#callum turner x y/n

[callumsturn]

Sweet John

Summary: John keeps finding ways to stop by the hospital to see you, until he finally gets what he wants.

Pairing: Major John "Bucky" Egan x female reader Content/Warnings: John Egan being a charming bastard, 18+ smut (minors don't interact), unprotected sex. This starts real innocent, but it's really not. Notes: If you have any requests you’d like me to write please let me know! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you!

As you're helping wounded soldiers, rushing through the corridors of the campaign hospital at base, you bump into none other than Major John "Bucky" Egan.

You look up to see his smug smile. "Sorry, sweetheart." His hand gently over your arm as a way to balance you.

If you didn't know better, you'd even believe he might have done it unintentionally.

"It's alright Major." You tried to rush past him, with towels in both your arms to the end of the corridor.

"You shouldn't carry all that yourself." He takes half of the load from your arms. "Let me help. It's the least I could do."

He carries on up the corridor, following close behind you. You turn your head to him for a few seconds. You know you should be resisting. But he's very, very persuasive. Even when his uniform is covered with blood.

"You have blood on your uniform." You simply state.

"Oh, yeah." He shrugs, not bothered to wipe it off. "You know how it is." he tells you "Can't even breathe at battle without getting some blood splashed on you." He looks at you. "You've got some on you as well."

You look down at your own white uniform. "It has seen better days, yes." You continue to walk to the end of the corridor, entering one of the patient rooms.

John follows after you and looks around as soon as you're inside. "Oh, you're taking these to..." he trails off a bit as he sees who's playing in that bed. One of the men from his squad.

"Hi Sergeant. How are we feeling?" You spoke to the man resting on the bed.

The Sergeant looks up at you. "I've been better." As soon as he sees the Major behind you he tries to sit up, still a bit shaky. "Major." he says, his voice hoarse.

"I'm gonna clean that open wound and switch it up, is that alright?" you asked the man in the bed.

"Thank you, miss." he adds as you begin to gather your tools.

You can feel the Major's gaze on the back of your head as he watches from the doorway.

"It's gonna hurt a little. Take this." You hand the patient a bottle of alcohol to drink.

He takes it, grunting a little from the pain of just moving. He takes a sip and sets the bottle down. As you pour liquid over the wound to clean it, the Sergeant's leg moves in pain. He grunts loudly and moves in his bed. You feel the Major aproach the bed and hold the Sergeant with no trouble. He tries to move again but the Major's grip is firm.

"It's alright. Just hold still now." Major Egan tries to calm the man. You see the compassion and concern on his face. His hand is still on the Sergeant's lower body, ready to steady him again if necessary.

You say nothing, continuing to clean the wound and prepare the needle to stitch. The Major remains close. He watches you work, and his focus is almost entirely on exactly that. The Sergeant squirms in the bed again, but the Major remains in place.

"Easy." the Major tried to calm him down.

"Almost done, Sergeant." you mention as you finish stitching him up.

"Th- thank you." The Sergeant glances toward the Major. "She's real good, I'm telim' ya, sir."

You chuckle as you begin bandaging his wound. "Now... you shouldn't get up. Just try to rest and no missions for a few days. This needs to heal properly."

"Roger that, nurse." the Sergeant replies with a smile. "Will do." he finishes. "Could I get some more of that bottle, though? You know how it is."

You smile as you hand him the bottle for the second time. He takes another sip, as you hear Major Egan chuckle, keeping his eyes on the man and then on you as you put the remainder of the supplies away in a near medical cart, back turned to both men.

"She's pretty, ain't she, sir?" the Sergeant asks his Major who's sitting beside him still, in a lower voice.

As you barely hear the Sergeants comment, you tried to pay no attention to it, not curious to hear the Major's response.

You hear the Major chuckle again. "She is. I'm sure she's even got herself a fella already. Some lucky bastard."

"Probably some high rank fella, too." the Sergeant continues jokingly.

"Not a high enough rank for that, no." You barely hear Major John say.

As you finish storing all utensils, you approach both men again. "You rest up Sergeant. I'll tend to other soldiers now."

The man thanks you, as he rests his head back on the pillow and closes his eyes. The Major still has his gaze on you as you walk past him.

You continue to go about your shift, working on other patients in other beds. You do your best to ignore the Major's gaze when he is watching you from afar.

"Am I under some kind of evaluation, Major?" You asked unfazed, not looking at him, but still tending to a patient.

Somewhat caught off guard by the question, the Major's calm demeanour slips a bit. "Uh... no. I was-" he clears his throat "Just... checking up on... on your patient care."

"On my patient care?" You chuckled. "How's that going then?"

"It's going very well." he replies a little too quickly.

"Well I'm glad." You paused. "Thank you for the help back there."

"Any time." he replies. You see that he wants to say something else, but stops himself. "You've got everything under control in here then?"

"Sure thing."

"Great." He clears his throat again. "I'm..." He's having trouble finding the right words. "I'll let you get back to work then."

"Thank you, Major."

"Yeah. Sure, no problem." He finally leaves the room. You don't see him again for a while, but notice his eyes on you several times over the rest of the week or so.

A few weeks passed and the hospital became less busy. Patients were recovering and the missions were being successful over all. You notice the change. It's more peaceful, which is just what both you and the soldiers needed.

But there is one thing that has changed your routine. Major John "Bucky" Egan has been coming by to see you more often. And each time he does, he stays a little longer and talks a little more. He always makes sure to pay careful attention to everything you say, and always makes an effort to keep the conversation going. You can feel the other nurses and doctors giving you disguised looks, wondering if there's something going on with the two of you.

The Major even shows up when you're not working, and seems to hang around to see when you start your shift or finish for the day. He's always just hanging back, not being too obvious about it. You found it quite charming actually, the effort he would go into just to talk to you for a little while. It was definitely flattering. He's a handsome man, and he's got a certain charm and confidence about him that you can't help but like. Although you're still unsure how to feel about all of the attention, and that uncertainty definitely shows on your face as he approaches you yet again, and starts up another conversation.

"Major Egan." You say after he approaches you.

"Nurse." he replies with a polite smile. He's carrying a coffee mug and offerts it to you. "I figured you might be tired after your shift."

You gladly accepted it. "That's incredibly thoughtful of you."

"I try." he shrugs his shoulders with a smile. You can see his gaze still on you as you take the mug. For a little while he doesn't say a thing, just watching you as you take a small sip from the cup.

Suddenly, he clears his throat a little and speaks again. "I was wondering... there's a cafe outside the base... I though it'd be nice to go there and get something to eat." he says. He's still looking you straight in the eyes while saying it, his body relaxed and his hand resting casually on the mug. "Would you like to join me?" he adds after a moment.

"Right now?" you ask calmly.

He nods after a moment. "If you'd like." he responds. "We could both do with getting some real food. Maybe something more comforting than camp rations." He gives you a small smile, still watching you carefully as he waits for your answer.

You smiled at him for a second. "I'd like that."

His smile grows a little wider. "Great." He starts to back away. "I'll... I'll head out there now." he says "I'll be waiting just outside. The cafe's not far."

"I'll be right there." you smile.

He gives you one more little smile before making his way outside and waiting just out front of the camp, leaning agaisnt the wall and looking out the gate.

You head to the locker room where you find a colleague. You head inside to change out of your work clothes.

"Hey there." she grins "how have things been with you?"

"Good." you smile.

"Major's been going around again today, hasn't he?", she asks, glancing over at you.

"Um... yeah, he has." you continue to change into your clothes.

"Yeah, I figured as much. He coming around more often now? Spending more time talking to you?"

You chuckle, embarrassed. "I guess, yes."

"Well, I figured he had a thing for you" she laughs. "It was only a matter of time before he started getting a little flirtatious. He's not very good at hiding it."

"I think he's just being nice." you said as you buttoned your shirt.

"Sweetie, he's more than just nice. Major Egan has a reputation aroud here, you know. He doesn't go around being sweet to just anyone."

"Well, I don't know. I don't want everyone to go around and talk about this. The other nurses are real nosy!"

"Oh cm'on, don't worry. They'll just tease you a bit if they can tell that something's going on. And besides, nothing exciting happens around the hospital, so they cling to anything." she paused "But you're lucky. The Major's a looker, and I'm sure that you wouldn't mind his attentions, huh?" She gives you a playful nudge as she asks.

You chuckle as you looked at her. "He really is a looker isn't he?"

"Hell yeah he is." she laughs "A real man after my own heart. And the more things continue like this between you guys, the more certain I am that you might be the lady that gets to keep him to herself."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on. Just look at him. Just waiting right outside for you."

"Alright now. Enough of this." you said as you put your coat on. "I'm heading out."

"I'll see you back here later." she chuckles as you head out.

You find Major Egan just where he said he'd be. As you pass him and make your way to the gates outside, he starts walking with you, keeping his hands in his pockets.

"That's your work done for the day?" he asks casually.

"I have to get back in a few hours.... night shift."

"Ah... sure. Night shift. Busy workload tonight?"

"I don't think so."

He keeps his hands in his pockets the entire time, but he seems comfortable, confident, and content. "I bet it'll get busy in there." he adds, pointing to the cafe. "They have some of the best coffee and food around here."

"Have you been there lately?" you ask.

"It's been a little while now." he replies. "I had some time off last night and was going to go there, but I ended up making a stop by the hospital." he shrugs a little. "Had to see if you were looking after these soldiers properly, of course." he adds jokingly, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, you've been a real caring Major these last few weeks."

"Well, I was just making sure you were up to the task of caring for our troops." he continues.

"Oh, your soldiers never complained."

He smiles at your comment. "Glad to hear it." He looks at you again, a small grin on his face. "Or maybe it's just that they have something nice to look at while they're recovering?"

"Alright now Major Egan."

"Oh come on, why don't you just call me John, hm?"

You looked at him for a couple of seconds. "If you're sure."

He gives you a little nod, still smiling. "Absolutely."

You approach the cafe and he holds the door open for you as you walk inside.

The cafe is busy as John said it'd be. Off duty soldiers fill the place with their drinks, raised voices and the smell of cigars. Most of them are playing a game of cards at the tables. Several are chatting and laughing with each other, making it a very lively environment. Major Egan steps inside and closes the door behind him.

"It is busy, isn't it?" he asks as he guides you to an empty table. He holds your seat out for you before sitting down across from you. "You don't mind it being so busy, do you?"

"Not at all."

He smiles, his hands still in his pockets. A waiter comes to your table and takes your order. John asks you what you want and then orders for you. You just smile politely at the waiter before he heads off.

"I'm glad you agreed to come with me this afternoon." he says after a moment in silence. You notice him leaning forward on the table as the conversation continues. He seems quite calm, but you can tell how focused he is on you.

At one point, one of the soldiers at another table glances over at the two of you, and then nudged the others at the table. There's a murmur of conservation and a few more glances as the others take note of the Major and the nurse sitting together again.

The Major doesn't seem to notice though. It remains a lighthearted conversation, but there's an undercurrent of something a little bit more going on underneath the surface.

Before either of you realize, both of you have been talking to each other for half an hour. The Major shows no signs of losing interest in the conversation.

After a while, a couple first year Sergeants approach the table curiously, excitedly presenting themselves to John.

"Major Egan, sir!" the first says confidently.

"Major." the second follows. They both glance at you a tad nervously.

The Major looks up at them and smiles, still sitting at the table casually. "At ease, gentlemen" he says, raising his hands off the table, but still relaxed.

"Sir, a few of the men were wondering if they could get an extended leave, due to the successful mission earlier today."

The Major stares at the first Sergeant for a second, and his eyes dart over to you. He's still smiling a little, but there's a serious side to him that comes through as he talks with them.

"I understand that you were planning on extending their leave to allow them to rest?" he replies to both men.

"Yes, sir." the first replies "if that's alright with you, sir?"

"It's alright, Sergeant." the Major nods again. "There'll will be no issue on my part in regards to that. How many days are you looking at?" he asks, looking between the two Sergeants.

"Around a week" one of them replied boldly "if that's fine with you sir?"

"A week, hm?" he stares at them for a moment. "A week should be sufficient for them to recharge, especially after a mission like this morning. Make it happen."

The Sergeants both nod their heads. "Yes, sir." They both give you a resrpectful salute before turning back around and walking to the larger table.

"Major Egan..." you say mockingly. He was so different when he talked to you.

He glances over at you with a little half grin. "Yeah?" He laid back in his chair as he waits for you to continue.

"And just when I was about to call you John." You say.

He chuckles softly at that. "Go ahead and call me John. If anyone around here is going to call me that, it should be you." he took a sip from his beer.

That gave you a chill down your spine, out of nervousness.

He sees that he has gotten some sort of reacting out of you, but that smile still remains on his face. "Go ahead, call me John."

"Alright, stop that." you chuckle.

"I just want you to call me by my first name. Is that too much to ask?"

You look at him in the eyes for a second, before smiling. "In here?"

"Here" he pauses "or anywhere else if you'd like." He lays back and continues to smile. That damn smile.

As you take in his comment, music starts to blast and all the soldiers rise from their seats and grab the women to dance. The cafe instantly becomes an athmosphere of fun and liveliness.

The Major glances over at the dance floor. "Would you like to join me?"

You nod your head shyly, and take John's hands as he pulls you into the dance floor. The music is a classic swing tune, and the soldiers all seem to know the moves perfectly, moving with rhythm and flow in a very playful mood.

Major Egan seems to be familiar with the dance, and as he moves with you his confidence and skill is undeniable. He leads you easily, gently pulling you around and twirl you in his arms, and all the while, he stays completely focused on keeping you steady, stable.

"You're a good dancer." he tells you, still smiling playfully as he does. He spins you around in his arms and then back around again, pulling you close enough so that his face is inches from yours. He's still maintaining a comfortable distance between you two, but it's evident that he wants to be so much closer.

The music begins to pick up more, and as it does, his moves become just a little bit more intimate and playful. His arms around your waist. It's clear that he's more than just enjoying the dance.

Moving his hands down to your hips as he holds you, not giving you quite as much space as before. He tilts his head and gets closer to your face, maintaining that same playful grin.

"Careful, John." you say over the music, teasing him.

He chuckles at the teasing, but he doesn’t pull away, nor does he stop dancing with you.

His movements get a little bit more playful now, bringing you in even closer.

"John..." you begin.

“Yes?” He stares at you with that same grin on his face, but his eyes have become more intense now, as if wanting to know where this is going.

"Kiss me." you ask.

His eyes remain on you as he stares quietly for a second, but then he finally leans in to meet your offer. There is nothing playful or light-hearted about this exchange. This is a serious and bold moment for the both of you. Major Egan goes completely for it, pressing his lips against yours. And as he does, his hands moves to your hips and pulls you even closer to him. The kiss was slow but eager, like weeks of tension have been building up. Every movement and gesture felt intentional. His hands on your hips feel more intense and firm now. You pulled back and heard the music echo.

The moment of silence was deafening.

The music was no longer all that you could think about. He stares back at you, clearly still wanting more, but he holds back from following through in that very moment.

"Let's go." you say looking up at him.

He doesn't answer, but simply nods his head. He takes your hand in his own, and together, the two of you exit the dance floor and leave the cafe. As soon as you hit the street night air, John grabs your hand and pulls you close again, his lips finding his way to yours. Your bodies are pressed against one another, and the intimacy of the moment is undeniable. His lips find yours again, this time, more eagerly. And he lingers for a second or two, savoring the kiss. This time, it feels like he’s taking it further, as his hands start moving down to your waist more playfully.

“You wanna take me to bed?” You simply say.

He looks back at you, a bit amused at the question, but also somewhat surprised that you had the boldness to suggest that.

He stares for a second, his lips partially parted. “Yeah. I do.”

His answers are blunt and straightforward. But there’s also a confidence and assertiveness about him that makes it very evident that he is completely and totally up for that idea.

You smiled. He smiles back at you, before leaning forward to take your hand again. But this time, he doesn't just hold your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, his hand more possessive now as he glances down at your interwined fingers.

He leads you back into the base, guiding you towards his quarters.

The silence between you two is punctuated with little whispers and small talk here and there, but overall, the atmosphere is very much still intimate and playful between the two of you.

You noticed your environment. You've never been in this part of the base before, as it was only reserved for the Majors. It’s clear that this is a very private side of the base, for these higher ranking officers to be able to relax in the company of their women.

As you walk down the corridor, you hear the song My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker echoeing from a hall near by. Major Egan guides you through the hallway, the two of you still following hand in hand, until you both finally arrive at his room. You enter and before you could assimilate the space around you, John grabs your waist from behind, spins you around and you watch him close the door behind him so effortelessly, just before he kisses you gently, but passionately.

Everything around you has become a blur now, but you feel his hand on your back, leading you closer to his bed.

You start to walk backwards as he guided you. You put your arms around his neck, looking for support as he kisses you eagerly now. You jump, clinging into his body, as he grabs the back of your legs with his hands, easily supporting your weight. You moan quietly as he starts to feel your skin under your skirt as he holds you with both his hands.

John exhales soundly. "God..." he trailed off "You even sound beautiful."

His lips attack yours once again, filled with desire. His comment gave you chills all over your body. You felt him sit on the bed, you now straddling his lap. Being this close to him left you intoxicated, even speechless. You had nothing to say to him. Your attempts seemed to only come as careless whispers or moans as he explored your body with his hands.

