#john egan x nurse!reader

[pisupsala]

Hitchin' a ride

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes.

Part 1 of Are You Going My Way?

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Words: 7k Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

It gets dark early in winter in East Anglia. By the time you leave the ward, it’s pitch dark despite it barely being past dinner time. Huddled in your dark blue wool cape, you trudge along the side of the road, holding a small torch to light your way. There’s a cold, biting wind tonight, and it feels like it’s going through every layer you’re wearing, straight through your bones. Breath shuddering, you pick up your pace, the gravel barrier between the road and the grass crunching under your standard-issue brown boots. The faster you get back to the nurse’s barracks, the faster you’re out of this wind and soaking your sore feet and cold toes.

Thorpe Abbots sprawls strangely, but you usually don’t mind. The quiet walk at the end of the long shifts in the operating room, rounds on the intensive care ward, cleaning, and inventory is your moment of solace. A moment where you can finally let the smile fall off your face, where you can grit out the curses you've bitten back all day, the crinkle in time when you are allowing the tears to well up and drip down your face silently.

There is no textbook or training to prepare you for the horrific reality. Torn flesh, burns, and the blood. The fear and agony. The pained screaming. The blind panic.

You have never felt more that you are where you need to be, yet you are so completely and utterly powerless.

A light catches your eye, reflecting on the trees around you in a ghostly flicker. Glancing over your shoulder, the light floats through the darkness, gliding towards you. The soft ding of a bicycle bell pulls you out of your reverie. Turning fully, the light casting off your torch finally illuminates the figure on the bicycle. 

“Major Egan,” You greet him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. He has no reason to be here. There’s nothing down this road but the building with the nurses’ quarters. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered Major Egan somewhere he has no reason to be. But you, as an army nurse and merely a first lieutenant, are not about to question him on that.

“You shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, lieutenant,” He tells you, stopping next to you. You stop, too, taking a good look at him—because why wouldn’t you—as he gets off his bike. 

A little too friendly, a little too forward. His bright, sharp blue eyes are contrasted by luscious dark curls and that devilish smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a confident grace, he is hard to miss. And if you were to somehow overlook him in a crowd, he commands, demands, attention. There is something dangerously magnetic about him, something electric.

You best keep your distance.

“Don’t worry about me, please, Major,” You reply politely. “It’s not late, and I know the way,” 

“Are you done for today?” He asks conversationally, smiling, his eyes crinkling happily. The tips of his ears are red from the cold. In the middle of a quiet road, in the dark, in freezing temperatures, it’s an odd place for polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m heading back to my quarters,” You smile. “Long day,” You add, hoping to cut the conversation short, desperately trying to suppress the full body shiver from the cold. You notice with some envy that Major Egan seems wonderfully unbothered by the biting wind in his sheepskin jacket. You nod at him, turning back in the direction you had been heading, gingerly taking a step. Hopefully, he gets the hint.

“I could give you a ride,” 

You stop dead in your tracks, looking back at him wide-eyed. 

“I’m heading in the same direction, so you’d get there quicker,” He beams at you with that brilliant smile, patting the carrier at the back of the bike. Instinctively, you start shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from vocalizing your thoughts.

You’d be out of the wind. You’d be in the warm faster. You’d have to get close to Major Egan and hold on to him. You bet that that sheepskin jacket is nice and warm. You bet Major Egan is nice and warm.

“Isn’t that the bike you almost lost an eye for?” Your sense of self-preservation is stronger, has to be stronger, than any magnetic force or joking flirtation from Major John Egan.

“Almost?” He seems surprised you brought it up but recovers quickly. “I remember it differently — it was a bullseye, not my eye,” 

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to laugh with him, but you just blink in disbelief. That’s an awful joke. For a mere second, in the reflected light of your torch, you see his smile falter—he’s smart; he knew that was a dud. You purse your lips.

“I suppose I like my rides without stories of near-eye trauma attached,” You muse. It’s such a flimsy excuse.  

“Do you think it’s bad luck?” It’s a chillingly honest question, and all cheer has suddenly disappeared from his voice. You pause to think. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Major Egan might be a particularly superstitious man; somehow, he didn’t seem the type. But in these times, superstition creeps up on even the most staunch rationalists.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” you finally admit, eyeing him carefully. He frowns, suddenly unsure of the gravity of the conversation through his own too-candid question. “I would just hate to encourage any of that sort of behavior,” You add lightly.

“So, you would have accepted if I had a different bike?” He sounds on the precipice of hopeful, but the laughter in his voice is evident again. He changes so quickly and bounces back from everything in a mere second — it’s all a joke, after all. He’ll do you a favor and then jokingly ask for a kiss. And then maybe another. And then he’ll move on to whatever or whoever catches his eye next. 

You wrinkle your nose. No. You’re not interested, you repeat to yourself. If you were, you might as well have stayed at home and practiced your good graces at dinner parties. You joined the Army Nurse Corps because you wanted to do something, mean something.

“I’m going now,” You clench your jaw to stop your teeth from clattering. “Good night, Major Egan,”

“Suit yourself, lieutenant,” He grins, undeterred, as he watches you turn on your heel, huddling into yourself to protect yourself from the wind. Truthfully, Bucky wasn’t expecting that you would accept his offer. If anything, he wanted to see how you’d react: your replies are always calm and composed, so very proper, but you have a bad poker face. From the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance to how the corner of your mouth sometimes threatens to pull into a smile at his jokes. And Bucky notices that your gaze lingers just slightly longer than would be polite, although nothing coming out of your mouth would corroborate that. It’s adorable. It’s intriguing. And he knows you won’t make it easy on him.

But that’s not why he keeps thinking about you. That’s not why he goes out of his way to look for you.

You suddenly took root in his thoughts only a few weeks back. It had been a bad day. Worse than Bucky had seen in a while, there had been many bad days lately. 

Being Air Exec has some perks, mostly that other people don’t really question why he’s wandering the halls of the infirmary at the dead of night. In the hallway, set up on provisional cots, medics are asleep, still fully dressed. They just collapsed on the first soft spot the moment they could. He can hardly blame them.

His footsteps echo through the dark rooms. The wounded men in the beds are fast asleep — it’s eerily quiet except for the occasional snore. 

He’s not sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling — he’s fine after all. He didn’t go up with them, after all. Maybe because he needs to see the pain with his own eyes, afraid that he’ll forget.

The doctor on duty is doing rounds, his desk empty, when Bucky slips through the swinging double doors to where the heaviest casualties are put up. The air in the room feels different—heavier. It’s not quiet—labored breathing, raspy, sometimes gurgling, groans of pain in artificial sleep. He really shouldn’t be here. 

All beds are full.

It’s been a really bad day.

It’s there that he notices you first: sitting on the floor, arms crossed and tucked up against yourself, head leaning against the wall, and legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. In the first second, he thinks someone fell out of their bed. But as Bucky gets closer, he recognizes you — the seersucker cotton dress, the matching cap now crumpled and skewed on your head, and the clearly scuffed and dirty white oxfords. You are one of the OR nurses.

He’s seen you around, just in passing. In chaos between casualties, just from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, you showed up at dances or parties, and Bucky had noticed your cute laugh from across the room, the way your entire face lit up when you smiled. And he knows he’s not the only one who has noticed the delightful sway of your hips as you walk, evident even through your dress uniform. But you made damn sure to make yourself unavailable by sticking with your girlfriends. He’s never seen you accept a drink or dance with someone.

Your mouth is slightly open as you breathe deeply, your form cast in the pale moonlight peeking through the sides of the blinds. Bucky wouldn’t let a woman sleep on the floor in normal circumstances, but in this case, waking you up would be cruel — there isn’t a bed free in the whole hospital. And even bad sleep is better than no sleep.

He moves past you carefully, mentally putting names to all the men here. Those that made it. That’s a good thing, right? They made it. Bucky doesn’t recognize the figure moaning in pain louder and louder, hands desperately grasping at the neatly tucked-in covers —  his entire head is covered with a thick layer of white bandages, not even leaving a slit for his eyes, just a small opening for his mouth. He hesitates before his curiosity takes over and moves by the side of the bed to look closer. It’s a good thing, right?

He should do something to help him.

Bucky is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you brushing past him. He almost jumps out of his skin when your torch suddenly clicks on at the foot of the bed. You are bleary-eyed, blinking rapidly as your eyes fly over the patient chart. 

“He is due for a new round of pain medication,” You state softly, voice still thick with sleep, before looking up at Bucky. “Major,” is all you say in acknowledgment of him.

“Nurse—lieutenant,” He mumbles in reply, increasingly on edge from the patient’s distress. “What are you—” Before he can start running his mouth in confused ramble, you trust the torch at him.

“Hold this, please, Major,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the noises easily in its steadiness and calmness. The small torch is now in his hand, your fingers brushing over his palm unintentionally as you move through the dark. It’s like a small spark burned the spot where your fingertip touches his skin. “Up, please,”

Bucky complies, shining the light from a high angle as you prepare a syringe. You look exhausted, but nothing in your movement betrays that. Clinical, precise, and so calm. He watches you speak softly to your patient, your free hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, a syringe poised in the other. But the patient is struggling harder, too panicked, and in too much pain. 

It happens in a split second.

The patient sits up so quickly that Bucky almost stumbles back in surprise. The patient now has an iron grip on your lower arm, white knuckles, moving in a blind frenzy, pulling you clean off your feet, half over the bed. You yelp in as much surprise as in pain as your knee collides with the metal bed frame. Your face is contorted in pain as you struggle back, trying to regain your footing. 

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” You keep repeating patiently. Never let them know you are scared: they can’t calm down if you are not in control.

Your voice doesn’t waver one bit. Bucky clenches the small torch between his teeth, trying to free your arm from the patient’s grip. 

“N- no” You breathe, clearly in pain now. “Please, Major, just help me to hold him still,” 

You are still holding the syringe, poised to strike. Grabbing the patient by the shoulder and forcing him back against the pillow. In the struggle, the torch falls from his mouth. It clatters on the tile floor and rolls away. He is so focused on his task that it’s almost by surprise when the struggle ends within a few seconds, and the patient drifts off again. He never saw you give the injection.

You both stand there, breathing heavily. Bucky bends down to retrieve the torch from the floor. It’s still shining, although it flickers uncertainly with every move. When he straightens back up, he catches you looking at your arm, the brown sleeve of your vest rolled up messily. When you realize he’s looking at you, you pull the sleeve back down and busy yourself tucking the patient back in. But Bucky has seen the angry red fingerprints imprinted on your forearm.

“Thank you, Major Egan,” Not a quiver in your tone, although your breathing has barely slowed down. “It’s probably best you go now,” 

“Are you alright?” He cannot help but ask, gaze traveling to your arm. He can’t help but notice you must have been issued a vest a size up, as the sleeves are a bit too long on you. It’s adorable.

“Please don’t worry about me,” You reply, smiling, but it’s clearly a deflection. The corners of your mouth are quirked up, but your eyes just spell tired. “You should try to get some rest, Major. The sun will be up soon,”

There is a certain sense of irony in you telling him that. At least he has a bed to go to, you think wryly. You start walking towards the ward exit, signaling he should follow you. 

“Will you be okay here by yourself, lieutenant?” It’s not his place to worry about you, but you are just… you. And these men are in pain, scared, and -

“The doctor will be back from his rounds soon,” Your soft voice pulls Bucky from his thoughts. You stand at the door, holding it open for him. If he hadn’t just seen that chaos happen, he would have never guessed by your demeanor anything happened.  As he passes you, you salute him. He salutes you back, gazing over to you. The tips of your fingers are shaking. 

The thought is sudden and overwhelming: he wants to lace his fingers through yours, pull you against him, and hold you until you stop shaking.

“Goodnight, Major,” You whisper with a pointed look. You want him out of here so you can check on your throbbing knee and painful arm away from his prying eyes.

“Goodnight, lieutenant,” He replies, tearing his eyes away from you.

***

In early spring, it seems like the rain never stops, from semi-permanent drizzle to raindrops rhythmically ticking against the window pane to the torrential downpour you find yourself in now. The drab-colored trench coat is putting up a valiant fight to keep you dry.

You’re holding your purse over your head but to no avail. The cold trickle of water from your sodden hair travels down your spine. You’re trailing behind your friends, who are making good time through the storm. Water sloshes in your left boot, making it heavy, the drenched woolen sock rubbing painfully against your foot. 

Then you hear it. The all too-happy ding of a bicycle bell. 

You try to walk faster, gritting your teeth, but Major Egan has caught up with you in just seconds. You don’t stop to greet him, just glancing over at him with narrowed eyes. Gracefully, he jumps off the bike, matching your pace by foot easily. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his cap sagging under the weight of the water it must have absorbed. He shouldn’t look this good, sopping wet, especially when you feel so wretched.

“Lieutenant, I could get you where you need to be a whole lot quicker,” he calls out.

“No, thank you, Major,” Your tone is polite, but you keep walking, falling behind further and further from your friends as your left boot squelches with every step. You know he noticed. 

“You’re really not going to take me up on the offer? Even in this downpour?” 

“Most drops miss,” You can’t keep the scowl off your face as you march on. 

“You are so unbelievably stubborn,” He laughs. You don’t think you’re stubborn; you just don’t like feeling like your hand is being forced. 

“I don’t need you to save me, Major.” You tell him evenly, finally stopping and turning to him. You know your friends noticed you stopping but probably figured they were doing you a favor and kept going. 

Bucky regards you carefully — you look miserable. The curl has long been rained out of your hair; rivulets of water running down your face, dripping on the collar of your trench coat. The steep downturn of the corners of your mouth pretty much just seals the deal. But despite all the evidence, you would never admit you’re anything but fine. 

“Save you?” He sounds incredulous. Like the thought never even crossed his mind. 

You bite your lip — you might have said too much. But you are afraid that he might ask you for something if you owe Major Egan a favor. He will ask you for something. And you won’t be strong enough to tell him no maybe because you want him to ask. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve seen him look at you from across the room before, and when you scrape together the courage to meet his gaze, it’s like electricity. Short, intense, and almost painful. And then he looks away, his attention turning so fleetingly. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Forget it,” You mumble, clearly embarrassed. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you wish nothing about this moment was happening right now. When you peek through your lashes at Major Egan, you note he looks concerned.

“For what it’s worth,” He clears his throat, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I never considered you to require saving, lieutenant.” 

You keep looking at him sharply, finally shaking your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

There is something deeply absurd about the whole conversation. Just tell him no. Just bid him goodnight and leave. Why are you even entertaining him with your feelings on this? And it’s clearly entertainment to him.

“I’m going to my quarters now, Major,” You state, feeling the need to be polite despite your increasingly impolite feelings about the situation. “And you’re going in the wrong direction,” You add pointedly as you start walking again. It feels like you have an entire puddle in your boot now.

