applebutter-and-cinnamon

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Water Under the Bridge

Bobby Moch x Original female character

Part 1 of “Let Me Spend My Whole Life Loving You” (my new Bobby x OFC series of oneshots)

Summary: Bobby suffers a bad breakup and thinks he’ll be alone forever (at 21 lol! Imagine that… Boy, you’re so young!) That is, until an unexpected lady walks into his life.

Rating: Teen and up

Word count: 8,776

Trigger warnings: I don’t know, there’s nothing sexual (as of yet). But breakup I guess? Insecurities regarding height

Author’s note(s): *This fic is purely about the movie portrayal only. Not the real Bobby Moch whatsoever. As always, I mean no disrespect to him or his descendants* Special shoutouts go to @groovin2beats and @i-am-a-lost-girl16! Rachael, thanks to you (and Luke himself with his tall wife) I’m obsessed with the idea of movie!Bobby ending up with a tall lady. I will now no longer accept any other headcanon please and thank you. As for @i-am-a-lost-girl16 ? I cannot thank you enough for helping me flesh out this lovely lady. Thank you for being so willing to hear and add on to the headcanons I send you♥️ it really means alot. And a very special shoutout goes to @youredoinggreat-honey . If it weren’t for you and your wonderful encouragement to keep going, I don’t know if I would’ve kept writing for this fandom. Your excitement for my fics and ideas makes me and my fics feel so welcome and worthy you have no idea! Thank you for not only encouraging me as a writer, but for bring my friend and for reminding me that I’m not alone.

Tagging: @applebutter-and-cinnamon (I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it)

Bobby inhaled, fiddling with the small box he had hidden in his pocket as he waited for Tilly, his steady girlfriend, to get back from whatever it was she was doing. They had been steadily dating for at least a year now and tonight, Bobby planned on popping the question. After putting money aside for months, he was finally able to purchase the ring he had his eye on a few days ago. He even talked to her parents; now all that was left to do was ask Tilly those four words. He exhaled. He really wasn’t feeling nervous at all; in fact, he was feeling rather confident and excited. He had known for a while now that he wanted to marry this woman. Sure, the economy was bad, but he was just recently named to cox the JV rowing team, which entailed a job, he was graduating next year and then after that he planned on having a job to support them as he went through law school. It would be hard, yes, but being that they loved each other, they would make it work, right?

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[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Picture of Mine

Pairing: Joe Rantz x OC (Sadie)

Warnings: Jealousy

A/N: This was originally going to be something else but I ended up scrapping the idea. That being said, I thought it was cute and wanted to share it anyway. I hope y'all enjoy!

The Boys in the Boat Masterlist

This is not meant to be a reflection of the real person that was portrayed in the Boys in the Boat. It is a work of fiction.

Sadie wasn't ignorant. Shy, yes. More reserved than some of the other girls her age, also yes. But she was most definitely not ignorant and as a result of having a set of working eyes, she knew that her boyfriend was incredibly good looking.

Joe was the sort of man that turned heads when he walked across campus, not just for his height, but also because of his ocean blue eyes and golden curls, gracing those around him as a modern day Achilles.

Joe seemed to be completely oblivious to the attention he received, which Sadie had mixed feelings about. On the one hand, it was a really good feeling and a confidence boost to know that her boyfriend only had eyes for her, to the point where they never wandered from her own. On the other, it meant that Sadie had to put up with handfuls of girls her age ogling her boyfriend, not even caring that she was the one on his arm and holding his attention.

"Are you trying to burn a hole through that girls brain?" Lily asked her, sipping on a glass of water beside her.

Sadie rolled her eyes, loosing sight of the girl that was making eyes at Joe while he was being interviewed by, who Sadie was guessing was the girl's father. The boathouse was crowded with a handful of reporters eager to speak with the boys ahead of their race in Poughkeepsie. A few of the reporters who were fans of the sport themselves, brought along some of their family members to meet with the boys.

Normally, this wouldn't be something that bother Sadie. She understood that due to Joe's position in the boat that sometimes he would have other responsibilities that took priority to giving her his undivided attention. What bothered her this time in particular was the young group of girls that had sneaked their way inside with the reporters and were doing all that they could to flirt with the boys.

She turned her head, scanning the room as she did. It seemed she wasn't the only girlfriend that was getting frustrated with the situation in front of them, though none of them wanted to put their boy in a bad position with their coach either. Beside her, Caroline tensed as a tall, blonde girl placed her hand on Don Hume's arm. Her jaw clenched so hard that Sadie worried that she might crack a tooth.

"This can't last too much longer, can it?" She asked the girls around her.

The girls around her shrugged and mumbled under their breath, daring the girls surrounding the boys to take it just one step further so they could step in.

Sadie took a deep breath to calm her anger. She wished that Joe would just take a step back and be a bit more rude than he naturally was. Alas, she knew the man she was in a relationship with and knew that he would never do anything to embarrass a young girl especially in front of a reporter.

Sadie knew that Joe wouldn't see it as the girl going after him, no, he would see it as a young girl trying to find her way into the papers. Joe would be leaving with her, they both knew it, Sadie just wanted the girl beside him to know it too.

Coach Ulbrickson's head turned in their direction for a moment as he spoke with a photographer before his hand lifted and pointed at them. Beside him, his wife, Mrs. Ulbrickson, his a smile behind her hand.

"Those girls over there," he said loudly. As one, all the boys turned to pay attention to them for the first time in about two hours, "Are the better halves to my boys. They keep an eye on 'em when I can't."

Joe lost the tightness in his shoulders as he locked eyes with her and he smiled at her, the one he saved just for her. Sadie fought the blush coloring her cheeks at the devotion in his gaze. She drew up her courage and blew a kiss in Joe's direction.

Joe's smile turned cocky and shot a wink back at her.

Sadie couldn't find it in herself to feel bad for the girl beside her who's mouth fell open on witnessing their interaction. The girl looked between the two of them before hurrying away from Joe.

"How about a picture?" Coach Ulbrickson suggested to the photographer, after his wife whispered something to him, urging the man forward to where the girls were sitting.

"Oh no-"

"That's really not necess-"

"No one would want a picture of all of -"

The girls spoke over one another as they tried to convince the photographer not to take their picture. Sadie knew she had to be bright red by now, she wasn't ready to have her picture taken and even if she was, who would want to see it?

The boys interest was growing now and they began stepping away from the reporters and moving closer to the girls.

Sadie could see the bright smile that was taking over Joe's face as he whispered something to Shorty, who laughed and nodded enthusiastically to whatever he had said.

"Well, I think it's a fantastic idea," Mrs. Ulbrickson interrupted the girls protests. Turning to her husbands crew, she asked, "Don't you boys think that a picture of the girls would be a nice addition to the article?"

A chorus of "Yes Ma'am!" erupted around the boathouse.

That was all it took for Sadie to find herself in the middle of the girls, being positioned by the photographer for a picture that would end up in the Seattle newspaper. She tempered her discomfort by glaring at Joe who seemed absolutely elated by the fact that the attention was on her and not him. He, and all of the other boys now, were completely ignoring the reporters around them, focusing entirely on the group of girls that they had brought with them into the boathouse that afternoon.

Sadie bit her lip at the sudden influx of attention and locked eyes with Joe again. Even with the distance between them, she could see his eyes soften as they met hers. He looked around him to make sure nobody was watching and then pulled the silliest face she had ever seen him make.

A surprised giggle forced it's way out of her throat just as the camera flashed in front of her.

She blinked and the photographer gave them the all clear to disperse. Sadie was in front of Joe and gripping his hand before another word could be spoken.

"Hey there," he whispered, bending down to deliver a swift kiss to her forehead. "I'm stealing a copy of that picture you know?"

Sadie groaned and turned to bury her face in his chest.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Sweet Caroline

Pairing: Don Hume x OC (Caroline)

Warnings: Creepy guy, being pulled into a situation you can't get out of

A/N: This has been a long time coming. I couldn't quite figure out how I wanted to end it, but I hope you enjoy anyway!

This is not meant to be a reflection of the real person that was portrayed in the Boys in the Boat. It is a work of fiction.

Caroline was going to absolutely murder her roommate the second that she saw her again. It had been Annie's idea to come to the party held in honor of the rowing crew, something that Caroline hadn't paid much attention to before the evening had begun.

"You have to come with me," Annie had pleaded. Placing her hands on her hips, she twirled around on one heel to face Caroline, almost bumping into the dresser in their shared room. "You never come to these things with me and I am desperate for a night out with my best friend."

Caroline had immediately folded much to her own dismay. It was true that she didn't normally go out the way that Annie did, not nearly as social as she was, but also because she was focused on earning her degree.

Annie had clapped her hands excitedly and proceeded to dress Caroline up in her cutest dress, going so far as to apply her makeup for her so it looked pristine. Now, as she stood along the wall of the party she regretted agreeing to Annie for a plethora of reasons.

Reason one, her friend was on the other side of the room talking to one of the crew whose name Caroline couldn't remember, not beside Caroline.

Reason two, the boy who she had politely declined multiple times for a date had seen her and was making a bee-line in her direction.

Caroline arched her neck trying to make eye contact with Annie and motion that she was in need of assistance but Annie was too wrapped up in her own conversation to see past the taller man.

She contemplated making a run for the exit as the boy from her class stood directly in front of her with a bright smile. She tried to force her expression into something pleasant as she tried to remember his name.

"Caroline!" He greeted loudly, throwing his arms out wide and causing the liquid in his cup to slosh over the side and onto the floor.

"Hello," she returned with what she hoped was a smile and not a grimace. His own expression faltered with her failure before brightening again through his building confidence.

"How are you?" He continued, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I feel like I never see you outside of class. Do you normally come to these? Or are you here just to see me?"

Caroline forced a laugh out of her dry throat and took a small step out of his touch, "I'm here with my roommate, Annie."

"Oh, really?" He took a step closer to her as he pulled his arm back to himself. "I don't see her."

She looked up quickly to the last place she'd seen her friend and sure enough, Annie's distinct form had disappeared in the morphing crowd.

"Oh, well she is-"

"Say, do you want to dance with me?" He asked, interrupting her.

She blinked.

Taking her silence as a yes, he grabbed at her wrist and went to pull her after him onto the dance floor. Somewhere along the way, he'd rid himself of his glass and used the extra hand to twirl her into his embrace with a flourish.

As he did, Caroline felt her heel catch and she tripped slightly. It placed her much closer to him than she had ever wanted to be. He tightened his grip on her waist and began leading her in a dance that she didn't recognize. She searched each face for Annie but had to glance at him as he tightened his grip on her again.

"You know, you never did tell me why you couldn't go on that date with me. I think we'd get along really well together and obviously it would look really good for me to have a woman that looks like you do by my side with the career that I'm going into," He said, his gaze crawling all over her skin. "After this dance how about you and I go someplace quiter and -"

"Excuse me."

Caroline's gaze locked onto the man beside her. He was tall, much taller than the boy from her class. His eyes were soft on hers but hardened as he turned to look at the boy.

"Mind if I cut in?" He didn't wait for the boy to answer, instead gently moving Caroline out of the boy's tight grip and into his secure one.

"You're the stroke seat for that boat from today." The boy from her class paled slightly as she was pulled from his grasp. The man said nothing, looking to her instead and searching her gaze. "Listen bud, I didn't realize she was with you."

The man looked away from her for a moment as the boy from her class continued to ramble on about not wanting any trouble. He stared at him for a moment until the boys eyes widened and he stumbled away from them.

He turned back to face her, pulling her into a slow sway to match the other couples on the dance floor. "Are you alright?"

Caroline nodded, suddenly unable to meet his brown eyes and instead focusing on the dark strands of his hair that fell forward as he tipped his head down closer to hers. His expression twisted, seemingly unsatisfied with her response.

He'd seemed large in comparison to the boy from her class, but left alone with him she seemed all too aware of how much bigger he was physically than she. But, when their eyes met again, she noticed how he seemed to be making himself smaller while talking to her, so as to make her more comfortable she realized.

"I'm Don," he offered after a moment.

"The stroke seat?" She commented, remembering what the boy from earlier had mentioned. "I'm Caroline."

"Caroline," he repeated. Her name swirling around in his voice and filling something inside of her. "I apologize if I overstepped, you just seemed uncomfortable."

The heat from his hand at her waist spread up her spine and she shivered with the pleasure of it. "Was I so obvious?" She asked.

"Not to him," he huffed, his lips twisting up on one side.

She laughed softly and looked away. "Can I tell you something?" She asked after a moment of gentle swaying.

"Hmm?"

"I couldn't remember his name for the life of me and by the time I found myself out here, it was too late to ask." Caroline drank in the sight of Don's smirk growing into a full smile as he smothered a laugh between his lips.

"His name's Jim," he managed out.

Caroline shrugged, "I don't really know that it matters any more."

"No?" Don's eyes lit up. "Why's that?"

"I'm dancing with you, aren't I?" She asked, looking between the space between them that had shrunk during their conversation.

"You are," he agreed, squeezing her waist softly in his hands.

Caroline had a feeling as he twirled her around at the start of the next song, that she'd be in his arms for a long time to come.

----

The Boys in the Boat Masterlist

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

boyfriend don who doesn’t have a penny to his name, but saves half of his first paycheck to take you on a dinner date and buy you a bouquet of tulips and daisies.

boyfriend don who is quiet around pretty much everyone, but when he has you alone, he’s quite the chatterbox.

boyfriend don who insists that he doesn’t mind scratching your back until you fall asleep.

boyfriend don who learns all of your favorite songs on the piano.

boyfriend don who is insanely ticklish.

boyfriend don who keeps a picture of you in his pocket at all times.

boyfriend don who saves up for months to buy you that necklace you’ve been eyeing.

boyfriend don who slow dances with you to a record in his dorm room.

boyfriend don who blushes at any physical touch.

boyfriend don who has calloused hands and secretly loves it when you kiss his palms and tell him he needs to be more gentle on himself.

boyfriend don who promises you the world and fully intends on giving you it.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Love!!! ❤️❤️

I’m Not Much of a Talker

Don Hume x Original Female Character

Summary: Don has his first date ever. And I mean Ever. ✨E V E R✨

Word count: 7,162 (buckle up, buttercups! This was longer than I intended)

Rating: Teen and up

Author’s note: This story was inspired by one of the many headcanons @groovin2beats and I have been throwing back and forth - I hope you like it, and that it also has enough Bobby in it :)

Also tagged: @solo-pitstop-vibes

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Don was deep in thought while he walked to the general store. So much so that he didn’t hear Bobby yelling at him from across the street and the next thing he knew, Bobby was at his side, interrupting his racing mind with a nudge to his side.

“Going deaf on me now, Hume?”

All Don did was shake his head and continued walking.

“So where ya headed?” Bobby had to quicken his pace in order to keep up with Don’s long stride.

“The store.”

“What’re the chances? I’m headed there too!” Bobby noticed that Don was ignoring him. “You okay there, Don? You seem… quieter than normal.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t. Truth be told, his stomach was in knots and the knots were only getting tighter the closer he got to the store.

Bobby wasn’t convinced and, after prodding again, Don snapped at him. “We’re not in the boat, Moch; you don’t have to cox me.”

Bobby let his remark fly; Don was obviously worked up about something and was in a mood so for now, he’d let him be. Okay.

