𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐢𝐫|| 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝘅 𝘆/𝗻 𝗹/𝗻

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 - 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞...

Each blink of hers seemed to cast a spell, exuding an intoxicating mix of confidence and grace. Her radiant smile, like a beacon of warmth and comfort, illuminated the room, leaving her crewmen spellbound in its wake. Gale found himself utterly entranced, unable to tear his gaze away from her mesmerizing presence. She was more than just beautiful; she was magnetic, drawing him in with an irresistible pull. With each step she took, the air seemed to crackle with electricity, igniting a fire within him that he couldn't deny. She was like a siren, luring him closer with her ravishing charm and leaving him breathless.

In that moment, Gale felt as if he were living in a dream — a reverie where she was the star of the show and he was just a willing captive, lost in the depths of her allure. His heart raced at the very sight of her, his every nerve tingling with anticipation. She was his deepest, darkest desire, his wildest fantasy come to life, and he knew that he would follow her anywhere, just to bask in the glow of her presence. "Take a picture, it lasts longer." Mused the girl, her voice a sultry melody that echoed in the stunned minds of the men, particularly the blonde, because the raven was quick to snap out of it after a strong shot of fiery vodka.

"Or better yet," she whispered, her lips curling into a deviously sweet smile as she leaned in closer, the scent of her perfume filling Buck's senses with a heady intoxication, "why don't you come closer and make a memory that will last a lifetime?" She suggested tantalizingly, her breath warm against his burning ears, as his face flushed the color of a ripe tomato. Choking on his own saliva, the man began coughing his lungs out, her words hung in the air like a promise, igniting a fire within him that he couldn't ignore. "Jesus Christ, man... Just breathe-" Chuckled Demarco, approaching the table, sensing the sexual tension as the rest of the group arrived.

"Holy fuck- You look stunning, Major!" Complimented Brady as he sat down in front of her. "Not too bad yourself, Commander." Replied the girl, as they all eased into a chill conversation, waiting patiently for the man of the hour — Captain Glenn W. Dye, of course. The first member of the Bloody Hundredth to finish 25 missions. "Nah, c'mon Bucky- ducks are nice! Lovely little companions." Scoffed Pipsqueak as the raven continued dissing their 'dumb tiny yellow heads'. "Not when they chase you for miles, demanding you for milk, knowing you don't have any!" He defended as the table roared with laughter, as he narrated the incident.

"Ah, there he is!" Cried Hambone as the brunette showed up, his gorgeous lady wrapped tight in his arms. "Glenn Dye, in the flesh!" y/n cheered as everyone began chanting his name and applauding for his success. His face lit up with pride and gratitude as he soaked in the adoration of his comrades, and with a beaming smile, he waved to the crowd, his heart swelling with appreciation for the support and camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. "If it isn't our very own Charlie Robertson!" Joked Bucky, receiving nods of agreement from the others. "Charlie? Who's Charlie?" Asked Lil, puzzled by the reference. 

"1922, White Sox at Tigers." Replied the raven. "No runs, no hits, no errors." y/n explained, her familiarity with baseball evident as no one would shut up about it. "Yeah, he's the last guy to throw a perfect game." Demarco chimed in. "Till now." Shrugged Dye. "So, you get to go home before Florida?" Jack questioned. "Uh, yeah. Three days." Answered the brunette. "Yeah, maybe go hunting with my pops, let mom fuss over me... Then I'm dropping by some stations to prove that the 25 can actually, you know- get done."

"Yeah, by the skin of his teeth." Scoffed Brady, his faith shaken after witnessing the death of his best friends on his 24th mission. "We're all that's left, aren't we?" Dye mumbled, breaking the awkward silence cast upon the table after the man's comment. "Twelve crews out of..." Started Blakely, "Thirty-five, that flew in from Greenland." Crank finished. "That would be correct." Mumbled the girl, downing her whiskey, her mood killed by the grim reality of their situation. "We're just happy for you, Dye." Buck quickly stated, taking away her glass. "That's right, we are... Very happy for you, pal. Very happy."