#will turner comfort

[darklcy]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

‣ will turner x f! reader | 1.5k words | slight angst, fluff, friends to lovers, comfort; im in love with will turner

‣ when the uncertainty of the future makes itself known to you, he's there to give you a gentle reminder through his embrace.

‣ i recently watched potc for the first time ever and yeah. im obsessed with him maybe actually

You used to long for nights like this. A couple hours to yourself and the great blue while the rest of the world quieted, weak to their need for rest. 

Above you lay a painting of constellations as far as the eye can stretch, and if you watched closely and held your breath, a wish could be found amongst the specs of light. Blink and it’d be lost forever, but such are the wonders of the vastness beyond Earth’s gates. It was a shame the moon welcomed sleep instead of wake.

Without a single cloud, her light embraced you like your mother once did, many years ago in childhood.

Your hands grip together above your trembling kneecaps. The moon brought cold winds with her beauty, as did the sea water beneath the Black Pearl. The weather wouldn’t scare you off this night, however. The bundle of cloth tightened around your shoulders as you peered up to the sky once more, allowing yourself  yet again to be caught in her hypnosis.

It’d been months since you stepped foot in your hometown. The second boot met this vessel’s wood, the gravity of consequences made themselves familiar. Home would never be home again. Your image was now tainted, purity washed away with bad blood, piracy, under command of Captain Jack Sparrow. And what a name he had, for good and for worse. Mostly worse.

It didn’t bother you at first. No longer bound to an island with invisible chains of societal pressures and standards. Out here, your name was all you had. No care for a backstory, for family ties, or occupation. Freedom released the chains from your soul, metal rupturing under itself and disintegrating. The stench of saltwater, pirates and rum soon became home, and as you inhaled and exhaled on the wooden steps, your joints and aching muscles freshened.

Still, there was a feeling you couldn’t quite shake off no matter how far you sailed. It was bothersome, and you could tell it was beginning to affect you. 

“I knew I’d find you out here.”

Others were starting to notice as well. 

There was room for one more occupant deliberately open, he took note of. His body heat robbed you of your chill, replacing it with his warmth as his arm bumped yours, easily reminding you of the liminal space you now resided in. 

Will Turner had become a close friend. Never the type of man you’d suspect to become a pirate, with his understanding nature and selfless acts. He had a father out there, you learned early on. “Bootstrap” Bill Turner. His name carried weight overseas, having been a part of Jack Sparrow’s old crew–prior mutiny.

His whereabouts lay unknown now, either taken by the sea herself or out on a boat serving another captain under alias. You could see how much it affected Will. He wasn’t one to particularly hide his emotions, and yet, certain days he required a little re-reading. 

His arms dangled over his thighs with his lips resting in their usual frown. The pinch between his brows had lessened a bit, but you could still detect a faint indent. A pirate’s life isn’t necessarily blissful, you suppose. His brown eyes interlock with yours when his chin turns to you. 

“What’s on your mind?”

You break his eye contact to find your fumbling fingertips, your nails anxiously kneading your cloak’s fabric back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…

Will drawls your name as his shoulder nudges you. You scoff with a grin.

“Sorry, I just,” You glance up, still not meeting him. “I’ve been thinking about home lately.”

He hums. 

“You miss it?” 

Do you? You pause for a moment.

 “I don’t know yet.”

He remains silent to allocate for any other thoughts you want to share, to which you settle in and release another sigh.

“It’s not that I wish to return, in fact I quite enjoy being out here. I have no life back home, but here I am, watching the night sky like I’m a little girl again.”

A single cloud trails the moon’s borders, a warning for frigid air. Will shuffles closer.

“I think about what’s to come. For you, the crew, myself.” You threaten another smile. “Jack.”

Will chuckles. “No bother worrying about him, that’s for certain.”

“And still, I wonder where he will end up. He’s so unpredictable, frankly it stresses me out.”

The two of you share a hushed laugh. You at last face him beside you, a nice fervor to your cheeks at his dimpled grin and soft eyes. He truly was handsome for a pirate. You’d imagine this life would break him, that one day his sanity would wane and crumble right before you, but his smile brightened the night as it always had, even now in your time of turmoil. 

He’d rot away on the Black Pearl should he remain here, when his destiny lay greater than yours, greater than any old pirate on a quest to satisfy selfish desires. A frown kisses your lips. 

“Where will you go, Will?”

His brows pull together this time in skepticism. 

“In a year’s time, say we’re still here, sailing the Black Pearl. Where will you go then?”

You watch as his knuckles cushion his chin. He’s quiet, steadily exhaling through his nose as his eyes wander the deck. 

“...I’d like to find my father.”

You lean closer, pushing him just slightly.

“And tomorrow? Say we hear news of your father right at dawn, just as the crew wakes up. Would you go, then?”

You realize then you wouldn’t want him to. The pain of his absence would be too great for your longing heart. You wished happiness for him, but would he stay if you asked him? Would you even be able to unleash that self-serving desire to him? 

You speak faster than your pounding chest can keep up with.

“I-,”

“ You have far too much potential to be here with us when you could be making more progress out there. You should go. You should be with him, you deserve to know where he is, and what happened to him.”

Will nods. You make a fair point. The sorrow of his leave has begun to sink her claws into your blood, but maybe now's the time to mourn him before he inevitably vanishes from you forever. 

“And what about you? Where will you go?”

You flinch, taken aback, the suddenness tethering you to the present moment. It renders you speechless for a minute. It wasn’t a year in the future, and tomorrow hadn’t yet broken the horizon. Will Turner was still here, right here on these steps, tonight. His inquiry brings him even closer to you, as if he too could feel the crave of your pulse, the pulse that quickened the longer you lived in his eyes.

“...I’ve nowhere to go.”

It’s revealed at last, and Will softens. You fixate on your knees, the tugging of fabric never faltering under your grip.

“...I’m afraid, Will. I’m afraid one day, the Black Pearl will fade, and so will everyone aboard, you included. I’m afraid of the day I’ll be stuck here while life carries on without me.”

You didn’t want him to go. You have him now, but how long until he disappears to the sea? Until you’re inevitably alone, sailing a ship with no crew, no family, no home. 

“It’s incredibly selfish of me, when I want more than anything for you to find your father. I want you to go where the wind can take you, and still I…”

Will’s hand encases yours.

“I’m not going anywhere without you.”

He speaks your name like a god’s prayer, as if it was a sacred relic to be cherished and protected. Maybe you could pretend that’s how he felt about you. You squeeze his hand in return, but he continues.

“What happens in a year doesn’t matter now. You’re here, and I’m here. I’m here tonight, tomorrow, and more days to come.”

His open palm takes the side of your face to turn towards his, his body meeting yours.

He was even beautiful up close; his gaze could lull you into a hypnosis that matched the moon’s, and as his thumb soothed the skin of your cheek, you realized just how eagerly you were holding onto him.

You see blatantly how much he means to you. How dear his presence was in your heart, and how him being close to you awoke emotions you never wanted to forget. It feels foolish now to wonder about future events when he’s here before you, promising his commitment through the palm of his hand.

“I’m not leaving you.”

He catches your tears with both hands, embracing you ever so close to him, erasing any fragment of space that allows the wind to brisk your skin. His warmth flushed your body as more and more tears fled you, clinging onto his forearms like he’d vanish any second. When he parts, his forehead kisses yours, refusing to let you go just yet. 

“Wherever you are, I’m with you. If you’ll have me, I’ll stay with you and protect you from ever worrying about me leaving you again.”

His body encircled yours in a safe caress, his arms tight around your torso. You rested your cheek against his collarbone as you sighed, breathing him in, holding onto whatever you could of him. 

“I’m with you, Will.”

I’m with you.

[cubbihue]

Does the tooth fairy now have an even bigger fascination with timmy now that hes her nephew in law?

She does! His teeth was her masterpiece, her pride and joy. Tooth doesn't think there'd be any other teeth like his. Besides maybe Chip Skylark's teeth.

She loves her new little relative though! It's not every day your favorite teeth get to persist beyond time and space for all eternity!!

Timmy likes Tooth Fairy. She's one of the most stable and reliably mature adult Fairy he's has ever known. He had hoped Peri would pursue dentistry with her.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[carnevol]

Day 10: Favorite co-star of @slowsweetlove’s list

[bebx]

I don’t understand people who can watch a show, finish it and go on with their lives instead of absorbing and making that show their entire personality for at least 3 months, because watching yellowjackets and then going on with my life like nothing happened aren’t enough for me. I need to go live in the wilderness and start my own cannibalistic cult or something

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

okay, trying and utterly failing to be normal about the fact this tracksuit zip up

is the same one he wore during eycte in 2016

i mean. help??????? 🫠

[saturnisaroace]

DID SOMEBODY ORDER MORE CAST PICS?

📸disneydescendants on IG

[atticssmellgood]

‘Cause You’re Not Home (You’re Never Home)

Alex Turner x GN!reader(no specific pronouns used)

Summary: He’s been acting distant lately

Word count: 2.1k

Contains: Angst, hurt/comfort, cursing

A/N: This is a request from forever ago that I just now got an idea for. I may or may not have shed a few tears while writing it🥰 this is my first time writing angst in a romantic setting be nice please🙏

(Title is from Bratty B by Best Coast)

Tossing and turning never seemed to quell the pit of anxiety that was continuing to build little by little each night. Nor did it make the bed feel any less cold and empty as you laid in it.

It was easy enough for the first couple weeks to accept Alex’s behavior as apart of his job. Hell, you knew exactly what you were getting into when you married someone in the music industry. But as days and nights stretched by and you saw your husband less and less, something deep in you stirred. A sense of loneliness, maybe? Or perhaps it was insecurity, fear that he had gotten tired of you.

Either way, it kept your mind racing and your eyes wide open.

You sat up in bed, running a frustrated hand through your hair as you stared at the adjacent wall.

Your gaze turned to land on the phone resting atop the bedside table, charging.

Maybe he sent a text?

That sliver of hope escapes you as the phone screen lights up and displays nothing but the time, alongside a picture of you smiling as Alex pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You stare at the photo until the screen goes black, shrouding you in darkness once more.

Something aches in your chest as you glance at his side of the bed. The lack of him leaving you feeling cold.

But the feeling is quickly replaced by surprise as you hear the front door to the house open, the floorboards creaking under Alex’s familiar steps.

After a moment of contemplation, you find yourself quietly exiting the bedroom and making your way downstairs. You stop when you reach the bottom and see a very disheveled Alex.

His slight swaying indicates an air of inebriation, and his eyes convey a sort of mental exhaustion too heavy to hide.

“Love…?” You speak, breaking the settled silence like throwing something into still water.

His head immediately jerks up, surprise flickering across his features before being blanketed by a stoic expression. He turns away.

“You’re up late.” His voice is blank. It’s more of an observation or a statement rather than any sort of question.

The anxiety you feel is replaced by a sort of angry sadness. The two mixed together made for a nauseating combination.

“Where have you been?” You’re a little firm in your words, approaching to stand beside him. He smells of alcohol and doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Out. The studio session ran late.”

You feel your emotions bubble up at that. He didn’t even try to come up with something convincing.

“Don’t lie. You smell like alcohol, you’re swaying…” You cross your arms. “And I sincerely doubt that they would keep you until three in the morning, Alex.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes finally turning to meet yours. What was found in them was unsettling. Ugly.