Full fic on AO3

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Breath of Life

Pairing: Joe Rantz x OC (Sadie)

Warnings: Drowning, Choking on Water, Passing out, Being unable to swim

Disclaimer: I've never actually drowned before, so if I've gotten some things wrong I apologize.

Boys in the Boat Masterlist

This is not meant to be a reflection of the real person that was portrayed in the Boys in the Boat. It is a work of fiction.

Joe's lungs were burning when Bobby finally yelled at them to ease up. Coach Ulbrickson signaled at them to head back to the docks when they were ready before speeding off in his boat ahead of them.

It was an unusually sunny day in Seattle. The water was calm and they had glided through the water easily all throughout practice. He was winded and tired, but in a remarkably good mood. The boys ahead and behind him were tilting their heads back toward the sun and running their fingers through the crisp water outside their boat.

Bobby let them all rest a moment before signaling with a shout to begin rowing back to the shell house. They rowed as if each passing second was a luxury. He and the rest of his shells crew were a well-oiled unit when they were all focused on keeping their heads in the boat and nowhere but in the boat.

They pulled up to the docks, pulled themselves out of the shell, and carried it out of the water into the shell house. Bobby, who was too short to be much of a help in carrying it, walked in front of them. He cleared the way and opened doors, making it easier for them to store it quickly.

Joe only felt the day catch up to him when they hit the showers and he felt the long, continuous stream of water falling softly against the skin of his back. He was hoping to see Sadie later in the day, she liked to study under a giant oak tree after her last lecture of the day and if he caught her in a good mood, he thought he might be able to convince her to study later and spend some time with him instead.

He wasn't the only guy in the boat with a girl he was eager to get to after practice. Roger had a date lined up with his Annie and Shorty had said something earlier about meeting up with a new girl that he'd met the previous night. Joe had never seen Don with a girl, but he was pretty sure that his stroke had plans to study with Bobby.

Joe toweled off and dressed himself quickly, his mind navigating the quickest path towards the oak tree that Sadie loved. He'd finished tying his shoes when the first desperate screams of a young woman echoed through the boathouse.

There was a brief moment, when the guys shared shocked looks with one another before they all burst into motion. Leaving through the locker room door and out into the main storage room of the shell house. Moving quickly, he was able to see the coaches also peaking their heads out of their office in alarm. Mr. Pocock appeared too, out of the workshop on the second story and holding a tool in his right hand.

To Joe's surprise he recognized the girl who was panicking desperately in the face of one of the freshman boys. It was Lily, one of Sadie's friends, who was pulling harshly at the boys arm trying to get him to follow her.

"Lily?" She turned toward him the second he called out her name in confusion. Her eyes were filled with tears that were pouring down her cheeks as she hurried over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling her with him. She was breathing so hard that it was hard to understand what she was saying outside of an obvious call for help. "What's wrong? What is it?"

He didn't like the look she was giving him. It was so full of not just fear, but blood curdling panic. It wasn't for her though, it seemed to be for someone else and at the way she was gripping his arm, turning it white with her strength, Joe had a stomach dropping feeling at who it might be for.

"It's Sadie, someone pushed her in the water."

~~~

Sadie tilted her head back, basking in the beautiful Seattle sunshine. It had been days, upon days of endless rainfall and when the clouds had parted to reveal the sun's golden rays shining through the windows in her lecture hall, she couldn't help but smile. Thankfully, her professor had also seen the rare sunshine and had released them early for the day, rushing his way out ahead of everyone else.

Following the rest of her classmates out into the warm air, Sadie saw the oak tree that normally pulled her to rest beneath it's offer of shade. Whether to study or to stare at a cloudy sky, she normally would take it up on it's offer of respite.

Sadie glanced down at the watch on her wrist, she'd gotten out of her lecture early enough that if she hurried, she might be able to catch Joe after practice. She missed him. He had been extremely busy between rowing, saving money up for his tuition, and his homework that it had been hard for them to find the time to spend together. She was determined to find the time to spend with him today.

She redirected her course and set out for the University of Washington's shell house. It was a little bit far from where her lecture was, but it was so nice out that Sadie found herself enjoying the walk. The breeze messed her hair but it also carried the scent of fresh water and sweet grass. She had to meander around groups of other students but it was so nice to see everyone smiling instead of rushing from building to building.

The ground grew steeper, sloping down towards the water's edge as she drew closer. From a distance, she could make out a group of tall, young men carrying their boats inside. She couldn't see Joe's crew but there wasn't anyone else out on the water either so she assumed that he was inside showering and resigned herself to waiting.

She had begun to look for a large tree to occupy her time under when she spotted a flickering hand in the air, waving back and forth to get her attention. Following the hand down, she was met with the dazzling white smile of Lily. She was smiling so hard that Sadie wondered if her cheeks were hurting, nevertheless, Sadie couldn't help but smile back at her, waving as she did.

"Come over here," Lily yelled, waving her over to where she rested on one of the floating docks. Sadie hesitated.

It shouldn't have been a big deal. Many of the other students liked to lay on the docks during nice weather to watch the rowing teams compete at the end of practice, but Sadie, who had never learned to swim had always found herself a bit uneasy on the docks. They had no railing and the water stretched endlessly down below them.

When Joe had taken her out to row she'd been nervous enough to distract herself from the uneasiness of being out on the open water. Plus, Joe had kept a steady hand on the small of her back, keeping her upright whenever she stumbled. Where Lily was on the docks, she'd have to navigate down a good portion of floating wood around some of the other students who were standing to leave now that practice was over and heading in the other direction.

Sadie glanced at the shell house, thinking over her own fears and looked back to where Lily was smiling brightly. It couldn't hurt, she guessed, and she wouldn't have to stay long. Once Joe came out she could quickly head back to the safety that was dry ground and spend the rest of her evening with her beau.

"Sadie!" Lily called again, laughing slightly in bewilderment at the stalled movement of her friend.

She forced a bright smile and placed a hesitant foot on the first slat of wood, "I'm coming!"

She kept one arm around her school books keeping them close to her chest as more of a comforting pressure than to keep them from falling in the water and she used her other arm, low as it was by her side, for stability. Sadie moved slowly, as courageous as she was trying to be, she could feel how hard her heart pounded and was perfectly fine with taking her time.

Moving quickly in the other direction, the last group of students on the docks walked by her and jostled the wood slightly as they did. She inhaled sharply at the movement then smiling politely as they tossed her concerned glances at the noise. She waited a moment for the dock to steady then continued on at her leisurely pace.

Sadie glanced up to measure the amount of distance remaining between herself and Lily. It wasn't too much further and then she could lower herself on the blue cotton blanket that Lily had spread out carefully to sit on. She'd already quirked a brow to begin saying something to Lily when the thud of rapid footsteps came up behind her. Sadie didn't have time to look to see who it was before they slammed into her shoulders and knocked her unsteady.

Her books slipped from their careful placement against her chest as her feet slid out from beneath her. She only had enough time to draw in a quick breath before she felt the water close around her head.

It was shockingly cold, she thought to herself. Distantly, she could make out the panicked voice of Lily calling out something above the water. Sadie knew enough about swimming to know that she needed to use her legs to propel herself up the surface of the water. Struggling, she kicked her legs, feeling her shoes slide off of her feet as she did. The water swished around her, moving her up before something tightened at her ankle pulling her back slightly, just as her outstretched finger broke the surface of the water.

She looked down to see a tangled strip of net caught around her ankle. Curling down, she did her best to loosen the net to free her foot from it's confines. Her lungs were burning with the desire to inhale and somewhere in the back of her mind, behind the panic that was building inside of her, she scolded herself for every other time in her life that she'd taken for granted the ability to breathe easily.

The water embraced her, keeping her in it's icy hold and caressing her hair as it floated all about her. It was beautiful, the way the sunlight trickled down through the surface of the water in golden rays. The sun was getting dimmer by the second and she wondered if she were sinking further down.

She couldn't hear Lily's voice anymore and but she hadn't caught the moment it had stopped. What she could hear was the hard pounding of her heart in her head, pounding just as hard as it had the first time she saw Joe smile.

In the next instant the water around her shook, moving her about in the water and bubbles danced along her skin. Rough, warm hands grabbed under her arms in an attempt to pull her up, halting only as the net pulled her back down. Sadie guessed it pulled her farther down this time as the sun's rays continued to disappear from her view.

The same rough hands grabbed her cheeks, shaking her gently and she forced her eyes open. The sun, she thought confused, was starting to look an awful lot like Joe. A very concerned and panicked Joe.

The urge to inhale was too strong for her to resist and her muscle began to work despite her telling it not too, forcing her to inhale a large lungful of icy water. Her body convulsed; hard.

The water shook again, moving further below her and she felt a vibrating sensation from the net around her ankle. She didn't have the energy to look down anymore though, instead, Sadie let her eyes fall closed.

The vibrating stopped after what could've been a moment and she felt herself being pulled through the water again. Rough hands were holding her close to a warm body and she let herself rest there as the world faded into nothing.

Distantly, in the part of her brain that was still working, Sadie was aware of many sets of hands pulling her out of the water and away from the warm chest she'd been resting on. In that same part of her brain, she could hear the panicked voices of Joe's crew as they scrambled around her.

It only took a moment for the familiar rough hands to come back to her, holding her cheeks tenderly for only a moment before she felt firm pressure on her chest. Those hands worked repeatedly against her chest for a moment before they parted her lips. Joe's lips slotted against hers, blowing warm breath into her mouth.

The hands stopped for a moment before picking back up, quicker and with more determination. Hands. Pressure. Lips and breath. Hands. Pressure. Lips and breath. Hands. Pressure. Lips and breath.

After a moment, her brain latched onto the repeated sound of Joe's voice in her ear.

"C'mon baby," he was saying, voice huffing as he worked. Joe's lips pressed against hers and as he breathed into her, she felt something begin to work its way up her lungs.

"Come back to me, Sweetheart," Joe sounded desperate, bordering on hysterical as he called out to her. His lips pressed against her's again, pushing the air into her lungs and this time Sadie forced her eyes open.

Joe knelt above her, blonde hair and a very pale face dripping with water. His eyes trained onto her every movement, while his face was twisted into a pained expression. His endlessly blue eyes were full of tears that he refused to let fall down his face as he concentrated on Sadie.

She gazed at him, unblinking. To her, he looked like the Greek gods of old with his wet, tan skin and shining gold hair. It could very well have been Poseidon or Apollo who had decided to bless her with their presence. Sadie couldn't understand though, why someone so beautiful would be crying and internally cursed whatever situation had put him through such anguish, to hell.

Sadie thought all of this in the split second between when she opened her eyes and when the water surged forward from her lungs back out through her mouth. It spilled over her lips and she felt herself being twisted onto her side as she coughed it out. A large hand rubbing her back as she did. She braced her weight on a shaking elbow so she could cough without hitting her head against the wood.

"There you go, Sadie," Joe encouraged, voice still strained. "Get it all out."

Every breath of air into her lungs caused more water to gush out, burning it's way out of her body. Sadie groaned, she had no idea that water could burn, had thought up until this moment in her life, that it was supposed to be fire's job to burn.

Around her, she could hear the sound of relieved murmuring voices that she had begun to recognize as Joe's crew. After a few agonizing breaths she forced herself to sit up, ignoring the voices telling her to lay down and slumped against Joe, who immediately wrapped her in his arms, supporting all of her weight.

She tucked her head into the darkness between his neck and his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat and listening to his breathing. Sadie forced the oxygen in her own lungs to mimic his rhythm and after a few breaths, Joe caught on to what she was doing.

He began exaggerating his breathing, forcing slow and steady breaths that she could replicate on her own. When she felt like she could breath at a normal rate without focusing all of her brain power to it, she pulled back to look around.

It couldn't have been too much longer since she went under. Lily's blanket was underneath her, the sun was still shining brightly, and the breeze was rustling the leaves of the trees around her. Don Hume was dripping wet, standing closest to them while six other crew members from Joe's boat stood closely behind him. Chuck Day with his arm around a crying Lily.

Joe gripped her cheek with one of his hands, drawing her attention back to him, "I'm going to carry you to the shell house, alright?" His voice trembled slightly but after she nodded her consent, he picked her up and held her securely against his chest. She rested her head against his shoulder, closed her eyes and let his steady rhythm of footfalls lull her away.

~~~

When Sadie gained consciousness, she was still in Joe's arms but they were not outside and they were not in the main room of the shell house. She was laying down on a small, twin mattress with her head resting on Joe's chest. His arms were holding her securely to him. He clung to her like she might slip away at any moment.

She recognized this room from when she'd been in it in passing. It was Joe's room, the one that he shared with Roger Davis, though Roger wasn't in it at present. Light shone through the closed blinds, but it was a soft pink of morning instead of the golden yellow of the afternoon.

As she looked around, she felt Joe stir against her. His eyes fluttered open, took in the fact that she was awake and that she was watching him. He seemed more relaxed now, though she made a mental note of the fact that he seemed unable to stop himself from touching her in some way.

"Hey there," his voice rumbled from deep in his chest, still rough with sleep. His eyes were soft and his thumb was rubbing small circles in the small of her back.

Sadie offered him a weak smile, "Hey."

His forehead was wrinkled with worry. "You gave me quite a scare," he confessed to her.

Sadie nodded, dropping her gaze from his. She brought her hand that was between them up to the center of his chest, drawing small shapes as she composed her thoughts.

Joe was quiet, content to lay with Sadie in his arms. She cleared her throat, "What happened?"

At her question, Joe began to sit up slightly and cradled her face in his hands as he studied her eyes and face. "You don't remember falling in the lake yesterday?"

Sadie reached up to hold one of his wrists in her hand, "I remember that part. I don't remember much else after slipping into the water."

"Lily came into the shell house, completely panicking," Joe started. "She said that you'd slipped into the water and hadn't come back out."

Joe stared at the wall as he recalled it to her. His eyes full of anguish and his grip on her tightened with the need to convince himself that she was beside him.

"We followed her out to where you'd fallen in and I jumped in to grab you out but you were stuck on something. Thankfully, Don noticed and jumped in after me. He had a pocket knife that he used to cut you free."

Sadie nodded, it all checked out to her. She could remember the vibrating sensation dancing up her foot while she was in the water.

"You couldn't have been in there for very long, but by the time we pulled you out, your lips were blue. You weren't breathing," Joe paused, breathing deeply. His eyes fell shut and he leaned his forehead against hers.

They rested like that for a short time while Joe tried to calm himself down, clutching to her like she was a lifeline. After a bit, Sadie pulled back and Joe opened his eyes to look at her. They were both sitting upright now but she rose up on her knees, hearing the mattress groan as she did.

She grabbed onto Joe's shoulders to steady herself and swung one of her legs across Joe's hips so that she was straddling him. His hands came up to rest on her hips, stabilizing her as she sat down on his thighs.

Sadie slid her hands from his shoulders and into his hair, caressing his blonde curls and massaging his scalp until his shoulders released the tension he was holding there.

Joe cleared his throat and looked at her, "You weren't breathing so we did CPR until you were. I carried you back to the shell house, Bobby had run to grab a Doctor while I went in after you so they checked you out."

"What did they say?" She asked, moving her thumbs up to smooth his temples. Joe leaning into her touch as she did.

"You were awake for that part," he hummed, "But, you feel back asleep pretty quickly after. Doc said you were fine and that you'd need to take it easy for the next couple of days. You were pretty out of it though, so I took you in here and we both fell asleep."

