#MotA fic

[irregularcollapse]

Painting at left is 'Costume Surprise' by Frederic Stanley for The Saturday Evening Post (1921)

I saw the above painting this morning, was gripped with a mighty urge, spitballed a few things with darling @angelfruittree, and then bing bang bong a certain number of hours later, vomited this out.

Buck/Bucky(/Marge?), pre-relationship and pre-canon, 2.3k words

-

It's 1934 and Gale is 15 years old, and since moving to Casper he hasn't left the town, so even though he knows it's a little bit of charity when the Spencers offer to take him with them to Green Bay on Mr. Spencer's business trip, Gale works on his dad until it's agreed that he can go. He'll be making himself useful anyway, helping out with Mr. Spencer's meetings and carrying what needs carrying. There's a college in Green Bay too, and Gale still has some schooling left but it's something that people his age are thinking about.

The hotel in Green Bay is the swankest place that Gale's ever been in, and he gets a cot on the floor between Marge's bed and the wall, and her parents are very clear about them not being alone in the room together. The days are fine, and Gale carries Mr. Spencer's blueprints and folios all over town, and the nights are fine as well; they eat dinner in the hotel, and Mr. Spencer gives them a quarter each to go to the pictures. Casper might not exist at all any more, with its scrimping and dust and water-thin meals.

When Marge gets wind of the hotel's Halloween party, she grips into Gale's arm and says, "Oh, wouldn't that be swell?”

She’s wistful for her sewing machine, and for more time to get their fancy dress organised, but compromises with a pair of moth wings and a mask from a five-and-dime. She thinks that Gale should be a Spanish matador in black and red, or an Old West outlaw with a bandana over his face, or a Roman centurion in a tunic and sandals, and he can’t meet her eye as he murmurs, “I don’t know I can afford all that, Marge.” She doesn’t miss a beat, and her pretty smile doesn’t even flicker, and she’s bracing and sweet as she tells him, “We’ll pull something together.”

Marge orders him to close his eyes, hiding something behind her back, and he’s got no reason not to trust her; he thinks it’s a hat at first, when she fits the wig on his head.

“Look at that,” she says, laughing and impressed. “You make a fine girl, Gale.”

It’s always been the way, that when Marge says jump, Gale says, how high? and it’s an easy option, one that more than a few fellas have fallen back on at parties Gale has been to, because all it takes is a dress borrowed from a sister or a friend. Always gets a few laughs, which might be nice because although Marge giggles at all Gale’s jokes, not many other people seem to. They aren’t in Casper anymore, anyhow.

Mr. and Mrs. Spencer do chuckle at seeing Gale all dolled up, and Mr. Spencer says, “Now you girls look after yourselves, and watch out for those boys trying things they shouldn’t.” Walking down to the party, Marge links their elbows together the way Gale has seen her walk with her girlfriends, but once they’re in the ballroom, kisses his cheek just below the domino mask which matches her own.

She goads him into dancing because they don’t know anyone there, and both of them are gasping laughter as they try swapping the lead and Gale can’t give it up properly, and the wig almost knocks off his head when he doesn’t duck enough to spin under her arm. Marge orders them a couple of Cokes at the bar, and both the bottles have straws poking from the top, which sets them off laughing all over again.

Gale is leaving the bathroom when he collides with the clown. He’s tall and broad and wrapped up in black-and-gold polka-dots with a big silly ruff at his neck, and even with his own mask, his costume is somehow lower effort than Gale’s.

“Holy—My mistake, miss. Gotta look better where I’m goin’,” the clown blurts, steadying Gale with a hand on his arm. He blinks, eyes stormy-blue and squinting as he grins. “I mean, look what there is to look at.” His leering is obvious, definitely drinking his fill, and Gale’s snorting a laugh before he can stop it. That only gets the clown’s grin stretching, opening like he’s seen something he can’t quite believe. “Hey, get a look at that dress. What do they call a pretty thing like you?”

“Gale.” There’s a chuckle in it, and a surge of fluttering in Gale’s lungs, the kind that comes whenever there’s a chance to do something a little dumb and dangerous.

“Gale.” The echo comes not from the clown, but from Marge, leaving the women’s powder room just a door down the hallway, and the clown looks three places seemingly all at once: Marge, then the door behind Gale with the sign Gents painted on it, then back at Gale in his pink satin and pearls.

“When you gotta go,” Gale says to the clown through the bubbling laughter, and takes Marge’s hand to tug her back to the party.

“Gosh, he looked ready to drop to one knee,” Marge hisses at him, delighted, and when Gale turns to check over his shoulder, the clown is watching them walk away with a slack jaw, bathroom urgency all forgotten.

The clown finds him later sitting on the wall drinking another Coke while Marge takes a turn with a wooden soldier who started stuttering when Marge asked Gale if he’d mind her dancing with another man. The soldier’s hands are definitely staying where Gale can see them, and even from a distance he can tell that Marge is getting a kick out of making a stranger nervous. Smelling whisky first, then smoke, Gale turns as the clown plops into the chair next to his own and says, “Wouldn’t have picked you for a wallflower, Gail. ‘S that a nickname? Is it Abigail, for company?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“John Egan. I just want to know what name to put on our marriage certificate, dollface.” Gale can’t hold in the guffaw, because it’s one thing knowing how other boys try pitching woo, but a different thing entirely to hear how stupid it is up close. He’s never been this ridiculous with Marge, surely. The laughing doesn’t turn John off, evidently, because he just leans in a bit closer and keeps on smiling under his patchy teenage moustache, and leers, “Say, you got a great laugh. Best laugh of any girl I’ve met.”

“That so?”

Quickly, Gale learns that John is 19 years old and up from St. Paul, where he goes to college and is on the baseball team—him and the shortstop, second and third base, the catcher, and centre fielder snuck out of where they were staying because they’d heard this band was hot and the girls would be pretty.

“I think the guys who told us that were selling things a bit short, though,” he says, and Gale knows he’s supposed to be flattered by the compliments and impressed by the sports talk, but all he can think to say is, “Uh huh.” All he can think to say is, “Uh huh,” when John asks him to dance as well, and when Gale can’t give up the lead properly, they’re both laughing just how him and Marge did. Gale catches Marge’s eye as they spin past each other, giddiness and giggles sparking in the pretty brown and around her lipsticked mouth too, and he snorts a little when she winks at him. Gale hasn’t had liquor before, but when people talk about getting jazzed and squiffy, maybe this is some of the feeling: like there’s bubbles all inside him, like everything is funny, like he could lift off the ground and fly. It’s a game, a dangerous one, but John seems to like him and keeps on talking, not talking at Gale but talking to him and taking it in stride that Gale doesn’t have much to say in return.

They dance a few numbers, and Gale sees Marge with a pirate and a cowboy and a sailor—she blows him a kiss as she twirls past with a devil—and the crowd is thick and pressed close around them, bumping along with the beat, when John leans in a bit too close to Gale’s mouth. The punch is a reflex, and connects hard enough given the limits on the space, meeting square with John’s jaw and deflecting his attempt at a kiss.

“I got a girlfriend,” Gale says stupidly.

“And a helluva right hook, for a little lady.” He’s taken his hand from Gale’s waist to rub at the blooming red spot on his face, and Gale can see what he said gaining meaning behind John’s eyes, and his whole throat starts tasting like the smell of oil. “Huh?” is what John says next, squint of his eyes this time because his brow is furrowing, and then the band leader is calling a countdown and a drumroll and the horn section is blowing and everyone around them is taking off their masks. Gale sweeps off his mask and wig in one, and John is still holding his other hand. He drags up from his punched jaw to his own mask, pushing it back into his hair, and the face he reveals isn’t any of what Gale had been starting to think, has seen on other boys and men around Casper and his own dad—John’s face is all screwed-up confused, mouth-open astonished, but there’s not even a fleck of anger.

“Christ,” he says, and gives a whistle. “And to think, I was fallin’ in love.” Gale’s grin comes back so wide he thinks his face might be splitting with laughter.

“Sorry to disappoint, John.”

“Are you kiddin’? This is terrific. You could be a goddamn spy! Workin’ undercover to bust crooks; you sure convinced me. Fuck, is there egg on my face.” He’s swearing now, and drawling broader, and there’s an ease in his stance that wasn’t there a second ago, but he’s still holding Gale’s hand. “I’m sorry, for tryin’ to—but hey, that’s some dress you got on there.”

“It’s my Sunday best.” John guffaws at that, leaving his mask pushed into his curls to chuck Gale on the shoulder. “It was last minute, I borrowed it from—”

“There you are.”

“Marge.” Gale wraps his arm around her shoulders, wig and mask still dangling from his fingers. She’s smiling up at him with a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question, so Gale says, “This is John Egan. He’s bein’ a real good sport.”

“Madam Butterly herself.” Marge trills a laugh at that, and counters, “Moth.” John whistles again, an impressed sort of note.

“Shakespearean. You got Mustardseed and Cobweb floatin’ around as well? Hold on,” he breaks in, dropping Gale’s hand to snap his fingers at them like he’s remembered something, “maybe this is why they made us read all those old plays in high school—to warn us not to talk to pretty girls at masked balls. It might turn out to be a fella with a great-lookin’ kisser.”

“See?” Marge rasps, knocking her hip against Gale’s, their skirts whispering together for a moment. “I told you that you make a fine girl.”

John is shocked to learn they’re still in school, and starts calling them you crazy kids. He tells them a bit about the town, things to see and do, but they’re hitting the road tomorrow, Gale explains to him. John thinks that’s too bad, but then remembers that he’s headed back to St. Paul on the bus in the afternoon anyhow. He buys them a couple more Cokes, and tells them stories about pulling all kinds of pranks at college, and dances with Marge for the last song of the night, and starts to invite them on to somewhere else before he checks his watch and says, “Ah, nuts. I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I don’t make tracks now.” There’s someone yelling, “Bucky,” and John turns to look who, sending back a wave before saying to Gale and Marge, “You kids look me up if you’re ever in St. Paul. Or Manitowoc—who knows, could be another semester and I blow the whole thing and flunk out. See ya, dollface. Thanks for the kiss.” He taps Gale’s jaw with his fist, a lot sweeter than how Gale hit him, and then he’s gone in the crowd.

“Wowee,” Marge says, and Gale has to agree.

It’s 1940 and Gale is 21 years old, and all his possessions fit inside the single suitcase that he’s unpacking in an Air Force Flight School dorm room in Texas. He has an address in his pocket, for a ladies’ dorm at a local college, home to Marjorie Spencer. Gale had been thinking he’d never see her again, after the Spencers moved away during his senior year. His roommate’s name is John C. Egan, and Gale is telling himself that John is a common enough name. It’s too many coincidences. Too many dangerous, hopeful things.

