kkmix-writes

[kkmix-writes]

Currahee Script, before Winnix stepped in and took over there was Dick walking alone with a V.O. of his DeEtta letters.

[kkmix-writes]

Twenty-One Doves: Chapter 14

The night felt like it was closing in on them, pressing them into the small sandbag-walled shelter. John’s back ached from hunching low, but the discomfort was a welcome distraction from the gnawing anxiety in his gut. Beside him, Felicity’s breath came in quick, shallow bursts, her grip on his arm tightening with each distant explosion.

Another flash of light flickered across the horizon, followed by a deep rumble that seemed to shake the stars out of the sky above. John’s gaze swept the night sky, noting the sporadic bursts of light that dotted the darkness. He leaned closer to Felicity, his voice barely more than a whisper. “They’re bombing Norwich.”

She turned her head, eyes wide and unblinking as they stared into the distance. Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitching. “It sounds so close,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the low hum of anxiety that filled the shelter.

John’s arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her into his side. She nestled against him, her body trembling with a fear she didn’t dare voice. He held her tighter, wishing he could shield her from the horrors unfolding just beyond their shelter. But the night refused to be ignored, each new explosion a brutal reminder of the war that had taken so much from them already.

The other men in the shelter were silent, their faces shadowed and still, the flickers of light from the bomb blasts casting fleeting glances of worry in their eyes. No one spoke, their usual banter and bravado drowned out by the enormity of the moment.

John’s thoughts turned inward to the missions he’d flown, the bombs he’d dropped. He’d never allowed himself to dwell on it, not really. There was always another target, mission, and order that needed fulfillment. But now, with Felicity shaking in his arms, he couldn’t escape the images that flooded his mind. He imagined families huddled in their shelters, just like this one, their hearts racing as they prayed for the bombs to fall somewhere else. He pictured their terror desperation, and the knowledge that he had been the cause of it twisted something deep inside him.

He tried to focus on Felicity, on the warmth of her body pressed against his, but guilt gnawed at him, a relentless force that refused to be ignored. The night sky, once a place of freedom and purpose, had turned into a dark circus of destruction, with bomb flashes and searchlights weaving a terrible dance far above them.

Time stretched out, the minutes blurring together, until finally, the all-clear signal pierced the tense silence. The distant thunder of explosions ceased, leaving a heavy, oppressive quiet in its wake. John released his hold on Felicity, though his hand lingered on her back, a small, steadying gesture more for himself as they rose to their feet.

Around them, the men began to stir, shaking off the tension as they fell back into their old habits—jokes and laughter echoing off the sandbag walls as if nothing had happened. But as John scanned the shelter, his eyes locked onto Gale, who stood a few feet away, his expression as unreadable as ever. Gale didn’t join in the laughter. Instead, his gaze found John’s, and in that brief moment, a shared understanding passed between them—one born of countless missions flown, of losses endured and the unspoken burden they both carried.

Without a word, Gale pulled a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them to John. He caught them, nodding in silent thanks. Gale’s voice, low and steady, cut through the noise. “We’ll lead our boys through it.”

John’s fingers tightened around the keys, the weight of Gale’s words settling in his chest. They would have to keep leading their men through the carnage, chaos, loss, and fear. But it didn’t make the road ahead any easier to bear, and he quickly stuffed any more thoughts about it back where it belonged in the far corners of his mind.

Felicity was quiet as they climbed into the Jeep, her hands folded tightly in her lap. John stole glances at her as they drove, searching her face for any sign of what she was thinking. Had she seen the full extent of what he did each day? When she finally looked at him, would it be with the same fear she did when they first met?

The silence grew heavier with each passing mile, pressing down on him like the weight of a mission gone wrong. He cleared his throat, the words rough as they tumbled out. “We’re gonna win this thing,” he said, “But it’s not going to be easy. It’ll take all we got.”

Felicity turned to him, her gaze steady and unwavering. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “I know that,” she said, her voice soft but persistent. “Just… do everything you can to come home safe.”

John’s hand reached over, his fingers curling around hers in a gentle squeeze. “I will,” he promised, the words catching in his throat.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, but it was different now—less a chasm between them and more a shared understanding. Felicity had seen the consequences of war firsthand, yet she was still there, still holding on. And for John, in that moment, it was enough.

~~~~~~~~~

“What are the New York Yankees?”

Felicity’s question floated into the quiet, a gentle prod intended to spark conversation among the men enjoying their tea, trying to pull the conversation away from the bombing attack the previous night that left her father shuddering in his chair for hours, even after she got home. 

What she expected to be an innocuous comment was the opposite. Instead of the usual banter, the chatter died, and every head turned toward her as if she’d just uttered something scandalous. The silence pressed in, and a wave of warmth climbed up her neck, confusion flickering in her eyes as Honey, the new dog that followed her around like a shadow slept curled at her feet, shifted around as if sensing the tension in the air.

“Felicity,” Curt said, slowly placing his untouched cup down, “you’re telling me and Bucky have been?” He paused, his eyes drifting up to her father staring at him like a hawk before starting over, “You’ve spent more than five minutes with Bucky, and he hasn’t mentioned the Yankees even once?”

She hesitated, remembering what happened between them the last time he brought up the Yankees. “He might have mentioned them… once.”

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the group. The waist gunners exchanged looks that spoke volumes, their expressions comically exaggerated. Under the table, John’s hand found her thigh, the warmth of his touch grounding her. “They’re a baseball team,” he explained, his tone light, though his gaze challenged the others to take it further.

“Not just a team!” Curt’s voice rose with fervour, the pride unmistakable. “The best baseball team the world has ever seen!”

Felicity turned to John, curiosity softening her voice. “I see a baseball team. So you like baseball, then?” She tried to make it sound like she had even the slightest knowledge of what the sport entailed.

The table erupted in laughter again, good-natured and affectionate. John let out a small chuckle, alongside a warning glare tossed at the others before responding, “Yeah, I like baseball.”

“Don’t get him started,” Douglass chimed in. “You’ll never hear the end of it—Yankees this, Babe Ruth that, World Series, blah blah blah.”

Her father’s abrupt movement caught her eye, and she watched him rise and head toward the house, leaving her puzzled over his departure. She turned back to John, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “I don’t know much about the sport,”

“Don’t worry,” John reassured her quickly, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

The conversation soon surged around them, filled with stats, names, and jargon that left Felicity adrift. Still, she leaned in, absorbing the excitement in John’s voice, his enthusiasm for the sport shining through.

Crosby's story about sneaking into a game with Curt while on leave was cut short by her father’s return. He held a small, worn object in his hand, his expression unreadable. The room quieted as he resumed his seat, and when Crosby finished, he cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Back in the first war,” he began, holding up the object—a baseball, its surface browned with age, the red stitching still visible, “we had an American division stationed with us. One of the chaps was from Boston, and just before the end of the war, his parents sent him this.”

Her father tossed the ball to John, who caught it effortlessly. Felicity watched as his breath caught as he turned the ball over, tracing the faded signature. His touch was so gentle that it was as if he feared the ink might disappear if he pressed too hard.

“Unbelievable,” he murmured, the awe in his voice so genuine that it pulled at something deep within her. She leaned in just enough to glimpse the looping letters on the leather— Babe Ruth . The name didn’t mean much to her, but the reaction from John and the others told her everything she needed to know.

“The lad said it was from the World Series that year,” her father continued. “The Red Sox, if I recall. Signed by one of the players—Babe Ruth, or something.”

Her father continued to explain how he came by the ball; Felicity couldn’t help but glance around the room. The men who had been so lively just moments before now wore expressions of quiet reverence, their usual banter replaced with something almost sacred. It was as if this small, worn object had transported them all to a different time and place.

“Mr. Steele, do you have any idea how…” John’s voice faltered, and when Felicity looked at him, she saw something young and awestruck in his gaze, a glimpse of the boy he’d once been.

“If it means something to you, keep it.”

The room buzzed with electric energy as Felicity watched the men around her react to her father’s unexpected gift. The baseball, small and unassuming in her father’s weathered hands, seemed to carry a weight far greater than its size suggested. She’d seen their eyes light up, each suddenly resembling the boys they must have been before the war stole their youth.

Then, the spell broke. The men began clamouring for their turn to hold the ball, their voices overlapping in a chorus of excitement. Felicity watched, amused, as John’s protective instincts kicked in. He held the ball close, his knuckles tightening around it briefly before reluctantly handing it over to Crosby, who had been the first to reach out.

“Easy there, fellas,” 

Crosby’s usual bravado melted away as he took the ball, cradling it as if it were something precious. “Would you look at that,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. Felicity watched his face soften as he studied the ball, and she couldn’t help but smile. Even Curt, always so eager and bold, handled it with surprising care when his turn came, his fingers tracing the signature with a mix of awe and disbelief.

When the ball finally returned to John for the last time, he placed it carefully on the table, his fingers lingering on the worn leather. The room settled, and Felicity’s gaze softened as she watched John, his face relaxed but holding onto some ripple of sadness that clung to his features. Underneath the table, his leg bounced up and down, and she pressed his thigh against hers, quieting his frantic movement as his fingers brushed over the top of her knee.

The tea eased back into its usual cadence, and Felicity felt she had learned about a thousand new words and American phrases when the entire crew had explained every minute detail of the game to her. The sun was nearly setting by the time the table was cleared off, and Felicity had given each man their parcels filled with fresh laundry and collected their new piles to be washed. It took even longer before the boys had finished a small kip of whisky from her father and began to head out on their own back to the barracks before she could slip out to find John, who she knew wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.

As Felicity slipped into the back garden, the soft murmur of the crew's voices faded behind her, replaced by the quiet rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. She found John sitting in a weathered chair, a cigarette smouldering between his fingers and the baseball resting in his lap. The fading light cast long shadows across his face, but the way he gently turned the ball in his hands caught her attention.

She approached quietly, her heart catching at the sight of him so lost in thought. “I could probably find a way to fix the stitching for you,” she offered, her voice soft as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, resting her cheek against the warmth of his neck.

John tilted his head back, meeting her gaze with a small, weary smile. “This little thing has been through a lot.”

Felicity’s fingers brushed the frayed stitching as she studied the ball in his hands. “Then I won’t touch it. I suppose all the frayed edges and bruises are the scars it carries to show us how hard it was to win the game. It’s perfect the way it is.”

“Exactly.” The relief in his smile starkly contrasted the sadness that had etched itself into his features earlier.

She paused, sensing there was more to this than just a game. “What do you love about baseball?”

John took her hand, guiding her around to sit in his lap. As she settled against him, he placed the baseball in her hands, his own enveloping hers. “When you’re at a baseball game, everyone is happy, singing, cheering. There’s music and food—families all together. It’s like, for those few hours, the world feels right. Even when your team loses, there’s always another chance to win tomorrow.”

Felicity turned the ball over, feeling the weight of his words. “It must remind you of home.”

“The best parts of it, right here in my hands.” He pulled Felicity flush against him as she sighed. He laid a lingering kiss on her neck as she nuzzled into him. “I’m going to take you one day,” he added in a small whisper, as if speaking it too loudly would make her jump off his lap. Instead, as a fleeting image of being in New York imprinted itself in her brain, Felicity melted further into him, relishing every second.

“I’d like that,” she whispered back, earning another kiss from the man who still held onto her like she would float away any second.

They let the silence wrap them up in a tightly woven cocoon, nothing but the gentle breeze carrying the garden florals inside it before Felicity felt John shift underneath her. 

“We’re flying tomorrow,”

With the snap of his words, the bubble around them popped, the solemnity giving way to the pressing reality, and Felicity slid off his lap to stand before him. 

“That's an impressive turnaround,” Felicity replied, hoping her desperation didn’t bleed through her words. 

“Lemmons doesn’t mess around.”

 “How do you feel about it?”

John met her gaze, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper. “We’re ready. With Curt or Gale beside me, we can take on anything,”

Felicity stepped closer, the cool evening air brushing against her skin. "The best of the best," Felicity said into the garden, humming with hungry insects, the scent of flowers mingling with the distant drone of aircraft engines. Though the air between them crackled with tension, she kept her distance, unwilling to risk him sensing her fear. “I’ll be there to see you off,” she whispered.

John closed the gap, his hand lifting to brush her cheek, his touch feather-light. A shiver ran through her. “Knowing you’re going to be the last face I see before I get up in the clouds makes it a hell of a lot easier to climb into that seat,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto hers. “You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

“John,” she protested softly, trying to pull away, but his eyes held her in place.

“When will you believe it?” he teased, though his voice held an earnest undertone. “Do I need to fly a banner behind my plane? Let everyone know I’ve got the prettiest girl in England waiting for me?” His hands found her waist, drawing her close. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Is that what it’ll take?” He nipped at her skin, coaxing a stifled laugh.

“John!” she scolded, a mix of exasperation and affection in her tone.

“I’m serious,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, his hands firm on her hips. “I’ll yell it from the rooftop if I have to.” He took a deep breath, tilting his head back as if to shout, “Felicity Steele is—”

She clamped her hand over his mouth, cutting him off with a playful glare. Her heart raced, not just from the fear of being overheard but from the intensity in his eyes, the way he held her as if she were the most precious thing in his world. He took her hand from his mouth, kissing her palm, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter.

Their foreheads touched, and their breaths mingled in the cool air. Felicity smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice low and tender. “Only for you, Felicity.”

Nothing could have prevented her from melting into his embrace, the world falling away around them. Felicity could remember no better feeling than his arms tightened around her, head tucked under his chin, breathing in his familiar scent—tobacco, engine oil, and a hint of pine. The steady beat of his heart under her cheek grounded her, offering a comfort she didn’t know existed.

“Do you remember your promise?” she asked, her voice muffled against the wool of his jacket. The rough fabric was a welcome reminder of the man she loved.

“You’ll know it’s us. Don’t worry,” he murmured into her hair, his voice a quiet promise. He pressed a lingering kiss to her head as if trying to memorize the moment.

“Please, fly safe,” Felicity whispered, her fingers tightening on his lapels. Her mind drifted to the doves she’d stitched onto his shirt, a small talisman she hoped would keep him safe. “Please.”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. “I will. I promise.” His voice was a soft vow meant only for her. Just for tonight, she let herself believe it. 

