#mota not-fic series

[hogans-heroes]

Maybe a new series of drabbles based on ideas that will never become fic?

#1: Gale’s escape turned out differently and he arrived at Thorpe Abbots with a lot of bruising and wounds, especially around his neck, and he’s not able to talk. Bucky arrives weeks later in a much weaker state as well.

***

Gale had almost believed he was done with pain now that the war was nearly over. He made it out, made it back to base, made it through each day with the throbbing in his neck and spikes of agony when he moved too much. His legs didn’t hold him so well either, but he hadn’t needed them to after Bucky showed up and Gale planted himself at his bedside.

Bucky had been carried from the prisoner transport to the medical ward on base, and for days had been too weak to even hold up his head. Gale never left his side, stroking his sweat-damp hair and the sharp edges under his skin where he had gotten even thinner after Gale left him.

Gale had left him. He threw himself into the guilt now, letting it drown him, choke him as he stared into Bucky’s worn eyes looking at Gale with devastated worry.

“What happened, Rosie?” Bucky rasped, alternating looks between Gale’s neck and the now-experienced major sitting on Bucky’s other side, his usual spot of late.

Rosie crossed his arms, more holding himself than anything, and his sad gaze never moved from John.

“We don’t know,” he said. “We don’t know anything. He hitched a ride on some cargo flight, just showed up one day.”

“Like this?”

Rosie’s lips pursed and and the benevolent mask cracked just a little. “Worse,” he said quietly.

It had been weeks since Gale arrived, since the shock on Rosie’s face had morphed into horror and grief as he recognized Gale and realized the state he was in. Rosie was usually good about keeping emotions off his face, but not then, couldn’t keep the stutter out of his breathing as he cradled Gale’s head to his chest after he had collapsed in a bundle of too-big overcoat, dizzy with exertion and bones rattling with coughing. Rosie’s steady hands and voice were all he remembered after that, Croz and Blakely’s presence added and never leaving as the doctors prodded and examined, finally pronouncing a we don’t know on his recovery.

Gale wondered if Rosie remembered what his vocie sounded like from before he was shot down. All he’d heard since was the cracked rattling when Gale was trying to scream in his sleep.

“What did they do?” Bucky growled. “Can he physically not speak or is it something else? He faltered, swallowing. “It’s not permanent right?

Rosie didn’t answer as Bucky slid fingers into Gale’s hair and coaxed him closer, brushing his neck and his chin with gentle touches as Bucky inspected the harsh marks. A warm finger trailed over his pulse point and Bucky looked like the breath had been stolen right from his chest.

“Can you make a sound, darling?” He begged. “Anything? Please?”

Gale swallowed, trying to conceal the wince as he did so, and watched Bucky’s soul break apart, devastation bleeding into Gale where his hands cradled battered flesh and Gale shuddered at the ghost of memories fighting to surface.

“God what have I done?” Bucky choked out. His hands trembled in Gale’s hair but he wasn’t looking at him anymore, eyes aching and distant in a way that had Gale’s brain screaming to soothe. “Rosie, it’s my fault, I made him escape, I goaded him. He wouldn’t have tried if I wasn’t— What did they do?”

I’m sorry! Gale wanted to sob, to grab Bucky’s arms and lungs and heart and force his words into them, to make him understand and take the hurt away. I’m sorry!

When Bucky pulled him closer Gale slumped immediately, burying his face in Bucky’s sweet-smelling skin. He longed to soothe him, to make promises he could only hope to keep, but all he could force out were tears to wet the hollow of Bucky’s throat.

[middlingmay]

The Buckies nearly get caught (Part 1)

The only feeling better than flying was John Egan fucking his tongue into Gale’s mouth.

What was supposed to be a fun, quick writing exercise has turned into a series with multiple parts. Brevity? Never heard of her.

Anyway, here's the first (not smutty but still spicy) part that kicks off the Buckies' predilection for nearly getting caught in compromising positions.

NSFW under the cut.

The only feeling better than flying was John Egan fucking his tongue into Gale’s mouth.

He should have known Bucky kissed with everything he had - just like he did everything else. He was a man who didn’t know how to half-ass anything. That competence was one of the things that had Gale staring so hard in the first place. So hard, that Bucky finally noticed.

But basic ran them ragged and finding moments alone was always difficult, but they usually managed to sneak away for something. Lately though, it had been nearly impossible. And every time they found a precious few moments alone, and Bucky got that burning look, or Buck gave that smile that somehow no one saw how filthy it really was, they were interrupted before either one of them could do a damn thing about it.

It had gotten to the point that Jack had pulled Gale aside one day and said, “I don’t know what you two have had a falling out over, but Bucky has been unbearable. You better fix it, before the COs lose their minds. And stop glaring at him in the mess hall; the men are starting to take bets which one is going to crack and punch the other one out first.”

He’d marched off leaving Gale blinking in the corridor.

So, pent up and desperate and apparently causing disruption amongst the boys, Gale had ordered John the find them a place they wouldn’t be interrupted, which led them here: a closet door at Gale’s back and John Egan gripping the back of his head in one hand and his throat with the other, delving his tongue into Gale’s mouth so deep and so good he was struck fuckin’ dumb and could only stand there and take it.

John’s hips pulsed to the rhythm of his kiss and Gale was so hard his cock jumped with every thrust of John’s clothed hips, and he was soaking through to his standard issue pants with the way John had him dripping.

John reluctantly pulled back, and the sound his tongue made as it left Gale’s mouth was wet, slick, and loud in the narrow space of the closet. It made Gale groan deep from his belly. John’s chest heaved, gulping in lungfuls of air as he rested his forehead against Gale’s and pinned Gale’s hips against the door with his hands. Gale hadn’t noticed how he’d been rutting up into John’s hardness.

“Fuck, fuck. Wait, wait, wait, waitwait. Gale, you gotta stop, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.” John whispered frantically against Gale’s lips and Gale moaned and flicked out his tongue to lick into John’s open mouth, before curling it back into his own and savouring the taste of John.

“S’a problem?” Gale asked, drunk on his arousal. “Gotta be quick, Bucky. Come on,” he grabbed John’s belt and tugged him in. “Give it me.”

“Jesus,” John prayed and his palms hit the door as he bit up the column of Gale’s throat, lips thrumming with the rumble of Gale’s deep voice. “God. Hold up, just—” he panted against Gale’s ear. “I haven’t come in my pants from a bit of kissing since…fuck. I don’t if I ever have. Ohmygod—”

Gale’s fingers had deftly worked open John’s belt and popped the button on his pants, creating just enough give for Gale to dip his hands down the back of them and grab a handful of John’s ass. He dug his blunt nails into the meat of it and drove John hard into the line of his cock.

They both whined at the contact, so hot and worked up it was aching somewhere near painful, and it finally broke John’s resolve. He grabbed a handful of Gale’s thigh and hitched his leg over his hip for leverage and—

“He said it was a closet in the hut by Barracks C.”

The voice was close, and Gale and John locked their muscles still with the quickness of trained men.

“This isn’t a hut; it’s a shack,” said another voice. “Come on Butler, there’s nothing here. Just look at it.”

“Turner. I am not getting into trouble for you again. Just—look. There’s a closet there. You check that, whilst I look down here.”

John and Gale stared at each other at the footsteps came closer. The read the fear and horror in each other’s eyes. There was no way to explain away what they were doing here. And yet…

Gale felt the throb of John’s cock twitch against his own as the footsteps sounded just outside the door. Gale’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he bit his lip to tamp down on the ungodly noise it almost unleashed from within him.

John’s voice was barely a whisper at his ear. “Holy fuck, oh my god.” His hips rolled in tiny pulses, barely a movement, but enough to spark up the tinder the voices had dampened.

The voice called through the door. “I heard Kidd found a family of rats in a disused closet; I hate rats! There’s not going to be anything here!”

Gale’s hand squeezed hard at the back of John’s neck. “God, you gotta stop, John.”

But John knew him better than anyone except maybe Marge. And he was learning to read him real good. John looked him in the eye for all of two seconds before he muttered low in his ear. “Do you really want me to stop?”

Gale’s heart stuttered in his chest. His belly dropped out and he looked at John and knew he saw the answer written all over Gale’s face. No.

The door handle jerked at his back and Gale felt and flush of precome spurt from his cock.

“Got it!” Came a further off voice and footsteps running up the corridor. The handle at Gale’s back was released. The voice on the other side was so close, they heard his sigh of relief.

“Thank God for that. Let’s go.”

“Big baby, frightened of some rats.”

The two bickering men faded into the distance.

Gale and John panted harshly in the quiet. That was close. That was too fucking close. That had to stop; calm themselves down, neaten themselves up, and stop.

John’s eyes darted down to Gale’s lips.

“Fuck.” Gale tightened his arms around John and jumped so he could wrap his other leg around John’s waist, too. John who’d never missed one of his beats caught him and pushed him up against the door and rutted into him so hard, the door rocked and banged at Gale’s back with every stroke.

“Fuckin’ close—”

“Too close, baby. Fuck.”

They gasped and moaned and talked filthy into each other’s open mouths, rocketing towards that precipice.

“Ah, fuck! M’gonna—”

“Nearly caught us, Nearly saw you come against me.”

“Shit!”

Gale’s vision whitened and his orgasm ripped through him. His head hit the back of the door and John pushed against him so violently as he rode his own finish, Gale felt the imprint of the handle embed into his skin. It pulled another string of come from his cock and a whimper from his throat.

He was unsure how long they stayed there, jolting from the aftershocks. But Gale’s thighs started to tremble, and John carefully set him down without pulling away from placing fluttering kisses along his neck.

Gale was grateful. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was upright from his own power, or the weight of John pinning him against the door.

“That was…”

“Unexpected?”

“Yeah.”

The laughed into each other’s skin and John pulled back and touched the tips of their noses together.

“Discovering all kinds of things about myself with you, Buck.”

And Gale was loathe to break the moment, but there was more than one realisation he’d come to, now he was coming down from their high.

“Know what else I discovered?” he said to John.

“You’re a filthy bastard?”

“That too.”

John grinned. “What?”

Gale pressed him lips together. “We just came in our pants and still gotta walk back to the barracks.”

“Ah, fuck.”

[ereardon]

In The Skies [Masterlist] — Full Length Series

Summary: On a night out in London, you meet fellow American Major John “Bucky” Egan of the 100th. As war rages on, you take a leave of absence during the spring of your third year at Oxford to sign up as a nurse on the front lines in England. Time and time again, you and Bucky find yourselves thrown together in the hospital ward as you tend to him and his teammates after missions gone awry. What happens when you find yourself falling for a man who might never return from the skies? 

