#mota x reader

[sagesolsticewrites]

Yes, Major

Dom!Croz. “Yes, Major.” That is all <3

Warnings: mature content (dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration, praise kink), swearing

Word count: 2k

Masterlist

(oof tumblr absolutely destroyed the quality of this moodboard I’m sorry y’all 😭)

You suppress a shiver at the feeling of your husband’s hand trailing up your thigh, his other hand on the steering wheel as you head home.

The two of you had been making eyes at each other and leaving lingering touches all night, so when you finally arrive home, it comes as no surprise that Harry wastes no time in leading you up to your bedroom.

He presses you up against the bedroom door, his lips just barely out of reach, a teasing, predatory glint in his eye.

“Harry…” you whine softly, aching to have his mouth on yours, your gaze locked on his pretty lips.

Two fingers lift your chin, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

“Major.”

Oh, Christ. Just when you thought you couldn’t get any wetter…

“Not Harry or Bing tonight, sweet girl.” he murmurs, thumb dragging lightly over your bottom lip as his brown eyes darken, “Major.”

You feel like you’re on fire, every part of you melting as you gulp and whisper “Yes, Major.”

He hums approvingly.

“Good girl.”

Forget melting, you’re evaporating under the heat of his gaze as his fingertips trail teasingly up your side before he steps away, pulling you with him.

He toys with the side snaps of your dress as he perches on the edge of your bed, leaving you standing between his spread legs.

“Take this off, honey,” he murmurs, his voice soft but the words clearly an order.

“Yes, Major,” you breathe, suppressing a shiver as your hands fumble with the snaps, undoing each one until your dress falls to the floor, leaving you in your slip.

His eyes drink you in, fingers barely skimming over the white satin of your slip, and you think you might actually die if he doesn’t touch you properly soon.

Harry notes this — of course he does, with those navigator eyes.

“Tell me what you want.”

You do, even though you know he won’t do it right away. Bing isn’t quite a tease, per se, but he tends to draw things out. Make you wait for what you want.

Still, you manage to let out a soft whine.

“Want you to touch me, please.”

“I will, honey, I will.” He assures you softly, though the pressure of his fingertips remains infuriatingly light, mouth twitching up into the smallest of smiles as he adds, “In a minute.”

You bite back a despairing moan as his hands leave you entirely.

“Lay down, sweetheart,” he nods to the bed as he stands, moving to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt.

Enraptured by the view before you, you simply nod as you climb onto the mattress, keeping your eyes on the increasing patch of chest hair being revealed to you, dog tags dangling in the middle of his chest.

“Words, honey,” Harry reminds you in a gentle-sharp tone that has delicious shivers racing up your spine— ones that definitely have nothing to do with the way his hands are currently moving to his belt.

“I— Yes, Major,” you whine, gripping the sheets none too delicately as you settle on your back onto the pillows.

“Good girl,” he says softly, his slacks joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Finally he touches you again: a featherlight drag of his fingers along your calf, prompting you to lift it.

You let out a shaky exhale as Harry bends to brush light, barely-there kisses along your calf, up your knee, towards where the hem of your slip brushes your thigh.

Praying that he’ll have mercy on you and give you what you want, you sigh a soft “Please, Major.”

“I will, sweetheart. I promise I will.” He mumbles against your skin, his lips moving… not underneath your slip, as you had hoped, but pressing light kisses to your body through the thin satin covering it.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, darling,” he murmurs, his lips dragging over your still-covered chest and up along your neck as he moves to hover over you.

You let out a soft whimper when his pretty brown eyes lock on yours, his hand trailing back down along the curves of your body to slide just underneath the hem of your slip, fingertips trailing up the inside of your thigh.

He inhales sharply as he brushes against the damp fabric covering your core.

“Oh, honey,” he breathes, “All that for me?”

“Yes, yes, I—” you ramble, “All for you, Major, please—”

“Shhh, I gotcha, sweetheart,” he murmurs, watching rapt as he slips a finger under your panties to drag through your damp folds.

You let out a high, keening whine, throwing your head back as he slowly pushes one finger into you, pumping in and out before adding a second.

Soft whines escape as he fingers you, mumbles of “feels good” and “more, want more, please” tumbling from your lips as he remains infuriatingly steady in his rhythm. His thumb darts out from where his other hand is resting on the pillows next to your head to stroke along your cheek, his way of getting your attention.

As your eyes meet his once more, he asks in a low tone, still maintaining that slow, steady rhythm in and out of you, “You want more?”

At your furious nodding, a gasp of “yes, please” escaping you, he hums.

“Please what?”

You can hardly think, your need for more speed, more something taking up a majority of your brain, but you manage to dredge up a plea of “Please, Major,” and suddenly more is happening.

Harry slips a third finger inside you, an act that has you moaning loudly at the stretch, and that combined with his thumb on your clit and the pace that suddenly feels faster than a B-17 has you tumbling over the edge with a cry.

You come back to yourself, legs shaking, in time to feel him gently remove his fingers. You let out a soft whine at the sudden emptiness, letting your eyes open to a sight that has heat rushing to your core all over again.

Your husband has his fingers in his mouth, cleaning them of your release, and when he meets your eyes you see something utterly molten in his gaze.

“Christ, honey…” he groans, moving to hover over you properly once more, “You stay right here, yeah? Something I wanna do…”

With that, he moves down your body, pressing kisses over your slip to your chest, your stomach, until he’s settled between your legs, pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs.

You crane your neck to watch as he slowly lifts the hem of your slip, revealing your underwear. You watch, holding your breath as he maintains eye contact and brushes a kiss to your core over the fabric covering you as his fingers toy with the waistband.

“‘M gonna take these off now, alright, sweetheart?”

You suppress a gasp at the words mumbled so close to your most sensitive parts.

“Yes, Major.” You nod, and can’t help adding a soft “please.”

You feel him grinning as he presses a kiss to your thigh.

“Good girl.”

He gently peels off your underwear, adding it to the pile of clothes on your bedroom floor.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, lips a hairsbreadth away from your core, “do you have any idea how pretty you look from down here?”

Before you can even think of replying, his mouth is on you and your hands are flying to grip his hair with a gasp.

You cry out his name before you can correct yourself, hips arcing off the bed, and as soon as it was there, his mouth is gone.

“What was that, sweetheart?” He asks lowly.

“I—”

It takes your mind a moment to catch up, but when you do…

“You said you were gonna be good for me, honey,” he warns, his mouth still far too close to your core for you to truly think clearly, “So let’s try again. What’s my name?”

He licks a fat stripe up through your folds, and you throw your head back onto the pillows with a cry of his rank.

“Major!”

“Much better,” he praises in mumbles against you, “good girl.”

The room fills with your whines and gasps and moans as you lose the ability to form words entirely when Harry’s thumb comes up to gently circle your clit, the combination of his tongue inside you and his thumb on the bundle of nerves enough to have you quickly approaching your second orgasm of the night.

“M-Major…” you stammer out between whines, your fingers raking roughly through his curls.

“Already, darling?” He murmurs against you, sounding almost amused, “Go on then, honey. Let go, it’s okay.”

You reach your second climax with your husband's rank on your tongue and his tongue on your core as he greedily laps up your release.

“Fuck, you taste absolutely perfect, sweetheart,” he sighs as he returns to hover over you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss before rolling off of you briefly to wriggle out of his boxers.

“Think you can give me one more, honey?” He asks softly, grinding his length slowly against you.

You can’t help it: you moan out loud at the feeling of him against you before confirming with a pleading “Yes, Major, yes please, I want to—”

“Christ, sweetheart, okay, okay,” he murmurs, breath hitching as the tip of his cock snags on your entrance. He rocks forward, letting out a groan as he sinks into you.

“Oh- shit, honey, you’re perfect,” he sighs against your lips, your breaths mingling as you gasp into his mouth.

His eyes remain locked on your own as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you, hips snapping determinedly against yours. You give in to the urge to squeeze your eyes shut, clamping down on your bottom lip to bite back a moan as he hits deep inside you.

Your eyes fly open once more as he gives a sharp nip to your neck, his nose dragging along your jaw as he murmurs, “Wanna hear you, darling, lemme hear you, come on…”

Your mouth falls open to let out a wanton moan, words tumbling out as tension builds within you with every thrust.

“Major— Major, don’t stop, please, feels so good—”

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he pants against you, feeling you clench around him, “Come on, give me one more, just one more, honey.”

You shatter as you reach your third climax of the night, your body nearly going limp as you cry out. He buries his face in your neck as, with two more erratic thrusts, he follows suit with a shuddering cry before slumping against you, utterly spent.

He presses sloppy kisses up your neck as the two of you attempt to catch your breath, murmuring gentle praise as he pulls out of you — “you’re perfect, angel, did so good for me, such a good girl” — huffing out a laugh as you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks softly as he settles in next to you, pulling you into his chest, “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

You hum contentedly, toying with the tags dangling in the middle of his chest.

“Not at all, Major,” you assure him, a teasing sparkle in your eyes on the last word. He laughs, and you continue, “It was perfect, Harry.”

His eyes go soft hearing his name, and he leans down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, thumb stroking gently along your cheek.

“I love you too, Bing,” you say softly, raking your fingers through his mussed curls.

He pulls you closer, resting your head on his chest as you finally allow sleep to overtake you both.

[gloryofroses19]

The Force of a Curl

Major John ‘Bucky’ Egan was hungover, wet and missing a shoe. Hungover because those boys in the 389th challenged him to a drinking contest, wet because his mother stopped pestering him to take umbrellas when he was twelve years old and missing a shoe because of that damned English mud. 

If the boys could see him now, Bucky thought, shaking his head. He could practically hear Curt and Buck’s laugh all the way from the US. 

Sighing loudly as the storm increased, the pilot moved to pick up his shoe. But as his fingers brushed the shoe, the Major was shocked to find that the rain had stopped. No, not stopped he amended noticing the umbrella extended above his head.

“Are you alright, Major?” Asked a feminine voice conveying a mixture of concern and thinly veiled amusement. 

While he had only been at Thorpe Abbots for two days, John Egan recognized the woman before him. Lieutenant [last name] was a notable figure to many. To most on the base, she was the pretty faced WAC lieutenant included in the upper brass briefings. To Bucky Egan, she was a puzzle he wanted to solve. Though their interactions had been limited to a short introduction and shared proximity during meetings, he already knew she was beautiful, smart, calm and confident. Even when facing the asinine questioning of Colonel Huglin. However, this interaction was offering something entirely new… 

Standing to his full height, John ran a hand through his hair. Whether it was because of the rain or self consciousness of being caught in this position by her was something he’d never tell.

“Oh, I’m doing great, Lieutenant. Just enjoying the feeling of the ground.” Shooting her a confident smile despite his sorry state.

“Just with one foot?” Raising an eyebrow, [y/n] struggled to keep the laugh from escaping. “Guess you pilots really do forget what it’s like to be on solid ground. Bit of advice then, try to avoid the puddles. They’re deeper than they seem.”  [y/n] teased as the Major moved to rescue his shoe from the mud. 

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” He responded airly feeling his grasp on the situation slip. With no teasing retort brewing on his mind, the pilot was left feeling mollified by the teasing glint in her gaze. 

Raising the umbrella to adjust for the height difference, [y/n] watched transfixed as a stray curl fell in front of his eye. He really was a handsome sight to behold [y/n] mused as his hand brushed hers to take the umbrella from her grasp. 

If anyone were to pass by them, the pair offered the illusion of intimacy and familiarity through their shared laughter and proximity. However, an illusion was just an illusion unless perceptions were altered. 

“You been here long?” Like in any small town, she had heard of the new Major before she met. His singing alone had reached her ears before she entered the pub two nights prior. Though his voice was loud and brash when singing, the deep Midwestern baritone during conversation was far more pleasing. “I hope you’ve fared better with the mud than I have, Lieutenant ''. 

“5 months and yes I have,” [y/n] began before pausing to giggle at a memory, “but two weeks in being here I…”  Looking up into those inquisitive cerulean eyes, [y/n] stopped herself from continuing. Clearing her throat, she reminded herself that he wasn’t just any handsome man, he was a Major. And therefore, it was probably best to not inform her superior of some slight trouble that happened to find her. “Nevermind, sir”. 

Noticing the tone of professionalism that blended into her dulcet tones, John frowned. He had heard this tone before, it was how she responded to him when he introduced himself and when she spoke during the Brass meetings. 

“No, don't give me sir, I don’t want sir. I’m soaked and missing a shoe, rank’s off. Call me Bucky or I’ll even take John.” He liked this version more, because there’s nothing he loved more than someone he could laugh with. Even if it was at his own expense as Bucky Egan wasn’t a man who took himself too seriously. 

