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sagesolsticewrites · 4 months

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Kiss It Better (pt 2) 💋

That lipstick mark leads to a surprising turn of events 👀

a/n: Y’all didn’t think I was gonna leave it like that, did you? Ask and you shall receive: Kiss It Better pt 2! (Also! I’m having sooo much fun with these MOTA requests 🥹 feel free to send more in, or request other characters y’all think I should write for!)

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.

Read pt 1 here!

Masterlist

You stopped into sickbay early the next morning, to catch up on paperwork.

The fact that you’d be able to see Buck was just a bonus; at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But when you stepped inside, there was already someone sitting at Buck’s bedside.

“Bucky,” you sighed with relief once your surprise had faded, “Should’ve known you’d stop by sooner or later.”

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Bucky asked, and you could just make out worry lining his face as you approached.

“He’ll be fine,” you assured him, “The scrapes will heal up in no time, and after a week or so of rest he should be cleared to fly again.”

“Good,” Bucky nodded, shoulders visibly relaxing, “That’s good. Now, uh…”

A smirk appeared on his face. “Wanna tell me what this is all about?”

He tapped his forehead, and after a moment of confusion glancing between him and Buck, your eyes finally landed on the bright red outline of your lips somehow still visible on Gale’s forehead.

You felt heat flood your face, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the same red lipstick that you had painstakingly applied only an hour earlier.

“Oh. Oh! That. Well, um…” You tried to look anywhere but at Bucky and his sleeping friend as you explained, “Buck was a little out of it when he was brought in yesterday, and when I was explaining the protocol for his head wound he asked me to, uh… kiss it better.”

You silently prayed for the ground to open up and swallow you as Bucky just barely held back a snicker.

Noticing how uncomfortable you were, however, he quickly said, “No, sweetheart, it’s not you, it’s just…”

Bucky shook his head, seemingly in exasperation, “Of course it took a head wound to get this guy to ask you for a kiss.”

Your mind seemed to have trouble processing this, and for a moment all you heard was ask you for a kiss before you were able to reply with a confused, “I’m sorry, I— what?”

Bucky let out a soft laugh.

“I was really hopin’ I could get him to tell you himself, but at this rate we’ll be well into old age before that happens, so…” He took a deep breath.

Sensing that you should probably be sitting down for whatever he was about to say, you perched on the edge of Buck’s cot, trying very hard not to think about the mere inches between the two of you.

“I don’t know how you haven’t seen it, but Buck’s been head over heels for you since the first day he saw you, sweetheart.”

“I— But he’s never—”

“He was always goin’ on about being worried what telling you might do to your friendship,” Bucky explained with a shrug, “That’s just how he is. Tends to keep things bottled up inside. But seein’ you two just dance around each other for the past three months has been absolute torture, so this is me puttin’ an end to my misery once and for all.”

Bucky stood, giving you a friendly pat on your knee, “Tell him how you feel, sweetheart. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He left with a wink, a smile, and a quip about not getting too handsy — “This is a hospital! People are trying to heal!” — that left you blushing.

And just like that, you were left alone with a sleeping Gale Cleven.

Unsure what to do, you simply stared at him for a moment, taking him in. He was so… unguarded in his sleep, despite the scrapes and bruises, and your heart went soft at the lack of worry lines that seemed to be ever-present when he was awake. You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his dirty blond hair, still mussed from the battle and from sleep, instead choosing to run your fingertips over the slightly faded lipstick mark on his temple.

You just barely managed to stifle a gasp when he stirred, but it was too late.

“Y/N?” Your name slipped drowsily from his lips, and a small thrill ran through you at the sound— until he seemed to wake more and corrected himself hurriedly. “I mean, Nurse L/N, um. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Major,” you replied, once again falling back into the safety of professionalism.

There was a bit of an awkward silence, neither of you wanting to disrupt the rare quiet of an early morning on base.

Buck eventually cleared his throat, looking determinedly at his blanket and nowhere else as he spoke.

“Yesterday… After the battle’s a bit of a blur, but unless I’m misremembering I might’ve asked you to, uh…”

His hand drifted almost automatically up to his forehead, and you couldn’t help a small laugh as you tracked the movement.

“Kiss it better?” You asked teasingly, hoping to get ahead of the inevitable embarrassment, “You did.”

You couldn’t help your eyes flicking to the imprint of your lips on his forehead, and Buck, observant pilot that he was, noted it instantly.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

And here you were once again wishing the ground would open up and swallow you as you wordlessly handed Buck a small mirror from your pocket.

“Oh, you actually…” His face turned beet-red, and he scrambled to apologize; “I’m sorry, you didn’t have to— you know I would never—”

“Hey,” you lowered the mirror, gently removing it from his grasp so his focus was on you, “I know. You were a little out of it, it’s alright. And you never know, it might’ve helped.” You couldn’t help but add with a teasing grin before asking with genuine concern, “How are you feeling now?”

He seemed to take stock of his condition internally before answering “A bit better, all things considered. I’ve got a friend who’s one of the best nurses on base, y’know.”

“Please, Major, I’m just doing my job,” you replied, avoiding his gaze as you waved away the compliment.

“No, really. I honestly—” He seemed to steel himself for something, his expression as he took a deep breath not unlike when they were called for a mission — pure determination.

“It got… pretty bad up there yesterday. And at first I was thinkin’… as long as we get the mission done, and the other boys get home safe, I don’t particularly care what happens to me. And then…” His fingertips edged towards yours, just as they had yesterday, “I got to thinking about you. About wanting to make it back to you, to tell you I—”

His voice faltered as his soft blue gaze met your own, and there was a beat of silence. Your own eyes were welling up with tears, but you blinked them back as best you could.

“Buck…”

You couldn’t quite form the words, so you decided to show him that you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

Taking his face in your hands, mindful of his head wound, you pressed your lips to his as gently as you could.

He froze, and for a moment you thought you’d made a horrible mistake. Was Bucky wrong? Was this his idea of a joke?

But then Gale was sitting up, leaning into you, pressing his lips to yours with a fierce tenderness. One scarred, callused hand came up to cup your cheek while the other — Gale Cleven, ever the gentleman — rested just above your waist, pulling you closer.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there in that small bubble of bliss. It felt like an eternity that ended all too soon as the two of you parted for air.

“I never thought—” Buck let out a soft laugh, almost in disbelief, his nose brushing against yours, “I mean, I loved being your friend, but…”

“This is probably a good time to tell you that I’ve been absolutely head over heels for you since the moment we met,” you said, fighting back a blush.

“Finally!” A familiar voice came from the entrance to the hospital, “Only took you three months, but I’m happy for you two—”

You buried your face in Buck’s neck as he tossed a pillow at Bucky.

“Get outta here, Bucky, I’m trying to have a moment with my girl!” He called good-naturedly.

“I want all the details later!” He called back as he retreated to the safety of the hallway, “Congrats, sweetheart!”

You assumed that last part was aimed at you, but you were preoccupied with a different pair of words.

“Your girl, huh?” You said, meeting Gale’s gaze with a shy smile.

“Yeah,” he grins down at you, the scars doing nothing to diminish the joy on his face, “That is, uh… if you want.”

You briefly pressed your lips to his once again, the smile on your face all the answer he needed.

Pulling back to take in his smiling face, an idea came to you.

You leaned up to press a kiss right where the stain of your lipstick was still visible on his forehead.

Then again to the scar just between his eyebrows.

And again to the bruise just below his right eye.

You scattered kisses across all the scrapes, scratches, and bruises on his face. Buck spoke up as you pressed kisses to a series of shallow scrapes along his jaw.

“Not that I don’t, uh…” he began in a slightly strangled voice, “really like this, doll, but what are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” You said, pulling away to meet his gaze for a moment before you pressed your lips to a scratch on the bridge of his nose, “I’m kissing it better.”

Buck let out the loudest, fondest laugh you’d ever heard from him, and your heart felt like it filled with pure sunshine at the sound.

“I knew there was a reason you were my favorite nurse,” he grinned, pulling you in for yet another tender kiss.

Buck our beloved 🥰 This was so much fun to write, I hope y’all enjoyed! 😊 Tagging a couple friends just for fun 🤍: @sassy-ahsoka-tano @mpmarypoppins @austinbutlermischief @austin-butlers-gf @dontbesussis

#austin butler x reader #austin butler #austin butler major gale buck cleven #major gale cleven #gale buck cleven #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #buck cleven x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #my writing

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thedeviltohisangel · 1 month

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For A Fortnight There We Were: He Got My Heartbeat

a/n: EV AND CAL ARE BACK! the response to the first one shot of this was so crazy and became so popular and I could have never imagined! this takes place back on the MOTA set when they start to wonder if they really are started to feel tingly for each other or if the characters are bleeding into their lives. please shoot me any requests for future one shots or blurbs since I love being able to fill in all the little blanks for you guys. standing by to chat about these two (or callum in general lbr) and am thinking of add austin x popstar!oc to this universe? idk, let me know your thoughts. love you all and see you on the flip side...

She heard the sound of the director cutting and ignored it anyway. He did too. Evelyn used the arm around his neck to pull him closer and prevent his lips from slipping off of hers. Her hips shifted forward on their own accord and she felt something twitch between her legs.

“Jesus, fuck-Ev, I’m sorry-”

“-oh, God, it’s my fault-” She fell backwards off the chaise as she hurried to scramble out of his lap.

“No, Evelyn, don’t, it’s fine!” Callum was racing to grab the abandoned bed sheet from the ground as she was struggling to conceal her chest from the production crew. “Can someone get her a fucking robe?” he yelled as he was finally able to wrap her in the polyester.

“Please don’t touch me.” Her shoulder shrugged quickly to rid his hand from her skin. Her lips were still burning from his kisses. Her nose on fire from where it had nuzzled with his. Her chin and waist aching for the feel of his hands again. She doesn’t think she would be able to hold onto her sanity if his hands were on her ever again.

“I’m sorry.” He held his hands up in surrender as a PA emerged with a fluffy white bathrobe for her to tuck her arms into. Not a glance from her was spared his direction as she stood and hurried off the set.

Callum hung his head between his legs as they offered him a robe but he had no motivation to grab it. He was only able to think how stupid he was. How silly it was to let himself get lost in the sensation of kissing her and touching her and making love to her. It was all acting and for the camera and none of it was real but it had felt so tangible. Like even after she pulled away he could still reach out and grab it and keep it and never let it go. But he had fucking ruined it because he wasn’t able to control his arousal for her.

“Falling in love with your co-star…not always the best choice. Especially when they happen to be married.” He scoffed at Tom’s words as he sat next to him, pulled on the robe to protect his modesty in front of one of his heroes.

“I’m not in love with her,” he mumbled around the lump in his throat. “We’re just friends.” The hotel room set was quiet now. Tom had cleared it out as he watched the two young actors fall apart right in front of him. The intimacy had been a step too close to what they really craved to maintain any sense of stability.

“I see,” he responded with a nod. They had said cut nearly five whole minutes before the two of them had even thought to stop. The intimacy coordinator had watched the scene playout with a perplexed look as none of the choreography had been followed, they had just kissed and groaned and moved their hips the way that had felt right and normal and it had worked perfectly. It had felt like they had been doing it forever. Like they were meant to. “Sometimes, lines get blurred on projects. It’s okay to admit that to each other.”

“And, hypothetically, how would one tell if the lines between the characters and the actors are blurring or if the feelings are real regardless of the character?”

“Hypothetically?”

“Completely.”

“You talk to each other.” Callum chuckled. Sometimes the simplest answer was the correct one.

“She didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to me.” The look on her face when he had tried to reach out and comfort her would haunt him. The rejection slapping across his face like a biting cold wind. The way he had bared his soul just an inch to try and connect to her and protect her and she turned him away easily.

“Give her time. Everything you are feeling is amplified for her. A few more complications.” Evelyn was in the middle of a very public legal fight. There were houses and cars and a plane to divide and assign value to and storage units of furniture and designer clothing. Businesses they had invested in together and land they had purchased to build a life on.

“Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe I let sleeping dogs lie.” Callum had already watched the way phone calls with her lawyers and emails from her manager and texts from her ex took a toll on her day in and day out. It would be unfair of him to add one more burden to her shoulders.

“Or maybe you don’t and it turns out to be the best decision of your life, Callum.” Maybe it was the start of a fairytale. Maybe it was the love that they both were meant to have in their life. Maybe it was the kind of love that could soothe the ache in their chest and fill the hole in their heart and mend the cracks in their souls.

Maybe it was exactly what they both needed.

----

The binder of her lines for the next day of shooting was sitting in her lap as her hairstylist brushed out her 1940s era curls but they just looked like blurry letters on the page. All she could think about was the look on Callum’s face when she had recoiled from his touch. She thinks he looked genuinely hurt. Like she was rejecting a vulnerable piece of him that he had offered.

“Is it a bad idea to go apologize to him?” she asked the trailer full of people. They had all been quiet from the moment she entered and had been waiting for her to talk first. “Like, do I just leave it be or do I go say something?”

“Are you just saying sorry or are you trying to talk about why it went down like that?” her assistant asked. Evelyn chewed on her bottom lip as she thought about, leaning back in her chair and shoving the binder onto the vanity.

“It’s only going to get more awkward if we don’t do the latter.” With a sigh, she grabbed her water bottle and got down from the chair. “I’m going to put on something comfy then go see if he’s in his trailer. Can someone practice with me on how to not say that I’m confusing the characters relationship and emotions for real life?”

“Or you just be honest that maybe all your feelings are real life. He’s giving it right back, Ev, we’ve all seen it.”

“And then what happens? I ask him to twiddle his fucking thumbs while Logan drags me through court for the rest of my life?” She tucked her feet into a pair of UGGs and grabbed her phone from where it was charging. “No matter if anything is going on between Cal and I, he deserves better than what I have to offer him or anyone right now.” There was no reason to drag someone she cared about as much as him into this mess. No reason to ruin whatever relationship they currently had if she didn’t have to. Evelyn had gotten used to seeing him and Golo at the end of every day and running lines and laughing while taking a smoke break when they all got food delivered and hung out as a group. He was always sending her some funny video saying it reminded him of her and teasing her about how his mustache tickled her when they kissed and she was happy around him in a way she hadn’t been in a long time.

“Ev? Did you hear what Tracy said?”

“No, I was-” She stopped when they were all smiling at her like they knew all her secrets. “Whatever. None of you are helping. I’ll just fucking wing it and see you later.” Evelyn took a few deep breaths of fresh air and walked to the trailer in question only a few yards away, Golo popping his head into the window and barking once when he noticed her arrival.

“My Evelyn door bell was ringing.” Callum opened the door before she had the chance to knock and her momentary freeze was interrupted by the dog that was eager for her attention.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed as she squatted to scratch at his ears and laugh around his kisses. “It’s only been a couple days, Golo!”

“He told me you give the best belly scratches and he wants them everyday,” Callum said as he leaned his back against the doorway. “You want to come in or you just swung by to see this one?” She stood up and pulled her sweatshirt down to cover her exposed skin.

“I wanted to talk about earlier. Unless now isn’t a good time or unless you didn’t want to talk about it all.” He paused for a beat as he thought about the two options she had just presented. One offered an understanding of whatever it was that was palpable between them. There would be no more guessing. But there was the trap. Because if the answer was that the lines had just blurred. That the tension was based in the characters and only existed on set, then he would rather not know. He would rather float through the turmoil of not knowing because at least his heart had a chance at remaining whole.

“No, we can talk about it.” Callum opened the door wider and stepped to the side as she and his dog crossed the threshold. “You want a bottle of water? Something else?”

