! / It's Gatomon's wish / For some fresh flying fish! / 'Cause I'm a kitty! / A Digi-kitty!

As if summoned by her singing, the fish appear and she goes to work. She remains silent for as long as her mouth is onscreen, before wrapping up.

Gatomon: Ohhh yeeeeeah MROWR! Palmon: That's great, Gatomon, but the rest of us have to eat too! Stand aside and watch how a pro does it. (Palmon attempts to fish and has violent regrets) Palmon: ...dinner is served....

This is all really cute. Both Gatomon's song and Palmon's use of the stock "Yeah well WATCH ME TRY (immediately fails hard)" gag. Though to be fair to her, she did catch an impressive fish. It's still caught, if she KO'd herself in the process!

Suddenly, Yamato stops playing, prompting a conversation.

Taichi: What's wrong, Yamato? Yamato: Can we really win against the Dark Masters? Taichi: (sigh)

The harmonica music starts back up again here, despite the fact that Yamato isn't playing.

Yamato: They're not like the other Digimon we've fought before. Can we really beat them with our usual methods? Koushiro: (approaches with his laptop) There may be a possibility with WarGreymon. Taichi & Yamato: Eh? Koushiro: The Dramon Killer.

The word "Killer" here is in English, like most proper nouns. In a sense, so is Dramon, since it's the Digimon equivalent of "dragon".

Yamato: Dramon Killer? Taichi: What is that? Koushiro: (pulls up the Digimon Analyzer) It's the weapon that's on WarGreymon's arms. According to the Digimon Analyzer, this weapon is highly effective against Dramon type Digimon. Dramon Killer. If he uses this, we may have a chance. Taichi: That's a great idea, Koushiro! The Dramon Killer? HEY!!! AGUMON!!! IT'S YOUR TIME TO SHINE!!!

Taichi whips around in time to see Agumon, jaw unhinged like a snake, swallowing the entire giant fish Palmon caught whole. And alive, as it flops its tail desperately in protest. He can't even get it all down, ending up staring helplessly at Taichi with a distended stomach and an unswallowable fin sticking out of his mouth.

Taichi: ... Yamato: .... Koushiro: .... Taichi: G-ganbare... Agumon: (reluctant) ....nnnngh okay....

We're all familiar with ganbaru by now; The Japanese cultural idea of perseverance in harsh situations through hard work and dedication.

Taichi, stuck for anything he can possibly say about the mostly-swallowed fish stuck in Agumon's throat, weakly offers it up as a punchline to encourage Agumon to finish this stupid ordeal he's begun. The moment of inspiration and hope has been utterly vanquished. XD

With regard to Koushiro's exposition, you may have noticed that WarGreymon's Digimon Analyzer rundown said absolutely nothing of the sort about him having some sort of super-powerful anti-dramon weapon. So this has all the energy of something the writers pulled straight out of their assholes.

I'm not 100% but I don't think it is, however. So far as I can tell, Koushiro is reading this right out of the Metal Empire V-Pet's bios, which includes the statement, "The 'Dramon Killer' claws on both of its arms can easily defeat dragon-type Digimon."

It also tells us that WarGreymon's armor is made from Chrome Digizoid, which the rundown also did not see fit to mention.

However, that archived web page is from 2010, a decade after this episode aired, so I can't say with certainty whether this information was included in the original V-Pet or not.

The dub can't use ganbaru so they're going to have to write their own punchline here.

Tai: Why'd you stop playing, Matt? Matt: Aww, that song is just too depressing. It always gives me the blues. Tai: (sigh)

The dub does not inexplicably start Matt's harmonica music up without him here. It does play music, but different music.

Matt: Besides, I can't stop thinking about the Dark Masters. They're different from any Digimon we've ever faced before. Izzy: (approaches with his laptop) Well, I've analyzed the situation and I believe we can defeat them with WarGreymon. Tai & Matt: Huh!? Izzy: He's a Dramon Destroyer. Matt: Dramon Destroyer? Tai: Try speaking English. Izzy: (pulls up the Digimon Analyzer) Well, you see, the weapons on WarGreymon's arms are the key. They're especially effective against Dramon type Digimon. Hence the phrase Dramon Destroyer! With these devices, we might be able to defeat the Dark Masters. Tai: Izzy, you're a genius! Dramon Destroyer, huh!? Agumon, you're going to eat those Dramon alive! (Agumon is making bad choices) Tai: ... Matt: ... Izzy: ... Tai: That's not what I had in mind!

Izzy's exposition is a little off. He says WarGreymon is a Dramon Destroyer, as opposed to WarGreymon having Dramon Destroyers. But I think that's fairly minor mistake. Also, it's Destroyer, not Killer, because obviously that was gonna get changed.

While Agumon is busily erasing everyone's appetites, Gomamon swims with his Marching Fishes, who report in what they saw.

Fish: We saw Hangyomon. Gomamon: WAUGH!!!

Gomamon panics so hard that Jou ends up yanked into the ocean by his fishing pole.

Gomamon: GUYS, WE HAVE A PROBLEM!!! Jou: (sopping wet and unenthused) What is it, Gomamon? Gomamon: THE ENEMY IS ON THEIR WAY!!! Jou: WHAT!?!? Piyomon: Where!? Where!? Sora: I don't see any sign of them. Whamon: The fishes say they've spotted MetalSeadramon's forces two hundred units of distance away. Kids: EHHH!?!? Takeru: What do we do? Patamon: Takeru.... Whamon: They'll be here soon. Everyone, get inside. I'll try to shake them by widening the distance between us.

Not sure how Gomamon knows that the Hangyomon are aligned with MetalSeadramon. Did Whamon brief them on the Deep Savers Ankoku Gundan membership roster?

I am very shaky on this one but I have gone over Whamon's line over and over for like twenty straight minutes and I swear they never give a unit of measurement.

The dub and sub both have them say "200 miles" which doesn't seem like an "Everybody panic" situation. Also, Japan uses the metric system, so a measurement given in "miles" is usually suspect. I've seen other sources offer "200 meters".

However, as best I can tell, what they say is that MetalSeadramon's forces are "ni-hyaku no kyori de". Ni-hyaku is 200, but kyori is the word "distance" rather than any specific measurement.

So unless there's some nuance here that I am not understanding (that's a possibility), MetalSeadramon's forces are 200 distance away.