She shivered and Joe brought the quilt that was covering them both to wrap more tightly around her shoulders, while pulling her closer to him. "Thank you," she whispered.

He shook his head, "Please, don't ever do that again. I don't think I can handle it."

She laughed blankly, "I wasn't really trying to do it the first time either."

Joe nodded, "I know." He cupped her cheeks and brought her in for a slow, warm kiss that had her melting into his touch. It was a kiss that told her just how worried he had been and how glad he was to have her near him now.

Sadie responded in kind, gliding her hands across his skin and pouring all of her love for him into their kiss. Joe's hands flexed against her hips and turning his head, he deepened their kiss. His tongue parted her lips and he kissed her until all Sadie could taste, feel and hear was Joe Rantz.

A/N: Y'all I fell in love with this idea and was having such a fun time writing it up until the end. It sort of died there lol. Thanks for sticking it out til then and I'll do my best to keep writing for the boys.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

YOU WRITE FOR BOYS IN THE BOAT TOO?!?!

YES!!!!!!

Technically, I've only just started writing for them but I've got some ideas for some future works that I'm thinking over right now. I seriously can't get enough of them. I"M OBSESSED

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

The Boys in the Boat Masterlist

Joe Rantz x OC (Sadie)

On the Open Water

Breath of Life

Don Hume x OC (Caroline)

Sweet Caroline

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

On the Open Water

Pairing: Joe Rantz x OC (Sadie)

Warnings: N/A

Description: Joe takes Sadie out for a boat ride. Yes, this is heavily influenced by the scene from the movie. All credit goes to the original writers of the script for the idea.

Boys in the Boat Masterlist

This is not meant to be a reflection of the real person that was portrayed in the Boys in the Boat. It is a work of fiction.

The first time she'd laid eyes on the tall figure that was Joe Rantz, her heart skipped a beat and her cheeks flushed red. Thankfully, he'd been distracted by his crew who were crowded around him as they walked out to the water. She'd heard about the junior boat, they were one of the hottest topics on campus at the moment - that the 8 of them had managed to beat out so many others was remarkably impressive.

Joe was tall, broad-shoulder and muscular in a way that she'd never seen. His blonde hair looked golden in the afternoon sunshine and he had a laugh that echoed easily in the air. It was plain as day that he was very, very handsome. She allowed herself a few blissful moments to watch as he walked away, but forced herself to turn back to her homework that was due the very next day.

The second time Sadie saw Joe Rantz was at a school-sanctioned party after he and his crew won their first race. She'd been doing her best to keep her gaze from where he was sitting, but considering the party was in their honor, it was hard not to let her attention wander back to him. Joe was seated between Roger Davis and George "Shorty" Hunt at a circular table just off to the side of the area that had been marked off for the dance floor.

Roger and Shorty were leaning close to Joe, shoving his shoulders a bit and whisper-yelling at him as he shook his head, a red flush tinting his cheeks.

Sadie was sitting comfortably at her own table surrounded by some of her roommates who had become some her best friends. Lily and Angela were laughing as they slowly drank the colorful cocktails in their chilled glasses - the only refuge from the increasingly hot room.

"What do you think, Sadie?" Lily asked her, drawing her attention away from the men of the hour. Lily had always been the more outgoing of their bunch, blonde and as beautiful as she was she drew men to her as easily as she breathed the air around them.

Angela was equally gorgeous with long hair that trailed down her back and dark as a raven's wing. Her lips were always painted bright red in contrast to her bright white teeth. She was incredibly smart, witty, and was always making them laugh with some sort of remark made just under her breath.

Sadie smiled, tucking a loose piece of curled hair behind her ear. "What do I think about what?"

Angela and Lily shared a glance, smirking at one another, "About how Joe Rantz has been glancing over at you every few minutes since he saw you sitting there."

"He has not," She protested. Her eyes widened as she took in their honest expressions and twisted, smug lips. "Really," she continued, "I doubt he knows I'm here. What is more likely is that he's looking at one of you."

Lily shook her head, "Looks like we're about to find out."

"What do you mean?" Sadie asked, turning her head to follow the direction of Lily's quirked brow. Joe Rantz had begun to stand from his seat and George was patting him heartily on his shoulder, while Roger looked straight in the direction of their table. He was leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands together and grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Joe's eyes caught hers, eyeing the red that crept into her cheeks for a split second before she looked away from him. Casting worried looks at her friends, "He's not coming this way, is he?"

Sadie was not as confident as Lily or as quick-witted as Angela, but she was enthusiastically kind and had a heart twice as large as anyone else. She prided herself on seeing the best in others even though most times she couldn't quite see the best in herself.

Lily and Angela didn't answer, instead they made to stand giving her a supportive thumbs-up before hurrying away from the table. Angela winking at her and her giving her a large smile.

The sound of footsteps nearing the table drew her attention away from her giggling friends. Sadie felt distinctly aware of every hair out of place on her head and the dampness at the small of her back from the heat of the room.

"Hello," Joe's baritone sounded next to her and Sadie looked up into startlingly, clear blue eyes in answer. His blonde hair was combed neatly atop his head and his mouth was softened into a small, hesitant smile. "My name's Joe - Joe Rantz."

She offered him her hand in greeting and he extended his much larger hand to accept it. "It's nice to meet you," she smiled, proud of how she held her voice steady in front of the man she'd been admiring from afar.

Sadie offered him her own name, which he repeated softly, almost to himself. He seemed to be testing the way it tasted on his lips and she couldn't deny the butterflies that took flight in her stomach at hearing him swirl her name around inside of his mouth.

She gestured towards one of the empty seats in an offer for him to sit down. Joe hesitated, eyes downcast before flicking back up to hers, "I was actually wondering if, maybe, you might want to dance with me?"

Sadie's smiled encouragingly, "I'd love to."

Accepting his outstretched hand, she let him lead her to the dance floor. Where he pulled her close and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the steadiness of his body against her own nervous one. Her heart was beating so hard that she could feel it in her fingertips and she glanced up at his face to determine if he could hear it.

Instead, she caught a look that was a little bashful and incredulous as he pulled her slightly closer than one might a friend. She stepped forward to make it easier for him, delighting in the red that grew at the tips of his ears.

The third time she saw Joe Rantz was beneath her window.

"What are you doing?" She asked, laughing as she pushed the window open.

He was beautiful in the moonlight, eyes wide in excitement and a broad grin taking over his face. "Do you want to go on a boat ride?" He looked up at her expectantly, no trace of any expectation that she would say no.

"Right now?" Sadie asked, voice full of laughter.

He shrugged, "Sure, why not."

She laughed, "I'll be right down." She hurried into her shoes, flinging her door open and ignoring the questions from Lily and Angela. She half-ran and half-stumbled her way down two flights of stairs to the door where Joe waited for her.

"Hi," she greeted, breathless as she pushed the door open.

Joe's grin was brighter than she'd ever seen. He reached for her and she stepped easily into his reach, one of his hands trailing down her arm to her hand which he took in his own. "Follow me," he said, leading her forward.

He must've already been to the University's shell house, because he led her to the dock where he had a small row boat tied securely. He offered her his arm and she climbed into the boat with unsteady legs.

Joe climbed in after her, the very picture of grace and set them off. The water was calm around them and as Joe rowed them away from shore, the symphony of the open water at night performed for them. Swirling water and soft breezes smelling of fresh spring flowers, carrying with it the smell of Joe's cologne.

She turned her head towards him and found his blue eyes already staring at her.

"You're going to row us into something if you don't pay attention to where we're going," she teased, quirking an eyebrow at him playfully.

Joe smirked, his expression the picture of confidence. "Of the two of us, remind me who has more experience out on the water," his voice drew her attention down to his lips, which morphed into something of a smug grin as he caught her slip.

Sadie glanced up quickly. "Obviously, it's me," she continued, tossing her hair over her shoulder pretending to have all of the confidence in the world.

Joe laughed softly next to her and she couldn't help the giggle that escaped her.

He stopped rowing, letting the current take hold once they were in the middle of the water and the boat began to drift slowly as it did.

"Do you like rowing?" Sadie asked, studying his expression. It was mostly hidden from her but as he tilted his head in contemplation the light from the moon illuminated him in a silver glow.

"I'm getting a job out of it," he shrugged. His voice took on a nonchalant tone but his eyes gave away his enjoyment for the sport.

Sadie nudged him with her shoulder, "You seem to be pretty good at it."

"Do I?" Joe smiled, blue eyes twinkling.

Sadie nodded, "You boys are going to become famous with the skill you have in your boat. Just wait, you'll see that I'm right and you'll forget all about me."

She turned her face away from him, not wanting to show him the expression that was likely painting her face.

Joe's calloused hand slid a long her cheek, gently guiding her gaze back to him. "I don't think I could forget you if I tried," he whispered, his voice so low she was sure she could only hear him because he was so close.

Her gaze dropped down to his soft lips again before flicking back up to his eyes. Joe didn't wait a moment and leaned forward, gently pressing their mouths together.

His lips were warm and so very soft against her own. He tasted of salt and something distinctly Joe that she ached for more of. She reached her own hand up, gliding her hand over his shoulder to the back of his neck and into his hair, pulling him closer.

He groaned softly into her mouth and twisted his head, deepening their kiss. Using the hand that wasn't caressing her face, he gripped onto her waist, just holding her softly against him.

She cursed herself for pulling away first but her lungs were begging her for oxygen. They stayed close, resting their foreheads against one another. Joe's breath kissed the apples of her cheek as he exhaled.

"We should probably get back to the dorms before someone notices I'm gone," she whispered.

"I'll row us back," Joe hummed in agreement, though his hands remained where they were. "But, one more kiss couldn't hurt."

His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded as he looked at her, waiting for her permission.

Sadie slid her hand back into his soft, blonde hair and if they shared a few more kisses than their only witnesses were the full moon above them and the open water that surrounded them.

A/N: Would anyone be interested in reading any more about Sadie and Joe?

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

ʙᴏʙʙʏ's ɢɪʀʟ

(joe rantz x fem!reader)

Joe has a major crush on you, but you're Bobby's girl. Or so he thinks.

✣ warnings: cursing, mentions of fighting

✣ word count: 1.4k

✣ author’s note: I wish I had more time to work on this, but I've been busy with work, and a friend has been in town so ): I will definitely post more Joe though. hopefully it'll be better quality lol I just wasn't sure of what to write for Joe specifically so this is sort of a brain dump.

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

Joe Rantz has a major crush on you, but you’re Bobby’s girl- or that’s what he thought. 

The first time Joe sees you is when the team meets Bobby, their new coxswain. You had tagged along as you followed Bobby everywhere he went, as he did you. The two of you were as thick as thieves. It made Joe a little jealous because he thought you were attractive, and Bobby didn’t seem like the type to have a girl on his arm all the time. Don’t get him wrong, Joe respects Bobby. But he seemed more focused on other things rather than dating. Joe watched you that whole day when his attention wasn’t on rowing. As the weeks of practice continued, the more the boys got to know you. Plus, the more they improved, the more you cheered them on. You took pride in getting the boys in the boat to do better than before. And the more you pushed them from the dock, much like Bobby did in his seat, the more they showed out for you, especially Joe. Joe would catch you smiling at him, and he’d smile back but would quickly recover. You’re Bobby’s girl.

After the team’s first win, you’re glued to Bobby’s side at the celebratory party. Joe tries to keep his eyes off you and your stunning outfit but fails most of the night. At one point, you separate from Bobby to converse with Don and Chuck for a little while. Then, you find Joe, who is tucked away in the back of the gymnasium. He quickly looked away from you, not to give himself away.

“Enjoying the party?” you ask, nursing your punch glass.

“Not really my scene,” Joe shrugs.

“Oh,” you nod, “What is your scene, then?”

“The library, usually. Or the boat, of course.”

“I’d say so. You’re great at rowing. I love watching you all.”

Joe blushes at that, “I’m glad.”

Suddenly, Bobby pulls the needle off the record player on stage, forcibly introducing Don as the live music for the night. You and Joe watch, amused, as the boys shove Don across the stage and to the piano bench. Don dug his heels into the stage floor the best he could, to no avail. He nervously looks out at the crowd before beginning to play. 

“Wanna dance?” you ask Joe.

He hesitates for a moment before answering, “Sure.”

The two of you dance along to the music, singing along as well. Joe tries not to let himself get too deep in his head about how close you are to him. You sense this, trying not to get too handsy despite your inner desire to. You leave room between the two of you for it to be casual. When the song ends, you kiss Joe on the cheek and go to find Bobby. Joe’s cheek burns the rest of the night as he reaches up to brush his fingers across it a few times. He wanted to make sure what had happened was real.

Bobby encourages you to tag along with the team to the East Coast. This race was significant for the boys and would throw them off if you weren’t there. Bobby especially- Joe even more. On the train there, you sit with Bobby. You’re mid-conversation about the paper he’s reading when suddenly, Joe lunges at Chuck. You hurry to stand from your seat and pull them apart, following Joe to the other side of the train when he hurries away from the group.

You stand there momentarily as Joe catches his breath, his face beet red.

“What was that all about?”

Joe brushes you off, not making eye contact. You sigh and sit next to him.

“Chuck probably didn’t mean it like that, Joe,” you put a hand on his shoulder, “Even if he did, you know his jokes are shit anyway.”

Joe cracks a smile at that, glancing over at you without moving his head, “Yeah.”

Before you can say anything else, Chuck comes to apologize, and you get up and leave them to it. When you return to your seat, Bobby is smirking knowingly.

“What?” you ask, already knowing what’s gonna come out of his mouth.

“Nothing,” Bobby says, returning his eyes to the paper he was still reading.

“Just say it,” you sigh.

“You guys should kiss already.”

You snort, “I don’t think Joe likes me like that, Bobby.”

“It’s so obvious,” Bobby slams his paper down on his lap, “He’s so obvious, you’re so obvious. Just get together!”

But of course, it’s not that easy. Joe keeps his distance, so you keep yours out of respect for him. 

Securing the win to head to the Olympics meant preparing to go to Berlin. So, training and practice is never-ending. The stress is, too, and it bleeds into you and Bobby’s usually chill dynamic.

Everyone had already left the gymnasium except Joe one day after strenuous practice. He decided to piddle around for a little while. He had nowhere else to be, anyway. Joe sees you and Bobby getting into it by the boat and hangs back to eavesdrop.

“You have got to get your head in the game, Bobby! Stop worrying about everything else and keep your focus on the team.”

“It’s kind of hard when he’s making mistakes because he can’t stop thinking about you. It’s becoming a problem, and I think you need to fix it.”

Joe’s ears perk up at that. He couldn’t possibly be talking about him, right? That’s when you shove Bobby into the water. You wish he’d realize it isn’t that easy to solve.

Bobby resurfaces, pushing his hair from his eyes, “You bitch!” he squeaks in shock.

You start laughing like a maniac at his expression, and Joe is left wondering what is really going on between you and Bobby.

“What’s going on here?” Joe steps out, walks to the dock, and offers Bobby a hand from the water.

“Typical sibling banter,” you wave Joe off.

“Sibling?”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’m Bobby’s adopted sister.”

Joe’s face is one of shock. Bobby is behind the blonde, keeping him from throwing you into the water next. 

“Makes sense now,” Joe chuckles, blocking Bobby, “If I were you, I’d skedaddle.”

