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butdaddyilovehim99 · 2 months

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Summer Kisses, Winter Tears

Chapter One - The Beginning of the End and a Slow Nosedive Into Oblivion

Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

18+

Gale Cleven x OC, John’s little sister

Summary - Winnie Egan curses her older brother for choosing the prettiest man alive as a best friend, Gale Cleven curses his best friend for having the prettiest little sister.

Warnings - Pretty vanilla smut this time around, cheating and age gap

Thank you @brotherwtf for all the help and encouragement you are the best bbg ❤️

Winifred Egan has been dragged all over the country for her brother John’s military career. She learns quickly not to get too comfortable on a base; John can and will be transferred—especially with the break out of the war. She is only human, though, and all the preparation in the world wouldn’t have helped her on the day John receives his orders with his new position as Air Executive. Living every day with the fear of John getting these orders to fly over Europe has been harrowing—now he has them even with the premise of a desk job.

She knows he will still fly. He would find a way if he couldn’t. Nobody in the entire Eighth Air Force could stop Johnny from flying—she knows that with all her being. She knows John almost as well as she knows herself. They’re as close as can be—trauma creates some of the strongest bonds. She learns early in life that John is the only person she can depend on—her other half.

Winnie had noted a change in their dynamic over a few years as she finished growing, less touching and hugging. She thought perhaps the military was changing him, but he was still her goofy John—still touchy with his buddies. She couldn’t fathom why until a few years ago, they were in Texas when John was a Cadet. It had been a horrific discovery early one morning: blood between her thighs—she thought of the worst outcomes for this. She was in hysterics—couldn’t be calmed by John. He was always able to console Winnie—but she had firmly locked him out of the bathroom while sobbing. John begged Gale to call for Marge in a last-ditch effort after an hour. Marge knew instantly what was going on—sent John and Gale away before she spent a long time gently explaining all the womanly things to Winnie. She is a woman now, she understands; of course, there had been a change in how John interacts with her; she hadn’t seen it then.

She has a particular appreciation for Marge’s kindness, though Winnie never quite let her attempts at friendship take hold. The ‘first monthly’ incident was the final nail in the coffin for any friendship to blossom. All Winnie could imagine afterward was Marge’s soft giggles while recounting the story to Gale. She put all those images in a tiny box in the back of her mind along with the question of why it bothered her so severely for Marge to tell her fiancé something about his best friend’s little sister—right beside the butterflies she felt in Gale’s presence. She twirls and dances right on the edge of the answer— it’s a simple crush.

A silly little girlhood crush that has followed her from John’s Air Force Cadet graduation, where she met Gale, “Buck,” as John had introduced him with the classic Egan grin and arm around his shoulders for the first time. She blushed heavily; she had never seen a man so attractive before—never felt a flicker for the boys she attended school with. But Gale—he was a man, a beautiful man who made Winnie feel things she knew were not very polite. If John noticed her blush, he was gracious enough not to tease her about it— perhaps he was terrified of the teenage outbursts she had been having. Now, she hardly ever has John to herself; Gale is always right by his side—she doesn’t mind so much.

John, of course, has plans with Buck and Marge tonight, a send-off of sorts, she supposes. She believes Marge will bring one of her girlfriends to keep John “busy.” The poor gal has no idea what she’s in for with John. She sits in the Officer’s Club, sipping a Coke at the bar. Gale and John are beside her while waiting for the girls to pick them up. She barely registers what they are saying to each other, reading her anatomy textbook and listening to the music playing in the next room. “Ah, there we are! Two beautiful ladies!” John’s loud voice makes her look up.

She watches as Marge and a dark-haired dame walk inside. Marge is quite a beauty; she pairs perfectly with gorgeous Gale. She wishes John hadn’t chosen him as a best friend sometimes—it’s a fleeting thought when her eyes land on him again, and she thanks god for their friendship. She continues to wonder when this girlhood crush on him will go away. Gale greets Marge with a kiss on her cheek, murmuring something Winnie doesn’t hear. Her stomach twists with that familiar pang of jealousy, and she looks away from them. She knows it’s ridiculous, but seeing Gale and Marge together hurts.

She notes the brunette who has walked in with Marge, she’s pretty too. She and John could make a nice pair if John weren’t John. He grabs the woman by the waist and kisses her cheek as well. “I’m Peggy, and you must be John.” She smiles brightly up at him.

“Call me Bucky, Doll.” John grins, causing Winnie to roll her eyes. She leans forward to sip her coke through the straw. Winnie flips the textbook page and feels a hand on her arm. She looks from the hand with red-painted nails to Marge, smiling her stunning smile down at Winnie.

“You coming along, Sweetie?” She asks, squeezing Winnie’s arm before removing her hand—her use of ‘sweetie’ feels like a sharp reminder that Winnie is much younger than the group before her and not entirely welcome.

Winnie looks from Marge to Gale, feeling her stomach twist again. She quickly looks to John, then Peggy, looking her up and down a little too obviously—as she closes her textbook. “No, thank you, Marge. We fly early tomorrow.”

She slides off the barstool, revealing she’s an entire foot shorter than John—the top of her head the height of his shoulders. She sees that John’s tie is a little askew—so she moves closer to him. She tucks the tie back in its proper place and pats his chest gently as she says, “Behave tonight.” She gives him a little smile. “See you in England, Major Cleven. Take care, Marge.” She and Marge share a hug. Winnie gives Peggy a polite smile and nods at her before walking away from the group to the exit—and steps out into the warm Nebraskan night.

Winnie is no stranger to waking up early, but that doesn’t mean she likes it. It’s John’s voice and his hand that wakes her. “C’mon Bunny. We can’t be late, you know I’m lead.” His typically loud voice is soft as he pushes her curls away from her face.

