#turner!reader

[shadowtriovibes]

it's a sign of the times

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian..."

the 'verse continues in "the train ain't even left the station" [AO3]

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?” At once, the three of you freeze. “Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?” “I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Can you please remind me again why I’m even a part of this harebrained scheme?” you ask for at least the third time.

You’re crouched around a small table in one of the far corners of the upper section of the Library. It’s well past curfew, but since you aren’t technically breaking any rules by avoiding the Restricted Section, you’re currently getting away with your loitering, as do most students who are caught studying after hours this close to final exams.

Only, you’re not studying. You’ve been summoned there by Ominis, who despite being your closest friend at Hogwarts is also a conniving, duplicitous liar who neglected to tell you that this whole thing is Sebastian’s idea.

You watch warily as he turns over a contraband Time-Turner in his hands, inspecting its impossibly small dials and knobs. The golden sands inside the hourglass hypnotically shift back and forth while he reads over its inscriptions and consults the guidebook he’d smuggled out of the Restricted Section earlier that same day.

You have no idea where he managed to get the device – perhaps in one of those vaults along the coast in Cragcroftshire that he’d been exploring during the summer term. However, now he’s got it in his head that perhaps the reason you haven’t been able to heal Anne is that the cure to her curse simply hasn’t been invented yet. Therefore, a quick jaunt several years into the future ought to reveal a way to rid Anne of her illness (and maybe even earn his way back into her good graces).

It’s not the first ludicrous and impractical idea he’s had in the past year, nor will it be the last, but it’s certainly one of the more radical ones.

“Merlin’s beard, I’ve already told you,” Sebastian sighs. “Since we’re going forward in time rather than back, this is an unauthorized use, and in case we get stuck in the future, we might need your ancient magic.”

“So I’m an insurance policy?!” you demand.

“Not so much for Sebastian as for me,” Ominis answers plainly. “He thinks he’s got it all sorted out, but I’m not as sure.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian interjects.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that using a Time-Turner to go forward is expressly forbidden by the Ministry? It’s only to go back.”

“Loads of people have done it, though,” he argues. “I’ve been reading all about it, it’s well-documented.”

“And they’ve all come back to the present?” you demand.

“Yes,” he snaps. “...For the most part.”

You scoff. Unbelievable.

“Do you two honestly think my magic is just an unlimited get-out-of-Azkaban-free pass?” you hiss. “I have no idea how to manipulate time and space. If we get stuck there, we’re stuck there.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out like you always do,” Sebastian mutters distractedly as he fiddles with the Time-Turner.

You glance at Ominis pleadingly and he just shrugs.

“You know we can’t let him go alone, we’ll never get him back,” Ominis reasons.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you grumble.

Sebastian shoots you a warning look before he holds up the Time-Turner for the both of you to inspect.

“I have it set to jump forward twenty years,” he explains. “We’ll have to get cozy before we go, as we’ve all got to be wearing it. Physically, we’ll land precisely where we are now, at the same time of day.”

“What if the layout of the Library changes?” you ask skeptically.

“The castle hasn’t changed in centuries,” Ominis points out. “Compared to its history, two decades is indeed quite short.”

“...Fine,” you finally mumble. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The three of you stand in a tight circle in a spot tucked away behind some shelves, hoping to remain hidden there after you make the jump forward in time. Sebastian drapes the thin gold chain connected to the Time-Turner around the three of you; it even seems to stretch and extend in length to fit. Then he murmurs a brief incantation to the enchanted timepiece and spins the innermost piece a whopping twenty times.

Your stomach lurches while it turns over and the world around you seems to spin out of control, almost like one of those Muggle carousel rides you saw once as a child. You can barely make out years and years of students and professors walking around you – through you, even – and countless books sliding on and off the shelves until everything comes to a sudden halt and you fall straight to the floor.

Ominis and Sebastian tumble with you, winded.

“That felt bizarre,” Ominis wheezes. “Where are we? Did we travel anywhere?”

“N-no,” Sebastian breathes. “Everything else just… traveled around us.”

You glance around the Library and see that as Ominis had suggested, it looks largely the same. There are some newer books among those you recognize on the shelves, their spines less creased and dyed with more vibrant colors than those of your time.

One title jumps out at you: Advances in Practical Conjuring, 1900-1910

We’re in the 1910s, you think bewilderedly. We’re in a new century.

Mercifully, the layout of the library seems to be largely unchanged. Rows and rows of dimly lit stacks stretch along the length of the grand room with two winding spiral staircases leading down to the lower level.

Once you catch your breath, the three of you cast Disillusionment on yourselves and huddle together to make your way downstairs to the Restricted Section. Ominis leads the way with his wand extended to search for any lingering students or restless ghosts, having long since proven that his spatial awareness bests both yours and Sebastian’s even without his sight.

Your trio makes it downstairs and past the first row of shelves before Ominis stops in his tracks. Sebastian collides with him and then you knock into Sebastian, causing you both to hiss some choice words at each other.

“What’s going on?” you demand in a whisper.

“Someone just came in,” Ominis explains. “The librarian is at the desk and she hasn’t noticed, but a student is coming down the stairs.”

Sure enough, across the room you see a faint flicker of light and can just barely make out the outline of a small student sneaking down the main stairs – must be a young one, you think, no more than thirteen.

“I think it’s a girl,” you offer. “I can see her just over there.”

“What’s she doing?” Sebastian whispers.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ominis says carefully. “She’s past the desk, the librarian didn’t see – oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

“She’s going straight for the Restricted Section,” Ominis mutters. “Just our luck, I suppose.”

The three of you remain crouched behind the shelf while you watch the girl creep ever closer to your hiding spot. You’re panicking inside your head, wondering what possible seams of the universe might immediately be torn to shreds if she were to spot the three of you, but thankfully she seems single-minded in her mission to gain access to the locked collection of books across the room from you.

“She’s tiny,” Sebastian snorts. “I suppose the young ones are even more bold in the future.”

“Weren’t you about her age when you first started to sneak into the Restricted Section?” Ominis reminds him.

Sebastian insists, “No, I was fourteen. I didn’t go in until Anne was attacked. She’s got to be twelve at most, maybe even a first year.”

“Will you two be quiet?” you hiss. “She’s going to hear you!”

Across the room, the Disillusioned girl pulls a key out of the pocket of her robes and starts to insert it into the lock. A girl her age wouldn’t have mastered Alohomora yet, you think, nor would it be effective on this kind of lock. You have no idea how she managed to get a copy of the key, however.

“Do you suppose we could just go in after her?” Sebastian proposes. “She’s nearly got it open, we should take advantage of that.”

“Are you mad?” you scoff. “We can’t be in there at the same time, we’ll get caught!”

“So what if some little girl from the future sees us?” Sebastian argues. “Why wouldn’t she believe we’re just students from her time doing our own research?”

But before you can further explain to Sebastian how astonishingly stupid that idea is, the girl across the room gasps softly and drops her key to the floor. In front of her, the lock is glowing red as if it’s searing hot.

That’s a new security development from your time, you think. It’s rather lucky the three of you didn’t discover that the hard way.

Immediately, the young librarian leaps from her seat and hustles across the room to the Restricted Section’s gated entrance much faster than Madam Scribner ever would have.

“Hang on…” you say under your breath. “Is that – that’s Sophronia!”

“Who?” Ominis asks.

“Sophronia Franklin, she’s a fourth-year in our time,” you explain distractedly. “She’s always lingering in the library, of course she takes over for Scribner once we finish school.”

“I know her,” Sebastian chimes in. “Tried to get me to play a game of trivia in exchange for returning a book on curse breaking I’d been waiting for. Rather precocious, I thought.”

You glare at Sebastian and he merely rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way, I was referring to her choice in books,” he grumbles. “Merlin, you’re protective of her.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” you murmur, appreciative of the fact that Sebastian can’t see you blushing. Truthfully, you don’t think much about Sophronia these days, other than that she absolutely cannot catch the three of you in her Library as she’ll easily understand what you’re up to.

Before you can try to convince the boys to call it quits and return to the present, Sophronia rounds the corner and the girl’s Disillusionment charm melts away in surprise.

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

At once, the three of you freeze.

“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”

“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Apologies, Madam,” you hear the girl say with a cheeky lilt to her voice. “I was just looking for a book for my aunt, that’s all.”

Just then, Sophronia leans down to pick up the dropped key and all three of you catch a glimpse of the young girl’s face. She’s probably around twelve, like Sebastian had guessed, but her face… Merlin, she could be your younger sister.

Her slightly-upturned nose is nearly identical to yours, only she’s got a small smattering of freckles across hers. Then there’s her chin, which juts out just a bit like yours does, and you’re too far away to make out the color of her eyes but you’re positive that they’re almond-shaped just like your own.

Now that you think about it, her hair is tied back like you always did with yours when you were younger – braided with a green bow at the end, only her hair is a rich, warm brown color.

“...Is that you?” Sebastian asks softly. “How. How are you doing this?”

“That’s not me, I’m right here,” you remind him.

“Hold on, what am I missing?” Ominis whispers.

“That girl looks exactly like this one,” Sebastian insists. “She’s got her nose, her eyes, her face shape. It’s like there’s a second-year version of her, standing right across from us.”

“We’re twenty years into the future,” Ominis reminds you both. “...What if she’s your daughter?”

You feel like the room is starting to spin around you again, and you find yourself pitching to the side before Sebastian quickly tugs on your arm and pulls you back behind the shelf.

“Do not go daft on us now,” he mutters. “I don’t care if that is your daughter–”

“She’s your daughter too, you know,” Ominis chimes in. “In case you were wondering.”

“Wh… What?” Sebastian stutters, and Ominis gestures for the two of you to listen in.

“Goodness, Miss Sallow,” Sophronia sighs. “You really are so much like your father, always sneaking into the Restricted Section.”

You watch as the girl puffs up her chest proudly, a mischievous smirk on her face that doesn’t strike you as particularly like you at all – but rather Sebastian.

“I’ll gladly take that as a compliment, Madam Franklin,” Anne-Marie says.

“While I respect that you are both voracious consumers of knowledge, he, like you, had little respect for the rules of the Restricted Section,” Sophronia continues. “I’ll have to ask you to leave until you get permission from a professor for relevant research or turn fifteen.”