“Come on, can’t leave me hanging like that. You’ve seen me at my lowest, it’s only fair that you share as well.” He countered, his determination to get her to smile at him again unwavering. To further emphasize his point, he wiggled his sock clad foot hoping to get another laugh. 

She could see why many were transfixed by the new Major on the base, he carried himself with a genial ease that was both disarming and charming. 

Deciding she might as well dig her own grave, she relented with a sigh. “Two weeks in I got locked in the enlisted men’s mess hall on an unnecessary errand for Colonel Huglin.”

Eyes crinkling in delight, John took in her deadpan delivery that was obviously a pass fake to her underlying embarrassment. “How’d you get out?” John asked in response, knowing it would be a worthwhile story. 

“As the metaphor goes, when one door closes another one opens. Namely a window in the back of the kitchen.” She remarked casually as if any rational person’s first idea would be to climb through a window. 

Laughing in warm boisterous bursts, Bucky’s gaze was unwavering and full of affection and intrigue. 

The implication of his gaze was enough to make any girl flustered, [y/n] included. Deciding to busy herself with pointing in the opposite direction, she hoped to quell the butterflies. “Can I walk you somewhere, Major?” 

“How chivalrous of you.” He responded softly, with a matching grin. Watching the rain drops land on her otherwise pristine uniform, he stepped forward. Leaning closer, he was captivated by the teasing curl of her lips. 

“Well if being one shoe down and soaked doesn’t make you a damsel in distress then I’m not sure what else would.” 

With the way she was smiling at him, he wouldn’t mind being saved by her again, John thought. “Well you got me there. Walk me to my billet kind knight?”

Up until this point in the war, her mindset had firmly been 'loose lips sink ships’. No unnecessary comments or connections or else her heart would be broken. However, watching that damn curl fall across his face, [y/n] knew she had lost this battle. And if she was so easily defeated by Major John Egan then she feared for the poor unsuspecting Germans. 

“Lead the way, Fly Boy.”

[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

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers

[speirslore]

domestic john brady hcs

(a/n: so.... i went a little insane today and wrote these but hopefully someone else enjoys them! pls send me an ask if u want to chat about brady because he might be ruining my life right now... just a little bit.. also this includes vague mentions of pstd)

lmk if you would like to be on my taglist! @ronsparky @bcon24 @blueberry-ovaries @1waveshortofashipwreck @beautifulbluejay

okay starting off... imo john brady is super domestic like he definitely has had a 2.5 kids and a dog, white picket fence fantasy for a good portion of his life <3

and he loves routine... most days you come home to soft jazz music playing and john sitting on the sofa, brows furrowed in concentration as he flips through a book, pipe in his mouth, and the familiarity always makes you feel so warm

john is very loyal... and can definitely be stubborn and determined, but it all stems from a protectiveness over you and the love you two have

yes he can be a bit sassy or snappy especially from others people's perspectives but john is a really great partner

he has a tender side that you see very often but others might not immediately pick up on... i think john is super attentive and caring in his own, analytical way, and that's extended to all the people in his life that he cares about

when you first meet and start dating i do think he is a mess trying to flirt and gets very flustered very easily, especially if you're more confident in your own flirting abilities... but he quickly gains confidence in that area

john is not hugeee into pda

but does like to be touching you in some way, like hand on the small of your back, around your waist, head resting on your shoulders (or vice versa), he loves all of it

john is SO supportive: you want to go to/finish school? go for it! he’s your number one supporter, no matter what stage of life you guys are in

if you're already married and have kids by then, he definitely helps you study after the kids go to sleep

will help make flashcards to study and proofreads over your essays for you

obviously music is a huge part of his life whether he sticks to teaching music after the war or pursuing something different, it’s a huge part of him and loves getting you equally obsessed with it

will most certainly be in a community choir/orchestra of some sort and is so proud of it... loves spotting you in the crowd and having you there to support him

is ever the realist, very practical about settling down after the war, having kids, buying a house, etc... he genuinely enjoys budgeting and ofc couponing... he gets very into it

john really values your opinions and input on all things

i think john's love language is mainly words of affirmation... like okay, yes he can be a little snarky at times but john is extremely thoughtful

he's great at picking up on your emotions and how you're feeling

words of affirmation- complimenting, uplifting, and supporting you is how he communicates that he cares

when john can tell you're upset, he wants and will do anything to solve whatever problem there is and make you feel better

john is really perceptive, like annoyingly so, "what's wrong? are you sure you're okay?" you can't fool him at all

he really prides himself on knowing the people he loves

a big problem solver, will come up with a game plan to tackle whatever you come to him ranting/upset about

john can be fiercely protective, especially after the war- after he's seen so much loss first hand. not even jealousy really and it's never because he doesn't trust you or is possessive, it stems more from how much he loves you and how vulnerable that makes him feel sometimes

is he as impulsive and scrappy as curt or bucky? no but could definitely be pushed to that point and definitely will not let himself be intimidated by some asshole at a bar (referencing a specific event when you were dating back in new york after the war, john does not take lightly to someone trying to upset/scare you refusing to take no for an answer)

he definitely does enjoy you doting on him afterwards, cleaning the nasty bruise and scrape on his jaw/cheek

i think john would for sure enjoy pet names, he loves any symbols or reminders of how close/intimate your relationship is, specifically loves "honey", "dear", or an occasional "darling"

your relationship starts to have some serious old married couple vibes very quickly, like months into dating you?

john is a not so secret romantic

would be annoyingly good at big romantic gestures, is the best at anniversaries

john lovesss and really romanticizes the idea of settling down, knowing someone that deeply, someone else being your person, your soulmate, having children, and having a shared life

he does believe in true love and soulmates and would blush furiously if you were to ask him about it but he'll manage to get it out, barely able to look at you when he's affirming, "yeah i think you're my soulmate. nbd."

wants to know all about you, even the most trivial things i think he would be so interested in learning about

for sure one of those people who's had a list of baby names they've had picked out since childhood

john is a great person to share a life with, he's organized, methodical, responsible, and respectful

would be the sweetest dad, would feel perpetually unprepared and terrified for fatherhood

would always be researching the best foods, products, etc

like not full helicopter parent/soccer mom but he's very involved and always trying to find new experiences for your kids

LOVES planning the annual brady family road trip in the summer when all the kids are out of school and y'all take off work

he always creates such a detailed and efficient route and makes sure to get everyone's input on where they want to go and want to see... that's when he's in his element fr

he would love having a bigger family and knowing each of his children's different personalities and interests

i think he does struggle after the war with ptsd, especially during the winter when it's super cold outside

he has to get out of this initial phase of pushing you away out of not wanting want pity or sympathy

there's embarrassment and shame there and it's hard for him to navigate that and he doesn't want to burden you or others. doesn't want to be fussed over or taken to the doctor like a child, doesn't want to feel broken

for a while he struggles with falling asleep and would always make excuses about coming to bed late, only once you're sleeping, because he's embarrassed about how long it takes for him to fully relax and actually feel safe enough to sleep

it gets better with time... and when john realizes how much he values transparency and vulnerability between the two of you and after you reassure him it's not burdening you or dumping anything on you

might be (is) a lip biter like first time he did it was on accident, he just got very excited but you both quickly discover he lovesss it

i think john is masterfully good at foreplay, especially if we assume he was raised in a good ol' catholic family... yeah he has the foreplay down pat

he's methodical in everything he does... including uh... physical intimacy

john has a lot of self control and he prides himself in that... but he is also soooo sensitive he just thinks it's incredibly unfair

like just running your hands through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, oh he's meltinggg

john absolutely has to have the perfect music for everything including anything physical... he'll break away from a heated kiss to to flip through vinyls, hunched over the record player while you're lying in bed like... babe... come back pls

a very intense lover like his eye contact, his touch- firm grip, his voice- always lower and quiet, intense in the best way possible

oh and once you're married he loves always mentioning or name dropping "my wife," in conversations

overall... john brady loves being in love! he loves having little inside jokes, petnames, shared memories, etc and wouldn't trade it for anything in the world <3

[austinbutlerslovers]

*The obvious answer is all but which one is first choice*

[barbeygirl]

Bucky soothing reader after a bad dream hc’s

this is one of those ”create the content you want to see” posts lmao

He’s looking out of a window of an apartment that he’s lucky to be brought back to, time and time again.

You’ve been sleeping peacefully next to him.

His thoughts drift to how, in the morning, you’ll once again try to sneak him out of the apartment. And how your face will heat up as your roommates cast knowing looks your way.

And Bucky will once again be his ever so charming self and wave a good morning to them, as you shove him out of the door. You’ll hate his grin in that moment.

Smiling at the thought, he looks down at you and is just about to swipe a strand of hair away from your face as you twitch.

He retracts his hand, not wanting to disturb your sleep, but continues to watch you.

You’re quietly murmuring something and his brows furrow as he watches your face shift to an uneasy expression.

When your movement grows and the restless face you’re making doesn’t stop, he rests his hand on your shoulder.

You wake up to him slowly soothing you awake.

After briefly looking around the room, your gaze moves to his worried stare.

”Morning” is all he says. His voice sounds gruff and sleepy.

You move closer to him and his touch, still half asleep but looking for comfort. He welcomes you in and pulls you to rest against his chest.

”Bad dream?” He whispers into your hair and you nod quietly. He hums and soothes your back.

He listens to your breathing and feels relieved when it slowly returns to normal. But you’re still fidgeting and can’t really seem to fall back asleep.

Won’t push you to talk about the dream but will listen if you start telling him. Responds in quiet hums and by soothing his thumb across your cheek and playing with your hair.

Kisses you on the forehead and tells you to go back to sleep. Says he’ll be here the whole time so you can safely close your eyes for a couple more hours.

Falls asleep pretty quickly after you. And you wake up in the morning with his arm possessively placed on top of you.

masterlist

[tetragonia]

Midnight Repair Shop

John "Bucky" Egan x Female!Mechanic!Reader

Blurb: In the middle of the night, accompanied with the choruses of men from the Officer’s pub afar, Bucky saw the hangar light was on. He peeked and found Jerry to his Tom—(Y/N), one of the mechanics whose side job apparently was to annoy him. It was that one time when Bucky and (Y/N) repaired not only the plane, but somehow their whole dynamics all these months.

warning: inaccuracies especially with the mechanical terms because I'm not used to them and just looked em up from the internet. also, maybe weird phrasing or grammatical incorrect since English is not my first language. pls let me know what I could do better <3

note: pure fluff and giggles, some arguments but all is good with our Bucky. this is my first mota fic out there and why shouldn't i choose our antic Bucky as the main character? ;) also, this is based on the portrayal of the actors from Masters of the Air. all respect to the veterans and family

words: 3160 (sorry!)

It was a sunny day as the sun was casting a golden hue over Thorpe Abbotts, the distant hum of aircraft engines signaled the approach of returning fighter planes. Among them was Major John Egan–”it’s just me, Bucky’s fine”–his B-17 streaking through the sky and leading the squadron. It was not an easy mission, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. The route was clear and the enemy’s cover was minimum.

With steady hands, Bucky guided his aircraft toward the runway as his eyes scanned the horizon for any signs of trouble. The roar of the engine filled the cockpit as he made minute adjustments to his altitude and speed, preparing for the critical moment of touchdown.

As the wheels of his B-17 made contact with the tarmac, Bucky maneuvered and smoothly brought it to a stop with. The plane rolled to a halt, its engine purring contentedly as Bucky taxied toward the waiting ground crew.

You were one of the ground crews, a skilled mechanic around the base. People knew your work ethic and they damn respected you out of it. And that clearly gave some benefits around here.

“Back from another joyride, Major?”

You emphasized the rank as Bucky made his way out from the cockpit. His flight suit was slightly disheveled, his hair was a bit scruffy but his smile was as bright as the summer sun. Brady jumped out, his eyes scanned you and Bucky.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

“Capt,” you tilted your chin and raised your eyebrows slightly to acknowledge his presence.

“Joyride?” Bucky pulled your attention back at him. “More like a death-defying adventure, (Y/N). You know, I like to keep things exciting.”

“That ain’t exciting, bud,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

You wasted no time inspecting the plane, your expert eye quickly picking up on any signs of damage. Still locking your eyes to the plane, you said, “I swear, Bucky, if next time you come back with another dent in your plane, I’m going to start charging you for the repairs. And trust me, it ain’t cheap.”

“Did you just threaten me?” he let out a dramatic gasp, putting his hand in front of his chest. “You know, I think I’m starting to rub off on you. After all, it truly takes a special kind of person to keep up with a pilot like me.”