“So what would you prefer, lieutenant? A more classic approach?” That devastatingly handsome grin is back on his face again as he walks beside you. How is that what he took from your last statement? Your shoulders sag when you feel the butterflies in your stomach. “At the next dance, I buy you a drink and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor?” 

“I might be more agreeable when it’s not freezing or raining,” You sigh like it’s paining you to admit it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky likes to think he saw the shadow of a smile pass over your face as you say it, even though your voice is painfully neutral. 

“Is that a yes?” Again, that hopeful edge. 

“No,” You reply curtly, but you feel bad the moment you say it because you see his smile fall — he’s staring at you somewhere between confusion and growing frustration. It’s making you feel bad. A horrible little selfish part of you wants him to only smile at you. Major Egan could light up a room with that smile — he regularly does. The selfish little monster in you wants to be the reason that he smiles like that. 

“Ask me again at the dance, Major,” You amend carefully.

The way his face breaks out in that broad, beaming smile makes you weak at the knees. 

***

Bucky is on pins and needles tonight. Even Buck, usually so even-tempered, is getting irritated with him. Drumming his fingers on the bar, tapping his foot not to the beat of the music but to blow off some of the anxious energy. People are flittering in and out of the hall, but there is no sign of you yet. He’s going through his whiskey too quickly, and it’s doing very little to calm his anticipation.

After an hour of only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, constantly glancing at his watch, he finally sees the pack of nurses come in. Bucky’s heart drops a little because you aren’t with the group. You’re always with that group. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he resolutely makes his way to the table now occupied by five gossiping nurses. All eyes are on him as he approaches.

“Good evening, ladies,” He smiles, eyes searching the table. All chairs are occupied — clearly, your friends aren’t saving you a seat. A chorus of good evenings and giggles comes in reply.

“How can we help you, Major Egan?” A blonde nurse asks, peering up through her lashes.

“I’m actually looking for my favorite nurse,” He replies easily, holding his smile despite feeling mildly annoyed. When he mentiones your name, another chorus of giggles. 

“I thought I was your favorite nurse,” One of the girls pipes up. The girls burst out laughing.

“She’s on the night shift,” An earnest, young-looking nurse cuts in, pushing up her glasses. Bucky doesn’t really recognize her — she must be quite new. “I asked to switch shifts because I haven’t been to a dance here before.”

“You should have found someone from the afternoon shift,” the blonde nurse sighs in a bored tone. “The poor girl is putting in a double shift now,”

“No one else would switch with me,” The bespectacled nurse defends herself with a small voice.

Bucky should be annoyed. Did you scheme this out on purpose? You run so hot and cold between your lingering looks and thinly veiled barbs. But then again. Of course, you would switch shifts with the new girl out of kindness. You slept on the floor to stay close to those most needed care. Doc sang your praises in the officer’s mess regularly for staying late to finish inventory, covering in emergencies, and keeping the OR running smoothly. Kindly caring for everyone around you.

He should be annoyed. But instead, he feels jealous. It’s a horrible feeling. But you cared more about the new girl than him? Is it really so bad that he wants your kind attention aimed at him? That he wants to be your choice? You wouldn’t even give him a shot. 

It just won’t do. But now, at least, he knows where to find you.

At the end of the dark hall, a faint light. A lone lamp on a lone desk, with a lone nurse sitting at it. You hear him coming, of course. Your bright eyes look straight at him as he emerges from the darkness. You are already getting up out of your chair, ready to greet him, notes and medical textbook forgotten on the desk.

“Good evening, Major Egan,” you greet him, your voice soft. Your gentle tone carries sweetly through the quiet hall. You didn’t expect him to come find you. It feels far too serious, far too earnest. You haven’t seen or spoken to Major Egan for over a week now, and for your own sake, you decide that he hadn’t been serious—that you hadn’t been serious. It was just banter.

Truthfully, you were slightly relieved the new girl asked you to switch shifts. But as you sat at the duty desk by yourself, blankly staring at the pages of your medical textbook, your stomach twisted painfully with regret. 

“Good evening, lieutenant -” you cut him off with a sharp shush, tapping your index finger against your lips. You step a bit closer to him, voice a sweet whisper. “Please keep it down,” 

A beat of silence as you’re both clearly uncomfortable in the strange situation you have suddenly found yourself in.

“How can I help you, Major?” You whisper politely as your eyes nervously, guiltily, dart around the room—anywhere but him. He looks sharp in his dress uniform. He smells nice. He clearly made an effort. And you’re standing here in your day-old hospital uniform. Self-consciously, you try to straighten the standard-issue white and brown stripe wrap-around dress. 

“I came looking for my favorite nurse,” Bucky replies sincerely, eyes boring into yours. 

“Then you must not be looking for me,” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. Bucky nearly bursts out laughing at the pained look that crosses your face as you clamp your mouth shut. 

“I was waiting for you to show up at the dance,” He says with that same heavy sincerity. His stance is casual, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. But the way he fidgets — tapping and shuffling his foot — as he waits for you to reply hints that he is not nearly as calm as he’d like to appear.

“I had to stay,” You reply, still avoiding his gaze. It’s a half-truth. You could have said no. But the new girl seemed to want to go to the dance more badly than you did. It felt unfair. And you had convinced yourself quite thoroughly that Major Egan wouldn’t care or notice anyway.

Another silence falls. Neither quite sure where to go from here.

“How are the boys doing?” Bucky asks conversationally, reaching out to the large doors leading into the intensive care unit. On a whim, you grab his hand before he touches the handle, your fingers gently wrapping over the top of his large hand. He stills, and for a moment, you think he’ll shake your hand off his. But instead, he waits in acceptance.

“It won’t help you,” You whisper. It took you a while to figure out why Major Egan was in the hospital that night. When people spoke of him, they spoke of how much he cared for his men — a heavy burden to bear.

“Help me?” His voice is suddenly loud. He is offended at the notion that he’s doing it for himself and offended that you called him out like that. He opens his mouth again to argue with you.

Startled by the volume, your brain misfires fully, and instead of replying, your free hand reaches out to his face, your index finger landing on his soft lips to silence him. He stares at you wide-eyed. You are sure you look as shocked as he does. You try to gather your thoughts quickly.

“I - I understand,” You implore him in an urgent whisper, finally looking at him. Bucky sees his own sorrow reflected in your eyes. 

Sometimes, you can only wait. There is no next round of medicine; there is no operation that will help. Waiting for the body to do its work can be frustrating and maddeningly slow.

“But there is nothing you can do now, so going in won’t help you or them,” You swallow. Why is your finger still on his lips, and why is he letting you do that? “They need to rest. You need to rest.”

His fingers lace through yours as he steps closer. It’s inappropriate how close he is standing to you. It’s inappropriate how the tips of your fingers caress the seam of his lips. It’s inappropriate how your hand has latched onto his, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft and close. The intimacy of his lips moving against your fingers is intense, each breath setting your nerve endings on fire. He leans into your touch, trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Finally, you look at him.

“Then what do you need?” Your question comes automatically. Always looking for how to help. Always so kind. He could melt into your soft touch, warm voice, and how you look at him so sweetly.

“I need to know when you’re done here so I can sweep you off your feet,” His eyes meet yours, keenly following your every move. 

You want to take a step back and break the increasingly feverish connection, away from his oddly earnest confession, but Bucky pulls you closer with a small tug on your hand. Your head is swimming; your heart is hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t entertain any of this, but it feels like your heart is pouring out of your mouth.

“My shift ends at 0500,” 

Bucky grins at you—not in a teasing way, but with that infectious broad smile—the one you cannot help but smile back. It gives you butterflies. You’re smiling at him now, beautifully, genuinely. It feels like a victory to Bucky.

“I’ll keep the party going if you promise me the last dance.” His voice is low and inviting; he is reeling you in further with every word.

“Don’t torture everyone on my account, please,” You feebly try to inject some levity into the situation. You know yourself well enough: you are no match for John Egan and his attentions. From sparks across the room, now it’s like you’ve touched the live wire, and the current has a hold on you. That’s why you always avoided him so.  

“Torture? Darling, it’s a party,” He needles you gently, eyes glinting merrily. “Only you would equate that to torture.” 

“Major -,” “Bucky,” He interjects. You blink at him, biting your lip. 

“Bucky, please,” The moment you utter his name, so beguilingly, so breathlessly, he presses your palm against his face fully, his hand covering yours. He needs you closer. The golden buttons of his jacket brush against the front of your dress. His lips press against the soft flesh of your hand as he studies your reaction. The hitch in your breath is embarrassingly loud to your ears. 

“Please, what?” 

“Don’t torment me like this,” It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. And exactly as you’d expect, the admission of your weakness, the slightest chink in your armor, is an in for him. 

“How do I torment you, exactly?” His voice is so warm, so encouraging. 

“You take far too much pleasure in making fun of me, for one,” You try to play it off in a last-ditch attempt. But under his heated gaze, his breath brushing on the sensitive skin of your wrist, you falter. You frown before you utter in a small voice: “It’s not nice how you toy with me, Bucky, because it’s obvious that… that it’s just a joke to you, and your idea of a joke could get me dismissed, and sent home,”

You look down at your shoes, embarrassed. You want to pull away, but Bucky is not allowing you an inch of slack.

“It’s not a joke to me.” He sounds surprised. You look up at him, unable to keep the skepticism off your face. “It wasn’t a joke from that night I saw how calmly you handled that panicked patient, the moment you saluted me with those shaky fingers, and then every time you denied my help, you stubborn, stubborn girl,” His face is so close to yours now; a finger tracing down the side of your neck, down, just along the collar of your dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way your hand rests on his cheek, you could pull him even closer if you wanted to. “I’ve wanted to grab hold of you, wrap you around me-”

Footsteps. You pull back from Bucky with a jerky movement, who mercifully releases you immediately, stumbling back two steps, almost hitting the desk with your legs. It’s strangely cold suddenly without his hands wrapped around yours, without him so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Blood is rushing in your ears. Bucky looks too collected, but to your relief, you spy a faint blush creeping up his neck. 

So it wasn’t just you.

Hands folded, you take another furtive step back behind the desk, making sure there’s a respectable distance between you as the doctor on duty turns the corner. Bucky and the doctor start talking in low voices, but you are not listening. In your mind, you keep returning to his words, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 

That night on the ward. That was the first time you spoke and saw each other in more than passing. That’s when Bucky suddenly formed this habit of popping in places he had no business of being. Places you happened to frequent. You really hadn’t been vain enough to consider that the common denominator in those situations was you. It had to be a coincidence that he had just turned into a joke. 

“Nurse,” The doctor turns to you, handing you his clipboard. You nearly jump out of your skin, being so lost in thought. “Please update the log,”

“Yes, doctor,” You nod, trying not to look as flustered as you feel. The men start leaving, still talking. 

“Good night, lieutenant,” Bucky turns to you, unable to keep the cocky smile off his face. Before he turns, he winks at you. It makes your knees so weak you nearly collapse back into your chair. Covering your face with your hands, you try to focus, but the smile won’t come off your face.

Seven more hours until your shift ends.

***

It’s a misty summer morning, dew covering every inch. The sun is just breaking through the clouds, and it’s promising to be a beautiful day.

When you leave the infirmary, you blink against the early morning sun. It’s still so early that few people are around. You hesitate. Surely, the party is not still going on. You wouldn’t put it past Bucky to actually do it. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you’re unsure if you could even stay on your feet long enough for a dance.  

Luckily, you don’t have to make a choice. 

The sound of the bicycle bell makes you smile now. Bucky’s looking remarkably fresh and well-rested. The party clearly didn’t go that far into the night. He dressed for duty, his signature sheepskin jacket hanging open.

“Are you going my way, darling?” 

You purse your lips because you’re fighting to keep the smile off your tired face. You don’t stand a chance. You dart over to him like you are pulled by a magnetic force, the live current arching between you.

Sliding onto the back of the bike, you grab handfuls of the thick sheepskin to steady yourself, trying to find your equilibrium. Bucky’s large, warm hands encircle your wrists and easily pull your hands off his jacket. Instead, he gently nudges you forward by your arms, tucking them under the side of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his waist. The side of your face is resting against his back. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, resting just under his sternum; you move along with his every breath.

“Ready?” Bucky peers over his shoulder. 

“Hm–mh,” You hum in reply, face buried in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. “Drop me off before the last turn?” You mumble, gazing up at him pleadingly. “Matron will be awake and on the prowl by now,”

“Don’t worry, darling,” His free hand wraps over yours, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble,”

“I’m holding you to that,” You yawn, wrapping yourself around him tighter. You’re going to make the most of this moment — the quiet morning, the soft sheepskin, the smell of Bucky’s aftershave. 

You drift in and out of sleep, even though the trip by bike is tortuously short. After almost twenty hours on shift, you should be allowed this comfort. Whining in protest as Bucky starts to unlatch your arms from him, you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it. 

You slide off the back of the bike, ignoring where the metal was jabbing into your backside on the bumpy road, and rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the haze in your vision. A small yelp escapes you as Bucky tugs you against him by the tie at the waist of your wraparound seersucker dress. The bike lays forgotten in the grass by the side of the road. All the tension and anticipation from last night are suddenly back — you feel wide awake again.

Bucky’s fingers are resting lightly against your waist like he is testing the waters, slowly, gently guiding you closer to him until you are inches away from him. Automatically, your hands sneak back up his jacket, running up his sides to the front of his chest. He is so warm against the crisp morning air. 

“Are you going to ask me for a kiss now?” It comes out almost naively as you look up at him. God, you hope he says yes.

“I promised not to get you into trouble,” He teases gently, grinning, inclining his face closer anyway, his lips just ghosting over the corner of your mouth. He is rewarded with a shuddering sigh from you — his grip on your waist tightens, prompting you to close the remaining distance between you. 

“This, of course, is perfectly innocent,” Only you could be looking at him with those big eyes, full of want, your curious fingers roaming over his chest, and still speak so earnestly. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, shaking from laughter. You wrap yourself around him, head buzzing. It’s like you’re short-circuiting, sparks flying with every move, every breath. 

Bucky nips at the sensitive flesh of your neck, hoping to elicit more of those small sounds from you. If it weren’t for the quiet morning, remnants of mist dissolving in the first light, he would have missed the softest moan of his name that falls from your lips. He could do this all day. Just explore every move of your body against his, every way you can say his name, every touch that brings you closer to him. You move in effortless synchronicity with him, purely on instinct. 

“Then it’s trouble you want, darling?” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“It’s only trouble if we get caught,” You reply breathlessly. 

His finger is under your chin, tilting your face up to him, and finally, Bucky’s lips find yours. For a second, it’s just that: his lips pressed softly, almost chastely, against yours. You push yourself up on your tiptoes to get more leverage, wrapping your arm around his neck. Your other hand stays pressed against his chest, fisting his shirt, feeling how his heartbeat speeds up as you open your mouth for him with a sigh. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, cupping your face. His other hand is roaming boldly over your back, applying light pressure on your spine so you arch into him, skimming just over the curve of your behind, playfully tugging at the ribbon of your wraparound dress. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get exactly what he wants from you, and you’re more than eager to please.

