#bucky egan smut

[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.”

[floralcyanide]

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

john “bucky” egan x fem!reader (nsfw)

You finally have that dinner Dr. Egan promised.

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

word count: 1.5k

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

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

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

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

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

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

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

“What do you say we get out of here?”

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

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

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

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

But your words hang in the air like a promise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So wet already? All for me, hmm?”

“All for you, Dr. Egan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You alright, doll?”

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

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

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

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

[instructionsnotincluded]

True North

Lovely banner by @lady-cheeky

Deleted Scene I | Bucky's Letter To His Mother

As referenced in Chapter Twenty-One of True North

June 20th, 1943

Dear Mother, 

I hope you’re doing well and that things are mostly uneventful back home. I know the 29th is coming up and even though I’m not there, I’m thinking of you. Make sure you tell everyone hello for me, even Lowell. If he’s still in the picture... 

England is rainy. The weather is temperamental, and even though it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen, you’d hate it. It’s a long walk just about everywhere, often in the rain and mud. I was able to acquire a pair of bicycles from one of the villagers for Buck and I. He’s not as excited about the bike as I am. Things are wonderful and terrible at the same time. Boys go up and they don’t come back, but we make the most of it. The pub down at the village is one of our favorite places, they let me sing from time to time and only boo occasionally. You’re probably wondering why I’m writing so late, since Dad’s anniversary will have passed by the time you get this. Better late than never, right? 

The truth is, I’ve been trying to write this letter for over a week now. I’ve started it dozens of times, I think, and canned each of the previous attempts. Each time I get to this part I either ramble or it just doesn’t make sense or I feel like a loon, so I’m going to keep it short: I met a girl. She occupies most of my thoughts now, and the boys give me a hard time. They think I don’t know about their on-going bets, but I do. I won’t spoil their fun. She’s a pilot for the Air Transport Auxiliary and she’s really something else, Mom. I’ve never met anyone like her. I don’t think there are enough words to describe her, so I won’t. But just know she’s it for me. I know we joked before I left about not falling in love with an English girl, but I can’t promise that I won’t come home with a wife from Texas. If she’ll have me, that is. 

Keep your chin up this week, I’m there with you in spirit. Pray we kick Hitler’s butt soon and we can come home. 

Love, your son, 

Johnnie

[bellewintersroe]

Curt Biddick x Reader x John Egan

After the death of your partner you fall into the arms of John Egan and must navigate the difficult turmoil of grief and falling in love all over again.

Minor doi, contains explicit scenes, 18+ content between Bucky and reader. Talks of death, grief, heavy topics covered, it’s gonna be a long one, buckle in - some of the dates and information is factually incorrect, some is based off the show and some is from real life accounts - all characters are based off the fictional ones portrayed in MOTA. This isn’t proof read soooo take it easy on me.

August 18th 1944:

“Curt-” you’d stammered out before the pilot could aboard the back of the jeep. The man turned over his shoulder, stepping back to face you once more. With a hand to your hip he closed the distance between you, earning more than a couple stares and jeers from the men aboard the vehicle.

“If anything happens-” you’d hushed, but Curt had cut you off, tracing a finger over your cheek.

“Nothin’s gonna happen, baby.”

“If anything happens.” You inhaled once more, wanting to get your point across. “You promise me you’ll bail. Don’t try to do some heroic move that’ll get you killed.” Your eyes met and Curt instantly felt moved by your words. Your hand had come to rest on his chest, over his uniform, one last touch.

After a few seconds of taking in your worried expression, a nervous Curt began to nod, holding the eye contact that neither of you dared to break. “Promise, baby.” He then spoke, allowing you to breathe once more. Curt stepped a little closer, wrapping an arm over the back of your shoulders to bring you closer. The pilot didn’t care who onboard was watching, the two of you were newly together, blissfully enjoying the honeymoon stage everybody said was oh so nice, but Curt never realized it could be this good.

“C’mon, gimme a good-luck kiss, my darlin’.” Despite the nerves twisting and gripping at your stomach, you’d managed to break a smile, moving up to press a kiss firmly over the plush of his lips, savouring the moment and allowing him to kiss you one, two, three times until you’d broken into a tight embrace, a goodbye.

“I love you.” Curt then uttered those three words, an audible gasp leaving your mouth as you sunk deeper into his front, savouring every last moment you could get. “I love you, Curt.” Leaving things unspoken out here was to play a dangerous game. Not knowing when or if you’d re somebody again, you’d learnt the hard way to be upfront about everything for the sake of these men.

Curt sighed out, feeling the ticking of pressure in the back of his head to get back into the vehicle. Maybe this time was no different, but it felt it. There was a gnawing deep inside of his chest, the air around him was like god-damn pea soup, and his girl had just told him she loved him. It was a time for celebrating, not doubt.

“One more kiss for good luck, darlin’.” He tugged back first, and you’d allowed your lips to press firmly against his, lingering for a few moments as you savoured every second of the kiss, the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him. He would be back soon, you reminded yourself. Just one sleep away, like he’d said the night before.

“I’ll see ya’ soon, baby, better be waitin’ for me.” Curt attempted to joke but it fell flat with a slight breath of laughter. You picked him up with that gorgeous smile he couldn’t get enough of, squeezing his hands as he brought you a few steps closer to the vehicle, not prepared to leave just yet.

“I’ll be seein’ you, as soon as I see those planes.”

“Alrigh’.”

With one last hesitant squeeze, you broke off in different directions, pressing your hand close to your chest to keep the feeling of him near your heart, where he would remain for the rest of your life. Maybe if you knew that was the last time you’d see Curt you’d have made a bigger deal, begged him not to go, thrown a fit or faked an injury- but the feeling was never any different from any other time he went up. Each time before he’d returned, right? So why would your gut suddenly be right this time?

War was a twisted and cruel game. When it came to it, it all came down to fate, you knew all too well. And at 11am the same morning, you’d felt a tightness in your chest, radiating through your heart as you’d attempted to rub the area, soothing the feeling.

“Alice.” You’d turned up your fellow nurse that day. “Somethin’ doesn’t feel right…”

With the comforts of your friends in mind and Curt’s fresh admission of ‘I love you’, you’d awaited nearby the tarmac that following day, eyes glued to the sky despite the small yellow patch the sun was burning into your vision. It must’ve been a good hour of pacing on the grass waiting until you noticed the familiar spec of planes in the distance.

“There!” You’d pointed, heart in your chest. Again, you’d gripped at the chest of your uniform, clapping and cheering amongst the children and engineers around you, counting the planes and seeing them come down one by one. The hand squeezing your uniform had become clammy and ached from the tension, there was no ‘Wild Cargo’ plane like you had hoped, in fact there was several missing, and the dusty looking men who hopped out had you frozen to the tarmac below, offering each and every one of them a deadpan stare in an attempt to workout it Curt had just boarded another plane.

Then, the men spilling out began to become less and less, they boarded their jeeps for interrogation, the doctor only fifteen-feet away from you hauled orders to head back to the aid station before the check ups on the men started, but how could you move? Curt wasn’t here.

Only a few meters away, John Egan and Gale Cleven walked around the outside of their planes, patting on the metal, a physical way of thanking the Flying Fortress for keeping them safe through the mission. As they moved around the aircraft, Bucky was first to notice you. You’d teeth bit down against your thumb, other hand gripping at your uniform as anxiety rippled through your body. Johns breath was lost somewhere between his throat and lungs as he picked up the pace to grow closer to you.

“Bucky, we don’t know-” Gale attempted to stop him, knowing Bucky was weak to you, he’d do anything to make you feel better, even if that meant feeding you the same delusions he fed himself in order to stay sane out here.

“No, I know.” Bucky firmly told his friend, nodding in a fake confidence as he sniffled, staring back to Gale. Gale knew there was no arguing, by the time the exchange had happened between the pair, you’d already caught sight of the pair.

“Gale, Bucky!” Your thumb fell from between your teeth as you’d walked over towards the taller men. If anybody knew anything about Curt, it would be them. Bucky felt his heart soften at the sight of you and wince at your apparent distress that you so desperately tried to hide.

“Have you seen Curt?” Gale blinked away, but your eyes were on Bucky, he looked more sure, and maybe you were searching for false hope, but knowing Bucky unconsciously you’d picked the right person to direct the question to. The two men shared a gaze as your stomach sunk, letting out a choke of an exhale.

“They got shot down somewhere north of Regensburg-” Gale began as your mouth dropped open, brows furrowing and a sadness pooled in your eyes like neither of them had ever seen. Bucky couldn’t handle it, seeing your display of emotion. Before he could speak, you’d stumbled out your words again.

“-Well did you see shoots?” Your fist was tightening over your uniform, turning white as you began to tremble, feeling a deep, dark cloud begin to rinse through you. This wasn’t real. None of this could be real. Curt was hit before and ended up in Scotland, he would be okay now, he had to be.

“I saw four.” Gale nodded as a gasp escaped your trembling lips. “Four?” You repeated. Bucky’s mouth was agape, he tried to speak but no words would form as he glanced between you and Buck. Despair and desperation was starting to flood your bloodstream. You didn’t know whether you wanted to scream or throw up, or both. A fear settled in alongside the shock that ravished your body, making you visibly pale in the face.

“Like I said to, Buck.” Bucky now intervened, slapping Buck on the shoulder who stood still, knowing deep down it was not Biddick who escaped that plane. It was too upright, in control, a pilot had to be present or they would have stalled and nosedived. Looking at your face was too difficult to handle, too many times had he felt grief, experienced pain like no other, but seeing it on somebody else’s face caused the feeling to resurface once more inside himself.

“Curt’s probably drinkin’ a bottle of Schnapp’s waiting this all out.” Bucky approached, resting a hand on your tense shoulder. You blinked away, daring to feel hopeful at his words. Bucky squeezed at your shoulder once more, offering you a gesture of support, finding himself itching to rid your anxiety in anyway possible.

“Look, y/n, you know Curt, he always comes back.” Bucky didn’t think so much about his words as he stepped closer to you. Buck, however, was watching you with such a grief stricken look, it made your feelings conflicted. It was easier to believe Bucky’s words over Buck’s face purely out of the sheer terror that your Curt might not return.

“Yeah.” You’d found yourself agreeing, maybe foolishly. “I saw those chutes.” Bucky repeated, but was cut off with a warning from Gale. “Bucky.”

“What? I saw them for Christ sake!” John, not willing to believe the likely, shook his head back to the more rationale minded Gale. Gale offered you one more glance before moving on, leaving you watching him with an anxious pit in your stomach.

“He really didn’t come back…” your whisper trembled, watching after the blonde haired pilot. All these men, and none of them was Curt. “Hey.” Bucky intervened, placing his hand over the fist that had balled so tight over your uniform, it began to hurt. For the first time, you relaxed, finding it in yourself to glance back up at Bucky, tears beginning to flow down your cheek.

“He’s coming back.” Bucky firmed, wiping at your cheeks, although he wasn’t sure if the statement was to reassure you or lie to himself. Truthfully, yes, he did see chutes, Curt could land that god damn plane with one engine- the idea of his friend not making it was incomprehensible.

Your face dropped as you let out a soft hiccup, heart yearning for the man you’d loved so dearly. “Hey.” Bucky repeated, softening his tone but lifting your chin to meet his gaze. Your devastation was apparent. Bucky hated seeing girls cry, let alone somebody like you, his friend. Pulling you in for an embrace, you found yourself clutching at his uniform, reminiscing of the way you’d held onto Curt’s same uniform only twenty-four hours prior.

“I got you, okay? We’ll wait for him.” Bucky hushed, as you desperately repeated in your head that there was chutes. You’d told Curt, bail out no matter what, if all hope failed, you at least shared the promise that he’d bail no matter what. At best, Curt could be in a Stalag, captured and under the command of the Germans for the rest of the war but at least he’d be safe.

Two weeks later:

Bucky stood grimly listening to the news Colonel Harding was sharing as the men stood before him. Curt and Dickie were dead. It had been reported back first from the men at the Stalag who did make it, that Biddick remained in the plane in an heroic attempt to save his gravely ill friend and co-pilot Dickie. Then, the news came that the charred B-17 was found 40 miles north of Regensburg. It was believed Curt didn’t even attempt to bail and went down with their Flying Fortress.

Bucky’s stomach churned at the news, he’d lost focus after hearing the news about his friends. Then, his thoughts turned to you and the words he’d regretfully said to you right after returning from the fateful mission. ‘He’s coming back, we’ll wait for him’ god, Bucky wanted to beat himself up for being such an idiot. Nobody survived this war, nobody.

“I’m going to inform Nurse Y/l/n about the news.” Colonel Harding stiffened. Bucky’s attention snapped back towards his superior at the sound of your name.

“No, that’s ok sir, I’ll do it if that’s possible.” The American spoke up, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck. All eyes were on him, including Gale Cleven who dreaded the thought of Bucky having to share such bleak news, going back drastically on his words from before. After the meeting, Gale offered Bucky a slap on the back.

“You know I can talk to her, right?” The blonde man checked as Bucky solemnly gazed around the land, looking for you.

“It’s ok.” He responded, not making eye contact once. “Im the one that told her he’d be okay. It’s on me, Buck.”

Meanwhile, you were returning from a trip home, watching the world pass you as the car drove through the familiar roads of East Anglia. You’d not taken Curt’s absence lightly, and as more time passed, you’d somewhat accepted that his fate was grim, and he was most likely dead. Dark circles rimmed your eyes from the lack of sleep and you’d grown somewhat skinnier from the lack of nutrition. All you could do was stare at the roof, engulfed by darkness as you pictured a million ways how it could have happened.

If Curt was alive, you would have surely heard something by now? Of course who knew out there, he could be on the run, or in a hospital somewhere- you didn’t dare to even dream anymore, any glimmer of hope would just make it even more unbearable when the news did reach Thorpe Abbots.

Carrying your bag, you thanked the driver quietly, walking through the base as the last of summertime sun beamed down on your face. It was a beautiful day, or it should’ve been. Nothing felt the same anymore, and a constant hollow feeling gnawed away at your stomach. Whether it was hunger or anxiety, or both, you weren’t sure. You felt out of tune with your body and completely disassociated, yearning to lay in bed and cry the day and nights away as they passed.

Exhaustion was the norm. As you walked blissfully aware towards your hut, something clenched at Bucky’s chest as he spotted your figure. “I’ll see you, Buck.” Eyes fixated to the back of you, he slapped Gale on the back before hurrying off to speed up beside you.

What would he say? How would he say it? As you opened the door to the nurses hut, he debated just letting you stay in there and let somebody else tell you- the easy way out. No, Bucky thought, jogging towards where the now closing door with a call of your name.

Pulling the wooden frame open once more, you were surprised to see Bucky hurrying over, still clad in his sheepskin coat that he never took off. “Can I-” he choked on his words. “Can I talk to you?” Immediate dread filled your body, and it became apparent from the way he was watching you, this wasn’t going to be good news.

The suitcase in your hand dropped, every limb felt numb as the pilot coerced you gently out of hut with a slight gesture. Your legs turned to jelly and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t tell me, Bucky.” You pleaded, his arm supporting you as he lead you to the field behind the huts, somewhere quieter. He quickened your pace, knowing a breakdown was inevitable, at least if he told you this it had to be in the privacy without others snooping in. He owed that to you.

“I don’t want to know.” You’d already felt the familiar flow of hot tears, washing away any makeup you’d attempted to put on in a desperate act of a bid for normalcy. The crack in your voice, the soft weeps that escaped your mouth has Bucky fighting against his own emotions. Standing at the edge of the field, he gripped both your arms, looking back to you with a frantic desire to take away the pain you felt.

“I’m so sorry.” Was all he could muster as you began to crumble before him, hands flying up to your face as devastated sobs racked your body. Bucky caught you once more, keeping you upright as he attempted to comfort you in anyway possible. Words fell short, he tried many times to apologise, beg for your forgiveness, but he was rattled by your cries, tears pricking at his own eyes.

“Curt.” You whimpered in a desperate plea of the man’s name. “I knew this would happen, I knew it.” You choked out to Bucky as his grip tightened on the back of your head, cradling you so tightly as your chest physically hurt, a mixture of emotions making your head spin.

Neither of you knew how long you sat there. The tears didn’t stop, your head was pounding and all you could do was stare miserably across the grassy field.

“How did it happen?” You dared to ask, Bucky watched you, reaching out to cover your trembling hand with his. “You need to eat-”

“No, how did it happen?” You repeated, sharper this time as Bucky winced, turning back to his knees, chewing on the inside of his cheek, eyes red rimmed as a guilt surged through you.

“They were hit, running on one engine, Dickie-Dickie was hit.” Bucky cleared his throat, avoiding any weakness in his tone as he told you exactly what he’d heard Colonel Harding say. “The rest of the men bailed but-” you’d began to cry again, Bucky debated telling you the rest, stumbling over his words as he struggled to watch your upset.

“Curt tried to land to save Dickie.”

“I told him to fucking bail no matter what.” Your stomach churned in a sickening manner, tried to land, he tried to. Your head dropped into your hands as you hiccuped, body shaking and feeling unable to support you anymore. Bucky’s hand fell from your own as he reached for you, bringing you closer as your body weakly fell into his. He exhaled shakily against your hair, inhaling the fresh scent of apple shampoo as he pressed a kiss there, engulfing your body in his arms.

“I wanted him to come back.” You spoke once more, voice hoarse. “I know. So did I.” Bucky hushed as you reached out, aching for comfort as you grasped onto Bucky’s arms. “I’m sorry for telling you he’d come back.” But you held no anger or distaste to the things Bucky had spoke to you before. It was your own fault for trying to believe them.

“Don’t say sorry.” You hushed as Bucky’s eyes closed, looking down to the way you held onto him so tightly. His stomach churned, but this time it wasn’t in such a sickening manner- butterflies. Fuck, he thought, pushing the selfish feelings aside as he swallowed thickly. A second wave of guilt filled him, this time, it was one he couldn’t speak about.

“I knew deep down…” you whispered, head against his chest as you felt the speeding of his heart, closing your swollen eyes, your words a small comfort to Bucky that he hadn’t led you to believe the same things he foolishly thought.

Another six weeks later, you sat in the same spot, drinking from a bottle of red wine, drinking away the sorrows of your dead lover. With a Sunday off, you took advantage of the Saturday (that was still up for debate) and bought yourself a bottle, opting to sit by yourself. It wasn’t very ‘lady like’, but the place was deserted, nobody would come down here, apart from John Egan that was.

“Mind if I join?” Your head turned to see the tall man stood behind you, eyes glassy from the alcohol he’d consumed. Your heart jumped, looking him up and down before nodding. Bucky settled with a groan, taking the bottle from your grasp and taking a swig himself.

“I’ve been lookin’ for you.” He admitted, plump lips moving against the rim of the bottle as he took another gulp of the bitter liquid. You watched as he winced, gaze lingering over his face more than was appropriate. Over the few weeks, Bucky had been there for you like no other. The more time you spent together, the more complicated things felt…

“Were you at the pub?” You hushed, bringing your knees up, hands resting on them whilst he sprawled his out, making the wine bottle seem small between his grasp.

“Yeah, why didn’t you come?” Bucky’s voice rasped from the whiskey he’d consumed earlier that evening, handing the bottle back to you, fingers grazing over yours as you both blinked down to the contact before meeting one another’s gaze again. The two of you questioned if the other had felt it too, the heat that spread from the touch, a forbidden touch that should never feel that good.

“I didn’t feel like it.” You spoke quietly as he let out an internal sigh, leaning back on both his hands. Lifting the bottle up to your lips, you didn’t get to take a swig until he’d spoke up again.

“So you came here with a bottle of wine instead?” His brows twitched, and for some reason you found the comment amusing. A smile broke, followed by a soft breath of laughter. You screwed the lid of the wine back on, dropping it to the grass in the small space between the two of you.

Bucky felt his brows lift at your mirth, something he hadn’t seen in a long time. “I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re thinking.” You nodded, forcing yourself to look across the field ahead of you, instead of at him. If Bucky caught on that you’d been feeling somewhat… close to him would he shame you and run away? He had every right to, it was a shameful way to feel after your lover, and his friend had passed. It felt wrong, but there was something pulling you in, inch by inch. You felt normal around Bucky, dare you go as far and say happy. You first started craving the emotions that came when he was around, but as the weeks turned into months, you understood that the yearning was for him.

“I’m joking.” He softly smiled, causing your eyes to look back to him once more. “I know.” You nodded, nudging the bottle as it rolled to your feet. A moment of silence took over you, Bucky found himself scanning your face, trailing over each curve and freckle on your face. The slight parting between your lips, the lift of your eyelashes. His chest softened once more and he could no longer pretend that he didn’t harbour feelings for you.

“Why’d you come find me?” You whispered, the words taking a few movements to register in his mind. “Because I wanted to see you.” He winced as you met his eyes now, smiling back to him. Fuck, Bucky thought. There it was again.

“Are you okay?” You then asked him, noticing the slight confusion lingering over his face. “I’m ok.” He quickly responded. Why would you ask? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

“Are you thinking about Curt?” Bucky then asked, to which you nodded. Bucky felt his heart strain.

“I always think about Curt. I can’t- I don’t like going to that pub, I just think I’m gonna see him.” You swallowed, dropping your head as your eyes averted his. Shit, he thought. He’d upset you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“No, no, no, no.” You were fast to disagree. “I like talking about him, just… I still- I can’t-” you struggled over your words as he shifted closer, dropping an arm around you.

“‘S just difficult.” Bucky understood, watching you turn to face him. Only inches apart, you felt your breath hitch, words stuck with it as a feeble nod was all you could manage. Silence took over you both once more, but now something else filled the quiet.

Bucky’s lips were parted, eyes glued to yours, chest rising and falling at an increased pace as his hand flattened over your arm, your opposite shoulder pressed into his chest as you blinked back up to him. If only looks could speak, you thought, feeling the tension build within you. Your body yearned for him, even if your mind knew it wasn’t right.

Then, when he watched the fall of your gaze onto his lips, Bucky didn’t know what overcame him. He moved forward and caught your lips in one swift movement. To his surprise, you didn’t pull back. You remained in a state of shock, mind going blank as your lips reacted quicker to the kiss than your brain could. Bucky was kissing you- you were kissing him back.

A sudden panic filled the pilot and he retrieved back in surprise, an immense level of guilt filling him as he pushed himself up, lips mumbling as many apologies as he could, but he could still taste you on him.

“I’m sorry, fuck, I’m so sorry.” Bucky scrambled to his feet, but in a state of disbelief, you followed. “No-” you shook your head frantically, reaching for his wrist as your heart beat wildly for the man before you.

“Bucky, stop.” You’d hurried around the other side, standing in front of the taller man. “I can’t, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay.” You soothed, your hand smoothing down his wrist and into his hand to which he unconsciously wrapped his fingers around yours in an automatic reaction he couldn’t even control.

“If I don’t go I won’t stop, y/n.” He muttered, head hanging low as his body screamed to grab you close once more. Conflicted, you found your emotions running deeper than common sense, and in a bid for the same sense of warmth and security as before, you reached for his face, pulling yourself flush against him and catching his lips once more.

There was no debate in Bucky’s mind. Fuck, nothing else in the world moved when he was kissing you, he’d yearned for you for so long, all those touches, the late night conversations. It didn’t take long for his hands to grip at your lower bag, lips moving against each others with ease as his tongue glided across yours.

“Please Bucky.” You borderline wept as he let out a low moan, kissing you once more. Who was he to deny such a request? In a heated exchange, he eased you down to the grass, settling once again as you climbed on his lap, dragging your body over his as a warmth filled not only your core, but your whole body in a frantic display of need.

The hair that littered his top lip brushed against your face, your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Once Bucky had started, he couldn’t stop. Nothing but a pure carnal desire rushed through his veins as he pulled a hand up to your shoulder, pulling you firmer against his clothed crotch to which you both let out a sigh of relief at the friction between the two of you.

The sound of your moans as Bucky dragged his lips and teeth over your neck was nothing short of angelic. He was painfully hard in his trousers, aching as you rubbed yourself against him. Matching your rhythm, Bucky began to gyrate his hips up into yours, groaning at the sensation as he dragged his fingers through your hair, against your scalp in a soothing manner.

With the tension thick, you reached for his belt, as his hands fumbled under the layers of your dress, pushing your panties aside as a finger slid in with ease to your warmth. You rode on his lap, clutching tighter at him, hands fumbling with apprehension as you worked on freeing his cock from his trousers.

Bucky brought you to your first orgasm as you finished over his hand, mouth agape and eyes screwed shut. He watched, swallowing thickly as he was captured by your pleasure, heart racing as your body slumped against his, panting with the aftershocks of your climax.

Bucky didn’t move you, the weight of you on his front was the most comforting thing he’d ever felt, and if it wasn’t for your fingers gliding the tip of his erection against your slickness, he would’ve stayed like that all night.

Then, he was inside you. As he sunk into your warmth the angle of your position and length of his member exerted the most beautiful sounds to pass your lips, ones he would’ve enjoyed to hear louder if it wasn’t for the smooshing of his plump lips against your own. Caught up in the moment, Bucky rolled your entwined bodies onto the floor, disregarding the grass stains he’d find later as he thrusted inside your tightness with a strained groan.

“Are you sure?” Forever a gentleman, he’d almost forgot to ask, but considering the way you were gripping him like your life depended on it, you thought he would’ve known the answer to that already.

“Yes.” Your consent came out as a whine, head thrashing to the side with a gasp as he worked against your g-spot, choking out manly sounds from above you as his pelvis gyrated against yours.