“Gale W. Cleven,” someone says while Gale is stacking books at the edge of the lone desk in the room, and when he turns around the clown is standing in the doorway, only he’s wearing the same flight cadet uniform that Gale is and he’s a lot more grown than he used to be. His moustache has filled in more, but only a little bit.

“John,” Gale says. John holds out his hand and crosses the room in barely three strides.

“Call me Bucky. Good to meet you, Gale. Say,” he rolls on, dropping Gale’s hand after shaking it and snapping his fingers like he’s remembered something, “you look sort of familiar. We haven’t met somewhere before, have we?”

“I—”

“No, Christ, you know what it is? You look just like a guy I used to know back home—Buck, we called him. You ever been through Manitowoc, Wisconsin?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. Hey, you can still be Buck. Need an Air Force nickname, don’t you?” He chucks Gale in the shoulder, and doesn’t know that it’s an echo across six years. “What kind of a name is Gale, anyway?”

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

a little party never hurt no one

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom: Masters of the Air (TV 2024)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, John D. Brady/Bernard "Benny" DeMarco

Characters: Gale "Buck" Cleven, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Bernard "Benny" DeMarco, Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal, John D. Brady, Everett Ernest Blakely, Curtis Biddick, John B. "Jack" Kidd, Alexander Jefferson (1921-2022), Richard "Dickie" Snyder

Additional Tags: frat boy AU, Fluff, Getting Together, Love at First Sight, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, other characters to be added - Freeform, Rating May Change

Summary:

The nervous energy seemed to be contagious because all of the guys around Gale were silent. It left him tense and unable to shift his focus to anything but the thoughts racing through his head.

What if it had all been a long con? A joke to pull on the nerd that clearly didn’t belong in their ranks?

It didn’t fit anything he knew about Bucky or the rest of the Bloody 100th but Gale still didn’t understand where he fit into all of it.

Read on AO3

[stylespresleyhearted]

THE MAJOR’S WIFE

warnings: mentions of miscarriage, adultery, nsfw, marital problems, oral (m! receiving), spanking, being turned on even when your brain isn’t in it, bucky in 1x04, bucky married pre-war, slight age gap bc reader can come off slightly immature (i think?) angst, historical inaccuracies, new mediocre writer be nice

summary: John Egan gets to know his wife again

word count: 9.7k

notes: i’m not sure where this came from i wrote it all today and got no part of my research paper done. there’s really no point to it and also irl john egan was actually really close to his mother so i emphasized that here. he wrote to her so much. no disrespect to any of the real people, this is based on the show/show timeline as well.

Lila gets the call on the 2nd of October and her dreams come true.

Not entirely, no. The real dream would be having him home safe and the tragic war being over but she knows how fortunate she is to have the next best thing happen. Her husband’s been granted a few days leave and Colonel Harding believed it would do Major Egan some good to have his sweet, young wife join him during those days overseas. For the good of John’s mental health the Colonel or the President - or whoever was in charge, Lila really had no idea - had agreed to pay for her ticket and their hotel. There was only one thing they asked for in return and although it wasn’t explicitly said, Lila caught their drift: sort your husband out.

Lila knows it would do her no good to sit and wonder how horribly John must be doing in order for them to declare an all expenses paid trip for his spouse. All she does is worry for him anyhow so she forces herself to focus on the one good thing of the entire ordeal - she’s going to see her man.

There’d been letters, although not as many as she liked and she tried not to let it show how it hurt as every other wife received more than one letter at a time. Her John wasn’t the sort, she knew that when she married him. He was the kind of person who needed endless skies and land to maintain his sense of stability. Having him cooped up would do him no good and she partly wondered how much of what he was struggling with was the trauma he witnessed in the air and how much of it was feeling caged on base. At least his plane, good ol’ Mugwump (he wrote about her quite often) offered him the opportunity to head anywhere he wanted.

The only person he wrote consistently and readily to was his mother. It was rare if a week went by and she received no letter. During these instances it was more times than not an issue with the postal service.

Be that as it may, Lila knew who she married and it made her love him no less so she tried not to let it get to her. His mother was a saint. Firm and strong and loving all the same. Lila would have never survived sending John off if his mother wasn’t who and how she was. She held Lila at night when her cries woke her and she let Lila sleep in his old childhood bed. She kept food on their table and ensured everyone got their work done through the worry.

When John first left and Lila was sick to her stomach and vomiting multiple times of the day it was his mother who consoled her through the night when her sheets turned a crimson red and any ideals of having their baby through the war was lost.

Frances Egan was the glue holding them together. All of them, even her son who was an entire ocean way - so no. Lila would not be angry that she was John’s preferred pen-pal.

“You fix him right up,” Mama Egan had said in lieu of goodbye when leaving her at the airport, “you give him the loving he needs as his wife and the smacks he needs from me to get on the straight and narrow before sending him off to continue saving the world. You do it for him, not for any of them war bastards. You hear me?”

All Lila could do was nod. Dropping her bags on the floor and clutching her pseudo mother tightly. She was excited as she was frightened.

They had only gotten two months together before he had been pulled away. She didn’t want to complain, loads of women had gotten less time at all while others had only ever been left with the promise.

But her two months as Mrs. Egan? They’d been a dream. Her man was a romancer. He hadn’t hesitated in introducing her as the newly (and younger) Mrs. Egan, always resulting in an arm slap from his mother, he held open doors and he never stopped courting her; however she thinks the best times were when he was teaching her how to act married.

In their bed, at a home he had spent a year building for them. Using any extra pennies he had to pay off younger boys to help him hurry it along. Giving her the wrap-around porch she had always envisioned.

He showed her how to kiss. How to undress him. He had laid her underneath him, using his large frame to cover her completely, protecting her from the cold as he threw the sheets off them and making her feel tiny compared to him. She had never felt safer.

It had hurt the first time but he had held her through it. Never allowing any inches of space between their bodies; as if telling her they were in it together. She’d always known he was large, everything about him was large in general, but she never thought how much it would hurt to have all of him fit inside her. Lila hadn't wanted to disappoint him so she tried to muffle her tears and whimpers but he had swallowed her cries and gone slow, soft.

“If this is it, it’ll be enough,” he had promised, only about half way inside her and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. As a thank you she had taken that calloused thumb into her mouth and sucked. He allowed her; hiding his face in her neck and pressing wet kisses along there.

And for the first few times that had been it. She couldn’t take all of him and his thrusts couldn’t get too deep so he would only slip inside until her tight hole resisted and pulsed and he’d hump against that spot until reaching his pleasure.

“Do other girls take all of it?” She had asked a couple days later, trying to wrap her head around it.

She was no idiot. John Egan was no virgin.

“Yes.” Lila could always count on him to be honest. At least there was that. Meanwhile she couldn’t even fully pleasure him. She was failing as a wife. “Hey,” he lay facing her and she lay on her back. He tapped her cheek until she turned her face. “You’re my wife. That’s what makes this feel better.”

And she had beamed at his reassurance even though she didn’t feel much better. She knew John would never push her, and he couldn’t stand to see her cry, so if she ever wanted to learn to be a good wife she would have to take it upon herself.

So that’s what she did.

He was always on top and she was always on her back. That’s the first thing she had to change. From her understanding of it, from her talks with friends that always ended in giggles and blushing cheeks and from what she learned from John, it could be done in many different ways.

“I prefer to be in charge,” her school friend, Linda, had admitted to her. “Not like that -” she clarified, cheeks pink, “Just - if I’m gonna take it, I’d rather do it at my pace. Be on top. Some husbands are good like that. They’ll allow it.”

And knowing her husband wasn’t just good, he was great, she knew he would hold no qualms about it. The next time they lay in bed kissing it was easy to turn him over and straddle him. Move her wetness against his belly to let him know there was still more she just needed him to accept it.

Except he thought she was asking him to do it so he flipped her on her back again. And without breaking their kiss, she turned him over again.

It was more like they were wrestling.

Lila pulls away from his mouth, reluctantly, noticing his lips were wet and red and swollen and wondering if hers were much the same. They had been kissing for so long her mouth felt raw.

She loved it.

Straddling him, she reached behind her, feeling him standing straight and hard against her backside in between her cheeks. Sticky.

He gasped, bucking into her fist with a loud, guttural groan. It was so manly she rocked against his stomach again in need.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, “what’re you doing?”

“I want to try it like this,” she breathed, leaning over to whisper in his mouth, her tiny hand still wrapped around him and lining her up to her hole. “I want it all.” Lila clarified.

And John allowed it, like she knew he would. Let her take control and go at her pace. Let her swivel her hips on the way down to help with the tightness of being stretched so wide and thick.

Nothing but curses and promises of love leaving his lips. Gasping mine, mine, mine and my perfect fucking wife and I’m gonna fuck you forever.

He felt large inside of her, like if she was being split in two but it felt so good as the tip of him repeatedly hit a spongy part inside that had her coming with no contact to her clit for the first time.

She was beautiful, red splotches appearing on her body from the heat of their love-making, her hair tangled in his fists, her mouth falling open as she threw her head back - all of it was too much. He was flipping her over and pounding into her trying to chase his peak and a second one from her, their headboard banging against the wall in rhythm with his thrusts.

Things changed from then on. Sexually, that is. Becoming aware of how badly she needed to feel like she was pleasing him, John was not above using it against her. Like letting him lick at her.

“Good wives allow their husbands everything,” he would say, lips wide in a smile and eyes bright at the prospect of getting his way but Lila always knew the choice was really hers. He would respect what she wanted.

He was just too damn addicting. She couldn’t stand to tell him no.

His favorite times were when she allowed him to sit her over his face and let him feast. It drowned the outside world for him and he kept at it even after she had reached multiple orgasms and was pulling on his hair and the only thing keeping her up was his forearms locking around her thighs.

Her favorite was when he allowed her to taste him at the same time he was licking her. It was a tie between those times and when he held her down until all of him was in her mouth and she was spluttering, choking, gagging. Knowing she made a filthy vision and he adored it did something to her.

Now she was in London, closer to him than she had been in years, and all their intimacies were within reach. She could almost taste him, feel him petting back her hair and settling a hand at the low of her back. She still remembers the smell of his after shave and sweat, how he’d come into the kitchen asking for some of her homemade lemonade to help with the heat.

Jack Kidd was tasked with picking up Mrs. Egan from the airport and having her arrive at base with him. She remembers meeting him a couple of times before John shipped out early. Originally she was meant to wait for John at their hotel but there had been an issue when planning her flight and she arrived sooner than intended.

“Ma’am,” he greeted, placing a friendly kiss on her cheeks and taking her bags from her. “Bucky’s gonna be happy as hell to see your face.”

