#The Pacifiic Fanfiction

[justquicksshot]

So, I've always had this idea that the song "pacify her" fit Jeanne and Jerry's relationship like a glove, SO I WROTE A FANFIC, but it came out more fanciful and dramatic than I thought. I will publish it, under the premise that it is something fictitious, BECAUSE WHAT I WROTE THERE IS TOO FAR FROM REALITY 🗿

[myjelllybean]

Who's the dad

This is a Evan Buckley (9-1-1) fanfiction I have finally decided to post. It is the first or second fanfiction I have written in my whole life so this is probably bad. English is not my first language so there could be a few mistakes.

I hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. If anyone has feedback, I am open for it.<3

Summary: A few months after a one-night stand leaves (Y/N) pregnant, she unexpectedly meets the baby's father at a BBQ at her dad's fire station.

The blonde guy was hot, (Y/N) had to admit. His baby blue shirt lets his eyes glow in the most perfect way.

“So why are you here today?”, (Y/N) asked. They both had a silent deal: no name’s, no prying for information.

“Hard day at work”, the man answered. “You?”

“Hard week.” (Y/N) knew she was already drunk, but she ordered another tequila. In the afternoon, she brought her kids to their grandparents, Bobby and Athena. The reason she told them: I need the evening for drinking until I don’t even know my name anymore.

She knew drinking wasn’t going to solve her problem, but it would numb her for at least one night. It would make her forget the pain.

The man nodded, but she didn’t even know what she had said before.

They drank a few drinks together until both of them saw black spots dancing in front of their eyes.

(Y/N) knew it was wrong what she wanted to do know. She wanted to kiss this man. She wanted to forget why she was here tonight. She knew exactly how wrong it would be. How disappointed everyone would look at her. But screw it. She wanted him and she wanted him now.

She leant forward and pressed a kiss on his lips. It felt so right, but so wrong. It didn’t matter. The blonde deepened the kiss. The next thing (Y/N) knew was that they were in the man’s apartment. In his bed.

___

(Y/N) did her best to hide the baby bump – but it didn’t help much. Maybe she could tell everyone she has just eaten too much when they were in Europe. She hasn’t seen anyone of her family in the last 5 months. They didn’t know she was pregnant and they are not supposed to. Half a year ago she packed her stuff and drove away with the kids.

After her husband died and she slept with this stranger, she had to leave. She wasn’t able to stay anymore. She was ashamed of herself. How was she able to sleep with someone just some hours after Henry died? They weren’t always happy but she loved him. He had been her world. Until he was gone.

“Mommy? How much longer we have to drive?” James asked from the back of the car. He was the most impatient of her kids.

“Only around half an hour then you can finally see grandpa and grandma again.”

(Y/N) heard a sigh from her son and chuckled.

“Is there going to be cake? Is grandpa going to make pasta for us?” Cameron. She and James are twins and couldn’t be more similar. Both impatient and always hungry until they ate two bites and complain about being too full to eat any more.

“I don’t know. I have never been to a party at the station.” Nobody knew they were going to come. It was going to be a surprise.

Suddenly, Emily began to cry in her seat. The two-year old always slept in the car, but when she woke up, she always had a shock and started to cry when she noticed they were driving.

“Liv, can you please give Emily her pacifier?” The 14-year-old didn’t seem to hear her mom, as she had her headphones in her ears and scrolled through TikTok’s.

“Liv! Give your sister her damn pacifier!” Finally.

After two weeks in Europe, (Y/N) was already super annoyed. She tried to keep it cool, but it wasn’t easy to be with four kids and pregnant when she didn’t have her husband around.

___

Just a few minutes later, (Y/N) parked in front of the firehouse. She had been here before. Not inside it but she had dropped off her father a few times when his car was at the car repair.

“Ok! We are here! All out of the car!” (Y/N) picked up her youngest and followed the rest of the kids inside the firehouse.

She didn’t see many people downstairs, but around 50 people were upstairs.

“(Y/N)? Hey! You’re back! Where were you in the last few months? We tried to call you but you didn’t answer. We were so worried!” Bobby literally ran to her and hugged her as tightly as possible with Emily between them. “She grew up so much”, he said, reaching out to stroke Emily’s back.

“Yes. She absolutely did.” (Y/N) could see the worried and exhausted expression on her father’s face and immediately felt sorry for not even writing him and Athena a message that she and the kids were ok.

“May I introduce you to the team?”, Bobby asked after hugging the twins and Liv, who finally put away her headphones.

The 118’s Captain led his family to a bunch of people in uniforms.

“These guys are Eddie, Chimney, Hen and Buck.” (Y/N)’s breath caught in her throat. Fuck. The super-hot guy stood in front of her. With his uniform he looked even better that in his baby blue shirt he wore the last time. Why the fuck did she still remember what this guy had worn when they met in the bar?!

“Meet (Y/N), Liv, James, Cameron and Emily.”

“Hey! Nice to meet y’all”, (Y/N) said overly friendly, trying to hide the surprise, as well as Buck did.

“Grandpa? You have cake?”, Cameron asked Bobby.

“Of course. A party without cake isn’t a party. Come on, I’ll show you all.” Bobby led the kids away from (Y/N) and the team, over to the kitchen island on which many plates of cake were standing.

“’So… you are Cap’s daughter?”, a brown-haired man asked, who (Y/N) remembered as Eddie.

“Yepp, that’s me.” (Y/N) looked at Buck who looked just as surprised, as she felt.

“So, you are Buck?”, she asked him just as a try to build a conversation. She tugged gently on her shirt, as she didn’t want Buck to notice her baby bump.

“Uhm… yes. I am. Evan Buckley. So… these are your kids? You look quite young”, Buck asked and (Y/N) furrowed her brow until she realized, they haven’t talked about ages when they spent the night together. She was quite young for already having 4 kids. She had Liv when she was 16, but she barely told people, as she always got these judging looks.

“Yes, they are.” (Y/N) stared at the ground, unable to hold eye contact with the man she had a breathtaking night.

“Father’s not in the picture?”, Eddie asked and (Y/N) could see that Buck was relieved, that his friend asked the question, so he didn’t seem too suspicious.

“Um, no. He died 5 months ago. Car accident.” Instead of staring at the ground, (Y/N) now looked at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears, which always threatened to flow freely, whenever she talked about her late husband.

When she finally managed to make eye contact with Evan, she could see pain written over his face. Her husband died 5 months ago, around the same time, she slept with him. Had he been some kind of replacement? He knew they agreed to one night – no personal information, but it still hurt to know she didn’t actually feel the tiniest bit. She only had tried to compensate everything.

---

Around 3 hours later, in which the 118 got a small call once but came back after only one and a half hour, they all sat at the big table, because it was dinner time. Most of the time, (Y/N) stood on the sidelines, as she didn’t really feel comfortable around all these people she barely knew, and Buck. Nobody seemed to have noticed the baby bump which was covered under her shirt.

And now, (Y/N) even felt nauseous and had cramps in her lower belly. Her other pregnancies had gone quite well, except the last few months with the twins, but this pregnancy was terrible. She already had to go to hospital 4 times in the last 5 months, as she couldn’t keep anything down and had been severely dehydrated.

After only 2 bites, (Y/N) had to lay down the fork because she felt like she would throw up right away if she ate only one more bite. She had already thrown up breakfast and everything she drank today. She was lucky no one noticed she hasn’t eaten a piece of cake before.  

“Are you ok?”, the brown-haired man from before asked. Eddie? (Y/N) has always been terrible with names and couldn’t remember any. It took her 2 weeks to even remember Henry’s name after she met him, something he also made fun of, even years later.

“Uh yes. Just not feeling too great today”, she answered, trying to suppress the feeling to be sick. Her throat felt tight and her stomach felt like it was twisting and turning. The cramps were still present. She knew she wasn’t having a miscarriage as she once had one, and it felt different. The symptoms were pretty much the same, but she had another feeling. She had felt like something was missing, but this here wasn’t any better.

“You sure? You don’t look too good and you haven’t eaten much. Don’t you like the food?”, her father intervened now.

“The food’s great. Really. I haven’t been feeling my best today, that’s it.”

“Do you want one of the medics to take a look at you?” Bobby really seemed worried, but his daughter waved him off.

“Dad. Don’t make more out of it than it is.” Her dad made an acknowledging sound and (Y/N) thanked him silently with a small nod.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her hands, a nervous habit, she always did when she felt uncomfortable. Today, this many people were too much. She has never liked being around many people for a long time. She felt like everyone was staring at her and making fun off her or thinking of her as a disappointment when she did something wrong. Her kids were different, except of Liv. Liv came after her mom in these things, while the others luckily came after their dad and were the most social persons in this world.

Everyone looked at (Y/N), as she suddenly stood up, because a wave of nausea waved over her. As fast as possible she went to the restrooms, but only made it to the sink, where she threw up the bit of water she had managed to drink before. She rinsed her mouth and looked in the mirror. She looked like shit. Her skin was pale and her lips dry.

The door opened, and a woman stepped inside. She was around as tall as (Y/N) was and wore a wine-red shirt, that showed she worked at the 911 dispatch center. Had she been at the dinner table before? Or has (Y/N) just not seen her?

“Oh hey. Sorry. Just needed a break from out there. Who are you? I have never seen you here before. I am Maddie by the way. Chimney’s fiancé, Buck’s sister.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. Buck’s sister?

“(Y/N). Bobby’s daughter. Nice to meet you.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look too well.” Again, this question. No, she wasn’t ok. But she didn’t say anything, so everyone should stop asking her. If she wanted someone to know she wasn’t well, she would tell.

“It’s okay. Just not feeling my best today.” Maddie nodded.

“Ok.” She didn’t pry further to get information, what (Y/N) was very thankful for.

“Soo. You are Bobby’s daughter? Athena has never mentioned, that Bobby has a daughter. She usually talks about everything.” Maddie furrowed her brow.

(Y/N) shrugged her shoulders.

“He doesn’t like talking about his private life too much.”

