The old stone cottage on the outskirts of Thorpe Abbotts smelled of damp wool, woodsmoke, and the faint tang of engine oil that never quite left Hambone’s skin. Rain drummed against the thatched roof, but inside, the only sound was the crackle of the low fire and the heavy rhythm of your breathing. You’d slipped away from the base dance after one too many jitterbugs, his hand firm at the small of your back the whole walk here. Established didn’t begin to cover it—you’d been his girl for three months now, stolen kisses in the motor pool, quick hugs behind the Red Cross hut—but tonight he’d promised to teach you something new.

Hambone kicked the door shut with his boot and turned the key, the metallic click loud in the quiet. He was still in his Class A uniform, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, the gold of his bombardier wings catching the firelight. Lean and wiry from endless hours hunched over the Norden bombsight, he had the scrappy build of a man who’d fought his way through every scrap life threw at him—Midwest farm kid turned sky warrior. His hair was tousled from the wind, and when he grinned at you, those two gold front teeth flashed like a secret promise.

“C’mere, doll,” he said, voice low and rough with that easy Kansas drawl. He hooked a finger in the belt of your dress and tugged you forward until your bodies brushed. “You been drivin’ me crazy all night with those shy little pecks. Time you learned how a real man kisses his girl.”

“Kissing a man ain’t just lips, sweetheart. It’s a whole damn conversation.” His mouth brushed yours—soft, teasing, barely there.

Heat flooded your cheeks, but you didn’t pull away. You’d asked him once why his kisses always left you dizzy and wanting. He’d laughed then, gold teeth gleaming, and said he’d fix that when they had time. Tonight was that time.

He cupped your jaw with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. His palms were rough, callused from gun turrets and cockpit levers, but the touch was gentle. “First rule,” he murmured, leaning in so close his breath warmed your lips, “don’t think. Just feel.” His mouth brushed yours—soft at first, a slow press that made your eyelids flutter shut. He tasted faintly of the whiskey he’d sipped earlier and the peppermint he chewed to hide it. The gold teeth were cool against your lower lip, a strange, metallic taste that sent a shiver down your spine.

You kissed him back the way you always did, careful and sweet. Hambone hummed in approval, the sound vibrating through your chest where his body pressed closer. “That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “But you can do better. Open up for me, sweetheart. Let me show you.”

His tongue traced the seam of your lips, patient, coaxing. Your heart hammered. You parted them, tentative, and he slid inside—slow and deliberate, stroking along your tongue like he had all the time in the world. The taste of him intensified, warm and intimate, the smooth edge of one gold tooth gliding against yours. A low groan escaped him, and his hands tightened on your face.

“Atta girl,” he breathed when he pulled back just enough for you to gulp air. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “That’s my girl.”

The praise settled low in your belly, warm and liquid. You chased his mouth this time and he let you, guiding you with tiny nudges of his tongue until the kiss deepened again. He tilted his head, fitting your mouths together perfectly, and the world narrowed to the slick slide of tongue on tongue, the wet sounds that should have embarrassed you but only made the ache between your legs sharper.

Hambone’s hands slid down your neck, over your shoulders, tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your dress. He pulled you flush against him, one thigh slipping between yours so you could feel the hard line of his body. “Learnin’ so quick,” he rasped against your lips, voice gravelly and wrecked. “Tastin’ my gold like you own it. You have no idea how good you feel right now.”

You whimpered into his mouth, the words hitting you like fuel on a fire. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, bunching the khaki fabric, then sliding up to his collar to tug him closer. He chuckled darkly, the sound turning into a groan when you tentatively licked at his gold teeth, exploring the cool metal the way he’d shown you. The kiss turned filthy—messy and hungry, tongues tangling, teeth nipping.

One of his hands drifted lower, palming the swell of your hip, then sliding back up under the hem of your dress. Calloused fingertips skimmed the bare skin of your thigh, inching higher until they brushed the edge of your stocking. You gasped, hips jerking involuntarily, and he swallowed the sound, kissing you deeper, tongue stroking in a rhythm that mimicked something far more explicit.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured, breaking the kiss just long enough to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe. His breath was hot and ragged. “We’re just gettin’ started.” But his hand kept moving, cupping your ass and pulling you tighter against the growing hardness in his trousers. The friction made you both moan—your hands roamed his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath the uniform, the flex of lean muscle as he rocked against you.

You kissed him again, tongue sliding against his with more confidence, tasting the gold that marked him as yours. Hambone growled, the sound low and primal, and his other hand found your breast through your dress, thumb circling the peak until it tightened under his touch. Fabric bunched between you; buttons on his jacket dug into your ribs. The tension coiled tighter, thick enough to choke on—every roll of his hips, every squeeze of his fingers, every filthy swirl of his tongue promising more, always more, but stopping just short.

He broke away only when you were both gasping, foreheads pressed together, his gold teeth flashing in a dazed, satisfied grin. Your lips felt swollen, slick, marked by him. His hand still cupped your breast possessively, thumb brushing lazy circles that kept the ache alive. The other gripped your thigh, holding you open against him, the hard press of his arousal a constant, throbbing reminder.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he panted, voice hoarse. “You kiss like that and I’m liable to forget my own name.” He kissed you once more—slow, lingering, tongue stroking deep and lazy—then rested his forehead against yours again. Rain still fell outside, but the heat in the little cottage had nothing to do with the fire. His fingers flexed on your skin, reluctant to let go, the air between you crackling with everything you weren’t going to do tonight.