Pairing: Major John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Status: Ongoing

Overview:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[skyphloxx]

ok so um. here is a scenario ive had in the drafts for literally over a month and forgot to post. maybe with a second part idk?

i've been thinking way too damn much about clegan and johns dog coded ass and his feelings around body markings. like, hickeys and bites and bruises etc. bear with me this post got really long lmfao.

fuckin. ok. so in a scenario where john and gale are fucking on the side pretty early on after their arrival at thorpe abbots.

everyone knows bucky is a slut, right? bucky can show up with hickeys and bites and red marks and nobody will question it. he might get jeers or crooked grins, they’ll laugh and say he must’ve slept with every girl on base and half the women in london by now, but it’s expected.

buck, though? everyone knows buck’s got a girl. and maybe he wouldn’t be the first guy to say as much and then fold after months of being away from home. but everybody who knows him knows that buck cleven isn’t like that. and anyway, it would be a little odd considering how consistently he turns down any woman who makes a pass.

you see where i'm going here right.

gale can bite the fuck out of john and leave him with bruises purpling from his neck all the way down to his thighs. when they’re alone together it’s the only time he gets to loosen that iron grip he has on himself, be anything less than carefully composed and controlled. outside gale is the fearless leader, who will sometimes joke and rib but has no vices, no faults. with john he is a hungry, wanting thing, all hands and mouth and teeth.

bucky loves it at first. being desired so much kinda drives him wild, knowing that gale wants him so bad, that there’s so much heat simmering under that cool surface. but there’s also something about the act of leaving marks on him that feels like gale’s staking a claim. that bucky allowing himself to be bitten is showing allegiance, or acquiescence, or maybe ownership. something of gale is left there, written across his skin, even if nobody else knows it. the marks say that gale can do what he wants with john’s body, that john is his. he’s painted his name across john’s neck and chest.

bucky doesn’t object to this feeling. like, at all. on its own, that part is amazing. the problem is he can’t do it back to gale. buck is so paranoid about being found out, and the communal living of the barracks adds extra complications. and john understands his fears, of course he does, he knows damn well what happens to men who get blue tickets, and he’ll respect anything that’ll help buck feel safer about what they’ve been doing. he’s pretty sure he’d do anything to keep buck coming back, he needs him that badly.

he fucking hates that he has to be so careful. he wants nothing more than to give it right back to buck, to bite the same kind of lurid purple bruises across his skin. he thinks all too often of how buck would react, his shiver at the scrape of john's teeth on sensitive skin and the low breathy noises he'd make. hates that he can't have that. but mostly he hates how he can't stake any claim over gale he way he feels that gale has over him. if buck can do what he wants with john's body, if his bites mean that john is his, then the inverse must also be true: bucky can't do the same, and gale is not his. he has no claim to stake.

which makes sense, really. as far as claims go, someone's already beat him to gale. that's the whole reason the no-markings rule was established.*

it ends up serving as a little reminder to bucky: that the arrangement he and gale have worked out to keep each other sane during all this? it's temporary. when the war ends buck will be going back to build a home and share a bed with someone, and that someone won't be john. he can't forget that however much gale seems to want him in the moment, he's committed elsewhere. john is a way for him to distract himself from everything else going on around them. he thinks sometimes gale does it as much to distract john as himself. taking pity on him or something. he knows buck still loves marge more than anything. he uses her letters like a lifeline, sniffs her perfume off the paper like it might send him back to her if he works hard enough at it.

someone with a better sense of self-preservation than bucky might try to break it off, disengage, try to soften the blow when it inevitably comes, but.

the marks also remind him that he is gale's. has been. is. will be. for as long as gale will have him. bucky needs him in a way that he doesn't bother to deny to himself anymore. his chest feels heavy with it when they’re together. he knows they're on borrowed time, but that just means john's going to borrow as much of it as he can. avoiding leaving bruises or not using his teeth is nothing, really, he would do so much less (or so much more) if gale asked him, any number of humiliating, desperate things to keep gale wanting to touch him, fuck him. it's fucking pathetic, how much he needs that. john's own stupid hurt feelings are nothing, compared to how much he'd endure for it.

so of course he never brings this whole dilemma up to buck as something that bothers him. he would not dare risk throwing a wrench in their arrangement, which is perfectly functional as it is. they've made it this far via mostly unspoken agreements, mutual willingness to not talk about it more than they need to. john will not even entertain the possibility of breaking that or scaring gale off or somehow ruining what they have. he is already so well versed at suffering in silence, and really this trade off isn't bad. he used to fucking dream of this, the taste of gale's mouth or the feel of their skin pressed together. he can stand being reminded it's temporary. he can stand knowing he's pathetic.

(bucky is a lying liar to himself. he is full of resentment and frustration. he will pretend he's not full of resentment about this for as long as it's physically possible to. gale knows something is up with him but won't say anything too specific about it for the same reason john won't - they don't talk about it if they can avoid it. that's the whole point of unspoken agreements.)

*bucky has not considered that gale would be similarly paranoid even if he was not openly in a relationship and loyal to it (loyal in heavy air quotes lmfao) if not even worse, just because gale cleven is a high-strung freak underneath all the calm collected shit.

[getinthefuckingjaeger]

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.” Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. "We're gonna make it."

(Joe, Harry, and Major Egan's grief)

“Harry, look.” Joe presses his chin into Harry’s hair, careful not to dislodge his best friend’s head from its rest on Joe’s shoulder. “Over there.”

He glances down and over thick, messy dark curls to watch Harry squint in the pre-dawn light. They’re perched on one of the many observation towers on base - far away enough from the heart of the operations and closer to where the ground crew park the forts under repair. Joe waits as Harry scan the tarmac for a second. The hitch in his breath tells Joe that he’s seen it.

Joe drops his head on Harry’s, the two of them lone observers of a single jeep making its way down the tarmac until it turned and parked by one of the forts on the hardstand.

The signature white of Major Egan’s sheepskin is the only bright spot in the blue light of twilight. The figure sits straight as a ramrod as the engines die down and the headlights fade to nothing. Joe and Harry breathe in tandem, eyes focused on Egan as he sits there with an empty passenger seat, staring at nothing. 

Joe counts down the seconds by the ticking of his wristwatch, each passing of the needle like the countdown of a bomb.

He counts to the sixth minute and the time bomb explodes with a small gasp that Joe does not need to be there to hear. Idly, he thinks of trees falling in forests.

Watching John Egan fall, Joe thinks, is like watching a giant sequoia being felled by explosives. It is heartbreaking, terrifying, and it sparks a kind of anger in his heart at the destruction of something so timeless and seemingly indestructible. 

It’s intrusive and personal, but the thought of something so immutable breaking down without a witness feels blasphemous. So Joe sits there, wrapped around Harry with his head bowed and he makes himself watch. He forces himself to witness the destruction of John Egan as he slumps over the steering wheel, his broad back curved and defeated, but still breathing.

How soon does a felled tree know it is dead?

“I wish I saw what happened.” Harry whispers, voice hollow. Joe feels the way Harry’s arm tightens around his waist and he turns to bury his face into dark curls, no longer have the appetite to watch the loss of another life. “I wish I could tell him what happened.” 

Joe is silent for a long while. 

He casts his thoughts to the few hours he spent walking around as a solid ghost on the grounds of Thorpe Abbotts, his body still existing among the living whilst his soul is lost over the skies of enemy territory. 

He takes the grief that was a brief, but oppressing friend to him in those scant hours into his hands and he turns it over and over. He pokes and prods at the dark ball of tar that, for a few hours, dripped messily all over his heart before Harry came back and scraped every last bit of it away. 

He imagines the black viscous thing crawling all over Egan’s heart like the sticky reaches of an eldritch creature, getting into the ventricles, clogging the arteries, and poisoning the blood system to ensure death at molecular level.

The enormity of it steals his breath.

“I wish you did, too.” Joe mumbles into the riot of curls. Without opening his eyes, Joe scoops Harry’s thighs and lays them sideways over his, manhandling Harry until they are as close as humanly possible without tumbling over the edge of the tower.

“‘No record’, was all that I had to go on with.” 

Harry makes a distressed noise. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if I knew where you went down, but at least I knew you were somewhere and not everywhere at once. It’s stupid, Harry - It’s so stupid, but,” Joe swallows, breaths coming out in shuddering gasps. He wraps his arms closer around Harry and Harry reciprocates. “But it feels better, somehow, to look at a map and know that’s the last place on earth you existed because it's not like I’d be getting a body, ain’t it.” 

Joe imagines himself living through this war. 

Ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, when he has a wife and children and grandchildren - he’ll tell them all about the love of his life Harry Crosby who he will introduce as his best friend. He’ll show them all the pictures he has of Harry, tell them stories about Harry, and then he’ll pull out maps and point out his last resting place. 

He imagines visiting an obscure German countryside in his golden years, casting his eyes up at the blue skies and telling Harry to hold on, he’s coming. 

Maybe, in that future without Harry, the world might grow kinder to folks like them and Joe wouldn’t have to pretend. Maybe, hopefully, his grandchildren can look at Harry’s pictures and see the truth as clear as day and they would understand. Maybe then his grief can speak its truth - a bereaved lover.

Joe allows himself to sink through the maybes a few seconds more before resuming his vigil.

Major Egan is sitting upright in the jeep now. He rubs his hand over his face, presses the heel of his palm to his eyes, his mouth hanging open with exaggerated breathing. They watch quietly as Egan stumbles out of the jeep and drags himself over and up into the parked fort.

The hatch closed like a period at the end of a love story. 

“We’re not gonna be like them, Joe.”

Harry’s fierce tone catches Joe off guard. He pulls away to look at Harry’s white, terrified face. He’s not looking back at Joe, but the bruises his fingers press into Joe’s side speaks louder than any gaze ever could.

“We’re gonna go home and Jean’s gonna fuss over us and then you and her are gonna sing every Friday night in our lounge, and you’re gonna tell me to shut up because it’s scaring the cats.”

Harry stops speaking as though he ran out of breath. His gaze cuts to Joe so suddenly that his heart skips a beat. He sees an ultimatum in those brown eyes, an all or nothing.

“We’re gonna make it.” 

–

Joe goes up the next day on the Munster mission, lucky snowglobe in his vest pocket, and Harry’s face is the last pretty face he sees.   

–

(for Abbie (@moghraidhs) and her ability to express 'nina, why would you?' very clearly through a single thumbs up emoji)

[evita-shelby]

The Two Buck Special

Aka the Bucky x Diane x Buck smut fic

Cw: smut, voyeurism, p in v sex, oral sex, anal sex, double penetration, repressed bisexuality, threesome m/m/f

How Bucky got Buck to agree is beyond her.

But here he is, in their rented room with a nervous look in his face as his hand hesitantly undoes the bow on Diane’s dressing gown.

It was a short sexy thing that matched the red bra and satin French knickers underneath. It had been meant for just John as a birthday gift, but then he had to tell her of a fantasy of his.

God, you’d look so good in a Bucky Sandwich, he’d groaned as he fucked her ass and used her dildo on her pussy. Di hadn’t been able to get that image he painted so vividly out of her head ever since.

And now, as a special gift for Bucky’s 28th birthday, his Lady Di was gonna make that dream come true.

It had taken John a while to convince Gale Cleven for it. Convinced him that it wasn’t cheating if John was there and an active participant in their sexual escapade. And both had sworn to never breathe a word about it to Marjorie once he agreed to it.

John had tweaked her plans of a threesome to make it something Hollywood would kill to get their hands on. The witch had gotten turned on by the itinerary her lover had planned she’d humped his thigh like a bitch in heat when he wouldn’t fuck her as he spoke.

“Go ahead, Gale, for tonight, she is as yours as she is mine.” John assures the blond as he sits back and enjoys the show. His hand already palming his magnificent cock as Diane slowly stripped Buck of his clothes.

“Pretend I’m Marjorie.” Di whispers with a very convincing American accent as she kissed every inch of skin she exposed and with his permission fondled that wonderful thing between his legs.

To her parents’ horror, Diane has racked up such an impressive record, that she might as well call fucking her talent. Gale may even get an encore of this performance if they’re still alive by his 26th birthday this December.

“I’d, I’d rather not.” He wouldn’t last long, his skin had turned to gooseflesh the second he felt the sensual touch of a woman, he’d swallowed thickly as he spoke while she marked his fair neck with a bite like those John wears with great pride.

The blond looks to his dark-haired friend for something akin to permission and once John nodded, Gale turned the tables on her.

Instead of letting her continue this exploration of his torso in her way down, Cleven pulled her face up to his and kissed her like John does ever day. He peels off the robe from her shoulders, undoes her bra with ease and tossed it at John as they continued kissing and feeling each other up as if they didn’t have other people.

He's naked by the time the back of her legs hit the bed, she’s only clad in her knickers ---already sporting a wet stain to John’s delight--- and good grief does it feel good to have John’s eyes on hers as Gale worked his way down from her clavicle. Cleven was as good at fucking as he looked.

“Forgot to warn you, darl’, Gale’s a gentleman. Its not fucking unless the lady has her fun too.” Bucky is springing his prick free as Buck let his actions do the talking.

“Lucky woman.” Di can’t help her delighted gasp as the blond lavished her with attentions only the future Mrs. Cleven would enjoy. The sight of him between her legs as he removed her knickers to feast on her is one that has her thanking her lucky stars John wants to fuck Gale as much as she does.

“Bet you haven’t tasted pussy as sweet as hers since we left the states, huh?” John took a good whiff of her wet underwear, not shying away from how turned on he is by knowing Gale had caused it and how good his best friend tongue fucks his girl.

