#Buck Cleven fanfiction

[therealslimshakespeare]

Am I Still Your Favorite Escape?

Gale & Maureen -requested? ✔️

As a new year and a new unrelenting malaise settles over the prisoners in camp, Maureen Kendeigh finds the journey from viewing Gale Cleven as her prize collector’s item to the man others suspect she loves most harrowing indeed.

Note: y’all wanted handjobs and I gave ya one, with a twist, and yall wanted more of what Maureen is thinking during this time and so you got it. Along with 6k of other dynamics and plot and feelings, buckle up 👐🏻

Warnings: 18+ smut, female fingering, some cum play, semi public sex acts (not trying to be exhibitionists, but the place is packed ok?) erectile disfunction, not the most supportive attitudes towards partners feeling out of sorts, BUT ALSO!! Please note the typical universe warnings apply with an addition in this chapter being a discussion about terminating a pregnancy, those discussing it disagree strongly and due to religious beliefs one refers to it as “murder”. No action is taken in this chapter. There are hints of Buck x Bucky in this one, although can anyone actually define for me wtf was going on!? Because by Buck x Bucky I just mean they’d die for each other and that’s stronger your average marriage and Bucky maybe should look away when his friend gets some midnight loving, lol.

Maureen had been enthused at the outset. Not that she cared that much for subversion, but she enjoyed the feeling of mischief that their new task carried with it. Camp had proven dull, worse in many ways than she had even expected. She had expected there to be work if not recreation, and while there was some, then the winter months came all too soon and nothing about their shelters or their clothing were suitable for sustaining outdoor productivity.

Which meant she -and the others, she supposed it was only right to admit the others were no better- she had been cooped up in here during a never ending snowstorm outside, watching Gale sand his little board in a room muggy with pungent sweat and stale breath. They were packed on top of each other in here and any attempt to get fresh air earned one a case of frostbite.

That bit of wood was going to become a radio, Gale had told her, and she believed him. With all her heart Maureen believed him. But there came a day when watching Gale fiddle with a safety pin stuck atop a board became unarguably boring. So much so she had begun to insist she be allowed to help Brady and Crank haul in the hot water and assist in what went for “cooking” in this place. Johnny didn’t let her near his precious concoctions after having ousted Benny from the same, but he did let her hand him bowls and generally act useful at mealtimes.

She kept him entertained with stories of picnics in exotic places, safari’s where they cooked out of the back of her father’s jeep. Brady had them eaten all his terse quips about her not knowing how to manage in straitened circumstances and instead asked her endlessly about rhinoceros habitats. It served to entertain her for awhile, too.

Bucky had recovered after a few weeks abed, his movements remained stilted and she could still carry more water than his ribs allowed -a point she made to him daily as he swatted at her from his bunk- but as he recovered he became preoccupied.

Ida had also recovered, though not as thoroughly, having gone well over a week without so much as drinking water in her insensible state. She was weak, feverish and upon at last being plied with nourishment, she puked it right up. It was little cause for concern considering her illness, but as she grew stronger and her stomach remained contrary, some unease began to grow. By Christmas her brother Johnny had taken over the cooking in an endeavor to make something palatable but the woman was hardly the sort to be picky over her victuals. Benny and Brady’s watery soups were alike and they both came up within fifteen minutes of being eaten.

So then, their little room smelled of sweat, breath and vomit. Her brother and Hambone made mention of Crosby, it provided levity for a few days and Maureen was fast to join in. Until Ida had her at a private moment, the men in the hall or else out with latrine duty, and then she asked Maureen if she’d had her menses.

Offended at the implication that Gale Cleven would allow her any more than a mouth or handful of himself, Maureen hotly insisted she had. Three of them in fact, since arriving. She had the bloody rags to prove it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when there began to be a very segregated group of men hovering and debating amongst themselves that Maureen began to second guess such an inquiry as more than moralistic judgment. Their Red Cross packages arrived with canned goods and bland crackers. Bucky began to bargain for the latter with a gambler's gusto -before inevitably handing his loot to Ida. Ida herself began gambling fiercely, for smokes.

Ida had never smoked in her life.

And now the place smelled even stronger of one more cigarette, sweat, breath and vomit.

The smokes seemed to help her, or at least, Maureen noticed her puking less by New Years. The early part of the new year brought new misfortunes, the confiscation of Cleven’s prized radio and a rash of miscarriages amongst the women. A rash was perhaps an exaggeration -only three or four, by Maureen’s count, and between her’s and Ida’s and Cleven’s discreet insistence, such incidents were passed off to the wary guards as heavy menses.

Maureen realized then that those were pregnancies from their guards, a possibility that she had not considered as she had not had reason to worry about it. That is, until Ida Brady caught her again at a moment alone, and asked her in the closest thing to feminine fluster that Maureen had ever seen her in, if she’d ever had reason “in your expeditions, as it were…” to possibly “eliminate a -poor decision?”

Being quite puzzled by this inquiry, and only picking up on the vague aspects -something she admitted to Ida straight away- Maureen admitted she drank most of her poor decisions away, a strategy that hadn’t failed her yet and she wished was at her disposal in this frozen mud pit.

“I’m speaking of- romantic decisions. Poor ones.” Ida had tried again, yearning for understanding in her voice.

Maureen remained nonplussed.

“A child, Maureen a-a pregnancy have you ever?” Ida hissed out at last.

“Gosh no.” Maureen sputtered, “I’m not a full idiot. Why would you ask? I strike you as enough of a harlot?”

“I’m merely looking for -remedies.” Ida pinched at her nose, a motion Maureen was familiar with watching in Gale when he was overwhelmed.

“Who needs it?” Maureen scoffed, quite sure that the odds didn’t stand many more girls suffering from the same, the poor food and rough conditions having ensured it for them.

Ida took her hand away but closed her eyes, mouth folding to a straight line. “I do.”

“Oh fuck.” Maureen plopped down beside her on the bunk in disbelief, they both stared at the opposite wall and its identical beds with rumpled bedding and starlets pasted on the walls. “Fuck.”

“They’re getting very stupid about it.” Ida said at last.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The boys.”

“You’ve told the boys?” Maureen cried out, infuriated.

“They guessed, already, for God’s sake must even this be about you, too, Kendeigh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means while you’re bored and very vocal of it, some of us might die-“

“-we could all die in this shithole-“

“-or! Or worse,” Ida cut in fiercely, “have someone die for us by being idiots. Bucky is full of schemes of -of running off into the sunset. I suppose after he levitates us over the barbed wire with his magic carpet. I don’t know, but I- Maureen I know that if I go on much longer, it won’t just be me in danger. They’re either going to risk something terrible or get punished for not reporting me.”

“So what?” Maureen asked dully, having been excluded from an obvious inner circle regarding the issue and having now been accused of being trivial in her own sufferings, it smarted and she could not deny the flicker of unfairness she felt over it. “Want me to shove a coat hanger up you? The others too chicken?”

Ida visibly recoiled beside her, putting more space between them in the bunk. “I’m not going to- to kill it.”

“What kinda remedy doesn’t?” Maureen sassed, if they were to talk no longer in flippant pleasantries, she could do that.

“I’m just asking for help.” Ida’s jaw wobbled, her voice a wreck of desperation and Maureen could see with a small and ugly bit of satisfaction that the woman was truly close to losing her grip. It was satisfyingly human. As was her reaction to a remedy after asking for it.

“You come to me because you think I’m loose enough to know, and then you have the nerve to be appalled when I do.” Maureen pointed out, “That what all the smokes are for?”

“Yes.” Ida put her head back in her hands.

“Just won’t budge; huh?”

“No.” her voice sounded like she might be crying but there was no telling with those hands in the way.

“It would be stubborn.” Maureen muttured, thinking of the goddamn Brady family as she knew them. “Why won’t you get rid of it? You want to get rid of it-“

“-I don’t understand why it’s hanging on!” Ida’s wail came out garbled between her fingers.

“So let’s -unhang it.”

“I can’t. Kendeigh -I can’t.”

“I know it’s risky, but I know you’re not scared of dying.” Maureen muttered, attempting to understand.

“Candy I cant, I can’t murder it.” her voice had dipped into a sacrosanct whisper.

Maureen huffed in confusion, a substantial amount of pragmatism warring with what tiny bit of sympathy the threat left her, “It’s a German’s, at this size no more than a blo-“

“It’s a life!” Ida snarled back at her so viciously Maureen contemplated the likelihood of her having gone fully mad, “And it’s mine.” she rebutted, pointing to her chest fiercely.

“So you’ll let Bucky and Gale die for you, die trying to get you out of here but you won’t try to fix it yourself.” It was how Maureen saw it, and if she were to be accused of suggesting murder, she might as well have her side put out there, too.

“That’s how you see it?” Ida muttured, looking utterly defeated.

“If Gale dies over this, I’ll wring your neck myself. Keep smoking.” she advised with a shrug, “Maybe catch an elbow to the gut if you can.”

Ida pulled her hand away again to look at her, she’d definitely been crying then, red nosed and watery eyed, but she looked less aghast now than she had at the mention of the coat hanger. Maureen didn’t think she wanted condolences about it, or a pat on the back. Come to think of it, Ida was getting plenty of that sort of doting from the boys. No, Maureen didn’t feel like she needed that from her, and something sour and twisted in her heart made her loath to give it.

It worsened as the days went by, as Maureen observed their once innocuous routines with new eyes, noticing the boys' furtive plans, their hovering concern, their brought in provisions -offerings fit for a queen. It was understandable to show such care for her in her state, and ostensibly no one deserved it more than Ida Brady. But it left Maureen feeling adrift, like an afterthought, someone whose greatest challenge was their boredom. And ever looming were those great risks the boys bantered about like it were all a low stakes game of cards.

She plays thirty to forty sets of cards with Hambone, decimates Benny at chess, cleans the pans, even mops the goddamn floor. All to keep busy, perhaps even to spite Ida whose one assigned task is the floors. She cannot be accused of boredom or idleness if she has done all her own tasks and others’ besides.

In her spare time she would like to go with Bucky, to be of use in collecting things for Gale’s new little project, his precious crystal radio, but where women go -there go guards and attention and soon, the sheer mischief of the naughtiness of Gale’s construction wanes as she is left laying in her bunk watching him wiggle a clothespin around for the fifth day in a row. She had been so understanding for the first four. Even though she had contemplated a tiff with him over not informing her of Ida’s state as soon as he knew, she had been merciful and instead settled for holding the copper wire for him and brushing his cheek when he didn’t actively shy away in concentration.

He mumbles about needing to give it his full attention, about her needing to keep a lookout, about the danger of getting caught. She asks if it’s worth it then, anything that might get him killed is her enemy, even if it’s a little clothespin on a board. He looks at her like she’s from mars, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t understand its necessity. And he doesn’t come to bed until an ungodly hour of the night and immediately, upon settling in their bunk he is asleep, much to her chagrin.

She would have liked a kiss, a hand between her legs even more. She would have settled for those whispering little chats they’ve indulged in ever since Bucky laid atop Ida and all rules were broken -they’ve shared a bunk and as the winter gets worse, no one bats an eye. In fact, everyone’s stacked two for one, male and female alike. Brady and Hambone snicker and whisper in their bunk every bit as much as she and Gale do, Maureen is sure of it.

Instead Gale falls asleep. And he does it again and again, night after night. Bucky rummages on his own for supplies. Brady frets over Ida. Only so many people can play makeshift bat gammon in the hall. It does not pass the time. And Maureen grows ever more restless.

She feels expectantly happy when Gale’s work is finally complete, his finished product constructed and the moment of truth comes. They crowd around and wait with baited breath as his finger tunes it. And Maureen knows she is fully awful for her relieved feelings when it does not work. He can’t be killed for it if he scraps it. And he will come to bed at a reasonable hour now it is useless. The shake of his hand makes everyone else feel helpless in the face of his ever steady composure cracking, but while Maureen has no acceptable remedy for Ida’s plight, she does for Gale’s, and she waits for darkness with the relieved excitement of a child on Christmas Eve.

Gale does indeed come to bed, the radio not fully scrapped but heartily abandoned and hidden with its various parts in sundry places. And when he slips beside her, his nose is cold and he touches her like he has missed her. He pulls the covers to their chins, tucking them in with a small giggle, she is suffocated by it and yet he persists and this has gone on all winter until now it is their inside joke and he does it just to make her laugh, and when she laughs so does he, a honest little giggle of a thing, and she misses him worse than ever even as he pressed along the length of her.

It isn’t safe yet, not everyone is asleep but she bides her time with kissing him and he returns her caresses ardently, a thorough press of his lips and his tongue unreservedly sliding into place alongside her own, his hands warming up as they clasp her neck, turning her head upon their pillow. She wonders if they are loud even at this, but she was never the one to care, it’s Gale who objects and who hushes them, who makes them wait, who insists on being courteous even in hell, who only allows himself to lap at her when the place is abandoned or else full of the atmospheric noises of masculine snores.

Maureen does not mind waiting for him, or rather -she does, but he is implacable about it and when she attempts to persuade him otherwise she is oftentimes swatted and put in her place like a wayward child. Such correction holds a charm of its own when it is Gale Cleven administering it, but tonight she feels close to madness if she does not get her way so she allows him to kiss her as the quiet and steady breaths around them herald the unconsciousness of their brethren. She grows bolder, throws her leg over his hip and tugs at his buttons, hands rucking up his shirt and parting the heavy flaps of his coat. He is as burdened with layers as a Victorian maiden and Maureen enjoys the hunt for warm skin, the way he looks as ravished and expectant as any girl while she gropes at him, when she finally reaches him he always shudders, a full bodied thing that jerks even his neck.

Tonight she parts his layers feverishly and he mutters her name, again and again and his hands are clumsy at her shoulders and no progress is made on discarding her own clothing but she pays it no mind, she is direly hungry for him. Any touch of him, to make him shake and melt and pay tribute to her.

“Maureen.”

She finds the button of his trousers right at his heaving naval and she exults at the feel of the fine trail of hair beneath her fingertips.

“Maureen.” his voice grows urgent and she doesn’t heed it, he counts on her never heeding it.

She wiggles her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and skims the hairy plane of his pelvis before laying her hand on what she needs and -he is as limp as a dead mouse. She holds the chubby thing for a good long moment, very much like it were some useless rodent she had caught and must now dispose of, and she is filled with confusion.

“Maureen-“ he mutters again against her unmoving lips and she realizes with misery she mistook his pleading for a different sort.

It is not that she’s never felt him soft, on the contrary, there was a long time in the early days -when she wanted him and he wanted a promotion- that her hand would find its way between his legs, in a jeep or a bar, beneath the table while he helped her with her calculus. Once she felt him she became mildly obsessed, he was always tucked to the right and he was so substantially long and full beneath her palming, even in repose, that her determination to have him was only further cemented by it. Again and again her hand made it into his lap and again and again he would rebuff her, sometimes with startled propriety, occasionally with long suffering disbelief, more and more with almost parental disapproval.

Each reaction had been as satisfying to Maureen as if he were swelling into her palm. And soon enough, he was doing that, too. His hand growing a beat too slow before he grabbed her wrist, his mouth still twisted in dry reproof but his eyes began to burn. He was unbothered no longer and it was not much longer after that he was not even resistant.

Ever since, she could count on him to perk, to respond, to validate her own want of him with his own for her.

The fact it was in many ways a tortured surrender on his part only drove her madder, made her desire burn brighter, made the succumbing of the good, the right, the proud man all the more intoxicating. And again, as if they’d never shared all that, he was now as warm and floppy as a dead dormouse.

“Maureen.” he begged, half expecting tears again like her first night in the stalag, wincing as her hand squeezed him meanly, jerked at him a few impotent times in an effort to fluff him.

Her hand withdraws and he holds his breath, ready for a scene or a rebuke. His gut twists miserably, at fault twice over and yet -not really. But that never mattered with Maureen. He says her name again but she is still and deflated, and after a moment, she merley rolls over, giving him her back.

That is how he knows she is hurt, were she angry she would not have shrunk from being crueler than a few angry tugs. The silence is new and it makes Gale’s stomach swoop in an odd terror, like his next decision might rescue them both or plunge them off a cliff.

“Maureen.” He tries again, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing and trying to turn her back.

Her shoulder jolts up sharply to displace the gesture. “I’m not cold.” she informs him as she rolls further away towards the wall, and her tone is icier than the weather outside. He’s stunned, she’s never once ignored him, no it’s always ever been an escalation of her demands for his interest. Hell, even in Africa she had said she was cold and the presence of her head on his shoulder disrupted his tan, he got no end of grief from the boys about it.

Confused and mildly hurt himself, although he doesn’t know why, not beyond some tickling sense of unfairness about being blamed for being a bit out of sorts in the place, Gale takes his hand away and moves to lie on his back, to keep from crowding her. He thinks that in the morning he will explain to her how he is preoccupied with the radio, that his gut feels in constant free fall from the plans to escape, that everyone is riding on him for this thing to work and he just proved tonight he’s perfectly worthless at it. Nothing but buzz in his ear echoes around in his head and he replays the sound of that failure again and again, justifying her frustration with him. He thinks he’ll explain this all to her in the morning. And also-

-that he is cold.