You smiled against his mouth, breathless and aching, and whispered his name like a prayer. Howard Hamilton—scrappy bombardier, golden grin and all—just pulled you closer, heart hammering in time with yours.

“Screw this.” Hambone huffed, the blonde bombardier nudged past Douglass, slipping through the crowded mess hall to go retrieve his girl. Being from England, of course you were popular with the RAF boys that existed around this base long before the American's arrived. But now, however, when you were Hambone's girl, it seemed these RAF boys didn't know where to stop pushing buttons.

''Go get her!'' Douglass squeaked, anticipating his friend swooping his girl up out of the arms of the Tommy's.

You were chatting aware, oblivious of your surroundings, utterly ignorant to the fact now five RAF men had encircled you like you were some kind of food. All it took was one swoop of Hambone to pluck you out of the predators grasp until you were stumbling into the arms of your American boyfriend once more.

''Oh! Hambone!'' You squeaked, a beam like no other covering your face to see your bombardier. ''What's-'' before you had chance to finish your sentence, he moved closer, catching your lips in an open mouthed kiss, hot and heavy, claiming his stake and causing the Brit's to scram like an air raid siren had just wailed.

''Howard.'' Your smirk only drove him crazier, his head nudged low, lips glossy and hung open as he stared back to you with the most devious look you'd seen. ''C'mon, I oughtta' show 'em you're my girl, right?'' His tone was angsty, he seemed on edge and his normally gentle hands were holding you tighter than ever before. Spurred on by his possessive streak, you pushed him further, blocking out the whooping onlookers, impressed by Hambone's bold move.

''What're doing, marking your territory, huh?'' You teased, half expecting to see that comical grin you were so used to. Hambone, however, wasn't much in a teasing mood. His eye twitched, jaw closing as he scanned around the room, staring off his opponents who still remained glancing over their shoulders, tails between their legs. It wasn't enough, he thought, glancing back down to your upturned lips. Dipping down, he kissed you again, quickly, sharp, before he began muttering to you.

''No, but I will do...''

Writhing around on the empty bunk, Hambone was quick to sneak you inside his empty barracks, tossing you on the bed and undressing you like he was eager to unwrap a Christmas present. Completely nude with the blonde man, fully clothed above you, you were open to whatever treatment he wanted to give you- and you accepted that willingly.

Your legs were spread, his two fingers deep inside you, lips practically attached to your neck as he sucked and nibbled, occasionally biting his way down as he truly marked you up the way he intended.

''Howard, please.'' You writhed, hips bucking against his twitching fingers. ''At least take your shirt off.'' Your pleads only spurred him on to move to the swell of your breasts, picking a new spot to nibble and suck on. Your head tossed back, his fingers pushing harder inside you, evoking yet another moan from your bitten lips. Hambone had never been a biter, not at this level, but now it seemed he intended to mark every inch of your body, whether that was with his teeth, or with his bruising kisses.

''Nobody's ever gonna come near you again. Not when you're all marked up from me.'' Howard cooed before his lips clamped around your nipple, offering it a hard suck and gentle gnaw between his gold teeth. ''Uh huh!'' Was the only agreement which managed to pass your lips as the twitch of his fingers turned into rough pushes, in and out, hitting your g-spot until you were nothing more than a whining, writhing mess for the airman above you.

With each pump of his finger, you dawned nearer to your orgasm, body twitching and jittering as his spare hand pressed you down into the mattress, leaving you at the mercy of his hand and mouth as he bit the underside of your breast. As your pussy began to squelch and an immense amount of pressure built, you knew he was trying to make you squirt, and there was no stopping either of you until he got the release he wanted.

''Please!'' The whine was followed by a sharp screech, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. ''Please who?'' His voice was low, demanding, rough around the edges as he put his whole arm into the movement of fingering your leaking hole.

''Howard- please!'' You sobbed out, resulting in his pace increasing. His name escaped your lips, repeating it like a mantra until he left you screaming in sweet agony, your juices squirting up his clothed arm, over his bed and down your quivering thighs.

There was no way Howard was done there, his hand smoothed the wetness all over your legs and pussy before moving in and devouring you with his mouth, just a taste until he finally decided to free himself of his upper clothing.

Before Howard was even inside of you, you were a mess. You were panting, your hair out of place, mascara rimming under your eyes and your lips were puffy from the heated kisses he'd given you. Your sweet, respectful, smiling Hambone had turned into somebody you didn't even recognise- but you loved it.

As he fucked you into the mattress, he begged you to mark up his back, dig your nails in, scratch him harder. The delicious squeeze of your cunt was driving him insane, and he was acting like an animal, biting and sucking your skin, littering your soft skin with angry looking love bites. The two of you were covered in a mixture of both your juices and spit, Hambone had his fingers deep in your mouth, his cock pushing up deep into your pussy.

