#curtis biddick x reader

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In My Blood | Part One

In My Blood Masterlist

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

The aftermath of the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission floods the Belgian countryside with American fliers, including one very injured Curtis Biddick. On a regular supply run to a Resistance contact, you suddenly find him sharing your regular place of shelter for the night, a simple coincidence that very well may change the course of the rest of your life.

Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Language, Violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Death, Injuries, Angst, Suffering, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. While they have been given the codename of "Marie," no physical descriptions or Y/N are used.

Italics used for non-English words and to indicate dialogue spoken in a language other than English.

This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4200

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August 17, 1943

Pouring from the sky like a summer rain…you had never seen so many downed airmen in one day. It seemed the American Air Force had mounted some great attack. An attack that was met with what must have been every single Luftwaffe fighter plane that now infected your native Belgian soil. The majority were captured by Nazi soldiers, Gestapo, or collaborators the moment their boots hit the ground, keen eyes following the tracks of parachutes as they floated to the ground. But the lucky ones got away, stayed hidden, or were greeted by more friendly faces.

The efforts you had been putting in over the past three months on the exfiltration routes for downed airmen in Western Europe – helping to rebuild and reshape the Pat O’Leary Line into the Françoise Line after the arrest of its former chief, connecting the Belgian-run Comet Line with monetary and equipment-based support from MI9’s agent Jerome in Paris – the timing could not have been better for the sheer demand that the events of the day would put upon them. They were as strong as they could be and yet undoubtedly these numbers would overwhelm them.

Born the only child of a Belgian Jonkheer and the second daughter of the Marquess of Abergavenny, that you would end up as an agent of the Special Operations Executive had been as foreseeable as the Nazi invasion of Belgium. Unexpected and yet altogether unsurprising given circumstance and history.

Entirely too fond of fast cars, cigarettes, gin, and learning the fascinating operations of your father’s iron factories in Wallonia for your mother’s taste, you had been forced off to England in the spring of 1939 to support your cousin Philomena Nevill during her debut. It had been hoped, you supposed, that under the watchful eye of your grandmother, the Dowager Marchioness, that your ‘good breeding’ might suddenly become apparent. That the tomboy whom her father adoringly called mon petit monstre might be transformed into a lady under the onslaught of balls, polo matches, regattas, and horse races all whilst trussed up like some prized pony at a meat market. Never mind that you were three years older than the fresh flesh of the debutantes on display.

All that had been achieved was to put you in the same rooms as the likes of Lord Halifax, Prime Minister Chamberlain, and First Lord of the Admiralty Winston Churchill. The only topic of discussion you had been interested in was the growing threat posed by Hitler with his growing Nazi empire and the fact that your parents remained in your home country right on his doorstep had weighed heavily upon you. There had been a tremendous argument in September, following the invasion of Poland and declaration of war by Britain and her allies. Your father had insisted he must remain to care for his business, his workers, his property. Your mother had insisted that she would remain to care for him. As one united front, all your relatives, including your uncle, the current Marquess, had insisted you remain in England where it was safe.

And so you had found yourself marooned on that unfamiliar island through the fall and winter of the phony war, dread heavy and sour in your stomach as military preparation took precedence over everything. With naught much else to do, you had volunteered with the Red Cross, fundraising as a member of the upper class, outspoken in your distaste for fascism. The watchful waiting came to an abrupt end on May 10, 1940, when the world awoke to the news that the Nazis had invaded the Netherlands, Luxembourg, France, and Belgium in one fell swoop.

Within eighteen days, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and Belgium had surrendered, France was on the verge, and you were orphaned. The hollow, inherited title of Jonkvrouw was all that remained of your parents after an unfortunate run in with a Stuka dive bomber on a bridge out of Brussels, so the letter from your father’s personal secretary read. The post-mark was from Marseilles, confirming that your father had sent everyone else to safety before trying to obtain the very same for himself. It had simply been too late.

Lest you fall to pieces over the loss of your home and family in such quick succession, to be caught grieving in unfamiliar formal homes amongst people you barely knew, you had sought refuge in purpose. Volunteering for the Auxiliary Territorial Service, you put your skills as a motorist to good use. Yet it never felt like enough. Driving lorries full of supplies across the English countryside while sailors and airmen risked their lives made you feel utterly impotent, particularly as the horrific bombing campaigns wore on. Mercifully, more meaningful opportunities found their way to you in the form of Vera Atkins and the SOE. Your social circles overlapped, on occasion, and she had proposed an altogether different use of your unique upbringing, for the four languages you spoke simply by virtue of traipsing across Belgium on your father’s coattails – for the country consisted of French, Dutch, and German speaking peoples and he had insisted you learn them all. While your mother had insisted you spoke only the King’s English with her.

The preliminary school had been difficult, filled with unexpected challenges and daring tasks such as crossing a rope strung between two trees high above the ground. Pure fury at the invasion of your homeland and murder of your parents had carried you through onto the paramilitary school, where you had learned how to master weapons, and hand-to-hand combat. It was then onto parachuting school, as the only way to return to now fully occupied Europe was by low-flying aircraft in the dead of night, and finally finishing school to hone your spy craft.

It was early 1943 by the time you were ready to be dropped into occupied territory, all under the auspices of a deployment to Scotland with the ATS, your extended family none the wiser as you plummeted into an empty field in Northern France to begin your work. By the time the heat of August came around you were proficient at cycling long distances with burdens of weapons and cash, sneaking across the border, making connections on both the French and Belgian side. Making one such delivery of fresh funds for the Françoise line contact brought you to the Flanders village of Beverst that warm summer day.

The small clinic of Doctor Legot, with his flat above, boasted a sizeable cellar, perfect for hosting resistance meetings or the occasional guest such as yourself. He was also a natural community figure for those from all walks of life to visit, obtaining more than just medical advice, though thus far the Gestapo had not caught wise. Letting yourself through the gate into the back garden, you concealed your bicycle amidst some conveniently overgrown shrubbery and slung your handbag over your shoulder before carrying your worn suitcase into the clinic which seemed rather empty for a Tuesday afternoon.

Greeting his receptionist Edda in Dutch, she gestured you down the hall to Dr. Legot’s office. Proceeding with a nod of thanks, you knocked on the door, quietly stepping in as he called out casually in Dutch.

 “Enter!”

As you swung the door open, his head, covered in the thin remainder of caramel hair, shorn close to control its obvious curl, lifted to regard you warmly before falling serious.

“You could not have come on a better day, Marie.” He spoke solemnly, addressing you by the cover name bestowed upon you by the SOE, snapping the patient file he had been reviewing shut.

Stepping fully into the office, you quietly shut the door behind you, setting the suitcase on his desk to deliver the promised funds.

“Indeed, it seems you have been blessed with quite a few visitors today, Doctor.”

You watched silently as he carefully took stack after stack of Belgian francs, tucking them into his safe under his desk.

“More than we have places for, honestly. If you are looking for a place for the night you will have to share accommodations.”

Tight as your grip was on your facial expressions, you still felt your eyebrows twitch in surprise as Dr. Legot rarely housed downed airmen as he himself was not able to speak English and found their behaviour wildly unpredictable, at best. He was a man who preferred things neat and orderly. It was only by respecting his preferences that you had earned repeated shelter under his roof.

“I know, Marie,” he continued, obviously having caught your micro expression, “but the man is in a bad way. Brought his plane down in Maes’ orchard – a feat the boys could not stop commenting upon as they carried him in, even as the pilot was bleeding all over my floor. No one has even asked him if he wants to surrender or explained what trying to evade capture entails.”

“Hm.” You intoned thoughtfully. “Does he need a hospital?”

The middle-aged man settled his broad frame into his worn wooden desk chair with a pronounced ‘creak,’ exhaling heavily in contemplation. “Not need, no. If he chooses to run, he will need maybe two months recovery, but I can manage I suppose.”

The furrow of his brow and the pinched lines around his mouth spoke to his distinct lack of enthusiasm at the prospect, but like so many involved in resistance, his hatred for the Nazis greatly outweighed any other personal preferences after three years of occupation.

“I will give him the speech then, he ought to make an informed decision. Would you mind covering his eyes for me in case his choice is surrender?”

Relief washed across the man’s features, and he nodded quickly, grabbing a roll of bandages.

“Come down in five minutes.”

You nodded in agreement, allowing yourself those five minutes of rest in the safety of Legot’s office, a place you could let your guard down for a little while, until the minute hand of your watch completed its fifth trip around the face. Making your way to the back of the clinic, you stepped into the storage room to the open trap door leading down to the cellar, descending the worn ladder carefully.

Turning in the space lit only by candles, you frowned slightly to see the wounded man, one leg protruding from beneath the sheets swathed in bandages – most likely covered in burns. Stepping closer to the cot that you realized had been carried down especially for this patient, your small twin bed untouched in its usual corner, you swallowed tightly to see more bandages wrapped around the man’s neck, his right arm in a plaster cast and sling. That truly must have been some landing.

“You are certain he does not need a hospital?” You were not usually one to question a doctor’s opinion, but the look of this man left you full of doubt.

Would you not be risking his life hiding him in this cellar in this condition?

You watched a smile tug at his chapped, pink lips.

“You brought a dame, doc?”

Despite the fact that his eyes were covered in bandages, for the sake of protecting your identity, you could definitely read the mischief in his expression.

“Quite certain.” Doctor Legot bristled and gestured sharply for you to get on with it.

Clearing your throat, you summoned all the authority of your grandmother, as well as her haughty vowels, as you spoke. “Airman, listen carefully.”

The pilot’s head snapped slightly in your direction. “Hey there, gorgeous.” He grinned broadly.

The unexpected statement stole the wind from your sails, drawing an incredulous laugh from your throat. “You cannot even see me.”

“Can hear it in your voice.” He insisted smugly and you shook your head sharply – in part to clear it.

“Regardless, I am here you to offer you a choice. We can take you now to the local authorities for surrender, you will become a prisoner of war under the protection of the Geneva Convention and receive further medical care in a hospital. You will remain a prisoner for the rest of the war in relative safety. Or, you can remain here, rest and heal, and when you are ready, we will try and get you back to England. You would be dressed as a civilian and if caught, treated as a spy and shot without trial. Knowing all this, what is your choice? Turn yourself in or try and escape?”

“I will never turn myself into those Nazi fucks…pardon my French ma’am.” He smirked and you bit back another laugh at the preposterous expression.

“Very well. You will stay here and do everything Doctor Legot says. No argument, no trouble.”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous.”

Sighing at his incorrigible nature, you turned to the doctor and nodded.

“He will stay and try to escape.”

“Very well, I have one more appointment today and then I will bring you both some dinner later. Thank you, Marie.” He made his way up the ladder stiffly before securing the trapdoor shut, closing you both into your hiding place.

Reaching forward you gently began to unwind the bandages from his eyes, breath hitching in your throat at the brilliant blue that squinted back up at you.