“Bucky.” As you cooed out his name, the pilot gripped you closer, digging his knees into the floor, slipping slightly as he fought for balance, fingers digging into your scalp as he gyrated faster, harder, bringing you closer to release as you both begged for the sweet satisfaction of climax once more.

And when you started pleading for it, how could he deny such a thing? With a muffled cry against his mouth, ecstasy took over your body once more and Bucky followed, digging his hips harder into yours, as deep as he could go before he finished with a groan, lips opening against yours, spilling his sticky seed over your exposed vagina, dropping it down the inside of your thigh.

No more words were spoken. The two of you gasped and panted, chest heaving and falling, your body squashed between the floor and his front as you slowly regained senses once more. It was a mutual feeling of ‘what have we just done’, and after the aftershocks of your orgasms slowly wore off, it was time to face the reality of your actions.

[oskea93]

✶ Whiskey (1) ✶ - John "Bucky" Egan x OC - Masters of the Air fandom - Multi-chaptered story.

⚠ Warning: Rating 18+ ⚠ This story will contain explicit sexual content, mentions of unwanted pregnancy/miscarriage, cursing, violence, spousal abuse. Please read at your own discretion/risk. This story is a work of fiction and simply based on the portrayal of the actors on the show. It has nothing to do with any of the real men that these actors are playing. A/N: Hello all! So, this is my second Bucky story and to say i'm a bit obsessed would be an understatement. There's just something about the way Callum Turner plays him that is... I don't even know if I have the right word to describe it. I posted a couple days ago about my idea for this fic and i've finally narrowed down my choice The OC for this story will be the new Colonel's wife at Thorp Abbotts and of course drama will ensue. I just want to point out that since this story is so heavily smut driven, i'm sorry if my writing of smut is not that great. I've never written a fic so centered on it before, so this is a bit new. If you have any suggestions or comments, just let me know! Lastly, I just want to thank everyone that's read It Had to be You. I greatly appreciate each and every one of you! If you would like to be added to the tag list, just comment your username ☺︎

Heavy breathing filled the darkened space as the distant sound of the bombs could be heard exploding on the outskirts of town. Both of us too lost in one another to care of the threat that could be dropped onto the city at any minute.

His arms wrapped tightly around my thighs, holding me down on the bed as his tongue lit a fire through my body. The whimpers slipping past my lips – begging him for mercy – our eyes meeting as he flattened his tongue against my core. My hands pulling at his messy locks, pulling as the pressure intensified as he sucked my clit.

“Oh, fuck – “ I tried pulling away – my heels digging into the mattress below.

The pleasure was something I had never felt before – my heart beating erratically as he smiled at the state I was in. “John, please.” My legs closing around his head as my walls clenched, sending me into a state of pure bliss.

My dam quickly opened, the floodgates soaking the linen sheet below as he stayed in the same position admiring his work. His hold on my legs loosened, giving me the opportunity to quickly move into a sitting position, pulling his lips onto mine. My taste on his tongue sending me into a primal state as he pulled me into his lap, the pressure building in my stomach as I take all of him, moans building in both of our throats.

“Holy fuck – “ He cursed against my lips as our hips moved in sync. The new position sending us both into an utter state of delectation.

Bruises were sure to form as his fingers dug into my hips, pulling my body harder into his as I felt him swell inside of me. His hot breath hitting my ear as my teeth pulled at his neck, no doubt to leave a noticeable mark in the morning. The friction between us was so strong as we started to reach our climax – our ragged breathing and moans probably heard through the thin walls.

My body fell limp against his as we recovered from our high – his soft lips placing butterfly kisses behind my ear.

“Pretty good, huh?” He smirked against the skin – taking my earlobe between his teeth.

I whimpered in reply – too tired but still too turned on to speak to him in a complete sentence. Talking was what got me into this position – into his rented bed – into his arms and underneath his masculine body as he made me his own...

I was the first to wake the next afternoon – my legs acting like that of a newborn fawn as I stumbled towards the bathroom. I glanced at the mangled bed as I closed the door behind me – his body barely covered by the thin sheet. “Lord, give me strength.” Whispering to myself as I looked in the mirror. My red curls in disarray – red lipstick smeared around my bruised lips. The markings he had left littered my body – small and large – thankfully low enough to be covered from the public eye. The memories of last night replaying in my mind like an old Nickelodeon – heat pooling in my stomach at the thoughts of how he made me feel – over and over – all night long.

My fingers gripping the sink as the feeling of his lips danced across my skin. His teeth pulling as he moved along my shoulder blades – his arms wrapping around my middle.

“You’re thinking too hard.” His morning voice hinting at a rasp, causing my core to throb with want and need.

The temptation to reach back and connect my lips with his was damn near impossible – my knuckles turning white as my grip on the cast-iron intensified.

“I have to go.”

The words slipping out between low moans. His hold pulling me flush against his bare body – his cock twitching against my lower back. I knew that if I turned around in that moment, I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from him – from his kiss – from his Goddamn touch.

His nose nuzzled in my hair as his hand moved tantalizingly down my stomach, stopping just above the point of no return. “And if I want you to stay?”

I squirmed uncomfortably, rubbing my legs together, already wet just from his proximity.

“If you tell me to stop –“His index slowly moving over my slit. “I’ll quit and you can go on your merry way.” I leaned my head back against his shoulder as he added the middle finger, making slow strides as he hummed against my outstretched neck.

“You’re killing me.” My words slurring together.  

He smiled against my skin as his pace increased. A slew of curse words flowed through my lips, his own finally meeting mine in a heated and much needed kiss. My arm laced around his neck, pressing our faces harder together as his fingers continued their assault. I felt like I was on the verge of fainting – dropping dead from the euphoria that was coursing through my exhausted body.

My body reacted to his touch seconds later – the sticky substance running down my legs as he removed his digits. Our bodies still pressed together – both breathing as if we’d just ran a mile.

“John – “

His hooded eyes casting down as he hummed in response. I paused for a moment, my brain and heart arguing for dominance.

“Take me to bed.”

[charmingsoa]

■ Bring it On Home to Me (Intro) ■ John Egan x OC Multi chapter story ⚠ Warning ⚠ This story will feature themes not appropriate for those under the age of 18 and will focus on sensitive subjects at times. Story will contain scenes of sexual content, cursing, physical and verbal abuse, substance use, cheating, miscarriage, mentions of war, etc. Warnings will be posted with each chapter. Please be advised when reading. This fic is purely fiction and has nothing to to do with the actual men of Masters of Air. A/N: Hello! So this is my first John Egan story and i'm kind of excited and nervous to display it to you all... I've never written for this character before but i've read all the amazing stories that are out there and I wanted to jump on the bandwagon. So, this story starts off a little different than most and it will actually go back in time to tell the story. Like I said, it's a little different, but I hope in a good way! I hope you all enjoy 😊

If you would like to be tagged for future updates, please let me know!

“I think that’s the last of it, mom.” I looked up from the picture, my oldest daughter staring back as she wiped a stray hair out of her face.

The house, the place where I had spent the last 50 years, now stood before me vacant and empty, echoing with the memories of a lifetime. The bare walls, once adorned with photos capturing moments from the past and present, now stared back at me, the original paint faded from where the frames had sat untouched for many years. This home had been the anchor of our family, the sanctuary where my children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren had all found solace and security.

I could still see it vividly in my mind's eye - my girls taking their first steps on the soft carpet of the living room, their laughter filling the air. The kitchen, with its worn wooden floors, bore witness to their growth, marked by notches on the door frame tracking their increasing heights. The backyard, a place of endless play and joy, had been the backdrop for countless family gatherings, from first day-of-school photos to prom nights and even wedding celebrations.

As I wandered through the empty rooms, memories flooded my mind - the sound of children's laughter echoing down the halls, the smell of home-cooked meals wafting from the kitchen, the sight of my grandchildren playing in the backyard as I watched from the comfort of the wraparound porch. This was more than just a house; it was a living, breathing repository of our family's history and love.

This was the home that he had promised me, the place where we had vowed to build our lives and raise our family, where we had planned to stay until the end of our days. Now, as I prepared to say goodbye to our beloved home, a mix of emotions swirled within me.

"I'm gonna get you out of here – give you a life worth living and loving in America," the soldier declared, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and allure. As he spoke, tendrils of smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, adding to the air of mystery that surrounded him. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into mine with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

Rolling my eyes in response, I stubbed out my own cigarette, the ember extinguishing with a hiss. All the soldiers were the same, I thought wryly, willing to say anything to win favor and attention, especially at the end of a long night. Despite his good looks and the faint scent of whiskey and smoke that emanated from his dress greens, I remained guarded, having heard similar promises before.

"You watch and see, little girl," he continued, leaning back in his chair, his posture exuding confidence. His thighs were spread open, a display of dominance that didn't escape my notice. "I'll buy you any kind of house you want – a farmhouse, a mansion, one on the beach."

"Mom-" Bridget's voice broke through the silence, pulling me back from the depths of my thoughts. I blinked, refocusing on the present moment, feeling her warm hand gently pressing against my back. Her touch comforting.

I turned to look at her, a concerned gaze searching mine. Her eyes, so much like her father’s, reflected a mix of worry and love. In that moment, I saw the strength and resilience that she had inherited from him.

"I'm okay, sweetheart," I reassured her, offering a faint smile to ease her concern. "Just lost in my thoughts for a moment there."

She let out a sigh as she looked over the empty home, "Daddy used to always tell Maggie and me that we wouldn’t be able to get you out of this house – even if we infested it with all the spiders in the world – you would find a way to stay," she reminisced, a hint of amusement in her voice.

A smile tugged at my lips as she continued, "He would kid us by saying that you loved this house more than you loved him, which we both knew was not true."

"Well," I smirked, "There were times when your father was not my favorite person, but he always had a way of making it up to me in the end, even if it was my fault for the argument." The intensity of our arguments, fueled by stubbornness and pride, seemed to fade in comparison to the fierce passion that ignited between us once the storm had passed.

"Do you realize that you’re a pain in my ass?” I rolled my eyes as he stood firmly in front of me. “If I wanted to cheat on you, I would have gone out and done it already, Vanessa. I could go down to George’s bar and pick any one of those hookers that hang around there – I’m sure they would be more than happy to spend a couple hours with me."

A mean smirk formed on my face as I retorted, “You haven’t lasted more than 10 minutes in over two years.” I scoffed. “Over here talking about lasting a couple hours – it's either your back or your knees that start hurting in a matter of seconds. God forbid you’re the one on the bottom.”

His eyes narrowed at my cutting remarks. “You sayin that I’m no good in bed?” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“You’re the one talking about being some kind of Adonis,” I remarked, feeling my back hit the counter behind me as he crept closer. “I’m just stating the facts, sweetheart.” His tall frame towered over mine, his arms trapping me in on either side. I glared up at him with hooded eyes, while his piercing blue eyes held a hint of mischief.

“I mean, you’re okay I guess,” I replied, trying to maintain a façade of indifference despite the closeness between us.

His breath tickled my ear as he leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “The way you were begging last night might say otherwise, V.” His words sent a jolt of heat through me, memories of the previous night flooding back with an intensity that left me momentarily speechless.

"Daddy made this place fun, that's for sure – it's gonna be weird not seeing him sitting in the rocking chair out front or fiddling around in his garden," Bridget remarked, a hint of wistfulness in her voice. I nodded in understanding, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in my heart.

"Gonna be weird just not coming here period," she added, her eyes briefly meeting mine as I let out a sad sigh.

As we stood there, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of our family home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss creeping in. John’s presence had always been a comforting constant, his love and warmth filling every corner of this house. Without him, the home felt like an empty shell – hollow and cold.

“I think I’m gonna take one more look around- “My voice hitching in my throat. “Make sure I have everything before I turn the keys over to the realtor.”

Bridget nodded her head, her touch leaving my arm as she slowly walked towards the front door. I could hear her speaking with the real estate agent that was waiting outside, the realization that this was the end starting to dawn on me.

My eyes moved down to the picture that I clutched tightly in my hands – our young, bright smiles on display as the bulb flashed in front of us. The first photograph of us in front of our new house – the place where we promised to spend the rest of our days.

549 Timber Creek Rd.

[callumsturn]

Sweet John

Summary: John keeps finding ways to stop by the hospital to see you, until he finally gets what he wants.

Pairing: Major John "Bucky" Egan x female reader Content/Warnings: John Egan being a charming bastard, 18+ smut (minors don't interact), unprotected sex. This starts real innocent, but it's really not. Notes: If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

As you're helping wounded soldiers, rushing through the corridors of the campaign hospital at base, you bump into none other than Major John "Bucky" Egan.

You look up to see his smug smile. "Sorry, sweetheart." His hand gently over your arm as a way to balance you.

If you didn't know better, you'd even believe he might have done it unintentionally.

"It's alright Major." You tried to rush past him, with towels in both your arms to the end of the corridor.

"You shouldn't carry all that yourself." He takes half of the load from your arms. "Let me help. It's the least I could do."

He carries on up the corridor, following close behind you. You turn your head to him for a few seconds. You know you should be resisting. But he's very, very persuasive. Even when his uniform is covered with blood.

"You have blood on your uniform." You simply state.

"Oh, yeah." He shrugs, not bothered to wipe it off. "You know how it is." he tells you "Can't even breathe at battle without getting some blood splashed on you." He looks at you. "You've got some on you as well."

You look down at your own white uniform. "It has seen better days, yes." You continue to walk to the end of the corridor, entering one of the patient rooms.

John follows after you and looks around as soon as you're inside. "Oh, you're taking these to..." he trails off a bit as he sees who's laying in that bed. One of the men from his squad.

"Hi Sergeant. How are we feeling?" You spoke to the man resting on the bed.

The Sergeant looks up at you. "I've been better." As soon as he sees the Major behind you he tries to sit up, still a bit shaky. "Major." he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'm gonna clean that open wound and switch it up, is that alright?" you asked the man in the bed.

"Thank you, miss." he adds as you begin to gather your tools.

You can feel the Major's gaze on the back of your head as he watches from the doorway.

"It's gonna hurt a little. Take this." You hand the patient a bottle of alcohol to drink.

He takes it, grunting a little from the pain of just moving. He takes a sip and sets the bottle down. As you pour liquid over the wound to clean it, the Sergeant's leg moves in pain. He grunts loudly and moves in his bed. You feel the Major aproach the bed and hold the Sergeant with no trouble. He tries to move again but the Major's grip is firm.

"It's alright. Just hold still now." Major Egan tries to calm the man. You see the compassion and concern on his face. His hand is still on the Sergeant's lower body, ready to steady him again if necessary.

You say nothing, continuing to clean the wound and prepare the needle to stitch. The Major remains close. He watches you work, and his focus is almost entirely on exactly that. The Sergeant squirms in the bed again, but the Major remains in place.

"Easy." the Major tried to calm him down.

"Almost done, Sergeant." you mention as you finish stitching him up.

"Th- thank you." The Sergeant glances toward the Major. "She's real good, I'm telim' ya, sir."

You chuckle as you begin bandaging his wound. "Now... you shouldn't get up. Just try to rest and no missions for a few days. This needs to heal properly."

"Roger that, nurse." the Sergeant replies with a smile. "Will do." he finishes. "Could I get some more of that bottle, though? You know how it is."

You smile as you hand him the bottle for the second time. He takes another sip, as you hear Major Egan chuckle, keeping his eyes on the man and then on you as you put the remainder of the supplies away in a near medical cart, back turned to both men.

"She's pretty, ain't she, sir?" the Sergeant asks his Major who's sitting beside him still, in a lower voice.

As you barely hear the Sergeants comment, you tried to pay no attention to it, not curious to hear the Major's response.

You hear the Major chuckle again. "She is. I'm sure she's even got herself a fella already. Some lucky bastard."

"Probably some high rank fella, too." the Sergeant continues jokingly.

"Not a high enough rank for that, no." You barely hear Major John say.

As you finish storing all utensils, you approach both men again. "You rest up Sergeant. I'll tend to other soldiers now."

The man thanks you, as he rests his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes. The Major still has his gaze on you as you walk past him.

You continue to go about your shift, working on other patients in other beds. You do your best to ignore the Major's gaze when he is watching you from afar.

"Am I under some kind of evaluation, Major?" You asked unfazed, not looking at him, but still tending to a patient.

Somewhat caught off guard by the question, the Major's calm demeanour slips a bit. "Uh... no. I was-" he clears his throat "Just... checking up on... on your patient care."

"On my patient care?" You chuckled. "How's that going then?"

"It's going very well." he replies a little too quickly.

"Well I'm glad." You paused. "Thank you for the help back there."

"Any time." he replies. You see that he wants to say something else, but stops himself. "You've got everything under control in here then?"

"Sure thing."

"Great." He clears his throat again. "I'm..." He's having trouble finding the right words. "I'll let you get back to work then."

"Thank you, Major."

"Yeah. Sure, no problem." He finally leaves the room. You don't see him again for a while, but notice his eyes on you several times over the rest of the week or so.

A few weeks passed and the hospital became less busy. Patients were recovering and the missions were being successful over all. You notice the change. It's more peaceful, which is just what both you and the soldiers needed.

But there is one thing that has changed your routine. Major John "Bucky" Egan has been coming by to see you more often. And each time he does, he stays a little longer and talks a little more. He always makes sure to pay careful attention to everything you say, and always makes an effort to keep the conversation going. You can feel the other nurses and doctors giving you disguised looks, wondering if there's something going on with the two of you.

The Major even shows up when you're not working, and seems to hang around to see when you start your shift or finish for the day. He's always just hanging back, not being too obvious about it. You found it quite charming actually, the effort he would go into just to talk to you for a little while. It was definitely flattering. He's a handsome man, and he's got a certain charm and confidence about him that you can't help but like. Although you're still unsure how to feel about all of the attention, and that uncertainty definitely shows on your face as he approaches you yet again, and starts up another conversation.

"Major Egan." You say after he approaches you.

"Nurse." he replies with a polite smile. He's carrying a coffee mug and offerts it to you. "I figured you might be tired after your shift."

You gladly accepted it. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you."

"I try." he shrugs his shoulders with a smile. You can see his gaze still on you as you take the mug. For a little while he doesn't say a thing, just watching you as you take a small sip from the cup.

Suddenly, he clears his throat a little and speaks again. "I was wondering... there's a cafe outside the base... I though it'd be nice to go there and get something to eat." he says. He's still looking you straight in the eyes while saying it, his body relaxed and his hand resting casually on the mug. "Would you like to join me?" he adds after a moment.

"Right now?" you ask calmly.

He nods after a moment. "If you'd like." he responds. "We could both do with getting some real food. Maybe something more comforting than camp rations." He gives you a small smile, still watching you carefully as he waits for your answer.

You smiled at him for a second. "I'd like that."

His smile grows a little wider. "Great." He starts to back away. "I'll... I'll head out there now." he says "I'll be waiting just outside. The cafe's not far."

"I'll be right there." you smile.

He gives you one more little smile before making his way outside and waiting just out front of the camp, leaning agaisnt the wall and looking out the gate.

You head to the locker room where you find a colleague. You head inside to change out of your work clothes.

"Hey there." she grins "how have things been with you?"

"Good." you smile.

"Major's been going around again today, hasn't he?", she asks, glancing over at you.

"Um... yeah, he has." you continue to change into your clothes.

"Yeah, I figured as much. He coming around more often now? Spending more time talking to you?"

You chuckle, embarrassed. "I guess, yes."

"Well, I figured he had a thing for you" she laughs. "It was only a matter of time before he started getting a little flirtatious. He's not very good at hiding it."

"I think he's just being nice." you said as you buttoned your shirt.

"Sweetie, he's more than just nice. Major Egan has a reputation aroud here, you know. He doesn't go around being sweet to just anyone."

"Well, I don't know. I don't want everyone to go around and talk about this. The other nurses are real nosy!"

"Oh cm'on, don't worry. They'll just tease you a bit if they can tell that something's going on. And besides, nothing exciting happens around the hospital, so they cling to anything." she paused "But you're lucky. The Major's a looker, and I'm sure that you wouldn't mind his attentions, huh?" She gives you a playful nudge as she asks.

You chuckle as you looked at her. "He really is a looker isn't he?"

"Hell yeah he is." she laughs "A real man after my own heart. And the more things continue like this between you guys, the more certain I am that you might be the lady that gets to keep him to herself."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on. Just look at him. Just waiting right outside for you."

"Alright now. Enough of this." you said as you put your coat on. "I'm heading out."

"I'll see you back here later." she chuckles as you head out.

You find Major Egan just where he said he'd be. As you pass him and make your way to the gates outside, he starts walking with you, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"That's your work done for the day?" he asks casually.

"I have to get back in a few hours.... night shift."

"Ah... sure. Night shift. Busy workload tonight?"

"I don't think so."

He keeps his hands in his pockets the entire time, but he seems comfortable, confident, and content. "I bet it'll get busy in there." he adds, pointing to the cafe. "They have some of the best coffee and food around here."

"Have you been there lately?" you ask.

"It's been a little while now." he replies. "I had some time off last night and was going to go there, but I ended up making a stop by the hospital." he shrugs a little. "Had to see if you were looking after these soldiers properly, of course." he adds jokingly, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, you've been a real caring Major these last few weeks."

"Well, I was just making sure you were up to the task of caring for our troops." he continues.

"Oh, your soldiers never complained."

He smiles at your comment. "Glad to hear it." He looks at you again, a small grin on his face. "Or maybe it's just that they have something nice to look at while they're recovering?"

"Alright now Major Egan."

"Oh come on, why don't you just call me John, hm?"

You looked at him for a couple of seconds. "If you're sure."

He gives you a little nod, still smiling. "Absolutely."

You approach the cafe and he holds the door open for you as you walk inside.

The cafe is busy as John said it'd be. Off duty soldiers fill the place with their drinks, raised voices and the smell of cigars. Most of them are playing a game of cards at the tables. Several are chatting and laughing with each other, making it a very lively environment. Major Egan steps inside and closes the door behind him.

"It is busy, isn't it?" he asks as he guides you to an empty table. He holds your seat out for you before sitting down across from you. "You don't mind it being so busy, do you?"

"Not at all."

He smiles, his hands still in his pockets. A waiter comes to your table and takes your order. John asks you what you want and then orders for you. You just smile politely at the waiter before he heads off.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me this afternoon." he says after a moment in silence. You notice him leaning forward on the table as the conversation continues. He seems quite calm, but you can tell how focused he is on you.

At one point, one of the soldiers at another table glances over at the two of you, and then nudged the others at the table. There's a murmur of conservation and a few more glances as the others take note of the Major and the nurse sitting together again.

The Major doesn't seem to notice though. It remains a lighthearted conversation, but there's an undercurrent of something a little bit more going on underneath the surface.

Before either of you realize, both of you have been talking to each other for half an hour. The Major shows no signs of losing interest in the conversation.

After a while, a couple first year Sergeants approach the table curiously, excitedly presenting themselves to John.

"Major Egan, sir!" the first says confidently.

"Major." the second follows. They both glance at you a tad nervously.

The Major looks up at them and smiles, still sitting at the table casually. "At ease, gentlemen" he says, raising his hands off the table, but still relaxed.

"Sir, a few of the men were wondering if they could get an extended leave, due to the successful mission earlier today."

The Major stares at the first Sergeant for a second, and his eyes dart over to you. He's still smiling a little, but there's a serious side to him that comes through as he talks with them.

"I understand that you were planning on extending their leave to allow them to rest?" he replies to both men.

"Yes, sir." the first replies "if that's alright with you, sir?"

"It's alright, Sergeant." the Major nods again. "There'll will be no issue on my part in regards to that. How many days are you looking at?" he asks, looking between the two Sergeants.

"Around a week" one of them replied boldly "if that's fine with you sir?"

"A week, hm?" he stares at them for a moment. "A week should be sufficient for them to recharge, especially after a mission like this morning. Make it happen."

The Sergeants both nod their heads. "Yes, sir." They both give you a resrpectful salute before turning back around and walking to the larger table.

"Major Egan..." you say mockingly. He was so different when he talked to you.

He glances over at you with a little half grin. "Yeah?" He laid back in his chair as he waits for you to continue.

"And just when I was about to call you John." You say.

He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead and call me John. If anyone around here is going to call me that, it should be you." he took a sip from his beer.

That gave you a chill down your spine, out of nervousness.

He sees that he has gotten some sort of reacting out of you, but that smile still remains on his face. "Go ahead, call me John."

"Alright, stop that." you chuckle.

"I just want you to call me by my first name. Is that too much to ask?"

You look at him in the eyes for a second, before smiling. "In here?"

"Here" he pauses "or anywhere else if you'd like." He lays back and continues to smile. That damn smile.

As you take in his comment, music starts to blast and all the soldiers rise from their seats and grab the women to dance. The cafe instantly becomes an athmosphere of fun and liveliness.

The Major glances over at the dance floor. "Would you like to join me?"

You nod your head shyly, and take John's hands as he pulls you into the dance floor. The music is a classic swing tune, and the soldiers all seem to know the moves perfectly, moving with rhythm and flow in a very playful mood.

Major Egan seems to be familiar with the dance, and as he moves with you his confidence and skill is undeniable. He leads you easily, gently pulling you around and twirl you in his arms, and all the while, he stays completely focused on keeping you steady, stable.

"You're a good dancer." he tells you, still smiling playfully as he does. He spins you around in his arms and then back around again, pulling you close enough so that his face is inches from yours. He's still maintaining a comfortable distance between you two, but it's evident that he wants to be so much closer.