''Tell me your mine, baby.'' He growled, one hand digging into your hipbone, the other wrapped around a thick wad of your hair, holding your head in place so you could look at him, and only him. You didn't break eye contact, you were so in love with the cruel actions of your man, spreading your legs wider, inviting him in deeper, harder.

''I'm all yours Howard, please, mark me up some more.'' You growled through your teeth, choking out at one particularly deep thrust of his cock against your sweet spot. Howard groaned, hitching up your thigh and spanking the lower part of your ass. When he earned an orgasmic moan in response, what other option did he have other than to flip you over and begin marking up some untouched territory.

''Love this ass, baby.'' A hand collided with your flesh, jiggling your ass and leaving a pink mark, which he only added to with more spanks and bites. You pushed your ass in the air, spurred on by his movements, hoping to tease him some more, but the airman wasn't having any of it. You almost giggled when he pushed your hips back down, spanking you, once, twice, over each ass cheek until he rolled you over once more.

With his cock burrowed deep inside you once more, where it belonged, he quickly felt himself losing control, drunk on your pussy and love. The blonde's head threw back slightly, a deep groan rumbling from his throat as you flashed him yet another of your wicked grins. As though your roles had switched within an instance, you'd rolled on top of him, riding him like he'd never been ridden before.

Then came the sweet, stinging sensation of your nails dragging down his chest, leaving pink valleys of your scratches into his skin. ''Oh god- yes- fuck.'' With each growl and grunt, you could feel his rock hard cock beginning to twitch against your tightened walls. Yanking you down, Howard made one last attempt to mark you, but it was futile considering all he could do was whimper around your nipple, sucking and nibbling.

''M' gonna cum inside you.'' He warned, but the bouncing of your ass didn't stop. You milked him dry, allowing him to officially mark his territory, deep inside your pussy which drunk him in. You came moments later, the wetness of your orgasms combining and filling the empty room with a squelch which sounded at every move.

Relaxing, you landed on top of him, his hand coming to gently smooth up and down your back, hooking over your shoulder to hold you in place through his few final thrusts. ''Marked you up so good, didn't I?'' He cooed into your ear, his voice breathy and hot as you moaned in response.

John ‘Bucky’ Egan:

I think it depends at which time period you’d meet him. Like if it was after the Stalag I think he’d be a lot more serious- not that he isn’t before this experience, but it just kinda hardened him.

Let’s say it’s before, the first few months of him and the other American airforce men arriving. You’re swamped with work, but you have downtime often to socialise and interact with the men.

Bucky’s reputation during the early months is that he’s popular with the ladies, however he’s one of the best pilots around.

You’re probably cautious, and shake him off as a womaniser, however when you actually see him- uhh you’re kind of starstruck? He’s so tall and has that Hollywood look, not to mention he’s charming as hell.

Maybe you’re all interacting within the same group, you’ve both spotted one another, but the first time you actually make eye contact and laugh, Bucky is breathless.

Literally, he’d be lost for breath, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes off you, he’d be so intrigued.

Don’t be surprised if he slips into the seat beside you the second it’s free.

Would offer you a drink and a dance, but I think the two of you would get caught up conversing- like Bucky’s never been able to talk with somebody like this before.

He’d have such hazy eyes, his pupils would practically be love hearts, and even he knows this isn’t just something as a fleeting romance or attraction.

Dependent on how drunk he is I think he’d profess how much he’s in love with you that night. Lol.

The more he gets to know you, the more attached and involved he becomes, that terrifies him, but for the first time he doesn’t want to run away, and it all started that night he saw you in the mess hall.

Would remember the exact outfit you wore, down to your shoes, and underwear if the two of you didn’t want to waste time.

His arm would be resting on the back of your chair, you’d both have butterflies, leaning in so close to one another, giggling and sipping your drinks whilst your glasses clink together from the close proximity.

You might as well be breathing in one another’s air, you’re both hooked from the second.

Gale would see this coming from a mile off, and every time he sees John go all weak in the knees for you (starting from that night) he’d be like ‘oh boy’.

Slightly random but he’d smell so good, and so would you, John is obsessed with your perfume/ scent, finds his eyes lingering over you even when you’re not speaking to him.

Okay not to be cliche but John knows it’s love at first sight, he wouldn’t want the night to end. Would take you on a walk, or walk you back to your barracks, his large hand engulfing yours, being so polite and asking like a good boy if he could see you again.

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but… I really like you. If it’s alright I’d like to take you out for that dance you promised me…”

Nobody’s saying no to that.

John Brady:

You’d heard the infamous story and stood to offer medical support when Brady’s crew landed in East Anglia, on the base.

It was called Brady’s Crashwagon for a reason after that, but the last thing you expected was to see the most handsome, brooding pilot step off that plane…

Even if John spots you, I think he’d be much more reserved than Bucky. Like, he’d assume a girl like you would be spoken for, so he finds himself watching from afar.

You’d both most definitely hear a lot about one another before you actually meet.

But he comes across kinda intimidating, lol, he doesn’t mean to, but when you catch him looking at you dancing with another man, he looks like… scary lol.