“Knew you were gorgeous. Marie? I’m Curt.”

“Pleased to meet you.” You replied, doing your best to maintain some professional sense of formality. “You should rest.” Moving to the opposite side of the cellar, you sat onto the mattress that was about as exhausted as you, the springs groaning in protest.

“Yeah, probably right…hey did, did the Doc say if they pulled anyone else from the plane?” His expression was filled with a boyish hopefulness that made you long for a better answer.

“He didn’t, no, but I will ask around tomorrow.”

A soft smile graced his features. “Thanks gorgeous, you’re a gem.” He sighed drowsily and you watched as he was quickly pulled into sleep, so very fragile draped across the cot, swaddled in all those bandages.

In just eight weeks would he truly be ready to face tense train rides and a hike across the Pyrenees?

Your doubts were greatly eased the next time you laid your eyes upon him five weeks later, returning from a guiding run to Toulouse with several airmen who had been downed that day in August including a man named Claytor with a rather remarkable twang to his speech. You bore candles, medical supplies, and extra rations for Doctor Legot, knowing he was undoubtedly going through all at a prodigious rate with his unexpected long-term guest in the cellar. Your trusty suitcase also held an Agatha Christie murder mystery, an English book procured at great difficulty, and a selection of French comic books – while he may not speak the language, you were hoping the pictures would be sufficient entertainment in his subterranean dwelling.

As you climbed down the familiar ladder in the candlelit cellar, handbag swinging on your shoulder, you were startled to find Curt on his feet, looking prepared to try and catch you if you should fall, even with one arm still in a cast. Reaching for your suitcase as the doctor lowered it down for you, he cried your name in greeting.

“Marie! Thought you got lost or something up there.” His grin could only be described as cheeky, his charmingly blunt features only growing more handsome under the display of his playful side. He was dressed in clothes that had no doubt been obtained from a sympathetic local; brown woollen trousers held up by suspenders over a blue flannel shirt, a pair of worn leather boots on his feet.

“Curt.” You nodded politely, setting your case on the foot of your bed. “You are looking well.”

“Doc has performed a miracle, just waiting on this bone to finish healing, then I’ll be right as rain.” He nodded firmly, bandages replaced by a network of fresh red scars creeping up the left side of his neck into his dark brown hair.

Unlocking the latches on your luggage, you opened it carefully, retrieving the assortment of reading material you had collected. “Well, I thought since you might no longer be sleeping so much you might…appreciate something to read.”

Curt’s eyes, clearer than your last encounter, dropped to the comic books and novel you held out to him, eyes widening before he took them with a slow grin. “Been thinking about me out there on your travels?”

“Ensuring your stay with the good doctor remains without incident.” You replied nonchalantly, turning back to organizing your belongings before tucking the suitcase beneath the bed.

When you turned back to him, sinking down onto the mattress to rest your sore legs after your long cycle from Antwerp, he was watching you with a bemused expression.

“Appreciated all the same, Marie. Maybe I’ll learn a little French or something.”

“I thought…maybe the pictures?” You tilted your head and he nodded quickly.

“Definitely.” His grin was all too warm, showing his perfect American teeth and made you turn your attention to the small date book you kept in your shoulder bag, quickly looking over your coded appointments for the next few days.

There were several drops arranged for the area – weapons and radios directly flown from England, set to arrive over the next few nights. Most for the Belgian resistance, though two radios were earmarked for the Comet Line. Night drops were some of the most dangerous things you attempted, but when they were successful, the supplies, otherwise impossible to obtain under Nazi occupation, were invaluable.

“Sure look serious over there, gorgeous. Furrow those brows any harder and they’ll get stuck like that.” Curt’s voice cut through your concentration, your head jerking up to blink up at him as though you were startled he was still there.

The sound of the trap door scraping open saved you from trying to produce some reply. “That’ll be dinner.” You murmured, walking to the bottom of the ladder to accept one bowl and then another of thin vegetable soup followed by half a loaf of bread.

You nodded gratefully to Curt as he stepped forward to take one of the bowls with his good hand.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“See you in a few hours, Marie.”

Carefully setting your bowl on dusty brick floor, you tore the bread roughly in half, offering him the larger portion before retrieving your soup and retreating to your bed.

“He doesn’t cook too bad for a doctor.” Curt commented after swallowing a large sip of soup, taking from the rim of his bowl, and you could not help your small smile.

“I think he enjoys it? Talks about ingredients a lot – how hard some of them are to come by lately.” You shrugged and ate more slowly, savouring every bite as it had been a few days since you had been able to enjoy a warm meal, and Legot was indeed a skilled cook.

“How ‘bout you? You cook?”

You barely contained your wry laugh, shaking your head. Even if you’d had access to a kitchen these days, you certainly had not been raised anywhere near a stove. “My lifestyle isn’t really conducive to cooking, unfortunately.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “My Ma would probably skin me alive if I tried to get in her way in the kitchen. Sisters, too. My Pa and I knew better than to get involved in things we’re hopeless at.”

Licking your spoon clean of every last morsel of soup before moving to swipe a piece of bread through the bowl, you could not help your curiosity. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. The apartment back home isn’t big, but the five of us got along alright.” His smile was broad as he leaned back against the cinderblock wall, food long ingested. “What about you? Your family? Where are you from?”

His questions were numerous, bubbling out of him rapidly and making you swallow the half-chewed chunk of bread in your mouth roughly. “Belgium. Do not have one.” You replied evasively before taking another rough bite.

“Just fell out of the sky then? Like some kind of angel?” He teased and you choked a little on your next swallow before managing to get it down.

It would not do for him to know how oddly accurate his jest had been.

“I have to run an errand later tonight, so I’m going to catch a few hours of sleep.” You stood to dust the crumbs from your skirt, setting your empty bowl on the floor.

“An errand in the middle of the night…?”

“Mn.” You grunted in agreement as you toed off your shoes, pulling back the covers before sliding in between the sheets, laying with your back to him.

“Say, Marie?” He asked quietly and you slid your eyes back open.

“Yes?”

“Did you manage to ask around ‘bout…my crew?” There was a soft vulnerability to his tone, his playful bravado seeming to melt away, that made your heart drop.

You honestly had not been sure if he would have remembered that conversation weeks ago, barely conscious and in so much pain. You had of course done as promised, swinging by the Maes farm only to be told that he had was the sole survivor, the rest of the crew set to be buried in the local cemetery by the Nazis – with military honours. What an oddly cruel irony that seemed, to only afford your enemy honour in death.

“I’m sorry, Curt.” You shifted onto your side to face him. “There was no one else who survived.”

An impassive mask fell over his face, his animated expression going blank as he nodded before shifting to lay back on his cot, tucking his hands behind his head. “Thanks for checking.” He mumbled quietly.

“Of course.” You replied softly watching him turn his back to you before doing the same with a soft sigh, duty reminding you that you needed to sleep while you could, a long night ahead of you.

It felt as though you had barely fallen asleep when the scraping of the trap door woke you abruptly. Tossing the covers from your body, you grabbed your handbag, feeling the reassuring weight of your .25 calibre Wembley semi-automatic pistol and F-S knife contained within. Curt glanced back over his shoulder as you slid into your shoes, and you nodded to him.

“Go back to sleep, errand time.” You whispered, collecting both of your supper dishes to pass up to Doctor Legot before ascending the ladder yourself.

Cycling out to the appointed field, you waited hidden amongst the trees with several members of the resistance, the silence of the night unsettling. You knew the plane would fly in low to avoid radar, would cut the engine close to the target to throw off nearby soldiers, but it was a long way from the coast to here. The distant drone of a plane engine reaching your ears made your pulse jump and you forced your breathing to remain even and quiet, every muscle tensing as even the sound of the plane fell silent. Squinting through the trees into the night sky, you licked your lips in anticipation as you spotted the first of several crates falling towards the ground, suspended below parachutes to slow their descent.

Clutching your small spade tightly, you waited until the supplies began landing on the ground before the entire group emerged from the foliage to begin disconnecting the parachutes. Working in concert with others you dug a hole and quickly tossed the telltale silk in before covering it up with earth and tamping it down. Securing the two radios for the Comet Line, cleverly disguised as suitcases, you helped load the rest of the crates and spades into the waiting truck before everyone quickly dispersed into the night.

While your inclination was the cycle headlong towards the safety of the clinic, you forced yourself to maintain a reasonable speed, one that would not attract attention, while taking a rather circuitous route. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten as you returned to your hiding place, using the spare key to sneak in the back. Taking a moment to wash your hands in the small washroom for patients, you then carefully descended with the radios and closed the trapdoor. It made quite a racket as it slid home when pulled from the inside, startling Curt from his rest and you frowned apologetically.

“Sorry, everything is fine, go back to sleep.” You murmured, setting the newly procured radios off to the side.

“You’re just getting back now?” He scrubbed a hand down his face tiredly, glancing at his watching blearily.

“Don’t fret about me, rest up, regain your strength.” You smiled wearily and slid back into your bed gratefully.

“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Marie…” A jaw-cracking yawn overtook his statement before he shimmied down beneath his blankets and succumb to sleep once more.

“You have no idea.” You whispered under your breath, settling in for a few hours more sleep before you had to begin your journey to deliver the newly acquired radios to the Comet Line before moving onto the next drop destination.

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Read Part Two

In My Blood Masterlist

Tag list: @precious-little-scoundrel, @luminouslywriting, @polikabra

[sagesolsticewrites]

No ones written for Curtis yet !! (Masters of the air) if you wanted and didn’t have any ideas, what about they meet at a pub - he’s loud she’s quiet but he charms his way in ? Something sweet to take away episode threes pain

Thank you so much for requesting, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! Our boy Curt deserves some love, too! 🥺 And… what Episode Three? I have no memory of Episode Three, all that happened in Ep 3 was our boys had a big mission and then they all 👀👀👀 made it home safe 😇

(Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

To the Rescue

You thank the bartender with a smile before turning towards your usual spot along the wall, martini safely clutched in your hands. The pub was positively crawling with soldiers— which was exactly the reason your friends had dragged you out of the apartment tonight.

“You need to get out more!” They insisted as they wrestled your hair into something slightly more stylish, Dot digging through her wardrobe for something suitable for you to wear.

“There’ll be plenty of very handsome soldiers there,” she had said, producing the soft blue dress you had subsequently been forced into, “It’ll be good for you to meet someone!”

You settle against the wall, resisting the urge to yank out the pins digging into your scalp, instead taking a sip of your martini as you scan the crowd.

Your friends had seemingly already chosen their targets for tonight— you spot Ruthie chatting to a blonde Brit over by the bar, and Dot had already managed to drag some poor soldier onto the dance floor with her and her two left feet.

Despite what your friends thought, you were perfectly happy being a wallflower. You enjoyed people watching— just as entertaining as normal conversation without the stress of having to contribute, you had once joked.