He’s so damn cold from the anxiety and being still at his work at the table for so long his hands and legs go numb that he simply cannot imagine feeling bothered at this moment, cannot imagine it and it would seem that neither can the little guy. He doesn’t deserve a reward, not for fucking up at the one thing they’ve got going for them. He catches Bucky’s eyes when he rolls over, having taken up night shift over Ida due to insomniatic tendencies. He wonders strongly if Bucky would be as disappointed in him, if he is already. Just wait until next morning, Gale thinks, when I get to admit I’ve got no second plan. If it doesn’t work as is, no amount of fiddling is gonna make it better.

That settles heavy in his gut but does nothing for the swooping feeling, there is merely a loadstone in his belly, plunging downward in a perpetual free fall, and in his dreams the accompanying soundtrack is radio static.

There is a tiny sliver of freedom in the morning -and it does not come every morning- when Maureen has noticed there is still and quiet yet the morning routines are in place. Lazy and weak, the prisoners do not rise with the sun, although some stir and moan and try to meet the new day head on. The guards unlock the doors and yet many choose to lay abed. So many in fact that Johnny Brady ceased making breakfast at that hour as with so few ready to eat it, the ordeal became a waste. He does often fetch water for morning pit baths and teeth brushing, the occasional splash on the face to wash off the sleep.

Maureen has often contemplated these little slivers of time as a chance to break free. Not of the compound, that endeavor holds no fascination to her, but rather out of this combine and out from under the watchful eyes of people who know her all too well. Or think they do. They don’t, they very obviously don’t. And she’s losing all sense of who she is to be known by as the days go on.

She listens as Johnny gathers the buckets and milk pails, always gentle with the clanking metal, vestiges of the considerate boy his mama raised still clinging even in this place, and he hands an allotment to Hambone who is awake with him and less considerate.

Then there is the hushed flurry of beratings and the sleepy protests of trying one’s best.

They leave together, and they leave the door adjar as usual, to come back in quietly if needed. They’ll be gone for at least fifteen minutes, then they will come back and then Brady will leave again to run his two goddamn laps around the compound while that testicular looking bald headed doctor clocks his pace. Maureen doesn’t think Johnny likes running track or ever did it before, but he and Ida both took it up, the latter probably to get rid of the child and the former maybe to stay warm. The doctor didn’t care about the timing of Ida’s laps and soon she began to grow too large to risk attention by keeping Johnny company.

Now Johnny runs his timed laps alone and the only motivation Maureen can imagine for it, beyond the over-familiar assessment of his limbs by the doctor, is the chocolate he earns from it. Priceless sugar to keep up his specimen’s strength in this starving place.

Chocolate Johnny regularly gives to Ida. Though for Christmas he made them all a mashed chocolate pie on a tin plate and it had honestly been the kindest and loveliest Yuletide treat anyone had ever given any of them.

Maureen has considered running with him, trying her luck and seeing if she can win chocolate herself. Maybe that would make Gale smile. She doubts the doctor would care, he’s curiously uncaring regarding the existence of females in camp.

Maureen knows all these sounds of morning routine by heart, can track the progress of each stage of the routine while feigning sleep, motionlessly facing the wall.

Gale has no need to feign, it would seem. He is not snoring but he is whimpering and muttering in that annoying way of his that only occurs when he’s in deep. She used to think it cute, she now thinks it helpful to judge if he is able to catch her at her scheme.

-useless fucker with his useless radio and his useless cock, making her feel useless-

Careful as a cat, and with as much grace, Maureen rolls herself upright, and uses the slats of their upper bunk to balance her weight, keeping the mattress from giving a tell-tale dip. She swings from one slat to the next, carefully crouching when the movement jars the whole frame but Benny stays asleep below her and Gale makes no move to arrest her. It’s a feat to drop soundlessly to her feet after such a climb in a full overcoat, but she manages it. Her boots are under Benny’s bunk and she fetches them with no small amount of terror, but despite his shifts and erratic movements, he does not catch her.

She takes the boots into the hall, which is gratefully empty, and fastens them there. Taking her woolen cap from her coat pocket, she puts it atop her head while tucking in her hair, and fastens her scarf high over her nose, and knows that she is about as inconspicuous in form and feature as the next man. When Brady is bundled similarly his eyes appear as gentle as a woman’s and Maureen knows her own are no longer half so beguiling, not with their pale lashes and absence of cosmetic relief.

Perhaps she’s grown so wane and bland Gale has even lost the ability to pretend attraction. He always was fastidious about cleanliness and order, fussy and volatile when she took him unawares. In fact, when she had first managed to get so far as to undo his pants, to fondle his half hard length, to pull him from the slit of his drawers, to tug his shaft to orgasm, it had been beside the antiseptics. And that had some sort of parable in it, she thought now. Recalling how she’d had to talk him down off a panic as soon as he had shuddered and given her the sought after reward, hot and sticky and plentiful as only a virgin’s would be. He was not comforted until gauze and betadine was used copiously to clean her hand, and the nurse was later puzzled as to why when she entered only one had needed treatment, but both left stained with the orange stuff.

Back then a word, a flick of her eyes would have Gale in full pursuit, bodily if not mentally. She could wage a war with his ever so impeccable spirit and win it with the help of his own flesh. Now? Now he couldn’t even respond, not even pretend it. And he’d tried to warn her and she’d thought he’d been begging and she realized he wanted to stall her, keep it from her, one more thing.

These thoughts carried her dozens of rows down, combine after combine, lost in a flurry of snowflakes that were turning gradually pink as the sun rose. It was beautiful here before all the footprints ruined it.

At the far end of the sector, outside the last combine before the fence that separated them from the Brits, Maureen spotted a huddle of men gathered around a fire pit. She hadn’t known those were even allowed, not doubting that its proximity to the fence had some other subversive reason beyond warmth, and if she thought it then the guards must have. Yet here it was alright, jugs hung over it from a makeshift spit and crackers impaled and being toasted on the same. Maureen’s mouth watered, as much at the thought of genuinely smoke flavored food as she did at the heat. She was still undecided as to her course of action when a loud guffaw, followed by a familiar and harsh curse made her startle.

Polish airmen -or, at least by way of America. They would be sat out in the cold at dawn and they would toast their crackers. Maureen had frequently used her brief passes from Thorpe to terrorize other officer clubs, finding the joy of it a great distraction and some of the girls had joined her at it. She was usually greeted in such escapades with shock or even disgust but the men’s flailing helplessness in the face of a female serviceman always served as a full quota of contentment.

No one had terrorized her back as good as she gave until the Poles. And then they had bought her a drink, and lamented with her that she had not become a fighter pilot. Because Maureen still held a flame for the small craft, resentful that her decent piloting had been considered too poor for the clunky birds, for she knew she wasn't all bad, it was merely those awful forts and their terrible bulk. The Poles had agreed and bought her another drink, and tried to seduce her to their squadron. That had been a happy night and she’d come back to barracks so late as to break curfew, and chatted Gale’s ear off in drunken joy about her wonderful time and her new friends.

Maureen now eyed the fire in the snow and the group of foreign speaking men around it and tugged off her cap, allowing her hair free. And she sauntered up with calculated aimlessness, as if she were indeed only checking out their s’mores to ridicule them compared to her combine’s delicacies. It was effective, they defended their crackers vehemently and she remained derisive, this called for a demand that she try them and so she did and admitted they weren’t too bad but were too dry to be gotten down her throat. So they then passed her coffee and she had to squat to receive it and then she was given a seat to finish it and before long, she was one of the huddle and her feint at leaving them was argued against so heartily she knew she’d won, and so she stayed and played cards and told stories and drank hot water with boys who had been born over here but were in many cases educated not far from her house. And when afternoon came and went she stayed, and when evening fell and the guards became stricter with the perimeter and their fire, she snuck in with them into their combine and there played drinking games despite the violation of curfew.

For the Poles had liquor in this hell hole. And that, Maureen thought, was the true measure of a great nation, their capacity for ingenuity and irrepressible spirits.

Gale entered his own combine in the falling dark with the persistent press of a gun barrel at his lower back, right about at the kidneys, he figured. It was the only thing possible to persuade him to keep from looking, and the others were filing in right ahead of him, saving him a bullet their only motivation for abandoning the search. The guards locked the door after them, and Gale’s chest heaved in panic at the thought of her out there somewhere and locked out and him locked in.

“Fuckin’ Kendeigh.” Murph grumbled but without any heat,

taking himself to his barracks.

Bucky kept pacing up and down the hall with his hands in his hair, snapping at anyone who dared clog his promenade. “Jerries said it was time for bed -so get in your goddamn beds!”

“Why would she do this?” Gale begged him again and Bucky huffed again at it, furious for him.

“She give you grief last night?” Bucky asked wisely, the loyalty in his voice soothes Gale, as does the structure of his sentence, it suggested it wasn’t his fault. And Gale wanted to believe that and he just as strongly he knew it was wrong of him.

He had been in the wrong and he didn’t deserve Bucky’s sympathy for this or the damn radio. They’d been talking of repairs every spare minute of this day that hadn’t been taken up with trying to find Maureen. And while Bucky could remain as adamant as he wanted, that it wasn’t his fault that his radio didn’t work -it didn’t change the fact that his failure now meant Bucky was gonna try something awful instead, like climbing the fence with a pregnant woman on his shoulders. And it was all because Gale couldn’t fucking make a connection. Just as he couldn’t connect to his own body for Maureen and now she’d probably gone over the fence too, or got shot trying.

“So fuckin’ unless.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and mashed the tears away.

“She call ya that?” Egan barked, and Gale didn’t need to see his frown to know he was about to track down Kendeigh to punch her, not rescue her.

“No, don’t need a dame to tell me what’s what.”

He didn’t see it coming so he was reasonably startled when he found his hands dislodged from his eyes and his face suddenly collided into the weave of a musky sweater, Bucky’s hand gripping the nape of his neck like he were a child. That hand was so damn large Gale could imagine he was young again and his father was holding him. “Somethin’s gonna come to you,” this reassuring rumble was light years away from his father’s belittlements and he shuddered, “I’ll get you new wire or somethin’ but just- ain’t your fault, Buck, and that goddamn parakeet needs snow down her pants if she can’t see it too.”

No one pretended to sleep that night, even once the lights were out. Ida sat up in her bunk with her brother beside her, a telling lack of sympathy being expressed for Maureen’s self inflicted plight. Ida had spent her own time at the radio and while it hadn’t done much good, it had gone some way to reassure Gale she didn’t see anything amiss. It ought to work.

Small talk was kept carefully low in the bunks, and Bucky kept a firm position on Gale’s bunk, sitting upright with his legs slung over his friend’s boney knees, affectionately trapping him in a lying posture. Bucky had taken to entrapments here in camp, perhaps the barbed wire inspired him.

They had already given Benny his fair share of chiding for not going out with Maureen that the morning, although Brady’s report of her absence in the time he had fetched water plainly represented someone not wishing for accompaniment -or, as Brady so helpfully reminded of the obvious, her desire to obey Cleven’s long standing order on the matter.

It was probably close to 0100 when a great commotion sounded outside, followed by a crash bang of the combine’s main doors being thrown wide and the rhythmic tread of jackboots had everyone pouring out of their bunks and standing at the ready, -they weren’t sure for what, but it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught lying down for. Gale wrenched open the door, expectancy already perfectly in place on his face until he caught sight of Kendeigh, hauled like a child between the guards and one of their captains met his eye with unimpressed disdain.

“This we found in wrong sector.” he explained, gesticulating to Maureen with a gloved hand, “Sleeping under combine steps. I have told you, Major, I cannot guarantee safety of your females when they are alone, something happen to them, you blame me but I told you! Cannot guarantee.”

“Understood.” Cleven gave him his soberest nod, feeling ill and angry and watching warily for the next move, wondering when he could get his lost package back, yet not wanting to appear eager.

“Discipline, major, discipline!” The Captain insisted and Gale felt Bucky’s heat searing at his back as he pressed forward, taking the German’s eyes away from Gale’s, preventing something rash.

“Oh believe me, sir,” Bucky drawled as he pressed forward, the guards posture confidant and lax, “discipline will be met.” he took the brave step of gripping Kendeigh’s coat flap in his hand and tugging her forward, a movement that yanked her free of the gaurds’s grip.

“Met?” the officer was confused, anger and annoyance tinged his repetition.

Bucky shook Maureen meanly by her coat in emphasis of his statement, “Discipline!” he agreed, insistent.

“Well?” It appeared the officer intended to wait until it was meted out.

Bucky stalled and Gale caught Maureen’s panicked eyes even as her nose flared rebelliously with measured breaths, trying to get on top of it all. Gale felt himself pushed to the side abruptly, having to catch himself on the door as Ida Brady strode past him into the hall, the book she’d been perusing still clutched in her hand.

“Child.” she muttered loudly for the officer’s benefit before raising her book and striking Mauree square across the face, one cheek and then the other as the blow sent her staggering, sharp thwacks with the flat side of the volume.

Maureen took the reproof with good grace and a stunned whimper, Bucky’s still supportive clutch on her jacket keeping her from making a fully pathetic scene and melting to the floor.

“Go, in, get in bed.” Ida snapped her fingers, pointing to the door and when Maureen took a second too long to collect her spotted vision, Ida raised the book again and Maureen needed no more incentive, knowing if Ida did not deliver it the guards would.

She tumbled over the barracks threshold like a bedraggled orphan, hair snow drenched and cheeks throbbing, her jacket muddy and undone.

“Well done.” Johnny Brady greeted with montone venom and only Benny Demarco’s well placed foot tripped her and prevented her from clawing his face off in long suppressed spite.

She landed inelegantly on her face, elbows bent just enough to catch herself from a truly ugly splat, she was gathering herself for another spring when the troop of her officers sounded and the door closed and quiet fell over the place, lethal and accusing.

So the Germans had let her off easy then. Maureen drug herself up to her knees and suddenly wished she hadn’t, it felt too close to contrition.

She staggered upright, ignoring the indignity of having to push up on Brady’s knee to do so. Once on her own two feet she raked muddy fingers through her hair and smiled at her superiors, tired but dandy. They looked pissed and that was to be expected.

“The hell did you go?” The others seemed to acknowledge Gale had some right -or maybe it was responsibility- to address her first and it was leveled at her even more scathingly than she had braced for.

“For fresh air.” she chimed, leaning against a bunk brace, arms crossed easily.

“Sleepin’ out? Sneakin’ out?” Gale stormed on and Ida actually took pains to bypass him and climb into her own bunk, her merciful discipline administered she seemed to wash her hands of the business, “Flagrantly disobeying my expressed orders! Answer me! The hell were you thinking?”

“I wanted to get out,” she leveled back at him, her smirk grown sharp and practiced and debutant-worthy, “I wanted to be somewhere else besides in this stinking, miserable cabin with its miserable, stinking occupants. Nothing but a bunch of self righteous, maniacally focused dreamers who can’t have fun for shit.”

As soon as she said it, no regret came, only a feeling of utter validation. Indeed, what had changed since she had been gone? Ida was still sick and pregnant, Johnny was still fussy, Benny was still playing at cards, Bucky was still pushing Gale harder than any over the radio and her Cleven was cleaving to the damn thing like it were his god.

“I mean, tell me if I missed something essential!” She scoffed, “Some great development occur? Or was I needed for some great task you all missed me so desperately during? No? Didn’t think so. Because we don’t go anything in here except talk about getting out like it’s actually plausible and I’m sick as fuck of it and I-“ she pointed to herself, voice growing in volume as Gale’s own fury seemed to wane into something shocked and scared, “I have spent my day with men who have ingenuity and good humor and liquor, because they aren’t hopeless fucks like us. The Brit’s have a tunnel started, the Polish have one too along with a bathtub of potato peel vodka, and we have a pregnant colonel! Sto lat!”

It was terribly quiet for a moment, half the cabin's occupants intent on appearing discrete and the other half stunned into a sort of mortified offense.

“You gonna thrash her or am I?” Egan finally broke the tension, his head turning lazily to look at Gale, his mouth was grinning like he was eager and it made Maureen’s bruised cheeks flame. It seemed to be some private joke, Maureen could only tell by the way Cleven’s eyes widened in warning protest at his friend before biting his lip and sniffing harshly. Then the lights cut again and the place was plunged in darkness, it brought Maureen both relief at the obscurity and a strange feeling of terror at the pitch black surroundings. She still hated the dark, ever since those Gestapo cells.

“Take that filthy shit off and get in your bunk.” Gale’s voice so near and so sudden startled her, and it wasn’t rebellion that made her lag in response but he seemed to take it that way, the snap of his finger seeming dangerously close to her nose, and she felt his fingers pluck at her muddy coat, “Now, don’t test me, get in, now.”