You’d shoot him a smile but being bashful as he is, I think he’d blink down to the floor, thinking you’re just being pilot. He’s probs panicking that he’s made himself look like a weirdo.

After a few weeks like this, watching you from afar and secretly hoping to see your face after each mission, he starts to question why he’s wasting the possible little time he has. With some good natured pressure from the other guys, he finally approaches you, maybe it’s outside where celebrations are taking place.

Uhhh he’s nervous as hell.

Would apologise when getting your attention, and you’d jump twice, the first because he snuck up on you, the second because out of everybody you didn’t expect to see the man you’d had heart eyes for, for the past several weeks.

No matter how he introduces the first conversation, he’d beat himself up over it after, thinking it could’ve gone different.

Maybe it’s a lil awkward at first? But with the stuff you have in common the conversation just kinda keeps you both outside- eventually the ice would break and Brady would show you his ‘Crash Wagon’ up close and personal.

I don’t think you’d have a kiss that night, maybe not a hug, but you’d certainly set yourselves up to the next meeting. After that it gets easier and you realise John Brady isn’t as broody and intimidating as you initially thought…

Would giggle to himself when he holds your hand lol.

James Douglass:

See’s you with a drink in your hand, chatting with other girls.

“Boys I’m diving in.” A girl like you, as beautiful would get swooped up painfully fast, and the minute the bombarder notices you, he can’t keep his eyes off you. Eyes go kinda wide and bright.

Confident swagger walk over to you, but when your friend points out the American coming closer, you turn to look, your lips stretching into a smile at the handsome stranger moving closer.

Then it hits him- oh fuck, you’re so stunning and now he’s nervous as hell.

Masks his nerves.

Eyes remain fixed to yours, smile perking slightly as he approaches. He can hear the men behind him saying he’s gonna choke and then they’re gonna take his spot- but uh, uh, he’s already decided from that meeting that you’re his girl…

Probably charms you with some cheesy joke or pick up line.

Ugh his eye contact is insane, he oozes aura and you’d find yourself being sucked into him.

The two of you would remain super close the whole night, like your chairs would be budged as close as can be, your knees pressed to his thigh, hands all over one another (in the most respectful way).

The two of you would remain talking way later into the night, you’d be the last ones in the hall, still talking way after everybody had gone.

“Can I say somethin’?” Proceeds to tell you you’re the most beautiful angel he’s had the fortune and pleasure of setting his eyes on ever. These pick up lines aren’t rehearsed, they come straight from the heart (and maybe from the alcohol boosting his courage).

Boasts about his role up in the plane, by the end of the night he’ll tell you he’ll take you up there one day, and teach you all the tricks of his trade.

Yeah I can imagine you’d be hot and heavy before the night takes you your seperate ways- and there’s no shame in that, the two of you are genuinely perfect, and Douglass is enchanted by you from the second he laid eyes on you.

Harry Crosby:

Uhhh kinda like with Bucky, it’s practically love (and panic) at first sight.

Grapples Rosie’s shoulder next to him. “Who-who is that?!” Eyes are wide and fixated on you moving across the base. Maybe you’ve had an interaction with Rosie before, working on his plane or the jeep engines. Rosie would be so nonchalant and without warning, he’d call you over.

Uhhhh he’s nervous, and maybe that makes you nervous- but you’re so giggly and talkative, Harry finds it impossible to not be hooked.

He’d deffo stumble over his words a little, especially when Rosie leaves the two of you- it’s painfully obvious he’s trying to set you up.

When you tell him you’ve heard of him before, praising him for his hard work he’s soooooo bashful and would literally turn bright red.

“Oh, I don’t know about that- now my friend Bubbles, he was the real navigator around here…”

So cute and kinda buzzing around your first meeting, if anybody interrupted and called him over he’d be mentally cursing them out.

“I’ll uh- well I’ll see you around here, I’m- I guess?”

“Yeah, I’ll be seeing you, Harry.”

Ummm you saying his name does something for him, his lips would tug up immediately and from that second you’re smitten with the bumbling, quirky navigator.

Would cheer to himself for even having the confidence to speak to you.

Probably replays in his head over and over again how he’s gonna ask you out, because a girl like you needs to be snapped up fastttttt.

Rosie would see Crosby subtly fist bump the air and smirk, knowing he’d just pretty much set up the start of a very successful relationship.

Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal:

The second you saw this dancing pilot, aka Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, aka Twinkle toes, you’re fixated.

He’s new crew, and you’re perched with one of your other nursing friends sipping on a drink. You’d immediately feel your stomach flutter and a giggle work its way up in your throat, asking your friend ‘who the handsome pilot is’ (ofc you can just tell he’s a pilot before you even know for sure, he’s just got the face for it that’s all).

Maybe the men he’s with, Nash and Pappy kinda point out the ‘pretty nurses’ at 6 o clock, then, Rosie would spot you and he’s going pink in the cheeks.

I don’t think it’s out of character for Rosie to show the odd moment of confidence, even if he has to build up the courage. He knows around the dance floor there’s plenty of other men eyeing you up, but Rosie announces to the men, “I’m going in.” Before anybody else can.

Lucky sod.

Ummmm so this man would be spoiling you from the second he met you, he’d be so warm and inviting, buying you drinks, taking you for a spin.