The theory was proven as you scanned over the crowd, picking up snippets of conversation, stories, jokes… usually coming from a particularly boisterous soldier speaking loud enough to be heard throughout the whole bar with a distinctive accent— New York or somewhere thereabouts, you guessed.

“Hey there, honey.”

Every part of you cringes inwardly at the voice interrupting your thoughts. British, you note immediately, with that hint of bravado that signaled he didn’t much care for your parts of the conversation— he was just looking to show off for his friends.

You couldn’t very well ignore him, though, and you try to hide your exasperation as best you can.

“Can I help you?”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed a bit lonely over here, figured you could use some company. Maybe a drink, maybe a dance…” the Brit grins, and you take notice of the pins decorating both his and his friends’ jackets— RAF boys. Ugh.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” you assure them with the politest smile you can muster.

“Aw, come on,” one of his buddies speaks up, “Just one dance?”

At the clear refusal of that request, the other man that was with them chimes in.

“Or how about I buy you a drink? Seems like you could use a fresh one,” he says, nodding towards the martini glass in your hand— the one that was still nearly full.

“Thank you, but I’m alright, really…”

You attempt to edge away from them, mind racing for a way to politely let them down so they’d leave you alone.

Just then, a thick New York drawl breaks through the unsuccessful attempts at flirting, a welcome relief from the unfamiliar English accents.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the soldier says loudly, leading you away from the RAF boys, “Been lookin’ for you everywhere!”

One arm slung over your shoulder, he leans down to whisper in your ear “Trust me, okay?”

Speaking loudly enough to be heard by the other soldiers, he began leading you to a secluded booth in the corner, “I got us a table over here…”

As you slide into the booth, he turns to the RAF boys with a fierce warning glare and a subtle cracking of his knuckles, unseen by you.

The Brits scramble to find other targets, and the soldier — you still haven’t gotten his name — returns his attention to you.

“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t overstep,” he says, “You just, uh… seemed like you weren’t havin’ too good of a time over there.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assure him softly, shaking your head, “Thank you, um…”

He seems to realize what you’re waiting for, and sweeps into a bow as he introduces himself.

“Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, at your service,” he says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. “But everyone calls me Curt,” he adds, straightening up.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as you smile and nod in acknowledgement, and then realize that you have absolutely no idea what to say now.

“…Well,” the soldier— Curt— says, once it becomes clear you’re not going to say anything, “I’ll leave you be, but if those guys bother you again just gimme a holler, yeah? I’ll sort ‘em out.”

“Wait!” You say as he turns to go, the loudest you’ve spoken all evening.

You pray the flush in your cheeks isn’t too visible in the dim light of the pub as he turns back and you say hesitantly, “You can… stay, if you like.”

You gesture to the empty space of the booth, but add hurriedly, “Or if you don’t want to— I’m sure you’d rather—”

“I’d like that very much,” he says with a smile, cutting off your nervous rambling.

He slides into the booth across from you rather than next to you, to your surprise, giving you enough space to feel comfortable.

“So, are you ever gonna tell me your name, or am I just gonna keep calling you sweetheart all night?” He asks, adding a wink to make sure you know he’s teasing.

You tell him, just barely loud enough to be heard over the band, and he grins, testing out the pronunciation. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Like with most compliments, you’re not sure how to respond until—

“I don’t normally look like this,” you find yourself saying and oh of all the times you had to actually start talking, why did it have to be now? “I mean— my friends decided to doll me up for tonight, but I’m not normally—” You trail off as your mouth finally takes the hint to stop talking now and silently pray for the ground to swallow you.

“Hey, I should ask them for some tips,” is all Curt says, though, and you find yourself fighting off a smile as he rambles on about “wanting to find something for myself, it feels like everyone’s doin’ the same thing these days…”

The way he sighs forlornly, staring out at the sea of uniforms identical to his, is what breaks you, and the two of you collapse into peals of laughter.

You hear your name being called, and turn to see Ruthie — apparently having abandoned the blonde Brit— flagging you down, until she realizes you have company.

“Oh— sorry!” She says, before gesturing to where your other friend seems to have gotten a bit too deep in her cups, “I’m gonna take Dot home. You take your time, though!” She adds, nodding towards Curt encouragingly in her usual unsubtle manner.

You wave her off and tell her to be safe, blushing furiously at the expression on Curt’s face— he looks entirely too amused by Ruthie’s reaction.

“She gonna be okay?” He asks first, though, nodding towards where Ruthie’s leading Dot out the door.

As you assure him your friends will be perfectly fine, he nods, seeming to consider you for a moment.

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

You nearly choke mid-sip of your martini, surprised at his bluntness.

“What gave it away?” You manage to quip once you’ve recovered, waving off his concern.

“Your friend there,” he nods to the door, “I’ve seen my fair share of girls excited that their friend snagged a soldier, but… never that excited.” He concludes with a laugh.

“I guess I’ve always found all this,” you gesture to the room around you: the dancing, the laughter and occasional shouts from the soldiers, the music, “a bit much? I’ve never really been one for parties or bars or… any kind of socializing, really. Ruthie and Dot were plenty eager to get me out of the apartment for once, though.”

“Well I, for one,” Curt says with a crooked grin, “am very glad they did.”

You meet his gaze for a moment before smiling down at your lap, “So am I.”

The two of you continue talking through the night— Curt dominates the conversation, but in a way that you don’t mind; he fills what would normally be an awkward silence for you with jokes and stories, all the while leaving enough space for you to chime in when you feel like it.

The pub empties as the night goes on, and before too long it’s only the two of you and a handful of other people remaining.

You glance at your watch, wincing as you realize how late it’s gotten.

Curt takes note, already moving to stand as if he had meant to be heading back at this hour and asking with a smile:

“Can I walk you home?”

The easy conversation continues on the short walk to your building, and you find yourself on the front walk with Curt, dreading the moment he walks away.

“Wait— I—” you interrupt as he opens his mouth to bid you goodnight, digging in your small clutch for any scrap of paper you can find.

Producing a torn piece of what apparently used to be a grocery list and a small pen, you scribble down your address, holding it out to him.

“Write to me?”

A bright grin transforms his face as he tucks it away in his breast pocket, next to his heart, “I’d love to.”

The two of you simply… stand there in the moonlight, grinning at each other.

Your gaze scans over him, taking in the hat sitting at a jaunty angle on his head, his slightly crooked tie, the equally crooked grin of this boy who took you under his wing for the night.

Summoning all your courage, you rock up onto your toes to press a quick kiss on his cheek.

As your turn to sprint into your building, though, something stops you.

Or more specifically, someone.

Curt reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling you back towards him. You’re the closest you’ve been to him all night, barely a breath in between the two of you.

He scans your face, gaze dipping down to your lips then back up, searching for permission.

At your almost imperceptible nod, he dips down and captures your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss.

Warmth blooms in your chest, spreading through you down to your toes in the brief eternity his lips are on yours.

He pulls away, remaining close enough that your noses brush as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“Sweetheart, when I get back to base,” he begins softly, “I am writing you the cheesiest, corniest love letter you’ve ever seen.”

His laughter is infectious, and you hope your giggles hide the flush on your face at the mention of love.

“I look forward to it,” you simply say, barely able to speak around the grin on your face.

With one last gentle kiss planted on your cheek, he bids you goodnight, and you float into your apartment, waiting impatiently for a love letter from Curtis Biddick.

[saturnville]

sleep well tonight, lt. curtis biddick

pairing: lt. curtis “curt” biddick x black fem oc

content: curtis isn’t a writer, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep in contact with his wife during the war.

an: thanks to @turn-thy-paige, we’ve got some new content. thank you for the ideas!

Curtis wasn’t much of a writer. Most of his expression came verbally through run-on sentences or curt responses. But that wasn’t so easy being thousands of miles away from home with no access to a telephone. He hated writing, but he did it for her. He’d do anything for her.

The barracks were quiet. Most of the men had fallen asleep long before he had. The sky was dark, like a blanket had covered the sun. The sounds of wolves howling in the distance and insects chirping in the grass were a gentle melody to his ears.

Curtis tapped the blank paper on the bedside table and brought a pen in his hand. Slowly, he began to write.

Hey honey,

It’s been a long day. I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours and I still can’t seem to go to sleep. Crazy, right? I’ll try my best once I finish this letter.

How have you been? I hope you’re keeping that beautiful smile on your face and staying in the highest of hopes. I miss you dearly. It’s hard to sleep without you; but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been married to someone for so long. I’ll be back soon, believe me.

How’s the baby doing? I’m hoping this will all be over by the time you go into labor. I try not to think about the possibility of me missing the birth of my son. And yes, it’s a boy and you can’t fight me on it, either. I can’t wait to see what he looks like. Will he have my eyes and your curly hair? Or will he surprise us both and look like a distant family member? Who knows; I’ll love him just the same.

The newbies are interesting to work with. Every time they put on their gear, they start shaking like a leaf. Their fantasies are gone and reality has sunk in. War isn’t for the weak. To be a soldier is more than saluting the flag and shooting guns. It’s a way of life. But, it gets tiresome.

I’m getting tired now and my hand is starting to cramp, but, whatever you do, keep the faith and rest easy. I’ll be home before you know it.

Sleep well tonight.

Love yours forever,

Curt

[s4turns-st4rs]

street fighting years

🎧 ﹐ ♡﹒a curtis biddick oneshot ﹒ ᶻ ᶻ

𝐚/𝐧: in denial abt episode 3 so here we are. thinking of a harry crosby or a john egan one too? idk we’ll see. anyway enjoy lovelies xxx

requests are open ‼️

in which: curtis is a winner, every single time.

words: 0.65k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: brief mentions of blood and bruises, swearing

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: nothing matters - the last dinner party

the moon was the only source of light in the sky, and it shone across the houses, reflecting across the mostly empty road.

the base was holding another of their infamous parties, but tonight, the majority was gathered outside. they had formed a makeshift boxing ring, surrounding two soldiers. one of which was a british RAF soldier. the other, was a certain curtis biddick, the american lieutenant who had been flirting with you all evening.

with a wink, he tossed you his jacket.

“curtis, i don’t think—” you began, but he interrupted you immediately.

“don’t worry ‘bout me, darlin’.” he said simply, brushing off your concern with ease. “just sit back and enjoy the show.”

you frowned a little at his lack of self preservation, but you bit your tongue. for a second, anyway.

“curtis, you’re only going to come out of this injured and in pain, you know.”

“don’t be such a worrywart, its nothing.” he said as he dodged the british soldier’s first punch.

“i’m not a worrywart. i’m just trying to make sure you don’t knock yourself out. for no reason.” you said with a worried frown, crossing your arms, holding his jacket close to you. it smelt like him. like musk, smoke, and plane fuel.