“Why are you so concerned about where I’ve been?” He snapped “I’m home. That’s the only thing that matters.”

You were taken aback for a moment before your frustration built.

“You have no right to talk to me like that. I’m just trying to figure out why the hell you’ve been coming home so late for the past couple weeks.”

Alex sneered, running a stressed hand through his already tousled hair. “God, can you leave me alone for five seconds??”

Your jaw clenched. “You’ve barely talked to me in days.”

“I know. It’s been bliss without your constant nagging.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

You shoot the question at him, your anger only growing.

Then, it was almost like something in him gave way as he sneered.

“Me? What’s wrong with me??” He laughed, but there was no humor or lightheartedness to be found as he turned to face you fully, pointing at your chest.

“You don’t know shit. All you do is cling to me every second of every fucking day, and you expect me to not want a little space???” He scoffed.

You can feel a small fracture in your chest as he berates you, your anger diminishing ever so slightly.

…have you really been too clingy?

You shrink into yourself a little, swallowing as you avert your gaze to the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you last month sporadically.

You put them in a vase on the kitchen counter, but now their once vibrant colors were pushed out to make way for the darker ones that came with death.

Alex continued to ramble on at you.

“I’m gone for one hour and I look on my phone to see a dozen missed calls from you. Can you not just fucking trust me for once? Is it really that hard?”

You feel your anger come back at full force when he says that, the rage bubbling up before you could suppress it.

“I’m just worried about you!” Your voice raises, and that’s what sets everything in motion.

“You’re treating me like a goddamn child!”

“Well maybe I wouldn’t if you weren’t acting like one!”

“Maybe if you stopped hovering over me I wouldn’t need to be so distant!”

The yelling between the two of you continued, only growing louder until Alex said something that made both of you stop.

“God, I can’t believe I married you!”

The room fell eerily silent after that.

Alex’s face was one of shock, as if he had only overheard the argument you were having rather than participated in it.

His words eventually processed, and you felt your heart drop. Your anger dissipated, leaving only a harsh pain in your chest.

Your fears weren’t supposed to come true. They were supposed to be silly, insignificant things that were only the result of insecurities or passing anxious thoughts.

The wedding ring on your finger suddenly felt like it weighed ten tons as you stared at each other.

The one who breaks the silence is Alex, stepping forward a little, reaching over but stopping just short, as if he were scared he’d get burned.

“Love, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright.” You murmur, swallowing. It was far from alright.

The tension was so thick it almost anchored time in its place.

You wanted to be anywhere but here, with Alex staring at him silently. Like he was begging for something.

“…I think I should get some sleep.” You don’t look at him. “I have to get up for work in the morning.”

————

Those were the last words you had spoken to him in the past several hours.

Alex was close to ripping his hair out because of his own stupidity, his mind and body filled with nothing but pure guilt as he thought about his words.

The look on your face was still fresh in his mind, plaguing him with a certain clarity he wish he could erase.

What was wrong with him?

The issue wasn’t you. It was never you. It never would be you.

His old habits had come back to haunt him after they wrapped up the tour. Right before this whole ordeal started.

The adrenaline had worn off, leaving Alex with nothing but a shell of himself.

A costume with nothing underneath.

The persona he projected to everyone else was something he’d grown used to. And yet it wasn’t him.

He hated himself for it.

Hated the fears and insecurities he harbored.

Hated that he didn’t feel like the man he was underneath all the leather and hair gel was enough.

Not for anyone.

And especially not for you.

Drinking was something he fell back on. He was too scared to admit to you this growing pit of emptiness he felt every time he looked in the mirror. Too scared of your reaction.

It hadn’t been his intention to push you away and shut you out, but he had done so regardless, inadvertently proving himself right.

You were too good for him.

But maybe this was the eye-opener he needed in order to mend the rift between the two of you. The little shove to make him realize that he was the one damaging things.

And that’s what led to the moment you were at now.

Work had been horrible that day, and it was even worse when the scene from the night before was replaying in your head on a constant loop.

But you weren’t expecting the smell of food to greet you as you walked in the door.

Only when you realized someone else might be in the house did you look up to see who it could’ve been.

Alex stood in the middle of the room, rather stiffly, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in one hand while the other held what looked like a vinyl record.

You close the door behind you and Alex’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You’re not sure what to say, and it’s silent until he tentatively makes his way to you, his footsteps the only sound.

He holds out the flowers to you as he stops and you take them after a small moment of hesitation.

He hands you the record as well. A special edition of your favorite album.

You look down at the gifts in your hands, your expression softening to an almost sad state. You look up to speak, but Alex beats you to it.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice is soft and gentle. A direct contrast to the anger it held last night.

He averts his eyes a little, gathering his words before looking back into your eyes.

“I know a few gifts isn’t going to make what I did or what I said go away, but…” he clenches his jaw in nervousness, but he does his best to look right at you as he speaks.

“None of those words I said last night were true. I was drunk, and angry at myself, and being a complete and utter asshole.”

“I didn’t mean to shut you out, or make it seem like I didn’t care about you. I just…”

Alex let out a shaky breath, finally letting his real feelings slip.

“I’m so afraid that I’m not enough.” He looked away finally, his voice wavering.

“That what’s underneath this rockstar persona I’ve created for myself isn’t what you want.”

“I’ve been avoiding you because I-…I’m so utterly terrified you’re going to get tired of me. Get bored of what I really am rather than the mask I wear on stage.”

He didn’t realize when tears started to pool in his waterline.

“I know I’m not good enough for you, but please know that I love you more than anything and…”

Alex trailed off, words stuck in his throat as his eyes fluttered. A few tears dripped from his lashes. He couldn’t bear to look at you.

The last thing he expected was for two warm hands to cup his face, thumbs wiping at his teary eyes.

There was silence. He didn’t dare look up.

“Alex.” Your voice was softer than it had ever been

“Look at me.”

He took a small breath, sniffling slightly as he finally gained the courage.

When his gaze met yours, he was sure he was going to be met with a look of disgust or hatred. Maybe even a laugh at the stupidity of his insecurities.

Instead, all he saw was gentle understanding.

You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs, the presents once in your hands now lying on the floor next to your feet.

You took a moment to gather your words, looking into the chocolate brown eyes you loved so much. The same ones that were now filled with tears and searching your own for some sort of answer to his confession.

You took a deep breath.

“Alex..” you tilted your head, holding his gaze.

“I fell in love with you.” Your voice was firm but still covered in a tenderness you could only ever muster when it came to him. “Not some silly costume you put on for a concert.”

“My Alex is the only one I’ll ever need, and he will always be enough.”

Alex’s heart ached as he let your words sink in.

Tears began to fall faster as the entire month’s worth of pent up emotion came spilling out.

Without another word, he pulled you into his arms tight, burying his face in your hair and holding you as if you’d suddenly disappear.

Somehow, you were willing to forgive him for hurting you. For saying awful things when you had done nothing but care for him.

Somehow, you seemed to love him for what he hid deep down. What he was afraid to show anyone else.

And somehow…

He believed every word you spoke.

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝐻𝑒𝑟𝑒’𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑠𝑘 𝐼 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡’𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒🤍 𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼’𝑚 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠， 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑜 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑑 𝑎ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟❄︎．．

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒♡︎

Warnings + grief, loss, crying, comfort, fluff

“𝑩𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎, 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑. 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒎𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕. 𝑲𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆, 𝒔𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅...“

࣪𖤐๋࣭ ໒꒱✧. • 𐙚˙⋆.˚. .

“Please, please let me in.”

The love of your life pleaded to you from outside the bathroom where you had locked yourself, the sounds of your sobs echoing out. All your repressed emotions over her, bubbling over into the mess you were now.

The first couple weeks have been….hazy. At first you thought that if you just kept up life as you normally did, it would be easier to deal with when you finally did face it but you just couldn’t do it.

In fact, your struggles started almost immediately as you battled with either trying to forget or reliving every moment you shared with your mom and trying to convince yourself that you would be fine.

The longing tore you in two. It was in the way you’d miss her.

So from there you let yourself drift hollowly.

Joe knew what had happened, who you lost and his heart broke for you, wanting nothing more than for you to let him be there for you. Yet everytime he saw you, it seemed like more pieces were missing each time. He loved you, so deeply…and it was that same love that moved him to say what he’d been swallowing down whenever he’d see you.

“It’s not your fault.”

You had been about to leave and moved to hug him before you left when his embrace turned softer as he held you close, whispering gently as he looked into eyes that had been hurting so much. He knew it hurt you for him to just put it out there like that but he needed to. For you.

Snapping your head up, the familiar hot ache in your chest started as your eyes filled with tears and you shook your head, trying to back up but Joe had already made up his mind that he was going to hold you.

“Stop. I know-“, you hushed out, trying to move past this quickly as possible.

“No. No sweetheart, you don’t.”

Quick breathing as you moved out of his strong arms, blinking furiously as tears already streamed down your face. You look at him, biting your lip to stop the wail clawing up your throat when you see the concern in his pretty baby blue’s you adored so much.

“It’s not your fault.”

And the sky falls, crumbling in your chest as you break.

Joe reaches out and you speed away, gasping wetly as tears blur your vision, chest hurting just like the day it happened and the next thing you know you’re in the first room you came across as you lock the door. Dropping to the ground as your heart shatters.

It hurt so bad, you were shaking as your arms wrap around yourself then you hear his voice.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…but it’s not your fault.” His wounded voice rasps out, pressing his forehead against the door as he kneels.

“Please. Talk to me.” He’s there, he just prays you can feel it and you do, moving to press your forehead against the door where he is.

Shakily inhaling, you try to get it out as best you can.

“I think- i-I need help…but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do..”

“Well I-I’m here. And I’ll be here just…how can I help you if you don’t let me in?”

You hear his hand making shapes against the wood and it’s so familiar that the tears flow faster. His presence was effortlessly soothing, it matched the way he loved you perfectly.

“I-“, you get cut off by your own cries.

Joe meets you where you need him as he speaks again.

“It’s okay. I understand and I’m here, alright baby? Just hear me. Hold onto my voice okay?” He’s fighting back tears of his own, stricken by the sound of your pain.

You whisper out a broken, watery ‘okay’ but he hears you and runs with it.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”, and you do, “Picture my voice like a boat in the middle of the ocean…do you see it?” Nodding, you try to calm down.

“Then swim towards it, honey. I’ll get us to shore.”

And you do.

Getting up, you unlock and open the door.

You look at each other for a brief second before he’s lifting you into his arms, holding you soundly as you stop fighting and let it flow. Joe keeps his voice steady as he talks you through it, smoothing his warm hands over you, giving you himself as a tether so you don’t get lost in your grief.

“It’s alright. I know it hurts but it’s okay.”

“Whatever you need, let it out. I’ll be here.”

“All those emotions, everything that’s hurting, anything that’s to heavy for you to carry, give those to me, okay? I’m strong. I’ll hold it for you so just let me.”

“I love you.”

Time stops as you stay in his embrace, his low voice helping you process without immediately drowning. You’re exhausted emotionally but you don’t feel so hopeless anymore, having checked your blind spot and finding that love was still there.

Your cries eventually fade into slow breaths and occasional hiccups as you nuzzle into him. You’ll always miss her but that’s just fine.