You make a run for the gymnasium quickly, Bobby trailing just a little behind. Joe shakes his head, relieved that you aren't Bobby’s girl. From then on, he paid more attention during practice now that he wasn’t plagued with thoughts of you and Bobby together.

The Olympics come quickly, and you’re nearly as nervous as Bobby. Berlin is an interesting sight, considering every surface is covered in Nazi propaganda. You can sense Bobby’s nervousness about it and try your best to ease him. Being someone of Jewish descent in a place like this was not easy. Don isn’t doing too well health-wise when you all arrive and skips out on the opening ceremony. You watch the USA walk with pride from the stands, your eyes on Joe the whole time.

You’re a ball of nerves during the qualifying race, but of course, that goes away when Bobby pulls his magic stunt, and the boys win yet again, making an Olympic record.  You’re beyond proud and can’t wait for how they compete for Gold.

The day comes for the final race, and when Bobby starts off delayed, your heart jumps out of your body. You’re on pins and needles the whole time, urging the boys to push. When the results of who won aren’t immediately apparent, you hold your breath and hope and pray, even, that your boys won. And sure enough, the USA takes the gold. You shoot up from your seat, cheering louder than anyone else around. When you finally are able to meet up with the team, you slam into Bobby full force in a bone-crushing hug.

When you pull away, Joe immediately approaches you and wraps his arms around you. 

“You did it!” you grin. 

“We did it,” Joe smiles, “But we couldn’t have done it without you and Bobby.”

You and Joe stare at each other momentarily, and Joe seems to be deep in thought about something. 

“Just kiss me, Joe,” you blurt, your arms still around his neck.

Joe throws caution to the wind and kisses you in front of the whole world, finally able to breathe with you pressed against him. The boys cheer, and Bobby stands there with his arms crossed, shaking his head with a smile. Finally, you have taken your leap of faith. But you were a stubborn Moch, after all.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

The Only Truth I Know Is You

[Series | In Progress]

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Stationed in Italy as a Flight Nurse with the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron, a combination of bad weather and an inexperienced Navigator lands you in the last place you ever imagined your World War II service would lead - a Prisoner of War Camp in Moosburg, Germany. As the months drag on and the camp’s population multiplies, your path crosses with all manner of humanity, including one rather broken pilot from Manitowoc, Wisconsin.

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Injuries, Gore, Angst, Suffering, Mental Health Struggles, Medical Settings and Procedures, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Borrowed heavily from the real life experiences of Reba Whittle. There are short documentaries about her on YouTube or if you want to deep dive, like me, you can read a copy of her imprisonment diary here. Special thanks to @precious-little-scoundrel for her invaluable assistance with the conception and formulation of this series! If you'd like to be tagged, just add a comment to this post!

Part One

Part Two [coming soon]

Part Three [coming soon]

Masters of the Air Masterlist

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Summary: It's July 1943, and the Second World War is raging across Europe and the Pacific. Ruth Morgan and Hope Armstrong are flight nurses with the 806th MAETS, stationed at Berkshire in England. When an unexpected reunion introduces some new faces into their lives, things will never be the same for the "Skytrain Girls."

MOTA Collab: Read more of Hope's story in "On a Wing and a Prayer" by the wonderful @footprintsinthesxnd!!!

Here you can follow Hope and Ruth’s story, along with the men of the 100th Bomb Group. This story is based on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA series. Jess and I both have nothing but the utmost respect for veterans on our blogs!!

You can learn more about Ruth Morgan here!!

Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts

The Dance

Listen to Your Heart

Bars, Bike Rides, and Bittersweet Goodbyes

The Dangerous Sky

One Helluva Party - coming 3/23!!

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

"Trust"

[In Progress]

John "Bucky" Egan x WAC!Female Reader

Assigned to Thorpe Abbots airfield in East Anglia in the spring of 1943, your life becomes hopelessly entangled with that of Major John “Bucky” Egan. At the mercy of forces far beyond your control, events will inevitably change you forever – if forever is something you can even count on.

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Injuries, Angst, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

I. "Do You Trust Me?"

II. "Just Had To Trust You."

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

IV. “I Trust You Know What You’re Doing?” [Coming Soon]

V. [Coming Soon]

VI. [Coming Soon]

Masters of the Air Masterlist

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Masters of the Air Fanfic

As requested by sweet @arianatheangel-girl and the subsequent poll for a “Buck Cleven Fic before the series comes out” -and I, being a madwoman with no impulse control and a faint recollection of the book, have delivered…this…whatever this is

Song Challenge: i was challenged by dear @the-ugly-swan for a twenty favored songs challenge and I’m gonna go ahead and make this part of it. August by Taylor Swift informed some of the bittersweet timeline here, with infidelity not being the enemy but rather the lack of possessing oneself fully during wartime to give to another

Spoilers: historical accuracy and inaccuracy abound here so, beware there are some biographical facts about Cleven in here that might count as spoilers to those who wish to watch the series with a blank slate. While to the history purists I must beg for a substantial amount of artistic license to be granted me, and obviously I’ve not seen the show yet and I crunched the timeline to my own will

Reader insert but without the use of “y/n” -I’m utterly fudging a bit on the likelihood of a WAAF lady being part of the American ground crew, however, I had in my minds eye the vision of a greasy mechanic and a glamorous flyboy and it wouldn’t budge, so shhh, go with the vibe

Warnings: mature, 18+. Fluffy smut was requested and while it is very brief and mild in here, not very explicit in phrasing, it’s quite present and a plot point so beware. Also, Virgin!Gale has my heart so we went with that. No shade to dear Marjorie irl, I’ll probably end up writing fics about her once the show gives me Inspo. Some angst due to war, POW’s, etc, mild language

Word count: a monstrous 12k

They came in like locusts at the height of summer, long prayed for, oft cursed in moments of perilous isolation, those ever so intriguingly shiny Americans.

Swarming with a metal buzz over the flatlands of East Anglia, big hulking beasts touched down on fresh tarmacs with more grace than anything that size ought to have, flashing the most bizarre and suggestive paintings on their gleaming fuselages. Flying Fortresses, they were called, and deserved the name. Nothing but the biggest, the loudest, the most alarming machinery would do for the American war effort, and now all this mighty strength was Britain’s too, no longer alone, no longer enduring.

Now the fight could be taken to the enemy in earnest. Out of their flying ships poured the most alarmingly young looking faces, jaunty hats and leather jackets, they looked every bit the sort of fellows war was advertised to.

Farmers in their tractors, mothers with daughters still under their command and RAF veterans all looked askance at such pristine warriors. Had their fertile fields been paved into airfields just for this? Were these gum chewing boys the long expected aid? It wasn’t anti-climactic, nothing American could ever be, it was all just alarmingly fresh. It was understandable then, the initial tentativeness the locals felt towards their new occupants, the way the boys took up such space in the rural villages, made such a racket in the pubs, chased every skirt that swished in the rainy summer breeze, stuck hands out for a shake no matter the introduction. They were a warm, boisterous and confident lot, all much needed attributes in wartime Britain, and soon, the initial distrust of the citizenry thawed, hands were shaken in return and invitations made. An amiable amalgamation eventually occurred, Norfolk never to recover or return to whatever placidity had been her’s before the arrival of the 100th.

Personally, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on them. The planes, that is.

Amalgamation was less a choice for yourself and your service members than a duty. It was abnormal, having a mixed ground crew, British and American servicemen too often clashing in hierarchy disputes for it to be standard, but with deployment rates so high and casualties mounting, ground crew became a case of whichever skilled individuals could be called upon to keep the operation running, the pilots up and the enemy bombed.

You were just glad to be near home, first time back since ‘39 when you’d signed up in the Women's Auxiliary Air Force -even if your rural hometown was now overrun with Americans. They weren’t a bad lot at all, at least not the ones you’d encountered so far on base. Amiable and unexpectedly eager, undeterred by veterans’ grim looks and tales of the woodchipper across the channel, that line of anti-aircraft that shredded anything trying to penetrate the continent.

“Better get crackin’ then.” Was the common response followed by a grin.

Your crew chief sergeant, Ken Lemmons, an American with a forelock of sandy ringlets and the patience of a saint, made the job easier even as every ounce of expertise was exacted from each man -or woman- under him. Feeding a fiery chain of bullets into the turret gun under a hot July sun, you thought your papa may have had the right of it when he tried to dissuade you from choosing the harsher duties of the Auxiliary Force. You could’ve been pouring over a map in the cool of the boardroom right now, or passing on radio messages, even shuttling planes would’ve been more relaxing, but no, you’d spent your life passing him tools in his garage, your papa had been building flying machines when most for these boys were still in diapers, and that path called to you, too. So for you it was grueling maintenance work and the ever present grime of grease on your hands and the awkward reach of twisted metal repairs. Gratefully, after their first mission, there were plenty of them back safe, however riddled their fortresses might’ve been.

It was interesting, the way certain of the flight crew treated the ships. Some were endeared but indifferent to their repairs while others hovered at each hole and tear, like over protective mothers, while you and your mates tried to do your jobs.

Why, one plane in the five assigned to your care was even named “Our Baby”. With such a moniker it made sense that its porcelain faced pilot would caress the shredded wing with a misty eyed frown at each wound, like it were a breathing thing, a race horse, a friend. You didn’t judge it, and he didn’t seem aware of his audience, he’d be back out there doing his own check up after debriefing. Never interrupting your work, always quick to step aside or duck out of the way of a ground crewman’s path, it wasn’t time to chatter or make introductions, although sometimes when the work took long and his reports longer, he’d be there to bid goodnight to you all, soft, American drawl saying “Goodnight, thank ya, goodnight, good work, thank ya” again and again to each.

You grew to recognize them, the ones each mission spared, there were so many and under hats and bundled in leather jackets they tended to blend together, but there were those who made their mark, if not on you then on Dorace in cartography and Eileen at the Red Cross. There was much tittering and speculation, after all, spread thin as their time was, there was also plenty of off time, made all the more charged and anxious as it came in the form of waiting for new orders. The men would be vibrating with nervous energy and generous in the flush of a recent victory and they took it out on the little villagers who in good British fashion took it on the chin and challenged them to a contest of good spirits.

Those were happy days, less anxious than the preceding ones and less heavy than those making up the year after. You dared be roped into the multiple pub crawls, often choosing the most sensible and quiet of the group as your victim and attaching yourself to their side for the evening. This tactic had its fallibility, sometimes those moderates were such a bore as to be unsupportable or hadn’t enough verve to make a full night of it and retired early like respectable, curfew-abiding saps. That’s how you found yourself one night ensconced in a beer pungent corner of Flaggen’s, green leather seats sticky under your palms, with Major Egan fanning out a wad of cash in front of you. It was a blatant attempt to bribe you to clear his aircraft sooner than the last inspection suggested.

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

If you were less tipsy you wouldn’t have giggled at the man’s idiocy, but his arm was heavy around your shoulders and this very cash had bought you one too many gin and tonics. “These regulations keep you alive!” You chided him, shaking your head and feeling the room tip as you did. Truly these Americans could hold their liquor, almost as well as the Polish Squadron when it came to a binge.

“A little flack isn’t gonna keep her down.” he scoffed, “I’ve been grounded for a week now-“

“-I don’t have the authority-“

“-and I’m not gonna sit here while Buck goes up and racks up his number!” Eagen was vehemently slurring and your drunken mind tried to process who Buck was, if not Egan himself.

“Aren’t you Bucky?” you asked, bewildered.

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

“So who’s Buck?” you concentrated very hard on the ancient coaster beneath your latest pint.

“It’s Buck! It’s Gale, Cleven, Major Gale Cleven!” Egan waxed louder and more dramatic with each addition. “You keep clearing his plane! But not mine! Why’s that, huh?”

“How do you know that?” you asked, dubious and only in the raucous of this little pub would his loud voice go unheeded. Compared to the ongoing dart game to the left behind the half wall, an elephant’s trumpeting would be considered bashful.

“ ‘Cause he tells me?” he replied, bewildered at your slowness, “Says you and your crew are little fairies, crawlin’ all over his plane and patching it up better than ever after each mission. And then you clear him. Simple as that.”

“I don’t have authority to clear anyone.” you repeated.

“Huh,” Egan grunted, “how’does he mean then?”

“I don’t know.” you replied firmly, “I doubt I’ve even got your plane, i don’t see you around.”

“I don’t stay around, that’s your job, patching up. I just fly the damn thing.”

“Oh, well.” you shrugged, “I’ve had five, it’s down to three after last mission.” Three years ago the mention of that ratio of losses would’ve sank your mood to the floorboards, by now it’s horrifically routine. “What’s yours called?”

“Mugwump.” he grinned proudly, a flash of white beneath his dark mustache, the man’s face positively shimmered with sweat.

“Serial?” you asked demurely, just to be difficult.

He squinted his eyes shut briefly, head tilted back as if to ask the heavens for help and the recited in a drill master’s staccato “42-30066, ma’am, yes ma’am.”

You giggled again and Egan’s arm jostled your shoulders, smushing you further into him. They were good fun, these boys, didn’t even mind your horrifyingly unflattering uniform with its bulging pockets adding bulk where your curves should take center stage and your stupid pleated cap making you look to be half baker, half doll. You preferred your plain navy coveralls but you’d hardly be let into an establishment in them. Egan’s warm arm didn’t seem to mind the excess poof of the material, he smashed it right down with his hand’s firm grip, he was fun, you decided, no harm in good fun. “Alas, not one of mine.” you sighed, focusing hard on the serial number.

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

“No,” you went on, “but I’ve got this one, a very spoiled one, maybe you know whose it is. They named it ‘Our Baby’!”

Poor manners and personnel etiquette though it was, you couldn’t say it without tittering.

Egan didn’t laugh, he just looked at you like you’d proved his point. “Yeah,” he replied vehemently, “That’s Buck Cleven’s!”

“Oooh.” -So it was him, the fighting cherub, the walking doughboy, toothpick, baby at wings: there were a dozen or more nicknames you and the ground crew gave the wing-petting Major behind his back. “He always says goodnight to us.” you said instead.

“Is that where he is when I wanna go for a drink?” Egan exclaimed, “Ha! You’d think he was married to the ole ship.”

“He handles her beautifully.” You feel oddly compelled to defend, he’s a master at flight and as someone who must repair each fault of his landings and his leavings and his missions, you feel some loyalty to his finesse. “He handles her so well.” you repeat in the tone of a woman who’s seen some aviation in her time, young though you may be.

“Well let me let you into a lil secret,” Egan smirks and you brace without knowing why, he is, after all, not the respectable and dull men you choose to go out with, he is the dangerous sort you bring those dullards along to deter, “shes the only ‘she’ that boy has ever ‘handled’ -if ya get my drift.”

The sleazy wag of his eyebrows leaves no room for ignorance, you feel your face heat up, wether in prudery for the topic or second hand embarrassment for his friend’s sake, you don’t know.

“Nothing wrong with that.” you reply coldy, only to distance yourself from the road his body language seemed to be hurtling you both down.

“Quite right. Nothin’ at all!” Egan agrees vehemently, his smile easy and his eyes clever “But I’d be a poor friend if I didn't try to remedy his predicament.”

“Telling me is somehow part of this remedy?” you were suspicious, rightfully so.