“i think you just have a crush on me.” he giggled as he threw a punch at the british soldier, hitting him square in his chin. the soldier stumbled back with a groan, and in his brief moment of safety, he grinned at you, and sent you another wink.

“i don’t have a crush on— what are you, ten?” you sighed, clearly exasperated by his immature nature, if not a little charmed, although you were unlikely to admit it.

“a 10/10, yeah.” curtis said with a smug smile. only seconds after, the smirk is wiped off his face as the british soldier’s fist slammed straight into his nose.

curtis stumbled back, a slow stream of blood immediately trickled down his cupid’s bow. using all your self control, you didn’t move. he could handle this. hopefully, anyway.

he rebalanced himself, landing a punch on the british soldier’s right cheek, and sent you a wink with a cheeky smile.

“told you i could do this, darlin’.”

you don’t respond, ignoring the butterflies the nickname still gives you. he sensed your skepticism, so he smirked at you again.

“c’mon, there’s nothing to—shit!” just as he starts to reassure you, the british soldier punched him in the chin, busting his lip. curtis managed to keep his balance, as he ran a hand through his unkept hair.

a few more punches are thrown, and curtis hits the final blow to the brit’s stomach. he doubles over, signalling his defeat.

depsite curtis’ injuries, he grinned widely.

“i told ya i’d win!” he picked you up in his arms, spinning you around in celebration, as the rest of the american spectators cheered.

you rolled your eyes, but with a smile, as he placed you back down on the ground, but holding you close, clearly not planning to let go anytime soon.

“i could kiss you, you know.” he said, lowering his volume slightly.

“don’t.” you said, quietening to match his volume. “you’ve got blood all over your face.”

he frowned with a mock glare. “have you no romance?”

“just basic common sense.”

curtis rolled his eyes, but he loved it. he loved your smartass comments. he loved you.

slowly, the crowd dispersed, footsteps and exclamations echoing in the otherwise dull nighttime streets, money from bets changing hands, and men clapping curtis on the back with patriotic cheers.

despite the blood on his face, and your common sense, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. immediately, a blush spread across his face, contrast against his bright, shining eyes, and dark bruises already forming on his cheeks.

“c’mon dork, you’ve got some bruises just begging to be patched up.” you said with a little smile.

[millie-multifics]

Proverbial Dark Clouds

Major John Egan x Reader

A woman finally snuck her way into the heart of eligible bachelor Major John Egan, he is all too soon reminded of why he fended off love for so long.

Warnings: Contains themes of war; injuries and death. Brief mentions of period accurate clothing. Angst. Episode 3 spoilers.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Thank you all for the support and feedback xoxo

Masterlist Part 2 Part 3

x x x

“Bluebirds, singing a song,

Nothing but bluebirds, all day long.”

Buck hid his laughter behind his hand, more amused with his friends antics more than he was willing to let on. His attention was drawn to you as you offered him a ginger beer, taking the vacated seat to his left.

“I thought I could hear his… otherworldly singing from the bar.”

“You know John, any opportunity to sing and he’ll take it.” The Major kept his eyes on the band but leaned a little closer to you, “He’s up there right now just for you, he was concerned there might be a proverbial dark cloud hanging over your head.”

You took a long sip of your beer, thinking over what Gale was telling you. The last thing you wanted was John to be worrying about you, he had enough men under his command day to day that he had to worry about.

“It was just a tough day in the infirmary is all. Lots of men coming in with preventable frost bite or shrapnel wounds that escalated because they weren’t properly cared for right away.” You explained, sending your singing admirer a smile as you caught his eyes from across the room.

“Blue days, all of them gone.

Nothing but blue skies from now on!”

You whistled in appreciation as John concluded the song, stumbling over to you as elation filled his body. He was glad to see you enjoying his performance, singing louder and even a little more off key just to keep the smile on your red painted lips for a moment longer.

“I think you truly outdid yourself this time, Major.” You teased, standing to your full height as he approached with a little extra pep in his step.

“The only thing missing was my beautiful dance partner.” He winked, gently grabbing hold of your hands to twirl you onto the floor. He gently squeezed your hand before resting his other on your lower back, leading you in a gentle sway to the band. You danced until the fatigue you had been pushing through took over, lowering your head to rest against his chest.

“Do you think Curtis is okay?” Your fingers fiddled with the hair along the nape of your lovers neck. You hadn’t known the men long but you could call many of them your friends so the unknown whereabouts of his crew had you on edge. They had lost 30 men already on that mission, it would be a tragedy to add 10 more names onto the list.

John rubbed soothing circle into your back, “Curt is a big boy, I bet he is terrorizing some poor Scottish town as we speak.”

You nodded in agreement, a yawn escaping you before you could suppress it.

“Time to turn in, sweetheart?” John asked, softly, afraid to break the bubble you found yourselves in. You nodded gently, your eyes fluttering shut as a warm finger brushed along your cheek. “C’mon, I’ll walk you back.”

John briefly stopped at the table Buck was seated at with a few other officers to explain his absence in case anyone went looking for him.

“Any word on Curt?”

Gale shook his head, having heard nothing new about their friend who was forced to land in Scotland after his plane was too damaged to make it back to their base.

“Goodnight, Gale.” You sent the man an appreciative smile for giving you insight on John during your earlier conversation.

You walked with your arm wrapped around John’s all the way back to the nurse’s billet, the sounds of gravel crunching under his heavy boots and chatter of passerby’s filling the comfortable silence. Despite your tiredness, neither of you wanted to part when you reached the cabin, staying wrapped in his arms until your body felt too heavy for your feet. He dismissed your apologies of ending the night earlier than planned with assurance that Buck was awaiting his arrival back at the hall for another beer. You shared a tender kiss, using the soft pad of your thumb to wipe away the smudge of red lipstick you left on his mouth.

“Goodnight, Major. Sweet Dreams.

“My dreams are always sweet when they are filled with you, sweetheart.”

Your very own dreams of the charming Major were interrupted by an air raid siren and panicked nurses, rushing to get out of bed and find shelter in the dark of the night.

John paused his movements when he spotted a different figure amongst his men walking through the fog, lamb coat and life vest adorned, he could recognize your beauty even if you were covered head to toe in thick mud.

“There is no way in hell I will be letting you on a plane today, sweetheart.” His hands rested on his hips as he stared down at you.

“Your company C.O will have words of disagreement with that, Major Egan.”

Major Egan.

You had never really called him that before except when teasing, it was just how you were with each other and hearing it now being paired with the most serious tone you could muster irked him. Clevens and Biddick had spotted the standoff as their crews finished their last minute preparations, both slowly approaching the pair to assess the situation on their hands.

“I am your in air medical aid for this mission, and I will be getting on a plane today, whether you approve it or not.”

This really was not the direction Gale seen his suggestion heading in, he had suggested that maybe the men needed a little more medical training, a refresher in case something were to happen in the air to release the infirmary of a little pressure- he hadn’t expected them to put a nurse in the air with them. The nurse would be in one of the planes, available to anyone with questions via the radio, it seemed impractical as their channels were needed for communication but his apprehension fell on deaf ears. They would do a trial run, if it failed then it failed and that would be that, but if it had the desired results then it would be instrumental.

They had asked for a volunteer, you had raised your hand before the words had finished falling from the C.O’s mouth.

“Fine, I don’t want to be the reason this mission gets delayed. You’re with me, let’s go.”

You shook your head, “I’ll go with Lieutenant

Biddick.”

“Absolutely not-“

Curtis grinned despite also disagreeing with the decision of a nurse being on board, but they wouldn’t be able to fight it right now. “I’m honoured.”

John sent his friend a harsh glare, expecting him to have taken his side rather then encourage her ludicrous behaviour.

“I get it,” Curt teased, “You’re in love with her and won’t be able to think straight without her on your plane.”

You couldn’t miss the way John tensed at Curt’s words. Love, he had never really been in love before but he was pretty sure that is what he was feeling for you, not that he had ever expressed it to you out loud before.

“Curt, it’s not that you’re a bad pilot,” Gale spoke up as the tension hung heavy in the air, “You just don’t have the best of luck in the air.”

“Exactly why I will be in that plane.”

“Alright everyone, let’s go.”

John ignored the hollers of the men as he pulled your body flush against his, his hand snaking firmly to the back of your head to bring your lips together into the most passion filled kiss you had ever experienced.

“Stay safe,” He muttered when he finally released you from his grip, his eyes showing much more emotion than he was willing to say. “And keep your damn helmet on.”

“I love you, too.”

It had been decided that the best place for you to be was at the front of the plane, alternating between standing and crouching behind the pilots seats. The air was peaceful through the clouds above the farm fields of England, but of course things would not stay that way. You followed John’s order of keeping on your helmet, knowing a head wound would most likely be fatal and defeat your purpose of being on the plane in the first place.

You did your best to remain composed as the real fight had started. Enemy planes doing their best to pick off your crew one by one. Your medical assistance not yet needed as every plane hit burst into a fiery ball, you could only watch and hope the men had time to jump beforehand.

You fell into the cold, metal wall of the plane as it was hit with enemy fire, getting to your feet just in time to spot the oncoming plane between the seats. Glass shards and bullets exploded into the cabin as you dropped to its floor, your arms instinctively moving to hold your helmet on and shield your face.

“No! Dickie! Dickie! No!”

You were back on your feet as soon as the bullets stopped, squeezing past Curt to get a better look at the injuries on his co-pilot. There was blood spatter along Dickie’s face and neck, and he was either dead or knocked out but the angle he was laying made it hard to check.

“Any injuries, Curtis?”

“I’m in one piece!” He yelled back over the roar of the plane engine, yanking Dickie’s slumped body off the control panel as he struggled to keep the plane up. “Fuck! She’s not gonna make it, we gotta get out. Pilot to crew: Bail out! Bail Out!”

You were crouched in front of Dickie, your eyes closed to keep focused as you waited to feel a pulse beat under your fingertips. “He’s alive!”

Another jolt under your fingertips told you that he was also now awake. His head swayed from side to side, disoriented from his injuries.

Curt contemplated his very limited options, glancing over at his injured comrade. “Dickie, stay with me. I’m gonna get you down safely, you hear me?”

“You can land this thing?”

“Yes, I can. If we drop him, he’ll die!”

“You have a death wish, Lieutenant?” You questioned, reaching into the pocket you had stuffed with clean bandages before the flight. Dickie would die either way if he continued to bleed out.

“You gotta bail too!” He insisted, “Bucky was right, you should have gone with him!”

Bucky. Your very own handsome Major John Egan. You were sure when you had climbed into this plane that he was the one true love of your life. You silently sent a prayer to any God that would hear you; please allow him to grace you with his presence again, to feel the strength of his arms and the warmth of his heart.

But what is young love without tragedy?

“I’m not leaving you and Dickie, Curt!”

“I’m getting us down Dick, I have control. Right over there ya see it? That long field, huh.”