Your hands ran through the plane’s body, bullet holes were scattered and some flak damages were tattooed to the metal skin. You suspected there were some engine reduction from the enemy’s fire, as well as control surface damage.

“You’re not the only one keeping me busy. I have plenty of other pilots crashing their planes too, creating these cute little bends and missing some rivets,” you couldn’t help but to roll your eyes again.

“You know, (Y/N), I’m starting to think you have a thing for me crashing. How else do you explain always being there to fix up my messes?” still in his dramatic tone, he raised an eyebrow at you.

You turned your head to him, trying to mimic his dramatic gasp earlied, “Oh my God! Weird thing is, I can’t imagine having this thing called a job! Have you ever heard of that?”

You lost count on rolling your eyes at him. He laughed faintly and started to walk away from you. 

“Hey, (Y/N), if I had a penny for every time you gave me that look of disapproval, I’d have enough to buy myself a damn new plane. One that doesn’t need fixing every time I fly it.”

“Spare your voice for the interrogation, Bucky, you’re just talking shit right now,” you said dismissively. You could hear his ragged breath from your place, that man clearly needed to at least have a good hot chow.

“Ouch, that stings.”

Despite your dismissive tone, you couldn’t help but to let a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

As the darkness draped itself over Thorpe Abbotts like a heavy cloak, the Officer's pub emerged as a sanctuary of warmth and light. The air was buzzing with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses, faint laughters could be heard from afar. Bucky Egan was bathed in a warm, golden light from the row of lanterns that lined the walls. Wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling above him, their darkened surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the fire roaring in the hearth.

Around the room, Bucky found himself gathered at wooden tables with other airmen as the air was thick with the scent of pipe tobacco and the familiar aroma of alcohol, mingling with the lively strains of a piano being played in the corner.

“I don’t know, man. You seem pretty tipsy already,” Buck Cleven shook his head with a chuckle when Bucky offered to buy them another round of drinks. “I don’t want you stumbling into any trouble, you know.”

Hearing what his buddy said, Bucky laughed. “Me? Trouble? Com on, Buck, you know me better than that. I can handle myself just fine! Look at this.”

Bucky tried to jump from his seat to buy another round, but then he stumbled and let the men laugh as he landed in a weird position.

“Alright, alright,” he said, laughing with them too. He was just too damn charming to be ashamed, it’s alarming.

“No more drinks,” Bucky said, God knows to Buck or to himself.

“No more drinks,” Buck hummed the same chorus. Bucky laughed, shook his head faintly.

“I’m gonna head back,” he eventually reached a decision. “And I don’t want any of you to take me, feel like flying solo tonight. ‘Kay?”

“Sure, Bucky, whatever you want,” Brady laughed as he sipped his glass. With that, Bucky stumbled out into the cool night air, leaving the sounds of laughter and conversation that faded behind him. He took a deep breath, the crisp night air helped him clearing his muddled mind as he made his unsteady steps back to his barrack.

Humming sporadic notes from Bing Crosby, he noticed a faint flickering light shined through the windows from a hangar nearby with its door ajar. Curious, and perhaps a little tipsy, he decided to investigate.

Who the hell works at this hour, he thought to himself. With a curious tilt of his head, he veered off course, his feet guiding him toward the source of lights. Peeking a bit, he was greeted by the sight of your back, working on his plane.

Bucky sauntered in, his flight jacket slung over one shoulder, a cocky grin plastered across his face. He squinted against the sudden brightness, his eyes struggling to adjust to the harsh contrast after the darkness outside. Blinking rapidly, he stumbled forward, laughing at his own stupidity. And he might or might not realize that he always felt way more stupid around you, throwing all those flirts and banters like a loony.

“Hey there, (Y/N)! Patching up the old birds, are we?” Bucky slurred slightly. 

You turned your head at him, still on your workbench raising an eyebrow at Bucky’s disheveled appearance.

“Looks like someone had a bit too much to drink tonight,” you made a remark as you continued working gunning the rivets. “Too much liquid courage at the pub?”

Bucky chuckled, he leaned against a nearby box for support. “Liquid courage? More like liquid genius! But hey, I couldn’t resist the chance to see your pretty face before I hit the hay.”

Bucky grinned stupidly at your back as he heard you replied monotonously, “Oh lucky me. The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”

He laughed at your dry response, stepped in. “Nah, just needed a little pick-me-up after a long day of saving the world. You know how it is.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile at Bucky’s antics. You’ve gotten used to all that now, working side by side for a couple months.

“Yeah, yeah, the brave pilot routine. I’ve heard it all before. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

As Bucky watched you expertly finish tinkering the body, you couldn’t help but admire your skill and determination. God knows since when you had worked on his plane today!

He leaned against the nearby workbench, his grin widening. “It’s your touch that keeps her purring, (Y/N). Without you, she’d be just another hunk of metal gathering dust.”

You rolled your eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, flyboy. You’re not fooling anyone with your smooth talk.”

“Hey, I’m just stating facts!”

“Yeah, and Hitler’s a good man. Now do me a favor, hand me the rivet gun over there,” you asked, tilting your head to the tool box.

Your hand brushed with his as he handed you the rivet gun. The wind suddenly swirled around the hangar and you shuddered at the chills down your spine. You took the gun swiftly and placed it over the exposed end of the rivet shaft. You securely fastened patches of those new aluminum sheets metal onto the wing, covering the bullet holes.

You’d been fixing the engine with Ken all day, finished just before the curfew. To clear your mind, you decided to fix the panels tonight as you asked Ken to get a hot chow. After some good arguments thrown from you, Ken gave up and walked away.

And here you were, in the hangar with the famous Bucky Egan. You’d been working with him for months, yet you didn’t know if he made all those compliments and flattery to other women as well. There weren’t any female mechanics around here and you knew he had his own way with women.

Flattery didn’t get him anywhere, but it got you somewhere. 

You decided to break the silence, “You know, Bucky, I’m starting to think you pilots have a secret competition to see who can wreck their plane the most. Am I right?”

To hide whatever feelings that tried to surface, you put your familiar mask–strict, to the point, and sometimes a bit offensive. That way, you could protect yourself.

“Am clearly the best,” from the corner of your eyes, you could see him nodded and smiling. Suddenly it was so infuriating, how smiley he always was, how cheerful and friendly he was to you. How easy he was to throw compliments, and how easy he was to look at her with such adoration.

“Yeah, I've always thought you were a great pilot. Shame you're not quite as good at keeping your plane in one piece.”

You were unable to keep your feelings now. It was bottled up all this time. You were tired, hungry, and thirsty. You were vulnerable.

“Hey, hey, now,” Bucky might be a bit drunk but he wasn’t stupid. Something in the air shifted, your tone was harsh. Too harsh for his liking and your own good. Your tone was aggressive and he felt like you tried to hurt him with your remarks. Usually, they were all harmless, he even found you funny. But what was with the sudden change of tone?

“Come on, now. Why do you always pick on me?” Bucky tried to remain calm.

Forgot being calm! You were raging all of sudden. “Why would I pick on you, stop being so full of yourself.”

That’s it. That was the last straw.

“Hey, that stings!” Bucky was flustered, he walked closer to you, gaze piercing your back.

You sighed. You’re tired. You’ve been working all day and haven’t eaten since 8 am. It’s somewhere over 12 am now.

Fuck, you muttered to yourself. You need to shape the replacement panels to match the contours of the wing’s surface before riveting them. You got up and walked to the sheet metal bender, but Bucky stopped you.

With the faint hangar light on top of you both, now Bucky could fully take a look at your current state. You knew you looked terrible.

“Okay, you need to stop,” Bucky sighed. “Go to your barrack. You need to sleep.”

“I need to work.”

“She can wait. I’ll ask Lemmons to patch her up early in the morning,” Bucky said, his voice was authoritative. “Now, let’s get you some sleep.”

“No,” you tried to walk to the metal bender but his grip was strong.

“Come on, or I’m gonna abduct you.”

You almost rolled your eyes at that, but he quickly swept you off the ground. “Hey! Put me down!”

Despite the serious and cold air surrounding you both earlier, you could see how Bucky giggled. You always acted all tough, but you were just a girl for him. Your strength couldn’t even match him.

She’s cute, you didn’t know Bucky thought that right now.

He thought this was all just a joke, your mind stated.

“Nah, I’ll put you on your bed myself.”

You huffed in frustration, your attempts to free yourself only serving to make Bucky hold on tighter. "This isn't funny, Bucky! Put me down right now!"

But before Bucky could respond, his foot caught on a stray toolbox lying on the floor, sending you both tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap of limbs. With a yelp of surprise, you landed on top of him, your bodies pressed together in an awkward and unexpected embrace.

For a moment, you lay there in stunned silence, the only sound filling the air was the pounding of your hearts. 

With a stupid grin on his face, Bucky smiled surprisingly sweetly, “Hello.”

As the realization of your predicament sunk in, your cheeks flushed crimson, maybe with anger or maybe with something else.

"Are you kidding me, Bucky?" you exclaimed, pushing yourself off him with a scowl. "I told you to put me down!"

Bucky winced while grinning sheepishly, rubbing his head where it had collided with the floor. He was fully sober now, thanks for the thud. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I didn't mean for us to fall."

You crossed your arms over your chest, your expression still stormy. "Well, it's not funny. You could have seriously injured yourself. You’re one of the best pilots we’ve got, what would happen if you got hurt?!"

Bucky sighed, his earlier amusement fading as he met your angry gaze. He got up, walked a step closer to you. 

"You need to be worried about yourself. What is it, (Y/N)? You’re not usually this… tensed. Is something bothering you?”

Bucky put his hand on your shoulder. You stiffened at his touch, jerking away as if scalded. 

"I'm fine," you snapped, your tone once again sharp and defensive.

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion, hurt flickering in his eyes. "Hey, I was just asking. You don't have to bite my head off."

You didn’t want to meet his gaze. Your eyes wandered to the floor that suddenly became so interesting.

But you knew that Bucky wasn't about to let you off the hook that easily. "I don't buy it, (Y/N). You've been acting strange lately, and I want to know why."

You scoffed, rubbed your eyes slowly, “It’s nothing.”

“Hey, tell me,” Bucky now grabbed your arms and once again you stiffened at his gesture. You looked up as your gaze fell to his, eyes blinked rapidly. Your cheeks flushed as you once again broke eye contact and looked at the new interesting thing: the metal bender.

And a realization hit Bucky like a lightning. The way you laughed or rolled your eyes at his jokes despite being known as a serious fella, the way you looked at him before he took off, the way you always kept some distance…

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice softened. “I’ve never been this straightforward, but we don’t have much time… Do you like me?”

He could feel your muscles tensed under his touch. You still refused to look at him.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. Where did the tough, no-nonsense (Y/N) go?

“Hey, (Y/N), look at me,” Bucky asked you gently. He knew for sure that you held a feeling for him and he was too damn stupid to realize. He tried so hard to suppress his smile.

You looked up, his expression was soft and his eyes fixed on you with a gleam that made the butterflies crazy inside your stomach.  You thought about every possible reaction: rejections, lots of yelling, a broken respect and trust, no more jokes and friendships… But you didn’t expect when he leaned closer and brought you in, when his lips touched yours with a gentleness you could only imagine.

Bucky’s lips tasted like a good amount of mint and alcohol mixture. You were intoxicated. He put his hand on your hip, the other caressed your cheek. His touch was a gentle yet firm anchor, drawing you closer to him in a silent declaration of desire. Your fingers traced the curves of your hips with a tender reverence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you melted into his embrace.

He’d never imagine touching you, grabbing your crinkled jumpsuit as he kissed you deeper, his hands wandered. You felt a rush of warmth spreading through your body, igniting a fire within you that you couldn’t ignore. His hands, strong and sure from years of training, held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. His touch was both possessive and protective all at once.

When you both pulled away, trying to catch a breath, you saw Bucky smiling. His hands were still on your hips, now the right one stroke your cheek and your lips.

"You know, (Y/N), I've always admired you. The way you always know your way around an engine, your work ethic, your remarks, your replies to my jokes… I've always thought you were pretty amazing,” he whispered. “The way you handle those machines... it's something else. That’s why I always send my plane to you."

Your cheeks flushed slightly at the unexpected compliments, and you cleared your throat awkwardly. You were anything but flushed and fluttered.

"Well, I guess someone has to keep you flyboys in the air. Can't have you crashing and burning without us, right? You better treat her right up there or I'll make sure your next landing isn't so smooth."