More time passes and Joe soothes you through every second until you finally find your voice.

“…Joe? Y’still with me?” You’ve never broken down like this before, especially in front of someone you’re in love with so your a bit self conscious.

But him?

“I never left you.”

Lifting your head to look him in his face, you bend down and he meets you slowly in a soft kiss, caressing your cheek lovingly with the back of his knuckles. It’s so sweet, a faint smile spreads across your face as you look at him. Joe mirrors your expression before asking what he could do.

“I think I’ll need time. But for now, I don’t care what we do, I just want you to hold me.” Joe hums and presses another tender kiss to your face.

“Alright, then how’s about we get outta here?” And he’s right. A change of scenery would be great to you right now.

“Like where?”

“A boat ride. You, me, and the water. S’that okay, sweets?” Taking a deep breath, you remind yourself that you’re okay and if it takes a while to feel it then that’s okay too. You weren’t alone.

Kissing his cheek, you rest your head on his shoulder, nodding.

“Okay”.

[yoursistheonlyocean]

He looks so huggable and cozy in these photos 🥰

[k-chips]

Am I... Developing a little hyperfixation for the Fairly Odd Parents...?

...

AFTER ALMOST 15 YEARS????

...

oh

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

Alex Turner on Taratata (2007)

[franklyimissparis]

images i will be thinking about until the day that i die

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Alone But Not Lonely

John Mitchell x Reader

Words: 4339

Summary: Mitchell and his girlfriend finally have a moment alone after weeks of hard days at work, dealings with other vampires, and frustrating exes. Only, she’s still hesitant to take the next step because of her relationships in the past. 

Notes: Oh look, is it another comfort smut? I need to be put on a leash. 

Warnings: 18+. Minors do not interact. You know the drill. 

-

You couldn’t tell which you felt more- tired or pissed off. Collapsing onto the sofa, you buried your face in a pillow, letting the cushion absorb your frustrated groan. Like clockwork, you heard those all-to-familiar sounds coming from your flatmate’s room. 

“Christ, don’t they ever take a break?” you whined, face still smooshed into the pillow and hands clamped over your ears. 

Good for her, but you needed to sleep once in a while. 

You had two options: either put in earplugs and try- and fail- to get some shut-eye or you could go for another late-night drive until two in the morning when they would be finished. 

You had to give her girlfriend one thing, she had an impressive amount of stamina. 

A buzz on the coffee table made you lift your aching head, squinting at the name lit up on the screen. 

A small smile teased your lips. 

So maybe you had a third option.

-

Mitchell sat in the quiet, listening to the slow creaking of an empty house. George and Nina left for work for the night an hour ago. Even Annie was out, spending time at the theater or whatever it was. And while he was one to enjoy time by himself, he couldn’t help but feel, well, alone. 

So when the knock at the door came around, he jumped up with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. 

“Hey,” he greeted, grinning as he kissed you on the cheek. “Sorry for the short notice, but I thought we could have a movie night or something.”

Just seeing him made you feel lighter, more awake. 

“That sounds nice.” You smiled and stepped inside. 

Windsor Terrace had become a kind of second home for you, if not an even more chaotic one. But with a ghost, vampire, and two werewolves living under the same roof, you couldn't really blame them. 

“How was your week?” He asked, tucking his hands in his pockets.

You simply gave him a ‘look’ in response.

Mitchell winced. “That bad, huh?”

“Katie's in town again.” You fell onto the couch and stretched out. “Which is great. I love Katie. She makes Willow happy, which is great.”

Your boyfriend raised a brow. “But?”

“But she makes her happy. Every. Single. Night.” 

His mouth fell open in an ‘O’ shape. 

“Yeah.” You ran a hand down your tired face. “Which, you know, awesome for her, but not so much for me after being on my feet for eight hours and I can’t even enjoy Miranda without learning what positions my flatmate likes!” 

His lips quirked up as he tried not to laugh. 

“You can tell what position they’re in just from hearing them?”

“With them, you can!” You exclaimed. “It’s like they’re their own nature documentarians. They fucking narrate their own fucking!” 

He couldn't stop his snickering. 

You pouted. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

You tossed a pillow at him, which he caught, still trying not to laugh his arse off. Mitchell sat down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“Oh, come here then,” he said, pulling you closer. He tilted his head, looking down at you with nervous eyes. “You could stay here, you know.”

You leaned into him. “John Mitchell, are you trying to take advantage of my housing situation?”

He held up his hands. 

“I’m kidding,” you laughed, snuggling closer. “If you don’t mind, I could use a good night’s rest.” 

“I don’t mind at all.” He turned your head to capture your lips with his. “I’m sorry I haven’t offered sooner. Everything has been so-”

“Chaotic?” You finished for him. 

He gave you a small smile. “Yeah.” 

“Same for me.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Obviously, not quite the same.” 

His laughter filled the room. 

“I hope not. If any vampires come around your door…” He trailed off, not wanting to think about the possibility. 

“Vampires other than you, you mean?” You teased, tugging on the collar of his shirt. 

Mitchell grinned. “Obviously.” 

He leaned in for another kiss.

Your hands found his hair, encouraging the movement of his lips. With his arms wrapping around you, you leaned back onto the couch, accidentally lying on the remote. The TV switched on with a loud burst, making both of you jump. 

“Fucking hell,” you gasped, nearly falling off the couch if not for Mitchell’s hold. A breathy- if not a little frustrated- laugh fell from your lips. “I guess we’d better start that movie, huh?”

Mitchell sat up, pulling you with him. There was something in his smile, though. Something he was holding back. 

“What do you want to watch?” 

“Anything but Laurel and Hardy,” you said, a little too quickly. 

Mitchell’s jaw dropped. “You don’t like Laurel and Hardy?” 

“Not for every movie night!” You exclaimed, snickering as you pulled his pouting lips back to yours. “Aw, don’t be like that. We can watch something scary. Like Dracula.”

“Pass,” he huffed. 

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s full of hurtful stereotypes and bad accents,” he said. His hand fell to your leg, rubbing slow circles into your jeans. 

You laughed.

He scowled. “It’s not funny.”

You lowered your voice to mock his words earlier. “It’s kinda funny.” 

Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. He waited a breath before he pounced, fingers tickling your sides and feet and every bit of sensitive skin he could find while you shrieked and giggled and tried to push him away. 

“Mitchell!” You squealed, failing to get out from under him. “Okay! Okay! You win!” 

“What was that? I can’t hear you!” 

“Mitchell!” 

He switched tactics, changing his tickles for slow, sweet kisses along your neck. 

You stopped trying to push him off. “This doesn’t seem like watching a movie.”

“You didn’t pick one,” he hummed against your collarbone.

Melting into his touch, your fingers tangled in his hair to urge him on. “Mitchell,” you sighed, the sound very different from your pleading before. 

“Hold on.” He pulled away, turning his head. “Listen to that.”

You did. 

Nothing.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Mitchell turned back to you, grinning. “Exactly.” He kissed your forehead. “We have the whole place to ourselves.” He kissed your nose. “For the entire night.” He kissed your lips. “How does that sound?”

“That sounds-”

A shrill ringing cut you off and made your whole body tense. 

“Goddamnit.” You grabbed your phone off of the table and put it to your ear without checking the number. “Willow I’m a little-”

The voice on the other end shut you up. You froze and Mitchell climbed away from you so you could sit up. 

“Hey, Simon.” 

Mitchell stiffened. “Simon?” He couldn’t keep the bloodthirsty tone from his voice. It was an unfortunate habit when it came to dealing with your ex. 

You held a finger to your lips to quiet him and stood up.

“Yeah, I have a second, I guess.” You had to turn away from your boyfriend’s burning gaze. “You said it’s a problem with the system?” 

Mitchell ran a hand down his face as you stepped into the kitchen to take the call. 

It had been like this for a couple of weeks, even before the two of you finally admitted your feelings and started seeing each other. 

Your ex-boyfriend was now the head of the project you’d left so now he called you up all the time to tell him what the fuck he was supposed to be doing, even though you left and he left you broken-hearted and the whole mess just kept going around and around. It gave Mitchell a headache. 

He knew you weren’t thinking about going back with Simon. Mitchell never doubted your feelings for him. But he also knew what Simon had done to you, to your self-esteem and your ability to trust anyone. Including Mitchell. 

He wondered if that was part of the reason you had never stayed the night before, even though you’d been dating for a while now. It wasn’t a problem, of course. He’d never try to rush you into anything. But he couldn't help but feel like he wasn’t doing enough, he wasn’t helping you to deal with the shit of your past, to help you get past it. It still hurt you and that hurt him more than he could even try to explain. 

“Yeah. Just…” You pulled on the ends of your hair to channel your frustration into something other than throwing your phone. “Just shoot me an email next time, yeah? Great. Be seeing you.”

You hung up and tossed the device onto the table a little harder than you should have. 

“Everything okay?” Mitchell asked. 

“Everything’s fine,” you laughed bitterly. “Simon is just going to keep using me to make himself look good and I’m going to keep letting him because I’m too nice and I’m-”

“Hey,” Mitchell said softly, standing up. He put his hands on your shoulders. “You help him because you are good and he’s a prick.” 

“You’ve got one thing right,” you huffed. 

Mitchell brought your lips to his for a sweeter kiss. Reassurance. 

“Well, you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the night.” His lips curved up in a small smile. “If he calls again, just give the phone to me. That’ll shut him up.”

“Oh no,” you snickered. “You already scare him enough.” 

“Good.” 

You shook your head with a crooked grin. He ran his thumb over your lips.

“There,” he said, kissing the corner of your smirk. “That’s better.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. 

His brows drew together. “For what?”

“I don’t want to seem like one of those girlfriends who’s always making her ex a problem.”

“Your ex makes himself a problem.”

“You know what I mean.” 

“No, love, I know what you think.” He tapped the side of your head. “You’re thinking that you owe everybody something and you think if you don’t do it, then you’re the bad guy in every situation.”

You swallowed. “And you got all that from a phone call?”

He shook his head. “I got all that from paying attention.”

“Oh, did you now?” You draped yourself over his lap, your arms falling around his neck. “You didn’t even notice when I got my ears pierced.”

“That’s because I’m too busy noticing the important things?” He said, though even he didn’t seem convinced. 

You snorted. “Right, that’s it.”

He pinched your thigh and wrapped an arm around your middle so you couldn’t get away. 

“What was that for?” You squeaked, jumping up as much as you could with him holding you to his body. 

His mouth was at the back of your ear, his breath hot on your cheek. 

“For teasing me.” 

With you pressed against him, he could feel the shiver down your spine. 

The front door swung open and this time you really did fall onto the floor you flung yourself off of him so fast. 

Annie walked in, her mouth falling open. “Oh God, did I just interrupt something?”

“Yes,” Mitchell sighed at the same time your phone rang again. 

It was Simon again. 

You stood up, brushing yourself off. “I better just go down there.”

“Y/N, wait-”

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” You hurried past Annie and out the door before he could say anything else. 

Annie looked at him, then at the door, then back at him. “What was that about?”

Mitchell fell back against the couch with a sigh. “Fuckin’ Simon.”

-

He planned everything out. Well, Annie and Willow helped him, but he had the most say in the plans. From the wine on the table to the relaxing record he put on, Annie even said she was quite proud of how romantic he could be. 