You’d have to point out he’s a wayyyy better dancer than you are, to which he might get a little shy.

Seeing you up close, similar to Douglass, makes him nervous, and suddenly in dawns on him that he’s got the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen dancing in his arms.

Wants to make sure to you that he thinks this is something serious, and you’re not just a bit of fun for the night. Maybe he gets a little in his head about making sure he puts this across respectfully to you- he’d kinda stumble on his words but maybe if you’re feeling confident, you’d silence him with a kiss or a giggle.

Yeah he’s so cool he’d easily get a kiss by the end of the night, maybe he wouldn’t rush into anything more, but he’s the king of respect and a massive gentleman- but the kiss was bound to happen.

Offers you his blazer, twirls you around under his arm (even when there’s no music and he’s walking you back to your barracks.

When he’s in bed himself, oh god he’d be smiling like a mad man, trying to retrace every feature in his mind, wanting to think of you and your face even whilst he slept- before he can see you next.

Thinks of you the early few missions he has, trying to retrace your face again- this continues until he’s finally brave enough to ask for a picture of you- just for ‘good luck’ that is.

Everett Blakely:

You’re a mechanic, leaning on a jeep as you stare over the B-17 you’ve just been tasked with fixing. This isn’t any other plane, however, this is Blakely’s plane.

Little do you know the pilot is also stood inspecting the plane, but now his eyes are caught on something else… you.

Might accidentally mistake you for a Red Cross girl, or a nurse, despite your completely different uniform. Either way, he’s practically stunned by how beautiful you are, the way the winds blowing your hair perfectly, the way you’re just fixated on the B-17, his prized possession. You’re all alone, and he figures he can offer some assistance…

“Nurse. Can I help?” Heads over all cool and collected. Your eyes narrow, but you’re forever polite.

“I’m um… a mechanic, I was fixing the plane.”

Okay despite the initial ‘omg I’m mortified’ reaction from Blakely, he’s instantaneously impressed.

Would save all the stupid “but you’ve got the face of a god damn pin up model.” Or “you’re too pretty to be getting dirty under there…” comments. Straight away he’s intrigued, and wants to genuinely find out more about you.

I feel like it’s a wholesome interaction, like he’s showing so much interest into you, bonding with you over your knowledge about the plane. Has to hide his smirk, but he’s super impressed, he genuinely feels like he’s met a saint- I mean you’re beautiful and intelligent.

He’d make you laugh soooo much, and every time he does he couldn’t hide the grin that broke. Asks you if you’d fix his plane more often lol.

Probs says he owes you big time, and owes you about 500 drinks to make up for it.

Coffee, wine, beer, water, hell you name it, but Everett is sweeping you off your feet and taking you out on a ‘date’ before you know it.

Holds your hands across the table and all that kinda sweet stuff, ugh he’s such a sweetheart.

Brags about you alllll the time, he knows he’s bagged the woman of a lifetime, and genuinely can’t get over your skills and passion for your job.

Sorry but he’s check you out constantly in your mechanic uniform, even on the days you felt gross and covered in oil, he never forgets that first day Joe hooked he was by you.

Curtis ‘Curt’ Biddick:

Curt makes it back ok, because this is fanfiction and I want it to be happy :( (still not over that episode, clearly).

But I think it would be a really stereotypical nurse/ soldier trope. He comes back to Thorpe Abbots infirmary, maybe not in the best shape. He’s not horrifically injured, but it’s enough to score him a bed in there for a couple weeks or so.

One day (his lucky day, as he likes to call it) you’re assigned to the patients in the area where Curt is. You’re young and beautiful, ever wanting to help and you’re sweeter than cherry pie.

“Nurse…” you’d hear an American call out from behind the closed curtains. “I’ll be right over.” You announce, Curt doesn’t think much of it and starts speaking before you appear around the corner.

“If it’s not too much to ask, nurse- woah.”

Yeah whatever he needs is cut off short, because you walk in.

For a second, he’s genuinely speechless, sat up on the bed, mouth agape, thinking he’s met an angel.

“Are you an angel, or?” Awkwardly giggles, but it’s so charming, it makes you laugh. Score, he thinks. You’d introduce yourself and he’d hold out a potted arm, broken from his previous accident.

“Not quite an Angel, sir. It’s Biddick, right?”

“Call me Curt, or whatever you’d like…” that awkwardly charming giggle again.

He wins you over with his American charm and there’s just something about him, he’s confident but he’s not cocky. The more you speak to him, the longer you want to be around him.

Maybe it’s not appropriate, but you start to find out ways to speak to him, or to be the one that’s helping him out/ on duty for his area.

That night when it’s all quiet, and you’re tending to changing his bandages, he’d tell you he’s gonna take you out, to the best place in London (he’s never even been), because you deserve it.

Calls you his angel, and best believe that sticks. Falls in love with you, would grin like the Cheshire Cat whenever you’re on the ward.

May or may not call you over and pretend somethings hurting when it’s actually not, sometimes he just wants a kiss from you lol. It works.

Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven:

You work for the Red Cross, enjoying building the men’s spirits up and offering them a shoulder to lean on when needed.