She peeled it off and let it flop heavily to the floor before kicking off her boots with the same carelessness, and then taking a step up, digging her frozen toes into Benny’s mattress and hauling herself up to the next level, laying down with a shiver in the cold sheets. The quiet sounds of rustling and bedding filled the place, the others putting themselves away for the night too, but to her relief no one seemed to be murmuring about her. Then the bunk creaked again and the unmistakable feel of someone climbing in beside her made her gasp.

Gale, of course it was Gale, laid himself out atop her, like he planned to keep her there by his weight alone like Bucky had with Ida, and an odd feeling suddenly took possession of Maureen’s chest, one she hadn’t felt all day: she felt undeserving. His head was hard and awkward against her clavicle but she didn’t want to budge him, secretly and utterly grateful he was being kind, that he was not ignoring her. Maybe Ida was right and she was childish but if that were the case, what was to be done about it? She was as she was and she needed him, so tentatively after a few minutes, she withdrew her legs out from under his own and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close all along her like they were mating, she meant it as a hug and she felt him limp and heavy between her thighs but she did not withdraw.

Gale waited patiently until the snores began, wind whistling outside so loudly it would cover their whispers, and she shuddered to think of herself being petty enough to try to sleep in that icebox. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” he rasped at last, raising his head a little and trying to get a read on her in the semi dark. “Maureen, you can’t worry me like that, please.”

“I’m tired.” her voice was weak from the effort to hold back an ugly sob.

“You've been tired before.” he soothed, “What about today? What about last night? What’s all this? C’mon, you can tell me, I need ya to tell me.”

Maureen sighed raggedly, always a sucker for his cajoling voice, more so when she knew she deserved and expected the thrashing. “You don’t need me that way. You don’t need me at all.”

Gale dropped his head a little, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose, humiliation and impotence warring with need to assure her. “I'm sorry about that.” he settled for, “I’m too fucked right now, I admit it. It’s all just, it’s a lot, we’ve all got a lot goin’ on. You too, I know, I’m just not right up there, Maureen. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need me during the day and you don’t need me at night.” she had tried to dissuade herself of this painful reality, truly! -but those were the facts as she saw them and it hurt her worse than him.

“I’m doing this for you!” he begged, his large hand cupping the side of her throat and she would love to think it a caress but he was only trying to make a point, one she contested vehemently in her heart. “I won’t be okay until you’re safe, baby.”

Maureen scoffed, thick and bitter, she had no child, she had no threat, she didn’t need to get out. “I don’t have any reason to get out!” She seethed back, “What’s in it for me? Besides you dead and me too, maybe I’ll get sent back to the Gestapo. That’ll be lark. I don’t need to get out, Major, I need-“

Gale was panting in her face, hot and hurried as her own ire rose with each word, “What do you need?” he goaded, and she could hear him lick his lips.

“I need you to pay attention to me.” she said it.

And to anyone else it would have sounded the most petty thing of all, but to Gale Cleven it was something he already knew deep down when he wasn’t so caught up in the imminent might-be’s of their situation, when he wasn’t needing to save Bucky from himself, or Ida from being put down or Johnny from whatever Greek hell that doctor had enlisted him in. He knew Maureen needed him, not his brains or what he could give, not really, she just wanted his flesh, and he had never bartered in that currency before her, having always assumed it was cheap if not with love. He was not sure he was loved but he knew it was not cheap, whatever it was they shared. And he knew she needed him. Just as he needed her, even though he could not manifest it as he wished.

He could kiss her, though. That he could do.

She did not expect the plush press of his lips when she saw him duck his head against the halo of window light. He kisses with intent and with reproof and the part of her that enjoys his anger begins to thrum to life as mercy and justice both battle in his kiss, his tongue all forgiveness and his teeth implacable rightness.

“Why?” she whines at him, feeling herself need and yet he lays between her legs useless as a girl, “why’re you when you can’t-“ she has insulted him enough today, she trails off with surprising tact.

“Don’t mean I don’t need you.” his voice has gone gruff like it does when he holds her head firmly and grinds his once hard cock down her throat, “Don’t mean your boy don’t want you.”

And that’s all she needed, really.

Along with the feeling of his fingertips walking down her bare stomach, his hand somehow sneaking its way through her layers undetected until now. It awakes a trail of fire down to her core, her core that is already ablaze by his kissing, his neglect, his language.

“My baby.” she moans in ascent, loudly and exultant and a little mournful.

“I gotchue, I got you.” he swears into her mouth and his hand wastes no time in slithering between her legs, elegant fingers cupping her and smearing her arousal around beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck them into me.” she begs, his hand swiping and rubbing at her heat until her hole clenches in desperation, wanting the burn of a stretch.

He is used to her instructions, they’d have accomplished nothing these last months without them, he is able to obey without ceding one bit of control in the kiss and the dichotomy of it, of him, makes her spiral as long fingers plunge, three at a time into her like he’s mad at her, and she cums from it alone with a hoarse cry of shock. He leans up and over her, hair aglow in the dim light and his hand beginning to slam again and again between her legs, forearm hard at work before he brings his wrist to her mouth.

“Bite.” he tells her, an offer and an order and she does, repaying him the vicious assault below her waist where she is tugged apart and jammed at with all too much finesse, his thumb swiping at the apex of her slit everytime he plunges knuckle deep. Gale knows by now the signs of her peak but he pushes beyond it, adds his pinky until all four digits wreak havoc and makes her go again. She uses his wrist out of necessity not to wake the whole place. The sounds of her squelching may have done it for her.

He pets her after, his palm warmed up by his work and it cups and soothes her as she jerks and jolts and settles, and his nose nuzzles her own sweetly, murmuring her name again and again just how she likes it.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” he begs between smooches and Maureen feels entirely too weak to deny him.

“Ok.”

“Promise?” his tone and his hand grow firm again.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” he sighs beside her and she thinks she could fall asleep now he’s wrung her out. He pets her a few moments longer, as if loathe to pull his hand free. He cups her one more time, collecting her wetness in the crook of his fingers before at last he does, carefully bringing his hand up and out of her waistband. He holds it in front of himself for a brief moment as if debating how to enact his thoughts, and she watches him curiously because he does not lick his digits clean like usual, perhaps she is too soiled tonight, even for his devotion.

Instead she watches him roll onto his back, hand still aloft and glittery with an obscene amount of sticky pleasure and his other hand trails to his own fly, popping the button deftly with his left hand and tugging down the fastening. Her breath catches in her throat, suspense and arousal at the familiar motion making her perk once more. Gale shimmies his clothing down his thighs until she can see him just barely, lying fat and peaceful against his thigh. He deserves a little peace, she thinks, now that she is not so cross with him.

She holds his gaze in startled suspense as he locks eyes with her, wanting her to stare when he moves his wet hand down and wraps it around himself, smearing her juices all over his soft member, clear and creamy swirls rubbed into the pink meat of him, down to his very balls.

“There,” he manages between her kisses as she assails him anew with desperate appreciation, “you’ve still got me. I’m still yours.”

She drags her hand down there to feel the sticky evidence of his promise, to rub and fondle him as he lays dormant in her palm. She has often snickered to him that he is too tidy to ever fully have sex, he has had qualms over even what they do with their hands, their mouths as well. He was pleased she could swallow only for the mess it prevented. She’s often told him he’ll find coupling a filthy business and he oughta brace himself. This tacky feeling under her palm is the closest they’ve ever gotten to the act, her fluids touching him there, drying on him. She appreciates the gesture, more than here heart can bear to ponder: she also knows he’ll regret it.

“I’ve got some amends to make.” she acknowledges after giving him one last kiss and checking that the coast is clear. Egan is doubtless still awake as usual and perhaps Brady, but it can’t be helped and she doesn’t give a damn. “Try to be quiet -don’t think too hard on it, it’s fine if this is all it is.” she preemptively cautions before he can realize what she intends.

She slinks down the length of him, careful not to jar the whole bunk, careful to keep a low profile to the blankets before dipping her head in the little nest of covers shoved around his thighs. Despite her assurances Gale makes a keening noise of confusion when her tongue darts out without preamble and licks up the seam of his balls.

“Maureen.” he sounds half strangled but his hand flies out, not to prevent her, but to pet her lustrous hair. She feels utterly content in that moment and continues her quest to tidy him up.

“You hate being sticky.” she reminds in a whisper before gently sucking on his soft tip, she can feel his belly heaving in relaxed sighs, the connection not fully alive and yet, potent all the same, he pets her hair more firmly and even pushes her head down further and she gets the hint, abandoning his soft cock head for the chubby vein beneath, licking stripes of herself off him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” she whispers to the inanimate little thing, remembering how meanly she squeezed it the night before. “I swear we’re still friends.”

Gale vaguely registers her apology to his bits and bobs but he is genuinely more distracted by two glinting shards across the room that have to be Bucky’s blazing eyes. Trained right on him. Holy hell, he feels himself shake and the closest thing to a twitch animates between his legs before he throws his hand over his eyes and pretends he is very alone. He pets her head more purposefully, long, feminine strands slipping through his fingers.

John Egan once put a bet on how long it would take these idiots to learn they were in love. It was once all a bit funny. And now, seeing in a dim haze what appears to be the ritual of making up, it’s not so funny any more. Today could have gone far worse, any attention to the women was bad attention and having Ida have to make a scene while hiding a belly like that was nearly criminal in Bucky’s mind.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad for Gale. No, he was so glad he was half jealous watching, imagining more than even seeing. He wondered if Maureen knew how much she loved him, he wondered how it compared to his own, and he ached like hell.

Next morning Gale woke up with a sore spot on his chest from the weight of her head lying there all night, and to the tinkering sounds of the metal water jugs being jostled. There was a laugh and a responding “shh” and another stifled laugh following. He rolled his head on the pillow and blearily cracked an eye open, taking in Brady and Maureen over their task. Or at least, Johnny was trying while fighting some whispered bit of comedy that Maureen continued despite Johnny’s wheezing protests and incompetent fumbling with his handles.

“You ain’t bein’ quiet, if ya think you are.” Benny’s grumble from the bunk below said what Gale was thinking, but he was too relieved to see Maureen awake, cheerful and integrated again to complain.

“I’m telling him about a Romanian girl in the other sector, met her yesterday.” Maureen stage whispered and Brady began to lose it again, muffling his whole face into his sleeve, milk pail abandoned on the floor so he could laugh. “There’s a fence between and she’s a fighter pilot but she’s seen him at his laps and she wants him.”

Benny stayed quiet a minute before his own laugh started and Gale could feel the vibrations of it from a whole bunk below. “She put in an order or somethin’?”

“Practically.” Maureen drawled, “She was so relieved to meet an American so arrangements can be made for my fellow. She has cows back home Johnny, she’d trade ten for you. Those big Eastern European cows, straight from a storybook, it’s worth consideration.”

“Grab your jug.” Johnny insisted instead in a small wheeze as he collected his own and strode out, looking behind to ensure she was following and beginning to laugh at eye contact. Maureen threw her head back and guffawed that ugly little cackle of hers as she went out.

“I think we missed part of the first act.” Benny observed about the joke from below, Gale didn’t know what talent it was but his co-pilot always seemed to sense when he was awake, no checking needed.

“Yup.” Gale puffed into his pillow, not giving a damn about the content of her material only that some material was back.

Someone else who was shit at playing asleep was John Egan. Gale slunk out of his bed quietly to not awake everyone else and went over to the sprawled out form of his friend, Ida tucked behind his back and the wall, genuinely asleep despite the nicotine she had coursing through her. Gale reached out and flicked at an overgrown curl dangling over his friend's face, the return momentum of it tickled his nose and he sneezed on compulsion.

“Sleep well?” Gale asked as Bucky stared up at him, betrayed and crinkly faced.

“Was.” he accused.

“Talk?” Buck proposed in a monosyllable and he watched Egan’s raw morning eyes shutter closed into something as readable as millponds.

“Yeah, sure.” There was a series of grunts and heaves of effort as Bucky righted himself and finally pushed out of the bunk, “Hall?” he asked while contemplating just how little he wanted to don boots right now.

“Hall’s fine.”

They went out together, it was quiet in the hall despite the awakening rustle in the various rooms off it. It stayed quiet once they’d both taken a wall to lean against because Gale Cleven wasn’t good at broaching topics despite his bravery to initiate their surroundings. Egan had a sense what this was about, but then, things usually weren’t about the thing they were about, they were about another thing reflected in the thing and that’s where he got lost. But watching Gale Cleven take in a breath five times only to exhale and chew his lip got a little tedious, even by his standards for how much he enjoyed watching his Buck at anything.

If this was about being observed last night, Egan sure as fuck wasn’t gonna take the blame for seeing shit in a packed dormitory. Or, combine, barracks, whatever. So, a sentence like -sorry I watched you get licked at like a bowl of milk last night- didn’t reflect his sentiments at all. And he’d never lied to Buck, not once, except maybe about not social engineering his way onto planes during rough missions. So instead he went with an easy going, “Must be nice to almost get everyone killed then get rewarded for it.”

Gale’s eyes sharpened instantly but the harsh retort Egan panted for didn’t come, instead something tired took over and Gale pinched his nose. “We’re all goin’ a little looney in here.”

“Are we?” Bucky hummed combatively, “How you crackin’ up these days?” it wasn't fair his Buck had all this weight on him and a fussy woman besides.

“I’m havin’ an affair with a fellow officer.” Gale recited in a devastated montone, and Egan hadn’t expected such transparency. Not in criminal language.

“Well,” he ceded, “there is that.”

“And occurrences like last night are gonna need to keep happenin.” Gale was informing him and Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, his tone was that of an officer but his soft blue eyes flicked with a plea to be understood. “To keep her -tame. Some sorta sane. She’s like you, she wasn’t meant for this place.”

“Just last week you told me nobody was.” Egan pointed out just to be contrary but he couldn’t help his grin and Buck caught sight of it before he could suppress it, knowing the banter and its innate kinship was back.

“I need you to promise me somethin’.” Gale went on, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky perked at the sight of that tick.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to promise to wait a week before you try anythin’.” Gale said, “You said I’d come up with somethin’ and I will, but I need a week Bucky. Give me that, can’t let you leave here without any direction of where to head toward. Wait on that radio, don’t you go off gettin’ yourself shot and Ida, too.”

A week in this place felt like a year, a week with an ever swelling woman felt like an eternity of valuable, crucial time. Bucky ran his bare toes over the splintering wood and tried to focus on the way the wood shards pricked at his frozen toes. “Alright.” he agreed, couldn’t help himself when Buck was looking at him like that and telling him he didn’t want him to die. “Alright.” He repeated more forcefully just to see Gale’s face clear and some old expression of peaceful relief smooth out his worry lines, not as much as Maureen’s tongue could do, Bucky wagered, but it was a little relief of his own he could give. “But you make a poor incentive for obeying you.” he pointed out cheekily, shoving off his wall to advance on Gale and shove a finger in those still full cheeks, “You gonna reward me if I disobey an’climb over on day six?”

Gale rolled his eyes, an expression all too pretty with his cheek distorted by Egan’s rough fingers, his eyes wary and loving all at once, Bucky had missed that look, it was coy as hell and one of his favorites on his friend. “Don’t count on it.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[youaintnothinbuta]

could u write something for austin where reader is obsessed with his hair especially when she goes with him on set and they get wet bc he’s sweating too much, and once it turns her on sm that it ends up with him eating her out with her hands buried in them and when it’s too much she pulls it a little harder and austin just loves it

“You're so good at this.” — austin butler x reader

Summary: see request^^

Pairing: austin butler x fem!reader

Word count: 1.2K

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, mature language, oral (f receiving), probably typos im sorryyyy

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stood nervously outside the set of Masters of the Air, clutching your pass, waiting to be let in. Your boyfriend, Austin, was in the middle of filming, and you didn't want be any cause of distraction. His manager, a familiar face to you, greeted you and whispered, “Just slip in quietly, Y/N. They should be done with these takes in about 20 minutes.”

You nodded, your heart racing with excitement, as you followed her onto the set. The lights were blindingly bright, and the air was thick with the smell of sweat and costume fabric. You spotted Austin immediately, his chiseled features set in a determined expression as he delivered his lines. His voice too —deep, commanding, and authoritative— it sent shivers down your spine as he barked orders at his fellow actors.

You sat down quietly and out of view of him and any of the other actors. You couldn't help but notice how good he looked, his blonde hair mussed and his eyes gleaming with intensity. The layered costume added bulk to his already impressive physique, and the sweat dripping down his face only added to his sexiness. You felt that familiar fire ignite in your tummy as you watched your man at work. You pressed your thighs firmly together, trying to contain the desire that was building inside you.

After what felt like an eternity, the director called for a lunch break, and immediately the chatter in the room began.

“Austin!” You called. He perked up, a bright smile spreading across his face as he heard your voice, his eyes locking onto yours instantly.