The blond's good with his mouth, fingers too as he readies her up for him.

The first act was supposed to be her seducing the morally upstanding Gale Cleven, giving Bucky a show as Buck surrenders to her attentions. How great of him to change her plans like this!

It’s not long until Di’s shutting her eyes and pulling his hair while staring at John right in the eye as she cries out Bucky’s name.

“Bad girl, Di, ‘sposed to thank our good friend for his service.” Bucky grins, his hand working at a slower pace because the first part is long from over as he praises her for being such a good whore for Cleven.

Gale kisses her, giving her a good taste of her own pussy, like the proper gentleman he is, as he slots himself between her legs with purpose. Both men are huge in comparison to her and neither disappoint when it comes to making her feel as if her insides would be rearranged in their fucking.

Bucky’s eyes are dark with arousal and groans as he asks her if Gale’s dick feels as good as it looks. “Go on, sweetheart, call out Gale’s name like a proper lady.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, with Gale being spurned on by John’s dirty talk and admitting to wanting him that way, Di can’t help but get lost in the pleasure of it all.

This time she cries out the right name. Gale doesn’t pull out of her, fucking her until she’s filled with his cum. Good thing she had her special tonics for nights like these, unlike John she’d not like to explain why the Egan baby looks like the wrong Buck.

“I hope you aren’t tired yet, boys, the main event has yet to start.” Diane says once she’s recovered the ability to speak.

Bucky had yet to come, he wanted to hold out for the next part. John had been as excited as a kid on boxing day as he told her what he wanted as the main course for tonight.

She’s taken two men at once before, one in her mouth while the other took her cunt usually. Sometimes it would be two women or a woman and a man at once. All those times had been enjoyed, but she hadn’t tried double penetration yet.

John had been so eager to give her a taste of it with the rubber sex toy, but, God, she wanted to be the meat in a Buck Sandwich just as bad as the Bucks wanted each other.

“Is the bed big enough for the three of us?” Gale still avoids her eyes as he asks. He looked so beautiful laid by her, face still pink from the exertion and sweat making his pretty hair stick to his face.

Oh, what she would give to marry both these men!

“You bet your ass it is, Buck.” John grins wickedly and lays on her other side, goes as far as reaching over to Gale’s and caressed his face on the excuse of brushing his matted hair away from it. “We’re gonna have such a good time we won’t even notice the bombs.”

And they do, if she isn’t kissing Gale, she’s kissing John and at some point, the boys are so into it they kiss each other with a fiery passion they pretend not to notice.

John’s taken great care to prepare her for tonight, going slowly as Gale once again buried himself to the hilt and says the most beautiful words he’s said all night, “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this. My girl and my Buck, at the same time.”

Diane can’t even keep the names straight as John sets the pace for the three of them. Both fucking her in perfect synchrony until all three are on the edge of passing out from the ecstasy of it all.

“Don’t stop, John!” Gale grunts as his thrusts out of rhythm and works to get Di to join him in this orgasm to end all orgasms. “I can feel you, Bucky, fuck!”

This time it’s Buck being so gone from the pleasure that he admits to his desire for his best friend. They wanted each other, but society wasn’t ready for them to take that step with each other. They’d lose their posts, their freedom and might even get killed for it.

“Use me, for tonight,” Di can barely make sound come out of her as they ram into her as they push each other to the finish line. Her men don’t need to be told twice; her pleasure comes as a side effect from the two of them chasing after that glorious high. Not that she judges them for it, she’d do the same in their shoes.

The bath couldn’t fit all three of them, but luckily the bed was big enough for her two Bucks to sleep on either side of her. The Bucks steal glances and caresses as they try to enjoy the hard-earned peace before they return to the base in the morning.

“My birthday’s in November.” Di mentions when John thanks her and Gale for the best birthday he’s ever had. “You can thank me then.”

[basilone]

There are some things in life you can't control. Things like the unfortunate name someone gave your plane. Things like falling in love in the middle of a warzone. Things like figuring out how to date the girl of your dreams while you might crash or die any day now. Luckily, Benny DeMarco is made of stronger stuff and figures it all out just fine.

Or, really, the Benny/Darlene fic that's been itching to get written for a while now. He's a charmer, that DeMarco fella. 😉 You've been warned!

Read the full fic here!

[sluttyhenley]

He’d phoned ahead to let them know about the delay and Gale hadn’t seemed surprised; Marge saw that in his face before he even answered the telephone. He had been expecting the call. His face was an open book. Even now, after the war, he was so easy to read.

nothing but blue skies from now on an ot3 fic by @sluttyhenley

[ereardonlibrary]

In The Skies Ch. 2 [Major John "Bucky" Egan x Reader]

Full chapter here

[ab4eva]

Oh Bee! I am finally catching up, I had read the first 2 and now that they’re all out I gotta catch up! I about had a conniption during the handjob scene bc I was reminded just how 🔥 your smut is 😮‍💨 But also, as always - the emotion, the characters, the story - all just perfection.

III. "Trust Me, He's In Good Hands."

"Trust" Series Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

As the calendar flips to September, so arrives Autumn, the season of change. And change will always come, whether it is welcome or not.

Warnings: Language, Grief, Minor Bucky Injury, Mention of Medical Treatments/Devices, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes [fingering, handjob, semi-public play] - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: In case you missed it, there was a head cannon produced as a semi-interlude for just how Bucky 'took care of himself' after their moment on the bench. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6486

-------------------------

“Think you took a wrong turn back there, Bucky…” You raised an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder as he continued driving further and further away from your quarters, navigating the jeep, instead, towards the control tower.

After nearly a week of chauffeuring you and your rapidly healing leg around Thorpe Abbotts, you were more than confident that he knew his way from your quarters to the mess to the control tower and back. This was most certainly a detour from the normal route.

When your comment was met with silence, you turned to look at him curiously, only to see the profile of his mischievous grin as he worked a fresh stick of gum between his molars, a pair of aviator sunglasses concealing his eyes even in the rapidly darkening twilight.

A plethora of fresh cuts and abrasions adorned his face from that day’s mission to Stuttgart – nearly 1,300 miles round trip. Flying in the second group of the day, the Luftwaffe and ground forces had been more than ready for them. Resistance had been heavy, though their drop was still considered a success, the first group’s had been a disaster. Bucky had been putting on his usual good humor since his return to the Operations Room, though his kisses in the custodial closet had been a little more frenetic than usual. His hold on you a little tighter than after previous missions.

For your part, you had wound yourself around him as tightly as a vine of ivy, the loss of your brother still terribly fresh and barely scabbed over. A scab that you had to fight the urge to pick at in the darkest hours of the night while your hut mates slept the sleep of the ungrieved. It was easier to set your hurts aside in the daylight, or in Bucky’s presence, as the man himself might as well have been the sun personified. Yet there was something changed about him today.

“Bucky?” You prompted softly as he reached the control tower and hung a right to begin driving out along the runway.

“Wanna show you the stars, doll.” He murmured quietly, sliding his sunglasses to the top of his head, his cap tossed carelessly on the seat between you, as darkness finally conquered the sky.

“Alright.” You whispered, setting your hand on his knee slowly while he drove to the very end of the asphalt before veering off into the tall vegetation that brushed against the sides of the vehicle.

As he cut the engine, the silence of the field settled in around the pair of you, so far removed from the crews diligently working on planes parked on their hardstands – there was another mission tomorrow, they would do their very best to get as many as possible back into service by dawn. But this far out, it felt like it you were perhaps the only two people in the entire world just then. Tilting your head back to look up at the sky, you pulled your cap from your head to watch the stars begin to wink into light against the deep blue velvet night, a smile tugging at your lips.

“They are beautiful.” You breathed reverently, rolling your head to the side to look at him fondly.

“Yeah.” He murmured in agreement, though your heart clenched as you found his eyes focused squarely on you rather than the constellations above.

His hand settled over yours where it still rested on his leg, fingers threading between yours, squeezing tightly, and you leaned in with the intention of pressing your lips to his. Bucky met you halfway, tilting his head to the left to slot his lips against yours firmly. The taste of spearmint flooded your mouth and your tongue darted forward the pilfer the still-supple piece of gum from its hiding place against his cheek, tucking it against your own as his body shook with laughter. Your responding grin made it difficult for either of you to continue the kiss and so Bucky dropped his mouth to your neck, fingers abandoning yours to begin tugging at your necktie and the buttons of your collar to reveal more of your skin to his greedy lips.

“Bucky…” You sighed, sliding your liberated hands into his hair, wantonly holding him to your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you shivered eagerly, each exhale shaking as it left your mouth in response to the damp, open-mouthed kisses he painted across your skin. The brush of his moustache provided a wicked contrast in sensations. He hummed approvingly against you, arms snaking around your hips as he shuffled the pair of you further onto the passenger’s side of the bench seat, farther away from the interference of the steering wheel.

Bucky’s fingers tugged at the buttons on your uniform jacket, parting the offending fabric so his broad hand could slide beneath to cup one of your breasts, kneading at the tender flesh over the thinner fabric of your shirt. Arching with a needy whimper, you pulled gently on his dark locks until he tipped his head back, lips kiss-stung as he looked up at you, eyes barely focused. Lunging forward, you kissed him thoroughly as he continued his sweet torment, making your hips undulate against the seat needily, desperate for any friction you might find.

You mewled in protest when his hand left your chest, pressing your face against his cheek as he tutted teasingly.

“Easy doll, I won’t leave you hanging.”

His hand slid to your left knee, fingers cupping the back of it as he gently guided your leg to hook over his right, spreading your legs open to the rush of cool night air. Instinctively, you rolled your right leg inward to close the gap, but his hand slid between your inner thighs, keeping them apart.

“Wait.” He whispered, stroking his slightly calloused fingers against the soft skin he had found there, knuckles rasping against the opposite thigh. “Let me make you feel good.”

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip, you shuddered slightly before relaxing your right leg, letting your knee fall against the frame of the jeep as you shuffled your hips forward consentingly.

Sweeping ever higher along your inner thigh in slow, smooth circles, you still jumped slightly as Bucky’s palm came to rest over your underwear, breath hitching in your throat to feel the heat of his skin seeping through the thin material.

“Damn, you’re so warm.” His breath fanned across your cheek as he spoke, heel of his palm applying just the right amount of pressure to the place that had you seeing constellations of your own behind your eyelids.

“Bu…cky…” You keened his name, pronunciation disjointed and clumsy as his fingers worked at tracing your folds across the rapidly dampening fabric.

“I know, I know.” He rasped, sounding almost pained as he shifted his hips.

Forcing your eyes open, you recognized the same need in his movements that had, just moments before, laced your own. You swallowed roughly to gather your courage before allowing your hand to drop to his lap. The gasp that escaped you at the sheer pressure of him against his fly was drowned out by his harsh, half-swallowed moan. Pressed temple-to-temple, you inhaled sharply as his eyes flicked to yours, boring into them at close range as you began to work your palm along the shape of him through his trousers, applying what you could only hope was the right amount of friction.

“Goddamn you’re not going to be satisfied unless I cum, are you?” He huffed and tilted his jaw forward to nip at your lower lip.

Your brow furrowed in thought as the verbiage of that sentence did not quite compute, though it very well could have been as a result of his diligent attentions between your thighs.

As if sensing your confusion, Bucky began throwing out alternative words like a thesaurus while he gradually began to ease your underwear to one side. “Finish, climax, release, orgasm…what you did so prettily all over my thigh and what I’m going to make you do again right–”

“Fuck…” You squeaked as his fingers found the bare skin of your folds, hips jerking both towards his touch and away from the intensity of it all at once.

“Here.” He finished his thought, temple pressing against yours once more, fingertips rapidly growing slick with your desire before they delved to find your sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Jesus Christ, Bucky!” You gasped out, bucking sharply and most definitely toward his hand this time.

“You talk to your Captain with that mouth, doll?” He teased with a broad grin, teeth flashing white in the darkness.

“Mmm fuck…” You whimpered, nearly incoherent as he expertly worked your body like he had known it longer than you.