“Maybe.” Egan drawls it out, shifting in his seat to no longer corner you, his attention drawn to the nearby dart game. The man of the moment, the subject, the handler of planes and none else, was not here. He had such a luminous head of golden hair, it would be a beacon amongst the muddy haired crowd flinging darts. “The thing of it is, dear,” Egan confided, “I've had an absolutely marvelous time since I got here. And I think that’s rather essential, for sanity and for international relations, don’t you? I’ve gotten to know all sorts of wonderful people, lovely people like yourself-“

“-word is, you’ve known them a little too biblically, no wonder Cleven avoids your outings.” You could not help but temper him. “Half of Great Britain has had the privilege, if some are to be believed.”

“And so what if I have? I love dancin’!” he laughed quite happily at your barb and you didn’t have it in you to pull down any further a man who was sacrificing so much day in and out. “Getting to know Great Britain is a better occupation than pettin’ plane wings under the moonlight.”

You tittered again at his words and the oddly endearing memories you had of watching Major Ceven petting and whispering to his plane like she was his long-standing beloved, loitering ground crew unheeded. “He does do that.” you agreed.

“Hey, everyone’s got their method.” Egan insisted in his friend’s defense, “But I have told him, it’s good for the morale to mingle, even if he hates drinkin’.“

You pucker your face at that. “I know he mingles, Violet says he’s a doll when he goes to market.” you point out, small town chatter gets around and while you can’t say you know Cleven, you know he’s mild mannered and precious. And a terribly pretty face too, which isn’t fair, he oughta be an ass which a face that cute. “And he got a tan from somewhere last week.“

“Oh, so ya noticed!” Egan is triumphant, “A bunch of us used our day passes to go messin’ around in boats on the canals.”

“Good for you.” you didn’t know what else to say. “Why are we talking about him? What’s your point? I can ask for your plane to be transferred to my crew, but it won’t get you a sloppy clearance. And if your friend is so socially awkward he can’t even manage a pub night, you can hardly expect me to be flattered that you consider me prime material to throw at him.”

“He’s not awkward.” Egan cut to the chase quite serious, in mission mode, “Buck just had his hopes tangled up back home, and now he’s here he’s finding it hard to accept that hopes were all they were. She’s real moved on.” Well that had hurt, you winced in sympathy. “I warned him, everything during this war has got to be taken as a bit inpermanent. Don’t fall in love with Texas girls when you’re headed to England -via: Louisiana, Indiana, hell, by New York she’d stopped writing.”

“And now the texas girl has-“

“-found a Texan, I guess.” He shrugged and chugged the last of his pint. “She’s gettin’ married, it's really over. So, -“ he made a broad gesture as if to explain his reasoning for this entire segue. “-you like projects, you wouldn’t be in the line of work you’re in if ya didn’t, so whaddya say?”

You looked around the dimly lit pub in search of two things, sunny blonde hair and a clock to tell you how badly you were going to regret this night, come morning. “He’s not even here.” you balked.

“Well, no-“

“-what I say is,” you grinned at him disbelieving, “you owe me another gin and tonic for subjecting me to such inane chatter.”

His grin should have served as warning enough that he would neither drop the subject nor let you off free this evening. In fact, the ticking clock and its late curfew breaking hours became the least of your concerns come morning. The cool wash of bitter juniper blended into the pungent flow of beer, it blurred everything, soon there was a great swelling of pride for your native village, a pub crawl was on, all three visited and drank from, an army Jeep was requisitioned without authority, there was some incident regarding a policeman‘s helmet. The latter being the reason why you found yourself in “jail” the next morning, nursing a raging headache and questioning life decisions while glaring at John Egan’s polished boots.

There was very little talk about bail or Air Force hours being exceptioned, the more pressing concern to the Bobbies who had nabbed you was the coed holding cell. Thorpe Abbotts was a small place, after all, and you liked it that way. If this overly indulgent night could be kept away from the military police, all would be well.

You had one hope: Harry Crosby was sensibly absent from the holding cell, having a keen sense of when to depart from the raucous joyride at the precise moment to save himself a demerit. It was an extreme embarrassment to you that you’d not had the same sense. In fact, fond as you were of a bit of a knees up, you couldn’t quite credit the fact you had allowed yourself such free reign, or accomplished such foolishness. Glowering at Major Egan’s face now, animated with delighted chagrin at your shared plight as it was, you vowed to never again hook your fortunes to his, as it were.

Your resolve, and humiliation, was about to be compounded, exponentially.

There was a bustle of a visitor entering the precinct, easily heard in the small space, followed by the low hum of mild mannered conversation. It went on for sometime, and no amount of straining at the bars and cocking of ears would allow you, Egan or your fellow misfortunates to ascertain the gist of it. Violet’s husband was the main constable, and you were quite certain he’d be moderate in his sentence, he had his helmet back, after all. It was the Air Force penalty of not being on base in time this morning that you feared, a growing nausea that compounded the misery of your aching head. They’d not discharge Egan, they’d probably not even demote him, he was too crucial and he’d done this one too many times for it to be grace alone saving him. When he was needed, really needed, he was there. That’s what counted. The same could be said of you, but that hardly mattered given your low rank.

Violet’s husband, also known as constable Herbert, came in sight and with a jangle of keys and a tap to the side of his nose, swung open the bars of infamy and gestured for you and your fellow inmates to file out.

“All sorted.” He declared. His gaze lingered on you as it had many times in your life when you’d been caught jumping in puddles after church, “Let this be a lesson and a warning to you.”

You tried your best at both obeisance and penitence, both of which were rather natural feelings at the present time, while hurrying past as fast as was respectful, your approaching shift hours making your heart thump in panic.

On the steps outside, your savior was loitering against the wrought iron fence, thumbing at the petunias in the nearby window box. Gale Cleven was a mile long of lanky body in perfectly pressed and tailored Air Force greens, fresh faced as the good conscienced are, hair combed without his cap and a smile on his soft face that was composedly long suffering, rather than endeared, as he watched you miscreants pour out of the modest brick building.

You stumbled to a halt on the first step at the sight of him and allowed your instincts to take over, hands smoothing down hair and skirt with frantic self consciousness. You must’ve looked a rumple.

“I hope last night was worth it.” Cleven drawled in that voice of his, so oddly deep for so fresh a face, his placid smile growing into something more genuinely mirthful as Egan smooched at him in gratitude and swore that he knew his Buck wouldn’t abandon them, that his Buck would pull through for them. “I order a round of toothpaste for everyone and cold showers, you stink.” Gale shied away without any real effort, nodding in greeting to the boys he recognized.

Then, as if in the most painfully slow motion with all the strong string accompaniment of a silver screen scene, his eyes landed on you and an odd ache formed in your chest at the anticipation of his disapproval.

It made you tense and draw yourself up to your full height, looking about as regal as a drenched bantam in your disheveled dignity, but you weren’t about to be relegated to another tier than these boys he so amusedly indulged.

“Y’all know what time it is?” he asked mildy, those azure orbs with their batting dark fringe didn’t waver and you realized he indeed had more guts than you’d given him credit for.

There was a chorus of “no”s and various guesses based on the fast evaporating fog and the lightening sky.

“Zero five thirty.” he ended the suspense with the cock of an eyebrow at you.

“Shit!” Egan was suddenly animated, “Shit, shit-“

“Hey, you keep your swearin’ away from my sweet lil corporal.” Cleven chided, and it took you a brief moment to startle upon realizing he meant you. And he thought you sweet? “C’mon Miss,” he waved you down the steps and for some inexplicable reason you felt very compelled to obey and suddenly stood beneath his gaze like a dutiful child awaiting deliverance or censure, “I’ve only got this bike, petrol allotment ran out when we went to the canals last week. But it’ll get ya back faster than this lot. Reckon you can manage on the handlebar?”

“Wha-?“ you glanced sideways at the bike with its large, sweeping handlebars and second guessed his meaning until he himself was straddling it. His legs required the seat to be hiked up impossibly high and the narrow nip of his waist was accentuated by the posture. Those padded, fleece puffed jackets you had seen him in had done no credit to his form, a toothpick he may have been with how terribly lean he was, but he was firm in all the right places. He was also waiting on you to answer while you ogled him.

“Gosh yes, I can, if you’re sure? Awfully kind of you.” you blathered and moved in a hurry to make up for your stalling, keenly conscious of his eyes on your back as you shimmied your backside up onto his handlebars, feeling the warm press of his hand as he helped steady you from tipping all the way back. You wiggled on the thin metal bar, spreading your legs on either side of the front wheel and doing your best to ignore the raucous commentary of the still tipsy audience of your fellow inmates swaying on the precinct steps. “Y’all just be glad there’s no mission scheduled today.” he snarked to them instead and they chimed up that last night’s idiocy was calculated with that in mind.

“Huh.” Cleven uttered, unimpressed, behind you and it made you shiver, worse than if your father caught wind of this stunt. “Darlin’ put your hands over mine, s’gonna get wobbly takin’ off.” he directed next and you did as you were told, looking back over your shoulder at him with a grateful smile that you were relieved to see returned, pink lips stretching and a freckled nose bunching up sweetly when all of the sudden a rush caught you by surprise and the bike was in motion and you whipped your head back to view the street as it rushed up ahead of you. “See ya boys!” he hollered out as a mutinous babble rose from his friends at being left to jog back.

The young man could put some speed on a bike, uphill too. Or, as much of a hill as could be found this far East. You could hear him chuckle when you squeaked at the first jolt of a pothole, your thumbs hooking under his hands and curling into his palms. They were warm and calloused, dry from the cool breeze and you may have imagined the way he squeezed them in assaurance but you did not imagine the way his voice piped up again, smooth and conversational: “Harry told me if I was quick I could get you out in time, I think we’re gonna make it. S’dont worry, even if Sergeant Lemmons gives ya trouble, I’ll insist.”

“That’s really too kind of you.” The chill of windburn and a substantial amount of remorse made your cheeks glow scarlet. “All of it is. I’m rather ashamed.”

“I didn’t take you for an all nighter sort.” he agreed but followed it with a soothing compliment, “You’ve always been nothin’ but perfect. P-p-perfectly punctual, I mean, and there’s no reason to let Egan’s idea of fun ruin your record.”

“Wasn’t his fault. Not wholly.” you sighed, giving Violet a bashful wave as you passed her opening the shop, a wave which Cleven mirrored behind you and between the two of you letting go the bike, it nearly dumped you both. It was luck and sheer persistence that righted you and kept your balance. “I’m afraid it’s a bit of a bad habit, picked it up at Northolt.”

“Where’s that?” he asked.

“South, by the coast.” you said, unsure why you felt the need to explain your debauchery away, “I was working a ground crew down there for a bunch of Polish Pilots. Spitfires mainly. That squadron nabbed the most kills of any in the RAF back in ‘40. Why, even Churchill visited more times than I can count, he found them good fun. Too much fun, they never went to bed without downing half a barrel. There was dice built into the bottom of the pints at the Black Bull, rather addictive, rolling to see who would buy the next round. —There was always a next.” You added upon reflection.

That was also the year you had lost your brother. The correlation between the habit and the loss wasn’t to be dwelt on.

“Huh,” Cleven let out one of him contemplative hums, “and how do we compare?” he asked surprisingly.

“How?” you laughed, daring to crane your neck back to see him in the early morning sunshine, pretty and sweet and arch in his expression. Dusk had not done his mama’s work on his face any justice, it made you want to pant he was so pretty.

“I dunno, in any way,” he laughed in turn, not even breathless as he sped the bike over the cobblestones, the village barely awake and mostly quiet, “how do we compare?”

“To the Poles?”

“Or the French. Or your own, the RAF ain’t no joke.” he amended, “Whoever is our competition.”

“So it is a competition.” you smirked -how very American of him. “Depends,” you hedged playfully, “Our boys are so very nice, familiar, they never run out the right coinage during a date either. But the French are better flirts while the Dutch are better dancers. But the Poles, they know how to romance. Lots of hand kissing and flowers, so many flowers there had to be rules made for overstocking the billet.”

“Sounds like we gotta step up our game.” he decided.

“Is that what you meant? How you compare? First impressions?”

“I-I- guess, yeah.” he now sounded confused, “I mean, what else? You got scores for aircraft?”

“I do.” you replied, as it was true, “But that’s unfair, you’ve only just arrived. I thought maybe you wanted to know something more -salacious.”

“Like?” His tone behind you was guarded and you doubted if the alcohol of last night were not still buzzing and fortifying your brazenness, that you’d ever go through with what you said next.

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

You felt his fingers flutter around the bars beneath your own, you gripped them tighter, not just because the stretch of old road before the air base was ancient and pitted but because you were in an agony of suspense as to how he’d take your forwardness.

“There’s a record of that somewhere?” he asked at last, a beat too long, too delayed for casualness, too morose for flippancy.

“In fact there is.” you responded carefully. “A little diary of rankings, actually, there’s multiple and whenever there’s a grand assembly of the WAAF or the WACs, they’re passed about and tallied.”

“Sweet Jesus.” he swore behind you, “And here I’ve been chalkin’ up railways and munition dump targets like they’re some achievement.”

“Oh it’s all a bit of silliness.” You assured, not intending to make him glum.

“Do-“ he hesitated and you prayed for strength for him to spit it out as the airfield came in sight on the flat plain ahead. He didn’t.

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

“Are one of these little tallies yours?” he asked miserably.

You grinned to yourself and felt the sunshine seemed brighter and the air crisper than ever before as it rushed in your face with the slowing speed of his bike. “No, not in the least. I merely keep track of Sally’s ledger. It’s all a bit too -messy, for me.”

You dared peak behind you again and he looked relieved, then blushed furiously at your observance of him. “Well, who does Sally say is winning?” he dared.

“Romania.” you chortled and he did too, in shock if nothing else. “But Egan’s caught wind of it, he’s quite determined to save your country’s dominance, you don’t need to sweat it.”

His frown was back and you had to focus on not falling off as he slowed the bike to a halt, momentum precarious as his long legs kicked out and walked it the last yard to the segregated barracks, you felt his hand again on your waist to steady you. “Does that bother you?” he asked earnestly, sorrow in his blue eyes.

He offered a hand for you as you hopped down and it was you who held onto it long after it was needed. “Bother me?”

“Yeah, him -consortin’…with Sally?” he pressed, hands quite engulfing your one, “Does it hurt you? Bucky, see, he doesn’t mean to hurt, he’s just so-“

“-Blimey, you are a dear.” you marveled and then amended your interruption as your amusement only further creased that sweet face, “If I am ever again in Major Egan’s company, it will only be to escape it just as quickly. I’ve had quite enough of…consorting.”

“That so?” The lackadaisical confidence he exhibited outside of the precinct was back again, a not unattractive smirk plastered on his vulnerable face, a scheme in his guileless eyes. “Had enough of holding cells?”

“Quite.” you smirked back. “A quiet family dinner is more my style, the occasional picnic, even a zip round Oxford as one must show the foreigners about.” you paused and squeezed his hand once more, “And I do enjoy a bike ride.”

You did not know if he cataloged your preferences for an ideal date or not, life was busy, after all, and the momentary frolics in the July sunshine and banter on the tarmac and evenings in the pub were the exception. Time went on. Most of life was spent in the air, in his case, and in yours, beneath the belly of his beast, wrench in hand. But ever after his gallant rescue of you, there was more than the passing “goodnight” paid to you, there were cheerful smiles on his exhausted face when he returned from a mission, as if you were the one face he was coming back to. With an old familiar dread you noticed the way you begin to take each hole and dent and damage to his plane personally, as if it had been exacted on something precious to you. You have begun to care, for him and for his men, and your tired heart could barely do more than dread what that might lead to.