Bucky grinned, feeling a surge of confidence after a heavy cloud towering you both  earlier.

"Hey, what do you say we had a drink tomorrow? I’d like to discuss tonight's matter, after you had a good rest of course.”

Your heart raced at the thought of spending more time with Bucky outside of work. You were exhausted, but after what happened tonight, you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep.

"I suppose one drink couldn't hurt. But don't think this means I'm going easy on you, Bucky. I've got a reputation to uphold, after all."

[mrs-murder-daddy]

A/N: It's finally here, and it's only part one! I'm so sorry everyone but I've been fucking miserable for the last few months. But I'm here, I promise!

Requests are also open for BoB and MotA!

The Heart of the Ocean (Part One)

Gale "Buck" Cleven x Reader

The stateroom is much smaller than you anticipated, though perhaps your expectations were too high. After all, this is just a boat with a lot of people on it.

It feels suffocating, though perhaps that’s a consequence of your circumstances more than your room. 

You stare at yourself in the vanity’s mirror. You look tired, but maybe you should cut yourself some slack. You’re getting married in a few weeks. Every bride looks this sallow before their wedding day.

There’s a knock on the door, gentle and polite. You haven’t even responded when it opens. Caledon Hockley, your fiance, walks in. If you had never spoken to the man, you’d say that smile on his face is genuine.

He brandishes a velvet jewellery box and presents it to you with all the showmanship of a salesman. You’re not sure why. You’re marrying the bastard, not buying a house from him.

Cal crowds up behind you, opening the box, expecting you to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ over it. He gives you some long speech about how the diamond used to belong to some long dead king. All you can do is stare. It’s so… big. It’s gaudy and awful. At least it matches your engagement ring.

He clasps the necklace, the chain feeling rather literal. He kisses your temple and grins at his most prized possession. You paste on a smile and thank him for his kindness. As he leaves, reminding you of the lunch you were already supposed to be at, you wrap a hand around the massive blue diamond. It’ll at least weigh me down, you joke.

Despite your mother’s hatred of her, Mrs Margaret “my-friends-call-me-Molly” Brown is the only person you can talk to that actually listens. You walk into the dining room for lunch, hands gently wrapped around one of Cal’s arms and the first thing you hear is, “that necklace is gorgeous darling!”

Your mother fawns over it and you almost tell her to just take it if she wants it so bad. 

Molly says, “Not as beautiful as the woman wearing it.”

Her beaming smile is not enough to distract you from your mother’s eye roll, but it is enough for you to respond with a genuine thanks. You can’t remember the last time you got a compliment.

Stuck at a table between a rock (Cal) and a hard place (your mother), you wait anxiously to eat. You would listen to the conversations around you, but it’s mostly your mother bragging about the family you’re marrying into, and the men discussing which type of cigar they’ll smoke next or other trivial nonsense.

When the waiter approaches, you perk up. but Cal takes over. “We'll both have the lamb, medium-rare with very little mint sauce.” He turns to you and pats your hand, “You like lamb, don't you sweet-pea?”

You stare at him silently, god his face was just so punchable. A pinch on your thigh reminds you that there’s an audience. “Of course, darling.”

Molly jumps in, noticing the distinct pinch of your mouth. “You gonna cut her meat for her, too, Cal?” The table bursts into laughter and even your fiance forces a tight smile.

The food is not quite to your taste, the bitterness of Cal’s mistreatment tainting your meal. But the conversation takes a turn for the better.

Molly posits, “So, how do ya reckon they got to the name Titanic?”

An older fellow married to a woman 3 years your junior speaks up, “Well the name obviously conveys size, thus it also conveys strength.”

You jump in, “Perhaps Dr Freud’s ideas about the male preoccupation with size will interest you, Mr Higginbotham.”

Your mother pinches your thigh again and you jolt. The conversation changes once more and even Molly’s boisterous laughter can’t calm your temper. You excuse yourself and race outside for some fresh air.

The ocean breeze cools you down somewhat. You bask in the sun’s rays, gripping the rail in front of you and leaning back just a little.

Your reverie is interrupted by a loud shout of “Miss!”

You look down to see two brunets wrestling playfully. Their blonde friend shakes his head before looking up at you. Your knees turn to butter. He’s quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life. 

The two of you stare at each other for so long, his friends have stopped wrestling, instead looking between you two like a tennis match. The Greek statue below only stops the staring contest when a frown takes over.

Your own face falls when you realise why: Cal. Your fiance grips your arm and begins to berate you quietly while dragging you back inside.

But the beautiful blonde man is all you see. His smile as his friends begin to tease is enough to feed you for a lifetime.

Dinner is much the same, only your noose feels tighter than before. Your newfound wealth is still the only topic of conversation your mother cares about and your fiance is content to make every little decision for you.

Of all your companions, at least Molly Brown tries to reach out with some gentle questions about the wedding. Cal fields all of them, he and your mother having planned everything to the very flowers of your bouquet.

Your ears begin to ring. Your mother over one shoulder, your fiance over the other. A hand touches yours lightly. It’s gloved but still warm. Molly’s Southern accent cuts through the rest of the conversation.

“You okay darling?”

You nod and beam brightly. “Of course, just excited for the wedding.”

It’s clearly not enough for her. Then an icy glare from the people either side of you reminds her of your precarious position.

“Well who wouldn’t be? It all sounds so beautiful!”

You power through dinner, Cal ordered the beef for you both, though you would rather have eaten dirt.

He kisses your gloved hand as the men retire to the smoking room. Molly rubs your shoulder gently as she bids you goodbye. 

Your mother hisses at you for acting up. You simply smile apologetically and ask to get some fresh air. She waves you off with an angry “I’ll see you later.”

Thankfully, no one else is on deck as you sprint across the wood. Your chest is heaving with panicked breaths and barely concealed sobs. The theatrics catch the attention of a man laying on a bench staring up at the stars.

You crash into the rail at the stern of the ship and hastily climb over. Your breath gets stuck in your throat as the wind brushes past your face, cooling the tears on your cheeks.

The skin over your knuckles stretches as you cling to the only tether you have left. The water looks cold but so inviting.

Then a voice. It’s quiet and gentle, but it nearly startles you into letting go. 

“Easy, easy, didn’t mean to scare you.” He approaches, palms up in surrender.

“Go away.” You’re beyond embarrassed to have someone witness your breakdown. Your consideration of the unthinkable.

“Well that I’m not gonna do.” He creeps closer like you’re a wounded animal. It’s perhaps a cliche, but you imagine that’s what you are. Hunted for your beauty and trapped in the snare of a loveless marriage.

“You should leave. If you know what’s good for you.” You wish your voice sounds stronger. The creaking of your throat doesn’t make you sound very intimidating.

He just sighs and sits down on the deck. He begins to… remove his shoes? You frown and look over your shoulder as much as you can.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re going down there,” he nods to the water below you, “I’m coming after you. And these are a new pair. Can’t get ‘em all soggy.”

You begin to laugh, a little hysterically. “That water’s freezing. There’s no way you’ll jump after me.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.” He stands up and begins to remove his jacket. Your face grows serious once more. His shoulders are broad, he must be a steel worker or something. But his face is too pretty for that kind of work. “You know a fall from this height into water, it’s like hitting pavement. Then you add the freezing water and-“ he hissed through his teeth.

You take another look, it is a very long way down. How did you not notice that before? A few moments of contemplative silence pass and the broad shouldered man moves closer.

You look over your shoulder at him. “You ever feel alone? Like truly alone in the world.”

He frowns sympathetically, “Can’t say I have, ma’am.”

You smile sadly. “That’s good.” Your hands begin to loosen their grip. 

His voice now sounds like it’s right next to you, but you can’t bring yourself to look. “Maybe you should come back over this rail and tell me all about it. Maybe I can help you.”

A sad little smile appears on your face. “I wish you could.” 

Then warmth wraps around your wrist. The man’s hands are calloused but much softer than you expected. 

“You never know if you don’t try.” He’s practically begging, anxiously waiting for your response.

You turn your head to look at him, tears threatening to choke you. You realise just who this man is. “Okay.”

He wraps a gentle but firm arm around your waist and helps you pull yourself back over the rail. When you finally set your heeled feet on the deck, your body feels like it’s going to collapse. The man leads you to a bench and wraps his jacket tight around you.

“I’m Gale by the way, Gale Cleven.”

You introduce yourself, still feeling rather defeated.

“Now tell me about what happened just now.” The words imply an interrogation, but looking into those baby blues you see… concern. What is with the people on this boat?

You’ll know them for only about a week and yet they’re the only ones in your life who seem to actually care for you.

“I know what you must be thinking.” You sigh, “Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?”

Gale leans his head forward to make eye contact, “Not at all. What I’m thinking is what could have happened to this girl to make her think she has no way out?”

You flash the giant ring on your finger, “I’m getting married next month.”

He jokes, “Wow! You would have gone straight to the bottom.” 

But you can’t laugh, you just stare at it. “All of Boston society will be there. 500 invitations.”

You finally look at his face, counting his freckles subconsciously, “Sometimes I feel like I'm standing in the middle of a crowded room, screaming at the top of my lungs and no one even looks up.”

He frowns and you’re hit with a sudden wave of shame. “Thank you for your help, Gale.” You take his jacket off hastily and drop it in his lap.

“Wait-” He tries to process the abrupt end to your conversation but you’re already halfway down the deck, surreptitiously wiping away tears.

The next morning, you beg your mother to let you have some space and fresh air. Really, you want to find the handsome blond from the night before. To apologise and to assure him that you will be just fine.

It’s not difficult to spot his incredibly handsome profile. He’s hunched over a sketchbook, head bobbing as he looks to his reference then back down. Trying to follow his eyeline, you see a sweet looking older man dancing with his little daughter. She stands on his feet as they sway to nothing in particular.

You approach carefully, worried you’d break the warm quiet, or disturb the family’s moment. You decide to just sit next to Gale. He tilts his head in acknowledgment but continues his work.

“I wanted to apologise for my behaviour last night,” you begin, “it was inappropriate for a woman of my station.”

He gives a little half-smile and looks up at you. His stare is like looking into the sun. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. And I felt honoured you trusted me enough to share your pain.”

Your face warms, you’re not sure if it’s shame or those baby blues trained on yours. The girl and her dad are still dancing, but he’s picked her up. Her curls swish around as he twirls them and her giggles almost bring a tear to your eye. You can’t remember the last time your parents showed you any affection, let alone danced with you just to make you laugh. 

Gale clears his throat and holds his sketchbook out. His work is incredible. Not only is his technical work beautiful but he’s captured the loving glint in the father’s eyes and the little girl’s missing tooth. You can’t help your beaming smile.

“This is incredible work! You should be proud. Is this what you plan to do back in the States?” You brush a gentle finger over the drawing’s finer details.

He blushes and shakes his head, “I’m going back to my tiny hometown to see my family. Where I go from there, I don’t know.”

“You have a real talent here, Gale! You should explore this.” You hand the drawing back to him.

His plush lips part like he wants to respond, but you’re interrupted. The sweet little girl taps your shoulder, her tiny hand covered in freckles. She introduces herself as Niamh, and asks if you’re some kind of fairy. You frown, confused, but hear Gale chuckle behind you.

“She absolutely is, Miss Niamh.” When you turn your head to look at him, he winks. You look back at Niamh and smile.

“He’s right, I am a fairy! And I have a gift for you, little one.” You pull out one of the many pins in your hair, a bejewelled butterfly on the end. You hold it out to her; she seems hesitant to take it.

Niamh looks back at her dad who nods in her direction. She takes the pin and gives it a little kiss, “I promise, I’ll take care of it.” She runs back to her dad, giggling.

“I gotta go soon,” Gale’s voice draws you back to your previous conversation. “It’s almost lunchtime, but I wanted to ask.” He closes his sketchbook and faces you head on. “You ever been to a party?”

You had assumed when Gale asked you about a party there would be drinking and music, but nothing to this level.

The small parlour is packed to the brim with warm bodies and free-flowing drinks. Gale is up on a makeshift stage dancing with a cat in one arm and Niamh on the other. You remember his two brunet friends from yesterday and search for their faces, hopefully one of them will remember you.

One is preparing to arm wrestle a big bald man while the other claps him on the shoulder for support. A pregnant woman stands behind them, arms folded and a big grin on her face. You make your way through everyone, feeling very overdressed. By the time you reach them, the arm wrestling match is done and everyone cheers for “Curt”. By the big smile on his face, you assume Curt is one of Gale’s friends.

You can’t quite find a way to interject yourself into the celebrations so you find yourself leaning against the wall awkwardly. Gale finally notices you and tries to wave, only he has no hands free. So he quickly gestures to his friends.