The tone in his voice - relief? alleviation? - had some of her happy wife's facade crumbling. How badly was her Johnny hurting that everyone was looking at her at his only chance to remain sane or alive?

Stop it. Maybe everyone’s just aware Johnny misses you. You’re his wife.

“Not as happy as me, I wager,” she returned with a smile. “I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, Jack. Glad to see you still kicking.”

His shrug didn’t soothe her worry but she saw him try to mask it with a smile.

“All we boys can do is pray.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gathering his attention. “You boys have got the prayers of our entire country protecting you.”

Jack simply nodded in response.

For the most part the ride to base was quiet. Her bags would be kept in the trunk until her and John were ready to drive out to London in a couple of hours and until then, she’d be his surprise at the officer’s club. Silver Wings, Jack called it. Where all the boys gathered and had drinks and celebrated accomplishments. And where some chose to mourn, too.

Her stomach was turning as she neared the hut, following Jack’s footsteps. There was so much that could go wrong and although this was meant to be a surprise, the U.S Army showing their gratitude towards a brave Major, she suddenly wished she would have called John and told him. She wished he knew so that she wouldn’t have to walk in feeling alone and unwanted.

Not that Lila thought John would turn her away, she simply wanted to have him hold her hand as she walked through the threshold.

“Stick close by,” Jack murmured, being respectful of where he touched her before deciding to lead her by her shoulder. “It gets crowded but I’ll take ya to him.”

As she walked through different groups, she felt the offending eyes of men and women alike. Wondering who she was. With a pang in her heart she realized she had met John’s squadrons before but all these crews were new. The boys she met, most of them at least from what she could tell, hadn’t made it. John never wrote about who passed away (except to inform her of Curt) ; most of their letters were him expressing his love and how he missed her so and asking what she got up to.

Having walked around the roundabout bar in the center of the room, her stomach in knots and fingers tangled in front of her - she caught sight of her husband smack middle in the dance floor. Pressed against a beautiful brunette.

Lila caught sight of him before even Jack did. That’s how connected she was to her husband. Jack whistled from beside her to gain Gale’s attention who was resting against the bar holding his signature ginger ale, also watching John Egan chat up the woman he was swaying with with something like disapproval in his eyes.

His large hands were occupying most of the space of her waist, keeping her body tethered to his as she laughed.

“Lila,” he gasped, eyes wide. He was smart enough to not turn and look at his buddy. To act as if nothing was amiss and she expected nothing less from Gale Cleven, “damn it all to hell. You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Egan.”

Because he was close to John, he didn’t hesitate in wrapping her up in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to her tinted cheeks. He knew John wouldn’t mind.

When he pulled back she patted his chubby cheek in return, “You still shame the rest of us with your good looks, Gale,” she laughed. “I’ll let Marge know when I see her next.”

Lila also knew she would share with Marge that while Gale was being loyal, standing off to the side her husband was exchanging oxygen with a woman on the dance floor.

His cheeks tinted at the mention of his girl. Buck and Bucky were both aware Lila and Marge wrote to one another and visited each other whenever time made it possible.

“Colonel Harding said Major Egan was in need of something from home,” she said, studying his reaction to see what she could read but Gale had always been aloof, cold. He wasn’t close to her like he was with Marge and John.

Gale thought back to a few moments earlier when John had disrespected their Colonel and all his actions before that too - disrespecting superiors, drinking more consistently, becoming angry - hopelessness in his eyes.

“He’s in need of you Lila,” Gale clarified and it wasn’t lost on either one of them that he they were referring to was currently on the floor wooing another woman.

“Holy shit! It’s Mrs. Egan!” Hambone animatedly announced and suddenly it felt like the eyes of everyone in there were on her. Her cheeks tinted pink, never having been one for the spotlight like her husband.

She was greeted with welcoming cheers and hugs.

John, for his part, disentangled from the woman he was holding at the mention of his missus. He was sober enough to appear sheepish and guilty, but in the next second it was gone as he stalked towards her. Determined. Quick. His smile growing the more he neared like he was becoming more aware she was really there and it wasn’t a fucked up scenario in his head.

“God, Lila,” she managed to hear him say before she was elevated in the air, his arms tight around her waist and lifting her high so they were at face level and he could kiss her. Channeling his love and exuberance and aggression into kissing his wife. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s really you,” he was saying in between smooches, “I missed you. So fucking much, doll.”

Basking in his love she didn’t feel the need to mention the woman that was so kindly keeping him preoccupied before she entered.

She couldn’t help the first tear from falling or the rest from following. It was like the tightness in her chest unlocked as she finally got to hold him and feel his heat surround her. He still smelled of after shave and the same hair gel that was kept in their bathroom at home but he tasted strongly of whiskey and cigarettes and strawberry lipstick.

John tucked his face into her neck, setting her down and bending to her level. Sniffling in there as he continued to hold her.

“None of that,” she did her best to stop her voice from wobbling or breaking, “we’re together. That’s all that matters.” She drew his face out from where he had hidden to pepper him with a few more kisses.

None of it was enough.

The rest of the guys were kind enough to return to the dance floor and act like they couldn’t see them.

“Who? What - why? How?” He was obviously having trouble forming coherent thoughts in between the kisses he continued stealing from her.

She was crying and laughing and trying to return all his touches. It was a terribly difficult ordeal but she had never been happier.

“Colonel Harding called and said you had a weekend leave. He said he talked to some of the higher ups but they couldn’t allow you a leave home so this was the next best thing,” she explained, cupping his cheek as she rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. He had minor scars that weren’t there before.

She wanted to kiss every single one of them.

He was still bent towards her height, taking her in as she was taking him in.

She forgot how blue his eyes were.

He was whole. Complete. Hers.

“You’re here for the entire weekend?” He asked to confirm and she nodded, laughing when he lifted her again with a loud whoop to celebrate. That got a few of the guys to join in although they had no idea what their Major was celebrating.

“I need you,” his voice suddenly dropped, setting her down as he turned to the door. “Let’s go.” He was buckling up her coat to make sure she was protected from the freezing London air. She was lucky he was too far gone to scold her for arriving with it unbuckled in the first place - she could get sick.

“John, John - relax, my sweet man,” she laughed, cupping his cheek to get his attention. “We can stay for a while. We don’t have to go yet.”

It’s why she was at the officer’s club in the first place. She had arrived early.

John turned stiff in her hold, straightening to his full height as he suddenly loomed over her. “I’ve got you in my arms for the first time and you want to stay here?” His voice was tight. His face stern.

“Yes - no, I -” she was unsure of where she went wrong or how to fix it. She clasped his hands in hers but he didn’t allow her to thread their fingers together so it was just her holding on. “I just meant we’ve got time, John.”

The way he was looking at her made her want to cry. She felt her lower lip quivering.

She felt ashamed, whispering, trying to get him to keep his cool.

“Time? Time?” He laughed loudly. She was mildly aware of Gale breaking away from a group of guys to near them, worried but she was mostly focused on John. The tense lines on his face even as he laughed and the quirked eyebrow even though she found no amusement in their situation. “You think I’ve got time? You have no idea what it’s like up there.”

She shook her head but didn’t try to verbally explain herself. She wasn’t sure she could manage a few words before breaking into tears.

“Come on, Bucky,” that was Gale stepping in to save the day. Perhaps the only person who could get John to listen. “When have you ever left before dancing with your girl? You gotta show these rookies how it’s properly done right?”

With Gale slapping a hand to John’s shoulders, he seemed to snap out of it. Releasing a deep breath and seemingly all the tightness in body with it.

He leaned down again, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, clasping a hand around her neck so she wouldn’t pull her head back. As their eyes locked she felt a tear fall again and this one wasn’t happy. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. It’s this place. It’s fucking with my head.”

And she chose to believe him, nodding her head in understanding and trying not to think about how she wasn’t his preferred person to write letters to or the one who could clear his head.

Maybe the Colonel should have allowed a weekend pass for Gale and John.

Lila swallowed the thought, allowing John to pull her to the dance floor as he lost all anger and aggression and became charming and loving all over again.

“Everyone, this is my wife!” He bellowed and everyone cheered in response. “She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen and -” he hiccuped and she realized he was drunker than she thought, “and I bet we can out dance any couples here tonight!”

So for the next hour she found herself being twirled around the dance floor by her husband. She almost forgot their prior negative interaction; his love and energy was so infectious. For the slow songs he would hold her close and she would rest her head against his chest, letting it lull her to a relaxing state. He was alive and she was with him. That had to be enough. For the more upbeat songs, he was challenging any couple beside them. Asking those sitting who were better dancers? Who could perform certain dance moves better?

And all throughout, he was like he used to be back home. Loud and happy and the center of attention, keeping everyone entertained. He kept announcing to his boys that his beautiful wife was there and then he’d place a wet kiss on her mouth that had their cheeks (and hers) turning red but all he would do is smile and continue on.

She was finally able to disentangle herself from him when Crosby pulled him in for a conversation. Lila wonders if her state of disheveled hair and panting breaths made him want to aid her in allowing her to sit and grab a refresher.

Once she accepts Crosby’s hug and cheek kiss, she excuses herself to go grab a drink. John only pulls her back once to steal a kiss before she gets too far.

Her lips might be bruised by the time they leave if he kept it up.

She orders a cup of ice water from the man tending the bar, looking back out at her husband as she waits. He’d always been tall and strong, but she notices the change in his posture. The bulges in his arms as he twirled her around and lifted her in the air. His eyes were only bright when he forced it. They had lost their shine and she wishes she brought the picture from back home. Where he looks young and full of life and joyful. Even when he smiles he seems hollow; hopeless.

She’s there but he doesn’t really care because in his head he’s already thinking of when she leaves again.

She wasn’t used to that. Her John only lived in the moment.

“He keepin’ you busy?”

Gale settles up behind her and pushes the glass water towards her. She didn’t even notice when it was put down.

“Dizzy, more like,” she jokes and gets him to crack a smile. She thinks to when she walked in and seen Gale, how he’d been watching the scene unfold but with a disapproving look in his eyes. How he didn’t try to hide the scene from her or excuse it. He let it be. And she knows John has never shied away from attention. He’s always been handsome and charming and girls always swarmed but Lila wasn’t aware she had to be around to keep him loyal. She thought he just was. And she knows it’s not too long before they leave now so she decides to be direct with him. “So, does that happen often?”

She sees Gale’s expression split for a second, like he debates playing dumb before deciding against it and she respects him even more for it.

“I think you should talk to John about it.” He decides on.

“Is it something that needs to be mentioned?” She doesn’t like playing this game with him but she knows at the first words of cheating and adultery Gale is going to excuse himself and her chance will be lost.