She cracks open her eyes, squinting at him. He’s already grinning down at her. She can tell he is freshly showered with his hair styled neatly, and he’s in his flight suit, with his white scarf tied around his neck. She can smell his aftershave, the familiar smell of him.

She gives him a slow, sleepy smile. “I’m up, Johnny.” She murmurs before her mouth opens in a yawn. She brings her hands up to rub her eyes. “How long until we fly?” She sits up in her rack, and when she opens her eyes again, John is already halfway to the door.

“You got an hour, meet me at the equipment room. Remember to wear what I gave you,” he calls back to her, throwing a grin over his shoulder before leaving.

Winnie pulls herself out of her rack and grabs her toiletries. She takes the quickest shower she is capable of before dressing in wool trousers and one of John’s sweaters she borrowed from him last year. She rolls the sleeves up a bit, then works on styling her curls, carefully brushing through them. Styling her hair, twisting and pinning until she has it all pinned up—a few loose, wispy curls hang around her face.

She grabs the flight suit John gave her to wear today. She frowns at the big piece of fabric before pulling it on. Winnie swims it in, just as she thought—positive the smallest size the army makes would be big on her, but Bucky’s flight suit? Enormous. She pulls the zipper up, then does the belt as tightly as possible. She rolls the sleeves and pant legs up so she has some movement. She finally calls it good enough and heads to the mess hall. She eats a simple piece of toast and says goodbye to some men on her way out. The walk to the equipment room is short, and she sees John waiting for her.

He stops his conversation with one of the crew when he spots her. “C’mon Bunny, we don’t have all day,” he calls, and she rolls her eyes.

“What are you going to do? Leave me here?” She shoots back, watching as he picks up an aviator’s kit and moves toward her. They stop in front of each other, and he pulls gear out of the kit.

“Don’t tempt me.” He smirks and puts the yellow life vest over her head, reaching around to buckle and tighten it. She lifts her arms a bit to keep them out of the way.

“Too much whiskey?” She teases with a grin, her dimples showing. She sees his eyes roll before he grabs the flight harness. He crouches down and starts securing it to her body— a smile on his lips, “Or not enough coffee?” He connects the last clip around her thigh and grunts as he stands up straight, “I’m going to stick you in the turret if you don’t stop yapping.” He says with a smirk, and she laughs as he stands up.

“I believe it’s irresponsible to give a civilian access to live ammunition.” She retorts, opening her mouth to continue but jumping slightly at the sound of Gale’s voice from just behind her.

“Civilian? You know more than Bucky here does as a Major.” He sidles up beside Winnie—John’s face and smirk are all she needs to know that she is blushing furiously. She glances up at Gale; he moves the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other, and the corners of his supple lips turn up towards her.

“It truly wouldn’t be the worst item owed by the U.S. government I’ve given her access to,” he says, pretending to think then as if he remembers—snaps his fingers and points to Winnie, “I believe that was handing over an entire fort into your control.” Bucky cackles maniacally, throwing his head back. She smiles and glances at Gale; he’s smiling at John as they all relive the memory.

It is still one of the best days of her life. For her last birthday, Gale and John took her up in one of the training forts with the pretense of letting her see the views. Even that was a dream, but John had other plans. One minute, she’s in the nose, taking in the view, and the next, she is in the co-pilot seat next to Gale—her hands on the yoke as Gale gives her control. She let John talk her through a few maneuvers with Gale there in case anything happened—even though John had been saying for the last couple of years that she knew the forts as well as he did after helping him study as a Cadet.

“I do not know how they chose you to be Air Exec; it’s one of the most ludicrous decisions I’ve ever heard of.” She shakes her head but says the words fondly—glancing between the pair of smiling Majors. “Go on. Say your goodbyes. You poor boys will be separated for weeks this time. I can’t say I will keep Johnny out of trouble because we know it will be a lie.” John and Gale both laugh; she watches as Gale’s Adam’s apple bobs and the way his cheeks dimple—she moves her eyes from his face just before he turns to her.

He pulls her in for a hug; she closes her eyes and breathes in his aftershave. “See you in England, Winnie.” He winks down at her as he pulls away, a smirk on his lips—a nod to her line from the previous night, and she smiles.

“Fly safe, Gale.” She says softly, looking away from his gaze. Winnie makes her way to John’s nearby jeep, letting them have their goodbye. She kicks a pebble with the toe of her boot while she waits—her mind racing with the images of Gale’s smile and the sound of his laugh fresh in her mind.

She jumps a little at the sound of the jeep starting; John grins at her when she looks at him as she climbs in. “Here we go, Bunny.” He puts the jeep into gear and heads off towards his fort.

It’s a series of three flights to England, and Winnie handles each flight better than most of the crew, who are heading over early to prepare the base along with John. She teases them all relentlessly at each destination.

Winnie is appalled when John breaks the narwhal tusk while drunk out of his mind. He doesn’t even argue when she drags him out of the bar and puts him to bed. She saves her lecture for the flight to England the following day—so that John can’t escape or dodge her. She watches when he mails the letter to Gale with his plan to make it up to the Sergeant, and she is pleased with herself. She hopes the letter makes it across the pond before Gale heads to England himself.

The next several weeks are nonstop construction of the base. Winnie passes out coffee and whiskey—doing little tasks to help out. John finds a nearby pub to drink at with the locals, but Winnie does not accept his offer to go along with him.

Winnie is not happy when John finally divulges to her that he’s flying a couple of missions with another base. She doesn’t let him see her cry; she saves that for when she’s in her bunk that night—sobs wracking her whole body until she has nothing left to give. Sleep swallows her, and nightmares welcome her like an old friend.