“Hey!” The taller brunet shouts, holding his arms out for a hug. You shake your head, not quite there in your acquaintanceship with him. Instead the pregnant woman wraps her arms around him instead. “You’re the dame who Buck can’t stop talking about.”

“Buck?” You look over his shoulder at Gale whose attention is divided between you and Niamh. “Oh Gale!” Your face heats up, “I hope he’s been kind.”

Curt butts in, “Darling you’ve got nothing to worry about, the man is already picking out a ring for ya.”

The tall brunet holds his hand out to shake yours, introducing himself as John, “But my friends call me Bucky.” He also introduces the woman under his arm as Angel. She gives you her real name but says she prefers the nickname.

Curt gives you an official introduction, and Gale peels himself away from Niamh and the cat long enough to come join you all.

“I’m glad to see you here, sweetheart.” Gale smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulder. You lose yourself in his eyes again.

“Glad to be here.” Your voice is breathy, but for once you’re saying what you truly mean.

The night is long and restless, you drink and you dance and you laugh and you dream. This is the life you’d sorely missed, friends, fun, and blossoming love.

The night winds down, Curt has passed out on a bench near the makeshift stage. There’s only one fiddle player left, the rest of his musician family gone to bed. Niamh is asleep in her dad’s arms while her mother dances around them.

Bucky and Angel dance together, looking more in love than anyone you’ve ever seen. He whispers sweet nothings in a low tone just to see her blush. Gale clears his throat next to you and you snap your eyes towards him. He holds his large hand out, inviting you to dance. As you join him, slow dancing next to your new friends, you wonder. Maybe you can learn to love Gale like Angel loves her Bucky.

It’s late when you return to your room. A familiar face greets you. Cal sits on his reading chair with a whiskey in one hand and your massive blue diamond necklace in the other.

“Where were you?” He doesn’t look at you, only the necklace.

“Out.”

“And what, precisely, does that mean?”

“I… was with friends.” 

“Is that why you smell like a brewery?”

You roll your eyes, but choose just the wrong time to do as his eyes shift to you.

His voice is dark and angry, and your palms begin to sweat. “You are my fiance, and you are to be my wife. You will wear this gift at all times and you will not leave my side without my express permission. In fact, I’ve come to an agreement with your mother.” He stands, looming over you. “You will stay in this room and share this bed with me.”

Your eyes widen, “That would be inappropriate, we’re unmarried.”

“You are still mine.” He clasps the necklace around your throat once more.

[juniperss]

“First Steps First” Jessamine ‘Lark’ Waterson (OC) x Neil ‘Chick’ Harding

A/N: so I’ve really been wanting to write something for Jessamine and Chick for a while but was super anxious and self conscious about it for a couple of reasons. The first being that I don’t write much fanfiction anymore and the second is because I’m not wholly convinced I nail the atmosphere of period shows/movies. But this idea just wouldn’t leave my head so I’m biting the bullet and swallowing my doubts!

This fic takes place in episode 4 during Dye’s celebration party (I can’t get over Harding saying “single fillies”, okay?) and inspired by the song “First Steps First” from the musical Bandstand. The song they dance to is “It’s Been a Long Time” and I don’t care that this version came out in 1945, it’s my favorite LOL

also hey autocorrect pls stop changing Chick to Chuck, thanks

Word count: 1,730 words (😧)

Warnings: none, other than the fact I don’t know how the military works so please ignore inaccuracies🤡😂 this is about the FICTIONAL version of Col. Harding

I saw that you said it was okay to tag you in OC stuff @rosies-riveters, so I hope this is alright and that you enjoy!

“Pardon my brashness, dear

Seeing you standing here

Dancing's more customary

For a soirée."

As much as Jessamine Waterson took pride in her work as a nurse on the Thorpe Abbots base there was no denying the fact that it was grueling, emotionally draining and often went without the accolades that came with other roles in the war. And while most days she was just fine with that, today had been particularly tiresome and Jessamine was glad for the change of pace the evening’s festivities allowed. The anxious energy that had gripped every person on the airbase had been exchanged for easy laughter, jokes, and celebration. After all, it wasn’t every day a pilot and crew successfully flew 25 missions. 

As she sat with Beth and Ginny, an American nurse and mechanic respectively, who had become two of her fastest friends, listening idly to them chat about the dances they’d returned from moments ago, it took much of Jessamine’s will to avoid allowing her gaze to linger for too long on the man who had just entered the room. She had spent months chiding herself for the way her heart started racing at the mere thought of Colonel Harding being so near and despite the effort she put into acting completely normal on the instances their paths crossed, she feared her feelings were all too transparent. 

 It was inconvenient to have a crush during war and even more inconvenient that it was on a man who was not only a good handful of years older than she was, but compounded by the fact that he was an American soldier. An American soldier who was dashingly handsome and confident, who had just looked in her direction and caught her staring. Jessamine busied herself with the drink in front of her trying to ignore the heat burning in her ears.

 “Oh well that was just adorable.” 

Beth’s voice with it’s charming southern accent was usually a source of soothing reassurance and good advice, was now riddled with mischief and good natured humor now that the two women’s attention was focused on their friend. “You know there’s no shame in a little flirting, a little conversation. Why don’t you go ask him to dance?”

Ginny nodded in agreement, leaning across the table, “It’s not like you’ve never spoken to him before,” before turning conspiratorially to Beth, “remember how she gave him pain medication for his headache that one time.” 

Jessamine’s hands came up to cover her face, the full weight of her body resting on her elbows as she suppressed a groan and a laugh. Of course the two of them remembered the  first time she had met the Colonel; a simple exchange of names and him asking for something for a headache. Jessamine, partly sleep deprived and partly fighting off the butterflies in her stomach fumbling with the bottle before spilling a handful of pills across the floor of the nurses station.

It certainly wasn’t necessarily the most romantic or charming first meeting on her part, but Col. Harding had only smiled before kneeling and helping her gather the runaways. There had been a quip about how she could’ve just said no that resulted in flustered laughter from her and another grin from him. And her friends hadn’t let her live it down since she confided about it to them the following day over breakfast. 

“I’m surprised he said anything to me after that.” Jessamine admitted and revealed her face to her friends. Though there had been more interactions with the Colonel after that, they remained confined to mostly professional settings save for a few pleasantries while off duty. “And to answer your question, Beth, I’m certainly not going to bother him and ask for a dance!” 

Ginny rolled her brown eyes and tossed her head back in a sign of exasperation, looking up to the ceiling pantomiming someone experiencing a great tragedy which in turn caused another round of laughter at the table. “Well, if he asked you to dance, would you say yes?” Beth finally asked.  This time all the hints of teasing had left her friend’s tone and there was nothing but curiosity and sincerity. 

Jessamine nodded slowly, allowing the fantasy to tease at the corner of her mind just for a moment but unable to answer because just as she parted her lips to reply another voice cut in. 

“Excuse me, ladies.” Colonel Harding’s voice sent a rush of heat through Jessamine’s body and she felt her posture straighten. She pried her eyes off of Beth to glance up, up, up at the tall soldier now standing beside their table and found that, despite him addressing them all, he was looking determinedly at her alone. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I was wondering if I could steal Miss Waterson for a dance.”

“You’re not interrupting at all, sir.” Ginny chimed in, eyes flitting from the Colonel to Jessamine, “In fact, we were just talking about how much Jessamine was wanting to dance.”

Oh, that Ginny was going to get stern talking to later, Jessamine promised herself, but at that moment she was already standing. Hardings’ hand reached out and enveloped hers as he guided her to the dance floor. 

"Isn't the band sublime?

And as it happens I'm

Just in the mood to do

A two-step, Do step

Out on the floor with me.”

The two of them found a place surrounded by three or four other couples just as the band changed from the upbeat, two step to a slower tune that made Jessamine’s heart pitter faster. If Harding felt any nervousness at the now much more intimate situation the change of song put the two of them in, he didn’t show it. Instead he wrapped an arm around her waist with the ease and confidence of a man who knew what he was doing. Her breath hitching just slightly before she felt him placing the flat of his hand lightly, respectfully against her back. 

Every nerve was firing at once, each hair on her arms standing on end, she was sure of it as her mind raced. She was trying to remember just how one slow danced fighting through the nervousness, when she felt the firmness of her foot under her own. 

“I’m so sorry, colonel.” The apology came out high pitched and squeaky and with the attempt to pull away from the man in front of her. But Harding kept his gentle grip and shook his head.

 “It’s not the first time someone’s stomped on my foot. At least this time it wasn’t on purpose. And Neil is fine, or Chick if you think Neil is too familiar.” 

There he goes again, Jessamine thought, being so effortlessly charming and saving me from my own awkwardness. Sometime in the desperate squeak of an apology she had been repositioned to properly be dancing. One soft hand held in his much larger one, the other placed on his shoulder, and her face precariously close to his as she found herself peering up at him. The rhythm was easy to find with Neil leading and the familiar trumpet crooning at the stage and Jessamine had to fight to keep her eyes from closing. 

“Might you be charmingly coerced

No need to be so shy

Take reassurance, I

Know how to guide you through

The worst steps, first steps first

 “It’s not too late to admit you picked the wrong dancing partner.” Jessamine finally found her voice and the confidence to add just a bit of a teasing tone to it, a smile itching at the corner of her lips. Her cheek had come to rest just slightly against his shoulder as they swayed to the music and as a result her voice was slightly muffled by the material of his dress shirt.

 “You’re selling yourself short. It’s been at least a minute since we’ve had another incident. You’re a natural.” Each time he spoke she could feel the rumbling of his chest against hers and her head felt dizzy with the warmth and solidity of him. 

“And I’m certainly not going to say that after I finally got up the guts to come ask you for a dance in the first place.” Neil’s confession took Jessamine by surprise and she pulled back to look him in the eyes searching for any signs of jest but only finding an intensity that sent her stomach exploding into a storm of butterflies. 

“You...you had to work up the courage to ask me?” The image of Colonel Neil Harding having to work up the nerve to ask anything of Jessamine was too comical to be taken seriously but there was no denying the truth behind his statement. “You’re a beautiful woman, Jessamine. And smart and successful. Hell, you’d have every reason to reject a dance from an old colonel like me.” 

This was almost too much for Jessamine to take and she struggled to wrap her mind around his confession. All she could do was blink dazedly up at him as her cheeks flushed bright red. A smile broke out across Neil’s face and he laughed, arm tightening around her waist for a moment. “I hope that wasn’t too out of line and that I haven’t just read this entire interaction incorrectly. But your friends made it pretty clear to me earlier that you felt the same about me.” 

Oh…oh…oh it was all coming together now.

Jessamine couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up from her chest and she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. His own rumbling laugh was mixing with hers and soon Jessamine had relaxed with the words of his confession replaying in her mind. The song faded and another slow ballad picked began, nothing but their breathing and the shuffling of shoes on the floor mixing with the music to fill the space between them.  “So,” Neil murmured, dragging Jessamine’s attention to his face once again, “you do feel the same?” 

This time, Jessamine didn’t shy away from the intense and earnest way he was looking at her. Instead she lifted herself up on the tip of her toes just enough to bring her lips to his cheek. 

 She would have words with Ginny and Beth about this. But later…after another dance. 

Yes, after another dance with Neil.

[bloodynereid]

Melted Gold

pairing: marjorie 'marge' spencer x fem! reader

tw: period typical homophobia (mostly just internalised but it's there unfortunately), slight angst, mention of gale, mentions of kissing, fluff, emotional cheating???

description: two women meet on a sunny afternoon in a bookstore.

a/n: today i give you ww2 lesbians!! i literally adore marge sm, she's my wife even if she only got like 5 minutes of screen time which was honestly such a shame. anyways hope you enjoy even though i literally made up marge's entire personality at this point. ALSO isabel may is so so beautiful. OH and this is in no way about the real people just the silly little fictionalised versions of them <333

i am deceased, look at herrrr

The world was warm and bright with the sun pouring in through the windows of the bookstore you were visiting. Life felt serene and calm while you were surrounded by books. You had allowed yourself the luxury of buying a single book with the wages you had gotten from the waitressing job, even if you should probably be saving it for something.

But now it seemed like an impossible decision, there was a pile of four books in your arms and yet you were still looking at the shelves. Then you saw it… a beautiful edition of the Jane Austen book you had been meaning to read for quite a while.

The moment your fingers started to graze the spine someone bumped into your side.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.” A woman's voice greeted you as a hand grabbed hold of your arm to steady you.