You braced yourself behind Curt’s seat, head covered and body tucked tight as the plane skimmed the top of the trees.

“Come on Curt, fly like an angel, huh?”

[mamasturn]

send you away, major gale cleven

pairing: major gale cleven (masters of the air) x black fem oc (eden marie cleven)

content: eden is anxious about having to be separated from her husband when he reveals that he has to serve in England.

an: I was burnt out from writing elvis content, but, now we're on masters of the air content, yay!

“I’m sorry, baby, but I gotta go.” His voice was a song sung by an old church choir; soothing, warm like her mama’s hugs, then it got disruptive. Like the snares of the drums as the song reached a climax. “They need us in England.” 

The pained look on her face would be engrained in his mind forever. There would be no way for him to forget it. Her thick eyebrows eat in a deep frown, pushing the rest of her features further down. Her eyes, those beautiful brown eyes, glistened with tears. She refused to blink. The gentle rivers would transition to monstrous waterfalls with no dam to keep them at bay. And her lips, full and swollen from tender kisses, quivered as she clenched her jaw to keep her composure. 

“For how long?” Her voice was quiet. Gale sighed heavily and ran a heavy hand through his hair. If he had an answer, he’d give it to her. But, his silence spoke loud enough. She hummed and brushed his hand off her lap and began to trudge upstairs. A defeated sigh came from him. 

“E,” Gale called out. He followed her up the wooden steps. “Eden!” 

His large hand palmed their bedroom door that threatened to push him out. The lamp on her side of the bed was on, the blankets on the left side were pulled back, and she stood in front of the mounted mirror brushing her freshly pressed hair. Her sad expression had morphed into one like stone. He could see her jaw tick as each second passed. 

Gale took slow steps toward her. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Her husband, whom she’d only been married to for six months, was being shipped off to England to assist them in bringing down Germany. How coulde she not be upset? 

Gale stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His advances didn’t keep her from wrapping her hair and tossing her satin scarf around her head. He leaned down, nose brushing against the shell of her ear. Eden’s breath hitched. His lips followed, pecking at the sensitive area below her ear. He pulled at her skin with his teeth and she whimpered softly, her hand falling on top of his. “Gale…” A warning. 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” she said after some time. “I knew what I got into when I married you but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m scared, Gale!” Finally, she turned to meet his gaze. So big and blue, they were. Filled with sympathy and remorse. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I married you, but still! I gotta send my husband away and I don’t want to think about the day where someone could knock on the door telling me--”

Gale shushed her softly and pressed her body against his in a tight embrace. His warm hand gripped her chin and tapped softly. She met his eyes. “So let’s not think about that. I leave in three weeks. We’re gonna focus on making these three weeks worthwhile, and we’ll cross the other bridge when we get to it. But I’ll always be with you one way or another, you know that, darlin’. You do know that, don’t you?”

Eden nodded. Gale raised an eyebrow. “I know, baby.” 

Gale hummed and drew invisible lines along the bare skin other thigh. The lace of her slip tickled her leg. His hand inched up slowly. “How about we practice for that final send off?” 

Eden smiled knowingly and broke away from him, peeling the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders her bare body on display. “C’mon, we’ve got all night.” 

All night indeed.

[jointherebellion215]

Worth

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: You're swept off your feet by one Major John C. Egan, and you love every second of it. Sequel to Birdie.

Word Count: 3.0k

Tags: female!reader, mechanic!reader, women™, period typical sexism & misogyny, fun date night, dude w/ a small dick gets rightfully called out, mostly just fun date stuff, tons of fluff

A/N: Hello all! Thank you so much for the kind words on Birdie. I really appreciate everyone's comments, they warm my heart right up. I almost didn't write this, but the thought of having these two smooch it up was too good to pass up. I also completely headcanon that Bucky has the biggest sweet tooth, oops. As always, I'd be most gracious if you were to leave a like, comment, and/or reblog :)

Read the OC Version of this story on AO3!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, please don't copy, repost, or translate my writing without explicit prior permission. Don't even think about it, AI!

A knock at the door brings butterflies to your stomach.

“Oh, he’s here!” Irene shouts, which is immediately met with your shushing, as well as Teresa’s.

You nervously pat your hair and check over your outfit for the evening. You’re spending your second day’s leave on a date with Bucky Egan. He had approached you last night at the pub, asking if you wanted to grab dinner. Alone. 

You, of course, said yes.

Teresa and Irene go to answer the door while you gather your purse, stuffing it with your essentials. Your friends greet him at the same time, sounding like twins.

“Good evening, Major!”

“Good evening, Major!”

You hear his deep voice reply, only a small bit of surprise leaking into his voice.

“Good evening, ladies. Is Birdie around? We have dinner plans.”

“I’m here! Hi.” You step around the wall that hides you from the front door, taking a look at the man you’d been crushing on for months. He stands tall and confident in his neatly pressed uniform, hat covering most of his dark curls. His mouth gapes, giving you a once over and attempting to speak up.

“I- You-…Uh, wow. Y-you look…” But any sweet words he attempts to say are interrupted by Irene, who comes in hot with a manic smile.

“Did you know that my daddy taught me how to shoot when I was just a little girl? I’m real good at it. They call me Oakley, back home, cause of how great a marksman I am. Y’know, like Annie Oakley?” She stepped forward, puffing up her chest and giving a frightening grin to Major Egan. You and Teresa exchanged confused looks, not knowing quite where she was going with this.

“I’m not allowed a sidearm or a rifle over here, but I’m sure I could easily borrow one from any of the fellas on base should you break my best friend’s hea—”

“OKAY! We don’t wanna be late, all the tables might be taken soon. Gotta go. Love you. Bye!” You quickly shove past the blonde, stepping over the threshold. You take Bucky’s hand and practically drag his tall form down the hallway, away from your best friend’s attempt at a shovel talk.

You faintly hear Teresa’s well wishes to you amid the aggressively whispered conversation she has with Irene. The last words you hear before the elevator door closes in front of you are a heavily accented protest from Irene.

“What? I was just trying to..!”

The pair of you stand in the elevator in silence. A slight rocking indicates the starting motion of it, which snaps you back to reality. Looking down, you realize that you’re still holding hands with Bucky. You quickly separate your hand from his, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Your friends seem nice.”

Your head snaps to glance at Bucky, who is already looking at you. A sincere smile graces his face, not a hint of mocking in his eyes. 

“I’m glad you have them looking out for you.” 

You feel your face start to cool down, making you comfortable enough to respond. 

“They drive me nuts sometimes. But they’re the best friends I could ever ask for.” You mean every word. 

You see John nod, so you turn back to look to the elevator doors in front of you. An awkward pause.

“You look beautiful.”

Another pause. “What?”

“It’s what I meant to say earlier. That you look beautiful. Because you do.”

Heat quickly returns to your cheeks, spreading throughout your whole upper body. You give a bashful smile, peeking up at him through your lashes. You gaze into his eyes for a moment.

“Thank you, Johnny. You look quite handsome yourself.” The Major adjusts his hat, covering just the tips of his ears. He returns your gaze with an uncharacteristically nervous grin. The floor gives a slight rattle, elevator door and gate opening to reveal the lobby.

John straightens up, holding out his arm for you to take. You tentatively weave your hand within the crook of his elbow. He gently presses his arm in, bringing your body closer to his. 

You meet your other hand in its position and let Bucky lead you out of the hotel and into the evening air.

✨

“That was so delicious! I never knew that a roast could be so tender…”

The pair of you were walking arm-in-arm down a cobblestone street, just having finished dinner. It was a wonderful time. Bucky had been the perfect gentleman, but made his interest in you clear without being sleezy.

He was entirely focused on you the whole time. He asked questions and was genuinely invested in your answers. Conversation came to the two of you like a duck to water. After a shared glass of wine, his hand had slowly inched towards yours. Soon he had cradled it in his, like you were a precious commodity, until your meals arrived. You could hardly keep your eyes off of each other long enough to even promptly acknowledge the wait staff, which you were sure annoyed some and amused others.

Safe to say, John Egan was doing his best to sweep you off your feet.

You hadn’t discussed any other plans for after dinner, but the walk you’re on now is nice enough to give you reason to stick close together.

Bucky nods along, “And that fruit tart? Incredible.”

You laugh, leaning into your date, “I knew that would be your favorite part. You’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, don’t you?” 

Bucky holds his hands up with a mischievous smirk on his face, “Hey, I plead the fifth.” 

“I’ll admit, I’ve never seen someone so adamant on having some coffee with his sugar.” You continue to tease him. He nudges you playfully, giving a smooth grin in return.

“Hey, we’re in a war! If you see something sweet,” Bucky surprises you by picking you up and twirling you around, getting a full belly laugh from you as he sets you back on the ground.

“You gotta snatch it up and enjoy it while you can.”

You have a feeling that he wasn’t just talking about food. 

By that point, you’re leaning against his front, hands on both of his shoulders. The moment has shifted into something else. Something different. His eyes roam your face, eventually stopping on your lips. Just as he starts to lean in, the moment is shattered by the sound of instruments starting up nearby. Bucky flinches, cursing the ill-timed disruption. 

Oblivious to his turmoil, you gasp in delight and look around for the source of the music.

“Do you hear that? I think there’s a band playing!” 

You spot a few people walk into what looks like a club. It barely a stone’s throw from where you’re both currently standing. 

Bucky quickly recovers, “Should we grab a drink? Have a dance or two?”

You beam at him, and his heart stutters in his chest once more. After you give a nod, you place your hand in his arm and let him lead you into the club.

The two of you step into the establishment, and the energy is almost electric. There are mills of people walking about, drinking, talking, laughing. There’s a great score more on the dance floor, hopping and jiving along to the band you now knew you’d heard earlier. There weren’t a lot of uniforms present, but the ones that were were RAF.

Bucky guides you to the bar, hand on your back until you're both sat on a pair of stools. Your drinks are quickly ordered and served, so your night continues. You both allow yourselves to talk shop for a moment, so your conversation turns towards what you were working on before your leave. As you get to discussing the more intricate parts of your project, you hear a scoff from behind you.

John quickly looks over your shoulder, spotting the culprit.

“Excuse me, is there a problem here?”

You turn around to find a uniformed man taking a sip of his whiskey, RAF logo plastered on the lapel. He mockingly shakes his head, placing the glass down on the bar.

“No, no problem at all.”

Bucky, ever the confrontationist, persists. “It seems like there’s a problem here.”

You gesture towards the man, silently indicating that he was welcome to speak his mind. 

“It’s not enough that you Yanks come over to our country, destroy our pubs and disrespect our women with your recklessness. But you can’t even keep your own women in check! She should be at home, away from the war, for God’s sake. Taking care of the house and the children. You know, doing feminine duties.”

You had heard all of this before, so it was no skin off your back to hear it again. You roll your eyes and decided to just ignore him. Then the man started to laugh, as if he was in on a private joke.