“Baby, hi,” he said, striding towards you with long, purposeful strides.

You smiled, feeling a little shy but also incredibly turned on. You felt a flutter in your chest as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

“I didn't know you were coming today,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Sorry,” he apologised for being sweaty, tugging on his thick coat, “I feel like I’m melting in this thing.”

"I wanted to surprise you," you whispered back, your hands sliding up his chest to toy with the buttons on his costume, “and you look amazing.”

Austin chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do I?”

You nodded, responding to him. You found yourself getting more and more turned on by Austin's proximity. You could smell the sweat on his skin mixing with his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body, and see the way his eyes seemed to devour you, and the way his wet hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck. You knew you had to get him alone, and fast.

“How long do you have?” You asked, your words came out heavy, thick with desire.

Austin's eyes narrowed, his pupils dilating with interest. “40 minutes ish, why?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear. “I need you,” you whispered, the words sending a thrill through your entire body.

Austin's eyes flashed with desire, and he pulled back, his face set in a determined expression. “Let's find a quiet spot,” he growled, taking your hand, leading you to his trailer, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on his knees, his fingers deftly undoing your pants and pulling them down. His mouth closed over your pussy with a hungry growl.

"I've missed you," he said, his voice low and husky. You felt your body respond to his words, your nipples hardening beneath your shirt. His fingers dug into your skin as he pulled your core even closer to his lips.

You moaned as his hot breath washed over your skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. Your hands buried themselves in his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers as you pulled him closer.

“Fuck, Austin,” you breathed, your body trembling with pleasure. “You're so good at this.”

He chuckled against your flesh, “I know.”

He groaned, allowing you to feel the vibrations of his vocal cords, his mouth working magic on your clit. He slid his middle finger inside of you, curling upwards as his tongue lapped over your most sensitive spot. You gasped, your body tightening around his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. Your legs began to shake. You felt yourself building towards orgasm, your hands tightening in his hair as you tugged and pulled.

“Yes, baby, like that,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

Austin loved when you pulled at his hair, and he responded by increasing the pressure, his tongue lashing against you with reckless abandon. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge, your body coiling tighter and tighter.

You were so close, your body trembling with anticipation. The pleasure was getting too much, you pulled his head back by his hair, when you finally let out a loud cry and came all over his face. Austin groaned, his eyes closed in ecstasy, as you pulsed against his mouth.

He gently pressed his tongue on your clit, allowing you to milk yourself of your orgasm using his face until you were empty.

For a moment, you just sat there, panting and trembling, as Austin slowly got to his feet, his face smeared with your juices. He smiled, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and pulled you into a deep, wet kiss, his saliva and yours mixing with your slick.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice husky.

“I love you too,” you replied, a smile spreading across your face too. Austin's gaze never left yours as he reached for a towel that was draped over the back of a nearby chair. He gently wiped the remnants of your orgasm from his chin. Then, with a gentle touch, he brought the towel between your legs, softly wiping away your fluid. The intimate gesture sent a flutter through your chest, and you felt your heart swell with affection for this man.

As he helped you to your feet, Austin's hands lingered on your waist, his fingers brushing against the skin beneath your shirt. He zipped up the fly of your jeans, then fastened the button with a gentle tug. The simple act felt like a declaration of ownership, a reminder that you belonged to him, and he to you.

“Come on, let’s get food,” Austin said, his voice still thick, as he held your hand, leading you back to the catering area. He handed you a plate and took one for himself, both of you eyeing all the delicious looking food that was provided. Just then, the ten-minute call rang out across the room, a reminder that your break was drawing to a close. Austin's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, his voice low and teasing.

“You’re terrible,” he kissed your temple, pulling your head to his chest, “making me miss out on half my lunch break like that.”

You laughed as you leaned into him, “I’ll return the favour tonight.”

His stomach flipped at your words, he shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Hush,” he teased, shoving a strawberry in your mouth. You bit down innocently, humming with delight at the sweetness.

a/n I know for a fact no one eats pussy like Austin Butler does end of conversation

[jointherebellion215]

Birdie

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader

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

Word Count: 2.9k

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

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

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

Songs Mentioned in This Fic:

Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy by The Andrews Sisters

G.I. Jive by Johnny Mercer

The Ole Therebefore (Accapella) by Rachel Zegler

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you think he’ll be here tonight?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He brings you coffee every morning.”

“I thought he does that for everyone.”

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

“He takes care of his appearance!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He laughs at all your dumb jokes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Birdie’s gonna sing solo!”

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile…. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll catch you up

When I’ve emptied my cup

When I’ve worn out my friends

When I’ve burned out both ends

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

His little Birdie.

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

When I’m pure like a dove

When I’ve learned how to love

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

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

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

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

Then the world starts back up and carries on.

Right here in the old therebefore

When nothing is left anymore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, Buck. I know.”

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

“She kinda snuck up on me.”

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

[majoregan]

can someone make a fic where buck is tired and bucky notices and then he takes care of his buddy but buck is like "no im fine" but bucky insists "you need to rest, big boy"

[wandawxdow]

Masters of the Air fic recs

(*) = includes smut

gale ‘buck’ clevens x john ‘bucky’ egan

in london / on leave

bomber’s moon by moonrocks

in london, secret & established relationship, (*)

level-off manoeuvres by wormringers

together in london, (*)

dallas girls by hcneymooners

london, fluff and dash of angst

hurt/comfort & angst

good men die too / oh i’d rather be with you by moonrocks

grief/mourning, first kiss, injured!bucky

falling apart by cloudystars

post-mission hurt/comfort

Whatever Happens Tomorrow, We Had Today by MaShEd_Potat_os

angst, love confessions

a good dream by lilium

hurt/comfort, protective bf, 1x04 au

dear john by ForASecondThereWedWon

angst, love letters, 1x04, (*)

you’ll never be alone (i’ll be there for you) by tearsricochets

first kiss, pining, emotional hurt/comfort, 1x01-1x02

make you feel alive by signifier

emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending, presumed dead

it had to be you by MaShEd_Potat_os

post-war, angst with a happy ending, insecure!bucky

Another First by JoeyAlohaDream

(mild * mention), hurt!buck

stalag / imprisoned

greyspace by cloudystars

sick!bucky, protective!buck, hurt/comfort

night terrors by cloudystars

trauma, nightmares, hurt/comfort

I’ll Get By (As Long As I Have You) by JediRobertHogan

hurt/comfort, reunited

whatever you want me to do (i will do) by tkachukypls

angst, unrequited love, 1x07

scars by cloudystars

protective!bucky, fights, 1x07

You Put Your Arms Around Me (And I’m Home) by johnslittlespoon

fluff, sharing a bed, 1x07

Full Count by madeitsimple

angst and (*), 1x07-1x08, fights

judgement by the hounds by anonymous

1x08, hurt/comfort, fights, sharing a bed

Whatever you want me to do, I will do by Anonymous

john brady!centric, protective!buck & bucky

rainfall by switchgrassdevil

sick!buck, hurt/comfort, sharing a bed

I Won’t Rot by GrayFingers

hurt!bucky, protective!buck, injuries

Fluff + AUs

back home where you’re safe from, that’s the measure of a man by wolfhalls

established relationship, learning to dance, (*)

Reverie by Avonne

soulmate au (*)

the secret list of very serious (and sober) 100th’s rules by Amethyste_Blanche

fluff

Look The Other Way by Disastrous_Canasta

first meeting, fluff

all roads lead home by cloudystars

biker!au and abo!au, modern universe

A Kiss With A Fist by perpetualmotion

buck defends bucky’s honour

Love Tokens by perpetualmotion

gift giving

moonlight serenade by puffanities

abo!au, omega!bucky, alpha!buck, ongoing series

You and Me (5 Times) by stopstopstopit

various jokes about buck & bucky being married

any day now by tkachukypls

gift giving, bucky gives buck a puppy

Garden in My Heart by 13SapphireStars13

abo!au, omega!bucky, alpha!buck, courting

Smut - no Plot

A Suite at the Ritz by stillheremydear

secret relationship & sneaking around (*)

buck x bucky x curtis fics

I’ll be looking at the moon (but i’ll be seeing you) by moonrocks

1x03, grief/mourning

different but equal by Ikharys

fluff, pre-relationship, sharing beds

my hand was the one you reached for (all throughout the great war) by RavenOfRao

fluff, pre-relationship

A Brief Moment of Mourning by Perpetual Motion

angst, emotional hurt/comfort

First Meetings (and Punishments) by scaraheather

first meetings, pre-relationship

Both (*) by Ikharys

fluff and smut, sharing a bed

each man has got his classification (*) by mpix

smut, jealousy

Out of Reach by studies in subjunctive

unrequited love, (*)

The Long Way Home by livelaughlove_write

post-war, ptsd, love confession

x reader recs

jealous!buck request by @sansaorgana

jealous!buck request (2) by ↑

to the rescue (curtis biddick) by @sagesolsticewrites

with all my gratitude, hope and adoration, john (2) (3) by @buckysegan

twenty five (to life) by MissFreakingFortune

blurb (bucky egan) by @swiftiekisses

Hitchin’ A Ride by @pisupsala

girl dad!gale request by @sansaorgana

Because the Night by @gloryofroses19

Birdie by @jointherebellion215

amor aeternus series by @saturnville

agape (wattpad) by perxwxnkle

Are You Going My Way by pisupsala

[austinswife]

ALWAYS YOUR SECOND CHOICE - ‘Buck’ Cleven

PART 01 || 02

SYNOPSIS — After walking away from Gale “Buck” Cleven, leaving behind the love you thought you had, Buck is sent on another mission during the war. Though you thought your relationship was over, a letter from Buck arrives before his departure, forcing you to confront the unresolved emotions and the difficult choices you’ve made.

WARNING(S) — Themes of heartbreak, regret, and unresolved tension, emotional turmoil, reflection, potential reconciliation or heartbreak.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

The days had dragged by since you walked away from Buck, the man you thought you would spend your life with. You had never imagined your relationship would come to this—a painful, confusing ending that left you questioning whether it had ever been real at all. The ache in your chest was constant, a dull pain that never fully went away, no matter how hard you tried to push it down.

It had taken every ounce of strength you had to leave him, to walk out the door and force yourself to believe that you deserved better, even if your heart hadn’t fully accepted it. You had convinced yourself that you were doing the right thing, that staying would only mean more heartbreak. But now that he was gone—off to war, with no guarantee that he would return—the uncertainty felt suffocating.

Every day, you found yourself wondering where he was, what he was doing. If he was safe. If he was thinking about you the way you were thinking about him. But you tried to push those thoughts aside. You had made your choice, and you had to stick to it. There was no point in holding on to false hope, not when the pain still ran so deep.

One morning, as you were finishing up chores on the farm, the mail truck arrived. You didn’t think much of it until you saw the letter, your name scrawled across the front in Buck’s familiar handwriting.

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared down at the envelope, your hands shaking as you carefully tore it open. For a moment, you weren’t sure if you could bring yourself to read it. What could he possibly have to say after everything that had happened? But curiosity—and the unresolved feelings you still harbored—won out.

You unfolded the letter, the familiar weight of his words pressing down on you as you began to read.

Y/N,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone on another mission. I don’t know how much time I have left to write, but there are things I need to say—things I didn’t say when you stood in front of me, tears in your eyes, asking me to choose you.

I know I hurt you. I know I’ve let you down in ways I can’t even begin to explain, and I don’t blame you for leaving. You’re right—I haven’t made you feel like my first choice, and for that, I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry.

When I was with you, everything was easy. You never asked for anything more than what I could give. But that’s what makes it worse, doesn’t it? You deserved so much more, and I failed to give it to you.

I don’t know how to fix what I broke, and the truth is, maybe I can’t. You told me that you wouldn’t be waiting for me when I came back, and I understand. You deserve more than the man I’ve been. But I need you to know something, Y/N. I need you to know the truth.

I love you.

Maybe I didn’t show it right, maybe I didn’t say it enough, but I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than her. And I know what you’re thinking—why didn’t I prove it? Why did I always run to her?

I don’t have the answers that will make this right. The only thing I can say is that I’ve been a fool. I was trying to hold onto the past because it felt like something I needed to protect. But the more I held onto her, the more I realized I was losing the one thing I couldn’t live without—you.

I’ve been selfish, and I didn’t see it until it was too late. I know I may not get the chance to make this right. I don’t know what’s waiting for me out there, but I didn’t want to leave without telling you this.

If I don’t come back, I need you to know that I never stopped thinking about you. About us. About what we could’ve been if I hadn’t been such a coward.

I wish I could be there with you right now, telling you all of this face-to-face, begging for your forgiveness, but I can’t. I just hope that when this war is over, and if I’m lucky enough to come home, there’s still a chance. Even if it’s small. Even if it’s broken.

If I come back, I want to try to be the man you deserve.

But if this is the last letter you ever get from me, then I want you to know that you were the love of my life, Y/N. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.

Be safe. Live your life fully, even if I’m not there to see it. You deserve that and so much more.

Yours always, Buck

You stared at the letter in your hands, Buck’s words blurring as tears welled in your eyes. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him to say the things you had been so desperate to hear when you were still together. The apology, the confession of love—it was all there, written on the page like a final plea for your forgiveness.

But what hurt the most was knowing that he had only come to these realizations after you had left, after it was too late. After you had walked out that door, heartbroken and certain that you could never come back from the betrayal.

Your thoughts drifted back to that day, the moment when you had finally confronted him. You had stood there, spilling your heart out, telling him how much it hurt to feel like a second choice. You had reminded him about the time you were in the hospital—how sick you had been, how scared. You had asked him to come, needed him by your side more than ever, but he couldn’t.

You understood that he couldn’t leave the base. You had accepted that… until Marge called. She had needed him, and without a second thought, he dropped everything and ran to her. That had been the breaking point—the moment when you realized you couldn’t keep being the one left behind.

"It hurt so much, Buck. Too much for me to handle. I don’t even know if I’ll ever heal from this, because the more I love you, the more it hurts."

You had said those words through tears, your heart breaking even as you spoke them. And now, here you were again, crying over the same man, the same wounds.

But his letter… it was different. It wasn’t enough to erase the hurt, but it was something. It was the truth, finally. He had admitted to everything you’d been afraid of, and while that should have made it easier, it only made it more complicated.

Because despite everything, you still loved him. No matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how much you told yourself that you were done, you couldn’t stop loving him. You couldn’t turn off that part of your heart, no matter how hard you tried.

Buck had said he didn’t know if he’d come back. The thought of him not returning from the war sent a wave of panic through you, an emptiness settling in your chest. What if this was the last letter you ever got from him? What if he never came home?

You couldn’t shake the feeling of dread, the uncertainty of war hanging over both of your heads. But there was something else there too—a small, fragile flicker of hope. He had said that if he came back, he wanted to try. He wanted to be the man you deserved.

But could you give him that chance? Could you let yourself hope for a future where things would be different, where you wouldn’t always feel like second best? Or would the wounds run too deep to ever fully heal?

You didn’t have the answers. Not yet. All you had was the letter, and the words he had written—I love you. More than her.—echoing in your mind.

For now, all you could do was hope he came back safe. Hope that maybe, one day, you could have the conversation you had both been too afraid to have. And maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to rebuild what had been broken.

But for now, you would wait. Not for him, but for clarity. For a future where you could make the choice that was right for you.

It had been weeks since Buck’s last letter—weeks that felt like an eternity, stretched taut with fear and uncertainty. Every day that passed without word from him made your heart ache, the silence becoming more unbearable than anything you could’ve imagined.

The last letter from him had left you reeling. It had been filled with apologies, admissions of his failures, and confessions of love, all wrapped up in the kind of raw vulnerability you hadn’t seen from Buck in the months leading up to your breakup. And now, there was nothing but empty space where his words should’ve been.

You had told yourself you were done with him. That after everything—the constant running to her, the feeling of being second best, the hurt that had built up like a wall between you—there was no going back. You had told yourself that walking away was the right decision. But your heart… your heart didn’t seem to care.

It had been weeks of trying to distract yourself, of throwing yourself into the farm work, keeping busy, and pretending that you weren’t waiting for him. But every time you saw the mail truck drive by, your heart would skip a beat. Every time you saw the sky, clear and blue, you’d think of him up there, flying, and you’d wonder—where was he? Was he safe? Was he thinking of you?

And then, one cold afternoon, just as the sky was turning gray with winter clouds, the letter came.

You hadn’t expected it—weren’t even sure you could handle it—but when you saw the envelope with his name scrawled across it in that familiar handwriting, something inside you twisted. This wasn’t like the other letters. The paper was worn, dirt-smudged at the corners. The handwriting was different—uneven, hurried.