Good fun. That’s what these boys were supposed to be.

Gale Cleven hadn’t proven much fun. And somehow that was worse. It was worse and also unbearably honoring to be the last face he saw before taking it off, flags in your hands waving in front of his hulking bomber, giving the old familiar directions for a perfect takeoff, one he executed sublimely time and again. His sober, purposeful nods to you before he engaged and taxied out for a mission of death was more intense and intimate than any bouquet or even, your thought, a kiss. It was true the donut dollies on the sidelines were often the last faces of home that many of those boys would see. But in the his cockpit, looking down at your shrimp sized figure on the tarmac, both Major Cleven and you knew that for him, it was yours.

Once, there was a scare, in the first days of august. More than a scare if you were being honest, your heartbeat about stopped and didn’t pick back up for a few hours until word came in. The rest of the base wasn’t much better.

Ten planes had not come back. -Among them, Our Baby. And Mugwump. For two officers, so crucial, so senior, idolized and beloved as they were, to not return, was a blow like none other. You weren’t alone in hovering around the control shack, taking license of your friendship with Dorace to get a play by play of any news. When news came, such as it was, it was both relieving and exasperating.

It would seem there was some problem, a defect or too great of a hit. Orders to land in enemy territory were ignored, however, by Cleven no less. He had doggedly pushed on, safely landing them in allied Africa, of all places. It took almost a day for this information to finally be pasted together, by the end of it you were sad, haggard and half useless in your coveralls, stupendously relieved for a man you were supposed to feel professionally about.

Instead, that night, tucked in your own bed after a meal with your parents and little brother, you thanked God for keeping him -them, all of them- safe. And found yourself pondering the tan on him when he got back from his African foray. Some jealous part of you feared he might be kept there but a week later the thunderous hum of approaching bombers buzzed the air overhead of Thorpe Abbotts and the satisfying thwump of wheels touching down brought them back. There was a frenzy of greetings, flight and ground crew eager to welcome them back, the radio operators, too, and even the civilians who’d managed to get on base.

Your little brother among them. Donald wanted to see them back safe and it wasn’t dangerous, and it wasn’t dire, not returning from a mission the planes wouldn’t be in such poor shape. They’d been repaired in Africa, enough to fly them all the way back to England. So little Donald was nearby and when the crowd parted and a bee-line for Cleven became apparent, he took advantage and gave the young man a firm handshake in greeting.

“Hey buddy, thank ya, who do you belong to?” Buck laughed while returning the firm grip.

“I’m her brother.” Donald pointed you out proudly among the dispersing crowd and you rolled your eyes at his expectancy for Gale to know or care about you, more than your most pertinent work on base.

“Oh are ya now, hers, huh?” he grinned at you, “Been talkin’ about me?” he greeted, there was a still healing scrape on his left temple that your fingers itched to soothe. How badly had he hit his head?

“Of course I have.” you defended, happiness bubbling under your lips and threatening to make you smile more than was professional, you could see Sergeant Lemmons observing you from the side and tried to keep some decorum. “We thought you’d died.” You stated plainly, it wasn’t any secret to Donald, as soon as the plane had gone missing and before radio contact had been reestablished, you’d rushed home and made the family pray over supper.

“We’ve been praying for you.” Donald agreed, and you saw Cleven startle, a gasped intake of breath between those lush lips and his eyes seemed to water as he searched first your brother’s face and then your own.

“You have?” he choked out, raspy and touched.

“Yes.” you whispered, mouth twisting in a ugly grimace to hold back your own emotion. It was of little use, something beyond War Effort investment in his well being had been admitted. “We thought you might be dea-“

-you didn’t finish your reiteration of your dread. Your face, a greasy and mist spattered face, was suddenly smushed into the padded leather of his bomber jacket, nose tucked right into the fleece apex where his pale blue scarf always rested on his throat.

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

“-even though it made the potatoes cold, Da insisted on prayin’ every night after she told us-“ Donald was waxing eloquent on his own sacrifices of having one added prayer request lengthening his mealtime but you were oblivious to more than the firm press of Cleven’s still gloved hand to the back of your scarf wrapped head, some strong emotion shuddering through his body against your own. A tremor of terror and pain, you suspected, emotions he’d been suppressing all week.

After all, the saved weren’t supposed to be shaken up. They’d been saved, what was there to be off about? You’d seen enough pilots after a close call to know it was every bit as bad or worse than actual disaster. They’d send him right back up again in days, and that was what was expected, demanded, required. He was tremoring against you and you gripped him tighter, sympathetic and aching to cure it somehow. Even for a moment.

“We’ll keep praying.” you assured, and you heard him clear his throat, snotty and rough. “Oh, blast, I’ve positively greased your jacket.” you mourned as he let you go, finally, and you caught sight of the mess your filthy hands and face had imprinted on it during the embrace.

He chuckled as he looked down at the imprint, “S’fine.”

After such an exchange of emotion the air felt charged between you two, without privacy or precedence, it felt unthinkable to linger in that mood. You turned to his plane and pet the fuselage with unstudied fondness, it had been horrid having the old bird absent. You were not above having favorites and the love he poured into his ship, somehow, like some old fairytale truism, made the hulking metal beast lovable, in turn. “How’s our baby, hmm?” you asked him, giving him a sly smile and he took your proffered out seamlessly, joining you in cataloging the damage that had not been deemed severe enough to hamper his return.

“Don’t crawl under here, sir!” you protested as you wiggled under the belly only to find him beside you in the plane’s shadow, “You’ll be a mess!”

“I’ve already got stains.” he brushed your worries off, and you knew it was true. Bloodstains in fact. He had lost a man, the report said, and apparently, judging by his trousers, Buck had held the poor fellow as he bled out. “And I wanna show you the spot I’m worried ‘bout.”

“Alright.” you conceded, allowing him to direct you to the nose. “Watch it Donald!” you had to reprimand your little brother who predictably followed after, “You’ll burn yourself if you touch that, this thing was just running.”

“Careful buddy.” Gale echoed gently beside you and pushed his little head down, more into a crawl. You refused to allow the gentle way he treated the brat to warm you, you refused. Or at least, you refused to let it show, the tingle and heat you felt being all too consuming to be denied.

He was lovely. But you already knew that. He was even more lovely when, upon crawling out from under Our Baby, he took his scarf from around his neck, silk decadently soft, flesh warmed and smelling strongly of his exertions, and swiped it across your greased cheek.

“You’ve got just a lil more…” he practically mumbled and wiped down to your chin, firm, gentle little rubs of the silk which required his other hand to grasp your chin to steady you. You weren’t sure when he’d taken off his gloves, but the feel of his skin on yours was heady.

“It’ll take a couple days.” You predicted regarding the repairs, “Which means you’ll have a few days free, if they don’t drown you in reports.”

“Oh they will.” he laughed, “But s’long as my days are free, means yours aren’t.” he pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.”

“We shoulda thought of that when we chose this line of work.” he joked and your cheeks flamed at the realization he wished to spend time with you. “But you’ll have your nights still, yeah?”

Coming from anyone else, the request for your nights to be reserved would strike you as suggestive indeed. But this was Buck, and when he mentioned nights you imagined nothing but taking him home for a tepid potato and rationed powdered milk supper and the warm reception of your family. His weary eyes suggested how badly he needed that. You could give it to him, and it made your heart glow.

“Yes, I’ll have my nights.” you agreed, “And you can have them, too.”

Sergeant Lemmons agreed with your estimation of Our Baby’s damage the following day and four long days after were spent patching up damage that suggested what a hellish ride that must’ve been. Someone else hosed the blood out of the bay but it turned the puddle on the concrete beside you sickly pink.

To and fro from office to barracks to observation tower, Cleven would stop by to see his ‘baby’ on these occasions. The heckling the ground crew gave you regarding this potential double meaning was agonizing and almost made his attentions not worth it. But then he’d be dropping to a squat to chat with you as you soldered metal, heedless of the sparks, or else bringing scones from the mess to refresh you and, again, wiping your face often with his fancy scarves despite your protests that it was futile.

And at night, on the second day, you made good on yours and Donald’s word and brought him to dinner. It was a quiet walk from the base to the end of the long main road, right to the outskirts of the village, where your family’s unassuming little thatched cottage nestled amongst mama’s victory garden, daddy’s aeroplane hanger and repair shop loomed ugly and dark behind.

The look on Buck’s face when you met him outside the base’s gate at seven in the evening in a dress and heels was worth capturing. But you hadn’t a camera with you and it wasn’t like you were liable to forget. His pure look of awe and appreciation for your cleaned up and girlish state was nearly comic if it weren’t so flattering.

“Darlin-“ he began in a rush but did not finish, only taking you lightly by the fingertips and spinning you slowly, his eyes wide like he was seeing a marvel, which, maybe he was, -your womanly form finally liberated from puffy uniforms and ugly coveralls. Wholesome as your intentions were for the evening, and indeed for him in general, it was some relief and delight to know he was capable of getting hot under the collar. His mama’s well drilled manners soon caught up to his unbridled appreciation and a deluge of charmingly proper compliments rained down on you next until you had to put a stop to his babble by tugging him down the road with the reminder of dinner as incentive.

“You’re sure they won’t mind?” he began his worries again, nervous to meet your parents.

If he’d been like the rest of the boys he’d know just how much mingling was already common. It wasn’t remotely odd to bring him home, not when you lived so near. “Don’t be silly, they’ve been begging to meet you and Donald has plans of torturing you with his plane models and Papa wants to show you his shop and mama thinks you're much too skinny, I’m sure she’s gone to the black market to grab something to fatten you-“

“-how’s she know that?” he interrupted in shock.

“Oh,” you flushed, realizing your misstep, “I’ve talked of you. And she recognized you, she and Violet are thick as thieves and -it’s not like you’re unremarkable. A physical description is rather easy to give when you, well, when you look like…you.”

“What do I look like?” he cried out but his cheeks were smiling despite his outrage, “Malnourished?”

“Like a lanky cherub.” you refuted and were pleased that the late summer sun was still bright enough at this long hour to show his pretty blush.

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

“Yes.” you were firm, both in tone and the press of your hand in the crook of his offered elbow, “And as we’ve been commended to entertain angels unaware, how much more when we are certain of one?”

“Oh shut up.” he begged you and you two staggered into each other as you laughed your hearts out. It felt good to laugh, for the both of you, and a little too foreign, as well. It left a hollow melancholy in its wake that was soothed by the near and swaying proximity of each other’s body.

“They’ll be glad to have you at the table.” you dared go on, feeling you should prepare him, should the subject arise, “I’ve a brother, you see, an older brother. Rafe, he was stationed in Burma. We’ve not heard of him in over two years. There’s an empty seat at our table, it takes a certain sort of soul to fill it without it feeling like a sacrilege. But you fit the bill nicely, I think.”

“Burma.” he repeated with all the gravity of a man who understood, who knew the ache of almost hoping a dear brother, a beloved son, was dead rather than enduring the slow hell of a Japanese internment camp. How awful to almost wish for a decisive end for one so loved. “No word at all?”

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, “And thanks for making it back, yourself.” you squeezed his arm jovially and felt his other hand fall atop yours there in the crook of his elbow and a sweetness filled you at the gesture, such as you’d never known before. It was peaceful and lovely and your little village suddenly looked as pretty and idyllic again as it was always supposed to, the routine route home was seen through his eyes, the eyes of a homesick boy with a soft girl on his arm, bound to meet her parents and inspect Donald’s plane models.

Your mother and father loved him, little surprise there, he was a darling and homesick and yours was a happy home, humble and wounded though it may be. Your mother was obnoxious in her delight the moment father took him out back to see where your expertise for welding first began, the little aerodrome, no longer fitted with pleasure craft but now fitted to scrap the more useless casualties. Mother pestered you as you helped clear the table, asking after him and whatever this thing was between you. When you assured her it was only dinner to fill that chair and some unfathomable knowledge that had grown each time you stood before his propeller and waved him off to death, she knew it for what it is.

War and the urgency of living that goes with it, shrinks long emotions into fast passion and steady hearts into foolish daring. Neither of you were the sort to tumble into the passing vogue passions that had seized hold of your friends and comrades. Yours was a quieter path. Even so, after the fourth evening of dinner rations and quiet fireside chatter and the patter of late summer rain on the roof, there was a kiss as he walked you back to base, his jacket over your shoulders, his shirt clinging to him and the sweetest intent etched on his misted features as his lips descended to yours.

“Thank you,” he had said so passionately yet so subdued, a wall of wisteria at your back and his honey blonde hair dripping into his eyes, “I’ve needed this bad.”

His words suggested the family dinners, his scorching lips suggested the molded flesh of your body in his large palms.

“So you’ve wanted this?” your breathed mixed, a hazy little cloud between you in the damp evening air, your little alcove of shelter from the rain under old Mosley’s shed was like another little world entirely, fauna filled and peaceful, even the ever present drone of machinery was drowned out by the downpour.

Your mother had been right, you should've waited longer till the clouds passed but you had both cited curfew -and maybe even subconsciously sought just such a predicament as the one that had you necking Gale Cleven in a wisteria claimed tool shed.

“I’ve wanted you.” he clarified, firm grip on the base of your neck punctuating his turmoil, his lips met yours again and whatever oath of abstinence he had chosen, it did not seem to include kissing. He was soft and persistent and all consuming, those restless hands migrating in an ever mapping caress, making every part of you thrum with butterflies. “Wanted you for a long while.” he spoke into your lips, “I think you’re just great.” And there was happiness then, untinged with anything temporal beyond the feel of warm flesh beneath cold, rain soaked cloth and lips that tasted of honeyed biscuits.

It was impossible to maintain the stoic propriety of behavior you’d once managed before, on base, after that. You knew now how he sounded when he moaned into your mouth and he his stare alone could make you blush, you had spoken to his mother on the phone and he had seen your childhood bedroom. He learned once, laying amongst sea grass on the beach during a cloudy Sunday, the silky moist feel of you beneath your swimsuit, his long, bashful fingers that were ever so fond of petting anything and everything, finally finding a place that responded to his swipes with jolts and gasps and sighs and pleasure. You peaked three times on that sand dune, Buck none the wiser as he had nothing to compare your little deaths to, you kept a firm grip on his forearm and told him he was doing marvelous and that’s all it took for him to be persistent. Persistent beyond what you imagined any other man could be due to cramp. He was getting freckles from so much sunshine, but it was well, the rains would be here soon come autumn.

These happy days had you risking your life to pause your work and watch his pretty form swagger across the asphalt to his next destination and he, ever so right and proper and by the book, became devil enough to lie in wait for you and catch you by the waist when you least suspected it and drag you into some abandoned corner.

Only to kiss you.

To kiss and to ask after your day, as if your evening was not to be spent sat beside him at table or the movies, lying on a picnic blanket with him near or in the back of a jeep on top of Mayberry Rise, the tallest point around where the stars ran into the sea on the horizon.

One of the first days of September, you made good on your promise to Harry and drove with him to muck about Oxford for a day and see the college, the library, too. It was a long ride and as you were at the wheel, Harry was gem enough to allow Gale along, too, and by the end of it, driving back late and in a rush before the headlights would be needed, you were quoting favorite literary passages to each other. As if you were all students, not misplaced youths in the business of killing.