The music begins to pick up more, and as it does, his moves become just a little bit more intimate and playful. His arms around your waist. It's clear that he's more than just enjoying the dance.

Moving his hands down to your hips as he holds you, not giving you quite as much space as before. He tilts his head and gets closer to your face, maintaining that same playful grin.

"Careful, John." you say over the music, teasing him.

He chuckles at the teasing, but he doesn’t pull away, nor does he stop dancing with you.

His movements get a little bit more playful now, bringing you in even closer.

"John..." you begin.

“Yes?” He stares at you with that same grin on his face, but his eyes have become more intense now, as if wanting to know where this is going.

"Kiss me." you ask.

His eyes remain on you as he stares quietly for a second, but then he finally leans in to meet your offer. There is nothing playful or light-hearted about this exchange. This is a serious and bold moment for the both of you. Major Egan goes completely for it, pressing his lips against yours. And as he does, his hands moves to your hips and pulls you even closer to him. The kiss was slow but eager, like weeks of tension have been building up. Every movement and gesture felt intentional. His hands on your hips feel more intense and firm now. You pulled back and heard the music echo.

The moment of silence was deafening.

The music was no longer all that you could think about. He stares back at you, clearly still wanting more, but he holds back from following through in that very moment.

"Let's go." you say looking up at him.

He doesn't answer, but simply nods his head. He takes your hand in his own, and together, the two of you exit the dance floor and leave the cafe. As soon as you hit the street night air, John grabs your hand and pulls you close again, his lips finding his way to yours. Your bodies are pressed against one another, and the intimacy of the moment is undeniable. His lips find yours again, this time, more eagerly. And he lingers for a second or two, savoring the kiss. This time, it feels like he’s taking it further, as his hands start moving down to your waist more playfully.

“You wanna take me to bed?” You simply say.

He looks back at you, a bit amused at the question, but also somewhat surprised that you had the boldness to suggest that.

He stares for a second, his lips partially parted. “Yeah. I do.”

His answers are blunt and straightforward. But there’s also a confidence and assertiveness about him that makes it very evident that he is completely and totally up for that idea.

You smiled. He smiles back at you, before leaning forward to take your hand again. But this time, he doesn't just hold your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, his hand more possessive now as he glances down at your interwined fingers.

He leads you back into the base, guiding you towards his quarters.

The silence between you two is punctuated with little whispers and small talk here and there, but overall, the atmosphere is very much still intimate and playful between the two of you.

You noticed your environment. You've never been in this part of the base before, as it was only reserved for the Majors. It’s clear that this is a very private side of the base, for these higher ranking officers to be able to relax in the company of their women.

As you walk down the corridor, you hear the song My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker echoeing from a hall near by. Major Egan guides you through the hallway, the two of you still following hand in hand, until you both finally arrive at his room. You enter and before you could assimilate the space around you, John grabs your waist from behind, spins you around and you watch him close the door behind him so effortelessly, just before he kisses you gently, but passionately.

Everything around you has become a blur now, but you feel his hand on your back, leading you closer to his bed.

You start to walk backwards as he guided you. You put your arms around his neck, looking for support as he kisses you eagerly now. You jump, clinging into his body, as he grabs the back of your legs with his hands, easily supporting your weight. You moan quietly as he starts to feel your skin under your skirt as he holds you with both his hands.

John exhales soundly. "God..." he trailed off "You even sound beautiful."

His lips attack yours once again, filled with desire. His comment gave you chills all over your body. You felt him sit on the bed, you now straddling his lap. Being this close to him left you intoxicated, even speechless. You had nothing to say to him. Your attempts seemed to only come as careless whispers or moans as he explored your body with his hands.

"John..." you finally spoke.

You felt him smile into the kiss. "Yes?"

You took a second to answer, processing his touch. "Fuck me." You finally said.

He couldn't hide his smile. "I wanted to do this right." he paused as you looked at him. "I wanted to make love to you first."

The smirk plastered on his face made you melt. His eyes glistening with adoration for you.

You retributed the smile. "Sweet John..." you began tracing his features with your fingers. "Please do that."

You saw his smile grow slightly wider just before he closed the gap between both your lips.

He held you closer, his grip on you more firm, but never once hurting you.

“I imagined this moment a lot.” He confessed.

You began to take his uniform off. His shoulders so broad and his arms like two comforters around your torso. He did the same with your clothes but taking his sweet time to take in every little detail about you. The curve of your neck, the shape of your breasts and the freckles on your skin. Most of all he noticed the way your expression changed slightly when you became blushed with arousal.

His pants were bothering you, they were in the way. Your hand flew to his belt, trying to unbuckled it with no success. You saw him chuckle, surprisingly out of nervousness, as he helped you take it out. You always thought the Major John Egan would be swift in these manners, he had experience after all. It was the only thing nurses talked about, how much luck he had with women, inside or outside base. Was it so hard to believe that he could be actually nervous because you were the one unbuttoning his pants and trying to discard them? That was hard to grasp.

John grabbed the low of your back with one arm, supporting the other on the bed to lay you on top of it. He stood sat on the bed even after kicking his uniform pants, watching as you lay naked waiting for him to join you.

His expression was a mix of desire and adoration.

"What is it?" You asked laughing.

He shook his head slightly. "Nothing." he opened his mouth for a second before speaking. "I just think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen walk this earth."

You visibly blushed. How could you not? "You're just saying that because-" he interrumpted you immediately.

"Clothed or not." He said plainly, guessing the rest of your phrase. He looked at your face for a couple of seconds, and you did the same with difficulty. He was so handsome, his hair dischevelled falling perfectly on his forehead.

Not bearing it being away from him one more second, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to lay on top of you, opening your legs, allowing for him to fit in the empty space.

He immediately kissed you, your bodies now glued to each other. You could feel his hard member press against your core. You bent your kness, allowing him access. Your way of letting him know what you wanted.

He positioned himself at your entrance, ever so carefully. He looked at your expression as you gasped slightly, feeling him. He then kissed you gently, but eagerly, as he pushed himself inside you, slowly. Your mouth hang open as you threw your head slightly back on the pillow. He looked down at you, and he swore he could come undone right then and there, watching you in that blissful state.

You felt his lips on your neck, beginning in the low of your jaw until the base of your neck. You exhaled when you felt his touch and he could feel the vibrations of your voice on his lips.

His thrusts were purposely slow so you could adjust to his size. Soon enough he started to go deeper as you dig your nails in his upper back muscles.

"Faster." You pleaded, your voice only coming out as a low whimper.

He could hear it alright. John picked up his pace and you moaned louder as you felt every inch of him molding you.

"You feel so good." you heard him say between grunts into your lips.

You brought your lips to his, kissing him deeply. You broke it to speak finally. "John..." you called out his name. "I'm- I'm close."

"I know sweetheart, I know you are." his voice intoxicated you with desire, you could barely control yourself. "I can feel you closing on me." he continued thrusting in and out at that perfect pace. "You can let go... I wanna see that perfect face when you cum."

That was enough for you to explode. You soon came undone, your voice a higher pitch when you moaned his name a couple of times. You felt his warm release spill inside you. His face inches away from yours, mouths open, exhaling as you both reached your high. The moment that followed seemed like completely silent, only your breaths almost in perfect sync.

He smiled after noticing tears of pleasure in the corner of both your eyes, kissing each one of them away from your face. You both moaned when he removed himself inside you, both still very much overstimulated.

He laid next to you, immediately pushing you into his chest, arms wrapped around you. There were no words needed. You guys didn't have to talk about what happened. It was clear.

A few minutes were passed in silence. You looked at the clock on his wall, which marked almost twelve.

"Shit, I have to go. The night shift." you grabbed a bed sheet instinctively to cover yourself as you sat up, looking for your clothes scattered on his bedroom's floor.

"No." his voice lingered, pulling you back on the bed again. "You're staying here tonight."

You smiled as you looked at his sleepy expression. "I don't think that's up for you to decide. The doctors do our schedules, I have to show up to work."

His voice became deeper with tiredness. "I'm Major Egan. I can make a few calls." He suggested, his voice now more playful. "If you'd like to stay here with me tonight." his demeanour expectant.

You looked at him for a couple of seconds, giving thought to his offer. A smile escaped your lips, as you lay in the bed again, slightly embarrassed.

"They can get by without you one night. I can't." he admitted while wrapping his arms around your torso, setting the covers on top of you both.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

You're like me, but better

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Bucky meets a woman in a bar...

Warning: 18+/ pure smut/ switch!Bucky/ switch!reader/ doggy style/ oral (f and m)/ fingering/ handjob/ kinda edging/ dirty talk/ swearing/ use of Y/n/ mention of a physical fight/ alcohol/ praise/

Word count: 3k

A/n: I need holy water...

When he first spotted her, dancing and laughing, John Egan thought she was beautiful. She was dancing like no one was watching, but he was surely watching her. The way she moved was hypnotising, he couldn’t stop admiring her, she was wearing a blue navy dress that stopped right before her knees. It was beautiful, her hair was originally organised, but now, they were loose and kind of messy, but they were still looking good.

When she first spotted him, he was already looking at her. Y/n smiled to him as he took a sip of his drink. She thought he was good looking and looked like trouble and fun; the things she looked for in a man. When the music ended, she was thirsty, so she headed for the bar, and for the man. ‘’A whiskey, please’’ she asked the bartender. ‘’Make that 2’’ the man said, resting his elbow on the bar, looking at her. ‘’You like Whiskey?’’ he asked her. ‘’I love it, does that surprise you?’’ she leaned in closer to his ear, so he could understand what she was saying. He smirked as he turned his head to speak closer to her ear. ‘’I’m impressed, not surprised’’ he said with a low voice. She smiled to him as she took her glass. ‘’You can put it on my tab’’ she announced, not daring to look away from him. They went to sit at a table, well, Y/n went to sit down, Bucky followed her. She smirked when she saw that he followed her.

Empty glasses were all over the table, they had a lot of whiskey shots and Y/n’s tab kept going up. They’ve been talking for what felt like hours. The conversation was filled with flirting on both sides and teasing. ‘’What do you say if we get out of here?’’ he suggested, with a flirty tone. ‘’Yes, but hold on’’ she said, getting up. She took a glass full of water and went closer to the drunk men side. Bucky got up, worried about what she was going to do. ‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked her. ‘’Get ready to run’’ she warned as she threw the liquid on one of the men. Since he was drunk and disoriented, he blamed his friend. His friend got up, knocked over someone’s drink and chaos followed. She just started a huge fight. ‘’Go, let’s go’’ she laughed as she took his hand, and they got out of the bar. Bucky was shocked, that woman was truly amazing.

They ran into the alley, laughing and loudly breathing. ‘’You didn’t pay’’ Bucky laughed. ‘’I don’t have the money, plus I’ll pay him next time, I always do’’ she catches her breath. He smirked; he was in awe of her. She was high on adrenaline, even if she already did that to get out of a bar, it was still thrilling to do. They were both panting, looking at each other, they got closer to the other. The alcohol in their system helped their anxiety. ‘’You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, you’re like me, but better!’’ he chuckled. She took his face in her hands as she bit her lips. ‘’Shut up’’ she pulled his face closer to hers and kissed him. John took a second to realise what was happening, but when he did, he put one hand on her hips and the other behind her neck as he deepened the kiss. When they pulled away, to breath, the look in their eyes had change, they were hungry, they needed more. ‘’Where do you live?’’ he panted. ‘’We have to take a taxi, and don’t worry, I can pay’’ she winked. They walked up to the sidewalk and called a taxi.

He was touching her thigh and kept going up. Y/n tried to not breath so loudly, to respect the driver. She wanted to have sex with him right here, in the taxi, but they couldn’t, and the wait was more fun. But she couldn’t wait to get to her appartement and have sex with him. When the driver finally stopped, Y/n handed him the money from the window. ‘’Keep the change, have a good night’’ she smiled as Bucky was behind her. She could feel his erection on her ass, when the driver left, Y/n turned to face him and quickly kissed him. Her apartment was the upper one, so they had to go up some stairs. Bucky gladly walked behind her, checking her ass out as she climbed the stairs.

The second the door was closed; Bucky’s mouth was on hers immediately, trying to show that he was the one in charge, but Y/n quickly showed him who was in charge tonight. ‘’Now, Major, relax, you’re the one fighting the bad guys, you need a reward for doing so’’ she breathed against his lips. She looked up at him, he was grinning like the devil. ‘’What do you have in mind?’’ he growled, God he was desperate for her, he needed her so bad, his painful boner was the proof of how bad he wanted her. ‘’You trust me?’’ she asked between kisses. He nodded as he was being led to her bedroom, he kept following her closely. She felt his hard dick on her ass, she was smiling proudly. She slightly pushed him on the bed, so he could sit at the end of it. He took his shirt off, since he was in his uniform, he knew how to unbutton his shirt quickly. ‘’I have something to propose to you’’ she started as she went between his legs, she was still up, so he had to lift his head to look at her. She played with his curls as she explained her idea. ‘’If you can resist the urge to touch me, until I say stop, you can do whatever you want with me after’’ she purred. His mouth slightly opened, but no sound came out. ‘’And if I touch you?’’ he asked, but it almost sounded like a moan. ‘’You lose’’ she breathed out as she backed away from between his legs.

She started to take off her dress, slowly, teasingly and with a grin on her face. He’d been touching her all night, now, he couldn’t it was torture, but the best kind. He devoured her with his eyes, he needed her, but first he had to play her little game. She took her bra off but kept her panties on. ‘’Should I take your pants off, or you want to do it?’’ she asked him, with a flirty tone. He quickly untied his belt as she kneeled before him, his pants were thrown away. She began to palm his cock, but he still had his boxer on, so it was pure torture. He wanted to touch her so bad, but he also wanted to fuck that brat dominant attitude out of her later. She slowly takes them off, freeing his length. Y/n licks her lips before looking up at John, who was breathing fast, he was controlling himself in order to keep his hands to himself. Those poor bedsheets, getting pulled so hard, he thought he was going to rip them. She kept caressing his thigh, moving her hands higher every time, she was teasing him, and she was enjoying it way too much. She eventually reached his cock; she began kissing the top of it. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt her delicate hands stroke his cock, he exhaled in pleasure.

Y/n was enjoying this moment, having this man practically begging for her. Even though he was too proud to beg, she could tell by the sounds he made that he wanted her to do something more. ‘’You’re doing so good, Major’’ she praised him. His body reacted to the praise in a way that was almost embarrassing, he secretly loved being praised. She pressed wet kisses on the tip, then, without warning, Y/n took John’s dick in her mouth. ‘’Ah, shit’’ he groaned, lifting his hand from the bed, but quickly grabbed the sheet back to prevent his hand to touch her. She began to suck him with a rapid pace, she was teasing him by often changing the rhythm. One of her hands was on the base of his length, stroking him slowly while her mouth was sucking him fast. He was in heaven, he was going to die; but what a great way to go, he thought. Bucky was dizzy from the feeling of her mouth and hand working at the same time. His stomach was contracting as he felt the sweet feeling of his climax coming. ‘’D-darling, I’m really, ah, fucking, shit, close’’ he moaned. She kept going, but her hand started to go faster. ‘’Come on, be a good boy and cum for me’’ she encouraged him. That was all it took to send him over the edge and make him see stars. Y/n felt his release in her mouth, but his cock kept twitching. His knuckles were white, practically blue.

She didn’t stop sucking him, it was a very slow pace, but she wanted to drive him mad. His thoughts were gathered, but he was still dizzy from the orgasm he just had. ‘’W-what are you – oh I can’t, it’s too much’’ he whimpered. ‘’Please, darling’’ he breathed out. She decided that it was time for her game to stop, she mentally prepared herself to what was going to happen as she took his cock out of her mouth. She whipped the sperm on her lips and suck on them. She had that proud grin on her face that made him crazy. ‘’You were such a good boy, respecting the rules. So you win, I’m yours to do whatever you-‘’ she yelped as she was thrown on the bed. He was mad, she’d been teasing him for what felt like hours, she was going to get the same fucking treatment.

Bucky crawled on top of her, he kissed her hungrily, he wasn’t playing her stupid game anymore. His hand trailed down to her panties, he needed them off, he pulled them off her and threw them away. His hands still next to her entrance, he felt how bad she enjoyed teasing him. ‘’Look how soaked you are, all that from a little game. Tell me, darling, did you enjoy this? Making me moan and beg for you?’’ he growled. She moaned in response, but he wasn’t satisfied, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. ‘’I didn’t hear you. Did you enjoy having me at your mercy? Playing your little game?’’ he said, with a husky voice. ‘’Yes- yes sir’’ she stuttered, he smirked at her answer before entering one finger inside of her.

She arched her back as he began pumping in and out of her, their lips were so close together, but he wasn’t letting them touch. ‘’Look who’s moaning now, bet you weren’t expecting that, uh?’’ he teased, against her lips. She shook her head as he entered another finger inside of her. ‘’Please, let- ah let me kiss you’’ she begged. He chuckled as he moved his fingers faster. ‘’C’mon, darling, you can beg more than that’’ he teased. She rolled her eyes in pleasure as she swallowed her pride and decided to surrender to him. ‘’Please sir, please kiss me. I need you-shit please sir’’ she begged. He was smiling like the devil, God she was amazing. ‘’That wasn’t so hard.’’ He croaked before kissing her passionately, their tongues were dancing together. He kept moving his fingers inside of her until he felt her walls clench around his fingers. ‘’You’re close?’’ he asked. She nodded, biting her lips. The knot in her stomach was ready to burst, but at the last minute, he took his fingers out, denying her from the sweet pleasure she deeply craved. ‘’No’’ she whined as she wiggled her hips to get any form of friction that could trigger her orgasm. But Bucky was not having it, he put one hand on her hips, to keep her still. ‘’Nah ah, only good girls get to cum. You’ve been a brat with an attitude, so you’re going to fucking beg me, and until I say so, you don’t get to cum, do you understand?’’ he ordered. She whined before nodding. ‘’Yes sir’’ she said, biting her lips. She wanted to argue with him, say fuck it and ride him, but she was enjoying this.

She felt tear form in her eyes from the frustration she was feeling as he put two fingers inside of her, but this time, he kissed her body until he reached her clitoris. He was going to eat her out and finger her at the same time, she was a moaning mess, her brain couldn’t even think properly. Bucky knew her brain was fried, and she temporarily forgot that she had to beg for an orgasm. Her thighs were shaking for that much stimulation, her hands were in his hair, pulling his curls as she came closer to an orgasm again. Y/n completely forgot about his rule, so when he stopped everything, he was doing, she whined again. ‘’Please-ah let me cum. I’m begging you, please sir. I-ah need to cum, please’’ she begged like her life was depending on it. Bucky chuckled as he pressed one last kiss to her clitoris. ‘’On all fours, darling, the only way you’re getting off is on my cock’’ he ordered.

She didn’t know if her arms were strong enough to support her, but still, she got on all fours, waiting for Bucky to do something. ‘’Look at you, on all fours, begging for my cock. We couldn’t guess with that bratty attitude of yours. I guess I have to fuck it out of you, what do you think, darling?’’ he teased. Y/n moaned at what he just said, she was a mess, but God how was she enjoying it. ‘’I would like that very much, sir. Please fuck me’’ she moaned. He chuckled again as he positioned himself at her entrance. The wait was killing her, she ached for him, needing him to fuck her and give her the release she craved. He took her hips as he buried himself inside her. She arched her back as she felt him go deeper than her usual one-night stand. ‘’Shit-oh you’re so f-fucking big’’ she gasped as she tugs on her bedsheets. He started to trust inside of her but slowly, to make sure she felt him, as he trusted back in, he brought her hips towards him. His length went deeper inside of her, making the woman roll her eyes in pleasure. ‘’Please, please, oh shit’’ she mumbled, she didn’t even know why she was saying please, her brain was foggy and couldn’t form a normal thought.

He leaned in, to kiss her spine, he kept pounding into her at a fast pace, he was chasing his own release. After marking her back, one on his hands went under her to play with her breast, pinching her nipple. As he did so, Bucky felt her walls clench in pleasure, he smirked as he understood. ‘’You like that, uh.’’ He breathed out, pinching her nipple again. She arched her back even more as she felt the familiar knot in her stomach form. ‘’I’m close, please, sir. I’m begging you, please let me cum, please’’ she whimpered. ‘’You’re going to cum at the same time as me, understood?’’ he ordered. ‘’Y-yes sir’’ she moaned. She was close, and tired of waiting, so she decided to praise him. ‘’Yes, holy shit, you’re so deep inside me. Making me feel so good’’ she praised, her voice was raspy from all the moaning. Bucky felt butterflies in his stomach at the praise, he knew what she was doing, but hey, could he blame her? ‘’Turn around, I want to see you when I make you cum’’ he ordered as he took his cock out, only to slam inside of her when she was on her back.

He kept kissing her sloppy, her legs were around his waist. She kept whispering soft praise in his ear as he quickened the pace. ‘’C’mon, fill me up. Cum inside of me, I want to feel you’’ she encouraged him. With a powerful trust, he emptied himself inside of her as Y/n’s walls kept clenching his cock. They were moaning, gasping and trying to catch their breaths. Her breath was labored as she came down from euphoria. He was laying on top of her, his dick still buried inside of her. They were both silent for a couple of minutes before he pulled out and got up. Y/n watched as Bucky put his boxer back on and looked for her bathroom, while he was gone, she could properly catch her breath. It was the best sex she ever had. He came back with a warm towel to clean her up.

Bucky was holding her tightly; they were both cuddling. ‘’That was… mind-blowing, darling’’ he chuckled, looking at her. ‘’Best sex I’ve ever had’’ she joined the chuckling as they intertwined their fingers. ‘’Are you staying tonight?’’ she asked him. ‘’I can, but I have to get back on the base tomorrow afternoon, my pass expires tomorrow’’ he explained. She smiled as she snuggled closer to him. ‘’Goodnight, Y/n’’ he kissed the top of her head. ‘’Goodnight John’’ she kissed him on the lips before putting her head on his bicep.

As Bucky fell asleep that night, he promised himself that he was going to see her again, that woman was the most wonderful he ever met, she was funny, sexy, beautiful, smart and she was amazing in bed. That was all he needed, he was going to see Y/n again…

[willyoubemycherryy]

ღ𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐_.!* @eymie --_𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕-_𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢.-._𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛..--𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎?:.. 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎-//𝚒𝚗-..._𝚝𝚑𝚎-,,𝚑𝚒𝚓𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜-*.𝚘𝚏__𝙼𝚛..&𝙼𝚛𝚜_-/𝙴𝚐𝚊𝚗.• !!_ _ _

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜❥ 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚞𝚗-, 𝚙✪𝚛𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝, 𝚙𝚟𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕...𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 ⚠︎︎MDNI⚠︎︎

“𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐~ 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔..𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏’? 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄...“

.• •. •

This was a secret that you would take to your grave.

Clamping your hands tightly over your mouth, trying desperately to quiet the shuddering moans that were threatening to spill through.

You two could not be found like this under any circumstances.

In the corner of a empty dark room, the one typically used for parties after a mission well done. Leaning heavily against the wall with your superior on his knees, sultry mouth glued to your cunt.

Major John fucking Egan. AKA; the death of you.

"Mmm, I missed you pretty bunny...she’s so sweet today. I wonder why..."

Putting your hands down you managed a weak glare at the man nestled between your thighs, but it was rendered moot as the length of his tongue traveled between your swollen pussy lips.

The groan that followed caused vibrations along your throbbing clit, your eyes rolling upwards at the pleasure running up your spine. Honestly, you really needed to deliver some important files for Operations but when John saw you there for the first time in forever four days, it suddenly didn’t matter that you had a job to do before he was promptly dragging you away, to now.

Where he had been leisurely licking away at you for damn near half an hour, every objection dying on your lips.

Humming thoughtfully, Bucky lifted your thighs closer around his shoulders and planted a wet kiss right on your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your jaw dropped open in a sharp gasp, heat rushing over you like a tidal wave. Crying in pleasure as his tongue repeatedly stroked beneath the hood; almost too intense and trickling into pain. If that weren't enough, you felt two of his thick fingers thrust inside your dripping cunt, crooking upwards.

"B-Bucky, how fucking long are y-you gonna—Oh, f-fuck!" Your warbled moans almost drowned out the sounds coming from Bucky’s mouth, who was eating you like your life was on the line.

Your arch shot upwards as his fingers swirled in hard circles against that spot inside of you; lips sucking tightly around your clit. He was in his own little world as he drank in your pussy like it really was the last thing he would taste.

The obscene moans and wet smacking of his lips made your face burn hotly, but he was not concerned with your embarrassment. God if anyone caught you…somehow the riskiness of your current position only pushed him to pull more amorous sounds from your mouth.

So, reluctantly releasing your poor clit, Bucky spread his fingers inside of you and slipped his tongue inside; fucking you with it.

He was in heaven. Drowning beneath the heavy scent of your arousal, your taste sweet like honey in his mouth.

You bit down on your bottom lip and unconsciously began to undulate your hips; hiccups and moans bubbling in your throat. His thrusting tongue was the literal definition of paradise—euphoria and pleasure lighting every nerve in your body, making them 'pop'.

Risking a glance down, you felt your breath catch at the low, heated, cerulean gaze pinning you still. Bucky nipped you as he wiggled his tongue within your slick pussy; the bottom of his face drenched with both his saliva and your own juices.