“It’s totally fine, no harm done.” You said with a smile as you met the woman’s brown eyes. She was beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. And then you stopped that thought process short, she probably had a husband or something and was most definitely straight. There was absolutely no chance there.

“I’m Marge.” The blonde said, smiling as she retracted her hand from your arm. Instantly you missed the solid weight of her hand but gave her your name with a smile.

“I’m glad I didn’t totally bump into you, those books might not have survived the fall.” You laughed in response and looked down at the four rather large books in your hand.

“I think they might have drowned me actually.”

“Are you going to buy all of those or…” Marge said with a laugh as you smiled at her, trying not to look too enthralled by her presence.

“Oh no, I do not have enough money for that, or enough time. I’m trying to choose between them.”

“Ah, I have the same problem.” Marge said as she pulled out two books from her shopping bag and shrugged her shoulders.

“We should start a book club at this rate.” You said before internally recoiling, well there goes your chance at even becoming friends with her, shit.

“Oh I would love that! I just moved here and it’s hard to meet people.” Marge’s face instantly brightened and it felt like her smile just made all the thoughts in your brain disappear.

“I- That would be wonderful. And don’t worry, I’ve lived here for quite a while and I still have a hard time making friends.”

“I’m glad I bumped into you then!” You smiled and then went to pull out the hardcover copy of Emma from the book shelf.

“How about we start with this? There’s two copies here anyways.”

“Oh! Jane Austen! This is absolutely perfect. One moment, let me just-” You watched as Marge rustled around in her purse for a moment and pulled out a pencil and a small pad of paper. “Here.” Marge said as she offered you the piece of paper after a few moments of scribbling. You took it, only to find that a telephone number was written on it with a little heart next to it, which instantly made butterflies appear in your stomach.

“Perfect! I’ll call you after my shift tonight?”

“Sounds great, better not lose that then.”

“Cross my heart.”

Marge felt anxious, which was a peculiar feeling to be having all because of some girl. You weren’t some girl though… Marge internally berated herself for even thinking what she was starting to think. You were so beautiful and it felt like fate to bump into you but who was she kidding? There was absolutely no way that anyone like you would be interested in her! Anyways she had Gale.

Gale… Marge proceeded to start biting her nails as her knee anxiously bounced up and down. The newspaper in her lap long abandoned as she retreated into the corners of her daydreams. Marge had never felt this anxious over a man, not even Gale. She was always able to just talk to him, she never felt all that flustered around him. Not like how she felt when she bumped into you at the bookstore.

She started straying into her thoughts of how the light came in just right to make you seem like an angel earlier that day when the phone rang. The sharp sound quickly drew her out of her frenzied mind and she quickly stood up, letting the newspaper fall messily onto the ground as she quite literally flew to the telephone.

“Hello, this is Marjorie speaking.”

“Marge? Hi! We met at the bookstore earlier today, I was wondering if you might want to meet tomorrow? I know this little cafe near the diner and I could- I’m rambling aren’t I? Please feel free to talk at any time.” Marge’s face quickly erupted in a giggle as she listened to you talk, she could feel the skin of her face quickly dusting with blush.

“That sounds absolutely divine. When would you like me to meet you?”

“Would around 3pm work?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great. Uh well I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Actually! If you don’t mind talking for a little longer… I’m not exactly doing much at the moment.” Marge heard what resembled a squeak down the line that had the smile on her face widening even more as she eagerly awaited your response.

“I- I would love that. I don’t really have any plans at the moment.”

“What, no loverboy?” Marge was genuinely asking to be polite, at least that is what she told herself as she internally prayed that you were single.

“Oh God no! I wouldn’t be caught dead.” You said laughing over the line, you sounded just like melted gold Marge thought as she felt a burst of instant relief.

You tapped your foot against the edge of the table and then gingerly picked up the white mug. Blowing off the steam of the hot coffee, you carefully took a sip and let the pure energy go down your throat. You needed it after staying up far too late talking to Marge. Oh Marge…

Still in a slight state of disbelief you thumbed the pages of Emma and traced over certain words. Making up a little poem in your head as you waited for your date to arrive. Well, not a date date. You were just waiting for a friend, you told yourself as you took another sip of coffee.

Looking up for a moment you spotted Marge’s blonde curls as she quickly walked over to one of the post boxes in front of the cafe and then crouched to push a letter in. You tilted your head as you watched her hesitate for a few moments before nodding slightly and letting the letter fall into place.

You took another delicate sip of coffee and blatantly stared as the beautiful woman you now could call a friend walked into the cafe. She was obviously looking for you and she stood unsure for a few moments, scanning the faces of the patrons before her eyes finally landed on you.

You waved and quickly motioned over to the little table you had saved. Smiling as she sat down, Marge quickly pulled out her copy of Emma and placed it next to yours on the table.

“So what do you want to drink? I would have gotten you something but-”

“Anything is fine, darling. What are you drinking?”

“Just black coffee.”

“Then that should be fine for me.”

“Great.” You started to stand up but suddenly felt the lightest brushing of Marge’s fingers on your wrist, you quickly tried to suppress the smile on your lips as you looked down at the blonde. Only to find she was already staring at you with something in her eyes. An emotion you couldn’t really place but made you feel all floaty.

“Marge?” You whisper her name out as a question and she only cryptically smiled up at you.

“You have such a pretty smile, any person must be delighted to kiss you.” You felt your jaw drop as she whispered those sinful little words out so no one could hear her over the din of other conversations.

“And who do you have in mind?”

“Oh I think you know.”

we need more marge fics !!! also some random details: marge's letter that she sends at the end is actually her letter to gale telling him that she's breaking up with him! also gale and bucky are 100% dating and he's actually kind of glad that she broke up with him - they stay friends tho and everyone lives happily ever after <3 let me know what you thinkkkk

[sagesolsticewrites]

Kiss Me Once Again

Rosie takes you to his apartment for a proper date night away from his family.

Warnings: language, mature content (fingering, oral (m & f receiving), protected PinV penetration) (18+ MINORS DNI)

Word count: 3.4k 

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.

Masterlist | Read part 1 here! | Read part 2 here!

“Y/N, he’s here!” Jeanie calls through your bedroom door.

“Coming!” You call back, wincing as you nearly stab yourself trying to get your earring in.

The small pearl now securely fastened, you step back to take in your appearance in the mirror, scanning for any glaring issues.

Finding none— your favorite blue dress is wrinkle-free, your hair curled to perfection— you walk out into the living room, the click-clack of your kitten heels announcing your approach.

Rosie stops mid sentence as you enter, eyes wide.

“Wow, sweetheart,” he says softly, scanning you up and down as a smile stretches across his face, “You look gorgeous.”

You feel a flush spread across your cheeks at the compliment.

“Thank you, Robbie.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay for dinner, honey?” His mother asks from the kitchen.

“Ma, I’ve been over for dinner every day this week,” Rosie calls good-naturedly, throwing an arm over your shoulders to pull you close, “I haven’t gotten a chance to have a date night with my girl yet.”

“Well, if you need anything— especially for dinner— you know I’m right down the hall,” she reminds him, wiping her hands on her apron as she joins your little group in the living room. She meets your eyes for a moment, a teasing lilt to her voice as she adds “Goodness knows what passes for food in that bachelor pad of yours.”

“I do have food, Ma! Please, I’m a grown man,” he laughs.

“Alright, alright,” his mother says, throwing her hands up in surrender, “You two have fun, okay?”

“Not too much fun!” Jeanie singsongs from the couch.

“Bye Ma, bye Jeanie!” Rosie says, sticking his tongue out at his sister when Mrs. Rosenthal’s back is turned, grinning at you as he sees you try to hide your giggle.

Rosie guides you down the hall to his own apartment, unlocking the door as he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“It’s not much, but…”

He trails off awkwardly as you enter, scanning over the fairly spacious, well-furnished apartment.

“It’s gorgeous, Robbie,” you gush, turning to take in every corner as he closes the door behind him.

You had never been in his apartment before. He had moved during law school and your own life had kept you so busy that time alone at his apartment was out of the question, never mind that your father and brother firmly disallowed it. Then came the Pearl Harbor attack, and your family and Robbie were off to enlist, and his apartment had just… sat here.

He grins, pretty blue eyes crinkling at the corners, “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, letting you take it all in before guiding you over to the kitchen. He throws on a record as the two of you start on dinner, but he swiftly drags you away from where you’re chopping vegetables to twirl you around the kitchen, breathless laughter filling the room as he spins you around in his arms.

What was supposed to be a quick meatloaf turns into an hour of dancing with occasional breaks to cook… and then you end up having to start all over after it ends up burnt.

“Don’t tell Ma,” Rosie pleads as he sheepishly dumps it into the trash, “I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you giggle, pecking his lips as you rummage through his fridge. Luckily, he’d bought far too much for just one meal.

The second attempt goes far better— still plenty of dancing around the kitchen, but you remember to set a timer this time.

Rosie cheers as you pull out the finished meatloaf, helping you plate it and settling on the couch.

You give him a funny look even as you sit next to him, eyes darting from the perfectly good dining table to the couch the two of you are currently sitting on.

“What?” He says, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, “I got used to having you next to me,” referencing your usual seats at Mrs. Rosenthal’s table.

You shake your head, laughing as you lean into him, soft jazz filling the room alongside your soft conversation.

Soon dinner is done— dessert, too— and the two of you have returned to your positions cuddled up on the couch in the living room.

You’re in the middle of a story about one of your coworkers when the familiar feeling of Rosie’s fingers tracing lightly over your thigh makes you pause.

“Well?” He prompts, bright blue eyes wide and curious.

“W-What?”

His brow furrows.

“What happened next?” He asks, the genuine interest in his tone laced with a teasing lilt, “Did she get in trouble?”

“I-I, um…”

He looks at you expectantly, fingers still tracing patterns over your dress.

You eventually remember how to speak.

“She, uh, got a verbal reprimand from our supervisor, but for now she still has a job—”

As you speak, his fingers move under your dress to the inside of your thigh, stopping when you stop talking.

Oh. So that’s what this was.

Cheeky bastard.

“Robbie, please,” you whine softly, attempting to squirm against his fingers.

You stop at the look he gives you however, before it fades into an innocent grin.

“Please what, honey? I’m not doing anything.” He purrs.

You groan internally, begrudgingly continuing to tell him how your coworker was stuck working in the coat check until she could be trusted not to flirt with the customers, if it would only get him to touch you faster.

“— and then her b-boyfriend stopped by— oh, Robbie,” you moan as his fingers finally begin tracing gently over your underwear.

He freezes, and your fingers dig into the cushion you’re sitting on, desperation clouding your mind. If he would just touch you—

“Finish. The story.”

Resisting the urge to buck up into his hand, you haltingly continue the story— her boyfriend walked in and flipped out that his girl was working coat check and didn’t they know who he was, how dare they, etcetera etcetera, concluding with having to break the news that she was flirting regularly with customers and him unceremoniously breaking up with her on the spot— your voice getting faster and more desperate as he circles his fingers around you over your underwear.

“Wait, he broke up with her right there in front of everyone?” He asks, pausing momentarily.

His name escapes your mouth in a half-sob, half-groan. You did what he asked, why wouldn’t he just—

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry,” he says, gently pushing your underwear aside to drag his fingertips through your folds, “That better?”

You only just manage a nod, wriggling as you try to get closer to him, to get his fingers deeper.

His touch remains frustratingly light, however, and he tuts, pulling away slightly.

“Be patient, honey,” he murmurs, brushing a light kiss to your lips, “Lemme take my time. I didn’t get to last time, did I?”

Heat floods your cheeks at the memory of your midnight rendezvous the day he returned home, of trying desperately to be quick and quiet so as not to disturb his family sleeping just down the hall.

But now…

Now his family was in the apartment at the other end of the hall. Well out of earshot.

Rosie grins as he sees the realization dawn on you.

“Now will you be good for me, honey?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his fingers returning to drag teasingly through your folds. You whimper, but try to keep from squirming as best you can, the way his tongue slips into your mouth proving a welcome distraction.

He pulls away slightly, just enough that your noses brush as his darkened blue eyes meet your gaze. You’re about to lean in to connect your lips once more when he slowly slips a finger inside you.

“Rosie—” you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as he pumps slowly in and out of you before adding a second finger.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

All you can manage is a nod, feeling yourself melt as he quickens his pace.

“You don’t have to be quiet here, remember?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your jaw as his thumb drags along where you’ve clamped down on your bottom lip to stifle your moans, “C’mon, honey, lemme hear my girl—”

His fingers brush a soft, spongy spot inside you as his thumb brushes against your clit, and suddenly you’re coming all over his hand with a cry.