You’re handing out drinks after a particularly difficult mission, when you swing around to offer the next man walking in.

“Well done, drink for-” before you can blurt it out, the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on is standing inches above you. Your lips part and your breath hitches, losing your trail of thought quicker than it began.

Weirdest of all, the man is looking back to you, with the exact same stare you have, his breath stuck somewhere in his chest, half holding a hand out to retrieve the drink from you.

It’s a good couple seconds until you regain any sense of reality, the two of you practically staring into one another’s souls. He’s so handsome, you’re a little intimidated at first, but he’s actually just shy and unusually reserved, especially for a pilot.

“-here’s your drink. Well done, sir.” You manage out. “Thank you.” Buck nods, voice low and watching you as he steps away. Even when he’s ahead he’s glancing over his shoulder to take a better look at you, and you’re doing the same.

Gale is modest and a gentleman, so he doesn’t want to make a bold move that could come across disrespectful. For a start he’d make sure you’re single, through other people, then, he’d find out your name and how long you’ve been working here. He’s genuinely interested, but nervous.

Let’s be honest, after a couple of hours and some drinks later during a celebration, Bucky would lead Buck over, dumping him in front of you, and trapping you both with no other option other than to speak.

“Uh… hi.” He’d be so shy skksksksks but he’s so cute at the same time. It’s luckily you’re talkative in that moment, because this interaction would solidify everything for Gale.

He’s all in, not too eager, he still plays it cool, but he’s not afraid to let you know how he feels. Sooo secure and cool, he’s so unproblematic, the two of you would make such a chilled out couple.

Howard ‘Hambone’ Hamilton:

Watches you from afar for quite a while.

You’re a popular and well known nurse amongst the base, knowing everybody and everyone, you’re beautiful and chatty, endlessly kind and sweet, something which reels Hambone in.

He has one experience with you, and that was getting a quick medical, but he was so nervous he could hardly speak to you lol.

Now, it feels like everybody has had chance to speak to you apart from him. Ugh he would be yearning but also kinda holding back, because what if he’s not good enough for a girl like you?? He genuinely believes that too :(

“Just go speak to her, Hambone, she’s not gonna bite.”

“Dammit, are you gonna stare at her all night or do something?”

“If you don’t do anything, I will.”

Douglass calls you over, Hambone goes to protest out of panic but freezes when you come closer, grinning and waving towards ‘Douggie’ as you call him.

Douglass would introduce you, nudging a hand into Hambone’s back to insist he goes forwards and speaks to you.

He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat- and so are you.

Maybe Hambone hasn’t noticed it, but everybody else has- you always steal glances of him, ask your friends about him, finding yourself attracted towards the handsome stranger. Little does he know, despite the outward confidence, you’re just as shy as him.

When he talks to you one on one, he notices this and it somewhat puts him at ease??

Talks about anything and everything with you, and by the end of the night he’s admitting he didn’t think you’d be interested in him, so he never bothered before.

“Now why wouldn’t I be interested in you?”

He’d blush so much lmao.

Manages to throw a few cheeky flirtatious comments in there, ones that have you speechless with adoration for the ruggedly handsome man.

After you share your first kiss, that night, he’d be a little nervous and mutter out something like; “I outta thank Douglass for this.”

Ugh he’s so charming and effortlessly funny, you’d end up admitting you wished he’d made a move sooner.

October 31st 1943:

Hambone’s eyes softened as you walked into the room, closing the curtains behind you to create his own private space. “Hi.” You’d smile gently to which Hambone would sit up straighter. “Hi.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Better if I didn’t eat that slime this morning.” Hambone muttered as you laughed softly, perching on the edge of his bed to feel his forehead with the back of your hand. “How’re you really feeling?”

“M’ okay, yeah.” The midwestern man responded as you made eye contact, sharing a sweet smile that made Hambone’s heart race. You truly were the only person he had whilst in this German hospital. With a broken shoulder, broken rib, punctured lung and torn up face you’d practically nursed him back to life over the past 3 weeks he’d spent here. A POW yourself, you understood the fear, the anxiety, the danger you were in. Hambone knew it was different for you, this hospital was your make shift home, it was either here or the dreaded camps. He couldn’t understand what was so bad about them, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know. Being a British cross nurse you were captured by the Germans back in 1942, a whole year ago. There was no use leaving you to rot inside some dingy camp, so they set you to work, where you could be handy in their hospital 12 miles east of Berlin.

“M’ gonna listen to your breathing. You need any painkillers today?” You muttered, pulling the stethoscope up and into your head. “Nah.” Hambone tried to relax, but the feeling of your hand going up his shirt drove him wild. On no planet did he think he’d be in a German hospital with a pretty English nurse, falling head over heels for her.

“Okay.” You’d whisper sending shivers down his back. “I thought you’d never come back after last night, you were busy?” The American continued talking as you felt a soft smile come to your face. “I was just about run off my feet.” Your smile made Hambone want to try harder to see you grin even more.

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you for having a lie down in here.” Finally, you’d giggle at his words, a sense of accomplishment filling Hambone. “Quiet for now, let me listen to you. Take a deep breath for me.” He did as he was told as you shifted your hand from the back, to then up the front of his top.