~~~~~~~~~

“One, two, three,”

Felicity’s pulse quickened as she counted each plane roaring through the sky, the ground vibrating beneath her feet. The small copse of trees just beyond the garden framed the scene, the aircraft's powerful engines slicing through the morning air. She had run outside when she heard the distant rumble, leaving the laundry she had been tying up for another half-finished crew. Every beat of her heart matched the rhythm of the planes above, anticipation thrumming through her veins.

"Four, five, six," she whispered, shading her eyes as she squinted against the dawn’s first light. The sky was painted in hues of pink and gold, a breathtaking canvas for the steel birds soaring across it. She searched for Gettin’ Lucky, her breath hitching each time another plane passed.

Then, a plane swooped low, nearly grazing the tree line, and Felicity's heart skipped a beat. As it dipped its wings in a playful greeting, she caught sight of the pinup girl and the bold letters "Gettin’ Lucky" emblazoned on the fuselage. 

Relief flooded through her as she leapt up and down, waving frantically. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the plane ascend, its silhouette stark against the rising sun. In her mind, she could see John's confident smile and the spark in his eyes as he guided the aircraft through the skies, Curt or Gale at his side.

The engines' roar filled the air, a powerful symphony that mingled with the scent of dew-laden grass and the distant tang of fuel. As Felicity’s eyes darted from one aircraft to another, she cast aside any worry-laden thoughts. Gettin’ Lucky climbed higher, vanishing into the low-hanging clouds. She stood rooted to the spot, her heart feeling bigger than ever as she whispered a silent prayer for their safe return.

The following day, she found herself in the same place, her heart racing as the sound of engines again broke the dawn’s stillness. The planes came into view, and there it was—Gettin’ Lucky, dipping its wings just as it had the day before. Felicity waved with all her might, a smile breaking across her face as the plane descended and touched down on the tarmac. 

A month ago, she couldn’t imagine deviating from her routine. Even more far-fetched was the idea of having this plane, this man, woven seamlessly into her day. 

Each day, she stood waiting, eyes trained on the sky, her breath catching as Gettin’ Lucky appeared, dipping its wings in that familiar, reassuring greeting on take-off and their return. On the third day, she blew a kiss, one that he returned all too fervently that evening when he showed up on her doorstep, still in his sweat and gasoline-twinged flight gear.

Their exchanges became the cherished bookends to her days. Everything she did revolved around ensuring she would be there without fail when the air around her shook with the infallible sound of those B-17 engines. 