“Just water is fine.” Evelyn sat in a chair and wiped her sweaty palms on the top of her thighs. He handed her a bottle of water and leaned against the wall opposite. “I, uh, I wanted to apologize for how I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have pushed you away like that, I know it was just an accident. And it was my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have deviated from what we discussed with the intimacy coordinator. That is what they are here for and it was inappropriate of me to…do what I did.” Kiss him like it was real. Move her hips in the hopes she would catch some friction between her legs. Observe the look on his face as he had acted out his orgasm. She had never found the way Logan looked when he came particularly mesmerizing. But that’s how she would describe the feeling of looking at Callum.

“Takes two to tango. Nothing to apologize for.” He looked down at his feet and Evelyn sat, waiting for him to say something more. Something further. Anything.

“Ok. Yeah, ok. I’ll get out of here.” She stood and stared at him for a beat but he seemed incapable of looking at her. She probably disgusted him. Just wanted her to promise to never do it again so he could move on with his life and his career. And the quicker she left, the quicker she could go to her rental flat and cry in the shower with a bottle of white wine.

Her right hand was around the doorknob when his hand encircled her left wrist. She paused.

“It’s not just the characters bleeding into my thoughts and actions,” he whispered as her eyes closed and her forehead rested against the door. “My feelings for you are as real they fucking get.”

“Callum…”

“I know. I know. Tell me to get over it and I will, Ev. Tell me you only view me as a friend and I will work every goddamn to get over it to keep you in my life. Tell me I am losing my mind.” Evelyn was breathless as she was trying to find the courage to turn and face him. The grip on her wrist was loosening, Cal admitting defeat and letting her go, so she turned and slipped her hand so it was holding his instead.

“You are losing your mind. But I guess I am too.” He looked up at her with eyebrows raised in surprise. A step forward closed any gap between them. “My life…my life is so complicated right now. And you don’t deserve being dragged into that.” They both ached to touch each other but didn’t want to upset the current balance between them.

“I don’t want to complicate things for you. That is the last thing I would ever want,” he breathed.

“But I also don’t know when things will ever not be complicated. Logan…he’s dragging things out. Trying to suck me dry. Trying to make me suffer.” Everyone around her was telling her that he was trying to bully her into getting back with him. That he didn’t want this divorce in the first place and would make her life so miserable until she cracked and broke down and went crawling back to him.

“You tell me what you want to do, Ev. I’ll wait if you ask me to. Wait until the timing is right and we can try to do this the right way.” It would pain him to wait but at least he would know she was waiting on the other side. Having her at arm's length was better than not having her at all.

“Or.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she brought a shaking, unsure hand to his cheek. Callum’s mouth parted at the contact, his own hand resting on top of hers as he felt like he could drop to his knees and worship her at the simple contact alone. “Or I stop letting him dictate a single second of my life. And we go do something sickeningly normal tomorrow night. Just the two of us.”

“Austin will be heartbroken,” he teased. She giggled. “I can take you to my favorite pub in Chelsea. They can be discrete.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.” Her hand dropped from his cheek and she took a step back towards the door.

“I’ll see you bright and early, Mr. Turner.”

“Counting down the seconds, Ms. Shaw.” She turned away from him with a twinkling laugh and exited with a goodbye to Golo as well. “I’ve got a date tomorrow, mate. What the fuck do I wear?” Golo merely blinked at him.

He doesn’t know how he had managed to reach the heights he was currently soaring to. The most beautiful woman on the planet asking him to take her to a pub. The most talented woman on the planet touching him like he was precious porcelain. He would do anything just for her eyes to land on him. His chest ached to protect her and care for her and let her know she was never alone because she would always have him. The weight of what tomorrow night could mean for him and for her and for a potential future resting on his shoulders. He planned to rise to the challenge just like she deserved. Fight for her to heal. Fight for her to find peace and love.

Fight for their love story to end with the three words she deserved more than anything.

Happily ever after.

#callum turner #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner x oc #callum turner imagine #callum turner fanfic #callum turner fic #evelyn

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eh-33 · 3 months

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Something interesting about MotA - especially in these last few eps in the PoW camp - is that while Bucky is the one outwardly struggling, and Callum is doing a fantastic job showing that in his performance. Buck is looking worse every episode compared to Bucky - and maybe this is related to the make-up and just how much slimmer Austin is to Callum, but they’ve done a very good job of making Austin look really tired and off-colour.

So if you looked at a photo of Buck and Bucky next to each other with no context, you’d think Buck is the one falling apart, and I think this is a good way to contrast what you’d expect to be happening and subvert what’s going on. That the ‘loud’ Bucky is actually struggling more outwardly than the more reserved Buck is a good way to make things different and creates a cool narrative.

Now don’t get me wrong I’m a sucker for angst and for the fics about people noticing how pretty Buck is - because Austin is a beautiful human - or how Buck is johns weakness, and the angst and protective Bucky that comes from it. But I think it’s neat to have Austin looking more weak every episode but Callum be the character that is struggling more.

But please, any fic writers out there, I love protective Bucky, so keep going with that. Please and thank you.

#austin butler #callum turner #gale cleven #john egan #mota #masters of the air #just some thoughts #I love the angst #and the difference #because Callum looks relatively normal in every ep #unless he’s bloody and bruised #but Austin isn’t looking well every new ep #meta

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luminouslywriting · 15 days

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Bob headcannons, when you cry in there arms

Hi hon! I would be happy to do this one! Reminder that my requests are open for MOTA, BoB, and the Pacific, + I don't mind spam, so keep sending your thoughts in haha!

Dick Winters:

-Honestly the softest about the entire thing. I know that he gives the best hugs and is super patient. He's not gonna break away from the hug or the hold unless you do first.

-Doesn't force you to talk about anything, just wants to know what's going on and if you're going to be okay

-Probably dries your tears and if you're dating, kisses a few of the tear-stains to reassure you that it'll all be okay

Lewis Nixon:

-Is admittedly not super great with emotions? It's one of those things where he's just like ???? What NOW?!

-But he'll do his best at some comforting words and attempt to crack a few jokes or funny stories about himself to cheer you up

-Prefers to see you with a smile on your face and is relieved when the crying stops

Ronald Speirs:

-It's one of two things....he's either the softest and most gentle man about the whole thing or he's waiting for you to calm down before talking to you like an adult and is very reassuring

-Either way, he takes into account what's going to be best for the situation...like if something bad happened and you're hyperventilating, his biggest priority is making sure that you calm the hell down.

-But if it's an emotional thing, he'll sit with you and listen to whatever it is and lets you know that you're not alone. Not by a long shot.

Buck Compton:

-The best at giving rousing speeches and encouraging you to keep your head up and that things will get better.

-Also a patient man when it comes to the hugs and is also down to cuddle after you're done crying too

-He's emotionally attuned to what's going on and very aware that if you're breaking down, sometimes you just need someone to hold you and let you know that the bad won't last forever.

Carwood Lipton:

-A mother hen who is patting and rubbing your back as you cry and softly offering words of encouragement and love

-Knows exactly what to do to get you to stop crying or how to cheer you up; he pays attention to the little things and utilizes that to helping you through the rough times.

-Is also a chronic cuddler

Joe Liebgott:

-We've seen him when his friends are injured and he gets really soft. It's the same with the emotions and crying. Though he's a little more worried about how you're feeling, he'll hold you and stroke your hair and murmur sweet things to you.

-Probably starts telling you a story or asks questions to try and get you to calm down.

-Gives the softest and sweetest kisses oof reassurance afterwards.

Donald Malarkey:

-A little awkward but very gentle about the entire thing. He'll wait for you to calm down before asking some questions to understand what's going on/why you were crying.

-Wants to talk over solutions and suggestions to help things get better. He'd prefer if you had 0 problems in your life since he loves you so much.

-Gives a final hug when everything's finishing up

Eugene Roe:

-Immediately offers the softest words of support in both French and English and gently cups your face to dry off tears

-Super patient about the entire thing and honestly would prefer to cuddle with you for the rest of the night

-Follows up later to see how you're feeling and is on guard for if you're feeling upset about things

Bill Guarnere:

-Slightly panicked man about the entire thing—so he'll awkwardly pat your back and then when you start crying harder, he'll just hug you

-He'll start talking about his family and about when his brother died and so he completely gets what it's like to want to break down

-10/10 gives the best hugs

Joe Toye:

-Quietly just holds you and waits to ask questions until you're ready to talk about the entire thing. You're each other's person so that makes it even more important to support each other.

-Kisses away the tears and kisses the top of your head

-Gets a little sad that you were sad

George Luz:

-The best at cheering you up; he tells you all sorts of jokes and stories to try and make you smile

-If you smile through the tears, he'll tell you that your smile is pretty and that he missed it

-Also a chronic cuddler

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precious-little-scoundrel · 2 months

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MotA Fanfiction: John Brady and first person/reader/insert no use of y/n.

18+: John Brady had me at “like you told me” five seconds before “son of a bitch that’s France” and now we’ve got seven kids and a mortgage. The following could be a very existential diary page about the first few months of that marriage.

But basically, John Brady makes me rabid: here have some purple prose smut about it mixed into an essay on happiness

My mother readied me for many things but not for this. I dig through the archives of her heavy advice, her off handed comments, her jubilant prognostications, all I keep so dutifully in my mind, and I search for some hint from her that she knew it could be like this. But I find nothing, it is all too weak or strong or wordy.

Did it not come in words?

Were her misty eyes when she settled the veil over my face the true meaning of it? Had I mistaken her emotion as a presentment of missing me when it was instead tremulous excitement for what was in store? Had she known when she wrapped me in white and insisted it fit me lovingly to my proportions that it was not tidiness and appreciation for good seams but instead, that holy knowledge of what more awaited me? That a wedding dress in its fit reflects what happens when the groom removes it?

She knew I had myself a good man. Did she suspect how well he’d fit me?

And I thought it was merely cloth, I had been too busy even for my own wedding. I was too busy loving him, the idea of him, of him being mine. Perhaps if we had met in peacetime, if he had courted me between his hours at the office and my semesters I would have looked forward to my wedding, planned each detail and worried over all manner of things that brides are said to care about.

But we had not; I’d no sooner loved him than he’d gone, and no sooner had death returned him on loan than I married him. I loved him and everyone else but me seemed to know what that meant as he kissed frosting from my wrist.

I had thought I’d known at the registry office, signing in ink my name, scrawling a practiced B that ended with a flourished Y.

Mrs. Brady.

I’d thought I’d known then. I had given the benign judge a saucy smile of the fully enlightened. I had no idea. To ask me if I was happy that day would have been a good joke, to ask me if I could be happier when we waved out a window chalked with news of our nuptials: it would have been more than half insulting.

I was happy. I thought I knew. And that night, what little doubt I had about the gaps in my theory, he filled. Love in its rawest form, breaking me apart, making a place for himself, I clung to his shoulders; this part my mother had told me of. She told me it got better; I can’t speak to that. He was pushing and petting and I endured until surrender turned to fascination and again to arousal by his rhythm, the concrete sense of his need, the clarity of his release. And still I was urging my sweet boy to take and take; it did not get better, it got sublime. I could not fault my mother for her faulty preparations, even though I think she knew -for her own sake I hope she knew. There are no words for it when two bodies become one, minds meld and he finds his way eased by your blood till he’s in so deep you think he’s probed at your heart. I don’t hear of people speaking about that part, and mother didn’t tell me, but I think they know.

I am quite forgiving of her that night, I thought I knew then, I assumed what she left unsaid, it was merely out for lack of vocabulary. Lying beside him, having tasted heaven, I am generous. She tried. I know.

He had put a pillow under my hips before he opened me, it tilted me kindly for his invasion and I wonder who told him of that. His innate desire to please had long ago led me to find he was good at kissing, and that he liked to kiss me everywhere. He was as delighted by the back of my knees as he was by my throat, and he forgot all reason when he tasted between my thighs, only his firm and unyielding hands on my hips gave a mottled clue he kept at such kissing for his own satisfaction as much as mine.

I know that I am happy then, on my wedding night, and next morning I am happier still. I might try at being cross with my own self, for sabotaging my arrival at absolute knowledge except that I cannot help but be giddy for it; he loves to kiss me, my boy, and he has a warm blush on his face in the sunlight, this first morning I’ve woken up beside him, and his hands are already busy with me. Mine grow busy with him and I know this is how we will spend our days, kissing with him inside me, and I am happy.

No one who encounters me in the coming weeks can doubt it. My parents whisper amongst themselves, his too, church members and fellow servicemen. My Johnny is not settled with a job and so we lodge at various places in the next two months, and soon each of our hosts knows it, too. It cannot be stifled beneath his quieting palm when he breaks me apart, thin walls and no place to call our own except the harbor of my body, that’s his home and he goes into it. Often and more vigorously each time until I associate happiness with the most alarming strength of exertion from the lithe length of him rolling against mine, noses to toes; I draw blood from his hand.

Even my boy is beginning to see: he makes me happy. He has the most melancholy eyes, my boy, I recalled them as being calm and observant before he went away. But he has observed too much though he never says so, and out of his army greens there is not a speck of baby blue left in them, they’re cold gray and the only time I see them sparkle are when I’ve made him laugh so hard a tear rolls down his creased cheeks. I am impatient with his happiness, I know it and I know I’m wrong for it, but I miss the sky blue of them and the way I didn’t used to have to guess at what roils beneath them.

If he can’t feel happiness as thoroughly as me, he at least presents with quiet confidence as he finds a peacetime footing, there is a job offer in Maryland and we take our first road-trip. He is full of plans and maps and well drawn schedules and I am full of 55 mph breezes up the nose, feet in his lap and face hung out the window merrily, there are endless rows of pines and the feel of bark against my back at the rest pavilion. More, more, more, I demand of him and he gives it, it’s happiness turned hungry, greedy, close to vicious. Happiness that needs topping off.

We fight that night before his interview. A silly thing, inconsequential, hotel room adding to the displaced feeling I have begun to feel after our adventure calmed into adult necessity. He is preoccupied with being excellent and I am preoccupied with happiness. Chiefly if I make him happy or not; this is the first night he has not been so undivided in his passion and I allow it to vex me. I am young and I am happy and I guard it jealously, thinking that holding it -gripping him- tight fistedly desperate about it, will keep it all the closer.

“I am doing this for us.” his tone cuts me, I have admired it slashing others but it has never been directed at me before. He is wiser than I am and a self proclaimed cynic. I think he is fighting me in my happy quest, but, “For us, I’m doing this for us.”

His fingers dig into my cheeks and it is assurance enough. I have to agree that even heaven must have some maintenance work intruding on the celestial revels from time to time.

By the time I stand on the bed and cinch his tie the next morning before his interview, I have never been more in love. I am happy, yes, but there is admiration for him there too, but I struggle with finding a place for it.

Love, it seems, multiplies and I remain fixated with happiness in its tidiest form. Like the moment we cut the cake. I ask him that night if he has ever felt that, felt it simple and tidy.

“I feel a million things about you.” he swears instead; his tone suggests it is the most devout compliment.

I pray for wisdom next Sunday. I can feel that there is more to happiness than I know and it unsettles me. Our fight has long been made up but those million things that Johnny thinks and knows of me haunt the little life I try to construct, they haunt it as badly as whatever plagues his dreams at night.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” he begs a hundred times to me night after thrashing night; he suggests the sofa, I won’t hear of it. The bruises his flailing limbs land on mine are no darker than those he makes in calculated romance. His dreams respond to the feeling of my hands on his belly, he wakes easily with it, I have something to wake for and it is not perfect or quiet or even gentle always, but I am in love and when he allows me, I feel powerful and needed, hands on his belly, a thin tickle of hair beneath my palm. “You’re an Angel.” he swears to me, lips warm and plush against mine, I am so in love.