(Y/N) went back to the table, after she was sure she wouldn’t have to throw up again. But when she arrived at the dinner table again, she felt she was dizzy. Congratulations. First, she was sick and now she was dizzy because she didn’t drink or eat enough today.

She caught Bobby’s concerned gaze as he was looking at her, before everything went black.

___

“Heyyy! Here we go. You with us again?” She felt something painful on her chest and after a few moments she realized it was someone performing sternal rub to bring her back around. (Y/N) grumbled something.

When she tried to sit up again, there was a firm hand on her shoulder that kept her laid down.

“Damn, let me sit up if I want to. I am fine.” But (Y/N) noticed on her own how hoarse she sounded from being sick.

The hand suddenly disappeared from her shoulder, but when (Y/N) sat up, the hand was back at her back to steady her and kept her from falling over. Finally, she managed to open her eyes and caught look on the brown-haired man – Eddie. Evan sat directly next to her.

“We are just going to check a few things, ok?” All (Y/N) did, was giving an acknowledging sound from her.

The next thing she felt was a pulse-oximeter being slipped on her index finger and a blood pressure cuff on the other arm. She winced when Eddie inflated it and it squeezed tightly around her arm, which made her eyes well up with tears.

She had never liked the BP reading. When she was a kid, she cried freely as it made her arm feel like needles were jabbing it.

“Sorry.” Eddie was quick to deflate the cuff again after noticing the tears in (Y/N)’s eyes but she just shook her head to show everything’s ok. “BP’s 108/70. We are going to give you something to raise it again.”

“No! Wait!” (Y/N) frantically said. “I… I…” She made a sign for Eddie to come near to her so she could whisper into his ear without anyone hearing it. “I am pregnant but no one can know yet. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Okayyy… I think we should go somewhere more private.” (Y/N) nodded agreeing.

Despite the other’s confused looks, they made their way to the locker room. Once they were there, Eddie began talking again.

“Has this happened before?”

“Yes, I already was in hospital because of it but it is just this morning sickness. I can’t keep anything down and it makes me dehydrated.” When (Y/N) looked to her right, she could see Buck looking at them but he couldn’t hear anything, right? He wasn’t as near and it was quite loud upstairs.

“Mhm. I want to hook you up on an IV if that’s ok with you? I don’t want you to be as dehydrated as you are now and I figure you don’t want a trip to the ER?”

“Yes, if that is possible, please.”

Only a few seconds later, (Y/N) could see her dad storming into the locker room.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” He looked kind of mad but also worried.

“Ehm… It is complica…”

“She is dehydrated because she didn’t drink or eat enough. She just wants to be alone for a moment and I can give her an IV,” Eddie intervened. (Y/N) shot him a thankful gaze and a tiny smile. She liked Eddie. He was really kind. She couldn’t think of any of her friends, who would do that for her.

“Mhm. Ok. I am going to call Athena. She said she would be here earlier. I’ll come back later.”

Bobby disappeared as fast as he came into the room.

“Thanks. For not telling him.” Eddie smiled at her.

“It’s not on me. And I think there are going to be better circumstances for that talk. How far are you?”

“5 months.”

“Ah. May I ask…”, he hesitated for a moment. “Is it your late husband’s baby?”

“No.” You didn’t know for sure why you told him, but he kind of let you feel calm and safe. “We didn’t… you know… the time before he died. We argued a lot. Had a one-night stand just a few hours after he died.”

“You know the father? Were you able to call and tell him?” Eddie looked honestly interested while he put an IV bag out of the medkit.

(Y/N) shook her head before nodding.

“I haven’t seen him… until today.” Eddie looked shocked and raised his eyebrows.

“Today? Is he here? At the station?”

(Y/N) nodded guiltily and looked at the ground when she heard Eddie chuckle.

“Damn, tell me more. Who is it?”

“Buck.”

“Buck?” The firefighter looked even more shocked than before and you nodded again.

“I didn’t know his name we agreed to ‘no personal information’. Why would I know he worked at my dad’s workplace? God… when he will find out he is going to be so pissed.” Eddie shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t think so. He will understand. And hey. You don’t have to defend yourself.” She smiled at his kindness.

She watched as Eddie swabbed the alcohol pad over the back of her hand.

“I would recommend to close your eyes if you are not good with needles”, he suggested. But (Y/N) couldn’t. She needed to see what Eddie was doing, even though she wasn’t good with needles. When the firefighter pushed the needle in the back of her hand, she let out a small squeal.

“Told you to keep your eyes closed but you refused to listen.” She heard Eddie chuckle. “Do you have any other symptoms I should be worried about?”

“I have cramps”, she admitted.

“Lower belly?” (Y/N) nodded. Why couldn’t she just have been home. She would lie on the couch and relax, but instead she was here, being poked and prodded by a firefighter.

“Can I take a look?” She nodded again. Eddie pulled her shirt over her abdomen and pressed his palm on different spots. (Y/N) looked upstairs, and froze. Fuck. She forgot that Evan was still standing upstairs, looking at the locker room. Looking at her.

Her eyes widened. Why had she agreed to this? Why didn’t she insist on being ok and went home? Why was she so stupid? She wanted to slap herself for not thinking.

Eddie seemed to notice her sudden panic, the pulse-oximeter, which was still clipped to her finger, chirped in high pitched noises.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Deep breaths. What’s up?”

“B… Buck.” The firefighter looked where she was pointing at and sucked in a deep breath.

“Ok. That’s ok. We’ll fix that, after we are finished here, ok? It’ll be ok. Don’t worry. Try to breathe with me, the baby won’t like you breathing like that.” Demonstrative, Eddie took some deep breaths. “Do you know the gender yet?”

(Y/N) could tell that Eddie was only trying to distract her but she played along.

“A… girl. It’s a girl. Again.” She laughed. Her breathing became slower, steadier.

“That’s great. You already told your kids?”

“Mhm.”

“How did they react? Are they happy?” Eddie grinned at her.

“Y… yes. They are. James was a bit d- disappointed at first. H- he hoped he would finally get a brother t- to play soccer with.” (Y/N) smiled. “But the g- girls were all over t-the moon.”

The brown-haired man, put an oxygen mask over her face, which she tried to pull off, but his hand was immediately back, to hold the mask in place.

“Let it on, please”, he said with a look at the pulse-oximeter which was still chirping. “It’ll make it easier to breathe for you.

(Y/N) nodded, even though she hated the feeling of the mask, which made her feel the opposite of ‘easier to breathe’.

“Can I have a listen to the baby’s heartbeat?” After he had seen (Y/N) nodded again, he took the stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm to her belly.

“Looks good so far. The heartbeat is a bit fast for my liking but it’s nothing too concerning, just take some deep breaths, ok?”

“Copy, Firefighter Diaz.” (Y/N) took some deep breaths.

Just a few seconds later, someone stormed into the locker room. Buck.

“You… you are pregnant?” Buck hoped that (Y/N) would tell him it wasn’t his. That it was her husband’s.

“Yes.” She was surprised that her voice didn’t sound as high and panicking as she thought it would. She was scared. Scared of Buck’s reaction, which became even more clear, as the pulse-oximeter started to chirp frantically again.

Eddie took a look and was surprised how high the shown numbers were.

“Deep breaths”, he commanded her. But she couldn’t.

“Who’s the dad? Is it mine? Or is there a tiny chance, that it is your husband’s?” Even though (Y/N) thought something like that would come out of Buck’s mouth, she felt disappointment deep in her. She hoped he would not sound as panicked as he was now.

“Your’s.” (Y/N) fell silent, holding her breath in anticipation of what Evan would say now.

“Oh… wow. I have to admit that is a shock. Why… why didn’t you tell me? I could have been there with you.”

“I didn’t have your number, your address, your workplace. Not even your name! I didn’t even know if you lived in LA or somewhere else! What should I have done?”

Eddie put the oxygen mask over her mouth and nose, that she just put off again, but she immediately put it back to the floor. She didn’t want to breathe in the oxygen. It made her feel lightheaded and nauseous and gave her a headache.

“(Y/N)! Damn, breathe properly now the baby’s not comfortable anymore. Buck, I think you should go now and let her breathe a bit without the stress, this conversation puts on her.”

“No, he won’t go now! Not until this conversation is finished!” (Y/N) glared at Eddie. She wasn’t sure if that were the pregnancy hormones speaking out of her which have made her a bit temperamental these last few months.

“What do you want to do now? Buck? Do you have a girlfriend? Do you want to be a part in the baby’s life? Do you want to be part in MY life? I need to know it.” She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Definitely the hormones which made her act strange at the moment.

“I don’t know exactly what I want to do now. But I don’t have a girlfriend. And I want to be part of the baby’s life. I want to be their father…”

“Her. It’s a girlie. Again.” (Y/N) could see Evan smiling a bit.

“Ok. I want to be HER father and spend time with her. And I think I would like to try to go on a date… with you. If you think you are ready. I liked you the last time we met, even though that could be because I had been really drunk that night.” Buck laughed and blushed a bit.

“I think… I think we can give it a try. I don’t know if I am ready for everything. But I do know I am ready for something. And maybe that could be with you.”

“Ok… uhm… great. And now you should really try to breathe properly with that mask. I know it’s not great, but even I can recognize how high your vitals are.”

She did as she was told. (Y/N) knew she liked Buck. He was cute. She wouldn’t have imagined to see a man like him blushing when talking about a baby and dating.

“I’m nauseous.” Eddie and Buck both looked a bit worried.

“Deep breaths. I think it’s just the IV and oxygen. I put some meds in the IV that should help with the belly cramps, that could make you feel nauseous.”

(Y/N) only nodded. She suddenly felt exhausted. The adrenaline of the day started to wear of.

“I think I’m gonna drive the kids home and we are going to relax a bit while watching some tv. Thank you for everything.”

“Wait. Stop. I won’t let you drive home alone. You don’t feel good and I wouldn’t like to know you don’t have anyone with you except you kids.” She nodded again. Evan was right. It would be stupid to not have anyone around her.

“I can come with you. Just if that’s ok with you.”

“Yes. That would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. Shall we take your car?”

“Mhm.” She was thankful. She could really imagine Buck as a boyfriend. He is great.