Each night, she fell into bed smiling, whether or not she had seen John. Her mind danced and flirted with everything she couldn’t wait to tell him when she did. And for the first time in ages, Felicity reached for a notebook, filling it with pages and pages of charcoal sketches of dresses, skirts, blouses and suits, each born from a daydream. Hand in hand with John as he showed her Central Park, her first hot dog at a Yankees game, dancing to Glen Miller on the top floor of the Empire State Building. Everything, even the most absurd, seemed possible with him. Even more obscene was that all these things didn’t frighten her. Not in the slightest. Not at all. 

~~~~~~~

Tuesday morning arrived with the rumble of engines at the airfield long before sunrise. Despite the early hour, Felicity dressed hurriedly, making it outside just in time to see John’s plane take off. The fog still clung to the ground, and she wasn’t sure if he could see her through the thick mist. 

With the whole day ahead of her, she set out early for Dickleburgh, laying out her father’s breakfast before hopping onto her bicycle.

The wind teased her hair as she pedalled into the village, the promise of a new day buoying her spirits. The shops were just beginning to open when she arrived, and she headed straight for Sadie’s dress shop, the bell above the door jingling as she stepped inside.

“Good morning, Felicity,” Sadie greeted her, smiling warmly. “You’re up and about early.”

“The planes had me up at first light. But seeing as you’re open half an hour early, I’m not the only one.”

“I was surprised to see them flying in this fog. It’s thicker than my Nan’s Christmas pudding.”

“Those planes can handle a bit of fog,” Felicity said with a small smile. “It’s probably the least of their worries up there.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about what happens in those planes, missy. Got some insider information?”

“Just what I hear in the shop,” Felicity replied lightly, pulling her sketchbook from her rucksack and placing it on the counter.

Sadie’s eyes flicked to the notebook, curiosity sparking as Felicity kept her fingers on it, waiting for her to take the bait.

Felicity hesitated momentarily before sliding the sketchbook closer to Sadie, her fingers lingering on the cover as if it were something precious. Sadie, always quick to pick up on the unspoken, glanced at Felicity with a raised eyebrow before gently opening the book. 

“Oh my,” Sadie murmured, her voice full of admiration as she flipped through the pages. “These are lovely, Felicity. Truly.”

Felicity felt a blush creep up her neck, warmth spreading through her chest at the unexpected praise. “They’re just ideas,” she said softly, watching as Sadie examined each sketch with the same care she might have given a rare bolt of fabric.

“Ideas, yes, but with so much potential.” Sadie looked up, her eyes bright with excitement. “You’ve captured something special here. I can see it in the lines, how you’ve imagined the fabric falling just so.”

Felicity couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I was thinking about fabrics. That’s why I came in today.”

Sadie’s smile widened, and she set the sketchbook aside, her hands moving to the bolts of fabric lined neatly on the shelves behind the counter. “Well, let’s see what we have, shall we? I’ve got some new materials in that might be just what you’re looking for to bring one to life.”

The next few hours passed in a flurry of colour and texture. Sadie pulled out bolt after bolt, each more tempting than the last, spreading them across the counter for Felicity to see. The shop, usually quiet in the early morning, came alive with their laughter and the rustle of fabric as they worked through Felicity’s designs, matching each sketch with the perfect material.

“This one,” Sadie said, holding up a deep emerald roll, its weave fine and smooth. “It would drape beautifully for that skirt you’ve drawn.”

Felicity reached out to touch the fabric, the green silk sending a thrill through her fingertips. She could already see how the skirt would sway as she walked and how the colour would complement her fair skin. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

Sadie raised an eyebrow, lips pressed together. "Haven’t we already gotten over that?" she quipped before pulling out a bolt of soft ivory silk. "For the blouse. It’s a classic pairing, but there’s nothing wrong with sticking to the classics when worn by a classic beauty like yourself. And it would pair splendidly with Army khaki to boot, wouldn’t you say?”

Felicity smirked, nodding demurely as her mind buzzed with possibilities. She hadn’t expected to find exactly what she’d envisioned, let alone enjoy the process so much. The morning passed in a blur as she and Sadie lost themselves in fabrics and patterns, feeling the textures and holding up swatches to the light, each choice bringing her sketches closer to life.

As the sun climbed higher, Sadie leaned back against the counter with a satisfied smile after cutting the fabric to Felicity’s measurements. “You’ve got a real eye for design, Felicity. You should consider doing something with it.”

Felicity looked at the fabrics they had selected, her heart swelling with pride and disbelief. “I’m only having a bit of fun; I could never.”

Sadie placed a hand on Felicity’s arm. “You’ve got the talent, trust me. You would fit right in down in London.”

For a moment, Felicity let herself imagine it—pursuing this dream, turning her sketches into something tangible, her well-concealed dreams having a chance to fly in this world surrounded by vivid colours and soft textures, making it seem far more possible than she ever believed.

“I’ve never had such a nice time,” Felicity confessed quietly.

Sadie squeezed her arm gently. “Then we’ll have to do this again, won’t we?”

Felicity smiled a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached her eyes. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

~~

Felicity pedalled through the village with steady focus, the morning’s events still fresh in her mind. The usual glances from the villagers barely registered, their curiosity now a dull background hum. Passing Thorpe Abbotts, the airfield’s presence felt more familiar than daunting, and a calm resolve settled over her.

Once home, she tackled the household chores with practiced efficiency. Laundry hung in neat rows, and the cottage was soon back in order. With each task, her thoughts drifted to the fabrics and designs she had discussed with Sadie. The morning's excitement lingered, urging her to finish quickly so she could return to pull out the hidden sewing machine and the new fabrics.

In her bedroom, Felicity laid out the materials they’d chosen, fingers tracing the edges of the cloth as if she could already see the finished pieces. Needle in hand, she began to work, the rhythm of stitching absorbing her completely. Time slipped away, the outside world fading as the fabric transformed under her hands.

A low rumble broke her concentration. She glanced at the window, noting the darkening sky with a jolt of unease. The planes were late. Felicity stood, abandoning her sewing without a second thought, and rushed outside.

Felicity's heart pounded in her chest as she waited, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The evening light was fading, casting a reddish hue across the airfield, making it difficult to discern the planes as they broke through the clouds. The familiar rumble of engines filled the air, which usually comforted her, but it only heightened her anxiety tonight. It was nearly six, and the mission had taken far too long.

She clenched her hands around the hem of her apron, her knuckles white. The other planes were returning, one by one, their forms emerging from the smoke and haze. She forced herself to remain still, refusing to count the aircraft. It didn’t matter how many made it back; she only cared about one.

Then, just when she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, she saw a lone plane trailing behind the others. Her breath caught as the silhouette came into focus, and she recognized the familiar shape of Gettin' Lucky. Almost frantically, the plane dipped its wings quickly before disappearing below the tree line toward the tarmac.

Relief surged through her, so intense it nearly brought her to her knees. Felicity took a deep breath, her chest aching as she steadied herself. It was a ritual now, this waiting, this holding her breath until John was safely on the ground. But tonight, something felt different—off-kilter, as if the balance they had precariously maintained was about to tip.

Forcing herself to stick to her routine, she turned away from the airfield and returned to the laundry. The simple, repetitive tasks of tidying up the shop and readying the house for another evening offered her a small measure of comfort. She needed to keep her hands busy to keep the gnawing fear at bay. But even as she moved through the motions, her thoughts were with John, imagining him walking through the door, tired but safe, as he had so many times before.

The familiar bell jingle echoed through the quiet room as she busied around preparing for bed, satisfied that everything was in order and the way it should be. 

Assuming another customer hadn’t noticed the “Closed” sign, Felicity called out, “We’re closed!” But when she heard footsteps, something in her froze as she stared at the man across the counter.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream.

[kkmix-writes]

Romance Masterpost

How to write it

How to write romance

Love Language - Showing, not telling love

Love Language - Showing you care

Honeymoon

Slow burn

Forbidden Romance (+ prompts)

Reasons for a break-up while still loving each other

How to write a wedding

How to create quick chemistry

How to write a love-hate relationship

How to write enemies to lovers (+ prompts)

How to write lovers to enemies to lovers

Arranged matrimony for royalty (+ prompts)

Date gone wrong

Academic rivals to lovers

Romantic Fall Date Ideas

How to write a polyamorous relationship

Milestones in a relationship

How to write age difference

Fluffy Kiss Scene

Reasons a couple would divorce on good terms

Reasons for having a crush on someone

Ways a wedding could go wrong

Prompt Lists

Romance Prompt Lists (Masterpost)

Bad romances/unrequited/break-up (Masterpost)

Flirting + Teasing Prompts (Masterpost)

Kisses Masterpost (Prompts, First Kiss, Accidental Kiss, …)

Two smart and also stupid people in love

Push and pull romantic prompts

Lovers to enemies

Love to hate relationship

Smut Prompts (Masterpost)

One-Liners Dialogue - Romantic, Smutty + Physical

Things said during sex prompts

Jealousy Prompts

OTP Christmas Prompts

Fluffy Winter Holiday Prompts

Romance Sentence Starters

Romantic Question Prompts

Domestic Fluff Prompts

Fluff Prompts

Fluff Bingo

Fluffy Sentence Starters

Sleepy Starters

Fluffy Dialogue Prompts

Super soft intimacy

make ‘em swoon

Cute Interactions

Romantic, non-sexual intimacy prompts

Fake Dating Prompts (Masterpost)

OT3 Prompts (Masterpost)

Meet Cutes/Meet Uglies

Royal Love (Masterpost)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Hurt/Comfort Prompts

Caring for their partner prompts

Roommates to Lovers (Masterpost)

Professor/TA Romance

Friends with benefits to lovers Prompts

Romance Dialogue Prompts – Uncomfortable with affection

Matchmaking Prompts

Valentine’s Day Prompts

Hand-holding

Kisses

Hugs

Touching

Hugging Dialogue

Physical Reactions

Casual Affections

Intimate Moments

Doing nice things prompts

Love Languages (Masterpost)

Subtle Acts of Love

Bed Sharing Scenarios

Seeking out physical affection

Asking for permission

Love Confessions (Masterpost)

Lovers being caught Prompts

Love Triangle Ideas

Soulmates AU (Masterpost)

WLW Plot Ideas

Second chance trope

Cooking/Baking Dialogue Prompts

Quiet movie night Prompts

Grumpy + Sunshine Dialogue

Grumpy Affectionate Dialogue

Exes to lovers Prompts (Masterpost)

Reluctant allies to friends to lovers dynamic

Best friends to lovers Prompts

Childhood friends to lovers Prompts

Workplace Romance (Masterpost)

Secret relationship dialogue

Date Prompts (Masterpost)

One Night Stand Prompts

Parallel Universe Romance Prompts

Lover being hurt Prompts

Relationship Milestones (Masterpost: moving in, getting married, honeymoon)

Relationship Problems

Relationship Changes

Ship Dynamics

OTP Prompt Challenge

Enemies to Lovers Masterpost

‘Imagine your OTP’ Prompts

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[kkmix-writes]

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[kkmix-writes]

Twenety-One Doves : Chapter 13

How had this happened? How had she let herself go so wholly? Felicity's thoughts tumbled chaotically as she wrestled with the remaining buttons on her dress, her fingers trembling. Despite John's attempts at gentleness, his touch was fervent, leaving the delicate fabric in disarray and two buttons lost to the fervour. 

"Shit," she hissed under her breath, struggling to conceal her bra beneath the gaping fabric. "Cheap old scrap," she muttered, her voice shaking as she strained to hear the distant sounds of John dismissing Douglass below.

When she accepted John's invitation to see Gettin' Lucky, she knew full well what it meant after Curt warned her the night of the dance. Though her hopes for something as innocent as a kiss were dashed out the window as soon as she tasted him. How far would she have let herself take things if it hadn't been for the interruption? The flush of embarrassment replaced the heat of desire, a sinister inferno consuming her as she tried to adjust her skirt, now tangled in her stockingless garters.

Judging Helena Mains sure was rich for what she had entangled herself in tonight—jumping onto a man wearing a flimsy dress and no stockings... she could die of shame.

The navigation room beneath her was silent, and she froze, listening intently for any signs of life, any hint of John’s return. The plane felt eerily still as if holding its breath with her. Had John made his escape with his bombardier, leaving her alone in this moment of utter humiliation? Frantically, she looked around, searching for a way out that would preserve some scrap of dignity. She was steps away from bolting down between the bomb bay doors when she heard the unmistakable sound of someone climbing the ladder into the flight deck. If she was quick, she might slip past and dash down the plane, out of sight, before he appeared.

But before she could test her resolve, his mop of dark curls emerged, his eyes scanning the shadows of the cockpit, searching for her.

“There you are,” he said, his voice a mixture of relief and concern as he eased his long frame through the opening, landing with a soft thud on the edge, his legs dangling below. “I thought you’d taken off.”

Felicity pressed herself against the windshield, hiding behind Curt’s pilot seat, too mortified to step into the open, where he could see her disarray.

“The coast is clear now; it’s safe to come out,” he gently coaxed his white-toothed smile, a reassuring beacon in the dim light.

She remained silent, her thoughts a tangled web.

“Felicity?” His voice softened, the smile fading as concern took over. “Is everything okay?” The pleading tone hit her straight in the core, and she took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to step out.

“I’m fine,” she lied, smoothing her hair that had come loose from its pins. “I just—I’m sorry, I am…”

“Shit,” John muttered, standing up carefully, giving her as much space as the cramped quarters allowed. “Listen to me, sweetheart; I’m going to take you home, okay?”

Felicity nodded, the words bringing a small measure of relief. She wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault, that she was overwhelmed, but the words stuck in her throat.

A terse silence filled the space between them as she shuffled into the narrow corridor between the pilot’s chairs, John stepping aside to avoid touching her.

She hated herself for ruining this, for being unable to handle the consequences of her actions. Her thoughts raced, telling her she had spoiled everything with her impulsive behaviour.

In silence, she made her way through the bomb bays, sidestepping past the ball turret and waist guns until she reached the back hatch. She didn’t look back to see if John was following, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

Fumbling with the handle, Felicity struggled until John’s hand appeared from behind her, opening it with a swift, practiced motion. The hatch flew open, and she took a deep breath of the cool, fresh air that rushed in, a welcome change from the stifling, gasoline-twinged air inside the plane.

“Let me,” John said, sliding past her and jumping to the tarmac below, his boots hitting the ground with a solid thud.

The doorway out of the plane looked out at the expanse of the airfield beyond John’s shoulders like some tunnel to another world. All she could see was his silhouette, framed in the red flashing light from the tower, his gaze unwavering from her face.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his arms outstretched to catch her.

Standing beneath her, uncertainty etched into every line of his face, Felicity’s heart took off again, but this time not in fear or shame but in a hurricane of longing; every fear that clung to her bones was stripped away in the tempest.

“Will you catch me when I jump?” Felicity asked, her voice barely a whisper as she perched on the ledge of the hatch.

“Baby, I would catch you if you fell from the moon.”

Felicity pushed herself off the ledge without hesitation, letting herself fall into John's grasp. When his arms closed around her, she buried her head in his neck, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, melding into the cocoon of his embrace.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed into her ear as she nuzzled into his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder's warm, solid strength. His hands dug into her back, pulling her as close as possible. “Everything’s okay, alright? I’ve got you,” he said, his voice gentle and coaxing. “Talk to me, Felicity,” he added, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes, his nose brushing against hers tenderly.