She can’t be simple and ask: Does my husband cheat on me?

“Another ginger ale, Marty,” Gale raises two fingers to grab the man’s attention and mutters a thanks as his drink is immediately refilled. He turns his attention back to Lila. “He still loves you, Lila. It’s just - hard. Being out here.”

“You seem to be coping fine.”

She feels bitter. Crazy. There’s a sob she has to choke back.

Lila’s too embarrassed to meet Gale’s gaze. Ashamed that everyone knows what’s been going on and she was the ditzy woman being twirled on the dance floor.

“I think I was used to loneliness. He isn’t.”

And he says nothing else as he leaves her behind heading back to his boys. It’s just Lila and her shattering heart and her husband calling to beckon her back to the dance floor.

Luckily they didn’t stay much longer. She walked over to Bucky but he wasn’t able to pull her back out for a dance - it’s my song, Lila! - because Jack Kidd was approaching, letting them know it was time to leave them at the train station.

Lila waited in the car while Bucky ran into his quarters to pack his bag. He didn’t have many things to take, he would be stuck wearing his uniform anyway. Gale walks him back out to the car and despite the earlier conversation Lila exits the safety of the interior to say her goodbyes.

“Take care of yourself, Major,” she squeezes him, “I need you to stick around after this weekend to look after my man.”

“It’s a hard job but I try,” he replies, both of them ignoring Bucky’s protests.

Besides that, Bucky’s quiet on the ride to the train station. He carries her bag on board but he’s quiet for the duration of the train ride. Lila doesn’t disturb him; he might be tired or hungover or both.

And if she’s honest she’s scared of him snapping at her like the night before.

Instead she takes the time to take him in. He’s handsome in his suit. Tall and big and strong, his sharp jaw and powerful mouth, his eyes blue like a sunny day and his curls coming undone from the gel after all the dancing he did.

Lila doesn’t allow her mind to wander down this path too often but suddenly she can’t help it. Would their baby have looked like him or like her? She wishes more than anything they would have had his ears. She wishes they would have had his heart and his strength - but her loyalty. Her faith in them.

It’s crazy when she stops to think she was nineteen when she married him and now she’s twenty-one. She’s loved him for more than she’s been allowed to have him. She has changed without him like he has without her and it’s frightening to think neither of them could be accepting of those changes. Whatever they may be.

Lila shuts those thoughts out, closing the distance between them to sit on his lap. Passerby’s and his horrible mood and what scares her could be damned to hell - all she wants is her man.

John doesn’t deny her; she admits she was a little scared he would.

“I love you,” she tells him, catching his eyes.

“I know.”

He doesn’t return the words as they continue staring at one another but she refuses to let it get her down. This is her husband. She has the rest of her life to get to know him; new or old habits, she doesn’t care.

So instead, Lila plasters a smile onto her face. “What’re you gonna show me first in London, Major?”

“Well I really wanna show you our hotel room,” he plays along, allowing her to trace the edges of his mustache. She lets out a knowing chortle. “And I really want to show you -” he cuts himself off to look around, making sure no one was near them as he leans in to whisper, “- my cock, Mrs. Egan.”

She turns a bright red, trying to sputter out a proper response for that but all she can do is indignantly scold him. “John Clarence! If your mom were here -” and they both break out in loud laughter at the many possibilities of what his mother would exactly do to him if she heard his wicked mouth.

“Wanna grab some grub first?” He asks instead, knowing she hadn’t eaten at the officers club and before then she had been stuck on a plane. “I know a few places.”

Lila nods happily, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His lips are warm and as plump as she remembers them. His mustache tickles her.

“Let me feed you first, woman!” He groans, trying to be a gentleman. “When’s the last time you ate?”

She puckers her lips to think about it and that’s the only answer he needs: food is definitely first.

When they arrive at the hotel John enters to check them in but he slips a few bills into the bell boy’s hand with strict instructions to leave the bags in their room before pulling her back out to the London streets.

Lila felt underdressed surrounded by women in diamonds and fancy hats, and it didn’t help that John was beside her in his uniform looking dapper and catching the eye of many. They were stopped multiple times on the way to the diner; men wanting to shake his hand and show their gratitude while the women introduced themselves, uncaring of Lila under his right arm.

As long as he wasn’t ignoring or dismissing her she realized she didn’t really care. It wasn’t much different back home; everyone knew and loved John Egan.

The diner he chose was small and cozy and his legs were too long to fit under their table so his boot and his knee kept bumping into her own and she adored it. She wanted to feel close to him and since sitting on his lap currently wasn’t an option she figured this would have to do.

He tells her many stories but none of them are sad or tragic. He only shares the happy ones. He talks about how he convinced the Colonel to allow Buck, Curt, and himself a London weekend pass one time and they had shoved Gale into a haberdashery where he tried on a multitude of top hats worth more money any of them would ever see combined. But because they were soldiers and majors at that, the owner allowed it. There’s a museum nearby he talks about wanting to take her too, it showcases art from as early as the 1400s and he says he’s gotten lost in there plenty of times and it was lovely.

All the while, she listens without hearing him. Choosing to take him in and letting her mind wander to how it would be if things were different. It pains her to think how much older he looks since she last saw him. Looking more like it was ten years instead of the measly two. John’s always been one to smile freely but the wrinkles by his mouth, eyes, and forehead aren’t from smiling or laughing too much.

Lila knows they’re from worrying and stressing and being scared and she hates that she can’t understand him or be there for him. No matter how hard he tries.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes when a sob breaks free. She curls in over the table and John’s reaching over to rub her shoulders. She grabs a hold of her hand in his. “I just missed you so much.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “I don’t think I know how to not miss you.”

John doesn’t say anything but he motions a server over to settle the bill and once that’s done, he’s taking her hand and pulling her out the chair.

“You got enough food in you?”

All she can do is nod.

Her body feels electric on the short walk back to the hotel. He doesn’t do more than hold her hand and she thinks that is what has her nerves jittery, his palm in her hand sets her alight. She can feel his rough skin and the calluses on his fingers and the fingertips he runs over her skin and she bites back a moan.

Moaning in the middle of a bustling London street? She’d be thrown into an asylum she’s sure.

Beside her he’s quiet but his steps are quick. She has to lightly jog to keep up with long strides. He pulls on her hand to help her keep pace. It makes her think he’s as impatient for it as she is so she was surprised when upon closing the hotel room behind him he stays by the door. Not nearing or touching or kissing.

Just - nothing.

Her throat becomes tight again as she remembers the girl from the night before and her conversation with Gale. Is that the reason why?

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he says before she can spiral any further. Approaching her and bringing their lips together in a searing kiss, wasting no time in sliding his tongue alongside hers.

“I love you,” she responds and once again he doesn’t say it back. She figured he wouldn’t but she wanted to try. He takes her mouth in his again.

She gets irrationally angry, suddenly feeling the need to claim him so she bites at his bottom lip. He pulls back to press a finger to his lip, wiping the blood there.

Lila pulls on his belt, dropping to her knees right there in the middle of the room.

Mine. He’s mine.

“Make me your wife again,” she’s not sure but it sounds like she’s begging as she manages to unbuckle his belt and pull them around his strong thighs.

“God,” he breathed, “fuck. Look at you.”

Swollen lips parted for him to put to use. John wrapped his fist around her long hair to maintain a good grip, allowing the tip of his cock to hit the back of her throat. There was no resistance, no gag, her body remembering how it was taught to take all of him even though time had passed. John loved that fucking mouth and he found himself angry as thoughts entered his mind - if anyone had fucked her mouth while he’d been away - and he jerks his hips more forcefully. Rough.

This time Lila does gag. Her hand goes to push against his hip but he doesn’t allow her to pull away.

“Did anyone else do this?”

She splutters, eyes on him and confused with a mouthful of cock, unable to talk.

“Did you suck someone else’s cock? This is mine, Lila. Mine.”

He holds her down for a couple of more seconds before allowing her reprieve. She sputters and coughs, looking at him the entire time.

His dick is still hard and long, standing to attention, and he’s not sure whether he should apologize before she’s taking his bobbing dick back into her mouth. To the back of her throat and gulping and fondling his balls. Her nose kissing the coarse hairs on his belly trail and although it feels fucking amazing - he can feel the anger too. Her anger.

How dare he accuse her.

When she pulls off there’s a strand of saliva connecting his prick to her tongue. She has half a mind to go back for more but he’s pulling her back by her hair.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife who’s cock hungry,” he groans, pulling her to her feet by her hair and connecting their mouths in a rough kiss. Their teeths crash and tongues wrestly and he feels fucking crazy that she tastes like him. Simultaneously ripping each other’s clothes off.

Lila didn’t have any warning. One second she was kissing him and ripping open his shirt and the next she was bent over the bed with her ass in the air. John ran a finger over the wet patch on her underwear. The bite on her cheek was also unexpected and she clawed at the sheets, sure she could come from the feeling alone.

“This is mine, Lila,” he leaned in close, burying his face in her underwear. “Mine.”

All she could do was whimper and agree.

John smacked her ass so hard it jiggled. Lila yelled and after the pain ceded, time seemed to stop. Nothing but their rough breathing filling the room. John had never done that before.

She wasn’t sobbing but there were tears escaping. She was sure he didn’t know. He was waiting for a reaction.

Lila wasn’t sure where this side of her husband came from. Had he held back those two months? Did he learn it in Europe? Was that why there was another woman - because she couldn’t satisfy him?

She can’t lose him.

“Please,” she begs, hiding tears in the duvet, “do it again.”

Lies. It was all lies but John believes her and he strikes again. She yelps, fisiting the sheets. He believes it’s in pleasure.

Ten slaps. That’s how many she endures before he begins shushing and petting her again. He runs his fingers through her folds and although she didn’t enjoy the punishment mentally - she did nothing wrong, he was the liar - her body certainly did. She’s sopping wet, she’s gonna have to throw out her underwear because they’re destroyed.

“Did you enjoy that?” He grabs a fistful of her hair to sit her up, her back against his sweaty, matter chest. “You like being spanked, baby?”

“Yes.” It’s only half of a lie.

“Now - now, I’m going to fuck you. Nice and hard, just how you like it,” she wants to scream at him. She wants to hit him. When did she ever like it hard? When was hard ever nice? Who was he thinking about because it wasn’t her.

But at the same time she rocks back against him to feel his cock hard between her cheeks. She can’t say she doesn’t want it. Him. This.

He pushes her back down at her teasing, using his now free hands to spread her cheeks and show her tight asshole. Untouched and pure. He presses the tip of his cock against it but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t move.

She jerks at the pressure. Drools on the mattress as she tries to bite down to temper her screams.

Do it.

No, don’t.