Anne-Marie is still arguing with the librarian as she’s being escorted out. “Perhaps if you would just let me borrow the book for a while–”

“I’m afraid I’ll also have to give you detention this time,” Sophronia interjects. “I can’t keep looking the other way simply because I owe your mother a favor. This is the third time this term!”

Anne-Marie huffs and folds her arms. “But my godfather–”

“Your godfather is a very busy man who would undoubtedly appreciate it if you spent more time staying out of trouble,” Sophronia finishes, “than trying to emulate your father. In fact, I think Ominis would agree with me that one Sebastian Sallow in this world is quite enough!”

Well, that certainly clears things up.

Sophoronia marches Anne-Marie up the stairs and out of the library. The three of you, having already forgotten your original mission, put your heads together without a word so Sebastian can drape the Time-Turner around your necks and return you to the present.

You collapse in a heap on the library floor, but this time it’s fully empty – even the librarian’s desk light is extinguished. You sit in silence for a few moments, and you and Sebastian don’t dare look at each other. Eventually you force yourself to stand and offer Ominis a hand up, steadfastly ignoring the other boy.

“So,” Ominis finally says, barely concealing his smile. “When exactly is it, do you suppose, that the two of you fall hopelessly in love with each other?”

You both curse at him at the same time, and Ominis throws back his head and laughs.

“Shout at me all you want, but that little girl is proof that the two of you are destined for each other,” he crows. “Oh, how brilliant!”

“Come now, Ominis,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh. “You don’t seriously think that girl is, what… our child or something?”

“That’s precisely what I think,” Ominous answers, smirking. “You said it yourself, she looks exactly like her mother.”

“Stop!” you interject. “I’m not anyone’s mother, in case you forgot.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Ominis agrees primly. “I imagine it will be several more years before Sebastian makes you one.”

Sebastian goes deeply red while you sputter indignantly.

“Thats – that’s foul, Ominis,” you insist. “It’s untoward to even be talking about this!”

Sebastian folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re that offended by the very idea of us having a child together? I’m hurt.”

“W-well, I just meant that we shouldn’t talk about things that haven’t yet come to pass,” you explain nervously. “Besides, all that is years away. Decades, even.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way he looks you up and down.

“Right,” he says slowly. “It’s not like we know anything for sure, obviously.”

“Of course,” you agree. “...I don’t suppose you have any other family members named Sebastian? Distant relatives, perhaps?”

“Why?” he drawls. “Looking to snag a cousin of mine so I won’t be the one to father your children?”

You shove him right into one of the bookshelves, but he laughs like he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“Now now,” Ominis murmurs. “You ought to be kind to your future husband, you don’t want to damage his virility.”

“I have half a mind to put a dent in Sebastian’s virility right here and now to save me some trouble later,” you reply, casually aiming your wand at his groin.

“Have you gone mad?!” he stammers as he takes several steps backward. “Put that thing away!”

“Oh, will you please relax?” you sigh. “We just saw one of your descendants, your ability to procreate is in no danger.”

“You could still put me in the Hospital Wing,” he sulks. “Besides, it’s not just procreation that I use it for.”

Ominis snorts. “Unfortunately, I am intimately aware of that.”

You make a face while Sebastian grins cheekily, offering no apology.

The three of you start to make your way toward the exit into Central Hall, ignoring the weak protests of the prefects stationed outside. As you make your way back toward the Slytherin common room, you all fall silent again, lost in your thoughts.

You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to forget what you saw, you think. In the future, you have a daughter. Her father is Sebastian Sallow, and… and she’s brilliant. Beautiful, courageous, more than a bit headstrong, and as determined as you both are if not more so.

You catch yourself actually grinning, and when you glance over at Sebastian, you see the same expression on his face.

“Anything you care to share?” you ask him.

“I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” he starts, “but there is one thing that girl said that I won’t soon forget.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he admits, “I heard her say she’s looking for a book for her aunt, and you haven’t got any sisters.”

You smile softly and reach for Sebastian’s hand. “No, I don’t.”

He lets you take his hand in his to give a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s still alive,” Sebastian says quietly. “She… she’s still sick, probably. But she’s still alive in the future. She meets my daughter, and she knows her.”

“She does,” you say. “And – and maybe we don’t quite know how that happens yet, but you can have a little faith, Sebastian. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, and Anne will be with us for a long, long time. There’s still plenty of time to make things right again.”

He nods wordlessly but doesn’t drop your hand.

Just before you arrive at your common room, Ominis stops in his tracks.

“Hang on… Her name, Anne-Marie?” he asks you. “That sounds like something Sebastian would have picked. How generous of you.”

“Aww,” Sebastian laughs. “You must be so in love with me by then to let me pick the name.”

You grit your teeth and ignore them as you murmur the password to the giant stone snake guarding the door, hoping to get some well-earned rest and be rid of these boys for the night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Sebastian says as he ducks around you and slips inside the door. “I’ll let you pick the name for the second one, and we can duel for rights to the third.”

You go running off after Sebastian and holler, “You bastard Sebastian Sallow, how many damn children are you expecting?!”

Ominis quickly pulls the door shut behind him and shakes his head.

“Godfather,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll never know peace, will I?”

---

[Get to know more of the Sallow kiddos in "the train ain't even left the station" ❤️]

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #my fic #time travel #i tried to stick to time-turner lore as much as possible while completely retconning it #(future) dad!bastian

[lacollectionneuse1967]

slip of the tongue

Theseus Scamander x Reader

The word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.” He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face.

summary: you're a personal assistant at the british aurors office. you accidentally call your boss, theseus scamander, "daddy."

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: smut with plot

warnings: 18+ smut, ddlg themes, (light) mdom/femsub dynamics, (light) size difference kink, unprotected penetration

It was mid-November. London was dark by four in the afternoon and you were out of the Ministry by five, pulling your trench coat around you and shouldering your way out into the stone streets and coal black skies. It wasn’t bitingly cold yet, but you kept your arms tucked close to your body regardless. Dipping in and out of the indistinct crowds, moving with purpose.

You had about fifteen stacks of classified documents on you, but they were safely magicked away into the lining of your coat, and they weighed nothing. Magic almost always weighed nothing, cost nothing. 

For you, at least. 

“A natural.” “The brightest witch of her year!”

That’s what they’d called you at Hogwarts. Even your closest friends in [your House] eventually grew bitter and irritable, so you had to feign stress before exams and pretend to practice your spells alongside them in the common room, in a display of camaraderie.

The truth was you didn’t need to practice, or study. Ever.

You were muggle-born, everything in your life before Hogwarts had been so difficult to bear, your parents’ death, the streets of East London, the orphanage. Even talking to other people, simple conversation, bore some inexplicable strain for you.

But magic had come as easy as breathing. Your wand was like a limb, an extension of your body, you didn’t even have to reach for magic, it just sprung forth, dancing into the world. 

You wanted to be an Auror since you were fifteen. You were good at magic, and little else, and you were curious, had a talent for dueling and abhorred those who took advantage of the weak. It seemed a natural path.

You were hired straight out of graduation. You were only meant to work as an Administrative Assistant at the Ministry of Magic for a few months. But that was nearly a year ago…

In truth, you’d already been offered a position as an Auror. You turned it down discreetly. Theseus Scamander, Head of the British Auror Office, was the man you’d been assigned to as an assistant. He was the figure you answered to, and you’d been his sole, personal secretary.

Before you loved him, you liked him, but even then you could recognize that you liked him too much for what was appropriate to feel for your boss. He was nothing like you in that he was maddeningly easy to become fond of. He was funny and charming, kind and handsome. Sarcastic and a bit of a straight edge. You glowed in his praise.

Every “Excellent work, Y/N” or “Y/N, you’re a lifesaver,” or casual introduction beginning with “This is my genius assistant-” swelled inside of you with happiness. Once he’d even, absent-mindedly and only half-looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet, said “Good girl,” and you’d nearly fainted. 

The first time he hugged you, after some successful project of yours, he’d braced his arms around you and spun you around, and you’d gone wide-eyed and stiff. He set you down in a flourish.

You were terrified your reaction would put him off touching you forever, but he only laughed aloud, the sound like bells in the wind.

“Not scared of the death threats we receive from dark wizards but you’re scared of a little hug from your boss?” 

Your heart seized, though you returned his laugh in relief. If he only knew what you were really scared of.

“Try it again,” you smiled and met his gaze defiantly. “I’ll do better this time, I promise.” 

It always seemed to shock and delight him in equal parts, the way you responded to him. You liked to challenge him, and to make him smile just to see it spread across his face.

When Theseus hugged you the second time it was him who hesitated at the feel of your warm body pressing into his, his large hands hovered in mid-air before resting delicately on your upper back. 

When you were hired he was still engaged to Leta Lestrange, as he was when you turned down the promotion you were offered. Pathetically, being his assistant was the closest you could get to him. You weren’t about to walk away from that, walk away from him. Between late-night talks at the office and laughter-filled afternoon teatimes at his house, he’d become something like a friend. You couldn’t have him, but this was enough to sustain you. You weren’t her, but you knew you meant something to him…

When you entered his dark apartment, slipping the key out from under the welcome mat, it was no warmer than the outside world. Barren and cold as death, no signs of life. You whisked your wand out and spelled on the lights, spelled the documents free and they fell heavily from your coat, thunking unceremoniously on the hardwood floor.

Since he broke up with Leta, Theseus hadn’t been home, that was clear from the state of his place. He had hardly been at the office. You covered for him without even having to think about it, without even blinking you spewed out excuses and deftly dismissed the Aurors who came to call on him.

You didn’t think about what that meant about your loyalty, to the Ministry and to him. 

"Y/N," he’d prefaced in a letter, an owl sent to your house. "I trust you with my life. Not in theory, but in practice: with this letter you hold my life in your hands. You’re my assistant, but you’ve also become my closest and most cherished friend."

He’d mentioned Grindelwald, going behind the Ministry's back, “choosing sides,” and that he was with his younger brother, Newt. He told you to tell the Ministry he was on business if they asked, to make up something about a dark wizard lead in Romania. And he mentioned that he would need you to make copies of some confidential documents from the archives for him. He asked you to set them aside "but not in my office. Not safe. Bring them to my apartment. Key under the mat. I’ll be in touch soon. I owe you."