---

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Evan laughed. He, (Y/N) and Liv were sat on the couch, watching a firefighter show, (Y/N) and Liv had been addicted to in the last few weeks.

“It doesn’t matter! This show is great!” Liv and Evan discussed about the mistakes in the show since around 10 minutes and it made (Y/N) smile. It was like a real family. Even though it hurt her a bit that it wasn’t Henry, sitting here. But let’s be honest: Henry would have never watched a show like that.

“That doesn’t change the fact, that you don’t use the saw like that. It’s just not safe!”

“Then just do not pay attention to the details.” Now, it was Liv laughing. (Y/N) hasn’t seen her daughter that happy in the last few months. She tried to cover up her emotions but it didn’t work completely. Her eyes started to burn and she felt a pressure building up. No, she wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Evan. Her daughter. No.

“I’ll go to toilet for a moment.” She hoped nobody would notice she was about to cry, but her voice gave it away. She sounded hoarse and her voice broke at some point.

She locked the bathroom door and sank down to the cold floor, where she curled up, leaning her back on the even colder wall. Her hand was rubbing circles over her swollen belly. Damn it.

(Y/N) knew she missed Henry. She knew her kids have missed him every second since his death. But she was scared. Scared that moving on with Evan would make her forget her late husband. She heard a gentle knock on the wooden bathroom door.

“May I come in?” Buck.

“Ok.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She attempted to brush the tears away but it really didn’t work. Her eyes were still read, as well as her cheeks.

She got up to unlock the door, for Buck to come in. After he stepped inside the room, he closed the door again. He sat down next to her, and (Y/N) leaned her head on his shoulder.

“What’s up?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing.” Evan shot her a look, that said more than a thousand words.

“This honestly doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I don’t want to forget Henry. And I am scared. I have never had a relationship before him. And I still have cramps. And I still don’t feel too good in general. And I am scared of giving birth alone. And I am scared of everything else in my life.” Buck looked at her with a concerned expression and immediately pulled her into a hug as (Y/N) began to cry again.

“Ok. So, we first go to hospital, because these cramps make me worried, and then we can figure everything else out, ok?” He pressed a sloppy kiss on (Y/N)’s forehead, and she nodded.

“Mhm. But you need to help me get up, the baby is in the way.”

[stuckinthe-2000s]

🌙 Agere Ask Game!!! ⭐

🖍 Who is the first person you told/would tell about your headspace?

❤ If you had a fictional caregiver/little who would it be?

🩹 What do you experience when you regress? (i.e fuzzy feelings, motor skill or speech struggle, etc.)

🧡 How often do you regress or try to regress?

🍬 Do you read agere fanfiction and if so, about who?

💛 What school grade (if any) would you be in according to your headspace?

🧸 Are you an older sibling who regresses/caregives or a younger sibling who regresses/caregives?

💚 Were you considered an "old soul" growing up or were you more "childish"?

🧩 What was your first piece of agere gear or what would you want as your first?

💙 What's your regression/caregiving aesthetic? (kidcore, babycore, altcore, etc)

🍭 How long have you been apart of agere tumblr?

💜 What are you obsessed with right now in your headspace? (sanrio, sharks, bluey, etc)

🍼 Do you include your personal nostalgia in your regression/caregiving or are you creating new memories?

🖤 Have you met any other regressors/caregivers in real life?

🪀 Have you ever regressed in front of someone or has someone ever regressed around you?

🪁 Is your headspace affected more through traditional or alternative regression? (bottles & cartoons or horror & thrill)

🎨 What's a piece of agere gear that you really want to have/try?

🍬 Have you ever experienced vent regression?

🦋 Are you comfortable with your regression/headspace?

🧚‍♀️ What is age regression/caregiving to you?

🧦 What's something you like & don't like about the agere community?

🦇 Have you ever regressed in a dream?

🌸 Who do you headcanon as a regressor or caregiver? (fictional or real)

🐈‍⬛ Do you think you're represented enough in the agere community? (poc, boys, under 20/over 30 yrs)

🧃Which animal best represents your headspace?

🐇 Has it been or was it hard for you to find a little/caregiver?

🎀 Does your headspace match the gear you use/want? (i.e. regresses to 10 years but loves pacifiers)

🎮 Do you struggle to play pretend or are you super imaginative?

🌈 What mythical creature would you rather be? (Hybrid, Fairy, Dragon, etc)

👾 What's the quickest way to get you in your headspace?

💭 What's one thing you often daydream about doing with your little/caregiver?

[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.”

[doommommy]

At this point I don't think I could even *stop* picturing it rainbow if I tried

I can't express how much I love Pacify but I'll try. It's by far the most believable snarry fic I've ever read. And so well written and an absolutely beautiful story. It's amazing.

On my first read of Pacify, I automatically and without conscious thought, pictured Taz's confetti fire as rainbow. On my fourth read now, and it occurred to me that it could be plain parchment colored. Or even red/orange/yellow.

So what's the truth?

Just regular parchment lol. But the narrative belongs to the readers! If you want it to be rainbow, it's rainbow when you read it.

[babyzzai]

I was so unaware you didn’t get requests yet :0 Which is so rude! You deserve all the requests! So here I am >:3

Could I request some little Dazai caregiver Chuuya headcanons/fanfic? I’m not sure if you want requests for headcanons or fanfics- I’ll probably submit a second request in case this is too confusing-

caregiver chuuya + little dazai headcanons ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

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note: i do write fanfics! usually i dont take requests since i dont have the motivation to write a fanfiction if im not really into the idea, but i write my own fanfictions and post them on my ao3 (soukokutruther) :3 i have two regression themed ones up, and one non regression one but still sfw and soft <3 im also working on a third agere one! :D

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headcanons below the cut!! ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ dazai is a sleepy regressor! when regressed he usually is just in his pajamas and takes a lot of naps. hell always insist hes not tired, and hes too old for a nap (pretending to regress to an older age such as 8-9ish, when in reality hes an itty bitty baby, probably 1-2ish), but once chuuya pulls out his bottle and wraps him a soft blanket hes through, out like a light and drooling onto chuuyas shoulder haha

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ as i stated before, dazai regresses to around 1-2ish, but he has trust issues and issues with being vulnerable, so even after he accepts his regression, he still tries to be a big kid and be more independent, when in reality hes really dependent on chuuya, and is even nervous and starts to cry if hes not with him at all times while regressed.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ however, because hes a baby, chuuya of course will treat him like a baby! he has all sorts of toys like rattles, and soft plushies, and particularly those stuffed animals that have a little blanket for a body, like these. dazai doesnt really use any teethers when regressed but hes a big pacifier user, chuuya has a bunch of them laying around. if dazai doesnt have his pacifier, hell start sucking his fingers, which chuuya is adamantly against because he doesnt want dazai who already has a fragile immune system to get sick + he doesnt want him to chew up his fingers.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ despite dazais personality when not regressed, i think hes honestly a very gentle and sweet little baby. for one, hes afraid to be vulnerable when hes regressed, so acting out is out of the question because he doesnt want to misbehave and have chuuya yell at him (chuuya would never, but dazai lives in his head and makes up anxieties). secondly, dazais entire nonchalant laugh it off demeanour is just a show when hes big, and that all comes crumbling down when hes regressed, showing his true colors, and his wants and needs. all he really wants is love and snuggles and to be held. he just needs reassurance and the kind of gentle love hes never received anywhere else :(

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ dazai loves peekaboo. hell lay in chuuyas lap watching him hide behind his hands for hours. and its all worth it to chuuya to hear his adorable babys sweet little happy giggles.

chuuya hiding behind his hands "oh no... where did mackeral go?" dazai giggling hysterically, because chuuya is right behind his hands, how could he not know where dazai is? and chuuya dramatically peeking out from behind his hands. "there he is!! theres my baby!!" and dazai laughing happy, saying "gain! gain!" (again, again!)

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ dazai, because he is so young, is not very verbal when little. hell occasionally say small, slightly mispronounced words such as "nuh" (no), "mmhm", "chuu", "chibi" or "chichi" (hes trying to say chibi, but hes just a little guy, you cant blame him!)

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ they have a game before they go to sleep for the night where chuuya will kiss all of dazais freckles on his nose before they go to sleep, and dazai will kiss chuuyas freckles back! chuuya thinks dazais little baby kisses are the most adorable thing in the world, and his heart flutters with every tiny little kiss the baby gives him!

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ dazai cant stand not to be around chuuya when hes little... but at the same time, his baby brain doesnt have the same criticl thinking skills as he does when hes an adult. so sometimes while chuuya is asleep, hell wander away out of curiosity (he sees its raining outside, he wants his stuffie, hes hungry, etc.) but once hes gone, it hits him that hes alone, and chuuyas not there, and he doesnt know what to do, and he doesnt know how to find him again, so he kinda just shuts down and starts to cry. chuuya, being woken up by his poor babys lonely, anxious crying, of course finds him immediately, and picks him up into his arms and hushes him and reminds him that if dazai ever needs anything he needs to tell his caregiver first! (hide and seek is definately not a game they play lol)