You said as much and in the burgeoning gloom Gale’s rich voice asked if you knew any Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

“No, I don’t.” You admitted, for all your chiding today of their not being cultured enough, you didn’t know your American writers as you should.

“He’s got a poem for that.” Gale said, “For what you said. Or at least, it makes me think of today -that verse, ‘member Crosby?- the one it goes:

-I remember the gleams and glooms that dart across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part, Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song, Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

The deafening silence for the rest of the car ride was filled with truth and your own heart was heavy when you bid them both goodnight that evening, headed to your seperate billets. You paused in you departure to turn back once more at the door and holler to Buck in the chilled September air, “That poem, is there more of it?”

“Lots more.” he’d spun round on his heel, pleasantly surprised at your inquiry.

“What’s it called?” you intended to search it out, though it was doubtful that a copy would be found near this remote place.

“How about I write it out for ya?” he suggested as if thinking the same.

“You’ve got a whole damn poem memorized?” you balked, incredulity warring with amusement that you should’ve guessed he’d be the sort.

“I-I-I might.” he stuttered before laughing.

“Then please do.” you grinned and threw him a kiss across the distance which he jumped up and caught from the air in a grand show of dedication. “Goodnight, cherub.” you wished him, “Sleep tight.” He had a mission in the morning, a daylight one.

“Goodnight old Bean.” He teased your accent and the door swung shut behind you blocking out the cold and the retreating sound of his footsteps.

If you’d have known that was the last time you’d hear them you’d have stayed an age out in the cold night listening to him go, memorizing the cadence of his gait, the sway of his shoulders disappearing into the twilight, the turn of his head as he’d throw a glance back at you, sweet and handsome and cheerful despite his ominous itinerary.

If you’d have only known.

It wasn’t like last time, like Africa. There had been no loss of contact. Dorace had heard every awful minute until the clock ran out. They’d been shredded, their precious ship turned into a raging inferno and Major Cleven’s gritted and garbled transmissions left only one hope that some at least had jumped out. Jumped out only to land in Nazi occupied Europe, it was a faint mercy to cling to.

The empty chair sat next to you again at the table and mocked you all. Mocked your hope and your resilience to dare love again. How foolish to bring home a man who belonged to a group they were calling “Bloody”, and not as a curse but an epithet.

The losses had been staggering all summer and now in September they hit close. You were confident that Crosby and Egan were every bit as dismal inside as you felt, Egan’s warm hand had clasped your shoulder like you were a fellow officer and told you he was sorry. You took the condolences and gave them back, a stupid little exchange that only highlighted how unspeakable some pain is.

Three weeks later, Egan’s plane didn’t come back either.

In your more fanciful moments you allowed yourself to imagine Egan and Cleven alive, somewhat whole and reunited. You could almost hear Cleven’s joking welcome, “What took you so long, Bucky?”

You’d indulged these fancies for Rafe, too, until years of silence suggested the worst.

However, this time, well into October and with an entirely new set of planes under your care, word came at last through the Red Cross, and the truth was exactly as you’d dreamed. There was only the paltriest letter back to command but it said they were well, they were alive, together indeed and being moved to the Polish border. Away from their own comrades' bombs. It was more than most ever got, and your family celebrated the news with the gratitude it deserved.

As October turned to November and your gloved fingertips froze as you worked, every sharp needle of chill reminded you of him, how much more awful it must be that far north, snow piled deep and muck everywhere and lice covered blankets and illness left untreated. As the holidays hurtled nearer, days of peace and goodwill you had planned to be spent with him, you were consumed by the dread of losing him to the elements since war had proven too clement. At night you lay abed and reread the one bit of handwriting you had from him, that damned poem he had written out, left under your door in the early dawn that had taken him from you.

My lost youth. That was the title of the thing. It cut like glass every time you read it, but Buck had touched that paper and looped those letters and dotted those i’s and it was precious to you. It became a prayer of sorts.

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”

Then, in January, as if prayers got heard, the most unexpected happened.

Major Gale Cleven, what was left of him after cold, starvation, murder and a treck across Europe, had returned. Things like this, seeing your lost beloved ride up to your workplace in the shotgun seat of a jeep, was the stuff of movies, hopeful propaganda or a woman’s mind that had finally cracked. You just stood there, welding helmet in hand, frozen rain spitting down at you, watching him jump out, watching Harry tear down from the observation tower to embrace him.

Dully, you could hear behind you Segreant Lemmons kind cheer of “so it was true, he got away from the bastards!” and a congratulatory thump between your shoulder blades. It was a moment of truth, to realize how far your faith had dwindled when the very answer to your prayers stood steaming with life in the cold air and yet you still could not accept it as reality.

“Baby.” his hands were warm compared to your damp cheeks and the span of them, so familiar and large, cupping your jaw with the calloused thumbs swiping at your temples, that was reminiscent of August and of happier days. Yet still, you had dreamed of him doing this, dreamed of a million different embraces and each time you woke up. “Baby, I’m back, I came to ya.” his voice was wrecked, from disuse and illness and whatever misery that had subjected him to. That, that was real enough, the rattling cough more so, you’d imagined his suffering in your worst nightmares too, this was something you could believe.

Familiar flesh was gaunt under your touch, gray cheeks where once there’d been freckles and the sinful pout of his once ruby red mouth was a dull violet, as if the vitality had been leached out of him. “What’d they do to my cherub?” you mourned, worst nightmares and wildest hopes blending into this one moment.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry f’me, I’m back. I came back.” he cooed to you, rough and sad himself, and your face was buried again in the placard of his coat, a great woolen overcoat this time, no fleece or any vestige of the swanky finery that got the flyboys ribbed for being soft, fancy, spoiled.

Nothing soft about these men, nothing gentle about their lot, nothing glamorous about being hurled down from the skies in a ball of fire.

“We kept praying for you.” you realized, it seemed important to tell him that however hopeless you all had felt, you’d gone through the motions anyway.

That was faith, wasn’t it? The hope of things not seen?

“I felt ‘em.” he said. “How else you think I managed it?”

It. -had managed it, that tiny word represented a host of terrors and miseries and unforgettable incidents that ricocheted in his brain like the lead fired into his boys head’s when they couldn’t manage a forced march, barefoot and underfed, in the snow.

Christmas had passed but January was not so very advanced, that evening your family turned back the clock and it was a matter of guessing as to who was celebrated more, baby Jesus or Buck Cleven. The two seemed intertwined at this point and in the warm glow of gas lamps and rationed toddy, with Buck’s hollow cheeks beginning to bloom and his dull eyes starting to animate, some part of you finally understood why so many felt worshipful on the holiday. The shit war rations felt like a feast, mama’s canned vegetables being the freshest thing he’d eaten in ages and with him sat at table again, empty chair filled, his hand creeping into your lap to lace with your own, there was peace.

Even the airforce, hard driving and high demanding though it was, took one look at his battered condition and admitted a period of conveyance was due. It wouldn’t do to send up a shoddy pilot, lose another plane, yet another crew or a hero of the hundredth. It’s not every day one of your squadron leaders escapes a POW camp and marches over occupied Europe and fordes the Channel to get back home.

A month was set aside. And you took as many weekday passes as you could during that month, happier than anything that he had been permitted to stay in town, to lodge with one of the locals. Rafe’s room was now occupied by him and mama’s broth was poured down Gale’s throat twice daily and his days kept busy with paperwork and Donald’s math problems. The ticking clock, the passing days, like the evil crocodile gobbling up time, was politely and britishly ignored in favor of enjoying what was. You no longer slept with the tear stained and crumpled poem clasped to your throat but his head lay there often enough instead. The thump of your heart helping him sleep, because exhausted and sick as he was, sleep and solitude were not comforts.

He was wracked with guilt for leaving Egan and his men behind, it had been every man for himself during that brutal forced march, he knew that and yet he’d left a friend behind. Buck waited for news of Egan like you’d waited for news of him. Nameless and senseless guilt ruining much of his own success and peace.

“He’d have expected nothing less of you.” you had taken to reminding him, “He’d be angry if you hadn’t taken the opportunity like you did.”

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

You admitted to him then, the horrid guilt of feeling that somehow, some missed defect or some lousy flaw had been the reason he’d been downed. Your work somehow not sufficient to keep him in the skies. When you’d admitted as much, Sergeant Lemmons had looked at you with all the censure such moronic introspection deserved: “Cleven got bombed to hell. He expected it, daytime raid and all. Blame the Nazis.”

“Blame the Nazis.” you suggested now to Gale as he lay sprawled in your arms, sweaty and feverish but his color was back and he looked pretty as anything so alive and near.

He looked ready to dare something, his face hovering nearer yours and the heavy weight of his limbs suddenly feeling full of intent but then his sparkling eye caught sight of something in the doorway and his lips quirked and his body shifted away.

“Whatcha doin’ sulkin’ out there Donny?” he addressed your brother and sure enough the little scamp emerged from the shadow of the doorway and joined you two on the bed, comic book clutched in his hands. They had a routine, apparently, Papa was no longer the chosen one for bedtime stories. It made you want to wince in anticipation for when Buck would move back to base and things would become full of dread again.

That day came sooner than you’d counted on. A month is not so very long, after all, and it was filled with so much work and business, stolen moments at home hardly being the norm.

“It’s an easy mission.” he’d said at dinner, as if arguing the point to you all. You knew he was trying to convince himself more than anything and so you all let him specify just how easy, how routine, how utterly unworrying tomorrow's flight would -should- be.

If it’s hard to get back into the saddle after being bucked off, how much worse to climb back into a plane after being tossed from the skies.

That evening he lounged on your bed instead of Rafe’s, the house emptied as your mother and father took Donny to the movies, the appeal of a new film finally showing cited as being too alluring to resist. He was lost in his thoughts, watching you go about your little evening routines that you tried to maintain when at home. It was domestic and cozy, warm where the world outside was cold and then there was Buck, golden as anything in the low lamp light, utterly unaware of the figure he cut lying on his side.

“I’ve missed it.” he told you, “Flying, I’ve missed it.”

“Of course you have. You were born for it.” you murmured.

“Ya know,” he reflected, “I signed up for the Air Force before it all got hot, before Pearl Harbor. I was gonna fly no matter what. I remember grittin’ my teeth durin’ training and tellin’ myself it would all be worth it. Just hang in there and it would pay off. I just felt something important would need me. Hell, guess I got more than I ever bargained for, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

“I couldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in it.” He insisted and you knew he was talking to himself again, until his face turned towards yours and the softest look of fondness crossed features turning them almost pained when he said next, “I couldn’t do it, get back up there, if it weren’t for love. The rightness of it but -love, for my boys, my family. For you.”

“I know, and we’re terribly lucky to have your devotion. -And…and I love you, too.” you vowed earnestly, then giggled at the absurdity of this being the first time to admit it.

“I’d had my suspicions.” he grinned back, some of that old cockiness returning along with his vigor as he snagged your wrist and pulled you down beside him.

“Do you know why my parents have gone?” you asked him pointedly, turning on your side to face him.

“To see a movie.” His face was so innocently perplexed you almost lost control of yourself and ruined the game right then with something terribly forward.

“My parents aren’t in the habit of seeing movies.” you corrected him soberly.

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

“Oh they’re at the movies.” you smirked, “But they’ve gone for us.”

Gale’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, if not of you then of his own naïveté. “For us.” he repeated and his voice had dropped an octave in the interim.

“Yes. Something about wanting us to have a goodbye.” you quoted.

“I’m not dying tomorrow.” he pointed his finger firmly in your face and it made you smile to see him so fiesty again.

“No,” you agreed with his prophecy, “but I wanted to give you some incentive to hurry back.”

“Oh?” those lips of his puckered again in confusion before his smarts caught up with him and the pink corner tugged up in mischief, “Ooooh.” he repeated, suddenly very close, his energy, his body, his heart, inches from being one with you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, oh yes.” you confirmed, slotting your lips against his gently only to be met with eager, desperate need in his own kisses.

Your childhood bed was narrow and the counterpane below you familiar and dear, stitched by your mother in colors you’d once wished to update upon entering maturity. Now, laid out in perfect security and familiarity, you watched Buck Cleven dangle a toe off the abyss before diving in, pausing to caress the blanket beside your hip, smiling to himself.

“What?” you were breathless to know every thought in that dear head.

“My mama made me one, looks lots like this.” his eyes were watery soft yet his smile was glad, his hips narrow and sharp in the cradle of your own, stark hipbones not yet padded by your mother’s cooking pressed you down into the bedding, grounded and right. “You’ve made me real at home here.” he whispered and it pleased you ever so much. “Do I dare take this last liberty?” he muttered as if to himself, even as those blue orbs bore into your own, his fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt and you ached from need long deferred and the weight of remedy lying heavy between your thighs.

“It’s no liberty,” you whispered, catching his dog tags and bringing his face to yours, the size of the man so very apparent now he was hovering above you, “it’s yours.” you watched his pupils blow out at the statement, his ragged breath fanned minty across your face, even angels wield swords. “I’m yours.”

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

With that exchange of truths something snapped between you, like a ribbon cut, gone was the hesitant cordiality and deference that had marked your courtship. Here now was fierce possession and the gloated satisfaction of those who possess something cherished and are no longer kept from partaking of it, buckles and garters snapped in the quiet room and the rustle of sheets and shirts wafting to the floor made your breaths hitch with anticipation. Precious flesh came into touch with every brush and it was enough for many minutes merely to cling and grasp, imprinting desire into the back and the arms and the throat of each other, like an armor of love against the decay of death.

“Yours, yours.” you swore as his finger played you once more, his breathing hard and rough in your ear, harsh commands for you to say it again and again, reminding you he was fearsome when he wanted to be.

“Don’t look,” he begged when you realized through a haze of joy what he was about, pressing in with all the finesse of a cricket bat knocking at the wicket, hoarse and doe eyed above you, there was only the whine, “please, darlin’ don’t look, just, my eyes, please.”

It was a fumbling entry but nature and pleasure prevailed, as it had since the first couple. And dear boy that he was, he knew you had indulged in a leg up, one or two at least, before he came along but still, he could not bear it for you to see more, not this time. He wanted it just to be the kisses and the sight of your precious face contorting at the fullness of your belly and the force of his hunger for you. All the rest were vulgar details left somewhere under your skirts, and, unbeknownst to him, reflected in your childhood mirror situated on the wall behind his plump arse.

“Oh god.” he had choked out, winded and in awe as his body shook at the feel of you accepting him deep, “You’re a slice of heaven, heaven that’s-that’s what you fee- oh god, oh god.”

He had giggled at the absurdity of this dance and then broke off with a moan that made you giggle in turn and back and forth it went as his body jerked into yours as if he’d no control over it, led quite literally by the part of himself buried inside you. He knew it was foal-like and a poor showing as a lover and he also knew you didn’t care a bit, your eyes wide at the size of the intrusion and captivated by the sight of his newly enlightened face.

“You alright?” he asked urgently, as a sudden and familiar feeling took over his body. The feeling of his brakes giving out, his flaps malfunctioning, the hydraulics failing -it took over him, his spine tingling and his vision beginning to blur and only your punched out gasps and sweet smile wavering on his horizon as the frantic, masculine, natural need to drive in deep enough to puncture your heart seized him and propelled him in you, against you, above you with such force you forgot to breath. For all Egan’s teasing of Buck’s hatred for athletics, the man wasn’t shabby when it came down to it, even after months of internment, or maybe due to that stolen time, his life force seemed to pour out in a torrent and your belly buzzed at the sweet abuse.