And so here you were. Still in your work clothes, a navy blue pencil skirt and chiffon blouse, black tights and your [hair color] hair pressed into loose finger waves, your heels scattered somewhere across his floor. You were organizing the documents into piles.

He’d requested the strangest things, all top secret, in the most restricted section of the Ministry Archives. Old maps and travelogs pertaining to sightings of some ancient creature with certain prophetic or spiritual abilities. Topographical maps of Bhutan and Austria. Classified research on dark magical objects that bound promises in blood.

It made you feel like you were in school again, made your head spin.

Wishing always hurt for you, coming from your background, you hardly let yourself indulge in it. But right now you wished he would’ve told you more. You wished, more sharply and painfully, that he was here.

In the middle of organizing the endless piles of parchment you began to drift off. The words on paper began to cross and blur in your vision. You didn’t want to disturb his apartment or his things, so you hadn’t put on the fireplace. Cold and tired you padded to his empty room. 

Just a little rest before I finish up here. You thought to yourself. Just going to rest my eyes.

You crawled under his crisp bed sheets and your eyes pricked at the overwhelming smell of him. If you didn’t allow yourself to miss him before this, you couldn’t help it now. You’d never been in his room before, you thought distantly, fatigue already claiming you, dragging you down into a black sleep. 

-------

You weren’t cold anymore. Someone had put the fireplace on. You became aware of this before you heard him.

“Y/N,” Theseus’s voice was rough and low and sweet. It must've been past midnight. He was dressed in a suit still, bending over the bed, his eyes tender and tired. “Did you fall asleep, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. You stirred. That word undid something in you. Unfettered any tension or stress you’d been holding in your body since he’d been gone.

“Theseus,” you muttered, still half-sleep. Your eyes were swollen, you would’ve been mortified, but he was here, at last, and he was looking at you with a gentle smile, so affectionate.

“M’sorry, the documents—I fell asleep-"

“It’s okay,” he chuckled. He dragged a hand over his face and stood. You felt guilty for stealing his bed, you didn't know where he'd been, but he looked positively wrecked. “Rest. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

He turned to leave, presumably for the couch. You reached out for him, any part of him, and your hand caught the waistline of his pants, a finger hooked there.

He looked down at the offending hand and raised a brow.

You were half dreaming, his arrival was so unexpected, so surreal. Your face felt hot, something like fever. 

"Mm, don't go," you mumbled. And then, the word left your mouth before you could process it, “Daddy.”

He froze completely, locking eyes with you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face. You were suddenly terrifyingly awake. 

You clapped a hand over your face, mortified, and rolled over in his bed so that the pillow concealed your face. Consciousness seeped in gradually and with every sober second you were swallowed by dread. 

“Oh,” you said stupidly. “Oh god, I have to leave. I'm sorry, I was sleeping, I don't know why I said that."

You stood as clumsily as a drunkard, taking half his sheets to the floor with you. Your hair was a mess and your skirt had hiked up nearly around your waist, revealing your black panties through your sheer tights.

“Oh god,” you said again. You couldn’t look at him. You began to fix your skirt and pat down your hair when he stepped forward, eyes dark, hand gripped around your wrist. 

You startled, confused. But he looked the opposite, an absolute calm washed over his face.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said.

“What? I don’t understand.”

“Coming home to you in my bed,” he let out a sharp breath, something like a stifled groan. “You have no idea what I wanted to do to you.”

Your stomach fluttered. You searched his face for any signs of confusion. He looked tired, a little undone, but more himself than ever.

“I don’t understand,” you didn't know why you felt on the brink of tears, when this is all you’d wanted all along. “You… you want me? But you were engaged, you…”

The look in his eyes was blazing and still, fire in water. It was enough to silence you. 

“I want you. I ended things with her because I couldn’t live with it, wanting you. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, not at your job, and I’m sorry to bother you with it now, but it can’t be helped. You can leave if you want, things can go back to normal. Me, wanting you, and you knowing nothing about it.” 

He seemed to return to himself now, he sounded like the Theseus you knew. Poised, sure of himself. Mercifully kind. But his chest was heaving and the desire, plain on his face, was enough to make your knees buckle.

He wants me. He wants me. With each beat of your heart you felt the truth of it swell inside you. You could see it, unmistakable, the look of want that mirrored your own. Ready to worship and renounce and claim.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted, weakly. When he spoke again his words were terse, strained.

“Get back in bed,” is all he could manage, and then, “And call me that again.” 

And for the first time since you’d known him, you defied him.

Like the possessed, you fell into him, kissing him. He stumbled back in surprise, catching you with his hands crowded around your face. And you were both kissing and grabbing at each other, you fell to your knees and he followed you down.

You couldn't stop kissing him, not even to regain your balance, to catch your breath. He tasted so good, and his mouth on yours would've been enough to sustain you forever. The two of you were so desperate with need, you were half-kneeling on the floor. 

You began to whine in protest when he pulled away at last, but he stood and pulled you up from under your arms. When he threw you back onto his bed, your stomach flipped. He was looking down at you, pulling off his shoes and jacket, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. With him looking at you like that, you would've let him do anything to you, anything at all.

“Sweetheart, I said,” he pulled off his dress shirt and your head went dizzy at the sight of his bare chest, his shoulders and arms. “Get back in bed.”

His voice was stern, but fond. You knew what he wanted immediately, and it thrilled you to give it to him.

“Yes, daddy.”

You could see him struggling to control his expression, he just bowed his head back and pinched his eyes shut. The corner of his mouth twitched.

The knowledge that it was you doing this to him, driving him crazy, turning him on, heightened your arousal. Submitting to him strangely felt like power in your hands. 

“Good girl,” he said at last.

He was in his boxers now. The shape of his dick through the thin cloth made your mouth water. You wanted to press your open mouth against it there, wanted to pull it out and kiss it. You don’t know what had come over you. You couldn't think straight.

He got into bed beside you.

“Come and sit in my lap.” 

Your body purred and thrummed in delight. This is all you’d ever wanted at the office, to drape yourself over and onto him like this.

You crawled over him and sat firmly in his lap, legs splayed around his thick thighs. His hands came up around your waist, sliding further up to your chest. He looked up at you unblinkingly, eyes hooded and reverent, but his fingers moved of their own accord, unbuttoning your shirt.

You reddened, suddenly self-conscious. “Wait, don’t-“

“Don't?” he raised an eyebrow. “What, you want me to stop?”

He made a tutting noise and continued to remove your shirt, you had to look away when he flung it across the room, you were so embarrassed. He had your bra off in seconds.

“So cute. So shy.” he said dotingly, but his actions were anything but cute, massaging and running the rough pads of his thumbs over your nipples over and over again in circles. 

You moaned without meaning to, and the sound embarrassed you further. You felt him grow even bigger beneath you, between your legs.

“No, you don’t want me to stop.” He sounded so cocky you wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't, not with him playing with you like this. You could only moan weakly beneath his hands.

Your hips began grinding against the outline of his cock. It was so big your entire body thrilled at the feel of him, at the ludicrous idea of fitting it inside of you.

He seemed determined to humiliate you, he kept talking you through it.

“You’re doing so good, baby. Can you feel how hard I am?”

“Yes,” you answered, breathless.

“Tell me what you want. How you want me.”

“Inside me, please.”

“Please, who?”

You were so frustrated you could've cried. You wanted to come so bad, your legs were trembling. Up and down grinding and rubbing wasn't enough when you knew he wanted to be inside of you, that you could've had him inside of you.

“Please, daddy," You cried, feeling broken. 

Theseus pushed you back onto the bed roughly and crawled over you, reaching down to hike your skirt even further up your midsection. You were already topless, but he gripped into your tights with both arms flexing and ripped them apart at the seam.

You gasped and instinctually tried to cover up, bringing your legs together, but he was already pushing your panties down past your ankles, and then his broad hands were covering your kneecaps, pushing them apart.

“No, no, don’t do that. You’re mine," He reprimanded.

It felt so vulgar, him seeing this part of you. But you were only half a person now. You needed Theseus inside of you to be complete, you were dumb with want. A whining, needy mess and he couldn't get enough of you.

Tears stained your cheeks.

“Please, pleaseplease-" You started to beg, but he silenced you with his mouth on yours, wet and warm and perfect. When he shushed you this time it was surprisingly caring, he caressed your face reassuringly.

“Okay, baby. It’s okay, I’m not trying to tease you, hold on.” 

When he pulled out his length, your mouth went dry. You instinctually spread your legs wider. It was big, bigger than you thought. Both thick and long.

He reached a hand down between your legs to find wetness. Your back arched, your whole body curled and keened in pleasure against his hand, his touch.

But when he pushed a single finger at your entrance it met resistance. You moaned in pain and contentment when it finally slid in fully, past the knuckle.

“Ah,” he said with a grunt. “You can barely fit my finger, baby. You’re so tight.” He said this in equal parts admiration and lament. 

“No!” you whined. “Please, please, I can take it-“

Theseus shushed you and kissed your forehead.

“I know you can, pretty girl. I don’t wanna hurt you, though.”

“I want you to. Please, please.” 

He hissed something like fuck under his breath and began to add more fingers, a second and, then, absurdly, a third. You already felt like you were being split in half. He could barely move them, but soon enough he was pumping them deep and slow, in and out, and the act was so lewd you wanted to cry again.

“Fuck, that’s tight," he said to himself again. “Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna kill me.”

When he removed his hand you wanted to cry out at the loss, but then he was moving his body up, his hands clasped around the inside of your knees and he spread your legs up and open and wide, just for him.

When he sank down into you, his dick was so big and hard that your eyes bulged and your mouth opened pathetically.

“Oh,” you said, stupefied.

Then he pushed in and in, endlessly, until he bottomed out. You were already throbbing around him, so overstimulated from before, coming and fluttering around his cock before he’d even fucked you properly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed again, throwing your head back against the pillow and bringing the back of your hand to your mouth to bite, hoping to stifle the moan as your orgasm washed over you hard. Waves of pleasure ran from the crown of your head all the way down your legs, you could see it coming from a mile away but were nonetheless overcome, completely. 