“This is perfect!” She cheered. 

Willow stood in her doorway. “And I promise, you won’t see me for the next twelve hours. The place is yours.” She winked. “Just don’t make too much of a mess.”

Mitchell shook his head. “I’m just trying to do something nice. She’s had a rough week.” 

Willow and Annie looked at each other and answered in unison.

“Right.”

The two gave him one last, long glance before heading for the door. 

“Have fun!” Annie called. 

“But not too much fun,” Willow teased. “I like my furniture the way it is.” 

Mitchell narrowed his eyes and shooed her out. 

You were supposed to be home any minute and he wanted the evening to be perfect. He finished setting the table, dumping takeaway containers full of pasta onto plates and tossing the boxes, and pouring the wine before stepping back to admire his work. 

“117 and I’ve still got it,” he muttered to himself, fist-bumping the air in victory. 

When he heard keys in the door, he quickly rushed in front of it to block your view of the surprise. This, unfortunately, nearly got him pepper sprayed in the face. 

“What the hell, Mitchell?” You exclaimed, nearly having a heart attack when you saw someone standing in your flat. 

Mitchell held up his hands. “Sorry! Sorry, Willow let me in.” He laughed, though a little nervously now that you’d almost blinded him. 

Once your heartbeat returned to normal, you gave him a surprised smile. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you could use something nice after dealing with Simon all week.” 

“How did you know that-”

“You’ve been dead tired, irritable, and avoiding me since the night he called.” He laid a hand on your arm. “I put the pieces together.” He rubbed soothing circles into your skin. “And I know what you’re thinking. Believe me, the only thing I am jealous of is that undeserving dick got to spend more time with you this week than I did.” Mitchell kissed your forehead and stepped aside. 

Your eyes widened, taking in your decorated table, the smell of your favorite pasta, and the warmth of candlelight. 

“What-” You gasped. “What’s all this?” 

“A reminder.” Mitchell hugged you from behind, kissing the nape of your neck. 

You tilted your head. “A reminder of what?” 

“That you are valued.” Mitchell kissed just beneath your jaw. “You are wanted.” He kissed the spot behind your ear he knew drove you wild. “And you are incredibly sexy.”

“Is that so?” You turned around to face him. 

“Mmmhmmm,” he hummed, putting a finger under your chin, lifting your lips to his. “And you deserve to be…” Mitchell’s eyes met yours, widening with want. “Appreciated.” 

You bit your lip to keep it from trembling and buried your face in his chest so he wouldn’t see the tears building in your eyes. 

Mitchell froze, pushing back gently so you couldn’t hide. 

“What is it?” He panicked. “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, no it isn’t that.” You laughed tearfully, pressing your lips to his for a quick, but sweet, kiss. “I just don’t think anyone has ever done something like this for me. I’m not used to feeling,” you mimicked his suggestive tone, “appreciated like this.”

“Which is exactly why you deserve this, Y/N,” Mitchell said, laying his hands on your shoulders. “I wanted you to see how important you are to me.” 

Walking over to the table, the scent alone made your mouth water. You leaned over the plates and smirked. 

“Is this takeaway from Rossetti's?” 

Mitchell cleared his throat. “Yeah, cooking isn’t exactly my strong suit. But I put it on the nice plates!” 

“I love it,” you laughed, kissing his cheek. “It’s very romantic.”

“Annie and Willow help me set it all up,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Maybe it’s Willow’s way of apologizing for all my sleepless nights,” you snorted.

Mitchell pulled out your chair for you before sitting down himself. “Speaking of which, she is actually staying with a friend tonight, so we are completely alone.” 

Blush rushed to your cheeks under the heat of Mitchell’s gaze. 

“We’ll have to find some way to entertain ourselves then,” you said. 

Mitchell chuckled and took a drink from his wine. 

The two of you ate with pleasant conversations that avoided topics like vampires, death, and, most of all, your bastard ex-boyfriend. 

When your food was gone, you just passed the wine back and forth, letting the rich red drink help chase away any of your lingering doubts. 

You stood to clear your place, but Mitchell held up a hand. 

“Let me.” He took your plate and empty glass and put them in the sink to clean later. 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, moving to the couch. You tried to sexily lounge across the cushions but felt absolutely ridiculous, so you just sat with your hands in your lap. “So, you and Willow plotted this together all to give us the flat for a night?” 

“And Annie,” Mitchell laughed. “Don’t forget her, she’d be crushed.” 

“Of course. She’s the whole reason we’re together.”

Mitchell took the seat beside you. “I don’t know if I’d give her all the credit.” He stretched his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder. “She just nagged me every morning until I finally asked you out.”

“Our matchmaker.” 

You both laughed and you leaned into him, laying your head on his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around you. 

“Mitchell?”

He hummed, having lost himself in thoughts of you. 

“You know that I trust you, right?” 

He pulled back. “I hope so.” 

You shifted in his embrace. “I just don’t want you to think that the reason we haven’t…” You swallowed hard, feeling your face grow hotter and hotter. “It isn’t your fault. It’s me. I just-” Turning your head away, you took a deep breath. “Every relationship I’ve been in, I either got my heart broken or I was used or both. And I’m not saying I think you’re going to do that to me. I know you wouldn't.”

“But it’s hard for you to let someone in,” Mitchell concluded. He gave you a small smile. “I know, love. I can’t say that I haven’t kept you at an arm's length myself for a long time, but I want that to change.” His voice saddened. “I don’t want to hurt people anymore. And I especially don’t want to hurt you.”

You moved closer to him again, leaning forward, your lips almost touching his. “You won’t.” 

Taking his hand in yours, you slowly moved it to the hem of your shirt.

Mitchell’s eyes held the question. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded, the word barely a breath from your lips. “Please.”

His hand slipped beneath your blouse, rough fingers tracing along your skin, splaying over the small of your back and pulling you closer. Mitchell’s mouth was on yours, soft and patient at first. 

You raised a hand to his hair, tugging gently to spur him on further. Your tongue ran over his lower lip. 

“Careful,” Mitchell growled. 

Feeling braver thanks to the warmth of the wine and his touch, you smirked. “Or what?” 

Something flickered in his eyes. Mitchell wrapped his arms tightly around you and lifted you off of the couch. 

You gasped and locked your legs around his waist. 

Mitchell carried you toward the bedroom but didn’t even make it halfway before he pinned you against the wall and buried his face in your neck, peppering every inch he could find with bites, careful to leave a mark, but not break the skin. His hips pressed against yours, letting you feel him through the barrier of both of your clothes. 

You needed him closer.

“Mitchell,” you whined, tugging on the collar of his shirt. 

He chuckled against your collarbone, pushing you against the wall even more. His jeans grew tighter, already feeling your wetness seeping into the layers of fabric between the two of you. Mitchell held you with one arm and slipped one hand up the back of your shirt, unclasping your bra with a quick twist. 

You quickly pulled off both your blouse and your bra, leaving more surface for him to continue his marking. 

Lifting you up a little higher, his mouth trailed down between your breasts. The hand not gripping your ass to keep you up reached up, rough fingertips running back and forth over your nipple. 

Your head fell back against the wall, almost knocking a photo off its nail. 

He rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb, but didn’t want to leave your other ignored. Mitchell took your hardened peak into his mouth, swiping his tongue around in circles. 

“Stop toying with me,” you pleaded breathlessly, his touch taking over any rational thought. 

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he snarked, nipping your sensitive peak. 

“Mitchell,” you whined again, pulling his hair a little harder. 

He finally broke away from the wall and carried you to your room. All the while, your lips desperately search for his, quiet moans escaping when his kisses could not contain them. 

You were so distracted by his touch that you didn’t even notice he’d brought you to the bed until your back hit the sheets.

Mitchell hovered over you, the want in his eyes accompanied by genuine concern. 

“Do you want this?” He asked. He knew about your past, how they made you feel… like you were nothing. It sickened him. How anyone could see you as anything less than the incredible woman you were angered him beyond belief. 

Lying beneath him, you tucked a dark curl behind his ear. “Every time I’ve ever been with someone, I felt like I was playing a part. I was trying to be who they wanted me to be.” You leaned up to kiss him. “You’re the first person to make me feel like… me.” Your voice cracked. “Like I matter.” 

Mitchell’s grip softened, his hand moving to tangle in your hair as he leaned his forehead against yours. 

“If I could tell you I love you all the days that I have lived and have yet to live, it still wouldn’t be enough to show how much you matter to me,” he whispered. He could still see the disbelief in your eyes, so he convinced you with a slow, passionate kiss, unlike anything you’d shared before. “I love you,” he said again. 

“I love you, Mitchell,” you breathed before pulling him back to you. 

Everything started very soft again, from his hands taking off the rest of his clothes to your fingers lightly running through his hair. But the more you moved together, the more your driving need took over your motions. 

You quickly undid Mitchell’s belt, sliding your hand beneath his boxers. You needed to feel him. 

Mitchell gasped against your breast. “Y/N…” 

“Mitchell,” you said lowly. “I need you.” 

“I know, love.” Mitchell’s fingers traced the outline of your core. “I know.”

He slid two fingers inside you, his other hand holding your hips down when they bucked up in response. 

“Fuck.”

Mitchell gave you a devilish smirk and spread them, stretching you out wonderfully. He curled his fingers and watched you writhe on the bed, panting breaths filling the room. 

“M-Mitchell.” You grinned down at him. “I told you to stop toying with me.” 

You moved your hand along his shaft, circling the tip with your thumb to emphasize your point. 

Mitchell sucked in a breath. “Well, then you have to tell me what you want.”

“Christ, John Mitchell,” you laughed. “I want you to fuck me. There? Is that what you-” You were cut off by your own moan as he pushed himself inside you. 

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” he said before his lips took over yours again. 

His thrusts began slowly, letting you adjust to every inch of him. He moved in and out of you in a way that tossed away any other thought. You could only think about how he filled you so perfectly. How you’d never felt like this with anyone else. 

After a while of this agonizing pace, Mitchell couldn’t take it anymore and he knew you couldn’t either. He snapped his hips against yours, moving deeper within you than before. 

Your nails raked down his back as you bit your lip to keep from screaming. 

“Let me hear you, Y/N,” Mitchell urged, thrusting into you again. 

“John!” You cried out, feeling yourself tighten around him, the burning inside you growing more and more every time he hit that perfect spot. 

Mitchell needed to hear you like that again. He needed to hear you like that always. He abandoned his cautious pace and railed into you, the sounds of skin on skin mixing with both of your panting moans. 

You clung to him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as his cock moved inside you. Your fingers tangled in his perfect black curls. 

“I love you,” you said again, barely able to form any words with how he was fucking you. 

“I love you, Y/N. I love you.” Mitchell sped up, everything consumed by you and how you felt around him. 

With another deep thrust, the waves of pleasure you chased washed over you. Mitchell’s climax soon followed, filling you with warmth. 

Mitchell kissed along your jaw before finding your lips. He held you, still sheathed inside you, and pressed his lips to your forehead. 

“How do you feel?”

You simply sighed contently in response. 

Mitchell collapsed beside you but was quick to pull you back into his embrace. He ran his fingers up and down your spine, listening to you breathe. 

“Tonight was perfect,” you said softly.

“You deserved it.” 