In the dub:

Gomamon: Hey, fishes! Learn anything new in school? Fish: We learned Divermon are in the area. Hahaha! Gomamon: HUH!?!? (Gomamon yanks Joe into the water) Gomamon: HEY GUUUUYS!!! WE GOT TROUBLE!!! Joe: (sopping wet and unenthused) I caught a whopper. Look. Gomamon: DIVERMON ARE HEADED THIS WAY!!! Joe: WAAAAAAUGH!!! Mimi: Not Divermon! Anything but Divermon! ...by the way, what are Divermon? Whamon: Oh, those are MetalSeadramon's henchmen. It seems the fish have seen them about 200 miles behind us. Kids: HUUUUH!?!? T.K.: What are we gonna do? Whamon: Well, we can't stay here! They'll find us too easily! I'm gonna dive. Quick, everyone get inside me! And don't mind the smell; I had fish for lunch. Kids: EWWWWW!!!

As noted, the dub presents the ambiguous measurement as 200 miles which. Like. That's pretty fucking far. I feel like we have time to finish lunch before we get going if they're that far out.

While the kids and Whamon vacate their little island, we cut to the Hangyomon scouring the ocean.

They seem to be communicating with each other through some kind of radio communication, though no device is ever shown.

Hangyomon 1: Areas 13 through 18 are all clear. Hangyomon 2: Areas 23 and 24 are clear. Hangyomon 3: (with MetalSeadramon) How long will this delay last!? Why can't we find that huge lump of a whale!? MetalSeadramon: There's no need to rush. Hangyomon 3: Huh? MetalSeadramon: I control the ocean. No matter where they run to, I'll have them sooner or later. Hangyomon 3: Sir. MetalSeadramon: Just relax and enjoy the hunt. Hangyomon 3: Sir! MetalSeadramon: Hehehe... Chosen Children, the hunt has only just begun.

MetalSeadramon's pretty chill. His dub counterpart, on the other hand, remains a hot-headed firecracker.

Divermon 1: Red Leader to Blue Leader, Areas 13 through 18 are clear. Divermon 2: Gold Leader to Blue Leader, Areas 23 and 24 are clear too! Divermon 3: Listen Phil, Sid, how many times do I have to tell you guys, there are just three of us! You can call me Jim! MetalSeadramon: Will you guys KNOCK IT OFF!?!? Divermon 3: Sorry! MetalSeadramon: Do you smell something? It's the scent of DigiDestined in the current. Either that or there's a bad patch of seaweed around here. Divermon 3: Ew. MetalSeadramon: THIS IS MY MOMENT TO SHINE!!! Does my hair look alright? Divermon 3: Yeah.... MetalSeadramon: YOU DIGIDESTINED FOOLS!!! YOU CAN SWIM BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE!!! GYAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

The "Stop using shitty code words and use our names" stock gag doesn't work so well when every member of a species has the same name. They try to differentiate by naming them Phil, Sid, and Jim, but that's not how Digimon names have ever worked so the joke's a little confusing.

Titles like Red Leader, Blue Leader, and Gold Leader make a lot of sense for multiple members of the same Digimon species.

"Does my hair look alright?" got me, though. XD

Bit of a plot difference here, though. The dub suggests that MetalSeadramon and Divermon have caught Whamon's trail and are closing in on them, while the original conversation is that they haven't found anything but MetalSeadramon's content to take his time.

Also, they say that there's three Divermon, but there are actually four. Only three are involved in this conversation, but there's four in total. We saw them when they first reported in to MetalSeadramon.

Back to Whamon, the children are chilling out inside that big chamber in his stomach that they once destroyed a Black Gear in. Koushiro is hard at work on his laptop. Wires coming down from the center of Whamon's chamber are plugged into the back.

Tailmon: Koushiro, what are you doing? Koushiro: Give me a minute. Taichi: Come on, stop stalling and just tell us. Koushiro: (more forceful) You'll see in a moment.... (Laptop beeps) Koushiro: There, it's connected!

Everybody gathers around Koushiro to see for themselves. On his laptop screen, they can see the ocean terrain moving around them.

Group: Ahh? Tentomon: Koushiro-han, what is this? Koushiro: I've linked my laptop up to Whamon's sensory information so that it can be transmitted to the screen. Patamon: Transmitted? Koushiro: In other words, what you're seeing here is exactly what Whamon is seeing right now.

Koushiro has gotten so good at this in the time he's been here.

In the dub:

Gatomon: What's that noise? I was taking a catnap and it woke me up. Izzy: (annoyed) I'll explain later! Tai: Oh, come on! You think I'm too brainless to understand!? Izzy: Yes, but I'll tell you anyway. Check it out. (The group gathers around Izzy) Sora: What is it? Mimi: What did you do, Izzy? (Sea floor visible through laptop screen) Sora: What a cool screensaver. Izzy: It's not a screensaver. Mimi: What is it, then? Izzy: I connected to Whamon's hard drive and rerouted all of his sensory information to my computer. Patamon: Rerouted? Izzy: In other words, what you're seeing on the screen is exactly what Whamon is looking at right now.

I cannot get over how much of a smug asshole the dub made Izzy, a character so polite that it weirded out his mom and became a plot point.

Also, I feel like rerouting Whamon's sensory information would have blinded him. That seems like a bad explanation.

The children celebrate Koushiro's accomplishment. Mimi gets up and starts swinging Palmon around and twirling from excitement.

Yamato: That's amazing. Mimi: WOW!!! IT'S LIKE WE'RE IN A SUBMARINE!!! Koushiro: Of course, this can only be done in the Digital World.

Suddenly, Hikari grabs her ears in pain.

Tailmon: Hikari, are you okay? Taichi: What is it, Hikari? Hikari: I'm okay. It's just mimi. Group: MIMI!?!?

Everybody jerks up and yells at Mimi at once, who abruptly stops spinning - in the process, losing her grip and throwing poor Palmon down on her face.

This is a comical misunderstanding pun. Mimi is the japanese word for ears. Hikari is complaining that her ears hurt, but everyone thought she said that Mimi was causing her pain.

Mimi: Eh? Now that you mention it, my ears hurt too.... (Everyone grabs their ears, now feeling it too) Whamon: Ohohoho, I'm sorry. I must have been in a hurry and dived too deep. I'll adjust the air pressure.

True to his word, Whamon releases air through their blowhole and the kids feel better.

Takeru: Ah, much better! Koushiro: So the pressure changed because you swam to the ocean floor. Hikari: Thank you, Whamon!

Meanwhile, the dub... Oh, fuck me, we handed them a scene based on an untranslatable pun in which everyone yells at Mimi, didn't we? Okay, here we go. Let's see what they do with it.