He made a small noise at the sensation of you tightening and pulsing around him and ripped your hand away from your mouth.

“I wanna hear you,” he ordered, and so you let him. It was almost an out-of-body experience, the way he materialized in front of you, inside of you, when you finally came back down to earth, blood roaring in your ears.

“I just stuck it in, and you already came?” His tone was dark and teasing. “That’s all it takes, darling?”

He leaned over and kissed you deeply, passionately, and then straightened your legs and threw them over one of his shoulders, bending you in half. He began to fuck you in earnest, fucked you limp. You really felt like a rag doll now, helplessly pinned beneath his weight, his hips pounding into your backside. He drilled into you, growing impossibly harder by the second, it was almost like being filled for the first time all over again. 

You couldn't stop moaning, he kept telling you how good you were doing, how you were almost there. Kept asking you questions that made you blush, making you answer them.

Every thrust of his hips was pure ecstasy, vibrating shocks of pleasure were sent straight to your core, your whole pussy throbbing with it. He was fucking you and it was the best thing you’d ever felt, you never imagined sex could be this good.

You felt his dick stretching you wider and wider when he said, “Where do you want me to come?” 

You didn't even think. The word preceded any thought.

“Inside. Please, please-"

“Fuck.” 

The feel of him shooting into you, hot and warm and pulsing, sent you tumbling into another orgasm, it hit you so hard your vision went white and spotty. You had the impression your whole body was vibrating with the force of it.

He rolled your sweat-slick bodies over so that he was cradling you, holding you. You could feel his heartbeat, feel the air rushing in and out of his ribcage. He held you for a few minutes before finally relenting and pulling out with a hiss.

“You’re so perfect,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your temple, your chin, your neck. 

You felt overwhelmed with emotion. Overstimulated. Completely at his mercy.

“I love you,” you said. Powerless. All your life you had clung to power, whatever power you could cling to and not be kicked off like a dog. But for him alone you allowed yourself to be weak.

Utterly and devastatingly weak. 

You always imagined him saying it to you, first, but the thought barely had the chance to dampen your soaring heart because then he said, “I love you more. I promise you, whatever love you have for me, Y/N, I'll always have more for you.” 

-----

He cleaned you up and gave you some of his clothes to change into. Soft and oversized, you were almost drowning in them. He changed into his own pajamas, changed the bedsheets and threw the old ones on the floor. Gave you a toothbrush to use and soon you were both cozy and tucked back in his bed.

“I wanted to do that from the first time I saw you," He admitted. “Even though I was your boss, and your friend, and I was a taken man at the time. It made me feel ashamed, sick with myself. How badly I desired you.” 

Hearing Theseus say these words was like a dream, or something you wouldn’t even dare to dream.

“Are you staying here for good now? Or are you leaving me again?” You asked.

“You’re coming with me. With us.” He said in a way that was so sure and simple, it made you feel safe. Made you forget about the Ministry, and the world falling apart. “We need your help. And besides, I've missed you.”

-----

part two here

A/N: woohoo first fic ever! let me know if you have any requests or if you'd like a part two. right now i am only writing for theseus and no one else.

#theseus scamander #theseus x reader #theseus scamander x reader #theseus smut #theseus scamander fic #theseus scamander smut #fantastic beasts #callum turner #hp fanfic

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

✨️Masterlist✨️

John Egan:

I'll come pick it up after / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / End /

Did you just kiss me?

Alright, bet!

Protect You

Back to black

Until you come back home / 2 /

Stop trying to feel everything

Inventor

Soft and prude

Small space

Run!

You want my jacket?

Kiss me before you leave

I hate / love you

Princess and the fool

I have a plan

You're like me, but better

New Girl

Never felt so...

Too Sweet

Chicken

Callum Turner:

Co- Stars / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 /

Qué serà serà

Finals season

Joe Rantz:

Training / 2 /

Theseus Scamander

Young, dumb in love

Curtis Biddick

Daylight

Your idiot?

You have to live

Gale Cleven

Told you she was real

Who did this to you?

Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal

Therapist

Ronald Speirs

Disguise

John Brady

Misunderstanding

Austin Butler

Fame

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #john egan x reader #joe rantz x reader #major john egan #boys in the boat #master of the air imagine #master of the air #theseus scamander #fantastic beasts #rosie rosenthal #nate mann #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers #eugene roe #ronald speirs #ronald speirs x reader #john brady #ben radcliffe

[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

[shockercoco]

Whiskey

Major John Egan x reader

Warnings - few swear words, flirting, alcohol

Word count - 1418

a/n - it's been sooo long, mainly because I've been focused on doing applications to transfer colleges. I also didn't know who to write about for a while after farleigh, lol. I hope you enjoy :)

“How much longer are you going to be back there?” your friend groans from the other side of the bar. The bar staff requested extra hands since a large number of pilots and crew had arrived, and for some reason you volunteered to help out. 

“I have another hour left, and then I’m finished,” you say as you hand the guy next to her his drink. She just groans in response. “Plus, you said you were planning on ditching me and finding someone to entertain you for the night.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same when I’m doing it alone.”

“You do realize I’m not the only person you know here, right?” You tell her as another uniformed man walks up to the bar.

“Can I get a round of whiskeys and a ginger beer, please?” the man asks before your friend could answer. You nod and get started on his order.

“Ginger beer?” you hear your friend ask in a judgemental yet light tone.

“Don’t worry it’s not for me,” the man lets out a small laugh. You hand him his drinks on a tray, and he thanks you before walking away.

“You may not be the only person I know, but you're the only one I really like. But I’ll leave you alone to do your job and make my way to where that man just went,” your friend nudges her head in his direction. After following him with your eyes you give her a ‘really’ look once you spot the table and she gives you an innocent shrug in return.

The table is surrounded by nothing but higher ups. It also happens to include the inseparable best friends Major John “Bucky” Egan and Major Gale “Buck” Cleven.

“Maybe once you get Major Egan you’ll be able to put in a good word for me with Major Cleven, or if I get to Cleven first, I could put in a good word for you. We could do the whole double date thing. Their names have a nice ring to it don’t you think?” 

“Lower your voice,” you shush her as you glance around for any listening ears. All of the men in the bar know one another in some way, and word travels fast.

“What? You’ve had a crush on the guy for the longest time, and you do nothing about it every time he flies in,” she tells you. “If you ask him out and he turns you down, it's not like you have to see him for long.”

“I’m sorry, have you met me? What makes you think I would ever go up to a guy and ask him out?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I guess I’ll just have to be bold for the both of us. Can I get a shot before I go, I’m going to need some liquid courage to take these men on.”

“Take your shot and go,” you say as you wave her off with your hand after placing her shot down in front of her. She takes her shot and wanders off, but not before giving you a smirk. You just playfully roll your eyes in return.

You don’t realize how much time goes by with the constant swarm of men coming up to the bar, but when you decide to look up at the clock on the wall you notice you only have ten minutes left until you're free. It has pretty much slowed down given the fact that most of the men were already drunk out of their minds, but the room was far from quiet.

“Next time it’ll be me who knocks his ass out,” you hear a voice say as they come up to the bar you currently had your back to.

You turn around confused, planning to question the person, but you freeze a little once you notice Major Eagan infront of you. You feel yourself panic a little given the fact that this is the closest you’ve ever been to him. He must see your confused expression though because he begins to explain himself.

“Sorry not you, I was talking to one of my buddies. He knocked some brit out on the first punch,” he says, but not before quickly adding, “It was well deserved though, the man was a prick.”

You just nod in response, not knowing what to say to that other than, “Can I get you anything, Major?”

“Yes, whiskey please,” he smiles as he leans his uniform covered arms on the bar top.

“You wouldn’t happen to belong to the table that requested all those whiskeys tonight would you?” you ask as you turn around to grab a bottle and glass. You also try to keep your hands steady and your face as neutral as possible.

“Guilty,” he lets out a small laugh as you set his drink in front of him. He doesn’t reach out to touch it, but keeps those blue eyes of his on you. “Got a problem with whiskey?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“Because I could’ve sworn you made a face when I said it,” he tells you, but there’s no attitude behind it. Good observation skills on his part, bad concealing skills on your part. He is a soldier after all.

“Oh, you caught that,” you let out a little laugh as you try to busy yourself with something behind the bar. As much as you would like to keep talking to him – because you would most likely never get the chance again – you kind of wish he would walk away so you could control your sweating. Your friend would probably slap you if you turned this interaction down though.

“Yeah, is there a story behind it or you just don’t like whiskey?” 

“I just don’t like it,” you say, and it’s true. You feel it’s way too strong, especially to be drinking so casually.

“You have one of the best whiskeys sitting on that shelf behind you, and you're telling me you don’t like it?” you’re not looking at him, but you can hear a playful tone in his voice. If only your friend could see you now, wherever she is.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Uh huh,” he replies in a tone that tells you he doesn’t believe you. “When are you able to leave from behind there?” he motions to you behind the bar. 

You take a glance up at the clock at the wall and notice you’re not supposed to leave for another three  minutes. But, then again, a cute guy is standing across from you so who cares?

“Now actually,” you respond.

“Well then pour yourself a glass, and I’ll drink it with you,” he tells you, and you feel your stomach flutter. It also could be that you’re nauseous from being so nervous.

“This sounds an awful lot like peer pressure,” you joke and he lets out a laugh. 

You do as he says and pour yourself a glass because what the hell. He raises his up as a form of cheers, and you do the same before you both tilt your heads back and drink. You pull a face as the liquid burns going down your throat; he just laughs. 

“You really don’t like it,” he says as you set your glass down.

“I prefer sweeter things like wine. You know, the stuff that doesn’t taste like acid,” you say, and he just lets out another laugh at your response.

“Well I’ll remember that for next time,” he says, and you almost drop your guys’ cups, which you just picked up to put away.

“Next time?” you pause before looking up at him.

“Yes. I’m going to be here for a while, and I figured the two of us could do something,” he tells you like it was obvious,” Without any whiskey involved of course.”

“And what makes you think I want to?”

“Because you just spent the past ten minutes having a conversation with me. Oh, and your friend told me to come over here since I helped her get with my buddy Buck,” he gives you a smirk.