Your mouth starts to tentatively explore the column of his neck as he whispers your name longingly, encouraging your little adventure. When your lips touch a particularly sensitive spot right under his ear, Bucky hisses — you can feel his muscles clench. It’s exhilarating; he feels the sparks as much as you do. Bucky doesn’t allow you to bask in your small victory too long, greedily capturing your mouth with his again, wrapping you around him, tucking you against him. His soft touch turns feverish, grasping at your hip. You match in kind, nails grazing the nape of his neck, just along his hairline — anything to keep the tension, the current arching.

You can feel the sunshine on your skin and see it through closed eyes. Breathlessly, you pull away just a fraction — Bucky’s lips are still ghosting over yours. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks so softly you’re unsure if you heard or felt the words against your lips.

“I have to go,” You mumble as you move to stand feet flat on the ground again. It’s like waking up from a dream. Time is getting away from you. You’re not ready to pull away from Bucky yet, wanting to stretch the moment out. You gently fix his collar, running your hands over his front once more, as much in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles you left on his shirt as to feel him move under your palm again. When he steps away from you, you release a shuddering breath. You feel like you’ve just been hit by lighting. 

“I’ll come find you,” He winks at you, grinning. Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture feels intimate, more personal, than you could have imagined.

It was everything you feared happening when you said yes to John Egan. It was everything you dreamed it to be. As you watch him leave, you know that you’ll have a damn hard time giving that up. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

note: this was literally supposed to be a quick 2k words fun meet cute kind of thing, just a quick adventure Morty, but oh god I'm in too deep. forgive me for this detour from Of All The Stars in The Sky, but it was necessary, you understand.

#Or Mila can’t write drabbles #one shot most likely #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #john egan x nurse!reader

[callumsturn]

Sweet John

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure thing."

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

"Thank you, Major."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Right now?" you ask calmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good." you smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't think so."

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

"Have you been there lately?" you ask.

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

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

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

"Oh, your soldiers never complained."

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

"Alright now Major Egan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not at all."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright, stop that." you chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"John..." you begin.

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

"Kiss me." you ask.

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

The moment of silence was deafening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"John..." you finally spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression was a mix of desire and adoration.

"What is it?" You asked laughing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#john bucky egan #major john bucky egan #john egan #bucky egan #john egan x reader #john bucky egan x reader #callum turner #mastersoftheair #john egan x you #john egan fanfiction #john egan x female reader #john egan smut #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #callum turner major john bucky egan #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner x you #callum turner x y/n

[honeyskywitch]

prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

 You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary. 

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar." 

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift. 

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs." 

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

#bucky egan x reader #bucky egan #john egan x reader #john bucky egan x reader #mota fic #snow writes.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Told you she was real

Buck Cleven X nurse! Reader

Summary: Buck has a girlfriend, Bucky does not believe such "lies"

Warning: none

Word count: 500 words

When Buck told his best friend that he had a girlfriend, Bucky laughed for minutes before saying that he didn’t believe him. But he was wrong, she was just never around the base. She was a travel nurse, that means that the Red Cross send her when she was most needed. That’s how they met, he’d fall and open his knee and she healed him, after they kept talking until, she was going to be send away. Buck gave her the address of his base, so she’d write to him.

Buck closed her last letter, grinning like the town idiot. ‘’What got you smiling like that?’’ Bucky asked. ‘’My girlfriend is coming here’’ he says, smiling. ‘’Oh, I don’t say this to be mean, but are you sure you’re okay, mentally? Because there’s no way she’s real’’ Bucky said. Buck rolled his eyes and showed his friend the letter, he read it. ‘’Nah, I’m still not convinced. I have to see her in real life to believe you’’ he gently taps his back before leaving the room. Buck was happy, his girlfriend was coming on his base, he could prove to his best friend that she’s real and dating him. Plus, he was sure that Bucky was going to be jealous of him, Y/n was really beautiful.

She got out of the truck, looking around the base, looking for her boyfriend. When she spotted him, she dropped her bags and ran in his direction. She jumped in his arms as they spun around. ‘’I’ve missed you so much!’’ she squealed in his ears. Other soldiers were looking at the couple with confusion, his mysterious girlfriend was real? John Egan walked out of a building and saw his best friend kissing a girl, his jaw dropped, and he rose his eyebrows, what the hell? He thought. ‘’Wait a damn second!? She’s your imaginary girlfriend, she’s real?!’’ he exclaimed. ‘’Not so imaginary now, I’m Y/n, you must be Bucky. Gale told me a lot about you’’ she extended her hand for the pilot to shake. Bucky was even more in shock she had repartee, what was she doing with him? ‘’Great things?’’ he looked at his friend. ‘’Yes, but he did mention a certain unicorn story’’ she laughs. ‘’You did not tell her about that!’’ Bucky exclaimed. Buck only nodded, making Bucky face palm. ‘’I’m really happy to see that you are real, and I don’t have to send my best friend to a mental institute’’ Bucky says. ‘’Happy to be real’’ Y/n smirk. Buck smiles, proud of his girl. He kissed her again, happy that she came here. ‘’I can’t believe you’re in front of me’’ Buck says. ‘’Me neither, but I have a great news’’ she says. They stop walking and she looks at him. ‘’I got transferred here, permanently’’ she smiles. Buck hugs her tightly. ‘’Oh my! That’s amazing! We’re going to be together all the time’’ He cries out in joy. Bucky surely believed his friend now.

#gale cleven #gale cleven x reader #master of the air imagine #master of the air #gale buck cleven #buck cleven #austin butler

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

Summary: A rare night out in London has Bucky coming to terms with his feelings for you.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: mechanic!reader, songbird!reader, female!reader, she/her pronouns used, drinking culture, cursing, mutual pining, moderate bouts of denial, insecurities, women supporting women because it's what we deserve, let's pretend that The Old Therebefore is an ancient Appalachian folk song in this universe, maybe she's a Mary Sue idgaf, I just wanted to write something happy so LET ME LIVE, WWII era, there's no Y/N but reader has the nickname "Birdie"

A/N: Yeah, I'm obsessed with Masters of the Air. I had to write something for my mans before the creative procrastination literally killed me. Please leave a like, comment, or even a reblog if you're so inclined :)

You can read my OC version of this story on AO3!

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This story and any recognizably named characters are based solely on dramatic portrayals of the characters from the series, not the real individuals they represent. All the respect to the actual service people who fought and died in the Second World War. Also, don't copy my writing without explicit permission. That includes you, you AI sonuvabitch.

Your heels clicked on the cobblestone streets, turning into the pub you’d heard so much about. You were out celebrating a very rare weekend off. The Brass had somehow allowed you and twenty other mechanics from base two days leave, so you took advantage of the opportunity and headed straight to London.

Your two best girlfriends from base were with you. Teresa was one of the toughest nurses you’d ever come across. She could give you a wide grin, crinkles around her hazel eyes, and reset a broken bone without breaking a sweat. It helps that she was already working towards becoming a nurse back in New Mexico, the war just sped along that process. You had bonded over your love of books, giving each other recommendations almost weekly.

You’d met Irene on the boat to England. She puked on your shoes almost thirty minutes exactly after leaving the port in New York. You gave a small grin, offering her a handkerchief and a piece of ginger candy and the rest was history. Finding out that she was a fellow mechanic was the icing on the cake. Coming in at a whopping five foot two, the spritely blonde could easily be found in a crowd with her loud Appalachian accent.

It seemed almost like fate for the three of you to have found each other. Being some of the few women on base naturally made you close, but you were closer with Irene and Teresa than any of the others. That’s not to say that you weren’t friends with any of the men, because you were. Friendly. 

All three of you were dressed to the nines, in contradiction to your everyday work wear. You all got ready together in your hotel room, giggling while you applied makeup here, spritzed some perfume there. You all felt confident and were ready to have a good time. You spotted some familiar faces and made your way over towards them, your friends linked arm-in-arm with you. Lemmons was the first to greet you.

Of the fifty men on the ground crew, Sgt. Ken Lemmons was the most welcoming of them all. From the get-go, he didn’t care if you were a man or woman. He just wanted to know that you were capable. You were sure he had to go through some hazing because of his age, which probably changed his perspective on gatekeeping the job. This made earning and maintaining respect a lot easier for the women on your crew. We all came over with the same goal, it was better for all if we just helped each other out.

“Hey Birdie! Nice to see you out and about.”

Ah, the famed nickname. You tend to hum and sing under your breath when elbow-deep in a project. It helps you pass the time and clear your mind. Of course, the rest of the ground crew quickly caught on to this habit of yours, which quickly earned you the nickname “Birdie”. You, of course, never sing solo in public, so this confuses anyone who’s not around you while you’re working. But the name stuck, so here you are. Birdie.

Chairs are quickly cleared for you and your friends, which you all graciously take. You go up to buy some drinks, knowing what your friends like, and quickly return with your drinks of choice. Conversation flows, laughs are shared, and a few drinking games are played over the next hours. Teresa soon speaks up on a topic you’d been hoping to avoid.

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

You shrug and look into your drink, “Dunno. Why does it matter?”

Irene, the ever supportive best friend that she is, backs up Teresa. “What do you mean ‘why’? This is your chance to finally make a move!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You quickly deny, taking another sip.

An unladylike snort leaves Irene, “My ass! You and Major Egan have been making googly eyes at each other when you think the other’s not looking for months. I’m saying it’s time for you to perk your tits up, buck on over and ride that—!” You slam your drink on the table, pressing your hand over Irene’s mouth, heat rising to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Are you insane?” You whisper harshly, looking around to make sure no one overheard you. You seem to be in the clear, which makes you calm down a bit. Irene pushes off your hand, takes a swig of her drink, and consults the person who started this whole conversation.

“Am I wrong?” You look to Teresa, who cringes slightly in agreement.

You gape at the pair of them. Normally, you were the median between the two girls who had vastly differing opinions. But this is what made them come to a consensus? Unbelievable.

“Look, I’m not saying that I don’t want to.” You start, which makes your friends nod encouragingly at you. “It’s just that… Is he really as interested as you think he is?”

They both groan and slump against each other, like they’d just run a marathon. Teresa sits up, scooching your chair in closer so that the three of you were in a private triangle, cut off from the rest of the group.

“Let’s look at the facts here, okay?” Teresa starts to tick off a finger with each point she and Irene make. But you seem to always have a rebuttal at the ready.

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

“He constantly fixes his hair when you’re around.”

“He takes care of his appearance!”

“He walks you to the mess hall every day for dinner.”

“We just happen to be going the same way. And we happen to have the same dinner schedule.”

“He read The Hobbit when you said how much you loved it.”

“He’s an adventurous guy, it’s an adventurous book, what’s not to like about it?”

“You two literally will walk and talk outside alone for hours.”

“A man can’t have a stimulating conversation with a woman?”

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

“Hey! They’re not all dumb. Like, the one with the goose and the—”

“Point proven. Anyways! He has your picture in the inside pocket of his jacket.”

That one stops you in your tracks. You brain tries to justify this meaning but comes up blank.

“He…” You struggle with an excuse. “He…” Your best friends give victorious smirks in your direction.

“He… likes the extra padding in his jacket?” You stutter over what is possibly the most pathetic, sorry excuse you could have ever come up with.

“When are you gonna admit to yourself that he likes you? Like, actually truly likes you?” 

You gave a sad sigh, letting the insecurity you were feeling deep down come to the surface. “I just… He’s just so…” You had stomped down your feelings for so long that it was becoming hard to articulate what exactly you’re feeling.

“He just seems so unreal. Like, of everyone he could have chosen, why me? I mean, I know I’m great. But you’ve seen the other girls on base. They’re all so beautiful, smart, classy… and none of them are covered in engine oil ninety percent of the time.” You looked down at your hands, specks of grease and oil peeking out from beneath your nail beds. It seems like it would never completely wash out, no matter how hard you scrubbed. You hadn’t even painted your nails for this weekend, knowing it would be money wasted come Monday morning when you’re back on the clock.

Teresa and Irene share a look that you don’t see, then come forward and grab each of your hands. 

“The words you just used to describe those girls. All of that is you, Birdie. That and more. You being a mechanic doesn’t make you any less of a woman, and to hell with anyone else who thinks otherwise.”  You nodded in agreement, Irene’s words of encouragement slowly washing away your anxieties.

Teresa spoke up next, “You deserve someone who will rearrange the stars and the whole night sky for you. And I’m more than willing to bet that Major Egan is up for the job.” 

“Besides, none of that 'unreal' stuff. At the end of the day, John Egan is nothing more than a man. If he can’t look past his nose and his d—" You gave a squeak to cover up the vulgar word Irene was about to blurt in public. She rolled her eyes fondly and continued.

“If he can’t see what you’re worth and make the effort to treat you a hundred times better than that? That’s on him. Not you. You know what you deserve, and you deserve everything you want. Absolutely everything.”

You sniffed, happy tears coming to your eyes. You brought your best friends in for a hug, thanking them profusely. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Teresa grins into your shoulder “every girl needs to be pulled out of her well sometime.”

You pull back from the hug, grabbing your glass and tipping your head back, finishing the rest of your drink. “Even if he’s not gonna be here, let’s have a ball!” Your girlfriends cheer as the three of you go to the bar for refills.

One drink turns into two, which turns into a few more, and suddenly you’re buzzed. Your group are having a rambunctious time, Irene dancing by the local piano player. Once Irene looks over to you, she stops and whispers in the player’s ear. He nods, then starts a new tune. Irene starts up her voice, walking over to you and Teresa, encouraging you to join her. 

The alcohol has loosened you up enough that you don’t feel the nausea you usually associate with being perceived, so you join in the harmonies you and your friends have practiced in your bunks at night.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

Soon the whole pub was jumping and dancing along to the tune as you brought a new vibe to the pub. It was like a spark that started an entirely new night and everyone was eager to go on forever.

One song turns into an entire set, which ends with a full rendition of G.I. Jive, which had everyone singing along. It was a magical moment; made you feel like you were a part of something important.

Irene sidles up to you, giving you a hug. She says in your ear,

“I think it’s time to slow it down a bit. How about you sing that song I taught you.”

She means an old Appalachian folk song that’s been in her family for generations. You had heard her sing it one night and immediately loved the dark, but strong nature of the lyrics. It was an honor to learn it from her. 

“I don’t know, it’s your family’s song and…”

“And I can’t think of anyone better to sing it to these soldiers.�� You gave each other a look, her slight eyebrow raise gave you the courage to nod in acceptance. She smiled, hugging you again, her voice yelled out to the crowd. 

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

The announcement is met with raucous applause, Irene and Teresa shoving you towards a dodgy looking table. Crank offers a hand up, which you take gratefully. As you find your bearings on the tabletop, you quickly spin around and find all eyes on you. 