Felicity clung to him like he was the only steady thing on this Earth, feeling the strength of his arms around her and his body's reassuring solidity. Her heart was still racing, but the panic was beginning to subside, replaced by the grounding sensation his body around hers gave her. Slowly, she pulled back to look into his eyes, searching for reassurance.

"Felicity, I need you to know something," he began, his voice gentle and steady. The warmth of his hand on the back of her head was comforting. "When I invited you to see Gettin' Lucky, I had no expectations. I just wanted to share a part of my life with you, to show you what means so much to me. I hope you understand that."

His words, full of sincerity and concern, made her heart tender. She held his gaze, wanting him to see the truth in her eyes. "John, I don’t regret anything," she said firmly. "Not a single moment."

His smile in response was like the sun breaking through clouds, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her. He gently set her down, and they walked hand in hand to the Jeep, the silence between them now filled with a newfound understanding and connection. The night air was cool, the distant sounds of the base fading as they drove.

The drive back was peaceful, the moon casting a silver glow over the fields. Felicity watched the landscape pass by, feeling contentment despite the earlier chaos. 

When they reached her house, John pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine, but the headlights remained on, casting a soft light over the front steps.

“Everything is going to change,” Felicity whispered, looking at him with a whole new light within her eyes, illuminating her face. “You didn’t lie about that.”

“It doesn’t have to,” John was too quick to respond, grabbing her hands. “You say the word.”

“No,” Felicity sat up, her stomach dropping through the floor at the thought of losing this. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t have things go back to the way they were. Giving up John would be like trying to give up sunlight. “I want this. You should know that change doesn’t come easy to me, no matter how good. I’m working on that,”

“Then you get to call all the shots, baby. I’ll play by all your rules.”

“Where did you come from?” she said in a half-sigh as she snuggled into his side, allowing his arm to drape around her shoulders.

“Manitowoc, Wisconsin. America’s finest.” 

Felicity joined in John’s laughter. “America? Sounds like another galaxy,” 

“Most days, it sure can feel like it.”

“If that’s the case, I’m glad for whatever force brought you on Earth here with me,”

“The US Army Air Force, in this case,” John added with a dig of his fingers into her side, lightly pinching the sensitive skin where her hip met her waist, causing her to jump with a small yelp. "I should probably get you home before your dad starts worrying," he said, leaning closer. "But before you go, there’s one more thing."

Her heart skipped a beat as he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a tender and intense kiss. The kiss spoke of all the unspoken feelings between them, and she responded eagerly, her hands moving to the back of his neck to pull him closer. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in this moment.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, with a shared smile. Felicity couldn’t help but tease him, her voice light. "We’re going to have a hard time keeping things from getting out of hand again, aren’t we?"

John chuckled, the sound warming her from the inside. "Yeah, we might need to work on that," he admitted, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of her hand. "But I think it’s a challenge I’m willing to take on."

She laughed softly, the sound mingling with the night air. "Me too," she agreed, her eyes locking with his in a promise of what was to come.

As she stepped out of the Jeep, she turned back one last time, her smile radiant despite the chaos of the evening. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Felicity," he replied, his eyes following her as she walked up the steps and disappeared inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“One of you has had a broad all up in this plane!” Curt’s voice blared over the intercom. 

John's heart pounded as he overheard the crew's banter from the plane's rear. Freezing in the doorway on his way to the flight deck when he caught the potent scent that stirred up the tantalizing reminders of what had occurred in the plane the previous night. 

“Wasn’t us!” the waist gunners protested.

“Same here!” echoed the tail gunner.

“Not my style, Sir. You know I don’t settle for less than cotton sheets,” Their radio operator supplied unnecessarily. Since when had his crew abandoned all understanding of radio discipline?

“It was Douglass!” Crosby added, unable to resist pointing fingers. “It’s always fucking Doug; why are we even arguing about this?”

Douglass’s voice came defensively from behind John as the bombardier passed by him on his way to the nose of the plane. “I promise it wasn’t, honest! I mean, you gotta know I tried, but when I came in last night to show off ol’ Lucky to Martha, I got the…” Douglass’ eyes snapped up to John, his moustache curling upward as his lips spread into a knowing smile, “the boot,” he added in a whisper, winking at John as he hopped down through the hatch at their feet before John could form a response.

John swiftly made his way to his chair, trying to focus on his duties instead of the flood of vivid images of Felicity draped over him in the same place. Jamming on his headset, he turned on his microphone. “Pilot to crew, get up to the flight deck with your inspection reports, stat.”

“Yes, Sir,” the crew’s voices crackled back over the radio. John yanked off his headset with a huff, shifting uncomfortably as another wave of Felicity’s perfume washed over him.

“Something wrong, Bucky?” Curt’s voice startled him, making him almost forget his co-pilot was there.

“Yeah, I’m good,” John replied, reaching for the start-up manual on the dash. His hands were unsteady, and the manual slipped, falling to the floor.

“I got it,” Curt said, leaning down to pick it up. But instead of grabbing the manual, he came up with a button.

“This doesn’t look like a standard issue,” Curt said, a slow smile spreading across his face.

John’s eyes zeroed in on the button, a cold sweat trickling down his neck. He quickly grabbed the manual from the floor, flipping it open on his lap. Goddammit.

“You gonna take this or what?” Curt’s voice was teasing, but John could hear the undercurrent of curiosity.

“What’s that?” John asked, feigning ignorance as he buried his head in the manual, his heart pounding in his chest.

Curt’s laughter filled the cockpit. “You gonna give this button back to Felicity, or should I? I mean, I could, but I don’t think that’s my place.”

John choked on something—air, shock—he wasn’t sure. Curt clapped him on the back until he was sure he wouldn’t pass out.

Curt slipped the button into John’s jacket pocket and tapped it closed. “Relax, Casanova, I won’t tell the guys.”

John’s hand brushed over the button, clearing his throat as he kept his eyes on the manual, blankly scanning over the startup checklist. “How did you know?”

“I know what she smells like, Bucky,” Curt replied with a knowing smirk. Before John could respond, Curt added, “I’m happy for you guys, really.”

“Thanks, Curt. For everything.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Curt winked, adjusting his headset and looking at the airfield. “Now, should we see if we can’t get this beautiful bird humming?”

“You betcha,” John nodded, feeling renewed purpose and a whole new level of respect for his co-pilot.

“Pilots preflight,” Curt began.

“Complete,” John responded, an ease descending around him as the preflight routine settled around him.

“Form 1A?”

“Checked.”

“Controls and Seats?”

“Checked.”

“Fuel Transfer valves and Switch?”

“Off.”

Together, they ran through the preflight checklist, their voices steady and synchronized. As Gettin’ Lucky ’s four engines roared to life, John felt a surge of strength and power. Ready to fight another day.

When the inspection reports had been combed over, their start-up perfected, and he had caught Lemmons up on the minor tweaks and fixes the plane needed to be perfect, John climbed down from the cockpit, the roar of Gettin’ Lucky’s engines still resonating in his bones. The morning sun broke through the clouds, casting long shadows across the tarmac. His crew followed, their laughter and chatter filling the air as they talked about the successful run and the smooth handling of the newly repaired bomber. John tried to focus on their words, but his mind kept drifting back to the previous night, and the button was now nestled in his jacket pocket.

Walking across the airfield, John noticed a rookie crew preparing for a training mission. The young pilot, a fresh-faced kid with wide eyes and a nervous smile caught John’s attention. The pilot’s uniform was crisp, his boots polished to a shine, and his movements were quick and eager. John couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia for his early days when everything felt so easy, but something else soon overshadowed that feeling.

As they passed, a familiar scent hit John like a punch to the gut—a fresh, clean, comforting smell that flooded his senses—the unmistakable perfume of Felicity’s laundry. John’s steps faltered, and he stopped dead in his tracks. His heart pounded, his fists clenched at his sides. The air seemed to thicken, and the camaraderie around him faded into the background noise.

The pilot looked up, his eyes meeting John’s. He smiled nervously, unaware of the turmoil raging inside John. “Good morning, Captain,” he said, his voice tinged with the excitement and anxiety of a rookie about to embark on a training mission.

John’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the pilot. He wanted to jump down the guy's throat for having the audacity to flaunt himself around John for coming in on his girl, even if it was for something as innocent as getting his shirts done. But that would be a step too far, even he knew that. Instead, he forced a tight smile and nodded. “Morning, Lieutenant. Ready for your training run?”

“You betcha, Sir.” The rookie’s voice was enthusiastic, his eyes shining with determination.

“Good. Keep your head on straight, and listen to your gut. You’ll do fine.”

“Golly,” the boy's face lit up as he nodded, “Thank you, Captain Egan. I appreciate it,”

John was about to walk away when he spun back, removing his sunglasses to look the guy in the eye, “Oh and Lieutenant?”

The young pilot stumbled and looked back at John with a crisp, “Yes, Sir?”

“Are you getting your laundry done off base?”

The pilot blinked before furrowing his brows. “Yes, Sir. But uh,” he looked around and lowered his voice, “I’m not supposed to say; I only got the information from winning a game of cards at the officer’s club.”

John fought back a laugh, finding this kid growing on him, but fixed himself a stern expression, crossing his arms and nodding his head gravely. “You must play a mean hand then; find me at the officer’s club later, and we’ll play.”

“You’re on, Captain. And even if you lose, I could ask the laundress for you next time I get over there to pick up my stuff; she’s a real swell gal.”

“Nah, don’t you worry about that. I’m taken care of. You just make sure you or your boys don’t cause her any trouble, or there will be hell to pay,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s a good girl, come here! Come get some kibble; I know you’re starving,” Felicity called out gently, her voice soft and coaxing. She was on her hands and knees in her driveway, trying to lure the dog hanging around her house for the past few days. The dog, with its black and white fur reminiscent of a Collie but the face and physique of a Labrador Retriever, looked like a farm dog gone astray. Each day she’d seen the dog, it seemed to be getting skinnier and skinnier, and Felicity couldn’t help but try to offer some help.

She threw out another handful of food, watching the skittish dog inch closer, drool dripping from its lips. “Come on, you can do it,” she murmured, extending her hand with a few more pieces of kibble.

The dog's eyes darted nervously, but hunger was winning out over fear. It took another cautious step forward, nose twitching as it sniffed the air.

“That’s it, girl, just a little closer,” Felicity encouraged, her heart aching at the sight of the animal’s protruding ribs and matted fur. She kept her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle the poor creature.

The dog finally reached the scattered kibble, gobbling it up quickly. Its eyes were still wary and darted to Felicity's face every few seconds. Felicity waited patiently, holding her breath as she watched the dog.

“There you go,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “See? I won’t hurt you.”

The dog finished the kibble and hesitated, its eyes meeting Felicity's. There was a moment of silent understanding, a fragile connection that made Felicity's heart swell. She slowly extended her hand again, offering more food.

The dog inched closer still, its nose brushing against her fingers as it took the kibble from her hand this time.“Good girl,” she whispered, gently stroking the dog's head. The animal flinched initially but then relaxed under her touch, trembling slightly.

Felicity continued to pet the dog, murmuring soothing words. “You’re safe now. I’ll take care of you if that is something you’d like?”

The dog leaned into her hand, a small, tentative sign of trust. Felicity’s heart melted completely. “Let’s get you inside, get you some more food, and maybe a bath,” she said, slowly standing up and leading the dog towards the house.

Once inside, she led the dog to the back of the laundry room, setting out a bowl of water and more food. The dog hesitated, looking around nervously before finally settling down to eat. 

A dog had always been out of the question—too much work, too much time. But now, things were different—and felt different. This was something she could do.

The creaking of the door at the top of the stairs tore her away from her new friend, and she made her way to the counter. Business had increased this week and she had taken on three new crews since Monday, not having the heart to turn away anyone, no matter how pressed she was for time to turn everything around in time. Though she found she didn’t have the heart to turn them away, especially fresh-faced ones. As she made her way, she scanned the new, growing list of crews she added to the chalkboard, counting off the number of sets she had to take care of before tomorrow. She supposed she could take on at least one more and still manage.

“Looks like you’ve been busy in the two days since I’ve last seen you Miss. Steele,”

Felicity’s eyes shot across the room, landing on John as he hopped down the last two steps and strode over to the counter, placing his hands on the wood and leaning over it. 

With his lips an inch from hers, Felicity looked over her shoulder, catching her father’s slippers as he sat in his chair in the back garden. “My Da is outside,” she scolded, pulling back slightly before John snuck in a peck on her cheek.

“Have you always had a pup?” he asked suddenly as he straightened up to look around her. 

Felicity followed his gaze to see the dog pushing around its empty bowl in the laundry room behind them. “She’s been hanging around the house for a few days. Poor thing looked so skinny and lost; I couldn’t leave her alone.”

John stepped closer, his eyes softening as he looked at the dog. “You’ve got a big heart, Felicity,” he said, gently petting the dog. “Good thing she found you. Does she have a name?”

“Not yet. I only plan to keep her until I find out where she came from. ”

John nodded, his eyes meeting hers with a look that made her heart skip a beat. “Aw, you can’t have that.” He whistled to the dog, who obediently trotted over to him, and Felicity watched in awe as she lay down at John’s feet. He leaned down and rubbed her belly, her tail thumping along the floor with every pat. 

“Honey. How about that? For a dog so sweet, it seems like a good fit.”

“Honey.” Felicity tried out, walking around the counter to join John in giving the dog a ruffle on her head. “I think she likes it,”

“Yeah me too, and it’ll throw people off when they come to the house and expect a sweet little thing only to be chased off by a vicious guard dog,”

Felicity paused, looking back up at John. “A vicious guard dog?”

“Yeah, if any of these flyboys try anything while they’re here, I’m going to train Honey up to chase them right off,”

“What are you talking about?” Felicity asked, straightening up and fixing her headscarf, which was slipping down her forehead. 

John took his time to stand up, running his hands through his hair before speaking. “Something caught me off guard yesterday," John stalked toward her, his eyes darkening with an intensity that made Felicity's heart skip a beat. She froze against the counter, trying to take stock of what could have caused this sudden shift in his demeanour.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He remained a closed book, his gaze flicking between her eyes and the blackboard she had recently put up to keep track of the planes and crew members she was laundering for. Felicity's heart raced as she watched his eyes narrow at the list of names.

The rumble in his chest was almost palpable as he closed the last few steps between them, pinning her to the wall on the other side of the blackboard. As her back hit the wall, he pressed himself against her, his presence overwhelming. One hand braced himself on the wall beside her head while the other ran a long, lingering finger down the list of planes she was now responsible for.

"Fourth place, eh?" he tutted, his finger stopping on Gettin’ Lucky's place on the board, sitting under three other names.

"Alphabetical order," Felicity tried to explain.

John's fist erased the three planes above his own, smudging the chalk swiftly and decently. Felicity picked up the chalk from beneath the board and spun around, rewriting Gettin’ Lucky's name at the top of the list.