Your heart practically slaps the ground, and you feel like you actually might throw up. Part of you isn’t surprised because you were never going to do anything about your crush and your friend knew, and the other part of you is shocked because what happened to girl code?

“Well now I definitely don’t want to,” you tell him, half joking, as you resume cleaning up.

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #john egan x reader #callum turner imagine #major john egan x reader

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Masters of the Air Fanfic

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

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

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

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

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

Word count: a monstrous 12k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Suggestions” was Egan’s term for regulations.

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

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

“-I don’t have the authority-“

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

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

-Americans and their nicknames.

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn.” he swore, playing at dejection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And now the texas girl has-“

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

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

“Well, no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s that?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“To the Poles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Other performances. For instance, in bed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-Do I what?” you prodded softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was hugging you, you realized with delayed surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A cherub.” he repeated in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

“None.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only to kiss you.

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

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

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

“Not Wordsworth!” Harry clarified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If you’d have only known.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There are things of which I may not speak;

There are dreams that cannot die;

There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,

And bring a pallor into the cheek,

And a mist before the eye.

And the words of that fatal song

Come over me like a chill:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

Strange to me now are the forms I meet

When I visit the dear old town;

But the native air is pure and sweet,

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

As they balance up and down,

Are singing the beautiful song,

Are sighing and whispering still:—

“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” he agreed miserably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess you did.” you agreed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

“No.”

“So where’d they go?” Buck asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And I’m yours.” he concluded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, Buck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #gosh is that a first tag? i don’t think so I know I’ve seen schemes at the very least on here #mota fanfic #austin butler #gale cleven #john egan #Major Egan #Major Cleven #buck cleven #Gale Cleven fanfiction #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fluff #Austin Butler imagine #Austin butler smut #callum Turner fanfiction #callum turner #harry crosby #anthony boyle #hbo war #band of brothers #the pacific

[eymie]

PHOTOGRAPHER !

pairing: thomas webb x fem!reader

warnings: smut, nudes?? kinda, alcohol, dry humping, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), thats it i think

summary: you were a new york photoprapher and thomas lived in your apartment. and after one frustrating night you invite him into your room.

a/n: WHERE. IS. THE. MF. CALLUM. TURNER. FICS. i’ve been on this game since fantastic beasts. (ive found a few scrumptious callum fics and yk who u r @willyoubemycherryy) also i have not written in a hot minute and none of you expected this.

You lived on the story above Thomas. Not that you ever really noticed him at first, you were relatively new in the complex too. Sometimes you’d hear him having a conversation on the stairs with the old man from 2B. Mix of words you didn’t bother to put together.

Well, you didn’t care until you saw him for the first time. The old man from 2B liked to talk a lot, often chatting you up when you got home from work. Sometimes bringing up Thomas which you didn’t care for.

"He could use a nice girl like you.”

To which you would’ve scoffed. You heard someone running down the stairs, to which you met eye contact with Thomas. Wavy brown hair, pink cheeks, glasses that sort of turned you on.

The real New York type of guy, to be honest, your type of guy. His lips parted as he looked at you, a small nod and than sliding past you.

“Where you going Thomas,” He called out, to which Thomas turned around laughing.

“I gotta go, meeting up with Mimi.” Thomas turned on his heels to leave until he was stopped again by the man.

“I want you to meet me friend.” The man gestured to you, Thomas smiling at you in return.

“No, it’s alright. I have to get going.” You smiled back, walking to the door where Thomas stood. You brushed past him, your clothes brushing his own.

“Where?” Thomas asked, furrowing his brows.

“Around, I’m a photographer.”

That’s how it started. After that, coincidentally you ran into Thomas a lot more after that. Usually alone, and to that he’d usually greet you and say hi. After a specifically draining day, a frustrating one at that, he ran into you in the front door.

He rubbed his eyes, apologizing and then he started talking. Going off about something you honestly didn’t care much about. You liked hearing him talk. You didn’t mean to say it, but you did.

“Wanna talk about it? In my room.” It came out like word vomit, immediately embarrassed. You watched his eyes for a second, not even processing his nod.

You grabbed his hands pulling him up to your apartment, dragging him close behind you. His hand was big compared to yours, you weren’t surprised you had already noticed he was a lot taller than you.

Your anxiety kicked in when you struggled to unlock the door. Him peering over your neck, watching you struggle with your keys. You felt his lips brush your neck slightly, your panties dampening.

You flung your door open a little too excited, a small laugh leaving his lips. He followed you in, to which you immediately grabbed your alcohol off the shelf.

When you turned around, Thomas caught you off-guard, pressing his lips to yours. It was quick, aggressive a bit, which you assumed was probably from nerves. He was quick to shake his head and apologize.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He mumbles, looking down at his shoes. You examine his face, his expression. You hand him the full bottle of alcohol off your counter, to which he takes from you with ease. "Thanks--"

You pull him back down, pressing your lips harder to his than he had before. You threaded your fingers through his hair, slightly tugging on it making him groan into the kiss. He still held the bottle in his hand, but his free hand slid to your waist.

He had you pressed against your counter, nowhere to move. His tongue slid over your bottom lips, you parted your lips allowing him to slip it in. Pressing and sliding against your own making you moan softly into the kiss.

Thomas pulled away, taking a sip of the alcohol, furrowing his brows at the taste. He placed it back on the counter beside you, who was breathless and needy.

He tilted your chin back up, pulling you back into another heated kiss. Both hands now free, groping whatever he could. You could taste the alcohol on his tongue, his kiss was intoxicating.

His hand slid up your skirt, tracing the apex of your thighs. His fingers slowly slide up to the wet patch of your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked.”

"Thomas," You gasp, pulling away from the kiss. He trails down your jawline and neck, leaving soft wet kisses. He hums into your skin, hands pulling your waist closer to his body. "Wait--"

"What?" He was barely audible, too busy tainting your skin with his marks which you would certainly cover up the next day.

"l don’t know," You gasp, his tongue running over the mark he had just left. You feel him smile into your skin, a small laugh leaving his lips. His fingers sliding over your panties, pressing onto your clothed clit.

"Do you want me to stop?" He pulls away looking at your flustered face. His hand pulling away from the apex of your thighs, sliding up your waist and under your shirt.

“No,” You were too quick to answer, a small laugh leaving his lips. The way Thomas kissed you felt urgent, like he needed you now and he could’ve wait. And if you knew any better you would’ve known why.

You walked backwards to your bedroom, never breaking the hungry kiss. His hands were large, pulling at your waist. Your hand pulled back to push the door open further, backing into your small room. He turned you, pushing you against the white door, shutting it with your body weight.

You let out a soft moan as his knee slotted between your thighs, pressing into your clothed his. His hands travelled down to your hip, pulling your cunt harder onto his rough pants.

“Look at you, getting off on my thigh.” You whined at his words, a wet patch forming on the fabric of his pants.

“Thomas, I want you—“

“I know,” He mumbles against your lips. Thomas was usually quick when it came to sex, at least with the foreplay but he wanted to take it slow so bad. Talk you through it. “Don’t worry, gonna fuck you.”

“Now,” You move your head to the side to give him more room to mark your neck. His hand slides up to cradle your jaw, lips attacking your skin.

“Not yet,” His hot breath against your skin, lips pressing to your neck.

Thomas’ hands slid under your thighs, you jump up wrapped your legs around his waist, His fingers press into your skin, holding you up against him. Your arms wrap around his neck as he tosses you down on the mattress.

“Take off your clothes, okay?” You nod in reply and quickly pull off your skirt and panted as he pulls off his shirt. You pull off your own shirt, tossing it onto the hardwood floor next to his discarded clothes.

You look up to see Thomas, pulling off his pants leaving him in his tented boxers. You suddenly feel yourself getting hotter than before.

It was in a flash, he was on top of you, hot skin against yours. His hands pried your thighs apart then slid up to your bra clad chest. He slid his fingers under your bra while he nipped at your jaw. His glasses were still on and pressed into your skin

Your fingers slid up to pull his glasses off his face, to which he tried to resist. “I can’t see without those.”

“Shut up,” You cut him off with a kiss, fingers tangling in his brown hair. His glasses were held in your free hand, falling against the pillow beside you.

He broke the kiss, still brushing his plump lips against yours before speaking. “Put them on.”

You knew what he meant but you ignored him, pushing him on his back instead. You climbed onto his lap, your hands pushing him down against the mattress.

You placed his glasses on your face, they made your vision blurrier and you wanted to see him. You went to pull them off but he gripped your wrist, pulling your hands away from your face.

His cock twitched through the fabric of his boxers, you slowly grinded your hips in return. A small whimper left his lips, his eyes shut. You slid you hand up his body to his lips, your pointer finger slowly parting his lips.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed, parting his lips for you. You roll your hips again and you listen as another soft groan leaves his lip. You smiled, leaning down to press your lips to his. Deep in the kiss, your hands slide to slowly his boxers down allowing his cock to spring out.

Your lips parted at the sight of his hard cock, pre-cum drooling down the tip. His large hands slid up your waist and pulled you down onto his cock. Your wet folds sliding across his length .

“Want you inside,” You whined, nails gripping his chest. He bit back any noises, nodding at your request and let go of your hips. You bit your lip, positioning his tip at your entrance.

“What do you want?” He asked with a smirk, a little too amused for your own liking. You tried to sink down but he had a firm grip on yours hips stopping you.

“Please, need it.” You whine, trying against but his grip on your hips stopped you from it. You clenched your jaw in frustration at his lack of sympathy.

“Want me to fuck your pussy?” He asked with a small laugh, you scoffed in return.

“You’re too vulgar.”

“I’m about to be inside you, what type of vulgarity would you prefer?”

“Shut up—“ You didn’t get to finish before his hands were pulling your hips down, his tip pushing past your entrance. Your mouth fell agape and your eyes were shut closed. You whimpered at the slight sting, he was bigger than you expected.

“Yeah, take it like a slut.” He smirked, watching as he bottomed out, stretching your cunt wide open. God, he wished he had his glasses on to see how your cunt looked around him.

You didn’t noticed his hand fumbling onto the night table, grabbing your old camera you retired from taking photos. The flash made you squint through his glasses.