“I should tell Simon to annoy me more often if this is what I get,” you teased. 

Mitchell shook his head, laughing. “I could still just get rid of him for you.”

“Mitchell!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He pressed one more kiss to your lips. Mitchell pulled away smirking. “Mostly kidding.” 

You smacked his chest playfully and cuddled up close to him. 

Mitchell whispered more ‘I love yous’ and other sweet words until you fell asleep in his arms. 

[carnevol]

This moment 💕

[major-mads]

Chapter 13: At Last

John "Bucky" Egan x Ruth Morgan (OFC)

Series Masterlist

A/N: GUYS! Sorry for the SUPER long delay! I went out of the country for a while and had some other things come up, but here we are...the long-awaited chapter!! enjoy!

For some reason, tumblr won't let me tag more than 5 people, so I'll tag people in the comments instead!

Collab: On a Wing and a Prayer by @footprintsinthesxnd

Word Count: 9.4k

Wednesday, October 27, 1943: Stalag Luft III: Sagan, Germany: 1000 HRS

The dull scrapes of pencils, the ticking of the clock, and the sniffles of Jimmy Lambert in the far corner of the room were the only things keeping Ruth Morgan sane. She sat at her desk fidgeting with her ink pen as she stared down at the paper before her. Her eyes drifted over the page numerous times, but her mind was in no state to absorb information, even information as mundane as an analysis of characters in Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

5 Days Earlier

“We thought you were dead,” Murphy muttered from where he sat at the center table in the girls’ room. “They, uh, they said there were no chutes, ma’am.”

Frank’s brows furrowed slightly, his fingers brushing over his mustache. “No chutes? Someone saw us go down?” 

“Apparently. No one would tell us anything,” Crank added matter-of-factly, but his voice softened as he continued.” Especially not Buck or Bucky. We had to find out what happened through the grapevine.”

With Hope asleep on her bunk, the room’s eyes shifted to Ruth at the mention of the majors. She sat silently at the table, her eyes glistening in the room’s low light as she stared at the roughened wood before her. If everyone thought they were dead, she could only imagine how John must have reacted. How would she have reacted?

“John,” she shakily breathed, raising her teary gaze to the men. “How-How is he? ”

As soon as the words left her lips, Glenn shifted awkwardly in his seat and glanced at Crank and Murph, who acted much the same. Ruth’s brow creased in concern, her eyes searching their faces for answers when Frank draped his arm over the back of her chair. After a few moments, Glen sighed.

“He took it hard, ma’am. Both him, Buck, and Sparky. Bucky, he, uh…” Glen’s eyes flicked to his friend’s desperately for help, and Murph straightened in his chair, coming to the co-pilot's aid.

“Harding made him take a pass to London, but Buck went down over Bremen the day he got there, so he came back early to lead the next mission.”

“Münster was a frickin’ turkey shoot,” Crank grumbled. ”The Zig went down before us…We saw what? 9 chutes?”

Ruth’s breath hitched, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her fingers digging into her palms. “Nine chutes,” she repeated softly, her voice trembling. “But Johnny? Have y’all seen him since?”

The room fell silent, the weight of Ruth’s question hanging heavily in the air. The men exchanged uneasy glances, the shadows in their eyes deepening.

Cruikshank cleared his throat, his voice low. “No. We haven’t seen him. None of us have.”

Ruth’s heart sank and a wave of fear crashed over her. Her vision blurred with unshed tears as she tried to process the news. “So, you don’t know if he’s...”

“It’s Bucky,” Crank nodded. “He’ll make it.”

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying. John was either evading, captured, or dead in a German field somewhere. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, not after everything they’d been through. Not after she’d told herself he was safe back at Thorpe Abbotts, convinced herself that he’d be waiting for her.

“Lieutenant Morgan?” A voice called out, but it barely registered in her mind.

“Lieutenant?” the voice repeated, more insistent this time.

Ruth continued to stare blankly at the paper, her mind caught in the memory, but when a shadow fell across her desk, she finally blinked. Her gaze slowly lifted to see one of her students standing there with concern etching his face. “Ruth, are you alright?” he asked softly.

“Oh,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly to clear the memory. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Need some help?”

George, a 20 year old, baby-faced lieutenant with sandy hair and a kind expression, looked at her with a mixture of worry and sympathy. “You seem a bit…distant,” he said carefully. “Are you alright? Did something happen? Did the goons-”

Ruth forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and interrupted his endearing rambling.  “I’m fine, George. Just got a lot on my mind. Thanks for asking.”

He nodded, although not entirely convinced. “This class…it helps all of us so much. So if there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

“I appreciate that, really. How’s your work going?”

George glanced back at the table where his papers were spread out. “It’s going well. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Her heart warmed at his concern. These young men relied on her, and she couldn’t let them down. “Thank you, George. I’ll be alright. If you need any help with your work, let me know.”

He gave her a small smile and returned to his table, leaving Ruth to gather her scattered thoughts. She took a deep breath and refocused on the task at hand, pushing her worries about John to the back of her mind for the moment. She had to stay strong. For herself, for her friends, and for the young men in her classes that clung to their lessons for a sense of normalcy.

1600 HRS: 4 PM

Ruth sat at room four’s table, attempting to organize her lesson plans, the soft scratch of a pencil the only sound in the room. No one had seen Hope since she left toward the infirmary following the 6am roll call, but it was almost time for her to come back. Murphy and Charlie Cruikshank lay in their beds staring up at the wooden slats above their heads. Glenn was off with Frank Martin checking out the garden and harvesting the last of the vegetables before winter came. The chill in the morning and evening air were sure signs it was coming, and fast.

“How was class today?” Murphy asked, sending her a half-smile from his bunk. Since their arrival, the three newcomers kept a close eye on the women.

“It was okay,” she groaned, placing a paper in her ‘graded’ stack. “I’ve got a lot of papers to grade.”

A few moments later, the echo of the siren at the entrance gate cut through the silence of the room. The men sprang to their feet and ran out the door, but Ruth remained in her seat, shaking her head with a grin.

“Ruth, you comin’?” Murphy asked, poking his head around the doorframe.

She shook her head, glancing up from her work. “No, but y’all go ahead. I’ll be fine in here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Ruth insisted, “Go on!”

With a final nod, Frank followed Crank out of the block, their boots echoing down the hallway. The room fell silent again, and Ruth took a deep breath. She picked up Macbeth, hoping to distract herself from the gnawing anxiety that settled in her chest. The words on the page blurred together as her mind wandered back to John. Between Hope pulling away and his unknown fate on top of the uncertainty of captivity, it was all she could do to keep functioning. 

The silence of the room was comforting yet heavy as the minutes ticked by, her mind drifting to the events of the past month. With a sigh, she closed her book and began to tidy up the room. Humming softly to herself, cleared and wiped down the table. With mud, dirt and everything else caked onto the surface, getting it off was a chore. 

Knock. Knock.

“Come on in.” She called, her back to the door that slowly creaked open. “Anyone interesting come in today?”

No response. The silence felt odd. 

Sighing, Ruth turned toward the entrance. “If y’all don’t start cleaning up, too-”

When Ruth’s gaze landed on the figure in the doorway, she didn’t feel her grip on the rag loosening, didn’t hear it hit the ground. All she could focus on was the man standing before her. He was battered and bruised, his uniform torn and dirty, but his eyes…his glossy blues were the same that filled her dreams, her cherished memories.

“John,” she whimpered, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper as tears welled in her eyes.

He slowly took a step into the room. “Hey, Ruthie.”

They simply stood there for a moment, locked in each other’s gaze. But then, a wide smile grew on his face and he crossed the room, throwing his arms around her small figure. Beneath his hold, John felt the sharpness of her features, the way she seemed impossibly smaller…but his mind quickly pushed away the thought because this was the moment he’d dreamed of. 

Ruth instantly returned the embrace with a choked sob, holding him as tightly as she could while John buried his face in her neck. His arms were warm and sturdy, familiar in a way that made her feel whole again.

Pulling back, he tearily grinned at her and gently cupped her face, resting his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he whispered quickly. “I should’ve told you, but I just-”

“Thank God. I love you, too,” Ruth interrupted with her own teary laugh. “I love you, John Egan.”

“I thought you were gone.”

She sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “I know, I know. But I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Unable to hold off any longer, John kissed her gently, cradling her jaw as he connected their lips. The world melted away and they got lost in each other’s presence for a few moments until Ruth pulled away, her eyes taking in the damage done to his face. It was a mess of cuts and bruises, his right eye swollen and bloodshot. As a nurse, she was used to seeing people in pain, but seeing John in such a state caused that barrier to crumble.

“Oh honey,” she said softly as her thumb brushed lightly over a bruise on his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He nodded and allowed her to lead him over to the table where he perched atop it. As he sat down, Ruth hurriedly grabbed their first aid kit from under Hope’s bunk before returning to his side. He seemed to notice her sling for the first time and concern flashed across his face.

“Your arm, doll.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she dismissed him, unwrapping some gauze and dabbing it with alcohol. “This happened when I, uh, bailed. Broke it when I went through some trees on the way down.”

John’s saw clenched as the next question filtered through his mind before leaving his lips. His voice was quiet with a barely contained rage at the thought of her suffering at the hands of their captors. “The Krauts. They haven’t...They haven’t touched you, have they?”

“No. Thank God.”

He visibly deflated. “Good.”

Silence again filled the room as she worked carefully to clean the cuts marring his face. When she inspected his it further, she noted the swelling and his bloodshot right eye. “Johnny, this is bad,” she whispered, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the injury. “Can you see okay? Any double vision?”

“Sometimes, but I’m fine, doll. Really. Strong as an ox.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Ruth, I’m alright…”

“Take off your shirt, John,” she demanded quietly.

Ruth expected a half-baked joke to fall from his lips, but when it didn’t, her heart sank. He sighed, gritting his teeth as he attempted to take off his jacket. Even the smallest movement felt like murder, and all he wanted to do was lie down, but she was there. Their reunion had pushed down the pain but it came rushing back in that moment.

“Here. Let me help.”

She carefully helped him remove his A2 jacket and unzip his flight suit down to his waist, revealing a dirty, once-white tank top underneath. As she slowly lifted the tank top, John’s jaw clenched and a few pained grunts escaped his lips when he raised his arms. The sight that greeted her was worse than she had feared. His torso was a canvas of bruises, the worst of which spread diagonally across his back. The center was an angry mix of red and purple, while the edges were turning a sickly brownish green.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, her voice cracking as she stared at the damage. Ruth’s eyes filled with tears and she raised a hand to cover her mouth. John set his jaw and stared at the floor silently, unable to meet her gaze. Her hands hesitantly touched the largest bruise across his back with feather-light pressure. 

“What happened?” she asked shakily as a tear streaked down her cheek.

Should he tell her? Subject her to the horrors he’d experienced in the month they’d been apart? He’d want to know. He wanted to know what happened to her, but the thought of watching his sweet, gentle, and caring Ruth crumble as he explained that night’s events and the days that followed was enough of a deterrent.

“I think it was a club,” he replied before glancing up at her with a exhausted smirk. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but he gave it anyways. “Chump had a terrible swing, though. Could’ve batted cleanup for the Braves with the season they're having.”