“One day,” he promises, pressing deeper so her hole opens but not deep enough to push. “But today, today I want this.” And without any prepping like she’s used to, without any more warning, he’s sliding down and pushing into her. Hard. Deep.

She screams, can’t help it, claws at the mattress in an attempt to crawl away.

It hurt but it felt so good.

Who was she?

“You think you can go be with other men? Let them use the holes I trained? The ones that belong to me?” He pumps into her deep. Once, twice. She’s so wet the noises filling the room are pornographic, her yelling and his panting and her sopping wet vagina smacking against his thighs and taking his cock so well. “You like it like this, Lila? Like when I fucking own you?”

“Yes, yes,” she swears and this time she isn’t lying. It’s all she can manage; she thinks she’s gone cock dumb. There are no words, no feelings, just the feeling of him filling her.

She clenches tight when he slides out. She wants him inside her forever.

He releases his hold of her hair, stepping away. He’s tired of muffling her moans and words. He’s tired of not being able to see her beautiful face.

John’s favorite face in the entire world.

“Turn around,” he commands.

Lila kneels on wobbly legs as she turns over, having little to no energy and bouncing as her body lands with no grace on the mattress. John grabs one of her jiggling breasts in his large hand, squeezing tightly.

“I fucking missed these.” He takes one in his mouth, biting down on her nipple hard. She shrieks but holds his head to pull him closer.

Her thighs are forced open by his hand and then he’s taking hold of himself and thrusting in deep again. Releasing her breasts from his mouth in order to look at her mouth. Lila’s face when he’s fucking her is as close to heaven as he thinks he’ll ever get. She’s incoherent but she’s begging for more - that much he can make out. She manages to gather the strength to grab hold of him and pull him down, clawing at his back.

He hisses at the pain and bites on her collarbone to reciprocate it.

When she grabs the nape of his neck, the cool touch of her wedding ring against his skin, it gives him pause. This was his wife. His wife.

John has been gone so long he thinks he forgot he was married.

“I love you,” he finally says it, pressing his forehead against hers as he slows down. He sniffles then, leaning down to press a wet open-mouthed kiss against hers and swallow her moans. John can’t believe he forgot he had this; can’t believe he forgot for a minute how lucky he was. She’s gorgeous (and not just externally) and he’s quite sure he somehow managed to dream her up. “I love you,” he swears again.

This time she’s the one who doesn’t say it.

She clutches at neck and pulls him down to take a boob in his mouth. Looking him in the eye hurts too damn much. Why did he have to do this now? She was lost in the pain; she had been taking her punishment.

Lila squeezed her eyes shut, moaning loudly as she thrashed around the bed. Her orgasm taking over her body. She wrapped both legs tighter around John, squeezing and pulsing around him and dragging him to the edge with her.

“Fuck, fuck,” he roared, “so damn tight. Yes, Lila. My perfect wife.”

For a couple of seconds, they lay in the aftermath. Lila could feel the heat of John’s breath against her neck. She counted how many breaths they shared in between one another as they recuperated.

Forty-seven that’s how many breaths they shared as they stayed connected.

Forty-eight that’s when John managed to lift his head and place a peck against her mouth. One she didn’t return.

Forty-nine that’s when John pulled back in concern. Lila was so still.

Fifty. That’s the breath she used to say, “you cheated on me,” looking him right in the eyes as she broke out in uncontrollable sobs.

She cried and cried underneath him. Unable to move because her legs felt like jello and they held no power. Unable to push him off because she didn’t want to let him go. Unable to speak because she was suffocating in her heartbreak.

John watched her until he couldn’t, until he was afraid she was going to choke on her own tears and then he was sitting her up, trying to ignore the way she fought against his touch.

I’m sorry, I’m here, he kept saying.

I hate you, she thought but didn’t say.

Until finally, “don’t touch me!” She yelled when he got too close and made to wrap her up in a hug. “Get away from me, John. Stay away.” She crawled to the edge of the bed and curled herself into a tiny ball. Aware she was fully naked and he was still leaking out of her but she couldn’t find it in herself to do anything except cry.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t open her lungs and get any air in. She slapped at the headboard, aware that she was having a panic attack as suddenly everything hit her all at once. It was entirely consuming and she couldn’t do anything to fight against it except cry. All the feelings rushed her at once.

This was going to be it. The weekend of two lovers reunited was the weekend from hell and this was going to be it. She was going to return home in a day and he would stay in Europe and continue to fight the war and seek out other girls and when he returned she wouldn’t be his wife anymore.

Lila would be scornful and full of resentment and miserable and he would leave her. This last time was going to be all she had and she hated him for ruining it.

Why couldn’t he hide his affairs better?

Why did she have to surprise him?

She was perfectly happy not knowing. She was worried and stressed to hell and crying every night missing him but, oh God, all that was better than this.

Lila isn’t sure how long it’s been since she last took a breath but she feels herself fading. She’s shivering and naked in their bed and she can only slightly take in that John’s wrapping her up in the duvet and curling himself around her to warm her up. She’s trying to tell him she can’t breathe, she’s suffocating, at the same time he’s blowing air in her face.

She’s fading when she feels it. A sting on the left side of her face. Hard and sharp and enough to have her gasping for a deep breath.

“Baby, please, wake up,” he’s crying over her, his head on her chest, “wake up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Her chest aches. She coughs.

He whips his head up so fast she almost laughs. Almost.

“Lila,” he holds her against his chest, rocking them back and forth on the bed as she takes in her surroundings. She isn’t sure how long she was out or how long she was panicking for. Had the sun been setting while she lost her shit? It was dark outside now. “Don’t leave me, you can’t leave me. Please.”

She taps at his arms to get him to release. She doesn’t think she can talk.

John allows her the space but he doesn’t remove himself from the bed. He stays kneeling, watching her. His hands keep twitching like he wants to reach out and touch her but he’s trying to respect her wishes of not being touched.

She doesn’t lay back down, she stays resting against the headboard. Breathing hurts. She’s scared of suffocating once more. Her left cheek begins burning and she wishes she had the strength to go look in the mirror. Did he mark her? She hopes he did.

Lila’s glad he made it hurt.

“You need to go,” she finally manages to say, ignoring the way he’s already shaking his head in defiance. “Leave me here, John. I want you to go. Get another room.” Find another woman. “I leave in a day.” She wishes she never came to stupid London. She wishes she could forget this entire trip.

“Lila it’s the war,” he starts, shaking in his own tears. “It’s all the shit I see, baby. None of it was because of you okay? None. You don’t fucking know what it’s like up there for us but I stay alive in hopes of coming home to you.” He promises.

She shakes her head, fighting back any more tears. How the hell could she still have any tears left?

“But Gale didn’t cheat,” it bursts out of her before she can stop it and she knows it’s the wrong thing to say entirely.

John stops his apologies, clearing his throat as he gets up and begins dressing into his suit. She doesn’t stop him. She doesn’t take back any of what she said. She gets tired of sitting so she lays on her side, staring out the window and noticing London doesn’t have many stars. Is that why it’s so horrible here? Because there were no stars to wish upon.

She could hear his boots stomping on the ground as he reached the door. “Maybe you should have married Gale fucking Cleven then.” And the door slams shut behind him.

She wonders if he’s angry enough to find a girl and sleep with her. Her eyes blur. The time on the clock is six p.m and London’s already dark. She realizes she hasn’t slept since her plane ride. About 19 hours awake - her and John.

Lila allows her eyes to close, hoping when she wakes everything will be better.

Shadows over her eyelids wake her up. Lila finds she hasn’t moved. She’s in the same position facing the window. Facing London, only now bombs are dropping over it. The prettiest colors burst forward in the window but she knows it's truly only tragedy and loss. Murder.

She recognizes John sitting in the arm chair and she wonders when he got back. He isn’t facing her, he’s watching bomb after bomb drop and land no more than mere miles away from them. He’s holding a whiskey on ice, twirling the ice so it hits against the glass.

Lila wonders then if it was the shadows or the noise that woke her up.

“I must have punched in my card a long time ago,” his voice is strong in the dead of the night, seemingly even louder than when he’s singing in the pub. “It must be the reason for all of this. Karma.” He scoffs.

I deserve this, is what he’s trying to say.

Lila feels her stomach twist and spin and there’s bile sitting in her throat. She closes her eyes to stop herself from imagining John in a plane, dropping a bomb that lands on children. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to see the hurt sitting on his shoulders.

She remembers how angry she was when he first signed up. Before they were married. They had been dating for over a month, barely, and she already scribbled ‘Mrs. Egan’ over her notebooks. She’d heard it from his younger sister, Eileen, and she felt her world stop. She hadn’t hesitated to run to the stables he worked at and confront him in front of all the men.

“You’re leaving me,” she had accused him. “You’re gonna leave! I’ll never forgive you, John Egan.”

And in front of everyone he’d knelt down and produced a ring, the one his father had given his mother and said, “Marry me.” He didn’t ask because they both knew it wasn’t a question.

She was already his.

And he was hers.

Lila had forgiven him and promised to love, honor, and obey for the rest of her life.

She doesn’t have the strength to stand so even though her throat burns she speaks. “Lay with me,” she croaks. Her voice is raspy and broken and even clearing it aches.

John shakes his head. “You don’t want me to.”

“Lay with me,” she repeats, firm. “I just want to fall asleep with you.”

He looks at her like he's scared to believe. Trying to figure out whether she’s simply being cruel and going to kick him out in her next breath. Or more likely, he’s scared she’ll lose her shit being near him again.

John, hopeful and never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, sets his drink down and nears the bed. Lila keeps her eyes locked on his and he does the same. Their moves and tension resemble a game of chicken, one of them afraid any sudden change can have the other running off.

“Take off your uniform,” she says when he pushes back the covers while still fully dressed. He jerks his head in confusion and she bites her lip to contain a laugh at his dirty mind. Sex is the last thing on her mind. “I want to feel you, that’s all.”

John does as she asks, setting his cap down and shredding every layer before he’s naked and gorgeous and sliding in beside her. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what it means when she immediately slides closer.

Lila’s the one to wrap her arms around him.

Lila’s the one to intertwine their legs.

John follows her lead, lifting an arm so she can raise her head and use it as a pillow. She scoots her face closer and she nuzzles into her armpit, smelling his deodorant and feeling his hairs poke at her nose. She moves further along, escaping the cocoon of his armpit to press her cheek against his chest. She clutches his dog tags in her palm, tight, so he can’t get up in the middle of the night.

“Can we fall asleep together?” She asks, but when she looks up John’s already there.

The next time Lila wakes up her palm aches. She releases what she’s gripping, remembering how she clung to John’s dog tags when he slid into bed beside her. She lifts her head and finds John already looking at her.