My cycle stops soon after the interview trip. I wait until I am sure to tell him one night, we are sprawled across our bed gasping back breath and I tell him, simple and direct as he prefers. I had wanted him one last time before he thought of me as a madonna. It had not been so different, I had been preoccupied with the child but I had also found my peak, and he had grasped greedily at my breasts, my nipples knotting beneath his fingers and only a lingering soreness in them to remind me of my secret. With his seed dripping from me, redundant and warm, I tell him.

“A baby?” My husband’s eyes glow, he cups my face like I am holy, his lips thank me with kisses to my nose and eyelids, “We’re havin’ a baby?”

He is all preparedness now. Striding with purpose and when he kisses me he is kissing the mother of his child; he gets the job in Maryland. We tell my parents of our happy news before we go, it surprises no one and yet there are celebrations as if we waited a decade. My Johnny is pleased and his smile is fixed, but I remember him when I told him, the glow about him, the naked press of him to me, his kisses on my belly. These are things I wish I could tell my mother -these are things that make me happier. Even more than the child itself.

On the way back to Maryland, our car trip is sedate, I eat ginger candies to quell the nausea and Johnny contemplates an unspoken thing. When I contemplate at all I think of driving down here over a month ago and the feeling of bark behind me and his hips snapping into me. I wonder if our child was made in the pines -how very different a few weeks makes a trip. He has foregone smoking his pipe indoors out of consideration for my queasy stomach.

“There’s somebody out here I should see.” He answers me at the gas pump, knowing I can tell he is preoccupied.

One of his crew lives off this exit, it’s why he’s filling up when the tank is half full. Johnny says he should go see him, and where he goes I will too.

Waist gunner Timmons is missing both legs. Together he and Johnny speak of bonds and education, his new job and the likelihood of drought, tidbits about the other boys' peacetime business failures, they laugh without malice. They laugh at themselves too. When taking our leave Johnny tells him our news. It makes me blush and I don’t know why, I was proud of our making the child. I should be proud of our finished product. I see him slip a hefty dollared bill in the coat pocket of the garden cover by the door as we leave.

Johnny stops our car at the end of the long gravel drive and while it confuses me, I know he is in a turmoil. His fists suddenly slam against the steering wheel and his face goes red beneath it’s feckless.

“Baby?” I question him but then he is weeping, forehead pressed to his knuckles on the steering wheel, aggravating buzz of a fly against the windshield unheeded.

It’s ugly and hiccuping and half panicked, he can’t seem to stop though the angry set of his shoulders tells me he wishes to, and after helpless fluttering beside him, I undo my waist belt and slide over to his side, arm thrown over his shoulders, forcefully prying him from the wheel. He lays in my arms and weeps for what feels like hours, letting me hold him and swear to him and soothe him. I’ve never known him like this, he speaks of Whys and Who’s and What’s He Got Going For Him to Deserve So Much Good Luck.

I am his good luck, his lips tell me as they press to my belly, he has fully sagged into my lap in his misery. I am his good luck, me and the baby and the job in Maryland and it is the first time I’ve ever thought of happiness as guilt.

The first days in Maryland, I cannot say that he is happier but he looks at me more openly, the guarded set of his eyes is gone and something sheepish but trusting shimmers there instead. Still steel gray but I notice the flutter of lashes around them and the dusting of pink cheeks more often. We never speak about Timmon’s driveway but I come to realize with a jolt: he’s softer for having let me see one of his million parts. I know him better now and it shows in his loosened shoulders and his shy smiles, the almost joyous eagerness he has to begin life here.

We close on an offer on a house, brick with a little porch, a small front drive and boxy lawn but in back there is a tall whitewashed fence going round and garden beds that are empty and waiting. It’s a prize and we are both delighted and he swoops me up, light as a feather, and brings me over the threshold.

“You’ve been waiting to do that!” I realize, he didn’t do it on our wedding night at the hotel or any of our other lodgings.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins back and there is such relief in his face I wonder at how much concern he was harboring before.

I begin to watch my man the way he watches me, I think less and less of whether he is happy and more and more if he feels safe. It’s why I’ve made no move to couple since he has not, not since I told him of the baby. We have been traveling, then moving in our boxes and he has been feeling whatever it was he felt in Timmons driveway. Some modicum of selflessness takes up residence in my childish heart, allowing him to hold me and not demanding proof of happiness from him. He cradles my belly every night as we spoon and I can feel his lips quirking in smiles as he gently hums to our child.

I watch my husband like he first watched me, from the bandstand, boyish cheeks blown full and nimble fingers flying over brass keys, I knew I wanted him then before he did. I went after him fast and furious, unlike myself in the way I tenaciously kept our first halting conversations going, shocking myself with the way I fanned my skirts around his lap and let him play beneath them -he was better at that than talking and I obliged him ravenously. Told him he looked handsome in his uniform and he told me he’d like to marry me. He came back to me as promised, four years late, yet the happiness that his first glittery eyed glance sparked in me is something I crave now as if I have not dabbled in far more heady pursuits with him thus far. His child grows in my belly but I miss his blush when I first stared at him past his bunker behind his music stand.

He watched me first, I wanted him worse. His eyes were blue then.

I admit my petulance to my mother after a week at the new house. Not that I am so wanton as to be bereft after a ten day abstinence, but that I cannot seem to settle some gnawing resentment that has begun. Again, not over the coupling. I am not sure what it’s over. I love him more than ever, and yet, that first blush of blazing white happiness of our first few days has given way to a nurturing watchfulness, an almost heartbreaking sympathy, a self effacing desire for his joy that robs me of my own. I ask her for a remedy.

She tells me I loved the idea of him before, and now I love him. And love is not made of happiness alone. She tells me to talk to him. “If you don’t know what it is,” she says, “he may. He knows you.”

He loves a thousand million parts of me, he had said. And then I had scoffed, feeling so sure I was comprised of only one: happiness.

Amongst the other basic necessities of settling in, we do our best to scope out the town, having arrived on a Thursday we attended mass soon in the only Catholic Church to be found in the small place, we find the town’s rec hall more promising, I keep my eyes peeled for a music store. There is one in Millersville, I find it when I go to inspect a couch that caught my eye in the Hutzlers catalog.

I do not know if he needs reeds. He hasn’t played since he got back, he may have a stack of extras in some box. But the sentimentality fills me strongly, the memory of missing him and waiting for him and having no ability to reach him over there except by sending the packages. And each of his letters with their little sheepish addendum: please send more reeds.

I got up from dinner that night to give them to him. He had asked about my day and as if I had some horrid secret to cover I had choked on my descriptions of the couch until I had broken down and admitted there was more. I place the item beside his plate and he puts down his fork while I stand in suspense.

An innocuous plastic wrapped package of saxophone reeds was probably not what my Johnny was expecting but he lets out a cut off little laugh about it.

“Did you even need more?” I am weirdly in knots over it, fingers nervously bunching at my dress and he leaves off opening the package to slip his own into mine to prevent the tick.

“I did.” he murmurs warmly, pressing a kiss to my forearm that dangles beside him, “Thank you.”

“Is that why you’re not playing?”

He looks surprised. “I -just busy, I suppose?” he questions himself.

“I miss it.” vocalized at last, I realize just how much.

“Do you?” his lips curve in a smile against my arm and move across to my belly, the hot gusts of his affection damping my dress. “Well, if my sweetheart misses it…” his lips have moved so low along my dress I feel an ache where I am missing other things.

He cleans his instrument that night while sat at the table while I do the dishes, our clearing of it a joint endeavor. He fusses over the need to grease it and other things too technical to be questioned but I understand, it won’t be played tonight. But it’s good to see him at the familiar task, his affection and seriousness for his work both manifesting across his face.

The next day he goes with me to Hutzlers, his opinion on household furnishings having been impeccable thus far and far more decisive than my own. He humors my myriad of hypotheticals regarding comfort and staining and color schemes, hands shoved easily in his pockets and a gentle smile on his face, I know by look alone he is categorizing each of my expert arguments into tidy little categories that he will present to me again in fifteen minutes time when a decision must be made.

In the end we purchase a pale blue couch with roses imprinted tone on tone into the fabric. It was decided upon only after he had hauled me down to the cushions to see if it were a plausibly good place to kiss. I now wonder if we have gotten a blue couch instead of a peach one simply due to the fact it was further from the window and he felt free to dip me down over the arm for a brief half minute.

Either way, it is set in stone that our new couch will be blue and on the way to the cash register, he immovably halts at a counter displaying the most heart wrenchingly cute baby items.

“We have to get somethin’.” he sounds almost exasperated at the previous weeks’ oversight.

We leave with ten different things, not having agreed upon what gender our child will be and I am unable to argue that booties are always a sensible option for either sex, I also want to strangle the woman behind the counter whose over eager desire to help robs me of the unguarded delight Johnny was showing over the little things before she came up.

He is opening my car door and teasing me for being so mercurial when he himself turns mildly glum before a hard determination sets his jaw.

“What?” I question, half wondering if he sees some old acquaintance or is having some awful recollection. I can’t imagine what amongst this urban place and departmental hedonism could inspire it but, stranger associations have done so.

“It’s midway through September.” he mutters, keen eyes fixed at the store’s grand facade, hand still heavy on the window before closing my door.

“Yep.” I am at a loss.

“But the seasons are milder down here.” he is presenting a case of his own for something and all I can do is agree, Maryland is more temperate than New York.

“Your mother even gave me a book about the different zones.”

“Yeah.” he is pleased with my perceived understanding, face lighting up, “So it’ll stay warmer down here.”

“For longer.”

“Yeah.”

“Johnny? What?”

He seems to realize I’ve not understood what he keeps looking at so intensely across the parking lot. “I want to buy bushes and flowers but it’s September.” he admits.

An extravagance this late in the season, and my man is not extravagant. “They’re very pretty.” I settle for acknowledging, knowing this is something he must decide but he looks so torn I would do anything to smooth that creased brow.

“It would make the place more, I dunno,” he stares down at his hand on the still adjar car door and shrugs, “…homey?”

“Some things are perennial.” a little blossom of hope tinges my own voice, my mind had gotten away with me -if he is this invested while yet undecided, I cannot imagine what diligence he might display at husbandry were he to act on it. And there’s nothing I have grown to love more in all my watching than him at some diligence.

We don’t get them. But in the car on the ride back there is discussion that the place is only a fifteen minute drive. Which pertains to the delivery of our couch, and we must hurry back to have the front door opened and I wanted to sweep where it will be once more. The delivery boys thump the blue thing on our floorboards carefully and its large presence is exactly what Johnny was saying we needed -Hominess. Emphatic. Settled. Ours.

No sooner have they left with his kind tips in their pockets than he is pulling me down on it, a hungry imitation of his actions at the store with hands more risky and insistent. I have been missing him so badly I come apart easily from his finger’s ministrations between my legs, sidetracked in trying to pull off my panties and garter belt. When he sees me go, he takes mercy and lets up, a gentle swiping through his prized currency of sticky pleasure and I watch him bring those long fingers to his lips, sucking them clean.

“You taste different.” he admits with heavy lidded eyes, “Since…” he doesn’t finish his explanation of the change in my belly, the slight swollen pooch that is our child.

“Bad?” I ask with feminine panic at the very notion.

He is settled on his belly between my thighs, blue couch a plush landing beneath us both, “N’bad.” is emphatically mumbled against me and my legs kick out the buzz of his voice. By his vocal and insistent enjoyment of it, I cannot help but be assured. Not bad. I keen up at our ceiling as he wrings one and then two and then -he won’t stop and I am needy for it, enjoying the familiar span of his hand dominating my belly, only this time it is cupping my swollen womb. I settle in relief that the proof of my maternity beneath his palm does not deter him, or at least, distract. He hums into his messy work and noses at me where I am all lightning and pulsing need, his hips jerking down into our plush new addition each time I pull at his dark locks.

Different, he says of my taste, and wedges his face in deeper, his hips beginning to move with the movements of his face against my parts and I swear to him that he is good, that he is perfect, that I’ve missed him, that he is beautiful and that he should have gotten those flowers.

His corresponding laugh makes me gush onto his tongue and his humor turns into a moan that only prolonges my delicious agony. He pushes my legs wider so forcefully I think he would like to take them off entirely if he could, his face smothered in my heat.

“You have a job now.” I present a case of my own to him, about the flowers as I try to get on top of the feeling, it is too much and he is unrelenting and I try to grasp onto something that is not his rocking body and clever lips, “A very good job and a car and -and we have this house, a-nd a-a a very nice couch -aaah God!”

His grip on my hips is deathly as I list his accomplishments until he seems to seize and then sag, tongue grown listless at last as his lips part and a shuddering groan fans over my tacky thigh.

“And we deserve flowers.” I whisper hoarsely, petting the dark strands from out of his eyes.

He’s spent himself in his writhing, I can tell by the molten expression on his face when his eyes finally drag up to meet mine over the small swell of my stomach, and set off by our new couch, they are the sparkliest of baby blues.

I have never been more startled. Or pleased. I had forgotten to watch for it, and so it had returned of its own skittish volition. I cling to that glimmer of blue until his smile grows wider and his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion.

Happiness.

At the end that night, bathed and fed and having inspected our new assortment of infant wear and argued once more over the likely gender, he brings his instrument out of its case with the package of reeds in hand. He has been offered a part time job at the high school, teaching music. It would be a hobby, he protests against his own interest in it, it would take away from time with me and Little One.

“I could go, too.” I point out.

“You’d like that?” he is pleased, the lamp is too dim for me to discern if there is blue but his lashes flutter briskly and I kiss his cheek, it’s hot beneath my lips.

“I always love watching you play.”

Before he fits the reed to the mouthpiece he makes me close my lips around it, a red stain marking it after, much to his satisfaction.

“You’ll be teaching children!” I swat at him, utterly pleased despite my own remonstrance.

“And I am married.” he says as if it were a universal absolution for all things.

The clock strikes five fifteen the next evening and he is not back. I have a plentiful assortment of excuses to choose from to explain his variance from routine. Traffic, work, a waylaying colleague -he has only been at work a couple of weeks, it is absurd to expect a forever unchanging home time. By five forty I cannot pretend expectation of what may have occurred and so keep the meatloaf warm with its proper cozy and when there is a bustle at the front door, I sprint to it like he’s back home from the war again.

It’s well I opened the door myself, he was endeavoring to while juggling three large potted plants in his arms. There is dirt in his white collar and I let out a little whoop at his uncharacteristic impulsiveness, stepping aside to help him get them through to the back porch. It doesn’t even need discussing, the large sliding glass door gives a beautiful view of the backyard from the living room and it’s sheltering insures privacy and a deterrent from our children’s stray balls flying to the next lot. At least for a few years. And the plants will go in the empty beds at the perimeter.

It is a Friday, and we eat my tepid meatloaf in between his smooching apologies for having been tardy and garbled plans for where we will put each plant and how we will stagger them according to their eventual size. It was far more than the three pots he brought, the trunk and also the cab were full of fauna.

Our excitement next morning is idiotic, we manage to snicker at ourselves for being so domesticated that this inspires frenzy but the self awareness gets not further than that, I throw on my rattiest -and coolest- sundress and he his jeans and with only his white singlet, breakfast is inhaled while standing at the backdoor, last minute plotting being discussed between bites. And then we spend our entire Saturday at it.