The crackling energy in the air seemed to simmer, the fast-beating hearts of the pubgoers recognizing a moment to acknowledge you. Nausea starts to make an appearance, but a deep breath quells the sensation within you for the time being.

You take another deep breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You close your eyes, open your mouth, and sing.

Meanwhile…. 

Majors Gale Cleven and John Egan walk down the familiar street, one eager to catch up with his fellow countrymen’s alcohol intake, the other just happy to spend time with his friends. They were arriving later to the festivities due to being caught up in filling out reports. By far the worst part of having a higher rank was the paperwork.

“It’s pretty quiet.” Buck acknowledges. “They’re usually rowdier by this point.”

Bucky sniffs, shrugging off the concern. “Ah, it’s probably nothing.” 

As the two men approach the pub, they find that a crowd has formed. Soldiers, civilians, RAF, USAAF, old, young— people had obviously stopped to watch whatever was going on. It was dead silent, save for a voice singing. Was there a radio show on or something?

A familiar face peeks out at them from the crowd, DeMarco quickly waving them over. 

Bucky is quick to question, “Hey, what’s going on?” but is immediately shushed by nearby crowd members. Buck cringes in apology, despite not being the one to disturb the peace. His best friend, ever unshaken by the opinion of strangers, carries on.

DeMarco leans in, whispering, “Your girl’s taking us all to church.”

“My girl..?” Bucky’s nose scrunches in confusion. He makes space through the crowd and quickly makes sense of DeMarco’s words. It was you.

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

Standing on a tabletop, watchful eyes sat all around you like baby ducks flocking to their mama. You were captivating everyone with each note and word that flows from your mouth. Damn, you've got a set of pipes— a voice that belongs on the radio, in concert halls, on Hollywood records. He had no idea.

His little Birdie.

“Wow.” Buck mutters in awe from behind him, and Bucky couldn’t be more in agreement.

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

He hadn’t noticed before, but her eyes were closed. Like she needed to concentrate on each and every breath she took, every single movement her body made, before letting them out in an angelic melody.

As if by divine intervention, her eyes pop open and lock on his as she belts “how to love” 

It could’ve been an eternity, for all he knows, the amount of time that they spent locked in each other’s gaze. The world pauses around them, everything frozen. Her eyes were already the kind to knock a man clean off his feet with a single gaze, but he thinks- for a brief moment- that his heart completely stops beating.

John Clarence Egan would swear every day from then on, until his dying breath, that the course of his life was altered in that very moment. He knew how it would continue from then on, and how it would end. How he wanted it to end.

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

Her final hums are joined by a short blonde woman who stands nearby, another face he recognizes from base. 

The applause that picks up after the end of the song is near deafening. The star of the hour gives a shy smile, a quick curtsy and is given a hand to step down from the table.

Everyone soon starts mingling, the normal chatter of the bar returning. But Bucky is stuck in his spot, dumbfounded. In all the conversations you’d had together, somehow this never came up. He should’ve put two and two together, as he recalls overhearing your hums one morning as he made his daily coffee delivery to you. But you had been caught off guard, so much so that you tripped off the ladder you stood on and fell. Luckily, his quick reflexes kicked in to catch you before any serious injuries occurred. 

Remembering the sensation of his hands on your waist and thighs, face just inches from yours, sent his brain into a tailspin. That’s not even considering just how damn cute you were when, after a beat, you turned away from him and playfully mourned the cups of coffee that were splattered all over the hardstand.

“John. John?” A hand waving in front of his face knocks him out of his reverie. He blinks once, twice. Then looks to his best friend.

His voice comes out uncharacteristically weak in response, to which he then clears his throat and corrects. “Yes—yeah?” He pops the collar of his sheepskin jacket to try and hide the rampant red of his ears that signals the heat radiating from them.

Buck just shakes his head and gives him a knowing smile. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Egan. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“See what day?” Bucky starts to consciously return to his body, leaning on the bar.

“The day when a girl finally knocks you on your ass. I knew you had a thing for her, but that?” He points to his face and motions to indicate where they had just been standing. “That’s something else. That’s something real.”

Bucky gives another shrug in response, to which Buck throws back an unconvinced frown. He turns his head to gaze over the pub patrons and is distracted by you once again. Any denial he was about to spout immediately dies in his mouth when you lock eyes with him again and give him a dazzling smile. The world starts to fade away again.

His heart pumps faster in his chest at the sight. Damnit. He sighs, telling his best friend the truth he’s been privately wrestling with for a while now, all the while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

“I know, Buck. I know.”

Bucky smiles back at you and is elated when your face lights up. You give him a wave.

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

#masters of the air #mota #john egan x reader #john egan x oc #john bucky egan #john bucky egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #john egan x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky egan fanfiction #mota spoilers #ken lemmons #gale cleven #buck and bucky #buck x bucky #john egan #bucky egan #crank cruikshank #charles cruikshank #curt biddick #buck cleven #gale buck cleven #harry crosby #bubbles payne #hbo war #hbo war fanfic #hbo war fandom #hbo war oc

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth I Know Is You

[Series | Complete]

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Stationed in Italy as a Flight Nurse with the 802nd Medical Air Evacuation Squadron, a combination of bad weather and an inexperienced Navigator lands you in the last place you ever imagined your World War II service would lead - a Prisoner of War Camp in Moosburg, Germany. As the months drag on and the camp’s population multiplies, your path crosses with all manner of humanity, including one rather broken pilot from Manitowoc, Wisconsin.

Series Warnings: Canon typical violence, Death, Injuries, Gore, Angst, Suffering, Mental Health Struggles, Medical Settings and Procedures, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Borrowed heavily from the real life experiences of Reba Whittle. There are short documentaries about her on YouTube or if you want to deep dive, like me, you can read a copy of her imprisonment diary here. Special thanks to @precious-little-scoundrel for her invaluable assistance with the conception and formulation of this series! If you'd like to be tagged, just add a comment to this post!

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Masters of the Air Masterlist

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

[darylas]

Chapter 1 - Blue Skies

John "Bucky" Egan x singer!fem!reader ♫ next ♫ ao3

When Bucky hears his favorite song begin to play, he does not expect to see a new Red Cross volunteer walk up to the microphone.

1.6k words

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

A/N: This was my first time writing in several years! It's short and the pacing is interesting, but gosh darn it I had fun writing this. Special shoutout to @blurredcolour for inspiring me to pick up the pen. Go read their work, it's fantastic.

Bucky sat cross-legged in a chair next to Buck, not-so-slowly nursing his second whiskey. Men and women danced in the center of the officers club as the military band played an obviously well-rehearsed rendition of Glenn Miller’s A String of Pearls. Bucky tapped two fingers on his knee in time to the beat while he watched the dancers. He had already spent three songs dancing with three different women and was now taking a break to sit and enjoy his best friend’s company.

“That girl you were dancing with before, she was pretty,” said Buck before taking a sip of his coke. “She works in the Clubmobile, right?”

“Yeah, Helen. Good dancer, too.” Bucky spotted her on the other side of the room, chatting with Tatty Spaatz. 

Buck took another sip as he watched the band play. “Got a letter from Marge today.”

“She dump you yet?”

“Not if I read the letter right.” Buck smiled and looked down. After a moment, he looked back at Bucky. “She said Peggy was not too happy she hasn’t gotten a letter from you.”

Bucky responded with a puzzled look. “We went on one date. A double date. I swear I didn’t give her any ideas that she’d be expecting mail from me. Buck, I swear. I don’t play like that.” 

Buck gave a soft exhale through his nose. “I know you don’t. I was just passing along the message.” A String of Pearls began to come to a close. “Not sure why it’d be such a bad idea to write her, though.”

“Aww, c’mon, Buck, I’m trying to have a nice evening here.” Bucky’s eyes lit up as the band initiated the next song, loud trumpets and melodic saxophones blaring out the snappy intro to Blue Skies. He broke into a grin. “Now we’re talkin’.”

Buck and at least three other men couldn’t hold in their groans as they too heard the familiar notes. They knew exactly what this song did to Bucky, especially after a few drinks. 

Bucky leaned over to address one of the protestors, Major Jack Kidd. “It’s my song! It needs vocals! You can’t expect me to just sit here in silence.”

“I think you’re gonna have to, John,” said Buck. “Looks like your act’s been booted.” 

Bucky whipped his head around to look at the makeshift stage where the band was playing. He watched in disbelief as a woman wearing a Red Cross uniform strolled up to the microphone in front of the band and began to sing.

Blue skies smiling at me

Nothing but blue skies do I see

Several of the men whooped and whistled appreciatively, and Bucky saw you smile and wink at the crowd as you continued to sing. Every note was sung with confidence and precision, and you continued to smile brightly as you got to the chorus. Everyone in the room seemed to be under the spell of your voice and stage presence.

Never saw the sun shining so bright

Never saw things going so right

Noticing the days hurrying by

When you’re in love, my how they fly

Buck hadn’t realized how right he’d been. Bucky had gone completely silent.

He rubbed the lower half of his face to cover his growing smile. He hoped you’d glance his way but so far no luck. He found himself in a strange quandary as he was torn between closing his eyes to listen to your voice and keeping them open to stare at your face. He wasn't sure if it was the whisky, the humidity of the packed room, your performance, or a strange combination of all three, but he was beginning to feel dizzy.

Far too soon for his liking, the song ended, with you hitting the final high note right on the head. The crowd applauded as you stepped back and gestured to the band behind you in appreciation. You stepped back up to the microphone.

“Thank you very much. Let’s hear it one more time for our Air Force Band! Aren’t they wonderful?” The crowd cheered, Buck and Bucky clapping along with them. “While I’m up here, I just wanted to remind you all that this Saturday, the Red Cross will be hosting bingo night in the Aeroclub at 1900. I don’t want to spoil anything but I will tell you that we’ve got some pretty terrific prizes for the winners. Thank you again, ladies and gentlemen.” 

As you departed the stage, several men in the crowd let out cries of disappointment. The band director spoke into the microphone, “Don’t worry, ladies and gents, she’ll be back! Now if you feel so inclined, grab a partner and get back on the dance floor!” He signaled the band to start playing a new song with a count of "one, two, three, four.”

Bucky slapped both hands on his thighs and stood. He quickly downed the rest of his whisky, put down the glass, and straightened his tie. “I do believe I feel so inclined,” he said to Buck. 

“Yeah, I figured you might,” replied Buck with a smirk. 

As Bucky made his way toward where you were seated with another Red Cross Girl, he smirked as he noticed that other officers who had the same idea begrudgingly backed off. As Buck was known to say, rank had its privileges. When you looked up, Bucky greeted you with his most charming grin. “Quite the performance up there; you do autographs?”

You looked at his hands and quirked your brow. “I don’t see anything to sign.” 

Bucky looked down at his hands as well and flipped them over a couple of times. “Damn, you’re right.” He looked back at you. “How ‘bout a dance instead, then?” 

You smiled politely at him. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t dance.” You motioned to the girl sitting next to you. “Rachel here is a marvelous dancer, though.” 

“Oh, I know.” Bucky nodded at Rachel. “How ya doin’, Rach?” 

With a mischievous smile and her chin resting on her fist, the blonde replied, "I'm just swell, Bucky." 

He smiled back at her. “That’s great.” He looked back at you skeptically. “You sure? I promise to keep you on your feet, Miss…”

You gave him your name then said, “I’m sure. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Major, and don’t forget about bingo night on Saturday.”

Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets and pressed his lips together, nodding. “Right, right. Bingo night. Alright then, I’ll see you around.” He began to walk away then turned back around. “I don’t know if the band said anything to you, but Blue Skies is sorta my signature song. S’okay, though. You did alright. Little different than my rendition, but you sounded great.” 

You gave him that same damn polite smile that he couldn’t decipher and said, “Glad you liked it.”

Bucky nodded once and headed back to his seat. He cleared his dry throat after sitting down next to Buck. After picking up his whisky glass, he frowned upon realizing that it was empty. Buck looked over at him. “What happened?”

“Turns out she’s more your type. Said she doesn’t dance.” 

“What’s ‘a matter, Bucky?” He turned to see Blakely and Douglass grinning at him. “The jazz cat have claws?” Both burst out laughing at the terrible joke. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and gave them an exasperated look.

Buck smiled good-naturedly and clapped him on the back. “Had to happen sometime, pal. Maybe getting shot down for once will help fix that king-size ego of yours,” he joked. 

“I didn’t get shot down, she said she didn’t dance.” Bucky pulled on one of his sleeves. “There’s a difference.” Once again, he began tapping two fingers against his knee to the music, trying his damndest not to look at you.

═════ ♫ ═════

Later in the evening, Bucky, Buck, and Curt Biddick were all standing at the bar. Curt and Bucky were animatedly discussing the Yankees for what had to be the hundredth time, leaving poor Buck to his coke and people-watching for a few minutes. 

Bucky saw his friend look quizzically at the dance floor then quickly avert his eyes and take a long sip. Bucky looked back in the same direction and immediately saw what Buck had been hoping he wouldn’t. At the far edge of the dance floor, you were dancing with Lt. “Bubbles” Payne, smiling and laughing. 

“I’m telling you, DiMaggio would never…what the hell are you looking at?” Curt, who was more than a little drunk, turned around and saw you and Bubbles. “That the girl who was singing earlier? The one that gave you the brush-off? I thought you said she didn’t dance. I guess she meant she doesn’t dance with-” He was cut off by Buck smacking him on the arm. “What?”

Bucky was still watching you with your arms around Bubbles, laughing at something else he said. Bubbles. He was a great guy, but what about him made you change your mind about dancing? Or was dancing not the problem at all?

Curt, unaware of Bucky’s worsening mood, casually slung his arm over his shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, don’t feel bad. I’ll dance with you, Bucky. C’mere, they’re playing our song.” 

Bucky shoved the drunk lieutenant off of him and smiled bitterly. “Yeah, cause spinning and shaking is exactly what your body needs right now, Curt.” 

He felt Buck nudge his shoulder. “You’ll get your chance, John. C’mon, I’m beat. Let’s head to the barracks.” 

As they began the walk back and the music behind them faded, Curt appeared deep in thought. Eventually, he said, very seriously, “Maybe she likes his mustache better than yours.” Buck coughed to cover a laugh. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. He didn’t care that you had rejected him. Not even a little.

He wouldn’t spare you a second thought. No sir.

And he absolutely did not hear you singing Blue Skies over and over in his head as he lay in bed that night.

—

♫ next ♫

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john bucky egan #mota #masters of the air #mota fic #callum turner #reader insert #fanfiction #Spotify

[flawdchaos]

Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #rosie rosenthal #masters of the air imagines #masters of the air x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal imagines #john egan #gale cleven #john egan x reader #gale cleven x reader #bucky egan x reader #buck cleven x reader

[millie-multifics]

Proverbial Dark Clouds

Major John Egan x Reader

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

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

Word Count: ~1.8k

Thank you all for the support and feedback xoxo

Masterlist Part 2 Part 3

x x x

“Bluebirds, singing a song,

Nothing but bluebirds, all day long.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Blue days, all of them gone.