The small photo came up on the screen, your perfect body sitting on his cock, tits full and being held in his free hand. He was saving that for later. He put the camera back on the nightstand, hands trailing up to steal his glasses back but you grabbed his wrist.

“I don’t think so.” You swatted him away, adjusting his glasses on your face. Your vision still just as blurry as his own.

“I wanna see you.” He whined, leaning back on his elbows, squinting back at you.

“The photo for later wasn’t enough?” You tease.

“Come on, give me my glasses so I can fuck you.”

You pushed him back down on the bed, raising your hips before dropping them. A groan slipping from his lips as his head falls back on the pillow, bucking his hips up.

“Fuck me, Thomas.” You whined, grinding your clit into his pelvis. His nails dug into your hips leaving red crescent shaped marks. His lips were parted, head back as you rode him. "Please."

With that he flipped you onto your back, pressing your legs to your chest. The small room was filled with obscene noises and the slapping of skin. He thrusted his length into you harder, pulling you to meet his thrusts.

"Fucking begging for it," He grunted, his tip pressing into your sweet spot. Strained moans left your lips, despite your best effort to keep quiet. New York apartments had thin walls.

Your hand slapped against your mouth to muffle the loud moan that had just left your lips. His hand slid to your wrist, sloppily grabbing it and pinning it above your head.

"Don't hold back," He ordered, lips connecting to yours to swallow your moans and whines. His free hand travelled down from where he pinned your legs to your clit, pressing your sensitive bud.

"Fuck--" You moaned, the knot in your stomach tightening. His thumb rubbed your clit harshly, pressing his thumb hard against it. "So close."

"Come for me, baby." His lips brushed against yours, his saliva coating your kiss-swollen lips.

A gasp left your lips, then a strained whine. Your walls clenched around his cock, the knot coming undone. Your head thrown back against your pillow as he fucked you through your orgasm.

"Yeah baby, just like that. Come for me." His whispered into your skin, your hips bucking against his thrusts. He pressed soft kisses into your skin as you arched off the mattress. His hands travelled to the arch of your back, rubbing your spine. "So good for me."

You fell back to the mattress, soft whimpers leaving you between your pants. His hand left your sensitive clit instead holding your hips as he neared his own orgasm. Pulling out, his hot seed coating your thighs and stomach.

"Give me back my glasses, I wanna see that photo."

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #thomas webb #thomas webb smut #thomas webb x reader #thomas webb imagine #the only living boy in new york #callum turner smut #callum turner imagine

[oncasette]

FANGTASIA. send in a character from my guide + one of the prompts below for a drabble!

OK LAST ONE I PROMISE. but you know I had to send in a theseus request so … theseus + "You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!" teehee 😋

'𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗦𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗔 𝗠����𝗡 (𝗜𝗧'𝗦 𝗝𝗨𝗦𝗧 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗗𝗢)

theseus scamander x fem!reader

summary: 1.7k

“I can hear you sulking over there. C’mon,” you urge as you watch him out of your periphery. He closed his eyes before he exhaled slowly. Deeply, forcing all of the air out of his lungs in the hopes that his foul mood would exit with it. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to hate your secretary, to be the possessive guy that never let his partner speak to another man, but it was starting to eat away at him. It was a lot easier to lose you when he didn’t fully have you, yet.

or the one where theseus can't stand your secretary.

warnings: none that i can think of, semi-possessive theseus?

masterlist 

He was just your secretary. That’s what you keep telling yourself. And Theseus. All he does is your filing and allow people entry into your office. And bring you your morning coffee without you needing to ask for it, with the exact amount of cream and sugar you take without you ever having told him in the past. 

Of course, this was just him being excellent at his job, it was why you’d kept him on for so long. There was a quick turnover rate for secretaries at the ministry. A year or two, at most, before they were either fired by their respective bosses or they left to pursue a field they were actually passionate about. But not Richard. No, you’d been working with Richard for the better part of five years. Long before you’d ever met your now boyfriend–if you could even call him that, only having been on a dozen or so dates at this point. Not that the question hadn’t been on the tip of his tongue since the first time you batted your eyelashes at him. 

That didn’t stop Theseus from clenching his jaw every morning when he stopped by to say hello only to find your secretary to have abandoned his post outside your office in favor of holing up in your loveseat and carrying on with whatever annoyingly dull topic of conversation he’d chosen to occupy your time with. It didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes at the way his hand lingered over yours as he dropped off the accounts you needed that afternoon during your lunch break, little more than a glance cast askew at him as he sat beside you. It didn’t stop him from biting his tongue so hard it bled each time you brought Richard up in the evenings when he walked you out of the building.

No, it didn’t matter how long you’d worked with the man. Theseus knew a crush when he saw one. 

“What’s wrong, love? You’ve been tense all day,” you say, gently placing a hand onto his shoulder. He’d been sitting in your office for a little over an hour, his work day having already drawn to a close but you’d had to finish up a last minute assignment your boss had thrown on your desk fifteen minutes before you were supposed to leave. Theseus hadn’t minded waiting.

“Nothing,” he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Richard had been especially irritating that day. He’d barely had five minutes alone with you before you’d forced your secretary to go home once the clock hit six. 

“I can hear you sulking over there. C’mon,” you urge as you watch him out of your periphery. He closed his eyes before he exhaled slowly. Deeply, forcing all of the air out of his lungs in the hopes that his foul mood would exit with it. He didn’t want to be like this. He didn’t want to hate your secretary, to be the possessive guy that never let his partner speak to another man, but it was starting to eat away at him. It was a lot easier to lose you when he didn’t fully have you, yet.

“It’s nothing, lovely. Promise,” he says. At the very least, having this time with you was beginning to dull the headache that had formed earlier in the day. He thinks it started when Richard had once again waltzed into your office during your lunch hour with the hopes of taking you out to the bakery a couple blocks away. 

“Okay,” you drawl, eyebrows drawn together. 

It’s then that Theseus notices the parchment stuck to your desk lamp. It was a charmed doodle, one that poorly illustrated a man with smoke shooting out of his ears sitting at a desk played on a loop. To keep you company while you work - Rich. Of course.

“You ready?” you ask, shuffling around documents and files on your desk to deal with on Monday when you return before grabbing your bag off the ground and slipping your coat on. You circle around the furniture in your office to stand in front of Theseus. He ran a firm hand across his brow bone as he stood to meet you. He leans forward to place a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth as he nods. 

It’s hard to ignore how stiff he’s become.

“Are we still good for dinner at yours tonight?” you ask. 

“Of course,” he hums. He wasn’t going to let this ruin the one of the few evenings a week he got to spend with you. Or, at least, he was going to try to not let it ruin it. 

Once he was sure you’d both collected the remainders of your belongings, he takes your hand in his to apparate the two of you to his flat. Since you weren’t going back to your place, he didn’t feel the need to walk the two of you all the way across the ministry just to disapparate from there. He only did that to spend a couple extra minutes with you, anyway. 

It’s only the second time you’ve been to his place, but the short wave of nausea prevents you from feeling too overwhelmingly nervous about it. You set your bag beside the door before you move to the kitchen to sit and let the urge to vomit begin to dissipate. Theseus smooths a palm over down your arm as he slides up behind you. 

He leans down to whisper in your ear. His nose brushes against your cheek. “Can I get you anything?”

“Maybe a penny…” you trail off.

“A penny?” he huffs amused.

“For your thoughts,” you say.

“I told you it was nothing.”

“Darling, I know something’s wrong. I want to help if I can,” you say, tilting your head back enough to look at his face. He bends again to kiss your forehead. It’s tender, sweet. Nearly domestic. 

“It’s just work stress, I guess,” he says. He wasn’t technically lying. 

“I’m sorry,” you hum, bringing a hand up to smooth across his cheek for a second. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help if you get some of it off your chest.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you, love,” he says as he begins to move away from your chair. He meanders around the small kitchen as he starts to gather the things he needs to cook dinner. You hardly notice as he charms the cutting board to dice vegetables for him. 

“It wouldn’t be a burden. Richie’s always telling me about the kinds of things that bother him at the office,” you say. Theseus’ jaw clenches. With his suit coat already having been slung across the couch in the living room, he’s quick to roll his button-down sleeves up to his elbows. 

“Fucking Richard,” he mutters. It’s so quiet you almost miss it. Your brows raise. He runs a palm over his jaw, resisting the urge to bite down on one of his fingers. 

“This is about him?”

“What?” he asks as he turns away from you to grab noodles from his pantry. The first time he’d asked about Richard had been harmless. A one-off question at the end of your evening when he’d been walking you back to your flat. A question you’d answered simply. He’s just your secretary. Then he’d asked again. A second and a third time. 

“This. Your… mood. It’s about him, isn’t it?” you ask. You’re attempting to sound understanding, but you know there’s an edge to your tone. He doesn’t elicit an answer. “I thought I told you he wasn’t anything to worry about. He works for me.”

“I know,” he grumbles. 

“Then what’s this about, hm?” you ask, standing from your chair and moving into his space. 

“It’s just.” He’s cracking, slightly. He hates that he’s allowed himself to get affected by something so trivial. “He’s always there.”

“You’ve got yourself in a fit because my secretary comes into my office during work hours?”

“It’s the way he is around you, you know? He’s always around, always touching or trying to touch. You should see the way he looks at you,” he huffs. The box in his hand drops onto the counter suddenly, his hands following as he pushes his weight against them. 

“Thes-” you start. 

“You think I like being like this? You think it’s something I want? To be so angry and aggravated about something that I can’t control? That you can’t control?” he asks. “Everytime he touches you I want to rip his fucking hands off.”

You step behind him, winding your arms around his middle until he’s stood straight again. His hands find yours and interweave between your fingers. 

“It’s not you,” he sighs. “Well, I mean, it is you. I don’t see how there isn’t a single man left in the world not wrapped tight around your finger.”

You press a kiss between his collarbones. He relaxes into your hold. 

“I don’t want Richard,” you say.

“I know.”

“I want you.”

“I want you, too, darling.”

“But I also want you to talk to me,” you say as you urge him to turn to face you with a tap of your fingers against his torso. “I’ll talk to him. I can’t say I haven’t noticed him being a little closer to me than some of the other secretaries have been with their bosses, because I have. So, I’ll talk to him. But, I need you to talk to me, too.”