Deflection. His favorite game, favorite defense. Strong John Egan, the 418th’s CO, Major in the Army Air Force, didn’t want to think about the most helpless moment in his life. Didn’t want to think about how terrified he’d been. Bucky thought he was going to die as he sputtered for air on the ground that night, warm blood running down his face. Through the ringing in his ears and the pain in his head, he heard gunshot after gunshot echo off the brick buildings. Each sent a comrade to their grave, and he knew the next was for him…

“Hey. Please don’t do that,” said Ruth quietly.

“Do what?”

“You know what.”

With a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the dusty paneled floor.  “Me and a group of guys from the 381st were taken through a town, and the people…they just went crazy. I got knocked in the head a few times.”

Ruth swallowed thickly and took his face gently in her hands, tilting it up from the floor to meet her gaze. “What else?”

“Doll,” he sighed, his voice rising slightly as he reached out and gently grasped her waist, pulling her to stand between his legs. “I don’t think you should-”

“I want to know.”

“Well, I’d rather talk about you.”

Ruth blinked, momentarily taken back. “Me?” she repeated, her voice incredulous. “Johnny, look at you. You’re the one who’s hurt.”

“I know, but right now I just want to forget about it,” John said with the purse of his lips. “Tell me what happened…how you’ve been holding up.

Her eyes searched his face for any sign of his usual bravado, but she saw none and relented, taking a deep breath as she tried to shift her focus to herself. 

“We went through a flak field and fighters…they came out of nowhere. Killed our copilot,” she admitted quietly, still slotted between his legs. Ruth reached up, her fingers gently running through his dark curls, soothing his worried mind with each stroke. “Bailing was terrifying, and then we were captured and separated…it’s been a nightmare.” she sniffled quietly. “Definitely not what I expected when I joined up. But you’re here, now, and that makes things much better. Not that I want you to be here, but-”

John cut off her stressed ramble with a kiss. It was filled with more urgency as if to assure himself that she was really there, not just a figment of his imagination, not just a dream. She pulled back gently and placed a hand on his chest, a smooth metal chain beneath her touch.

Her cross. 

“You kept it?”

“It was all I had left of you. I never took it off.”

Tears once again burned in her eyes but she quickly blinked them away. “Enough about me. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” she said softly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

He nodded reluctantly and Ruth went back to carefully tending to his face. As she worked, she continued talking in a feeble attempt to distract him from the pain. “Frank’s been looking out for us the whole time, and since your guys got here last week, they’ve done the same.”

John flinched as she cleaned a deep gash on his temple. “Good,” he managed through gritted teeth. “They’re. How’s Hope? I know Buck’s in another compound.”

“She’s not good. Hasn’t been sleeping because of nightmares, so Frank and I have tried to stay up with her… but she just shuts us out. We don’t know what to do.”

Johnny frowned, concern deepening the lines on his bruised face. “Hope’s tough but it sounds like you’ve both been through hell. It just looks like it’s taking her more time, doll.”

“I know, but it’s so hard to see her like this. She won’t talk to me, John. She won’t open up. I-I don’t know how to help her,” she whispered, her hands trembling as she carefully dabbed a cut on his eyebrow.

He reached up and gently cupped her cheek. “Hey, listen to me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that escaped down her cheek. “You’re doing everything you can. Some people just need to deal with things their own way, in their own time.”

“But what if she never does?” Ruth whispered, her voice breaking. “What if I can’t help her?”

The major’s heart ached at the pain in her big blue eyes, and he pulled her closer, gently wrapping his arms around her waist. “She’ll come around. I know it.”

Just then, a series of rapid knocks on the door interrupted them, followed by the sound of familiar voices. “Ruth, Bucky, you two decent in there?”

She quickly wiped away her tears. John looked up, wincing slightly as he tried to sit up straight. “Come on in, you dodos,” he called out.

The door swung open, and Murph, Crank, and Glenn hurried into the room. Their eyes widened when they took in the sight of John’s bruised body.

“Shit,” Crank muttered. “Bucky, what did they do to you?”

Murphy’s face twisted in concern. “You look like you went ten rounds with a freight train and lost,” he said with the shake of his head. “You alright?”

John gave them a weak grin. “Just fine, boys. You should see the other guy.”

“If you say so, sir,” Graham grimaced.

Ruth helped John back into his shirt and into a seat, and the men sat around the table, asking John about the Münster mission, what happened to his plane, and if he knew about any of the other guys from his crew. While they spoke, her mind wandered to Frank and Hope. It was almost 5:30, almost time for supper…if you could call half a potato and a tiny sausage-looking meat stick supper.

Noticing her far-off stare, John placed a gentle hand on her thigh beneath the table and remained in the conversation, his touch offering little comfort against her worry. It wasn’t until the door creaked open a few minutes later that she could finally breathe. Frank and Hope appeared in the doorway, freezing as their eyes fell upon the group. The group’s hushed voices ceased and a few chairs scraped back as they turned to see who had entered. She felt John move beside her, turning to face the pair. 

“Hope! Frank! You’re back. Ruth’s been telling me all about you both since the crash.” John cracked a wide smile and Ruth noticed the way his eyes softened as they fell on Hope. 

 Frank stood behind Hope in the doorway, his eyes widening when his gaze fell on Bucky. He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you, Major, sorry it’s not under better circumstances.” 

John shrugged, his arm coming back around to rest on Ruth’s shoulders, “We’re at war Captain, worse things could have happened. To think that of all the camps I could have gone to I ended up back with my girl. It could have been worse, I could have been stuck in a different compound like Buck and…” 

The room fell silent and all eyes fell to Hope. Ruth held in the small gasp that threatened to fall from her lips. She saw Hope’s eyes trail to the floor, her brown eyes fighting against her emotions. 

“Ahh, Hope, I didn’t mean…” John began, his face etched with concern as he realized the weight of his words. 

“It’s fine, John. Really, it’s good to have you back. It’s nice to see Ruth so happy again.” 

Hope sent her friend a sincere smile and the blonde returned it, her shoulders relaxing a little. Ruth wasn’t convinced that was the truth, but to know Hope wasn’t about to run out on her again brought her a small amount of comfort. Everyone walked on eggshells around Hope. It was like she was an unexploded bomb that needed to be handled with such delicacy in fear of her going off at any moment. 

Hope sat herself down on her bunk, her dark eyes trailing over the group. Frank joined in the conversation and Ruth took that as her moment to slip out of John’s grasp and make her way over to her friend. 

Hope didn’t notice Ruth approaching her until the bed dipped beside her. 

“How are you doing?” Ruth asked, slipping her hand into Hope’s and squeezing it gently. “You’ve been really quiet since Gale arrived.” 

Ruth wanted to approach the subject but also didn’t want to drive her friend away further. She knew she’d have to be careful with her probing questions…one false move and Hope could close in on herself again. 

“I’m fine, Rue, really. Work’s just been busy and I’ve not been sleeping well, but I promise I’m fine,” she forced a smile that stretched across her pale cheeks. Ruth could see the dark, purple skin beneath her friends eyes and the way her skin pulled tightly across her cheekbones. She had always considered her friend to be beautiful, so striking with her dark hair and red lipstick, but now she look like a ghost of her former self. 

Ruth wasn’t convinced. Her once bright eyes looked tiredly at Hope, breaking her heart even more. 

What had become of them?

2200 HRS: 10 PM

The afternoon passed with introductions to fellow prisoners and supper, along with John’s first evening roll call. By lights out, the major was half-asleep in his chair around the table, pure exhaustion wafting off him after the journey he had from Dulag Luft. Everyone else was lying quietly in their bunks, leaving John, Ruth, and Crank alone at the table. She watched with a softened gaze as Bucky’s eyes drooped again and again. It was adorable, the way he continued to fight it, but Ruth knew he was beyond tired. She shared a glance with Crank across the table before returning her eyes to John’s half-lidded ones. 

“Come on,” Ruth patted his shoulder gently, his eyes opening wider. “Let’s get you into bed.”

John blinked a few times, trying to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, okay,” he murmured, pushing himself up from the table with a barely concealed wince. 

That afternoon, they decided he would get the bunk above Ruth’s. If their roommates were being honest, they guessed one of the beds would be empty more often than not. It wasn’t an easy task getting all six-foot-something of John up onto the second-row bunk, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed the pain as he climbed into the bed.

Charlie stood to help, but Johnny waved him off. “I’m good,” he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual strength.

“Sure you don’t,” Crank replied with a knowing eye-roll but stayed close just in case.

John gritted his teeth and tried to climb onto the second-row bunk on his own. He managed to get one leg up before a sharp pain shot through his side, making him grunt and pause.

“Let us help,” Ruth whispered.

He nodded reluctantly, the fight leaving him as he sighed. “Alright, alright. Just this once.”

Crank and Ruth each took an arm, Charlie doing more than the blonde, and they carefully helped him up onto the bunk. Only a small wince left his lips despite the ever-present ache throughout his whole body. Once he settled on the narrow mattress, he took a long breath.

“See? Easy,” he joked weakly, slightly out of breath from the movement.

Charlie clapped him gently on the shoulder before heading to his own bunk. “Sure, Bucky.”

Standing beside his bunk, Ruth’s face was slightly taller than eye level. She looked down at him with worry swirling in her mind. The cuts, the bruising, his eye, the avoidance…it all worried her. She wanted to know what happened. Needed to know. How could she be there for him if she didn’t know what he went through?

“You alright?” he asked sleepily, his face only visible from the moonlight streaming through the room’s small window. “What’s going through that head of yours?”

Ruth sighed and raised her hand to play with the messy curls hanging over his forehead. “I missed you. So much. Being here…it gives you a lot of time to think. Makes you realize what’s important. Who’s important. A part of me thought I’d never see you again.”

“Well, I’m here now, and I promise I’m not gonna leave you again, alright? I meant what I said earlier, doll. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she replied softly, kissing his cheek. “Get some rest, okay? You need it.”

Groaning, john tiredly raised his eyebrows. “Come on. That’s all I get?” 

“So needy,” Ruth smirked with the roll of her eyes before kissing him properly. “Now really go to sleep, hotshot.”

A pleased smile curved John’s lips as his eyes slipped closed. “Night, Ruthie.

She gave him one last tender look before stepping back and moving to her own bunk below his. For the first night in a month, the overwhelming sense of doom, of panic, seemed to lessen, and she drifted off to sleep easily. Bucky, however, was subjected to the same nightmare that visited him nightly. 

Smoke and flames burned his eyes as he frantically looked around him. The twisted metal of the Angel lay scattered around the field, its normal green paint charred in the blaze. John stumbled over the debris, his heart pounding as he searched for any sign of life. The plane was nearly unrecognizable, the once proud C-47 reduced to a smoldering heap of metal and fire. John’s eyes darted frantically across the field, the smoke filling his lungs. He coughed violently and his hands trembled as he clawed his way through the debris. Then, in the fire’s dim light, he saw her…but the vibrance of her eyes was gone as she blankly stared up at the sky.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, his heart skipping as he rushed to her side, but his hands passed through her as if she was a ghost. 

John jolted awake with a gasp, and his heart pounded in his chest. His heaving chest was drenched with sweat as he tried to get his bearings. For a moment, he was disoriented, and the line between dream and reality blurred. But as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he remembered where he was. The stalag. Ruth was alive. He’d seen her, held her. But the lingering fear from the nightmare gnawed at him.