Matt: Cool! Like a submarine! Mimi: Oh boy! (starts spinning) I've always wanted to go on a submarine! Joe: I think she's been out to sea a little too long. (Kari grabs her ears in pain) Gatomon: Yeah, I hate square dances. Tai: What's wrong, Kari? Kari: It's my ears. They're starting to hurt. Tai: Mimi! Stop! Be quiet! (Mimi stops abruptly, flinging Palmon) Mimi: Oh! Hey, y'know, my ears hurt a little too. (The kids all grab their ears) Whamon: Ohoho, sorry! I dove a little too fast. I'll fix the pressure now. Hold on. (Whamon releases air through his blowhole, making a burp sound) T.K.: Aw, that's better! Izzy: Well, I guess that's one way to equalize the gas pressure. Kari: By the way, you're excused!

You know what, that was astonishingly well-restrained of them. Tai yells at her to be quiet but in a reasonable way. Joe and Gatomon do make quips at her expense; Joe's is funny, but Gatomon should probably have more concern for Kari's sudden agony.

Still nowhere near what I was dreading.

Suddenly, a loud rotor noise starts echoing through the chamber.

Piyomon: What's that sound? Mimi: Eh? Palmon: (delirious) Agh... what's wrong...? Koushiro: Be quiet, everyone!

The children wait in silence, trying to keep even their breathing down to avoid giving themselves away. We briefly see outside to identify the source of the noise; It's the spinning turbine of a Hangyomon.

Once the sound fades into the distance, the kids breathe again.

Gomamon: Sounds like they've passed us. Whamon: We're not out of danger yet. We need to stay quiet for a little longer.

In the dub, instead of the turbine noise, the sound is a sonar ping bouncing around. That's a good choice, because having to stay quiet makes more sense if they're actively pinging us with sonar.

I'm not sure how we were hearing the turbine through Whamon's hide, or why we thought the Hangyomon would hear us in turn.

Biyomon: What's that sound!? Mimi: Huh? Palmon: It's getting louder! Izzy: Everyone, be quiet! Tentomon: Sounds like Divermon! (Everyone quietly waits for the Divermon to pass) Gomamon: Sounds like they passed us. Whamon: We're not out of danger yet. You'll have to be quiet a little longer.

Pretty strong scene. My one criticism is that Tentomon shouts "Sounds like Divermon!" right after Izzy tells everyone to be quiet. A visual later in the scene will tell us that, Tentomon. You don't need to risk blowing our cover to exclaim it.

Unfortunately, there's no hiding from the Hangyomon. A critical error has already been made, and it's too late to take it back.

The scouting Hangyomon notices the bubbles from Whamon's attempt to equalize the pressure. Following the bubbles' course down to their point of origin, they see Whamon on the ocean floor.

Hangyomon: FOUND HIM!!! IT'S WHAMON!!!

Hangyomon changes course and goes straight for Whamon. Are they planning to try and take Whamon by themselves? Eh, probably; They are a Perfect Digimon after all.

Inside, the kids hear the turbine sound returning with a vengeance and freak out.

Kids: AHHHH!!! Taichi: Crap! They found us!

Surprisingly tame expletive for Taichi in this situation.

In the dub:

Divermon: OVER THERE!!! HEY, IT'S WHAMON!!! (Divermon goes for Whamon) Kids: AHHHH!!! Tai: Oh no! They found us!

Pretty much exactly the same.

After a commercial break, the Hangyomon who spotted the bubbles reports in.

Hangyomon 1: I've found Whamon! He's lurking on the ocean floor in Area 51! Hangyomon 2: Understood. I'll report this to MetalSeadramon-sama right away! Hangyomon 3: (With MetalSeadramon) They've found Whamon!

MetalSeadramon is so happy about this news, he erupts out of the ocean and does a little twirl in the air.

Hangyomon 3: WE'VE FOUND THE CHOSEN CHILDREN!!!

Music to MetalSeadramon's ears. With a big doofy smile, he flops around in the air. It's weirdly adorable.

The dub keeps up the odd name joke.

Divermon 1: Red Leader, this is-- Ah, uh, I mean, this is Phil. I found Whamon! He's in Area 51 on the ocean floor! Divermon 2: Great! Keep an eye on him! I'll tell the boss and he can tell MetalSeadramon! Divermon 3: (With MetalSeadramon) Good news! We found Whamon! MetalSeadramon: (explodes out of the water) YYYYYEAH YAY!!! Divermon 3: What do we do now, oh master of the ocean? MetalSeadramon: (flopping with joy) AAAAAAAAATTACK!!!

Having MetalSeadramon give orders while flailing around in the air is so ridiculous, I do not know if it makes this bit better or worse. XD Any way you slice it, MetalSeadramon's gleeful sky twisting is such an unexpected thing to put into the show.

Deep beneath the ocean, the Hangyomon that spotted Whamon moves in to attack.

Hangyomon: STRIKE FISHING!!! Koushiro: (inside) They're coming! Whamon: The Hangyomon are attacking! Everyone, stay calm!

Whamon creates a smokescreen out of bubbles to conceal himself. Hangyomon's Strike Fishing harpoons pass through the bubbles, missing their mark.

Hangyomon: Tch. He dodged them using bubbles for cover. (The other three Hangyomon arrive) Hangyomon: You're late!

In the dub:

Divermon: STRIKING FISH!!! Izzy: (inside) WATCH OUT!!! Whamon: The Divermon are attacking! Hang on, everyone! I've got an idea! (Bubble smokescreen) Divermon: Where did all those bubbles come from? Geeze, I couldn't see where I was aiming! (The other three Divermon arrive) Divermon: Hmm? UH-OH!!!

Tonal change. In the original, this Hangyomon is like, "Shit, they got away. Oh, and FINALLY the rest of the squad shows up; Come on, guys."

His corresponding Divermon is a hapless doof who has no idea what he saw, and also reacts like he's the one about to be in trouble. Presumably for letting Whamon slip away.

I always thought it was surprisingly bold, as a kid, for this one Divermon to try and attack Whamon on his own. Not being able to read the Japanese writing in their Digimon Analyzer screen leaves it extremely ambiguous as to what level they're supposed to be at. I thought they were Rookies because of their small size and numbers.

Nope. Perfect. This one Hangyomon is more than enough to utterly ruin Whamon's day in a fist-fight.

Inside Whamon, we find Yamato and Takeru with their Partners. Takeru's holding Patamon in his hands, while Yamato has his arm around Takeru with a firm grip on his shoulder.

Patamon: What should we do, Takeru? Takeru: If this keeps up, we won't make it.... Yamato: I hate to say it, but so long as we're stuck inside Whamon-- (Taichi pounds his fist) Taichi: Can't we do something!?

The kids are starting to come around to the realization that MetalSeadramon was right. The ocean is MetalSeadramon's domain, and they're at a tremendous disadvantage down here.