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ i feel like dazai would really like moomin valley, the 90s version. i think the voices would be so calming to him, and hed enjoy all the magical elements and the aesthetic of it. however, i think he calls moomin a hippo, and chuuya tries to correct him and be like "sweetheart, moomin is a troll, not a hippo", but dazai associates trolls with being scary and moomin is not scary, so he cant be a troll, he has to be a hippo!! the two episodes though, with the groke, scared him.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅chuuya is very protective, probably overprotective of dazai. its because he personally sees how capable and independent dazai is when not regressed, and a lot of that independence is taken away when dazai regresses. hes very sensitive and emotional and doesnt always know how to take care of himself, and that combined with chuuyas natural protective instincts over those he loves makes him extremely protective of his baby. he doesnt like dazai regressing without him, but only will accept it if its kunikida caring for him, because i feel like they have a mutual respect for each other and understand that both of them care a lot about dazai and would take good care of him. dazai also puts so much trust into chuuya when he regresses and chuuya is his default caregiver, that chuuya feels almost territorial with the baby lol.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ dazai is autistic, and masks his symptoms a lot, and when he regresses that ability to mask vanishes. his sucking on objects or his fingers is a self soothing stim, and when hes excited hell or flail his hands around. he also hums to himself as a stim (he does this when not regressed too), and is a lot more sensitive to light and sound. he cant stand uncomfortable clothing either and almost always wears pajamas when regressed.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ i think chuuya has a caregiver headspace, hes not just a caregiver because he loves dazai (though thats definately a reason too- i mean some people dont have caregiver headspaces but they still caregive because they want to be accomdating to their loved ones). so not only is regressing theraputic for dazai, it is for chuuya too, because it calms that need in him to take care of someone, and to protect them. when dazai is asleep with his pacifier and his stuffie all cozy in chuuyas arms in a warm fluffy blankie, he cant help but just feel such a strong sense of rightness, and content in his chest, because this is exactly what he needs. a happy baby in his arms.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ i headcanon dazai as a cane user post mersault, not all the time, just to help him balance and lean his weight on if his leg is feeling off. and i headcanon him to have chronic pain in that knee that he broke. when his knee is hurting, i think he falls down into his baby headspace, and chuuya will give him an icepack and/or warm heating pad depending on the type of pain, rub his leg and his knee for him, carry him anywhere he needs to go, reassure the baby that hes no less beautiful or perfect or human because he has a physical disability now, and that hes still loved and will always be loved. on flare up days/periods, chuuya and dazai usually just cuddle in bed and watch shows or movies, and order takeout and drink hot cocoa.

‧₊˚ ☽ ⋅ chuuya loves to do fun activities with dazai! dazai is not fond of regressing in public, so things like cat cafes and parks and public events are off limits, but hell stargaze with the baby on the balcony, telling him stories of all the different constellations and pointing out different planets. hell bake fun treats with dazai (usually dazai doesnt do much baking since hes a disaster in the kitchen even when not regressed-). dazai usually just pours ingredients into bowls and cups with chuuyas help and licks the spoons. he likes to pick flowers with dazai and make little flower crowns, and will color with him. they make tents from blankets and cushions and pillows in the living room to go on a fake camping trip, and chuuya will pretend to be a scary grizzly bear, and then will fight the bear off to protect dazai! he gets dazai to do crafts and fingerpaintings. he absolutely keeps his baby entertained, even if dazai doesnt like to leave the safety of their home when regressed!

i have sew many headcanons but this was getting super long lol. can you tell theyre my favs? lol!! i hope you like my hcs!! :3

[jaynovz]

In discussions about the finale of Black Sails, one of the things I often see is folks hard-focusing on Flint's fate, in an either-or binary fashion, usually presented as "Which do you believe-- that Silver killed him? or sent him to the plantation?"

Now, for posterity's sake, gonna mention a few things-- first off, that's simply not thinking broadly enough. There are farrrr more than two options here and I've come up with my share of the reallyyyyy bad ones for sure. Whatever your mind chooses, none of those are happy endings anyway, there are bittersweet, bad, and worse endings all the way down. (They are paused, they are in a time loop, and also all endings and no endings are happening simultaneously)

But also, the more cogent point is that, it doesn't actually matter what happened *to Flint* The story is... not actually about him at that point. We have transitioned from Flint as protag to Silver as protag, setting up for (the fanfiction that Black Sails has ended up making of, ugh, king shit) Treasure Island.

And so, I just, don't find it to be of particular interest exploring what we think Flint is actually doing or if he's alive for real. What is EXTREMELY interesting to explore though is how Silver's speech at the end to Madi is sort of giving Thomas back to Flint as a pacifier/comfort object, but how... Silver is giving Flint that thing in his own mind as his own type of pacifier/comfort object.

That's the REALLY chewy bit. What actually happens to Flint is not the purpose of that scene for me, of Silver's recounting of events to Madi. It's more about... projection. It's about how Silver is dealing with whatever happened to Flint/whatever he did.

And I just feel like it's missing the point to focus so hard on if Flint is alive or not.

He is the ghost of the story regardless, that's what's important. He's going to haunt the narrative for the rest of everyone's lives. No one has been untouched or unscarred by coming into contact with Captain Flint; he has a forever legacy. I'm not the first to call him this, but he's Schrödinger's Flint and he's staying that way.

But this?

"No. I did not kill Captain Flint. I unmade him. The man you know could never let go of his war. For if he were to exclude it from himself, he would not be able to understand himself. So I had to return him to an earlier state of being. One in which he could function without the war. Without the violence. Without us. Captain Flint was born out of great tragedy. I found a way to reach into the past... and undo it. There is a place near Savannah... where men unjustly imprisoned in England are sent in secret. An internment far more humane, but no less secure. Men who enter these gates never leave them. To the rest of the world, they simply cease to be. He resisted... at first. But then I told him what else I had heard about this place. I was told prominent families amongst London society made use of it. I was told the governor in Carolina made use of it. So I sent a man to find out if they'd used it to hide away one particular prisoner. He returned with news. Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. And corralling him took great effort. But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn't say why. I wasn't expecting it. Perhaps he'd finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps as the promise of seeing Thomas got closer... he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he created in response to his loss. The man whose mind I had come to know so well... whose mind I'd in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it... so unexpected. I choose to believe it... because it wasn't the man I had come to know at all... but one who existed beforehand... waking from a long... and terrible nightmare. Reorienting to the daylight... and the world as it existed before he first closed his eyes... letting the memory of the nightmare fade away. You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you're alive to think it. But I'm not the villain you fear I am. I'm not him."

This is the speech of a man who is self-soothing, who is spinning himself a tale, who is projecting, who is coping.

and THAT is just, way chewier, innit?

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Round 4

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own vs Eldacar of Gondor

A fox passing through the woods on business of his own:

A fox who found Frodo, Sam and Pippin asleep under a tree and was puzzled by this.

Yeah sure why NOT switch PoV to a (arguably) non-sentient creature for like a paragraph with no bearing on the actual plot besides the comment that it never realized that the plot was happening??

It shows up for one page for no reason.  It's great.

Listen, that fox is absolutely a borbo. Confused? Funny? Has enough to be memorable but little enough to write a shitload of fanfiction about? Someone I have actually written about? Twice? (they aren't on ao3 though) clear boorbo

Look, people have observed before, correctly, that one of the things that sets The Lord of the Rings apart is that Tolkien will tell us things about the well-being of minor characters, like that the hobbits’ ponies that they lost in Bree were okay and went to live with Tom Bombadil. Tolkien is the kind of writer who will switch the POV to a fox who happens to pass by the hobbits on the first night of their journey to Rivendell, because the story isn’t just about the main characters, nor is it just about the endurance of realms like Rohan and Gondor. It’s about every living thing in Middle-earth, and for Frodo it’s especially about the Shire, the home of simplicity and good food and community and gardens and foxes. That’s what he takes up the Ring to save, and the fact that he takes it up with that motivation, not personal greatness or heroism, is what enables him to get as far as Mount Doom. Gandalf lays this idea out to Denethor when Denethor claims the fate of Gondor as a goal above all else: “For my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come.” The Quest of the Ring is not simply about Men and Elves and Hobbits; it is about ponies, and the trees of Fangorn, and tiny sun-star flowers in the grass, and yes, a fox on business of his own who never finds out anything more about the three hobbits he once saw sleeping under a tree, but lives and thrives because of what they did.

Eldacar of Gondor:

The twenty-first King of Gondor, also known as Vinitharya. During his reign the conflict known as the Kin-strife occurred and he was forced from his throne for ten years.

The blorbo of all time actually. He’s the protagonist of one of the most interesting stories in the LoTR appendices, the Kin-strife, and everything about his life story is so fascinating! His father was the crown prince of Gondor and his mother was the princess of Rhovanion so not a Númenorean. As a result all the racist nobles of Gondor made noises about how Eldacar was of “lesser race” and wouldn’t live as long as a “true Dúnadan”. One of the most fascinating examples of fantasy racism in Tolkien’s works imo – the bigotry is awful but the bigots have a shield to hide behind! Obviously their concerns are actually valid because they just don’t want their king to die young! (Their concerns aren’t valid. But I think the worldbuilding here is great.) Anyway Eldacar was born in Rhovanion and given the birth-name Vinitharya, but when he returned to Gondor aged five he was obliged to take up the Quenya name Eldacar, presumably to pacify all the racists in Gondor. He’s the EMBODIMENT of mixed-race/immigrant child trauma my beloved. Eventually his father died and he ascended to the throne of Gondor, but then his shitty second cousin Castamir (all my homies hate Castamir he’s the worst) started the civil war known as the Kin-strife and usurped Eldacar’s throne. Eldacar was forced to flee north to Rhovanion but Castamir captured his eldest son Ornendil and had him cruelly put to death which is SO SAD. But Eldacar, being brave and resourceful and clever and extremely cool, put together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and after ten years reclaimed his throne, which turned out to be slightly easier than expected because Castamir was The Worst and all his subjects hated him. And Eldacar PERSONALLY fought and killed Castamir HIMSELF and AVENGED HIS SON which is extremely important when you consider all the cringefail elves in the legendarium whose quests for revenge didn’t really go anywhere at all. Then he lived to be 235 proving that all the idiot racists who were worried about his lifespan didn’t have any idea what they were talking about, as is par for the course with racists. Also the Kin-strife itself has such far-reaching consequences for the history of Gondor! The Corsairs of Umbar, Gondor’s long-standing enemies, are actually followers of the descendants of Castamir. And during the Usurpation of Castamir Osgiliath was sacked and burned, leading to the beginning of its decline as Gondor’s greatest city. Even though Eldacar’s story is, to me, ultimately hopeful, it’s also such a fascinating turning point in the history of Gondor. Also ALSO he’s explicitly surrounded by textual ghosts which is really fascinating. His father Valacar has “children” plural – so Eldacar had siblings!! What were they like? How did they react to it all? And his son Aldamir is described as Eldacar’s second son and third child, meaning that he had a daughter too. Who was she?? What happened to her? He’s such a blorbo and there’s so much interesting stuff to dig into around him and he has to win this entire tournament please please please❤️

Round 4 masterpost

[agerefandom]

Stella’s 1,800 Follower Giveaway!