His forehead falls forward until it’s pressed against yours. 

You continue, “I need you to tell me when stuff like this bothers you. You can’t just be all angry at the world and do nothing about it and expect it all to change. Okay?”

“I can do that,” he hums. 

“Good,” you nod. 

“Good.”

“You also need to remember that I’m a grown-up and I can handle myself, too, right? Just because another man may or may not have his eyes on me doesn’t mean I’m going to go running off into the sunset with him,” you say. A soft laugh rumbles in his chest, his eyes crinkling with a soft smile at the sides. 

“Alright,” he says. 

“Now,” you say. “What’s for dinner?”

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #callum turner #callum turner x reader #harry potter #fantastic beasts and where to find them

[willyoubemycherryy]

ღ𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐_.!* @eymie --_𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕-_𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢.-._𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛..--𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎?:.. 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎-//𝚒𝚗-..._𝚝𝚑𝚎-,,𝚑𝚒𝚓𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜-*.𝚘𝚏__𝙼𝚛..&𝙼𝚛𝚜_-/𝙴𝚐𝚊𝚗.• !!_ _ _

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜❥ 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚞𝚗-, 𝚙✪𝚛𝚗 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝, 𝚙𝚟𝚜𝚜𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊, 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚊𝚕𝚕...𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 ⚠︎︎MDNI⚠︎︎

“𝑰'𝒎 𝒔𝒐~ 𝒂𝒏𝒙𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔..𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏’? 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄...“

.• •. •

This was a secret that you would take to your grave.

Clamping your hands tightly over your mouth, trying desperately to quiet the shuddering moans that were threatening to spill through.

You two could not be found like this under any circumstances.

In the corner of a empty dark room, the one typically used for parties after a mission well done. Leaning heavily against the wall with your superior on his knees, sultry mouth glued to your cunt.

Major John fucking Egan. AKA; the death of you.

"Mmm, I missed you pretty bunny...she’s so sweet today. I wonder why..."

Putting your hands down you managed a weak glare at the man nestled between your thighs, but it was rendered moot as the length of his tongue traveled between your swollen pussy lips.

The groan that followed caused vibrations along your throbbing clit, your eyes rolling upwards at the pleasure running up your spine. Honestly, you really needed to deliver some important files for Operations but when John saw you there for the first time in forever four days, it suddenly didn’t matter that you had a job to do before he was promptly dragging you away, to now.

Where he had been leisurely licking away at you for damn near half an hour, every objection dying on your lips.

Humming thoughtfully, Bucky lifted your thighs closer around his shoulders and planted a wet kiss right on your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your jaw dropped open in a sharp gasp, heat rushing over you like a tidal wave. Crying in pleasure as his tongue repeatedly stroked beneath the hood; almost too intense and trickling into pain. If that weren't enough, you felt two of his thick fingers thrust inside your dripping cunt, crooking upwards.

"B-Bucky, how fucking long are y-you gonna—Oh, f-fuck!" Your warbled moans almost drowned out the sounds coming from Bucky’s mouth, who was eating you like your life was on the line.

Your arch shot upwards as his fingers swirled in hard circles against that spot inside of you; lips sucking tightly around your clit. He was in his own little world as he drank in your pussy like it really was the last thing he would taste.

The obscene moans and wet smacking of his lips made your face burn hotly, but he was not concerned with your embarrassment. God if anyone caught you…somehow the riskiness of your current position only pushed him to pull more amorous sounds from your mouth.

So, reluctantly releasing your poor clit, Bucky spread his fingers inside of you and slipped his tongue inside; fucking you with it.

He was in heaven. Drowning beneath the heavy scent of your arousal, your taste sweet like honey in his mouth.

You bit down on your bottom lip and unconsciously began to undulate your hips; hiccups and moans bubbling in your throat. His thrusting tongue was the literal definition of paradise—euphoria and pleasure lighting every nerve in your body, making them 'pop'.

Risking a glance down, you felt your breath catch at the low, heated, cerulean gaze pinning you still. Bucky nipped you as he wiggled his tongue within your slick pussy; the bottom of his face drenched with both his saliva and your own juices.

When rough fingers came to roll your clit in quick circles, your head dropped back against the wall as you cum hard. Trembling, you squeal as he continued to thrust his tongue and help you through the waves of ecstasy; groaning deeply as your release flooded his mouth.

Waves finally receding, Bucky gently pulled his tongue free of your abused cunt and licked up the excess. You were far too out of it to do anything except moan softly Bucky—licking and kissing all the way up your stomach and stopping to press his face against your collarbone.

It felt like your legs would give out any second as you tried to straighten yourself and catch your breath.

John was unusually placid as he cuddled you to him before looking down at you with an entirely too satisfied smirk, pretty blue eyes gleaming at your exhausted expression.

“Oooh. I wore you out huh?” Laughing at the weak glare you shoot him.

“Harlot.” You hiss at him with a scowl.

John doesn’t even seem remotely bothered by your insult, eyebrows shooting up in surprise before laughing even harder.

“Yeah? Well you’re a quickshot and a crybaby.” Gasping sharply in embarrassment, you whirl around to smack his chest.

“THATS NOT FAIR!” But in all fairness you started it. John just smiles down at you fondly, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

“You’re right. Don’t be mad at me?” Pouting lightly at you and watching how it takes less than 2 seconds for you to give in and nod, kissing him back on the lips.

“Okay seriously though, next time try not to abduct me in front of everyone because…all the guys were whistling,” it’s embarrassing to recount as you mutter to him. All the hollers and “don’t hurt her too bad Major”’s thrown your way.

“Alright. Cross my heart. I’ll even smack them upside the head for you.” You scoff in begrudged amusement but he’s dead serious.

“My hero,” his heart melts at that and he wishes he could keep you for just a little bit longer. “Sadly I have to get going, big guy. I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done. So don’t miss me too much okay?” Cupping his face, you rub your noses together before pecking his pouty lips.

“I make no promises but I’ll be waiting. Run along, bunny. And thanks for the sweets.” One last kiss accompanied by his low voice as he lets you tend to your other duties. Watching you go.

Huh? You didn’t bring any sweets though?

The double meaning doesn’t hit you until you’re out in the hall, the door swinging shut behind you. Eyes popping wide as you gasp,

“JOHN EGAN-!! YOU LITTLE BUTTMUNCH!” You shout out, face hot, completely mortified at his cheek.

Storming down the hall, you pretend not to hear his chuckles.

And you definitely don’t have a smile to match the tingling between your legs.

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

[floralcyanide]

ᴡᴀʟᴋ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴏʀ ᴅʀᴏᴡɴ — ᴄᴀʟʟᴜᴍ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ

callum turner x afab!reader (nsfw)

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

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

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

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

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

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

“Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Want one?”

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

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

“Nah,” he says, “it’s all yours.”

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

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

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

“Maybe,” he shrugs.

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

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

“Deathly.”

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

“Fine, but we gotta be quiet.”

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

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

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

“Coming?” Callum grins, wriggling his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

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

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

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

“I’m glad,” Callum says.

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

Callum laughs and agrees before realizing something. 

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

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

“Get ready to be beaten.”

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner smut #callum turner x reader smut #callum turner x you #callum turner x you smut #callum turner x y/n #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner fic #callum turner fanfic #callum turner imagine #callum turner x y/n smut #camp cousnelor au #floralcyanide writes

[sagesolsticewrites]

Homecoming

John Egan finally makes it home to you

Requested by anon, based on the prompt carrying the other one in their arms

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

“They’ll be here,” Marge said from her place beside you, fussing with the hem of her dress.

She sounded as if she was trying to assure herself as much as you, but you appreciated the sentiment, bumping her shoulder and giving her an encouraging smile and nod in thanks.

Marge had introduced you to John Egan— better known as Bucky— about a week before he shipped out to England, and you had fallen head over heels for him.

Both Marge and Gale had warned you before he left that “John Egan isn’t the penpal type,” but to all of your surprise, Bucky had dutifully written you the moment he arrived on base, and the stream of letters had remained steady for nearly the entire time he’d been away.

Until one day Marge stopped receiving letters from Gale, and Bucky’s letters had stopped shortly after.

The two of you were beside yourselves with worry, until you received word that both of them had ended up as POWs in a German camp; you were both still terrified, but at least you knew they were alive.

Then came May 1945– Germany had officially surrendered, and your boys were coming home.

The flow of letters had resumed shortly after you had received word of Bucky’s capture, but it was slow and irregular despite the Red Cross’s best efforts. You hadn’t seen Bucky for nearly two years, and joy and terror were fighting for dominance in your mind at the thought of standing in front of him again.

The Army had set up you and Marge, as well as the other loved ones waiting for their soldiers to return, in a hotel near the train station where the boys would be arriving. So now here you were in the lobby, waiting anxiously for Buck and Bucky to walk through the doors.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you were only alerted to their entrance by a gasp from Marge, who promptly raced into Gale’s open and waiting arms. You, on the other hand, were frozen, scrambling to process the appearance of one John Egan as his eyes locked on you.

Frankly, it was a blur. One moment you were frozen in place, the next you were racing towards him, Bucky moving to meet you halfway, his arms curling tight around you as you collapsed against him.

“You’re here, you’re here,” was all you could say as you held him tight, a spike of worry running through you when you felt how thin he had become, but he was still warm and real and solid and here, and his voice was thick in your ear as he whispered back. “‘M here, sweetheart, ‘m home.”

He pulled away slightly— it took all of your strength not to clutch him to you again, loath to let him go after so long— and brought up a hand to caress your cheek, blue eyes simply taking you in for a moment.

His gaze kept drifting down to your bright red lips, and at your eager nod once you’d realized what he was waiting for, he swooped down to capture your lips in a long, long overdue kiss.

You couldn’t help but giggle against his lips as you heard Marge cheering at the sight of you two, and the feeling of his returning smile against your own had your heart soaring.

After several long minutes of simply holding each other, making up for lost time, you eventually joined back up with Buck and Marge, giving Gale a joyful welcome-home hug as Marge did the same with Bucky.

The hotel had arranged for a special dinner, and the plan was to head straight there once the reunions had wound down… though you had no idea how anyone could even think of dinner at a time like this.