“Spending far too much time around soldiers, doll.” He continued to tease you, making your nostrils flare stubbornly as you summoned the very last of your wits to attack his fly, wanting him to suffer equally under the exquisite torture of pleasure he was inflicting upon you. “Whoa there what a–” His words died on his lips as your persistent, delving hand worked its way into his trousers and then past the waistband of his boxers to wrap around the steely length of him.

A ragged groan cut through the night air before his mouth crashed into yours, a slight clacking of teeth before he recovered his usual finesse. There was a beguiling slickness gathered at the tip but otherwise the skin covering the swollen hardness of him was the softest you had ever felt. However, now that you had seized your prize, you were not entirely certain what to do with it. Bucky’s large left hand wrapped itself around yours, beginning to guide you through a pumping motion up and down the length of him that filled your mouth with his moans and sped the pace of his right hand against you.

Wrenching your lips back from his to gasp for breath, you pressed your forehead against his once more, your exhales becoming his inhales. Tugging the gusset of your underwear further from your body, he made more space for his hand, settling the heel of his palm against the apex of your pleasure as his index finger began to circle your entrance.

“Fuck you’re so wet…” He huffed, dipping the pad of his finger into your slick.

“Mnnph!” You vocalized nonsensically, swiping your thumb across the source of his own slickness, collecting fresh beads of moisture to ease the motion of your fist around him. “You, too.” You panted.

Hot breath cascading down the gaping collar of your shirt was his only response, and being a quick study, you were certain to repeat that motion at the top of each pull, despite how difficult it was becoming to think straight. Particularly as he sank his index finger into your eager body, the feeling foreign yet not unwelcome, especially when he began to thrust said finger at a pace that matched your own hand around him.

A fleeting concern passed through your mind, of what sort of vulgar display the pair of you were currently presenting to the very heavens that you had driven out here under the pretext to admire, but it could not compete for you attention as Bucky added a second finger to your wet heat. Your hips moved in time with his fingers, of their own volition, and you were so focused on driving the pair of you towards your own heaven that you were barely taking in enough oxygen.

“Doll I’m gonna…fuck…I’m gonna cum…” Bucky growled, though there was the distinct edge of a whine to it.

“Yes.” You exhaled enthusiastically as you fully understood the statement this time. “Yes, Bucky go on I want you to, please.” You babbled, no longer completely in control of your faculties.

His left hand quickly abandoned yours to yank his uniform jacket and shirt higher on his torso as his hips slammed into your fist several times before, with a hoarse shout, a tremendous amount of fluid was released across his lower abdomen, dripping onto your hand. You watched with a slack jaw, very much wishing you could see the intricacies of his pleasure more clearly than the dark of night would allow, but nevertheless mightily pleased to have brought it about.

As his right hand stilled inside your underwear, you mistakenly assumed he was utterly spent, would not have minded at all if that were the case, and began to straighten your uniform.

“Oh, hell no, I’m not finished with you.” His fingers lurched into motion, pace somehow doubled as they scissored and curled inside you.

Left hand, now freed, settled over your right breast as he turned fully to devour the noises his renewed attentions wrung from your trembling body. You could feel your walls beginning to clench around his fingers, your thighs pressing together as the tension within you rose to its crest before shattering in a rush of ecstasy that had you clawing at his uniform jacket as you writhed beneath him.

Pulling back only once you had stopped wailing down his throat, Bucky smirked a little as he licked his lips. “That’s better.” Settling back onto the seat beside you, he carefully pulled his fingers from your still-shaking body to lick them clean, closing his eyes slowly. “Next time, I’m going to eat you alive, doll…”

Slumping against his shoulder all you managed by way of reply was a weak, “Uh huh.”

Bucky pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head before pulling a utilitarian handkerchief from his pocket, wiping your hand before roughly wiping himself clean. He brusquely restored order to his uniform before very tenderly doing the same with yours.

“Need a few more minutes?”

“Mmm we should get back.” You frowned, leaning in to peck his lips softly. “If my legs still aren’t working, I’ve got the crutches at least.”

A confident grin unfurled across his features as he slid back behind the wheel, arm wrapping around your waist to pull you snug into his side before he began the drive back to your quarters. Absent-mindedly, you retrieved the stolen piece of gum from the corner of your cheek and folded an air bubble into it before cracking it against your teeth, slowly feeling the capacity to control your limbs returning.

Pulling up in front of your hut, he turned to you with a smirk. “You stole my gum.”

You looked to him slowly before shooting him a wink. “Guess you’ll have to steal it back.” You would have kissed him goodnight, given him the chance to do so right then, if not for the crunch of footsteps on the gravel drive behind you. “Goodnight Major Egan.” You said as you straightened quickly, putting a great deal of distance between you as you slid to the other side of the jeep before climbing out.

Fetching your crutches from the back, you were slowly making your way inside when you heard him address the unknown individual.

“Captain Miller.”

“Major Egan, whatever has become of your cap, sir?” Her voice was cold and shrill as usual.

“Got it right here Ma’am.” You heard him reply, though her hum of disapproval, one that was all too familiar to the WACs, did not bode well for the state of it.

“It seems rather worse for wear, sir. Might want to try and remedy that before Colonel Harding gets a look at it. Goodnight.”

Risking a glance back over your shoulder you frowned to see how horribly crumpled the thing had become – surely a victim of your star-gazing trip gone astray. Bucky, for his part, only sent you a broad smile as Captain Miller continued on into the night and you waved to him before ducking inside to face the firing squad of your expectant-faced friends.

The early days of September continued to be busy with crews from the 100th flying the following morning, the 7th, and then receiving a day’s rest. There was no real rest for you on the 8th, however, as the field order for Operation Starkey, set for the 9th, arrived late in the day, sending the Operations Room into a frenzy. Bucky had appeared at the usual time to drive you to the mess for dinner and all you could spare was an apologetic look before he was snagged by Colonel Harding. Set to be the largest operation of the war to date, you were up quite late ensuring everything was in place, unsurprised that Harding had ordered Bucky to bed to rest up – that only meant one thing. He would be flying tomorrow.

The target was an airfield just outside Paris, mercifully not another foray deep into Germany, but the customary knot that settled into your stomach seemed to twist all the more acutely this time. Making your way down the stairs on your crutches, bearing a little more weight on your ankle now, on Doctor McLean’s instructions, you were surprised to find Captain Miller waiting for you at the door.

“Good evening, Lieutenant. I was hoping to catch you alone.”

“Ma’am.” You juggled your crutches awkwardly in order to salute her, doing your best to keep the confusion and concern from your voice.

She began the walk towards the barracks at a slow pace, allowing you make your way alongside her as she spoke. “I’ve received orders this afternoon from Pinetree that effective September 10th you will be transferring there as a member of their Operations staff.”

Your head whirled to look at her angular profile, her hair perfectly smooth beneath her cap, as she delivered this devastating news as though it had as much effect on your life as the fact that it might rain later. The bottom of your left crutch snagged into the gravel and dug awkwardly into your armpit, sending you stumbling forward. Somehow you managed not to fall flat upon your face, but all you could croak in response was a pathetic, “Ma’am?!”

Miller eyed you a moment, presumably ensuring your stability before she resumed both her speech and her progress towards your quarters. “Your work is impeccable, you should not be surprised that you have been given this opportunity, Lieutenant. I suggest you begin packing. I will see you to the station myself morning after next.”

Nodding, speechless, you continued to shuffle after her. Pinetree – code name for the Headquarters of the 8th Air Force, located in some village just north of London. Quite a ways away from Thorpe Abbotts. Away from Vi and Mary and Ruth – your constant companions through your entire time with the WAC. Away from Bucky. Your throat clenched painfully as you desperately tried to swallow, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

‘Christ, please not in front of the dragon-lady…hold it together girl.’ You chastised yourself and straightened your back, clenched your jaw, willfully keeping an iron grip on yourself.

By the grace of everything holy she kept silent for the rest of the walk, pausing in front of your hut. “This is a good thing, Lieutenant. Now rest up, big day tomorrow.” Miller nodded firmly and you shared a salute before she continued on her way.

Taking a shaking breath, you crept inside, leg aching from the walk, throat aching from smothered emotion. The rest of the occupants were all sleeping, oblivious to your plight, and you miraculously managed to keep it that way, sliding into your cot at last to allow silent tears to roll down your cheeks. You should have used those four hours to rest before waking early, knowing Bucky would still insist on driving you to the mess and then the Control Tower before his flight, but sleep was about as friendly with you as Captain Miller that night.

As your alarm clock went off, and Vi hurled a pillow at you for the insult of vicariously waking her with it as well, you were quite convinced you had not managed a minute of sleep. Running through your morning routine like some kind of robot, you began to make your way toward the mess, smiling weakly even as your heart wrenched beneath your ribs to hear his jeep pull up beside you.

“Morning, doll.”

“Morning, Bucky.” You sighed, turning to him, afraid to meet his eyes. Afraid he might be able to see right through you, and not wanting to burden him with this impending separation right before he went up. “You go on ahead, I know you’re busy…”

“Doll, please don’t hit me, but what time did you get to bed last night? Get in the jeep.”

Despite yourself, despite the yawning dread in your gut, you still felt a laugh bubble up your throat. Perhaps not to the usual brightness he would have earned, but Bucky was still able to earn it.

“Late.” You sighed, surrendering your crutches to the back of the jeep, sliding in beside him. “But clearly, I need to put on a better face. ‘A WAC should never appear tired or distressed.’” You quoted one of your instructors from Fort Des Moines.

He huffed with a playful roll of his eyes as he put the vehicle into motion. “As far as I’m concerned doll, you’ve more than done your duty for this mission.”

You looked to him curiously, brain sluggish without any food to fuel it yet.

“‘Release a man for combat.’” He glanced at you with a wicked grin as he quoted the former WAC slogan, the one that had been in use before your superiors had truly understood the connotations of such a statement, and your jaw dropped as you felt heat paint its way down your neck.

“John Clarence Egan.” You hissed in half-hearted admonishment, shaking your head as a grin snuck its way onto your features in spite of it all. Sighing deeply as, after mere moments with him, you already found your mood much improved. “I’m gonna m–” Quickly slapping your hand over your mouth lest you admit to more than you were prepared to at this time of day, you feigned a yawn which made him chuckle under his breath as he pulled up in front of the mess.

“Maybe need a nap?” He finished mischievously and you just nodded, leveraging yourself out of the jeep, still feeling sore after your long walk to bed last night. “I’ll see you after briefing.”

“You don’t have to, Bucky I can make it just fine, you’re busy.”

“That wince you just failed to hide says otherwise, doll. I’ll see you in an hour or so.” He eyed you sternly and you gulped painfully, already feeling quite lost at the idea of being separated from him.

“I’m going to start walking if you’re late.” You tried a small smile on for size, preparing yourself to enter the mess with a pleasant look on your face.

“I’ll find you!” He threatened as he pulled away slowly, careful not to kick up any gravel in your direction and all you could do was shake your head fondly.

You were doomed.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, the few already up this early only present for the sake of fuelling their bodies and not really seeking conversation. Burying your nose in a book that you could not even manage to read one sentence of, you lasted all of forty-five minutes before your nerves got the better of you and insisted on action rather than wasting time while you waited for Bucky to be ready. Gritting your teeth against the protest in your joints, you began making your way down the road toward the Control Tower, needing very much to be useful else you might simply drown in the complexity of your emotions.

Regardless, you would need to get used to being independent once more. Pinetree, or High Wycombe as it was properly known on a map, would not have a private chauffer awaiting you. It remained to be seen how much distance you would need to cover in your daily duties and there was no time like the present to start practicing. You were almost halfway there when Bucky pulled up alongside, dressed in his flight suit, eyebrow raised impatiently.

“Someone definitely needs a nap.” He narrowed his eyes, gesturing at the open bench seat beside him.

Sighing deeply, you pulled the crutches from beneath your armpits to slide into the back before climbing into the jeep next to him. “I was falling asleep at the table.” You muttered as he pulled out. “I didn’t mean to insult you…”

His only reply was a gently squeezing of your knee, a quick motion between his steering of the vehicle, but you could tell he was not pleased. Combined with the quiet thoughtfulness that overcame him on his way to a mission, it made for a silent drive to the Control Tower. As he pulled up in front of the building, you turned to press a warm kiss to his cheek, feeling him tense in surprise at your rather visible display of affection.