When rough fingers came to roll your clit in quick circles, your head dropped back against the wall as you cum hard. Trembling, you squeal as he continued to thrust his tongue and help you through the waves of ecstasy; groaning deeply as your release flooded his mouth.

Waves finally receding, Bucky gently pulled his tongue free of your abused cunt and licked up the excess. You were far too out of it to do anything except moan softly Bucky—licking and kissing all the way up your stomach and stopping to press his face against your collarbone.

It felt like your legs would give out any second as you tried to straighten yourself and catch your breath.

John was unusually placid as he cuddled you to him before looking down at you with an entirely too satisfied smirk, pretty blue eyes gleaming at your exhausted expression.

“Oooh. I wore you out huh?” Laughing at the weak glare you shoot him.

“Harlot.” You hiss at him with a scowl.

John doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by your insult, eyebrows shooting up in surprise before laughing even harder.

“Yeah? Well you’re a quickshot and a crybaby.” Gasping sharply in embarrassment, you whirl around to smack his chest.

“THATS NOT FAIR!” But in all fairness you started it. John just smiles down at you fondly, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You’re right. Don’t be mad at me?” Pouting lightly at you and watching how it takes less than 2 seconds for you to give in and nod, kissing him back on the lips.

“Okay seriously though, next time try not to abduct me in front of everyone because…all the guys were whistling,” it’s embarrassing to recount as you mutter to him. All the hollers and “don’t hurt her too bad Major”’s thrown your way.

“Alright. Cross my heart. I’ll even smack them upside the head for you.” You scoff in begrudged amusement but he’s dead serious.

“My hero,” his heart melts at that and he wishes he could keep you for just a little bit longer. “Sadly I have to get going, big guy. I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done. So don’t miss me too much okay?” Cupping his face, you rub your noses together before pecking his pouty lips.

“I make no promises but I’ll be waiting. Run along, bunny. And thanks for the sweets.” One last kiss accompanied by his low voice as he lets you tend to your other duties. Watching you go.

Huh? You didn’t bring any sweets though?

The double meaning doesn’t hit you until you’re out in the hall, the door swinging shut behind you. Eyes popping wide as you gasp,

“JOHN EGAN-!! YOU LITTLE BUTTMUNCH!” You shout out, face hot, completely mortified at his cheek.

Storming down the hall, you pretend not to hear his chuckles.

And you definitely don’t have a smile to match the tingling between your legs.

♡︎ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ, ᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴏʟʟᴀʀ😌

[julietsbody]

bucky who very openly manspreads, he always sits down with a grunt, slumping down into the seat with his legs instantly parting from each other. and it’s not like it was a little part, something barely noticeable— no, his legs were spread as far as they could possibly be. buck always gripes at him about it, telling him he looks ‘easy’ in which bucky just scoffs, rolling his eyes and spreading even farther just to annoy buck. 

bucky who reeks of mint, coffee, and the cologne he deems the best ever made, pour un humme. 

bucky who rarely ever gets hurt, but when he does? he loves to put on a show for the nurses, wincing and groaning in pain over something simple like a paper cut, or stumbling into the infirmary with a busted lip after he decided it would be funny to box one of the majors on the british air forces. he’s always flirting, too, saying something cheesy like, “gonna take good care of me, doc?“ 

bucky who makes you call him sir when you’re in the empty barracks with him, as everyone else is attending the bar, he’ll tease and tease you until you’re pathetically begging him for him to fuck you— but you left out the one thing he wanted, making him click his tongue disapprovingly, “please who, huh? you gonna be good for me and call me sir, right?”

bucky who puts his military visor hat on you when you’re riding him, chuckling whenever your thighs shake at the feeling of his thick cock stretching you out, making some idiotic joke like, “tryna ride me like ‘m an airplane, huh, doll-face?” 

[cilliansmesoftly]

sore

joe rantz x reader

summary: what’s a girl to do when her man comes in groaning in pain besides give him a much needed massage?

warnings: joe being a lil shit, reader providing everything he needs, implied smut, massage, whimpering

ੈ✩‧₊˚ y/n was completely zoned into her homework, she had a huge final coming up and she refused to give into any distractions.

until..

“damn it.” she heard joe groan out, trying to lower himself onto her bed.

“what is it?” she asked, not even turning around. she continued to furiously scribble onto her paper, mapping out equations for her engineering class.

“rowing.” he said through gritted teeth as he leaned down to untie his shoes. “shit’s gonna end up killing me.”

a beat of silence went through the room, only joe’s heavy breathing and the sound of pen writing on paper.

“baby, can you help me?” joe hated to bother her, but every time he tried to lean down to untie the other lace of his shoe, he felt a shooting pain go from the lower part of his back all the way up to his neck.

“yes, one second.” she answered absentmindedly, her tongue was slightly poked out of her lips in concentration and joe would’ve awed in adoration if every muscle in his body weren’t cramping.

“baby.”

“coming.” she said, but made no move to get up. so, joe, not without difficulty, stood to his feet and bent down to look over her shoulder. her paper was absolutely covered in writing. notes were in the margins, quotes and equations that she thought important were underlined or had a cute star next to it.

y/n could feel his breath on her neck and she subconsciously leaned into his presence.

“you need to take a break.” he said into the side of her neck, kissing the skin sweetly. she giggled at the feeling and sighed, turning around in her desk chair to face him. he looked tired. his hair was disheveled, the bags under his eyes were heavy, but she thought he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. she leaned up to catch his lips in a kiss. “come lay with me.”

joe grabbed her hand and brought her to her feet, watching her plop onto the bed with a sigh. he took a much slower approach, trying to squat into a sitting position on the side of the bed. his groans were loud and y/n was sure the other girls in her building would suspect they were doing something more than just laying down together.

“here, let me help.” she sat up, swinging her legs onto the floor and walking to his side. she kneeled down, untying the laces of his worn out boots and pulling them off his feet. “lay on your belly, if you can.”

“what are you doing?” he asked, clenching his eyes shut when his muscle tweaked as he laid on his stomach. he felt her climb over his sore body and straddle him, sitting on the back of his thighs.

“i’m gonna give you a massage.” she said matter-of-fact. joe couldn’t help but smile in excitement, god, he needs one.

“do i need to take my clothes off?” she could hear the smirk in his voice, but she just rolled her eyes with a smile.

“just your shirt, rantz.” she pushed the back of his head playfully and watched as he grabbed the back of his crewneck over his head, tossing it to the floor. at first, she just scratched his back. he always loved when she did that. whenever they would sleep together, she would always run her nails through his hair, which would end in him asking her if she’ll scratch his back.

“feels so good, baby.” his deep voice grumbled into the mattress. she hummed, rubbing her hands harder to try and relax the taut muscles of his back. his shoulders were broad, and him being on the rowing team was just adding onto the bulk there.

when she hit a particularly sore spot, joe whimpered into the mattress. y/n hated herself for enjoying the sounds he was making, her legs involuntarily clenching around his. joe could feel her action, to her dismay, but not to her knowledge. he knew she liked when he was more vocal in bed, it spurred her on like nothing else to know that he was feeling so good, just from her.

so he did it again.

and again.

y/n worked her hands against his skin, working the tops of his shoulders since that seemed to be where he was hurting the most. every time the heel of her hand dug into the muscle, he would let out a groan, whine, whimper, or praise. she was practically soaked by now.

“are you doing that on purpose?” she halted her hands and leaned down to his head to hear his answer.

“doing what?” the smug bastard knew was this was doing to y/n.

“you are!” she stood up from the bed with tinted cheeks.

“aw, cmon, baby!” he sat up, sitting on his knees in her dorm bed. it was funny, really, how small her bed looked compared to him. they could barely fit on it together, but they liked being close anyways.

“no, you’ve made me mad.” she turned her back to him and looked out of the window. she wasn’t really mad. embarrassed? perhaps. but she just wanted to see how well he would apologize.

“seriously? i- okay.” he stood from the bed, taking into account how good his back felt now. he circled his arms around her waist, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. “i’m sorry.” she stood her ground, though it was hard to hide just how much she loved his body being this close to hers. “y/n…” she didn’t move an inch, so joe braced his hands and spun her around to face him. so quickly, in fact, that she lost her footing and fell into joe’s strong chest. she looked up at him with a smile and blush rising from her neck to the tips of her ears.

“i’m not mad.” she giggled. “but i would like a better apology.”

“but i wasn’t doing anything.” he was slowly leaning down, hoping to get a kiss, but she brought her fingers up to his puckered lips.

“first, you get me all flustered and embarrassed and then you make me trip onto you! joe rantz, i’ll need flowers, and chocolate, and a homemade card-” her sarcastic rant is cut off when he pulls her hand away from his mouth and entraps her lips with his.

“hush, and lay down. i’ll show you how sorry i am.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

Even my Friends just Love Her

|| Dear John Series 💌

Warnings: 18+ sexual and thematic material, not a lot in this chapter but some brief voyeurism and mention of naughty photographs, letters and imagined sex acts

Coauthored: honestly bless my baby Bri who I begged to beta read this when I was stumped three quarters of the way to completion and she went above and beyond and gave the ending of this segment so much life, pretty phrasing and a beating heart. It was a total joy to work on this with you, darling, thanks for your lovely idea that spawned this whole series in the first place.💋 so many thanks to Christi and Ashley who endured my screams about Spangles and writers block

April-May 1945

Her tenth night in Paris found Marge Spencer hard at work earning her keep as a trusted member of The Lana Tierney’s retinue.

She didn’t mind the labor, it had paid for a boat ride and a plane over the pond and the prettiest shared suite in the Ritz, with a view of the iconic skyline and more macaroons than Marge knew what to do with. An American girl of average means, moderate schooling and a vast imagination, Marge felt like pinching herself that her view consisted of the Eiffel Tower; instead, she applied herself more earnestly to her occupation and diligently set about petting the soft white fur fringing Spangles’ little pink nose.

That was the extent of Marge’s job description, pet Spangles, feed Spangles, brush Spangles, wash Spangles, walk Spangles, carry Spangles; anytime Julie Jean couldn't tend to Spangles herself, Marge was at the ready.

Spangles, you see, was a white bunny rabbit of the masculine sex given to Julie on her latest War Bond tour by a Marine gunner and nothing short of death could part the two. He had a blue velvet collar, a fetching little name tag hanging from it and a very active set of whiskers.

“Spangles was my dearest friend before you.” Julie had told Marge when she first introduced them and Marge had done her best to not crumple at that unwittingly dismal revelation.

There had been a lot of those. Julie Jean, as Miss Lana insisted Marge call her, was a unicorn of sorts. Very magical, very shiny, very fragile, dubiously real even to herself. For someone so universally adored she was the loneliest creature Marge had ever encountered, before meeting her she had assumed that waifish little fairies like Julie didn’t exist outside of rather maudlin novels. That felt like a very cruel denial of a very real predicament in retrospect. Julie's happiness was unbounded, universally ignited and childlike in its exuberance, her sadness was without a bit of restraint beyond some brittle and fleeting acting capabilities of keeping it together until she got to the powder room.

During their brief friendship, Marge had already spent a great deal of time hugging the starlet and patting her milk white shoulders in powder rooms. Anyone else indulging in such frequent fits might have caused Marge to give them a little shove and advice to ‘chin up’, but Julie did “chin up” so thoroughly and profitably in between -more than anyone Marge had ever known- that Marge felt rather unentitled to that specific sermon. When Julie was up, she was really up and so was everyone within a mile radius of her. And when she was down -only the single person with her or Spangles knew it. And Marge figured that was a pretty decent way to live; as were three room suites at the Ritz and more flowers on flat spots than a funeral home.

What was missing was someone specific to channel it all into. But that, Marge knew, was why they were in Paris: so that Julie Jean could pour out what she had to offer to an entire crowd of furloughed GI’s or else the recently liberated POWs still waiting for transit and looking altogether too thin and too shocked by their first female sighting in over a year. Julie managed them all beautifully, standing under hot afternoon suns and chilly evening spring breezes like a champ, in spindly heels and fetching chiffon straps, collecting flowers and kisses and horror stories with unfading aplomb.

Tagging behind her each day, cradling Spangles and the overflow of flowers not even Herb could manage, Marge grew tired just by observing. You had to have some kind of heart to keep doing what Julie did day after day. Wake up looking forward to it. You had to have an awfully large receptacle to receive what she had to give, too.

A revolving crowd of hundreds of GIs -or Bucky Egan.

Tagging behind, ever watchful for threatening Hollywood acquaintances or freshly liberated boyfriends in the crowd, Marge had no luck so far. She went to each show, mingled in each press of the crowd before and after, scanning, always scanning for blue eyes and golden hair and the sweetest face she’d ever known.

Gale. There was no reason to think he’d be here, but it had been ages since their last letters, only word had been that they’d been moved and that was from some other pilot in the same gargantuan holding place. As the flurry of a world war wrapping up took hold of bedraggled Europe, no one knew where anyone was. Unless you were a world famous starlet residing at the Ritz in a very promoted continental tour -then folks knew how to find you and serenade you under your hotel window.

Communication lagged terribly and it was a roll of the dice whether your next bit of news would be the most tragic or joyful you’d ever received. Whether you’d hold the person you missed or the telegram regarding them first.

So Marge scanned the crowds and tried her best to receive the overflow of flowers -and the occasional kiss- from the men around her with half the grace Julie showed each. It was really all very flattering, very exciting, and while back home in America there was felt the buzz of approaching victory, nowhere exuded it in such frantic merriment of expectation like Paris.

“Everything’s better in Paris.” Julie had told Marge on the way over, dreamy and giddy herself that her plan had worked, that they were headed over to the same land mass as their men, and that Marge was with her, “Even the best things in the world get magnified in Paris. That’s why everyone doubts it’s real. But it is Marge! It is!”

So far, even sitting on the carpeted floor of the suite, staring out the balcony after ten nights spent here, and petting Spangles wet fur for a living, Marge had to agree it felt more than a little magical.

“Laaaa!” Julie’s exclamation interrupted her reverie, silver belled voice matching the atmosphere to perfection, “Wasn’t that a bop?”

She’d been soaking in that tub for two hours, tap turning and on and off to add more hot water and Marge thought her poor, no doubt sore, feet deserved every second of the extravagance. Plus the room now smelled of bath salts that Marge was pretty sure were the very distilled essence of seduction. And that complimented her view of the Parisian skyline, too.

“Always is with you at the mic.” Marge swore, meaning it, too. Nine shows in ten days and even though she had ulterior motives for attending Lana’s shows -scanning, always scanning- Marge was astounded by the variety and interest the entertainment retained after repeated tastings.

“Yeah? Really? Honest?” Julie sat herself cross legged on the fluffy duvet at the foot of their shared, king sized bed, and chewed her lip like it was her first performance ever. There had been another suite with another bed, and after the second night when Julie heard Marge crying her little heart out over Gale, the consolation had been made. Julie was eager for sleepovers. Never had them before, she swore.

Now these chats happened each night.

“Honest.” Marge got up from seat on the floor and came over to the bed, setting Spangles between them, “You gotta know that? Like those screams and yells were all hoo haa. Trust me, Julie, it was electric. You were electric. Again.”

They sat and pet Spangles in silence for a few moments before Julie spoke up again, soft and sweet as she watched Marge’s dimple deepen, “You’ve made this trip so much better than any other I’ve taken, you know that, Margie? Paris is how it should be with you.” she proclaimed triumphantly, “Lovely and pretty and makes me feel like I can float.”

“You can in my book.” Marge drawled, chucking under Julie’s chin, the girl looked half too young without the makeup and Marge felt it was easier to be friends like that.

Just two girls and a bunny in Paris.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” Julie whispered.

They spent most of their sleepovers talking about them -the boys. Speculating happy little comforts for them and spinning happy little ever-after’s for themselves when this all wrapped up.

“Hopefully cuddling for warmth.” Marge’s grin grew sly, the mental picture too amusing even if it was bittersweet.

A small commotion in the hall outside sent both girls into high alert suddenly, Spangles’ whiskers twitching in solidarity for their anticipation. This had been happening most nights, too.

“Is it them do you think?” Julie gleefully whispered, untangling her legs and tiptoeing to the door with Marge begrudgingly protesting but following nonetheless.

Julie was generous with the peephole and Marge had given up pretending to be above the jovial pastime of people watching -especially when their swanky floor at the Ritz meant they had the most shocking sort of neighbors. Ingrid Bergman for one, and as of the last six days; accompanied by a man who was not her husband.

“He’s dark.” Marge reported, finally getting a better look at the man in question as the illicit lovers grappled in a kiss and fumbled longer than usual at their key.

“Lemme!” Julie shoved at Marge’s giggling frame and tiptoed to line her eye up, “Ooooh, lord! Marge, Marge I think that’s Capa!”

Marge made a disgusted little face. “Frank Capra? ‘Why We Fight’ Capra? Isn’t he old?”

“No, no.” Julie swatted at her without tearing her eye from her spying view, “Robert Capa -life magazine. War Photographer, Hungarian, very dangerous profession.”

“Being hungarian?” Marge snorted, “Or stealing wives?”

“Oh hush they’re so in love.” Julie whined, rapt attention until the door of the opposite suite banged shut with a decisive crash. “They’re so in love.” she moaned, letting her forehead thud against the door, allowing herself to dramatically slide down the length of the door to the plush carpet.

“He’s very hairy.” Marge was amusedly unimpressed.

“I don’t want him for meeeee!” Julie whined and Marge sensed another little fir coming on and cast a furtive glance at the macarons and tissues across the room on the side table. “It just reminds one of being in love.”

“Well, don’t fret, that’ll be you and John Egan in no time, clawing wallpaper and ruining respectable people’s evenings.”

Julie looked up at her unimpressed and Marge could have recited from memory the next fussy little cry: “He’ll probably hate me.”

Marge sighed and knowing this was going to be a little bit of a moment, sat down beside her, back to the door, matching pajamas a cool silk rub against each other as she hugged the poor girl. “No he won’t.” She insisted, “He’ll think you’re a silly little goose for crying so much over him and he’ll think you’re smart as anything for all the money you’ve raised -and the good you’ve done. He’s an ambitious man, he’s not one to knock a good idea. I bet he’s proud as anything. If he knows about acorn -he’s proud. You can count on it.”

They did this every evening, too.

Julie had never known a lovelier creature more convinced they were unlovable. It helped that the comforting sentiments she dished out like tranquilizers were firmly true; in fact, if anything, Marge was a little braced for the shock of Julie being quite happily eaten alive by the most voracious man she’d ever had the fortune to meet.

“I might as well jump into the Seine if not.” Julie commented casually.

“Yeah, well,” Marge tempered with a squeeze, “maybe don’t come on to him with that one.”

After some time of more innocuous conversation, a commotion startled them, the triple rap of knuckles on the door behind their backs -Herb’s special little knock. They shared a spooked look. Marge, quite settled in her protector mode, rose first. She gave the peephole a cursory little look to make certain before sliding the lock and cracking the door open as wide as was respectable in silk pajamas.

“Herb?”

“Miss Spencer, Miss Julie,” he gave a nod, something odd in his bearing, a simmering thing near to nervous excitement that jarred with his sober expression, “sorry to bother, but there’s been a development in the lobby -I, ya see, I’ve been turnin’ all the young bucks away after you go up, as you asked but -there’s one down there now-“

“Does he need a room?” Julie inquired anxiously, she’d put up about ten refugee families in various little suites and over a couple dozen servicemen, “That silly concierge not letting you put it on my tab?”

“No miss, this one’s not lookin’ for a room.” Herb’s keen eyes skittered to Marge, an almost cautionary expression on his face, “He says he recently escaped a camp and by the look of him I’d belive it. He’s asking for -for Miss. Spencer, Miss.”

“What?” Marge was not one to be cautioned against hope, “Herb! What did he say? Where is -what’s he look like? What did he say his name-“

“Gale.” Herb let it drop gently. “Said his name was Gale Cleven, and that Miss Turner didn’t know him but her Bunny Friend did. That he saw Miss Spencer’s face in the papers when he got in this evening, he’s meant to be flown out tomorrow.”

“Julie’s Bunny Friend!” Marge repeated with a hysterical little cry, watery smile gone megawatt, “Julie!! Julie it’s gotta be him!”

“Well, well should we-“ Julie patted her pajamaed self down in a bewildered state of companion joy, “-should we go down? Should he- Herb!” too flustered she begged for some direction.

“Up here, I’d think miss.” he advised, “If he’s not the one, there’s no scene made, I can keep him in the hallway while Miss Spencer’s makes use of the peephole -as she is so fond of doing ages after I knock.”

Marge gave him a wry face which he returned in kind.

“Herb, is he -alone?” Julie asked suddenly, voice quite small and Marge could have knocked herself over the head with the ice bucket for being so very callous.

“Yes? Is there a dark haired, tall, big, loud-“

“-American major with him named John?” Herb supplied, ever astute and dampening in the extreme, “No, he’s alone. Or that is, besides the army man who drove him in.”

“Right.” Julie wiped her sweating palms on her thighs, sitting heavily on the bed but doing her damndest to maintain a bright smile. “Don’t leave poor Major Cleven down there any longer, Herb! Bring him up! I’ll wring for room service.”

“He -he may not be-“ Herb cautioned once more but Julie was adamant, already dialing:

“No, no more buts, it’ll be him. And he’ll have news of John. Go! Go go go!”

Marge gave Herb a pitying shrug of solidarity but the minute he was out in the hall she gave all pretense of calm, turning in a giddy spin that spooked poor Spangled and took out an already precarious floral arrangement. “Should I dress? Should I-“ Marge patted herself down now, but Julie, having primly placed her order and tipped it with a sugar coated thanks came over to her, and merely began to take Marge’s blond strands out of their rag curlers.

“No, you should have your hair undone.” the actress proclaimed, “And your top button, too.”

“Julie!“ Marge gasped, somehow it all felt so very likely, with him possibly downstairs, maybe in the elevator now, all their naughty little girls chats suddenly leaving the realm of hypothetical at the likelihood of Gale actually seeing that extra sliver of skin in mere moments.

“Marge.” Julie gave it back to her, fingers insistent on the silk, “It’s up to you to welcome him home.” she preached with girlish simplicity, “And as you’re not home yourself, you must make do, bring home with you.”

“How?” Marge stressed.

“There is nothing more domestic than a lady in a carefully crafted state of repose.”

“There’s not?”

“No, there’s not. ‘Me? Just rolled outta bed to welcome ya honey!’ See?” Julie parroted her alter ego with a little shimmy that sent her own curves jiggling beneath the shiny fabric in such a blatant way that even Marge had to admit she had a point. “Besides,” she added with practicality that sounded very much parroted from Marge herself, “we don’t have time and there’s nothing sexy or welcoming about a woman struggling into her house dress.”

“Ohhh shooo!” Marge began to hit at her when another knock sounded.

“Oh god.” Julie vocalized for her, squeezing Marge’s hand encouragingly, “It’ll be him.” she rallied.

“Yes.” Marge set her chin firmly and having plucked up her bravery, strode to the door purposefully. Somehow it felt like a doubt unworthy of their love for her to use the peephole, so without even a moment's delay in turning the handle, Marge flung wide the suite door and stared back at the two men outside in the hall.

He was pale as spector, those dear and onetime soft features nearly gaunt from deprivation, a criss-cross of purpling scars cutting across parchment skin; but the eyes were the same, sunken and dulled as they were, the same soul stared back at her and the thread between them held firm.

“Marge?” that voice was just as deep and thrilling and homey as she remembered, it had melted her belly and filled her with devotion from his first greeting in Texas. She had not stood a chance, not then and not now.

She was throwing her silk clad self against his filthy overcoat before she could fully comprehend anything else beyond it being him -it was him.

“Gale, Gale, Gale it’s you!” Marge panted in his embrace, the heavy feeling of his hand cradling her head a long imagined thing that winded her in reality.

Julie stood back mildly stunned. She fiddled with her own turban, having forgotten to see to her own appearance. If watching Capra and Bergman hurt so good this- this was bone deep beauty that hurt like a hundred little cuts soothed by a warm bath. Major Cleven was muttering about dirt and redefining what missing her meant into something eternal and something else comparing Marge to angels.

Julie and Herb exchanged the communicative glance of well satisfied colleagues over the lovebirds’ shoulders. If she looked hard she thought she could see commiseration in his face, too. It was intolerable, and she turned her back on the scene and fumbled on the bureau for her cigarette case. The latch was being pesky, it made a clatter as she tried to wrestle it open on the tortoiseshell table top. She’d dropped the thing one too many times, and now the latch was busted just so that it was a bore to get it open.

“Miss Turner.” her real name spoken by a man made her jump, all the more so as he was so close behind her, suddenly deep into the suite as Julie had let too many moments go in her fight with the case.

Julie braced herself on the bureau and turned round to give Major Cleven his deserved smile. He really was as beautiful and ethereal as Marge talked of, recognizing in him some matching features to her own made her want to giggle in embarrassed disbelief at Egan’s obvious preferences. But her quips and greetings died on her tongue at his intense stare, a pink flush making it into his sallow cheeks the longer he looked at her and she recalled how he had seen her picture. But still he held her gaze and behind him Marge looked encouragingly expectant, and as if he could feel his girl’s prodding, he rallied.

“Miss Turner I-“ Gale Cleven looked at a loss for a brief moment, “-for everything! Thank you, for everything.”

“Why, whatever for? I-“ Julie’s batting little laugh was smothered by a sudden and engulfing hug of her own, and while she’d endured and repaid many a hug from soldiers and men alike, this one was different. “Oh Major Cleven, it’s alright, it’s a joy really.” She patted at his back and tried to grin back at Marge’s watery eyed happiness. Herb had gratefully closed the door behind the bedraggled major.