"John..." you finally spoke.

You felt him smile into the kiss. "Yes?"

You took a second to answer, processing his touch. "Fuck me." You finally said.

He couldn't hide his smile. "I wanted to do this right." he paused as you looked at him. "I wanted to make love to you first."

The smirk plastered on his face made you melt. His eyes glistening with adoration for you.

You retributed the smile. "Sweet John..." you began tracing his features with your fingers. "Please do that."

You saw his smile grow slightly wider just before he closed the gap between both your lips.

He held you closer, his grip on you more firm, but never once hurting you.

“I imagined this moment a lot.” He confessed.

You began to take his uniform off. His shoulders so broad and his arms like two comforters around your torso. He did the same with your clothes but taking his sweet time to take in every little detail about you. The curve of your neck, the shape of your breasts and the freckles on your skin. Most of all he noticed the way your expression changed slightly when you became blushed with arousal.

His pants were bothering you, they were in the way. Your hand flew to his belt, trying to unbuckled it with no success. You saw him chuckle, surprisingly out of nervousness, as he helped you take it out. You always thought the Major John Egan would be swift in these manners, he had experience after all. It was the only thing nurses talked about, how much luck he had with women, inside or outside base. Was it so hard to believe that he could be actually nervous because you were the one unbuttoning his pants and trying to discard them? That was hard to grasp.

John grabbed the low of your back with one arm, supporting the other on the bed to lay you on top of it. He stood sat on the bed even after kicking his uniform pants, watching as you lay naked waiting for him to join you.

His expression was a mix of desire and adoration.

"What is it?" You asked laughing.

He shook his head slightly. "Nothing." he opened his mouth for a second before speaking. "I just think you're the most beautiful thing I've seen walk this earth."

You visibly blushed. How could you not? "You're just saying that because-" he interrumpted you immediately.

"Clothed or not." He said plainly, guessing the rest of your phrase. He looked at your face for a couple of seconds, and you did the same with difficulty. He was so handsome, his hair dischevelled falling perfectly on his forehead.

Not bearing it being away from him one more second, you grabbed his hand and pulled him to lay on top of you, opening your legs, allowing for him to fit in the empty space.

He immediately kissed you, your bodies now glued to each other. You could feel his hard member press against your core. You bent your kness, allowing him access. Your way of letting him know what you wanted.

He positioned himself at your entrance, ever so carefully. He looked at your expression as you gasped slightly, feeling him. He then kissed you gently, but eagerly, as he pushed himself inside you, slowly. Your mouth hang open as you threw your head slightly back on the pillow. He looked down at you, and he swore he could come undone right then and there, watching you in that blissful state.

You felt his lips on your neck, beginning in the low of your jaw until the base of your neck. You exhaled when you felt his touch and he could feel the vibrations of your voice on his lips.

His thrusts were purposely slow so you could adjust to his size. Soon enough he started to go deeper as you dig your nails in his upper back muscles.

"Faster." You pleaded, your voice only coming out as a low whimper.

He could hear it alright. John picked up his pace and you moaned louder as you felt every inch of him molding you.

"You feel so good." you heard him say between grunts into your lips.

You brought your lips to his, kissing him deeply. You broke it to speak finally. "John..." you called out his name. "I'm- I'm close."

"I know sweetheart, I know you are." his voice intoxicated you with desire, you could barely control yourself. "I can feel you closing on me." he continued thrusting in and out at that perfect pace. "You can let go... I wanna see that perfect face when you cum."

That was enough for you to explode. You soon came undone, your voice a higher pitch when you moaned his name a couple of times. You felt his warm release spill inside you. His face inches away from yours, mouths open, exhaling as you both reached your high. The moment that followed seemed like completely silent, only your breaths almost in perfect sync.

He smiled after noticing tears of pleasure in the corner of both your eyes, kissing each one of them away from your face. You both moaned when he removed himself inside you, both still very much overstimulated.

He laid next to you, immediately pushing you into his chest, arms wrapped around you. There were no words needed. You guys didn't have to talk about what happened. It was clear.

A few minutes were passed in silence. You looked at the clock on his wall, which marked almost twelve.

"Shit, I have to go. The night shift." you grabbed a bed sheet instinctively to cover yourself as you sat up, looking for your clothes scattered on his bedroom's floor.

"No." his voice lingered, pulling you back on the bed again. "You're staying here tonight."

You smiled as you looked at his sleepy expression. "I don't think that's up for you to decide. The doctors do our schedules, I have to show up to work."

His voice became deeper with tiredness. "I'm Major Egan. I can make a few calls." He suggested, his voice now more playful. "If you'd like to stay here with me tonight." his demeanour expectant.

You looked at him for a couple of seconds, giving thought to his offer. A smile escaped your lips, as you lay in the bed again, slightly embarrassed.

"They can get by without you one night. I can't." he admitted while wrapping his arms around your torso, setting the covers on top of you both.

[floralcyanide]

ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ — ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ

callum turner x afab!reader (nsfw)

You and Callum are camp counselors. Both of you are up to no good one night and share an intimate moment.

✣ warnings: smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex in a lake, cigarette smoking, female anatomy described, nipple play, semi-public sex, fingering

✣ word count: 1.7k (idk how it came out so short)

✣ author’s note: thanks to a friend for the camp counselor idea and making me feel things lol and thanks for all the votes for this fic! I enjoyed writing it.

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Want one?”

You stare at the cigarette in Callum’s outstretched hand, hesitant to take it. Your legs stop swinging on the dock where you’re perched next to the tall boy, your hand reaching out to take the cigarette from his fingers. You stick it between your lips, silently asking with your eyes, “Is this how I do it?” He nods encouragingly, sliding a match across its box and cupping the end of the cigarette with his hand before lighting it. The action alone sends butterflies raging in your stomach. You puff the cigarette, inhaling slowly so you don’t cough. Exhaling, tendrils of smoke leave your lips, and Callum watches in awe.

“You hit that like you’ve been smoking all your life,” Callum chuckles as you pull the cigarette from your mouth and offer it to him.

“Nah,” he says, “it’s all yours.”

The two of you are counselors at the summer camp outside your city and definitely were not allowed to smoke while on the campgrounds. You also weren’t supposed to be out past curfew. But the thrill of being caught is what gets to you. Callum just does it because his pretty face can get him out of any trouble. You stare out at the lake that seems to go on forever in a black abyss to the horizon. Callum bumps his knee into yours as you finish the cigarette, somehow managing not to cough too terribly much.

“Wanna skinny dip?” Callum suddenly asks, a giddy smile on his face.

“What? Are you delusional?” you laugh, putting out the cigarette on the wooden dock.

“Maybe,” he shrugs.

You search his eyes for any signs of him joking but see none.

“You’re serious?” you ask, looking around to ensure no one is listening.

“Deathly.”

You stare at each other momentarily before bursting into a quiet fit of giggles. 

“Fine, but we gotta be quiet.”

You’re glad it’s dark so Callum can’t see the full extent of your body. But also disappointed that it’s dark because you can’t see Callum without his clothes, as much as you’d like to. Ever since the first day of orientation for counseling, you’ve been unable to keep your eyes off him. He seems to feel the same as you but less subtle. Callum has done nothing but flirt with you during the first two weeks of camp. Not that you mind, of course. But skinny dipping in the lake past curfew seems like a full-fledged affair. 

Callum rips his shirt over his head, tossing it where his shoes sit neatly by the dock entrance. He then stands to discard his pants, and you watch in silence, unable to move as you drink in what you can see of Callum in the moonlight. You realize you’re staring and hurry to remove your own clothes, but you're hesitant to take off your underwear until Callum does. You avert your eyes quickly as he does so. You aren’t that experienced in seeing the male physique naked, given you’ve not had much experience with sex in general. Sure, you’ve given a blowjob here and there, but nothing past that. Maybe Callum's flirting is just for fun, and he isn’t expecting anything. Not that you’d say no to him starting something, though. After all, why not? He’s cute, polite, great with the kids, and isn’t bad to look at.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Callum slides off the dock and smoothly into the water. He surfaces after submerging himself fully, swiping his hair from his forehead.

“Coming?” Callum grins, wriggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but don’t look,” you say shyly, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

Callum closes his eyes but, unbeknownst to you, peeks through one of his eyes to watch you shimmy out of your underwear. He hurries to close it back when he sees you slip into the lake. The water is comfortable as the sun had warmed it earlier in the day. You swim over to where Callum is, stifling a laugh as he pumps his fist in the air at you, joining him.

“Never would’ve thought that little ol’ you would be skinny dipping,” Callum shakes his head, tutting at you.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t do it with anyone else,” you say honestly, and Callum smiles softly at you.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Callum sinks lower into the water until his chin is just above the surface.

You copy him, your eyes locked on his. Callum reaches out and tucks some hair behind your ear, the gesture sending chills through you despite the warmth of the lake. He swims closer to you, his legs nearly kicking against yours.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” you say.

“Would it make things weird if I kissed you?” Callum asks, his eyes flickering to your lips.

“No,” you shake your head, “I don’t think it would.”

Callum lifts a hand from the water to cup your cheek, the moonlight shining in his eyes as he leans in to kiss you. You let your eyes flutter shut as his lips press to yours, those butterflies from earlier returning. Both of you aren’t too far out in the water, so you can easily plant your feet on the bottom to anchor yourselves. Callum snakes a hand to your waist, his fingers gripping your skin slightly. He takes advantage of being near the shallows so he can pull you close to him without worrying about sinking. Callum deepens the kiss by catching you off guard and letting his tongue sneak into your mouth. One of your hands finds the back of his hair, water dripping onto his neck and your fingers. His hand slides up your side, his thumb brushing over your breast, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin.

“Is this okay?” Callum asks, pulling away but barely parted from your lips. 

“Yeah, I just,” you bite your bottom lip, “I’ve never…” you trail off nervously.

“Never?” Callum raises his eyebrows, “A pretty thing like you?”

Your ears burn as you glance down awkwardly, “Never.”

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t want to take your virginity in a murky lake,” Callum snorts.

“Even if you did, I wouldn’t care where it was. I like you, Cal.”

Callum flashes a smile at you, “I like you too.”

“You can do as you please. I don’t mind,” you say, “It’s about time, anyway. I’m not getting any younger.”

Callum chuckles at your last comment before grasping your breast under the water, letting his thumb wander over your nipple again, “Don’t worry, I’ll be slow with it.”

You shudder as Callum does it again, leaning in to kiss you once more as he teases you. He moves from your lips to your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses there as he plays with your breasts, eliciting soft moans from you. You hope you don’t get caught. You brush that out of your mind as you let your hand move to Callum’s length, slowly pumping it until it hardens. He groans into your skin, kissing your shoulder gently. He lets his focus move from your upper body to your lower body, his fingers tracing your clit with softness. You move close to Callum until you’re against his chest for leverage, letting him play with you. He slips a finger inside you, your eagerness allowing it to go in without much struggle. Callum uses his thumb to swipe your clit as he adds another finger, curling them inside you and stretching you out deliciously. You bury your face in his neck, whimpering at the warmth spreading in your belly. Callum can feel you clenching around his fingers, noting you’re ready for him.

“Let me know if I need to stop,” Callum whispers in your ear, nipping the skin of your lobe as he lines himself up with your entrance.

You wrap your legs around his waist, and your arms are around his shoulders as he slowly pushes himself into you. It comes with some resistance as you’ve never had anything inside of you before, so Callum allows you to take deep breaths and relax before pushing anymore. He cards his fingers through your hair, encouraging and telling you how good you’re doing. It makes you take him easier, your cunt swallowing him nearly whole. Callum finally bottoms out, letting himself feel you around him for a second before pulling out slightly. He thrusts back in steadily, careful not to be too rough. After adjusting, you allow Callum to start fucking you properly, and you’re honestly shocked you didn’t do this sooner.

“Fuck,” you screw your eyes shut, gasping as Callum hits your g spot with a particularly harsh thrust.

“Just like that,” Callum says as your walls suck him in, “Doing so good, love.”

Your fingernails dig into his back as you bounce on Callum’s cock, him bucking his hips into you simultaneously. Callum takes advantage of your breasts being near his face as he clasps onto one of your hardened nipples, flicking it with his tongue and sending waves of electricity through you. Everything is clouding your head with pleasure as you feel yourself growing close. Callum grips your hips, his fingertips boring into your skin as he feels himself growing close, too.

“You can cum inside me,” you say in Callum’s ear, and he curses under his breath at that.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Callum plummets his hips against your thighs as you move yours in fluid motions, feeling him at every angle. He nudges your clit with his thumb again, and you tumble over the edge, clenching harshly around Callum’s length. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him and the filthy sounds you’re making in his ear make him cum without warning. You feel his warmth inside you as he shudders against your neck, leaving soft kisses along it.

“You did great,” Callum says, slowly pulling out of you.

You catch your breath, glancing around to see if anyone is nearby. Thankfully, you’re still alone, “That was amazing.”

“I’m glad,” Callum says.

“Let’s get out, I’m getting all pruney,” you cringe.

Callum laughs and agrees before realizing something. 

“Didn’t think to bring towels,” he sighs.

“Race you to the showers, then?” you grin as the two of you climb back onto the dock.

“Get ready to be beaten.”

[undercovernationalsuperstar]

THREESOME!

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Masters of the Air Fanfic

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: a monstrous 12k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

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

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

“-I don’t have the authority-“

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

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

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now the texas girl has-“

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

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

“Well, no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s that?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“To the Poles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only to kiss you.

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

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

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

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’d have only known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

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

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Buck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[strangerdangerwrites]

the art of lies | t.s. (fantastic beasts) - chapter one

Summary: all your life you had been handling the dirty truth, and here he comes presenting you with his sweet lies. 

Pairings: Theseus Scamander x Fem!Reader

genre: romance, mature audience intended

warnings: mature themes, implied sexual content, sexworker protagonist, pleasure house (brothel), smoking

the art of lies masterlist

IN THE ABSENCE OF DAYLIGHT, Paris comes alive, after all, it is known as the City of Love.

Love in the form of freshly picked flowers from the florist.

The sweetest chocolate that tickled your taste buds.

Hand-written poems that rivaled world-renowned poets.

A love so sweet and tender that it caresses you gently in the night

But that certainly wasn’t the truth, it never was. Love wasn’t like that. 

Love was the thorns that hid beneath the roses.

Love was the bitter taste that lingered in your mouth after your first dark chocolate.

Love was the letter from lovers that had written goodbyes instead of ‘I’ll stay’.

Love was the harsh tug of your hair, the rough hands that hold your wrists, saying the words ‘You are so beautiful’ only when you are in the middle of the bed, spread willingly to the desires of man. 

Here, in Paris, is nothing but filled with nights of debauchery where all senses are thrown out the window. The sickening smell of expensive perfume and wine drowning you in the world of sins. And Paris was notable for it, here you are free! Or so they say.

Truth be told, you could never be free, always staying in hiding from the Non-Magiques. And here you were indebted to your handler, Madame Blanche, the owner of the renowned luxurious Maison close ‘Amour Délicat’. 

Like her name, the whites in her hair and the sharp look in her eyes tell her story. She was a former courtesan before and when the first war of the non-magiques happened there she learned something that would give birth to her only child, the Amour Délicat. When she shared the truth of what was happening in the world of the non-magiques to the Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France (Ministry of Magical Affairs of France), Madame Blanche was greatly compensated, and there from the ground up, she built her history. 

Madame Blanche is far from the harsh and ruthless handlers in the non-magiques world of prostitution; she is commanding and ruthless. When she saw the reality of the world, it opened her mind to do whatever it takes to protect herself, and that is by being well-known that you create a sense of security in being seen. Here she opened her doors to those willing to work for her, at first, many were wary as to join and take employment, the look of disdain and gossip were indeed not for the faint of heart. 

And you who had nothing to lose, took the first bite and jumped straight into death potion. 

You, who only had your name and the clothes you wore on your back crawled straight inside Pandora’s box. 

Madame Blanche had saved you, she had given you a roof, food, clothes, and the protection that you needed. The life you formerly had was long gone; it was all in the past, thrown into the sea to be forgotten.

And here you learn to be a great witch. She first-hand, had taught you how to be a legilimens, as her first courtesan, she has taught you how to traverse the mind easily, to learn secrets, and how to use them to your advantage.

“The most powerful of witches and wizards can all be defeated by the secrets they hide.”

While the other courtesans were only taught surface-level legilimency, you were a natural. Not only can you do it nonverbally and wandlessly, but you can also communicate with others telepathically. Madame Blanche had opened you to all possibilities, and with that, she entrusted you with the highest position of being her right hand.

And your skill at legilimens always comes at night when you bed another clientele. And in the middle of pure ecstasy, they reveal the truth unwillingly. Here in the dimmed candlelight, you walked through the halls of their mind unlocking every door with a skeleton key of your abilities. No matter how many layers, or how many locks they keep, trust you could open it with ease. Secrets like marital affairs, financial debt, graft and corruption, illegitimate children, crimes, enemies, first love, their favorite color, the last thing they ate, their thoughts at that very moment… you can see and feel. An out-of-body experience, stripping you naked from yourself, from what you are and who you were. Here you forgot you were even breathing.

You didn’t realize you had been lying on the bed still for the last few minutes, the house elf, Bernadette, had been looking at you worriedly, and in her hand was your dressing robe, colors almost like the blinding light.