Bucky’s thoughts seemed to be straying as well, as instead of allowing you to simply curl up next to him on the couch set where you settled with Buck and Marge, he tugged you down into his lap and wrapped his arms firmly around your waist.

Your friends headed over to the dining room before too long, Bucky assuring them that the two of you would catch up.

Those plans soon went out the window entirely, though.

Bucky’s scarred, nimble fingers began tracing patterns over your dress, making your breath hitch.

Your letters to each other had been… well, you wouldn’t want your mother reading certain sections of them, that’s for certain. But the feeling of him pressed against you, holding you tight was an experience no amount of letters could have prepared you for.

His lips brushed your ear, unspeakable implications hidden in such innocent words: “You have your own room here, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Unable to form words as his low rumble sparked heat just below your belly, you nodded, and to this day you have no idea how you didn’t simply melt into a puddle when you felt him grin against you.

His question of “Care to show me?” was met with a similar, more enthusiastic nod, and before you knew it Bucky had swept you up in his arms.

“I— Bucky!” You yelped in surprise as he carried you towards the elevators with surprising ease, “Should you be doing—?”

“What I should be doing—” your concerns for his health were brushed aside with a searing look “— is showing my girl exactly how much I’ve missed her.”

It was a good thing he was carrying you, because every bone in your body turned to jelly at that statement.

Even in the elevator he didn’t put you down, silencing every one of your protests with a kiss until your lipstick was irreparably smudged and the coarse hairs decorating his top lip were tinted a slight red.

You arrived at your floor, and he waited patiently as you unlocked the door from your place in his arms— a task that took much longer than it should have thanks to the major scattering kisses along your neck, as if he had to have his lips on you constantly now that you were more than just words on a page.

You were carried over the threshold bridal-style, and Bucky nudged the door closed with his foot so no one could see how he gently lowered you to the bed, murmuring promises of making up for lost time against your lips.

#john bucky egan #bucky egan #john egan #bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #john bucky egan x reader #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #callum turner #callum turner x reader #my writing

[barrykeoghanstan]

Callum Turner's curls are my Roman empire ❤️

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #masters of the air imagine #mastersoftheair #masters of the air x reader #major john egan #boys in the boat #the boys in the boat imagines #theseus scamander #joe rantz #joe rantz x reader #theseus scamander imagine #the only boy in new york #frank churchill

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

Co-Stars

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Sumarry: Y/n and Callum's best moments that made the internet panic!

Waring: use of Y/n/ Swearing/ kissing/

A/n: This story is not related to the childhood friend to lover one.

To say they had chemistry off screen would be an understatement. Y/n and Callum were getting along too well-off screen. It sparked rumors of them dating their multiple interviews were made into short YouTube videos that were tilted: Y/n and Callum flirting with each other for 4:24 minutes. In those videos, we could see their best moments.

-

‘’You obviously get real woman to dance with you, Austin you get Meatball the dog’’ the interviewer stated. Y/n chuckled as she looked at Austin. ‘’Yeah, Meatball is an amazing actor, great dance partner, but heavier than you think. But don’t tell him that.’’ He answered. ‘’Yeah, don’t tell him that’’ Y/n and Callum said at the same time, making them giggle. ‘’Did he do boot camp?’’ the interviewer asked. Austin was saying his answer, but a joke came to Callum’s mind. ‘’He did bark camp’’ he said. Y/n laughed at his joke, but since the tree actors were tired, they all started to laugh for minutes. ‘’I’m so sorry’’ Y/n said, laughing. She put her hands on Callum’s thigh to stop her from falling off her chair. ‘’Don’t fall’’ Callum laughed. Since she was between the two boys, they both tried to catch her, they succeeded, and they were able to calm down.

-

After this interview, people started to talk about how they said the same thing, how Y/n laughed to Callum’s joke and how Austin was third wheeling. But when they did a group interview, the speculations jumped.

-

‘’Obviously, it’s a men cast, but we do have some amazing woman as well, boys can you talk to us about that’’ Josh, the interviewer asked. The crowd screamed when Barry pointed to Y/n and mouthed that she was amazing. ‘’I mean, Y/n is just amazing. The way she bodied her character and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and yeah, it was astonishing. We were all impressed by her performance in episode 3’’ Austin said. She thanked the blonde. ‘’Like Austin said, I remember in one of the scenes in an upcoming episode, we watched her act and we felt intimated by her, cause her character is badass and this powerful woman, she’s not afraid to yell at someone and seeing the sweet, polite Y/n, I can say it, it’s in the trailer, but fake punch a guy that was two times taller than her was impressive as fuck’’ Callum said. Y/n blushed; she remembered the day they shot that scene. ‘’Yeah, when Gary said cut, they were all looking at me like, so impressed of what I just did, it was fun.’’ She added.

-

The comments following that interview were about the fact that she blushed after Callum’s compliment. Paparazzies were trying to get them to talk about a possible relationship, but the two actors denied anything between them. Even the other actors were getting asked if there was anything between Y/n and Callum. It was starting to become a problem, but the P.R team thought it was great to promote the story, so they didn’t do anything to shut the rumors down.

-

Drew Barrymore was sitting next to Austin, they were having a moment, Y/n and Callum were starting to feel left out. But now, Drew was talking about her date that she has tonight. ‘’But what if you get weird vibes from the start?’’ She asked. ‘’Then run’’ Y/n and Callum said at the same time, making them smile. ‘’You two are always timed, you both say the same thing, all the time’’ Austin laughed. ‘’We’re connected.’’ Y/n says. ‘’But back to your date’’ Callum said as he put his arms on the couch, but it went behind Y/n’s shoulder, it was like he was putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘’I mean, Y/n what would you do?’’ Drew asked. ‘’Uh, just enjoy the dinner, it’s a date, have fun! And you have Austin to save you. Or Callum and I could go at the restaurant in disguise, in a fake date, to help you.’’ ‘’Is that just an excuse to take Callum out on a date?’’ Drew teased. Y/n starts to laugh, Callum too. ‘’Moving on!’’ Y/n said, while laughing.

-

But what really sparked the rumor to the max, was when the went to the premiere of Master of the Air. She was dressed in a black one suit, but the top was a black corset, she looked amazing and sexy. The hole cast was looking good, but when Y/n stepped on the carpet, she got out the same car as Callum and they both had red cheeks.

-

‘’Now we saw you getting out of the car with your co-star, but you guys have been really close during the press tour, can you tell me about it’’ The interviewer asked to Y/n. ‘’I mean, he’s an amazing person, and I love him. People are just going crazy over us’’ she said. Callum went to behind her. ‘’What are you talking about, baby?’’ he said. Y/n rolled her eyes at the nickname. But she decided to go along with it. ‘’We were talking about you, honey. About our amazing chemistry’’ she said. They both chuckled and finished the interview. ‘’The internet is going to blow up with what you just said. You’re not very subtle, baby.’’ She said, teasing him. ‘’I mean, we’re pretty obvious now that we’re together’’ he says in her ear. ‘’Should we give the internet what they want?’’ she asks. ‘’I’ve been waiting for this’’ he said, grabbing her waist and kissing her. The crowd yelled when they both kissed, finally announcing their relationship…

#callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner #master of the air

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home 

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you. 

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might. 

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that. 

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return. 

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time. 

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan 

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.” 

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

#john egan x reader #john egan #master of the air #mota #mota drabble #callum turner #bucky egan

[saturnville]

sweet goodbyes, major john egan

pairing: major john “bucky” egan (masters of the air) black fem oc (amelia egan)

content: john is being shipped to England to serve in the war; his departure comes with sweet goodbyes

an: callum turner is my new white boy of the month, yay!

“Close your eyes, darlin’. You can’t keep trying to fight sleep.” His voice warmed the deepest parts of her insides. Her stomach fluttered and she couldn’t fight to dopey smile that crept along her lips. She whined in objection, ignoring how her eyelids fluttered.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she murmured, words slurred and almost incoherent. Her hand ran down the lace neckline of her white nightgown; a gift from her mother-in-law from her wedding night. Her hand then traveled over to his dark hair, massaging his curls. “Want to stare at you alllll night.”

His soft chuckle forced her eyes open. He caressed her warm cheek “That’s nice, doll, but you should get your rest. I gotta be out early in the morning. Gotta have coffee together.” It was a ritual. Every morning, he’d wake her up at the break of dawn with a steaming cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. It was a simple gesture, but it was what she grew to love. Cuddled in the sheets, sipping from their mugs and feeding each other spoonfuls of hot oats. She’d have to get used to eating by herself.

She huffed in disdain. John chuckled and wrapped his strong arms around her body. He pressed a firm kiss against her cheek, then her nose, then her lips. She returned his advances immediately. Her hand gripped his neck as she pulled him closer. “Amelia…”

Amelia’s leg crept along his waist and she silently urged him to take the hint. He whispered a gentle, are you sure, against her lips, which she replied with her hips pressed against his.

John gripped the plushness of her thigh and pushed it back, slotting his body between her legs. Her breaths were heavy and quivered with desire. His large hands clenched the fabric of her nightgown, pushed it up her body, and tossed it across the room. “I love you, you know that?”

“Mhm.” Her mind couldn’t create a coherent sentence with him touching her so delicately. “I love you, too.”

The moon shone through the curtains. Amelia felt the weight of sleep finally pulling her down. Her husbands presence comforted her as his whispered declarations of love lingered in the air. Reluctantly, she stopped battling drowsiness and succumbed to its authority.

The warmth of his love wrapped around her like a blanket, and the anticipation of their morning ritual brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. She couldn’t help but savor the small moments she had left, knowing that tomorrow would be different.

Yet, within their tender embrace and exchange of affections, their love was a solidified anchor that promised a new daw filled with cups of coffee and the joy of each’ other’s company.

#saturnville #original writing #original content #black!reader #black reader #black fem oc #black woman writer #callum turner #masters of the air #callum turner x reader #callum turner x black reader #major john egan #bucky egan #bucky egan x reader #bucky egan x black reader #austin butler x reader #austin butler x black!reader

[luvvleionni]

WHITE BOY OF THE MONTHHH!!!

edit by haileaep on TikTok

#callum turner #theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #callum turner x reader