“I’m perfect.” you managed at some point, “You’re perfect, so perfect.”

He shuddered at the praise and as if terror struck him then, he was suddenly pulling away and moaning “I should- I shouldn’t -I’m gonna, darlin, I’m gonna lose it-“ and young and sweet and clumsy as anything he rutted against your slick frantically, mouth pressed to yours until the hot gush of his satisfaction spilled out and added to the mind fuzzing feel of him sliding against your little pearl.

You encouraged his shaky limbs to collapse on you, the lanky frame of him a sweet weight, sweaty cheek pressed to your breast, you could feel the dopey curve of his smile against your plump flesh. His hair curled at the nape from the sweat of his exertions, all winter chill forgotten in this bed. War and missions and bombs, too. You petted each other for a while before he raised his head and, gazing at you adoringly, he murmured “thank you.” his nose nudging yours and the steadiest of kisses lingering in the tingly aftermath.

“Darlin?” he broached the subject a while later, cheek again pressed to your chest and his fingers sliding in a hypnotic caress over your thigh.

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Later,” he prefaced, tentative and raw, “when -when the war’s over, and when, well, when I can make my own promises…”

Your heart hammered beneath his ear and you squeezed your legs around him, as if to shore him up enough to say what you wanted him to say so very badly. “Yes?”

“Would you marry me then?” he begged and somehow you knew this, what you had just indulged in, was never going to happen without that hope for him.

Perhaps that’s why it felt so strong, like a communion of souls more than anything else. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait and get my answer when you come back tomorrow.” you teased and his head reared up with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Don’t you dare.” he warned, grin breaking out despite himself.

The sound of the front latch grating on the door startled you both but he pressed you down when you went to scamper and clothe yourself. “The door’s closed anyway,” he argued in a whisper but you knew he felt as nervous as you at being caught, if not more so, yet still he was a stubborn one. His hand was firm and large clasping your cheek, expression arch and expectant. “Promise you’ll be a good little girl and say yes when I do ask.”

You laughed at his gall, to make you wait, to make you promise when he wasn’t even proposing. But then again -you had said you were his, and he was yours. It had already been done. Sometimes life was as simple as Gale Cleven made it out to be.

“I promise.” you whispered happily, bringing him back down to your embrace and willing away thoughts of tomorrow and flagging him out to danger.

One day he’d come back for good. One you could make promises again. Until then, there was hope.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Feedback is a writers lifeblood, I’d adore hearing your thoughts. 💋

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑔𝑢𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑟𝑒𝑐 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡.

➞ jake seresin

➞ bradley bradshaw

➞ robert floyd

➞ natasha trace

mix

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

Coming Home

Summary: Jake comes home from a 6 month deployment.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warnings: None. Unless you count fluff.

Can be read as part two to The Night Before

You adjusted the straps to your sundress for the fourth time as you stood underneath the bright sunlight on the dock. Around you other groups of people were standing together and talking animatedly as everyone's eyes were trained to the large ship that had docked.

It had been a long 6 months. Jake had officially been gone for double the time that the two of you had been together before he'd left. Your feelings for him hadn't changed, your heart beat solidly for him with it's every pound in your chest.

Every phone call had been answered, every letter he'd sent had been read so often that you could recite them from memory. From what you could tell Jake was still just as crazy about you as he had been when he'd left, but it was hard to judge with the limited number of phone calls that he'd been allowed.

He'd asked you to pick him up during your last phone call with him, something that you'd taken as a good sign, but you couldn't deny the nervous butterflies that were dancing in your stomach.

A collective gasp made it's way through the crowd as the first of the sailors made their way off of the boat. You strained on your tip toes, squinting to see if you could make out his figure among the crowd. You'd told him in your last letter where you were planning on standing so that he'd be able to find you easier.

What you hadn't been expecting was the way that the gaps in the crowd began to fill as everyone surged forward to greet their loved ones. Any and all of the open spaces that you'd been using to gain view of the boat was thoroughly blocked.

"Shit," you whispered to yourself. You leaned back against the railing that you were standing in front of as you tried to decide if you should move forward, but than you'd risk him coming over to where you'd told him you'd be and not finding you.

You were so focused on the crowd in front of you and trying to find a gap that you could peak through that you missed him completely as he sneaked around the side of the crowd to where you were. It wasn't until he was a few steps from you that you caught a glimpse of him in your periphery.

He was grinning at you so broadly and his eyes were shining as they drank in your form standing just beyond his reach. You forgot the annoying crowd and anxieties as your eyes landed on his - so green.

You were running towards him before you realized. He dropped his bag to the ground as you closed the distance, arms ready when you launched yourself into them. They closed around you, cradling your body as close to his own as he could. Your arms were tight around his shoulders and you let yourself bury your head into his neck, breathing him in. "Jake," you whispered.

"Hey Darlin'," his answering voice echoed into your ears. His hand rubbing up and down your back, "Missed you something fierce."

You pulled back to look at his face. It was a little more tan than it had been when he'd left, the lines on his face a little more pronounced from the lack of sleep he'd gotten and the stress he'd been under, but his eyes were just as soft as he looked at you as they had been before he'd left. Maybe more.

His smile cracked as he drank in your watery eyes and the tears that were streaming freely down your face, "I- really- missed- you too," you forced out between the tears.

"Oh Honey," he cooed, pulling you back into his chest and pressing a kiss to your head.

Having him this close made your worries from before seem laughable. It was obvious to you in the way his arms clung to your body desperately, in the way he was breathing in the smell of your perfume to calm his racing heart, in how his hands shook where they gripped your skin that he was just as infatuated with you as he had been before he'd left. You wondered, only for a moment while the world was left behind and the only thing that existed was the closeness of his body, if he'd been worried about the same things.

"Jake," you pulled your head back to meet his gaze. "Can you take me home?"

All of the tension eased from his body, "Yeah, Honey." He set you down on your feet, waiting a minute for you to gain your balance before he let you go fully. He knelt down and picked up his bag that he'd dropped, using his other hand to grab onto your much smaller one.

You'd taken an Uber to pick him up, knowing that he'd parked his truck before he'd left and that he'd want to drive that to his house. Luckily, he still remembered where he had parked it and was quick to get his bags loaded up.

Sitting in the cab of his truck, you waited for him to climb in and start the radio. It was a short drive from the base to his house, but it felt much shorter than it had this morning to pick him up. His hand rested on the exposed skin of your thigh and his thumb was moving lazily back and forth. You lasted until the first stoplight before you were unbuckling your seat belt and sliding across the bench seating to sit closer to him. You wrapped an arm around his bicep and rested your head on his shoulder.

You felt more than saw him glance down at you and chuckle, "Comfy?"

You nodded, "Much more than I had been before, thank you for asking." He stretched the arm you were holding to cover both of your legs and let you cuddle into him for the remaining drive to the house.

Unpacking and getting settled took him next to no time at all and when he'd finished putting his bags in the hall closet he turned facing you completely. His body sagged with exhaustion but his eyes were shining as he took in your form leaning against the wall across from him. You'd hardly left his side since he'd come back, following him from room to room as he unpacked and put everything to rights.

Jake smiled and held out his hand to you.

You didn't hesitate, your sock covered feet sliding across his hardwood in your haste to reach him. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him. "Hi," you whispered, giddy at his sudden need to have you closer.

Jake just grunted before bending slightly to capture your lips with his own. They were slightly chapped, no doubt from the sea air, but he tasted just as you remembered. His mouth moving against yours in a familiar dance.

You let your hands slide up his arms and into the hair at his neck, resting all of your body weight against him as you did. He groaned into your mouth as you ran your nails against his scalp. Jake's hand slid lower to cup your ass, squeezing it firmly in his hands.

He pulled away, placing a few kisses to your mouth before he was fully ready to be parted from you. He only gave you a minute to get the air back into your brain before he bent at the waist and threw you over his shoulder.

"Jake!" You shrieked, using his lower back to prop yourself up.

He let out a loud laugh, "C'mon Darlin', I think it's time for a nap."

You scowled down at his legs, "You could've just asked me."

You swear that he smirked as he said, "Well where's the fun in that?" Your answering smack of his ass echoed your opinion and his resounding laugh answered his own.

~~~~

A/N: Apparently I really like writing for Jake? Every time I write for him, the story flows so much better out of my head. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed that and feel free to send me any requests you guys have for Jake.

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

The Beach

Summary: Lieutenant Bradshaw takes the reader out on the date that they agreed on.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Nurse Reader

Warnings: None.

Read the Story: The Dance Hall

"Please, stop pacing," Natasha pleaded as she watched you from where she was sitting on your bed.

Her words forced your body to pause in front of the dresser. Turning on your heel, you face her and slump back against it. "I can't help it," you mumble. "I keep thinking about everything that could go wrong."

Her mouth dropped open slightly and her eyes widened, "What could possibly go wrong?"

"So many things!" You started, fidgeting with your hands, "We could have nothing to talk about, or he could decided not to show up at all, or -"

"It could go really well," Natasha interrupted. Standing from your bed she walked over to you, brushing your hair over your shoulder and smoothing down the pieces that had fallen out of place in your haste. "He seemed to really like you," she reminded you gently."

You nodded and her face softened at how hesitantly you did it. "Look, if it goes South or you just decided that you don't want to be there with him anymore - call me. I'll sit by the phone all night and drive to come get you if I have to."

To prove her point, she marched out of your room towards the living room, leaving you no choice but to follow. Crossing into the room, you watched as she planted herself down on the desk chair - in direct reach of your landline.

You laughed softly and placed your hands on your cheeks. "I just really want it to go well tonight."

She grinned, her eyes glinting. "I would be so surprised if it didn't go well, considering how he's starting the night."

"What do you know?" You asked, eyes wide.

She smirked, "Just that he's walking up to the door as we speak." Like she'd summoned him, a knock sounded on the front door. You inhaled sharply and tossed her a panicked smile as you frantically smoothed out your dress.

Your heels clicked against the floor as you walked to the door. Pulling it open, you looked down at a pair of shined shoes and the ends of a white pair of pants. "Good evening, Miss," Lieutenant Bradshaw's voice reached your ears.

You looked up quickly at the sound, his warm brown eyes capturing yours entirely. His hair was neat, his shirt was without a wrinkle, and in his hands were a bouquet of flowers. You didn't try to fight the delighted smile that spread across your face at the sight of him. "Good evening, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

His cheeks pinked a little as he cleared his throat and tilted his head slightly, "I insist you call me Bradley."

"Alright. Good evening, Bradley," you laughed. "You must call me by mine as well."

"These are for you." His voice was so much richer than you had remembered. It came directly from his chest and flowed smoothly over his tongue.

The flowers he extended were beautiful. His eyes were alight as he drank in the sight of your excited face and shaking hands as you reached for them, muttering a soft, "Thank you."

Clearing your throat you invited him inside, "I'll just go put these in some water and be right back. You remember Natasha?"

His eyes left you for the first time since you'd opened the door as if remembering that there were other people in existence outside of the two of you. "Of course," he nodded to her. "How are you this evening, Miss Trace?"

You missed her response as you hurried to the kitchen to take care of your beautiful flowers. You could hear them just enough to tell that they were discussing the poor behavior of his friend, to which Bradley apologized on his behalf. By the time you'd made it back to the living room, Natasha had gone over everything that Bradley was not allowed to do while you were in his car. "And -," Natasha was continuing.

"I'm so sorry for the delay," you interrupted her. Bradley was smirking, very much trying not to laugh as he watched you ignore your friend's attempt to continue talking. "Shall we head out?"

Bradley extended and arm to you, "I'm ready whenever you are."

He led the two of you out to his car, pulling the door open for you and helping you inside. Sitting on the leather seat, you watched as he rounded the car heading towards the driver side. His car smelled of his cologne and the leather of the seat was buttery smooth against the skin of your hand. Bradley slid into the car smoothly, turning it on and setting the radio to a lower volume.

He drove the two of you to the beach where the sun was sinking into the glistening water. Both of you exchanging idle small talk about your days and what you'd been up to since you arrived on the island. He parked in an empty space, hurrying out of the car to pull your door open for you.

"Thank you," you smiled.

He shrugged, "It's really no trouble." He closed the door behind you and reached into the backseat to pull out a small basket and blanket. "I thought maybe we could eat on the beach?"

Bradley gripped the handle tightly, his eyes flickering between yours as he tried to read your expression. Not that it mattered, you would've been excited about anything he'd planned for the night. You took his open arm and peered up at him through your lashes, "That sounds lovely, Lieutenant."

He flexed his arm under your touch, muscles jumping slightly at the contact. Bradley's lip twisted into a half-smile that made your heart jump in your chest. He nodded, "Right this way."

As you approached the sand you pulled on his arm to stop him. "Hold on," your voice had him turning towards you. Using his arm for balance, you tugged off your heels and let your bare feet rest in the sand. His eyes trailed over your form as you moved them into your empty hand. "Sorry," you blushed, "Ready now."

The sand was warm from the afternoon sun and soft as squished around your feet. Bradley's arm was an anchor that kept your from tripping on the divots in the sand. He stopped the two of you at a spot a distance from the water line. You helped him to roll out the blanket, chuckling with him as the wind tried to blow it every which way.

"I hope you like chicken," he said as the two of you settled on the blanket. "It was all that Penny was able to help me make."

You nodded reassuringly, "I like chicken." He ran a hand through his hair, the setting sun casting him in a golden glow as he unpacked the food around the two of you. "Who's Penny?"

"My Uncle's wife," Bradley paused from unpacking to look at you. His head tilted to the side like he was thinking something over, "Well, he's not technically my uncle. My dad was his WSO before he died and he's helped to look after me for most of my life."

Bradley had taken an expression of fondness as he talked about his uncle. It wasn't the same as when he rolled his eyes playfully while talking about Lieutenant Seresin or the way they softened as they looked at you. Instead, it was like a million memories played behind his eyes as he spoke of him.

"What's his name?" You asked, pulling your legs underneath you to face him more directly. Bradley leaned back on his arms, crossing his legs in front of him. His position bringing the two of you much closer together.

"Pete. But, his callsign is Maverick," he told you.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "And a callsign is?" You asked, laughing.

He smirked and shook his head, "Like a nickname that all of the pilots/WSO's get. It's typically used in the air but it just kind of sticks sometimes. My dad's was Goose. Seresin's is Hangman."

You leaned in conspiratorially, "Is that why he called you chicken the other night?"

Bradley threw his head back laughing, his smile brighter than the sun itself. "I'll have you know that it's actually Rooster," he corrected when he had calmed down.

"Rooster," you tried out. His eyes staring into yours and were hooded as he nodded, his tongue reaching out to wet his lips. "Is that what I should call you then?"

You looked away from the growing intensity there to save the heat you felt flooding your cheeks. His answering chuckles was husky, rising from his chest to reverberate in your ears, "If you like, although, I quite like how my given name sounds when you say it. Not many people do anymore. It's either Lieutenant Bradshaw or Rooster, most of the time."

"Bradley it is then," you agreed, turning your head back to face him.

~~~~

A/N: Stay tuned for the next parts of this story. I hope y'all enjoyed this little drabble of their first date.