Nothing but blue skies from now on!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any word on Curt?”

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Major. Sweet Dreams.

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

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

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

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

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

Major Egan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Biddick.”

“Absolutely not-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly why I will be in that plane.”

“Alright everyone, let’s go.”

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

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

“I love you, too.”

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

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

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

“No! Dickie! Dickie! No!”

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

“Any injuries, Curtis?”

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

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

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

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

“You can land this thing?”

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

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

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

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

But what is young love without tragedy?

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

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

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

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

#major john egan #bucky egan #mota spoilers #mota fanfic #mota #masters of the air #major John Bucky Egan #callum turner #gale cleven #curtis biddick #John Egan x reader #Major john egan x reader

[okieedokes]

girl worth writing to | john egan x f!reader

summary : john pays you a visit while he’s on leave and things get melodramatic lol

warnings : brief mention of suicide, doesn't exactly follow the events of the show

word count : 888

The vibration of gentle snores rouse you from your sleep, your eyes search for the clock ticking away on your nightstand.

5:04 am

The sun had barely risen yet and you cursed yourself for being such a light sleeper, knowing the day you had ahead of you. However, the sight of shirtless John Egan dozing peacefully beside you was certainly one for sore eyes. You lifted a hand to his disheveled curls and attempted to stroke them back into place, whilst your mind replayed the events of the night before…

5:34 pm

You had just returned to your flat from another agonising day at the infirmary, to the incessant ring of the telephone. You are hesitant to answer, as you are sure it’s your head nurse, calling to inform you there’s been another emergency and you would need to return.

With a deep breath you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed and retrieve the telephone.

“Hello?…” You had meant to use a more formal introduction but simply couldn’t find the strength.

“Y/N?! It’s me, Bucky! You remember?” He teased.

You had half the mind to pretend you had forgotten the pilot after not hearing a word from him in almost six months.

“Unfortunately, I do remember.” You mask your tone with sarcasm.

“Atta girl!” He remarked and you found yourself repressing a smile as you imagined the cheeky grin on his face.

“I just completed my twenty-fifth mission today and it was frankly very nearly my last, so they’re graciously giving me the weekends leave!” He boasts sarcastically and you suppress a giggle.

“Lucky Buck!” You retort and hear him scoff.

“Anyways, I was thinking I’d come pay you and London a visit…that’s if you’d have me, of course.”

You take a pause, pretending you have a choice. Unfortunately the truth of the matter was that you’d take the Major in, always and forever no-matter the heartache, come his departure.

“Do you still remember the address?” You asked, placing a hand to your stomach in an attempt to ease the brewing butterflies.

“I couldn’t forget if I tried sweetheart, I’ll see you soon enough.” He teased playfully and ended the call.

You sighed at the realisation that you would have to spend all evening making your tired self presentable for the pilot, knowing deep down that for John it would always be worth it.

5:36 am

You jump at the feeling of his large hand wrap around your wrist that was still embedded in his hair. You feel your cheeks grow bright red as you push your body towards the opposite side of the bed.

“I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean you scare ya.” He croaks in his deep morning voice that never fails to make your knees weak.

“That’s okay! I need to get ready for my shift anyways.” You stutter wrapping yourself in the bedsheet as you crawl out of bed.

“Y/N please…” Bucky groans and grasps at the sheet that is now tightly wound around your shivering frame.

“You always do this…it’s too early and it’s bloody freezing.” He pleads and gently pulls you back into the bed and his embrace, gently guiding your into head to the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry I scared you…twenty-five missions…it’s starting to get to me now, I think.” He admits whilst stroking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“I can only imagine the horrors you boys have endured…” You whisper.

“You would probably understand more than most Y/N…what with the hospital and all the bombings.” He adds, his tone soft and comforting as he continues to stroke your hair. This is not the witty and sarcastic John you were familiar with.

“I suppose you could say that.” You mumble as you fidget with the dog tag that hangs around his neck, a cruel reminder.

“I guess it doesn’t help that I have this American pilot of mine who when I’m sure has gone and died on me-”You attempt a teasing tone but it falls flat.

“What’s all this about me being a goner? Don’t you have any faith Y/N?” He interjects, his tone only half joking.

“Well you never write or call? What am I supposed to think?!” You feel anger boiling in your chest as you push yourself away from him.

“Or maybe I’m just not worth writing to!” You accuse before John had time to even consider a response to your sudden outburst.

“I promise it’s nothing like that Y/N… you know how I feel about you. Christ! I wouldn’t be using my weekend off like this if I didn’t have feelings for you!” He scrambles to defuse the situation, knowing your spirited ways.

“Oh really?!” You mock.

“Y/N these missions, they’re suicide! I couldn’t never let you get involved with me now! It would be cruel!” His statement cuts the conversation like a knife, silence falling over the entire flat.

A tear rolls down your cheek as you stifle a sob.

“I-I’m sorry John…but I think I’m already…involved.” You stutter.

The pilot sighs, using the bedsheet gathered around your waist to pull you back down into the mattress, so now you are pinned underneath him. There's nowhere to hide.

“If you only knew how many times I’ve heard your voice in my head or seen your face in a crowd…” He whispers whilst gently placing a kiss to each of your tear soaked cheeks.

“You’re my girl…I’m sorry I ever made your feel like you weren't worth writing to.” His tone is soft but sincere.

Without looking away, he reaches for a scrap of paper that was resting atop your bedside table.

“In fact I’ll start right now…My dearest Y/N…” He declares in a exaggerated british accent and you playful slap his shoulder, giving him permission to attack you with kisses again.

When he finally pulls away your eyes meet and you raise a hand to his cheek.

“Come back to me, Major Egan.” The words tumble out before you even able to acknowledge they are there.

“Always.” He whispers, before burying is head in your chest. It wasn't long before you feel his soft snores radiating against your body again.

#john egan #John Egan x reader #callum turner #masters of the air #mota #callum turner x reader #tbitb #bucky egan

[floralcyanide]

omg imagine cleaning bucky’s wounds after he got into a fight bc he was too drunk :((

ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙʟᴜʀʙ ― ᴊᴏʜɴ "ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ" ᴇɢᴀɴ

pairing: john "bucky" egan x reader

word count: 0.2k

warnings: mentions of fighting, injury, mentions of wound, flirting

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, you did, Bucky.”

You huff as you dab some alcohol on the cut over Bucky’s eyebrow, which he earned by testing one of the larger soldiers at the base’s bar. He often gets rowdy when he’s drunk and pushes everyone’s limits, including his own. And as you’re one of the base’s nurses, you frequently encounter Bucky after one of his notorious drunken escapades. One night, he came in looking for a remedy for the sore throat he would have the following day from singing so much. Another night, he came in with a headache and needed to lie down somewhere that wasn’t his bunk. You started to think he was just coming up with reasons to see you. 

“How do you know?” Bucky asks, a small, knowing smile on his face.

“Because you know I’m the night shift nurse, and you always get into trouble at night,” you raise an eyebrow, grabbing a butterfly bandage to put on his cut.

Bucky hisses at the feeling of his tender skin being pulled together but gets over it as he gazes into your eyes.

“Maybe next time you could get a drink with me, and I wouldn’t be as rowdy,” Bucky chuckles.

“You know I can’t leave here, Bucky,” you frown, “Or else I would.”

“Really? You would?” Bucky asks, a grin growing on his lips.

“Of course, anything for you, Major,” you wink.

#john bucky egan #john egan x reader #john egan #bucky egan #john bucky egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #mota #masters of the air #anon #asks #floralcyanide writes #floralcyanide speaks #floralcyanide asks

[pisupsala]

Follow Me Where I Go

Or how you stopped worrying and learned to love trouble.

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Part 2 of Are You Going My Way?

Words: 8.5k Warnings: smut, 18+

“Dance with me.”

“No.” 

Bucky towers over you even as he casually leans against the dance hall bar while you sip your drink. You lock eyes with him before looking off the side. His gaze follows your line of vision. Matron is hovering near the dance floor, looking like she just swallowed a lemon. Bucky looks back at you, grinning. He’s standing too close to you, moving even closer when he speaks, leaning toward you as he listens. When he touches you — fleetingly putting his hand on your waist, brushing past you, lightly bumping his hand against yours — you feel that same spark as when he kissed you. 

You’ve never had someone vie for your attention so persistently, so overwhelmingly, so intensely. At moments, you’re not sure if you want to bask in it forever or just fall through the floor from awkwardness. Sometimes, you think Bucky might just enjoy you telling him no, whether because he clearly doesn’t get told no very often or because he can tell everything, but your mouth is saying yes. It’s the most delightful kind of trouble, but trouble nonetheless.

Whatever it is, he is making damn sure you only have eyes for him. 

The singing, the touching, the way Bucky always finds you. His eyes fix on you from across the room, popping up in places where he has no business being as a force of habit now, stealing a kiss the moment he sees an opening. 

Your roommates like to joke that you have Major John Egan on a string. It would certainly appear so. But you know better. If you have him on a string, it’s he who is doing the pulling.

In a sudden rush, airmen crowd the bar. Someone bumps into you, your drink spilling over your sleeve. Yelping, you put it down, but before you can turn around in indignation, Bucky pulls you into him, boxing you in between his strong arms, wedging you between his body and the bar. Safe from the surrounding push but right in his crosshairs. The tip of his nose is brushing along the side of your neck. He nips at your jaw. Bucky revels in hearing the small, quivering sigh, your hand gripping the edge of the bar so hard it’s turning your knuckles white. 

If Bucky has realized one thing about you, it’s that you don’t like breaking rules. It’s like you are not used to it. By all means, you move comfortably and serenely between the constraints of your job, rarely complaining about the rigid rules imposed by the Matron. However, it’s not that you lack an adventurous streak; you just do things on your own terms. He can tease you all he wants, goad you into action, and you will look him straight in the eye — flustered, licking your lips in anticipation, breath shallow — and coldly tell him no. You have the worst poker face but the strongest resolve.

And yet. 

It’s worth it because it makes it all the sweeter when you relent. Like now. Once you are sure you both have blended into the crowd at the bar, you spin around to face Bucky, biting your lip. The grin on his face tells you that he has been waiting for this. You grin back coyly. When you reach for him, cupping his face, he easily allows you to pull him into a searing kiss. The music suddenly sounds far away; the surrounding voices are drowned out — he is in his own little bubble with you. 

When you pull away a fraction, breathless, he eagerly captures your lips again. There are few—too few, in Bucky’s opinion—moments when he gets you like this. When your attention is on him, and only him. When you choose to break out of the neat little mold of an army nurse, you are extraordinarily alluring—from your fiery kiss to your soft, curious hands. It’s exhilarating, it’s addictive. You are only like that for him.

“John,” Your whisper, so tender and clear, cuts through his heated thoughts. Pulling away, you lick your lips—it tastes like Bucky’s smokey whiskey. He pulls you closer again, hands running up your sides.

“One more, Dove,” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Just one?” You giggle, chastely pressing your lips against his. He kisses you slowly, longingly. It makes your insides quake like nothing else when he does this. You thought Bucky was all about fun, but this isn’t fun. You thought he sparked like electricity, but this isn’t a shock to the system. It’s searingly intense in its tenderness and earnestness, leaving you speechless, helplessly clinging to him.  

He doesn’t grin or smirk at you; he doesn’t bask in his apparent victory — he just holds you like you are the only two people in the room. And at least for a moment, even John Egan has nothing to say.

Someone bumps into Bucky’s elbow, breaking the moment. You smell the pipe smoke. The color drains from your face because you know exactly who just approached the bar next to your romantic display.

“Doctor,” You greet, trying to keep your voice from cracking. Your hands fall from Bucky’s shoulders as if that makes you look any less guilty. You just hope letting go will actually cause you to fall through the floor now. “Nurse,” He replies, all too calmly, nodding at you before signaling the barman for another drink.

“Smokey,” Bucky sounds bored. 

“Major,” 

You look at your shoes, embarrassed, fidgeting with your hands. You wish you could put more space between Bucky and yourself, but there is nowhere for you to move. You are so unused to being in trouble, flustered so quickly that it’s adorable to Bucky. Caught red-handed, you might as well own it. So, instead of stepping back, he tucks you against him so you can hide your face against his chest, kissing the top of your head. A small noise of mortification escapes you.

“I’m not going to give you grief, nurse,” The doctor sounds wonderfully unbothered — he understands there is no regulation, no rule book, or punishment that will keep people, lonely and far away from home, from finding comfort in each other. “Just be sure Matron doesn’t see; you’ll be scrubbing baseboards for the rest of the month.” He adds almost jauntily.

“Yes, Doctor,” Your voice sounds much more confident than you feel, but you make no attempt to move away, content with hiding your face against Bucky’s jacket.

“That said, Bucky.” The doctor pauses to puff on his pipe before looking at the pair of you pointedly. “She’s one of my best. Take care not to get her sent away, will you?”

You hear Bucky's deep rumble of laughter resonate through his chest. It’s such a strangely sweet sensation—you heard his laugh before anyone else did. His fingers move soothingly down your spine.

“I’m quite partial to having her around myself.”

***

It’s one of those nights that if not everyone at the table were dressed in uniforms, you’d forget the circumstances of how you all came to be in a pub in a small town in East Anglia playing an entirely too intense game of Oh, Hell. It’s a Friday night, packed — you are sat snugly at the corner table, between the wall and Bucky, who seems to keep finding excuses to move closer to you. His knee is brushing against your leg; he keeps finding a reason to touch you, he whispers in your ear. You are unsure if Bucky is trying to get at you, your nerves, or the hand of cards that you are holding. 

You are not supposed to be out this late, but you’ve come to find out it’s becoming harder to say no. Sometimes, you have the nagging feeling that your days with Bucky are numbered. It’s like a dark little splotch in the back of your mind — a small, creeping eclipse. You never mention it to Bucky. Speaking it would make it true. 

And it’s so easy to forget when you are around him. The weeks and the days pass in a blur. Your heart soars every time he steps off that plane, every time you hear that bicycle bell after a mission. Every kiss is electric and sparks new depths of your attraction to Bucky.

Trouble was never this sweet or this persistent.

You brush his hand off your leg, again, decidedly not looking at Bucky but keeping your cards close to your chest and talking to Gale and Charles across the table from you. “So, what exactly happened to that narwhal tusk?” 

Gale smiles but doesn’t look up from his cards. He is entirely too cool and level-headed to get distracted from making his play. “I recall unicorns were to blame,” He simply replies before grabbing two matches from the pile. “I bet two.” 