Two years ago I had a giveaway for 500 followers, and now we’ve more than tripled that number in our agerefandom community! It continues to be so fun and rewarding to make content from art to fanfiction for all of you lovely regressors and dreamers and allies: I feel lucky every day that I get to wake up to the notifications and requests on this blog. 

So in celebration, here is the second-ever @agerefandom​ giveaway! 

To Qualify, You Must:

respect my DNI

be following @agerefandom

reblog this post!

Prizes: 

1. Your Choice Of Jellycat Stuffie

(details: up to $31, shipping covered in US/Canada, must be available on the Jellycat website) 

2. Custom Pacifier From @punkiepacis (on Instagram) 

(details: includes custom center, double outlining, and handle letters: shipping, charm and two special decorations also covered by me) 

3. Content Batch From Yours Truly 

(details: skip the line and get your request filled before I officially open requests in July! Includes a 1,000-3,000 word fanfiction and a headcanon set, OR 3-4 headcanon sets if you prefer. If you’re interested in something else, like moodboards or art, we can set a number for those as well <3) 

Rules:

you can reblog this post multiple times, but it only counts as one entry!

for a bonus entry, you can tag me in some agere content for any of the fandoms on my fandom list! moodboards, writing, art, headcanons, whatever you like to do! have fun!

the first person will get to choose between all three prizes. The second person will get to choose between the last two, and so on.

the giveaway will end on June 24th, 2023. The winners will be chosen before June 28th. 

Okay, that’s it! I love you all, and good luck!

[gayfandomnerd225]

Pt. 5 of Dead Poets Society Headcanons, age regression edition

Charlie, even tho he’s the clown of the group, is also the main caregiver of the boys when they regress

Todd often regresses due to anxiety

Neil often regresses due to stress, which happens more often than he wants to admit

The first time Neil regressed in front of Charlie he was complaining about his dad

Charlie wasn’t sure what to do but he noticed the regression and just started treating him with what was appropriate with how he was acting

Todd was really nervous to tell Neil that he regresses, and the first time it happened and he came out of it, he apologized over and over again

Meeks is the secondary caregiver and is usually first to notice when one of them regresses

Todd, even tho he’s often quiet, makes little childlike noises when he regresses, he tries to hide them sometimes but Meeks knows better

Neil’s eyes go sort of soft and blurry and his motor control isn’t as great

Pitts is also an age regressor, although it happens less frequently than Neil and Todd

Only Meeks knows about Pitts regression, and calls him baby boy when he does regress

Knox had no idea how to handle the boys when they regress when it first started, but soon he became Todd’s favourite one to play with when he regressed

Cameron wasn’t sure what age regression was, and at first thought it was a bit silly. Until he had a long talk with Neil about it. And now even he regresses sometimes

Cameron only regresses when he’s alone tho. He doesn’t feel safe telling the other boys. Even tho he knows Charlie would take care of him if he knew

Neil had a special stuffy for when he regresses, its a stuffed giraffe

Todd also had a special stuffy for when he regresses, its a stuffed bunny that Neil gave him, its name is Neil

Todd becomes very cuddly when he regresses, Charlie likes it when Todd curls up on his lap and he plays with Todd’s hair

Neil can be a brat sometimes when he regresses. Charlie knows not to push, he knows age regression is a safe place for Neil so he tries to be calming and understanding

Knox likes giving Neil and Todd piggy back rides when they regress

One time, after a very stressful exam week, Cameron accidentally regressed in front of Charlie in their room. Charlie spotted it because Cameron was giggling and Cameron does not giggle, and then he put his shirt in his mouth and started sucking on it. Charlie went straight into action mode, he grabbed the things he has for Neil and Todd when they regress and played caregiver for Cameron

When Cameron came out of it, he didn’t admit it at first, refusing to admit that he was an age regressor but finally admitted it because Charlie’s hands in his hair felt far too nice for it to stop

Sometimes after a rough week, Pitts makes a blanket fort in his and Meeks’ room to help Meeks regress and calm down. Meeks will crawl into the blanket fort and cuddle against Pitts as Pitts reads him a book, usually something nerdy or sci-fi

Meeks also has a pacifier, its green and has a decal of the pi symbol, because even when little, he’s a math nerd

(Writing all of these headcanons makes me want to write a fanfiction based off of them? What do yall think?)

(I also had to set this loose before vacation)

[just-your-casual-nerd]

Master List Part 6

Note: I did not write any of these fics, I just enjoy reading them, and had a shit load of them saved. So, I figured I would put all of the ones I liked on a master list, figuring that its an easy way to keep track of them, and maybe you guys would like them as well. Have a Great Day fellow Nerds! 😁👋

2nd Note: If Someone wants me to take their fic or another fic off, let me know and it will be done. I don't want to offend anyone or make them upset.

3rd note: I will keep adding to this list as I get more fics

Larissa:

Fanfiction Masterlist By: Tanith-rhea

Larissa Weems Fluff & Angst Oneshots By: daydream-cement

Larissa Weems Smut Oneshots By: daydream-cement

Master List for Billiedeansbitch

Larissa Weems Master List By: spicy-picklez

Nightmares By: bunniebubbleswrites

Beg for it, Darling. Pt. 2 By: only4use

My Darling | Agere By: @v3nusxsky

Distraction (NSFW) By: wh0re4women

Jealousy, jealousy (NSFW) By: wh0re4gwen

Am I Yours? | NSFW By: @v3nusxsky

Lesso:

Cramps from hell | mixed By: @v3nusxsky

I'm Sorry | H&c By: @v3nusxsky

Alcina (Resident Evil Village):

Drabble for Alcina By: the-castle-of-dimitrescu

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist Part 1 By: ctitan98

Love me more. By: sunhysteria

Always By: vulpe-fox

Home//Mother! By: parvulous-writings

Alcina Dimitrescu Masterlist Part 2 By: ctitan98

Reader is Wronged By: notbadforafailedvessel

Alcina ( House Dimitrescu Series) By: words-etched-in-her-skin

Alcina's New Maid By: willalove75

Secretly in love. Part 1 By: rosalynesimp

Agatha Harkness:

Pacify Her (NSFW) By: milfandh0ney

Lucifer (The Sandman):

Littledolllls main masterlist By: littledollll

Other Master Lists:

Master list for spicy-picklez

Master list for sunhysteria

Larissa Weems masterlist for plaguedoctorino

Masterlist for duke-of-poosay

Fanfiction Masterlist for daydream-cement

Fanfiction Masterlist for regalbootie

Masterlist for wasjustred

Larissa Weems Masterlist for jeanette-luminia

Masterlist for moodreaderlesbian

Lucifer Morningstar (The Sandman) Masterlist for alexusonfire

Masterlist for stanchett

Fanfiction Masterlist for weemssapphic

Captain Phasma Masterlist for cissyenthusiast010155

[emerald-onion]

Things Dr. Ink Is Not Allowed To Do At The Foundation, by Dr. Dream (WIP)

Stop teaching Agent Blue swear words.

Not even in different languages.

Spike the coffee machine with laxatives is not only gross but also immoral.

Don't the SCP file as your personal notebook. How many times do I have to say this?

Try to convince everyone that SCP-404 is 'a big softie inside' is just plain suicidal.

Answer "What the fuck do you want?!" with "Your SOUL" is right out.

Stop telling everyone your paintbrush is secretly a staff member.

Stop telling a staff member they are secretly a paintbrush.

"I forgot!" is not and will never be an excuse for nearly killing all of your co-workers.

And neither is "They didn't pass the vibe check".

Nor "They shouldn't have eaten the last muffin".

Rolling up to someone with a trenchcoat and saying "I have brought the goods" isn't as hilarious as you may think.

Don't tell the new recruits that SCP-99 will adopt them if they call it 'Nootmare'.

Don't tell people that your medicine is drug.

Don't hide drugs in your medicine. Trust me, I'll know.

Showing SCP-404's shitty Undernovela's knock-off was fun one time and one time only, and that was before it destroyed our entire west wing.

Don't give Agent Blue candies.

Don't give Agent Blue honey.

Don't give Agent Blue cake-pop.

Don't give Agent Blue any kind of sugar, period.

No, "What have you done?" is a desperate plea for you to stop, not "Please continue".

There is not any SCP Dating Simulator. There has never been a SCP Dating Simulator.

Not even in Japan.

And no, this isn't a suggestion to make one.

Dr. Ink is not the God of Creation. Not even if your cult says so. Since when did you have a cult in the first place?

Stop submitting your paperwork in the back of a Kung Fu Panda DVD.

Stop stealing SCP-404's chocolate.

Stop hiding SCP-404's remote control.

Stop rearranging everything in SCP-404's containment cell by one inch to drive it insane.

Stop messing with SCP-404, I beg of you.

Drawing SCP porn on the Foundation walls is strictly forbidden.

Don't tell Agent Red this world is a shitty crossover fanfiction and everything he knows is fake.

Don't tell Agent Red that he and Agent Blue are the clones of Dr. Sans.

Yes, I know that it's possible, Agent Cross is standing right there, but stop giving him an existential crisis, please.

Don't tell Agent Blue his action figures are alive and they're silently screaming for him to break them from their inanimate prison.

Don't call Agent Blue Berrybaby specifically to piss him off.

Don't convince Agent Blue Santa Clause is real and he just needs to go to Antarctica to find him.

Seriously, leave the poor guy alone.

No spilling melted chocolate on someone and telling them it's SCP-99's goop.

Stop trying to wear high heels to make yourself taller. You broke your fucking leg, Dr. Ink.

Didn't I order you to stop messing with SCP-404? Why do I see a giant graffiti of SCP-404 in a cat hoodie in front of its containment cell?

SCP-404's dolls are not made of the remains of its dead victims. It has already been terrifying enough already, stop fanning the flame even more.

Yes, you have a bad memory. No, even that won't make you forget the large fire you start in the cafeteria 10 seconds ago.