Johnny digs the holes and carries the plants to their allotted places and only then allows me to gently labor in filling soil over the roots, we eat cold meatloaf and slug down ice tea under the afternoon heat, not even bothering to go inside. When I have no other job, I weed the beds in preparation, watching unreservedly the way his shoulders glisten in his hard work. I have caught him eying the neckline of my dress, the recent changes he has imposed on my body now ensuring it does not gap so much as bulge while I lean over and grasp the next offending dandelion. I know he is watching and he knows I am watching and we are happy at our work, tidy garden beds filling out and his tongue pressed to his top lip to catch a drop of sweat.

The sun is a glittering soft light through the western trees by the time we take stock.

“Nothin’ left to do but water them.” he has his arm over my shoulder, hand nearly brown with caked soil where it hangs against my smudged breast, his undershirt gone translucent from sweat, the oddest attraction to his underarm blooms in me as he huffs in satisfaction next to me. I press a kiss to the swell of his pec instead, he folds with a shocked giggle, he is ticklish.

“It’s very homey.” I pronounce, feeling indeed a bone deep satisfaction over our garden at our own house from our own hands. His elbow crooks further and he has my neck secure in the bend, golden hour light the prettiest thing in the world as he nuzzles our sweaty noses and slowly claims a kiss.

“Our kids are gonna get to play out here for years.” he seems to realize as he lays his head atop mine, his voice sounds so softly comforted I can feel my eyes smart with tears.

He can feel my nod beneath his chin. “And us.” I suggest.

“And us.” he agrees with a laugh, “I’m gonna mow.” He decides suddenly and he is giving me one more smooch before moving away, headed at a jog to the garage for his machine before the sun fully dips. Never one to leave a job slightly imperfect.

I water our new additions while he pushes the mower, strip after strip, along our back yard, closer and closer to complete perfection. I have little doubt that once he finishes this he may find yet another task and knowing we have done enough, I go inside as he finishes the last swaths and grab a tablecloth, an opened bottle of wine along with salami and a brick of cheese. I have these waiting for him on a cloth, laid upon his freshly shorn grass. He cuts the engine, I watch him as he heedlessly take off his soaked singlet and uses it to rub the grass from his eyes. He is beautiful, my boy, where tan skin blends to fair and a strong, lean back disappears into jeans. There are dimples on his back, right below that belt, I know them, I’ve traced them with my tongue.

“C’mon, we’ve done enough. Sit and look at how perfect it is.” I beckon and his face lights up at my little spread, sauntering over, undershirt still clasped in his hand.

“Im filthy.” he warns and runs his hand along his sweat sheened belly in a motion I find obscenely captivating.

I pat at the tablecloth, “So am I.” for my dress is soiled and I am sweaty and only my hands are really fit for food as I scrubbed them thoroughly.

He holds his own up to show their grimey palms yet sits himself beside me anyway, and I notice the callouses dotted along the pads of his hands. I want to kiss them, soil and all.

“Then I’ll feed you.” I reply to his unspoken question and bring a bite to his lips.

We toast each other with the wine, drinking from the bottle and we watch as dusk begins to throw her first veil over the golden light.

“I’m not nauseous anymore these days.” I report and he is sweetly relieved for me, I pull out the pipe I packed for him and hand it to him between salami rolls.

His eyebrow, mobile and ever so empathetic, asks if I am sure but I am, and I watch as the match recreates a golden glow on his face once more today as he lights up and I watch him with the most lazy feeling in the world as he watches our gardens go muted by dusk.

“We’ve really done it.” he observes, relief dripping in his voice, a long exhale tinges the air around me with sweet tobacco and I am reminded of courting, of chasing him down while trying to appear reserved. Of wanting him so badly I had little choice but to remain devoted. The smell of smoke in the street would stop me dead in my tracks, thinking of this young man an ocean away.

I think I know what he means but I need to be certain, and I find I am hungry to know everything, every bit of him. If his current happiness is placed in stark relief against some previous melancholy, I want to know that, too. “What have we done?” I ask teasingly, scooting nearer to him on the cloth and kissing at his shoulder. He smells of gasoline and grass and pipe smoke. And I taste salt when I lick my lips.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins so easily, my boy, and if it were earlier in the summer there might be fireflies out in the twilight. “And you’re not nauseous anymore.” he giggles.

I’ve wanted long enough these many weeks, when my lips trail from the meat of his shoulder to his beautiful neck, he cannot mistake my intentions.

“O-out here?” he stutters out, hissing at the end by my bite on his fragile throat, i place my hand on his jeans and palm at him. There is still nothing so thrilling to me than the feel of a man firming, the way he awakes to me and only me and at my least whim, even while his mouth is all stuttering questions and his eyes are startled shimmering pools. He is always surprised when I initiate, as if he can imagine his own desire being that needy but not my own, he is always surprised and I realize it may be the only one of the million parts he does not fully know of me: how badly I love him at all times. “N-now?” he is rocking denim clad hips into my palm and their fit has grown impossibly taut.

I have the zipper down, my hand meeting the sweat soaked crease of his thigh and wiry curls that are equally wet from his work, when I wrap my small fist around him, he is clammy and pulsing in my hand. It should be revolting, perhaps, with dirt and gasoline and sweat acting like a gritty lubricant, but nausea has been replaced by something else hungry and while he may have found comfort in having provided the necessary civilian checklist for our lives, I am a woman whose body he has forever altered with his child and I have never loved anything so much as watching him at work. I want to smell it, feel it, taste the gritty earth of the man who has renovated my very flesh.

“Yes, now,” I beg, giving him one last squeeze before I lay myself back, sundress riding up my thighs, “I want you to take me under our gardenia.”

He watches me raptly, boyish eyes fawn-like and batting lashes fluttering like moth wings in the dim light; he rises to his knees and stays there as I unbutton my soiled dress. There are twenty four buttons to the hem and I make theater of each until I am bare. More than he anticipated, for while at work I did enjoy the last bit of clement weather on all my parts.

He makes a pained noise of want at the sight, maybe he too loves the sheen of sweat that makes us both shimmer in the far off patio light, how it reflects off my swelling belly, breasts grown large enough my necklines are impossible to keep discreet. I stop him from tasting me with a foot to his clavicle, I love his mouth but I want to be taken. And he indulges me, shimmying between the parted scraps of my dress and laying himself against my body, denim rough and thrilling against my bare thighs, the slightest space between our bellies lest he crush me. I am hardly large enough for it to be a concern but I can see his fascination with it, his preoccupation, his hair hangs into his eyes as he stares down at where his desire parts my petals and I can feel the drag of him against me, sweat and unabashed want making a swamp of me.

I peak and thrash from the torture of his steady grind alone, and in a typical moment of firm implacability, I feel my husband press into me while I am yet writhing. He scoops the back of my knees into the crook of his elbows, leaning over me with mischief on his face as he folds me, “You started this.” he still has enough self possession to remind before he gives into the grip of my heat and begins to move in me, engaging work-sore muscles not yet fully fatigued.

If my novel new shape has created some preoccupation, if my symptoms and moods had once ruled me in earlier weeks, it is worth it now for the way my body goes alight beneath him, electric delight curling my toes and fuzzing my sternum at each thrust, I respond to him half possessed and he snickers like he knew of this before me. I swell until my sheath is so tight it makes us both keen from it, slippery to the point of cacophonous. I claw at his back and his shoulders don’t stand a chance at remaining unmarred as he stays unperturbed and sweetly vicious inside me, jamming himself deeper. When I begin to scream he lets down a leg and cups my neck, forcing my mouth against his own.

He tastes of wine. I hook my toe into the denim of his waistband and tug it further down, till I can fully see the pale swell of his backside and I think the motion tickles him as he giggles in his rhythm. I can register that the air has grown cool as the sun fully deserts us, leaving us to it with a final curtain call on the happiest day I’ve ever known.

The force of our endeavor has shoved me up the blanket until I am well and truly beneath the far branches of our gardenia. I tilt my head up and smell the blossoms’ heady scent, their leaves and white flowers blending into the canopy of nightly stars beginning to show. Johnny’s warm face is tucked, groaning, into my neck, our bodies so close as he begins to falter in his control that I cannot watch him. So I watch the blossoms above sway in my vision as his need rucks my body up and down beneath them for a few more desperate minutes. I turn my face and press a kiss to his temple, his hair damp with sweat and smelling so much of him I clench. I love you, so good, you’re so good to me, so deep, so deep, I love you- my mind is adrift and where he rocks inside me is all I know and I babble and beg and praise him for it.

His breath is a hot steam over my clavicle, dirty hands tenderly grasping at a swollen breasts, he bites at my lower lip to hush himself when the pleasure overtakes and I too go under one more time, legs drawing up again under the wracking delight and my modest man groans and pants the filthiest appreciations, for taking him, slippery beautiful thing, tightest little cunt, could spend all my days in you, milk me, that’s it milk me sweetheart, you like it when I make you?

What he babbles to me as he spurts is never something later to be answered, it is gibberish and rhetorical and yet I believe every word, treasure them when he rolls off and pants beside me, I will rehearse them in my mind when he is gone to work. I know this last set will have me ready down to my thighs long before five o’clock.

In the cold night air his hands are soothing the damage his forceful want has done, petting my trembling flank down like a horse after a race, it gives me zapping little after-quakes that make him hum into our kisses as his warm palm feels me twitch and clench and melt.

We should go inside soon -we both mumble it at the same time and barely have energy to laugh over it. We stay on the tablecloth, grass texturing our backs, his only movements are to roll me closer to him, pulling my gaping dress with me, and plucking a white starry blossom for behind my ear. After he has placed it he drops his head again, pillowed on my upper arm and I can feel his breath even out across my throat.

My mother did not tell me of this. I have asked others in the most discreet way I can summon, but they all just say they hope I’ll be happy, they’re sure I’ll be happy, he seems to make me happy, they themselves are happy.

It is likely only myself at fault, but now I think of happiness as a very desperate thing, tentative and elusive and ever watchful. I did not expect to find its most distilled essence in quiet things. There is nothing more to write as our happiness did indeed persist after we woke and rose and went to shower, chilly from our exposure, it went on after we had wrapped ourselves under the bedding and clutched at each other like twins. But what is there to relate of such happiness? It has no great drama, it is not so very vigilant unless it is to actively prevent sadness, and even that is welcome here when it must be passing by. Perhaps the poets, or the preachers, or my wise boy would tell me it’s joy I feel. Maybe that was what I was looking for all this time.

Maybe that is what feels so foreignly precious about lying on a blanket with his spend cooling between my legs, our shrubs like loyal sentinels dotting the fence line and my man gently snoring atop me after having created a life sworn to himself when he thought he might die. It is sobering to be integral to that dream, but it is also peaceful.

It is joy, I suppose. Or a sort of Garden Variety Happiness.

Here’s my widdle Brady Taglist, thanks to each of you for expressing such interest and always showing such love. This was a bit of a weird passion project and I’ve got no idea if it actually “worked” but it was the branching out my creative brain needed. So many of y’all are already nailing this Man so well, 🤨😏 I’ve been such a happy recipient of all yalls works. Scream at me. Lemme know. Xoxo

@luminouslywriting

@ktredshoes

@archival-hogwash

@gigisimsonmars

@steph-speaks

@ab4eva

@lilfreebee

@slowsweetlove

@xxanaduwrites

@blurredcolour

@venus-planetof-love

@pearlparty

@winniemaywebber

@sagesolsticewrites

@ginabaker1666

#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota imagine #mota spoilers #john brady x oc #john brady x reader #John Brady #John Brady imagine #mota smut #mota x reader #ladies who brady

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hbowarbabes · 4 months

Text

Living to See Another Day Pt. 4

John "Bucky" Egan x Reader

Summary: Bucky and Y/n are found unconscious in the middle of a forest. They are taken by two German officers, both getting separated upon arrival at the transit camp. Now being in front of an all-too-relaxed interrogator, Bucky is unsure of where he’ll go, or if he and Y/n will be reunited again.

Warnings: Violence, and overall disturbing topics based in episode 6 of mota

Words: 3.9k

• • •

As Bucky and Y/n lay bruised and unconscious in the middle of the dense forest, the sounds of leaves rustling and wind blowing were the only things to break the silence. They remained there for what had to be longer than an hour since it was still daylight.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the forest was shattered by the aggressive shouts of two German officers.

Y/n's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to make sense of what was happening. Her muscles ached badly, and she couldn’t find the strength within herself to stand up.

Before she could turn her head and see who was there, she felt the cold metal tip of a rifle poking her in the back, causing her whole body to tensen up.

With a jolt, Bucky was kicked over onto his back by one of the officers, his eyes fluttering open groggily. The other officer kept a pistol pointed directly at Y/n's head, the threat of violence looming heavily in the air. Y/n's heart raced as she tried to process the gravity of their situation. They were caught once again with no way out.

Bucky struggled to sit up, his head spinning from the impact of being beaten back in the town.

His eyes locked onto Y/n's, a silent fear lingering in them. Both of them knew that much worse things would be awaiting them.

The officers barked orders in German, their harsh tones sending a surge of panic within Y/n.

Left with no choice, Y/n and Bucky stood up, following the officers to wherever they would be taken.

• • •

Faces still covered in blood and bruises, Y/n and Bucky now sat in the backseat of a car. Next to Y/n, one of the guards sat, staring at her with a threatening glare.

The two of them sat in silence, their hands bound to their side’s as they were being escorted to an unknown destination by two German officers.

The trees blurred past the windows of the car as it sped down the dirt road, the sound of the engine drowning out any chance of conversation between anyone in the vehicle.

Y/n's mind wandered to their close call with death in that city. She remembered the way Bucky had tried keeping her from getting harmed. The image of him getting beat and the other men being slaughtered wouldn’t leave her mind.

The last thing she remembered was rushing to Bucky’s side before she was knocked out.

In the forest, where they had never felt more vulnerable, they stuck together. Y/n was beginning to feel hopeful about the situation between her and Bucky.

Now, sitting side by side in the back of the car, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of regret. If only they had talked, she thought. If only they had put their feelings aside and just forgave each other.

But now it was too late. They were going to some place they didn’t know, with their fate still in question. The idea of ever getting back to England seemed so distant now.

Bucky sat with his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He too had recalled that moment in the forest when he and Y/n had come so close to being together. And now, all it would become was a memory. One they might never have the opportunity to build on.

If he were able to speak, he would’ve said so much to Y/n. He would’ve held her and kissed her and told her that everything would be ok. But what good would lying do for them?

For now, it was best that they be realistic and not break any rules. From there and beyond, they had no rights. They had no freedom.

• • •

Dulag Luft Prisoner of War Transit Camp,

Frankfurt, Germany

Y/n sat alone in the cold, dark room. She could hear nothing but the sound of her own breathing, the silence weighing heavily on her. She missed Bucky desperately and wished she could see his face again. Even if he was only a room away, it still felt like he was too far for Y/n.

The room was small and cramped, with only a tiny window high up on the wall letting in a sliver of dim light. Y/n shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. She could see her breath in the chill air, a stark reminder of just how isolated and helpless she felt.

She had been separated from Bucky when they were being led down the halls of the transit camp. Bucky shot her a subtle grin. It was a genuine one.

“I love you, Y/n!” He shouted as the two were being led into different parts of the dimly-lit hall.

“John-” The guard aggressively yanked Y/n’s arm away from Bucky as she tried to reach for him, causing her to be slammed against the wall.

It didn’t matter; woman or not, they were still going to treat her as a prisoner.