She tells him she loves him and kisses his cheek before he leaves for a week with the 305th in Chelveston, nearly 90 miles away. Winnie buddies herself in any way possible while he is away—not letting her mind even wonder if he is in the sky. He is only an observation pilot for the week, that’s all. It’s easy to believe when her brain recites it like a prayer. She prays for him each night before she sleeps—and he returns unharmed, but there is something in his eyes. Winnie knows not to ask what he saw or how the missions went.

Then, one day, the ships dock, and the ground crew are transported to the base. Every day after that, forts with crews begin to arrive, the base becomes alive with activity, and it feels like home again when the men she knows best arrive. Curt practically throws her over his shoulder and spins her around when he arrives—she laughs and begs him to put her down.

Winnie’s heart skips when she realizes the 350th will be arriving soon. John finds her before she can even look for him—jeep outside her quarters. “C’mon Bunny, gotta greet the fellas.” He hooks his thumb, motioning for her to get in the jeep, and she does—noting the bikes in the back. She’s barely sitting when John punches the gas, and she screeches, “Johnny, I swear!” She slaps his arm half-heartedly with a grin as he cackles at her.

She watches in awe as the single-line formation of forts come into view in the sky—landing with their perfect precision as they always do. John waves to some working locals and thanks one in particular for the bikes; she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question him. Forts taxi to awaiting hard stands; Winnie notes which forts are where. She tries to push down the butterflies she feels when John parks the jeep in front of ‘Our Baby’—they go away when she sees DeMarco setting a dog on the ground.

She squeals as she leaps from the jeep, rushing to pet the husky. “DeMarco!” John calls out over the sounds of engines. She ignores their greetings until John gets the dog’s name from Benny. “Welcome to the hundredth, Meatball.” John gives Meatball a rough pet, and she grins at Meatball as he wags his tail.

She continues loving him and cooing until she hears a familiar voice. She feels the butterflies again, looking up at Gale as he saunters over—aviator sunglasses on and carrying his aviation kit. “He wouldn’t stop howling,” Gale calls out.

“That’s because he’s part wolf,” Benny calls back, making Winnie smile and rub Meatball’s head again—but her eyes don’t leave Gale as he sidles up beside Benny.

“That wolf is part dog.” He says matter of fact as he removes his aviators, and suddenly, the cool English air is too hot. Were his eyes always such a pretty blue, she wonders. Her breath catches in her throat when he moves his eyes from Benny and John to her—a smile curling the corners of his pretty lips. She looks back down to Meatball, an easy excuse to take her attention off Gale. Still, DeMarco departs the group, taking Meatball along.

She looks after them, watching Meatball prance happily—letting the two Majors reunite, slowly trailing closer to the jeep. She doesn’t know why she is incredibly nervous today in Gale’s presence. She had heard once that absence makes the heart grow fonder—she believes it to be true now.

Winnie looks up as John approaches her with a grin, and Gale follows. John shows off the bikes proudly, and she forces herself not to tease him. She feels Gale’s hand on her waist as he steps closer to put his kit in the back of the jeep. Her heart stops, and she dares look up at him through her lashes—he’s already looking down at her with soft eyes and a soft smile that makes Winnie’s heart start again and pound happily in her chest.

He opens his mouth to say something when they hear a fort approaching in the sky. “Well, there’s Brady,” John says in a tone that doesn’t convey much confidence in the situation—right on cue, the alarm for the fire and ambulance crews rings out. Winnie frowns as Gale removes his hand from her waist, and the three of them watch as Brady has a wheels up landing in the field, as the emergency vehicles race to the scene.

Winnie chews on her lip in worry as the men spring from the fort and run in case of fire or explosion. The three of them don’t move a muscle until the ‘all clear’ is given, and they load into the jeep to check on the crew. Winnie sits between John and Gale, her arm pressed against him—she keeps her gaze ahead, looking at the crew. She feels better as they don’t seem to have any injuries—they pull to a stop near Brady and Crosby before John calls Brady over.

She listens to the conversation as she watches Crosby fidget and worry in the spot Brady left him. She tilts her head a little as she assesses Crosby, and his eyes widen before he turns away. Winnie looks down at her skirt and sees a bit of fluff on it, plucking it off as she listens to Brady’s words. She is a little surprised that Brady doesn’t mention Crosby or any of the crew by name, as she assumes something happened in the air involving Crosby based on his nervous behavior. John excuses Brady—she smooths a hand over her skirt.

“So, you want to tell me about this unicorn story?” Gale adjusts his cap and looks over her head at John. John’s ridiculous answer of, “The unicorn is my favorite extinct animal,” makes Winnie lift her head and squint at him, mouth slightly agape. Gale must have the same look, but John doesn’t crack; he starts the drive back to base.

“I think you need your head looked at Johnny.” Winnie can’t help but laugh—his matching smile spreads across his face. She hears Gale let out a soft snicker beside her and thanks the heavens that she can blame her red cheeks on the cool air whipping her cheeks as John drives. John glances at her, his eyes mischievous. “Well, I raised you, so what does that make you?” He nudges her lightly with his arm, looking back to the road.

She hums thoughtfully, “I learned how to toe the line of loony.” Her eyes shine as she grins up at him—happy for a moment to be silly with her brother.

John snorts and shakes his head, “I think you cross it occasionally, Bunny.” He hums, looking over her head at Gale. “Wouldn’t you say so, Buck?”

“Leave me outta this, won’t you?” Gale mutters, knee bumping against hers—her breath hitches, and her eyes flick back down where they touch, from hip to knee. Winnie’s skirt and his flight suit separate their skin, but she feels his warmth.