The Foundation exists to protect the people, not a big conspiracy to control everyone's mind.

There is no such thing as a Reset button. Stop saying that every time you mess something up.

SCP-99 cannot be pacified with a lullaby. Don't tell the other scientists that. We're short on staff already.

Playing your flute at three in the morning is just plain creepy.

The Foundation does not have a dress code. Especially not 'Maid uniform'.

I know you still meet up with SCP-90 sometimes. I don't know how, but I know. For God's sake, Ink! He's a freaking body-snatching parasite!

You're absolutely not allowed to knock on the D-personals' door and tell them "It is coming. There's nothing you can do to stop it."

[witchyleehibernates-fics]

Spoonful of Sugar (Or a Frozen Drink) To Cure a Fever

Summary:

“My first patient of my shift… is Octavian’s… fiance’s… baby sister… How old is she?” Will pushed himself up, walking over to Kayla and looking over her shoulder to the computer screen. The patient was four years old, and she’d been having a really high and strong fever and she’d not eaten for two days, and she wouldn’t take liquids for at least a day. “Damn, she’s pretty sick, huh?” Will’s brows furrowed. He glanced over to Octavian. “You want to take her as a patient instead?” If there was one thing that Will absolutely knew for certain, was that Octavian was protective of his family. He cared for his family in his own way, and Will could respect that. “No… the italian is bringing her in, and I can’t stand him, almost more than I can’t stand you or the Jackson boy.” Octavian rolled his eyes. “Luke’s worried about his sister, and… You are better with children than I am.” Octavian huffed. If Will didn’t know better, he would have thought that there was respect in Octavian’s voice.

Content Warning's/Trigger Warnings: Good Luke Castellan, Good Octavian, Luke/Octavian, Sick Children Characters, Sick Estelle

Characters: Nico Di Angelo, Estelle Blofis, Percy Jackson, Luke Castellan, Octavian, Kayla Knowles

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2,967

Status: Complete

Fanfic Links:

|| Ao3 || Fanfiction Net ||

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Nico had hoped that with Estelle being sick, he’d be able to hide away inside with her until Percy got home later that night. He wouldn’t have to run any errands, since Percy did all that the day before while Nico was working, since Estelle had been with Luke and his fiance. He had wanted to see if Estelle would eat easier for him, since she’d not eaten at all the day before. But Percy had texted him to remind him that he’d set up a doctor’s appointment for Estelle, and that Nico had to take her that afternoon.

Nico sometimes wished that Percy wasn’t such a nice person, because Percy was almost always picking up other’s shifts when they needed him too. And currently, two of his workers were out from an accident from a few weeks prior. They’d be back the next week, which Nico was thankful for, and he knew Luke and Octavian would be too. Nico was often amused by the fact that Octavian hated Percy because of how nice he was.

He sighed as he walked from the kitchen to the living room, where Estelle was curled up on the couch with a pacifier in her mouth and a stuffed animal clutched to her chest. She was wrapped up in her favorite blanket and she looked exhausted, and in mild pain. His heart ached for her, and he knew Percy hated how many hours he was picking up. Percy would also never overwork his employees, but he would one hundred percent overwork himself.

“Hey, little star,” Nico hummed, watching as the four year old blinked tiredly as she looked over towards him. “How are you feeling?” He asked her, moving and sitting down on the couch nearby. Estelle made a noise, though he couldn’t quite tell if she was feeling better or not. It was a more neutral sound. He glanced at the tv and found that Percy had put on a movie list of her favorite Looney Tunes movies. He didn’t understand the show or connected movies to the franchise, but Estelle loved them.

“Would you be willing to eat a little? For me?” Nico asked, and Estelle made a face, her arms tightening around her stuffed animal. “Please? I made Alfredo with Chicken.” Alfredo was her favorite, and she loved chicken so combining them wasn’t that hard for NIco. Though he used his own recipe, that was passed down through his family for generations.

“O’tay.” Estelle’s voice was slurred, both from the pacifier and from her not really up for talking. She moved her arms, shivering hard once her arms left the blanket, and Nico moved to pick her up. She rested her head on his shoulder, and Nico rubbed her back as he walked them towards the kitchen. He’d already dished out his own plate of food, and Estelle perked her head up a little when she saw the garlic bread also sitting off towards the side.

“You want a small bit of garlic bread?” He asked, he felt Estelle nod as she rested her head back against his shoulder. He opened the cupboard and found one of the baby plates, one of the smaller ones, and pulled that down. She probably wouldn’t eat much, but it was progress that she was at least willing to try to eat today. “I’m gonna put you in your chair now, okay?” Nico asked. Estelle didn’t move, but she also didn't protest when he set her in the highchair, locking the plate in place in front of her.

“‘ater?” She asked as Nico dished a scoop of Alfredo and Chicken onto the baby plate. “‘ease?” Nico immediately reached for the cupboard again for a sippy cup for her, already debating on tap or iced, which they had already prepared in the fridge.

“Of course,” Nico responded, feeling much better about the upcoming doctor’s appointment. He set the sippy cup to the side, and grabbed a piece of garlic bread to break the crust off. Once her plate of food was ready, he grabbed her a fork that she could use and opened the fridge, looking for the water in there. He grabbed the jug, placing Estelle’s fork on her plate as he set the jug on the counter. He opened the sippy cup and filled the cup and put the jug away. He glanced over and found that Estelle looked sleepy, with her pacifier sitting in the cup part of her chair plate.

He put the cap back on the cup, grabbed her plate and walked over, humming as he set both items in front of her. He moved her pacifier onto the actual table before moving to grab his own plate. He sat beside her at the table, making sure that she was actually eating, or at least attempting to, as he ate his own food.

“Good?” Nico asked, looking towards the fridge contemplatively. He was thirsty, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to drink. He glanced back at Estelle to find her happily eating, but she was also looking more exhausted. Hopefully she’d be able to finish her food before she ended up falling asleep. He was pleased that he remembered the recipe, and it had turned out better than he had thought it would have.

“Done.” He glanced up, and found that she had eaten at least most of her food, and most of her water was gone too. He glanced at the time and nodded. He’d finish eating while she napped, and that would give him time to clean up and put leftovers in the fridge and then put together a bag for the walk to the clinic. He pushed his plate further onto the table, moving and setting Estelle’s plate and sippy off to the side, unclipping the table of her chair and picking her up. 

One trip to the bathroom later and Estelle was curled up back on the couch, wrapped up in her blanket with her pacifier and eyes closed for the most part. He would forever be thankful that Luke had taught Nico and Percy enough tips to manage their ADHD when it came to the common areas in their apartment since he had needed to restart her movie. The Christmas Looney Tunes was Estelle’s favorite, a by-product of Percy adoring Christmas since that’s when Percy got the excuse of spending all his time with family.

The movie would be a good timer for Nico, since they had to leave once it was over. It was a twenty minute walk, and he hoped that Estelle would sleep through most of it. But he needed to pack a bag to carry a few things for the journey. He would let them wait longer, but Percy’s car was in the shop, and Nico couldn’t be bothered to learn how to drive or get his own car. It was too much of a hassle, and Nico liked walking anyways. Most things were within walking distance, so he didn’t see the need to have a car.

Percy would say that Nico was crazy, because Percy’s walking distance and Nico’s were vastly different, but they made it work… somehow. And if they absolutely needed to, Luke always offered for Percy to borrow his car. There were times where Nico felt jealous that Percy had an older brother so willing to help. And then other times he was just thankful that Percy hadn’t had to shoulder everything that life had to throw at him alone. Who knows how differently Percy would have turned out otherwise.

He hummed as he moved towards the door, where his cross bag was hung up. He grabbed that and moved towards his room, eyes darting towards his journal and grabbing that. Normally his bag was already packed and he could just grab and leave, but he really had no intent of leaving the house. He grabbed his sketchbook, humming quietly as his coloring pencils were added next. He grabbed his jacket and moved back out to the kitchen so that he could finish eating. His stomach growled, to which he made a face. He set his bag on the table, moving towards the fridge and grabbing a soda before moving to his plate.

He was a little hungrier than he thought, and he would add a bit more to his plate before he sat and finished eating.

Will gave a displeased huff as he spotted Octavian walk into the breakroom, dressed as if he was coming in for a shift. Will knew for a fact that it was Octavian’s day off, and the only one that lined up with his fiance’s for at least the next two weeks.

“Why is he here?” He asked Kayla, a frown on his face as he set his thermos of coffee down. Kayla looked up, frowning as well as she spotted the blonde. “He should be at home with his fiance. Not here to bother us.”

“I’m here,” Octavian gave a look to Will, a glare that was filled with disgust as he walked over to them. “Because my fiance’s baby sister is coming in. And I want to be sure that she is okay. Especially since if what she has is contagious enough, my fiance will end up sick too.” He rolled his eyes. “His brother had errands, and the other one, the roommate, had work. Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Will would have responded, but Kayla gave him a look, and he decided that he would listen to his sister. This time, at least. Since he was pretty sure he and Octavion would have another go at each other later. The two could not get along, and Will was sure that they would never get along.

Their team leader told them that their ‘rivalry’ was causing issues among their team, but Will was pretty sure the two just hated each other and he was waiting and counting up the days until one of them was assigned to an entirely different shift. He hoped it was himself, though his last request for it was denied.

“What’s her name, I’ll see who’s assigned to her.” Kayla offered. And while Octavian gave her a small look of disdain, which was much better than the disgust that Will usually brought out. He heaved a sigh as he pulled out his phone, like he was checking the name of his fiance’s baby sister. Will thought that he should know it, since he was getting his fiance’s last name.

“Estelle Jackson.” Will paused, raising an eyebrow. He recognized the last name, Jackson, though he didn’t quite remember where he’d heard it from. “The roommate is also, apparently, a cousin to the middle brother.” There was a level of disgust… but also a hint of fondness when he spoke of his fiance's brother. Will wondered what that was about, but he didn’t dare ask.

“Oh, that’s… She’s Will’s patient, in forty minutes it says.” Kayla spoke, eyes curious as she glanced over. Will froze, eyes darting up to stare at her.