“You saved his life, ya know?” Cleven had pulled away suddenly, very emphatic hands on her shoulders and Julie caught a glimpse of something fatherly like she’d only imagined. “You’re what kept him going.”

“Did he-“ Julie felt her voice grow thin, in aggravation she about stomped her foot in his embrace, “-did he hear? I tried to send messages after-“

“He heard, ‘em.” Gale’s little nod shook her, too.

“He did?” Some chipped and unsettled hope was suddenly falling right into place in her heart, cemented and sure, “He did. But, he’s not with you?” she couldn’t help the little beg.

Cleven’s face fell and so did his hands. Marge approached them, feeling a presentiment. “What happened?”

“We planned to make a run for it together.” Cleven sounded guilty as hell, “Had to be that night. Two went over the wall just fine and I was following and he was behind and they spotted us.” If Julie could have found it in herself to hate him, the wretched look he flashed her would have compelled forgiveness on the spot, “He told me to go -and I did. And I heard shots after and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Stunned, not at all expecting something of that nature, Julie clung to her furniture a little harder and tried to lean on that newly fastened hope in her heart. They had been connected all this time, she had felt it and now Gale had confirmed it and, she may be insane for it but- “It’s alright, we don’t know, which means we don’t know anything bad either.”

“Yes!” Marge’s voice was a little overly emphatic for the quiet moment, “That’s true! Nothing bad.”

“I know he’d take care of himself,” Gale offered, “-he has been. Just for you. Only thing keeping him on the straight and narrow.”

“Then I think,” Julie dared, feeling her cheeks growing hot and wet, this night being altogether too much to pretend at something close to sanity when with dear friends, “I think we’d know, don’t you? Me and you, we'd

know if he wasn't ... here anymore."

Gale looked at her like she was crazy but at the same time, understanding unfurled behind his eyes, as if he wasn’t used to relying on feelings like this, but it didn’t mean he didn’t know they were real.

Julie meant it, and believing it made some loathsome part of himself calm under the comfort of it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I think we would.”

“Now!” Julie clapped her hands, Lana’s mask coming to smooth her face and brighten her smile, it wasn’t fair to Gale or to Marge to make this a somber evening, late as it was -this was Paris! The Ritz! If a celebration couldn’t be had and comforts procured, where could they be? “What we do have on our hands -is you! And you look as if you could use a burger and coke and a bath! And I’ve got all of them here, don’t argue, don’t you dare, Marge deserves to see you fed and moderately clean, don’t you think?”

Put that way, as a service to someone else, Gale Cleven only had weak thanks and pale rebuttals about needing to be at the newly rebuilt airport outside the city to get back to Thorpe Abbots tomorrow. He was still enthralled to military time, he hadn’t counted on this, not at all, but it didn’t change things-

“I’ve got a valet, Major, he could get you to Siberia tomorrow if you needed. Now hush, I’ve rung for food. Where are they? Herb! Herb!”

“It’s best to just go with it.” Marge teased him as he catatonically watched the starlet boss about the waiters and her valet, bewildered and bamboozled at the sudden luxury. The sudden proximity of his girl, too.

Suddenly there was nothing else on his mind but one thing, “You said yes.” he reminded in the middle of the chaos swirling around them.

“Yeah,” Marge’s dimples popped, “yeah I did.”

“You still of that mind?” he nudged closer, noses brushing and he was aware that he was filthy, but she was magnetic and willing.

“You’d have to drop off the earth to get out of this one, Major Cleven.”

Gale refused to sit on anything while Julie and Marge fed him from a sumptuous buffet off the cart. He swore he was too dirty to even stand in such a nice place like this but he was also shaky, pale and in dire need of food and with two little blondes plying him with the first bits of American cuisine he’d had in years, he wavered and stayed. His insistence on going to his original billet grew weaker with each passing moment as Marge smiled at him and fed him fries. By the time Herb had been sent down to inform Major Cleven’s jeep driver that his passenger was lost to welcoming arms, Gale had quite forgotten much of anything beyond the feel of a full stomach and the promise of a bath.

For a long time he sat in the cold porcelain shell and ran the water over himself, such a terrible amount of filth and grim didn’t deserve a bath, it would turn even his hardened stomach to sit in the juices of a year and a half’s captivity. So after being shooed by Julie Jean into her intolerably bright and ornate en-suite bathroom, complete with a star’s assortment of toiletries and the bunny’s monogrammed food and water bowls, Gale gingerly let his ratty clothes fall to the marble floor and stepped into the tub.

Over the roar of the faucet he was unaware of the tittering whispers at the door -still slightly ajar and unlatched as Julie Jean was nothing if not a little wicked. And concerned.

“People drown in bathtubs where I come from all the time!” She refuted Marge’s scandalized objections.

“Yes, because they’re pickled with booze!”

“After what he’s been through he’s in about as good of shape.”

Marge knew that statement wasn’t false exactly but her hand still fluttered over her belly in nervousness at the impropriety. “Alright.” she went with it, breathlessly anxious and a little flustered at the blurry something beyond that chink in the hinge.

“Aren’t you going to peak?” Julie unfolded the rest of her play with an alarming smirk. “Come on, he’s going to marry you, how many times will you see him in his natural state at the ritz?”

It wasn’t fair to put it like that, to remind Marge she was living on borrowed fairytale time. It was a deep seated fear she had shared with Julie once as they had the covers tucked up to their chin’s and their hearts out on their pillow cases -that she woke sometimes with a feeling of terrifying urgency and nothing but regrets for a laundry list of bypassed chances she had not taken. Upon waking further and regaining some sanity, she couldn’t for the life of her recall what these fateful omissions that startled her so badly had even been. But times like these, when she went to be good but then was asked if that really was worth her time, such urgency crept back, nagging. “Go on then.” Julie slipped aside, her battle won as Marge surrendered and delicately placed her cheek against the door frame, an eye to the crack.

She had spent many nights imagining the whole of Gale, a beautiful back she had only seen beneath drab olive, the nipped waist and the lanky legs that sent his trousers on a mile long spill of fabric. Her breath hitched at the pale expanse now before her, each proportion how she lovingly recalled but this time without obstruction or disguise, a strange dichotomy: the youthful taper and swell of his backside jarring with stark ribs and a mottle of ugly bruises and festered creases. She didn’t know if her gasp came from desire or commiseration, jerking her face back from the sliver of light as Gale turned his head sharply, as if feeling her observation even as the water had hid her inadvertent noise. Either uncaring or convinced he was mistaken, she watched as Gale stepped into his tub and promptly sank his head beneath the splash.

Julie watched Marge as she watched Gale and she wondered if this is what it was like in fairytales when the gates of the kingdom are thrown open, everything wanted and wished for is there. The protagonists never know what to do with a dream come true, do you eat it? Fondle, crush, preserve it in a glass case? Such a cruel kindness, dreams that come true; Marge’s twitching fingers and gasping lips suggested a torture going on inside her, heavy lidded love and belly hot want.

Julie swore to herself then, she’d feel it too. Soon, she’d be watching the man who owned the jacket as he showed her himself, just as he’d written his heart out for her eyes alone, one day soon he’d be naked and hers and she could watch him and do what people do with dreams.

Perhaps feeling vindictive for being ignored, or perhaps merely thirsty, Spangles suddenly made a series of determined little hops across the suite floor, threaded the blockade of the girls’ feet with ease and, perhaps seeing his chance, nudged open the crack of the bathroom door only to bounce along the marble floor in a cacophonous clatter of little paws that even Gale could hear over the faucet’s roar. Like a slippery fish, he skidded to his side along the bottom of the wide tub, a pink, bath-warmed hand clutching at the edge and hauling his sopping head above the lip to observe his long eared visitor -and the guilty little audience of girls in their night clothes at the threshold.

The look he leveled Marge made Julie’s toes tingle and second guess how chaste these two’s reportedly tame trysts pre-war had really been. “We merely wanted to make sure you didn’t-“ Marge clasped and unclasped her hands, “-drown.” it was a deflated little excuse by the time she got it out.

Spangles had begun to sneeze, ever sensitive to steam and Yardley’s lavender soap, his poor little legs skidding apart further and further on the damp floor. Gale bit his lip from laughing at the cute little creature’s plight.

“Oh laa!” Julie gave up all pretense and entered to save him -the bunny, that is- causing Gale to flail a little harder as if there was a deeper level to the bottom of his tub where he could take refuge. “Add in the bubbles, Major,” Julie always had a remedy, “it’ll hide everything nicely. Don’t ruin poor Marge’s first evening with you by being a prude, she misses you. It’s been years, you know.”

They spent much of that evening in the following way, Gale in his topped off tub, Marge with a mostly useless cloth beside him on the ledge, and Julie primly sat with Spangles in her lap on the closed toilet seat.

“Bucky’s confirmed as best man.” He told Marge, sheepish grin breaking out until both girls laughed at the thought of the boys indulging in their own wedding planning.

He tells them about the radio he built, about the first time they heard her broadcasts, of the photo she’d sent which Bucky and him divided in half each keeping their girl in their pocket,

about Brady and the liturgy of devotion he made up for Egan to recite to Julie’s printed picture on the combine wall. The particulars were left out, Gale being a gentleman to the last, but Julie glowed and wept under the obtuse assurance anyway.

“I trust you kept him warm.” Julie demands, “Seeing as how it’s your fault he didn’t take his jacket.”

Gale tells her of Egan’s presumptuous bunk sharing, how strange things were happening every day and that grew to be commonplace. At her inquiring look he only blushes and stares down at the water, the bruise on his throat blooming under the flush, and for once Julie thinks she knows Gale Cleven better than his Marge.

“I’ve gotta be on that flight tomorrow early!” Gale had just enough energy left to fret even as he was led in a fluffy terry cloth robe to the sofa and made to lay down on fluffed pillows under a velvet duvet.

“Don’t worry about it major, I’ve got everything sorted. We’re coming with you.” Julie insisted, without having even discussed it with anyone as it didn’t require it -of course they’d be going to England with him! And no, she had nothing sorted but as soon as she had Gale deposited on the sofa with Marge’s hands entwined with his from her place on the floor, Julie Jean sent for Herb and summarily entrusted him with sorting it.

“Before seven thirty am tomorrow, please.”

Alone in bed, as Marge had made a poor showing of joining her only to go “check on his breathing” and predictably not returned, Julie lay awake and thought of John. Fat, hot tears rolled out the corner of her eyes and into her ears, tickling her, making a miserable spot on her pillow. Whispering prayers with her eyes on the skyline, she begged him to stay alive for her. “We’re so close, sweet man. We are so close and I love you too much.”

By next morning Herb did indeed have things sorted. Or close to it. There was a small hitch. “Mr. Huston is confused by your change of plans.” Herb informed her as he oversaw the bellman with the last of the trunks. He had ensured Major Cleven’s threadbare uniform had been cleaned and pressed in the night, and when Gale appeared out the en-suite bathroom this morning he looked a modicum closer to how Marge recalled him shipping out.

“What doesn’t he understand?” Julie asked, feeling cross and dreadful suddenly.

“He asked to hear it from you. Room 608.”

“Well I, I suppose I should run by it and then we can be on our way.” Julie decided with brave sprightliness, fixing the little net on her hat to cover more than just her eyes.

“We’ll go with you.” Marge decided with forceful kindness; her pull on his arm was all the command Gale needed not to protest.

“Who’s Huston?” he asked as the elevator whirled them one floor higher.

“My business partner in the broadcast.” Julie replied, “And the man paying for this excursion. I suppose he’d like to make certain I’ve not gone looney.”

Mr. Huston’s cuban valet opened the door and behind him, despite the fresh morning hour, was a scene out of one of Gatsby’s parties. Multiple women in little clothing and a significant amount of discarded booze littered the place, and Huston, smoking a cigarette and flicking through the paper, did not even bother to leave his perch against the headboard. Julie suddenly felt as if she were seeing the scene through newcomers eyes and her face burned to be associated with it.

“Jack.” She greeted, knowing that despite how he had moved on for the most part, he would have teased her maliciously for trying to distance herself in front of her friends.

“Baby.” He flopped down his newspaper, “What’re you doing in here wearin’ tweeds? You know how I hate tweed, does nothing for your assets. God take off that jacket and pour a drink -who’re your friends?”

Julie clutched the donned sheepskin even tighter and could almost sense Gale Cleven shifting from one foot to the other, a loose stance of being on guard. “This is Major Cleven of the mighty eighth, and you know my dear friend Marge -she’s is his fiancé.”

“Ah, a fellow airman!” Jack perked up, rising off the bed with his full chest on display under a gaping embroidered robe and approached Cleven with a smug sense of equality. He stuck out his hand and Gale made him wait five whole seconds before he returned the grip, tightly. “Pleasure, Major.”

“Do I know your squadron?” He drawled.

“Oh, I’m an observer mostly. But I’ve seen some combat.” Jack didn’t have a group, those wings on his uniform meant about as much as Lana’s broach collection in regard to brave service.

It was like Gale could smell the costume party off him, and Lana admired him immensely for that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Pacific theater mainly”

Gale was smiling sympathetically and it was the most unsettling thing Marge had ever seen, and it satisfied something deep inside her that had loathed Huston since she first met him in the lobby ten days ago, his hand encroaching down her back and his language towards Lana so territorially possessive it gave the impression of her friend being a collectors item instead of flesh and blood.”Heard it was real windy on those atolls.” Gale remarked.

Huston’s smile wavered but only in confusion, no shard of doubt finding its way into his mind that it was derision curling Gale’s lip. “So- London?”

“East Anglia, actually.” Julie dared, “Major Cleven is in need of a ride” that wasn’t exactly true but “and I thought it would mean a great deal to give him a lift.” After a lengthy pause where Jack just stared at her with a smokescreen between them from his cigarette she added, “Great press, too.”

“You soft hearted little dolt.” Jack barked a laugh and it made Julie jump like all his rash emotions did, he pinched her cheek and tickled her ribs right beneath the swell of herbrassier as he went around her to his desk. “Ok, ok, you can have it. I’ll swing by to collect it and maybe get some footage for the documentary. What’s your group?” he asked Cleven.

“100th.”

“Oh, hell, I’ll definitely be swinging by.” Huston whistled, mind already ablaze with prospective press. “And you,” he pointed at Julie with his checkbook poised like a loaded gun, “better find something to do over there besides playing chauffeuring cupid, something that’ll make your mother think you aren’t going off script.” Julie gave him a frantic nod as victory was in sight and he went on, “But I’ll definitely be swinging by, I’ll pick you up, we’ll go back home out of London. Say, first week of May.”

Julie had no capacity to argue with her benefactor and meekly accepted his proffered momentary advance. She could only pray that John Egan would be in East Anglia by then, and she’d know something of her future: whether ‘home’ would depend on men such a Huston and their fickle lust or a steady ever after with an honest man like John.

“Thanks Jack I-I-I won’t forget t-this.” she managed, before they all dashed out the suite, Cleven having to be pulled from measuring up his seedy benefactor, and down to the taxi stand -England bound.

————————————————

Harry Crosby was taking sharp turns down the long runway at a pace and tempo Rosie Rosenthal did not find suitable but they made it alright, just as the anomaly of a jet came to a full stop on the runway, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the utilitarian bombers stacked alongside on the hardstands. When the radio tower had gotten buzzed for landing instructions from a foreign craft everyone had gone a little bizerk with speculation, but the pilot himself put them out of their suspense when he told Kidd that his cargo included The Lana Tierney and a Major Gale Cleven.

Harry had raced Rosie down the stairs to the nearest jeep and had begun to accelerate before his friend even fully landed in shotgun. Now they were just in time to see the hatch opened and the lanky and familiar figure of Gale Cleven drop to the tarmac in a graceful crouch.

“Harry!” He greeted as he straightened, his voice robust even if his constitution appeared battered by captivity, “They still got you at this dump?”

“Fresh outta the stalag Major,” Harry gave him grief back, “and getting dropped off on base in a private plane with Lana Tierney?”

“Yeah,” Rosie added, “What kinda war you been runnin’ anyway?”

Gale laughed off their backslapping greetings before suddenly recollecting, “Oh, right I forget. Ladies?” and turned back to offer his arms for Marge to take and he swung her gently to the ground.

“Boys, this is Marge.”

“Of course it is.” Harry admired with a hand outstretched to shake hers before he peered up into the plane, not being disappointed when he caught sight of a pair of ever so delicate ankles. “Holy mackerel, it is Bucky’s girl.” he blurted loudly as Lana’s angelic face peered back at him, as pristine and fuckable as her photographs but the delectable whole of her was swathed in Egan’s goddamn sheepskin.

“Aren’t you pretty.” Julie Jean admired Crosby right back, liking him immensely already for the fact he recognized her as Bucky’s girl. “Are you also strong?”

“I- I mean, sorta, not as much as-“ Harry stammered before realizing her meaning and so stretched out his arms to be of use, “allow me, Miss Tierney.” he helped her to the ground with a swing that was perhaps the most graceful of his life, gods be good. She was holding a little white bunny and Harry was instantly charmed.

“Thank you.” she kissed his flaming cheek.

“Who’s this?” Harry pet back the floppy ears, if only to have something to do besides gawk, he knew he needed to not gawk at Johnny Egan’s girl in Johnny Egan’s coat even if the girl in the coat was about as mouthwateringly perfect as—

“This,” Julie proclaimed with all the pride of a mother, “is Spangles.”

“You guys weren’t joking when you said Major Egan was pen pals with Lana Tierney?” Rosenthal shot Cleven a bewildered look.

“No, we weren’t.” Gale agreed.

“We should get you situated again.” Crosby rallied after Lana had sent Major Rosenthal siren red from a cheek kiss of his own, Harry was still vibrating under Lana’s assessing looks and the fond weight of her hand in the crook of his elbow, “We did not expect the company of ladies but I’m sure something could be sorted and uh, well, uh, we’ve got your billet, Major and we’ve got your footlocker. Bucky wouldn't let us ship it back to your folks. He kept saying ‘I expect him back.’ Heh, yeah he said his buddy was just MIA is all. Yeah.” Crosby trailed off before asking in a watery voice, “He not make it with you in the breakout? He ok?”

Julie watched Gale’s face go wretched again, truth dangling off his tongue too close to a damnable thing and she gently cut in for him, “He’s alive.” was all she supplied. “When have you ever known Major Egan or Major Cleven to leave behind their boys without either one of them?”

Harry’s eyes glittered dangerously close to tears before he gave a curt nod that so poorly disguised his emotion Julie immediately felt a kinship to him, “Probably just laggin’ behind, primpin’ his mustache for ya. He’ll be here in no time when he catches wind of our esteemed visitor.” Harry had also gone a little drunk under the influence of Julie’s perfume and Rosenthal had to admit it made him a little charming even if the balance could tip into cringeworthy at any moment.

“Oooh a Jeep ride.” instead Julie bounced Spangles gleefully in anticipation of utilizing the boy's regular mode of conveyance, taking a seat between Rosenthal and Crosby, the gearshift between her legs much to Harry’s driving distraction so that- “Gale and Marge can canoodle in peace” in the backseat.

Harry took the scenic route to Cleven’s old barracks, perhaps to give Gale and Marge more time, to brush Julie’s knee more often in shifting down or out of genuine desire to show her each storied handstand and Nissen hut. Probably a mixture of all three knowing Crosby. But the end result was Julie pink cheeked and wide eyed as a child, soaking in every bit of lore about the man she loved and never recalled, a hanky dabbing at errant tears now and again and Spangles being happily allowed to roam between her lap and Rosenthal’s.

Near the end of their little tour they stopped at one hard stand where Major Cleven seemed close to beside himself in joy to reunite with one of the mechanics, there were two children lagging about as well, civilians and Gale was very eager for them to meet his Marge. Not wishing to be aloof, Julie alighted as well and extended her hand to each of the ground crew, learning of their contributions and their marital status. There was a giggly stir amongst the group when suddenly a bouncing ball of fur attacked Gale from the back, bouncing on hind legs and nipping joyfully, it would appear the loving assailant was an overgrown husky.

“Meatball.” Gale sounded about as fond as he had when he first saw Marge and it made the girls titter behind their gloved hands.

Meatball, having exhausted his greeting of his old friend, turned to inspect the other newcomers, licking at Marge’s outstretched hand before turning with great interest to Julie. She was also inclined to stretch out her hand to him and give the pretty baby a good ear scratch when a sudden perk in the husky's face warned of a different interest: Spangles. If Gale had not noticed at the same time, there might have been a rather gruesome outcome but between Julie’s careful pivot with her precious rabbit and Gale’s strong restraint on Meatball’s collar, both pets lived to be reconciled another day.

“Guess we’re gonna have to train him not to think of Spangles as dinner.” Rosie laughed.

Their final stop was at Buck’s old hut, average in every way from the outside as the next cylindrical skinned hut, muddy path outside that the boys kindly spared the ladies by carrying them to the threshold, even if they protested they weren’t scared of a mired heel. Julie walked up and down the rows of beds, feeling the chilly air inside the metal shelter, footlocker names catching her eye as she scanned them. Somewhere behind her Gale was opening his footlocker, sounds of Marge’s pleased murmurs over finding her picture there reaching Julie from the end of the row. They deserved a minute to themselves and Julie had a specific thing she was searching for.

“Lookin’ for something in particular?” Crosby’s kind voice was very near her.

Julie turned and gave the mild mannered major a soft smile, shrugging her shoulders and her bunny before admitting her sentimentality, “I was trying to find John’s bunk. Felt like I might- know it somehow. But I’ve come up at a loss.”

“Oh he wasn’t in here.” Harry informed her, he always seemed beyond eager to talk about Egan and it warmed her, “He was with the 418th, you know, so he bunked with his boys. When he bunked at all.” He added as an afterthought and Julie’s mind went to all the letters she’d gotten from John dated with a slash between entries, as he wasn’t sure which date to sign as he began most of them at night and finished them at dawn. “Though he hung out here plenty to be with Buck and the other way around.” Harry added.

“Do you, do you think-“ Julie began, feeling shy despite how moderate she knew her request was.

“Wanna see his bunk?” Harry lept at her unspoken desire, “We kept his footlocker, too. We were all too scared to open it after he’d threatened us about your property in it.” Crosby’s creasing cheeks were flaming pink and Julie wanted to pinch them, then he went on, “And for the same reason we hated to send it to his mother. I mean, who knows what was in there, I mean, you’d know what but, I’m not saying there’s anything bad I just, we just-“

“Major Crosby, Harry, I’d love to see it.” Julie took his arm and he swallowed his tongue to shush himself, “Have you got the key?”

“I know a man with the keys.” Harry demurred his own influence yet his smile was sly.

“Major Crosby,” she murmured again as they slipped away from Gale and Marge’s preoccupied chat on his bunk and back out into a misting afternoon, the jeep left for them by a considerate Rosenthal, “I want it known I like you very much.”

Another metal hut. Nothing remarkable from the rest, but to Julie, stepping inside with Crosby at discrete hovering distance, it felt as hallowed as a cathedral. He stood here, he slapped this doorframe, knocked his fool head on that beam, paced a hell of a furrow between these bunks. Crosby had been generous with the anecdotes on the way over, and Julie had allowed herself to pester him, he liked it she could tell, and so she knew that Major Egan spent little time in here anyway, except to occasionally sleep, to dress and to read her letters.

Three of the most intimate activities she could conjure up, one’s she’d laid in her own room and imagined him doing. Basic, human, unpretentious necessities, she imagined John at them all the time until she felt like she’d truly played voyeur: the straightening of a tie, the scratching of an itch, the bleary coming to with a face down in the pillow.

He did those things here. Crosby was scraping a hefty metal thing from under one of the nondescript beds, and with a catch in her breath Julie realized it was his footlocker. “We couldn’t bear to stow it away, all the rookies who slept here after him had to deal with it. This was Major Egan’s bunk, they were just passing through.”

All the rookies. All of them. That meant many had slept here and then, truly passed through, passed on, a fiery death and mud hard landing. Sometimes she felt like the only girl in the world who’d lost something, and then she got told of rookies passing through his bunk and she thought of their mama’s who’d never allow their rooms to become the “spare.” Those rooms would always be theirs, even if they never came back. Just like John’s bunk.

But he was coming back. He had to.

“I-I imagine you’d like a moment to go through it.” Crosby had turned the key but left it dangling there, lid ponderously shut, Egan’s threats of evisceration and testicular imbibement still hanging loudly in the air for Harry, as if not a week had gone by since the last threat. No one looks into Major Egan’s footlocker.

“Yes, I would.” Julie whispered.

“Think you can manage the lid?” Harry hoped she’d not ask him to open it for her, that was too close to losing his balls for comfort. Jean needed them.

“I think I can.” Her voice was weak and her hands a little shaky but she wanted it, and what she wanted she always managed to find strength for. “I’d like to spend a little time in his bunk. Just -just to think of him.” she found herself saying, forgetting to blush under Crosby’s understanding gaze.

“Of course.” he didn’t bat an eye. “I-I could, I could take Spangles for you.”

A laugh bubbled out, “Why, you think I’ll need both hands?” Julie teased.

“Major Egan always did.” Crosby teased right back and Julie never would have suspected so puppyish a man could wear so lewd a look, it made her heart flip flop pleasantly.

“Shh, you’re awful!” She swatted at him with a beaming smile that she knew did the opposite of discourage him. “Take care of him, and get him somewhere warm.” she charged him with her pet, handing over the dear bunny.