“Was the man harsh on you today, Miss?” She asked, placing the mulberry silk robe on your hand. You gave her a small smile and shook your head. The faint marks of rope were the clear sign of your lies, yet you were accustomed to it.

“It is alright. Run my bath for me?” With a wave of her hand, the bed took itself towards the laundry room and came in a small golden tub that fit your frame. Muttering a spell it filled the tub with bubbles and water, you stood before it before hitting it with a wave of your wand. The gramophone in the room suddenly erupted into soulful jazz music. With a scrub and a bar of soap ready at hand, Bernadette tried to assist you but you declined. Stepping foot into the warm bubbly bath.

“I would like a moment alone.” You waved your hand as soon as the words left your mouth, the house elf knew to leave you to your own devices. You were a grown woman, a woman who has been doing these for the last decade. And whenever you tried to look into your future, all you could see were the grand walls that painted your very eyes, the moving wallpaper depicting fields of various white flowers, you were stuck in Amour Délicat for the last moments of your life. This was the only thing you will ever know. You were indebted and grateful to Madame Blanche, and that led to your loyalty. She protects you and everyone in the Maison close. Outside these walls was uncertainty.

In the hot water, you submerged yourself trying to wake yourself up to the fact that this is your life. Yet when the warm glow of the city, fireworks erupted the skyline, muffled by the water you sat straight to peer at the noise. Without even looking, you knew families were in their own homes, enclosed with the scent of pastries and the warmth of their own fireplace. It was just a few minutes before New Year's Eve, and here you were working. Alone, staring into the distance, craving the sense of a warm home. 

Holding your knees close to your chest, you stared at the skyline as Muggles and Magical people alike celebrated the night with a bright display of fireworks. 

Unbeknown to you, Clarice, the receptionist had been preventing the members of the British Ministry of Magic from stepping foot towards the quarters an hour before the new year would start.

“You cannot go inside; this is a private and respectable property,” Clarice spoke, her accent rushing the words as panic littered her veins. Her arm at ready with her own wand. The lounge was filled with thick air as the British aurors pointed their wand at the girl, not understanding a word she shouted. 

Click-clack! Click-clack!

With every slow step, Madame Blanche descended the stairs. 

“And what do you English want? Here to close Amour Délicat? You don’t have the right.” Madame Blanche boasts, looking at the men below with her chin pointed upwards. Looking at them one by one, the Madame could not read their minds, the British aurors have been trained in occlumency. Remaining calm, she stood on the balcony, overlooking the whole crowd below.

“We were looking for one of your workers. I believe they have the answers to the disappearance of one of the assistant delegates of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Torquil Travers claimed, holding a photograph of a man in his middle 30s-40s. 

Summoning the paper in the grasp of the Madame, she looked at the photograph intently, racking up all the lists of their clients. Without even showing hints of recognition, Madame had thrown the paper back into the hands of the aurors.

“I believe you must have a permit before we further your inquiries. If not, then leave.” Turning around, she waved a hand to open the large doors.

“We have it, signed and approved by your own Minister.” Stopping in her tracks, the auror walked up to the steps and held it right in front of the Madame’s face. Now a hint of annoyance was painted on her pointed brows.

“Come to my office, only I can accommodate two of you. Choose wisely.” Madame Blanche said in a cold tone, not even bothering to wait for aurors as she walked straight to the lift.

“Scamander! Come with me.” Travers could upon the young man, the older auror respected the young man’s abilities and thinking, after all, he was a respectable war hero.  

Stepping into the lift, the walls were decorated with moving painted white flowers, the madame touched the button to the highest floor, and the black lining of the lift showed its elegance. As the Aurors stood behind her, eyes darted across each other in nervousness. The Brits showed no sign of anxiety, even if that was far from the truth, the Madame held an air of regalness suffocating them with the scent of floral perfume. As soon as the doors of the lift parted for her, the room was quite the luxury and beauty with its eclectic interior, engulfed with knick-knacks from travels, moving statues, paintings from famous muggles, and the large glass pane showing the night sky. 

In the middle of the room was a velvet green chair, a large glass table, and a lone flower sitting in the golden vase.

“Sit.” She pointed toward the chair in front of her, while she remained standing encircling the room looking at the Englishman that disturbed her home. 

“Our clients value discreteness, we simply could not disclose it easily… yet since you presented me with a hand-written note by our minister I must oblige to your request. Then talk, what is it that you want?”

“We are looking for Charles Moore. He has been in charge of communications with the French Ministry as a part of assistant delegate for our Ministry, he asked to be assigned here after the Muggle World War. The day he was posted to return, he didn’t. And we believe that in his letters to his sister, he claimed to be…”

Madame Blanche raised her eyebrow at Torquil Travers waiting for him to spit it out.

“In love.” Theseus replied. “He claims that he has found the love of life here in Paris and was planning to buy off her indenture. Or so we believe.” 

Madame Blanche scoffed.

“There are many dames in Paris, and he chose to settle with a courtesan?” Madame Blanche laughed, making Travers find it humorous as well. In the keen eyes of Madame Blanche, he saw Theseus's brows turn into a frown before shifting back to biting his cheeks.

“Are you certain that it was in Amour Délicat?”

Theseus answered with a nod. 

There were three letters in total from Charles Moore to his sister. And for the past few days, Theseus had been assigned to look for the exact description of the building. He alone took the time of the day, looking at details of every establishment and brothel in Paris, from the world of the muggles to hidden alcoves of the French Wizarding World. After 2 days, he had seen the exact description of the magnificent-looking walls lined with silver and the sweet nauseating scent of flowers, that’s when he knew this was it.

First Letter:

Dearest Ange,

I believe I have found the love of my life! No one is ever as beautiful as her. No amount of theatrics on the show could ever take my eyes off of her. She sat there like a flower, waiting for me.

As soon as the play was over, I tried to approach her. Tell her to take my hand and run away with me. Oh, Ange! I never felt something like this. This must be what love is. Yet, my heart turned to pieces when I saw her taking the arm of another man, walking together side-by-side as they left the theater. I trailed behind them, and saw the most luxurious of buildings, sparkled with silver linings and flowers decorating its walls. Then I stopped and stared, and the man left her there. That’s when I realized what it was… I know this might sound ridiculous, but she is working in the red-light district and with that, no amount of apprehension could hinder me. I know you would flip the whole house upside down, but Ange this is love. I am certain of it. No amount of your denial could keep me away from this.

                                                                                                             From your darling brother, Charlie.

Second Letter: 

Dear Angelique, 

With the amount of your reply, I take that your silence was your approval. 

Today, I took liquid courage to go ahead and talk to her. But the only way was that I had to pay a fortune. I walked to the receptionist with high hopes, and with her assistance, she immediately gave me a room. With flowers in hand, I waited for her only to get my hopes up when another girl walked into the room. I was filled with disappointment. I asked the lady of the night for the description of my love, and she claimed that she was part of the ‘bouquet de blanc’. First-time patrons' pocket money is not enough to gain an audience. And me being an assistant could only lead me to certain places, yet I will persevere. 

 Give me a few more days and I’ll be able to, no matter the cost.

                                                                                                             From your brother, Charles.

Last Letter:

To my Darling Sister,

I hope this letter finds you well, I could not disclose to the ministry the cost of my expenses… but I found another way. Worry no more. Today, I will finally be able to talk to her.

The day that I return home is when she is with me.

                                                                                                             From your loving brother.

Placing the letters right in front of the Madame of the house, with a lifted finger her smile faded into a scowl. Someone from the inside was spreading information about her courtesans; Bouquet de Blanc was valued in secrecy. This was a catalog of their courtesans that had regular high-paying patrons, and this was not open for viewing so easily. Patrons that were deemed valuable to her and her Maison close were accommodated, the pure-blooded noble families, higher ranking officials, royalty even. And someone from the lower ranks of her courtesans had their tongue quite willingly.

Waving her wand, she summoned a large logbook. There inside was information such as names, professions, ages, nationalities, and ranks of their patrons, of course, the courtesan they were assigned to. Whispering the name Charles Moore, it skimmed through the pages with ease, and there in bold letters was the name of the auror the Brits were looking for. Travers tried to peer at the other listed names, his curiosity taking the best of him.

“Curiosity is the lust of the mind, Mr. Travers. Why don’t you sit still, and I’ll call upon her.”

Closing the book harshly, Madame called upon Bernadette. Apparating next to her mistress, Madame Blanche whispered to call the girl. Nodding the house elf disappeared within a blink of an eye. Behind them, the elevator dinged, while the Madame tapped on the book with carefully manicured nails. 

“It is New Year’s Eve; would you like to avail of our services? It can easily be arranged. I know it’s a long journey and your work for your ministry is greatly appreciated, it wouldn’t hurt to take the night off— to indulge yourself in your sensual desires.” 

The older man shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Suddenly they were interrupted when the elevator doors dinged, signaling the arrival of the courtesan. Turning around a slender figure stepped foot in the room, She wore a long flowing green nightgown.

“Come in here and greet the Brits, Maeve. They would like to talk to you about Charles Moore.” Madame Blanche pointed to the aurors in front of her, the back of the courtesan’s neck grew in a cold sweat.

“I–I do not understand Madame Blanche. I didn’t do anything wrong! The man asked– and I swore that was the last of it, I told him what he wanted to hear.” The girl's pleading cries fell on deaf ears as the aurors could not understand what she was crying about. Theseus' eyes darted between Madame Blanche and the girl’s tear-stricken face. While Torquil Travers stood to show his authority, ready to apprehend the girl.

Within just a few seconds, Madame Blanche had already seen the inner linings of the girl’s mind. The fear registered in her thoughts while she traversed doors upon doors to look for the memories of the missing delegate, and right there she found what she was seeking.

In just a few quick strides, Madame Blanche towered over the girl with a look of disdain painted on her red lips. The old mistress, jaw held tightly as she wiped the tears of the girl. Only to hold the young girl’s face tightly, her long nails pierced through the delicate skin while she stared straight down into the young woman’s eyes with an intense look, unblinking. 

“You may leave, pack your bags, and look for work elsewhere. I do not take it kindly to those willing to open their mouths willingly to my secrets. Bernadette, escort her out of here. I have found what I’m looking for.” 

The girl refused as the house elf dragged the wailing girl back to the elevator, screams of ‘no’ echoed through the walls. 

Travers, who was far too confused, shouted for the house elf to stop as the girl was a key witness. Even pointed his wand threateningly at the old mistress, ready to cast a stunning spell within the tips of his lips. The madame disarms him with a flick of her wand, his wand went flying right off his grasp and cluttered on the hardwood floor. Madame shook her head no when the auror Travers tried to pick it up. 

“You’re a legilimens.” Theseus muttered; Madame Blanche turned around to face the man giving them a tight-lipped smile and nodded. 

“Would you like to view the girl’s memory and be done with it? I need to run my business after all.” Offering to perform legilimency to project the memories to the aurors, they declined. They knew not to, after all, they too have secrets that protect their ministry. 

“We decline. We, Aurors value our minds and do not open them so willingly.” Travers stated, still apprehensive of Madame Blanche. “But the girl needs to be questioned, we have to have her testimonials as to Moore’s disappearance.”

“Then you must trust my word because I too have my secrets to keep. That girl didn’t kill or cause his disappearance. He came in here one night, to question about the catalog of my courtesans and that was it–”

Cutting off the handler of the brothel, Theseus insisted; “Charles Moore stated in his letters about a ‘bouquet de blanc’. I hope that might ring a bell, after browsing through your catalog in the lobby earlier. I couldn’t find traces of this list, is this a secret that you are hiding from the ministry?” 

Madame Blanche’s eyes narrowed at the young auror; her piercing ice-blue eyes almost looked like they could kill.

“No, of course not. My bouquet de blanc is the Amour Délicat trade secrets. I could not easily say it out loud for fear of our competitors copying what I built from the ground up. If you would like to browse that catalog, then let me— although I must say, we do not easily offer our services freely.” Walking towards a dark oak cabinet grabbing a large book with golden linings. Placing right back at the table, Madame Blanche flipped through the pages with images of different courtesans, and right on its last page was a picture of you. 

“I believe she is the one he is asking for.” She pointed with a manicured finger, right before your name was a title given to you. 

Queen of the Night; Night-blooming Cereus

You were smiling, looking right at the onlooker like it was destined. While others bashfully hid their eyes, sultry looking to get admirers, you didn’t need to do that. You had your charm, something that allures the onlookers to choose you. Madame Blanche tried to flip the page to show them another photograph of you leaving nothing to the imagination to the spectator, but Theseus stopped her.

“I think that is enough, could you summon her to talk to us.” Theseus declared with a cough, standing up to close the book and stepping right in front of Travers' line of sight. “Please.”

Madame Blanche smiled, this time it was far different. “I believe your permit only limited you to talk to one of the key witnesses… And since Mr. Moore was not a benefactor of bouquet de blanc, I know because I am the only bookkeeper of that catalog… you must pay a hefty price.”

Now, the Aurors were stuck in the beginning, only pieces of blocked paths. If Charles Moore was not on the list of high-ranking patrons, then they could only comply with the demands of the authority and right now it wasn’t them who was holding the winning cards. When Travers' authority gets threatened, he scoffs, ready to drag Theseus out of the old woman. Madame Blanche truly was a businesswoman, she played them a fool. Whether they get out of the establishment empty-handed, or with empty wallets was their choice. They could simply not arrest the old woman, this was out of their jurisdiction, they were out of their element and far from their own country, and they simply couldn’t do whatever they wanted. 

“Either you pay full price, or you will tell me why such a simple assistant is being hunted down by the best Aurors of the British Ministry. Pick your price.” She sat arms folded right in front of her face, holding her chin while she grinned at the standing men.

Within a minute of no one budging, Travers' patience wavered. With a deep sigh, he faltered. With one last glance at Theseus, he held his head low. 

“Charles Moore stole 4,000 galleons. We believe that he tried to buy her indenture and convince her to come to London with him.” Travers confessed. That was the half-truth, Theseus’ senior took out the part that it was from the subsidy for international affairs. And the way he stole it was undetected like he had some insiders to help him, they were now battling an unseen threat. They only noticed it was missing after 3 months, when Theseus looked at the accounts and noticed that something was awry.

Madame Blanche started laughing, “He believes he can buy off her indenture for 4,000 galleons. Oh, what a joke! That’ll only cost him half an hour at most”

When Madame Blanche stopped laughing, she pointed back to the lift doors. “Head to the floor below. I’ll tell her I sent you.” The aurors nodded and headed to leave only to be held when the Madame halted them to stop.

“You endanger my investment; I’d rather you stay here than be near one of my priceless courtesans.” She stated, pointing at the older auror. Theseus can see his senior jaw tightened, and the veins on his neck grew red in anger. Not only was the older auror disarmed, but he was also being held under surveillance in fear that he might endanger you, now his patience and authority wavered on thin ice, and his eyes clouded with anger.

“I’ll talk to her and I’ll find what we need.” Theseus whispered as soon as he stepped foot in the lift. The doors closed slowly; he saw Madame Blanche’s eyes watching the other auror like a hawk. 

When the doors for the lift opened, what greeted him was a vast hall painted like the night sky. With a slight shift of his eyes, he can see the tiny freckles of stars that decorated a lone white door. Unlike the outside of the establishment, this seemed out of place with the flower motifs of Amour Délicat. Here he can feel the cold breeze of the winter night. Knocking on the white door, he called out to the name he had seen written on the catalog. 

You who had been preoccupied with your thoughts; wishing to know the feeling of stepping out of your body, floating, freely, like the ghosts that linger down the dark alleys. Right outside the window, the streets erupted in cheers as they all greeted each other another happy new year. Drinking down the champagne that was given to you by a patron, noting a taste of toast and coffee and a subtle spice drowning out all your other senses. When the fireworks ended, you lay there looking at the skylight as the only glow of the light left was the moonlight.

A subtle knock started you as you let Bernadette waltz her way in. Her company and the cup of tea are greatly appreciated when your water has now gone cold. But instead of the house elf, what replaced her was someone far taller than her; there he stood only the silhouette of his slender frame seen. 

Theseus didn’t expect what he saw, a lone woman basking in the golden tub, a melancholy look written in her eyes.

Sad. You looked sad. 

The only sound that could be heard was the faint hum of the gramophone across the room and the muffled cheers that erupted right behind the glass windows. With the faint sparkle of light, you saw a slight frown on his face. Realizing your predicament, you went back to wearing the mask when you were at work.

“Would you like me to keep you company?” You asked, turning around delicately, careful not to show another ounce of skin. Tilting your head to one side and smiling at him, the same one he has seen in the photograph earlier.

When Theseus realized what you were implying, he held his hand and shook his head, showing you a metal badge indicating the words ‘auror’. You had a fair share of French aurors that came to you for a night, often playing the role of the captive and captor. What a lack of imagination, if this is the role he wants to play then so be it.

“You would like to play that role? I, the convict, and you the detainer. Would you like that darling?” You asked, ready to approach him when he realized what was happening, he turned around not to face your naked form. The tips of his ears went red in embarrassment. 

“I didn’t come here for your service; I was sent here by Madame Blanche to question you. My name is Theseus Scamander, I was sent by the British Ministry of Magic.” He announced. 