“My first patient of my shift… is Octavian’s… fiance’s… baby sister… How old is she?” Will pushed himself up, walking over to Kayla and looking over her shoulder to the computer screen. The patient was four years old, and she’d been having a really high and strong fever and she’d not eaten for two days, and she wouldn’t take liquids for at least a day.

“Damn, she’s pretty sick, huh?” Will’s brows furrowed. He glanced over to Octavian. “You want to take her as a patient instead?” If there was one thing that Will absolutely knew for certain, was that Octavian was protective of his family. He cared for his family in his own way, and Will could respect that.

“No… the italian is bringing her in, and I can’t stand him, almost more than I can’t stand you or the Jackson boy.” Octavian rolled his eyes. “Luke’s worried about his sister, and… You are better with children than I am.” Octavian huffed. If Will didn’t know better, he would have thought that there was respect in Octavian’s voice.

“I’ll find out what’s wrong, she won’t be sick for much longer.” Will told him, his voice serious. Kayla hummed, her own brows furrowed.

“Is the other brother Percy?” Kayla asked, glancing towards Octavian who looked annoyed. But… Will glanced away before he was caught staring, because it looked like Octavian’s expression had softened.

“Yes, Luke’s brother is Percy. Too kind for his own good.” Octavian rolled his eyes, muttering that last part of his statement with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh! He’s where we get our coffee every morning! He wasn’t in this morning though,” Kayla frowned, and yeah… that was where Will remembered that last name. Handsome guy, but not quite Will’s type. “Annabeth was however, so that was something.” Kayla had a crush on Annabeth, which Will often teased her about with Austin.

“Yeah, home with his sister since Di Angelo was at his own job, some client was being pissy or something.” Octavian muttered, and there was another roll of his eyes. Will had to say something, he was being too nice otherwise.

“Roll your eyes anymore and you’ll lose them.” He turned and let Kayla out from behind the computer after she closed the appointments list. Octavian made a sound, not dissimilar to a cat hissing or growling at him. It only served to amuse Will and the reactions he got from the other blonde. Will moved back to his coffee, and his brownie that he got. It was his unhealthy choice for the week, because the Coffee Shop had some delicious treats, all of which he learned were recipes that came from Percy, or his cousin who liked to cook at home.

Will sighed, and instead of sitting in the break room, he moved to his examination room. He didn’t want to risk pissing Octavian off more than his general existence already did.

“Welcome to the Sunshine and Rose Cafe and Coffee House, what can I get start-” Percy looked up, eyes widening when he spotted Nico and Estelle. “Nico! Estelle!” His eyes lit up a bit, and then widened comically when Octavian walked in behind them.

“Just got here from her appointment, she’s going to be okay. I even got her to eat and drink today.” Nico boasted quietly, stepping up and letting Estelle wave at her brother. “He gave us a ride when he found out we were walking.”

“Your cousin also got the number of the doctor that helped Estelle.” Octavian rolled his eyes. “Espresso con Panna. Double shot.” Octavian ordered, which Percy jumped to put into the machine.

“Nico?”

“Uh, Cinnamon Mocha, and then a hot Chocolate freeze for Estelle.” Nico answered, patting Estelle’s side as she looked around the Coffee Shop. “By the way, there’s Alfredo and Chicken at home, for when you get off.” Nico informed him.

“Oh hell yes.” Percy cheered quietly, “Okay, I’m gonna go make those. Octavian, is Luke working tomorrow?”

“Yes, and he’s stopping in beforehand, so you better be here. Something about him having something for you.” Octavian answered. Percy made a noise of acknowledgement as he moved to the back to make their drinks. Nico noticed there was a certain tone in Octavian’s voice, like he knew exactly what Luke had for Percy.

He would have asked, but he would have been pushing Octavian’s generosity if he continued to push and ask. He was surprised that they hadn’t gotten into an argument yet. He actually liked the peace that was currently settling between them.

Ten minutes passed, and Percy was back with their drinks, though he had them wait and grabbed three brownies to pass to them too.

“New recipe, wanted to see your thoughts on them.” Percy explained, he cut one of the brownies in half, most likely for Estelle. He ate one half, but passed the three to Octavian, who had a free hand.

“What kind?”

“Dark Chocolate with Mint and Cinnamon.”

“Add another for Luke.” Percy rolled his eyes, most likely about to say something about ‘manners’, a common argument between the two. He stopped moments before he said anything, and nodded his head and grabbed another brownie to pass to Octavian.

Nico paid before Octavian could, something that would have made Nico uncomfortable.

“Did Luke want a coffee?”

“He will tomorrow.” Octavian snarked, and Percy rolled his eyes as Estelle giggled. That made Percy’s, and Nico’s, day. She’d been much too quiet recently with her being sick. The medication in his bag was surely going to help, as it seemed to be already. Doctor Solace had given her a dose to show Nico how to do it, and it was already taking effect.

“Alright, Estelle looks like she likes her brownie, and she looks a little tired.” Percy reached across and ruffled Estelle’s hair. She made a noise of discontentment, which Nico snorted at as Percy made an overexaggerated face of offense.

“Yeah, I’m going to get her home and down for a nap.” Nico told him, letting her hold her frozen Hot Chocolate as he grabbed his coffee.

“Already took one.” Estelle spoke up, smiling at her brother as she leaned her head against Nico’s shoulder.

“Yeah? Bet you're still tired though.” Percy waved at them as Octavian made a noise of impatience. He was getting impatient and most likely wanted to get home to his fiance. Nico didn’t really blame him.

“Yeah, alright, have a good shift, Perce, we’ll see you later.” Nico nodded, accepting his brownie from Octavian when it was offered. It was a very good brownie, Nico had to admit. And he would be relieved when he was home as well.

[dearcat1]

(Whiplash)

Part 2 of Sass and Squirrels

Xanxus wakes about two weeks after Tsunayoshi's birth. He's uncomfortably warm, burrowed in a nest of blankets with his pajamas sticking to his skin. He reeks of sweat and sickness. It's not helping him any, of course, but the tears that well in his eyes come from the memories pounding in his too young brain. Maybe the ill-timed ringing in his ears, the ghost of Squalo's scream reaching him from the afterlife. Except that's the problem, isn't it? Xanxus isn't dead, despite what his mind is trying to tell him. He remembers the taste of blood just as vividly as he remembers the scraped knee he got in kindergarten. It's all a convoluted mess in his head. Xanxus hisses, very carefully not jostling his head but forcing himself up on his arms and then his knees.

"Shit."

It takes him a moment to realize that the screaming isn't a distant sort of memory, it's real. Present in a way that's doing his headache no favours. But it's not Squalo's voice.

A beat, then two. Xanxus sighs, giving up on his optimism, as short lived as it was. He can hear no noise other than the screaming, and though the little voice has a powerful set of lungs powering it, Xanxus doesn't doubt that Nana is gone. "Fuck this shit." She could never quite manage this part of the job.

Slowly, painfully, Xanxus drags himself up and off the bed. He's lucky that his feet remember the way because he can't be bothered to think right now. He almost gives up halfway there, the high-pitched screaming too much for his poor head to bear, but he makes it there.

Tsunayoshi is in his crib, face red and tiny fists waving at the air in defiance. Good for him. And yet… "Shut the fuck up," Xanxus grunts, climbing up the railing and settling down beside the boy. "I'm trying to sleep."

The kid has no answer for him, except more wailing. Out of self-preservation, Xanxus grabs the pacifier attached to the brat's plushie and sticks it in Tsunayoshi's mouth. The boy fights against it, for a moment, but settles down soon enough. Xanxus sighs in relief, laying down beside the kid and closing his eyes.

"It's fine," he soothes, unsure whether he means the comfort for the kid or for himself. "We'll just take a little nap and deal with this later."

[mistabobalina]

The best thing about writing fanfiction about minor characters is that it *could* have happened? Maybe there was a giant predatory oarfish-like mermaid at Plastic Beach that tried to eat the inhabitants who Murdoc learned to pacify with ketamine and The Cocteau Twins?

[theshatteredrose]

Crimes of the Ancestors (Chapter 5) - Etrian Odyssey 4 Fanfiction

AN: Hope you enjoy reading~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | Inkitt | FFNet

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Chapter 5:

Bryce was surprised and dismayed to realise that he knew little about the city of Tharsis. There were a lot more secret alleyways and abandoned areas than he could ever imagine. And the people who did reside in the quiet, empty areas of the city were uninterested in the plights of others.

If the fact that Bryce had been dragged through the streets tied and gagged was any indication.

His captor did not even bother to hide once they reached a darkened, empty boulevard, where numerous abandoned mansions lined the streets. Clearly, he felt that no one was around to be witnesses.

It took all of Bryce’s willpower to deny his instincts to fight back in some way. He could not afford to do anything reckless. Not with Falkner potentially in danger, held captive somewhere. Somewhere he hoped his own captor was taking him.

After a few long, tense minutes, Bryce’s captor finally pulled him toward a rough looking abandoned mansion. He caught the glimpse of a name etched in steel upon the gate. The name Adalbern meant nothing to him, however.

After he was dragged inside the building, the interior much like the outside, Bryce was promptly led up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Where he was equally swiftly pushed toward an open door to his left.

Where he was unceremoniously thrown to the floor, somewhere about the centre of the room. And because of his bindings, he was unable to soften the fall. He bit into his gag, somewhat thankful that he had not hit his head.

“Bryce!”

Bryce rolled onto his side and his gaze inexplicably collided with that of Falkner’s. He appeared the same as he had in that photo; arms pulled behind his back, tied there with coarse rope, and was sat in a chair.

Thankfully, he appeared unharmed.

His masked captor leaned down and removed his gag, allowing Bryce to take in a fresh breath of air. “Are you ok?” he immediately asked Falkner.

The redhead nodded his head, but his face held an expression of guilt. “Yeah. So far.”

So far, indeed.

Bryce managed to push himself into a sitting position, where he found himself positioned in front of a small podium that took up about the quarter of the room. Where a chair was situated. Where a man with ashen grey hair and piercing dark eyes stared down at him.