Koushiro: There are three more pursuers behind us! Sora: What!? Whamon: The enemy has brought reinforcements! Kids: (collective gasp)

Brief shot of three Hangyomon now in pursuit of Whamon, with the fourth lagging behind and coming up to join them.

Hangyomon 4: Sorry to keep you waiting. Tentomon: (inside, watching the laptop) THEY'RE GAINING ON US!!! Taichi: Whamon! You need to surface! Then we'll be able to fight back! Yamato: Please! Taichi: WHAMON!!! Whamon: ...I have a different idea. If this works, we should be able to lose them. Palmon: If it works...? Mimi: And what if it doesn't work!?

We're at an impasse here and there are no good options. Even one Hangyomon would be enough to make mincemeat out of Whamon and there's four of them. The children can't fight them this far down.

(However, MetalSeadramon is unaccounted for, which is a significant peril of trying to surface and fight. I can understand Whamon's reluctance to let this become a brawl.)

The dub kicks us off with some brotherly banter.

Patamon: You're squeezing me too hard! T.K.: Matt, you're squeezing me too hard. Matt: Sorry, I guess we're all a little scared. (Tai pounds his fist) Tai: I HATE THIS!!! WE'RE STUCK IN HERE AND CAN'T FIGHT!!! Izzy: According to the audio sensors, there are three more behind us! Sora: What is it, Whamon? Whamon: IT'S THE ENEMY!!! Kids: (collective gasp)

I like that the dub specifies "according to the audio sensors" because this fills in a bit of a plot hole. Koushiro is supposed to be reading Whamon's sensory data, so it's unclear how he was able to see something behind Whamon on the laptop feed from Whamon's eyes.

...well, Whamon doesn't have eyes, but the feed from Whamon's... wherever their visual senses come from.

The dub steps in and has Izzy clearly state that he's picking it up from Whamon's ears. Whamon heard the arrival of three more.

Divermon 4: DON'T LET THEM GET AWAY!!! Tentomon: (inside, watching the laptop) OOOOGH, THEY'RE GAINING ON US!!! Tai: THAT'S IT!!! I'M TIRED OF RUNNING!!! COME ON, WHAMON, LET'S GO UP TO THE SURFACE AND FIGHT!!! Matt: RIGHT!!! Tai: Well!? Whamon: Let me try one more thing. Hopefully, it'll work. Palmon: What do you mean, hopefully it will work!? Mimi: That's what the Captain of the Titanic said! And what if it doesn't work!? What's Plan B!? Tai: I still think we should turn and fight! I hope you know what you're doing, Whamon.

Mimi's dialogue is expanded and Tai gets an extra line to close us out, but this exchange is mostly the same.

Acting on their plan, Whamon speeds ahead until they reach the edge of a massive underwater trench, then swims down deep.

Hangyomon 1: What is he trying to do? Hangyomon 2: That moron! They're trying to escape through this narrow passage? Hangyomon 3: Yes! This is our chance to pen them in!

The Hangyomon pursue Whamon down into the trench.

Hangyomon 1: There's no use trying to resist! Hangyomon 2: This is the end for you! Give up! Jou: (inside) WE'RE DONE FOR!!!

Triumphant, one of the Hangyomon jams their harpoon down into Whamon's hide.

Mimi: NOOOOOOO!!!

In the dub:

Divermon 1: What's he trying to do!? Divermon 2: Whamon must be crazy, trying to escape into such a narrow space! Divermon 3: Stay with him! No matter what! (The Divermon pursue Whamon into the trench) Divermon 1: You, in the big whale: PULL OVER!!! Divermon 2: It's no use! We've got you trapped! Joe: (inside) OH NO!!! THEY'LL CATCH US!!! (Divermon jams his harpoon into Whamon's hide) Mimi: NOOOOOOO!!!

The traffic cop bit from the Divermon made me laugh. XD Even Digimon Adventure knew that ACAB.

Suddenly, when it seems like the Hangyomon are having their moment of triumph, the most unexpected happens. Well, unexpected for anyone not familiar with nautical physics.

The crushing depth of the ocean pulverizes the oxygen tank for the Hangyomon hanging from the harpoon, sending them floundering and flailing back up to the surface. The other three back off, watching their drowning companion with stunned confusion.

Hangyomon: DAMN IT!!! Koushiro: (inside) Water pressure! So that was Whamon's plan! (Kids cheer and celebrate) Gomamon: Whamon's a deep sea Digimon, so water pressure is nothing to them! Jou: YOU DID IT, WHAMON!!!

Obviously, the Divermon do not yell curse words in the dub.

Divermon 1: Huh? Divermon 2: Tough break. Divermon 3: That's gotta hurt! Izzy: (inside) Prodigious! They can't take the water pressure; That was Whamon's plan all along! (Kids cheer and celebrate) Gomamon: Whamon's built to handle pressure! Unlike some of us.... Joe: Well, forgive me for not being a whale!

If that crack is meant to be at Joe's expense for screaming "WE'RE DOOMED" seconds before Whamon's plan thwarted the Divermon, then it's hilarious. XD

And fair. That is an actual thing he did in the original too.

So we're safe from the Hangyomon for now, but the kids need to figure out next steps.

Taichi: That was close! Tailmon: What a clever trick! Hikari: (afraid) Onii-chan, what do we do now? Sora: We can't stay at the bottom of the ocean forever. Koushiro: I've got it. Hikari-san, can you come over here?

Koushiro whispers his plan into Hikari's ear.

Koushiro: If you take your whistle and.... (beat while Koushiro silently explains the rest) Hikari: (face slowly turns to a smile) Okay!

Hikari moves to the center of the "room" and gives everybody a bow. Then she picks up her whistle.

Hikari: Here I go.... Koushiro: If you would, please.

Taking a deep breath, Hikari blows into the whistle with all her might. She blows so hard that the cartoon physics of her effort lift her off the ground. The high-pitched whistle tone bounces off the walls not just inside Whamon's stomach, but also in the trench beyond.

Following the bouncing signal, Koushiro locates a nearby opening in the trench wall.

Koushiro: It worked! Thank you, Hikari-san. Hikari: (breathing heavily, but excited) ...yeah! Koushiro: I used the reverberations from the sound to find a tunnel up ahead. We might be able to escape through it. Whamon: Yes, I felt it too. That tunnel is connected to an area of land above the surface!

Just like that, we have a plan of escape. Whamon makes his way towards the tunnel.