Bucky tried to help Y/n, but he too was held back, pushed against the ground by the guard.

“Macht schnell!” “Hurry up!” The guard shouted at Y/n, forcing her to continue as if Bucky wasn’t just thrown to the ground.

The last time she saw him, he was being dragged away to a room right across from hers by the aggressive guard. It helped ease Y/n nerves, knowing he wasn’t far. But not for long.

Now, all she could do was wait. Wait for the uncertainty of what would happen next, wait for any sign of hope that she would see Bucky again. But the minutes stretched on endlessly, each one blending into the next in a monotonous haze of despair.

Y/n tried to keep herself busy, pacing back and forth in the small room. She counted the seconds, the minutes, the hours, trying to stave off the gnawing feeling of fear and loneliness that threatened to consume her.

She felt like she was going crazy even though she had only stayed in that room for what would be longer than an hour. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that settled in the pit of her stomach.

She longed for Bucky's strong arms around her, for his reassuring presence to chase away the darkness that clung to her like a shroud.

Y/n eventually gave up trying to convince herself that she’d see him again, and fell back in the weak seat behind her, leaning her head against the cold wall. She still felt the pain in her head, but it had felt a little less sore as she started to get used to it. The feeling of pain.

• • •

“Major Egan, come in.”

Bucky was pushed into the room where his interrogator sat, sounding extremely calm given the situation. It had to be an act. Bucky could feel that this man’s intentions were far from genuine.

Taking a quick glance behind him, Bucky watched as the officers who had dragged him into that room slammed the door shut.

“I am your interrogator, Lieutenant Hausmann. Please, sit.” The interrogator’s eyes motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk.

Just as Bucky got settled in the chair, Hausman stood up.

“Can I pour you a whiskey?”

His eyes went wide in confusion. “How could this man be acting so nice?” He wondered. Either way, Bucky went along with it. It wasn’t like he had an option.

“Thanks.” Bucky commented dryly, a feeling of unease settling within him.

As he looked up at the wall in front of him, he noticed the picture of Hitler sitting neatly on the wall. How one man could cause so much damage was beyond Bucky’s understanding.

Hausmann brought two glasses, both filled barely halfway. Handing the glass to Bucky, the interrogator held a grin that was almost intimidating. Something felt off, but Bucky just couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Here’s, uh, mud in your eye.” Bucky made the toast to himself before consuming the much needed drink.

The liquid burned his throat, but he welcomed the warmth spreading through his body. He didn’t know how much he missed it up until now.

Hausmann, still with his glass in his hand, watched as Bucky downed his drink. Hausmann simply grinned, his mouth wrinkling at the corners. His other features remained still, almost as if he wasn’t even real.

“I don’t know that one.”

Breaking out of his motionless manner, he held his glass up.

“Here’s mud in your eye.”

After having a taste of the whiskey, Hausmann slowly set his glass down on the table, then bringing his attention to the pile of papers on his desk. He grabbed the thin file on top, centering it as he scanned the writing on the file.

“So . . .where shall we begin?”

“How about I was in a town and, um, someone shot four of the guys with me.” Bucky spoke in a gruff voice, his head hanging low as he avoided eye contact with the interrogator.

“Oh, my God. What town?” Hausmann put on the concerned act, still keeping his face stern and still.

“Rüssheim, something. I don’t know-”

“Rüsselsheim.” The interrogator cut in, already familiar with the city Bucky was referring to.

“That’s tragic. I will add it to the report.” There was no sincerity in Hausmann’s tone or his demeanor. He reached for a pen and some paper.

“Your colleagues, the ones who were killed, if you give me their names and rank, I can pass it on to-”

“I don’t know their names. We just happened to be put together.” Bucky was growing more suspicious of Hausmann’s tactics.

“Look, I appreciate the drink and, um, would really appreciate a thicker blanket, but as far as what you’re gonna get from me, it’s gonna be name, rank, and serial-”

“And serial number. Yours is O-399510. Yes, I already know that.” A smug grin was plastered across Hausmann’s face as Bucky’s head shot up.

“I also know you were born in Manitowoc, Wisconsin.”

Hausmann began flipping through the pages in the file and reading off whatever information was stated in Bucky’s file. That did not sit well with Bucky.

“Married?”

Bucky remained silent, his jaw clenching at the fear that this man might try to do something to Y/n if he even thought to mention her. But there was no need to think about it.

“From what I hear, you’ve been accompanied by your partner, Y/n y/l/n, yes?”

The sound of her name nearly brought Bucky inches from grabbing the interrogator by the throat. He had to remain calm. Not just for himself, but for Y/n. He didn’t want them to hurt her, or worse- kill her.

“We spoke. She’s. . . different from the many pilots I have encountered. Not the most cooperative.”

On the inside, Bucky prayed that Y/n didn’t sign her death wish during her interrogation. But he also wanted to laugh at the thought of Y/n arguing with Hausmann. She always had a rebellious streak in her since Bucky had known her.

“Female pilots are not common these days. She must have a lot to bring to the table, even with an attitude like hers.” As the interrogator chuckled in a mocking manner, Bucky could feel his fists clenching up.

Hausmann continued to the next page of the file, repeating all information put down.

“Squadron, 418th. Group, the 100th Bomber Group. H for Heavy. Headquartered at Thorpe Abbotts.”

Bucky couldn’t stand Hausmann’s scheming approach. Not knowing what to hear next, he watched as the interrogator continuously flipped through pages, eventually coming to a pause.

Hausmann brought his eyes away from the file and on to Bucky, holding the same devious grin that he had been putting on the whole time they had talked.

“Are you a baseball fan, Major?”

Bucky kept his stoic expression, not allowing his eyes to meet Hausmann’s.

“Certainly that’s not a national secret.”

Hausmann reached for a carton of cigarettes laying next to his empty whiskey glass as he smirked deceitfully.

“Cigarette?”

He held the open carton out in front of Bucky, urging him to take one for himself. Unsuspecting, Bucky took a cigarette.

As he brought the cigarette to his lips, Hausmann stood up from his chair, taking out a lighter. Bucky leaned forward, allowing the interrogator to light his cigarette.

“Sorry they are not as good as your American brands. Lucky Strike is my personal preference.” Hausmann sat back down, still keeping his eyes glued on Bucky as he took a puff of his cigarette.

“Baseball is still a bit of a mystery to me,” The interrogator was quick to change the subject.

“With all the sticks and bases, running in circles. Hausmann’s eyebrows shot up as he shook his head.

“There was the big championship last week, wasn’t there?”

“Yeah, the World Series.” Bucky didn’t sound eager to discuss the topic of sports. This wasn’t something he would really consider an interrogation. There were just a plethora of topics, along with some pieces of personal information being brought up. Nothing more. But what was it that this man really wanted to know?

“Yes, the World Series,” Hausmann nodded to himself, laughing dryly. “The New York Yankees versus the St. Louis Cardinals. A rematch, yes?”

“We were up two games to one when I went down.”

“So you are a Yankees fan?” He watched Bucky with a wicked grin.

“Would you like to know the outcome of the World Series?”

Bucky's eyes narrowed slightly, a look of annoyance visible on his face. He knew that Hausmann was fishing for information, trying to break him down with small talk and false camaraderie.

“Was Buck Cleven a Yankees fan?”

Bucky’s breathing began to quicken as he grew more angered by the mention of his best friend. How did they know every little detail of his life? Was there anything they didn’t know?

“No? Yes?”

Silence.

“I hear he was quite a flyer.”

Extending his arm across the desk, Hausmann grabbed a newspaper, revealing the newspaper under it with the headline “Eighth air force smashed Bremen.” Bucky recognized it instantly. That was the last mission Buck had went on when he went missing.

“I read of his exploits in the Regensburg attack. He was your friend, wasn’t he?”

The interrogator’s eyes skimmed over the newspaper, and moved back to the pilot who had now had all the little aspects of his life exposed. Grinning strongly on one side of his mouth, Hausmann’s eyes burned into the front of Bucky’s head.

Bucky met Hausmann's gaze, a sense of rage building up against him.

“It seems we’re shooting down all the good pilots.”

Not wanting to hear the interrogator’s comments, Bucky started fiddling with his cigarette.

“Did you know that on your Münster attack, only one of your planes returned?” Hausmann brought about the news with little sympathy in his voice.

He stuck his index finger up, subtly grinning.

“One.”

Bucky was in disbelief. Out of 17 aircrafts and one made it? He only wondered who the sole survivors were. They got lucky. Much luckier than him, at least.

“But back to you, Major Egan.” Scanning the page on his file, Hausmann’s grin quickly faded.

“I regret to inform you that you are, as you say, in a bit of a pickle.”

Bucky knew what he was here for. For news of going back to England or far from Germany would be near impossible. Whatever news he would get would be a punishment nonetheless.

“We know you were originally apprehended near Ostbevern . . .but we don’t have you in any record as a crew member on any of the planes from the Münster attack. The Gestapo would say that makes you a spy.”

“They would be mistaken.” Bucky denied everything. The words coming out of his mouth were nothing but the truth.

“One thing I can tell you, Major, the Gestapo is never mistaken.” Hausmann smirked proudly as Bucky looked him dead in the eyes, no longer wanting to hear him and his good-guy act.

“So, I need verification of your group, your squadron, and your plane so that I can confirm to them that you are indeed what you say you are.”

Bucky took a puff of his cigarette, inhaling deeply.

“John Egan. Major. O-399510.” He repeated the information once more. Hausmann inhaled sharply, his demeanor going from calm and contained all to irritated.

“Major. . . may I say that you’re not doing yourself any favors?”

Once again, silence.

“The Gestapo, they are different than me. Me. I’m like you: A flyer, a man of honor. And I can understand things in a way that perhaps my colleagues from the highly indoctrinated security forces might not.”

Bucky was having none of it.

“I’d like to talk to you about Buck Cleven, John. . . but I’d like you to talk to me as well. The number of replacement B-17s expected at Thorpe Abbotts next week, for example.”

“John Egan. Major. O-399510.” Bucky swallowed thickly as he had refused to give up any information that could be useful to them.

The room fell silent as the interrogator's mask of tranquility slipped away, revealing the cold, calculating man beneath. Hausmann's eyes narrowed as he realized that Bucky was not going to give in, and that no amount of threats or promises could force the information out of him.

“I see.”

• • •

Y/n quickly shot up from the cold bench of her room as officers burst in, shouting in an aggressive manner. An officer grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her out into the hall, along with many other airmen.

As she walked down the hall, she watched as airmen were thrown out of their rooms, almost hitting the ground as they were shoved out.

Y/n felt someone stumble into her, almost knocking her to the ground. Turning her head, she saw the one face she thought she might never see again. It was Bucky.

Bucky grabbed Y/n’s hand without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her head as they continued to move out.

“Hey, careful- my head still hurts.” Y/n chuckled dryly, bringing her hand to her temple.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, John,” Y/n wrapped her hand around Bucky’s wrist, her eyes glimmering as she looked into his. “It’s gonna be okay-”

She was cut off instantly as officers pushed and shouted at the two, forcing them to move out of the building.

• • •

At the rail yard, men jumped into the train one by one. All of them were kept in a tight formation, an unorganized line of people bumping into one another every second.

Y/n continued to hold onto Bucky’s hand, trying not to get lost among the many men who would be riding with them. The two had to stick together.

As Bucky was pushed up onto the train by an officer, he immediately extended his hand to Y/n, helping her up onto the train, where the floor was covered in filth and was slippery enough for one to fall.

Bucky continued to help the other men onto the train, helping to speed up the process as many had struggled to get on by themselves, many of those individuals being injured.

The officers kept pushing men closer to the train, shouting at their faces in words none of them could understand.

The loud echo of another train across the way caught everyone’s attention. As they all turned their heads, the desperate screams and cries began to fill the air.

Bucky and Y/n watched in horror as the people in the crammed boxcar seemed to be crying for help, all of them reaching their arms out through the slats.

Even as the boxcar passed, none of the men getting on the train could shake the image out of their heads. They had never seen anything like this before.

“In! Now! In! In!” An officer shouted at the remaining men on the ground to keep going. Bucky got back to helping the last of the men who hadn’t gotten on the train.

Just then, one man tried to make a run from the train, but was immediately shot by an officer before he could get far enough away. Many bullets were shot at the man, causing him to die instantly.

Everyone on the train watched in shock as they witnessed the killing of the innocent man, whose life ended within seconds.

The officer continued to shout as if nothing had happened.

As the last of the men were being helped onto the train, one officer started to shout at Bucky and point his finger in his face. Bucky shot the man a dirty look as he knew he had done nothing wrong.

An officer walked towards the train, the dead man who had been shot hanging over his back. He aggressively dropped the man onto the filthy train floor, leaving him with everyone else.

Y/n looked at the dead man on the ground as the officer slid the door of the train shut, leaving the inside of the train dark.

Now they would be going to their destination with a bunch of men and a dead body for god only knew how long.

• • •

The screeching sound of the train brakes filled the air as Bucky and Y/n arrived at their destination, which would most likely be their final.

After hours of being in the train with no light and no fresh air, the door slid open. Bright lights shone in their faces, almost blinding them.

They were immediately welcomed by the aggressive barking of two German shepherds, along with long lines of angry officers, all shouting at them.

One by one, they each jumped out of the train.

Bucky went before Y/n, and she jumped out after him, keeping a close distance to him as they couldn’t hold hands out in the open where their every move could be seen.

• • •

Luftwaffe-Controlled Stalag Luft III,

Sagan, Germany

October 17, 1943

Exhausted and weak, the POWS were reaching their destination. They had walked for hours. To Y/n, it all felt like a fever dream. She couldn’t imagine herself doing this. It was only months ago that she was living a carefree life in the states.

Two officers quickly opened the gates, revealing the many men already there. As they walked through the gates of the camp, the POWs who were already there began to line up against the wired fences to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals.

The camp was surrounded by high wired fences, with guard towers looming over them ominously.

Y/n caught up with Bucky, now standing next to him as they both searched for any familiar faces.

It was instant when Bucky had recognized one of the men.

“Johnny! John! Y/n!”

“Egan! Y/l/n!” They heard their names, but couldn’t see their faces.

“Hey, Johnny! Y/n!”

Y/n and Bucky continued to hear their names being shouted, still not knowing who was calling them. But knowing that someone recognized them left Y/n relieved.

“Bucky! Y/n! Over here!”

Just then, they both caught sight of their old crew members, all shouting and waving at them, full of excitement. Y/n thought they had all disappeared. But she felt better knowing they were all alive, and together.

“Crank!” Bucky shouted, his face lighting up.

“You made it!”

“Murph! Glen!”

Bucky happily shouted the names of his crew members, whom were standing together.

“Hey! Any of you know if Buck made it?” Bucky asked urgently, scanning the faces of his crew, hoping one of them had some information about his friend.

“What?” Crank shouted, unable to hear him.

“I said Buck-”

Before he could ask again, a familiar voice called out to him.

"John Egan! Your two o’clock."

Bucky's heart skipped a beat as he saw Buck standing on the other side of the wire fence. Relief flooded through him as he and Y/n passed by the person that had been presumed missing. He was alive.

“What took you two so long?” Buck grinned from ear to ear.

This had been the one of many times that Y/n saw Bucky smile. She missed seeing that smile so much.

“Welcome to Stalag Luft III, boys,” A man standing behind the fence shouted.

Being led by the officers into the camp, no one could speak to their friends and old crew. Everyone’s smiles faded instantly as the reality of their situation sunk in. They were officially prisoners of war.