“I mean, a female mechanic? Between that and your daytime missions, it’s no wonder you’re all dropping like flies.”

You let out an exhale, letting the air stream out through your nose. In your periphery, you see Bucky start to stand— to, no doubt, escalate the situation. You stop him with a hand on his chest. He sits back down, looking between you and the man who had just insulted you. You set your glass down, hopping off the stool and giving a slow clap. 

“I’m so glad to know that some people still live in the Stone Age, where apparently all a woman is good for is cooking and giving birth! Thank you so much for showing us exactly what a lack of education and individual thought looks like! See where we are—over in modern times— women can do whatever the hell they want. That includes fixing your planes and jeeps, operating your radios, driving your trucks, and even training your allies to use machine artillery!”

The RAF soldier realizes what he’s gotten himself into but is backed into a corner of the bar as you pace forward with each scathing word that leaves your mouth.

“Never mind all the bullshit you just spouted about what a woman is fit to do. I think that women can decide for ourselves exactly what we can and cannot do. As for my countrymen, I’m proud to serve alongside them. They go up every day willing to sacrifice themselves so that the rest of us don’t have to. They’re gonna be remembered for their bravery and grit. They’re not cowardly enough to hem and haw and stick up their noses at the thought of a woman doing something other than popping out a kid and ironing their pleats.”

The music has dulled down, but you don’t have the complete attention of the club. That gives you the courage to say your final piece.

“Never you mind. I'm confident that the men I serve with, including the man I have with me tonight, aren’t anything like you. Thank God for that! They're not so…” You take an exaggerated glance towards the man’s crotch, scrunching up your nose. “…small-minded.”

Leaving the gaping man behind, you turn to Bucky and ask if he wants to go get some air. He picks his jaw up off the floor quick enough to nod and lead you back outside into the street.

Hey, hanging around Irene pays off sometimes.

As you step out into the night air, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. You feel John step up behind you, voice carefully asking,

“Hey, are you okay? Birdie?”

You continue to stand with your eyes closed. You just needed a moment.

“I’ve come too far to let anyone’s opinion of me, or my career choices, effect me.”

You open your eyes and look over your shoulder at your date. He gives an understanding nod, stepping closer to you. He places his hands on your arms, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. You lean back into him, closing your eyes once more, letting him comfort you for the time being.

“Sorry if I ruined the night.”

You can feel a rumble from Bucky’s chest as he chuckles. “Oh, this night’s far from ruined. In fact, that was probably the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

One of your eyes pops open. You crane your neck to peek at him, “Even better than the time you told me about Curt knocking out an RAF officer in one punch?”

“Yep.”

“Winning that bet to get your bicycle?”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Better than your fruit tart from dinner?”

His smile widens, “Okay, let’s not get crazy here. Maybe it was top ten.”

“Top ten?!” You playfully gasp, turning around to face him again. You rest your hands on your hips, “What’s a girl gotta do to rank above a fruit tart around here?”

“Well…” You scoff and shove Bucky at the cheeky smirk he gives you. You’re quickly distracted by the sound of the band inside starting up again. This time with a familiar tune.

“Oh, your song’s on, Johnny!”

Bucky tosses his hat to the side, steps back and gives a very unserious bow. He then sneers with a hyper-nasal impression of the RAF officer you’d just affronted.

“My lady.”

You roll your eyes and give a joking curtsy in return, taking his offered hand. He pulls you into a proper stance for a waltz, which is a complete offset to the jive song that reaches your ears. You both jokingly hop along in the awkward squared formation for a moment, giggling to yourselves. 

He gently pushes on your hip while outstretching his hand, so you take the cue and twirl until you’re both standing at each other’s fingertips. A quick grasp of your hand and a pull twirls you right back into his arms, bumping into his chest. The moment made you burst into laughter, leaning into your dance partner until the song ends. 

The next song is a much slower tune, giving Bucky the chance to pull you in close. You hum along to the band playing, sidling up to the Major’s chest. He places a hand in yours and loops the other around your waist. Your free arm gently drapes under his and over his shoulder, encouraging a lean into his firm body. You both give a slow sway, leading each other back and forth in the quiet echoes of the street. Closer than before.

“You know, I’ve been plucking up the courage to ask you to dinner for a while now.” 

You lay your head on the knuckles of your hand that rest on his shoulder, responding lowly. 

“Really?”

You continue to sway.

“Yeah.”

You’re curious, so you ask, “What made you finally do it?”

He thinks on the answer for a moment, almost chewing on his thoughts. John is not the kind of person to typically contemplate over an answer, so you gift him all the time in the world to respond. You recognize how important that is to him.

“I… I think that it was a lot of little things.” He pulls you in closer. “Your smile, your eyes, the way you talk about the things you love. Birdie, you are so personable with everyone you come into contact with and it’s so magnetic.” 

The flow of compliments shocks you, not expecting this barrage of details to come from the man in front of you. But you dance on anyways.

“But I really think what did me in was yesterday, at the pub. When you looked at me during your song.”

You remember. You know exactly what he was talking about. Whatever he must have felt, you know that you felt it too.

He continues to speak in an intimate tone as you sway along in the street.

“I felt my entire life click into place. It was like everything suddenly made sense. I didn’t have to wonder about what my life was going to be like in five, ten, fifteen years. Because I knew.”

He pulls back to look you in the eye, and the amount of vulnerability in his eyes floors you. 

“I’ll be honest, it scared the shit outta me. It terrified me.”

You understand what he meant. This is all new to him, as it is to you. You pull his forehead to touch yours, noses gently brushing one another, as you offer your best words of comfort in that moment.

“Sometimes, you have to do what scares you the most to find out what’s worth doing.” 

He cups your face, letting his lips ghost against yours. He made his intentions clear, but it was up to you to decide how you move forward.

So, you close your eyes and take the leap.

Your lips press into his, hands stroking the arms that were framing your face. He immediately responds in kind, lips moving in tandem with yours. You melt into him at the reciprocated motion. His arms soon move to your waist, pulling you impossibly close. Your arms reach around his neck, hands resting at the nape of his neck. As he deepens the kiss, you run your hands up, down, and through the dark curls on the back of his head, earning a groan from your partner.

A burst of warmth sparks from within your very being, traveling further and further through your body until you’re consumed by flames. Half of your mind is scrambling to make sense of reality, and the other half is completely consumed by passion.

After a moment, you reluctantly separate from one another, panting to catch your breath. It’s as if the world stopped spinning when you connected, and then started up again when you parted. 

Giving a nervous look to the man you just kissed, you’re elated when he gives you an ear-to-ear grin. He grasps one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers. His other hand comes up to cup your face again, thumb gently stroking your cheekbone.

You stay silent for the time being, letting the moment marinate. He brings up your joined hands to kiss the back of your palm. Your heart jumps with joy at the sight.

Bucky gives an exhale before breaking the silence.

“You are most definitely worth it.”

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Daylight

Curtis Biddick X nurse! Reader

Summary: A fight between Curt and

Y/n happens before Curt's last mission. But they both don't know that...

Warning: Angst/ sad/ crying/ mention of death/ medical inaccuracies/ mention of blood/

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: I'm sorry in advance

Their relationship was quite new, but what they felt was true. She was a nurse, desperate for a distraction, she needed to forget the atrocities she saw every day. He was a pilot, wanting to forget the friends he lost and the horror that kept him up at night. Together, Y/n and Curt forgot about their horrible job and became happy together. At first, they were just fooling around, not wanting more than what they already had, but time went by and they both developed feelings for the other.

‘’You stole my little spoon!’’ Major Egan said, laughing. ‘’You can have Meatball if you’d like’’ the woman replied, laughing. She was the owner of the dog that quickly became the mascot of the base. The men around them laughed at the comment of the lady. She sat on Curt’s lap; it was a night before a long mission, so they wanted to spend a lot of time together. ‘’We’ll have plenty of time to spoon together in Africa, Bucky’’ Curt said. The boys were going to land in Africa and then, get shipped here again. They would be away for a long time. Y/n smiled and took a sip of her drink. A nurse came running inside the room, looking for her colleague. ‘’Y/n, we need your help, it’s Lucas’’ she panted, out of breath from her running. Her legs reacted quicker than her body, getting up, without even saying a thing and she started to sprint towards the medical building. Lucas was a wounded man that was transferred from another base, he’d suffered from a head trauma and had seizures. The problem was the fact that he had multiple wounds on his body that would open and bleed with each seizure he had. ‘’We gave him medicine, but the seizures won’t stop’’ the other nurse said, while running. ‘’He’s bleeding to death?’’ Y/n panted. ‘’Exactly’’ When they arrived, Y/n saw 6 nurses trying to stop the bleeding and hold him, so he’d stop moving. ‘’How long has he been seizing?’’ she asked. ‘’2 minutes’’ one of them said.

When his nurse sprinted out of the room, Curt knew it was serious, she’d rarely run like that, without asking question if her presence was necessary. When the name Lucas was pronounced, Curt barely blinked and saw that she was running to help. ‘’Who’s this Lucas?��’ Buck asked, looking outside. Before Curt could answer, the Colonel stepped in. ‘’He’s a Major from another base, he was transferred here because his old base didn’t have the necessary equipment to treat him. His injuries are pretty serious, I’m surprised he’s still alive’’ he took a sip of his beer as he finished his sentence. ‘’What are his injuries?’’ Crank asked. ‘’Head trauma that cause seizures. His body is almost opened completely, so every time he moves, he risk bleeding to death’’ A men that was recently discharged responded. Curt only nodded, praying that his girl was okay.

She pushed the door open, gaining the attention of every man in the bar. Her uniform was full of blood, most of the men had never seen this much blood. When he saw her, Curt ran to her. ‘’Are you okay? Whose blood is this?’’ he exclaimed, looking at her body to check for any injuries. Her gaze was empty, there was no emotions showing on her face, she was jaded. ‘’Lucas’’ she mumbled. She looked at the Colonel, who was watching the scene with horror. ‘’Colonel, Lucas’s dead. He was bleeding too much, his seizure was too long’’ she said, no emotions in her voice. ‘’I’m sure you did everything you could, Curt can you go help her change’’ he said, with hesitation in his voice, he didn’t want to upset her. Curt nodded and led her outside. ‘’Let’s get you cleaned up, Sunshine’’ Curt softly said, borrowing Major Egan’s Jeep. He drove to the nurse’s quarters, right now, he didn’t care that men weren’t allowed in, he had to take care of his girl.