Rosie swears softly, eyes wide.

You flush, ready to stammer out an apology as you come down from your high, but Rosie looks utterly enraptured.

“I can’t wait,” he says lowly, gently pulling his soaked fingers out of you, “to see how many times I can make you do that.”

A thrill runs up your spine at his tone, watching rapt as he cleans his fingers of your release.

“I think,” he says after a moment, scanning you up and down, “that you are wearing entirely too many clothes, my love.”

He captures your lips once more, and you groan into his mouth, letting out a giggle as you feel him fumble slightly with the buttons of your dress.

“Need help?”

“Nah, I got it honey.” He murmurs breathlessly, managing to get one, two, three, buttons undone. “Makin’ me work for it, huh?” He chuckles against your lips.

“Well where’s the fun in just letting you take my clothes off?” You laugh, your giggles quickly smothered by his lips once more as he finally gets the last button undone.

You wriggle out of your dress, keeping your lips connected as it’s tossed to a corner of the couch. His hands wander over your bare skin, pulling away to rake his gaze over your body.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers grazing over the edge of your brassiere.

You let out a sigh as he brushes kisses along your jaw, moving down to mouth at the tender skin of your neck. You bury your fingers in his soft curls, Rosie groaning against you as your nails rake along his scalp.

He takes his time with your neck, kissing and sucking and nibbling until your skin is a watercolor of red and purple marks that you’ll need to take pains to hide for the next several days.

“Robbie,” you whine through the haze of pleasure fogging your mind; you can only imagine what your neck looks like after his handiwork, “There’s no way I have enough makeup to cover all this up—”

“I’ll buy you more,” he murmurs distractedly, and you quickly forget your worries as he begins sucking another dark spot onto your skin, his mustache brushing deliciously against the sensitive marks surrounding it.

Marks scattered over your neck and collarbone to his satisfaction, he migrates south, allowing his lips to skim over the tops of your breasts. He unhooks your bra with ease, tossing it over to join your dress in the corner as he drags his hands reverently over you.

A sigh escapes you, your eyes fluttering shut as he mouths over your breasts.

“You’re so soft,” he sighs against you. Butterflies stir to life in your belly at the feeling, breath hitching as your gazes meet as he takes your nipple into his mouth.

“Oh,” you gasp as his tongue swirls around you, his hand cupping your breast as he toys with your other nipple simultaneously, “Oh, Rosie—”

He hums against you before switching sides, making you tighten your grip on his curls at the feeling as he slowly works his way down your body.

You melt against the cushions as his mouth drags down your stomach, skimming along the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I, honey?” He murmurs against you, blue eyes blazing as he meets your gaze, “Wanna taste you, sweet girl.”

A broken moan escapes you, brushing back a stray curl from Rosie’s forehead as you nod frantically.

But he doesn’t move, just keeps those fiery blue eyes locked on yours as he murmurs lowly, “Wanna hear you say it, honey.” Your mind turns to static as he drags his mouth over your underwear, a teasing glint in his eyes as he adds, “Say please.”

Even more heat pools between your thighs at his tone, a whimper escaping you as you ramble “Please, please Robbie, I want you, please—” 

With a groan, he rids you of your panties, licking an eager stripe up through your folds. Your hips make a valiant attempt to buck against him, but a hand splayed across your pelvis keeps you firmly in place as he buries his tongue inside you.

An obscene noise escapes you as his thumb comes up to gently circle your clit, fingers white-knuckling his curls. 

“Oh fuck, Robbie—”

He hums against you, the vibrations sending delicious shivers throughout your body.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart,” he groans softly, licking deep through your folds.

Your whines and gasps join the muffled groans and soft squelches filling the room as Rosie takes his time taking you apart with his tongue.

“Robbie,” you gasp softly, shakily, as the tension builds within you with each stroke of his tongue. “Robbie, ‘m gonna—”

A high-pitched whine escapes you as his thumb quickens its pace around your clit and you feel his lips moving rapidly against you, his voice barely audible from between your legs as filthy praise and encouragement spills from his mouth.

With a cry, you reach your second orgasm of the night, legs shaking as Rosie eagerly laps up your release with a groan.

Your heart stutters in your chest at the look he gives you from between your legs, eyes sparkling and mouth glistening.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, pretty girl,” he mumbles as he kisses his way back up your body. Your breath catches as he captures your lips with his once more, a shiver running through you at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

“Your turn, honey,” you murmur against his lips, and he has just a moment to pull back, looking confused, before you slowly begin unbuttoning his shirt.

His pretty eyes flutter shut as you scatter kisses down his jaw to his neck, his button down and undershirt joining the growing pile of clothes in the corner of the couch.

Your gaze and your hands drag down his body reverently, fingers tracing the silver chain draped around his neck, thumb running over his name stamped on the tags dangling in the middle of his chest.

Rosie still has a bit of a glazed look to his eyes from your ministrations to his neck— pretty purple marks scattered over his skin matching yours— but his gaze snaps down to meet yours as your fingers hook onto the chain and pull him towards you for a kiss.

His lips move greedily against yours, your hands wandering over his body as he hovers over you.

“Honey, I—” he gasps once you break for air, lips brushing yours, his mustache tickling the skin above your top lip. “Bedroom? Please?” He breathes, and you’re unable to hide your eager grin as you breathe a “Yes, please,” in reply.

He clambers off of you and pulls you down the hall to what must be his bedroom. You barely have time to take in the dark blue duvet draped over the bed, covering fluffy pillows, before his hands are gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him.

He dips to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, your hands drifting down his torso to fumble with his belt. You can feel him grinning into the kiss as you swiftly remove it, moving to press kisses down his neck, his chest, his breath hitching with each press of your lips going lower and lower.

He gasps your name as you kneel down, lips skimming along his waistband as you make quick work of his slacks.

“I— fuck, sweetheart, please—” He sighs, a groan escaping him as you palm him through his boxers.

“Be patient, Robbie,” you tease him with the words he’d used earlier, “I didn’t get to do this last time, did I?”

His only response is a soft curse as you brush a kiss through his boxers before freeing his length. A strangled moan escapes him as your thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathering the beads of moisture collected there before pumping up and down the length of him.

His pretty blue eyes flutter shut, his hand moving to stroke your hair as you press hot, open-mouthed kisses down his shaft, tongue swirling teasingly around his tip before taking him in, your hand pumping around what you can’t fit in your mouth.

His grip on your hair tightens, a strangled gasp falling from his lips as you take him deeper. His moans fill the room as you bob up and down, strained curses tumbling from his lips as you hum around him, looking up through your lashes at the way his head is thrown back, exposing his pretty neck covered with your marks.

“Fuck— shit, sweetheart, hold on,” he pants, tugging gently at your roots until you pull away, breathing heavily. “Almost got carried away and we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” he says breathlessly as he pulls you up to standing.

The moan that you let out at the heated look — the pure unfiltered want in his eyes — is stifled by his lips crashing to yours. He walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed, keeping your lips connected as he gently lays you down. He reluctantly breaks the kiss and takes the time to rummage in his nightstand for one of Douglass’s parting gifts, rolling the condom on before climbing to hover over you.

His hands trace reverently along the curves and lines of your body, a soft sigh leaving your lips at the feeling of his calloused fingers on your skin. Rosie pulls away to gaze into your eyes as he lines up at your entrance, your soft please all he needs to slowly press into you.

“Oh God, Robbie—” you moan at the stretch, his breath hitching as your nails dig into his skin.

He hisses out a curse at the feeling, slowly pulling out and thrusting back into you.

It takes him almost no time at all to find the rhythm you like, the one that has you desperately muffling your moans in his neck as he drives into you, that has his nails raking deliciously down his back.

“None of that, Y/N,” he pants, nudging you until you pull back from his neck, “I wanna hear you, honey, wanna hear every sound, c’mon.”

His hips snap determinedly against yours, drawing out a cry of his name as his darkened eyes meet yours, a groan escaping him at each loud moan you let out.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” he gasps, groaning at the feeling of you clenching around him, “Fuck you’re perfect, honey—”

Your whines reach a fever pitch as his thrusts speed up, and before you know it your orgasm is crashing over you like a tidal wave, Rosie’s name falling from your lips in a cry.

A soft curse escapes him at the ecstasy on your face, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he follows suit, spilling into the condom with a shaky moan.

Catching your breath, Rosie drops a sweet kiss to your nose as your eyes meet.

“Sweetheart,” he says breathlessly, “That was…”

“I know,” you giggle, reaching up to brush a curl out of his eyes as you continue softly, “It was perfect.”

His eyes scan over your face tenderly, leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss as he slowly pulls out of you, discreetly disposing of the condom in a nearby trash can.

“I’ll be right back sweetheart,” he says with a brush of his lips to your forehead as he slips out of the room, returning with a damp washcloth. He helps clean you up, brushing a kiss to your cheek in apology when you let out a soft hiss at the feeling of the cloth on your still-sensitive core, and soon he’s curling up in his bed, pulling you securely into his arms.

You feel yourself utterly melt into his touch, resting your head on his chest and smiling softly up at him as you fiddle with his dog tags.

“I love you, Robbie,” you whisper, brushing a kiss to his chest, right where his heart is.

He cups your face tenderly, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

It’s the last thing you hear before your heavy eyelids flutter shut, his heartbeat a soft lullaby as you drift off to sleep.

[gloryofroses19]

Because the Night

The atmosphere in the pub was already in full swing by the time Major Bucky Egan led his group to the table Tommy saved for them.

“Jesus, it’s like those paratroopers never seen a woman before.” Curt wiped his uniform jacket, “They took one look at [y/n] and it was like Niagra Falls.” 

Taking the seat Bucky held out for her, [y/n] thanked him as she sat. 

“I think Ol’ Faithful Geyser at Yosemite might be a better choice Curt.” Buck replied taking a seat across from Bucky. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever cowboy.” Looking at the expectant faces of Bucky and Buck, Curt sighed “Yes, Bucky I wouldn’t mind getting the drinks. Why thank you Buck, I am the kindest man in this bar.”  

Ignoring Curt and Buck, Bucky leaned in closer to [y/n] watching the paratrooper across the bar tense. “So, who is he?” 

Major Bucky Egan was not shocked that men looked at [y/n]. She was not only one of the few women around, but she was as pretty as a picture. And she knew it, hell it was on the reasons Bucky liked her. Her beauty caught his eye but her self assured nature drew him in. So while he didn’t love the looks men gave her in general, the look of recognition and remorse in this paratrooper in particular sent air raid sirens through his mind. 

Twisting her earring with a sigh, [y/n] met Bucky’s inquisitive gaze. “My ex.” 

Raising his eyebrows as if to ask for confirmation of what he just heard, [y/n] nodded to the brunette.  From across the table Major Buck Clevens sat up straight as he watched the growing opposing demeanor of the pair. One that spoke of apathy while the other spoke of interest in the topic. 

“Who we fightin’?” Dropping the drinks on the table, Curt rejoined the trio, “Bucky’s got that rabble rouser look on his face.”  

“The ginger at 12 o’clock doing a shitty job at secretly surveying [y/n].” Buck drawled watching Bucky attempt to catch the ginger’s eye. Major Gale Clevens knew John Egan well enough to know when he was looking for a fight. Gale had seen John protective over his friends and his men, so he could only imagine what he would be like over his unofficial girl.  

“No shit? Want me to fuck him up for you?” Turning around in his seat, Curt assessed the paratrooper and his friends. “There’s only four of them, we can easily take ‘em.” 

[y/n] leaned back in her chair contemplating the situation she found herself in. Before she had walked into the bar, her biggest concern was how she was going to keep Bucky from serenading her tonight. But walking in and seeing her ex’s face and John’s reaction threw that concern right out of the window. 

“While that is sweet of you Curt, no. It’s been two years, I’m long over him and if anyone should be scared, it should be him. I’m not the one who cheated.” Since their breakup, she hadn't put much thought into her ex or dating. And it certainly wasn’t because she was still in love with him. Rather the war broke out and she joined the WAC leaving her with little time or interest to date. Or that had been the case until Major John Egan swaggered his way onto Thorpe Abbotts base. 

“That fucker… makes me wanna punch him more now.” 

 “If it makes you feel better Curt, I broke his nose when I found him cheating.” 

“Atta girl.” Buck chuckled while sipping his ginger beer. He expected nothing less from the spitfire who stole his best friend’s heart. 

 “Didn’t you say you were getting harassing letters from an ex?” The arm that had been carelessly thrown over the back of her chair suddenly wrapped around [y/n]’s shoulder pulling closer to John. 

