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shoshiwrites · 6 months

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Hi!! I would like to request the print “not realizing they are holding hands until someone points it out to them” OR “holding hands to pull someone away from something” from your prompt lists for Bucky and Jo. There were so many good ones I could not choose 😅 I hope I did this right. I love them together and your writing!!

Thank you so much, sweet anon! 🥺 That means so much. You absolutely did this right! I've actually got your first prompt in my inbox already, so keep an eye out for that at a later date! <3 Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC — more here, including prompt lists. From this list, "grabbing the other’s hand to pull them back from something."

“Coffee, Miss Jo?”

Lemmons makes his coffee on a little gas burner out on the strip, the kind you can stand a spoon straight up in for the grounds. The two guys working beside him wrinkle their noses. She’s heard Cleven refer to it as motor oil, to which Egan had made some crack about how Buck would take all the sugar in a fifty mile radius for his, if he could.

The village kids at Lemmons’ elbow had looked to him in confusion. “There’s something wrong if your motor oil looks like this,” she recalls him saying, pointing to the color and slurping it down with satisfaction.

It smells a little like gasoline, and looks like the coffee her friend Vicky’s family serves after meals, in prettier cups. Brewed with sugar and a little cardamom, Jo figures it won’t be brought to mind tonight.

“Thanks, Ken, I’m alright.”

Miss Jo, Ken. They’re casual out here in the flatlands.

She watches through the open door as the midsummer day fades out of the sky. That must mean it’s late. The door gets closed. She checks her watch, the olive canvas against her wrist. Late.

She’s expecting a call from Kay, later, about Kay’s reporting trip to Ireland.

There’s plenty to write about out here — too much, maybe, the flak holes and the cans of paint, the bloodstains, the dirtied hands. Nineteen years old. Ken wears a little puffed heart on a chain, the silver tone catching the light. From his wife, the girl in the snapshot tacked to the board on the wall.

She wonders if profiles like the ones she writes make it better or worse.

She wonders if she could sneak into the mess, sweet-talk herself into a better cup of coffee and betray the one she was just offered. Her hair smells a little like grease.

Maybe she ought to be gracious. She’s got plenty to do tonight, anyway. Sleep has been scarce, why not let it stay away a little longer?

“If you can spare any, actually-”

He looks up from the little operation, his face brightened, a curl loosed above his brow. “Sure thing.”

“‘M not driving you over to Redgrave,” says a voice from behind her. “When you start seein’ stars.”

Egan’s swinging the neck of a beer bottle between his knuckles, the liquid sloshing as he gestures.

Ken hands her the little steel cup, the walls dotted with grounds. “Evening, Major.”

“Good evening, Kenny.”

She peers behind him, but doesn’t see a jeep. They hadn’t heard one pull up, either.

“Just makin’ the rounds,” he says, when he notices her looking at him. She makes a noncommittal expression. “Nice night.”

It is, still pleasantly warm, with that little bit of coolness to the air. If there were any fairness in the universe a slow band would be playing, and the shelters dismantled brick by brick. Rendered useless.

“I should stop bothering the corporal here,” Jo says.

“Hey, now, you’re not bothering anyone.” Kenny smiles patiently, and she knows he’s lying.

“You’re very nice to humor me.” Beside her, the major nods.

She takes a sip. Very strong. Her mouth twitches, just a little.

“I told you!” he says.

She swallows. “My friends always tell me I’ve got a shitty poker face.”

Egan laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from hearing her curse, still. “They may be right about that.”

She sets down the cup with something of an apology, sure that someone else will drink it to get through the next few hours. “Thank you, Ken, but I think if I finish that I might start tasting radio waves.”

He cracks a smile, and the light makes shadow, makes the dark circles under his eyes even darker. “Alright.”

“C’mon, Captain. Let’s let ‘im get back to work.”

She starts to turn. “Ken, get me her parent’s address and I’ll make sure they get a copy of anything that runs,” she says. “Fonda’s.”

He nods, wiping his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”

To Bucky, as they walk out, she says, “that’s my line.”

The sky outside is a dark, dark blue, like glazed tile, the trees cut-paper silhouettes.

They’d trapped the light behind them with Kenny, in the outbuilding, behind the black paint on the windows. “You cold?” She shakes her head.

“You see that?” he asks, pointing. “Venus.”

“Awful bright.” She hopes she sounds appreciative. The moon shines on the horizon.

They walk, until they sit, near the line of trees.

“Pittsburgh, right?” he says. “Smoky City? You see many stars there?”

“Didn’t even know ‘em, ‘til I moved east. And even then. Had to drive out to see them.”

“How’s all this, then?” He gestures — the clear sky, the low buildings. Norwich in the distance is dark. She wonders where they run, if a raid starts.

She inhales, knows he can hear the sound of it. “It’s beautiful.”

He tips the bottle towards her, the last few glugs. “Sorry, don’t know why I didn’t bring two.”

“Don’t waste it on me,” she says. That relentless demand. The churn of it. She can’t think about it too long.

He holds it out to her still. “Don’t hurt my feelings, Josephine.”

It’s better than Lemmons’ rocket fuel, at least. His fingers brush her palm. The lip of the bottle is wet from his mouth, from the beer. She takes a sip, meets his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Always liked the stars,” he says. Like he knows it’s a silly thing, like saying you like the sun, or the moon. But there’s something quiet in it too. “Had a chart, as a kid.”

“With the constellations?”

“Yeah. Orion’s Belt. Ursa Minor. Andromeda.” It’s like he’s dusting them off, the names on his tongue. Like digging out a star-map from the back of the closet. “Cygnus. Cepheus.”

“What are we looking at now?”

“Hell,” he smiles, big and wide at the sky. “I’d need the map.”

He must not be flying tomorrow, she thinks.

Can you see them that much closer? she wants to ask. Up there? But they don’t fly at night.

“‘S a nice excuse though,” he says.

“For what?”

“Putting my arm around a pretty girl.” She wants to tell him that they’ve started writing her at the paper. Families. They don’t even know where she is, just England. That they think she knows something.

She tries to laugh. “Only if you know what you’re looking at.”

“Small detail. Unimportant.”

If the universe were fair he’d be on the lake shoreline, with a fire, or buying ice cream, or taking a pretty girl on a date.

She brushes off her trousers even though they’ve only been sitting in the grass, making to stand. The call from Kay.

“Hey,” he says, and it sounds so tired against the night sky. Tired, tender, reaching for her. His hand around hers, and she stumbles back to the ground, his legs, his lap.

“Oh!” She’s braced herself with her palms, either side of him. A quiet huff, a laugh. “You could’ve just asked me to stay.”

“Thought I was-” he starts. “Sorry about that.”

The breath in her chest feels shaky. She can smell the hops on his breath, and the remnants of Barbasol, geranium and moss. “You’ll need more than that to convince a girl.”

The kiss he plants on her lips might be a start.

#masters of the air oc #mota oc #bucky egan x oc #anonymous #shoshi writes #jo's tag #motaverse #i feel like i should start titling these #<3 ken <3 #ready to spot my typos in 3....2....1....

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zipsunz · 5 months

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