She breathes a soft sigh of relief, her heart pounding—when they approach the Officer’s Quarters. Gale unfolds himself from the jeep, walking to the other side. Winnie scoots over to get out. “Going to get some chow; remember your rank when you speak with Colonel Huglin.” She murmurs—giving him a knowing look and then leaning over to kiss John’s cheek before she climbs out of the jeep. She hears Gale thank John as she walks towards the Officer’s Mess. She takes a deep breath and does her best not to dwell on how she misses Gale’s body against hers.

Winnie starts to learn the new crewmen around the base over the few weeks before the real missions begin. A few Red Cross women, Helen and Tatty, seek her out when they spot her. She decides pretty quickly that she likes them. She makes her presence known at the airfield, meeting a good portion of the ground crew. Corporal Lemmons lets her spend time with him working on the forts and tells her to call him Kenny. It’s a great place to watch each squadron's training missions.

Towards the end of the month, two diversion missions are flown. They go well with no losses. Then, Major Cleven is set to fly the following day. Winnie knows John is anxious for his friend. She also knows John has been slightly different since going up, making her worry even more for Gale. John wouldn’t be so visibly stressed without good reason. Winnie goes to bed early with the crews set to fly for the first time while John drinks.

She wakes up with the gals who volunteer in her quarters. They all ready themselves in their uniforms, while Winnie wears a white cotton dress and a dark blue cardigan of John’s that she can’t remember even taking from him—she perpetually has it in her possession. The women all scurry off to their positions around the base as they need to be ready for the flight crew.

She smooths her curls and pulls up the top half with a white ribbon tied into a bow. Winnie isn’t with the Red Cross like the women she bunks with—she doesn’t know how John smooth-talked his way into having her join him, but here she is. She’s reasonably sure he won an incredulous bet—fate deciding she was to come along.

Winnie leaves the barracks, walking out into the cool English morning as the sun rises. She has taken long enough to get ready, assuming the men have been transported to their forts by now. She begins making her way to the airfield; she knows that John will need her today.

Just as Winnie had worried over John’s missions a few weeks before, John now worries about his best friend and the many crews flying today for which he is responsible. Winnie adjusts her dainty cross necklace, rubbing her finger over the small piece of jewelry—a tiny relic of her mother’s. It is something she has not taken off since finding it the morning of the funeral—in her mother’s jewelry box.

Winnie had been nine at the time; John—barely 19 himself, was away at college when the wreck occurred. Winnie was mercifully not allowed to go to the party with her parents and left with a babysitter. She remembers the policemen’s faces at the front door but not their names—the babysitter’s horror when they told her what was happening. When they returned to their patrol car, the babysitter had put her right to bed.

She didn’t know what was said to the babysitter and didn’t question it—too young to even realize just how strange it was. Winnie woke to the sound of quiet cries before sunrise. John sat at the edge of her bed; it was the only time she had seen him cry. He stopped when she opened her eyes—he was strong for her.

She pushes aside the weight of the memory and lets go of the necklace. He will be vital for his men today, and Winnie will be strong for John.

Her eyes move up towards the sky as she see the green flare shoot up, they have the go. She continues on walking and brings her eyes back to the trail—going through the taxi protocols and procedures in her head. Winnie brings her eyes back to the sky right before the first fort takes off and breaks the tree line; she lets herself grin as she timed it almost perfectly.

She watches as each fort takes off, a beautiful sight of perfect synchronization as she draws closer. Winnie breaks the treeline when the last fort rises to the sky. Winnie spots John in his white sheepskin on the control tower instantly and begins the way. He is lost in thought as he stares after the forts, beginning to get into formation as the clouds swallow them.

“Johnny!” She calls loudly as she approaches. Winnie sees him break out of his head, and he looks at her. She grins, “Come have breakfast with me—I’m starving!”

He is too far up to see, but she knows he rolls his eyes, and a smile splits his face. “How’d you know I didn’t eat?” He calls back. “I’ll be right down.” John moves swiftly down the stairs, and they walk towards each other.

“Because I know you.” She murmurs as she lets him wrap her into a tight hug. She burrows into his warmth momentarily, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne and cigarettes. She pretends not to notice the barely there smell of a sip of whiskey. She pulls away with a grin, “Breakfast, Major. I wasn’t kidding.”

He laughs and keeps an arm around her shoulder while they walk to his jeep to head back. They share breakfast in the officer’s mess, with a few others eating. Winnie knows he needs to work on paperwork, but she doesn’t remind him. Not while they eat. Not while she and John sit in the jeep after, he drives around aimlessly for hours. Not while John is joking and laughing with her, forgetting about his worries—because this is what she craves.

Her brother spending time with her. She was the sad girl with dead parents while attending school. John intimated any boys who tried to approach her while growing up—he continues to do it now on base; Winnie is strictly off limits. She craves attention from anyone at this point. She is grateful that she found Kenny and John’s friends are also lovely to be around—when he doesn’t drag them away to a bar.

John looks at his watch, his happiness fading into something dark. “The men should be back soon.” His tone sends a chill up her spine. She wants to ask what he saw while with the 305th.

She nods, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before she steps out of the jeep. She watches as he drives towards the airfield, a pit growing in her stomach. Winnie has no idea what to expect when the men return, and John has made her fear what’s coming back.

She walks towards the interrogation hut, asking Tatty if they need any help. Tatty graciously accepts, and Winnie begins pouring whiskey into glasses, and the pit grows deeper. She waits anxiously until the first truck arrives. Winnie asks if they’d like a drink and passes out the whiskey to most men. Her hands start shaking as several come in, covered in other men’s blood—she realizes in horror. A few men are wounded, and Doc Stover gives them quick assessments. She casts her eyes down as she continues passing out the liquor.