He’s got the saddest eyes she’s ever seen and she hates that she’s partly why.

“We should talk,” her voice is low and cracks from not being used. John nods his head but makes no move to begin.

Lila lays her head back on his chest, lightly picking at his matted, curly chest hair. She presses her lips to a freckle near his nipple and his intake of breath lets her know he felt it,

“I’m not the one you write the most letters too,” she starts, finding it easier to not have to look him in the eye. “You write the most to your mom. And I’m not the one who can calm you down when your anger gets the best of you,” she’s so tired of crying, “that’s Gale. “And I can’t even be here for you at the end of a mission to console you or kiss you or help you forget,” she chokes on a sob. “That’s whoever else.”

I couldn’t even keep our baby healthy, she leaves out.

“What’s your point with all this, Lila?”

Lila lifts her head from his chest, “My point is I’m a horrible wife. I - I don’t know if it was too soon or just not thought out but this - I- ” she can’t get the rest of the words out.

“Don’t say that,” John sits up against the headboard, forcing her up as well. He grabs both her wrists in one of his hands to pull her closer and grab her attention. “Don’t fucking tell me that, Lila.”

“I don’t make you happy,” she shakes her head.

“You do. Everything I do, everything I’m doing - it’s for you Lila.”

“I don’t want to marry Gale. Or someone like him. I love you. Only you. But I’m scared that I don’t make you happy. You deserve better.”

“Oh you dumbass,” John coos, suddenly finding the entire situation amusing. He pulls her in for a hug. “You’re my entire fucking heart, Lila Egan. You don’t think you make me happy? You’re the only thing in my life, in my head, that makes me happy.”

She pulls away to hold his face. “If you’re gonna leave me John you need to tell me now. I don’t care about the girls if all they are is to pass the time. And I don’t care that you write to your mom more than me and I don’t care that Gale is the one you listen to but I just need to be the one you love the most. I need to know I’m making you happy.”

His heart aches at the fact that he made her feel she was ever anything less than the most important person in his life. “Lila,” he presses a kiss to her lips, “Rose,” another kiss, “Egan,” another. “Are my only reason for staying alive.”

[heretoobsessstuff]

what took you so long?

A tender moment between john and gale in stalag, written for mota's 1 year anniversary and the beginning of the way they consumed my life lol.

John woke up one night to find Gale in his space.

*

It wasn’t unusual for Gale to hover nearby now. To watch him carefully when he thought John was sleeping. To trace his broken eye socket tenderly before sighing and retiring to his own bunk. But this was different.

Gale had been restless all evening. John had noticed the way he kept fidgeting, the way he looked over at John more than once as if he wanted to say something but he never did.

John hadn’t pressed. He knew Gale and he knew pressuring him would end up doing the exact opposite of drawing him out of his shell. He let Gale sit in his usual spot near the bunk and pretended not to notice how he stayed there longer than necessary, even when the lights were out and everyone else had gone to sleep. John closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come. Eventually, Gale had gone to bed as well.

Or so John thought.

Now, as John blinked blearily in the dark of the night, he realized Gale wasn’t in his own bunk.

He was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, back pressed lightly against the edge of John’s mattress.

This was it. John took a slow breath. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Gale didn’t startle.

Didn’t move.

He just exhaled quietly. “No.”

John shifted up onto his elbows, watching him. “Why are you down there?”

A beat.

Then, soft, hesitant..

“…I wanted to be close.”

John felt something in his chest ache.

He reached out, slow and deliberate, brushing his knuckles against Gale’s shoulder. “Come up here.”

Gale hesitated.

Then, carefully, deliberately, he moved.

John barely had time to shift before Gale was easing into the bed beside him gingerly, not quite touching, but close enough that John could feel his warmth and the slight shake of his limbs.

Gale let out a slow breath, his fingers twitching slightly against the blankets.

John watched him carefully. Then, quietly he whispered 

“Come here.”

Gale shivered. Eyeing John for a second before finally, he gave in.

He shifted closer, pressing into John’s side, his head tilting just slightly toward him.

John let out a slow breath, moving his head to rest lightly against Gale’s. “You okay?”

Gale swallowed.

“…I think so.”

John let his hand trace over Gale’s wrist, grounding. He felt Gale exhale, leaning into him a little more.

And John knew.

Gale wasn’t just letting himself be close.

He was asking for it. Not in words, but in ways he knew John understood. In ways John had learned about Gale over years of knowing him.

John could feel it, the way he was right there, close enough that he could reach for him easily, pull him close enough that John could feel the heat of him, but still holding back.

Still keeping that last bit of distance.

And John had let him. For weeks, he had let Gale take his time, let him hover just close enough, let him almost reach for him but never quite. He had been patient even though patience was never his forte. But now that Gale was here, now that he was looking at John like he wanted something but didn’t know if he was allowed to have it, John wasn’t waiting anymore.

“Come here.”

Gale inhaled sharply.

John didn’t move.

Didn’t pull him in.

Didn’t force it.

He just offered.

And this time Gale took it.

He moved slowly at first, hesitant, like he still wasn’t sure if he should. But the second John reached for him, really reached, with both arms, steady and certain, Gale let out a shaky breath and melted.

John had been holding himself back for weeks.

Now, finally, he didn’t have to.

His arms wrapped around Gale, solid and unshaking, pulling him in, pressing him against his chest the way he had wanted to all those long nights when Gale had been too far away. Nights when he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever feel Gale again.

Gale didn’t resist.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t hold himself back.

He just went.

Went into John’s space, into John’s arms, like he had been waiting for this just as much as John had. His body eased against him, his weight pressing fully into John, like he trusted him to hold him up, to keep him steady.

John exhaled slowly, one hand smoothing over Gale’s back, the other pressing warm and steady between his shoulder blades.

He felt Gale shudder and he knew it wasn’t from pain or exhaustion. It was from relief.

John squeezed his eyes shut, breathing him in.

Finally.

Finally, finally.

His hand moved up slowly, brushing against the back of Gale’s neck. Touching the blond baby hairs tenderly. His voice was low, warm. 

“What took you so long?”

Gale let out a soft, breathless sound, half a laugh, half a sigh.

Then, muffled against John’s blouse,

“I didn’t know if I could.”

John pulled back just enough to see his face. “And now?”

Gale swallowed, his fingers curling loosely in the fabric of John’s shirt. “Now I don’t want to stop.”

John’s chest ached.

He cupped the side of Gale’s face, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “Then don’t.”

Gale inhaled shakily. His eyes were softer now. Still tired, still carrying everything he had been holding onto, but softer. More himself.

John tilted his forehead against Gale’s, voice quiet. “I wanted to give you space”

Gale’s breath caught. “I know John” a pause “don’t want space anymmore” 

John tightened his arms around him. “then stay right here.”

Gale sighed, exhaling long and slow, pressing himself closer. 

And John just held him.

Held him the way he had wanted to for so long.

Held him the way he needed to.

Held him until Gale finally, finally let go of the distance between them.

over the past few weeks my beloved moots @joeyalohadream @middlingmay @onyxsboxes @trekkiehood and @stars-remain2 have tagged me in last line tags and word finding games. i just wanted to say i appreciate u guys thinking abt little old me sm and i hope this makes up for those <3

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

You're like me, but better

John Egan X Female! Reader

Summary: Bucky meets a woman in a bar...

Warning: 18+/ pure smut/ switch!Bucky/ switch!reader/ doggy style/ oral (f and m)/ fingering/ handjob/ kinda edging/ dirty talk/ swearing/ use of Y/n/ mention of a physical fight/ alcohol/ praise/

Word count: 3k

A/n: I need holy water...

When he first spotted her, dancing and laughing, John Egan thought she was beautiful. She was dancing like no one was watching, but he was surely watching her. The way she moved was hypnotising, he couldn’t stop admiring her, she was wearing a blue navy dress that stopped right before her knees. It was beautiful, her hair was originally organised, but now, they were loose and kind of messy, but they were still looking good.

When she first spotted him, he was already looking at her. Y/n smiled to him as he took a sip of his drink. She thought he was good looking and looked like trouble and fun; the things she looked for in a man. When the music ended, she was thirsty, so she headed for the bar, and for the man. ‘’A whiskey, please’’ she asked the bartender. ‘’Make that 2’’ the man said, resting his elbow on the bar, looking at her. ‘’You like Whiskey?’’ he asked her. ‘’I love it, does that surprise you?’’ she leaned in closer to his ear, so he could understand what she was saying. He smirked as he turned his head to speak closer to her ear. ‘’I’m impressed, not surprised’’ he said with a low voice. She smiled to him as she took her glass. ‘’You can put it on my tab’’ she announced, not daring to look away from him. They went to sit at a table, well, Y/n went to sit down, Bucky followed her. She smirked when she saw that he followed her.

Empty glasses were all over the table, they had a lot of whiskey shots and Y/n’s tab kept going up. They’ve been talking for what felt like hours. The conversation was filled with flirting on both sides and teasing. ‘’What do you say if we get out of here?’’ he suggested, with a flirty tone. ‘’Yes, but hold on’’ she said, getting up. She took a glass full of water and went closer to the drunk men side. Bucky got up, worried about what she was going to do. ‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked her. ‘’Get ready to run’’ she warned as she threw the liquid on one of the men. Since he was drunk and disoriented, he blamed his friend. His friend got up, knocked over someone’s drink and chaos followed. She just started a huge fight. ‘’Go, let’s go’’ she laughed as she took his hand, and they got out of the bar. Bucky was shocked, that woman was truly amazing.

They ran into the alley, laughing and loudly breathing. ‘’You didn’t pay’’ Bucky laughed. ‘’I don’t have the money, plus I’ll pay him next time, I always do’’ she catches her breath. He smirked; he was in awe of her. She was high on adrenaline, even if she already did that to get out of a bar, it was still thrilling to do. They were both panting, looking at each other, they got closer to the other. The alcohol in their system helped their anxiety. ‘’You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, you’re like me, but better!’’ he chuckled. She took his face in her hands as she bit her lips. ‘’Shut up’’ she pulled his face closer to hers and kissed him. John took a second to realise what was happening, but when he did, he put one hand on her hips and the other behind her neck as he deepened the kiss. When they pulled away, to breath, the look in their eyes had change, they were hungry, they needed more. ‘’Where do you live?’’ he panted. ‘’We have to take a taxi, and don’t worry, I can pay’’ she winked. They walked up to the sidewalk and called a taxi.