“See you in a few hours.” You smiled to him tenderly and he offered you a lopsided grin in reply.

“You bet, doll. No sleeping on your desk, now.” He winked as you slid out and you offered him a laugh over your shoulder as you made your way inside.

Organized chaos awaited you in the Operations Room. Now officially billed as a practice run for the invasion of France, the entire base seemed to be alert and involved in this mission, many appearing just as tired as you. Situating yourself at your desk, you dove in headfirst, grateful for the all-consuming work before you. It did not allow for any ponderance of what tomorrow would bring, nor for you to feel the depth of your fatigue. The morning fairly flew by in a flurry of paper and typewriter ribbon, with one of the other women in the office taking over the duties of delivering wireless transmissions and teletype tape to the brass given your still-healing injury.

Upon reports of the safe return of all twenty-one of the planes that the 100th had contributed to the mission, you finally allowed yourself to surface for a break, making a trip to the washroom. On your slow return journey, you were startled when Colonel Harding stepped into your path, sliding his trademark cigar from his lips to speak.

“I’ve just been informed we’re losing you tomorrow, Lieutenant.”

So, it seemed the news was beginning to make its way around the base, then.

“Yes, sir, it is true.” You nodded, trying your best to keep your facial expression neutral.

“If I had known what a pain it would be, I would never have sung your praises so loudly to General Eaker.” He chuckled though you found it very difficult to focus on the words he was speaking as Major Cleven stepped into the Operations Room.

‘Why is Buck here? If all the planes made it back, why is Buck here?’

Your heart began to thrash frantically against the cage of your ribs as though it intended to break free in its panic. If Bucky were to assign anyone with the grim duty of breaking some horrible news to you, it would surely be his best friend. Nodding vaguely in reply to Harding, who was still speaking about something – possible Eaker’s personality, the level of dread within you only increased as Cleven’s eyes sought you out in the crowded room. Your stomach dropped further and further with each step he took in your direction.

Despite Harding’s apparent obliviousness to your terror, Cleven’s sky blue eyes traced over your face as he came to stand just behind the Colonel, casually crossing his arms before giving you a discreet thumbs up and slight nod of reassurance. It was subtle yet incredibly effective, almost instantly restoring your ability to breathe and easing the racing of your heart.

“Well, on to bigger and greater things, right Lieutenant?” Harding grinned at you, and you nodded quickly as the words once again registered in your brain, the dull roar of terror receding to the darker corners of your mind.

“That’s right sir, but I will miss everyone here.”

“But not little East Anglia I bet.” He laughed before sliding his cigar back into his mouth and dismissing you with a nod, making his way over to confer with Major Bowman who had just returned from interrogation.

“My apologies, Lieutenant. I did not mean to frighten you.” Cleven frowned as he stepped closer to address you directly. “Bucky is fine, just getting some stitches in his forearm – bit of flak, nothing to worry about.”

Exhaling slowly, you nodded gratefully. “Thank you very much for delivering the message, Major. I’m sorry I panicked.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t think the Colonel noticed.” A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and you pressed your own together to prevent yourself from laughing at Harding’s expense. “But, unless I’m mistaken, it sounds like you’re leaving us.” He tilted his head and your mouth immediately pulled down at the corners into a frown before you could stop it.

“I haven’t told anyone yet, I…I just found out last night and…” You tugged at your fingers nervously, a somewhat dramatic wringing of your hands.

“It sounds an awful lot like a promotion.” He prompted in that soft-spoken way of his and you nodded quickly.

“Supposedly a ‘good thing’ but it’s nowhere near here and I’m worried.”

“Worried about the job or…”

You gulped roughly and took a long hard look at Bucky’s best friend, the man he had sent to tell you he was all right, just a bit delayed in the hospital. The man he would have surely entrusted to tell you he was not all right, if it had come to that.

“Leaving Bucky.” You admitted, eyes quickly darting down to your brown, low-heeled dress shoes.

“Don’t you worry about that idiot. Trust me, he’s in good hands.” You could hear the smile in Cleven’s voice as he spoke, and you risked a glance upwards to confirm that he was in fact shooting you a soft smile of reassurance. “I’ve kept him alive this long, haven’t I?”

You scoffed a laugh as it really was hard to tell in moments like these who had the bigger ego, Bucky or Buck. All the same, you deeply appreciated his reassurances.

“Thank you, Major. I will tell him just as soon as I see him.” You assured him in kind, knowing he would be looking out for his friend’s best interests as well.

“Hopefully he doesn’t run into Harding first.” He smirked and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “The Colonel is right though, we will miss you.”

“Thank you Major, the feeling is mutual.” You nodded, swallowing thickly as he nodded warmly in reply before turning to make his way out of the rapidly calming room, the level of activity waning now that the mission had been accomplished.

Bucky himself did not make his appearance until the end of your shift as you made your way out of the building, fit to fall asleep on your feet but facing an evening of packing and goodbyes instead. Leaning against the side of his jeep, he grinned to see you appear and you could not help but smile in return, crutching over to him as he met you halfway.

“Your own set of stitches hmmm?” You tilted your head curiously and he huffed.

“It barely needed it, but Buck insisted and then once Doc McLean got his hands on me…” He grumbled, pressing his lips to your temple in greeting. “Buck said he scared the hell out of you, sorry about that. We’ll work out a better signal next time.”

Taking a shaky breath, you turned to look at him, deciding there was no time like the present. “A…about that Bucky.” Despite your intentions, you still struggled to string the words together. “I’m being transferred.”

His steps lurched to a halt and a look of pure bewilderment came over him. “Transferred?”

Nodding slowly, you reached out to cup his cheek, despite the way it made you wildly unstable on your crutches. “Yeah. Promotion it seems. Doing too good of a job…” You felt tears welling in your eyes and blinked rapidly to try and stave them off.

“Hell, are they sending you to Division?” He croaked.

“Bucky, you know I can’t–”

“Headquarters then…damn doll, I’m proud of you.” The smile he bestowed upon you was brilliant, but the effort that it took him to summon was just as evident, and you could only shake your head sadly as those cursed tears slipped out of the corners of your eyes.

Bucky’s broad palms were quickly cupping your cheeks as his thumbs swiped them away as fast as your tear ducts could produce them. “Got my very own dame in Pinetree.” He grinned cockily and pressed his lips between your brows as you sniffled hopelessly. “Well done.”

“Gonna miss you, though.” You insisted weakly.

“Don’t you go getting all General crazy now. Don’t forget about your poor little Major back in little old East Anglia.” His tone was light, playful, though the sentiment did not fully reach his eyes which seemed somewhat hollow, resembling the endless depths of the ocean more than ever just then.

“Never.” You replied vehemently, gasping as his lips were suddenly on yours in broad daylight, surrounded by all manner of humanity, earning a few whistles and catcalls from his fellow airmen.

“Good.” Bucky replied firmly and pulled back slowly. “Suppose we gotta get you packed hmmm?”

“Yeah…” You breathed softly and relished the feeling of his hand on your lower back as you covered the last of the distance to the jeep, sitting as close as possible to him while he drove to your quarters. “I’ll write you.” You promised as he parked, and he grinned.

“I’ll write back.” Bucky tapped your nose fondly and you reached out, gently pushing his sleeve up, frowning as you found no bandage on that arm before grabbing his other hand to repeat the process.

When your eyes fell on the white gauze wrapped around his forearm you bent your head to press a soft kiss there. “Heal quickly.”

“What time do you leave tomorrow?” His question was barely above a whisper.

“0530, to catch the first train.”

“I’ll see you at 0515, then?”

Furrowing your brows, you spoke with the rational side of your brain only. “You should sleep in, there’s no mission tomorrow.”

Bucky snorted and tugged you closer by the hand still holding onto his. “And let you leave without kissing you one last time?” He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to press his lips to yours as if to prove his point.

Melting against him with a sigh, you were sorely tempted to ask him to drive you to out to the end of the runway to look at the stars once more. To play fast and loose with more than just your need to pack. Unfortunately, Ruth’s warning cut through the swell of recklessness that was building within you.

“Miller alert. She’s less than two minutes out.” She said quickly as she passed by the jeep before darting into your quarters and you pulled back sharply.

“0515, then.” You conceded with a nod and peck his lips once more before sliding from the vehicle and following your friend into your hut to begin the process of breaking the news and filling your suitcases.

By the time you slid into bed, not much earlier than the night previous, you were convinced that the next person who offered you a bravely proud face would be met with your fist in their nose.

‘Why can they not be as devastated as I am?’ You wondered as you lay you head onto your pillow to begin another fruitless wrestling match with the elusive prize of sleep. ‘Or at least admit that they are, instead of putting on that mask of happiness on my behalf. I’m not happy.’

You alarm clock, shrill and earlier than everyone else’s, was not greeted with the usual affronted reactions, but groggy hugs before you forced your companions back into their cots, moving your pair of mismatched suitcases outside the door one-by-one once you were dressed and ready. Bucky was there, waiting against his jeep in the wan grey light, soft smile settling on his features as you appeared.

He rushed forward to grab your luggage, putting it into the back of his jeep automatically, making you laugh softly.

“Captain Miller is picking me up here shortly, we’re just waiting for her.”

He huffed and guided you to sit on the front seat of the jeep as you waited, taking the weight off your leg. “Don’t even get to drive you one last time.”

“Today. One last time, today.” You amended firmly, looking up to him as he leaned over you, braced against the frame of the vehicle.

“You’re right, not forever.”

“No. Just for now.” You swallowed as your throat clenched painfully.

“For now.” He echoed and bent his head to kiss you softly.

The sound of a jeep pulling up behind his, grinding on one of the gears before coming to an abrupt stop, signalled the arrival of Captain Miller.

“She’s early, doll.” Bucky griped against your lips, and you sighed.

“‘A punctual WAC is an effective WAC.’” You whispered and slid to your feet.

Bucky stepped back to grab your luggage, moving it into the rear of Miller’s vehicle as you crutched along behind him. Standing at the passenger’s side, you gave him a watery smile.

“See you soon, Bucky.”

“Take care near that big city, doll.” He rumbled back, hesitating a moment before lunging forward to slide his arms around your waist.

Hauling you close against him, your mouths collided in a thorough kiss as the brim of his cap clipped yours, sending it flying backward into the road.

“Major Egan!” Captain Miller barked shrilly, but neither of you paid her any mind, clinging to one another until only life-giving oxygen necessitated that you part.

“You…take care here Bucky.” Your eyes bore into his firmly and he nodded in understanding.

“Lieutenant, get in this vehicle at once.” Captain Miller barked again, and you tensed under the direct order, wheeling to obey.

Bucky retrieved your cap, dusting it off and exchanging it for your crutches which he stowed in the back beside your suitcases.

Your eyes never left him, even as Captain Miller ground her way through several gears, getting the jeep into motion. Mouthing a silent ‘bye,’ which he mimicked, you turned in your seat to watch him become smaller and smaller behind you until you could no longer distinguish him in the distance.

-------------------------

Read Part Four - "I Trust You Know What You're Doing?"

"Trust" Series Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @precious-little-scoundrel, @rubyfruitjungle, @storysimp, @mads-weasley, @xxanaduwrites, @bcon24, @fxxiva, @slowsweetlove, @hockeyboysarehot

[ktredshoes]

HBO War Fanfiction Stats

Let me start by saying that I am not in any sense criticizing anybody's taste in HBO War relationships. In my opinion, any well-written fanfic, regardless of ship, is worthy. Heck, any fanfic is worthy — it takes a special type of creative courage to write and share a fanfiction story so that others might appreciate what you see in characters you love. So, that's the first thing.

Buckle up, I get wordy. More under the cut.

Tagging a handful of folks who showed interest in my decidedly unscientific findings: @onyxsboxes @jesslovesboats @itstheheebiejeebies @onekisstotakewithme @sparkling-strychnine

Trying something here: @meyerlansky @anachilles @astolovewithallmyheart @dano-png

I started down this fanfiction stat rabbit hole about four years ago when I started looking at The Pacific tags on Archive of Our Own (AO3). I was trying to figure out if it was just my imagination or not that everything other than Sledgefu in TP fanfic felt like a rarepair. I was not surprised to find statistical backup for what anecdotally felt true.