She was in a new dress; Curt was sitting in front of her. ‘’Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?’’ He gently said. She shook her head. She was scared, terrified that one day, she’d have to treat his injuries and he would die in her arms. She needed to protect her heart. ‘’I think we should stop seeing each other’’ she breathed out. He looked at her, she had tears in her eyes. ‘’What, why would you say that?’’ he quickly replied, a sense of panic in his voice. ‘’Because we can’t allow ourselves to get attached. Not when you could die tomorrow’’ she tried to speak clearly, but the lump in her throat was making it difficult. ‘’I’m going to come back! I always come back! Y/n I know you’re scared, but don’t shut me out!’’ he tried to control the volume of his voice to not scare her, but he loved her, he wanted to be there for her. ‘’You don’t understand what’s it like to be in my position! Do you know how many dead people I see every day! How many men ask me to tell their wives that they love them? You don’t know what’s it like! Curt I can’t enter this building one day and see you lying down in a pool of blood. I can’t and I won’t do it!’’ she sobbed. ‘’I won’t be dead Y/n! I know you’re scared for me! Don’t do this’’ his eyes filled with tears. ‘’Please, Curtis, if you care about me, if you love me. Let me go, I can’t do this again! I love you, but I hate you at the same time! I don’t want to have your blood on my hands! I hate your job, but I love you! It’s tearing me apart! But I got to protect myself! I’m begging you, please, let us go’’ she sobbed and yelled at the same time. Curt was crying too, he truly loved her. A nurse knocked at Y/n’s door. ‘’Major, you have to go’’ she softly said. It was time for him to leave, it was time for his mission. He looked at Y/n. ‘’When I come back, because I will, we’re going to continue this conversation. Because I’m not letting you go, I love you, Y/n, you’re stuck with me’’ he said, quickly kissing her before leaving her room. Y/n sobbed for hours, she wanted to let herself love him, she wanted to be able to love him without this constant fear of loosing him.

He thought he was going to be able to land this plane in the field, it looked so easy so higher, but when the plane came in contact with higher trees, Curt knew he wasn’t going to make it. ‘’Tell Y/n I love her’’ was his last words before the plane crashed on the ground. His death wasn’t painful, it was quick. The most painful part was to think about Y/n’s reaction. During his last seconds, he thought about her. Her smile, her scent, her voice and everything he loved about her. He felt guilty, he ended up hurting her after all. But all that thinking stopped when his life ended.

Today was a quiet day, not many men were injured, but enough to keep Y/n occupied. So, when she finished healing the men, she went outside to breath fresh air. The sun was warming her up, the daylight was soothing. It rained the hole week, so rays of sunshine were really good. She saw Buck and Bucky walking towards her, they looked sad. ‘’Can we talk to you for a second?’’ The blonde asked. Y/n nodded, confused. They took her to the empty cafeteria. They didn’t know how to break the news. Buck sat down, while Bucky stayed up, he went closer to the woman, in case she would react badly. ‘’Y/n, we – ‘’ she cut them off, tears already rolling down her cheeks. ‘’He’s dead, isn’t he’’ she breathed out. The two men could only nod. ‘’He told us to tell you that he loved you’’ Buck whispered. ‘’It’s not fair, he was supposed to come back’’ she cried. ‘’We’re sorry, Y/n’’ Bucky said. She began sobbing even harder. ‘’It’s not fair! He was supposed to come back!’’ she sobbed angrily. She kept repeating the sentence until Bucky hugged her, he was strong, so his embrace was calming her a little. ‘’ I loved him so much’’ she lamented. There was so much pain in her voice, the two men had to control themselves. ‘’We’re so sorry, Y/n, he loved you so much too. You were all he was ever talking about’’ Buck said, looking at the ground. ‘’I’m such an idiot! I told him I wanted to leave him before the mission! But I didn’t mean it! I was terrified of him not coming back. And now he’s gone’’ she wailed. Bucky kept hugging her until she cried every tear in her body. She eventually fell asleep from all the sobbing. The two men brought her back to her room, where they put her in her bed. Buck told other nurses to look after her.

That day, a part of her soul broke. Curt was her one true love, but she knew he died loving her. Her heart was broken into a million pieces. She would never love a man more than she loved him. He was her soulmate, and she was his. She’d look for him in daylight. He loved looking at it. So, each time a ray of sun came on her skin, she thought about him. They would eventually find each other again in the daylight.

[luminouslywriting]

what about buck, bucky, brady, and curt's reaction to the reader reading those hateful RAF pilots down? like with a smile and her face, utterly condescending, and not raising her voice making them look completely ignorant and stupid

Hi sweetheart! This one was super fun and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Reminder that my requests are open for both BoB and MOTA, so keep sending them in!

Cut for length, more under the cut!

Gale Cleven:

-Literally never been more in love with you IN HIS entire life haha....

-Like, we all saw how those guys got under his skin and how he wanted to throw hands immediately with them, and would have, had it not been for Curt. So if YOU'RE the one who's shutting them down verbally and reading them to filth??

-ICONIC of you, he's lovestruck, puppy-dog eyes/starry-eyed, and absolutely getting heckled by a drunken Bucky about the way that he's looking at and pining after you

-Absolutely makes a move on you after the whole fight because he's so confidence driven and ready to shoot his shot.

-Definitely leads to the world's best makeout session haha.

Bucky Egan:

-This drunken instigator friend?? This man?? He's WHOOPING and egging you on and literally so proud of you shutting those RAF pilots down.

-He's proudly bragging to everyone who will listen about what you said and literally remembers this moment for the rest of his life

-Probably gets really turned on by said events and is quietly attempting to figure out what to do

-But definitely ends up in some alleyway or closet with you and treating you to the prize you so clearly deserve

-The morning after, he's still so brazenly proud of you and definitely gives you a forehead kiss

John Brady:

-HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT—this man is silently SHOOKETH and watching with wide eyes and admiration

-Literally decides on the spot that you're the woman for him and he needs to treasure every second he can with you

-Goes from this point to try and figure out how he can ask you to be his girl and to go out with him

-DeMarco definitely hears way too much about this and is not getting paid enough to hear your praises

-Definitely wrote a letter home about this particular instance, so his family knows that SOMETHING is up haha

Curt Biddick:

-You're verbally shutting the RAF pilots down and he's out here punching them out

-It's quite a duo and he definitely wants to walk you back home/to the barracks

-Kiss his bruised hand, please—it'll be really soft and sweet. At which point he'll just kiss you because you were way more iconic and cool than he was.

-Asks you to be his girl that night

-And probably loudly tells this story for the rest of his life (shh, he never died, what are YOU talking about??)

[blurredcolour]

In My Blood

[Series | Complete]

Curtis "Curt" Biddick x SOE!Female Reader

You should not have been in England when Belgium fell to the Nazis. Finding your way back as an agent of the Special Operations Executive, you fight the occupation through subterfuge and sabotage. Curtis Biddick should not have survived that crash landing during the Schweinfurt-Regensburg mission, and yet he finds himself recovering in the cellar of a doctor aligned with the Belgian resistance. With both of you desperately needing to return to England, can you find the strength to resist one another in the process?

Series Warnings: MAJOR canon divergence, Canon typical violence, Weapons, Spy Craft, Death, Injuries, Gore, Angst, Suffering, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: This story contains revisionist history, read at your own risk. Reader is half-Belgian, half-English and has been given an extensive backstory and family tree. No physical descriptions or Y/N are used. If you'd like to be tagged, just add a comment to this post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Epilogue

Masters of the Air Masterlist

[sagesolsticewrites]

CURT GIRLIES!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️

My first Curt fic is done, and will be posted tomorrow (2/24) at 10am Central Time! 🥰

[saturnville]

stolen moments, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (amelia mae egan)

content: john manages to call amelia after not hearing her voice for weeks.

an: this was the top choice in the poll so far. I've been anxious to write so we knocked this off the list first lol. enjoy!

“Are you alright, Major?” 

They’d just arrived at a new station. It smelled like sweat and fear. Men streamed throught the doors like a school of fish. Their deep voices shook the brick walls as their conversations bellowed throughout the building. Dozens of men struggled to keep their composure. He was one of them.

He was overwhelmed. Tired. Desparate. His clothes felt tight against his body. The scent of gasoline and fumes clung to his vest. His hat damp and chilled against his forehead. His shoes were coated in black soot.

John’s eyes caught the telephone in the corner of the station. It was secluded from the rest of the quarters, in a corner, protected by a frosted glass divider. John's shoes grazed the dirty floor as he strode purposefully towards the telephone.

“M’fine. Head in and get your rest. Long day in the morning.” He didn’t know how he was able to make out coherent sentences. Gale stepped in, noticing his friend’s disheveled state and guided the men to the resting quarters. 

John’s shoes kissed the dirty floor as he stood long strides to the telephone. He shrugged off his backpack and slid it by his feet. His hands trembled as he plucked the phone off the hook and typed in the number he had engraved in his heart. 

It rang. And rang. And rang. His heartbeat was in his ears. His nails scratched as the black paint around the phone as he succumbed to his anxiety. He sent a silent prayer to God above. 

Then he heard it. “Hello?” John’s forehead tapped the frosted glass as he rested against it. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. He’d never been particularly sensitive, but he was overwhelmed with emotion, good and bad, and hearing her sweet voice made his eyes well with tears. 

The words were stuck in his throat and all he could release was a heavy sigh. That seemed to be enough for her to identify the caller. “Johnny?” 

He shut his eyes. A lone tear fell from his eye. “Hey, Rosie.”

Amelia let out a soft cry. “Oh, thank God! I-I thought something happened to you; I hadn’t heard from you in weeks. Are you okay, where are you now? Is Gale alright, when are you coming…” His first instinct was to cut her rambling short, but the sound of her voice was the choir-like song his soul ached to hear. 

He’d gone three weeks without hearing her voice. It was the most tortuous three weeks of his life. For 21 days, he survived by remembering the last words she said before they hung up, Whatever you do, do not die on me, do you understand? I love you, John. I love you. I love you. I love you. It kept his heart beating.

A small smile tugged on his lips. “I’m okay, baby, I promise. Things got a little rough; didn’t stay in one place too long. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  

“I’m just happy to hear your voice…are you okay?” 

His stomach churned at her question. A feeling of despair threatened to creep upon him. Thirty men lost. A plane in the middle of the ocean. An uneasy stomach and even more uneasy mental state. His head pounded, his body shook with unwanted adrenaline, and his hands craved the feeling of her hot skin. He was not okay. 

“No,” he replied honestly, rubbing his eye with the stump of his palm. “I’m not okay but I will be. Especially because I get to talk to my favorite girl. Tell me about your day..”

He heard her heavy sigh. “Deflection won’t rid you of what you’re feeling.” 

“Talking about it won’t do too much good, either. It’s…it’s hard, Rose. I just.” John’s jaw clenched as he struggled to articulate what he felt. “I just can’t talk about it right now, Amelia. If I do, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it together.” 

Silence stretched on, interrupted only by the sound of her shuffling on the other end. She was probably sitting at the edge of her bed. He imagined her, looking pretty in her long-sleeved pajamas and satin scarf, with a blanket tucked under her chin.

“Then how about this,” she started. “You make it home in one piece to tell me about it later, yeah?” 