Your hands trembled as you tore it open, your stomach churning with both fear and hope. The moment you read the first line, your breath caught in your throat, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Y/N,

I don’t know how this letter will reach you, but I hope to God it does. I’m writing from a German POW camp. My plane was shot down on our last mission, and I’ve been captured. There’s no easy way to say this, and I hate to think of you reading this, worrying about me even more than you probably already do.

I’m not hurt, not really, just tired. Tired in a way I can’t explain. But I’m alive, and that’s something, right?

I think about you every single day. Even more so now that I’m here, in a place where everything seems so far away and unreal. But you—you’re always with me. I still have your picture, the one you gave me before everything went wrong. I keep it tucked in my left jacket pocket, right over my heart. I put it there the day you left, and it hasn’t moved since.

There are nights when I pull it out and just stare at it, thinking of you, wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to see you again. I remember how it felt to hold you, how you laughed, how you’d roll your eyes at my stupid jokes. It’s what keeps me going, even here, even now.

I know you might still be angry. Hell, I’m still angry at myself. I keep thinking about what I did, about how I didn’t deserve the love you gave me. But it’s all I have now—your love. Even if you don’t forgive me, even if I never get to fix what I broke, I want you to know that carrying your love with me is the only thing getting me through this.

I’m not asking for forgiveness in this letter. I’m not asking for anything, really. I just wanted you to know that if I make it out of here alive, it’s because of you. I’m still fighting to come home to you.

I love you, Y/N. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say.

Yours always, Buck

The letter fell from your hands as you pressed your palm to your mouth, tears filling your eyes as you let the words sink in. He was alive. He was still out there, somewhere, thinking of you, carrying your picture in his jacket—next to his heart.

He had been shot down. Captured.

Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you tried to imagine what he must be going through. A Prisoner Of War camp. The thought alone sent chills through you. You didn’t know what conditions he was in, how dangerous it was, how much time he had left. But he was alive. And that was something.

But more than that… he still loved you.

I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say.

You stared down at the letter, reading and rereading those words, your chest tight with emotion. All this time, you had tried to convince yourself that you were done, that you had moved on, that walking away from him was the right choice. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You hadn’t stopped loving him.

Buck’s words brought back memories—memories of the man you fell in love with before everything became so complicated. The man who made you laugh, who held you when the world felt too heavy. The man who could make you feel like you were the only person that mattered, even when everything else was falling apart.

But those memories were tangled up with the hurt, the betrayal, the constant running to her. You had wanted to be his first choice, but it had always felt like you were second. Even now, those wounds hadn’t healed. You didn’t know if they ever would.

But in this moment, none of that seemed to matter. All that mattered was that Buck was still out there, still fighting to come home. And if he was still fighting… maybe you could too.

You had never written him back after leaving, but now, for the first time since you’d walked away, you felt ready to speak. You pulled out a piece of paper and sat at the small wooden table, the pen feeling heavy in your hand as you began to write the first letter since you had said goodbye.

Buck,

I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sitting here, rereading your letter, and all I can think is, thank God you’re alive. Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been so afraid, Buck. I’ve been terrified that I’d never hear from you again, that I’d never get the chance to say what’s been in my heart since I left.

It’s hard for me to put into words how I’ve felt these past few months. You hurt me in ways I didn’t think were possible, and I won’t pretend that those scars have healed. But reading your letter, knowing that you still carry my picture with you, knowing that you’re fighting to come home to me… it’s brought everything into perspective.

I still love you, Buck. I never stopped, not even after I walked away. It hurt so much because I loved you so much. And that love hasn’t gone away. I can’t deny it anymore.

When you told me you were running to her because she needed you, it felt like a betrayal. Like I would always come second in your life. I needed you too, Buck, but you weren’t there. And that broke me. I won’t lie to you—it still breaks me.

But despite all of that, I’m sitting here writing to you because my heart refuses to let go of you. You’re still a part of me, even now. And I want you to know that if—when—you come back, I’ll be here. I’ll be waiting for you.

I’m not ready to say I forgive you, not yet. There’s still a lot to work through, a lot that needs to be said between us. But what I can say is this: I love you. I’ve always loved you, and I’ll keep loving you, no matter what happens.

So come back to me, Buck. Please, come back safe. We’ll figure the rest out when you’re home.

Yours, Y/N

As you finished the letter, you folded it carefully, your hands trembling with a mixture of hope and fear. The fear of losing him again was overwhelming, but the hope—the hope that maybe, just maybe, you could have a future together—was enough to keep you going.

You sealed the envelope and handed it to the postman the next day, your heart heavy with all the things left unsaid, yet lightened by the chance to say what truly mattered.

The days after sending the letter passed slowly, the uncertainty gnawing at you as you waited, hoping for some kind of word—some kind of sign that Buck was still holding on. You pictured him pulling out your photo, keeping it close as he faced each day, and it gave you the strength to keep going.

You didn’t know if he would get your letter, didn’t know if he would make it back to you. But the one thing you did know was that love—your love for Buck—was still there. And no matter how broken things had been, no matter how much hurt had passed between you, that love was still worth fighting for.

Now, all you could do was wait. Again…

[middlingmay]

okay okay, sexy ideas. weekend pass in London. They have a hotel room. They still end up doing the nasty in an alley because they’re both thrill seekers and stupidly horny 😏

- @stoneinyourshoe

Thank you so much for the idea @stoneinyourshoe! But damn you. This...this got wildly away from me. Apparently I have a lot of thoughts about the Buckies being horny little thrill seekers.

Constructive criticism more than welcome! Let me know if it's stilted, repetitive, doesn't flow, awkward, out of character - I wanna knooow.

NSFW under the cut.

They always joked that Gale had to cut Bucky off when he got good and drunk. But he hadn’t done it once. Not ever. Because truth was Gale liked drunk Bucky. He liked Bucky all ways, but he liked drunk Bucky for two very specific reasons.

First, he liked to observe and measure and catalogue how different Bucky was to his dad. They both had a proclivity for whisky, but John's never turned him mean and Gale liked the count all the ways that was true.

Second, Bucky got handsy.

To others it may have looked like Gale merely tolerated Bucky hanging off him when he was drunk, grabbing at Gale's face, chucking his chin, slapping his thigh, showering him with compliments that would make a dame blush. But Gale craved it, thirsted for it, drank every single scrap of it all in and wanted more and more and more. He worried that he wanted more than Bucky had in him to give, but Bucky seemed determined to try anyway.

And London had made him freer than normal. Maybe it was the relief and giddiness from being away from base. Maybe it was the anonymity that came with being in such a large city full of people. Maybe it was the dim lighting of the bar. But Bucky was well on his way to tipsy and his hands were everywhere. Gale didn’t know how he was doing it.

They sat at a small table listening to the band and watching couples dance on the floor. So far, Bucky had put his arm over Gale’s shoulder and stroked the downy hairs on the nape of his neck on the way by. He’d traced the curve of Gale’s ear and tugged on the soft lobe between two rough-skinned fingers. He’d patted Gale’s chest and lingered over his heartbeat. He leaned into Gale’s side with almost all his weight and spoke deep and rough into Gale’s ear where no one could hear the goddamn filth that man could spew.

“Think they’d notice if I slipped under the table?”

“Fuck you smell good. Wanna taste you, Buck.”

“When you told that rookie off the other day? Got me half-hard. Think you could talk to me like that later?”

With each utterance, Bucky got closer than the last until Gale felt the very tip of his tongue, warm and wet, lick at the juncture where his ear met his jaw. Gale had to cross his legs and lean back before they got themselves into a situation they couldn’t talk themselves out of.

And fuck if that didn’t get him harder. Because that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? He and John were kindred spirits, a little wild and a little unhinged like all good pilots had to be to do their job. When they’d started up this thing together, and had finally given in to that pull, that nature of theirs had spilled over into their sex life. It was hard to hold back when they wanted each other, and being together on a military base during wartime meant you had to embrace a little risk. But Buck and Bucky got off on it. When they heard voices pass them by, or footsteps come near their hiding places; when they decided they just had to have each other fifteen minutes before they were due for a briefing, it had them clawing at each other more viciously, giving biting kisses and delving their tongues in to plunder up every taste and sound they could. It had them pulling hair until the strands broke and coming so hard their eyes rolled back into their heads and their ears buzzed for a while after they came back down to earth.

The real kicker was when they returned to wherever they were supposed to be, strolled in like the leaders of the pack, spick and span and not a hair or a mark out of place, and no one batted an eye.

Under the table, John’s hand left his knee and crept up the long expanse of Gale’s thigh. His fingers pressed the inseam of Gale’s pants into the soft skin and caught and tugged on the hairs there on its way up, sparking little bursts of painful pleasure. With Gale’s legs still crossed, they created the perfect little cove for John to cup Gale’s length with one massive hand.

“Shit.”

“Think I could get you off here? Think you could sneak out when your come’s still drying?”

Gale grabbed John’s half-finished whisky and tossed it into the soil of some poor potted plant that didn’t deserve it.

John didn’t take his eyes off Gale. “I was drinking that.”

“You’re finished.”

“Ah, Buck,” John grinned and pulled his hand away. “I’m just getting started.”

Gale kept close to John’s back as they left - more cover for the effect John had on him. Not even the cool burst of air of a London evening could settle him down fully.

That, and John was a man of his word. He really was just getting started.

“Think I wanna kneel on the floor,” he said when the coast was clear. Gale didn’t say a word, fully aware John was not looking for his input. “Whilst you lean over the bed. So I can eat you out.”

Gale tongued at the inside of his cheek, feeling the silky smooth softness of the skin; skin John had told him felt like the inside of a woman. Gale had never tried it before.

“I’ve heard about this thing they do in Europe, too. You lie on top of each other, but one of you is upside down, so we can blow each other at the same time.”

Gale’s stomach clenched. Jesus fucking Christ.

“But I really wanna call room service, then fuck you against the door and try to make you come before they get there and hear that fuckin’ squeal you got. Shit—”

John nearly lost his balance as Gale bodily shoved him into the mouth of an alley. He only just caught himself, but Gale pushed and bullied and kept on shoving until they were more than half way down and the evening shadows afforded them some cover.

Gale grabbed John by his lapels and thrust him against the scraggly brick wall. He worked his knee harshly between John’s legs and watched dark brown lashes flutter over the dusky blue of his eyes.

“Squealing?” Gale murmured against his lips. “Like you don’t whimper like a virgin on her wedding night every time I take you for everything you got.”

The sound of a car passing by had Gale’s tongue flicking out into John’s waiting mouth. John trembled and followed after as Gale pulled back. He whined when Gale shoved him back against the wall.

“You got anything with you?”

The aching disappointment on John’s face was all the answer he needed. Gale tutted and John hung his head, a sorry looking thing. Gale may have liked John’s eagerness to please, but he never liked him looking so hang dog, disappointed in himself. He put a finger under his chin, like he used to do to Marge, and tilted John’s head up.

“What’s got you so down, baby? I don’t like it when you ain’t smiling.”

John grabbed his waist, squeezed the trim angles and thumbed at the oblique muscles that corded his sides.

“Wanna fuck you,” he whispered into Gale’s mouth.

“Right here?”

“Mhm.”

Fuck. Fuck. Gale loved when John got like this. Compliant and needy. Reduced to short sentences and mere sounds. He couldn’t help himself. He let his tongue dip into John’s mouth and pulled him into a messy kiss that shot straight to his cock. The slick sound of Gale pulling away way was like the rendering of ripe fruit.

“Think you can take it a little rough?”

John’s hands had already dropped to Gale’s belt before he even started nodding, promising Gale he could take it with breathy yeah, yeah, yeahs. Gale placed his hands on the wall, either side of John’s head and let him pull Gale’s belt apart, prize at the button of his slacks, and unzip him just enough to pull out the length of him.

But Gale grabbed his wrist before he could do that. He twirled his other finger in a circle and without a word John turned around to face the wall, holding himself up by his hands.

Gale watched the trembling line of his wide shoulders, a wingspan befitting a bomber pilot—a bomber squadron commander who had to bear the weight of all those men. He watched the rock of John’s hips as he thrust uselessly into the pace between him and the wall.

John was an indulgent, vice-loving man. He really couldn’t help himself. And Gale did like to live vicariously through him.

He would have liked to have taken his time, drawn it out and teased John with it until he got desperate. But anyone could walk by, look a little closer and see them. So time was against them.

With deft fingers he uncoiled John’s belt, undid the fastenings to his slacks and shoved them and his boxers down to just below the curve of his ass.

“Gotta be quiet,” he murmured into John’s ear. “Can’t give anyone a reason to come lookin’. You hear me?”

John’s agreement came muffled through a bit lip.

He dipped his fingers into the crease below the divot at the small of John’s back and spat a long, thick line down into it. Then another. Then another. He had a finger pressed just above where John wanted him, not letting any of the precious viscosity escape. Quick and sudden, before his spit could dry, Gale pressed his finger into the furling heat of John. A choked off gasp and a sharp hiss had Gale kissing the nape of John’s neck gently, had him slipping his other hand down the front of John and tugging and pulling and rolling to give John something else to focus on.

The mewling that stuck at the bottom of John’s throat for Gale’s ears only was his guide. The second it came smoother, higher, Gale slipped in another finger. It was just edging the wrong side of too dry for John; Gale knew what he could take, what he thought he could take and what he couldn’t. But John kept thrusting into the flat palm Gale held against his cock, and the sharpness of the feeling of just two fingers inside him had John dripping globs of precum down his shaft.

What a generous, thoughtful, useful sort, was John.

Gale scooped up the sticky moisture and used it to slick the way a little better. John had his forearm against the wall and bit into the thick, heavy fabric of his army issued jacket.

He really was a good boy.

“That’s it John,” Gale panted from behind. “You got anymore for me? Just a little more and you’ll be ready for me.”

John did, always so ready to give Gale what he asked for. With three fingers still inside him, Gale stroked himself, slicking himself up with his own slickness and lined up as he pulled his fingers free.

John barely had time to make a single noise of complaint before Gale was driving all the sound out of him. John’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his head fell against Gale’s shoulder. His eyes were wide open and wondrous, and the smooth, freckled skin of his forehead was lax and uncreased. Blissful. Contended. Beautiful.

Gale grabbed the thick stretch of John’s neck just above the collar and John’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. Every thrust of Gale’s hips drove the breath from John’s lungs. There was no sound left in him, no room for it with the blinding pleasure tinged with pricks of stinging pain from the rough texture of the brick, Gale’s grip on his throat, and the full, pulling stretch of Gale inside him.

John almost sobbed when Gale finally dropped the hand at his neck back to his cock. Gale grinned and bit the lobe of John’s ear. So greedy, he never did want it to be over.

But they were running out of time.

Gale stroked him hard and quick, almost double time to his thrusts. The sound of their bodies coming together echoed in the quiet London alley and Gale felt like everyone, anyone nearby must know what they’re doing. God maybe this was it; maybe this was the time they were going to get caught.

He said as much to John and his knees shook and went weak until Gale was all that held him up.

His stomach tensed and fluttered. He was almost there. John’s panting was getting higher and whinier, a sure sign he was riding that edge, too. Fuck, they needed to come now. They were going to get caught—

A woman’s sharp laughter barreled down from the mouth of the alley and Gale came with a harsh bite to John’s shoulder through the fabric of his jacket. That woman could be standing right next to them watching, calling her friends over to watch and it wouldn’t have mattered. Gale shoved deeper and deeper into John as he rode out his orgasm, revelling in the warm, wet heat of his own making, marking John up like that from the inside. Fuckin’ let those sanctimonious bastards watch. Whilst they fucked around on their husbands and wives, he got to make it whenever and wherever he wanted with the love of his life.

John’s hands snapped around to grab at Gale’s hair and he was painting the wall in front and the ground below with his own spend. He was pushing against Gale trying to ride out the moment for all it was worth, painfully aware it would be over in a few short seconds. It had to be. They’d pushed every ounce of luck they had already. And then some.

Gale let himself indulge in kisses along John's neck, up his jaw and on his ear, before he pulled out carefully. John hissed and groaned as he did and Gale murmured soft apologies as he put them back together. John first, all tucked away and belt buckled before he saw to himself.

As he did up his own trousers, John turned and started to fix Gale's hair, putting it back in place before picking up the hat Gale hadn't noticed had fallen off and wiping it clean of dirt against his own slacks. He popped it just right on Gale’s head and grinned bright and boyish.

“Goddamn poster boy, Buck Cleven. Have you as a pin up any day.”

Gale smirked back. “Not Alice from Dallas?”

John barked. “If I never met you, Buck, I’d let that woman throw me around however she wanted.”

They kept a safe distance between them as they emerged from the alley and joined the meagre pedestrian traffic hurrying out to an evening’s entertainment, not paying two soldier boys any attention

“But you did meet me.” No doubt about it, Gale Cleven sounded smug.

“Yes I did. Best damn day of my life.”

And Gale laughed loud and free into the sky. “I don’t know. We’ve got the rest of the night ahead of us. Let me know in the morning.”