He was touching her thigh and kept going up. Y/n tried to not breath so loudly, to respect the driver. She wanted to have sex with him right here, in the taxi, but they couldn’t, and the wait was more fun. But she couldn’t wait to get to her appartement and have sex with him. When the driver finally stopped, Y/n handed him the money from the window. ‘’Keep the change, have a good night’’ she smiled as Bucky was behind her. She could feel his erection on her ass, when the driver left, Y/n turned to face him and quickly kissed him. Her apartment was the upper one, so they had to go up some stairs. Bucky gladly walked behind her, checking her ass out as she climbed the stairs.

The second the door was closed; Bucky’s mouth was on hers immediately, trying to show that he was the one in charge, but Y/n quickly showed him who was in charge tonight. ‘’Now, Major, relax, you’re the one fighting the bad guys, you need a reward for doing so’’ she breathed against his lips. She looked up at him, he was grinning like the devil. ‘’What do you have in mind?’’ he growled, God he was desperate for her, he needed her so bad, his painful boner was the proof of how bad he wanted her. ‘’You trust me?’’ she asked between kisses. He nodded as he was being led to her bedroom, he kept following her closely. She felt his hard dick on her ass, she was smiling proudly. She slightly pushed him on the bed, so he could sit at the end of it. He took his shirt off, since he was in his uniform, he knew how to unbutton his shirt quickly. ‘’I have something to propose to you’’ she started as she went between his legs, she was still up, so he had to lift his head to look at her. She played with his curls as she explained her idea. ‘’If you can resist the urge to touch me, until I say stop, you can do whatever you want with me after’’ she purred. His mouth slightly opened, but no sound came out. ‘’And if I touch you?’’ he asked, but it almost sounded like a moan. ‘’You lose’’ she breathed out as she backed away from between his legs.

She started to take off her dress, slowly, teasingly and with a grin on her face. He’d been touching her all night, now, he couldn’t it was torture, but the best kind. He devoured her with his eyes, he needed her, but first he had to play her little game. She took her bra off but kept her panties on. ‘’Should I take your pants off, or you want to do it?’’ she asked him, with a flirty tone. He quickly untied his belt as she kneeled before him, his pants were thrown away. She began to palm his cock, but he still had his boxer on, so it was pure torture. He wanted to touch her so bad, but he also wanted to fuck that brat dominant attitude out of her later. She slowly takes them off, freeing his length. Y/n licks her lips before looking up at John, who was breathing fast, he was controlling himself in order to keep his hands to himself. Those poor bedsheets, getting pulled so hard, he thought he was going to rip them. She kept caressing his thigh, moving her hands higher every time, she was teasing him, and she was enjoying it way too much. She eventually reached his cock; she began kissing the top of it. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt her delicate hands stroke his cock, he exhaled in pleasure.

Y/n was enjoying this moment, having this man practically begging for her. Even though he was too proud to beg, she could tell by the sounds he made that he wanted her to do something more. ‘’You’re doing so good, Major’’ she praised him. His body reacted to the praise in a way that was almost embarrassing, he secretly loved being praised. She pressed wet kisses on the tip, then, without warning, Y/n took John’s dick in her mouth. ‘’Ah, shit’’ he groaned, lifting his hand from the bed, but quickly grabbed the sheet back to prevent his hand to touch her. She began to suck him with a rapid pace, she was teasing him by often changing the rhythm. One of her hands was on the base of his length, stroking him slowly while her mouth was sucking him fast. He was in heaven, he was going to die; but what a great way to go, he thought. Bucky was dizzy from the feeling of her mouth and hand working at the same time. His stomach was contracting as he felt the sweet feeling of his climax coming. ‘’D-darling, I’m really, ah, fucking, shit, close’’ he moaned. She kept going, but her hand started to go faster. ‘’Come on, be a good boy and cum for me’’ she encouraged him. That was all it took to send him over the edge and make him see stars. Y/n felt his release in her mouth, but his cock kept twitching. His knuckles were white, practically blue.

She didn’t stop sucking him, it was a very slow pace, but she wanted to drive him mad. His thoughts were gathered, but he was still dizzy from the orgasm he just had. ‘’W-what are you – oh I can’t, it’s too much’’ he whimpered. ‘’Please, darling’’ he breathed out. She decided that it was time for her game to stop, she mentally prepared herself to what was going to happen as she took his cock out of her mouth. She whipped the sperm on her lips and suck on them. She had that proud grin on her face that made him crazy. ‘’You were such a good boy, respecting the rules. So you win, I’m yours to do whatever you-‘’ she yelped as she was thrown on the bed. He was mad, she’d been teasing him for what felt like hours, she was going to get the same fucking treatment.

Bucky crawled on top of her, he kissed her hungrily, he wasn’t playing her stupid game anymore. His hand trailed down to her panties, he needed them off, he pulled them off her and threw them away. His hands still next to her entrance, he felt how bad she enjoyed teasing him. ‘’Look how soaked you are, all that from a little game. Tell me, darling, did you enjoy this? Making me moan and beg for you?’’ he growled. She moaned in response, but he wasn’t satisfied, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. ‘’I didn’t hear you. Did you enjoy having me at your mercy? Playing your little game?’’ he said, with a husky voice. ‘’Yes- yes sir’’ she stuttered, he smirked at her answer before entering one finger inside of her.

She arched her back as he began pumping in and out of her, their lips were so close together, but he wasn’t letting them touch. ‘’Look who’s moaning now, bet you weren’t expecting that, uh?’’ he teased, against her lips. She shook her head as he entered another finger inside of her. ‘’Please, let- ah let me kiss you’’ she begged. He chuckled as he moved his fingers faster. ‘’C’mon, darling, you can beg more than that’’ he teased. She rolled her eyes in pleasure as she swallowed her pride and decided to surrender to him. ‘’Please sir, please kiss me. I need you-shit please sir’’ she begged. He was smiling like the devil, God she was amazing. ‘’That wasn’t so hard.’’ He croaked before kissing her passionately, their tongues were dancing together. He kept moving his fingers inside of her until he felt her walls clench around his fingers. ‘’You’re close?’’ he asked. She nodded, biting her lips. The knot in her stomach was ready to burst, but at the last minute, he took his fingers out, denying her from the sweet pleasure she deeply craved. ‘’No’’ she whined as she wiggled her hips to get any form of friction that could trigger her orgasm. But Bucky was not having it, he put one hand on her hips, to keep her still. ‘’Nah ah, only good girls get to cum. You’ve been a brat with an attitude, so you’re going to fucking beg me, and until I say so, you don’t get to cum, do you understand?’’ he ordered. She whined before nodding. ‘’Yes sir’’ she said, biting her lips. She wanted to argue with him, say fuck it and ride him, but she was enjoying this.

She felt tear form in her eyes from the frustration she was feeling as he put two fingers inside of her, but this time, he kissed her body until he reached her clitoris. He was going to eat her out and finger her at the same time, she was a moaning mess, her brain couldn’t even think properly. Bucky knew her brain was fried, and she temporarily forgot that she had to beg for an orgasm. Her thighs were shaking for that much stimulation, her hands were in his hair, pulling his curls as she came closer to an orgasm again. Y/n completely forgot about his rule, so when he stopped everything, he was doing, she whined again. ‘’Please-ah let me cum. I’m begging you, please sir. I-ah need to cum, please’’ she begged like her life was depending on it. Bucky chuckled as he pressed one last kiss to her clitoris. ‘’On all fours, darling, the only way you’re getting off is on my cock’’ he ordered.

She didn’t know if her arms were strong enough to support her, but still, she got on all fours, waiting for Bucky to do something. ‘’Look at you, on all fours, begging for my cock. We couldn’t guess with that bratty attitude of yours. I guess I have to fuck it out of you, what do you think, darling?’’ he teased. Y/n moaned at what he just said, she was a mess, but God how was she enjoying it. ‘’I would like that very much, sir. Please fuck me’’ she moaned. He chuckled again as he positioned himself at her entrance. The wait was killing her, she ached for him, needing him to fuck her and give her the release she craved. He took her hips as he buried himself inside her. She arched her back as she felt him go deeper than her usual one-night stand. ‘’Shit-oh you’re so f-fucking big’’ she gasped as she tugs on her bedsheets. He started to trust inside of her but slowly, to make sure she felt him, as he trusted back in, he brought her hips towards him. His length went deeper inside of her, making the woman roll her eyes in pleasure. ‘’Please, please, oh shit’’ she mumbled, she didn’t even know why she was saying please, her brain was foggy and couldn’t form a normal thought.

He leaned in, to kiss her spine, he kept pounding into her at a fast pace, he was chasing his own release. After marking her back, one on his hands went under her to play with her breast, pinching her nipple. As he did so, Bucky felt her walls clench in pleasure, he smirked as he understood. ‘’You like that, uh.’’ He breathed out, pinching her nipple again. She arched her back even more as she felt the familiar knot in her stomach form. ‘’I’m close, please, sir. I’m begging you, please let me cum, please’’ she whimpered. ‘’You’re going to cum at the same time as me, understood?’’ he ordered. ‘’Y-yes sir’’ she moaned. She was close, and tired of waiting, so she decided to praise him. ‘’Yes, holy shit, you’re so deep inside me. Making me feel so good’’ she praised, her voice was raspy from all the moaning. Bucky felt butterflies in his stomach at the praise, he knew what she was doing, but hey, could he blame her? ‘’Turn around, I want to see you when I make you cum’’ he ordered as he took his cock out, only to slam inside of her when she was on her back.

He kept kissing her sloppy, her legs were around his waist. She kept whispering soft praise in his ear as he quickened the pace. ‘’C’mon, fill me up. Cum inside of me, I want to feel you’’ she encouraged him. With a powerful trust, he emptied himself inside of her as Y/n’s walls kept clenching his cock. They were moaning, gasping and trying to catch their breaths. Her breath was labored as she came down from euphoria. He was laying on top of her, his dick still buried inside of her. They were both silent for a couple of minutes before he pulled out and got up. Y/n watched as Bucky put his boxer back on and looked for her bathroom, while he was gone, she could properly catch her breath. It was the best sex she ever had. He came back with a warm towel to clean her up.

Bucky was holding her tightly; they were both cuddling. ‘’That was… mind-blowing, darling’’ he chuckled, looking at her. ‘’Best sex I’ve ever had’’ she joined the chuckling as they intertwined their fingers. ‘’Are you staying tonight?’’ she asked him. ‘’I can, but I have to get back on the base tomorrow afternoon, my pass expires tomorrow’’ he explained. She smiled as she snuggled closer to him. ‘’Goodnight, Y/n’’ he kissed the top of her head. ‘’Goodnight John’’ she kissed him on the lips before putting her head on his bicep.

As Bucky fell asleep that night, he promised himself that he was going to see her again, that woman was the most wonderful he ever met, she was funny, sexy, beautiful, smart and she was amazing in bed. That was all he needed, he was going to see Y/n again…

[majorbuckegan]

prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

 You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary. 