I love all the HBO War series — and for the record, I consider Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Generation Kill, and Masters of the Air to all be part of this fandom community. I won't get into trying to rank them or make the case that one is better than another — they are all related in being stories of men at war, and three specifically stories of men at war during World War II — but direct comparisons, in my opinion, are apples to oranges to prosciutto to tiramisu. They all have different raison d'etres. So that's the second thing.

(I will admit to a particular soft spot for The Pacific as the overlooked "younger brother" to Band of Brothers, precisely because of the tendency of some to negatively compare it to BoB. TP was never intended to be "part two" of Band of Brothers — I was listening recently to a podcast with Tony To, an executive producer of both shows, who asserted that BoB was, yes, about the brotherhood of war, but TP was about the cost of war. )

Anyway.

A couple of days ago, I saw someone post about the fact that the Cleven/Egan ship in Masters of the Air was about to hit 1,000 stories on AO3 — and since I knew that the total number of stories was only about 1,400ish, I figured it was time to take a look at MotA stats too. And that led to looking at GK stats and BoB stats and once I finished, I was really struck by what I saw.

I have a whole spreadsheet looking at the four shows, with breakdowns by relationship and character, with percentages of total stories. (I've posted some graphics from those spreadsheets below, not to worry.)

So what did I learn?

The Pacific and Masters of the Air both are overwhelmingly dominated by a single ship — Sledgefu in the case of TP and Clegan in the case of MotA.

As of August 10, 2024, there were 1,500 stories on AO3 tagged for The Pacific, and 1,485 tagged for Masters of the Air. Sledgefu features in 884 of TP stories, which is 58.93% of the total.

You might think that's an astounding total — but Clegan features in an astonishing 986 of MotA stories, or 66.4% of all stories. The falloff in the next highest ship in each fandom is precipitous: Hilldane in 14% of TP stories (210), and Crubbles in 8.82% of MotA stories (131).

If you are a fan of any ship aside from the most popular pairing in these two fandoms, that has got to be terribly discouraging. You wouldn't think the dropoff would be so high if you're at all active in the HBO War fandom on Tumblr, based on what's posted on a daily basis, but if your entry to HBO War fanfic is solely on AO3, what would you think?

I will once again state that I'm making no judgement on anybody's favorite pairing — I'm making a case on behalf of all the other ships. I'll also note that there are many, many fics posted to Tumblr that never make it to AO3, and I would very much encourage those authors to please please please consider posting your stories to AO3! (If you don't have an account on AO3, it currently takes about 10 days from requesting an invitation to receiving it, which is not that long in the scheme of things.)

The popularity of TP and MotA characters in these stories shows a similar disparity between the most popular and everybody else. In The Pacific, Snafu features in 63.53% of AO3 stories (953) and Sledge in 62.6% (939). No one else is as high as even 20% -- Burgie is in 17.2% (258) and Ack Ack is in 15.6% (234) and Hillbilly in 14.73% (221). The other two ostensibly lead characters in TP are Bob Leckie (12.53% or 188 stories) and John Basilone (1.67% or 25). I find that just shocking.

MotA is both better and worse. There are 10 characters who appear in 10% or better of posted stories on AO3 — but the dropoff from most popular to next highest is even more dramatic. Bucky Egan features in 77.9% of stories (1,157) and Buck Cleven in 74.28% (1,103). The next highest is not, as you might think, Harry Crosby or Rosie Rosenthal, the other featured lead characters in the series. It's Curt Biddick, who is in 25.19% of stories (374), followed by Croz in 23.7% (352). Next is Rosie, who is tied with John Brady — both in 16.9% or 251 stories. What a steep drop!

But, hey, at least there are a baker's dozen plus one of characters who feature in at least 100 MotA stories:

Egan: 1,157 stories (77.91%)

Cleven: 1,103 (74.28%)

Biddick: 374 (25.19%)

Crosby: 352 (23.7%)

Brady: 251 (16.9%)

Rosenthal: 251 (16.9%)

DeMarco: 243 (16.36%)

Payne: 225 (15.15%)

Lemmons: 181 (12.19%)

Hamilton: 167 (11.25%)

Marge Spencer: 146 (9.83%)

Douglass: 139 (9.36%)

Kidd: 130 (8.75%)

Blakely: 111 (7.47%)

After 14 years, will TP ever develop more diversity on AO3? Probably doubtful — though since I first checked the stats in 2020, Hilldane has gained 2%, so there's slow change but some change. Eight months in since the birth of the MotA fandom, and Clegan, and by extension Bucky and Bucky, are steamrollering the rest of the MotA relationships and characters on AO3 — based on what I see on Tumblr, I don't know if that huge disparity will hold up, but who knows? It's still a very new fandom.

But what about GenKill and BoB, you say?

Well, as you might have guessed, there's a clear delineation in GK between the top ship and the next ones below it, but the dropoff is not nearly as dramatic as in TP and MotA.

There are 3,024 Generation Kill stories on AO3 as of August 10, 2024, and the number one ship is Brad/Nate, with 1,261 stories, or 41.7% of the total. Next highest is Brad/Ray, with 677 stories, or 22.39%. The top three characters are Brad, featured in 63.82% of stories (1,930), then Ray, featured 52.35% of the time (1,583 stories), followed by Nate (45.44% or 1,374 stories). Next is Walter Hasser at 571 stories (18.88%), followed by Poke Espera at 284 stories (9.39%), Mike Wynn at 262 stories (8.66%), then Doc Bryan at 254 stories (8.4%). There's that dropoff again!

And as for Band of Brothers? After nearly 21 years on AO3 (the oldest story dates from November 2003), there are 5,016 BoB stories on AO3, with a huge number of ships and characters — albeit some quite small. Frankly, I stopped counting after getting to 70 relationships and 55 characters — I just got tired!

Still.

Let me add that the earliest BoB stories on AO3 are not well tagged for ships or characters — many don't have any tags at all. I don't know the reason for it — whether the tagging system in the early AO3 days wasn't easy to navigate, or maybe the lack of tagging was a holdover from earlier systems or archives? I have no idea how well-tagged stories were on LiveJournal, Dreamwidth, or Fanfiction.net. So anyhow, early BoB stories on AO3, if tagged according to current standards, would definitely change the stats but I have no insight on how it might shift them, except definitely upward for the most popular characters and ships.

At any rate: onward.

The top BoB ships on AO3 are 1) Winnix — 1,250 stories or 24.92%, 2) BabeRoe — 771 stories or 15.37%, 3) Webgott — 663 stories or 13.22%, and 4) Speirton — 662 stories or 12.4%.

Moving on to characters, there are a dozen that feature in 10% or better of the BoB total. Take a look:

Winters: 1,173 stories (34.35%)

Nixon: 1,652 (32.93%)

Roe: 1,380 (27.51%)

Speirs: 1,135 (22.63%)

Heffron: 1,125 (22.43%)

Luz: 1,063 (21.19%)

Liebgott: 1,058 (21.09%)

Lipton: 978 (19.5%)

Webster: 790 (15.75%)

Toye: 749 (14.93%)

Guarnere: 686 (13.68%)

Malarkey: 514 (10.25%)

That's a much more even distribution here, without the massive dropoff in the other three fandoms. Or as @itstheheebiejeebies put it to me: "BoB fans feast on variety. It's a grazing table instead of main and side courses." Just so.

So what do I take from all this? I mean, in the case of MotA, I came into the fandom all gaga over Callum Turner and thus Bucky Egan. But then I quickly veered off into following Benny DeMarco (Adam Long) and for the past several months I've fallen under the spell of Everett Blakely (David Shields). Will I stay there? I have no idea! And that's kind of exhilarating.

But here's what I know for sure: as I continue to read and write HBO War fanfic, I'm going to be doing my best to support the ships and characters out of the top tier.

Creators: Don't just post your fanfic to Tumblr — post it to AO3 and tag it.

Be the change that you want to see.

---------------------------------

Now, as promised, here are the stats in graphic form.

[slowsweetlove]

Day 26: Give your fanfic writers a boost and share your favourite MOTA AU

In no particular order

The entirety of @swifty-fox LITTLE BEASTS series. If there's the off chance that some of you have not yet read this... I don't know what you're doing here.

While you're on it just read their EVERYTHING AND THE KITCHEN SINK au as well. I'm still waiting for a continuation of that story. Some of the best kink fic around.

My bookmark will tell you everything about @stereobone IN OUR BEDROOM AFTER THE WAR epic : The fluffiest, subtly smutty piece of domestic love I've ever read. A couple going through stuff and coming together stronger for it. The yearning and everyday life described to perfection. So well rounded characters. The perfect love story.

Sadly I can't link the author of the next fic as it was posted under Anonymous. But CLOSE AND YET CLOSER is an emotional roller coaster.

There's of course @rambleonwaywardson and the epic CLEGAN OLYMPICS AU that I re-read again and again

And while we're in the sports realm let's read @weimarweekly LOOKING FOR EIGHT for some soft smut cowboy action

@faegoddessog participation in my October project that turned into an awesome threesome Buck/Bucky/reader fic. Can't wait to read the rest of it.

There's a whole lot of talented writers in the Masters of the Air fandom so shout out to @avonne-writes @c-goldthorn @onyxsboxes @johnslittlespoon @brotherwtf @irregularcollapse and so many others.

[ereardon]

In The Skies || Ch. 2

[Major John "Bucky" Egan x Reader]

Overview: On a night out in London, you meet fellow American Major John “Bucky” Egan of the 100th. As war rages on, you take a leave of absence during the spring of your third year at Oxford to sign up as a nurse on the front lines in England. Time and time again, you and Bucky find yourselves thrown together in the hospital ward as you tend to him and his teammates after missions gone awry. What happens when you find yourself falling for a man who might never return from the skies? 

Pairing: Major John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Chapter summary: Six months after you first meet Major Egan, he shows up at the bedside of Sergeant Quinn who just happens to be your patient. Sparks fly, again.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, cursing, definitely historical inaccuracies

WC: 2.8K

Masterlist here

“Nurse? Nurse!” 

Your head shot up, legs unfolding beneath you before you even realized, carrying you down the narrow hallway of the hospital, the floors squeaking beneath your shoes, a mixture of blood and urine and saline and muddy footprints all blurring into one. 

“It’s his leg!” You skidded to a stop in front of a man writhing in pain. 

“Morphine,” you said, nodding at the girl to your right who reached into her pocket, fingers returning with a small clear vial that you grabbed, driving it into the flesh of his thigh. The man let out a shriek, followed by blissful silence as you surveyed the scene. A severe bleed and a cracked tibia. The bone hadn’t shattered through the skin but you knew it was bad just by the way it was bulging against the flesh. “Over there,” you pointed at a gap against one wall. “I’ll get the surgeon.” 

They wheeled him away and you made your way through the maze of beds and walkways, eyes wide, a few strands of hair sticking to your temples. It was hot, too hot for how early in the year it was. Early June. You should have been graduating from Oxford. Instead, you spent your days nursing soldiers back to health, sending them back to the battlefield with missing limbs and poorly patched scars and wounds on their souls that would never heal. And somehow, it felt better than any degree ever could. 

“Dr. Peters!” Your voice rang out in the dingy corridor and the surgeon turned. He was short, with tight, dark curls and a pair of glasses that teetered on the edge of his nose. 

“Nurse,” he said, “what is it?” 

“Patient, Doctor, broken tibia.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “Yes. I just did a visual exam, no x-ray, but I’m positive.” 

Dr. Peters eyed you. In the three months you had been stationed at Stoke Military Hospital in Devon, you hadn’t been wrong once about a patient. He knew that. The doctor sighed and put his hands in his lab coat pockets. “Alright. Show me this man.” 

***

“Y/N? Isn’t your shift done?” 

You shrugged, wiping your hands on a cloth before sticking it back in the pocket of your apron. “An hour ago, I don’t know. Still have to see Lieutenant Davies.” 