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Game of Survival edit (buck x bucky au)

read it HERE

[luckydeuce]

It’s a bit of a shitty name, if he’s being honest. It matches Bucky’s, just like that cunty little moustache of his. It’s a name for an American comic book superhero and for a brothel-keeper at once.

“Buck?” he tries. Weighs the sound on his tongue, lets it pop between his lips, slide down his throat. He shrugs. Fuck it, whatever. He’ll take it. “Okay, Bucky,” he hears himself say. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Bucky laughs, then, leaning in so close that his breath brushes the shell of Gale’s ear. Something loud and stupid pitches in Gale’s heart, high like a whistle. Say yes, it screams. Say yes, come on. Say yes.

“You’re here with Neil, aren’t you?” Bucky asks, then quickly adds before Gale can respond, “Wait, don’t answer. Just nod for yes.”

It’s so sudden, the change. The way Bucky’s smile becomes roguish, predatory. It’s like he’s out on a hunt and just caught a whiff of something good.

(Gale realises: he is the good thing.) Gale’s never been this attracted to a stranger he’s met in a club. To a stranger he’s met anywhere. Maybe he’s never been this attracted to anyone in his entire life.

He nods.

[eternallytired17]

Some art depicting a scene in Chapter 5 of @johnslittlespoon's Tough and Sweet fic! Still learning to use the art tablet, but my deep love for this fic is keeping me committed to trying it out, 'cause it deserves all the art! Love ya Sam!

[therealslimshakespeare]

oh my god the Maureen board. I had to drop in to revisit your lovely space here and when I tell you I was so happy to see that! It's beautiful. My complex queen and her angel boy

Awww I’m so happy you took a peek and liked it. 🤭 I’ve got a fic of them in Wyoming right after getting home that’s in the works and so soft and one in London which is heavy but devoted and then a finished one of them after he joins the navy, and they’re living in their boathouse, and no one would likely envy them and the troubles they are working through but they are indeed working through them and they love each other so much and I have so many feelings 😭🤍

[amiserableseriesofevents]

I firmly believe that Bucky's love language (besides the obvious physical touch) is acts of service - scrounging up the materials for Buck's radio, giving Buck the lucky deuce, getting him a bike, making sure that he's the first of them to try to escape, etc - while Buck's is words of affirmation - "don't you die on me before I get over there", "the last few years would have been a lot rougher without you", "this you will be the one worth knowing", etc.

[antiquitea]

𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫.

pairing: john "bucky" egan x gale "buck" cleven

summary: while resting during the march from the stalag to the train, gale helps john sleep. after the war, john returns the favour.

warnings: mature, minors do not interact! semi-public sex, hand jobs, frottage, ptsd, and the horrors of war.

word count: 3.7k

author's notes: i am cross eyed from banging this out over the course of a couple of hours save for a couple of paragraphs. i didn't think i could do this anymore. apparently i just need sunshine and the largest iced coffee that i can stomach before barfing to fuel me.

many thanks to @swifty-fox for yelling at me in all caps while i wrote this. shout out to laura marling's "night terror" for being a loose inspiration and letting me steal both the title and a lyric even if she doesn't know i did that.

» read on ao3

February 1945

Gale couldn’t sleep.

Both in the sense that he agreed to stay awake, and even if he could have slept, he wasn’t sure that he would have been able to. They’d found an abandoned farm house to take shelter in for the night between leaving the stalag and heading to wherever their next destination was, and while it assisted in keeping the snow out, it did nothing to protect himself and the rest of the men from the bitter cold.

John had, in a moment of brilliance, grabbed a blanket before they left, and the two men made good use of it, as threadbare as it was. The two men huddled together beneath it, using each other for warmth more so than the blanket itself. Dire as their circumstances were, they were both silently and secretly grateful for the excuse to get closer together out in the open; they were not the only two cuddling for warmth. “Weather purposes” as John had put it.

“I can’t sleep,” John grumbled into Gale’s chest.

Gale’s jaw clicked, his eyes fixed on the German soldier who stepped over bodies in various states of slumber and wakefulness as he made his rounds. “Try, John,” he murmured quietly, chin resting on top of his friend’s head. “It’ll be my turn soon and I don’t want to hear your bellyaching.”

John snorted, and despite the layers of clothing between them, Gale could feel the way his lips quirked upward into a small smile against him.

The upside to being a prisoner of war, with every single day and night being a test of their ability to survive? Being able to be close to one another, like this, with no judgment. They weren’t the only ones holding one another for warmth, the only ones who shared a bunk from time to time back at the stalag. That they couldn’t have this elsewhere without someone raising eyebrows was terribly unfair.

The downside? Everything else.

Gale didn’t have the heart to tell John that he had actually nodded off for a couple of hours already. He knew that their sleep had been dreamless and restless for over a year. And that was the best that anyone could hope for. The worst were of course the nightmares, the night terrors, men bolting upright in their bunks sweating, screaming.

He and John had been two of the lucky ones.

At least so far.

Gale’s hands idly soothed over John’s back, hoping that the gentle touch would lull him back to sleep. John shivered against him, and Gale couldn’t tell if it was from his touch or the cold. He hoped that it was the former, but the bitter cold was likely stronger than John’s desire for Gale and his touch.

In the depths of his mind, he liked to imagine that they were back stateside, before John shipped out, bed sheets tangled around them, touching one another slow, sweet, soft. Not the hurried manner which they went about it all since Gale had arrived in England. They stole moments together whenever they could, no longer afforded the luxury of time. At least in the stalag they could make excuses for being close to one another, sharing a bed.

If anyone saw anything, no they hadn’t. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have said anything.

“S’nice,” John mumbled against Gale’s throat, as strong, sure hands rubbed over his back.

“I know,” Gale said, eyes darting about to make sure that there were no other eyes on them. If there were, they weren’t scrutinizing enough for him to take notice. The other men were too busy trying to keep themselves warm and sleep as well, the guards not truly giving a damn, concerned with their own warmth as well.

“Lower,” John said, his fingers curling in Gale’s thick coat. “And in the front as opposed to the back.”

Gale stilled for a moment, and then bumped John’s forehead with his own. “I know you’re not that foolish.”

“Maybe I am,” John retorted. He inhaled sharply, exhaled shakily. “You know it puts me to sleep. If that truly is your end goal here, Buck.”

He looked around once more, before meeting John’s gaze. “Are you crazy?” Gale hissed, teeth clenched. “Your insatiable damn lust will get us both killed.”

John smiled sadly, then ducked his head and nuzzled at Gale’s throat. “We’re as good as dead already, sweetheart.”

Even it was the truth, Gale wanted to continue foolishly believing that there still might be a shred of hope. That their stories didn’t end with them receiving bullets between the eyes, left to rot wherever the Germans saw fit. That he and John might live to see a few more sunrises, that they might see the end of the war, that they might go back home.

Despite Gale’s optimism, it seemed less and less likely that he would know anything but this ever again.

Gale watched as a guard literally stepped over his and John’s bodies to get to the front of the building, and for the moment he froze, waiting for them to pass. He turned his head, his back to the entrance of the farm house, and watched as the majority of the men tasked with guarding them stepped outside. There was a brief flicker of fire from a lighter, the flame passed around until all three cigarettes were lit. Gale turned back toward John, looking into his dark blue eyes, heavy lidded with exhaustion, and something else that he had only ever shown to Gale.

Neither of them spoke of it.

Gale pulled the glove off of one of his hands, and John shifted in front of him, wriggling excitedly. It was a moment later when Gale realized that it wasn’t excitement, it was John undoing his pants and pushing layers of fabric up, down, out of the way. Gale held John’s gaze as he spat discreetly into his palm, and John’s lips parted with a soft sigh before he caught his bottom lip between his teeth.

“For once in your life, be quiet,” Gale rasped, his hand disappearing beneath the blanket.

That insufferable, wolfish grin passed over John’s features, and if Gale was going to die that night he could think of no sweeter death than while making the man in front of him feel pleasure and happiness one last time.

Through the layers of clothing, his own and John’s, Gale’s fingers finally, blissfully, wrapped around John’s cock. Gale watched as John bit his lip so hard that for the moment he was terrified that his teeth would go through it. So focused had they been on their plan, on trying to make it out of the stalag alive, that they hadn’t found the time to do little more than give each others’ hand a squeeze in passing. Too long had it been since either of them had known the touch of the other somewhere a little more intimate.

“Quiet,” Gale reminded as he watched John’s lips part in a soft gasp.

“I know. I know,” John whispered hurriedly, before pressing his face into the long, delicate column of Gale’s throat. There had been a scarf in his way; Gale had felt John bite it to shift it out of his way.

Gale reminded himself that he needed to be quiet. The brush of John’s lips against his throat, an errogneous spot for him (that John had figured out, incidentally), had him wanting to roll onto his back, haul John on top of him, and arch beneath him until they both came, chasing a pleasure that they had never been rightly afforded, one that they were frightened to come to terms with perhaps never having again.

Some other time, perhaps.

Gale flexed his fingers, stiff from the cold, but thawing so close to the warmth of John’s body. John’s cock was thick, heavy, in his palm, just as it always had been. The normalcy of the act, despite the horror of the location, comforted Gale in a way that he hadn’t anticipated, and he let out his own quiet sigh, which he pressed into the knit cap that John wore.

He longed to press his face into those soft, wild, dark curls that he had come to love in the years since he’d met John.

“Buck,” John rasped against his throat, bringing him back from where he drifted off to. A place where they could be warm, soft.

Safe.

“I’m here,” Gale whispered, droplets of damp in John’s cap catching against his lips. The sickly sweet scent of John’s sweat, his musk, filled Gale’s nostrils, and his free hand clutched at the back of John’s coat.

John’s hips twitched against Gale’s fingers, his body, trying to move with him, trying to chase the high that he was so desperately seeking, that Gale was desperate to give to him. His lips were parted against Gale’s pulse point, attempting to quietly gasp for air, dropping tender kisses that were so warm that threatened to burn Gale alive. He welcomed it.

Gale dragged his spit along John’s shaft, thumb collecting the precome that gathered at the head and smeared it over his length. John muffled a soft, desperate sound against Gale’s skin, damp with sweat from the effort of trying to be quiet, be still, of finally discovering some manner of warmth, before lifting his head slightly, to peer over Gale’s shoulder.

“Hurry,” was all he said, and Gale knew that outside the butts of cigarettes were being stomped out beneath boots, that they were running out of time.

“Five seconds,” Gale gasped, before swallowing thickly. John had met his gaze, held it, and Gale swallowed past both a lump in his throat and a louder noise that threatened to escape. Gale flicked his wrist as John attempted to move quickly, and yet keep his movements imperceptible. “C’mon, John. You can do it.”

“Buck,” John breathed, lips centimetres from Gale’s. They both wanted it. But they couldn’t risk it. “Please.”

Gale had never heard John be so polite in all of the time that they knew one another. He craned his neck slightly and looked out of the corner of his eye, unable to see the Germans, but knowing that they were coming in from out of the cold.

“Five,” he whispered, turning back to John. His fingers, desperate to give John his release moved faster, and John chased them as best he could.

“Four.” Brushing against John’s balls, Gale could feel them draw up toward his body.

“Three.” Gale looked at John’s face, so fuckin’ happy to see his cheeks rosy with colour. He looked like he was burning up, too big, too warm for his skin. But it sure as hell beat the alternative that they currently faced.

“Two.” John’s eyelids began to slip closed, eyes rolling toward the back of his skull, head tipped back slightly, lips parted. Gale knew the expression that John wore as he came better than he knew how to fly a B-17.

“One.” Gale felt John’s spend slipping through his fingers, hot, sticky, and abundant. John’s lips were parted in a silent cry, as he carefully bucked his hips toward Gale’s touch.

In that moment Gale had been incredibly proud of John, mostly quiet throughout it all save for a few whispers and gasped breaths. He was an extremely noisy lover, and short of having something stuffed in his mouth could always be counted on to be loud. Even when discretion was key. John seemed to think that Air Force wouldn’t give a damn if he was a fairy, only one person flew planes better in his mind, and that was who he would be undoubtedly be found with.

Spent, John pressed himself against Gale, and his trembling body could easily be explained away with the cold. Gale held him close, eyes on the guards as they began to filter back into farm house, not daring to move, even if he could feel John’s come cooling and congealing on his hand. He was already absolutely filthy. If anyone noticed the slightly sweet smell of come, no one acknowledged it.

Gale managed to worm his hand out from under clothing, the blanket, and brought it to his mouth, licking and sucking his fingers clean. Not in an attempt to be seductive, but to clean himself. If John noticed, he didn’t say a word, instead looked down as he put his cock away, did his pants back up.

Grabbing the edge of the blanket, Gale pulled it up toward their chins, hoping his own movements would mask John’s. Satisfied with the state of himself, John glanced back up at Gale, giving him a fond smile. Gale managed one back.

“Roll over,” John murmured. “You can be the little spoon for once.”

Despite himself, Gale managed a small smile of his own, thoughts momentarily shifting toward a dear friend, who had once been John’s big spoon. It hadn’t been that long ago that the three of them had laughed into the phone together, and yet it might as well have been another lifetime.

Gale did as he was told, John’s strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him back against his chest. This way, Gale could keep an eye on the front door, on more of the men. The only downside of this position, as far as he was concerned, was that he could not see John’s face. He wasn’t sure how much longer that he would have the opportunity to commit it to memory, as if he hadn’t already.

He felt John’s body go lax against his, heard him snore into his shoulder, and smiled.

-

October 1945

John couldn’t sleep.

He often couldn’t. It was too quiet. He had gotten used to noise, whether it be the sounds of dozens of other men sleeping around him, bullets, bombs, and bigotry. It had been five long years of never being alone, to suddenly the sound of silence becoming a deafening thing.

Sitting up in their bed, knees to his chest, arms resting atop them, John corrected himself. He wasn’t alone.

John turned his attention from the moon hanging outside of their window to the restless figure beside him. Whatever sleep Gale had lost during the war, he was trying to find it in the house that they shared in Kansas. Not Wisconsin, not Wyoming. A fresh start, where no one knew them. They could be anonymous, buy a plot of land in the middle of nowhere. Fix up an old house that had been lost to time. Two friends who had come back from the war, no longer used to being alone, needing the other to help quiet the noise in their head.

Tender as the thoughts of a quiet life together made him, it was Gale’s agitated frame that had John watching his lover like a hawk.

He knew what came next, and preferred to be awake for it instead of startled out of his sleep, feet on the creaky, old hardwood floors before his eyes had fully opened.

Gale bolted upright, screaming.

Had he been in his right mind, Gale would have known what came next as well. They had discussed it at length in the daylight, when the ghosts more or less left Gale alone.

The bed clothes fell away from John’s body as he straddled Gale’s thighs, large hands first on his shoulders, carefully anchoring him, bringing him back to the present, then moving to his back, drawing him closer. One hand mooring Gale against him, the other cradling the back of his head, bringing his face to the juncture where his shoulder and neck met. Gale would press his face into John’s shoulder until the screams subsided, sometimes turning into choked off, broken sobs, sometimes turning into ragged breaths. But always turning into a mumbled, “I’m sorry, John.”

To which John would always say, “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for, sweetheart.”

Had it truly been not even a year since the stalag? All of the horrors that they had seen, experienced?

Gale lifted his head, and John’s thumb swept over his cheeks, gathering the damp that leaked from his eyes. Neither of them were too proud to shy away from tears, their own and each other’s, at least with one another. Gale looked up at John pathetically, blue eyes wide, bright, and wet with unshed tears that he blinked away as quickly as he could.

“It’ll get better, won’t it?” Gale asked the older man, voice thick.

John’s mouth formed a thin line and he sighed. Neither of them knew. It didn’t stop Gale from asking.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Gale whispered, his hands reaching up and tangling in John’s hair, touching at his face.

“Look at you like what?” John asked, tilting toward Gale’s desperate and frantic touch. He knew what his love was doing; ensuring that he was still there, ensuring that he was real.

“Like I’m off my loop,” Gale replied, his eyes searching John’s.

“Think I’ll take you to the laughing farm if you are?” John asked, leaning in closer to Gale’s face.

Gale closed the distance between them, kissing John frantically. It was less a kiss, more Gale smashing their lips together so hard that John worried he might have chipped a tooth. His own or John’s.

“Don’t torment me,” Gale pleaded, and John instantly felt bad for attempting to soothe Gale’s mind with his usual antics.

John didn’t apologize, Gale hated it when he did, despite having done it moments ago himself. “What do you need, sweetheart?” he asked. The sentence hadn’t truly been completed, Gale’s mouth seeking out his again, the remainder of it dying between their lips.

“Make me forget them,” Gale replied, fingers searching for purchase against John’s chest, finding it in warm skin, wiry, dark curls. “Keep the ghosts away.”