Ahh… A British Auror. You hummed and stood to grab the white robe and placed it on your body. Hearing the sound of faint footsteps, Theseus waited until you gave him a signal. 

“I see… talk I don’t have all night to entertain you.” This time you put your weight and one foot, crossing your arms across your chest. Your hand laid steady on your wand.

Turning around, you pointed toward the chair that sat across from you, and he agreed to your request. As soon as he did, you went and grabbed the champagne you had been drinking earlier and procured another glass to pour him one. Placing it next to him, you stood in front of him and drank yours, waiting as he did too. Theseus eyed it suspiciously, but you continued to drink it on your own accord.

“A gift… something lighter than the fire whiskey.” You replied as you down the glass in one gulp. He nodded and carefully took a sip of his. You sat in front of him and grabbed the bottle to pour more down into your glass.

When he exhaled in satisfaction, you knew it tasted amazing. Theseus knew what you were doing, trying to lower his guard, not sitting to show you were in control, and intoxicating him to vulnerability. Yet, he remained calm, showing no signs of threat to you. If Madame Blanche was a legilimens, there was a high chance you were too, all he needed to do was throw you off his scent.

And just like he had predicted, right at the moment you tried to pry his mind. A knot on your brow formed when you stared intently at him.

‘You looked sad.’ Those were the thoughts that circled his mind, like a mantra. You can feel it. Feel him. It made you nauseous, the bile in your throat rose as his thoughts engraved into yours. No one had looked at you and thought you were sad; it was always beautiful. Sadness and you were never to be put in a sentence, and when his thoughts did it terrified you. 

To be seen broken makes you fear. To be seen feeling sadness made the feeling of being stripped naked for the whole world to see. All your life, you had built these walls that made you stand on your own two feet. The ache in your mind becomes unbearable, you weren’t beautiful… underneath all the expensive clothes, and pearls that glittered your skin— you are crooked, battered with bruises, wrecked by time, your skin filthy with sin, you were a tragedy… a rotten work.

“Stop.” With gritted teeth, you fail to look at his eyes and his mind. A slip of the tongue made you realize what you had said out loud, that was all Theseus needed to know that you too are a legilimens. “State your purposes.”

Right in the pockets of his coat was the photograph of Charles Moore, he carefully placed it on the table in front of him waiting for you to pick it up.

“Do you recognize him?” He placed the picture within your line of sight. Pausing he tried to scope for your reaction. “It’s Charles Moore, an assistant delegate of the British Department of the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“He has been missing for months and the last contact we had from him was a letter to his sister, trying to have an audience with you.” 

Your eyes examined Moore’s photograph. And minutes passed your silence almost became too heavy to Theseus's dislike, but he needed to thread your waters carefully, you were already agitated for unknown reasons.

“I believe I do not know who this person is.” You smiled and stared at Theseus, the first time you met his eyes after your outburst earlier.

He pointed out another slip of your strong facade right at its mark. “Yet you do not deny that you do recognize him.” 

“Maybe I do… Maybe I don’t. It is possible he is one of my long lists of admirers, doesn’t erase the fact that I do not know him at all.” 

“I highly doubt that. You’re a legilimens, and I am not; that is true. I need to know if you have met with him once, and if you are proven to be telling the truth then I would leave this room. But I can tell you’re lying. Skilled legilimens can procure memories into another person, and all I needed was the time and date, any people that were trailing him. Your truth is all I need.” He proposes.

“Or would you rather we do this the hard way? The choice is yours.” He leaned forward as his head rested on his knuckles.

“You give me the illusion of free choice when all you want is to pry my mind. Is there something you are not saying, Mister Scamander? Tell me the truth, what is in it for you? What would you get to look into the inner workings of my mind? You expect me to believe that you honestly want nothing else? Just my memory? I hardly doubt that.” Challenging his proposition, you leaned forward as your palms hit the glass table harshly with a loud slap, not before rebutting his claims. “Surely it could not be just you are looking for a testament, you wouldn’t work hard on that, all you needed is a vial of the strongest veritaserum and it would be done. Then why are you pushing hard to look into my mind?”

“You play a cruel game of trust.” He sighed, making you scoff. “Mr. Moore had said in his letters about how he will get the currency to meet you, his means to getting it is unsaid. And that was a clear sign that he needed someone to work with him to get that from a subsidiary of international affairs, you are simply a madman to be able to work alone. And all I need is— you. All I need is you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I need you to work with me. You knew better than just mere rumors, you knew everyone and could see their thoughts.”

Working with the British Ministry, consider it treason. Yet, you never were loyal to this land. Your loyalty lies elsewhere, it stays to those who have given you a sense of protection. Your loyalty is within Madame Blanche’s hands. Hands that remained choking you to stay. 

Still, you let Mr. Scamander entertain you with his words.

“It would have to take you a valuable price, Mr. Scamander. I am an expensive woman, yet, I am considerate. Give me leverage and I will give you what you want.” That’s when he stopped and stared at the photo, avoiding any eye contact. “What could you possibly offer Mr. Scamander, tell me.”

You grinned as you took a sip at the champagne, just like a war, both of you had been disarming and hurting each other for the kill. Breaking down every barrier with a small slip-up of each other, both of you were professionals at your trades. He is an Auror, he knows how to spot lies and negotiate, give you the feeling of support to make you break down your armor. Meanwhile, you pride yourself on being a great liar, you know what to say to appear compliant, and you know how to adapt and play the games to your tide. Every word and sentence uttered until one of you would lose the battle of wits, one slip and the fallen would crash and burn.

Leaning back you gave him a smile, your wand procuring a cigarette that lay on the table. Placing it gently on your lips, the tip of your wand lit up a flame. With a deep inhale, you knew you were already winning the battle. You didn’t need to look into his mind, to know that he was fighting a losing war. His occlumency was far useless when the knot on his forehead and the jaunt of his chin told you he was conflicted.

“I have been offered riches that could fill De Nile, clothes that were woven from the rarest of silks, jewels that shone brighter than the sun, houses that housed thousands of rooms, paintings of the most beautiful landscapes, songs and sonnets about my beauty, the most exotics of creatures that lay hidden within the government’s grasp… Pray tell, what could a simple auror like you have that can overthrow all those proposals?”

He was silent, expression never changing. And no matter how hard you try to pry to look into his mind, it remains still like he is right in front of you. 

“Safety.” Your smile faltered. “I offer you safety.” 

You blinked and blinked. Trying hard not to show that your jaw was slack in silence; the timeliness of the gramophone hitting its ending notes was fitting. His words lay heavy on your mind.

Amour Délicat had always offered you protection, but never safety. Safety was a word often associated with emotional aspects that were never visible in your job, safety offered you the sense of never needing to keep your secrets in this line of work or needing not to utter a word that would be your downfall in these walls. Protection kept you free and sheltered from physical aspects and threats, like the two guards that trailed you whenever you needed to do outside work, or the walls that shielded you from the rain. Safety is a foreign word, way too foreign that it burns you with curiosity. A thrill you never experience on a silver platter. It gives you hope— and hope gives you greed. A greet that surpasses all material things known to man. You want to take it all, consume your being until all is left is the safety that you wanted, the safety of being able to walk free, to run away, the security of not needing to know that this is the place where you would meet your demise. 

You knew how Madame Blanche worked, she took pride in knowing secrets and that is her leverage. And right now Madama Blanche would be none the wiser when you will take his deal. And there is one thing in the world that the Madame hated, and it is to not know anything at all. 

“Give me your hand.”

“What?” 

You held your hand to him and stood up, apprehensive he stood up as well taking your hand in his. Looking up into his eyes, you called upon the house elf. Bernadette immediately appeared right beside you.

“Don’t promise me empty words.”

“I won’t.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if we made an unbreakable vow.”

Your hold on his palm tightens, only to travel into his wrist. Without breaking eye contact you give him a minute to decide what his choice would be. Does he trust you enough to do it at the expense of his life, or would he rather fear being the one to dictate his actions?

His palm pressed tightly into your wrists, not like the rough hands that occupied your wrists hours ago, his hold was gentle, not imposing. Nodding at Bernadette, a thin tongue of flame issued at the tips of the house elf's fingertips and wound its way around both your and Theseus’ hands. It felt like a burning wire, keeping your skin aflame.

“Will you, Theseus Scamander, promise to provide my safety, as he and I work together?”

“I will.”

“Will you, abide by our oath, to only tell the truth to me?”

“I will.”

a/n: dialogue that is formatted like this “dialogue” is in French. i tried hard to make it one-shot i really did, buT I SIMPLY CANT SO HERE I GIVE YOU WORLD BUILDING AND MORE LORE UPON LORE ON THIS FIC.

[alwaysmoncheri]

summary: you wake up in major john egan’s bed and remember he drunkenly kissed you the night prior—you wonder what that means for your relationship.

cw: fem!reader, mentions of sex, fluff, kissing, confessions, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drunkenness, cuteness, but also cheesiness, 1k words

<3

It’s quiet when you wake, the sun peaks through the curtains, creating a ray of light that just misses your face. The sheets are comfortable, warm with your own body heat, but they’re not yours. You sit up with a start, the realization as to where you are washing over you. You were in Major John Egan’s bed, oh my god, what were you thinking? You whip your head around, desperately searching for the man you spent the night with. Throwing one of the pillows off the bed, you hear a quiet grunt from the floor, causing you to scramble over to the edge of the bed. Carefully leaning over with a cautious gaze, you see Bucky laying on the ground, a blanket half covering his bare torso and the pillow you previously threw next to him. Heat rises to your cheeks as your eyes find his. His arms are behind his head and there’s an agonizingly charming smile on his face as he looks back at you.

“Good morning.” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears and you feel weak. Your lips part and you draw in a nervous breath, blinking a few too many times, you struggle to gather your thoughts before finally managing to speak.

“You’re on the floor.” you state simply, chasating yourself for the obvious observation.

“It appears so, yes.” Bucky responds with a hint of amusement in his tone, his smile grows wider and you grow more nervous under his gaze, so you look away.

“You don’t need to be.” you offer softly, a gentle invitation hanging in the air as you lean back onto the plush comfort of the bed. Bucky, catching the subtle implication in your words, lifts himself onto his elbows, his expression curious. With a simple nod, you confirm your desire for him to join you on the bed.

Without a word, Bucky rises, his movements fluid and controlled, as he gathers the scattered pillows and blanket, the fabric rustling softly in the quiet room. With practiced ease, he arranges them on the bed before settling himself beside you, his presence a comforting weight against the mattress. As he sits next to you, the warmth of his body radiates, drawing you closer. You catch the scent of his cologne, a subtle blend of musk and cedarwood, mingling with the faint aroma of lingering alcohol from the night before. The mattress dips slightly under his weight, a silent invitation for you to move closer. You shift, your shoulder brushing against his as you settle into a comfortable position beside him.

For a moment the two of you sit in silence, the memories of what happened last night weighing on your conscious. You’re overwhelmed, confused, and attempting to put the pieces together.

“You were drunk.” you remind him, the words a hesitant admission of the truth. “I was drunk.”

“That is also true,” Bucky acknowledges with a nod, his gaze softening as he senses the rising panic in your voice. Your breath quickens, and your eyes widen, “Look, honey—” Bucky begins, his voice gentle and reassuring, but before he can finish, your words tumble out in a rush of desperation.

“Oh my god.” you gasp, leaning closer to Bucky, your voice barely above a whisper as you say your next few words, “Did we have sex?”

Bucky's laughter fills the air, a warm, affectionate sound that doesn't quite match the gravity of the situation. Your reaction is immediate, confusion and annoyance contort your features.

“It's not funny,” you insist, your voice tinged with frustration as you search his expression for answers.

“Honestly, honey, I couldn’t tell you.” Bucky replies with a shrug, his demeanor nonchalant despite your obvious distress.

“John,” you whine, the plea in your voice betraying your need for him to be serious and clarity of the situation. As your words dissolve into incoherent mumbles, Bucky reaches out, his hand gently squeezing yours in a gesture of reassurance.

“Hey, I’m sure nothing happened,” he interjects, making an attempt to alleviate your worries, “if we had sex, you probably wouldn’t be wearing anything right now.” Bucky adds, with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows and a smirk.

The implications of his words send a shiver down your spine, mingling with the warmth of his touch as you recall the kiss shared between the two of you the night before, “You kissed me last night.” you say with a hint of uncertainty, searching his face for confirmation.

“And you didn’t stop me.” Bucky counters, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes.

“Why would I?” you admit softly, “You’re all I think about.”

Bucky's smiles, that adorable smile that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. You watch as his gaze flickers to your lips and back up to your eyes. A giggle bubbles up from your throat, a nervous sound expressing your uncertainty of the moment.

“What?” you ask in response to Bucky’s wordless expression. Your heart pounds in your chest as he reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, before leaning in to whisper.

“I’m so in love with you.” Bucky confesses in your ear before leaning back with a wide smile, eager to see your reaction. A smile spreads across your face and you turn to slowly wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“If you don’t kiss me—”

Before you can finish, Bucky leans in, closing the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. A hand holds your cheek, while the other rests on your waist, pulling you closer. He kisses you like he needs you and he knows he does. You melt into his touch, surrendering to the warmth and intensity of the kiss. Before you know it, you're straddling his lap, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepen the kiss.

“I love you more.” you murmur against his lips when you pull away and Bucky chuckles, his airy laugh fanning across your face.

“That’s not possible, honey.” he replies, his voice filled with adoration as he leans his forehead against yours.

“Why don’t you kiss me again and find out?” you tease, a playful glint dancing in your eyes, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” Bucky says with a grin before capturing your lips once more, sealing your love in a sweet, lingering kiss.

<3

masterlist . john "bucky" egan masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

alwaysmoncheri © ─ all rights reserved. please do not repost/translate/copy any of my work.

[starboybutler]

don't count on it

summary: buck can't sleep. bucky helps him out.

word count: 2675

warnings: period typical homophobia and homophobic attitudes, handjobs, brief objectification of women, brief talks of war, guys being dudes

notes: i began writing this before i watched mota yesterday so forgive me if anything seems out of character. this came to me in a dream at three am and i've been thinking about it since. this is also inspired by @precious-little-scoundrel so thank you for your lovely blog marina. i hope everyone enjoys!

his entire body radiated with a dull ache deep in his joints. as soon as his back hit the bed, his eyes drooped as if he’d fall asleep right then and there. and yet, he laid there, staring at the dull gray ceiling.

he always did this. he yearned to sleep, but as soon as the time to lay down came, he couldn't fall into a sound slumber. too many thoughts racing in his head, too much aching in his body– too much noise all around him. the hum of the rickety air conditioning, the faint mutters and laughs of his bunkmates as they brushed their teeth and got dressed for bed, his own breathing reverberating in his ears. it all was so mundane, but too overwhelming.

he shut his eyes, hoping sleep would just come to him. he tried to ignore it all– the sounds, the thoughts…but nothing. he was still awake.

the bed dipped next to him, and he didn’t even have to open his eyes to see who it was.

“finally outta the shower?” buck asked, hands tucked behind his head as he waited for a response. “you take forever in there. you're like a woman.”

“yeah yeah,” bucky dismissed, shoving buck playfully as he set his belongings down. “and you didn’t shower long at all. dunno how ya got anything clean in that time.”

“i’m very clean.” gale huffed, cracking one eye open. “i just don’t like showering with other people. i like my alone time.”

“uh huh. you just wanna be able to rub one out in there.”

gale sat up and shoved him, laughing in surprise at his friend's brazen words. it was always like this. bucky, being brazen and outgoing, all while buck watched from the sidelines. he liked it that way. he always felt a weird joy when bucky would tell random stories of reckless things he did in the past, or when he insisted on singing after a few drinks at the bar. he’d always say that he was a prude when he resisted his drunken tugging of his arm, trying to urge him on stage with him. buck never took it personally though– mainly because bucky was right. compared to most of the men he’d been around he was prude. he didn’t gamble, drink– hell, he didn't even have one night stands. many of the guys got drunk and went home with the first broad they saw, but buck didn’t feel anything towards the women who would brazenly grip at his arms and called him a stud. sure, he’s made out with a few of them– and almost made a mess of his uniform– but he never took them back to base. he didn't want to lose his purity like that. sure, he’d done plenty of heavy petting and dry humping, but he’s never went all the way with a girl before. it just didn't happen.

he got teased about it, sure, but he stuck by his guns. he didn't see the big deal in rushing to stick your cock into some random woman and then brag about it the next day. it all seemed very shallow to him. he was always told that sex is special– between two people with a strong, loving bond. and he held that close to his heart. he actually was planning to save himself for marriage– but when you're a hormonal teen…its a little hard to fight those primal feelings.

“oh please, i haven't done that since i got here.” buck said earnestly, laying back down and stretching out. “honestly, i haven't done that in almost a year.”

bucky laughed. “no way. i always joked about you bein’ a prude, y’know, but this is a little far.” he cracked. “where ya too busy? or are you actually that green?”

“i’m not green,” buck grumbled, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. “i jus’-- goddamn, i dunno. i wanna save myself, y’know. i try not to do it too often.”

“good god man, you didn't even go for it before you were here? you’re crazy.” egan snorted. “now you’re stuck ‘round all these guys.”

buck just shrugged, laying back down and sighing heavily. “oh well. what can ya do?”

it was quiet, for a moment. buck could feel that bucky was was there, but he was silent– like he was contemplating. buck opened one eye and gazed at him, confused at the way his lips were twitching.