That man acted as if he sat upon a throne; one elbow on the armrest as he rested his chin in that hand. The other hand rested upon the other armrest, idly tapping his fingers in an impatient manner.

He was going to be one conceited pile of shit, wasn’t he?

“He’s the one?” the man asked, his gaze toward the masked man.

“Yes, Lord Denzil,” he replied with a rather mocking bow. “He is the very image of the Naseer’s image.”

He was a lord? Oh, he was definitely going to be one hell of an egotistical asshole.

“That is what you said last time, Talon,” Denzil retorted, his eyes narrowing. “You had better be right this time.”

The masked asshole, apparently named Talon, raised his hands in front of him in a defensive, pacifying manner. He did not say anything. Just backed up, allowing for Denzil to turn his gaze toward Bryce.

And he stared at him, nothing but contempt in his piercing gaze. Bryce had not a clue who the hell the guy was. Never seen him before in his life. So, he had no idea why he seemed to stare at him with unadulterated hatred.

From the earlier conversation, it might be possible that he had mistaken Bryce for someone else.

Still did not stop him from glaring back.

Denzil’s eyes somehow narrowed further. Probably silently furious that Bryce would dare not to cower before him or something. His fault. Should have gone after another guy if he wanted someone submissive.

“Where’s the necklace?” Denzil asked gruffly as his gaze snapped to the left.

Bryce followed his gaze and was inwardly surprised to note that there was someone else in the room. Someone with short white hair and sharp blue eyes. He moved away from the windows as he reached into his runemaster robe and promptly pulled out a necklace. With that same shield pendant.

Huh. That guy might be that…Naseer person Talon mentioned.

What was so important about that damn necklace?

With Naseer approaching him from the left, Talon abruptly stepped toward him also. He snared him by his upper arm and promptly hauled him to his feet. He was dragged closer to the podium, to stand directly in front of Denzil. Talon kept a firm grip on his arm as Naseer stepped upon the podium and to lift the necklace up over his head, letting it drop around his neck.

The three men then proceeded to stare at him with expectant gazes. Which, Bryce would admit to himself, was quite intimidating, so he glanced down at the necklace. Only to find that the gemstone within the pendant flicker with an unexpected light before becoming fully illuminated.

What the hell?

“Finally,” Denzil muttered as he pushed himself out of his chair, revealing his surprisingly tall stature. “You are one of those wretched Adalberns.”

Adalbern? That was the name etched upon the front entrance, wasn’t it?

“What the fuck is this thing supposed to be?” Bryce could not help but snap. He did not know what the hell was going on, but he knew he did not like any of it one bit. “Who the fuck is Adalbern and what does any of this bullshit have to do with me?

“Hold your tongue,” Naseer sneered in response.

“No. Let him know,” Denzil unexpectedly ordered. “It doesn’t surprise me that a Adalbern doesn’t know.”

Naseer glanced over toward Denzil, seemingly startled by the demand. His gaze soon flickered back to Bryce; contempt ever present. He pressed his lips together, clearly not happy. He soon uttered a disgruntled murmur under his breath in defeat.

“Very well,” he stated. “I’ll keep it simple.”

Good. The only considerate thing they had done.

“Adalbern was once a prominent family of Tharsis. Perhaps the most prominent at the time. What was less known, however, was that the Adalbern family was given the task of protecting a vault filled with tomes and treasures. The vault was sealed with magical sigils. And only the heir of the Adalbern can open the vault.”

Ok, he got all of that. Nice piece of history. But that did not explain why he was involved.

“However, about eighty years ago, that prominent family endured a public scandal. During a ceremony that heralded in the family’s new heir, of a young woman called Jenella, the necklace failed to activate, and the vault would not open.”

“And it wouldn’t open because she wasn’t her father’s daughter,” Falkner suddenly piped up.

Naseer snapped his head in Falkner’s direction. Even Denzil turned a truly volatile glare toward the redhead. But surprisingly, neither man said anything to refute him. They were angry, true. But momentarily shocked into silence.

“…Unfortunately, that is true,” Naseer grumbled. “It appeared that Jenella’s mother had an affair early on in her marriage. A mistake. One that haunted her for fifteen years.”

“A mistake?” Falkner repeated incredulously. “That fact that she lied to her family’s faces for fifteen years means nothing to you, does it?”

Denzil did not respond. But Bryce saw him tighten his hands into tight fists by his sides. Bryce did not know how Falkner knew all of that, but his words were getting under the guy’s skin.

“I saw the ripped-up journal pages,” Falkner revealed, somewhat answering Bryce’s unasked question. “The ones you tried to destroy. She was well aware that her daughter was not her husband’s. What, not fond of something that could make you question your motives?”

“They are nothing but lies,” Denzil spat out.

“Doesn’t surprise me that someone who spent a majority of her life lying would continue to lie.”

Fletcher was surprisingly quite antagonistic. He was usually such a jovial guy. Whatever he learnt about Adalbern and Denzil, it seriously pissed him off.

Denzil launched off the podium suddenly, landing directly in front of Falkner. The guy then lifted his leg and kicked Falkner in the stomach, too quickly for the redhead to react. The force of the kick knocked both Falkner and the chair backwards, both crashing to the ground.

That was obviously an attempt to silence him!

Bryce immediately turned, jerking forward in an attempt to reach Falkner, only to be pulled back by a strong grip on his arm. “Falkner!”

Falkner rolled onto his side and curled his legs slightly toward his chest as he coughed, winded by the kick. “I’m fine,” he uttered, and peered through one eye toward Denzil defiantly. “Liars only know violence when questioned.”

“That girl was my grandmother,” Denzil revealed suddenly.

…So, revenge against the family, huh? Still not answering his main question, though.

Denzil continued, his voice gravelly with barely supressed anger, “She had her entire life ruined because of a simple mistake. That Adalbern family abandoned her without remorse. She was left to spend the rest of her life enduring the scorn of not just the Adalbern family, but all of society. All for what? Because of some noble toff could not accept his wife’s apology!”

Bryce found himself bristling. “A child shouldn’t have to pay for their parents’ decisions, but literally none of this has anything to do with me.”

Denzil snapped his eyes, blazing with hatred, in his direction. “You are a spawn of that wretched family.”

That was highly debatable and meant shit.

“If that great-grandmother of yours actually cared about her family, she wouldn’t have had an affair in the first place!” Bryce retorted. “I hate assholes like you who do fucking backflips to excuse the actions of another, while putting all the blame on someone else. Your grandmother didn’t deserve the gossip and abuse she received, and it isn’t her fault her mother had an affair. But neither is the Adalberns. It’s entirely that woman’s fault, and she deserved to suffer the consequences of her numerous betrayals.”

Before Bryce could continue his rant, Denzil was directly in front of him. And his hands were around his throat. A light gasp escaped Bryce’s lips, and his eyes clamped shut out of reflex.

“If Adalberns had any integrity, they would not have turned against my grandmother and her mother.”

So, they were expected to accept someone who had been unfaithful and untruthful for fifteen years? Typical.

Bryce peeled open an eye to peer at Denzil. His vision was starting to blur, his lungs burning, begging for air. He…did not know much longer he could last…

But he could see the utter hatred in Denzil’s eyes. He had the expression of a madman.

“Denzil, stop!” Naseer grabbed a hold of Denzil’s arm. “He needs to be unharmed!”

Denzil did not respond to Naseer. The grip he had around Bryce’s throat would not lessen. And Bryce’s vision began to grey out. Darkness creeping in from the corners, narrowing his vision.

Then, the grip around his throat disappeared and Bryce fell to the floor. First on his knees before crashing down onto his side. He coughed and spluttered loudly, desperately trying to get air back to his lungs.

“Lock them here,” Denzil ordered with a growl. “We need to prepare the vault.”

Bryce’s throat continued to burn, but he mustered up the strength to peel open his eye again. His vision was still blurry, but nowhere near as bad as before. He watched as Denzil stalk out of the room, obviously still seething, with Naseer scrambling behind him.

Yeah, the guy was definitely a haughty, better-than-thou asshole.

Talon did not move to follow, though. Instead, he stalked over to Falkner, prompting the redhead to tense. The guy leaned down, to sickeningly trail a fingertip along Falkner’s thigh, down his leg and toward his boot. The touch made Falkner flinch, which was understandable. But before he could attempt to scoot away, Talon reached into the inside of his boot and then pulled out a knife.

“Before I go; I’ll take this,” the masked man stated, a smirk readable in his tone as he idly tossed the knife in the air and caught it again. “Snipers are this land’s survivalist, after all.”

Damn it. That knife could have been a lot of help.

“I wouldn’t bother struggling too much,” Talon stated as he turned on his heel and strolled out of the room. “Those bindings were made with landsknechts in mind.”

The slamming of the door soon followed, along with it a telling click. A lock. From the outside. What was not heard, however, was footsteps walking away. Talon was clearly still standing outside.

“Bryce, are you ok?” Falkner asked softly as he pushed himself into a sitting position on the floor. “Can you breathe properly? I think I have another bottle of medica on me.”

Would not surprise him but best keep it a secret for the time being. With how volatile Denzil was, they might need it in the future.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bryce immediately replied as he forced himself to sit up as well. “You all right?”

Falkner nodded his head as he idly tugged at the bindings around his wrists. “I’m sorry about this. I got a little too nosy.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bryce dismissed. “They were after me specifically, right? They’d just find another way to get to me. How did you get here?”

“I recognised the pendant as this mansion’s family crest.”

Bryce blinked. “Seriously? You do have sharp eyes.” He had that thing in his possession for, what, five seconds?

“Kinda necessary for a sniper,” Falkner answered with a slight shrug. His gaze flickered over toward the door, and a frown appeared on his lips. “That detective. He’s that nightseeker you fought, Talon.”

That was a surprise. “You’re kidding?”

“Afraid not.” Falkner turned back to him, a look of unease on his face. “What are we going to do?”

“…I’m not sure,” was all Bryce would utter.

One thing he was sure about, however; Varuna was going to be pissed.