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air #major john egan #john egan #bucky egan #major john egan x reader #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader

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wexhappyxfew · 2 months

Note

hiya shannon hope youre doing well 😚 now ill let you pick the pairing because i actually haven't watched mota yet (which is treason and all, i know), but can't miss out on a chance to read some of your amazing writing. i thought these prompts were interesting:

3. “Tell me to leave and I’ll never bother you again.”

29. “Don’t lie to me. I was there.”

xoxo hope to hear back from you soon and can't wait to read!

HI FRIEND!!!! i hope you're doing well toooo!! thank you so much for stopping by! awe it's no worries, you know that!! i always say watch when you can or want haha!! :D you're too kind, friend, thank you for the love and support and i hope it lives up to it!!! i picked my OC Judy Rybinski and who she is ~eventually~ paired up with, a fav of favs, Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal, who i have a few more pieces for as well posted and coming in the next few days!! and, i went with the first prompt offered (#3) as it fit the vibes more here! these two have my HEART! and i hope this piece captures that too :) (also: i will absolutely be getting back to you soon my friend hehe 🥹🫶✨)

let it linger

(a/n): for the judy x rosie girlies again - giving you all the soft, slightly awkward and nervous vibes there is, with a hint of that eagerness and excitement as we near the end of the war! and judy gets a promotion (which she deserves and earns), so please enjoy that! plus, enjoy the slight hint of the imagery of a swan above! they're beautiful!! :D also....just incase i didn't mention it anywhere else (and thinking back i probably didn't) after some of the silver bullets girls get split up, judy gets a position as rosie's turret ball gunner on rosie's riveters!!

"Lieutenant Rybinski, that has a ring to it."

Lieutenant Judy Rybinski. In her eyes, it really did. Lieutenant Rybinski - with her new crusher cap, A-2 jacket fit to the length of her arms and rather tiny form, the Lieutenant bar on her lapel, and the new level of standards she seemed to hold herself to. Judy looked up from underneath that shiny new crusher cap at Rosie Rosenthal and grinned.

"You think?" she asked him with a chuckle, crossing her arms as they approached the mess hall, "I'll be honest, Rosie, I didn't expect it. They don't do that sorta thing real often around here it seems. I know Francis just got the big promotion, but I don't know…." Judy shrugged, "a ball turret gunner doesn't see that sorta stuff." Rosie watched her for a moment, before breaking out into a wide grin and stopping in the path and turning to her, his hands placed firmly on his hips.

"A ball turret gunner like yourself deserves to see that sort of stuff." he said, and then offered her a wink to which she gave him a look. Judy gasped.

"You know something, don't you," she said, leaning forward and popping his shoulder lighting with a finger of hers, "c'mon, spill, what is it?" Rosie watched her and shook his head.

"I just think that Operations really has seen the lengths you've gone in the line of duty," Rosie said with a gentle smile, "your leadership skills, your capability to remain calm under pressure, stepping up to the plate. How you had to come up outta the ball turret and take on tail gunner for the second half of a mission. That sorta stuff doesn't just happen. Some people panic, some stall up. You jumped right in." Judy watched him.

"How would anyone know….?" Judy started, trailing off after his spiel, only to grin like a loon and drop her jaw, when she saw him grinning like he always did.

"It was YOU." Judy managed in a mixture of gasping-whispering-and-excitedly-yelling, before placing her hands on her reddening cheeks and grinning, "You didn't have to!" Rosie laughed lightly and shook his head, before stepping forward and placing his hands on her shoulders comfortably, like they'd been there all her life, his presence both warm and kind.

"I know how hard you work, Judy," Rosie said quietly, the feel of his gaze on her both pleasant and peaceful all at once, "I got mixed up in a conversation with Jack Kidd, he brought up the Silver Bullets, and….well, I couldn't help but bring you up." Couldn't….help? Judy was probably red in the face, but she didn't mind. He couldn't help but bring her up?

"You got that look on your face," Rosie said quietly with a chuckle, "I know you don't like the spotlight, but when people do what you've done, you deserve it." Judy stared at him, fighting back a bit of pent-up emotions that have been living inside her body for months. Despite her feelings towards Rosie as a whole (which had continually grown deeper without fail and had been increasingly harder to hide), and her emotions towards the war (which were ever-present), having someone like himself, taking away her emotions towards him, recognize what she's done, and what her sacrifice has been, made her want to have a breakdown.

"People don't usually tell me that sort of thing," Judy said softly back to him, smiling up at him with her rosy cheeks, "so thank you." Thank you for seeing me, like you always do, Judy thought to herself. Rosie smiled at her genuinely, and then squeezed her shoulders.

"It's always my pleasure, Jude, you know that." Rosie said tenderly, before dropping his hands from her shoulders and crossing his arms, nodding to the mess hall, "Ready for breakfast?" She nodded, but felt rooted in place, eyes somewhere towards the ground.

"You okay?" he asked her, reaching forward and bumping a pointer finger lightly under her chin as she looked up towards him, his hands going back to his hips. The longer she stared at him, the more she couldn't contain her thoughts inwards.

"You're really amazing you know?" Judy managed out, with a nod, "And you've probably been told that a million times, by a bunch of guys, as well as a bunch of girls wanting to have your last name, but, genuinely Rosie, meeting you has meant everything to me. Please know that." Rosie watched her, his turn to get rooted in place as a silence fell around them. Judy's cheeks grew a darker red just as the realization of what she had said to him and she suddenly wanted to take it all back with that look on his face.

"I…" Judy started, "listen, tell me to leave and I'll never bother you again, but, you do so much for me and everyone else around you and you put so much of yourself out there to better others and help other people. And you make sure people are cared for and comforted and doing well and are healthy, which damn, I barely look out for my own health, and you just…" Judy fell at a lose for words as Rosie stood there soaking in her jumbled mess of speech that he was definitely trying to decode in some sort of way. There she goes again, just saying whatever came to mind, right in front of Rosie Rosenthal, her emotions edging her on even more so in recent days it seemed.

Even if all he saw were friendship between them and they'd never be able to explain what all those touches and lingering looks were for whatever was to come, he'd know that she thought he was incredible and someone who has genuinely changed her life. He'd know that for as long as he lived, even it meant embarrassing herself until the point she was red in the face. She noted his slightly red cheeks and the wheels working in his head to speak.

"Thank you, Judy," Rosie said quietly with a nod, catching her gaze as she stared at him, whatever was swimming in his eyes enough to get a smile on her face, at the way he seemed breathless enough without words to stand there in front of her and look at her like that, "it's the right thing to do. Here. Right now. In the world. Help people. Make them know they're an important part in all of this. I….wow, bit of a loss for words, Jude." Judy watched him and then smiled grandly up at him.

"You take a minute to catch your breath," she whispered, before stepping forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, where she might've lingered a little longer than needed, but the spark of connection with that gentle touch was enough to keep her boldly functioning, "I'll meet you at the mess hall." Pulling back she looked at him and so up close, she could see every bit of his eye that you never saw from far away, and it made her smile softly within his general gaze, enough to keep him smiling, himself.

"Even if there are a lot of girls who'd like my last name," Rosie started, referencing her rather bold display of emotions, "none of them have ever kissed my cheek like that."

Judy froze up as she stared at him, her heart pounding so loud in her ears, she swore she had imagined that last part. She stared at him, swallowing her words and thoughts to try and get her body functioning and looked up into his eyes again.

"Maybe because none of them ever had the courage to really get to know you," she whispered back, holding his gaze like a sun to the moon, "and know how much you deserve to be loved like that." And then Judy was stepping away from him, trying to tell herself not to regret every word she was saying, spilling out of her mouth in that moment.

They could go down any day of the week - she was done watching her friends fall in love and then get their hearts torn out of their chests. She was done with the war getting what it wanted. She was tired of people letting the war take away the one thing that was ever-present. Love. Even if it meant a few bold, rather embarrassing forms of half-confessions and awkward, nervous laughter.

And Rosie.

Rosie deserved to know. She just had to find the courage to tell it straight to his face all these feelings she had wrapped up deep inside of her. For now, she'd let those thoughts linger longer.

Maybe.

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stonedcoldfoxtarot · 1 year

Text

What would they confess while stoned or drunk?

From left to right:

Pile 1 -> Pile 2

Pile 3 -> Pile 4

Pile 1 La Mota 6oC, 7oP, Tower, 5oW, AoC (Temperance)

Pile 1, I feel like this person has a lot to say while under the influence because the cards flew put of the deck right away.

Someone with whom you share a deep connection would want to tell you that you came into their life and nothing was ever the same. They haven’t stopped thinking about you since. When faded or gone off the liquor, this person wouldn’t hold back in telling you how you are their soulmate and how deep their feelings are for you. If they’ve been holding back their feelings in the past, everything will come spilling out of them suddenly - they won’t be able to fight it or hold back. They might even blurt out the words “I love you.”

If you and this person have had arguments or disagreements in the past, while under the influence they would want to make up and tell you how sorry they are for hurting you or blowing up your connection. They deeply desire to work things out.

Pile 2 Magic 8 Ball 7oW, 6oC, Death, High Priestess, AoP, 8oS, 10oW, 7oS rev, Judgement, AoW, 9oW, 4oW rev (9oP)

Someone who may be a recovering addict or abstains from drinking or smoking due to something traumatic that happened in their past might prefer to keep their wits about them and would not enjoy the feeling of being in an altered state of consciousness. They may have struggled with addiction themselves, had a toxic ex who struggled with sobriety during their relationship or been raised by an addict. However, this person enjoys your company and may even find you incredibly attractive. Yet, they seem to be focused on being single and financially independent for now, and do not seem to be opening up about their feelings due to internal or external blockages and responsibilities.

Pile 3 The High Priestess 9oP, Temperance, Emperor, Hierophant, 8oS, 7oP rev, 5oS, 6oW, 3oW (AoC)

When this person gets intoxicated, they confess how beautiful and amazing they think you are. They admire you and learn a lot by being around you. They see you as smart, independent and a natural born leader. When sober, they may hold back from telling you how much they admire you, but under the influence of liquor or weed, they can't hold back.

This person also desires to take things to the next level in your connection and make things official. They might even propose! They want to take care of you and share a life with you. Even when sober, they think the two of you would make a great team. You guys might smoke or drink together on occasion and they really enjoy getting faded with you. They are very much in love and at times it may be written all over their face.

If they have held back in the past, with a little liquid courage, this person would tell you how lost and incomplete their life is without you. They would let you know that they are deeply in love with you.

I heard the lyrics “Baby I’ve been making plans for you” from The Matrimony by Wale Ft. Usher.

Pile 4 Don’t Care Bear Tower, AoS rev, 10oW rev, 10oS, World, 3oC, 5oW, 9oC, ToS rev, Hierophant rev (AoW)

Pile 4, this person is using alcohol and drugs to forget their past mistakes in the relationship. They realize how they were dishonest and disloyal with you, and how they failed to be there for you when you needed them the most. They acknowledge that they put everyone else before you, and they regret it. When they drink or smoke the memories of how things fell apart between the two of you overtake them and they shut down in order to forget.

If you have cut this person off or if they ghosted you, spirit is saying it's best to let them go. They are not capable of committing to a relationship, even if they made you feel otherwise when you got high or drunk together in the past.

Sometimes, while faded they may consider reaching out to you but they know that you have already moved on from them due to their wasteman behavior (gender neutral). They understand that the most they could offer you at this time is a night or two of pleasure but little to nothing more. They are not suitable for a long-term relationship because even at their best they will forever be for the streets.

I heard the lyrics to Needed Me by Rihanna.

Thanks for reading🔮✨

#pac reading #pick a pile #pick a card #intuitive readings #pick a picture #future spouse reading #tarot reading #tarotblr #pac #tarot #love reading #love pick a card #oracle reading

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pacifierbby · 7 months

Text

BEST FRIENDS ✧ ; Mason m x Bethany m

Masterlist | navi | taglist

summary ▹ you was a famous you-tuber. posting on your Instagram after what seemed 4 months about your recent new video when mason mount likes and comments. however your fans thought that he was your best friend when you and mason knew that wasn't the case. but what happens when a wags account on Instagram see you at Disneyland together

pairing ▹mason mount x you

face claim ▹Bethany Mota

⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘

Liked by 12k mason mount danandphil zoe sugg

and more

Lillybet ✓ ▹ new video! I know I've been away for 4 months, and lives have been hectic! Please give it a like and subscribe enjoy! here's some photos of this year + new music!

Comments

Mason Mount✓ ▹ enjoyed watching your video! much love!

↳ lillybet ✓▹ thank you, my love ♡

Fan1 ▹ is that mason in Beth's comments 👀 and Beth called him love wtf

Fan 2 ▹omg best interaction off 2023

Liked by llillybet and benchinwell 512,007

Mason mount✓ ▹ what a wonderful time in Paris at Disney land with lovely people and of course you guys!

↳ Lillybet ✓ ▹❥︎

fan1 ▹lilly is in masons comments and likes aswell

↳ fan2 ▹maybe their friends? @/fan2

Chelsea_wags ▹ look at my content. Mason has been spotted and holding hands with American youtuber bethany mota

Liked by 15k and more

Chelsea_wags ▹ disclaimer! These photos aren't my own. These are from different sources, which were lillys friends 👀 do you think it was an accident posting that last pic because 10 minutes after it was deleted? Also, a different source said that lilly and Mason were staying in the 1st picture Hotel together....

Fan1 ▹ oh my god, no way! I'll be so happy if they are together!!!

Zoellasugg ✓▹ how did you find these if her friends account is private 🤔

↳ @/zoellasugg, my friend managed to get the photos, not me 🙏 I'm just posting them

liked by benchillwell, lillybet, zoellasugg and 512,007 others

Mason mount✓ ▹ few photos from our holidays. but i also have something to address there has been photos roaming around the internet of me and Lilly yes i'm slightly upset because this was supposed to be private for a little while well until me and Lilly thinked it was okay to post about our relationships however this is not the case anymore please don't send any hate and please don't attack the account that did it we move on from this now. me and Lilly will be posting sometimes but this is our life's and we will live it like any normal people

much love Mason

↳ Lillybet ✓ ▹ aweeeee that's so adorable and one of our old pictures i love you so much!!! but im sorry again this happened

↳ Mason mount✓ dont worry about it love things happen lets move on!

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sagesolsticewrites · 4 months

Text

Masters of the Air Masterlist

Major Gale “Buck” Cleven

Kiss It Better? 💋 - my very first MOTA drabble based on the prompts “boo boo kisses” & “ pet names” (base nurse!reader)

Kiss It Better pt 2 💋 - That lipstick mark leads to a surprising turn of events 👀

Major John “Bucky” Egan

Oblivious - Bucky’s been trying to get your attention for months now, but you continue to misinterpret his romantic advances as friendship. Everyone else on base is tired of seeing you two dance around each other, and they decide to take matters into their own hands.

Homecoming - John finally returns home to his girl (based on the prompt “carrying the other one in their arms”)

requests are open!

Lt. Harry Crosby

Just Say Yes - Tooth-rotting fluff based on the prompt “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.” “What about today?”

Harry Crosby Certified Wife Guy™️ - minific about Croz being head over heels for his wife and the entire 100th knows it

Dear… - A series of letters from one Lt. Harry Crosby to his wife 🤍 (a sort-of continuation of Just Say Yes, but can be read as a standalone!)

A Little Fire - In which Harry Crosby shows his wife exactly how much he appreciates her 😏 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Heat Wave - It’s the hottest summer Iowa’s had in a while. Your husband wears shorts. It gets even hotter (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

In My Arms - Sometimes your husband just needs to be held. (lots and lots of fluff) (coauthored with Winnie!)