She finally looks up when she hears Gale’s voice at check-in; John has come in with him. She looks up at with wide eyes, she feels like crying when his scanning eyes land on her. His face softens before it settles on anger. He gets closer to to her.

“What are you doing? You don’t need to be seeing and hearing all of this.” He says lowly to her, almost whispering; he’s close enough that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

“I just wanted to help, Johnny,” she whispers, almost choking on a sob—shoving the glass of whiskey she was holding into his chest and his fingers wrapping around it. “I’m sorry,” she whimpers and flees from the hut. Winnie practically runs from the base; she has no idea where she is heading. She wipes the steady stream of tears from her cheeks as she goes. She stops short when she emerges from the tree line, seeing a mangled fort on a hard stand.

She lets out a soft sniffle as she slowly approaches—inspecting the damage. Winnie lets out soft, hiccuped sobs at the artillery holes punched into the plane. She makes her way to other hard stands and looks at them—some more banged up than others. The sun dips low, and all the sunlight is almost gone.

Winnie comes up short when she is face to face with ‘Our Baby.’ She wipes the final, almost dry tears from her cheeks. From looking, it has internal damage to a flap as it’s stuck in the wrong position for landing. She steps closer, raising her hand and brushing her fingers over the flap.

“You’re just like John.” Gale’s deep voice behind her causes her to jump and spin around. Her heart races from the fright. The sunlight has gone, and it is much darker out on the airfield. “He pointed out the one flap landing to me as if I didn’t know.”

“Do not say that.” Winnie huffs, trying to steady herself as he approaches her. He moves beside her, arms almost touching. She tilts her head back to look up at him, and he raises an eyebrow in question at her reply. “I am not John; for one, I’m a girl—woman.” She corrects herself, lifting her chin proudly.

He is close enough that she sees his pupils blow wide as he looks down at her. “Yes, you are.” He says in his deep voice. She thinks he looks down at her lips but attributes it to her crush and longing.

She feels a blush creeping up quickly on her cheeks and looks down, he has changed out from his flight suit. His uniform shirt tucked into his slack and tie tacked into place along with his sheepskin. She swallows, “I am.” She says quietly, before looking up at him again.

His eyes are dark, pupils still blown wide. He works his jaw, and muscles pop out. He moves in a flash after she speaks, hand coming up to the back of her neck and other of her waist as he leans down. His lips crash to hers as he kisses her deeply, hungrily. She gasps on his lips, eyes fluttering closed.

She tries her best to move her lips to meet his desperate kiss. She gasps again when she feels his tongue against her lips, but that lets him lick into her mouth. His thumb brushes along her jaw as he holds her neck. Her knees feel weak, and her head is fogging up from the way he kisses her. Winnie lets her hands rest on his chest, not knowing what to do with them.

He seems eager to touch her, the hand at her waist pulling her body to his. The other hand moving from her neck down her back, then both hands sliding down her waist to squeeze at her hips—his touch igniting something inside her. She pulls her lips away in surprise and gasps for air. Her heart races in her chest, and her breathing is uneven after kissing him. He chases her lips but settles for kissing her jaw, nuzzling his nose along her cheek, then moving his lips to her neck.

Winnie doesn’t know why, but she tilts her head to the side for him once his lips contact the sensitive skin. He nips lightly, and she lets out a soft moan. She bites her lip to be quiet, embarrassed of the sound she made. He groans lowly against her neck, and his hands move from her hips. She feels him fumbling between their bodies, and her foggy head doesn’t catch up until he pushes her cardigan off her shoulders.

Winnie blinks and looks around, coming to her senses. “Gale, we shouldn’t.” She whispers, pulling her body from his—she doesn’t want to. His lips felt like heaven on her skin and she misses the feel of his hands on her body.

Gale’s eyes follow her with a desperate look, hands reaching for her. Winnie lets him place a hand back on her waist; the other reaches up to caress her cheek, thumb rubbing along her cheek. She fights the urge to close her eyes and lean into his hand.

“Winnie, please, I need you.” Gale whispers, looking into her eyes. He’s begging her, she realizes with a shock. She stares into his longing eyes for a second before pushing up on her toes and kissing him again. “Not out here, though,” she murmurs on his lips, then pulls away.

His eyes scan their surroundings before he nods. Gale keeps his hand on her waist, leading them to a nearby ground crew tent. Winnie doesn’t let her mind think about anything but his hand on her waist and the way his mouth felt against hers.

It’s dark in the tent, just enough moonlight to see Gale’s face before her. He leans in a little slower this time when he presses his lips to hers, but his hands are faster—pushing her cardigan off. She kisses him back just as hungrily as he kisses her—more confident now. Her hands reach up, working on getting his tie off—tossing it aside before her fingers swiftly undo the buttons of his shirt. His hands are all over her body, not settling in one spot for very long.

Winnie pulls her lips away and lets out a small gasp when he lifts her by the hips on to a wooden crate— making them eye level, she spreads her legs instinctually and he moves between them. He brushes his nose against hers, their breathes mingling as they look into each other’s eyes. He presses kisses along her jaw to her neck and Winnie doesn’t mind the soft moan she lets out this time.

Gale’s hands begin pushing her dress up—she pushes his shirt off his shoulders before pulling his white undershirt free from his pants. She wants it off—she wants to see him. “Gale,” she says; it sounds like a whine even to her ears. His lips are curved when he pulls back slightly; he pulls the T-shirt over his head and drops it to the ground.

He cups her cheek when he meets Winnie’s lips again, the other hand high up her bare thigh—thumb brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. So, so close to her panties.