“Sorry.” You’d smile a little nervously, your hands bumping into each other as Howard found himself watching you with heavy lids. You were so close, the closest he’d been to anybody in weeks. You were trying your best to listen as carefully as possible, but the quickening of his heart rate distracted you. It happened often, whenever you got close his heart would accelerate, even with some deep breaths, you could hear the sound of his nerves.

“Sounds like your lungs healing up fine. Just need to get the rest of you better now.” You pulled the equipment back down around your neck, resting a hand on the edge of the cot.

“And leave you alone in here?” He charmed, an even bigger smile breaking out. Just when the both of you were distracted, your minds blissfully in their own world, the curtains snapped back causing your back to straighten and you to nearly jump out of your skin.

You didn’t move from Hambones bedside when you saw the SS officer there. You were simply frozen in your tracks, fearful and silent, eyes wide and jaw clenched shut. Howard eyed you up as well as the Nazi ahead of him. He’d never seen an officer dressed like this before, most of the men in here were young soldiers or physicians. They were majority all fine- but this man didn’t seem it. He had a cold expression, eyes narrowed and thin lips pressed together creating a sealed line where they met. There wasn’t an inch of emotion on his face, and perhaps that was scaring you more than anything.

“Amerikanerin, yes?” The SS officers head moved with robotic jolts, moving side to side between yourself and Hambone. Unsure of whether to answer, the two of you remained staring, until Hambone eventually nodded. From his side, he glanced to see your fist bundling around the bedsheets, drawing white from the pressure as you squeezed.

The SS officer then rolled his eyes to land on you, scanning you up and down in a more than obvious manner. It was intimidating to say the least, he almost moved like a mechanical object, every movement seemed planned and rigid. Hambone felt a wave of disgust and protectiveness run through him, the feelings he’d harboured for you were nothing short than pure adoration. Seeing your neck tense and hand grip the sheets from nothing but sheer terror made Hambone fidget uncomfortably. He wanted to reach out, yell at this scum to leave you alone, but he couldn’t.

“This is the Red Cross nurse.”

“Das ist die KrJaenschwester des Roten Kreuzes.” The doctor spoke from the side of the SS officer, looking intimidated and feeble beside the armed man. Hambone, watched, concerned and confused by the German, you however had spent enough time in their company to understand he was introducing you to the SS officer.

Remaining quiet, your eyes fell to the floor, only gazing up to catch a slight smirk drawing across the officers face. “Nurse?” He questioned, stepping closer, making you subconsciously inch closer to Hambone in the bed.

“From England, Ja?” He questioned, looking down upon you. “Yes.”

“What is wrong with him?” Timidly, you turned back to Hambone, his eyes bearing into yours, harbouring the same surprise and fear that the officer spoke English well.

“He’s got a broken shoulder, and a broken rib that punctured his lung.” Hambone watched as you touched your left side, indicating the same place where he had been wounded. You’d glanced up to the SS officer who listened along, expression unreadable. His striking eyes landed on you once more, staring into your soul like he could suck the life out of you at any minute. Hambone watched back, gawking at the officer before him.

“A-and he had a laceration down his cheek into his neck. He lost alot of blood.” You inhaled deeply, pointing at the jagged scar that had been roughly stitched up by a different German doctor, one that hadn’t cared as much as you would’ve. Peering up at the officer once more, he pushed his jaw forwards, scanning over Hambone like he was food on his dinner plate.

“You kept this man alive?!” He then spoke out, expression changing completely as he scanned between the German doctor at the door and yourself. The tone change in his voice made your stomach completely drop, unable to answer to his strange question. Of course you ‘kept him alive’, but you feared responding that to an enemies officer wouldn’t be the smartest thing.

With the lack of response, the room fell silent and the officer grew agitated with what he perceived to be rudeness. Before anybody could object, he raised his hand and struck a smack directly across your cheek. Startled and struck, you stumbled back, crying out at the sudden physical contact, but the shock that overcame you numbed the pain. Hambone felt his eyes bulge out of his head, an anger like nothing else seethed through his body. Now Hambone was an intelligent man, but when his emotions overcame him, it got the better of him. Everything moved in slow motion in your mind, yet Hambones actions happened so fast.

He’d hauled himself up, body still weak and broke, but he snatched at the officers uniform, grappling at him with a tense jaw. “Hambone, stop!” Crying out, you grappled against the wall, an instant fear filling you as you scrambled to intercept. The officer didn’t hesitate to pull out his gun, yelling curses and spitting towards Hambone.

“Stop! Stop!” A horror upon seeing the man at the barrel of the Nazi’s gun had you jumping between. “You can’t touch him! He’s a prisoner of war under the Geneva conditions and will be treated that way!” Despite the shake in your voice your tone was firm yet desperate.

The gun was still pointed towards Hambone, the man’s face twitched, searing in anger, eyes squinted and hand shaking as you’d bravely wedged yourself between what was probably the most dangerous situation of your life. “Tell him!” You’d ordered, eyes wide and snapping towards the startled doctor at the door. Upon his silence, a frantic sensation hurried through you once more.

“Tell him!”