Yes, Major - … I mean. Do I even need to say it? 👀 Dom!Croz (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

requests are open!

Sgt. Ken “Kenny” Lemmons

• requests are open!

Lt. Curtis “Curt” Biddick

To The Rescue - in which your friends drag you out to a bar against your will, but you meet a certain soldier that makes it worth it

requests are open!

Major Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal

Take A Break - Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house

Welcome Home - Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him 🫠 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

It’s Been A Long, Long Time series:

Kiss Me Once - The moment you’ve been anxiously awaiting is finally here — your boyfriend Rosie Rosenthal finally arrives home

Kiss Me Twice - You and Rosie finally have a “proper reunion” 😏😉 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Kiss Me Once Again - Rosie takes you to his apartment for a proper date night away from his family 😏 (18+ minors dni!)

requests are open!

Captain John Brady

Brady’s Smash Wagon - Your boyfriend (Captain John Brady) takes you (his Red Cross girlfriend) to see his Flying Fortress. Shenanigans ensue 👀 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Love’s Light Wings - John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

Pen Pal - Jules gets a letter from her boy an ocean away— as well as a message from a new friend. (taking place pre-LLW prologue, just a little blurb about Jules getting the letter Olive wrote to her in Part 7 of @winniemaywebber’s masterpiece Honeysuckle Rose!)

Prologue (“for stony limits cannot hold love out”)

Chapter 1 (“as boundless as the sea”)

requests are open!

Anthony Boyle

Sundress - in which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Lipstick Kisses - the sweetest, spiciest Anthony fic y’all ever saw (feat… uh, Things Happening in cars 👀) written by my bestie Winnie!!! (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Pillow Talk - Anthony is in desperate need of rest & relaxation when he returns home from his latest project, and you’re more than happy to provide it. (coauthored with Winnie!!!)

Come and Kiss Me - Anto takes you as his date to the Oscars. Things get very soft and veryyyy spicy (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

The Stache Fic - Anto grows a mustache. You like it… a lot. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Better Kind of Best Friend - Anthony, your friend-with-benefits, stops by for an impromptu visit after an interview. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

No Rush - just a soft lil makeout blurb <3

Freckle Kisses - very short very sweet lazy morning blurb

Waking Up Next to You - soft lazy morning smut <3 (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

i thought we had no chance (and that’s romance) - You resolve to tell Anthony about your feelings— with surprising results. (Part Two to Better Kind of Best Friend) (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

#masterlist #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #austin butler major gale buck cleven #callum turner major john bucky egan #harry crosby #ken lemmons #austin butler #callum turner #anthony boyle #rafferty law #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #nate mann #sage speaks

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footprintsinthesxnd · 1 month

Text

Chapter 11: The Wire

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: As the girls realise their fate is sealed for the remainder of the war, Gale makes his last flight of the war.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

October 1, 1943: Sagan, Germany

Two days.

Two days of squalor, of the constant smell of human excrement, of pure hell. They’d stopped a few times to pick up other prisoners, prolonging the journey deeper into Germany. When the train car door finally slid open, its occupants shielded their eyes as the bright morning light shone into the car. Frank, Hope, and Ruth remained in the corner, unable to stand when the harsh commands to do so echoed through the air.

“Up!”

The airmen did their best to follow the order, but their weakened bodies slowed their movements, angering the Germans who began roughly pulling them from the train. Once the dozens of legs surrounding them stepped toward the exit, Hope clambered to her feet, her legs shaking as she helped pull Ruth up. They shared an anxious glance while Frank grabbed their jacket sleeves and led the trio toward the door behind the other POWs.

“Stay close,” he stressed, looking to each of them for confirmation. “We’re not gonna get split up this time, alright?”

It took their eyes a few moments to adjust to the blinding light of the sun they hadn’t seen in a few days as they jumped down from the train, mud squelching beneath their boots. Hope could feel her heart pounding in her chest as her dark eyes scanned their surroundings. Her eyes fell upon the dark pine forest in the distance. She wondered if they always built camps surrounded by forests because it was easier to get lost if you tried to escape. The loud slam of the car door caused her to turn, noticing the hard faced guard standing at the front of their group.

The guard at the front of the group motioned toward the path with a yell. “Walk! Now!”

Ruth’s eyes widened in panic as they started walking. “Do you think they’re gonna kill us?”

“No,” Hope replied quietly, offering her friend a forced smile. She honestly didn’t know what the Krauts had planned for them but she wasn’t about to give Ruth more to worry about. “They wouldn’t transport us this far just to kill us.”

Though Ruth nodded in tentative agreement, Hope’s own doubts lingered, a silent weight pressing down upon her. The uncertainty of their fate was almost unbearable, each step forward carrying them deeper into the unknown.

Where were they going?

How long would they be there?

Would they ever see their loved ones again?

They could feel the filth clinging to their bodies with each step down the path. The mud, sweat, blood, and disgusting muck from the train car coated their clothes. It was far worse than any conditions they had experienced as nurses. The women prayed for a shower or just somewhere they could clean themselves of the grime painting their skin. After almost two weeks, the pain in Ruth’s arm dulled into a throb with every movement, and thankfully, Frank’s ribs were much the same. Hope’s bruises were beginning to fade and the deep gash above her eye had slowly closed. She still hadn’t talked about what happened to her in Dulag Luft. How could she explain it?

The path through the forest stretched on for about a half-mile before they reached the edge of the treeline. As they emerged from the forest, the sight before them stole their breath away. A vast clearing spread before them, dominated by a sprawling complex of buildings, huts, and sheds. The entire area was encircled by a pair of menacing barbed-wire fences, their twisted coils glinting ominously in the sunlight. Along the perimeter, wooden guard towers loomed tall, manned by German soldiers armed to the teeth with rifles, machine guns, and searchlights.

Frank’s jaw clenched as he took in the formidable sight, his mind racing with grim possibilities. “Looks like our new home,” he remarked, his tone laced with bitterness. “Real cosy.

Hope’s hand found Ruth’s, squeezing it tightly as their group approached the large main gate. Hope opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud siren and the gate creaking open. As they walked through the gates and beyond the perimeter of barbed wire, prisoners flocked to the sides of the walkway, scanning the new arrivals for any familiar faces. They wore frayed and mismatched uniforms, many of them hanging loosely on the men’s slender frames. Some were dressed in American uniforms, further down the line were men dressed in British RAF uniforms but they didn’t all speak English. Hope thought she could make out Polish, or maybe Czech. Some called out to friends they recognized, their excited laughter lifting the atmosphere just slightly. Others murmured in disbelief when they caught sight of the women, their expressions filled with shock and pity.

“Can you believe it? Women here…” one muttered from where he leaned against the wire.

“Poor things,” the man beside him replied sadly. “Leave it to the Germans to make women POWs. I wonder what unit they’re with.”

Among the pitied glances were men whose eyes lingered on Hope and Ruth with a disturbing intensity. It was clear that some hadn’t seen women in years, and their unsettling stares sent a chill down the girls’ spines. Frank shot a warning glare at anyone who dared stare too long, his protective instincts kicking into high gear as he trailed closely behind them.

“Welcome to Stalag Luft III, ladies! This place is going to eat you alive.”

Hope turned to see who had spoke and her eyes fell on a man ahead of them, his sunken face bearing a smirk. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes and red sores sat along the corners of his lips. Hope had never seen a man in such desperate need of medical care but there wasn’t much she could do for him here, without any supplies. She wondered how long he had been here to end up in such a fate. The thought struck her that maybe this was their fate too.

Was that her future? To end up like him?

Frank’s voice behind them cut through the buzz of the crowd. “Ignore him,” he said, sparing the man a pointed glance. “He’s just a bitter old timer who’s been here too long.”

Hope nodded in agreement, her grip on Ruth’s hand tightening slightly as they continued past the wire, further into the camp. They were led into one of the buildings and lined up before being searched for any items considered contraband. Thankfully, their Luftwaffe searchers were more respectful than the soldiers who found them after the crash, patting them down without allowing their hands to linger.

Once the search was complete, they were fingerprinted and photographed, reminding the trio of their arrival at Dulag Luft. Thinking back on that day, Hope couldn’t help but wonder where Bob Wolff ended up. He was the only piece of home they had… the only tie to the small corner of East Anglia the women held so dearly to their hearts. The thought was pushed from her mind when a neatly folded pile of two thin blankets, a rough mattress cover, and a straw-filled pillow was thrust toward her. Hope’s heart sank at the sight of the pitiful bedding, knowing it would offer little comfort in the cold nights ahead. They were slightly nicer than the ones in Dulag Luft and the girls tried not to think about the infestation of lice they probably harboured.

In line before her, Ruth blinked away the tears filling her eyes as she was given a small package filled with eating utensils and toiletries. She clutched the scratchy towel close to her chest, struggling to hold it all with one hand. At the final stop, a man held out her new “dog tags,” her prisoner of war number stamped into the shiny metal.

Hope stood behind her, taking her own tag next. Her number read 2982. It was a far cry from her serial number, one that she’d been proud to quote. Now she was reduced down to just a number rather than a human being.

Hope joined Ruth against the wall, and Frank soon made his way over to them, and before they knew it, their group of about 30 Americans was led back through the camp to a gate leading into one of the many compounds on site. Hope and Ruth’s eyes scanned the large area, taking in the dozens of men walking around, some returning to their blocks after swarming the wire a few minutes before.

All eyes flew to the gate behind them as it shut, sealing them into the compound for the foreseeable future. It was like a finally deafening bang that saw their future sealed. Hope wasn’t sure what the future held for them, but after the confinement in Dulag Luft she knew that Stalag Luft couldn’t be as bad, she had her friends for a start. They would get through this together. Beside her, Hope could see Ruth beginning to lose her cool. Her shoulders sagged under her ragged breaths and she knew that she’d begin to spiral if she didn’t step in.

Hope passed her things to Frank, giving him a knowing look to which a sympathetic smile spread over his lips. She reached out to grab her shoulders, reassuringly squeezing them. “Rue, it’s okay,” she said softly, her voice steady and calming. “We’re gonna be alright.”

Frank stepped closer to them. “Take deep breaths, Ruth. In…and out.”

Hope saw Ruth tightening against the growing panic attack. They had been a common occurrence when she’d first joined them as a new nurse. Hope had feared at one point that she might not make it as a flight nurse. After a few moments, her breathing evened out and the panic passed. Frank and Hope sent each other a relieved glance, thankful the anxiety strike didn’t progress into a full-fledged attack. It wasn’t the first panic Ruth had around the pair, and Hope was surprised she hadn’t had one since they went down. In her eyes, it was long overdue.

“Welcome to the lovely South Compound,” a commanding voice called out to the group. “I’m Colonel Goodrich, and I’ll be your Commanding Officer during your stay here.”

Goodrich was a tall man with dark, curly hair. He stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke. The colonel’s sharp gaze swept over the faces of the men before him, assessing their conditions. But it was when his eyes landed on Ruth and Hope that his expression shifted, a flicker of surprise and concern crossing his features. He hesitated momentarily before gesturing to the shorter man beside him.

“This is Major Dodson. He’s going to assign you to blocks.”

Dodson stepped forward and began to lead the group toward the dozens of buildings across the clearing. The trio started to follow but froze when Goodrich’s voice filled the air.

“You three. Hold on a moment.”

The rest of the group murmured among themselves as they followed Dodson to get their bunking assignments, leaving Hope, Frank, and Ruth standing alone before the Colonel. He approached them with his hands in his pockets, his demeanor serious but not unkind.

“I apologize for singling you out, but we’ve never had women here. I thought maybe it was one thing the Germans wouldn’t do, but here we are…Do you need medical attention?”

Hope exchanged a quick glance with Ruth and Frank before replying, “No, sir. We’re alright, just a bit banged up from the crash.”

Colonel Goodrich nodded, his gaze lingering on the blood and cuts marring Ruth’s face and the grimy appearance of all three of them. “I see. What outfit are you with?”

“806th MAETS,” Frank replied.

“Ahh, so you’re flight nurses, I’m guessing.”

Hope stuck out her hand. “Yes, sir. First Lieutenant Hope Armstrong,” she gestured to herself. “This is my counterpart Second Lieutenant Ruth Morgan, and our pilot Captain Frank Martin.”

Goodrich shook each of their hands and offered the women a kind smile. “I hate you two are stuck here, but I’ll do what I can to help you out. I imagine you’d all like to clean up a bit. Major Dodson can arrange private showers for you, Lieutenants. It’s cold and might not be the Ritz, but it’s better than nothing.”

The thought of showers, of getting clean perked Ruth up, and she nodded once at the man. “Thank you, sir.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Goodrich glanced at his watch before taking a breath and walking away, motioning for them to follow. “I’ll take you to your assigned block. This compound has only been open a few weeks, so there’s a lot of empty rooms.“

The air inside the block was musty, but it felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos and constant vigilance they’d endured the past few weeks. The Colonel stopped before a door and turned to face them.

“This building is relatively quiet,” he explained, looking down the long hallway at the few men entering their room further down. “You’ll have this room to yourselves. It’ll give you a little bit of privacy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Colonel Goodrich nodded, and Hope could tell he wished he could do more for them, but this was the best he could do. ”Dodson will be back soon to take you to the showers. Don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”

With that, he turned and left them standing in front of the door to their room, staring at the wood blankly. Frank took a deep breath and opened the door. The space was dimly lit by a small window, casting long shadows across the room. Triple-decker bunk beds lined the walls, each one with a thin straw mattress that looked as disgusting as the ones in their Dulag Luft cells. A single table stood in the middle of the room.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Frank remarked, dropping his handful of things to the table with a thud.

Hope nodded in agreement, her gaze lingering on the bunk beds. “At least we have a place to rest.”

Ruth was the first to choose a bunk, opting for the lower bunk farthest from the door, and Hope chose the one beside her. Frank decided on the bunk above Hope. It reminded Hope a little of being back home with Hugh. As young children he’d had the top bunk and would often ‘accidentally’ drop things on her in the night. Her heart ached for her brother. He always knew what to do and always knew how to make light of a situation. She could use a hug from her big brother right now, and Gale… she tried not to think of Gale as she set about making her bed before sinking down onto the stiff mattress. She could see the exhaustion clearly on Ruth’s face and she pitied the young teacher. She was sure this wasn’t what Ruth had envisioned when she’d joined up to help.

“That man,” she whispered, blinking away tears that stung her eyes, “The one at the gate…”

“What about him?” Hope could see the tears slipping slowly down Ruth’s cheeks.

“His eyes…they looked so hollow, so hopeless. I-I don’t want to end up like that.”

Hope sat on the edge of Ruth’s bed, placing a hand on her arm. “Hey, you won’t. You’ve got me. And you’ve got Frank. We’re not going anywhere.”

As Hope stared into her friend’s glistening eyes, she hoped the woman couldn’t see through her. That she couldn’t see the terror that possessed her every thought, every moment, every dream since the door of her cell slammed shut at Dulag Luft. It was no secret that they were at the mercy of their captors who could do anything they wanted, and Hope feared it was only a matter of time until the Germans took advantage of it.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, through the thin walls, and Hope’s heart skipped a beat. She could see it now: a German shoving open the door, dragging her and Ruth out by their hair to do unspeakable things to them. But when three quiet knocks filled the air, she furrowed her brows.

Germans wouldn’t knock.

The women watched with bated breath as Frank slowly approached the door, shooting them a warning glance that seemed to say, ‘get ready.’ Before he opened it, the visitor spoke on the other side, their voice muffled through the wood.