"Happy?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"Very much so," John’s predatory smile appeared, his eyes never leaving hers. "You have no idea what smelling you on another man did to me, Felicity."

"I haven’t a clue," Felicity baited him with a flick of her tongue along her lower lip, tilting her head back to meet his looming lips hovering above her own.

"Watch yourself, Steele. I don’t care who might be in the next room," John warned his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine.

"You wouldn’t—" Dare.

The word was swallowed up by John's lips on hers, stealing any other words and her breath. His hands wrapped around her jaw, pulling her closer while pushing her up the wall, his body covering hers in a heated embrace.

Like their first real kiss, there was nothing reserved about this one. It was all heat, intensity, and need. Felicity felt limp in his arms, the only thing holding her up as her knees buckled beneath her. Sensing her unsteadiness, he prodded her knees open and, wrapping his hands around her backside, lifted her, slotting his knee between her thighs with one swift push.

"Oh," Felicity gasped, breaking their kiss for the first time, pulling back to stare into his near-black irises.

John laughed a low, self-satisfied rumble that sent vibrations deep into the pit of her stomach. He set her back down, smoothing down her rumpled dress in the process.

He bent down and kissed her forehead, gently brushing her hair off her cheek. "I told you to watch yourself," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

"I’ve learned my lesson," she replied, breathless, her heart pounding.

"Good," he smiled, stepping back and readjusting his jacket, tucking his shirt back into his trousers. The room seemed to expand again as he moved away, the heat of the moment lingering in the air. 

“Now that you have thoroughly explained your competitive nature, Captain, is there anything else I can help you with this afternoon? As you can see, I am quite the busy woman these days,” Felicity teased, folding her arms.

John held up one stern finger, though the mischief dancing in his eyes belied his serious demeanour. “Don’t start with me.”

“Out with you,” she laughed, nudging him toward the door. “And don’t forget to take your laundry this time. I swear you leave here without it more than half the times you come.”

“Gotta give myself excuses to come back,” he quipped, his grin widening.

Felicity walked with him to the bottom of the steps, handing over two thick laundry packages into his arms. “You’ve earned yourself an open invitation,” she said, her voice softer, carrying more weight than she intended.

“Yeah?” He looked at her like she was about to hand him a thousand pounds. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Felicity leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, the touch lingering longer than necessary. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked suddenly as if he finally remembered why he was here in the first place.

“Well, today is Saturday,” Felicity checked the clock above the counter, “at 4, I need to go turn over the washing, and then at 5, I make dinner for six sharp.” She stopped there, too self-conscious to continue detailing her evening routine.

“What are you doing at 7?”

Washing the floors, she thought, but before she could say it aloud, John interrupted her thoughts.

“There’s a little thing going on at base tonight, and I’d love it if you would come.”

“John, that sounds like a great time, but—”

“She’ll be there,” her father interjected, appearing in the doorway without any announcement.

“Dad!” Felicity jumped, her face turning bright red. “I thought you were still in the garden.”

“I’ll be here at quarter to then,” John nodded with a smile to her father as if they were bank robbers completing a job.

Her father just smiled, his eyes twinkling with unspoken approval. “You kids have fun.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hangar buzzed with energy, the makeshift dance floor alive with airmen and their partners twirling to the lively rhythms of the big band. John leaned against the bar, nursing a whiskey and watching the scene unfold. Gale stood beside him, his attention divided between the dance floor and a pair of brunettes giggling in the corner.

John's gaze, however, was fixed on Felicity. She danced the jitterbug with Curt, her laughter ringing over the music. Her skirt flared with each spin, her cheeks flushed with exertion and joy. Curt was a natural, leading her expertly through the steps, his grin as wide as hers. John couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy mixed with admiration. Felicity had an infectious spirit, a brightness that drew everyone in, and tonight, she was positively radiant.

“You in deep or what?” Gale remarked, following John's line of sight.

John chuckled, shaking his head. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Poor girl,” Gale said with a slap on his back. “She has no idea what she’s signed up for, does she?”

“You gotta help me,” John implored.

“I can write Marge—” Gale began.

“No!” John barked. “And have every wife in the Hundredth gossiping? No way in hell.”

“Alright, alright,” Gale conceded. “But know that it won't take long for people to start wagging tongues once it’s known John Egan has decided to take himself off the market.”

John laughed, more at himself than anything else, his eyes following Felicity on the dance floor.

"She sure is making Curt look better than he has any right to," Gale said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

As the song ended, the dancers applauded, breathless and beaming. Curt escorted Felicity off the floor, her hand in his, and they made their way over to John and Gale.

"Having fun?" John asked, handing Felicity a glass of lemonade.

"You Americans on something else," she replied, her eyes sparkling. "Curt's quite the dancer."

Curt laughed, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just trying to keep up with her."

Before John could say anything else, a flash of white fur barreled past them, tackling Felicity to the ground in a whirlwind of slobbery kisses and excited barks.

“Meatball!” Benny called out, scrambling to catch up. John’s protective instincts kicked in, and he lunged forward, his boots slipping slightly on the smooth dance floor.

“It’s okay!” Felicity’s laughter bubbled up, a melodic sound that eased the tension in John’s chest. She lay on the floor, giggling as Meatball licked her face with unrestrained joy. “He’s actually quite gentle.”

John crouched down, his hand steadying on Meatball’s collar, gently pulling the enthusiastic dog off Felicity. “Alright, buddy, you’ve had your fun,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Benny, give me a hand here.” He glanced over his shoulder, seeing DeMarco, Blakely, and Curt watching with amused expressions. With a sharp whistle from Benny, Meatball obediently trotted to his heel.

“Sorry about that, Felicity,” Benny apologized, his grin sheepish. John extended his hand to Felicity, helping her to her feet. As she stood, he couldn’t help but smooth down her dress, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric, memorizing every curve and line of her figure. Felicity’s cheeks flushed a deep red, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something else that made his heart skip a beat as her eyes flashed across his.

“Really, it’s okay,” Felicity reassured, brushing off the remnants of her tumble. “I recently got a dog, so he can probably smell her all over me.”

“Oh yeah, that’ll do it,” Benny chuckled, ruffling Meatball’s fur. “He can be a bit of, well, a dog when it comes to pretty ladies.”

“Not all unlike Curt here,” Blakely added, giving Curt a playful shove.

“I don’t believe any of that for a second,” Felicity said, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she reached for her drink.

“Thank you, Felicity. You’d think after everything I’ve gone through with these drips, they’d show a bit more respect,” Curt quipped, drawing a laugh from the group.

“Gentlemen,” the room fell silent as Colonel Harding strode in, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Ms. Steele,” he greeted, his gaze lingering on Felicity with an intensity that made John’s fists clench at his sides.

“Sir,” the men echoed, straightening their backs in unison.

“You fellas enjoying yourselves?” Harding’s voice boomed, filling the space with authority.

“Always, Sir,” Curt responded for the group while John focused on standing close enough to Felicity to catch the faint, intoxicating scent of her perfume mingling with the lingering traces of summer air.

“Glad to hear it. You boys earned it,” Harding lifted his beer, his voice rising. “To the Hundredth,” he shouted. John joined the huddle of cheers, the sound echoing off the walls, a thunderous affirmation of camaraderie and resolve.

As they raised their glasses, John felt spirits lift, his body coiling with anticipation of getting back in his plane. Gettin’ Lucky was almost ready for action, the crew’s practice run reigniting the fire within him. Yet, the time he had spent with Felicity over these past few days had left an indelible mark on him, a blend of joy and pleasant distraction that he could no longer deny. His gaze drifted to Felicity, her laughter blending with the music, her presence grounding him even as it threatened to unravel him. He was ready to face the skies again, but he knew that no matter how high he flew, part of him would always be anchored to the ground. 

"Now get your asses onto the dance floor and get the lead out!" Harding called out, his voice booming over the jubilant crowd. The boys, caught in the thrill of the moment, moved eagerly toward the dance floor, laughter and camaraderie rippling through the air.

John's eyes found Felicity amidst the revelry, her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling as she took a delicate sip of her punch. She plucked a few errant strands of white dog hair from her dark purple dress, her fingers lingering over the fabric with a tenderness that made his heartache. Sliding over to her, he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. He fought the urge to nuzzle into her neck, her scent—a mix of lavender and soap—so intoxicating it nearly undid him.

"You having a good time, doll?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, lingering longer than he should have but unable to stop himself.

"Very much so," she replied, leaning into his side, her eyes meeting his through thick, fluttering lashes. There was a vulnerability there, a quiet strength that made him want to protect and cherish her all at once.

"How about a dance? Curt seems to be teaching you a thing or two," he suggested, his voice a low rumble.

"You read my mind," she said, her smile radiant and infectious.

"Well, I can tell you right now," he dipped lower, his lips brushing against her ear, "you don’t want to be reading my mind right now." His hand skimmed down her back, sweeping across her hips and backside, trailing down to her upper thigh. Her soft gasp made him stop, the sound a tantalizing mix of surprise and desire.

Before either of them could speak, a whistle blew, and someone shouted over the dying notes of the band. "Bike race! Come on, everybody, bike race!"

Clatyor appeared at the bar, his face alight with excitement. "Everyone to the mess hall!" he called out, bouncing on his toes to be seen over the crowd.

A bike race was probably the only thing in the world that could tempt John away from Felicity's embrace. He was down about twenty bucks, having lost three of the last impromptu races, and nothing ignited his competitive spirit more than losing, especially to Buck.

"Run along, Captain," Felicity said, disentangling herself from his arms and handing him the last sip of his whisky. "You’ve got a bike race to win," she added with a wink, her hand slipping into his and pulling him toward the mass of people swarming to the mess hall entrance.

"Stay here, and you’ll get the best seat in the house," John said, guiding Felicity to a spot on the wall that was safely out of the way of any potential crashes but offered a perfect view of the action. He wanted her to see him win, to be there when he crossed the finish line first.

The other officers were already lined up with their bikes, the atmosphere crackling with anticipation. John leaned down, planting a quick kiss on Felicity's cheek. Her skin was warm and soft, and the brief contact sent a jolt of electricity through him.

Tearing himself away from her and joining the line of eager racers. The mess hall was a chaotic symphony of clattering bikes and boisterous cheers. John mounted his bike, lining up beside Gale, his hands steady on the handlebars, eyes fixed on the makeshift track winding through the connected huts. 

“I don’t think so, Captain ,” Gale grinned, his blue eyes sparkling as he motioned for John to fall in line behind him. “Rank has its privileges.”

John groaned but complied, backing his bike up behind Gale’s. He settled himself shoulder to shoulder between Curt and Douglass, the buzz of the impending race making his heart pound. His eyes drifted to where Felicity was standing, just in time to see her open her purse and hand over a few coins to an officer with a book, scribbling bets as he collected a mittful of change.

“I see money changing hands!” John called out, straining on his tiptoes to be heard over the excited chatter. Felicity's head snapped toward him, a slow smile spreading across her face as she snapped her purse shut, her eyes flashing with playful defiance.

“That better be going on me!” he yelled louder, his heart thundering as anticipation surged through him. Felicity responded with a noncommittal shrug, and John felt a growl rumble deep within him. The heat of competition surged through his veins, now fortified with an even stronger reason to win.

The flare popped, and the world narrowed to the frantic pedalling and the blur of huts around them. John’s legs pumped furiously, every muscle straining as he maneuvered his bike through the tight corners and narrow passageways. The roar of the crowd was a distant echo, his focus solely on the finish line and the thought of Felicity watching him.

He could feel Gale and Curt on either side of him, their bikes jostling for position. The race was a chaotic symphony of clattering metal and breathless shouts. John’s competitive nature flared, spurred on by the image of Felicity placing her bet on someone else.

“C’mon, Egan, you lardass!” Buck shot over his shoulder as they rounded another corner into the enlisted men’s mess. The humid air inside the building mixed with the scent of sweat and faint traces of motor oil, creating an atmosphere thick with camaraderie and competition.

“I’m coming for ya,” John yelled back, his thighs burning as he pushed harder, the muscles in his legs screaming for relief. He could feel the rough, uneven texture of the floor beneath his tires, each bump and crevice threatening to send him sprawling. 

He was just two hard pedal strokes away from Gale when he watched his friend’s tire slide out from under him. Gale crashed to the slick floor, the sound of metal scraping against concrete echoing through the mess. John’s reflexes, dulled by whisky, failed him, and he followed suit, tumbling into a chaotic heap of limbs and twisted bike metal. The rest of the pack toppled over them, a cacophony of grunts and groans.

“I sure as hell had you,” John groaned, tossing off Crosby’s bike, the cold steel biting into his skin as he tried to dig out some breathing room.

“Not a chance in hell,” came Gale’s voice from somewhere beyond John’s elbow, a strained chuckle escaping his lips as he propped himself up.

John was about to find his bike and make another attempt when the air raid siren blared, its piercing wail slicing through the jubilant atmosphere like a blade. Panic surged through the crowd, the celebration forgotten in an instant. John’s heart pounded in his chest, a wild rhythm of fear and urgency. He scanned the sea of faces, quickly finding Felicity’s.

“Shelter! Find shelter!” The shout came from all around, but John’s focus was singular. 

In the chaos, he saw Felicity standing at the mess hall entrance, her face pale but determined, her eyes wide and scanning the crowd. Her dress, a deep shade of plum, clung to her in the humid night, and stray curls framed her face, slightly dishevelled but still perfect as their eyes met.

“Felicity!” he shouted, abandoning his bike and sprinting toward her. She was already moving, pushing through the panicked crowd with a calm determination, when John reached her and grabbed her hand.

“This way,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside him. Together, they ran for the nearest shelter, John shielding her with his body as best he could. The other officers and airmen followed suit, everyone moving quickly and efficiently despite the urgency.

The shelter loomed ahead, a dimly lit sanctuary in the frantic night. John tightened his grip on Felicity’s hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath her soft skin, guiding her through the entrance just as the first distant explosions echoed through the air. Inside, the shelter was crowded, filled with anxious faces and the hum of low conversations. The dim light cast long shadows, making the space feel both intimate and suffocating as John led Felicity to a quieter corner, wrapping his arms around her in a protective embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and urgent, his breath mingling with hers as he spoke. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, a rapid flutter mirrored his own.

She nodded, but her voice was shaky. “My Da…”

John pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “He’ll be alright. He knows what to do,” he murmured, more for his own reassurance than hers. “You’re safe.”

Felicity nodded again, her grip on him tightening as she buried her face in his chest. The shelter settled into a tense, waiting silence before the ground began to shake and the echo of distant bombs cut through the air.

[kkmix-writes]

These two

Callum Turner & Austin Butler in Masters of The Air (2024—)

[kkmix-writes]