“None for me,” Bucky smoothly puts his cards face down on the table before returning to you. You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face as you chew your lip, trying to weigh the odds — each has five cards. Charles is playing for one. Gale is confident that he’ll win two hands. Bucky is playing for none. Which, in his case, means nothing in terms of whether he drew a good or bad hand. John Egan deals in chaos — he wins as long as everyone else loses. And considering he has a seventy-five-point lead, he’s a deft hand at it.

As he leans into you, you know he’s about to say something to annoy and distract you. So before a word can make it out of his mouth, before that infectious grin wipes you of all rational thought, you gently put your index finger against his lips. It stops him dead in his tracks for a mere second. From the heated look in his eyes, it’s clear this wasn’t a deterrent; it’s fuel on the fire.

“I bet three,” you announce lightly, trying not to look too flustered. Bucky grabs your hand and kisses your fingertips. 

Gale politely pushes three matches your way.

“That’s how you shut him up, then?” Charles jokes. “Any other tricks you’d be willing to share?” The whole table bursts out laughing. You just grin into your wine.

You first notice something is off when a fellow nurse suddenly dashes past and disappears into the men's room. Suddenly, chairs around the room scrape, and a mad scramble of heels is on the wooden floor. Belatedly, you look at the pub's entrance and realize that the Matron just walked in, rollers in her hair, apoplectic. 

“Shit,” You breathe in panic, starting to get up out of your hair, hoping you can hide before Matron sees you, but you are completely stuck between the table, the wall, and Bucky. You freeze — you are going to be in so much trouble. You’re going to be cleaning the whole infirmary. You’ll be redoing the entire inventory. She might transfer you away. 

She might send you home.

Your stomach plummets.

Bucky’s hand, suddenly pushing down on the crown of your head, shocks you out of your paralysis.

“Get down,” He says calmly like this is a completely normal request. As you clearly were not the type to sneak out or break the rules, and all things considered, you have a pretty poor fight-or-flight reaction.

Almost stupidly, you allow him to push you under the table, crouching on your hands and knees in the cramped space between the table legs and the men’s legs. Gale moves his legs out of the way, giving you some space, while Bucky motions you to come closer to him, gently guiding you to kneel between his legs. Above you, the conversation resumes like nothing happened. 

Quietly, you try to find a comfortable position in the small space, taking care not to bump your head against the tabletop. Finally, you settle by leaning your cheek against the inside of Bucky’s knee and resting your hands on his thigh. His muscles flex under your touch, and Bucky shifts slightly in his seat.

The sound of heels marching over the wooden floor is like a death knell.

“Gentlemen,” the Matron says, standing so close to the table that you can see the shoddily repaired ladder on her nylon. “It’s past curfew, and I have several nurses missing from their rooms.” She looks sharply around the table, probably noticing your oddly abandoned seat, slapped-down hand of cards, and half-empty drink.

“No nurses at this table, Captain,” Gale responds coolly — not quite lying. Charles busies himself looking at his cards.

Bucky doesn’t even bother responding, lazily smoking his cigarette. He is currently trying very hard not to think about you kneeling between his legs — your fingers pressing into his muscle, your face so tantalizingly close.

“Are you sure, Major?” Matron presses. “Awful lot of chairs unoccupied in this pub for a Friday night” She trails off as she looks around the room. 

Under the table, you cringe, tightening your grip on Bucky’s leg. She never takes any answer at face value. Your knees are hurting by now, but you don’t dare move with her standing less than a foot away from you.

“That’s Hambone’s.” Crank supplies helpfully.

Several voices call out for Hambone, who you assume must be hanging around somewhere close. Your heart is beating in your throat. Bucky’s leg presses into you as Hambone clambers over the back of the chair. The conversation picks up naturally — they are all pretending like he’s been sitting there all along; that’s his hand on the table. You can’t help but wonder how many times they have pulled this little gambit before or if it’s a side effect of the blind trust forged between the men. No questions asked; just play along.

“White wine, lieutenant?” Matron intones mildly—your breath stocks. You should have really picked a less… obvious drink.

“I like what I like,” Hambone shrugs, downing the glass in one go. He puts the glass down less than gently. “It’s still alcohol.”

Bucky shifts his leg nervously, bumping into your shoulder.

“Major Cleven, Major Egan.” Matron looks down at them sharply, like a teacher about to scold children. Buck remains polite, looking at her as she speaks, while Bucky barely tries to conceal his contempt. “If you happen to see any of my nurses, I expect you to act in your capacity as senior officers and report them to me.”

“And if we don’t?” 

Your nails dig into Bucky’s leg. Shut up.

“Major Egan, you would interfere with Army procedures like that?”

“If we see any stray nurses around,” Buck cuts in before Bucky can reply. “We will be sure to let the Captain know, won’t we, Bucky?”

“Sure,” He agrees curtly. “Goodnight now, Captain.” He dismisses the Matron bluntly, turning his attention back to the card game.

Matron hesitates; you can tell by the uncertain shuffle of her feet. She’s just been dismissed by a superior officer, although she clearly wasn’t done with the conversation. Having her put in her place like that should not bring you joy. It should not give you a warm, fuzzy feeling when you listen to Bucky give an order like that. After an awkward pause, Matron finally bids the table goodnight. You watch her walk away, finally disappearing in the mass of legs near the bar.

You release the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding, finally shifting on your aching knees with a small groan. Bucky is doing everything in his power to pretend he didn’t hear that. You just hope Matron finishes her round of the pub quickly  — there really is no comfortable position in the cramped space under the table.

Bucky reaches under the table, stroking your cheek. Your heart nearly stops at the loving touch. He never ceases to surprise you with how tender he can be in these small moments — when he allows himself to let all the bluster and the jokes fall by the wayside. You lean into his touch with a sigh. 

“Is it safe yet?” You ask in a small voice.

“Currently,” Bucky glances over his shoulder. “The Captain is looking for you at the bottom of a martini glass.” 

“Bitch,” Your muffled voice sounds so acutely indignant, Bucky inclines his head to look under the table.

You peer up back at him with those big eyes; your lips slightly parted — fuck. He had thought of you in that exact position more than he would like to admit, but seeing you on your knees in front of him like that gives his half-formed fantasies substance. You pout, leaning against his knee again, waiting for the danger to pass. 

Matron has another two rounds. At this rate, she will at least be unable to hear you and your fellow nurses sneak back into the dormitory. The moment Matron walks out the door, the whole pub sighs a collective sigh of relief.   

“Come here, Dove,” Bucky offers his hand to pull you back up. Hambone makes no attempt to vacate your seat. Bucky doesn’t care as he pulls you into his lap despite your protests about losing a good hand. And you drink. 

Instead, he busies himself with brushing the dirt off your bruising knees, his hand dipping under the hem of your skirt for a quick second. You narrow your eyes at him, pushing his hand away.

“You have to be nice to me,” He smiles warmly at you. “I saved you.”

“You almost got me into trouble in the first place,” You retort levelly. “Again,” You add, looking at him sharply.

Bucky’s fingers gently wrap around your chin, pulling your face close to his. “Allow me to remind you, Dove,” His voice is low, warm like melted chocolate as he squeezes your hip — it’s the only thing you can focus on; everything else fades into the background. “You invited this trouble, insisted on it even.” 

“What can I say?” You murmur innocently, refusing to admit that he is technically correct. “Trouble follows me where I go.” 

Between Bucky and sips of his whiskey, your head is spinning as he leads you down the street of the small village. You split off from the rest a while ago. Giggling, you pull him into a dark corner between two buildings. With your arms around his neck, he accepts your eager kisses.

“And you have the audacity to call me trouble,” He comments, laughing as you push him up against the wall.

“I’m only repaying the favor,” You breathe against his lips, nimbly unbuttoning his uniform jacket, desperate to get closer to him. Feeling the definition of Bucky’s chest and how his muscles move through the layers of fabric thrills you. His hands run down your sides, grasping your hips, pulling you closer. Bucky relishes in your gentle voice and the caring touches that come so naturally to you. But he enjoys cracking through that sweet exterior even more, following your feverish lead, the way you unashamedly rub yourself against him, and your unabashed hunger for him. 

“You know what you want so well, Dove,” He encourages you. “I like that about you.” 

“I just want you,” You manage breathlessly between kisses, so lost in the moment, so lost in every touch, not really thinking about what you’re saying. Quickly, Bucky turns you around so your back is against the wall. Sure, he likes you showing him what you want, and whether it’s the whiskey or the tension that has been building all night — this is the most forward you’ve been. And he’ll be damned if he’s not going to make the most of this precious moment, now that he has you like this, all to himself.

Lightly tracing his hand over your leg, he hitches up the hem of your skirt. It bunches up around his wrist as he moves upwards. You are looking at him in anticipation, taking deep breaths to steady yourself, stroking the side of his face softly as you shift your stance, allowing him to move further. 

“Just me?” He rasps. His fingertips lightly graze the fabric of your panties, studying your reaction carefully. 

“Yes,” You keen, rolling your hips against his hand. He thought a lot about the delicious sway of your hips when you walk and how it would feel if you moved against him, wrapped around him, the soft, warm flesh of your thighs pressed against his wrist. There is nothing calculated about your movements, only the intuitive pursuit of pleasure. 

“No one else?” It’s as much possessive as it’s an admission of vulnerability. 

“Of- of course not,” You stutter in confusion, pulling back a fraction. The worry etched on your face melts away the moment Bucky’s fingers slip past the elastic of your panties into your warmth. You are so wet for him already, so sensitive that the smallest touches make your eyes flutter in pleasure.

“Good,” Bucky murmurs against your lips possessively, needing to feel your every gasp and breath. “Because that would break my heart.” 

You don’t think Bucky is joking. He doesn’t sound like he’s joking. It doesn’t feel like he is joking. A too-sincere confession in the heat of the moment like only he could make, leaving you reeling between the physical sensation of his deft fingers and the soul-searing candidness of his words. You would never have imagined that it would be in your power to change anything about the way that Bucky moves through this world, let alone that he would admit to you that you have the capability to break his heart.

“What about me?” The words tumble from your mouth all wrong, jumbled in a stream of strangely disconnected thoughts and lustful moans. Fighting through the amorous haze, you blink up at Bucky, trying to find a way to re-arrange your question into something more coherent. Until a few seconds ago, you were sure you were the only one in danger of heartbreak in this situation. 

“You,” He replies softly, brushing the tip of his nose against yours, as your breath quickens and your stomach feels tight. “Can have anything you ask for.”

***

It’s the waiting that is the worst. When there is nothing left to do or prepare, you just stand there, scrubbed in. Listening. When you hear the faint roar of the airplane engines, you hold your breath and try to count how many you hear on approach. It’s always too few.

After that, within minutes, the doors to the OR will swing open, and the medics will storm in, carrying the worst casualties. The longer you stay at Thorpe Abbots, the more names and faces you recognize on the operating table.

But the agony doesn’t end there.

Inevitably, when you walk out of the OR, you find out who didn’t make it back. Whispers go around about how many parachutes were seen and where they went down. Rarely does someone admit that they couldn’t have made it out. 

The knot of nerves in your stomach has been weighing you down since you got up that sunny morning. It is the oddest feeling, and you cannot figure out what has gotten into you. Your hands shake as you sterilize equipment; lunch looks even more unappetizing than usual. Your Bucky is not flying today; he’s up in London for R&R. He’s coming back tomorrow, but you don’t feel that kind of nervous. It’s not excitement. 

It’s dread.

You don’t mention it to anyone — it would be bad luck. Instead, you stretch your arms and flex your fingers to relieve the tremors. You force down your lunch, chatting with your fellow nurses. You do everything as you do every day, and a mission is flown. 

Standing at attention in the OR, you listen. It’s an eternity before you finally hear the sound of a plane on approach. And then another. 

Nothing.

It's too long of nothing.

For an uncomfortably long time, you just stand there, listening. That couldn’t have been all of them. Surely, the rest must have been delayed. The minutes tick by. Even as the first casualties come in, everyone works in grave silence. But not another plane passes. You look across the operating table at your fellow nurse. She looks ashen under her mask. The doctor won’t even meet your eye.

As the remaining crews — those who did make it back — filter out the interrogation, the whispers start. At dinner, no one is even pretending to eat.

So many crews lost—Major Cleven’s among them. For now, designated MIA.

Your heart aches for every one lost. Your heart aches for Bucky. 

You have no idea how Bucky has taken the news because although you know he’s returned, you have not seen him. Bucky has not sought you out; you haven’t even caught a glimpse of him in passing. It’s like he’s suddenly a ghost — you hear how he moves about the base, how he’s torn into the CO and Air Exec, how he’s torn into Mission Planning — always, everywhere, just around the corner, a shadow in the corner of your eye.

After four days, you’ve had enough. You can’t stand the pitying looks from your roommates anymore. 

Oh, I’m so sorry.

He hasn’t spoken to you yet? 

I saw him near the officer’s club today.

He’ll come to you — I heard he’s flying soon.

He doesn’t get to do this to you, you decide. He doesn’t get to kiss you like that and say all those things to you only to all but disappear. If Bucky won’t come see you, you’ll go find him.

You’re not on duty tonight, but you should take care to look at the part. Matron would be proud of you: hair neatly pinned, not a crease on your seersucker dress, your navy cape and white oxfords spotless. A neatly wrapped brown paper package with a pill bottle prescribed by Doctor Stover. Although, he might not strictly speaking remember signing that prescription of sleeping pills. It’s part means to an end, part because you believe Bucky might actually need them. 

You've observed that Bucky always easily moves through every situation and effortlessly maintains control. It's like he is right where he’s supposed to be, and subsequently, no one really stops him. And if they do, he just blusters past them. That’s the kind of confidence you don’t have, but you better start finding it quickly now if you’re going to pull this off.

You walk with purpose, smiling politely as you greet the officers and servicemen you pass. It’s just coming up to 9 PM on a summer’s evening — the sun has barely set, and everyone is trying to make the most of the rare free hours of sunshine. You make it all the way to the men’s barracks before the officer on duty stops you from entering the building where you are pretty sure Bucky’s room is.

“Anything I can help you with, lieutenant?” The young officer inquiries suspiciously. 

“I’m tasked with delivering this to Major Egan,” Forcing a smile on your face that you hope doesn’t look too artificial, you hold up the small package. 

“Let me take that for you,” he offers, reaching for the package. “Major Egan is in a foul mood; a nice nurse like yourself should not be on the receiving end of that.” 

Chuckling nervously, you snatch the package out of the officer’s reach. “Are you a nurse too, lieutenant?” You blurt out.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Medication can only be distributed by medical personnel,” You recover quickly, your voice pleasant, although the back of your neck is prickling with sweat. “Army procedure — doctor’s orders,” You add chaotically. 

The corner of your mouth is quivering slightly under the pressure of maintaining your smile. The duty officer looks at you strangely before finally shrugging.

“Major Egan’s room is at the end of the hall, to the left.”

Heart pounding, you thank him before entering the building.

As expected, there is no reply when you knock on the door. 

“Bucky?” You try softly. “It’s me.” 

Nothing.