“you…you really aren’t gonna…indulge in any ladies out here?” bucky said, softly, like he was ashamed of asking. “you’re gonna lose it, man. it’s only been a week and i already feel all pent up.”

buck felt his face heat up slightly at the implication that his friend was horny. he bit his lip, dragging his eyes away from his black-haired friend as he let those words soak in. “really?”

“yeah. i– it’s been a while for me too, actually. i didn't really think about how it’d only be us guys out here. shoulda got something before i came out here.”

despite buck’s stance on remaining celibate until his marriage, he strangely understood the other man. even though he hardly engaged in such things, he felt the tension in every room he walked in. everyone seemed taut, like a bowstring– waiting to snap. whenever they’d spar, workout, or shower, the air would be thick enough to cut with a knife. it was an unspoken thing�� but everyone felt it. no one wanted to talk about it, because…well, what would that make them? they don't allow fairies in the force, that’s for sure. something so scandalous couldn't even be thought about, unless you wanted a good beat down by every other troop in sight.

“i dunno. i think the last time i did it left me satisfied for a while,” he lied, not wanting to admit that he had the same fire simmering, albeit dimly, in his belly. he never felt like this, so what the hell was his deal?

“bullshit,” bucky swore. “no way your fist leaves you satisfied for years to come. you need a woman, buck. one that’ll rock your world.”

“you know i’m savin’ myself.” buck hummed. “besides, hookin’ up with some random woman doesn't sound appealing.”

“you’re wrong, man.” bucky sighed, laying down next to buck and resting his head on his hands. “it’s magical. raw. primal. makes you feel like a real man.” he grunted, inhaling deeply. “hooked up with this one chick– god, she was gorgeous. eager to go down on me– and she gripped ‘round me so damn tight i thought she cut off my circulation. kept bouncin’ on me and talking about how big i was. goddamn.”

buck’s cheeks flushed at the words leaving his friends mouth. the way he spoke about the woman like she was a pastime or a hobby and not a person was surprising. he could see it, though, clear in his minds eye– a young lady, moaning and panting, bouncing eagerly on bucky’s thick cock, bucky panting and calling her a good girl–

he paused. why was he thinking about bucky so much? and why did it make his face flush even more?

“issat right,” buck mumbled, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach from his lewd imagination.

“uh huh. god– i dream about her all the damn time. what i’d give to be buried in her now.”

silence again. only this time, it felt more tense than the last. the vision that buck had– bucky’s cock, his breathless voice, his flushed face. it made him all hot, like no other girl had before. it scared him.

“you ever been with a girl? obviously not all the way– but at all?”

“of course i have.” buck said defensively. “i– i just…it was high school, maybe. real nice girl, real pretty. she came over to study, and we ended up making out. i was still kinda new to the whole….sex thing, so i told her no when she tried to go all the way. we did end up uh…. rubbin’ on each other though. felt nice.”

“and this was high school?” bucky asked. “and you haven’t been with a girl since?”

buck shook his head. bucky stared at him for a moment, something unreadable flashing in his eyes as he gazed at the blonde. “damn. no wonder you're so damn tense all the time.”

“i’m not tense.”

“you are. you’re always quiet– thinkin’. you never let loose. i bet if you got a handy you’d be as rowdy as the rest of us.”

“quit bein’ dirty.” buck tsked, smacking bucky’s chest lightly. “i don’t need a handy. i need some goddamn sleep.”

“i’m tellin’ ya man. you need to get laid.”

“i’ll smack ya if you say somethin’ pervy again.” buck promised, making bucky snicker softly.

it was quiet again. buck closed his eyes, but he felt as restless as earlier. moreso, even. he kept thinking about bucky’s last hookup, the way he described her, how tight she was. was she really tight? or was bucky just that big, like the girl said?

and there his mind went again. thinking about bucky. that wasn't normal. he needed to stop thinking about bucky and think about girls. like the girl he frotted with in his childhood bed- whatever her name was. the way she grabbed onto him, panted into his neck, shivering and shaking something awful as she came undone all over his slacks. he remembered being shocked at the gush, his cock still unbelievably hard down his thigh after two orgasms. he remembered how bad it hurt, being hard for so long. he wondered if being in a girl was better. he wondered if bucky’s cock stayed hard after he came inside that girl. no– stop. don’t think about the man right next to you. why did he keep–

“you’re breathin’ funny.” bucky observed.

“no i’m not.” buck argued, flustered at how his friend picked up on his heavier breathing. he prayed that he didn't look down and see his dick tenting in his sweats.

he must've. no. he did. his eyes trailed down the lean length of buck’s torso, landing on the large bulge under the fabric of his sweats.

“see what i mean?” bucky breathed, his voice lower in tone than normal. “you're so tense, buck,” he muttered, his hand moving from behind his head. “always so damn tense.”

buck swallowed hard as he felt bucky’s hand rest on his thigh, slowly inching upwards towards his aching cock. his breath stuttered, his face red-hot– but he didn't make a move to stop him. not at all.

bucky’s hand slid into his loose sweats, past the blonde curls, and gently grasped at his cock. buck inhaled sharply, his hand moving to grab bucky’s wrist in a moment of panic. bucky halted, looking up at buck tentatively.

oh, god.

“don't think,” bucky muttered, giving buck a soft squeeze. “jus’ lemme help, yeah? lemme get rid of that tension.”

buck let go slowly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. bucky’s hand gave him a curious squeeze, making buck grunt and rock his hips up into his grasp. slowly, hesitantly, bucky started to move his hand up and down his throbbing shaft.

“oh, god,” buck swore, his face flushed dark red as he felt his stomach clenching with each milking tug of bucky’s hand. he felt himself, dripping with precum all over his friends hand like a girl. he hardly began touching him, and he was already….

“close,” buck warned, his voice breathy and embarrassed as he started to pant softly. “oh, jesus–”

“no,” bucky grunted, pulling his hand away abruptly, much to buck’s dismay. before the blonde could even complain, bucky was straddling him and staring holes into his pretty blue eyes. “wanna see you.”

buck swore his face was radiating light at this point, and bucky’s gaze wasn't helping one bit. it was so hot and intensely desirous that buck thought he was going to get eaten alive.

bucky grasped the blonde’s cock again, giving it small, rhythmic squeezes as he stared into buck’s eyes, taking in how they were welling up with tears– and how his flushed face was beading with sweat. it was so different, so absolutely wildy hot that buck, ever stoic, was falling apart below him.

buck had never had someone look at him so hotly before– not even that girl back then. it was making him nervous, but also hot and needy. the thought that his friend wanted him carnally set a fire in his stomach and his heart.

he began pumping him slowly, twisting his wrist and squeezing, all with an expertise that shocked him a little. he could still hear the buzzing of the ac and the quiet conversations of the other troops as his mouth fell open, head falling into the plush pillows behind him.

bucky’s breathing was growing heavier. he could feel the other man’s heat as he used his thumb to swipe at his leaking slit, his breath catching as buck gasped beneath him. the blonde swore he felt a certain hardness poking at his thigh, but he didn't care at all right now. he needed to cum. he needed bucky to make him cum.

“say my name.” bucky demanded, his face flushed as he began jerking buck’s cock faster. “need to hear ya say my name when you cum.”

“bucky–”

“nah. louder.” he demanded, his own breath speeding up and becoming ragged as he stroked buck faster. “scream it. yell it. make sure all our boys know.”

“fuck–” buck whimpered, his cool, stoic demeanor completely gone as he bucked his hips up into his friends fist, moaning like a cheap whore. “b-bucky!”

“that’s it. fuck– no one can make you feel like this–” he panted, speeding up his ministrations. “can they, buck? i’m the only one. don’t– ngh- ever let me catch ya with anyone else. i’ll kill ‘em.”

“bucky,” buck whimpered, his stomach clenching one final time as his orgasm washed over him, a fire like he hadn't experienced in forever. his cock shot thickly over the front of bucky’s shirt, making the other man groan and bite his lip as his friend came apart. the way bucky was straddling him, stroking him through his orgasm, the faint sounds of his friends voices through the thin wall– oh, fuck.

he dissolved into pathetic little tremors and whines as he came down, his cock bubbling weakly at the tip. bucky was panting hard, his face red and eyes hungry as he gazed at the blonde. suddenly, buck was sure that there was a hardness prodding at him.

silence.

“you–” buck panted, reaching out to grasp bucky’s erection, only to be stopped. “wha–”

“don’t worry about me.” he mumbled. “fuck, everyone’s gonna be here soon. jus’--” he stuttered, clambering off of buck awkwardly, tucking him back into his sweats. “get some sleep, buck.”

buck was too tired to try and chase after him as he scrambled away. his body felt heavy as he closed his eyes, finally succumbing to sleep.

when he awoke, he went straight to the breakfast hall. he felt like last night was some fever dream he had cooked up in his fucked up mind.

he sat at a table near the window, graciously taking the coffee he was given. only a few minutes later, the chair in front of him had been filled by his friend.

it was dead silent. then, bucky finally spoke, his voice calm and steadier than buck expected.

“sleep good last night?”

buck’s face flushed slightly, but he nodded, his eyes not leaving his plate.

“good.” bucky hummed, leaning back in his chair. “got a mission. you right and ready to fly?”

“you know it.”

“that’s my boy.” bucky smiled, and buck hated that he got butterflies in his stomach from it. “i’ll see ya in the air. don’t fall asleep in the seat, y’hear me?”

buck smiled, taking a sip from his bittersweet coffee. “don’t count on it.”

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove @lillypink

[jazziejax]

I’m sorry to say this but…I’m a silent reader!!! IM SORRY!!! I know it’s bad, it’s one of the reasons I don’t write a lot! But I don’t interact beyond likes because I don’t want to be a bother and I’m scared of interacting on here.

I’m sorry, I’m learning to do better, I bow to all the people I follow and I just want you to know I appreciate what you have done and your contributions to this app greatly. I love you all dearly, I just don’t know how to show it beyond a like.

[thomotomo]

Callum turner x reader, something about going to a festival (like glastonbury) WOULD BE SO NICE IVE LOOKED FOREVER TO find SOMETHING ABOUT HIM

maybe a late night drive ANYTHING U WANT REALLY

Hello mate! I hope you enjoy this, I was inspired then halfway it stopped but I still hope you find this enjoyable <3 And thank you for requesting it! ^-^ Don't hesitate to reblog, leave a comment and/or a Kofi if you did and take care!

Callum had really looked forward to this. After spending months abroad, filming new projects, unable to spend some quality time with you. He had told his agents he was taking some time off and not to contact him. It had been a few years since he also had been able to attend the Glastonbury festival and he was ecstatic to attend it once again.

He had reserved the tickets with the knowledge that nothing would stop him to have a wonderful time with you at his sides. The excitement stopped him from sleeping more than he usually would when he had some free time, so he laid there, looking at your muscled back that was facing him, counting the moles and watching it rise and fall. As you were still deeply asleep, he wrapped an arm around your waist and nuzzled your neck, breathing in your natural scent.

After laying here for who knows how long, he felt you stirring up and he chuckled, tickling you and making you chuckle too.

“Good morning love…”

“Mmh…How long have you been up Cal…?”, your morning voice was rough and it stirred up something in his belly.

“Don’t bother yourself with such trivial matters. It’s time for us to have fun~”

“Mmh… Bring me hot-choc and we’ll discuss about it.”

He chuckled as you buried your head in the pillows, hiding yourself from the outside world. Callum decided to leave the bed so he could bring you your hot chocolate and correctly wake up. He walked, chuckling as he heard you groan, surely you were gathering the duvet and burrowing yourself inside of it, trying to keep yourself warm and probably wishing to be able to hibernate.

Callum heated the milk, preparing his coffee at the same time. Once each mug was filled with each of your morning drinks he walked back up to the bedroom, chuckling softly as he saw that on the bed there was only a duvet mass. He put the mugs on the night table and gently put a hand on where he supposed your body was and gently shook.

“Hey… I brought you your hot chocolate. Come on Y/N, get out of here.”

You groaned and popped your head out of the covers and your eyes shined as they zeroed on your favourite mug. Callum chuckled and you pretty quickly left the comfort of your warm blanket to seat next to him and started drinking your hot chocolate. The morning was spent very slowly, despite Callum being definitely more energized that you were he took things to your pace.

Once you were properly woken up you put on your clothes and finished packaging your bag for the whole duration of the festival. As soon as you finished preparing Callum excitedly dragged you to the car, you didn’t really trust him to drive in his overexcited state so you went behind the wheel and started to drive as he immediately started the radio.

After a three hour drive you finally reached the place of the festival and immediately Callum jumped out, took the backpack and looked back at you, looking ecstatic and you couldn’t help but look at him fondly as you put on your glasses,  the sun being uncharacteristically present in this part of England. Your boyfriend laced your hands together, looking for the VIP line, checking in and going to your tent to put your stuff down. The two of you laid down on the bed and Callum went over the program of the week-end, noting down every single thing he wanted to do. And well, you, you were just happy to be able spend some time together so you laid there as he rambled, counting the freckles on his face. Your boyfriend looked back at you with a grin, he proudly showed you the list he had narrowed down.

The next day, early and bright in the morning, Callum woke you up, seemingly already ready to spend the whole day dancing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his excitement, for the past year he had been waiting for this festival and you were glad you could enjoy this with him. You put on your clothes and followed him to go out and eat breakfast. Callum rambled about tonight’s stages and you were excited to dance the night away with him.

The two of you spend majority of the day walking around, taking notes of how far each stage were from each other and just enjoying the English sun hitting your skin and warming yourself in a nice way. Before the first concert you were going to attend, Adam Shelton’s, the two of you ate a copious meal and drank some cocktails before completely letting go and going forward to enjoy your night.

Sadly for the both of you, the weekend went by at super-speed and before you knew it, it was Monday and you had to go back home, but luckily you still had plenty of time to enjoy together. When putting your bag in the car Callum sighed, he had thoroughly enjoyed the weekend and he had spent it dancing so he was rather sore after all this exercise.

As you were driving back, he quickly fell asleep and you couldn’t help but stop at a station to take a picture or two of him sleeping, mouth hanging wide open. You bought some snacks for the rest of the road and once you arrived in front of the house you gently shook him awake. You watched him groaning and trying to fold on himself to go back to sleep, not unlike you a few days ago.

“C’mon sleepyhead, let’s take a bath and you can nap once again. You’ll be more at ease in bed.”

He begrudgingly followed you and you immediately started a bath, going in first, so he could seat between you legs to chill during the cleaning. You smiled gently kissing his slightly tanned back, trying to count the freckles that weren’t previously here. Slowly you helped him cleaning out his bad and after half an hour of chilling the bathtub with his head laid back on your shoulder.

You helped him get into bed and laid down with him, legs tangling together as you wrapped an arm around his waist. He sleepily gave you a quick peck and whispered to you in his scratchy half-asleep voice.

“Thank you for coming with me. It was really fun…”

“Don’t worry Cal I also enjoyed it.”

The two of you laid here, looking at each other, being disgustingly in love and quickly fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s warmth.

[rand0mfangurlstuff]

I'll Look After You - Bucky x Y/N

This is my first ever fanfic. I dont know why I wrote this, I never ever thought I'd actually write a fic or post it. But this just wouldnt leave my head. I hope you enjoy and please give me feedback!

***********************************************************************

It had been a tough misson. They lost a lot of men. Bucky had gotten a bad concussion and broke two ribs. Despite Buckys protests that her was fine, he was put straight to the infirmary. He was told he would have to stay there for at least a week if not longer. At this news Bucky almost had a fit. He wanted to go back up in the air as soon as possible and 'show those Nazi pigs who's boss'. His protests went on deaf ears.

She noticed on the first night that he was awake much later than the other patients. She turned out the lights and told him to rest, to which he just nodded. At 4am when the other nurse came to take over; she noticed he was still awake. Surely soon sleep would take over him.

Bucky couldnt sleep. No, Bucky refused to sleep. With sleep came nightmares. Nightmares of torn off legs and burnt faces. Planes exploding right infront of his eyes. The sound of his men screaming in pain and fear. No. Bucky would not sleep.

The following night she was greeted to the same thing. All the men fast asleep and Major John Egan wide awake. Though it was clear by his sunken in eyes he was exhausted. He tried his best to hide his frequent yawns behind the book he was reading, but she could see and hear them clearly. 'Major Egan, you should be asleep by now.' 'I'm not tired.' he said as he fought back another yawn. 'You're exhausted. And your body needs sleep to recover. You'll never be cleared to get back in that plane if you dont sleep.' Noticing the stern look on her face Bucky decided to feign sleep so she would leave him alone. 'Fine, I'll go to sleep. Goodnight.' 'Goodnight Major.'

As much as he tried not to, Bucky did fall asleep as soon as he closed his eyes. Around forty minutes passed, forty minutes of blissful slumber. Cradled among the warm blankets and soft pillows of the infirmay; his body was totally serene. His mind however, was in turmoil. As the nightmares came once again, Bucky started to cry out in his sleep. 'Curt! Curt! Engine 3! Buck...' She heard him straight away, he wasnt the first pilot to have these types of dreams. His body thrashed against the bed. 'Major Egan, its okay, Major wake up.'