[kkmix-writes]

Stubble Squad™

[kkmix-writes]

One of my favorite #WWII photos. One bomber coming in, another taxiing. A small group of men look on.

@Francisbekafigo via X

[kkmix-writes]

Mine does! Mine does!! The absolute best thing to add in when things get 🥰🥰

[kkmix-writes]

[kkmix-writes]

by Anya Hope Medlin

[kkmix-writes]

Twenty-One Doves: Chapter 12

“Can this thing go any faster?” Felicity’s urgent voice cut through the roaring wind as she pressed harder on the Jeep’s accelerator, feeling the pedal resist stubbornly under her foot. The unyielding pressure answered her question, and her gaze snapped back to the road, her eyes widening at the sight of the sharp curve rushing towards them, almost too late.

“Brake, brake, brake!” John’s voice rose, each word sharper and more urgent than the last. Felicity’s foot slammed on the brake at the last possible second, the Jeep lurching to a sudden, violent stop. John was thrown forward against the windshield with a dull thud, a groan escaping his lips as the impact resonated through him.

Dust billowed around them, shrouding the Jeep in a gritty cloud as it skidded to a halt on the narrow shoulder. Felicity’s heart pounded in her chest, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. Her breath came in quick, uneven bursts, a stifled laugh slipping through her lips despite the rush of fear still prickling her skin. She turned to John, her face a mix of worry and exhilaration, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I’m so sorry,” she pleaded, a nervous laugh escaping despite herself. “I guess it probably isn’t meant to go any faster on these roads.”

John adjusted his sunglasses, which had slipped down his nose, and ran a hand through his tousled curls. His expression was unreadable, a blank canvas that made Felicity’s stomach twist with anxiety. Had she ruined their afternoon? But then, a slow, teasing smile spread across his face, and he chuckled softly. “No harm done,” he said lightly, “If you ever learned how to fly a Spitfire like you drive this Jeep, this war would be over next month.”

Relief washed over Felicity, and she laughed harder, the tension easing from her shoulders. “I’d hate to be responsible for rolling that basket you brought with you that smells like freshly baked bread all over the road.”

John nodded along, still smiling. “That or the ice-cold beer with it,” he said, jumping out of the Jeep and running around to open Felicity’s door. She took his extended hands, feeling the warmth of his palms, her heart still racing from their wild ride. Or maybe it was from when he appeared on her doorstep this morning with an easy smile and a twinkle in his eye, asking, “Fancy a drive?” She had taken his hand without a second thought, not caring where it would lead her.

As they journeyed through the countryside, Felicity marvelled at how much could change in a day. The memory of watching John crash-land from the tower yesterday seemed distant now, the hot, thick afternoon air wrapping around them like a comforting blanket. She moved to the passenger side as John took the wheel, the Jeep rumbling to life beneath them. The rolling hills and open fields stretched before them, bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun. The wind whipped through her hair, and she laughed; the sound carried away on the breeze.

“I suppose it’s too late for me to ask where we’re going,” she said, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “I realize now that’s probably something I should have asked before I jumped in your Jeep.”

John glanced over at her, his smile widening. “I’m beginning to think you have a bit of a wild streak, Felicity Steele. Why do you think I asked if you wanted to drive when I saw how you admired the gear shifters?”

She hadn’t been staring at the shifters but at his strong hands upon them, a secret she kept to herself. “I hope you don’t mind that I have something decidedly boring planned for this afternoon,” John continued, looking over at her and winking. “I’ve had a bit of a rough go these past two days and need a second to lay low.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about; from my vantage point yesterday, little Ralphie Thompson could have landed that plane.”

“You’re probably right with how often that boy hangs around the hardstands.”

They drove on, the landscape shifting from open fields to dense thickets of trees. The path narrowed, and John slowed the Jeep, skillfully navigating the twists and turns. Finally, they emerged into a small clearing overlooking a large, glassy lake, its surface shimmering in the late afternoon light. “This is it,” John said, pulling the Jeep to a stop and stretching his long limbs above his head with a groan. Felicity stepped out, taking in the scene. The lake mirrored the clear, cornflower-blue sky above, and the trees around it reflected in its still waters. The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, a peacefulness so lost in her life.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, turning to John with a grateful smile. “Though now I don’t see why you risked your neck having me drive us here and miss out on the view if I crashed the Jeep.”

He walked over to her, shaking his head with a playful frown. “You’ve never been here before?”

“I find it hard to get out much beyond Thorpe Abbotts.”

“Then I’ve got a big job ahead of me to make sure you won’t regret saying yes,” he said slowly before returning to the Jeep and retrieving the picnic basket from the backseat.

His words from the night before echoed in her head: I’m going to kiss you. And that’ll change everything. The memory swirled in her stomach, a mix of anticipation and nervousness swelling within her. She hadn’t expected to be going out today, and she glanced down at her pale yellow sundress, worn and mended so many times it was practically white, frantically trying to pick the strings that loosened from the seams of her hem.

“You want to join me?” John called, already laying out the blanket with two brown bottles of beer and some bread and cheese on a plate bearing the 100th crest, likely pinched from the officer's mess.

Felicity jumped at his words, realizing she had been standing at the water’s edge, lost in her thoughts. She walked over, butterflies erupting within her as she took in John’s long body stretched out on the blanket.

“I promise I saved the best part of this blanket for you,” he said with a short laugh. “I don’t think it’s been stored in the plane's emergency kit for that long either, which is a plus for both of us. Still is relatively standard issue soft.”

Forgetting her nerves, she settled on the blanket asJohn handed her a beer, his gaze unwavering. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle gently against hers. “Beer was the only thing I could grab on short notice, so I hope you weren’t expecting champagne.”

“Cheers,” she echoed, taking a sip and feeling the cold liquid calm her nerves. “Beer is better than champagne around these parts.”

“That’s why you’re my kind of girl.”

Felicity had never wanted to be kissed more, but trying to control herself, she settled on the mundane, which, surprisingly, came harder than crawling into his lap. “How did you find this place? Not many people find their way to the Ocean Pit.”

“This comes from the ocean?” John sat up straighter, his voice piqued with interest.

“It comes down from the coast at Lowestoft, I’m sure,”

“That makes sense then because those beaches down by the coast are one of my favourite sights in the world.”

��You’ve been before?”

“Only from about 5,000 feet up,” he laughed, the sparkle in his blue eyes matching the calm waters beyond. “I see those beaches, and I know I’m almost home. First, the beaches,” his hand brushed against her fingertips as they crept toward his stretched-out leg. “First the beaches, then about ten minutes later and another 4,500 feet, there’s this brick house that comes into view over the hedgerows, usually with a bunch of laundry on the line blowing in the breeze that lets me know I’ve made it back.”

John leaned over to his side, propping himself up on his elbows, his wide-eyed smile closing in the air around her. Felicity’s breath hitched at his closeness, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.

“I wouldn’t trade that view for anything, not on my landings and especially not on any takeoff,” John said, his voice soft yet firm. His words were like a gentle nudge, knocking her right out of her insecurities — he could see her. 

“I can never tell which plane is yours from the ground, so I always wait until every plane has taken off before I go inside.”

“Next time, I’ll make sure you know it's me, okay?” He squeezed her hand, his touch sending a wave of reassurance through her, but with it came a new, all-consuming feeling.

“I’d appreciate the warning because I’m only standing out there to know if more laundry will come in later. It kicks me into getting your older stuff done first.”

“I see how it is then. So this is still a business deal for you?” He said as he trailed his finger through the consideration on the side of his bottle. “Because if that’s the case, I better let you know that my intentions have nothing to do with laundry, Felicity. Though, I can blame myself for those crossed wires because I probably should have told you that the first time I met you. Do you remember that day?”

Some images get burned into a person's brain forever— for better or worse—and finding him standing in her basement was one of the best ones she had filed away forever.

“Do you remember what happened before that?” he prompted again, bringing forth every sight, sound and smell from that day.

“Was that before or after you nearly took the roof off my house?”

John’s rich, honeyed laugh sent a shiver through her core as it threaded through every cell in her body. “So you do remember? That’s good,” he paused to adjust his cap long enough to let her mull over what was considered good about that first interaction because her recollection made her want to sink into the sand on the shores beyond them.

“When I came to your house that day, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know who would be on the other side of the door when I saw that laundry sign in your window. I was prepared to sweet talk to any old lady who came my way. That would have been a cakewalk for me. But I wasn’t expecting you, Felicity Steele, that’s for damned sure,”

“It’s a well-known fact my father and I are the most unexpected people in Thorpe Abbotts, so I’m not shocked at your assessment,”

“Unexpectedly wonderful,”

Felicity scoffed, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve been called worse, but now that I think of it, I don’t think I ever gave that apology.”

“I would say you’re off to a good start with today,”

“Well, now this changes things,” he mused, looking down at her with a wolfing grin, “If this is an apology lunch, then I can’t call this a date in good conscience.”

“I see your point,” she tried and failed to look back at him with a straight stare, “I hope you have a way of making it up to me then,”

“Sweetheart, you saw the state of my plane. I’ll be grounded for the better part of the week; I’ve got all the time in the world to sweep you off your feet with the date of your dreams.”

“I’ll allow it then; it gives you more time to think of something better to do,” she laughed, leaning into him, her shoulder tucked into his chest. He hugged her tight and reciprocated the squeeze before letting her go.

“I’m sorry for nearly squashing your house. Will you ever forgive me?” He stared down at her with those eyes, and she knew she could never deny this man anything.

“You know you already have been,” she whispered, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the sincerity of his apology.

John’s smile grew tender. “You know, I grew up on the shores of Lake Michigan, in Wisconsin,” he began, a nostalgic gleam in his eyes. “One of the biggest lakes in the country. I’d swim all day if I could. When I was thirteen, I tried to swim the whole thing.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Canada? How big is this lake?”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “Well, I made it about a mile before it began to get dark. I had to walk home, dripping wet in my swimsuit. It was quite the adventure.”

“Where were your parents during all this?” Felicity asked curiosity piqued as she imagined a young John, full of daring and determination.

John’s smile turned a bit sheepish, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “They had more important things on their mind than wondering what I got up to in my summers. I had a lot of freedom to explore and get into trouble.”

Felicity laughed softly, the sound like a soft melody in the quiet night. “Sounds like quite the childhood. What about other adventures? Did you have more?”

“Plenty,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he leaned back on his elbows, the relaxed posture inviting her to share more of herself. “But now it’s your turn. What were your sordid tales of youth?”

Should she tell him everything? Why was this man someone she wanted to tell everything to? The trips into Norwich, the pubs, the drinking… everything. Nothing made sense, but for some unthinking reason, everything did. John beside her just made sense.

“I spent most of my time trying to get out of Thorpe Abbotts,” she admitted, her voice softening, the memories of her youth blending with the present moment.

“Then I suppose I should thank whatever kept you here,” he paused, his gaze steady and earnest, as if trying to convey the depth of his gratitude for fate’s hand in their meeting. “Because then how would I have ever met you?”

“I guess you would start with my father then,” she said, her heart swelling with pride and melancholy.

“That would be my greatest honour and pleasure. He’s one of the most interesting men I’ve ever met. You know, you’re a lot like him. I’m coming to notice,” John’s voice was gentle, each word a caress, making her feel seen and valued.

“You don’t mean that,” Felicity tried to brush it off, though her heart fluttered at the compliment.

“I do,” he insisted, his tone unwavering. “You both have a strength that’s quietly fierce. It’s something I admire deeply.”

As his words sank in, Felicity felt a warmth spread through her chest, a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she was missing. Here, under the vast expanse of the night sky, with John by her side, everything felt right.

John's eyes sparkled with mischief as he glanced at the nearby lake. "Have you ever skipped rocks before?"

Felicity shook her head, a sheepish smile playing on her lips. "I can't say I have."

"Well, then, it seems I've got to show you the ropes," he said, standing up and offering his hand to her. She took it, feeling a thrill at his touch, and they made their way to the water's edge.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the lake, the water glimmering with a gentle, inviting rippling. John bent down, picking up a flat, smooth stone, and handed it to her. "The trick is to find the right kind of rock," he explained, his fingers brushing against hers as he placed the stone in her palm. "Flat and light, like this one."

She nodded, her eyes following his every move as he selected another rock for himself. "Now, watch closely," he said, positioning himself at the water's edge. He angled his body sideways, his arm swinging in a smooth, fluid motion. The stone skipped across the surface, bouncing four times before sinking into the depths. "Your turn," John said, stepping aside to give her room. "Remember, it's all in the wrist."

She took a deep breath, mimicking his stance and movement. She flicked her wrist, releasing the stone, but it plopped into the water without a single skip. Felicity let out a laugh, shaking her head. "That was awful."

"Not bad for your first try," John encouraged, grinning. "Here, let me help."

He moved behind her, his body closing in and enveloping her hand in his, guiding her movements as he spoke softly in her ear. "Relax your shoulder and flick your wrist just like this."

The proximity made her arms tingle but she tried to focus on his instructions. Together, they threw the stone, and it skipped twice before sinking. 

"You did it," he said, his eyes warm with pride. "See, you're a natural."

They spent the next hour at the water's edge, skipping stones and laughing at their mishaps. John told stories of his childhood adventures by the lake, each vividly describing the boy he once was. While Felicity shared bits of her past, trying her best to sift through the monotonous memories and pick out the meagre ones that stood out the most.

After her best skipped rock yet, John stopped and stretched as the sun descended toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the landscape. "We should probably pack up and head back," he said, glancing at the sky.

Felicity nodded, a touch of reluctance in her movements as they gathered their things. The picnic had been perfect, a slice of peace in a chaotic world as they returned to the blanket, folding it up and placing the remnants of their meal into the basket.

On the drive home, the air between them was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that only came after a day well spent. Felicity leaned her head back, watching the fading colours of the sky out the window. John drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the seat between them.

"Thank you for today," she said softly, breaking the silence.

John glanced over at her, his smile gentle. "The pleasure was all mine, Felicity. If you think we’re all squared up on apologies, I’d say we can call the next one a date. Would you agree?"

“I would,”

“Music to my ears,”

Felicity shifted closer to him on the bench, leaning into his heat, his crisp scent flooding her senses, making her forget the world around her. Reaching up, she kissed his smooth cheek. It was a quick peck, not the type of kiss she longed for -what she dreamed of, but one filled with every ounce of hope for the days to come and gratitude for the time they’d shared already. 

Felicity could have sworn she heard him let out a low groan as he threw his arm around her, securing him against his side as they flew home. 