Ignoring the pain that shot through his body with every movement, Johnny carefully climbed down from his bunk and lowered himself slowly to the floor, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. 

He felt uneasy. An unnerving feeling spread through him as he turned and met a dark pair of eyes watching him from the window. His breath caught in his throat as his heart continued to pound. Hope watched him sympathetically. Her own eyes were rimmed red and her small frame looked childlike in her oversized coveralls bunched up against the window. The pair exchanged no words as John shuffled closer to Ruth’s cot. Leaning against the post of Ruth’s bunk, he fixed his eyes on her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. He reached out hesitantly and lightly brushed a strand of hair from her face. Bucky had watched her for what felt like hours when she finally stirred. 

Ruth’s eyelids fluttered open as if finally sensing his presence, and she blinked sleepily, her eyes focusing on the figure sitting beside her bed. 

“Johnny?” she whispered, her voice heavy with sleep. “Why are you on the floor?”

He pursed his lips. “No reason. It reminded me of my lovely cell back at Dulag Luft.”

A small sigh left Ruth’s lips as she watched him in the dim light. Through the bruises and the bravado, she saw a wounded man…one wounded physically, emotionally, and mentally.

“John.”

The silence that followed was filled with Murph’s quiet snores.

“I, uh, just wanted to check on you,” the major murmured after a moment, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap, his eyes stuck on them. “To make sure you’re okay…That this isn’t some messed-up dream.”

It was then that Ruth remembered what the others said…He took it hard. But what all did that entail? Did he go out and drink himself away every night or did he pick up his old habits with women? She didn’t know, but what she did know was that he was there, they were finally together.

“Hey,” she whispered, sitting up and reaching out to him. She gently ran her hand through his greasy curls. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

John’s eyes flicked up to meet hers, and for a moment, she saw raw vulnerability in them, but the strong facade quickly returned. He thought back to the long nights in the Officer’s Club, sitting around the bar with a drink in his hand, just trying to drown out the memories that followed him everywhere. John couldn’t go to Dickleburgh, couldn’t bear Tommy asking about Ruth, asking when he’d see her again. The first and only time it happened, Buck and Kidd looked at him warily, unsure whether he’d crumble or explode as Tommy stared up at him with his signature toothy grin. John simply took a big gulp of his pint and clenched his jaw, telling Tommy she’d be gone for a while. He didn’t remember much after that moment, but he remembered waking up the next morning with one of the worst hangovers of his life. He awoke knowing he couldn’t face Tommy or the memories that mercilessly replayed in his mind. 

He nodded and softly took her hand, running his thumb over the top of it as he spoke. “Yeah. I know. It’s just…They told us the Angel went down. Said there were no survivors. We - uh - spent the past month thinking both you and Hope were dead. I-” 

Bucky trailed off and looked away from Ruth, his gaze focusing on the dusty floor beside him. He couldn’t stop the burn in his eyes at the thought of the past month. He was no stranger to pain, to loss. Losing his father was heartbreaking, as was losing man after man as the war went on. But Ruth? Losing Ruth was the worst pain he’d ever felt. And to think, Haussmann was the reason he knew she was alive after all that time.  

“Johnny, look at me,” Ruth murmured as she softly turned his face toward her. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. I wish more than anything I could’ve made it back to you.”

He blinked away the tears glistening in his eyes and took a deep breath with a nod. “Me, too, doll. Me, too.”

They stared at each other for a few moments, both soaking in the loving gaze of the other. Ruth noted the flecks of grey in his blue eyes. The grey reminded her of the clouds that almost always hung in the sky around The Grove and Thorpe Abbotts. A dog’s bark in the distance broke their trance, and Ruth lightly tugged on his hand.

“Come here.”

He hesitated but then slowly climbed onto the bunk, wincing quietly as he did so. Ruth made space for him, which wasn’t much, but they managed to fit. He lay on his back and she nestled herself on top of him, her body conforming to the limited space they had.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his face for any signs of discomfort.

John nodded, his mind finally able to rest with her in his arms. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, Ruthie, you’re not hurting me. I promise.”

She carefully laid her head on his chest, her ear over his heart. The steady rhythm was comforting, a reminder that he was alive and here with her. That she was alive. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she clung to him.

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, sitting up on his chest and peering down at him. “I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t focus in class…”

“Class?”

Ruth’s lips formed a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I-uh,” she sniffled quietly, “teach English to some of the other kriegies.”

With a huff of air and a shake of his head, he relaxed against the straw pillow, staring at the wooden slats above him as a faint smile grew on his face. Since his capture, John had thought about how much his life was changing. The freedom he cherished would be gone, and no one knew how long he’d be stuck in the camp under German rule. But then there was Ruth, already stepping up and helping out where she could, not wallowing in self-pity like he had already begun to. 

“What?” she asked, sitting back up on his chest.

“Just you. You’re just amazing. Even here.”

Ruth blushed and her eyes dropped to his chest as she absent-mindedly traced patterns on his shirt. “It helps me feel like I’m doing something, you know? Like I’m not just sitting around, waiting for the war to end. It gives me purpose.”

“At least you’re able to do what you love. Those kids back home were lucky to have ya, and now these guys are, too.”

“It’s not the same, but it helps. And they seem to appreciate it,” she said, looking up at him. 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I bet they do. Doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous, either. You never stop amazing me, doll.”

She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know about that. It gets my mind off of everything, though…Got my mind off you.”

He stared at her for a moment, really looking at the woman before him. She’d been through hell and was more worried about him than herself…him, who up two weeks prior had been sleeping in a warm bed in England while she was being forced across Germany. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Johnny murmured, tightening his hold on Ruth as his arms wrapped protectively around her. “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

His question brought back a memory, and Ruth found herself being transported back to Thorpe Abbotts, to the night of Dye’s party when he’d asked the same thing. Everything was so different then. In that small hall bathroom in the Officer’s Club, John had also asked her to come to London with him. 

Oh, the things that would never be…or at least wouldn’t happen in the foreseeable future.

Her hand found its way to his cheek as she spoke. “You didn’t have to do anything, remember? I love you. Don’t let anything tell you different.” 

A few seconds passed before John sighed and looked up at the bunk above him. “You know, when I thought you were gone, I-I didn’t handle it too well. I drank…A lot. Went to London on my own, hoping to get some closure, but it…it didn’t help.”

Ruth just watched him, trying to keep her own emotions in check. To her dismay, almost everything she’d guessed had been true. The strong man she knew was reduced to someone who needed alcohol to get through the day, to go to sleep at night. He went on to tell her about London, the mission, and his interrogation, but he kept the most brutal parts to himself. She was already worried and didn’t need anything else to stress over. 

“But I do owe that Nazi chump one thing. He let me know you were alive, even if he didn’t realize it.”

“What?” she asked with furrowed brows. “How?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. But as I was leaving, he said something I wrote in my last letter to you. Told me the ‘Yankees always end on top…’ probably to try and rile me up, I guess. I knew that meant you went through there if he knew that.” 

Chuckling, Ruth shook her head. “Wow. Who’d’ve thought?”

“Speaking of the Yankees,” John began with a twinkle in his eye. “They won the World Series.”

She playfully groaned and turned away from him with a poorly hidden smirk. “I did not miss hearing crap from you about the Yankees, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, come on, doll. You know you missed it,” he teased as he turned onto his side and pulled her against him wincing slightly as pain shot through his ribs. “Don’t even deny it.”

A loud giggle involuntarily escaped her lips when he wrapped his arms around her again. The sound lifted a weight off of Johnny’s shoulder’s. It was a sound he’d heard night after night, memory after memory, and hearing it after believing he never would again eased his mind in a way he couldn’t describe. Ruth could’ve sworn she heard Frank gag from a nearby bunk, but he made no other complaints. 

They stayed like that for a while, both caught up in their thoughts. Ruth thanked God for keeping John safe, for sparing him and bringing him back to her, even if he was bloody and bruised and they were both prisoners of war. Bucky burrowed his face in her neck and breathed her scent, felt the warmth of her skin, the way she fit perfectly in his arms. She was alive. They were together. And in that moment, he promised to do whatever it took to keep her safe. 

“I love you,” he whispered after kissing her neck gently. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of saying that.”

“And I’ll never get tired of hearing it. Goodnight, hotshot. I love you.”

With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her presence wash over him. “Goodnight, slugger.”

This time, sleep welcomed the major quickly, and for the first time in over a month, it was peaceful.

Two Days Later: October 29th: 0530 HRS: 5:30 AM

Bang. Bang.

“Aufstehen! Get up!”

The clacking of boots furthered down the hall as the occupants of room 4 slowly awoke. Ruth sat up with a yawn, running a tired hand down her face as John gingerly hopped from the bunk above her and kissed her cheek.

“Mornin, doll.”

“Morning,” she groaned, sliding on her boots and getting bundled up for the morning appell. Ruth layered her sweaters and flight jacket then wrapped her scarf around her neck. She glanced over at Hope on the bunk beside her and noticed the way her friend pulled her own scarf tightly around her neck. Taking a closer look, Ruth also noticed the redness around Hope’s eyes. Everyone knew Hope was struggling, and each time she shut down any conversations about it, Ruth became increasingly worried. In the almost month they’d been at the camp, Hope went from a little closed off to completely isolated…or maybe she just wanted to be away from Ruth? The blonde didn’t know, but she did know that it hurt her heart to see her best friend in such a state. 

Everyone quickly got ready and filed out the door for the morning roll call. It was almost always the same every morning and afternoon. The goons went down the line checking everyone was accounted for until they were satisfied. On special occasions when they felt extra cruel, the kreigies were forced to stand in their lines for hours. Luckily, that had only happened once since the girls arrived. As the chilly air turned colder with the passing days, Ruth wondered how long anyone would be able to stand exposed to the elements. It would snow soon, no doubt.

After roll call, everyone headed to the mess hall for breakfast. John threw his arm over Ruth’s shoulder, tucking her into his side. “I could eat a horse right now. I know you’re hungry, and you know I’m always hungry.”

He paused, waiting for her response, but Ruth didn’t hear a word he said. Her attention was too caught on Hope’s lonesome figure behind the group to notice he was speaking. Hope stood still, almost in a trance-like state as she stared at the mud in front of her. Bucky followed Ruth’s line of sight and sighed quietly, an understanding smile on his lips.

“Go on,” he said, squeezing her good shoulder gently.

Finally breaking from her stare, Ruth peered up at him, her brows drawn in concern. “I’ll just be a second.”

“You’re fine, doll.”

He nodded and kissed her temple. Everyone else seemed to notice the few stragglers and stood beside Bucky. Taking a deep breath, Ruth approached her friend, praying this would be the time she’d finally open up. But even as she stood three feet in front of her, Hope didn’t move. 

“Hope?” 

Hope’s tear-filled eyes snapped up to meet Ruth’s and quickly scanned the group beside John. A sudden redness crept up to her cheeks as Hope realized all the eyes that were on her. Frank appeared next to Ruth and reached out for Hope.

“You okay, Hope?” Frank asked, brushing his hand against hers. But before he could grasp it, she withdrew her hand and turned to avoid the other’s watchful eyes. Hurt flashed on his face for a moment until he reined in his expression, concern painting his face once again.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” she insisted. “I’m just tired. Lots of patients to see today, so I’ll head over to the infirmary.” She pushed past Ruth, moving through the group toward the infirmary. Ruth shared a helpless glance with Frank before following. 