Winnie places her hands on his firm chest, slowly moving her hands across his skin—up to his shoulders, then back down his chest and lower. His ab muscles are hard under her hands. She whines softly in the back of her throat when he nips her bottom lip—her fingertips touching the skin just above his belt. He squeezes her thigh and pulls her closer, pressing his hip to hers.

She whines again into the kiss as she feels him through his slacks. “Please,” she doesn’t know what she’s asking for, but Gale knows, and he will take care of her. She does know that for sure. His lips press along her neck as he moves his hands, fingers curling into the waistband of her panties. Her brain catches up just enough for her to blush and be shy as he pulls them down her legs, and they join the pile of clothes on the ground.

Winnie tries to press her thighs together, but his body is back between her legs and hands on her thighs before she can close them. She looks up at Gale through her lashes; his eyes are trained on her most intimate place, and he licks his lips before he swipes his thumb slowly through her wetness. She sucks in a sharp breath and bites her bottom lip.

She watches as Gale’s hands move from her body to unbuckle his belt—her eyes don’t leave his hands. His fingers get his slacks button undone, then the zipper down, and his thumbs curl into the waistband. Her eyes flick back up to his face. Trepidation curling around herself; she has never seen a man naked—let alone in this sense.

He’s already watching her as he pushes the fabric down just enough to his thighs. She spreads her thighs a bit more as he moves closer. Winnie’s brow creases slightly in confusion when he spits in his hand; her eyes follow his hand of their own volition.

Her lips part slightly as she sees his hand wrap around himself—working the spit up along the length to the angry red tip. She doesn’t have any other knowledge to compare him to but doesn’t know how he will fit himself inside her.

She watches as he continues working his hand up and down himself for a moment before he pushes closer to her. The tip runs through her wetness a few times before catching on her opening.

Winnie places her hands on his shoulders as he captures her lips in a passionate kiss. She barely kisses back when he starts pushing into her, letting out a soft whine. His hands squeeze her thighs as he keeps pressing in.

She bites her lip to distract from the pain she feels—she is confused as she remembers overhearing some of the gals talking about sex. Why would they like this, she thinks. Gale lets out a groan when his hips finally press against hers, burying his face in her neck. She runs a hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair. She makes one whispered request, “Please start slow.”

His lips drag across her neck, making her shiver. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs as his hips slowly pull back. The drag of him inside her isn’t too painful, just a little uncomfortable. He pushes back into her wetness. He repeats this motion several times, and she realizes it isn’t unpleasant.

Gale kisses and sucks at her neck as he keeps moving slowly for her. His hips stutter when a soft moan escapes her lips—fingers digging into her thighs. “Gale,” she says breathlessly—admitting shyly, “feels good.”

He moans lowly and bites her neck, his thrusts picking up a bit of speed. Winnie digs her nails into his scalp and shoulder, arching her back a little—causing her to moan again. The angle makes it feel even better. Each of his thrusts adds to the feeling growing in her lower belly, pure pleasure. She can’t help the quiet moans and mewls Gale is drawing from her.

He breathes heavily against her neck as he keeps going—she assumes he feels as good as she does when he grunts in her ear. His hands are gripping her thighs tight like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, but she doesn’t mind so much as she clings to him as well.

“Gale!” She cries out when the feeling in her stomach reaches a peak. Her spine arches more, and she throws her head back. Her thighs try to close around his hips, and he keeps thrusting into her. She pants softly as she regains some mental capacity. Gale is thrusting into her at an even faster speed, then he lets out a couple of moans as his hips stutter, and she feels him twitch inside of her. She breathes and runs her fingers through the head at the back of his head.

Gale pulls back from her neck and presses his lips to hers in a slow kiss. His vice grip of her thighs loosens, and he rubs them. He moves his lips away and carefully pulls himself from her wetness. Winnie looks down at herself, a little confused by the sticky white substance that has started to come out of her.

She looks up at Gale and smiles sheepishly, unsure if she should get off the crate now. He blinks down at her a few times, his brow creases, and a frown spreads on his mouth as he realizes something. Winnie sits up as he rushes to push his slacks up and pick up his shirts from the ground.

“Did I do something wrong?” She asks, feeling a lump grow in her throat. He tugs his undershirt on then the button-up. He searches quickly for his tie, grabbing it along with his sheepskin.

“No. I did.” He grumbles, shaking his head. He can’t even look at her. “I’m sorry, Winifred.” He leaves the tent as quickly as he can move.

Her full name feels like a slap on the face. She swallows the lump in her throat—noticing more of the sticky white stuff coming from herself, and feels the sting of tears in her eyes. She gets off the crate and searches for her panties, pulling them on along with her cardigan. Winnie doesn’t let the tears fall as she returns to the base and her quarters—her walk is long enough that her sadness fades and turns to indignation. Her mind races with her actions tonight; she gave in too easily to her want for Gale. She scolds herself for giving him her virginity. Her Catholic guilt begins to swallow her whole.

Once inside her barrack, she changes into pajamas and crawls into her rack—thankful her bunk mates are out tonight. She glares up into the dark finally angry with Gale, until sleep finds her.

#ahhhhhhhhh it’s finally here guys #i hope y’all like it #and i hope you guys love winnie as much as i do #the sex is soooo vanilla because gale has barely any experience #he’s a quick learner tho 😈#summer kisses winter tears #yes the title is an elvis song bite me #mota au #john’s little sister au #gale cleven x oc #gale cleven x winnie egan #gale cleven

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honeylikewords · 2 years

Text

together. (jack russell)

jack and his wife celebrate the gathering of friends and family. (pregnancy arc!)

(warnings: food, mentions of meat, mentions of the very real likelihood of pregnancy :>, jack being surprisingly flirty and physically affectionate at a family gathering. just a really short fluff piece! word count: 2.2k)

(for context, the idea for this fic is that Jack owns a cabin in the woods and has invited his monster friends and family out for a feast!)