~~~~~~~~~

Asking her out now would be greedy. He knew it would be, but as he slowed the Jeep just before the turn-off to the base on the way home to Felicity’s house, he knew he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, the fields around them bathed in a serene glow. The contrast between the tranquillity of the scene and the nervous energy in his chest was almost unbearable.

“Was this not just…?” Felicity began, her eyebrows raised, her mouth softly parted in concern.

“Nope,” he replied, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “It was an apology lunch, remember? I want to cash in that date you just promised,” He took a deep breath, trying to stop himself from doing the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do with her—he wasn’t like those other pilots. He was trying to do things properly. Though that plan was blown to all hell now after that taste, she had given him earlier this afternoon. “Can I take you to see my plane?”

A flicker of something—surprise, intrigue, maybe even excitement—flashed across her eyes, causing John almost to stutter out a hurried response to cover it up. She didn’t know what that meant, did she? There was no way she could, but he swore the look of shock that passed over her before the small smile tilted her lips into a sly smile and told him that maybe she did. Either way, when she silently nodded her head, teeth biting down on her lower lip, he couldn’t think of anything else but spinning the Jeep’s wheels on the dirt road and high-tailing it toward the base.

As they neared the base, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the landscape. The air was tinged with the scent of oil, and the faint echo of distant laughter from the barracks was a strange but comforting symphony. Though without the familiar hum of engines and the occasional roar of aircraft filled the air, the war felt a world away. 

John navigated the Jeep through the gates, nodding to the guards, who gave him curious glances but let them pass without question. He drove towards the hardstand where Gettin' Lucky stood amidst scaffolding and repair equipment. The aircraft bore the scars of its recent crash landing, its fuselage riddled with dents and patches, the sight of which filled John with a bittersweet mix of pride and sorrow.

John jumped out of the Jeep and hurried to Felicity's side, offering her his hand. "Careful," he said as she took it, stepping out onto the tarmac. "It's not exactly a typical date spot."

Felicity looked around, her eyes wide with wonder. "It's perfect," she said softly, her gaze returning to him. Her voice, filled with genuine admiration, wrapped around him like a warm embrace.

John led her closer to the bomber, "She's been mine since 1942; I know her better than I know myself sometimes." He ran his fingers along the cold, dented metal, the memories of every one of their flights coursing through his fingertips as if the stories she held were welded into every piece of her.

Felicity ran her fingers lightly over the plane’s battered surface alongside him. "It’s hard to believe what she can go through and still make it home,” she said, looking back at him. Her eyes, filled with empathy, seemed to see straight into his soul. "I wish there was a way I could repay her for bringing you home safe."

"Well, you can thank her, of course, but then you’d have to go thank Crosby for his navigation, Curt for helping me keep her steady, and the rest of the guys for blowing those fighters out of the sky that gave us the smallest chance of making it," John corrected a small smile on his lips. "But you’re right; Lucky’s saved my life more than I can count."

He walked alongside the fuselage, pointing out various spots. "Lemmons has been working on these areas here," he said, his fingers tracing over freshly patched metal. "We took a hit near the tail, but it’s almost as good as new. Still need to fix the landing gear and some control surfaces."

John tried to keep himself focused on Felicity, but it was hard to do so when Lucky was in such rough shape right before him. But he knew once Lemmons was through with her, she’d be in better shape than when she first rolled off Boeing’s production line, which helped soothe his wandering thoughts.

"It’s incredible what you all do," she said, “I can’t imagine ten of you up there.”

"I can show you if you like," he said, his voice low and earnest. "If you don’t mind crawling up into a tight space."

John watched as her eyes scanned the plane again before grabbing his hand. "Show me the way, Captain."

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, John led her up into the plane, helping her climb the ladder into the bomb bay, and enjoying to view of watching her crawl up. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic place in the world as they scrambled into the dark interior that smelled of metal, oil, and sweat. Still, he knew she would understand that for all her faults, each spoke to the countless missions and narrow escapes that saw them back home safely, and he continued to lead her further into the plane.

"This is it, really; just be careful; I don’t know what some of the boys have left behind," he said, guiding her through the narrow passageway. "This is the right and left waist,” he pointed out the two windows as they shimmered through the plane that John had to crouch so he could pass through. “The ball turret, where Babyface gives the Germans hell,” They sidestepped around the ball turret in the floor, “And this here is the radio room and bomb bays–  watch yourself,” John added, holding her hand as they crossed the narrow parapet, “And down there is where Crosby and Doug hang out, chatting each other’s ears off every mission,” he brought them to the front of the plane, where an open hatch sat behind the two pilot’s chairs at the front of the plane.

“They must have the most incredible views from down there,” 

“Oh yeah? Wait till you see this.” He led her further, the metal creaking beneath their feet as he held her hand to the flight deck. John led her to the cockpit, where the large windows offered a panoramic view of the airfield. “It’s not much, but it’s home in the sky."

"It’s incredible," she said, her voice filled with awe, her breath fogging the glass slightly as she leaned closer to the windshield.

John settled into the pilot's seat, gesturing for her to sit beside him in Curt’s chair. "This is by far the best seat in the house," he said, his voice tinged with pride. “Up here, it’s just me and the sky."

Felicity settled into the co-pilot’s seat, her eyes wide with wonder. "I’ve never seen anything like this," she said, her voice calm and reverent as if she were in a sacred place.

John smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Thank you for coming with me." Though he would have never admitted it out loud, he was nervous about having to step foot on his plane again after what they had just gone through, and having Felicity by his side when he settled into his chair made the whole task less daunting.

“Why flying? Why bombers?” Felicity asked, wrapping her hands around the yoke and running them back and forth down the smooth, metal enamel. John could almost sense the instrument panel before her coming alive, humming with latent energy as if she were powering the machine alone.

Here we go , he thought to himself as he swallowed a laugh, not because it was a funny question—no, he’d answered this question dozens of times over his career, and it was bound to come up eventually. But what made him laugh was this was the first time he even considered responding with the truth.

“I picked bombers because I knew that one day, they would commercialize flying. As a kid, if I was drilled on anything, it was that I would need a job that pays and I figured flying a plane around the country would be a good a way as any to earn a paycheck .”

Now, that wasn’t so bad. He answered her first question honestly, and she didn’t flinch or ask any more questions, even when he mentioned his childhood. He could have probably stopped there; it didn’t look like she would have pressed him about omitting the second part of her question.

Pausing to survey if it looked like she was hesitant to continue, he found no reason to on her keen, intent face staring back at him, and he took a fortifying breath before diving into the real can of worms. 

“But the heart of the matter is that I picked flying because I wanted to find a way to get from Wisconsin to New York faster than the sixteen hours on the train it would take.”

“Why New York?” Felicity’s question sliced through the air, opening up an old wound, raw and unhealed. He might have found an excuse to leave the conversation if anyone else had asked. But sitting here, in his plane, where he had lived every spectrum of human emotion over the last year, everything felt possible with Felicity beside him. Her presence was a balm, soothing and steadying. There was nothing to fear.

Even then, he found his age-old defences responding as he tossed her a lacquered joke instead of the truth. “The New York Yankees is why,” he said, knowing exactly what he was doing when he dragged his hand through his hair, pulling out the curl at the front, and giving her that half-lazy smile that usually deflected further questions.

“You’re looking at me like I should know what that is,” she half-laughed, dismantling every shred of his bravado. Her laugh was like a melody, light and infectious, filling the cockpit with warmth, and he realized he didn’t want to say anything that would bring down the mood. And telling her the truth would likely do just that. 

“And you’re telling me you don’t know what the Yankees are? You’re in for an education, doll.”

He breathed, ready to dive into tales of Yankee Stadium, the Bronx, and Babe Ruth. But then he looked at her, into the swirling pools of browns and greens, her cheeks with a hint of a flush under the light freckles that had come out in the afternoon sun. And he realized he didn’t want to talk about baseball and the Yankees at all. What he wanted to talk about was Kathleen. Before he lost all his courage, he dove right into the thick of it. 

"Actually, my sister lived in New York," he began, the words heavy but necessary. "Her name was Kathleen. She was five years older than me.” He paused to gauge Felicity’s expression, noting that his use of past tense wasn’t lost on her. She pulled her legs up underneath her to swivel in Curt’s seat, facing him fully. Her eyes, soft and understanding, invited him to continue. “She was a firecracker, and had this wicked sense of humour, she loved to be outside in the sunshine; she was my favourite person in the world. But she was born with something that made her different. She couldn’t talk or walk that well, and she would always get sick. The doctors didn’t know exactly what the defect was, and there was nothing to be done except try to look after her, which sometimes—wasn’t easy. When she was twelve, our parents had to send her to a home in New York because they couldn’t get the care she needed close to home. I was seven years old and begged them to let her stay."

Felicity’s expression softened, her eyes filling with understanding. Her hand reached out, resting on his arm, a small gesture that anchored him. "That must have been hard for all of you."

"For me, it was," he admitted, his words struggling to come out as the anger flowed into voice. "In the early days, we all went together a few times a year to see her. Those first visits I remember  I would cry all the way back to Wisconsin because I didn’t understand why we couldn’t bring her home.”

Cutting himself off, he pulled his eyes away from her and looked down, readjusting his cufflinks so she couldn’t see the tears flooding his eyes. He’d already blubbered on more than he should have and gone into far more detail than necessary.

Any time he’d brought up Kathleen to women in the past, they would brush it off, or even worse, try to console him with the fact it was probably for the best she was sent away “so his family could live a normal life.”

In those instances, he’d walked away from more than a few dates and never looked back when that happened.

John’s mind returned to the present when Felicity’s hand ran along his jaw, soft yet sure, as she pulled his face up to meet hers. The touch was electric, sending a shiver down his spine and the look in her eye told him everything he needed to know. Felicity wasn’t like any other woman he’d been with--she understood. For the first time in what felt like his entire life, John didn’t feel lonely anymore. 