“Sir, der Mann ist in unserer Obsorge. Ich kann nicht zulassen, dass du die Verantwortung für seinen Tod übernimmst.” The German words seemed to register something in the man’s head. The officer turned back to you, glancing you up and down once more before he backed away, turning his back on you both and stuffing his gun into his pocket, leaving the room with a spit of a curse in German.

When the doctor behind shot you a look of pure horror, he snatched the curtains closed and Hambone let out a sigh of relief. “Are you-”

“Don’t ever do that again.” You snapped, turning around to the American who still looked shaken from the whole situation. Hambone barely had time to register his thoughts before you were telling him off.

“You want to get yourself killed?!” Breathless, you felt tears prick at your eyes, terrified and shaken up from the whole encounter. Hambone watched back to you with a saddened gaze, shaking his head. Letting out a sigh, you found yourself relieved to be staring back at the blonde man, angry or not, you couldn’t deny the relief that he’d made it out of that encounter alive.

The American then shifted slightly, wincing and letting out a slight groan of pain as he attempted to ease back down into the bed. “Hambone.” You then found yourself sorrowful, seeing him in pain and recognising the man was only trying to protect you from the violence you’d grown so accustomed to over the past year. A hand reached up, stroking his hair out of his face before easing him back down so he was propped up against the bed, breathing heavily from the pain that continued to rattle through his side.

“Are you okay?” You hushed once more, but he found himself reaching out for your face, ignoring the pain he found himself in. “Your face.” He responded, finally speaking. His finger touched at the small gash on your cheekbone that spilt drips of blood down your cheek. Upon seeing you wounded, Hambone’s stomach clenched and churned.

“I’m fine.” You hushed, hand resting on his shoulder. “Just please never do that again.” As a tear fell, you dropped yourself into hug him, in utter disbelief that he managed to walk out of such a risky encounter. “Please.” You’d hushed into the embrace, feeling him lift his wounded hand to hold you closer with both arms.

“I won’t.” Hambone hushed, nudging his face into your hair, eyes fluttering shut as he held your body close despite the throbbing pain in his rib. Slowly, your breathing settled in his arms and your trembling body eventually calmed. Sensing this, Hambone retrieved his head, only pulling back to take a better look at your face.

Overtaken by emotions and the sense of impending doom, he didn’t hesitate to push his lips onto yours. Hell, he half expected you to pull away in disgust, but when you sunk into the kiss, it was more than he ever bargained for. A hand tightened around the back of your head, fingers pressing into your scalp and between strands of your hair as you pulled off with a gasp.

You bring him a glass to sip at, something that's become a pleasant little habit for you to do, while he sits with his back to the wall. "What happened? Did the pipe burst like you thought?"

"Mhm," He hums into the glass, making you bite your lip when lemonade escapes past the rim and drips down his chin. You wipe it away with a loving hand as you might a child, but he tilts his chin up for you much more willingly than any toddler. "That's what I get for not dripping the sink."

"I'm just as at fault as you, baby. No one knew we'd have a freeze this early. But," You look pointedly at the towels that you've yet to pick up that are soaked. "Lesson learned."

You feel bad that he's had to fix one thing after the other for the last few weeks. First it was the back steps that graced you with a sprained ankle and a nasty cut when you fell through the wood neither of you realized was rotted on the underside, then it was the wiring in one of the bedrooms that shorted out, and now this.

"Can you hold the light for a minute?" He asks as he goes back underneath the cabinet, setting a tiny can of pipe cement on his chest before he directs the flashlight where he wants it. "Point it right there."

"You mean you don't want it in your eyes?" You ask cheekily, delighting in the way he snorts and shakes his head at you, used to your silly jokes. He goes to work putting the glue-like substance on the inside of the new pipe elbow and the outside of the one it will go on.

"Should you be using your fingers for that?" You wonder as he dips his fingers in the can.

"It's fine." He says. "Pass me the hammer?"

You look around and spot it lying on the floor between his legs, and you purposely brush your arm on his thigh, making it tense.

He glares at you half-heartedly, ears turning pink. "Lovie."

"What?" You play innocent. "I'm helping you."

"Lovie."

You purse your lips. "Hurry up then, Mr. Hamilton. I don't have all day."

The elbow is hammered into place with a few well-placed whacks, though the two of you run into a problem when Howard tries to wash his hands in the bathroom sink of the remnants of the glue.

"It's not coming off, is it?"

"It's comin' off, jus' give me a damn minute."

"..."

"Don't say it."

"Not saying anything~" Comes your sing-song voice as you head towards the pantry with the intent of finding some Crisco.

When you come back he's resting his hands on the lip of the sink and simply watches as you scoop some out with a nail and rub it into his fingers, using the heat of the water to your advantage.

When the glue separates he washes the oily base of the Crisco away with more soap and you raise yourself on your tiptoes to kiss his scarred cheek.

"All better." You say triumphantly.

"Sure about that?" He tug his dirty singlet over his head, exposing the bare expanse of his shoulders and sparse blond dusting of hair that trailed down past his navel. "What were you trying to help me with earlier?"

You hum while you pretend to contemplate, letting out a laugh when he pulls you closer. "You're getting me dirty."