Jack prods a large rack of ribs with a thermometer, expertly needling the meat between the bones and checking the temperature in one swift motion. Noting the number flashing on the small screen, he turns a knob down on the grill and shuts the lid over the meat, trapping the heat and smoke within. As he turns around, he beams at his wife, hands in the front pockets of his bright green apron emblazoned with the words “SMOKIN’ HOT GRILLMASTER” in flaming font.

“Should be ready in, eh, twenty minutes?”

“Oh, good, then we’re on schedule.”

His wife reaches past his hands into one of the pockets and pulls out a printed sheet that had been folded into a tiny square so many times that the paper had gone soft, then flicks it open. Scanning down the list of main courses, she eyes the side dishes, baked goods and desserts, each listed with an appropriate prep time and step taken. Scheduling had been a pain, but it was a necessary task; trying to coordinate feeding this many people in a timely manner was no small feat.

Inside the cabin, a timer goes off, and Jack perks his ears, head tilting slightly in the direction the sound came from. His nose lifts and he inhales, a smile spreading across his face, and he puts his hands on his wife’s hips, swaying her playfully.

“I cannot believe how good that stuffing smells, cielito,” he grins, squeezing her hips for emphasis. “You’re such a good cook. The best, probably, in the entire world.”

“Hope it tastes half as good as it smells,” she shrugs, trying to humble herself in the face of Jack’s effusive glee, but he merely giggles and presses his nose to hers, shaking his head.

“It’s going to be perfect; it already is! I can smell it!”

He’s been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed all day, for some reason, all-too-happy to fetch things for her and run kitchen errands and clean up the myriad dishes left in the wake of their work. He’s been hovering as well, even as the guests began trickling through the trees and bushes; Jack would sense them coming, whether by smell, sight, or sound and watch excitedly for their arrival, then tug her away from whatever she was doing to greet them, insisting on both of them being side by side.

The number of hands, paws, tentacles and claws she’d shaken today as Jack animatedly introduced her to his friends, new, old, and in-between, was a blur, and as the cabin’s grounds began to fill with familiar and unfamiliar faces, Jack’s elation only grew. Now, with his hand pulling softly at the small of her back and the guests milling freely across the land the cabin sits on, he guides her, beaming, back into the kitchen to pull out the three trays of stuffing from the oven.

They sit, cooling, on the counter as Jack opens the lid on a massive pot of mashed potatoes and gives it an experimental swirl with a spoon, lifting some out and blowing on it before offering it to his wife; he holds the spoon gingerly to her lips and smiles that crooked, nose-wrinkling smile when she goes in for the bite.

“That was cute,” he remarks.

“What was?,” she mumbles around a mouthful of potatoes; she’s a little unhappy with the flavor and going to melt in another knob of butter and snip in a few more chives.

As she goes to grab the chives and kitchen scissors, Jack leans back against the counter and plucks a nugget of stuffing from the tray, still steaming, and pops it in his mouth, cleaning his fingers with his tongue. She should scold him for eating too-hot food, or eating with his fingers, or something else, but she gets distracted by the sight (his tongue’s dexterity is quite noticeable and he’s smiling a bit too wryly for it to have been an accident), and has to blink away the fog left by it.

“Your face,” Jack clarifies, still chewing. “You made this little “ah” face. ‘S very cute.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re just very, very cute,” he continues.

He pushes off the counter and comes to close the gap between them, pressing his chest to her back as she cuts the chives over the pot with the scissors and tosses in a stray lump of butter left behind by some other recipe. His hands gravitate low, to the softest part of her tummy, and he rubs a slow circle there, fingers knitting into the strings of her apron.

“You’re in such a mood today,” she teases, stirring the potatoes. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he says as he pushes his nose into the shell of her ear, kissing the lobe and squeezing her in his arms. His hands stay on her belly, and she reaches down to pat him, then pinches the back of his wrist playfully.

“Well, as much as I love it, Puppy, you’re about to get burned on the stove--”

Instead of pulling off, Jack tugs her back from the cooktop and into his arms, burrowing his face into her shoulder and holding her still, fingers splayed over her tummy. She lets her arms rest atop his and leans back, sighing; it does, admittedly, feel very nice for the two of them to take a break from the hubbub and just enjoy each other, even if they haven’t been apart for more than a few minutes at a time.

“I’m just happy,” he mumbles. His lips brush against her neck and his words tickle her skin, making her shiver and squirm happily in his arms, which only pushes him to double down on the tightness of his embrace.

“I’m glad,” she responds, but he shakes his head, nestling deeper still.

“You don’t understand,” he continues. “You’re… we’re… I’m just so, I mean-- es eufórico, es maravilloso! Es… I just…”

His voice fades and he holds her flush against himself; outside, she can hear a game of touch football between the other monsters resolving into a dogpile, but the sound is a diminished half-note compared to the present, forward reality of Jack’s breathing against her skin, his hair brushing against hers, his arms corded around her waist.

He draws in a breath and continues.

“I get to have a whole family. You, and me, and…”

Jack’s wide, fever-warm hand is splayed against her belly, and she looks down at it as he traces one finger over the bump of the knot in her apron ties, which rests above her navel. He presses in softly; not enough to feel pushed on, but a light, tender application of pressure that reassures her of his intent, and of his warmth.

She turns in his hold, placing her fingertips on his slightly stubbled chin, and the touch guides his head up to meet her gaze. His eyes glow half-hazel in the golden light of the kitchen, and they flicker over her face searchingly, hoping for something from her. She grants him a smile, one that crinkles her eyes and makes him instinctively smile back as his hand twitches; when she kisses him, his hand strokes against her like a kiss to her tummy, too.