“The officer’s club is two huts down.” Harry told her, “Turn right and it’s the second hut, you can’t miss it. Silver Wings. You’ll need to warm up too and that’s where we’ll be.”

“Alright.” she muttered and watched him leave before the slam of the door confirmed her as alone in vast space. It was chillingly sterile and looming as she turned to his footlocker in desperate need of something less monotonous and impersonal.

The lid was heavy and it had his name printed nearly on it. She kissed the C that stood for Clarence -what kind of middle name was that for a young buck anyways? It made her choke on her laugh before she bruised her fingertips by forcing the metal open. It was well stocked, all various sorts of items one might find in any man’s footlocker, soap that she had already become intimate with the scent of from the fleece of his jacket, a baseball, ever so many playing cards, razors, photographs of what she assumed were his family, a brown parcel that screamed of his mother so she left it untouched and books. A lot of books.

Guys and Dolls by Runyon was on top. He’d said that he was reading it in one of his last letters. She put it on the bunk. And then took out another book, and another, admiring the breadth of his taste, the way knowledge was balanced with humor in the collection, just like him. At the bottom of them she found an odd little wrapped thing in silk that her heart whispered was the thing it was secretly pacing its beats for.

His scarf came undone under her cold fingers and from its little makeshift bundle her envelopes poured out. Not a single one unaccounted for. She scooped them up and sat on the bed, allowing them to fan out, testimony and evidence of how much she cared, confession and declarations inside that could damn her a thousand lifetimes over.

-I love you.

That was the only line missing in them. Oh how she hoped he knew it. One envelope was an oddity. Blank, not from her, conspicuously fresh and unbattered by the postal system. She opened it and with a zap of arousal spied her photographs inside. She took them with her as she carefully laid back on the pillow. Sheets had been changed, pillows no doubt swapped, it wasn’t his bunk in more than metal and history but she laid there and held up the black and white prints and imagined him doing the same. The way her figure silhouetted against the hut’s curving ceiling, the patter of rain on the metal roof, the dismal gray light filtering through.

The fact he’d found inspiration to write her such stirring things from so blank a place suggested what kind of mind he had and she had ached, ached for him to not be restrained to suggesting only, but to doing, acting on every wickedly wonderful impulse his pen had confided. The throb grew so badly she wept, clutching and creasing the photographs to her breasts -they were so worn from his constant tracing and kissing and sticky with his smearing that a few more bends would be of no consequence. She pressed them to her face, wondering if she could smell his appreciation off the lewder ones. She could not, if she were being honest, but she felt her nose smudge against something tacky and imagined swallowing.

At the Silver Wings, Harry was trying to recollect if he’d ever been so popular. Maybe when he returned from Breman, they’d all slapped his back and joked about his charting them into a tree and they’d all meant it so admiringly he’d finally felt like he belonged a bit. But that was mostly Ev’s day, as it should have been. And then he’d been promoted, and he’d sent all his friends off into hell, and now days no one but the bartender and Rosie cared for him here as much as he’d have liked.

He should have brought a white rabbit with him sooner.

“The hell did you get that from?” Ev asked him, more intrigued than shocked at this point in the war, little bunny rabbits were a mild apparation.

“This is Spangles Egan.” Crosby informed him, being obtuse just to prove he could be funny when he wanted.

“Egan?” Jack barked from beside the bar, “Who’s naming their pets after Bucky?”

Harry grinned, “Well see, it’s his girl’s rabbit. Which makes it sorta their rabbit. Which means it’s an Egan.”

Ev didn’t look impressed but Jack just looked ever more concerned.

“Lana Tierney is on base and this belongs to her.” Harry finally fessed up although his original explanation still stood as true in his mind.

A repetition of her name and “Acorn? the Acorn?” rose up in the club, a battle between acorns and their varied associations rising up between the old timers, who recalled movie night with John Egan, and the youngsters, who’d spent their recent nights with an ear pinned to her broadcasts.

“Yeah, the ACORN.” Harry confirmed as both stood.

By the time Julie Jean had wiped her cheeks of tears and carefully folded her letters into her coat pocket for safe keeping, snapped the lid of his dear locker and set her sights for the outdoors, she had her face back in place: by the time she entered the Silver Wings, she was everything those service boys had ever dreamed of.

Platinum and cherry lipped and ever so thrilled to see and hug each and every one, Lana Tierney was well and truly in the house and those who knew it whispered amongst themselves about “Bucky’s girl.”

Upon meeting Jack Kidd he received a smattering of kisses on his face as she thanked him endlessly for sending her his jacket.

His laconic, “Glad it made it, ma’am.” was perhaps a little thicker than usual.

The newer arrivals couldn’t share any stories they personally had with Major Egan but they were more than happy to share stories told to them regarding the leader. Like how he paid off that one farmer after Meatball slaughtered his chicken. Or how he let a man from the village throw a dart at the apple above his head. From then on it continued and Lana delighted in hearing stories of her man told over and over again, of the impact he carried with these brave men and the life he brought to the crew. She sat in the middle of all of them as they regaled her with tale after tale, and she only wished he was there to tell the story from his perspective. She was sure he would have the most vibrant commentary.

“… told me he’ll buy me a jacket just like his,” one of the boys was telling Lana when Gale and Marge entered the Silver Wings. They were both flushed and her lipstick was on the collar of his jacket. “Major Cleven!” The soldier stood to attention at the sight of his superior being back.

Gale patted him on the shoulder, “At ease, soldier. And don’t go buying another ugly jacket like his. One on base is enough.”

“Major Egan said it’s about how one wears it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Gale returned, looking over how it currently cocooned Lana’s form. He took in the sight of her surrounded by over a handful of young boys and men, all eyes gawking at her and vying for her attention. Even Ev Blakely was seated beside her with his chin propped on his fist. He looked close to a lovesick idiot. “Now I’m sure you boys don’t want me telling Bucky you were all over his woman while he’s away. I trust you are being polite and proper and nothing else.”

Once again Lana beamed at being labeled as Bucky’s woman or Bucky’s girl. She had never felt so damn proud than in those moments; not even the achievements of Lana Tierney compared. If it was up to her she would gladly belong to Bucky Egan for the rest of her life.

But she also couldn’t shake the feeling of how wrong it felt to be there without him. He was supposed to be the one showing her the base. He would have loved to invite her to his bunk. He would take her to his favorite pub and introduce her as his girl to all the people in his life and having to do any of those greetings and events without him was only managing to further break her heart. Bucky would be so proud to show her around; she wouldn’t take that chance from him. As much as possible, she’d save that for him or not have it at all.

“Rosenthal says he knows a family who can put you and Marge up in the countryside,” Gale informed her. “They’re real big fans of you, he says. It only takes about twenty minutes to get there and back so you ladies can come down to base any time or, uh - I could go visit up there, as well.”

His cheeks tinted pink at his last admission, like anyone would bat an eye at Gale Cleven taking a day’s leave to visit his girl after everything he had recently endured. Julie Jean had half a mind to lock Gale and Marge in a room and let them have at each other, all propriety and waiting for marriage be damned. She didn’t begrudge their beliefs one bit, she saw the passion the two carried for one another and although she had never been in her Johnny’s presence, she knew all the longing and desire and love she had for him would have her undressing and bowing before him in seconds. She would gladly kneel before her man and knowing John Egan would just as happily do the same, settled any feelings of womanly resentment or weakness. Gale and Marge’s pent up passion made one wonder at the fire and electricity that would erupt their wedding night. Julie felt hot under the sheepskin collar simply thinking about it.

“I’m sure Marge would love having you come, sir,” she cajoled, patting the fist he rested on the table between them. Gale didn’t seem all too amused by her sentiments as he narrowed his eyes at her. “Oh, hush! I mean coming to visit. Get your mind outta the gutter, Buck Cleven!”

Gale sent her a look that said he didn’t believe a word out her lying little rosebud of a mouth. She was all mischievous passion under the dusting of make-up.

“Uh huh. I’m going to have my hands full with you and Bucky,” he states with a head nod, like he’s already resigning himself to the fact. There’s a comment on the tip of Julie Jean’s tongue - something about how happy Bucky would be to fill Buck’s hands and how she’s sure he’d enjoy watching Buck touch Julie - but she bites it back. She means no disrespect towards Marge and her loyalty is only to Johnny. She’s also no idiot and the love the boys carry for one another knows no bounds or familiarity, yet, if they wanted to choose to be blind and ignore it, who was she to step in on what they had going on?

Her eyes settled on the bruise on his neck once more and Gale seemed to feel her looking, tucking his neck further into the collar of his coat. Julie Jean bit back a smile. She didin’t want Bucky’s best friend to think of her as mean.

“John Egan is my best friend,” Gale started suddenly, and for a moment Julie Jean wondered if this is where he professes his love for the man or if he was going to interrogate her on behalf of his best friend’s best interests. Turned out to be the latter. “He’s got a real big heart, Bucky. Wears it on his sleeve and gives and gives and never expects anything different than what you give him back in return.” Gale had pondered that a lot over the years. How Bucky was always so openly affectionate and loud in his love and trust in their friendship and how Buck never managed to give that back to him until the end during the train ride. Curt was like that too and Buck wonders if that’s why the two men clicked so easily and never shied away from any of the jokes or weird looks. “If you aren’t here to stay, Miss Turner -” and by stay they were both aware he meant for forever. “- then maybe you shouldn’t be here when John gets back.”

Julie Jean clocked Marge at the center of the club, preoccupied under the arm of Douglass as he no doubt regaled her with stories of their brave Majors, and for Buck to stay away from Marge -she wondered how long he had been planning to say this. Waiting for a moment of privacy to lay it out on the table and not upset Marge while doing so, because this was between them.

“I don’t feel comfortable sharing my feelings with you when Bucky himself hasn’t had the chance to hear them,” she admited, tears burning the back of her eyes again. She took in a deep breath. “He had to have known though, right? Be honest with me, you know him better than anyone and he loves you the most and you him. Do you think he knew, Buck?”

Once again Gale wondered what on earth John must have written in his letters for this woman to understand and suspect the deep nature of their relationship so completely. It was just like him - a stone in Gale’s shoe even when he wasn’t aware.

There was a hope in her glistening eyes that Gale was aware can be crushed by him. He’d never felt so much like father than he did now.

He had no interest in hurting this sweet woman who embraced John and Gale and Marge exactly for who they are. This selfless woman who he was so thankful brought Marge to Paris. A gorgeous woman who kept John mildly sane in the camp when there was no hope - an, admittedly, tempting woman as Buck recalled the photo he picked up from the floor all those years ago. His thumb pressed against her black and white nipples -it had a flush setting in and he had to avert his gaze.

“He knew, Julie. He knows.” Truth of the matter is, Gale knew John was aware. John, who was self deprecating and going crazy stuck in the camp, with not enough sky or land to keep him occupied but who woke up every day and tried to stay alive and out of trouble because of a pinky swear he had made to the woman sitting across from Gale currently. John was frightened and he fought against believing it at his darkest times but Gale remembers times when John would stand too close to the fence and guards would point their guns, images of John getting pushed and provoked but one thing always brought him back from that point of no return. Julie Jean Turner. If John didn’t believe he had love to return, he wouldn’t have bothered.

Julie released a breath neither realized she’d been holding waiting for his response.

“What about your fiancé?” Buck asked.

“What about him?” Julie returned. “In my line of work, Major Cleven, a fiancee is the only guarantee against a husband. One ya don’t want. I can tell you this, there’s one man in my future, there’s only been one man since the one letter I got on the 18th, years ago. One sweet man who calls me acorn and tells me he adores me and asks me for naughty pictures in exchange for him staying alive.”

“And you’re okay with that? With him asking?”

“He doesn’t need to ask. I’d do it anyway. But he loves me so he still asks.” Sitting across from his best friend, she’m was near glowing in the love Johnny had for her. Gale wouldn’t give her the time of day if it wasn’t real.

“I’m glad we had this chat,” Julie slowly eased back into being Lana Tierney before Gale’s very eyes, a charming smile on her face with white teeth glinting behind her red stained lips, looking every bit the movie star like when he’d seen her on film or in magazines. She looked different than in the photos she sent Bucky. In those she always looked younger, vulnerable, needy even. “Now that I've got your approval I can breathe easier, Major.” She teased him and he managed a bashful smirk.

“He’s got two protective sisters and a momma who turns his world,” Buck warned in jest and that was how Marge found them at the table. Julie warm and beaming at the thought of hearing about his family and getting to meet them one day. Bucky hadn’t been shy to tell her his mom was his best friend before Buck came along and she was the only one able to keep him out of trouble.

—“Not scared of no Colonel’s or SS officer’s - they haven’t met my momma he wrote in a letter one time. She’s a one woman army.”

Julie took the conversation she had with Buck and held on to hope even when time continued passing and no word of Bucky reached them. She kept the promise she made to herself - she refused to spend any more time on base or at the officer’s club or at any spots Bucky wrote about in his letters to her, because she wanted to wait for him. Instead she spent time with the boys when they visited her and Marge at the swanky estate with the kind English family. In order to appease her mother she booked performances at local bars where they are more than happy to accommodate her and the hordes of army boys that followed her around.

The first week of May arrived and Julie found herself white knuckling her mic in anticipation of Huston showing up any minute and whisking her off. She was not sure if she was sadder about being torn away from her vigil as she was terrified of being stuck back in an enclosed plane cabin with that man for over a day. Marge too, began to fret a little on the second day of the month when Gale told her he was going to be flying mercy missions to Holland. He was too happy about and too assuring about its safety for her to question him, but it was hardly assuring with a war still on.

But Marge knew better than to show that, so she went to Thorpe to wave him off and watched him at his craft while Julie went further north to help co-host a charity event for servicemen’s families. The joy had gone out of it, worse than Paris, she used to be decent at distracting herself with the task at hand but as her days flitted by as uncaring and ephemeral as dreams, the end of the first week of May came in sight, and nothing could keep her mind off John Egan and the heartbreaking notion of not meeting him. Not even the supreme pleasure of dueting with Vera Lynn. All that honored pleasure made her think of was how much her John would have enjoyed listening to it.

Huston came on the sixth. He also left on the sixth. And he didn’t loiter at Thorpe to interview anyone. There were bigger fish to fry out near the Solomon Islands, according to him, and he was off to film it and at his side was an intrepid little secretary he’d met in Paris and thoroughly vetted in between his sheets.

Julie wondered if he’d entirely forgotten her own existence, an unlikely thing, seeing as how she was the entire reason his plane was in East Anglia, but as she was removed at a distance from Thorpe and he had a new adventure and a new lover, perhaps it was a happy case of out of sight out of mind. She breathed easier the minute she heard that he was off in a roar over to another hemisphere.

And right after, or later that evening to be precise, interrupting a charming dinner of rationed butter and plentiful pheasant, was a phone call from mother. The gig was up, in as many words, Huston had lost interest, the fiancée had only gained more and that of the suspicious sort, and mother wanted to know what on earth there was in bombed out England for Julie to find time and payment for. Julie had to list a growing set of fabricated engagements for her mother to even countenance another day spent there, working her name-dropping way up from canteens to a dazzling venue in London which gained her a hem-hawing allowance of three more days.

All the while keeping her sane and functional was one singular thought : John Egan coming home. It was terribly cruel and unfair of the world to have him be within her fingertips, to finally allow her to land in Europe, and then to take him so far away again. Sending his best friend back and leaving him behind felt like the punchline to the joke that was so obviously her heart.

Take that, the universe was saying, you still don’t get to have him, spoiled girl. In her lowest of times, right before she went on stage or nights that she spent having everyone around her praise her she wondered if fame was the price for her man. She didn’t want it either way; she wanted him always.

“Take it all away,” she prayed one night, once her tears had dried and her pillow was soaked and the smell of him on his jacket had wafted, “I only want him. I only need him.”

Meanwhile mother chided, “Have them send me the details on the honorariums, you’ve lost your head over there girl, just like I knew you would, I warned you, remember how I warned you? You’ve lost your head and you’ve grown very lax about these things. Make them send it to me before you even put your foot out for them to applaud, if it’s not top notch we aren’t doing it. And afterwards, you’re coming home and we’re getting this wedding settled. I’ve already got the dressmaker holding a nice dove gray-“

It all blended together in the end, her own lies and her mother’s requirements and in abashed desperation she had managed to plead and finagle Herb to actually book her into “something swanky in London, anything Herb, I just need it to be legitimate to stave her off!”

It was cruel torture to say goodbye to everyone at Thorpe, Julie took her sweet time with it and permitted herself to get a little sniffly about it. This prompted a flurry of produced tissues and solicitous hugs and assurances of Major Egan’s love. It made her sorely tempted to curl into a ball of sheepskin and hide in a footlocker in this nice place till doomsday -let the world try and find her if they dared.

“Send me word!” she charged Gale and Croz, gripping jacket sleeves for extra emphasis, “If he gets back -I’ll still be in London until late tomorrow. Send a telegram, call, whatever you must. Even if you just hear of him, you must tell me, you must! I’ll -I’ll change everything for him. If he comes, I’ll leave it all and come back. Tell him that.”

On the way to the airport Julie Jean only had their promises to do so reverberating in her head and Spangles on her lap to keep her warm. Croz’s eyes had been sadder than she’d ever seen them, sadder still then when he had asked Gale why Major Egan hadn’t followed him back home. And Buck - oh, sweet, virtuous Buck Cleven who had pulled her into his arms tightly and whispered promises of Bucky’s love and intents for their future in her ear. He had spent the entire week thanking Julie for making it possible that Marge stay with him longer with no worry for money or anything back home but in the moments where they had said goodbye, the last words he had left her with were only of Bucky.

Leaving Marge was no easy feat either. The girls had wobbled in their heels and held onto one another tightly and cried and laughed whilst feeling so ridiculous because they were aware the friendship they had formed was for life. Julie wasn’t sad to leave Marge - the only sad part of leaving was losing another piece of John - most of her sadness stemmed from having to be thrusted back to the land of selfish vultures with no care for her after being around the loveliest humans she had ever met. Everyone had been sure to level Spangles with kisses and cuddles and assuring him they would tell his father stories of the joy he brought to base.

“I’ll be sure to give him a stern talking to for getting back so late!” Marge had insisted, clutching at the jacket she had never seen Julie without. “That Bucky Egan - it was bad enough when he changed my Gale’s name. I’m not the pen-pal type, that’s what he told me the night he shipped out. He had no idea you were right around the corner, Julie Jean.”

Her heart beat with the hope that she would never make it to the airport but now here she was. Julie Jean had convinced herself there’d be something happening that would stop her reaching their destination. The driver wouldn’t arrive. Her mother would call to inform of a high paying job. The sky would fall. Bucky would run in front of their vehicle and announce he was back. Anything. But no, none of that happened. The traffic was light and the drive was quick and every step she was taking was a step further away from the future she wanted. Away from her Johnny.

Julie Jean would have to marry Vincent. None of her future children, if they allowed her any, would be safe. Her mother would never relent. The studios would never stop demanding. With each passing thought her vision began to blur and the breaths she was taking came out quicker. On her own accord, she felt herself reach for Herb’s arm in order to maintain her stance. Paparazzi were snapping photos and journalists were yelling and a few regular folks had came out to speak with her - everyone unaware she was losing the love of her life and any chance of happiness.

Bucky had promised her babies. Bucky had promised her safety. “I’d marry you first chance I got,” he had written one letter when she teased possibly visiting Europe. They had been hopeless fools in love and the world wouldn’t relent to them it seemed. She was never going to get any of that.

“We’re almost there,” Herb reassured with a sympathetic pat to the hand gripping his suit, opening the door to allow her entry. “The cameras will know you were poorly from the change in weather and tired from the shows.”

Inside the airport she didn’t feel any better but at least there were no people there to yell in her face. Herb had led her inside a private room and had been sure to lock the door behind him and now he was allowing her silence and her grievance for what might have been. She clutched the jacket tighter around herself where she had curled up on a reclining chair, Spangles asleep on the open spot beside her. This would be all she ever had. And even maybe this they would take away. After all, they had taken away her letters.

The only way they will get this off me is if they pry it off my cold, dead body.

There was a knock on the door and whispers following it. “If it’s the press I’m not pretty enough to be looked at, Herb.” She said. Her make up was running and her hair was disheveled and hiding inside the thick coat of the jacket certainly wasn’t helping the heat in her face but Julie Jean didn’t care.

She was allowed to be heartbroken. John had always told her he would take all her moods, even when she wasn’t behaving like the Hollywood starlet her mom conditioned her to be.

Herb answered the door then, but only a crack so that he was able to see the person on the other side but allow no one to look inside. He excused her, saying the traveling and working hadn’t left her feeling her best but offering her apologies to England. Whoever was on the other side of the door was clearly disconcerted. Star-struck, possibly at getting so close. Their words were breathy and they were stuttering. Julie Jean could faintly make out them saying they adored her but actually - and everything else couldn’t be discerned. Whatever it was, it held Herb’s attention long enough that the door remained open a couple more seconds before he thanked the person and turned to Julie Jean.

“Well,” the tone in his voice, amusement for the first time all evening, had Julie Jean turning in her seat. Taking her face out of his jacket for the first time. There was a paper held in his hand, brown with an approval stamp from the army and the English postal service. “This certainly changes things.”

Julie Jean quickly stood to her feet, approaching Herb with her hands outstretched so she would reach the mail even before she was next to him. She startled poor Spangles who had been deep in sleep, causing him to hop to the floor. Herb wasn’t a cruel man, not to Julie Jean he wasn’t - he extended his own arm so it was within her grasp even faster.

Julie Jean [stop] hope this finds you well and in Europe [stop] Major John Egan is back [stop] Has returned to Thorpe Abbots [stop]

Sincerely,

Major Harry Crosby

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[saturnville]

i come to you on my knees (i’m ovulating) BEGGING for a black!fem!reader fic where bucky is the fucking munch he is PLEASE

poetry in motion, major john egan

pairing: john egan x she (black!fem!reader) warning: 18+ sexual situations and descriptions. content: in which john teaches her a thing or two about bodily poetry. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste @alliewassobonum an: I don't typically write smut, so I hope this met your expectations at least just a little bit.

John Egan was known to be an impulsive man. He acted animalistically, on instinct and emotion rather than logical and thoughtful comprehension. When it came to her, however, he was more meticulous, patient, and calculated. Slow and intentional.

She was like him, an enigma. A code that took much time to decode. The rearranging of pieces (his approach) would occur many times before the lock clicked and fell off the guard box that kept her withdrawn from him. Then a dark door opened and the safe guarded treasure was revealed.

It didn’t come without struggle and resistance. Even upon agreement, she still shuddered at every attempt to pull her soul from her body. Her hands fisted the neutral sheets beneath her as her legs shook like leaves in the wind.

The scene from his perspective was tantalizing. Her eyelids sat low and her brown eyes were hardly visible, but still, he maintained a piercing gaze with her. That, in combination with the impassioned feeling of his mouth against her sensitivity, was overstimulating.

Her stomach clenched as she writhed against the sheets. She sobbed woefully, her nails scraping against his shoulder as she attempted to back away. It was too much.

For just a moment, she got a break. But, it didn’t last long. The dampness of his tongue was replaced by the skin deemed of his fingers. She jolted as her eyes shot open.

John Egan was salacious. Dripping with sensuality and eroticism. Beneath the faint light of the candles, he stood as a shadow above her. He had shed his jacket and was dressed in a wonderfully fitting black t-shirt. His hair was tousled from her constant tugging and his lips. Her eyes rolled backward at the sight. Swollen and dripping.

She sighed his name slowly and closed her legs around his forearm. He shook his head in disapproval and pushed her thighs open with his free hand. “Keep them open.” His voice dripped with arousal. She put up a good fight, but lost when the overwhelming pressure began to boil over.

He was attentive. Her end was near and he knew it. And how desperate he was to bask in it all. Once more, he found his place between her thighs. His eyes trailed the richness of her skin as he gently placed her legs on his shoulders.

She was enticing. From her scent to the way she tasted on his tongue. Sweet and succulent. He found himself getting lost in her pleasure. From the way, she screamed his name and begged for mercy. Oh, how he would pay to stay in this position forever.

“John,” she squealed, sitting up on her elbows. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill. His blue eyes shifted upward to meet hers. “Please…” He hummed. She screamed.

It reverberated against the walls and fueled the fire that burned within him. He’d store it to keep him warm for the rest of eternity.

With a string of whimpers and incoherent words, she came down from the high she rode deliciously. Her bare chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath.

She held her hand out tiredly, desiring his closeness. John wiped his lips with the pad of his thumb and crawled on top of her shuddering frame, dropping kisses against her neck, cheek, then lips. “You okay?”

She grinned tirelessly and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She’d waited a long time for a moment like this and she was glad she held out for him. She nodded and pecked his lips again, “I’m okay. I’ll feel better if you do it again…”

John’s eyebrow quipped in amusement. A sultry smile crept on her lips. He said lowly, “Yeah?”

She opened her thighs just enough to slot his body between then engulfed him. Her hands dropped to his pants which were secured by his belt. John’s eyes fell. She nodded, “Yeah.”

Who was he to deny that? Only a fool would do such a thing, and John Egan was no fool.