“I was exaggerating, John. It was just a letter!” Placing her hand over his, [y/n] squeezed his hand in a silent plea. “Please don’t do anything stupid...” Looking for Buck for support, [y/n] was however, met with the profile of the blonde major.

Bucky chuckled as he watched [y/n]’s attempt to deter him. While he and Gale Clevens may have been opposites, Buck was a true friend.  And true friends let other friends knock out the guy bothering his girl. “Won’t be considered anything stupid if it comes to you, sweetheart.” 

Between the protective glint in his eyes and baritone voice, [y/n]’s heart began hammering in her chest. Grounding herself in the contrast of his rough hands against her softer ones, she was reminded of who Major John Egan was. “Look if he comes this way then you can be my knight in shining armor but right now can we just go back to flirting and listening to Curt rewrite a story about how amazing his flying is?” 

Curt put hands up in defense. “Hey, I am amazing at flying and I don’t rewrite stories, I just…embellish them.” 

Hooking an arm around Curt’s neck, Buck tapped a fist against Curt’s chest. “Oh embellish, what a big word for you Curt.” 

Deciding that it had been far too long since he had her attention all to himself, John Egan tucked an escaped curl behind her ear before leaning in to whisper.  “…So you are flirting with me, Lieutenant? Keep that up and someone might think you like me.” 

The warmth of his body and the smell of his aftershave left her all but lightheaded. They had unofficially officially been an item since his second day at the base. When she decided to share her umbrella and laughter with the handsome hapless Major who lost the battle and a shoe to the English mud. 

“Oh the horror Bucky…” 

“Oh, calling me Bucky, you must really want me to do this for you.” Caressing her the inside of her wrist, John considered if tonight would be the night he could kiss her like he always wanted to. As a promise for it their last first kiss because the night belongs to lovers like them. 

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you don’t start a bar brawl.” [y/n] supplied in response watching the smile light up across his face, knowing she had opened a can of worms. But she couldn’t say she regretted it; Bucky Egan was the sun and she basked under his warmth.

“Oh, with a request like that how can I say no?… for now.” Sharing in her laughter, John placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. 

Sipping his whiskey, John turned back to the group and sought counsel on his new dilemma. “What do you think boys, handsome, the way to go? No, maybe I should go with pretty boy? No, too soft. Mhmm, how about my darling future husband? Now that has a nice ring to it!” 

A/N: I apparently have a thing for hand holding... I appreciate any and all feedback!

[millie-multifics]

Though I Yearn • Part 4

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: Love Letters, mentions of stalking and cheating.

Word Count: ~1k

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x x x

“Though we face a perilous fight in the sky, I am most afflicted by you when my feet are on solid ground. Try as I might to evade your presence, I am only a man plagued by my jealousy and affections.”

His knuckles cramped as he gripped the pen, the words pouring onto the page, this time his printing was messy less concise. It obviously hadn’t worked the first time, writing a letter to relieve his thoughts, they still overwhelmed him. He was sure no one else had noticed you had been acting strange lately, maybe your friend but none of the men you interacted with. There was a curiosity in your gaze, as if you were always trying to decipher if they were him. He had left his last letter on your pillow, nearly getting trapped in the cabin as your group returned to base, being in there felt wrong, he would find other ways to leave any future letters. The letter he currently wrote would never be met by your eyes at all.

He knew he was being foolish, he could not feel such jealousy while he hid himself behind paper and ink. Yet, there you were in the window, simple but ever so captivating and unknowingly fuelling the growing fire. The letter he had tucked in his jacket pocket in a rush now felt like it was burning the skin underneath. You were distracted by the coffee, he tucked the paper beneath the ledge without you or anyone else around noticing.

Another party was in full swing, their mission had been successful- they had lost only one plane but they had made it to Scotland for Curt and his crew to land safely. You sat in an armchair in the corner, once again alone. Half of your job was to converse and boost morale so sometimes it was nice to have a little serenity; the girl wouldn’t let you stay alone in the billet, you had tried that. You had not noticed that Major Cleven was seated in the armchair beside you until you heard him chuckling along to the boisterous, out of tune ‘singing’ of John Egan.

“How does does a stoic man like you befriend someone like Major Egan?” You genuinely questioned, their difference more apparent than any similarities besides both men were talented pilots and great leaders.

Cleven glanced over to you, never really having an interaction unless he was getting a coffee in the morning. “He didn’t really give me the choice.”

“He is very social, especially with women yet you sit here alone. Are you married?” You knew that you were potentially overstepping but your curiosity had bested you.

“Not yet.”

The small longing smile and his tone told that he was thinking of someone back home fondly. “So there is a lucky lady awaiting you back home?”

“Marge.” He handed you the small photograph that he kept in his breast pocket. You studied her beauty, clear skin, perfect curls and joyous smile.

“She’s real pretty Major.” You returned the photograph, “And lucky to have someone so dedicated to her. I’m betting you that most of these men dancing around here tonight all have unsuspecting sweethearts waiting for them at home.”

The Major nodded, his eyes meeting those of his approaching friend, “I am not a betting man.”

Egan occupied the empty armchair on the other side of Cleven, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, “Your bombardier is one of those men if I do recall.”

“Dougie and I are merely friends, sir.” You once again defended yourself, feeling less embarrassed and more adamant.

“No fella waiting at home?” Egan asked, having overheard your previous comments about the ever so lovely Marge.

“Not at home,” Suddenly the men’s gazes felt heavy on you, or maybe it was your heart in your chest that felt heavy. “I believe he’s across the continent now, and I am no longer his to consider.”

“Just means you can dance with any man here.” Egan shrugged it off, sensing the tenderness of the subject. “Say Brady, why don’t you take our girl for a spin around the floor?”

John Brady looked up with his wide eyes upon being volunteered.

“Oh, You don’t have to John, I am perfectly capable of finding my own dance partner.” You assured him but he was already tucking away his pipe but then you were interrupted by a frantic Douglass.

“Helen was telling me about some letters?” His voice was low but not quite a whisper, attracting the curiosity of the men around you.

“Please, excuse us.” You sent the group a tense smile before dragging the bombardier by his elbow into the quiet night air.

It seems like he’s trying to give you a stern look but it comes off more as concerned. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “They are just letters of admiration.”

“Are you positive about that?”

“Dougie, they’re just from some harmless airman who had nothing better to do.” You simply brushed off his concern over the matter.

“They are clearly depraved, watching you like that, taunting you.” He insisted, his voice lowering to a whisper as a small group approached to enter the hall. You led him further away from the entrance to keep anymore of your conversation away from prying ears.

“And when you were gonna tell me that you have a sweetheart at home?”

It was his turn to sigh, fidgeting uncomfortably at the topic. “That is complicated.”

He was not expecting your heel to harshly slam against his booted toe, pain exploding throughout his foot. “Ouch. What the hell was that for?”

“Stop being an idiot.”

“This isn’t about me, it is about these letters.”

“Which everyone knows about now, thanks to you.” Your voiced raised louder than you had heard it in months, your frustration with the situation reaching its limit. “Good night, Dougie.”

You left no room for the conversation to continue as you wandered off into the darkness. Your night had been ruined and no one could stop you from your serenity now.

x x x

Tags: @canyousmelltheflowers @jointherebellion215 @gretagerwigsmuse

[darasloves]

hi hi!! I come in search of requests for John Egan headcannons !! Also anything for Rosie please 😭 Please request anything and everything while I get started writing a new series <<33

[alienoresimagines]

Somebody please send me John Egan x Reader (no smut though) requests, that man has taken over my heart and I'm desperate 🥹

[barbeygirl]

No Drunk Talk

”You had meant it when you’d told him he was no good. He wasn’t the first partying type you had met. How cruel was it that they were always the most charming?”

words: 1080

the first half of this was written while walking home drunk lol

He was following you. 

The streets of London were quiet, or would be quiet, if it wasn’t for the drunk troublemakers roaming the street. You kept walking on the wet pavement, paying them no mind, and determined to make it to the tube. The tiredness wasn’t physical, per say, you were just wishing the night would already be over.

”Don’t be like that, doll,” The one particularly persistent troublemaker called after you, ”I’ll make it up to you. What ever it is.”

How was he still keeping up with you? You didn’t want to look back, to accidentally encourage him. The station wasn’t a long way from the pub. 

He called you by your name. You scoffed and kept walking, your heels echoing off the buildings around you. The streets were dark, and thanks to the blackout curtains on the windows, no light made it to the streets from the homes above either. He repeated himself and you could hear his steps increase to a loose jog. 

”What’s wrong, huh?” He said and tapped you between your shoulder blades. 

John’s smile was infuriating. It made you almost want to slap him. So aloof, always so unserious, so…him. 

”Go away, John,” you told him, unsure if you truly fully meant it or not. He was grinding your gears, you knew that much, and seeing him again had reminded you of that. 

”Why, doll…why?” he was walking right on your tail, his voice a loud whisper. ”Why be like this? It’s a beautiful night in London. Why not enjoy it?”

”You’re no good, John. Now go.”

You heard his footsteps quiet down behind you, and looking back, you could almost imagine an offended expression on his alcohol numbed features, but it was just the darkness messing with your eyes. 

Your steps slowed to a stop. He seemed done chasing you down now. You shook your head as you both stood still, unable to decide which one of you was being more difficult. ”If you want to talk, John, do it sober.”

He thought about it, standing still. ”You're not sober yourself,” he had found his grin again. God, you couldn’t stand him. You faced forwards and kept walking. 

John let you get two dark street lamps away, before running to catch up with you again. ”Where’s your flashlight?” He asked you and dug through his pockets, finding a small light to point at the ground. 

”I can see just fine,” you sighed, but you were silently grateful for the small light following next to you, ”I left in a hurry and couldn’t find the thing.”

It was quiet for a moment. The air was so humid, you knew you’d have to set your hair all over again before you could go to bed. 

His steps next to you were slow and his shoulders moved with a relaxed rhythm as he followed in your pace. 

”You shouldn’t walk by yourself, you know? The blackout-”

”John…” You interrupted his lecture. You knew just the same how the shielding darkness of the blackout had resulted in an uptick in crime. And he was the last person who you wanted to tell you about acting wisely. Even when you were a drunk woman walking home, alone in the pitch black. 

”I won’t talk, got it,” He glanced down at his shoes quickly before looking off to the side. ”No drunk talk,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, trying to remember the exact words you had said to him earlier. It didn’t really matter, since you knew he didn’t have anything to say to you when he hadn’t been drinking. 

The quietness allowed you to observe him. In the dim light casted down at the road, you watched him glance around, as if he was searching for the next source of entertainment or trouble. The poor lighting made John’s eyes look hollow, the way a man's eyes turn when he’s had a little too much to drink, but they’d occasionally catch a glimpse of something from whatever he was thinking of. John’s brows would either rise or furrow slightly for just a moment, before they’d return to carefree and drowsy. 

You were almost sad he was so beautiful, but in your current state, it made you feel more irritated if anything. You had meant it when you’d told him he was no good. He wasn’t the first partying type you had met. How cruel was it that they were always the most charming? Like some unfair test from God.

John had been at a pub in London, where you’d often go with your girl mates to let loose. You’d noticed him almost instantly, it was actually hard not to. He had seemed to arrive alone, but it wasn’t long until he was playing darts and placing bets with some other men.

You’d gladly noticed him occasionally looking at you between loud conversation and rowdy laughter, but it wasn’t until your friends had practically pushed you out of your chair, you had walked up next to him to the bar to order some drinks. He took the opportunity and soon had you furiously blushing at his confident allure.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so charming and starry-eyed while winning you over during the next hour or so, it wouldn’t have hurt so much to return from the restroom to find him in the corner, smooching another woman. 

That had been the first time you’d met him, and you had hoped there wouldn’t be a second. So, when you reached the underground stairs, you turned around to face him, ready to say your good byes. You really resented him. 

”Thank you for walking me,” you still couldn’t bear to be impolite.  

He shrugged absentmindedly. ”Get home safe.”

You were just now realizing how inebriated he truly was, your brows furrowing as you watched him smile sloppily. 

But you were too tipsy and tired to think any more of it, he’d surely find something else to do. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you suddenly remembered what you had been wishing to tell him all this time, your anger spiking. 

Running up a flight of stairs had been easier, and you had to slow down a little and re-pace yourself somewhere in the middle, but by determination, you reached the street and saw him walking down the road. 

”John!” You yelled after him. 

You saw him turn around. 

”It’s my pub!” You screamed at him, almost scaring yourself with the way it echoed into the misty London night, before rushing down the stairs to catch the next tube.

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