Wrapping his arms around Gale’s slender frame, John pushed him back down onto their bed, covering Gale’s body with his own. His mouth descended upon Gale’s, forcing his lips apart with his tongue, licking inside until the tip of his tongue brushed against Gale’s molars. Gale clutched at his arms desperately, one leg hooking over his hip in attempt to keep him close, to keep him from moving away.

As if there were any place else in the world than John wanted to be than in a falling apart house in Kansas, wrapped up in the sheets and limbs of the man that he loved.

John felt Gale’s cock hard against his hip, and began to reach down between their bodies, only to have Gale’s long, elegant fingers wrap around his wrist. John lifted his head, alarmed, to find Gale shaking his head.

“No,” he rasped. “Not like that.”

Instead of asking what Gale would have preferred, John waited for Gale to show him. Gale reached between them, and John had half a mind to bat Gale’s hand away, but the thought turned to soup when Gale wrapped his fingers around John’s prick, guiding it against his own. John rolled his hips tentatively, face searching Gale’s for approval. Gale closed his eyes, breathless, and nodded. John repeated the motion, and was rewarded with the sweet sound of Gale’s moan.

In the middle of nowhere, they could be as loud as they wanted. They made up for the farm house, the stalag, the barracks, and everywhere else they had ever muffled the sounds that they made.

John moved slowly at first, cock already so wet just from the mere thought of even having Gale against him, grinding against his lover. Gale’s arms went around him, clutching at him, blunt edges of fingernails digging into his back, leaving crescent moon indentations in their wake. To go with all the other crescent moon indentations that he had left in recent days, nights.

Gale, not satisfied with sweet and slow, bucked beneath John, encouraging him to move faster, harder, letting out an annoyed little grunt at not being given what he wanted, impatient in his desire. Desire to feel pleasure, desire to forget.

“I’ve got you,” John breathed, hips snapping forward. He was rewarded with Gale’s sharp gasp, his body responding in kind. “Buck, I’ve got you.”

Gale smeared his mouth over John’s jawline, the days old stubble that he hadn’t bothered to shave, partially out of laziness, mostly out of Gale’s request. Evidently, he loved the burn. John’s eyelids fluttered shut, the leg draped over his hip urging him closer, even if there was nowhere for him to go.

John dragged his cock through the pool of gathering precome in Gale’s blonde pubic hair, his own mixed with Gale’s. Bracing one hand against the bed, the other tangled in Gale’s hair. Gale’s eyes, which had been closed, opened to meet John’s in a hazy gaze, begging him to not look away. John gave Gale a brusque nod, grunting as they moved together. Despite its desperateness, erraticness, it was a rhythym that they have perfected, one that was theirs.

Grunting, John movements became frenzied, and Gale’s lips fell open in soft, short gasps, head tipped back against the pillows. John was overcome with the urge to both bite at, and protect Gale’s vulnerable throat, tipping his head forward and mouthing along the pulse point that he had found so many times before.

“John. John,” Gale gasped, his lover’s name a mantra on his lips as his body tensed. He came beneath John with a cry that it sounded like he might asphyxiate on, coming across his own belly and chest.

John tumbled wordlessly after, moaning into Gale’s throat, tongue and teeth marking their rightful place against his skin, damp with sweat.

They laid there together in their bed, John’s body still atop Gale’s, pinning him, giving him the weight that he knew that Gale desperately craved. Gale’s touch over John’s arms became feather light, tender, bringing him back from the edge of the intensity that they had just experienced together. John turned his head, kissing at Gale’s fingertips, looking into the eyes of man fucked back toward the edge of sleep.

Satiated. Happy.

Safe.

“If they want you,” John whispered, lips still dancing over Gale’s fingers, “they’re going to have to fight me.”

/end.

[pxnsneverland]

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 2)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2961

warnings/notes: violence, murder, blood, death, mentions of abuse

Chapter 2: A Desperate Call

Bonnie Barlow. His Bonnie. After what felt like an eternity, she was finally on the other end of the call. Her voice, like a gentle melody, washed over him and brought back memories of happier times. But underlying that beauty was an unmistakable panic. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His heart hammered against his chest, threatening to burst out as he stumbled across the room, frantically reaching for his jacket once more. Through the phone, he could hear her soft sobs, tears evident in every quiver of her voice. He had to get to her, no matter what obstacles lay in his path.

“What’s wrong, Bon?” His voice quivered with emotion as he made his way back out the door.

“I need you, Austin…” Her words were muffled by her sobs, but each one pierced through him like a dagger. He knew he had to get to her quickly.

The sound of her heart-wrenching sobs cut through him like a knife. “Please, baby…tell me where you are.” He pleaded, his heart pounding in his chest. The thought of her being in danger made it difficult for him to catch his breath. Bonnie remained silent, and for a brief moment, he feared she had ended the call. With trembling hands, he pulled the phone away from his cheek and let out a sigh of relief when he saw that the call was still connected. Bonnie leaned in close, her voice a low whisper as she recited the unfamiliar address. Austin's fingers flew over the keys of his GPS, determined to reach this mysterious destination. He didn't dare hang up the phone, afraid that he might lose contact with Bonnie forever.

Like a bullet fired from a gun, Austin tore down the road on his sleek motorcycle. He weaved between cars and disregarded any semblance of traffic laws. The roar of the engine echoed off the buildings. If a police car had spotted him, they hadn't bothered to give chase. And even if they had tried, he wouldn't have stopped anyway for them tonight.

As Austin rode, the cool breeze whipped past him, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. The dark expanse of night enveloped him like a shroud, making the world seem surreal and hazy. But his mind was focused on one thing - Bonnie. Her soft voice still echoed in his ear and the sound of her heartrending sobs reverberated through his mind. He gripped his bike's handlebars tightly, feeling the worn leather of his riding gloves beneath his fingers. As he picked up speed, the engine's growl grew louder and more urgent, matching the racing beat of his heart. His gut twisted with unease as he drew closer to the unfamiliar address, a nagging feeling gnawing at him that something was dreadfully wrong. Finally, the building came into view as he rounded a corner - an old house nestled in the middle of the dense woods. Its decrepit walls and windows gave off an eerie aura, adding to Austin's growing sense of unease.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he brought the bike to a stop and hopped off, feeling the weight of his body shift as he landed on the ground. Without hesitation, he flipped up the kickstand and grabbed his phone, grateful once again that the call was still connected. “I think I’m here.” As he jogged towards the front steps, his breath quickened with anticipation.

With a creak of protest, the old door to the house slowly opened, revealing Bonnie's haggard appearance. Her clothes were torn and blood stained, while her face was marred with deep bruises and dried blood. Her usually radiant features were now twisted in pain and fear as she stood in the doorway.

Austin's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of her. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, pounding with such force that he could feel it reverberating through every inch of his body. The blood in his veins turned to ice and a shiver ran down his spine as he saw the pure terror in Bonnie's once bright eyes.

His legs moved forward on their own accord, driven by an overwhelming need to protect her. But as he reached out for her, his hands trembled with fear and hesitation, afraid that she would break apart at his touch. The pain etched on her face tore at his soul, threatening to consume him with its intensity like a raging fire.

Bonnie managed a weak smile, her lips trembling with agony. "Austin," she whispered hoarsely, her voice strained from holding back tears. She looked up at him, determination shining through the fear in her eyes. With all her strength, she threw herself into his arms, clinging onto him as if her life depended on it. "I'm so glad you're here," she cried out.

Austin's powerful arms envelop Bonnie's broken body, cradling her with a fierce protectiveness. She is his everything, and the sight of her battered and bruised fills him with a boiling rage. The sweet scent of wildflowers and fresh rain that clings to her skin only intensifies his desperation to make things right for her.

"What the hell happened to you, Bonnie?" His voice trembles with emotion as he presses his lips against her hair, trying to absorb all of her pain and suffering. She shudders in response, seeking solace in his embrace as she buries her face against his chest, unable to put into words the horror she has endured.

"In...inside," Bonnie muttered, her voice barely audible. She pulls away, wincing at the pain that follows, and starts to lead him inside the decaying house.

His blue eyes scan the room, taking in the dimly lit interior. Every corner seemed steeped in shadows, shrouding the room in an ominous veil. An uncomfortable chill fills the air. He steps inside cautiously, his boots making soft thuds against the wooden floorboards.

And then, he sees it. In the middle of the room laid a body, cold and lifeless. The man’s face is stuck in a permanent grimace, eyes wide open in terror as if he were still trapped in the moment of his death. A knife protrudes from his chest, glinting menacingly under the faint light from the overhead lamp.

Bonnie's voice caught in her throat as she whispered, "His name is Liam. We started dating a year ago."

Austin's gaze remained cool and unmoved, despite the lifeless body lying on the floor between them. "Did he do that to you?" he asked, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

Bonnie nodded, tears streaming down her face as she recounted the horror of her recent encounter with Liam. "He was so angry...I could see it in his eyes. He was going to kill me this time, I just know it. I didn't have a choice," she sobbed, her body shaking with fear and regret. The room felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on them, carrying the weight of Bonnie's pain and trauma. She couldn't bear to look at the body on the floor any longer, but she knew she would carry its image with her for a long time to come.

“This time?” Austin growled, his anger bubbling up like a volcano ready to erupt. He longed for the satisfaction of killing the jackass all over again, cursing the fact that he was already dead. How dare he lay a hand on her, let alone think about hurting her? Every muscle in Austin's body tensed as he fought to contain his rage, but his grip on self-control was slipping fast. The mere thought of someone harming her sent a wave of fury through him.

Bonnie nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor as she began to recount the numerous times Liam's outbursts had gotten out of hand. He had always been quick to anger, but in that moment, he was a different person - a monster. And in her fight for survival, Bonnie too had become a monster.

Austin's grip on Bonnie tightened as he processed her words. The image of this petite woman having to defend herself against a man like Liam infuriated him beyond measure. "You did what you had to do," he said, attempting to offer some comfort, but his voice was lined with an undercurrent of beastly rage. Not only had this despicable individual caused her physical pain, but he had also manipulated her to do the one thing she had always feared: take a life. As a blood born werewolf, taking a life meant triggering the dreaded werewolf curse itself. No longer could she hide behind human form - on the next full moon, she would transform into her true beastly self for the first time.

The thought sent shivers of dread down her spine as she remembered the stories her father had told her about the uncontrollable rage and carnage that accompanied the first transformation. "Austin," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I'm scared." Her eyes were pleading, filled with terror at the thought of her impending transformation. Her heart pounded in her chest like a wild drum, echoing the dreadful rhythm of her fate.

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in Bonnie's eyes. He was a leader, a protector, and seeing her in such torment was more than he could bear. "Listen to me," Austin said firmly, cupping her chin to make her look at him. His gaze bore into hers, the intensity making her breath hitch. "You're not going through this alone. I'm here. I'll help you."

The promise in his voice was a lifeline, a beacon of hope in the storm that raged within Bonnie’s soul. But despite his reassurance, she couldn't shake off the fear that clenched around her heart like a cold fist.

Austin kept her gaze on him purposely using his body to shield her from the sight of

Liam’s dead body lying on the floor behind him. “Go pack your stuff.”

“But what about…?” She trailed off, trying to see Liam's lifeless body on the floor.

He firmly refused, determined to protect Bonnie from any further pain. “I’ll take care of it. Go, now.”

With no energy left to argue, Bonnie nodded and swiftly disappeared behind a nearby door to begin packing her belongings. Left alone with Liam and his blood-stained body on the floor, Austin looked down. He didn’t even feel sorry for him. With a deadly calm, Austin approached the body. His nostrils flared at the scent of fresh blood and death filling the room. His instincts were pulling him in two directions. The werewolf inside him was poised to revel in such carnage, yet the man in him recoiled at the sight of what Bonnie had been driven to do. The room was silent save for the faint rustling from the other room where Bonnie was packing. A shiver of disgust went down Austin's spine as he stood over Liam's lifeless body, his cold eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling. The blood under his chest had already begun to coagulate, darkening the pale wooden floor beneath him. Austin's jaw clenched with fury, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the man who laid a hand on Bonnie.

Kneeling down, Austin pulled the knife free from Liam’s chest with an efficient tug. The metal looked cold and unforgiving in the dim light, a stark contrast against the spreading crimson stain on Liam’s shirt. He wrapped the knife carefully in a rag he found lying haphazardly on one of the chairs. Austin stepped away and made his way to the back room where they kept the cleaning supplies. He returned with a bucket of water, bleach and a brush. The sight of Liam's lifeless body greeted him again, but with grim determination he set to work, methodically scrubbing away the blood. When he was done, he made quick work of dragging the body outside and rolling it into a nearby river. It would be so destroyed by the elements that the police would never figure out what had actually killed him. The silent night held its breath as the lifeless body of Liam disappeared beneath the dark, churning waters. Bonnie’s haunting cries of despair seemed to echo in his ears as Austin stood there, watching the river claim its gruesome prize. A sudden rage roared through him, a savage desire to tear everything apart with his bare hands for what had been done to Bonnie. But he reined it in, focusing on the task ahead. He returned to the cabin, ignoring the lingering smell of fear and death, and grabbed a bag of lime from their utility shed. The sharp stench of bleach still hung heavy in the air while he went about covering the patch of the floor where Liam had lain with lime. It would speed up the decomposition process and help eliminate remaining traces of blood or odor that might lead anyone to them.

As he finished, a soft sound from behind made him stiffen. He turned around slowly, finding Bonnie standing at the entrance of the small living room, her wavy hair cascading over her shoulders like a protective curtain, dark eyes wide and shining in the pale light. Her small frame was covered in a loose cardigan despite the muggy summer heat outside, as if she was trying to shield herself from her own actions.

“It’s done,” Austin announced quietly.

Bonnie nodded, her gaze averted from the spot where moments before Liam's lifeless body had laid. She clung to the straps of her bag like a lifeline, her knuckles white from the strain. The comforting presence of Austin was the only thing that stopped her from collapsing under the weight of her guilt and fear.

Austin moved towards her, moving slowly as if not to startle a skittish deer. He reached out and took her bag from her trembling hands then wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. For a moment, Bonnie stiffened under his touch but slowly relaxed, allowing herself to lean into his warmth.

"We need to leave," Austin said quietly, his voice soothing in the otherwise silent cabin. “You can hide out at my place.”

“What about the gang?” Bonnie's mind was overwhelmed with all that was going on, but she couldn't push aside the thought of her pack. As the alpha, Austin was responsible for punishing deserters and loyalty meant everything to their kind. If they found out about Bonnie, they would expect Austin to execute her as punishment. She knew he would never harm her, let alone kill her. His position as alpha would be threatened, and his loyalty to the pack would be questioned.

His voice was firm, allowing no room for argument. “They don’t have to know that you’re staying there. For now, we just need to focus on getting you through the next few days. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Bonnie found solace in his resolve. His confidence was contagious, and despite her trembling heart, he made her feel safe. Austin had always been a rock in her life; looking at him now, she felt hope bloom within her."Alright," she whispered, nodding. Her trust in him was implicit, thought not without fear. But if there was anyone she could rely on in this treacherous journey, it was Austin. A tear slipped down her cheek as the reality of her situation began to sink in further. She felt Austin's grip tighten around her, as if he could sense her internal struggle.

Bonnie looked up at Austin, suddenly consumed by an inexplicable urge to memorize his face. The sharp contours of his jawline that made women weak, his intense blue eyes that reflected loyalty and a steadfastness she could always count on. His blonde hair that fell onto his forehead, stubbornly refusing to be tamed. Despite the harsh exterior, there was a kindness that lurked beneath the surface. A kindness that compelled him to risk everything for her.

Austin looked down at Bonnie's tear-streaked face and felt a familiar ache in his chest. Over the years, he had watched her grow into a beautiful woman who deserved so much more than the hand life had dealt her. He couldn't help but feel responsible for bringing this darkness into her life. It was the curse they both carried within them - their shared lineage as werewolves. But it was this same curse that drew them to each other. Bonnie, the girl who was afraid of her own strength, and Austin, the man who was too strong for his own good. Both were anomalies in their own world. He was a hardened gang leader with a heart that bled for Bonnie; she was a runaway who ran straight into Austin’s arms. It seemed like fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Austin led her towards his motorcycle, parked just beyond the cabin’s porch. The roar of its engine echoed through the silent woods as it rumbled to life. The sound seemed to pierce the eerily calm night and Bonnie wondered if it was a precursor to the storm that was about to break in her life.

“Austin,” Bonnie started as she hopped onto the seat behind him, wrapping her arms around his lean waist for support as he began to pull away from the cabin. Her voice couldn’t hide the tremble in it, yet she continued on bravely, “Thank you.”

Austin didn’t respond immediately - he didn’t need to. His hand came to rest over hers where it held onto him tightly from behind and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The message was clear: he would protect her, no matter what cost he had to pay.

Stay tuned for part 3!! Click HERE to view!

[xxanaduwrites]

much ado about nothing, major

i. bubbles & battle scars

gif creds @sakuragifs !

pairing: john “bucky” egan x (ofc) maude “blue” bluell

warnings: this story will contain mature themes, descriptions of injury, blood, sexual content, swearing, as well as, physical and mental illness. proceed with caution.