In the dub:

Tai: Boy, that was close! Gatomon: I didn't know you had this kind of hidden attack! Kari: This is great, but what are we going to do now? Sora: Yeah, we can't stay at the bottom of the ocean forever! Izzy: I've got it! Kari, come over here for a moment. (Kari goes over to Izzy) Izzy: (whispers unintelligibly) Kari: (face slowly turns into a smile) Ahh...! Right! (Kari goes to the center and bows) Kari: (bowing) Ta-da! (finishes her bow) Ready? Izzy: You can do it! (Kari echolocates for the team) Izzy: Yeah! We did it, Kari! Thanks for the help! Kari: (breathing heavily, but excited) ...sure! Izzy: The whistle was sort of like sonar. We used the reverberations from the sound to find a tunnel. And there's one up ahead that should lead us to land! Matt/Joe/Mimi: Cool! / Nice job! / Far out! Tai: Isn't that great, Whamon? Whamon: What? Tai: I said, ISN'T THAT GREAT!?!? Whamon: I can't hear you. Someone was whistling in my ear. But there's a tunnel up ahead! It should lead us to land!

The dub has Izzy explain that the tunnel will take us to the surface so that it can set up the "Someone was whistling in my ear" joke. Which is a great bit; I was sitting here wondering how Whamon is coping with the sudden high-pitched noise assailing their eardrums while watching the original.

Though this gag does render the whole scene pointless, as Dub Whamon finds the tunnel himself despite missing out on Izzy's explanation of the plan. Ultimately, the dub kids deafened Whamon while accomplishing nothing.

Unfortunately, the children are about to learn about the one glaring vulnerability that active sonar has during naval warfare: Enemy ships can hear your pings.

We cut to MetalSeadramon listening to the sound of Hikari's whistle cutting through the water.

MetalSeadramon: I can see through your plan. Enjoy playing submarine while you still can!

Making a ninety degree turn from his original course and angling down deeper, MetalSeadramon takes off in pursuit.

Down in the trench, Whamon enters an area glowing with bright green.. kelp? Honestly not sure what those are supposed to be, but it's a gorgeous enough sight that the girls are all gathered around Koushiro's laptop.

Mimi, Sora, & Hikari: AHHHHH, PRETTY!!! Koushiro: Ah! Yamato: There's the tunnel! Mimi: (silently vibrates with excitement) Palmon: WE'RE SAVED!!! Mimi: HOORAY!!!

Mimi stands up, ecstatic, and a chill runs down what passes for Palmon's spine. Sweat beads form instantly on her head and she whips around to see Mimi holding out her hands, as if inviting Palmon to another twirl.

Palmon stares at Mimi for a second, then jerks away out of fear.

The dub frequently misses story pieces that are buried in sound effects, and this is no exception. Since MetalSeadramon did not verbally acknowledge that he could hear Hikari's whistle, the dub team seems unaware that he's meant to be reacting to it. The waters around him in their version are silent.

MetalSeadramon: Those fools think I don't know where they're headed? They're easier to figure out than a two-piece jigsaw puzzle! Enjoy playing submarine while you can! RRRRYARGH!!!

The submarine crack does make it, and "easier to figure out than a two-piece jigsaw puzzle" is a creative burn. Still, I'm not sure why he suddenly whips around and shoots off a different direction if he already knew what their plan was. Really needs that whistle to react to.

Mimi, Sora, and Kari: WOW!!! PRETTY!!! Izzy: Aha! Matt: A tunnel!? Mimi: YAAAAY!!! Palmon: WE'RE SAVED!!! Mimi: I've got to get changed! Palmon: (sweatdrops and chill; whips ar ound) Huh!? Mimi: (holds out hands) HUUUUUUG!!! (beat) Palmon: (flinches and steps back)

...nothing happens in this scene; How did you manage to butcher it?

First off, Matt reacts to the tunnel with surprise, so I guess he wasn't listening when Izzy explained that they found a tunnel a minute ago.

Mimi stands up and declares, "I've got to get changed!" as we approach the tunnel. Um. Why? Did she pack a specific tunnel-exploring outfit? Also, we're in a huge empty room; Is she planning to start changing right there in front of everyone? What a weird-ass line.

Palmon's panic is then reframed to be a reaction to Mimi wanting to change. For some reason. Then when she whips around, Mimi has completely changed her intentions and now wants a hug.

With Mimi's original intent to twirl Palmon around the room again like last time gone, Palmon flinches away from hugging Mimi for what is now no reason at all.

Suddenly, a heavy impact shakes Whamon. We're under attack once more.

Taichi: Did they come back!? Tailmon: We weren't able to shake them off? Whamon: Be careful, everyone. It's MetalSeadramon! Kids: EHHHH!?!?

MetalSeadramon chases Whamon into the tunnel, which narrows to the point of being too tight for either to pass comfortably. Whamon pushes through, breaking through to the surface and momentarily leaving MetalSeadramon behind.

In the dub:

Tai: NOT AGAIN!!! Gatomon: How can those fishheads be back? Whamon: They're not! Be careful, everyone! It's MetalSeadramon! Kids: (fearful wailing)

Surprisingly, Whamon and MetalSeadramon make it through their chase scene with no silence-breakers. The dub team sits back and lets the tension simmer and boil.

Whamon finally escapes to the surface, letting the children out into the fresh air.

Taichi: It's so bright! Mimi: The air's so fresh! Yamato: Who'd have ever thought the sun could make you feel so good?

The kids enjoy a relieved laugh, happy to be out from undersea.

The dub gives us some silence-breaking dialogue while we're slowly zooming in on Whamon and setting the stage.

Tai: Is everybody okay? Izzy: Where... Where are we!? (Zoom in on Tai and the others) Tai: The sun's so bright! Mimi: Smell that? Fresh air! Matt: I feel I've been underwater so long, I might never take a bath again!

Izzy asks a very good question that goes completely ignored once the original script picks up.

Also, Matt, that's gross. You weren't even in the water. That's not how that works and I hope Hiroaki does some parenting when you get home.

The kids all share a jovial moment of mirth, which is swiftly undercut by an inquisitive voice from the sea.

MetalSeadramon: What's so funny?

MetalSeadramon bursts up from the water, startling everyone.

Yamato: METALSEADRAMON!!! Sora: HOW!?!? MetalSeadramon: This is as far as you go, Chosen Children! Taichi: Ugh!

I don't know why they're surprised. Frankly, if Whamon could squeeze through there, the serpentine MetalSeadramon should have had no problem. Snakes are practically made for squishing through crevasses. Plus his invulnerable metal plating means he'd have a trivial time forcing his way through jagged rocks and shit.

(Ironically, this means Whamon's plan did not work, and only ended up postponing the kids' plan of surfacing and drawing battle lines. Though Whamon did provide us with a change of scenery more conducive to land mammals, so it wasn't for nothing.)

In the dub, fitting his more fiery personality, MetalSeadramon sounds offended by their laughter.