“It’s Major Dodson. I’ve arranged some showers for y’all.”

Hope let out a soft exhale, the tension in her shoulders easing as Frank shook his head and opened the door. Quickly blinking her eyes, Ruth tried to clear any sign of tears from her face before he could see. Dodson stepped inside, smiling kindly at the two women sitting on the bed. If he noticed the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes, he didn’t comment on it.

“Nice to meet you, Lieutenants.” He nodded at them, then turned to Frank. “And you, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dodson held out a bundle of clothing to him. “Here are some fresh clothes. I found the smallest ones possible for you two, but-”

“Thank you,” Hope interrupted. “I’m sure they’re fine, sir.”

“Grab your stuff and follow me. I reckon y’all are chomping at the bit to get clean. I know I was when I arrived.”

His accent held a slight southern twang, and Hope raised an eyebrow at Ruth, who instantly noticed and perked up, feeling a little bit at home. They each gathered their basic shower pack and towel quickly, following the Major out of the building.

Hope could feel Frank’s large hand pressing against the small of her back, a comforting reminder of his presence and an action he had done so many times before.

She smiled up at him, and he returned to sentiment. It occurred to Hope that in another life she may have ended up with Frank, they’d spent so much time together in such close proximity that something would have probably happened if it hadn’t been for their unwavering friendship.

“You alright?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and she just shook her head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Hope?” Frank stopped her for a moment, brushing the lose strands of her dark hair away from the large gash on her forehead. His thumb knocked the wound and she winced, moving to follow after the Major. Frank caught up with her in a few strides, his arm coming around her and pulling her into his side.

“I’m not ever letting you out of my sight again, Hope. Not ever.”

It was a promise that she knew he might not be able to keep. Frank meant well but if the Krauts wanted her then they would have her, and there was nothing Frank would be able to do.

Dodson directed them around the corner of a block to a much smaller concrete building, resembling the shower building at Dulag Luft. The krauts sure weren’t original with their POW camp architecture, that was for sure. As they reached the door, the Major spun to face them.

“There are no curtains, so-”

“You two go first,” Frank interrupted, nodding at Hope and Ruth.

“Alright. There’s only one entrance, so Captain Martin and I will stand guard while you two are showerin’. Sound alright?”

Hope and Ruth held each other’s gaze for a moment before thanking him and stepping inside. The room was dark and damp with a row of sinks on one side and a few showerheads on the other. A couple of benches lined the middle, and they set down their packs and towels, exchanging another brief glance before turning their backs to each other before starting to undress.

Hope peeled away her B-3 jacket that clung to her body. She hadn’t removed it since the crash and the leather was now worn and looking far less presentable. Next camp her overalls, peeling the olive drab, blood-stained cloth from her body. The feeling of the cool air hitting her exposed skin caused goosebumps to raise upon her skin. She shivered, her teeth chattering.

“I can’t wait to get this thing off,” Ruth groaned, casting a longing glance at her arm, the splint’s once pristine bandages now a disgusting brown. “I can’t wait to get this thing off. I can’t even shower cause it’ll get wet.”

“How’s it feeling?” Hope asked sympathetically from behind her. She knew how annoying a splint could be. She’d broken her arm when she was climbing trees with Hugh as a child and the whole ordeal still haunted her.

“It still hurts, but it’s better than before.”

“And how long has it been since you got the splint?”

“Barely a week,” she sighed. “The nurse said 6-8 weeks.”

Hope paused, thinking it over for a moment. “I’d have to agree with her. Five more weeks, Rue.”

“Great.”

Silence again filled the small room and Hope gathered up her dirty clothes, piling them at the end of the bench. She pulled the contents from her overall pocket. She didn’t unfold the pictures, she didn’t dare. She wasn’t sure whether she’d ever be able to face Gale’s smiling face. How could such a happy memory live on in a place like this?

She moved quickly to the shower as Ruth finished undressing. She pulled the lever and allowed the frigid water to run down her exposed body. She gasped, closing her eyes as she stepped beneath the shower. Her head turned down as the water covered her body. The water around her feet grew dark, a mixture of mud and blood that had caked her body disappeared into the drain.

She rubbed the rough, tan cloth over her pale flesh, trying to ignore the purple, green and yellow tinted bruises that covered her body. The water stung at the scraps and cuts across her arms but she ignored it. The worst pain was her fingers, the sore blunt ends of her nails from where she had clawed at her cell door. They had scabbed over but now weeped once more.

She hated to think what she looked like. Her eyeliner had long since worn away and she’d always thought she looked pale and ill without a little bit of blush to give her some colour. Although her appearance was definitely the last of her problems at the current time.

She rubbed the cloth over her thigh, following the line of the deep, purple scar. It hadn’t healed well, the flesh remained raised and prominent. It was something that always made her doubt herself, her abilities, yet it was something that Gale assured her made her ever more beautiful. She was a fighter, she didn’t give up easily and it showed the sacrifice she had made to help others.

Silent, salty tears made their track down her cheeks at the thought of him. He was so far away now. So far from her.

She thought back to her shower at Thorpe Abbott, when Gale’s warm arms had supported her as she washed away her blood. His hands never once roaming too far but his fingers had trailed up her sides, rubbing comforting circles on her exposed flesh. The way his plump lips had pressed against her shoulders, his teeth grazing the smooth flesh. He had loved her so much, and she had loved him. She still loved him. It was one of her favourite memories, for that was all it was now.

She turned off the shower, shaking the memory that had so vividly haunted her. Gale’s memory didn’t deserve to be bought to such a place as this.

The final dregs of water stopped dripping, leaving the bath house deathly silent. Hope shuffled over to the pile of clothes that she’d left on the bench. She rubbed the rough sacking that substituted as a towel over her body, ignoring the way it sandpapered her skin. She longed for her scented soap that Hugh had bought for her birthday. Now she smelt of hay and a faint smell of sweat, still an improvement of how bad she had smelt prior to her shower.

Ruth was still deep in thought, bent over the sink. Hope didn’t utter a word, instead pulling on the ‘fresh’ clothes that Major Dodson had bought them. They hung on her small frame but she pulled the clothes on regardless, tucking the shirt into the oversized trousers and buttoning up the jacket.

She began racking her fingers through her dark, tangled locks, pulling at the strands and wincing as small clumps of hair pulled out between her fingers. She wrapped up the wet hair, pulling it into a bun and replacing the pins she had in her overall pocket. Her hand came to rest on the dog tags around her neck, the new and her old tags. Her index finger ran over the familiar engagement ring. She’d kept it tucked down in her overalls in Dulag Luft, she couldn’t bear to have it taken from her again.

She picked up the pictures next, placing them carefully in the top pocket of her new jacket. She still couldn’t bare to look at them, maybe tonight when she was on her own but not now.

Drawing in a sharp breath, she turned to see Ruth pulling on her own clothes. Her blonde hair was a tangled, wet mess and Hope sympathised as she watched her friend trying to pull it out of her way with one hand.

“I’ll plait it for you later if you’d like.”

Ruth had still been deep in thought and she looked a little startled but nodded in agreement. “Please.”

The girls finished in the bath house and joined Frank and Major Dodson outside.

“I’ll lead you back to your bunkhouse,” Dodson suggested and Frank nodded in agreement. “I’d like to think the men here are better than the Krauts, but some of them have been here so long that…” he trailed off.

“Thank you, Dodson,” Frank added, “I’ll have a quick wash up and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Don’t rush, Frank. Ruth and I are just going to settle in,” Hope confirmed, linking her arm through Ruth’s, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

Dodson had long strides and the girls struggled to keep up with him as he marched back across the camp to their bunkhouse. Hope and Ruth slipped in the mud and clung onto each other, the last thing they wanted was to end up covered in mud again.

Dodson opened the door to the wooden house for them and led them inside once more. “Do you girls need anything? Anything at all?”

Ruth flopped down onto her bunk with a sigh and Hope shook her head, “No, I think we’re good thank you, Major. I think we just need some sleep.”

The Major nodded, sending Hope a soft smile before he closed the door gently behind him. Now they were alone, Hope moved to sit next to Ruth. She began to run her fingers through Ruth’s damp locks, causing her friend to emit a long, satisfied groan.

“Sit up, Rue, I’ll plait your hair.”

The blonde obliged, sitting up as best she could without hitting her head on the low bed above her. As Hope moved her fingers through her hair Ruth sighed once more, finally feeling a little more relaxed. She’d been so uptight since they had crashed that she’d barely taken a moment to breathe.

Hope stayed silent behind her and Ruth turned to look at her friend, noticing the few tears that had slipped down her cheeks.

“Oh Hope, what’s wrong?”

Hope shook her head firmly, wiping the tears away quickly, “I’m fine, I promise, Rue.”

Ruth knew better than to believe her stoic friend but she knew pressing her on the subject would only cause Hope to close up further.

“Dodson seems nice,” she changed the subject, hoping she may be able to distract Hope from whatever was plaguing her.

She hummed in agreement but continued to run her fingers through Ruth’s hair. Grabbing the thin comb from her shower pack, Hope did her best to detangle the mess of blonde before her.She didn’t really feel like talking. The events of the past few weeks had finally caught up with her and she felt as though she might burst with the pent up emotions.

“I wonder what the guys are doing now?” Ruth replied absentmindedly as she tugged at a loose thread on her bedding. “What do you think they’re doing?”

Hope thought for a moment, trying to imagine the boys back at Thorpe Abbott. She honestly wasn’t sure what they would be doing but she knew Ruth was trying her best to make conversation.

“Hugh’s probably annoying John in some way and Gale’s probably trying to keep the peace.”

Ruth chuckled as she imagined Hugh bickering with John like two spoiled children. She could see Gale now, running his hand through his blond locks with an exasperated sigh.

“Poor Gale,” Ruth chuckled, “At least he’ll be good at breaking up fights if you guys have kids.” She was trying to be positive, to think of the future but from the look on Hope’s face she knew her friend was struggling.

Pulling her head away from Hope’s hands she pulled her into a tight hug, squishing her face into Hope’s neck. She could feel Hope relaxing a little beneath her touch.

Hope couldn’t help but relax as Ruth’s body collided with her own. It was one of the few things that still made her smile. She wasn’t sure what the coming weeks and months would hold for them, but at least they had each other.

October 8th, Thorpe Abbott AAF base, 06:00

It was mission day. They all knew it, even before the light went on and they were woken up early in the morning.

Gale and Hugh had been up for hours, sipping coffee atop ‘Our Baby’s’ wing as they watched the sun begin to slowly creep up from behind the trees, embracing the base in the warm glow.

John was in London on the trip he had planned with Ruth. He’d asked Gale to accompany him, but understood when Gale declined. He didn’t feel like spending his days leave trying to keep a drunk, grieving John under control while he still had so much of his own grief to deal with. Instead he stayed with Hugh and the pair leaned on each other for support.

“Gale?” Hugh asked, his dark eyes searching Gale’s face while the other man continued to stare blankly across the handstand. “Gale, there’s something I want you to have.”

Gale watched as Hugh rummaged in his A-2 jacket pocket, fumbling and pulling out a pack of cigarettes and several crumpled pieces of paper. He smoothed out one of the sheets before folding it in half and pressing it into Gale’s outstretched hand.

Gale looked up at Hugh questioningly, not daring to open the paper.

“I think this is the one,” Hugh sighed sadly, “This is the one that will get me.”

“You don’t know that,” Gale argued, shuffling closer to Hugh, and wrapping his arm around the pilot's shoulder. “You can’t say that.”

“Hope asked me to keep those safe,” he motioned to the paper in Gale’s hand. “But seeing as I don’t know what’s going to happen I thought you should have it.”

“What is it?” Gale asked, his throat tight and he couldn’t bring himself to open the paper.

“It’s her wedding vows, she never liked being original so she wrote her own. She told me not to read them but I couldn’t help myself,” Hugh took a shaky breath before squeezing Gale’s hand and standing up on the wing. “She really did love you Gale.”

Gale watched as Hugh climbed down from the wing, making his way back across the handstand. Staring down at the paper in his hand, Gale couldn’t find the strength in him to open it. He pushed it into his pocket, alongside Hope’s picture and letter. He’d read it later once Bremen had been a success.

Hugh found his eyes finding Gale’s across the handstand, sharing a single nod before Hugh moved to climb up into the cockpit. His co-pilot sent him a sympathetic smile and Hugh tried to ignore the talk amongst his crew. Some didn’t think he was fit to fly after losing Hope, but he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. It was a conversation he’d shared with Harry and Rosie that had given him the courage to climb back into the cockpit.

“You’re sister was an amazing woman, Hugh,” Harry spoke up, staring sadly into his beer. “She was a damn good nurse and I considered her one of my best friends.”

Harry’s dark eyes were tearful as he looked over at Hugh, swallowing hard.

“I didn’t really get a chance to know her very well,” Rosie added, his moustache turning down in a sad frown. “But from everything I’ve heard I’m sure I would have liked her very much.”

“You would,” Hugh interrupted, licking his lips as he inhaled shakily, “She was my better half. She saved my ass more times than I can remember…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words in the bustling pub to describe how much his sister meant to him.

Harry, sensing the tension in his friend, shuffled his chair around the table so he was beside Hugh and Rosie.

“To Hope! May she always live on through us.” He raised his glass in the air and Hugh and Rosie followed suit.

“To Hope.”

Hugh smiled, started his preflight checks with the photograph of Hope and himself at Dye’s party stuck to the control panel.

“This one’s for you, Hope.”

Gale didn’t know whether to take this as a coincidence or an omen, but this wasn’t how he planned to start the Bremen mission. One of the magnetos wasn’t working and despite Gale’s never-ending faith in Ken Lemmons, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe this was happening for a reason.

“What are you trying to tell me, Hope?” He mumbled to himself, glancing out the window to catch a glance of Lemmons from his spot on the wheel.

Demarco was comparing from his seat, soothing about pulling the plane over but Gale shook his head, remaining positive and grinning at Demarco

“Believe, Benny. Believe.”

Gale’s bright eyes fell into the control panel, smiling at the three pictures he’d placed lovingly along it. Hope and himself at Dye’s party, Hope and Meatball and Hope, Hugh and himself on one of the girls' visits to Thorpe Abbotts. His heart ached and he drew his hand to his chest, fumbling his dog tags at feeling instant relief as his index finger ran over the familiar gold bands, relishing in the comforting, smoothness of the ring. It was something he’d found himself doing more and more often, running his fingers around in a spherical motion, repeating, repeating, repeating until his heart rate slowed and his chest no longer felt so tight. He knew that wherever Hope was she would be looking out for him.

“Hey Buck, you with me?” Demarco chuckled, grinning at Gale who merely looked at him, dazed. “Lemmons has only gone and done it. We’re up.”

Gale nodded, re-engaging with the present and preparing the Fort for lift-off. He’d never felt more sure of a mission before, but he knew this one was going to be big and despite the nervous feeling bubbling inside him as the plane left the tarmac he knew he’d be alright because Hope would be with him.

Tags: @georgieluz @docroesmorphine @major-mads @violetdaze25 @bcofl0ve @precious-little-scoundrel @blurredcolour @artlover8992 @b00ks1ut @xxluckystrike @hockeyboysarehot @groovin2beats @kmc1989 @ginabaker1666 @hesbuckcompton-baby @beebeechaos @forsythiagalt @prettyinlimegreenboots

#on a wing and a prayer #masters of the air #hbo war #gale cleven #john egan #hope armstrong #ruth morgan #mota #masters of the air oc

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