— i: mentions of injury, death, & puking. (pretty much just maude, bubbles, & croz being a dynamic trio, total bestie vibes — & then there’s john. he’s just there haha)

word count: 3.4k

there must be something or nothing at all

July 24, 1943 was the date — a date marked in the history books as the start of the Hamburg attacks, and in the journal of Nurse Maude Bluell, an inclusion of her very first introduction to one Major John Egan.

It was just past 0900 hours when the doors swung open to the infirmary rather unexpectedly. Bluell was organizing a new shipment of supplies, placing gauze, bandages, and wraps alike in their respective places, Lottie wa re-evaluating the health passes for the men who were flying today — confirming that they has passed inspection so to speak, and Q — well Q was reading newspaper cutouts of her favorite gossip columns, courtesy of her girlfriends back home. A red cherry sucker laid limply in her mouth as she took in the recent excepades of the Hollywood starlets she fawned over.

For Q, it was better for her to dive her nose into the latest gossip than worry about a certain Lieutenant she had tethered a liking too. A certain Lieutenant Curtis Biddick — "Curt" for short — who was scheduled to fly today. Q would deny the prospect of liking the New Yorker with the heavy accent, but it wasn't deniable to Lottie and Maude who had seen the Lieutenant saunter in every morning just to talk to her at the nurse's station. He used the need for a sucker to subside his "apparent" drops in blood sugar as his excuse of choice.

Lottie reprimanded her every time, claiming that they were only for the patients, not for the healthy airmen — hiding the sugary sweet lollipops from her colleague.

But, Lottie's attempts proved to be fruitless as Q would find them at every turn in every single hiding spot, opening a sucker of her own just to push Lottie's buttons.

And, she was doing that just now — not just to bother the blonde, but to also hold some sort of reminder of Biddick, that he was here with her as much as she was there with him — the cherry red sucker that mirrored the very same shade of her hair — tucked safely in the pocket of his flight uniform for a victory treat.

Alas — in other words — there wasn't much to do until their men came flooding back in waves.

Until there was.

The sound of a door swinging open broke the dead silence that pervaded the medical unit. The three women immediately dropped everything they were doing once they saw the sight of Colonel Harding sauntering in with Lieutenant Payne following suit — under the haven of a thick blanket, accompanied by the the arm of one of his fellow airmen.

Or well — Maude and Lottie did.

Susan was trying to consume the last line of the article in front of her as fast as she could. She didn't want to be left wondering what Bettie Davis was doing nowadays in the middle of assessing what was to come.

Lottie, being under the wing of Doctor Stover longer than the two nurses beside her, did not hesitate to meet Harding half way. "Good morning, Colonel'' she greeted, pressing her clip board of names close to her chest as a means of suppressing the shock of it all. It was rather unusual to see any of the airmen, let alone the Colonel until the conclusion of a mission, especially when every health pass had been confirmed and processed.

"Morning. Ladies," Harding replied to the three nurses present respectfully as he always did, curt, and to the point. "Lieutenant Payne is coming down with something and will no longer be navigating today's mission," he explained. "You ladies mind checking up on him?"

"Oh not at all, sir!" Lottie chirped, setting her clipboard down and immediately swinging into action. She nodded over at her colleagues, urging them to take the clearly pale and ill Lieutenant from the hold of the corporal present.

It didn't take long for Bluell and Q to get the Lieutenant situated and comfortable in a bed with brand new sheets — pressed and floral scented. Maude felt lucky and rather grateful that they had completed that task in time for such a situation to occur. Q was still quite busy with her cherry sucker while simultaneously taking the man's blood pressure, so Bluell decided to do the evaluating — not that she minded anyways. It was refreshing to see a man in front of her who wasn't bleeding out and barely coherent. She could already tell without really knowing that Payne would be just fine. That she wouldn't be losing another one of their men just yet, and that made the weight in her chest subside with the sweetest relief.

"Lieutenant Payne," Maude enunciated carefully, smiling fondly at the poor man in front of her. It was obvious from the sight in front of her that illness had racked his bones. The color was draining from his skin, a dull gray taking over, a line of sweat was creasing his brow, and his eyes drooped heavily doused with a glossy sheen. "Please, if you could tell me what seems to be going on. How are you feeling?"

"Well, quite shitty," he laughed dryly, yet a smile still managed to grace his features and prove to be rather contagious to Maude's expression  in seconds flat. "I was fine. I mean, I thought I was. 'Twas until I was propped up ready to fly, feeling like I could hurl if I even moved a muscle. Major Egan shut that down real quick though. Got me a sub with Croz."

And there it was, a title attached to the name of a man Maude Bluell would have scorched into the back of her mind soon enough. Yet, now – now in that very moment, her unfamiliarity with that very same man would simply fly over her head. Instead, she would find a tying point to her patient in the traces of his explanation, one that made her eyes light up in genuine interest. "Lieutenant Crosby?" She asked while dropping the back of her hand to Payne's forehead, inspecting the extent of his temperature."

"Yuh-huh," he nodded

At the same time as Q announced "one-nineteen over seventy," but it really sounded like, "nun-eye-dee ova even-yee," with that sucker still tucked dedicatedly in her mouth.

Maude's hand dropped from Payne's forehead then, seeming pleased to know that he wasn't burning up as bad as she expected – definitely warm but more mildly speaking – and his blood pressure was relatively normal. The wheels were already turning in her head, coming to the conclusion that he merely had some sort of bug. But, she couldn't really come to one until Doctor Stover came to access the man himself.

"Lemme guess," Payne began, getting Maude's attention after she instructed Q to get the Lieutenant a glass of water. If she got his prognosis right, he would need to remain hydrated to subside the urge to vomit. "He's here quite often ain't –" Payne's words seemed to lodge in his throat then, his features twisting just the same.

The clear indication of his illness brought Nurse Bluell to flight mode and she picked up the bucket adjacent to his bed in mere seconds. "Let it out, Lieutenant," she urged as she situated it on his lap just in time for him to spill out the contents into the bin instead of his bed. He did just that, and Bluell did not hesitate to keep the bucket steady and rub his back in a soothing motion, hoping to ease the strain in his back from achy muscles.

Once he was done, he slumped back against the headboard – his eyes appearing glossier than they had before. He was spent, but that did not stop him from mumbling out his appreciation. "Thank you Nurse – Nurse?" He trailed off, a crease forming on his sweaty forehead with a curious sort of confusion.

"Bluell. Nurse Bluell," she introduced herself, moving the bucket off the bed, tying up the old one, and replacing it with a brand new one. "But you can just call me Maude."

"Maude. The powerful battler," a droopy smile spanned across his face, recalling the meaning behind the name of the nurse in front of him.

"Yes, but –" her cheeks dusted pink, and she looked away from him as she got rid of the previous trash close by. "Not me. All you – All you boys."

"Doubt that." Q brought over the water then and he thanked her kindly before taking a gentle sip. "Call me Bubbles."

"Pardon, Lieutenant?" Bluell stood straight then, completely taken aback by his sudden admission. She took a deep breath and sucked back the urge to laugh.

It wasn't uncommon by any means for nicknames to be a staple pass of courtesy and comradely around base. It served as an attempt to distinguish the tension of a deeply set reality and also comouflague identity to foreign forces. Like Charolette and Susan who replied to Lottie and Susie Q or just plain old Q. It was common knowledge. And she had found herself giving into such knowledge as she adjusted to the shortened form of her surname — replying to Blue more often than not. But, Bubbles. Bubbles? She hadn't heard something quite like that before.

"Bubbles. That's what they call me. Ain't heroic by any means. You can ask Croz the next time he's here, 'M sure he'll tell yuh," he elaborated.

A chuckle escaped her then, a genuine smile enveloping in her cheeks in a way that almost felt foreign. She couldn't remember the last time she smiled – really smiled since she'd arrived on base. "Quite heroic to me,." She flattened her hands across the edges of the mattress, making sure he was tucked into the sheets comfortably and then she fluffed up the back of his pillow for me good measure. "Should rest up now, Lieutenant. I'll be here if you need anything. Please don't hesitate to call us over," She affirmed, and in a sudden newfound sense of confidence or maybe it was simply just the comradery, she found herself adding, "that's an order, Bubbles."

Bubbles – still poorly, shivering, and pale as a ghost – managed a light laugh from his strained throat as Maude left the man be. "You got it, Maude"

Maude's spirits appeared to be more pleasant than usual as she busied herself in the next coming hours. Her conversation with Lieutenant Payne – or Bubbles if you will – subsided the nerves that usually rattled her in deep anticipation of what was to come. However, knowing that Lieutenant Crosby was navigating today still kept her worried.

Would his stomach be okay?

Would the natural herbs she recommended to brew in his tea ease him?

Those thoughts did not fail to plague her mind throughout the day, but she was grateful to have some distraction in the task of caring for Bubbles. She made sure to keep an eye on him as much as she could, so much so, that it started to concern Nurse Charlotte Reign and Susan Quinn who felt as if previous patterns from the young nurse were resurfacing. Patterns that were brought into light the very same day an airmen died in her arms for the very first time.

Yet, Maude felt fine – well, as fine as one could be in the circumstances placed upon her. She felt like she could breathe again the moment the boys returned from the Trondheim mission in the later afternoon. It had proved to be successful – and even more so in the hands of one Lieutenant Crosby who was currently at Bubble's bedside. With a chair situated over, he not only came to check on his best friend, but also report on the mission.

Maude was finishing up wrapping a flier's burn wounds adjacent to Lieutenant Payne when she unintentionally overheard the conversation at hand. "I mean the flak, it came in so hot. I didn't even think about it when I put it on. It – It must of froze, but then these chunks, they start rolling down my forehead, I think 'holy mackerel crosby, holy mackerel, you've been hit!"

"Of course you would narrate your own death." Bubbles laughed lightly at his friend's retelling.

She secured the wrap tightly and comfortably and practically repeated the earlier lines she had said to Bubbles. She was starting to become more and more accustomed to her script, finding it more and more natural as she annunciated each word within passing days.

"Well, I mean I could make overthinking into an Olympic sport." Lieutenant Crosby joked just as Maude appeared at Bubbles bedside. She smiled at the two men, acknowledging them as she refilled Payne's water cup without interrupting their conversation.

"I've been puking so much today, I'm starting to catch up to you. Ask Maude." He nodded to the nurse next to them.

"Evening Maude." Crosby greeted the nurse. "Hope Bubbles here ain't giving you too much flak.”

"No more than you have." She just about pulled the man's chain with that one, making Bubbles erupt in laughter.

"Hey, 'snot my fault, Nurse." Crosby held a hand to his chest as if she had wounded him with his words, but the knowing smirk on his face proved otherwise.

"Did you try the tea?" She asked Croz, handing the cup of water over to Bubbles. His color was starting to come back. He looked better than this morning but he still needed to stay hydrated if he was gonna get back in the skies anytime soon.

"Nah. Next time when I actually know I'm flying I will," he sent a look over to Bubbles, only pushing his friend's buttons for fun. "Thanks Bubbles."

"Anytime." He said laughing against the rim of his cup. He took one last sip before Maude placed it back on the side table for him.

It seemed like Croz wasn't gonna let that one slide so easily. "You know I washed my hair twice, I still can't get the smell out." He leaned over his friend, practically shoving his hair in the fellow Lieutenant's face."You wanna smell? Yeah, jump in."

"No. No!" Bubbles tensed up then.

"Yeah, Come on." Croz pushed on.

Maude couldn't help but laugh at the playful side of these men. Men who still managed to let their inner kid shine through all the horror and terror they had ensued in the skies.

"Get – get away. I will puke on you! Yuh gonna have to wash it out." Bubbles threatened, trying to push Croz away.

And then like a burst of unexpected flax, everything shifted.

For not only Croz who immediately stiffened back in his seat – putting on a serious and professional front, but for Maude who – for lack of her own sense of understanding – found herself freezing just the same, but for a whole other reason.

"There he is," a deep, firm, yet some-what carefree voice broke the ice within her. And there he was, one Major Egan looking and sounding like one of those Hollywood starlets in Q's paper clipping — just stepping out of a film in the cinema. And if he hadn't had a small cut just under his right eye, he could have passed as a man who hadn't just returned from an intense mission across the skies. Clean cut, pressed in his uniform, curls styled and gelled back to perfection, with his flight jacket wrapped around his arms. Arms that held a strong hand planted against the edge of the foot of Bubbles bed. "How you doing Bubbles?" He asked.

Maude hadn't realized she was staring at the six foot two bulk of a man in front of her until Bubbles spoke up. "Never better, sir."

"That's good." And then his eyes landed on her, so intense, she suddenly wondered if he had become even taller than he was a minute ago. Feeling caught, she looked away and busied herself with the water cup on Bubbles nightstand to give herself something to do. Would the Major report back to Doctor Stover that she was incompetent and unfit to take care of his men? Lucky for Maude, his gaze broke away from hers the moment she turned around. "And I was looking for you," He said to Croz.

The chair beneath Croz creaked in protest as he stood up to be at the Major's level. "I'm sorry, Major."

"What for?" Major Egan inquired loosely.

"I – I didn't give PRs the whole flight back, I messed up the rendezvous – "

"I know. I know. The radio silence really threw off those Jerries. It's that and hitting the deck." Egan affirmed. With the conversation becoming more detailed, Maude felt out of place and rather rude for overhearing. Yet, the next words that came out of the Major's mouth not only took Croz and Bubbles by surprise, but Maude too. Any previous contemplations seemed to dissipate the moment Egan said, “Now, Harding, he couldn't be more impressed by you so, I'm transferring you to Blakely's crew full time," and then, " Bubbles, you get better, we'll find you a new fort. And Croz, we gotta give you an actual nickname."

"They call him Bing back home." Bubbles added into the conversation just as Maude urged him to take another sip. "More?" He asked, and she simply nodded as she turned back into her previous position– her view of all three men near her resurfacing.

"Bing Crosby? That's just lazy, unless you can sing." Major Egan put in his two cents, and his eyes gleamed when he asked, "Can you sing?"

"I–I ca –" Croz tethered.

"Like a donkey." Bubbles confirmed with zero ounces of hesitation, truly on a roll at deflating Croz's ego today without letting an ounce of illness ruin the fun.

"No, no – not a note, sir."

"Ah, I'm no good either, but I'm loud and hell if you can commit with enough enthusiasm, it really don't matter." And this was when Maude would come to learn of the singing shenanigans that came with one Major Egan. If only she knew then that those shenanigans would very well start up something alright.

The shorter Lieutenant and the taller Major clapped hands then in parting – a shake of sealed establishments and confirmations, proving that they were on the same page. "I'll see you at the Club Croz. I'm buying," the one with height told him, referring to the same exact club Lottie and Q would be dragging Bluell against her will in just a few short hours. "Goodnight Bubbles."

"Sir."He croaked between sips and finally handed the cup back to Maude for good.

"Goodnight, sir." Croz bid farewell. When the Major was out of earshot could Maude breathe, and Croz seemed to be too because he was back to bantering as he commented, "He thinks my nickname is lazy."

Another patient called her over then, stealing her away from the two men she had found herself laughing along with, yet a part of her felt grateful for the sudden diversion – especially now, after the Major's interruption. She couldn't explain it – couldn't even compartmentalize it exactly, but something had shifted inside her the moment he had stepped foot into the infirmary. An instinctive feeling of sorts — awfully hard to pinpoint. It hurt her head too much trying to think about it, so much so, she momentarily wondered if she was coming down with the same exact virus as Bubbles.

She wasn't.

But, she knew it was something, but what was it?

That — she didn't know.

Yet, something deep inside her – against her better judgment – told her that she needed to know. So as Croz passed by and bid her a farewell of his own, she knew what she had to do. And when the girls pitched going out to the Club again tonight, practically begging her in their shared quarters — Lottie using Q's obvious need for a distraction with Curt's lack of a return — did she give into their demise.

Was there really much ado about one night on the town?

Lottie and Q wouldn't think so, and Major Egan – well he wouldn't think so either.

the way in which she is already whipped without "knowing" is so real.

+ Q — curt and susie got me giggling & kicking my feeties !!!

also, for important context purposes, the gifs in the beginning is how i imagine bucky diverting his gaze from eyeing miss. maude ;) sir, we all know you were LOOKING — respectfully!

p.s.: i love bubbles & croz so bad, ugh my HEART <3

ANYWAYS.....

more to come sooner than you think. lemme know what ya think so far? feedback is much appreciated as this is BRAND NEW. this is also my very FIRST historical-esce fic so my apologies if there is any inaccuracies, but it do be my own fiction twist anyways haha.

love ya'll a mil, smoochies!

— xanadu

tag list:

@rubberpsyche

@precious-little-scoundrel

@major-mads

@luminouslywriting

@justheretoreadthxxs

@karmasloverrr