“Bucky?” 

You listen with bated breath for any sign of life on the other side of the door. With shaking hands, irrationally terrified of what you will find, you try to open the door. To your surprise, it clicks open.

Tentatively, you step into the darkened room. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust and get your bearings. Bucky is on the bed, half under the covers, lying on his stomach, with one arm propping up his pillow and facing the wall. 

“John?” You venture softly. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t stir. As you step closer, you note his slow, deep breaths—the slow, deep breaths of someone pretending to be asleep. You hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here; he doesn’t want to see you to the point of ignoring you for almost a week. He lost his best friend. He’s lost so many. You understand, but you can’t help but feel the sting of his silence a little.

“I brought you something to help you sleep,” You continue. Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, the small brown package feels oddly heavy in your hands. Bucky still doesn’t respond, not even the slightest change to his breathing. 

Extravert, talkative, center of attention, John Egan grieves in stern silence. 

Carefully stepping over Bucky’s boots and clothes, which are strewn across the floor, you place the package on the nightstand next to his bed. He is still stubbornly pretending to sleep. You should go. Bucky doesn’t want to talk to you, and you shouldn’t impose. 

But something doesn’t feel right. Nervously, you rub your fingers over the hem of your woolen mantle. It’s like Bucky’s darkness is radiating from him, sucking all the air from the room. In your heart, you understand that he shouldn’t be alone.

After unclipping your mantle, folding it, and placing it on the ground, you gingerly sit down on the edge of the narrow bed. There is still no reaction, although at this point, you don't expect anything from Bucky. You just want him to know you are here. Leaning over him, soothingly brushing your fingers over his temple, you notice that his stormy blue eyes are open, firmly fixed on the wall. It’s not the only thing you see, even in the room's darkness.

“Di-” Did someone punch you in the face? The words die on your tongue. You retract your hand to stop yourself poking at the bruise. 

He is so stubborn — eyes open, pretending to sleep. Bruise on his face, not a blink. It’s clear Bucky doesn’t want you to do anything for him. You are not here to play nurse to him, you remind yourself. He doesn’t need you to make sure he takes his medicine and ice his wounds. Everything about his actions is screaming that he doesn’t need you. He doesn’t want you. But he shouldn’t be alone.

Taking a deep breath for courage, you toe off your white Oxfords, untie your cap, and carefully lie down behind him, just on the edge of the bed, over the covers. It takes you a moment to settle. You wrap your arm around him, although you can barely reach over the broad expanse of his torso. You hold on to his undershirt at his ribs, pressing your cheek into his back. You match your breathing to his.

Your synchronized breathing is the only movement in the room for a few minutes. Finally, Bucky stirs. Nervously, you wait to see what he will do. He doesn’t get up or acknowledge you in any way. He reaches for your hand, unlatching it from his shirt as he turns to his side, his back still to you. You brace yourself, expecting Bucky to push you away.

Instead, his grip on your hand tightens as he pulls you closer, placing your palm over his sternum and anchoring it in place with his large hand. You scoot closer to him, shimmying your legs under the covers and pressing yourself fully into him. Bucky hooks his ankle on yours, tangling your foot between his. You are wrapped around him, listening to his heartbeat. You stay there, finally feeling his breathing steadying naturally, his heartbeat slowing.

Bucky didn’t want to talk, but he didn’t want to be alone either.

He just didn’t want you to see him like this when he’s so not like himself. Or maybe that’s the problem: he is exactly like this, but he doesn’t want you to know that. He doesn’t want to spoil, poison, how you think of him. Most people, Buck being pretty much the only exception, wisely avoid him when he’s in his dark moods. Bucky couldn’t bear the thought of you doing the same. So he convinced himself not to seek out you as a mercy to himself—a bitter mercy, in the hope you’d still be there when he came around.

But you came to find him. He realizes he underestimated you in that respect. Of course, you would never just stand by, sit pretty, and wait for things to resolve themselves. You walked through pouring rain with a busted boot, making your way home through darkness and icy winds. You do things on your own terms.

He’s just glad that you’re here now rather than leaving him and all the trouble he brings you behind. It calms the storm in him enough to finally fall into a deep sleep.

It’s hours later—it must be—when you startle awake. You are still in the same position you fell asleep, tangled up with Bucky. He is still fast asleep. You blink against the darkness in the room, trying to focus your vision on something that will tell you the time. Gently, you extricate yourself from Bucky, quickly checking the time on his silver watch that had been discarded on the nightstand. It’s barely 4:30 — plenty of time to get ready for your shift. But if you want to sneak out unnoticed, you should get going before the whole base wakes up.

Tiptoeing around the room, you try to fix your hair in a bun in the darkened reflection of the small mirror — just so it doesn’t look so obviously slept in before you tie your nurses’ cap back on. Your dress is hopelessly wrinkled.

Behind you, Bucky groans, rolling over in the bed. 

“C’mere,” His voice is thick with sleep.

You look over to him, bun untwisting between your suddenly unsteady hands. Bucky is motioning to you, arms outstretched invitingly. The sheets are pooled around his waist; his normally carefully styled dark curls are a delicious mess. Powerless against his magnetic pull, you drop your cap on the floor as you climb back into his bed, into his waiting arms.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice still rough. He pulls you against him, kissing your forehead. Your fingers run through his tussled hair. 

“Of course,” You breathe, tilting your head up, hoping to get another kiss. Bucky’s hungry mouth on yours is almost more than you bargained for, hand running up your dress, over the top of your stocking, hiking your leg over his hip. His movements are deliberate, intense. Your breath hitches between the fiery kisses as you try to find equilibrium from his roaming hands. Where before he would playfully tug at the ribbon keeping your wrap dress closed, he now single-handedly undoes the knot, pushing the dress open.

“Bucky,” You gasp, pushing against his chest, trying to slow him at least down. “John,”

“You didn’t think you could come crawling into my bed and then play this innocent, did you?” He is smirking at you, hand now firmly planted on your ass, squeezing.

“I - I didn’t-” You swallow dryly. Bucky notices that you are pumping the breaks — eyes wide, hand planted against his chest  — so he switches gears. Gently rolling you onto your back, Bucky sits up on his knees, slowly running his hands over your thighs. He leans forward, pressing kisses against the swell of your breast, peeking out from under your slip dress, up your neck, along your jawline.

“Just let me take care of you,” He hums against the sensitive skin of your throat. “Like you took care of me,”

“I didn’t do anything.” You try to make sense of the feverish thoughts, your hands aimlessly traveling up Bucky’s arms, the muscles taut under your touch.

“You stayed,” he replies simply before capturing your lips in another searing kiss. You had so many reasons and every chance to walk out last night. He certainly didn’t make a very enticing choice, but you chose him anyway when he probably least deserved it. All he can do now is make you don’t regret it.

He’s pulling at your dress, dragging it over your shoulders, flinging it somewhere into the room. You struggle to keep up, yanking up Bucky’s shirt over his head, dog tags jangling on his neck. Bucky is shimmying the slip over your hips, pooling it under your breasts. You curl up, allowing him to pull it over your head. His body is on yours — skin to skin. It’s a beautiful feeling; so warm, so intimate. You run your nails over Bucky’s broad shoulders, getting acquainted with every ridge, bump, and rippling muscle under the skin.

Bucky rolls his hips into yours, drinking in your reaction — the gasping breath, the soft moan, the pleading look in your eyes. He needs to feel something. Something to fill that gaping hole in his chest, something to stem the simmer of crushing anger and pain before he loses grip on it. 

Thankfully, you have so much to give, and give it to him so freely. Bucky wants to drown in your soft skin, every gasp and moan of his name torn from your lips, your loving touch. He wants you to make him forget for just a moment that his best friend has gone down behind enemy lines and how many more friends he has lost already. He wants to feel something else that isn’t the crushing weight of the world that no amount of alcohol and no punch to the face could make him forget. 

Somewhere in the frenzied movement, Bucky skillfully rids you of the rest of your undergarments.

“You’re so beautiful, Dove,” he breathes, looking down at you, naked, hair splayed over his pillow. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this.” 

He's straining against his shorts, but he also wants to savor this moment with you. And in that moment of quiet, you realize you should tell him. You've never been with anyone like this before — never gone this far.

But the second his body covers yours again, his lips on yours, all hesitation dissipates together with the rest of your rational thinking. It feels too good, and you don’t want to stop now. Experimentally, your fingers dance over his chest, down to his stomach. Bucky twitches under your touch — breathing ragged between hungry kisses covering your body. His teeth tug at your nipple, tearing a loud moan from you. You’ve never experienced pain so pleasurably.

Bucky’s hands also roam over your body, squeezing and caressing every curve and dip with reverence. He traces a finger down the length of your spine before cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him. You can feel his hard length pressing against you through the thin fabric of his shorts.

You suppose you should feel nervous, but every bit of your body and mind is already entirely occupied with Bucky; there simply isn’t room. All you can think about is how you want to feel him, how you want him to feel you. If you’re not ready now, if you are not sure now, with Bucky, then you doubt you’ll ever be. 

Bucky’s fingers travel down your ribs, tickling the small of your waist, caressing your hipbone, ghosting over your slit. You arch into him, your hips jerking against his touch.

“Tell me what you want, Dove.” He grins against your mouth.

You doubt you could find the words. Maybe talking is overrated anyway.

“John,” You just keen softly, biting down on your lip as you grab his hand and guide his fingers inside to rub small circles over your clit.

“You are a demanding little thing, aren’t you?” Bucky teases, although he is enjoying this immensely — your small hand over his, showing him exactly what you want, the little domineering edge to your actions. You keep surprising him in the best ways — beyond the sweet and caring, you know what you want and how to get it. And he will gladly give all to you.

You muffle a moan against the crook of his neck as Bucky starts to move his fingers in a slow rhythm, curling them just right to make you start clenching around him. He knows what you like — he has had you come apart by hand. But having so eager, so needing yet assertive while naked under him, is everything he needs right now.

Bucky’s fingers continue to move inside you, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your mind is hazy with desire as you grind against his hand, wanting more of his touch.

“Like- like that,” You whimper, your hips moving feverishly against his hand — your hand is tangled in his hair, tugging at his messy curls. “Don’t stop, please - fuck,” You breathe.

Bucky smirks, moving his fingers faster, and adds a second one, pushing them deeper inside of you. You shudder at the feeling, unable to contain the moans escaping your mouth. You can feel yourself getting close to the edge — you know that Bucky can sense it, too.

“Shh, Dove,” He leans down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss to silence as his fingers keep working you to a climax. “You’ll wake everyone up like that — or do you want an audience?” He chuckles. You can feel his hot breath against your ear.

“No,” you giggle at his words despite your brain being close to short-circuiting. “I don’t like to share,” You add with a soft sigh, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s neck, holding onto him tightly as the pleasure builds within you. Bucky captures every moan and sigh that he tears from you.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” He whispers against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “So responsive and needy for me.”

Your breath hitches, your body trembling as the pleasure builds within you. Bucky’s words only fuel the fire that is consuming you.  Bucky can feel how close you are getting, and he knows that it won’t take much for you to reach your climax. His fingers move faster inside you. The feeling of fullness is overwhelming, yet not enough.

“Come for me, Dove,” Bucky urges, nipping at your earlobe, encouraging you so sweetly to let go. A wave of ecstasy consumes you as you cry out Bucky’s name into his mouth. Your body shakes, contorting against him, as the orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, eyes closed, floating between. Bucky gives you very little time to recover — you barely register that he’s rid himself of his shorts, wrapping your legs around his waist, his hand clutching your hip, the tip of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“I need you so badly, Dove.” His voice trembles slightly, and his breath is shaky. It’s strange, in a way, how it warms your heart that Bucky allows you to see him, experience him, in these moments of vulnerability. He trusts you with these glimpses of him — beyond the jokes and bluster, beyond the clever comebacks and impulsive challenges — stripped back to the things he keeps hidden.

“I need only you,” You sigh in ecstasy, eyes fluttering as he enters you slowly. It feels tight, but it doesn’t hurt. It feels odd but not wrong. You swallow, shifting awkwardly, trying to accommodate how full you feel, but not sure what to do. Bucky is not moving, his fingers tight on your hip, body tense.

“Fuck, you are so tight,” He groans, eyes screwed shut. Slowly, he starts moving, calculated and deliberate — as much for his own sake as yours. Every time he bottoms out against you, it’s a shock of pleasure that runs through him from his crown to his toes. You are suddenly a lot quieter, breath softly catching with every move, your loving gaze fixed on his face, hands grasping his shoulders, as he draws out of you again with agonizing slowness before driving back in forcefully.

Your nails dig into his shoulders in response to this new pace. He looks down at your body — every supple curve moves as he drives into you, the jiggle of your hips and ass precisely as he imagined it so many times now. Bucky knows he’s not going to last very long if he gives in to how hard he really wants to fuck you. He should make this last; make it good for you. Make sure you keep coming back to him. And only him.

Bucky feels so good, and you cannot help but stare at him. His taut muscles, those broad arms and shoulders, the way he moves with such grace, his face contorted in pleasure—the pleasure of being with you. Intuitively, you move your hips in tandem with him, wanting to feel more. It’s such a small movement, but it elicits a string of curses from Bucky. You almost want to ask if something is wrong, but before you can even start finding the words, Bucky grabs you by the ankle, hitching it over his shoulder, angling your pelvis up. As he drives into you again, so much harder than before, all control and grace suddenly forgotten, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull from the overwhelming pleasure. 

He wanted to be nice — he wanted to be gentle, but you are so impossibly beguiling it drives him to madness. He sets a punishing pace, unrelentingly slamming into you now. He presses his face into your ankle, kissing and nipping at the skin. You are crying out incoherently; he hears you swear, repeating his name in ecstasy, clawing at him desperately. 

Bucky wants to remind you to be quiet, but he’s so focused on your walls tightening around his cock, he cannot come up with the words anymore. Bending forward, your leg still hooked over his shoulder and not once breaking pace, his free hand wraps around your mouth, muffling the delicious noises you’ve been making. You look surprised for a second, still under his grip.

“You are so goddamn loud, Dove,” Bucky wrenches out. “And I’m not in a sharing mood,”

The way your eyes crinkle, he can tell you are smiling — you think this is funny. You are actually fucking impossible. Your hands are running up his arms, gripping onto his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into the hard muscle as you buck your hips against his again and again, trying to take him deeper. 

He leans further forward so he can look into your eyes. Something in his gaze makes your heart stutter, an intensity that takes your breath away, smile melting off your face. Then suddenly, he’s moving faster, harder, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your bodies as Bucky’s hips are slamming into yours uncontrollably; he can feel his release rapidly approaching. It’s like fireworks going off in his head, every nerve ending on fire as he desperately chases his own pleasure.

It’s like the flick of a switch that makes the dam break, and he spills into you, his movements coming to a halting stop as he groans out your name, intermingled with curses, like the dirtiest prayer. You keep rolling your hips, every move making him moan and tremble, delighting in watching Bucky helpless against the tide, riding out his orgasm with you.