Anna raised an eyebrow. “I’ll see you at home?” 

“See you at home.” You rounded the corner and smiled. “Lieutenant Davies?” 

The gentleman on the gurney looked up with a grin. “Ma’am.” 

“How are you feeling tonight?” you asked softly, stepping closer. 

“Good as a man with one arm can be.” 

“You always keep good spirits. I like that about you.” 

“Go out with me, won’t you?” 

You laughed. “Now Lieutenant, we’ve been over this before. I don’t date patients.” 

“Won’t you make an exception?” he asked, brown eyes glittering. “Just this once? For all you know, I could be the best date you’ve ever had!” 

“Oh I bet you would be,” you said, ringing out a washcloth in a nearby basin and pressing it gently to his forehead, dragging it down the side of his face, washing his neck carefully. His soft eyes never left yours. “But that wouldn’t be fair to all the other men, now would it?” 

“Screw them,” he murmured and you laughed. “What do you say, darlin’? You and me, let’s get out of here.” 

You shook your head, dipping the washcloth once more and pressing it over his bare chest. “You’re forward, aren’t you?” 

“War taught me anything, it’s that we all die someday. Gotta make the most of every day that’s left.” 

“Amen,” you whispered, setting the rag down back in the pan. “I’m going home now. You be good, alright?” 

Davies grinned. “Aren’t I always, darlin’?” 

You chuckled, making your way down the hallway toward the doors when they burst open, a flash of night sky visible through the open doors before they swung shut. Everything in the hospital was a rush. Triage and move on. But you had long-term patients as well. Men who were there for days, weeks, even months. Ones who weren’t healthy enough to go home, and not whole enough to go back to battle. Men who had seen loss. Men who had nothing left to fight for. 

“Y/N?” A voice from your left startled you out of your thoughts. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you headed home?” 

“Just about.” 

“Can you do me a favor?” Jolene tipped her head to one side. “A patient in bed fourteen. Came in earlier today. Having a hard time sleeping. Think he just needs someone to sit with him and I’ve been here for going on twenty hours.” 

“Go home,” you insisted, practically pushing the girl out the door. “I’ll take it. What’s his name?” 

“Quinn.” She flushed. “Thank you. I owe you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” You took a look around the room, spotting the bed that Jolene had mentioned. “Hi there,” you said quietly, inching toward the bed. “Lieutenant Quinn, is it? I’m Nurse Y/N.” 

The man who looked up at you was pale, practically ghostly. He had diminutive features, a small nose that curved upward, eyes that gapped at you from the hollows of his sockets. “Sergeant,” he croaked. There was sweat beading his forehead, his upper lip, the visible bones of his collar. “You’re promoting me.” 

You smiled, grabbing for a washcloth and pressing it to his forehead gently. “Sergeant Quinn,” you replied. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not bad, ma’am.” 

“Now don’t you go lying to me,” you reprimanded him. 

“Not good,” he said after a moment. “Feel cold. And dizzy. It’s like everything in my brain is static.” 

You pulled away the washcloth and sat down on the thin cot next to his leg. Quinn looked up, eyes wide. “What brought you here, sir?” 

“Got shot in the side,” he whispered. “Running from enemy fire.” 

“Are you a pilot?” 

“No, ma’am. I just fly with them.” 

“I met a pilot once,” you said. The memories of Bucky flooded your senses. The way his touch felt against your bare skin. The bristle of his mustache as he kissed you. You shook the memory out of your mind. You had been a different person, seven months before. Back then, war hadn’t felt so real. It was tangible now. It crept into every thought, it had made its way into every atom in your body. You were no longer a girl. You were a nurse. You were part of the war effort. 

“Oh yeah?” Quinn said, teeth chattering. “Maybe I know him.” 

You smiled. “Maybe.” You reached out, brushing one hand over his cheek, thumb stroking his sullen face gently. “Jolene said you’re not sleeping. How come that is?” 

“Every time I close my eyes,” he whispered, “I see them.” 

“See who?” 

“Them,” he murmured. “All the men we lost.” 

There was a type of pain in his voice that you hadn’t known until you joined the hospital. Now it was the only tone you could hear. It saturated every word that was spoken under this roof. “You try and sleep,” you whispered, settling down into the chair next to his bed and reaching out, taking his frail hand in yours. His was dirty, but yours was caked in dried blood as well. “I’ll stay here so you’re not alone.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I do,” you replied. “Now close your eyes.” He closed his eyes, and you did too. The next thing you knew, it was the morning and your neck was bent to one side. Your eyes opened, trying to place where you were. And then the scent hit. It was as familiar as the smell of the ocean or a new book. 

Death. 

Sergeant Quinn was asleep on the bed and you dropped his hand gently, standing up, careful not to wake him. He looked peaceful. You took a mental picture of him. That was the best you could do, you had realized. Remembering them at their best was the only way to make it through the hard days. 

The flat you shared with two other girls, both nurses, was small and tidy. You spent as little time there as possible. Not because you didn’t like it, but the only place that you felt at peace was at the hospital. Doing your part. Helping people. All of the trivial things that had mattered so much less than a year before had vanished. You stopped wearing as much makeup or caring as much about how your hair was set. You had given up pantyhose entirely. You were a different girl than you had been. 

Back at the hospital, the stench of decay and the sharp bite of stringent solutions nipped at your nose. At first it had been jarring. Now it was simply familiar. The hustle and bustle no longer felt out of the ordinary. If anything, laying down to go to sleep at night felt uncomfortable in its near silence. 

“Jolene.” You stopped the girl with one hand against her arm. She swiveled around. “How’s Sargeant Quinn?” 

She smiled. “Good. Better. Says you were the one who got him to finally rest.” 

“I tried.” 

“Few of his friends from his unit stopped by, but you should check on him. Think it would make him feel even better.” 

“I will.” You weaved around the corridors, past incoming traumas: soldiers on gurneys, soldiers limping, ones with bandages across their faces and arms and necks. Every one you gave a sympathetic look. “Sergeant Quinn,” you said, rounding the corner where his bed sat. 

Four heads turned. Three men in uniform standing in a semicircle turned and your eyes scanned them quickly before doing a double take, backtracking to the man on the far left next to Quinn’s bedside. His warm eyes flashed in recognition. 

“Y/N,” he breathed out and you felt your breath catch in your throat. 

“John,” you whispered. The room, so crowded and cloying and loud, suddenly felt very still and very quiet. Just you and Major Egan standing beneath a street lamp on a bitingly cold London evening. 

He stepped forward and you saw how even over the course of half a year he had aged. Tiny crows feet in the corners of his eyes. There was a hollowness, too. He placed your hands in his. “You’re a nurse? What about Oxford?” 

“I deferred my last semester,” you replied quietly, suddenly aware of all of the eyes on the two of you. “To help.” 

He smiled, his fingers squeezing yours. “So you’re the fantastic nurse that Quinn here won’t stop yammering on about.” 

From the bed, Sergeant Quinn blushed. “Bucky, I didn’t know.” 

You shook your head. “Nothing to know, Sergeant. Major Egan and I met a few months back. Looks like you weren’t lying when you said you were in good hands.” The memory of that one night with John brought a tingle between your legs. He grinned. 

“Are you working?” Bucky asked. 

“Always,” you replied candidly. “It never stops, you know. It’s a constant revolving door of injured men.” 

His eyes darkened. “I know.” His mouth shifted into a smile. “Take a walk with me.” 

“I have some patients to check on,” you whispered. “How long are you here?” 

“Few days,” he replied. 

“Meet me for dinner.” You listed off a restaurant nearby and Bucky nodded. 

He squeezed your hand one more time before dropping it. “I’ll be there.” 

You smiled at Sargeant Quinn. “Now I’m going to have to ask you boys to leave so I can clean the Sargeant’s wounds and replace his bandages.” 

Bucky and the two other men exited the makeshift room and you felt a shiver work its way up your spine. 

You had thought you would never see Major John Egan ever again. 

***

Normally time in the hospital sped forward, like a clock that was wound too tight. But waiting for the sun to set so you could meet Bucky felt like it was taking an eternity.

You were fixing a dressing on a soldier when Jolene popped out around a corner. “Y/N?” 

“Yeah?” 

She tipped her head to the side. “Heard there was a handsome Major here earlier asking all about you.” 

You tried to hide your grin. “Gossip.” 

“I love gossip,” she replied and you laughed. “Does that mean Lieutenant Davies is on the market?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “What happened to not getting involved with patients?” 

“He’s so charming!” 

“He is,” you replied, wiping your hands on your apron and standing up straight. “They all are.” 

“So this Major?” she asked as the two of you made your way down the hall. “How well do you know him?” 

“We only met once,” you said. “Just before Christmas, at a bar in London.”

“And?” 

You grinned and hid it behind one hand, faking a yawn. “And nothing. He’s a gentleman. He’s taking me to dinner tonight.” 

Jolene shrieked and a few patients turned their heads. You shushed her but it was no use. She was practically giddy. “God, you’re lucky,” she whined. “Ask if he has a friend, why don’t you?” 

“He has a best friend who is also a Major,” you said and her eyebrows shot up. “But don’t get too attached. He’s engaged.” 

She sighed. “All the good ones are.” 

“Not all the good ones.” 

Jolene squeezed your hand. “You go have fun. I have it covered here.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes. Go!” She practically pushed you out of the door. 

***

When was the last time you had dressed up? Worn something other than a blood-soaked apron and saddle shoes? 

When was the last time you had gone on a date? 

Probably at Uni, but even then the lines were blurry. Was studying together over a tea equivalent to a date? Or a formal where everyone was required to attend? You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt the way you did that night in Bucky’s arms. 

Safe. 

You were late, hair pulling out of the messily placed pins, the neckline of your dress slightly crooked. As you whipped into the restaurant, peering around, you spotted John with a grin on his face, his eyes planted on yours. 

He stood as you approached the table and leaned over, pressing his lips to your cheek, one hand on the back of the chair, letting you settle into it before he pressed it inward. 

“Hi.” There was something so sincerely innocent about the way he said it. Almost shy. 

“What brings you to town, Major?” 

“A mission,” he replied. “Or the end of one, I guess.” 

“Sergeant Quinn. He’s quite impressed by you.” 

“He’s a good guy.” 

“He said you’re the better guy.” 

Bucky paused before lifting his glass of wine to his lips and taking a slow sip. Then, “I’ve thought a lot about you. Since that night.” 

“Had to send a fellow American off to war the only way I knew how.” 

His eyes darkened. “It was more than that, Y/N.” 

“What are you saying, Major Egan?” 

Bucky tipped his head. “I’m saying I haven’t stopped thinking about you, sweetheart. That not a day goes by where I haven’t wondered if I would ever see you again.” 

“Must have made an impression, then,” you whispered. 

His eyes were glued on yours. “Go out with me.” 

You laughed. “We’re on a date right now!” 

“Tomorrow,” he replied instantly. “And the night after that.”

“Let’s see how the date goes first,” you replied, “before we go making plans.” 

He shook his head. “Don’t need to wait to know what I already do. Which is that you’re the woman for me, Y/N.” 

“John,” you whispered, a blush creeping up your neck. “You’ve known me a total of two days. You can’t say something like that.” 

“I was five years old the first time I saw an airplane,” he replied. “And do you know what I thought?” 

“That you wanted to be a pilot.” 

He nodded. “Yes. The first time I ever saw a plane I knew that’s how I was going to spend my life. In the skies.” 

“You based your entire career, your whole life, around one glance at the sky when you were a child?” 

“I knew in my heart, with every inch of my body, that it was what I was meant to do.” He paused. “It’s how I felt when I saw you again earlier today. Something clicked. Something said this was right.” 

“You have to give me a second to process this,” you whispered. “I haven’t seen you in six months. And here you are, saying what exactly?” 

His fingertips met yours across the table. “All I know is that I knew the first time I saw a plane that it was going to change my life.” His eyes met yours. “And that’s how I feel now, looking at you.” 