“Were you able to talk to your parents about it?”

John shook his head. Talking about Kathleen was one thing, but the topic of his parents was in a whole other ballpark that he couldn't even begin to explain to himself, let alone Felicity.

“After about five years, my dad stopped coming with us, and my mom and I would go alone. Eventually, by the time I was fifteen, only I wanted to go. So I’d take the train to see her alone, even if it were just for a day. Sometimes, Kathleen’s home would arrange for us to see the Yankees play. That sure was something.”

The memory of Yankee Stadium flooded back to him—the smell of hot dogs and popcorn, the roar of the crowd, the thrill of watching the game. Most of all, there was joy in Kathleen's eyes, her laughter blending with the cheers of the fans. He could still see her, dressed in her Yankees cap and jersey, her face lit up with happiness as he explained the plays to her and the others who came with them.

"I can see now why you wished you could fly there. What lovely memories to share with someone who meant so much to you."

"I would’ve gone every weekend if I could," he replied, his gaze distant. "But I went whenever I could. I'd travel alone, sitting on that train for hours to see her smile. She loved the Yankees. Those games… they were everything to her. And to me."

"What happened to her?" Felicity’s question was soft, almost hesitant as if she feared she was stepping over a line not meant to be crossed. Her hand squeezed his gently, a small but powerful gesture of support.

"She died when I turned eighteen. Everyone told us that was far longer than anyone expected her to live. That we should be grateful," John said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It wasn’t enough time for her or me. It was... it changed everything."

The weight of his loss settled between them, a tangible presence. The ache of missing Kathleen, the helplessness of being unable to save her, the bitter finality of her absence.

"I'm so sorry, John," Felicity whispered, squeezing his hand, her touch grounding him from spinning too far back into the past.

"Thank you," he said, his grip on her hand tightening, trying to stop himself from slipping too far from the calm and collected Bucky people needed him to be. "But those memories, they’re what pushed me. I wanted to be someone she would be proud of."

"You’ve done more than that," she said softly.

As the sun dipped beyond the tree line, it hit the cockpit windows, casting her in rays of lush, golden light that nearly took his breath away. Blurring everything into a seamlessly perfect present, the facade he clung to floated away, along with any pretenses he clung to.

“Felicity, I…” Need you. Want to hold you. Have you in my arms. He took a shaky breath, which did nothing to help steady him. He couldn’t turn back now, even if he tried. “I would do anything to kiss you right now.”

If he thought he was breathless before, Felicity’s lips crashing into his stole every ounce of oxygen from within his lungs. Her kiss was sweet and urgent, tasting of hope and promises, and he felt himself falling, unafraid, into the depths of her.

John groaned against Felicity’s lips before he could even register how good it felt to have her pressed against him. Nothing was hesitant in this kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, their bodies aligning perfectly. His heart soared as he threaded his hands around her neck, his fingers clutching her soft tendrils of hair, desperately anchoring himself to this moment of pure, unconditional joy.

Everything will change. His previous words to her danced across his mind, giving him a moment to think about what they were doing. He tried to pull back and give her space to do the same if she wished.

When she let go of him, John couldn’t stifle the half-hearted moan that escaped as she dragged her teeth lightly along his lower lip before standing up out of her seat. Paralyzed by the sudden rush of blood to his core, John could do nothing but stare at her, sinking into his seat, tracking her every movement as she slowly made her way beside him in the tight space and reached down to take his hand. He probably would have panicked if his mind could form a coherent thought, thinking she was about to leave. But before his brain could catch up, she threaded her fingers through his, and she stepped over him, her legs straddling his thighs that quivered as the tension roared through him.

“Put your hands on me,” she whispered, the words low and commanding, rivalling any order he’d ever received. He obeyed, liquid heat flowing through every cell as his hands gripped her hips through the soft fabric of her summer dress, helping lower her onto his lap.

They stared at each other, noses nearly touching, their laboured breaths intermingling as they clutched each other. The world around them dissipated into the night sky, cloaking the cockpit in shadows and lingering navy light.

John let her take control of everything. Every heated breath, every caress—his whole damned body was hers if she wanted it. He was a puddle beneath her once her fingers traced their way along the lines of his face, cheeks and jaw, down his neck, past his shoulders, dragging them slowly down his chest. As the tension peaked, a ragged whine tore from his lips as she slowly ground herself against his hips.

Sensing his breaking point, she took pity on him, smiling before dipping her head and kissing him gently at first—too gently for the insatiable desire awakening within him that demanded everything. Slow, he told himself, take this slow. Not only for her sake but for his. He wanted to savour every kiss as if it were the last one he’d ever have.

John’s hands found themselves on her thighs, now exposed as her dress rode up her legs to accommodate the space they needed to fit around him. He kissed her back with a fierceness born from the spike of desire that shot through him when he found them bare of any stockings—creamy, smooth skin under his palms as he felt his way up her luscious curves.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered in her ear, needing to show her how much he cared for her. “I will do anything for you.”

He meant it. Anything.

Now it was his turn to devour the sound of her whimpering against him, her hot breath caressing the thin skin of his neck as she melted into him, her hips rolling slowly against him, increasing his desire for more pressure. John relieved some of his ache as his hands left her thighs to dig his fingers into the dip of her slender waist, meeting the pillowy flesh of her hips to press them closer together. Their frantic sighs intensified each lingering second as he deepened the kiss to match the waves of her body moving against his. 

Felicity’s hands found their way to the lapel of his jacket, one hand unbuttoning it before pushing it off his shoulders. Enjoying his newfound freedom of movement, his arms moved behind her back, making their way down until he was palming her backside, pushing and pulling her hips as they rocked mercilessly against his body. If she were unsure of how badly he needed her, there would be no denying it now as every hard inch of him pressed against her.

“Felicity,” he moaned against her throat as they broke their kiss, her arms still wrapped around him so his cheek pressed against the gentle swell of her breasts cresting over the edge of the lace trim of her dress. 

Jesus fucking Christ. This would end him.

“Is this okay?” he asked—begged—as his fingers went to the top button of her dress, teasing it before he heard her strangled “yes” in his ear. Trying not to rip the bodice of her dress in half, he slowly undid the top two buttons, kissing his way past each one, focusing on the feel of her skin and the soft touch of her fingers threading through the curls at the back of his head while he took his sweet time.

Electricity surged through him, more potent than he’d ever known. When he reached the last button above her navel, Felicity guided his hands to her shoulders. John had never been so grateful to be this out of control while sitting in his captain’s seat.

With her gaze locked on his, Felicity let his hands work the fabric off her shoulders until her arms and stomach were exposed to him, the silkiness of her bra covering her heaving chest and saving him from burying his face between the perfect swell of her breasts.

“Please don’t stop,” her voice crested over the din of the blood rushing through his ears. Only then did he realize he was no longer moving, his eyes fixed on every exposed inch of her.

This was a dream, a perfect fantasy unfolding before him. He never knew how badly he wanted her.

His fingers found the clasp of her bra strap, working through the far too many hooks holding it together. As soon as he was done here, he’d be sending  a strongly worded letter to the manufacturer expressing his deep concerns.

A clatter beneath them from the nose of the plane made John mistake it at first for his heart slamming against his ribcage. Then it happened again, and he froze, his fingers releasing the hooks of her brassiere and keeping the thin fabric strap in place. 

Goddamn it all to hell.

“Heyo, somebody up there?” came a voice filtering up the ladder from the nose of the plane. Felicity froze against him with a small gasp, her body stiffening against his, all the heat and tension cresting between them vanishing instantly.

“It’s okay,” John murmured against her lips, trying to calm the fear in her eyes, an ungodly desire to crush whoever had interrupted them erupting within him. “It’s just Lieutenant Douglass.”

Felicity’s breathing was rapid, and her eyes widened as she glanced toward the ladder. John brushed his thumb across her cheek, trying to anchor her back to him and the moment they shared. “Stay here,” he whispered, reassuringly kissing her forehead. “I’ll handle this.”

With a reluctant sigh, he carefully disentangled himself from her and moved toward the ladder. His hands trembled slightly, a mix of frustration and the remnants of desire. Peering down, he saw Douglass’s familiar face looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

“Bucky! I didn’t expect you. I’m sorry, I—” he began, stepping in front of the petite, dark-haired woman who, before she skittered behind Douglass, John recognized as one of the Red Cross girls who served a mean cup of coffee.

“The plane isn’t safe to be in yet,” John lied through his teeth, knowing his voice was far harsher than it should have been when talking to Doug.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be on our way,” Doug’s clipped reply was accompanied by a glance around his shoulder and up the ladder to the flight deck. John took a half step to block his view. “You sure are working overtime tonight.”

John forced a calm smile. “Just, uh, checking something out up here. Lemmons asked me to see that everything seemed back up to speed before he tweaked a few things in the morning.”

“Yeah, I bet. Well, I won’t keep ya. See you in the morning.”

“‘Night, Doug,” he nodded, looking down and fixing his tie that was out of place in every way possible. “Have a good night, Ginny,” he added to the red-faced woman, trying to slide her way out of view and back down the escape hatch.

John waited until he knew they had gone before letting out a long, slow breath while dragging his hand down his face with a low chuckle. There was no turning back now. 

[kkmix-writes]

Coming soon!

Twenty-One Doves: Chapter 11 (Sneak Peek)

"I'm going to stop you from overthinking now,"

"I don't think that will ever be possible,"

"Try me,"

[kkmix-writes]

Twenty-One Doves: Chapter 11 (Sneak Peek)

"I'm going to stop you from overthinking now,"

"I don't think that will ever be possible,"

"Try me,"

[kkmix-writes]

But the best part of this is making up your little silly stories about them!

love starting a war show they just throw 25 identical looking guys at u and then leave u too it. they don't even wish u good luck or nothing just. here have the lads. its like getting into a new kpop group

[kkmix-writes]

Welcome to my little world of daydreams

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A03 Profile Current Works in Progress:

Twenty-One Doves (Masters of the Air: Bucky x OC)

Felicity Steele has lived in Thorpe Abbotts her entire life, spending each regimented day to the minute looking after her father and scraping by as a laundress. When war brings the 100th Bomb Group to her front doorstep, Felicity fights the changing world around her, desperate to hang on to the normalcy she thinks she desperately needs. Until one morning, John Egan stumbles into her laundry and unravels her carefully orchestrated life at the seams, making her confront all she thought she knew.

Completed Works:

The Sapphire Lioness (Peaky Blinders: John Shelby x OFC)

Caroline Rivers is a woman forced into a life as a frontline nurse during World War One. Conflicted by her duty to support her family while searching for a way out of her hard London lifestyle she collides with a soldier by the name of John Shelby who threatens to pull her right back into the fray. Caroline and John both grew up fighting for everything they wanted to call theirs. But neither was prepared to have to fight for a love that caught them by surprise in the midst of a war without end.

Ends of the Earth (Top Gun: Maverick: Bradley Bradshaw x OFC)

If there is one promise I will keep to myself, it is this. I, Liv Hayes, will never, ever go anywhere near a man in the Navy again. Not ever. There was nothing but trouble and heartache waiting down that road.

The choice of joining an ocean swimming club in San Diego will turn out to be her greatest test of that promise. After meeting her mysterious swimming partner, Bradley, on her first day, a man who keeps to himself as much as she does, Liv will have to question everything she thought she knew about love and find out how committed she can be to that promise.

On the Shelf:

In the Shadows of the Desert (Peaky Blinders x SAS: Rogue Heroes)

"In the Shadows of the Desert", unfolds against the backdrop of the North African Campaign during World War Two, where Raven Cherwell, a young and versatile woman with a talent for assuming different identities, finds herself entangled in a high-stakes mission orchestrated by Winston Churchill and Tommy Shelby. Tasked with infiltrating enemy lines and relaying crucial information, with the help of a SAS soldier by the name of Declan Shelby, Raven navigates the complexities of espionage, duty, and personal identity. As she faces challenges that push the limits of her abilities, Raven must confront not only external threats but also the shadows of her past, complicated by her growing feelings for her young and handsome counterpart tasked with seeing her plan through.

A stand-alone follow-up to "The Sapphire Lioness." It is recommended that you read it first, but not necessary to understand the events of this story.