Finally, he nearly collapses into you, putting all his weight on his forearm so as not to crush you. Bucky’s hair is hanging over his forehead, the sweat on his chest intermingling with yours. Dazed, you grab this hand, pulling it off your lips, softly kissing the tips of his fingers.

Gently, Bucky pulls out of you, wrapping your arms around his neck so he can shift you both on your side. You cuddle up to him, peppering kisses along his jawline, enjoying how his mustache scratches against your cheek. His fingers caress your loose locks as he tries to get this breathing back under control. Brushing Bucky’s messy hair back, he looks relaxed even in the faint light of the room. The tension has left his body, and the darkness consuming darkness has also abated.

“I like it when you look like this.” You confide softly. Bucky looks at you, eyebrow raised.

“Like what?” He asks laughter in his voice. “Fucked out?” 

You shake your head, laughing too. Although you don’t think you will ever be able to look at him normally again — how are you supposed to function now that you know what Bucky looks like, what he sounds like when he comes undone, how gentle and sweet he can be, and how mind-blowingly he can fuck you?

No, you don’t think you’ll ever be able to not think about that when you look at him. And you’re glad.

“I meant when you look relaxed, happy,” You correct. “But yes, fucked out suits you too,” You add a little flippantly.

“Well, lucky me,” Bucky presses his forehead against yours, his tone turning from light to that deep timbre that pulls every string in you. “Because you look delightful in every position.”

After everything you’ve just done, the afterglow actually feels deeper, more intimate. Now that the lustful frenzy has melted away, only softness and fondness remain. Soft kisses, gentle caresses, sweet nothings—anything to fill up the time that is ticking away for you. You know that you will have to get up soon and try to sneak back unseen. If you could, you’d put it off forever.

“I’m flying today,” Bucky announces soberly as you’re pulling your stocking up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You pause, looking at him, waiting for him to continue. He is still sitting in bed, naked and smoking, with covers around his waist. You knew Bucky would be flying soon, probably on the next mission; however, he has never told you explicitly like this. It just never really came up before. When he doesn’t say anything else, you just nod in reply. 

“I won’t be on duty when you come back,” You say, focussing back on getting dressed. 

“So you can wait for me here.” Bucky leans into you, offering you a drag of his cigarette. He’s smiling playfully.

“Here, here?” You joke back, mockingly incredulous, blowing the smoke into the room.

“Preferably,” Bucky presses a kiss onto your exposed neck, close to the messy bun gathered in the nape of your neck. “Right in this bed.”

“How about I come to find you?” You tease, pushing Bucky backward, hand on his chest. “You just focus on what you need to do. I’ll be there.” You assure him with a wink.

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #john egan x nurse!reader #are you going my way?

[ereardon]

COMING SOON: In The Skies

[Major John "Bucky" Egan x Reader]

Summary: On a night out in London, you meet fellow American Major John “Bucky” Egan of the 100th. As war rages on, you take a leave of absence during the spring of your third year at Oxford to sign up as a nurse on the front lines in England. Time and time again, you and Bucky find yourselves thrown together in the hospital ward as you tend to him and his teammates after missions gone awry. What happens when you find yourself falling for a man who might never return from the skies? 

Pairing: Major John “Bucky” Egan x Reader

Sneak peek here

#masters of the air #mota #bucky x you #john bucky egan #bucky egan #cal #masters of the air series #major john egan #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #pilot #new wip #austin butler #band of brothers #callum turner

[skiesofrosie]

an ode to your scars

pairing: john brady x f!reader

genre: fluff, angst, comfort

a/n: i wrote this, based on the nurse that gets injured in ch. 2 of little sunshine fires - the reason why marnie has to skip out on a date with benny. so, i may eventually turn this into an oc fic, but for now, enjoy.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

Beauty is sacrificed when war disrupts the earth.

The loss of naivety, the rubbles of collapsed buildings, skies littered with fire and falling corpses, the distance between love. You wonder, just why the gods have bestowed such a fate on humanity. Left them to seek liberation, only possible through complete destruction. Nothing remains the same, and to be truly happy, is as scarce as proper food on the military bases.

As a nurse with the 100th, you were no stranger to wretched scars. In fact, before the war, each mark on your skin were windows to a fond memory. The one on your knee: when you chased your best friend up a tree, and promptly fell out of it. The scab on your ring finger: when you stole one of your sister’s precious jewels, a fake gold ring that was far too small on you (“suck it,” she seethed. “what goes around comes around, idiot.”). The birthmark on the nape of your neck: a match to your mother’s, your only reminder, since she died years and years ago.

You loved the thrill, and the fall, and the mark it leaves you. Each scar writes the story of your life, and you were proud to be you, even in your failure. So when you began a life as a nurse, that was how you perceived the world. That even if you fall, you will move on, and in its wake comes a new layer of thick skin.

Except, what’s happening is the exact opposite.

The war has been far too cruel, for such optimism to remain. Today, you hastily escape the hospital walls in search of comfort in your bed. It was not like you to break, for something so small. But, a wounded pilot had broken into hysterics, leaving a nasty gash on your forearm with the scissors he snatched from you. It was a rookie mistake, to stall on sight, let a show of weakness come through. But you’ve just never seen him like that before–delirious, red eyes, veins popping, and body shaking.

It was a reminder of what the world has become. You were prepared to receive a brunt of new scabs, hardly afraid of getting your skin dirty, but you failed to suspect the weight it would leave on your soul. Blood that floods into your nightmares, names across your chest of the soldiers you couldn’t save, and this constant questioning of why. Why was death capturing each fighting human as if they were worthless?

When you looked into the mirror before leaving the hospital, all you saw was a shell of your old self. Fresh scars were no longer marks of growth, but memories you were desperate to forget, but knew you never would.

“You are not any less beautiful,” Brady reminds you. 

You were sobbing when he found you, stumbling to the women’s barracks, trembling hands failing to properly twist the door knob. You tried to usher him away, saying that he would get in trouble if he’s caught inside there with you, but rules be damned, when his lover is in despair.

The way he courted you was fairly simple–you caught his eye in the officer’s club, pink floral dress and pinup hair. Yes, you were beautiful, but even more so when you took the microphone, and sang some Ella Fitzgerald (not with one Bucky Egan, thank the lord). Your voice was midtone, not too high or too low, and it felt like honey. A silkiness in which his heart felt soothed, and sang along to. He needed to know then, if it would continue to beat as rapidly if you shared a simple conversation. And, it certainly did.

“It’s okay if you’re not okay,” he whispers, and you flinch ever so slightly, when he kisses the birthmark on your neck.  “You can lean on me,” a kiss to the scar on your finger. He decided to run you a bath, and though the water was hardly warm, his presence against your back was more than enough. Your tears dripped into the pool that submerged you, and you liked that one couldn't tell from your sorrow to the water.

By now, John Brady has the traces of your skin memorized, much like you with him. You have spent many days and nights both staring at each other like paintings hung in the Louvre. And you have learned each pattern with the little chances you get to twirl through the sheets together. He was all consuming, the portrait of love, which you now have etched into your mind. You often questioned if it existed, but his being reminded you that it did. 

He loves the way you see beauty in your imperfections, so to witness your resilience falter sends a stab through his lungs. But that’s okay, because it’s impossible to feel strong all the time. On the days you find it hard to breathe, it will be his responsibility to remind you that this life is worth living. That it will eventually be worth it.

“Brady,” you breathe, “I need you.”

“I’m here,” he hugs you tight from behind. “I’m always here.”

#masters of the air #mota #john brady #john brady x reader #masters of the air x reader

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after, the end

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: It's finally their wedding day...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ full/ might not be accurate to real weeding speech in the 40s/ use of Y/n/

Word count: 1,2k

The day had finally come, their wedding day. She was nervous, but she was able to go to London to buy a wedding dress, with Daisy and Elodie. Her dress was simple, it stopped before her ankles and it had long sleeves. She didn’t want an extravagant wedding dress, they were getting married on the base, they weren’t Catholics, but the priest on the base was going to marry them, so it’ll be legit. She’d ask Crosby to walk her down the aisle, Buck was the best men, Elodie was the maid of honor and Meatball was going to carry the rings, with the two kids guiding him. Her hair was down, she didn’t have a veil, just a dress and heels.

He was nervous, but he was really happy. He was marring his girl. ‘’You ready for this?’’ Buck asked, coming in the room. ‘’Yeah, I’m nervous, but it’s my girl, I can’t wait to marry her’’ He sign. ‘’Let’s go its time.’’ Corporal says, as he enters the room. ‘’Thanks, Corporal’’ Bucky says. ‘’She’s a good girl, I’m happy for you, Major’’ he says. ‘’I appreciate it, Corporal, thank you.’’ They entered the room, soldiers were sat, some were still arriving. Nurses were there too, almost all the men and woman on the base were there. The priest was waiting for him at the altar. ‘’Who thought we would see Bucky tie the knot?’’ Lieutenant Dye said, even if he went home because he did 25 missions, he came back to see his friend get married. ‘’Yeah, well you did steal my previous girl, I had to find another one’’ he laughed. Right now, he couldn’t even think about Lil, the only woman that mattered to him was his future wife. When Bucky commented about their previous relationship, she bent her head down, ashamed. ‘’Don’t worry, Lil, he’s the better choice for you. I’m happy for your guys’’ He reassured her. Dye smiled to the groom and took the hand of his lady. Lil smiled and took a relived breath.

Once again, she was pacing around the room, Meatball following her with his head. Harry Crosby came in the room, smiling. ‘’Are you ready?’’ he asked. ‘’I feel like I’m going to throw up.’’ ‘’I know that feeling, but don’t worry I can recommend you to an amazing doctor’’ Crosby smiled, she laughed, it calmed her down a little. She didn’t even know why she was nervous, they both loved each other, but she was nervous. ‘’I’m really happy for you. You deserve happiness, Y/n, you both do.’’ They both hugged. ‘’You’re my best friend, Croz, thank you for everything you did for me’’ She whispered in his ear. ‘’Now, don’t make me cry.’’ They chuckled as Daisy came to get them. ‘’It’s time’’ she simply said.

When the band started to play music, Bucky’s heart stopped; she was coming. He turned around to look at his girl. She was magnificent, her dress was simple, but it was made for her. After all, they didn’t have much time to plan their wedding and their budget was small. Harry Crosby was walking her, he was grateful for him, he took care of her when he wasn’t there. When she saw him in his uniform, she started to smile like she never did before, she’d saw him in his uniform before, but he looks wonderful. When Harry and Y/n reached the groom, Crosby wanted to say something. Normally, her father would’ve give her to John, but Harry needed to say words to him. ‘’Take good care of her, just like she took care of you. Y/n smiled, hearing the word his best friend said to her future husband.

When Meatball came down the aisle, with the two boys, the soldiers chuckled. Everyone on the base knew that Y/n and Meatball came as a pair, they were together all the time. When she worked at the hospital, Meatball was there too, he made soldiers smile. The two boys handed the rings to the bride and groom. They recited the vow that the priest asked them too. It was beautiful, making them promise to each other that they will love the other, no matter what. It said that they would always be there for the other and stuff that made some people cry. When it was time for their personal vows, Y/n decided to go first. ‘’Bucky, my love, when I first met you, I thought you were going to be just another soldier that crossed my path. I was clearly wrong because, I’m now in a white dress in front of you. I did not just fell in love with you, I feel in love with your smile, your humor, your qualities and your flaws. I fell in love with each version of you, the one you show when you’re with your friends, the person you are when we are alone, the person that you’re too scared to show me, but did before you trusted me, and I also fell in love with the pilot version of you. Words aren’t enough to tell you how much you mean to me, but I’m so happy that Meatball came to me that day, so I could meet my soulmate’’ She cried, they were happy tears. Bucky was crying too, he didn’t care if some soldiers thought he was weak, that was the most beautiful thing he ever heard. ‘’My darling, my forever, I feel like the luckiest men on earth, because I get to be your husband. When things were rough, I think about you. Your smile, your laugh, your beautiful eyes and your voice. I’m not as talented with words as you are, but I can tell you this, it’s so hard for me to put our love into words, because I love you in ways, I have never loved anyone else, but I promise that I will spend the rest of my life, searching for them. I love you, my darling.’’ If the crowd didn’t cry to Y/n’s speech, they cried at Bucky’s. Even the priest was about to cry. ‘’ In the sight of God and these witnesses, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride.’’

They didn’t have to be told twice, their kiss was full of love and passion. It celebrated their love and said all the words they couldn’t find. The crowd applauded and congratulated the newly weds. ‘’I love you Mrs. Egan’’ Bucky said, looking at his wife. ‘’I love you more, Mr. Egan’’ she smiled.

After the celebration, and almost 4 songs that Bucky insisted on singing, they both pack all their things. Because has a weeding gift, the Corporal gave Bucky the right to go home. After all, he was at 23 missions, he was close to 25. And Y/n made Elodie the chief nurse, because the Corporal also gave her the right to go home. They were going home, they both couldn’t believe it, but it was the case. A smaller plane, that was made for traveling, was waiting for them on the runway. The newly weds were going back home on the same plane as Lieutenant Dye. They hugged their friends, Y/n gave Buck and Croz the phone number at Bucky’s home. That’s where they would live until they could afford a home. When they boarded the plane, they were euphoric. ‘’Can you actually believe we’re going home?’’ Y/n whispered. He shook his head. ‘’The only thing I believe right now, is the fact that you’re my wife, and my ribs are healed’’ he chuckled. She giggled when the decide to steel his watch, putting it in her bra. ‘’Come and pick it up after the flight’’ she teased with a huge smile. It was the beginning of their life together, and they would savor each second, they had together, because they both knew how easily life can change. But it wasn’t on their mind right now. The only thing on Bucky’s mind, was to pick up his watch, just like he did the first time.

A/n: It's the end y'all!!! Thank you for reading this story. I already have more ideas, for other stuff. Love you all :)

#john egan x female reader #john egan x reader #major john egan #john egan #master of the air imagine #master of the air #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner #austin butler #gale cleven #harry crosby #anthony boyle

[alienoresimagines]

Writing List

Here are every requests currently sitting in my inbox so you can be sure I've received your request (Thank you to everyone who has send me one by the way 🥰)

Band Of Brothers

Joseph Liebgott x Plus Size!Reader (Anonymous)

The Pacific

Hoosier Smith + “I apologise sincerely if my handsome/beautiful face has kept you awake all night.” (@sweetxvanixlla)

Masters of the Air

Bucky Egan + Angst set during the war (Anonymous)

Bucky Egan + "Tolerate It" by Taylor Swift (Anonymous)

Bucky Egan + Nurse!Reader (@godriots)

Masterlist Prompts List (Requests are currently open for Hoosier Smith and John "Bucky" Egan ;) )

#writing list