He shot upright in his bed with a scream. He wasnt flying the misson. He was in bed, with two thin arms wrapped around his torso. He looked at her then, really looked at her. She was scared. A shocked and timid look on her face. Was she scared of him? 'I'm sorry, I dont know what-' 'You had a nightmare. It's okay. It's normal.' Normal. Bucky did not feel normal. He had always been able to keep his cool. Not feel a thing. Now all he could do was feel. Feel the ache in his soul and the ache in his ribs. 'I'm sorry Nurse...' 'Y/N' she said with a warm smile. She was sitting on the edge of his bed. He hadnt seen her this up close before. She had long hair, it looked soft. Her eyes were kind, and her gentle smile made him feel something he wasnt sure of. 'Y/N' he played with her name on his tongue, he liked the way it sounded. It suited her perfectly.

He tried to sit up against the headboard, make himself look less vulnerable. As he moved he gasped at the stabbing pain in his ribs. 'God damn!' 'Easy there Major, let me help.' She adjusted his pillows and helped prop him up. She was so close he could smell her perfume. Warm, vanilla, like a freshly baked cookie. But also spicy. He felt intoxicated. He missed the last thing she said to him he was in such a trance. 'I'm sorry what did you say?' With concern all over her pretty face, she said 'I'm just going to get you some more pain meds okay?' she turned and walked to the medicine cabinet.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm his heart rate. He wasnt sure if it was going so fast because of the nightmare, or her. She returned a moment later with two painkillers and a glass of water. 'Here you go Major.' He took the pills from her delicate hand. 'Bucky. You can call me Bucky.' He swallowed the pills. 'Mm Bucky. Cool nickname.' His heart skipped a beat hearing his name from her mouth. And she thought it was cool? He felt like a fourteen year old again. 'You should go back to sleep Major. You need your rest.' Bucky knew there wasnt a hope in hell of him going back to sleep, but he smiled and nodded so to not dissapoint her.

An hour later she was doing her rounds, checking on each patient; most of who were sleeping. Except one. Major John 'Bucky' Egan. 'Bucky, why arent you sleeping?' He lifted the book in his hands 'It's just this book Y/N, I gotta know how it ends!' She smirked, 'I saw you finish that book yesterday.' His face grew red. He'd been caught. But he couldnt possibly humiliate himself by admitting he was afraid of going to sleep for fear of his own mind.

Y/N could see it. Just as she'd seen it plenty times before. Though this case was definetly the worst. She didnt know much about Bucky, but the way the other nurses talked about his charm and swagger made her this he was not the type of man who would willingly admit his fear. She wouldnt force him to either. She grabbed the chair next to his bed and pulled it closer. She picke up the book from his lap and opened it on the first page and started reading. 'In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind...' 'What are you doing?' The confusion on Buckys face would have made a great picture. 'You've read this book twice in two days? I have to see what all the fuss is about.' She continued to read out loud in a soft melodic voice. A voice so soothing and gentle it sent Bucky straight to sleep. Even after he nodded off Y/N kept reading. Hoping that her voice could reach him in his dreams and keep him away from the darkness that lurked in his mind.

The next morning, Bucky awoke to a sight so rare, so unthinkable, he had to blink several times to make sure it was real. Y/N was still by his side, asleep on the small wooden chair, her cardigan draped over her. She had stayed, stayed by his side all night long. It was at this moment Bucky realised this was the first night in a long time he'd slept the whole night through without a single nightmare. Because she was there to protect him.

[floralcyanide]

ᴄᴀᴍᴘ ᴄᴏᴜɴꜱᴇʟᴏʀ!ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Some cute, romantic, or funny moments I think would happen if you and Callum Turner were camp counselors together.

warnings: mentions of injuries, cuteness overload, smoking, mentions of drinking

author’s note: I had so much fun writing this (: here's the camp counselor au for everyone to read!!

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

✦ the first day, you’re so nervous you almost get physically ill, but then you see Callum, and all your nerves about counseling a bunch of tweens go away

✦ Callum smiles at you and compliments your ballcap, which has your favorite baseball team emblem on it 

✦ the first time the kids go swimming in the pool at the campgrounds, you warn them and the other counselors about sunscreen. it was nearing 100 F, so the sun was merciless. they all listen except Callum of course, who brushes you off despite his obviously fair skin

✦ he ends up looking like a lobster and is viciously ill that night, skipping dinner. you look after him and get to know him better. he tells you about how he used to burn as a kid and it was never this bad. you laugh at that and point out that he should’ve learned his lesson back then, to which he agrees with a sigh

✦ the camp lasts all summer, so you made sure to bring literally everything you could possibly need- like bug spray. you brought plenty for you and the kids in case they needed it

✦ it’s hiking day, and everyone applies the bug spray except, of course, Callum. he ends up with bug bites everywhere visible on his body that evening. you tell all the kids in your group to point and laugh at him when he enters the mess hall for dinner. Callum rolls his eyes, scratching at his arm. all the kids yell at him to stop or he’d scar

✦ karaoke by the campfire night is fun and games until Callum breaks out the guitar and blows everyone away with his talent. everyone applauds him, and your crush only worsens when he looks at no one but you the whole time.

✦ Callum freaks out when one of the boys in his group has peanut butter as a dare during mess hall when he’s allergic to peanuts. like full on panicking and nearly crying and you have to calm him down

✦ painting class where Callum decides to poke your cheek playfully and you have no idea he had paint on it until much later 

✦ then there’s that night at the lake. after that, you both grow closer. you sneak kisses when others aren’t looking and sometimes meet at the dock for a cigarette in the middle of the night. you hate the smell of cigarettes but they remind you of Callum now

✦ there’s a night where the head counselor rallies the kids to bed a little earlier so all the counselors can have an adult gathering. controlled, of course. wine coolers and such- nothing too hard. but Callum takes it too far as always. he gets handy with you and you have to scold him so no one figures the two of you out

✦ Callum singing the Campfire Song from SpongeBob at a bonfire one night, and none of the kids know where it’s from, but you and the other counselors sing it at the top of your lungs 

✦ you and Callum patching up a kid who fell and skinned their knees and scolding them gently for running when not necessary 

✦ Callum makes you something in pottery class, and you almost cry at the thought of him making you something. no boy- or man, rather, had done anything like that for you

✦ you definitely exchange numbers and stuff for after camp and agree to meet up and hang out before both of your college campuses start classes back up

✦ you and Callum work together to remove a series of stingers from the same boy who ate peanut butter while allergic because he was dared to touch a beehive on a hike

✦ you end up hurting your ankle on one of the hiking days, and Callum helps nurse it with ice and elevation in your room while everyone else you bunk with is away

✦ Callum confesses he really likes you and obviously didn’t want that one night to be a one-time thing. he asks you if you’d like to be his after you leave camp, and you say yes (obviously)

✦ Callum playfully makes fun of you for crying when the kids start leaving to go home, but then he also starts tearing up

[undercovernationalsuperstar]

He can do oral on me

[xxanaduwrites]

oh GUYS i have an IDEA for a bucky fic

perhaps…

“dear john, love blue.”

and it involves the:

bucky: “you know what it’s missing?”

buck: “nothing.”

bucky: “VOCALS.”

buck: “oh no, it’s not.”

bucky: “I’M GONNA SING.”

where y/n (aka blue) does her civic duty of performing for one night only & catches the eye of one major “bucky” egan — who doesn’t fail to put on a show of his own ;)

bucky & blue 🫶

should i write this ??!!!

UPDATED HERE

[strangerdangerwrites]

the art of lies | t.s. (fantastic beasts) - chapter two

Chapter Summary: real partnerships need faux relationships.

Pairings: Theseus Scamander x Fem!Reader

genre: romance, mature audience intended

warnings: mature themes, implied sexual content, sexworker protagonist, pleasure house (brothel), smoking

the art of lies masterlist

YOU CAN TELL A LOT ABOUT A PERSON by the way of their touch.

Is it comforting? Like a mother who eases their child about the bruise on their knees.

Is it skilled? Like the pianist who is adept at playing the key to a composition.

Is it warm? Like the embrace of a friend whom you have not seen in years.

Is it tender? Like the palm of the lover carefully caressing your cheek.

Or is it dominating? Like the hands holding your neck, making you gasp for air while you could only comply. 

Every breath you take, clawing at the hands that tighten with every passing minute. Strangling you until all you see are the ceilings painted like the night sky, it would be your deepest desire to be held so gently, not like this. Not like this. Your lungs burning with every passing second, reaching for anything, a small gasp of wind would be enough to suffice.  The only thing that registered in your mind was how hard your heart was beating out of your chest. One more tightened grip and it would be your last breath, your feet wriggled right under his grasp, tears welling out of yours. You didn’t even know you could cry.

You didn’t want it to end like this, to be seen unsightly. To lie cold on the white sheets, eyes with a blank glassy stare and tear stains on your cheeks. The tell-tale sign that you were once alive is gone with your last breath. You didn’t want it to end like this… You were a fighter— you were fighting for a semblance of a home, the warmth, and the pure love.

With a gasp, you tapped on the arms that held your neck, trying to push off the undesired touch. You grabbed them harshly, as if your life depended on it, and pushed them off your frame. You sat still and coughed, the air you desperately wished went back to your senses slowly. You were alive. You are alive, Feeling the pulse of your veins right beneath your bruised neck.

The man on the sofa whispered but words fell on deaf ears, he muttered something, and all you could do was hum. Unlike earlier, the rough hands by your neck weren’t like the soft kisses he left on your shoulder, leaving the feeling of ice on your skin.

“I said tell me the truth. Did I hurt you?” He asked, warm breath tickling your skin. Looking right at your shoulder his arms circled your waist as he inhaled your scent. 

“You didn’t.” Intense eyes looked right back at you. His once-slicked-back hair was ruffled lying flat on his forehead, he looked at you. Scoping your reaction once more but nodded, nonetheless.

Lies. Lies. Lies. It comes naturally to you, like breathing.

And only one person had caught on to your lies. You take pride in having a knack for the art of deceptiveness, yet when Theseus Scamander looked at you, he knew that you had recognized Charles Moore. Mr. Scamander was far too perceptive and smart for his good, his nobleness would only lead to trouble.

The truth is it wasn’t even in the Amour Délicat that you had first met the missing assistant delegate, his thoughts were loud and clear, unbearable with the thought of your beauty.

‘She’s beautiful.’ The words you have seen a thousand times. 

And for the second time, Charles Moore presented himself in front of you, right in front of a jewelry shop, he held a flashy ring that glittered in the sun. You tried to look at your surroundings, to look for the people that accompanied courtesans every time you had to go out for help. But you couldn’t feel or see them, strange.

“Run away with me. I’ll make you the happiest woman on earth.” Charles Moore proposed, kneeling on one knee as a crowd of onlookers looked at the spectacle expecting you to say yes.

“I do not even know you; you must have had the wrong person.” You said as you turned around to walk another block, trying to get away from his hands as he tried to reach you. 

“You don’t understand, I am in love with you! You are the woman of my dreams. Why are you running away from me? I am your true love!” Your heart hammered in your chest; you couldn’t risk losing your job by creating a scene in front of the crowd. Madame Blanche kept you her secret, a weapon to investigate secrets and he is risking it by following you. 

When you have reached the dark alleys of Paris, streets that looked at you in hunger, you were sent back to a dark time where you had no roof over your head. You have seen life and decay in these very streets. It felt like you were back from where your stomach growled in hunger as you stared at the windows of a bakery begging for a piece of bread. You felt your lungs tightening in your chest like an incarcerous spell had taken hold of your chest, squeezing it until panic littered your veins. Your eyes darted at the crowd, looking for the protection that you desperately craved. Suddenly, multiple people stood in front of you, dressed in shabby clothing. They had followed you, looking at you with disdain asking if you were acquainted with the man earlier, you shook your head no as tears threatened to spill in your eyes, only for them to grab your arms harshly.  Every spell of protection flew over your head as your heart still hammered in your chest, stunning stem into their place you ran. The soles of your feet were sore and when you were back to the familiar streets of the red-light district, back to Amour Délicat, you could finally breathe. You stood there for what felt like a lifetime, only to hear the panicked breaths of people who were supposed to protect you.

That is the memory you had shown Theseus, who is now sitting on the sofa with his head propped up on a soft pillow looking at the ceilings while dissecting every memory of the encounter, For someone to force their memory on you it would hurt for the first time. You muttered a healing spell to ease his pain, while he lay on the soft velvet seats, collecting his thoughts.

“I would say that you are quite indeed a great liar, but the first time you looked at me I knew you were lying.” He said with a cheeky grin. Proud that he had seen through your facade of lies. His eyes remained closed, and you frowned.

“What gave it away?”

“Your eyes. My mother said you can see a lot of a person through their eyes, that’s why Hippogriffs only respect you if you look right into their eyes. And you didn’t with me, you covered yours with a smile.” Opening his eyes, he looked right back at you. “And that is your flaw, you’re too good of a liar that lies upon lies is the tell-tale that you are hiding something.”

What a funny thing, you failed to be the greatest deceiver. Now you were only obligated to an oath of truth to Theseus Scamander. You were a mere pawn in this game, all your life you were, and to be presented with a ticket out, you became a feral dog ready to taste the sense of freedom. Your truth is hard to come by because all you knew were lies. And the way he had you right wrapped around his fingers was a sure new record of low for you, what a pity you were. Madame Blanche would sure be ashamed. You and your rotten judgment would lead to your demise; you were certain.

Yet, he vowed for your safety. All that needs to be done is you get information as you’ve always done before. Gather secrets and tell him what he wants, that would be easy. The only obstacle was how you would communicate discreetly, all he needed to do was be within your vicinity for you to use legilimens to him. But, how, he couldn’t simply use his account to buy your time, he significantly declined that idea. His righteous beliefs prevented him from using you for that kind of service, ‘We are working together, you don’t need to think about ways to please me. Your help is fine.’ he says.

Madame Blanche would become too curious, too prying as to why the British auror had come to take you, therefore you settled on an agreement, every time you had to go out, he would trail by the shadows until both of you were all alone he would get the information he wanted.

You would ease into Mr. Scamander’s mind gently, give him the truth that he wanted. 

The man that lay on your sofa slowly unwrapped his arms around your waist. It was becoming a common occurrence for you to be lost in thought. Being deep into your head, made you make plans for the imminent future, like what would you or where would you go questions have circled your mind. Daydreaming has now been a habit that distracts you and makes you hope, and having hope is a dangerous thing.

You even forgot it was not Mr. Scamander in the room with you but a regular patron of yours, whose name you were forced to remember since he was a high-paying clientele. Pierre Baudelaire, the next-inline as the Duke of Baudelaire, a part of the royalty of pure-blooded families. And you were nothing but his mistress.

If you squint your eye, you would’ve thought it was the figure of a certain auror, something your mind didn’t expect it to play. Buttoning his suit with ease, Baudelaire acquires an extravagant box in his coat pocket. He kneeled right in front of you and grabbed your hand in his.

“What is this?” 

“A gift.”

“I don’t think I can accept—”

“Take it.”

Your hands fiddled with the box unwillingly, his palms pressed to it tightly, not giving you the choice to reject his offer. Nonetheless, you smiled at him not before you grabbed your robe and walked with him as he went to say his goodbyes.

With one last look, he turned around to step in front of you. His deep green eyes stared at you unblinking not before holding your neck, lightly this time. With his thumb, he tilted your head up at him not before giving you a kiss. Closing your eyes and the hold on your neck slowly tightened. The feel of your pulse right beneath his skin, you willed your heart to remain calm, afraid that the repeat earlier would happen again.

The touch of authority is evident in the way he holds your neck, making you want to submit to his desires that are still not satisfied. Back then you would’ve let them, it was your job after all. You would’ve been your ruin, a tool of satisfaction but now you feared. You fantasize about life outside these very caging walls. Back then, you would’ve been fine if your last dying breath was in between the sheets, and the taste of freedom far from your mind. But now it is different.

When the lift doors closed behind him and your clientele for the day had gone, you gave a tired sigh and rested your back among the door frames. Your hand touched your neck feeling the faint bruise slowly starting to burn, by the time you would have looked in the mirror you were sure that it would’ve been dark red. Going back inside the room, other elves started appearing and cleaning the room from the ground up. And at the corner of your eye, Bernadette gave you a comforting smile. A cup of tea in her hand

“I hope I didn’t take long. Bernadette.” Grabbing the warm cup of tea in hand, the crushed leaves provided you with the comfort that you needed. You muttered a ‘thank you’ not before hearing the creaking wall opening behind you. You followed her as both of you walked towards the hidden door in the room, the bricked walled lead you downstairs to the common rooms and large dining hall for every courtesan. Loud chatter and boisterous laughter could be heard echoing on your way down. 

As soon as you opened the large lounge where every staff and courtesan lazed around; there they talked about rumors of their own, happenings on the street, and what the client of the day did. Passing by some who flaunted their lover’s gift as they giggled at the thought of love. Not before you get stares of your own; thoughts you could hear loud and clear about how you were the cause of Maeve’s disposal. Not even caring that their voices were loud whispers.

If Maeve didn’t run her tattle tale mouth, then would have still been working here, It was not your fault she grew jealous of your status as the right hand. She did it to herself, you were merely a vessel to her downfall. At first, that former courtesan acted like you were the best of friends, clinging to you to make her status higher but you knew not to make friends; you could hear and see the disdain in her thoughts as soon as she saw you. Thoughts about how undeserving you were, and that you were never special to begin with. And when she realized that you were unapproachable and someone who never let her secrets slip, she knew that you would never open up. 