MetalSeadramon: Mind telling me what's so FUNNY!?!? (MetalSeadramon bursts out of the water)

The dub puts a commercial break here on this cliffhanger, and then we come back to him bursting out of the water again to remind us where we are.

(MetalSeadramon bursts out of the water) Matt: IT'S METALSEADRAMON!!! Sora: How can it be!? MetalSeadramon: It was only a matter of time before you came up for air. NOW YOU'RE GOING DOWN WITH THE SHIP!!!

MetalSeadramon tries to explain how he got here. His explanation syncs up well with the earlier moment, when the dub missed him picking up the whistle sound. He's explaining his plan.

However, this explanation ignores the fact that he did not meet them at the surface; He chased them through the underwater tunnel. Sora's bad question does not warrant an answer.

Cornered now, Whamon has one last trick up their sleeve.

Whamon: Everyone, hang on! TIDAL WAVE!!!

Whamon leads us off with Tidal Wave, swimming in a tight circle and sending out powerful waves through the water. One of the Hangyomon gets washed away by the force of Whamon's current.

...there have not yet been any Hangyomon in this scene. The first we see of them is being washed away.

In any case, Whamon's Tidal Wave buys the kids time to figure out how to put their plan of attack into action.

Hangyomon: WAUGH!!! Agumon: Taichi! Taichi: (nods approvingly) It's up to you now. (to the others) Let's head to shore and take up battle positions while Agumon is distracting them. Yamato: Understood! Jou: Gomamon and I will provide cover! Taichi: Great! Sora: The waves are subsiding. Taichi: (holds out Digivice) Agumon! Agumon: HERE I GO!!!

Agumon Warp-Evolves into WarGreymon, setting the plan into motion.

In the dub:

Whamon: Everyone, hold on! TIDAL WAVE!!! (Tidal Wave washes away a Divermon) Divermon: BLAAARGH! Agumon: Should I? Tai: (nods approvingly) Sure, go for it! (to the others) While Agumon gets their attention, let's cross over to the shore and prepare ourselves for battle! Matt: Aye-aye. Joe: Uh, Gomamon and I will stay here and bring up the rear. Sora: Joe, don't be such a coward! Tai: (holds out Digivice) AGUMON!!! Agumon: Here I go!

(heavy sigh)

Jou's offering to lay down covering fire for their escape. You know. Because Ikkakumon is an artillery cannon and that's one of the things that artillery does.

The dub changes this to Joe trying to chicken out and stay with Whamon. Then replaces the somewhat important information that the Tidal Wave is ending and we need to act now with Sora yelling at him for his cowardice.

Thanks, I hate it.

WarGreymon gets his complete Warp-Evolution sequence while Garurumon, Ikkakumon, Kabuterimon, and Birdramon evolve offscreen.

Finally it's time for Ultimate vs. Ultimate. Rematch with the first Dark Master, and with the Dramon Killer, we can't possibly--

WarGreymon goes straight for the throat with Dramon Killer, but his claws glance harmlessly off of MetalSeadramon's invulnerable armored body.

WarGreymon: Tch! MetalSeadramon: Hyegh... I have the same Chrome Digizoid as you. You can't hurt me so easily!

Well, that plan went to shit quicker than expected.

As planned, the children withdraw to the shore while MetalSeadramon's focus is on WarGreymon. Yamato takes Takeru and Patamon on Garurumon. Koushiro ferries Taichi, Hikari, and Tailmon on Kabuterimon. Jou and Sora ride their Partners alone.

Taichi: WHAMON!!! THANK YOU!!! LEAVE THE REST TO US!!! Whamon: But-- Yamato: At your size, you'd be an easy target! You need to get out of here as fast as you can! Sora: Hurry! Whamon: I understand!

Reluctantly, Whamon dives beneath the surface once more.

Dub WarGreymon seems a little more pleased with his total lack of damage dealt.

WarGreymon: RAAAAHH!!! (slash, clink) AHAHA!!! MetalSeadramon: What was that, a love tap? I'm made of Chrome Digizoid too, y'know! You can't hurt me that easily! (Meanwhile, the DigiDestined withdraw to the shore) Tai: Whamon, thanks for everything but you can leave the rest to us! Whamon: What, no tip? Matt: Hurry and get out of here! You're an easy target! You're just too big! Whamon: Are you calling me fat? I'm just big-boned.

We lose a bit of characterization for Whamon here. In the original, Whamon is committed to this whole ordeal and is reluctant to leave now that the fight has begun in earnest. It takes Yamato and Sora joining Taichi in telling them to go to convince them to back off.

Dub Whamon shows no reluctance but makes a couple parting quips before he goes.

The Hangyomon cut in but, true to his word, Jou lays down artillery cover fire to get Whamon out of there.

Hangyomon: YOU'RE NOT GETTING AWAY!!! (Hangyomon throws their Strike Fishing harpoon) Ikkakumon: HARPOON TORPEDO!!!

It's not super clear if the Hangyomon is trying to stop Whamon's retreat or the kids' tactical withdrawal.

Ikkakumon fires a Harpoon Vulcan into the air, which explodes into a shower of missiles and pepper the water. This brings all of their attention on Jou and provokes a counterattack; They shower Jou in retaliatory Strike Fishing harpoons.

Jou: IKAKKUMON, GANBARU!!! Ikkakumon: GOT IT!!!

With the Hangyomon now focusing on them, Ikkakumon Super-Evolves into Zudomon.

In the dub, Divermon uses his line to just call his attack.

Divermon: STRIKING FISH!!! Ikkakumon: HARPOON TORPEDO!!! (Missiles spray the water; Divermon retaliate) Joe: Ikkakumon, quick! Digivolve!

Once again, ganbaru has no easy translation, so they have to improvise. It's not too hard to do so.

Freshly evolved, Zudomon towers over the water, casting his silhouette down on those he intends to destroy.

Zudomon: HAMMER SPARK!!!

A single Hammer Spark sends a jolt of electricity through the surrounding sea and creates an upward explosion of water.

The attack is a little too effective, as it pulls MetalSeadramon's attention momentarily.

MetalSeadramon: ULTIMATE STREAM!!!

MetalSeadramon's nose cannon carves an arc across the landscape.

Hurrying to try and shut that down, WarGreymon rushes in with Brave Shield; A defensive technique using his invulnerable Chrome Digizoid shield to block any attack.

It does not go well.

Blocking the Ultimate Stream, WarGreymon pushes in until he gets too close.

WarGreymon: BRAVE SHIIIIIIIIIEL-- MetalSeadramon: MORON!!! WarGreymon: Oh, crap!