Tagging some people I think may enjoy this:

@gretagerwigsmuse @gigisimsonmars @iangiemae @tgmavericklover @sunny747 @perfectprettypisces @na-ta-sh-aa @ryebecca @kmc1989 @spinning-away @yorkshirekiwi @clancycucumber230

#masters of the air#mota#john bucky egan#masters of the air series#major john egan x reader#bucky egan x reader#callum turner

[middlingmay]

Fic Masterlist

AO3: MOTA (Clegan) | GOT (Gendrya) | Shameless US (Gallavich) | The Witcher.

MOTA Masterlist

Finally made a masterlist of all my MOTA and Clegan AUs and HCs. Enjoy!

That Ol' Devil Called Love

Read on AO3 | Tumblr Tag

John never started the Bloody 100th to make a name for himself in the criminal underbelly of illegal street racing; he just loved chasing the thrill and taking their money. But when he meets Gale Cleven, son of the local pastor who hates John and his crew with near religious fervour, John finds himself stumbling into a new kind of trouble - one that might just bring down everything he's worked for.

Series:

The Buckies almost get caught in compromising positions: Part 1: Supply Closet | Part 2: Post-War Mile High Club | Part 3: Alley in London | Part 4: The Stalag Footballer John AU Soldier!Bucky AU German!Gale Single dad!Gale and Baseball Coach!Bucky AU Photographer!Gale and Model!John Horse Trainer!Gale and Veteran!Bucky Runaway!Gale The Buckies become parents...of a sort. | Part 2 with kittens!

One-shots:

Undercover lover (Criminal Minds AU) Long kiss goodnight (Dark!Gale, Stalag fic) Bucky wears stockings Buckies soft sex post-war Buckies at the 100th's Ten Year Reunion Gale returns to John post-war Bucky goes missing and rescues some children. Buck x Bucky shenanigans in Harding's office. 100(ish) word drabbles Buckies on vacation Marge is Gale's beard and John catches her with another man. Recruiter!Gale and College Student!Bucky. Modern AU where Gale meets Drunk!Bucky and is utterly charmed. Reunion kiss at Stalag Luft III. Hockey AU Summer Clegan HCs Gale Cleven never learned to flirt Misc fic requests

I always love to hear new ideas for AUs, fic requests, or your own headcanons. So feel free to drop me a message.

Or don't, or I may never tackle all the things on my docket...

[brotherwtf]

re my first mota watch ?? a curve ball??

I watched it the first time with my father and my brother, both big wwII buffs and my dad was like "you should watch it with us it has your boy in there" (my boy at the time being Austin Butler lmaoo) and I was completely uninterested for the first couple of episodes just bcs it wasn't really my thing and I had like two panic attacks bcs of how intense some of the bombing scenes were

we didn't watch it all in one sitting, we started watching when like 5 eps were out and we had a plan to watch all of them while they came out but we straight up just didn't do that because we were all busy ™ and we would go like weeks in between watches lolol

I remember on my 18th birthday, on the dot, we watched the sixth episode and I was like .. somethings fruity between these bitches and I read my very very first clegan fic the night of my 18th birthday, downloaded Tumblr again the next day and jumped into the fandom before I even fucking finished the series

and I would see all of y'all talking about the clegan fight scene and how gay that was before I even saw it and I'm watching it with my father and I'm literally biting my fist because y'all were right these bitches gay good for them good for them

we finished watching the series in the early summer, and about a week or two after that I posted my first ever drabble: Gale as a drag/burlesque dancer and John being crazy down bad for him and the rest is history :))

anyway idk if this is anything I just thought it was kind of a funny story 😂

[evita-shelby]

Paper fucking Moon

Or this au where John Egan is stringing along both my oc, Diane from my peaky blinders/masters of the air crossover and @precious-little-scoundrel 's Lana Tierney/Julie Jean Turner from her series, Dear John.

I am afraid i might make you guys hate John for this one shot sorry

Cw: cheating, irresponsible drinking, mentions of a hangover. Slight bashing of eurocentrinc beauty standards and some internalized racism

(A/n: Jack Nelson is the character James Frecheville (Bill Veal)plays in Peaky Blinders who is based off on Joseph P Kennedy sr and in this universe is him)

“Oh, come on, let me see! I let you read my last letter to Janey Dogs, Bucky.” The dark-haired girl somehow managed to wrest the letter from his hands. She had managed to read a name, Jean, before Bucky swiped it out of her hands.

She had gotten it back, making use of her smaller size against his giant frame as they tried not to tumble out of his bed and onto the floor. The witch had read it then, in its entirety and felt her heart break in a way it hadn’t done before.

Diane has always had the misfortune of falling hard and fast for someone. From her best friend since she was five, Oswald Mosely, Britain's leading facsist’s son ---who hated his dad’s ideology fiercely--- one summer, a girl she met during her time at Oxford, Tom Bennett in Manchester in 1939 and now John Egan from Wisconsin.

It always ends badly; Di has never been lucky when it comes to love.

Especially something that hadn’t been intended as serious. Only a paper moon, she reminds herself.

A paper fucking moon, she confirms when she reads the salacious letter to Julie Jean Turner, alias Lana Tierney, who is the perfect white girl with blonde hair, big tits and two blue eyes. As always Diane’s unconventional looks and mixed blood pales against the quintessential white woman.

“So, I’m only here to pass the time then?” she doesn’t mean to sound hurt by the things she read in the letter to Julie Jean Turner, but she does because once again Di had been fucked over by her stupid heart. “Women now, as beautiful and charming and smart as they are, they do just to pass the time, but you are different.”

Same shit he’d said to her when it stopped feeling like just fooling around and he started to believe what she saw in the cards. When they sang Paper Moons together before Regensburg and he came back with the moon locket just as she had said he would.

“Di, I’m sorry, I —” he can’t seem to even find the words to justify or even explain himself as the nurse hastily dressed and left before he could stop her.

“Only a paper fucking moon, isn’t it?” she’s never felt more pathetic in her life as she resolves to forget John fucking Egan while pretending she is stronger than she looks. “Fuck me for thinking this was gonna be different. Fuck me for thinking you loved me.”

And what better to get over a guy by getting absolutely hammered and under his single friend.

Bill Veal looked like Jack Nelson in his younger years, back when he was merely a gangster businessman and not the American Ambassador to England. Di did always find Jack hot when she was a teenager and Veal was too good of a man to hurt her. He is nearly always of Egan’s left at the pub and would make it very uncomfortable for her now ex-fling.

Doesn’t work as she had hoped, between the sexy little number she sings and the drinks, she finds herself stabbing at Egan however she can until he confronts her outside of it. Bill knew better than to get caught up in their shit and turned her down but not before saying he wouldn’t do that to Bucky.

She’d sought out another, some nameless soldier who’s gonna die before the week is over, and John had pulled the boy off her by the scruff of his neck as if the man had any right to her anymore.

“Mhmm, angry aren’t you, daddy?” she stands on her tiptoes as if to kiss him, she hates him and herself and even that sad little twat across the sea. “Angry your little fuck toy found out she was just that, your dirty secret who can’t satisfy you like the fantasy of a white girl can?”

Because that was what hurt more, that when he had her, living, breathing and real beside him, he was writing this stranger who he’d only seen once and getting off dreaming of her. It fucking sickened her to know he had been lying to her since the beginning.

“You weren’t a toy to me; I should’ve been upfront with you sooner and her as well. Shouldn’t have led her on, never should’ve written that letter before I left for Regensburg, Di.” At least he knew he had fucked it all up.

He looks sorry, she knows he feels sorry too, but she can’t forgive him. Why forgive him when she won’t ever trust him again?

“I loved you; you know. And you weren’t man enough to tell me the fucking truth!” she shouts at him, tosses the locket in her pocket at him and leaves like the pathetic little girl she feels.

Diane is glad she won’t remember this tomorrow; sure she might as well kiss her job goodbye but at least she isn’t John’s stupid gypsy girl who was the last to know he had someone else.

But she can’t sleep, she’s tired of crying, of thinking about how much she hates everyone now.

The latest in her string of bad decisions tonight brings her to her little locker where her stationary is. Not the normal one for friends and family, but the one with her dad’s company that styles her as Miss Diane E. Shelby of Shelby Co. for when she writes to the Princess of Wales as her loyal pen pal.

The last Di remembers doing is writing:

“Dear Miss Julie Jean Turner…”

And now reading the botched drafts of the letter she tried to write, she is glad she never finished it.

She had gone off about how she met and started her relationship with John, how Winston fucking Churchill got her the post here, how she knows Tierney’s life is shit with lurid detail, and worse the two Buck special a few weeks ago.

These are all the words of a drunk and hurt pathetic girl who’s insecure about her looks, height, lack of breasts and having mismatched eyes. Its barely legible, her drunk self isn’t the damnably charming and classy daughter of a Member of Parliament who went to Oxford.

It's a good thing she didn’t write it all, by the looks of it. The address on the ruined envelope said Arrow House, the young witch wouldn’t hear the end of it if there had been a reply sent to her parents before it got to her.

“Sent your letters to the post before you woke up, the matron in charge wants to speak with you.” The nurse who sleeps next to her handed her a glass of water and aspirin as Diane shuts her eyes as her hangover is worsened by a fucking vision.

Usually, she can get those under control, keep them from affecting her so much, but this one of Lana fucking Tierney receiving a messy letter addressed to her by Miss Diane Shelby of Arrow House, Warwickshire has her tossing her head into her hands as she retched in a bucket by her bed.

What had she done?

What had she written?

“Oh, fuck. Oh, God, what the fuck did I write in it?”

Dear Miss Julie Jean Turner,

Do not worry I will not reveal your true name nor the nature of your letters to John, I am not like that no matter how much I wish I was. I could ruin your career and life but the torrid abuse your mother and hollywood dole out to you is something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemies. Hell I think you might thank me if I tanked your career now before it drains you of life.

It might surprise you to hear why I write to you, but I am sure you already know about the other girl our good major has strung along while writing to you. I was one of such girls he told she was the only one. Different from the rest, all that bullshit he tells you too.

I loved him, I am sure you do to, but it was all a paper fucking moon in a cardboard sky. I knew sex was all he wanted that night, and yet I fell for him, just as you did in his letters. Thought he was different, that maybe he felt like I did because that is what he told me to mu fucking face when he said it should’ve been a ring and not a locket.

But it fucking wasn’t, because he writes to you about all the filthy things he wants to do to you while not even bothering to say its not many girls. That it was one girl singular who he's been with since mere days after sending you that first letter. Before you ask, he didn’t tell me, I know this shit and so much more because God fucking cursed me with visions that didn’t tell me about you.

But of course, no man can resist you. You who are deemed perfect with your big teats, your blonde hair and perfect white skin, meanwhile me with my meager breasts, different colored eyes and tan skin am deemed nothing special, a toy for him to pass the time. As if I already wasn’t singled out for my foreign mother and romani father.

I let him fulfill his fantasy of fucking me and Buck for his birthday, did he tell you that? Did he ever tell you how he liked it when I wore the fleece for him, how he brought me back a locket from Algeria because he claimed he was falling in love with me? Does he tell you how I held him together and let him cry his heart out after missions that go badly? Does he tell you that Paper Moon is our song because we sang it together the first night and now it’s on my picture he takes with himself on his missions?

He sure as hell didn’t tell me he hides yours in his boot, that he gets off to the idea of you despite having me by him. He wasn’t man enough to tell either of us the truth, and here I am writing to you to tell you he’s not the vulgar charming yank we thought he was.

This whole experience has me relieved there is a whole ocean and social hierarchy that won’t have us cross paths anytime soon. So sorry for ruining the image you have of Egan, fuck knows you have very little going for you, but unlike him I at least have the balls to tell you the truth.

You can have him if you want, Miss Turner, he’d be a step up from the current men you have now.

I don’t forgive infidelity, but I don’t know of you are of the same mind.

So terribly sorry for this, I have drunk enough to kill a horse to nurse my broken heart and no longer give a shit about anything.

Yours truly,

Diane Elizabeth Shelby, alias Lady Di

P.S. feel free to tell Marjorie Spencer her fiancé is a lying hypocrite who covered for Bucky this entire time.

P.P.S. if you want to be free of shackles, I know a few people on your side of the pond who can help you with that.