“Why did Maeve get to be punished, she should’ve been the one who left.” A comment that went past your ears. You paid no reaction and continued your way back to your room, all you needed to do was get out and talk to Theseus, passing him a piece of crucial information about how you were being trailed these last few days and how Maeve held no contact after being laid off by Madame Blanche. No letters to her friends in Amour Délicat, which is unlike her character at all. She liked to gossip and was often associated with the one who made the nasty comment about you, and to not get a peep out of the former courtesan was unlikely. Very unusual.

Passing down rooms until you reach the final door. Courtesans from Bouquet de Blanc had different sets of rooms. You were never placed to bed in the lower ground rooms, where one hall five people are being accommodated in their respective rooms, you stayed on the upper floors where a singular door resides. There were clothes designated for you to wear, to not lose their status, and you were only required to wear white, a sign of purity when the truth is you are embedded with sins. 

Opening the door, what greeted you was a simple room. No knick-knacks, just all the necessities to be considered a bedroom. There were no high ceilings or chandeliers like the room upstairs that decorated this simple abode. The only splash of the decor was the potted Epiphyllum oxypetalum residing at the dresser, its buds still not formed. It was charmed to be water daily while you were occupied by other means, you never miss it when it blooms once a year. This plant was a gift from the Madame, every courtesan had a flower designated to be their own identity. A cruel reminder that this is who you are in the establishment of Madame Blanche. A flower in her bouquet of courtesans.

Bernadette who has been by your side all this time summoned the golden tub, and immediately you succumb to cleaning yourself hastily. You scrubbed hard while the water still flowed to a full; Bernadette rushed as well as she poured an essence of floral shampoo right into your hair. The house elf saw the forming bruise right at your neck and touched it gently.

“Again? Please be careful around men like that Miss.” You flinched when her cold hands touched the sensitive skin, she whispered a healing spell. You could only nod as you hurried to dress yourself, in simple clothes, something inconspicuous.

“Are you meeting the auror again?” Bernadette asked. Worry was written all over her face.

“I have to, this— this contract is an opportunity I could simply not pass. When the time comes, I’ll make sure that you’ll come with me to be free. And this is the only reason for that to happen, trust me. Please.” Kneeling right in front of the house elf, she caressed your cheek and wiped the worry off your face. Bernadette nodded and put a tight lip on her lips signifying her silence. The house elf that you have trusted your whole life, embraced you in a hug like a doting mother would. 

The truth is Bernadette is your only friend, she is the only other person you ever trusted and cared for. When the world turned their eyes with disgust at you, it was empathy and a cup of warm tea that she offered. Bernadette took care of you as a loving mother would; not that you knew what it's like to feel a mother’s touch. It was she who gave you warmth, and sincerity. And even if you are not related by blood, the bond you have with each other is irreplaceable. 

“What would you do if she asks?” 

“I’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

“Stay safe.”

“I will.”

Walking towards the back doors, you stopped at the guard’s quarters to call upon Chen and Marc. The men who were assigned to watch your every move whenever you are needed outside. They did not only to keep you from harm but to prevent you from running away. Those were Madame Blanche’s orders. 

“Are we too lazy to go outside boys?” You crossed your arms across your chest and looked at their round of poker game.  Groaning, the two boys sat their cards down to fold. And just by hearing their thoughts out loud, they were dejected. Placing their cards down, they begrudgingly stood to follow you, calling out to their other mates about continuing the game later.

“Where are we going today, Miss? Another theater or a trip to see the Seine?” Chen enthusiastically asked.

Chen and Marc were great at their job, they knew to keep tabs on all behavior and what to report to Madame Blanche as soon as the trip was done. You had been doing this for years, and with experience, you knew how to throw them off your scent easily. All you need is a place wherein utmost surveillance would become useless when faced with difficulty; for that to happen you need an obstacle, an obstacle called the non-magiques. With the planned rendezvous in mind, you hummed not even trying to act overly giddy at the thought. 

“We are going to the non-magiques golden district, the Champs-Élysées Avenue.” With a loud choking sound, followed by a slap on the back you walked towards the double doors. The feeling of air right on your skin made you elated.

“What for?”

“I need a look… a look on how to be the perfect bride.”

For the non-magiques it would take them 10-12 hours to travel to Champs-Élysées Avenue from the Amour Délicat, but apparition came easy to you and there are portkeys scattered in Paris. Besides, the farther you are in Amour Délicat the better. You didn’t need prying eyes or ears to watch your every move, and besides the non-magiques tourists spots were certainly a beauty to look at, that was just an additional benefit. Marc and Chen could only comply with your demands as you looked at every boutique with wonder in your eyes. They were on edge and yet they couldn’t do anything about it, afraid that the Bureau des Aurors would show up any minute. They were not accustomed to traveling outside the wizarding walls, they were wary that they would be captured and jailed if they ever slipped and showed magic towards the non-magical people. Pinballs of sweat dripped to their forehead as their wands remained at the inside of their pocket, eyes darting across one another as they tried to remain calm.

“Did you hear about ‘Handcuff' Houdini? I believe he is now in Wales touring! How I wish I could’ve seen his magic again; my papa said it was like sorcery!” You nudged the thought loud and clear to the young boys who bumped past your escorts. Messing around a little more, you whispered the fear of sorcery in their veins. 

Another group of elegant young ladies passed by this time their thoughts were merely pure coincidence. 

“I’m excited, I’ll finally be able to go to Magic City.” You stopped to tap them on their shoulder, the girl stared up at you in wonder. You looked regal with your white coat and scarf, even in the eyes of the non-magiques you were a beauty to look at.

“Did you say Magic City? I don’t believe that I’ve been there, care to tell me where it is?”  You asked, voice loud and clear for the eavesdropping escort to hear. “Yes— yes the one by rue de l'Université. Their dance halls have the most extravagant balls and celebrations. I heard that it is the most magical place here in Paris. We hope to see you there!” 

“Is that so? Thank you and I do hope to see you too. Have a wonderful day!” You turned around at their pale faces and gave them a small smile.

“Do you think that is a wizard-owned location?” Chen approached you but you could only hum in uncertainty, placing doubts onto their heads.

“I don’t know… I do think it is.” Turning around, you smiled as you heard one of your escorts gulp nervously, whispering amongst themselves about this new development and how they would tell Madame Blanche. If it is a new competitor, then it would be a threat to the Madame’s establishment

“Come on Chen and Marc, you have to hurry we do not have all day.” You hurriedly walked, passing through throngs of people, widening the gap as the men behind you were slowly losing you among the crowd. As soon as you walked two blocks away, you walked inside the corner shop street. 

Ready to welcome yourself in, the floral ambiance greeted your senses, the name of the boutique long forgotten when you realized what kind of establishment it was. Countless white bridal dresses decorated its walls, and mannequins stood still wearing expensive-looking gowns. In another life, you would’ve rejoiced to be a bride, but now you despised the color white. 

White. Felt restricting; it reminded you of the control, the emptiness, the loneliness, and the lies. White made you feel empty. 

“Welcome to ‘Love Affairs’. How may I help you today?” The boutique assistant's voice spooked you and immediately helped you to snap out of it. She guided you to a sofa that held champagne and a catalog. It almost made you nauseous to see the closed catalog staring straight back at you, you thought that if you scanned through its pages, you would see yourself and the price under your name. You held everything in your will to force the bile from coming out of your mouth. This place felt sickly, it reminded you of Amour Délicat. 

But you remember Theseus, curse him for choosing something like this. Something that is triggering every parcel in your body to just run away. He had provided you with this exact location, a place wherein you can do it discreetly. He could not afford to use the hotels the Aurors were staying at, that would cause too much curiosity in his superior. And the tavern had too many curious eyes and ears, this place was the first best thing. A place where no one would look for you and you could come up with an alibi easily, here you know that Marc and Chen could not follow you or it would raise suspicion.

Mr. Scamander… Mr. Scamander was here. Forcing yourself to remain in control you asked, “I was wondering if an English man has come in here? He was supp—” Her eyes widened in delight before you could even finish your sentence.

“Oh, you must be his bride! What a wonderful couple you two are. Come with me!” She urged you to stand up and she grabbed your hand, almost dragging you up the stairs where you can look at the catalog of dresses privately. 

A lone stylist stood in the middle of the room, entertaining a man who was slouched down on the couch. His knees showing signs of nervousness.

“His fiance is here!” The girl called out and Theseus looked at you, he expected you to not even show up but when you did his fear was lifted. He stood immediately, engulfing you in a tight embrace as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Your hand hovered right behind his back, wary of your touch on his. You were afraid that if you became too close, he would flinch and push you away. All it took you was a second to decide before giving him an embrace of equal force, not too harsh that your bones would crush and not too soft that the wind could blow you away.

With his voice in your ear and his hand carefully drawing circles into your back, he whispered. “We need to talk, they almost thought you stood me up.” 

It did interesting things to you, his whisper felt like feathers on your back making you arch closer to him and parted your lips. You felt yourself tremble to his voice, almost wanting more; you almost wanted to be greedy and see where this would lead. You push back to stare at him, but this is not the time or place for it, you have a job. And your job is to give him the information that he needs, not your services but secrets; he needed your secrets. And you two were not alone.

Your palm caresses his cheek softly; “Follow my lead.” 

Dropping your hand back to your side, you turned to stare at the stylist, the white streaks on her told of her age. She gave you a genuine smile, and in her thoughts, you could see her admiration. Slowly his hand left your back to stay right in his pockets, the warmth leaving as he did. 

‘Just like me and my husband.’ The lady's thoughts circled in your mind as her finger fiddled with her own ring. 

You formally introduce yourself and shake the stylist’s hand, flattering your eyes. Like stepping in front of an opera house, you performed another lie of a lifetime.

“I had to apologize, I had to run an errand. It is hard to plan a wedding with only two people.” You gave them your made-up story, how quickly and easily it came to you. 

Theseus would’ve thought it was true, but he knew your truth. Your contract was to only tell him the truth and to be seen on the other side of your white lies, he knew not to meddle with an expert at hand. You were far too quick on your feet to lie between your teeth, it came easy to you. He admired you for that, you would make a great auror. 

“The way your husband came here was uncertain, we almost pushed him out of our boutique. He was a nervous wreck. Now that I know why he is like that, your case is something unheard of, we always thought that the groom would only see the bride’s dress at the wedding, not the planning. Yet, you do not need to worry about anything, we'll make sure that this is a wedding you’ll never forget.”

Theseus stepped to your left and closed your hand in his, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles, hiding the view of your ringless finger from the spectators in front of you. “We wanted it to be private, just the two of us against the world.” He declared, and the boutique’s assistant swooned at the thought of pure love. 

“Ah, then why don’t you let us do the magic, all you must do is trust us and we will surprise you with the collection suited for someone like you. We will not leave you disappointed.” The stylist said as she closed the catalog and ushered the young assistant down the stairs. 

With the given privacy, you immediately walked toward the round-stage podium and closed the curtains surrounding it, not before dragging Theseus inside. Charming a muting spell in the vicinity, you looked up at him with seriousness plastered on your face. Now you were back to business, putting down the facade of pretending to be husband and wife.

He fiddled with something in his inner breast pocket. “Take this.” 

In his hand, a small dainty ring resides. It didn’t need the most expensive of gems to look beautiful as it glittered through the sun's rays. The golden band protected the one moonstone right in its middle, it looked beautiful and delicate.

Not even realizing that you were traversing his mind, you found a memory behind it. It was his mother’s ring. In his head, you saw him in front of the dining table along with his mother passing that very ring with a smile on her face, her small freckles dusted on her cheeks looking the same as her son. You can see her muttering the words ‘When the time comes, I know you’ll give it to the right person.” His mother placed the ring in his hand and closed it tightly. You can see him being apprehensive but with one last look, he thanked his mother and hugged her.

“This is your mother’s. Mr. Scamander— I–I don’t think I am the right person for this.” You muttered, eyes darting back to his eyes. The palm of his hand was left unoccupied with the ring as you didn’t even want to touch something so special to him, afraid that your ruination would cause its destruction. Your heart was pounding loudly, mind muddled with the unknown as the thoughts of all people within 50 meters became one. The voices all came at you at once as the white noise grew louder. You were breathing heavily, your hand slapped right into your ears to make the voices of the people stop.

His eyes grew worried, as he held your hand beside your head. Muttering. He was muttering something. You stared at his lips as you leaned closely.

“They’ll think you’re lying if you are not wearing the ring.”

“Oh... Yes of course.”

You expected he was giving it to you as an act of commitment, but his thoughts were loud and clear, you just didn’t expect the disappointment that followed. Placing the ring onto your right hand, not before he stopped to carefully hold your hand and place it on your left ring finger.

“Vena Amoris. Vein of Love. You wear it on your left, closer to your heart.” He whispered, realizing what your implication meant. Air thick with tension and uncertainty made you step back, giving distance and formality once more. This is a job, you don’t meddle with a personal relationship with it; you should know better than that.

Clearing your throat, eyes avoiding his stare as his mouth opened and closed, trying to pull the words right out of his mouth.

“Should we start? We can’t afford to lose time by dallying around.” As professional as ever, you procure your wand to show him the memory. Shaking his head, he nodded and stood straight closing his eyes, as he waited for you to push the memory into his mind.

In this memory, you gave him the exact faces of the people who are trailing you, the same people who asked if you were acquainted with Charles Moore. Even giving him the exact location where and when these people were trailing behind you. Two men, a feat larger and burlier than he is and one small with a mean look in his eyes. 

For the second memory, you gave him the news about the unresponsiveness of the former courtesan Maeve. You gave him details about how she never answered letters from her friends and almost seemed like she disappeared from the face of the world when she was a person who is quite the opposite of that. You gave him details as to her last known location, giving him the harder part of the job. 

When you were done, he was gasping for air, almost as if he was drowning. Theseus almost tripped on the curtains as they opened when he fell. You tried to catch him but he was halfway on the floor when you caught his arm. You dragged him back to the couch while he regained his senses. Transferring memories with the use of legilimency is not an easy art to master, with time you’ll learn to endure the pain better but, for his second time, Theseus was faring far better. 

When the assistant downstairs heard the bustling noise of someone falling, she immediately came upstairs to see you hovering right above your supposed husband. Meanwhile, Theseus lay there almost as if he was asleep. The aftereffects of legilimency took a toll on him. 

“Is he okay? What happened? Do you need anything?” The assistant asked.

“Just took a tumble, do not worry. May we please have a glass of water? I think my husband is too tired and nervous for all of this.” You politely said. The girl immediately nodded and headed down the stairs. When you heard the pattern of footsteps disappearing, you sighed.

“Mr. Scamander?”

“Mr. Scamander?!”

“Answer me.”

“Theseus.”

Your voice commanding is still laced with worry as he remains to catch his breath, his eyes still closed and his skin still pale. Theseus muttered a sentence, way too quiet for your ears to pick up on.

“What? Can you repeat it?” You asked leaning forward, as pinballs of sweat and the colors from his cheeks started to come back.

“I said you didn’t give me time to gather my thoughts. Yes, you would be the right person for someone… I’m not saying you aren’t. Someday a lucky bloke would be lucky to have you as their right person.” Giving you the cheeky smile once again, he opened one of his eyes to stare at your reaction.

Slapping him lightly on his arm, “This is not the time for this type of conversation.” You sighed nonetheless when he laughed. When he laughs, you have never heard a sweeter and warm sound.  His laughter made you at ease. He was fine.

“Then when? Care to join me for a cup of fire whiskey later? I think we do deserve it, after all, you now called me Theseus, I assume that I am now your friend not just an ally.” He replied cheekily. Held tilted to one side, wiggling his eyebrows for you to agree.

“When this is done, we will drink fire whiskey and gigglewater until the next morning. And I’ll make sure that you are too drunk to remember anything. Happy?” You fixed yourself and stood straight arms folded across your chest, he nodded.

“And stop getting a reaction out of me, we are in the middle of a business here. And I can’t take it seriously to see you annoyingly smiling at me.” 

“So, you’re implying that I make you distracted?”

“Yes, you are a large distraction, an annoying one. I can’t believe I made an unbreakable vow to a cheeky person like you.”

“You know you would make a great auror someday.” 

“Ha! In your dreams.” 

You didn’t realize that the stylist and her assistant walked up the stairs with refreshments and too many dresses on hand. The lady looked at the couple in front of her with a large smile plastered on her face.

“Come on my dear, we must make you the perfect bride.” She dragged you as you watched Theseus sit straight and drink the refreshment in his hand, still giddy at the thought of you breaking down the facade of seriousness when you rolled your eyes at him playfully and stuck your tongue out at him.

“Real mature.”  You said to him when you knew that he wouldn’t understand a word you muttered but with the way you said it, he knew what you meant.

You didn’t expect it; the walls that were too high to climb, too tough to break down easily crumbled under a certain auror. The absence of difficulty and pretending came naturally, it came to you as easy as breathing. Whether it is because you're bound by truth or maybe it's just the way that he is, you are uncertain. All you know is that it felt nice not to withhold the true you. 