“Always making demands,” John laughed. The first genuine sound of joy he’d made all day. And it made her smile. So wide that her cheeks were sore and her dimples made an appearance. “But you’ve got a deal.” He readied himself to speak again, but a tap on his shoulder interrupted him. 

Gale. Meeting with the CO in five minutes, he mouthed. John nodded. He ran a hand through his dirty hair. “Darlin’, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes; I’m sorry.  If I don’t call in the morning, know I love you, alright?” 

“I know. I love you, too. Don’t apologize. Just make it back to me.”

“Always.”

[claireelizabeth85]

Come Home to Me - Chapter 3

John Egan x OC Female!Reader

Summary: We learn a bit more about what is going on with Lizzy. For those not entirely sure where this is going - think Evie from The Mummy 2 and Claire from Outlander.

Warnings: Implications of death, heartbreak, sorrow.

AN: Many thanks to those of you who have read Chapters 1 and 2. If you have questions or want to share your thoughts/ideas of where this could be going, shoot me a message - I would love to hear your thoughts.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

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

The atmosphere inside the White Stag was warm and cosy, a stark contrast to the chill of the evening outside. Lizzy and Sarah found themselves surrounded by a few elderly locals, including James Thatcher, who had revealed his connection to Lizzy. They exchanged pleasantries as James introduced the other patrons as some of the children Lizzy remembered from her time in the village. Each conversation she had seemed to deepen the mystery of her past, as more people claimed to have known her "back then." Despite Sarah's scepticism, Lizzy couldn't ignore the feeling of familiarity and belonging she felt among these strangers.

Suddenly, James leaned in and whispered something to his grandson, who hurried off to retrieve something from the back of the pub. Lizzy's heart raced with anticipation as she watched the young man return with a dusty trunk, its wooden exterior weathered with age.

"This," James said solemnly, "is yours."

Lizzy's hands trembled as they ghosted over the lid, her rank and name etched into the surface were now dull with age. As she reached out to touch the trunk, her mind was racing with questions and emotions. With a deep breath, she slowly lifted the lid revealing a treasure trove of memories carefully preserved within.  Her civilian clothes, dress uniform and a spare flight suit were all neatly folded and smelling faintly of lavender. Photographs of familiar faces smiled up at her, frozen in time. Books she hadn't seen in years nestled among the keepsakes. 

But it was the sight of a red checked blanket that brought tears to Lizzy's eyes. She smiled at memories of lazy afternoons spent with John and she felt her cheeks flush with emotion. Something she had never expected to see lay tucked safely beneath the blanket. A letter, yellowed with age but bearing John's unmistakable handwriting waited for her. 

Excusing herself, she took her drink and the letter outside. As she delicately unfolded it with shaking hands, every word seemed to carve deeper into her already wounded heart.  John's opening words, "My darling Lizzy," echoed with a tenderness that both soothed and exacerbated her pain. Tears blurred the lines of his familiar handwriting as if mimicking the haze that clouded her mind.

The absence of any prior communication gnawed at her, emphasising the significance of this final missive. It was as if fate had handed her the last fragment of their connection, a cruel reminder of what once was and could never be again.  John's words painted a picture of longing and despair, his agony palpable with each sentence. “The very thought of you waiting for me kept me going in that hell - but I knew the moment that I saw Buck, the look on his face told me you were gone”. The weight of his absence bore down on her, a burden too heavy for her fragile heart to bear alone.

In his lament, he bared the depths of his sorrow, mourning the life they should have shared. Their unspoken vows, the promise they had whispered in the secrecy of tangled bed sheets under a burning London night sky now lay shattered amidst the ruins of their dreams.

With each passing sentence, the weight of John's absence grew heavier and heavier.  Each one a jagged shard piercing her already wounded soul, the pain that poured from the paper, the magnitude of his love for her was too overwhelming to comprehend. She remembered this feeling, of having her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. But this time, there were no screams of grief that burned her lungs, no physical pain to match the agony of the hollow emptiness that she felt within, made ever more real by solitary, battered fortress that sat on the airfield reminding her that it had not brought him home.

As she finished reading, Lizzy held the letter close, the weight of her grief enveloping her.  Surrounded by the lingering shadows of her past, the pain of her loss surged within her, too potent to suppress. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked, a torrent of emotion unleashed by the overwhelming sorrow that consumed her.

She longed for them all: John, Gale, Crosby, Biddick, Pappy, Benny, Crank—their camaraderie, their laughter, their unwavering support. Memories flooded her mind, scenes of shared moments and inside jokes, each one a bittersweet reminder of what she had lost.

She missed the way they would tease the new recruits, the protective arm John would wrap around her, the astonished whispers as she took her place in the cockpit and the forever furrowed brow of Chick Harding, sceptical of her relentless quest for missions.

Amid her grief, Lizzy found solace in John's words, a testament to a love that endured. Though separated by time and tragedy, she would love him as deeply now as she did then. 

[the-a-word-2214]

Would love to see the Barry lovers give Curtis some love

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 1

Masters of the Air

Secret Admirer x Reader

A string of anonymous letters causes a stir at Thorpe Abbotts. Who could be the author of the tender correspondence you have been receiving?

Warnings: Secret Admirer (could be cute, could be creepy, depends on how you see it.), Reader is part of the Red Cross Girls, Spoilers, possible mentions of injuries, death and warcrimes.

Word Count: ~1.2k

Masterlist Next Part

x x x

Thorpe Abbotts was abuzz before the sun peeked above the horizon. Many of the personnel had been busy throughout the night while the men who would be in the planes got as much rest as their minds and bodies would allow. You were amongst those who had been working through the early morning hours, preparing the Clubmobile to serve fresh donuts and hot coffee that were intended to carry the men through their dangerous and lengthy mission.

Helen stepped into the truck, a small stack of letters piled on top of the supply box in her grip. She set the box down on the chair in the corner, seperating the letters adressed to you from the ones adressed to the few other Red Cross ladies. “Early mail delivery.”

“Must be for morale, first combat mission for many of the men today.” You easily recognized the printing on the first envelope, a letter from back home just like the ones you had recieved every week since arriving to Thorpe Abbotts. The second envelope was unusual, void of a return adress and stamp, only your name was scrawled across the front. You gently peeled open the envelope, unfolding the sheet of paper to read the message inside.

“During our first encounter your presence washed over me like the English rain, soothing and all consuming. You have captured my attention and selfishly, I must admit that I don’t want you to ever let it go.”

The letter had no siganture or name to identify who had written it, only a creased bottom corner and a small coffee stain in the middle of the mostly empty sheet. You didn’t recognize the handwritting but admittedly, you had not seen the writing of the majority of personnel at Thorpe Abbotts. Your brain spun, shuffling through as many first encounters as your mind would allow but it was overwhelming, there were so many possibilites… too many possibilities.

“Everything alright?” Helen asked, her eyes glancing to the letter clutched tightly in your hands, worry creasing her brows. She hoped everything was okay at home, it was everyones nightmare to recieve bad news from home while being on a whole other continent, so close to a raging war.

“Oh,” You quickly folded the letter, tucking it back into its envelope. “Yes, everything is fine.”

You were sure Helen was skeptical, feeling her eyes following your movements as you tucked both letters into your coat. The men trickling out from their quarters was enough to distract both of you from the coffee stained paper.

“I don’t recall such a welcoming committee when I arrived.”

The sudden voice behind you had been startling, you turned to find the handsome Major leaning against the open window of the truck.

“I do recall being in this very spot while you rushed right passed, Major.” You sent the man a polite smile, adding to the stack of paper coffee cups, “Surely you were focused on the business at hand.”

“That must have been it, I’d like to think I would have introduced myself otherwise.“

You were thankful for the roar of planes flying overheard, the arrival of his men drew his attention away from the heat pooling in your cheeks. “That is my cue. Enjoy your day, ma’am.”

The soldiers came in waves, stumbling across the clubmobile on their way to settle in. Many men lined up for the provisions you offered; hot coffee, fresh donuts, cigarettes, the newspaper and even the occasional magazine.

You sent the next in line a smile, one nearly tripping over his own boots as his friend nudged him forward. “Gentlemen, what may I offer you today?”

The dark haired soldier leaned on the window ledge that seperated you, sending you what you could only assume to be intended as a charming smirk. “If a ‘gentle’ man is what you are looking for, then that is what I shall be.”

It certainly had not been the first attempt at flirting you had experienced in the day, but generally the men had kept it tame, calling you pretty in some way or asking to take you for a harmless drink. You let your distaste for the comment show on your face, choosing to adress the amused man at his side.

“May I offer you anything?”

“Just two cups of coffee and cigarettes, thank you.”

You placed only one cup of black coffee on the ledge along with the requested cigarettes, offering a polite smile. “When your friend learns how to speak to women respectfully then he may make requests. Welcome to Thorpe Abbotts.”

Your eyes briefly found those of the dark haired man, his mouth slightly agap with your words before he was pulled out of the line by his now laughing friend.

The line faded quickly, the men moving along to find their Quarters to settle in as soon as they were served. The coffee urns were empty, only a single cup of black coffee leftover from the gallons that had been brewed. Helen had just began to clean when the last few men to arrive wandered through. You had heard through whispers that one plane had been seperated from formation, missing in the clouds. It had flown overhead a short time ago and you assumed these were those lost men. Most passed without stopping for a treat, settling in on the forefront of their minds but one staggered up to the open window.

“Anything left?”

“I’ve always got extra cigarettes or the newspaper on hand, one last cup of coffee if thats what you’re looking for.”

The solider accepted the lone paper cup, sniffing the bitter liquid before taking a large gulp. The boldness helped relieve the putrid smell of vomit from his nostrils. It was fragrent on the plane because his navigator was unable to control his air sickness, but the scent seemed to stuck in his nose as it was still the only thing he could smell, until the coffee anyway.

“You got any gum?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at two men who were busy chatting amongst themelves. You slide a small package of mint gum across the ledge, watching as stalked toward the two soldiers, throwing the gum to the dark haired one without more than a simple ‘Heads up’.

Your first encounters with many of the men circled your mind as you lay on your bed, the letter once again clutched between your fingers. Major Egan, Douglass and Blakely, Hambone, Crosby and Bubbles, Curt and Dickie. Your first interactions with many of the soldiers were friendly introductions, none had stuck out to you as anything other than kind or mildly flirty.

He had never intended on you reading the letter, it had been written in a futile attempt to rid you from the forefront of his mind. He surely wasn’t a fool, you were far too good for a man like him but he had been completely taken by your warm presence. Unable to ease the yearn he felt for you, anchoring deeper every morning when you happily served what the military had insisted to be coffee.

It may have been a presumptious move on his part but he just couldn’t help himself.

He had snuck the letter into the mail carriers bag when he was delivering letters to the men as they ate was being labelled as ‘breakfast’.

x x x

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