[instructionsnotincluded]

True North

Beautiful image by @lady-cheeky

Chapter XXVI

(18+ MDNI)

Bucky could feel his entire body shaking, his hands nearly vibrating as he threw back the shot handed to him, the familiar liquid burning his sinuses as it slid down. His throat was raw, but it was a welcome feeling, briefly numbing the adrenaline his body was currently running on, numbing the memories of what just happened up in the air. He sat through interrogation as best he could, sweat coating his head, neck, and back, his jacket heavy, and despite feeling all too warm for the hut, he kept it drawn over his shoulders, the adrenaline chills keeping him from shedding it.

His medical check up went by just as quickly, partly because he insisted he was fine, and partly because he didn’t have any identifying marks or blood to keep him for observation. He felt Buck’s hand on his shoulder while the doctor did a quick look over, squeezing it when he stood to leave, his best friend’s eyes filled with concern and relief as Bucky staggered into their quarters not long after. His hat landed on the neat bedspread first, his heavy jacket falling beside it a moment later before he unbuttoned his jacket and slid that off. One of his shirt sleeves was missing, the ripped and jagged edges along his bicep revealed his bare skin and Buck only watched quietly as he pulled on a fresh shirt, tossing the shredded one off to the side.

“Was my good shirt, too,” Bucky commented weakly after several long minutes of silence passed, the two still the only ones inside the hut. “My lucky shirt—the one I met Stella in.”

“There’s no such thing as luck, John.”

“Says the man who kisses his girl’s photo before every take off,” Bucky shot him a sideways look as he tucked his shirt into his pants, lifting his hands to run them through his damp curls when he was done. “Did you call her?”

“She’s flying,” Buck adjusted his jacket as he looked at his friend.

Bucky glanced down at his watch. “I’ll call her in a bit. She probably won’t be back for a while longer.”

“How’d you lose the sleeve anyway?”

“Long story,” Bucky grinned playfully, the pilot slowly starting to feel like himself again as the stress and adrenaline started to wear off just a bit more, “Shay’s oxygen was disconnected, I noticed him dangling. When I finally got him reconnected, the bastard turned on the turret as he came to and we were both just about ground beef.”

Buck snorted at that, shaking his head as he reached into the inside pocket of his uniformed jacket, fingers grasping the envelope before he pulled it out. “Only you, John. Only you. Mail came while you were up, by the way.”

Bucky could feel a different kind of anxiety bubble in his stomach as he stared at the letter, his hands sliding along his hips, as he inhaled deeply, shoulders rising and falling, “From Ma?”

Buck extended his arm, handing him the letter, and Bucky reached out to grab it, his heart warming at seeing his mother’s familiar writing along the front. He hesitated as he thumbed the back of it, his nail sliding under the glued edge. Part of him was concerned his mother would be worried. Him meeting someone was definitely something none of them probably expected him to do, hell, he didn’t even expect it himself, and then him writing about that someone was probably even more shocking. He could only imagine the scenarios his mother had managed to conjure up in the time since his letter arrived. He broke the rest of the seal, fingers turning the envelope over before he tugged out the trifold letter.

His mother’s writing filled the page, her looped style of writing comfortingly familiar while also striking a bit of homesickness in his stomach, all of the emotions from the day starting to get to him. Bucky brushed his thumb along the ink, feeling the texture of the paper before he focused on the writing:

June 28th, 1943

My Dearest Son,

I hope this letter finds you well. Every day, I pray for your safety and the swift end to this terrible war. Your letters, although few, bring me equal relief and worry, I treasure every word you write. We held a small celebration of life for your father last week. It was quiet, just close friends and family, both of your sisters attended and even Lowell managed to get a weekend of leave to come up from Arkansas—he sends his greetings back. We shared stories all evening about your father, there was much more laughter than tears this year, and for that I’m thankful. He would be so proud of you, John, and I know he’s watching over you. I wish you could have been there with all of us, but I know you’re doing everything you can to keep our world as safe as it can be.

What awful weather! You know how I dread the rain! The snow is bad enough here, weeks of it coating the ground and making everything so cold and dark for months at a time! You probably don’t know if it snows there yet, but all that talk of rain makes me shiver, and the mud! Please tell me you’re making sure to wipe your shoes well, I cannot have a son tracking in mud all the way across the Atlantic. Tell Gale I say hello, I think of him often and we include him in our weekly prayer circle. His name is printed on the back of the newsletter each month on a list of soldiers to pray for. He’s right above your name, so I find him easily. Is he doing alright? I know you mentioned he only has his lovely girl to write to, I’d be happy to have some of the older ladies write to him if you think he’d enjoy it. It would give them something to do and him something to read at the very least.

“Mom says hi,” Bucky turned the page over to continue reading, Buck humming in the background.

Speaking of lovely girls. You must tell me my future daughter in law’s name right this moment, Johnnie! How dare you write to me and tell me you’ve fallen in love but not give me any information about her. I’m over here trying to picture my son and this wonderful young lady, but all you’ve told me is that she’s from Texas! How is a mother supposed to dream and think of her only son’s wedding if you don’t give me any information? What is her name? Her family’s name? Have you proposed to her? How did you meet her? What’s she like? Is she religious?

John, the list of questions I have for you grows by the day. You cannot tell me you’ve fallen in love and then not say anything else. I’ve read your letter at least a dozen times, your sisters have read it, I even showed Marcy down the way and we’re all in agreement that you are terrible at giving information. Frances thinks you did it on purpose. For the sake of my old heart, promise me you fly better than you give details, John. I worry so much about you over there. Everyday we see stories in the paper about crashes and POWs, it hurts my heart thinking about their families. Tell me everything about her, Johnnie. I mean it. You cannot string your mother on like this. If she makes you laugh in the midst of all this chaos and fear, I must know everything about her. I imagine she worries about you too, as I’m sure you worry for her. I will keep both of you in my thoughts and daily prayers.

Frances left yesterday for England and now I have two children overseas. I’m not quite sure how to handle myself, especially with Eileen so far down south now, but I’m managing. I miss you so, Johnnie. I think of you often and I cannot wait until our family is reunited once more. Be safe. Be good.

All my love,

Mother

“All’s well?”

“Mhmm,” Bucky lifted his arm, dragging the sleeve across his cheek to rid himself of the rouge tear that escaped his eyes, inhaling deeply as he continued to process his mother’s words, “Frannie’s comin’ over here. Ma said she might be heading to the Pacific a few letters ago, but I guess something changed. I’ll have to keep an eye out for her.”

“I’m not sure this island can handle two Egans,” Buck said as he sat down on the edge of his cot, watching his best friend attempt to settle himself.

Bucky grinned, running a flat hand down his chest to straighten his uniform, “Wouldn’t it be somethin’ if she was stationed here?”

“Oh, that’d be somethin’ alright,” Buck chuckled as he plucked a fresh toothpick out of his case, “I’d give three dollars to watch that exchange when your girl comes flying in.”

Bucky seemed to hesitate, his eyes lifting upwards before he nodded slowly, shaking a finger in Buck’s direction as he thought over his previous statement, “When you’re right, you’re right. It’s better if she’s not assigned here. Can’t have…any of that gettin’ back to mom.”

Frank tilted her head back, eyes flickering across the English countryside as she made her way towards Ratcliffe, the familiar landscape and buildings coming into view as she expertly navigated her way back to base. She’d flown this path so many times, enough that she could probably do it with her eyes closed if she really wanted to. Frank flew the Hawker Hurricane, after ferrying a few RAF pilots from base to base throughout the day, she picked up a last minute maintenance ferry, the Hurricane due for its routine inspection before it would return to the skies over France and Germany. She enjoyed the Hurricanes, she didn’t fly them often and while the Spitfire would always have her heart, she loved working the slick controls, pretending that she was an actual fighter pilot instead of a glorified chauffeur.

Memories of her day making small talk with the RAF pilots made her head ache just a little. They always asked the same questions, always wondered about her life in the states and if she had anyone waiting for her at home. Some of the bolder ones would ask if she was interested in staying the night on a different base or if she had a husband. Sometimes she’d speak in a broken French accent that would horrify Dorothy, just so she didn’t have to answer the questions, claiming she only spoke a little English.

Taking her final arc around one of the larger farms just outside of Leicester, Frank came in for her final approach, lining herself up with the air strip as she worked to bring the fighter down to about a thousand feet, taking her time to check the gauges and adjust the flaps, slowly easing back on the throttle after confirming everything was behaving properly. The base came into view and Frank could make out the various trucks and hangers as she passed over the large farm house, and just as she was prepared to bring the plane down for a landing, something caught her eye.

It was quick, faster than she expected, the massive black bird skirting around the cockpit before it darted right into the propeller’s path. The impact was instant and Frank felt her stomach leap into her throat as she hurried to stabilize the aircraft, the Hurricane shuddering violently as the propeller spun irregularly, no longer balanced correctly. Frank fought to maintain control as the entire plane began to vibrate, gravity starting to take over with each warped turn of the propeller.

The Hurricane’s nose dipped and Frank swore loudly, hands scrambling to adjust the throttle and pitch, careful not to over-correct, the plane continuing to shimmy erratically, a terrible grinding sound filling the cockpit as the propeller hesitated. Frank gripped the yoke hard, forcing the plane to stay level as she flew closer to the air strip. She was close, but still far enough away that she couldn’t bring it down immediately, the plane dropping altitude just a little more dramatically than she would have liked. The Hurricane continued to dip and shake as she passed the outskirts of the base and Frank bit down hard on her tongue, her heart almost dropping to her feet when the propeller stuttered more, the plane falling about five feet.

She lined up with the airstrip as best she could, the plane starting to become uncontrollable, wanting to bank to the right as she came in, preparing herself for what was probably about to be a really rough landing, the cross wind she was warned about at take off making it even more difficult to hit the runway and stay out of the grass. The handful of seconds between her bringing the plane down and it making contact with the runway felt like an eternity, Frank trying to keep it as stable as possible.

She landed hard, the wheels skipping a few times, parts of the plane groaning and whining when it came in contact with the tarmac. Frank braced herself, doing everything she could to keep from being flung too far into the window from the amount of force she had to land the plane with, but even with her knees apart and her back pressed into her seat, her left shoulder ended up taking the brunt of her hit, smashing into the cockpit when she landed.

Frank wasn’t sure she experienced such a touch and go landing like this since training, her heart thundering against her ribcage as she continued to slow the plane down, taxiing it as best she could into its designated space, the plane really not wanting to do anything now that it’d been hit. When she finally stopped, Frank slid out of the cockpit and onto the waiting ground, breathing heavily, pushing as much oxygen through her nose as she could. The ground crew and engineers were already well on their way towards her and Frank stepped aside to let them do their job, fumbling with the strap under her chin to unclasp her helmet. She made it about halfway across the airfield, adrenaline running through her veins and causing her heart to continue racing when she spotted Rose standing near one of the hangers, dressed in her flight coveralls, the upper portion partially unbuttoned to reveal her uniform.

“That looked like a hard landing,” Rose called out as Frank made a detour towards her friend, bag and helmet dangling from one hand, “you alright?”

“Bashed my shoulder,” Frank winced as she motioned towards it, the part of her body slowly starting to throb, “I think I just need to stretch it out. I caught a cross wind when I was starting to come down and then a fucking bird flew right into the prop.”

Rose made a face before she bid goodbye to the engineer she was chatting with, moving to join Frank at the mouth of the hanger, “I’m glad you were this close to base when it happened. Did it stall?”

“No, thankfully,” Frank shook her head, “she slowed but never stopped.” The girls moved further down the runway and Frank nodded towards the hanger where the shiny P-51 Mustang sat, “Did you fly that Mustang in?”

“I did,” Rose wiggled her eyebrows and Frank chuckled softly, “jealous?”

“How’d she handle?”

“Like a dream,” Rose’s smile was wide and Frank was glad to see it, her friend’s sparkle back, “she’s brand new. I could’ve made the jump to Liverpool, but they didn’t want to take any chances with her being so fresh. So, I’ll be flying her to her new home tomorrow. As long as I don’t annoy Dorothy between now and then, of course.”

“You?” Frank gasped in mock surprise and Rose rolled her eyes, “Annoy Dorothy? Never.”

“You’re such a cow.” Rose swatted her friend and Frank grinned, “Just for that I’m going to tell her you’re injured.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Frank narrowed her eyes while Rose only shrugged playfully. “If you want in the fortress again, you’ll forget I said anything.”

“We’ll see,” Rose only sing-songed as the girls approached the tower, both ready to turn in their flight logs and finish their day.

They went through the familiar process easily, turning in their flight paths and notes, Frank making special mention of the bird incident before the girls left and made their way to the dorms. Frank sighed when her bed came into view, her bag landing haphazardly beside it as she slowly unbuttoned her coveralls, careful of putting too much stress on her shoulder.

“Are we going down to the pub after dinner?” Rose asked.

“I don’t think I’m going to,” Frank gently lifted her left arm, testing the waters to see how well she could move it, wincing when it pulled uncomfortably.

“Going to call your beau?”

“Yeah and then try to rest,” she lifted her good hand to run along her shoulder, massaging the area in what she hoped would be a beneficial way, “I’m exhausted. Dorothy’s had me on a full schedule and I should have seen that bird before it happened…”

“Birds are chaotic, Frank,” Rose frowned, “you know that. Accidents happen.”

“Not in a fighter, they don’t,” Frank groaned when she tried to raise her arm over her head, not at all liking how it ached, “there have been too many close calls this week. Dorothy’s been spending too many late nights doing paperwork. Her head is going to explode when she reads about this…”

Rose stepped around the cots until she was beside Frank, hand running along her shoulder to eye it worriedly, not at all liking the way Frank couldn’t bring it higher, “How hard did you hit it?”

“Pretty hard,” Frank grunted when Rose tried to turn it around, “ow—ok, that’s enough stretching, I think. I’d like to keep my arm.”

“You need to have that looked at,” Rose took a step back, flopping down onto Frank’s cot, “If you fly with that tomorrow, Dot’s really going to explode…”

“I just need to rest it,” Frank unbuttoned the top of her uniform, biting down onto her tongue to keep her face from twisting into pain, “maybe get some ice.

Rose only hummed, watching Frank attempt to look as if she wasn’t in pain, and it wasn’t until they were almost cleaned up that Dorothy came into the dormitories, a stack of paperwork tucked into a folder under one arm, “Evening, ladies.”

“Dot,” Rose watched Frank closely as Dorothy walked around them to her own bed, placing the folder onto her mattress, “busy day?”

“Yes, and I don’t think it’s over yet,” Dorothy shrugged off her jacket. “How were your flights?”

“The Mustang flies beautifully,” Rose leaned back on her hands, “sign me up for it anytime.”

“Noted,” Dorothy chuckled softly, “glad you enjoyed yourself. Frank? Not too many stops today?”

Frank shook her head no, holding her arm against her side in a way she hoped wasn’t suspicious, but based on the way Rose was eyeing her carefully, she knew it wasn’t as natural as she hoped. “No—it was a good day.”

Dorothy nodded, an awkward silence passing over them before she turned to look at the girls, eyebrows lifting as she looked at the way they both looked entirely too uncomfortable. “Everything ok?” Rose side-eyed Frank, and Dorothy turned her full attention to her best friend, “Everything going well in East Anglia?”

“I hope so.” Frank chewed on her lower lip, “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I don’t,” Dorothy’s eyes drifted across Frank’s body language, taking in the way Frank held onto her elbow. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing—”

“Bird strike,” Rose pushed herself off the cot, ignoring the death glare Frank sent her way, “send her to medical—see you at dinner!”

“You had a bird strike?” Dorothy’s full attention was directly on Frank now as she exhaled in frustration, clearly she was wrong about being able to trust Rose to keep her mouth shut.

“I don’t know where it came from,” Frank took a seat on the edge of her bed, sighing, “I’m assuming it didn’t make it…”

“No, I’d assume not,” Dorothy stepped closer, hovering over Frank as she ran her hand along her arm, “are you alright?”

“Fine, I just need to rest it.”

“Raise your hand.”

Frank lifted her hand, bending her arm at the elbow and Dorothy gave her an unimpressed look, pointing towards the lights above, “Reach up to the ceiling if you’re fine.”

Frank tilted her head back, exhaling as she attempted it, hardly able to move it above her chest before she was pulling it back into her body, “I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Uh-huh,” Dorothy patted Frank’s leg before motioning her to stand, all but dragging Frank out of the dorms and back outside, “you’re going to get checked out. Now.”

“Dot—”

“Were you even going to tell me if Rose hadn’t mentioned it?”

When Frank didn’t reply, Dorothy marched them quickly across the base, following behind her friend and commanding officer like a puppy who was just scolded for chewing up a shoe. They arrived at the infirmary quickly, the building not too far from the dorms. At this time of day, the Infirmary wasn’t terribly busy, but the strong smell of antiseptic filled their nostrils as the girls entered. One of the nurses quickly whisked them away to one of the empty beds, and if Frank concentrated hard enough, she could smell a faint, metallic scent of blood.

Frank reached over to rest her hand along her upper arm, cradling it against her body as she sat down on the edge of the cot, feet firmly on the floor as if she were ready to get up and run at any moment. “Let’s take a look at the arm, Captain.” Frank didn't recognize the nurse from the handful of times she visited the infirmary, but didn’t think too much of it. They had a revolving door of pilots at the ATA, there was a good chance it was like that everywhere.

They were at war, afterall.

“What happened?”

“I’m fine—honestly.”

“She had a rough landing,” Dorothy cut in, hands resting on her hips where she stood at the end of the bed, eyes trained on Frank, as if she knew Frank wasn’t going to be an easy patient. “Knocked her shoulder into the side of the cockpit.”

“That does sound painful,” The nurse spoke with an American accent, her blue uniform not that different from their own, her hand running along Frank’s arm, confirming there was no open wounds or uncontrollable bleeding. “Let me grab Doctor Miller, he shouldn’t be too far…”

Dorothy thanked her softly before stepping closer to Frank, her face hard and unimpressed, “I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me. What were you thinking? You were just going to fly again tomorrow?”

“I was thinking that I would see how it felt in the morning,” Frank gritted out, wincing as she attempted to remove her outer layers, hoping to make it easier for the doctor to examine, “and if it still hurt, then I’d consider coming here.”

“You could hurt yourself further by flying injured.”

Frank tilted her head back, eyes closed as she focused on the sounds around her rather than Dorothy’s nagging, her shoulder really starting to ache from the overuse. “Captain Frank?”

Frank’s eyes opened immediately, taking in the middle-aged English doctor as he approached, “That’s me.”

“I’m Doctor Miller,” he nodded to Dorothy before moving his hands to tilt her head out of the way, examining her neck and collarbones first, “Nurse Frances tells me you’ve injured your arm?”

“Hard landing,” Frank allowed the Doctor to move her head and neck how he wanted, only minor waves of pain running to her shoulder, “I bashed it into the side. It’s just sore, I promise…”

“I let you fly the planes, Captain,” Doctor Miller released her face, giving her an easy smile, “let me examine the injured, hmm?” Frank sighed and Dorothy snorted as he motioned to her sleeve, “Let’s have a look, shall we?”

Frank pulled her shirt off, gritting her teeth hard to keep from showing too much pain, thanking the nurse softly when she helped ease the sleeve off her arm, leaving her in her uniform undershirt, arm bare. “It’s definitely swollen,” Doctor Miller ran his fingers along her upper arm and shoulder, carefully feeling around her shoulder blade, “how would you describe the pain? Dull? Or sharp?”

“Dull,” Frank forced her arm to go as limp as possible, letting the doctor check her range of motion, starting with her fingers and slowly working his way up her arm in bigger movements.

“Bare with me while I move your shoulder…”

Frank couldn’t keep the gasp back when the doctor raised her arm fully into the air, slowly maneuvering it in circles, testing to see where it hurt. “Ok—sharp. That’s pretty sharp.”

Doctor Miller was silent for just a little longer, lifting her arm to check the muscles in her torso and armpit, while still paying special attention to her neck and upper back. Eventually he placed her arm back to her side and Frank breathed a sigh of relief, “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said, pulling the stethoscope from around his neck, popping each of the ear pieces into his ear as he rested it along her chest, “Breathe for me, let’s make sure you didn’t puncture anything with a rib during your landing.” Frank breathed a few times and he nodded, winding it back around his shoulders, “Sounds good, clear. Again, I don’t think it’s broken, if anything you’ve sprained it. You’ll have a fairly large bruise once it’s come to the surface, but I’d still like to do an X-ray just in case. OK?”

“Does she need to be sent off for that?” Dorothy asked.

“No, Commander. We have a machine here, it shouldn’t take too long. I’ll check to see if there’s anyone in front of her.” Doctor Miller turned his attention to the nurse next, “Let’s go ahead and grab some morphine to take the edge off, and I’ll wrap it after her X-ray is complete.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Dorothy tried to coax Frank into leaning back against the pillows while they waited for the nurse to return with the medication, but Frank refused, swatting Dorothy’s hand away when she tried to help her pivot her body fully onto the cot. “Must you be so difficult all the time?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t be cross,” Dorothy moved her hand to brush some of Frank’s hair over her shoulder, “it’s for the best. It’s better that we know you’re injured so we can plan accordingly, rather than having you stranded at a different base, or worse, in another accident.”

“An X-ray is unnecessary.”

“You heard what he said,” Dorothy shifted on her feet, “let him deal with the injured while you fly the planes.”

Frank watched the nurse return with the syringe, refusing to look at the long needle as she prepared Frank’s arm for the injection, her eyes trained firmly on Dorothy when the needle sank into her arm. “Are you this difficult for your Major?” Dorothy asked, “Perhaps I should have called him in to worry over you. If what Rose says is true, he’d be halfway here by now…”

Frank’s only response was a grunt and Dorothy chuckled, moving to rest her hand along the railing at the head of the bed, leaning against it comfortably as the Nurse finished plunging the rest of the morphine into Frank, “It’s probably better if he’s not here. I can only imagine how he'd be.”

The nurse laughed at that and Frank shot Dorothy another foul look, "Your husband…?”

“No,” Frank shook her head before Dorothy could say something to earn her a third dirty look in less than an hour.

“They’re courting,” Dorothy wiggled her eyebrows and Frank sighed, “and getting rather serious. He’s an American pilot.”

“Can you not use that word?” Frank made a face and both Dorothy and the nurse chuckled, “It makes it sound so…sterile. We’re just enjoying each other's company.”

“Frequently, I might add.” Dorothy folded her arms across her chest.

“Are you a pilot as well?” The nurse asked, her eyes shifting to look at Frank as she slowly and carefully pulled the needle from her skin.

“A ferry pilot,” Frank nodded, wincing when she shifted her arm, “I primarily fly the larger planes.”

“I don’t know how you get into those things,” the nurse shook her head, blue eyes sparkling with interest, “they terrify me. My brother’s a pilot as well and the entire time he was in training I just waited for the letter to arrive that he crashed. The look on our mother’s face when he told us he joined the USAAF during Easter dinner…”

“My parents feel the same way,” Dorothy ran a hand along her neck, her eyes lifting upwards as if she were remembering a previous conversation. “Have you ever been in the air?”

“No,” She shook her head, dark curls pinned tightly along the nape of her neck, “and I’m in no rush to at all. I just recently arrived from the US and I’ll take a boat any day.”

The girls laughed, “I get seasick,” Frank shook her head, recalling how green she felt on her trip from the United States, “so flying is my preferred method.”

“You just arrived?” Dorothy asked, “Welcome to Ratcliffe. You’ll probably see us around base from time to time if you’re stationed here…”

“I’ll rotate every six weeks,” the nurse nodded, “but I’m sure I’ll make my way back here before the war is over. Or at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“I’m Dorothy Skylar,” Dorothy nodded toward Frank, who still sat on the bed, and while Frank appeared to be fairly disgruntled, Dorothy could tell the medication was starting to work. “This is Stella Frank.”

“Lovely to meet you both,” the nurse smiled politely, “I’m Frances Egan, but everyone back home calls me Fran. It was lovely speaking with you, let me check to see if we’re ready for the X-ray…”

Dorothy didn’t catch it at first, but when she turned to look at Frank and saw how wide her friend’s eyes were she only lifted her eyebrows, “What?”

“Did she say her last name was Egan?”

“I believe so—oh.” Dorothy whipped her head around to look at the retreating nurse, “Oh—you think…”

“Is it a common name?” Frank couldn’t control the wideness of her eyes, “Oh my God…”

“It could be…” Dorothy bit her lower lip, “But she did say she has a brother in the USAAF…”

Frank pressed her hands to her face, staring at Dorothy in shock, “How…how does this even happen?”

“I don’t know,” Dorothy’s eyes twinkled, “but can I be there when you tell him?”

Frank didn’t get a chance to reply, another nurse escorting her from the bed to a curtained off area to do the X-ray, the Doctor apologizing each time he made her arm bend or move uncomfortably, and when she was done she followed the Doctor back to the bed. “As suspected, it’s not broken,” he glanced over his shoulder as Frances hurried over with a roll of bandages, “I’m going to tape it to give you some relief and keep it from moving around too long. I am going to ask that you stay out of the air for a few days…”

“Yes, of course,” Dorothy nodded before Frank could process the Doctor’s words, the morphine definitely affecting her now, “we’ll make sure she’s off the schedule for the remainder of the week.”

“You should start to feel better in a day or two,” Doctor Miller reached for the scissors to cut the tape before placing it along Frank’s shoulder and arm, the adhesive sticking to her skin, “and try to keep from showering today, just to keep the tape from coming off right away.”

“Do we need to continue any medication?”

“No, shouldn’t,” he shook his head, “but if it gets to hurting at this level again, please don’t hesitate to come in and we can reevaluate.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Dorothy shook his hand and he gently squeezed Frank’s good shoulder.