“Hope! Hope, wait!” Ruth called after her, clutching onto her friend’s arm when she reached her. “Hey, you have to talk to me. Please don’t shut me out,” the blonde pleaded.

 “I’m not shutting you out, Rue. I’m busy, alright? I have things I need to do.”

Ruth’s grip remained firm on her forearm but Hope pushed her arm away. “Just go back to John, why don’t you? He’s waiting for you, so you should just go.”

Ruth felt a sharp pang in her chest at the words. The accusation, the resentment, it cut deep. After all they’d been through, this is how they were treating each other? She had been doing everything she could to be there for her friend, but it seemed like no matter what she did, it wasn’t enough. Ruth’s voice trembled as she responded, trying to keep the hurt from showing too much.

“Please, Hope. Please just talk to me.” Ruth bit her lip to stop it from wobbling as tears slowly filled her eyes.

All Hope did was step further away from the blonde. “I can’t talk to you about it. You won’t understand,” she replied plainly, pushing her dark hair away from her eyes. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she took a breath. “I should check on the men in the infirmary.”

Without another word, she continued down the muddy path to the infirmary block. Ruth’s watched her friend’s retreating figure until she disappeared from view. The ache in her chest was almost unbearable.

You wouldn’t understand.

What wouldn’t she understand? They’d been through the worst experience of their life together, ended up as prisoners of war together. What wouldn’t she understand? Ruth didn’t know what she was supposed to do now. She’d tried everything she knew to do.

John stepped beside her and placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry if I’ve-”

“No, it’s not you,” Ruth interrupted, her voice breaking as she leaned into him. “You haven’t done anything. I-I just don’t know what to do. She refuses to talk to me. It’s like she’s shut me out completely.”

His hand moved to wrap around her waist, his warmth a small comfort in the cold. “Seems like you’ll have to wait for her to come to you, Ruthie.”

“I just wish there was something more I could do,” she nodded, resting her head on his shoulder.

The rest of the day passed the same as the past 35 they’d spent in the dreaded Stalag Luft III. That night, however, Hope never came back to their room. As the hours ticked by and Ruth, along with the other men, arrived from their jobs around the camp, everyone became increasingly worried. 

“Has anyone seen her?” Ruth asked frantically, running a hand quickly through her hair. “She’s usually back by now.”

Just as John opened his mouth to speak, the door opened and in walked Frank, soaked to the bone with a barely concealed frown. Glancing out the window, Ruth realized it was pouring.

When had it started raining?

Room 4’s occupants looked at the man expectantly. “Hope? You seen ‘er?” echoed Cruikshank.

Frank nodded slowly and closed the door behind him. “Yeah,” he breathed, “She, uh…She collapsed from exhaustion. Dr. Edmund is looking after her.”

“What?” Ruth blurted as her eyes widened in disbelief. Her whole body was on edge, the news sending shockwaves of panic through her. She could only imagine Hope laying in a scratchy bed surrounded by sick and injured men, forced to stay there for who knows how long. 

Collapsed? Exhaustion? Had something happened?

Before anyone could ask Frank further questions, she grabbed her jacket from her bed and pushed toward the door. “I need to see her.”

“Wait, Ruth.” Frank stepped in front of the door, a guilty look in his eyes as he blocked her path. “She doesn’t want visitors.”

Undeterred, she side-stepped him while pulling her jacket over her good arm. She needed to be there, had to be there for Hope. This wasn’t a time to let her handle things herself. “I’m not just a visitor, Frank. It’s me.”

But just as her hand reached the door handle, he put a hand on her shoulder, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. It was almost like the words pained him…like every syllable was a shot straight to the heart. “I know it’s you. She doesn’t want you to see her.”

Ruth froze, turning to stare at Frank as his words sunk in. “She doesn’t want me to see her?” Her voice wavered, and a mix of disbelief and hurt flashed over her face. “Why? Why doesn’t she want to see me?”

“Ruthie-” John started, taking a step toward her, but was interrupted.

She stepped out from under Frank’s hand on her shoulder and threw her arm up in the air. “No,” Ruth said, her voice raising as her frustration boiled over. She’d played this game the past few weeks, and enough was enough. “Why? Why doesn’t she want me there, Frank? Can you please tell me?” 

The outburst caught everyone off guard, the sharpness of her tone a stark contrast to her usual demeanor. Bucky’s eyes widened in surprise as he watched the scene before him. His heart ached for her, knowing how much she was hurting, and he felt a pang of helplessness. He always admired her quiet strength, her resilience, but seeing her like this…so vulnerable and desperate…it broke his heart.

Frank looked pained as he tried to explain. “She thinks she’s protecting you. She doesn’t want you to see her like this.”

Ruth’s shoulders slumped as the fight drained from her. “I’m sorry, Frank,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “Thanks for, uh, telling me.”

All eyes followed her figure as she walked to her bunk and laid down, turning her back to all of them. She didn’t know how much more of it she could take. Things were so much easier when they had each other, and in isolating herself, Hope had accidentally isolated Ruth as well. Without the other, they were the only woman in the camp. 

Frank and John exchanged a glance, pure helplessness evident in both their eyes at the situation. They couldn’t make Hope talk to Ruth, and the fact they couldn’t do anything hurt more than any punishment either of the men recieved in captivity. 

Sighing heavily, Frank ran a hand through his dripping hair. “I wish there was more we could do,” he murmured.

Johnny nodded, glancing back at Ruth’s figure across the room. “Yeah, me too.” His voice was thick, and the usually talkative Major struggled to find the right words. “It’s tearing her apart, Martin. I’ve-I’ve never seen her like this.”

“Hope’ll come around, eventually. She has to.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bucky replied softly as his eyes remained fixed on the woman he loved. “I really hope you’re right.”

Thursday, November 4th: 1500 HRS: 3 PM

The days passed slowly for everyone in room 4, especially Ruth. While Frank was able to check on Hope in the infirmary, no one else was allowed to visit…this didn’t stop Ruth from trying, however. But to her dismay, she was turned away by Dr. Edmunds before she could even make it through the door. 

She attended class as normal and went about her days, but a dark cloud of worry loomed over her mind, consuming her every thought. Even as she wrote on the chalkboard behind her, she wasn’t fully present. If her students could tell something was wrong, they didn’t comment on it. They just copied down the notes in the notebooks the Red Cross sent them in their packages. 

“So, Lady Macbeth,” Ruth said as she scribbled the character name on the board,” She is an example of character archetype?” 

Her eyes flitted across the room, scanning each of the young men’s faces. Some were searching through their notes to find the answer while others stared at the board in thought. A hand flew up in the front corner of the room, and it brought a smile to Ruth’s face when she saw it was George. 

“Go ahead, George,” she gestured to him.

“Is she a femme fatale?”

“Great job. Lady Macbeth is a great example of a femme fatale. Now can someone besides George tell me what a femme fatale is?”

Before anyone could raise their hand, a knock sounded through the classroom. “Come in,” she called.

A few of the men gave her a wary look, unsure of who would be stopping by in the middle of a lesson. Since Ruth started teaching a few weeks prior, they hadn’t had any visitors. She thought it could be John who’d said he might pop in sometime to see her. Who stuck their head around the corner, however, was the last person she’d ever expect.

Hope.

Did she finally want to talk? After all that time?

Ruth glanced at her watch and placed down the chalk. 

“I think that’ll be all for today. Make sure to read up to Act 3, scene 2, and we’ll go from there in the next lesson.” 

The men packed up quickly and exited the room, sensing the unspoken tension between the women. Ruth leaned against her desk, arms crossed over her chest as she waited expectantly. To say she was surprised to see her friend in her class was an understatement. In all the time she’d been teaching in the camp Hope had never once visited. 

Relief and frustration bubbled up inside Ruth. Of course, she was happy to see her friend, but Hope treated her poorly and her words cut deep. She didn’t quite look annoyed but Hope knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t exactly pleased that she hadn’t allowed her to visit the infirmary. 

“I’m glad to see you’re up and about again,” Ruth replied plainly, a faint smile on her lips. This was her best friend, but she felt like a stranger now. “You had me worried, Hope…had me worried for a while now. Since the crash, you’ve not been yourself, and I understand that but…” she cut herself off, pushing herself away from her desk and moving to a table a few feet away from Hope.

Hope kept her eyes trained on the floor, unable to meet Ruth’s, embarrassment clear on her reddening cheeks as the tears building in her eyes threatened to fall. 

“I’m sorry, Rue…” she mumbled softly. 

Ruth sighed, moving closer and standing before her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I know things haven’t been easy for you, but things haven’t been easy for me, either. We need each other, and you pushed me away…pushed us all away.” 

Tears welled in Ruth’s eyes, too, and Hope felt a choked sob slipping from her lips, “I failed you, Ruth. I just keep failing and disappointing you.” 

Sympathy easily overpowered Ruth’s frustration, and she tugged Hope into an embrace. Hope’s head fell against the blonde's shoulder and she felt Ruth’s arms encasing her as she cried. It was the most relief she’d felt in months: to truly cry…to release all the emotions that had been bottled up for the past month. 

“I’m so sorry, Ruth.”

The two women remained still, each clinging to the other as they cried over the events of the last few months. Neither of them had truly faced what had become of them but it was good to finally share in their grief. To face reality together.

Ruth pulled back, rubbing away the stray tears that streaked down her pale cheeks. “Hope please tell me what happened. Frank said you collapsed from exhaustion and didn’t want anyone to visit. I tried to anyways but Dr. Edmund said you weren’t up for visitors.” 

She wanted answers…needed answers as to why Hope quite literally shut her out.

Hope bit her lip, seemingly caught in a battle within herself. A few moments passed until she shakily spoke. “Well, I’ve not been sleeping too well for a while now but I’d finally finished the letter to Gale that Edmund promised to pass onto him,” she began, inhaling sharply between each sentence. “I went to the infirmary earlier, I couldn’t sleep and I wanted Edmund to have it as soon as possible. I went to the infirmary to drop it off and there was this man there…”

Hope gulped.

“He was a patient and was as good as dead, but…”

Ruth couldn’t help the emotion that clawed at her throat as Hope spoke. Her friend’s voice sounded so broken and painful as she relived the events that Ruth didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

“He grabbed me and he tried too… Well, he didn’t manage it. Edmund said it was all the shock of that and the sleep deprivation that my body finally just gave up. He put me on bed rest. Frank only found out because I was unconscious when he arrived and Edmund let him in.” 

Hope let out a long sigh, reaching to take Ruth’s shaking hands in her own, “I didn’t want you to see me so broken, Rue. I’ve always promised that I’d look after you but all I do is keep failing and letting you down.”

Ruth shook her head, fighting to keep her lip from trembling, “You haven’t failed me, alright? You’re the strongest, most talented, hardest working person I know, and you’re the most incredible nurse. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for taking care of me, but it’s my turn to take care of you. You just have to let me.” 

A painful wail slipped from Hope as she sobbed once more, surrendering to her own grief. How had she been so blind to the pain she’d caused her friend? 

“I love you, Rue, I love you so much and I can’t lose you.” 

Ruth’s hand smoothed down Hope’s back, “I love you too, Hope. And don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” 

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