As he nearly did with Tailmon before, MetalSeadramon suddenly stops firing and chomps, snatching WarGreymon up in his jaws. Immediately, MetalSeadramon dives underwater, taking his prey with him.

Taichi: WarGreymon! Koushiro: That's bad. He's at an overwhelming disadvantage in the water.

Super effective trap by MetalSeadramon. We're again seeing what Piemon was talking about with that whole, "I can fight circles around you because you became Ultimate yesterday and have no experience."

In the dub, WarGreymon calls Terra Force for some reason.

WarGreymon: TERRA FORCE!!! MetalSeadramon: GOT YOU!!! WarGreymon: NOOOOOOO!!! (MetalSeadramon takes WarGreymon down into the water) Tai: WarGreymon! Izzy: Big trouble! WarGreymon's at a huge disadvantage in the water!

Calling the wrong attack confuses the action, making it less clear that this was a trap. Terra Force is supposed to be WarGreymon's big offensive blast, so it comes across like he was going on the offense and then got countered.

Cut over to Zudomon, who drops another Hammer Spark into the water. We hear the Hangyomon cry out again. So I guess Jou and Zudomon have been pretty busy doing that.

Jou: Where are the others!?

Brief shot of Birdramon and Garurumon offloading their passengers.

Jou: That's great--HUH!?!?

Jou suddenly notices MetalSeadramon. For no clear reason, despite it explicitly being said like ten seconds ago that WarGreymon's at a disadvantage underwater, MetalSeadramon has resurfaced. He has WarGreymon up in the air, still between his teeth.

WarGreymon is struggling at this point. His muscles are weakening and he's losing his grip. He can't keep this up.

Hikari: WarGreymon! Taichi: DAMN IT!!! MetalSeadramon: What a fool you are, WarGreymon! THIS IS THE END!!!

Suddenly, in a super blurry moment of truth, Whamon erupts from the sea and slams into MetalSeadramon. (Yes, it's a still image that just looks like that.) The impact knocks WarGreymon out of MetalSeadramon's mouth, saving the day.

MetalSeadramon: IS THIS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE!?!?

Roaring with outrage that Whamon would dare even try, MetalSeadramon cuts loose with one shot from his Ultimate Stream. And... at their size, Whamon is an easy target. The beam rips through Whamon's head for a kill shot.

Taichi: WHAMON!!!

In the dub:

Joe: Oh, boy. Is everybody okay?

Jou's follow-up lines are cut. The camera shows us everyone getting off and then pans over to MetalSeadramon, but Joe offers no indication that he's seeing any of that.

Kari: WARGREYMON!!! Tai: I can't watch! MetalSeadramon: I'm tired of playing around with you, WarGreymon! SAY GOODBYE!!! Narrator: Is this really the end for WarGreymon? Will the DigiDestined ever defeat the Dark Masters? Find out on the next Digimon: Digital Monsters.

Yeah, the dub cut and ran early again. They pick WarGreymon in MetalSeadramon's mouth as a good cliffhanger and skedaddle, despite there still being a full two minutes left in the episode. I have no idea how they're going to make up all this time they keep losing.

...actually, no, I have a hunch.

Well, I can tolerate one scene but I'm not waiting for two minutes of plot so we're skipping ahead. NEXT DUB EPISODE STARTS NOW.

MetalSeadramon: I'm tired of playing around with you, WarGreymon! SAY GOODBYE!!! (Whamon strikes!) MetalSeadramon: RIVER OF POWER!!! (Whamon struck)

You know, if I had to wait a week between "You need to leave; You're too big of a target!" and Whamon getting shot dead immediately upon returning, I don't feel like it would hit as strongly. Whamon's sacrificial death is paying off both a warning they were given earlier in the episode and their demonstrated reluctance to do what they were told and save themselves.

We also lose MetalSeadramon's immeasurable fury at being interrupted, as he opts to simply call his attack in the dub.

Whamon's choice to get involved saves WarGreymon's life, but at the cost of their own. They pay for their heroism by receiving the full force of MetalSeadramon's power. But, by letting Whamon momentarily pull his attention and giving WarGreymon a second to breathe, MetalSeadramon has made a mistake just as fatal.

WarGreymon: BRAVE TORNADO!!! MetalSeadramon: ULTIMATE STREAM!!!

Hoisting his Dramon Killers above his head to form a spear with his body, WarGreymon spins up his Brave Tornado and fires straight down the barrel of MetalSeadramon's Ultimate Stream. This is basically a much better conceived version of what he was trying to do with his Brave Shield.

MetalSeadramon unloads into WarGreymon, but Wargreymon's own invulnerable Chrome Digizoid armor and spinning attack deflects the beam and allows him to travel all the way down its length. He enters MetalSeadramon's body through the Ultimate Stream emitter itself, carving his Dramon Killer straight through and setting off small explosions of Ultimate Stream energy throughout the serpentine shell.

Finally, WarGreymon bursts through MetalSeadramon's back, triumphant.

With one last dying roar, MetalSeadramon collapses into the water. We hang on a shot of WarGreymon and Kabuterimon looking triumphantly down at the slain Dark Master for fifteen straight seconds while Show Me Your Brave Heart plays in the background. Then finally cut to Taichi, Hikari, and Koushiro on Kabuterimon.

Taichi: We did it....

Stunningly, none of this tremendous violence gets cut from the dub. Both Whamon's headshot and MetalSeadramon's gruesome death make it in uncut.

Fifteen seconds of a still image and no dialogue is a lot more than the dub is willing to tolerate. Fortunately, WarGreymon is facing away from the camera and Kabuterimon doesn't have lip flaps so they can teabag the corpse to their hearts' content.

WarGreymon: So much for your impenetrable Chrome Digizoid armor! Looks to me like it got a little rusty! Kabuterimon: Next time you decide you want to rule the waters, do everybody a favor and take a bubble bath instead! Tai: We won!

Sick burn from WarGreymon. Kabuterimon should probably workshop his smack talk a bit more.

With the fight over, WarGreymon reverts to Koromon and the remaining kids head to shore. Everyone gathers around the dying Whamon.

Whamon: Chosen Children... Please... Save our world.... Kids: WHAMON!!! Jou: (a little late) WHAMON!!!

Whamon disintegrates into pixels; Their data flying up into the sky. The children watch Whamon die with tears in their eyes.

Takeru: Whamon... is dead? (quiet moment as the kids grieve) Koushiro: Look at that!

Koushiro draws the group's attention to MetalSeadramon, who is also disintegrating into pixels.

Yamato: It's happening to MetalSeadramon too. Sora: (watches the data pixels rise into the sky; solemn) They're floating in the air. Gomamon: Where do you think they're going? Tentomon: (frantic) TO THE TOP OF SPIRAL MOUNTAIN!!!