They can let some of this food sit a few minutes longer.

Jack stands on one of the picnic tables in the clearing, puts his middle finger and thumb to his lips, and lets out an almighty wolf whistle that rips through the trees. Dozens of heads snap to attention and Jack waves his arms over his head, summoning the clutter of monsters towards the tables laden with food (and some laden with things a human might not consider edible, but that many of the guests were sure to appreciate).

As they begin to trickle in-- away from activities like rag-tag sports, card games, and gaggling near screens playing the national parades-- Jack remains on the table, bending down briefly to lift a full champagne flute up and tap its lip with a fork. The tinkling chime rings over the crowd and, once again, his friends focus their attention on him, now encircling the table he is atop.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” he begins, smiling in that broad, effervescent way he does when addressing a group.

She watches him from the other end of the table, seated at the head with an empty chair beside her reserved for him. In the setting light of the sun, the greys in Jack’s hair shine gold and what remains of the brown comes to life with fiery red hues, the beams tracing against his cheekbones and jaw and drawing soft shadows. His slightly more full upper lip curls over his crooked tooth as he casts her a quick glance and widens his smile, somehow, further still.

He’s shed his apron and put back on his fineries for the night: a dark green pair of trousers and his second-favorite black button-up, the sleeves rolled into place and the collar opened. His leather shoes reflect sparks of the sunset back across the table as he shifts his posture, weight coming to rest on his back foot. He knows how to captivate attention, somehow: it comes naturally to him, a sort of inherent magnetism that is uniquely Jack’s.

When he addresses them, he fixes his eyes on various members of the crowd, shifting attention to organically and individually speak to an entire group; she wonders how he ever manages to become shy when he’s this beguiling.

“I am overjoyed to be here, today, with all of you,” Jack continues, his glass held delicately as he turns to look at the breadth of his party. “Not only with those of you who are like me, but especially those of you who are different, each and all of us siblings to one another in this world.”

The crowd rumbles in agreement-- somewhere, she can hear Ted’s instantly recognizable grunting-- and Jack nods, extending his glass out to gesture at the people before him.

In the mass she can see others she knows to be wolves, a pair of minotaurs, ghouls and a few members of the undead; pointed ears give away some of the docile vampires, whereas other loved ones defy singular description as any one creature, more aptly seen as amalgams or chimeras. She sees the bright eyes of night-stalkers and the sloped shoulders of mountain-apes, and each face, though distinct, seems lit with a unifying ardor: they are home, among one another.

“On days like these, it is good to remember that none of us, no matter how unusual our circumstances, are alone: that through our trials, we find one another, and that we are here to love each other, even when the world seeks to convince us that we are unwanted. But, together, we are wanted,” Jack states.

“Together, we are loved.”

He raises his glass high and grins. When he moves his hand, his wedding band burns bright in the last rays of the day.

“Together, we become family! Salud!”

He tips back the shimmering drink and others in the throng follow suit, cheering and drawing in sips of their beverages in celebration. Now finished with his address, Jack finally descends from the table and makes his way through the crowd, tossing his arm around friends’ shoulders or patting their faces, waving and laughing at his beloved family.

She loves to see him like this-- surrounded by those he loves, Jack becomes even more himself, fit to burst with all the joy he seeks to share-- and as he approaches, he turns his gaze to her, again, and her love multiplies.

He looks at her like she, herself, hangs the stars and the moon in the sky each night, like she’s every present that has ever been under the tree, as if she’s come home from a thousand years apart. Jack’s illuminating, radiant happiness is utterly compelling, and impossible to resist in its infectiousness; she finds herself beaming back in equal measure as he finally is able to pass through the crowd to near her.

Jack comes to sit by her side and places excited kiss after kiss against the side of her face, peppering them along her cheekbones and the tip of her nose as she shrinks into his shoulder. He tuts something about not being shy and tries to coax her out, but she obstinately hides herself in the warm haven of his neck and shoulder, both abashed at the idea of being so amorous in front of his family and divinely desirous of the closeness and comfort she has achieved in his hold. There’s a faint chill in the air as the night descends, and he’s blissfully warm; why would she ever leave?

“Alright then,” he teases, pinching her side and tugging her chair as close as possible to his own to throw his arm around her shoulder, “We’ll eat like this. I’ll get the fork and put it into that little cavern for you. Hm?”

“Works for me, Puppy,” she replies.

“But, amorcita, please,” he implores, “If you don’t come out, who is Alan going to tell that awful story about the time he got trapped in a castle well for a week?”

Someone halfway down the table yells at Jack that it’s “hardly an awful story” and that it was “only a few days”, but the feeling of Jack’s shoulders bouncing with his laughter and the sound of it rippling through her ears is enough to make her want to pull free and see his elated face herself.

Today was about their family, after all, she reminded herself, and she’d like to look at the father of her child.

links to previous fics in this series:

cubs.

familia.

penumbra.

bedrest.

thank you for reading! this was a short one but i wanted to get it out in time for the Dread Holiday; it was all written in ~3 hours, in one night, so if you see any errors... well, that’s why!

anyway, comments and replies are always appreciated, and give me immense motivation to continue these stories! feel free to let me know what you thought and what you’d like to see next!

#werewolf by night #wwbn #wbn #marvel #jack russell #jack russell x reader #not adding the misspelled tags this time Just To See #anyway i hope you guys like it!! this one is Very short compared to my usual standards but i had to write it in one sitting because #ive been siiiiiick and i wanted to get it out before the BLASTED DAY so. here it is!!!#yes im posting this at 3 am yes ill reblog multiple times tomorrow it is what it is!!!!

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