After pretending and having fun wearing white bridal gowns, you would think you lead a normal life; the high life of having a sense of normalcy felt nice. Mr. Scamander—Theseus certainly made his company a pleasure to be with. It was hours of leisure and laughing as the cheap champagne of the non-magiques stayed on your lips; bickering among throngs of dresses as he tried to ‘fight’ a particular dress he seemed to like. The stylist and her assistant were accommodating and made sure that the two had fun, and a ‘day you won’t forget’, but they were none-the-wiser, this was all a faux relationship. Looking at bridal dresses is a certain once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, where you don't need to worry about who is behind your back and watching every move. Maybe soon, you could be like this. You would find the love of your life, experience the freedom other people have, and possibly love the way other people love. Oh, how beautiful and bright that future would be.

Walking back to the steps, back at Amour Délicat you almost feel like a schoolgirl having a crush. Your own escorts who spent their whole day almost looking for you were tired. And yet their worries were lifted when you pretended that you had been searching for them as well. And behind them Theseus has to tip-toe out of their line of sight, waving you a small goodbye and a large smile plastered on his face. It almost seemed like a secret love affair, and you giggled at the thought. As soon as you open the back doors, all you can see are the courtesans gathered around the fireplace peering at something. Gasps of amazement filled the air. Their shadows danced right by the fireplace, passing on to something with great curiosity. 

“Isn’t this expensive?”

“Do you think our lovers could get that too?”

“Ah, I’m so jealous.”

You paid no mind to them, as you walked towards the halls to your room. At the end of the hallway, Bernadette is biting on her finger with worry. 

“There you are!” Someone behind you exclaimed, Turning around they gleamed. “The beauty of the night is here.”

The courtesan immediately surrounded you, and right in front of you was the black velvet box. And inside was a necklace with far too many pearls for you to count, and those weren’t just normal non-magiques pearls, these were siren tears. Acquiring siren tears is not an easy task, banned in most countries, and to do something so inhumane to a siren is punishable by law.

“What is this?” Staring at it with disgust and annoyance. 

“What are you talking about? Just wear it, it’s yours after all.”

And right in the middle was a note, written in golden ink. Sitting innocently and untouched. Picking up the note with an apprehensive hand, you wavered. This is something your mind couldn’t see or read with the use of legilimens, you needed to see with your own eyes to understand.

‘I hope you wear it. This is merely a downpayment worth 4,000 galleons and the life of a certain English Man.’

And right on your left ring finger, a lone simple ring resides; a ring no amount of value could surpass. An engagement ring that came with love, a love from his mother to him, a ring that has seen pure love. You felt it grow cold on your finger. 

text format: “dialogue” is in French.  ‘Dialogue’  are thoughts. a/n: cant be touch starved when you hate physical touch (I am a hypocrite)

[cutefoxybubble]

Wild & Wicked - Theseus Scamander

No reposting . Reblog if you like

A/N : I am so nervous to write this but oh god. I CAN'T SLEEP WITHOUT WRITING THIS SHIT SO IF IT'S NOT GOOD PLS SKIP LOL. 😭 hope ya'll enjoy it

Summary : You knew what you were putting yourself into. Joining Grindelwald wasn't one of the smartest choices you ever made. But again, you didn't care much about the consequences of your actions. But when you saved a certain Auror from a killing curse your own side set off, you never knew it would change your life forever.

Warning : possible spoilers, mentions about death, fighting, swearing, typos and grammar error, I probably missed some things but I'll try to add them later-

Genre: enemies to lovers

Paring : Theseus Scamander x fm!reader

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

You were under attack.

When the wall behind you was blown up, you were thrown off your chair and your head hit against the stone floor with such a brute force that your vision was turned into a disoriented array of black and white spots.

"Shit,” you said under your breath, quickly coming back to your senses as you looked around. You swiftly pulled your wand from your coat pocket.

The Castle had been blown to pieces, chairs scattered the floors, most of Grindelwald's men were strewn across the floor unconscious, and the dust was so heavy in the air that it was hard to breathe without coughing. For a moment you looked around trying to get your head back on straight as you looked around and saw the commotion around you. Some of the Grindelwald's men were disapparating and most of them being captured. There were only few of you fighting.

You peeked out from your spot for a one, a red flash of light nearly hitting you the moment you stuck your head out to get a view of the scene. "GET THEM!" Someone shouted as you dodged the spell. You could some of your people knocking out Aurors. Dark spells flying everywhere. The green flashes were bright in front of you and you knew that your people were killing.

Suddenly, clouds of sinister black smoke dipped in and out of the crumbling building as Grindelwald's followers apparated into view and immediately began casting spell after spell, aiming right for the Aurors.

No killing, just stun them enough to get out of here.

You were in your element as you walked into the battle, sending powerful magic rippling through the air, hitting the Aurors square in their chests with each forceful blow. You fought and fought, you could feel your magic straining from fighting for so long and then suddenly you were thrown into a brick wall, a groan escaping your mouth. You looked up to see your attacker. He was standing tall in the middle of the tomb, his wand still raised at you.

"You bastard," you muttered under your breath, you flicked your wand at him, sending a purple hex hurling at him as he deflected them with ease.

His voice was steady yet gentle when he first talked. "Give up already, there's no way for you to escape," he said as he flicked his wrist at a stunt spell you send at him, sending it back to you as you stoop up stepped out of your way. You frowned a him. He was right. You were outnumbered. Most of your teammates were being captured by Aurors.

So is that it? Askaban?

But it was at that moment when you heard a crack like a cannon erupting and turned just a moment before you saw a thousand sparks of red erupting towards you from another Auror’s wand. The force of the impact knocked you off your feet and you fell backward onto the stone-paved ground. Your head collided with the cobblestoned floor, a shard of broken glass from a latterly shattered window catching on your lip as you skid across the floor, tearing your skin open and filling your mouth with the metallic taste of your own pain.  Anger coursed through you as you scrambled to get up when you were lifted up by a strong grip on your arm.

It took you a few seconds to realise what was happening. He was standing too close to you, his blue eyes were pretty, you noticed, too pretty. The Auror was handsome, there's no denying that. You were a girl after all.

You stared at him which felt like forever when you felt the cold metal of cuffs closing around on each of your wrists with a soft click, restraining you from using your magic. You were too late when your head snapped towards your wrists. You looked at him with disbelief written all over your face while he was grinning at you smugly. Maybe that's why he couldn't see the deadly green curse flying at him from his side.

The next few seconds were a blur in your mind as your grabbed the man infront you by the shoulders and pushed him out of the way, saving the two of you from the deadly curse with not a moment to spare and sending both of you crashing onto the ground. A moment before your head collided with the rough floor you locked the eyes with the attacker, he was glaring daggers at you. You knew what you had done, but betrayal didn't even feel like a betrayal. In fact it felt like relief. and happy? You didn’t know why you had stepped in, but in the moment, it felt as though it wasn’t even a choice.

You were starting to feel the strain of the fighting take a toll on you and your head was ringing from her earlier fall. You let out a pained groan before your vision went spotty and then it was just the darkness that engulfed you.

╚═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╝

WHATEVER YOUR HEAD RESTED ON FELT FIRM, BUT ODDLY comfortable. You snuggled closer, feeling safe and warm—wait what-

Your eyes flew open.

You jerked back from handsome son of biscuit's shoulder so fast you cracked you head against the wall behind you. “Fuck!”

Theseus couldn't help but be amused at your clumsiness. It was like your head never gave you a break, always colliding with something. But that didn't stop him from being concerned about you as you looked around the room.

"Are you okay?" He asked with his brows high.

You ignored the concern in his voice and glared at him. You had no idea how long you’ve been out of it, not to mention your head hurt like a bitch.

"Who the hell are you?" was the first thing that came out of your mouth. You would've think you were in Azkaban but you don't think they have a messy yet cozy bedrooms like this.

He answered looking at you with expression which you couldn't quite put in place," Theseus, Theseus Scamander."

You've got to be shitting me

The freaking HEAD AUROR?

Right. That would explain the metal cuffs that were resting o your wrists, still. You huffed and turned around while taking in your surroundings trying to avoid his eyes as much as possible. And anyways what the hell was this place? moreover why would he bring me here.

"How's your head?" Theseus asked, trying to get your attention back at him which he perfectly managed to do.

"It's fine," no it's not. You could still feel the metallic taste on your mouth and your head-well it felt like a hungover. Apparently Theseus could see that too. He scoffed.

You looked down at your wrists and clenched your jaw. You tried to break them, channeling all of your magic into it but it was useless.

"Don't try, you can't get them out," Theseus said standing up staring at her blankly, even though you could see the twinkling behind them.

You scowled at him as you stoop up, the floorboard creaking under your legs. Theseus walked over, his figure casting a shadow over you as he silently pointed his wand at your face and fixed your busted lip. You lifted your fingers to the now healed spot before grumbling, “I could have done that.”

"A simple 'thank you' is sufficient," He said rolling his eyes as he turned away and walked towards the door.

"Why did you bring me here?" You asked as you followed him to the hallway. The place were colored in a dull yellow color, you could see shirts and socks thrown everywhere. It was a mess, honestly even messier than your room.

"Why did you save me?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why didn't you let that curse hit me?" He repeated now slowly turning to look at you.

You thought about it. Honestly you didn't know why, it was just instinctual and you worried about why you had been so quick to jump to his defense. Sure you were on the bad side, or they say it is, but it never meant you wanted to kill.

But you didn't want him to know about it, so you just shrugged it off. He rolled his eyes again and started walking towards the door. He stopped right before it and turned to you and crossed his arms over his chest.

You raised your brow questioningly at him.

"Your hands. Do you want them free or not?" He asked in a taunting tone leaning across the door as he stared at you.

"Oh" was the only thing you could get out of your mouth as your stretched your arms toward him as he freed you out of the cuffs in a one swift motion. You muttered a small 'thanks' to him as he opened the door to bustling streets filled with muggles. You looked up at Theseus, who was now looking at you. This man is an Auror, and you are one of the closest follower of Grindelwald-well not now. How the fuck did you managed to end up at his home-or apartment whatever it is.

His eyes traveled towards your face and then back to your eyes, like he was searching for something, "Nobody has to know about this. Do you understand?" He finally spoke.

You scoffed. What did he think you were going to do? You were pretty sure you have being labeled as a traitor by now. Which mean you're probably on the hate list of Grindewald. You could almost imagine the unpleasant future you're going to have. Thinking about it almost brought your headache back.

"Sure thing," You replied nonchalantly, and with that, you showed past Theseus and set down to the busy street of god knows where.

In the wrong direction, of course.

[exoticbabe69]

Theseus Scamander x Reader

✨Love is magical✨

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11

The first ray of sunlight finally hit the window in your bedroom. Your eyes were wide open and the nervous smile on your face began to make your cheeks hurts. It was your first day working at the Ministry of Magic. After countless hours spent discussing with Theseus whether or not you should take the job, you ultimately decided to go for it. After all, the idea of helping the wizarding world defeat the bad guys and make the universe as a whole a better place brought an immense passion and purpose to the career.

“Theseus wake up!” you couldn’t contain yourself of the excitement jolting through your body. You barely got any sleep thinking about how the first day as lead auror would go. “Will everyone like me?” “Will this job be difficult?” “Should I refrain from telling everyone I’m a parselmouth?” All of these thoughts filled your mind, as your imagination took over. “Someone’s excited” Theseus murmurs with his deep still half asleep voice. He places one arm around your waist and pulls you back down whispering in your ear “don’t worry my love, you’re brilliant and I’ll be there every step of the way.” Theseus was home, your rock, your other half, and you could now declare with confidence- your soulmate. “I’m getting up and making us coffee, I can’t lay here anymore Thes, the excitement is not letting me!” Theseus couldn’t help but laugh at your quirky behavior this morning.

While the two of you were eating breakfast Theseus began explaining some basic rules for the Ministry, who all works at the aurors office, who to watch out for, and how overbearing Travers could be. You interrupted him “look Theseus, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way but I would prefer if you gave me some space at work, ya know I don’t want everyone thinking I got this job because of you or that I’m not capable on my own.” Theseus furrowed his eyebrows “I’ll try my best darling, although I could put you to good use in my office” a cheeky grin appearing on his face as he winks at you. You rolled your eyes and proceeded to clean up the table.

You scurried back to the bedroom deciding what you would wear for your first day. “Hmmm do I want to go for business casual? Is this too sexy? Does this look like I’m a serious auror?” picking up outfits and weighing your options while looking in the mirror. You didn’t notice Theseus standing at the door mimicking you and chuckling at your nervousness. He had never seen you in this type of state before. “I’m sure whatever you wear you will look lovely my dove.” You ultimately decide on a silk blouse that accentuated your bosom, and a chic skirt with matching pearl earrings. You looked perfect.

As the two of you got ready to apparate to the Ministry of Magic, you gave Theseus a loving kiss only to follow it with, “is it okay if we arrive separately? I just want to walk in alone, if you don’t mind.” Theseus was hurt of course but he also understood why you felt this way, you wanted to make an impression as “y/n the new lead auror,” not “y/n Theseus’s girlfriend.” “As you wish darling” Theseus half smiles, you knew when he half smiled that something wasn’t right but you were set on your decision. So you apparated first and Theseus followed suit.

As you walked into the British Ministry of Magic, excitement filled your core. There were so many wizards and witches around, everyone walking as fast as they could to get to their departments. It was beautiful, busy, and colossal inside. Taking in a deep breathe you hustled to level two where the British auror office was. Theseus was sneakily walking behind you hoping you wouldn’t notice, as much as he wanted to listen to your orders he also wanted to make sure you were safe and knew how to get there, it was a huge Ministry after all. A plethora of thoughts filled your mind about what to expect, so naturally you didn’t notice everyone staring at you. You even made a bunch of wizards awkwardly bump into each other from checking you out, Theseus of course noticed and gave them all the death stare.

“Alright I’m finally here, keep it together y/n” you say to yourself. You were greeted at the front desk by a middle aged woman Petunia “Ah you must be y/n, come Travers is waiting for you in the head office, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she says. Right after you hear “Oh hello Mr. Scamander.” You were so focused on making a good first impression it didn’t bother you that Theseus was behind you the entire time. Walking down the hall you heard everyone whisper amongst themselves: “that’s y/n the new lead auror.” “Wow, she really is gorgeous.” “Theseus is one lucky man.” The whispers all focused on how good looking you are and of course Theseus, which bothered you deeply. Then you hear one woman snicker “you can’t be that beautiful and good at your job, probably not too bright that one.” This made your blood boil, so you turned and stared her down, to which she fell back and tripped against her chair. Theseus grabbed your shoulders “it’s alright love, just ignore it.” You instantly brushed Theseus’s hands off “please, not here.”

“Ah Miss y/n/ y/l, please come in, we have been eagerly awaiting your arrival, I am Torquil Travers, Minister. This is Rudolph Spielman, and Arnold Guzman they’re visiting to discuss some international matters.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” you state assertively. “Scamander, please sit down, we need to go over today’s plans,” Travers commands. You all sit down at the table, the center of it looked like blue glowing water that glittered. Travers begins “y/n welcome to our auror team, I’m sure Scamander has already informed you that you will take the position of lead auror. I must say it took a long time to convince him in recruiting you. Your powers have been the talk of the wizarding world lately, is it true that you posses the elderwand?” Spielman and Guzman both looked at each other in a concerned manner. “Thank you Mr. Travers, yes it is true.” “Fascinating, well then let’s get started.” The rest of the meeting consisted of different cases you would be leading, as well as the first mission you’d go on next week. The mention of your first mission made Theseus tense he was about to interrupt what Travers was saying but you glared at him and he refrained. When accepting the job however, you knew how protective Theseus would be so you excused his impulses. Theseus would not stop gazing at you the entire meeting with his twinkling love filled eyes, you adored it obviously, but wished he wouldn’t be this way at work, at least until you made a name for yourself.

After the meeting was dismissed Travers came up to you. “Y/n, I’d like you to have this, I think you will benefit from the literature.” He handed you a book “The Pure-Blood Directory.” “Thank you sir,” you said, confused as to what this book was about. Theseus also found it peculiar, but you both brushed it off for now. Theseus walked you to your office, and before you could open the door, a fellow auror Franklin Moody (of the renowned auror moody family) approaches you. “Miss Y/n if I may introduce myself I’m Franklin Moody”, he takes your hand and inappropriately kisses it “charmed,” he drools. Theseus clears his throat “mmmm,” it was his way of saying “stop” without actually saying it. Then another auror approached Simon Diggory, “your beauty is truly astonishing Miss y/n, it is a pleasure to be working with you.” Auror after auror *all male* walked up and introduced themselves until Theseus had enough of everyone hitting on you. “Alright that’s enough, everyone get back to work” he yelled. This time you were happy Theseus intruded as it became a bit overwhelming you looked up at him and smiled “thank you.”

At long last stepping into your office, locking the door, you and Theseus had some alone time. “I love you pumpkin,” you coo finally able to let your guard down. “I love you too my world, so how did I do? Enough space?” You chuckle “hardly.” Theseus grabbed your waist to pull you into a kiss “I’ve been dreaming about this all damn day.” Right when your lips were about to touch Travers slams the door open. “Scamander, y/ln! We need you on a mission now! There’s been a murder in Hogsmeade right next to Hogwarts and it looks like dark magic was utilized!” Theseus immediately looks at you….his body taut….eyes full of worry…..it was time for your first mission.