I mean. It is a sort of heaven. Throne of the Four Heavenly Kings, anyway.

But no, that's definitely not where the data of the dead is supposed to be going, which is why Tentomon's flipping the fuck out about it. We know what's supposed to happen to deceased Digimon. More on that in later episodes.

The dub sort of tries to talk around Whamon's death.

Whamon: ...the DigiDestined... Please... Save this world.... T.K.: Whamon... Where did he go...? (Whamon's pixels rise into the sky) Izzy: LOOK THERE, EVERYONE!!! Matt: It's happening to MetalSeadramon too! Sora: (watches the data pixels rise into the sky; cheerful) They're floating in the sky! Gomamon: I know where they're going! Tentomon: Spiral Mountain's Peak!

They avoid saying the 'D' word and everyone's kind of chipper about this like they're watching a mysterious and wondrous phenomenon. Even Tentomon's line is delivered in this sort of triumphant and hopeful tone when. Um. No, that's bad. It's bad that their data is going up to Spiral Mountain's peak.

Still, it's pretty obvious that they're dead, all the same.

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake terribly.

Gomamon: AN EARTHQUAKE!?!? Taichi: No! (points at Spiral Mountain) THAT'S why the ground is shaking!

MetalSeadramon's death unravels the part of Spiral Mountain that was made from stolen ocean.

Sora: The ocean! Jou: It's disappearing!

The children watch from the Digital World as the ocean ribbon of Spiral Mountain is steadily unmade, returning its terrain to the world. From Earth, they too can see this section of Spiral Mountain become undone.

However, the humans aren't the only ones who can see the ocean withdrawing from Spiral Mountain. The Dark Masters, reclining up in their palace can see the same.

Piemon: Look. The ocean is disappearing. Pinochimon: (gets down off the sofa) I guess this means it's my turn. Heh.

We close this episode on Pinochimon's devilish smirk, preparing to face what he brings to the table next episode.

In the dub, Tai's line is a little awkward.

Kids: (miscellaneous yelping) Tai: No! (points at Spiral Mountain) That's the real reason for all the shaking! Over there! (Ocean ribbon is becoming unmade) Sora: The ocean! Joe: It's, uh... Disappearing!

Tai corrects them about the earthquake, but no one ever said there was an earthquake so there's no segue into his line.

Piedmon: Well, you don't... sea that every day! Puppetmon: Tag, I'm it! MetalSeadramon out, Puppetmon IN!!! Hehehehehehehe!

The dub puts a commercial break at the end of Puppetmon's line, so as to preserve the cliffhanger that was originally the end of the preceding episode.

Assessment: So ends the reign of the first Dark Master. A bit awkward that they're consciously and purposefully setting themselves up as a sequential set of minibosses, when tag-teaming the Chosen Children worked out so well last time.

And that is also our fourth character death of the arc. Returning cast are dropping like flies now that we're officially in the war arc.

I wonder what happened to the Hangyomon? If Gomamon didn't have lines during Whamon's death scene, I could make a crack about Zudomon still being offscreen shocking them through the whole thing.

I was really surprised at how not-entirely-accurately I remembered the final MetalSeadramon fight. I remembered WarGreymon attacking MetalSeadramon internally but I thought he went down MetalSeadramon's gullet, not the Ultimate Stream emitter. Huh.

Guess he took a chance that the gun part of MetalSeadramon had to be made from gun parts and shit instead of the indestructible alloy that the rest of him was made of.

The dub... They keep staggering their endings further and further away from where the original ended. I have a hunch they're buying space for the many cuts that will need to be made to the Pinochimon fight, but that's just a guess.

[therealslimshakespeare]

We need a dear John sneak like today I’m so desperate😭

Oh my dear, of course lemme get you one sweetie pie, yall have been so patient. Here, have a morsel 🥰 18+ per usual babies

Dear John || Sneak Peak

“Bucky, John, JOHN, MAJOR, JOHN EGAN SLOW DOWN!!!”

Distantly, through a ear ringing fog he could hear them calling his name, there were quite a lot of them and many didn’t really know him, not well, and even those he cared for -Buck and Harry and Ev and Jack- their greetings had turned desperate and they called his name in a effort to stall, not welcome.

But holy shit, she was in England, and he was in England, and fucking fate thought it was real cute to yank the string once more and he wasn’t going to play nice anymore. He was gonna show fate where it could shove its little game of marionettes.

He was gonna keep Julie Jean on the damn ground if he had to climb on the wing of her soon departing jet to do it.

And to do that, to get there in time to do it, he needed to kindly disregard the flock of squawking pals behind him.

“John if you go now you’ll only miss her!” Gale’s rising voice warned, beginning to try to physically restrain his friend’s headlong rampage towards the nearest jeep.

“That one’s low on gas.” Ev helped the cause laconically from the back.

“I’m not just sitting here while she goes-“ Egan informed them without a hitch in his stride.

“Let us send a telegram!” Crosby begged, “She told us to alert her, to call or to wire, anything if you were to come back. Going now you’ll just miss her! Sir, sir please! If I get to her a-a-and you’re on the road w-w-what will I-I-I say?”

“Yeah,” Gale agreed, “gonna make us tell her you’re alive but we don’t have you ‘cause you’re broke down on some backroad in East fuckin’ Anglia ‘cause you couldn’t wait to call?”

“Yeah, think of it Bucky,” Demarco came in to aid his copilot, “it’s sweet but, it’ll suck if she makes it.”

“How’d you let her go?” John suddenly railed at Buck who took it like his decent, patient self in the face of a half starved, lovelorn maniac he was glad to find alive again, who’d only just touched down on English soil half an hour ago and was taking news of his girl being here and then being gone pretty well, all Buckyisms considered, “How could you, when she was here! HERE, Buck! How-“

“She said she hadta go, John, and after everything she did for us, for all of us-“ Gale sighed, “I wasn’t about to ask her for longer. She was in trouble as is, seems, with her mother.”

That seemed to frazzle Bucky worse, even if it shut him up for five seconds of wordless scoffing before, “Trouble? She’s in trouble, yeah, yeah, wanna know what kinda trouble her mother is? Shitty Fucks!!!” he roared at the sky and it was ferocious and crass enough to scare of some of the gathered newbies.

Croz exchanged a glance with a hunger carved Brady, “Shitty Fucks” he repeated, “-that’s a new one.”

Captain Brady nodded solemnly. “Makes one wonder if it’s metaphorical or literal.”

Croz processed this gravely.

“Like is it -a shit lay? or shitty lay, ya know?”

“Gentleman?” Gale turned to them for backup with blatant and frigid exasperation.