“Have a good night, ladies.”

“Fran,” Dorothy caught her attention when she moved to step away, “you mentioned a brother. Is he here, in England?”

“Yes, somewhere,” Frances nodded, “I can’t remember where, exactly. But he’s here on one of the American bases…why?”

Frank exchanged a look with Dorothy before the commanding officer continued, “Is his name John, by chance?”

“Yes,” Frances chuckled, “Another John here in England…”

“Does he go by Bucky?”

Frances’ eyes snapped down to look at Frank, her eyebrows falling ever so slightly as she stared back at the pilot on the cot, Dorothy watching with wide, interested eyes. “He does, in fact…” Frances only needed a few more seconds to connect the dots, “Oh my—you’re the girl from the letter?”

Dorothy’s head perked up, “Letter? What letter?”

“He didn’t mention any names,” Frances shook her head, moving to take a seat on the edge of the bed as she stared at Frank with eyes just as wide, “but he went on and on about a girl he met and how she’s a pilot… and you’re a pilot!” Frances hurried to take Frank’s hand, “How did you meet? Is he alright? Does he come here…?”

“I ferry planes to his base,” Frank shook her head. “He’s stationed at Thorpe Abbotts, it’s not too far from here. I met him there and as far as I know he’s doing well.”

“I cannot believe we are on the same base,” Frances continued to smile, squeezing Frank’s hand, “what are the chances that I’d meet the girl my brother wrote home about on my first night?”

“What did he say?” Dorothy asked, “He wrote about her?”

“Yes,” Frances chuckled softly, “yes. Our mother’s been going mad trying to figure you out. He gave us no description, no name, just that you were a pilot and that he’s smitten.”

“See,” Dorothy nudged Frank’s good arm, “I told you that he’s wrapped around your finger…”

“I’ve never seen him this way before,” Frances shook her head. “My brother never brings girls home to meet the family, he never talks about women, and he always gets so red when anyone asks him about marriage…and imagine our shock when we get a letter about a girl he’s basically in lo—”

“Nurse Frances!”

“Coming,” Frances scrambled off the cot, “I have to get back to work, but we’ll talk later?”

“Yes, of course,” Frank nodded, her heart beating just a little faster than normal at the end of Frances’ previous sentence. When she was far enough way, Frank turned to look at Dorothy, “Was she going to say that he’s…”

“Unless you’re ready to say it back,” Dorothy shook her head, “I would pretend you didn’t hear that. There’s no need to push something you’re not ready for. If he’s ready and he wants you, he’ll wait.”

“He will,” Frank nodded, fiddling with the ring along her finger, the one from her grandmother, “he’s already told me as much.”

Dorothy only shook her head, “I think I need to make a trip to Thorpe Abbotts soon…”

Frank snorted, reaching for her shirt before she slowly and carefully put it back on, ready to get out of the Infirmary and to her own bed, “I think you’d really get along with his best friend…”

By the time Frank made it back to the dorms, changed into something looser and casual, it was much later than she hoped. She missed dinner, but Dorothy managed to sneak her something to eat while she changed and after inhaling a bowl of soup as quickly as she could, Frank found herself waiting for the operators to connect her to Thorpe Abbotts.

He answered on the third ring, his voice thick and tired and Frank desperately wished she could reach out to him, “Frank?”

“The one and only,” Frank avoided leaning against the wall with her bad arm, yawning softly.

“I called earlier,” Bucky’s familiar voice made her stomach squeeze comfortingly, “but they said you were in the middle of something.”

“I was,” Frank only debated for a handful of seconds before she decided to just let him know, “I was in the Infirmary. I had a bit of a rough landing…”

“Are you alright?” Bucky sounded just a little panicked, and she envisioned him shifting, raking a hand through his hair. “Are you hurt?”

“I bashed my shoulder into the cockpit,” Frank said, “Dorothy forced me to get checked out, but I’m fine. Nothing is broken and they think it’s just sprained.”

“What happened?” Bucky shook his head, “Just a bad landing? Equipment malfunction…?”

“Bird strike.”

“Fuck,” Bucky drew out the word and Frank hummed. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“I will be,” Frank sighed, her body wishing that she could just sink against him, give him some of her tired weight, “the doctor looked me over and wrapped my arm, and I met a lovely nurse from the states who gave me a shot.”

“I’m glad they have you taken care of.” Bucky’s voice dropped so their conversation would stay just between them, “You didn’t hit your head? Did the plane stall?”

“No, she kept spinning, thankfully.” Frank said, “I’m off for a few days to rest it, so I’ll be busy pushing paperwork.”

“Mmm.” Bucky leaned back against the wall, shifting the receiver from one hand to the other, “I can’t believe a bird…”

“Less than a thousand feet from the ground, too,” Frank shook her head, “it was a rough landing, but I’m glad I was so close to the airfield.”

“Me too, angel. Me too.”

Frank couldn’t help the way her stomach flipped at the name, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, “Did you play today?”

“Mhm,” Bucky nodded. “Early game, we won. I had a rough go, but made it home.”

“Are you alright?”

“Tore my uniform,” Bucky said, “took my whole sleeve off tryin’ to help out one of my infielders. But I’m alright, just a couple scratches and some bruises…”

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Frank shook her head, her heart clenching, “I hate that you lost your sleeve. I’m not even sure how that happens…”

“I’ll have to tell you in person,” Bucky wasn’t sure how to translate it into baseball terms, so he didn’t, “I think it’s a story they’ll put in the papers back home.”

“Speaking of home,” Frank said, “the nurse I mentioned earlier? She seemed so familiar.”

“Mmm?”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize until we were almost done why she looked so familiar,” Frank bit her lip to keep from laughing, “Frances says hello.”

The silence was brief but enough and Frank almost laughed when Bucky inhaled deeply, “Wait—my sister?”

“She’s here,” Frank nodded, Bucky chuckling lightly, “said she just arrived and she’ll be here for six weeks before moving to a different base. We were talking about flying and then before I knew it she was telling us her name…”

“Well, how ‘bout that,” Bucky shook his head in wonder, “what a small world. She didn’t give you too hard a time, did she?”

“No, no,” Frank said, “of course not. She’s sweet and lovely, and asked several questions about how we met. She misses you and is glad to hear you’re doing well.”

“How is she?”

“Also doing well,” Frank said, “she’s excited that you’re so close…”

Bucky chuckled, “I can’t believe she’s there with you. Watch out, she’ll try to influence you into believing all types of stories if she’s given the chance…”

Frank laughed, “I’m sure they’re adorable.”

“Yeah, keep thinking that,” Bucky said and Frank laughed, the former pleased that his girl was laughing and having a good time after such a stressful afternoon, “tell her I said hello back if you see her. I’ll try to figure out how to give her a call now that she’s there. Who knows, maybe I’ll cash in on some leave and come give my two girls a visit…”

“I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing you,” Frank felt her cheeks warm slightly, “she mentioned a letter you wrote to your mom…”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounded just a little nervous and Frank smiled slightly, “Did she open her big mouth and tell you all about it?”

“No,” Frank said, “I mean, she tried, but was called away. I just thought you should know it didn’t stay between you and your mother.”

“I didn’t imagine it would,” Bucky sighed, “I just told them about a great girl I met, who I think about all the time. Didn’t think it’d get back to you so soon, but I guess that’s what I get for thinking that.”

Frank was in a full blush by now, shaking her head as she looked down at her feet, “Just so you know, I think about you all the time too.”

A beat passed and Bucky smiled on the other end, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky reached over to run his fingers along the phone cord, his voice lowering once more, “Look, I know you said you’ll be up to your neck in paperwork, but if you think you can get some leave, I may have an idea…”

“An idea, you say?”

“Mhmm,” Bucky shifted, “Do you happen to have another pretty dress, pretty girl?”

[floralcyanide]

― C A L L U M T U R N E R ❁

♡ M A S T E R L I S T ―

ғɪᴄs ʟᴀʙᴇʟᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ sʏᴍʙᴏʟs ʜᴀᴠᴇ sᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ᴛʜᴇᴍ.

smut ✺, fluff ✿, angst ☁, gore ☆, nsfw☼

↬ 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘮 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳

- 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 ✺☼

- 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝗉 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 ☁✺☼

- 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖨𝖨 ☁✿

↬ 𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 "𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺" 𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯

- 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 ✿

- 𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗂 ✿

- 𝗂𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 ☁

- 𝗂𝖿 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗂 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖨𝖨 ✺☼

- 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖻 ✿

- 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖻 ☁✿

- 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖻 ☁✿

- 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖻 ✿

- 𝖼𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋𝖻 ☼

↬ 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘣

- 𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 ✺☼

↬ 𝘫𝘰𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘻

- 𝖻𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒'𝗌 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅 ☁✿

[oskea93]

✦ It Had to be You: Three (part one) ✦

John “Bucky” Egan x OC Gale “Buck Cleven x OC

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and not associated with the real people mentioned from the show. This is simply based on the portrayals of the actors playing these characters. ⚠️ Warning for this chapter: Cursing, mention of death, suicidal ideations, drunkenness. ⭐️ Taglist: @alanadetigy

● If you would like to be tagged, just comment below ●

I visited Gale’s grave every day for a month straight. I guess wishfully thinking that he would rise from the grave like Lazarus – taking me back in his arms and whispering that it was only a dream. The winter haze was starting to turn warmer – a clear sign that spring was on the horizon. Springtime was Gale’s favorite – just sitting on the porch – plowing the garden that he swore would turn out 50 pounders. I could still see him sitting atop the tractor he was so proud of – buying it from an old timer at the local auction for ten dollars and a gold pocket watch.

He was able to work one full season in that garden before he went off to join the war effort. He promised that as soon as he returned, he would have me out there helping, learning the tricks and trades of being a farmer’s wife. We both knew deep down that would never happen – my hands never meeting the touch of dirt in my 22 years of life. I wanted it to happen though. I wanted to break out of the debutante shell – learn to be self-sufficient and not have to rely on my husband to do everything. Gale was the one that was gonna show me the new world I craved – the new world I needed to survive.  

“Figured I’d find you here.”

I rolled my eyes as John made his way over to where I sat, his presence being one that I could live without. Even after the little incident of me throwing his belongings off the deck, he still stuck around. He had set up house in the dilapidated barn that Gale planned to fix up. If it was anyone other than John Egan, I would have insisted they stay in the comfort of the house, but he deserved the cold rain to fall on him during the night.

He took a seat on the grass next to me, his hand touching the mound of dirt that was still settling on Gale’s grave. His throat clearing as his emotions began to get the best of him.

“Your mother called – wanted to make sure you’re doing okay.” My gaze steadied on the plaque in front of me. “Told her that you were out here.”

“I don’t need you talking to my mother for me.”

An exasperated sigh slipped past his lips as the air around us became tense, “You know I’m just trying to help, right?” His eyes setting on my side profile as my eyes stayed glued on Gale’s grave. “If it wasn’t me here –“He paused for a moment. “You’d be in a world of hurt.”

“You wouldn’t have to be here if you were there for Gale when he and the other men jumped over that wall like you told him to do, Major.” Our eyes connecting. “I’d have my husband at my side, but instead I have you.” I hastily removed myself from the ground. “And I have my husband buried six feet in the ground where he’ll stay forever, but I should be so flattered to have the Major John Egan to make sure I’m not in a world of hurt.”

“Carolina-“ He started to speak as he stood.

I raised my hand to stop him, “No-“My tone stern. “I don’t want to hear another word from your sorry mouth, John.” Tears starting to dwell in my eyes. “You can go to the pits of hell and rot for eternity for all I care.”

My feet started to move across the growing grass – signs of life at every turn – except the one I longed for. I was in my own world of hatred that I didn’t even hear John’s heavy footsteps behind me, my body being jerked into his as his fingers wrapped tightly around my arms.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I fought against his touch. “You’re the one who should’ve died! That bullet was meant for your head – not Gale’s.” My voice screeched with anger and agony.

John's grip tightened momentarily before he released me, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own anguish. "You think I don't know that?” his voice raw and broken. "Do you think I don't live with that every single day?"

I turned away, wiping the tears that had begun to stream down my face. "Knowing it and feeling it are two different things, John. I can't just forgive and forget. Not when my life has been torn apart."

He took a step back, giving me space, his hands falling limply to his sides. "Carolina, I can't change what happened. I can't bring Gale back. But I can be here for you, whether you want me to be or not. I owe him that much."

I scoffed, my heart a storm of emotions. "You owe him more than that. You owe him your life."

For a moment, silence hung between us, heavy and suffocating. The world around us continued to move, indifferent to our pain. I wanted to scream, to make it stop, to rewind time and change everything. But I couldn't. All I had was this reality, this grief, and the man who stood before me, a painful reminder of what I had lost.

“You ruined my life, John. You ruined the life that I was supposed to have with Gale – all the promises and dreams we had. “ I paused. “All that’s gone and now I have nothing to live for.”

“Killing yourself won’t bring him back.” His tone straight forward. “Killing yourself would be the selfish option. Trust me, I’ve thought about it too, but I know Gale wouldn’t want that.”  

My breath hitched as his words cut through the haze of my grief. "Selfish?" I echoed, incredulous. "You think I haven't thought about what Gale would want? He was my husband, John. My everything. I know him better than anyone, and I know he wouldn't want me to be this miserable, but I can't help it. Every day is a struggle just to breathe."

John's face softened; his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored my own. "I know, Carolina. I know it's hard. But giving up won't honor his memory. Living, even when it hurts, is the only way to keep his spirit alive."

Tears streamed down my face, and I felt a deep, aching void where my heart used to be. "It's not fair," I whispered, my voice breaking. "We had plans. We were going to start a family, travel the world, grow old together. How am I supposed to do any of that without him?"

He took a cautious step closer, his presence a tentative offer of support. "You don't have to do it alone. There are people who care about you, who want to help you through this. I know I'm the last person you want to hear that from, but it's true."

I shook my head, frustration and despair warring within me. "You don't understand. Every time I look at you, I'm reminded of what I've lost. Of what you took from me."

John's expression tightened with pain, but he didn't back down. "I understand more than you think. I lost a brother that day. Not just a comrade, but someone I cared about deeply. And yes, I was responsible for the mission, but I never wanted this outcome. I never wanted to hurt you."

"You never wanted to hurt me?" I scoffed, a bitter edge to my voice. "You're the one who pressured Gale to go with you to England – writing him letters and painting a picture of how exciting the missions were." Each word dripped with resentment as I laid bare the betrayal that had festered in my heart.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, the memories of happier times with Gale now tainted by the presence of the Major. "I wish Gale had never met you at that training facility," I continued, my tone laced with regret and anger. "I wish you had never come into our lives, John Egan."

The air fell silent, the weight of my words lingering between us. John's gaze flickered, a shadow of guilt passing over his features before he attempted to muster a response. But no words came, the truth of my accusations hanging heavy in the space between us, a rift that seemed impossible to bridge…

“Okay ladies, so I was thinking that the theme this year be focused around new beginnings. Something pure and wholesome,” Victoria announced, her voice carrying a sense of authority that demanded attention.

The room fell into a hushed silence as the other women seated around the table nodded in agreement. The debutant ball, an annual event that had become a symbol of prestige and philanthropy in the community, was a significant undertaking that required meticulous planning and flawless execution.

Sitting beside me, my mother beamed with pride, her hand resting gently on my leg as if to anchor me in my seat. “Oh Victoria, I think that is a fabulous idea,” she chimed in, her enthusiasm palpable.

I stifled a sigh, accustomed to my mother's unwavering ambition for me to shine at the debutant ball. Ever since I was a young girl, she had envisioned me as the belle of the ball, clad in a perfect white gown, with hair styled to perfection, and a date handpicked from the cream of society.

As I glanced around the room at the other debutantes and their eager mothers, I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Many of the young men who had once vied for the chance to escort a debutante to the ball were now mere shadows of their former selves. Some were confined to wheelchairs, their once-vibrant spirits dimmed by tragedy, while others had met untimely ends, their promising futures cut short.

As the planning for the debutant ball continued, I couldn't help but notice the sea of young faces around me, each brimming with anticipation and excitement. Most of the girls who had signed up to participate seemed to view the ball as the pinnacle of their young lives, a chance to be the center of attention and bask in the admiration of others.

However, my own perspective had been irrevocably altered by recent events. The tragic loss of my husband had shattered my illusions of a fairy-tale existence, leaving me adrift in a world that now seemed hollow and insincere.

When Victoria turned to me, her voice cutting through the silence, I felt the weight of everyone's eyes on me. The women around the table, who had initially regarded me with pity and sympathy, now looked at me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"Do you have any suggestions, Carolina?" Victoria's question hung in the air, waiting for a response.

I hesitated, unsure of how to navigate this unfamiliar terrain. The words felt stuck in my throat, a jumble of conflicting emotions and unspoken truths that I couldn't bring myself to articulate.

"No," I finally managed to say, the word coming out more curtly than I had intended. Victoria shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the tension in the room palpable as the other women exchanged uneasy glances.

As Victoria smoothly transitioned to discussing details with the other women in the room, a sense of relief washed over me, grateful to be momentarily spared from the spotlight. I observed with detached interest as their faces animated with enthusiasm, their voices rising and falling in a symphony of excitement and anticipation.

A pang of disconnection tugged at my heart as I contrasted their genuine enthusiasm with the emptiness I felt inside. The prospect of being paraded around like a prized possession at the debutant ball held no allure for me, a stark reminder of the superficiality and pretense that permeated this world of opulence and privilege.

"Darling, you're bringing everyone's mood down," my mother's gentle voice whispered in my ear, breaking through my reverie. I turned to meet her gaze, seeing a mixture of concern and expectation in her eyes.

"This is a joyous occasion. Will you please try to smile or look somewhat happy to be here?" she implored, her hand reaching out to touch mine in a gesture of reassurance.

I forced a tight-lipped smile, the muscles in my face aching from the effort. “Happy?” My voice tinged with bitterness, causing her to frown in disapproval.

She straightened in her chair, the delicate China teacup clutched in her hands as she met my gaze with a mixture of concern and determination. "Carolina, it's been almost two months," she began, her tone gentle but resolute. My head snapped in her direction, a flicker of defiance igniting within me as I anticipated the direction of her words.

"It's time to get on with the grief and start living your life again – be the old Carolina Clevens – the happy girl we all knew and loved," she urged, her words laced with expectation and a hint of impatience.

The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy shroud, pressing down on me with a force that was almost suffocating. The idea of returning to the person I used to be, of donning the mask of cheerfulness and ease that I had worn before my world was shattered, felt like an impossible task.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mother," I blurted out, my body turning towards her in haste. The words spilled out before I could stop them. "I didn't realize that grieving over my dead husband was only allowed for a certain time, and then it was time to act like he's not at the bottom of a hole turned into worm food." The ladies seated at our table glanced over with curiosity, their whispered conversations coming to a sudden halt.

My mother's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she processed my words. The tension in the air was palpable, and I could feel the weight of her unspoken disapproval. But I couldn't hold back the flood of emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface since my husband's passing.

"I guess when daddy dies, you'll get a day or two to grieve, and then I'll let you know when it's time to go back to your self-centered self," I continued, my voice trembling with a mix of anger and sadness. The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and a lifetime of unspoken grievances.

The tension in the room was palpable as the gazes of the guests shifted between my mother and me. I could feel their eyes boring into me, their expressions a mix of surprise and discomfort at the sudden outburst. My mother's attempt at a smile seemed strained, a fragile façade barely concealing the turmoil beneath the surface.

“Fuck this.” I stumbled away from the table, my heart pounding in my chest. The room seemed to blur around me as I made my way towards the door, my mother's voice calling out my name like a distant echo in the chaos of my thoughts.

As the pricking feeling of tears threatened to overflow, I clenched my jaw, refusing to let them fall. I was tired of crying, tired of the pain that seemed to follow me wherever I went. With each step I took on the quiet street, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, the cool night air soothing my frayed nerves.

I slowed my pace, wanting to blend into the shadows, not wanting any more attention drawn to me. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the pavement, guiding my way as I navigated the unfamiliar paths. I didn't know where I was going, but one thing was clear – I didn't want my mother to find me.

I managed to dip into a hole in the wall bar – the patrons looking a bit shocked when I stepped through the doors. I wasn’t really a drinker – only partaking once in a blue moon – nothing to hard of course. I hesitantly took a seat at the bar, my white gloves causing those at the bar to look at me as if I was lost. I quickly removed the garments, stuffing them into my purse.

The older bartender gave me a reassuring smile as he placed a small napkin in front of me. “What can I get ya, miss?”

I hesitated, my mind racing as I tried to decide. Looking around, I noticed most of the patrons were nursing glasses filled with a rich, amber liquid. I pointed to one of the glasses at the end of the bar. “I’ll have whatever that is.”

The bartender followed my gaze and nodded, a knowing twinkle in his eye. "Whiskey it is," he said, reaching for a bottle on the top shelf. As he poured the drink, I took in my surroundings, the low murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinks of glasses and the faint strains of a jukebox in the corner.

He placed the glass in front of me with a gentle thud. "Here you go. Enjoy," he said, giving me an encouraging nod.

I wrapped my fingers around the cool glass, feeling the slight chill against my skin. Bringing it to my lips, I inhaled the strong, smoky aroma before taking a small sip. The liquid burned slightly as it went down, causing me to start coughing.

The bartender watched me for a moment, then leaned in slightly. "First time with whiskey?" he asked, his tone friendly and curious.

I nodded, setting the glass back on the bar. "Yeah, something like that."

He chuckled softly. "Well, it's an acquired taste for some, but it grows on you. Rough day?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. "You could say that."

He gave me a sympathetic look. "Well, you're in good company. This place has seen its share of weary souls. If you need anything, just holler."

I offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

As he moved on to attend to another customer, I took another sip of the whiskey, letting the warmth and the quiet ambiance of the bar start to work their magic. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt a hint of relaxation begin to creep in…

“And then she starts saying that I need to stop crying over my dead husband—” I paused, taking a sloppy drink. “Who says something like that, especially to your goddamn daughter?” My words slurred together, the numerous glasses of whiskey casting a heavy fog over my mind.

The bartender, who had been listening patiently as he wiped down the counter, gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry to hear that, miss. Some people just don't understand grief," he said gently, his voice a steady anchor in my storm of emotions.

“And then I got his friend, his co-pilot, the man responsible for sending Gale to his death, staying at my fucking house. Living out of the barn because I’m not gonna let that son of a bitch into my house—” My face twisted as the brown liquid burned its way down my throat. “And to think I liked that man—thought he was a good influence on my husband. John Egan is nothing but a snake in the grass. If he were to drop dead tonight, I wouldn’t even bury his body—I’d just let the buzzards pick away at him until his bones are dust.”

The bartender's eyes widened slightly, but he maintained his calm demeanor. He leaned in a bit closer, his voice low and soothing. "That's a lot to carry, miss.”

I slammed the glass down on the counter, the sound echoing through the bar. "You have no idea. Every time I see him, it's like a knife twisting in my gut. Gale trusted him and look where that got him."

The bartender stayed silent for a moment, then spoke carefully. "Now don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but it sounds like your husband’s friend was only doing what he thought was best."

I felt my eyes narrow as his words moved around my hazy brain, trying to find purchase. "What are you saying?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

He held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Just hear me out. This John guy didn’t know that those Nazi pricks would shoot at your husband. You can’t place the blame on him. I’m sure the poor bastard is already blaming himself."

I stared at him, the anger bubbling up mixed with confusion and sorrow. "You think I should forgive him? After everything?"

The bartender shook his head slowly. "That’s a choose you’re gonna have to make on your own, sweetheart.

Instead of accepting his words like an adult, the whiskey took over instead. "Typical man," I muttered, the raspberries of disdain blowing from my lips. "Just like a man to take up for another man."

I downed what was left of my drink in one swift motion, the alcohol numbing the edges of my frayed emotions. The room seemed to spin around me as I clumsily pushed myself off the barstool, my movements unsteady and erratic.

"You don’t know anything!" I shouted, my voice rising above the din of the bar. "You're all a bunch of drunkards with no hope or future." The words spilled out of me like a torrent, fueled by a cocktail of frustration, bitterness, and a tinge of self-loathing.

Those that were left in the bar looked at me with empty eyes – not shocked by my appearance or attitude. Their gazes seemed to bore into me, indifferent to my outburst amidst the usual chaos of the night. "Gale Cleven was the best man that God ever created!" I proclaimed, my voice piercing through the haze of smoke and chatter, higher than the music playing in the background.

"Better than you," I declared, my finger pointing accusingly in the patrons' directions. "And you. And you too!" Each word was a dagger, fueled by a mix of defiance and desperation, cutting through the thick air of the bar like a blade.

The slamming of the front door snapped me out of my little tantrum as all eyes in the bar shifted towards the man who caused the ruckus. He stood there at the entrance, a lone figure in the dimly lit room, clad in his worn leather bomber jacket. His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets, his stance exuding a quiet confidence that demanded attention. The sudden hush that fell over the bar was almost palpable, as if the very air held its breath in anticipation of what would come next.

"For fuck’s sake," I muttered under my breath, a heavy sigh slipping through my lips as I raked my hand through my messy curls.

I watched through hooded eyes as John stepped up to the bar. Our gazes met in a brief but charged moment, a silent exchange passing between us like a current.

As he ordered himself a glass of whiskey, the tension that surrounded just us seemed to thicken, palpable to those around us. The bartender, a silent observer to the unfolding drama, looked back and forth between us, piecing together that this was the man I had been rambling about just moments ago.