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar." 

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift. 

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs." 

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

[drylite]

hi can i offer you 5k of gale losing his mind bit by bit over bucky’s soft stomach

Bucky slips back into his overshirt for lunch but he rolls the sleeves up his forearms and leaves the buttons undone. His stomach has a more pronounced curve to it when he sits; Gale wishes he didn’t notice this, but all he does is notice, like someone stirred a screwdriver around in his brain and now the wires are loose, lashing bright and hot.

On a long, hot day at Thorpe Abbot’s, Gale reckons with changes in Bucky and the light they shed on his own history.

[joeyalohadream]

Let your heart be light - Chapter 4

Gale’s a tree farmer, living a lonely life. John changes that.

— —

“John’s swinging by to find another tree,” he admits, looking over at the gate again before turning back to see the smug look on Benny’s face.

“Sure, of course,” Benny nods. “What man doesn’t need three Christmas trees in as many days?”

“This one’s for him to set up at work,” Gale tells him, shuffling his feet when Benny’s smile dims a bit. “It’s all good, Benny. He just wants a little Christmas spirit around during the long hours he’s got coming.”

“And maybe a reminder of a certain tree farmer too, huh?”

Gale looks at the ground, fighting a smile, willing his face not to heat, but doesn’t deny it.

“Gosh, Gale. You really like this guy, don’t ya?”

The look on Benny’s face holds no judgement, just encouraging understanding and it eases something in Gale, loosens a bit of the tightness in his chest that seems to be a constant presence more often than not. Loosens his tongue too, it would seem.

“He stayed the whole day yesterday.”

“I know, buddy,” Benny laughs. “I was here, remember?”

“I invited him up to the house after I closed up.”

Surprise takes over Benny’s features for a moment and Gale doesn’t blame him. He’s known Benny and Brady for years and he’s never so much as been on a date in all that time.

“How’d it go?”

“Good.”

“Gale, come on, you gotta give me more than that.”

— —

Chapter 4/? on AO3

[irregularcollapse]

you’ve got this strange effect on me (and i like it)

a Buck/Bucky agent vs. assassin AU, heavily and blatantly inspired by Killing Eve

2.8k words | frottage, knifeplay, references to canonical character death and other killings

read on ao3 (or in full below)

It fits well. The fact of that has Gale grinding his molars into the raw inner flesh of his cheek, but it’s undeniable: it fits well. It fits well, which means that Gale has never worn a single piece of clothing in his entire life which was actually the right size. There’s copper on his tongue; he works his teeth until there is the slightest tag of meat between them, and keeps on grinding so his mouth is nothing but sting.

Gale looks at himself in the mirror, wearing a suit delivered to him by an internationally-wanted assassin-for-hire, and is consciously aware of the emptiness and heat cleaving out his gut.

He’s never had an occasion to wear a cummerbund, and likely never will, but the rise of it over his abdomen is secure in a familiar way: the posture that settles across his shoulders and down his spine carries the muscle-memory of wearing his holster. There hadn’t been a shirt wrapped with the suit in the luggage, and so Gale had foregone anything under the jacket, and seeing it now he thinks that’s the intention. It’s severed at the hem, shorter than a man’s blazer is supposed to be, grazing the line of where the cummerbund reaches over the waistband of the pants. When Gale turns in the mirror and cranes over his shoulder, the garments gape and his lower back is bared. He pauses. He swallows. Grinds out, “Get a grip” for no-one to hear but himself.

There are boots in the case as well, oil-shiny and sharp-toed with a heel height that forces a sound like tchah from Gale’s throat, a derisive “Jesus” and roll of his eyes. Hands curling with an urge for collision, he hooks the boots with rough fingers and tugs them on over his bulk-bought socks. The double stomp is to settle his heels, a louder burst of what’s tightening his tendons. The heat in his gut is an angry fizz now, and it’s spreading. Hands at hips, fingers drumming, Gale looks to the mirror again.

“Jesus,” he curses once more, glaring at himself fractionally taller and grossly flashy and draped in blood money. He sucks his teeth, and forces back the acrid taste seeping over his tongue. Curt’s dead, and Gale has this suit. He should wear it, when he wins the hunt. When he puts a goddamn bullet between the Major’s eyes.

Gale flexes his shoulders under the sharp lines of the jacket; none of the coil in his body loosens. His hip juts, pointed into his palm. The neckline of the blazer shifts, yawns over more of his skin. He chews at his cheek anew, and the lean of his hips leads him into turning again. It’s a marinated movement, this time.

The lifted heels of the boots have changed the angle of his body, the flow of the pants. Noticeably, they hug. The tailoring doesn’t feel tight, but the fabric is cupping him in a way none of his other pants do. Gale is staring at his own ass in the mirror, and his brain is only giving him one thought: “Huh.”

There’s a bubble sitting at his uvula where it could make him gag, which might be a laugh or a surge of vomit. Either way, it floods his mouth with saliva. His fingers run themselves over the fabric, the curve of himself, and what escapes his mouth isn’t laughter or bile, but a low hum with much too much air in it. Gale can feel his own pulse, throbbing in his neck and wetly in his chest. It fits well.

The Major never touched him. Never stood in close enough proximity to be able to, and certainly never measured him. Gale has never had a suit tailored, but there should be a process to it: measurements, and fittings, and adjustments. His hands smooth over the seams at his hips, sight tracking too as he traces the band of the cummerbund where it meets his own skin—a sway he hadn’t noticed before, a certain camber accentuated by the high rise and the crop of the jacket—and he feels the clothing caressing as closely and precisely as the Major’s eyes must have, for it to all fit this well. Gale licks his lips.

Nestled next to the tissue-wrapped suit was the velvet-lined box containing the aftershave that had been lab-tested for anything malicious and found to be innocuous: the feeling that Gale got when he even looked at the bottle couldn’t be blamed on any poison or drug or biochemical agent. He picks it up, uncaps the nozzle, and sprays a light mist of it over where his jugular is pulsing. One more, on the other side of his neck. He leaves the bottle on his nightstand, and breathes out slowly as he presses his wrists to the damp spots of fragrance. Cuff pulled back and inner arm presented, he inhales against his own skin. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. Gale breathes in once more, slower. Deeper. A bright knife of citrus. His gut twists, and his lips part and drag as he breathes out. The coil is tighter; the urge is hotter. Gale lowers his arm, and clears his throat deliberately. It isn’t right.

He’s nervy, and all blood, and riddled with edges as he strides his way to the kitchen, not contemplating the decision as he takes the half-drunk bottle of wine from the fridge. Marge said she’d come by later in the week to polish it off, but he can always buy her another. If there was ever a time to drink, it’s when he doesn’t have control over what his brain’s doing anyway. He’s alone, no one to see it, and he can just tell Marge he put it in a meal. She won’t call him on it, despite intimate knowledge of his culinary failures.

The wine is dry, and crisp, and slakes some of Gale’s thirst on the first sip. He leans against the countertop, and takes another. His eyes are closed as he breathes through his nose, tries to savor it, tries to let it go down easily and do what it’s supposed to do to calm him, when a rough voice says, “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me, babydoll.” Gale’s eyes snap open.

The Major is standing in his kitchen, smiling crookedly. Gale throws the glass of wine at him.

“Hey,” the Major protests, sounding indignant more than anything, and the impromptu missile never connects because he slaps it out of the air—crack and smash as it hits the wall instead—but Gale has time to dart past him, toward the hallway, the coat rack by the doorway where his holster is hanging, improper storage but he’d been tired and irritated and wound up when he got home with the suitcase—

The hemline of his jacket jerks like a seat belt under his ribs, and the slick heels of his boots slip on the tiling, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he’s dragged back into the kitchen by an assertive hold. The Major has him leashed by the belt encircling the bottom of the blazer, and he’s cooing little shush noises as he reins Gale in, and for all Gale’s thrashing and flailing he still ends up thrown down onto his own kitchen floor.

Gale scrambles, boots scraping as they grind glass into the tiles, pants wet at the hip from the spilled wine, straining for a hold on the counter’s edge to drag himself to standing, launching himself toward the knife block—birthday present, “Maybe you’ll take better care of yourself with the right tools,” Marge had said—but barely has the chef’s knife in hand before his wrist is cuffed by an uncompromising grip and he’s spun, sick imitation of a dance, and pinned into the cabinets. The Major’s hips are an anchor against Gale’s own, and he slams Gale’s hand on the granite once, twice, a third time that makes his grip loosen and flex as the pain smarts, and it’s just as quick then that the point of the chef’s knife is pricking at the hollow of Gale’s throat. He stops moving, at that.

The Major’s still smiling. “You got me wet,” he says. His chest is heaving, just like Gale’s is, and his white t-shirt is blotched translucent with wine. The knife indents Gale’s skin; he can feel it in his collarbones.

“Do it,” Gale grunts. “Do it, because if you don’t, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“Give me back the knife, then.” The Major huffs a short laugh, and the tip of the knife twists and presses as he shifts his grip.

“You won’t,” he repeats. “You like me too much.” He leans in, heavy, hips grinding into Gale’s and the blade digging hard enough that it seems about to burst the skin. His lips are incongruously soft at Gale’s ear, brushing and breathing with delicacy. “I get you wet.”

Gale’s lungs wrench out a noise, rough with rage. “You killed Curt.” The image of it rises, dark and hazy, club lights through smoke: the way their bodies had been entwined. The way the Major had held Curt close, as he drove the knife in. The way Curt had shuddered and it looked to Gale a lot like pleasure.

“It was always going to be just you and me, Gale. He was gettin’ in your way.” His nose traces a near-gentle path from Gale’s temple to the corner of his jaw. It’s a nuzzle, where his vein is beating. “He was nice. Good kid. You’re not nice, sweetheart.” He breathes in, measured, and his cheek grows into Gale’s with the broadening of his smile. “You’re wearing it.”

“Jesus,” Gale says, and this time he can’t deny that it’s a moan. His back is the sweep of a bow, arched by the way he’s caught against the counter, bent by the Major and how he’s got Gale snared. They’re flush from thighs to chests, hips to hips and lungs to lungs, and from the prick of the knife to the roll of his breathing to the hardening of his cock, Gale can feel the Major’s every inch.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” he whispers, and it’s low like a plea. “He didn’t think about you, he—He didn’t hate you. You were just a perp to him.”

“Not worth my time, huh? That what you’re getting at?” The words are coming harsher, just like his breaths hot on Gale’s skin, spelled out too in the movement of his hips, rubbing himself against Gale like a scratching post.

“He was nice. Not the one you wanted. Not—oh, Christ.” Gale doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it breaks off in a groan anyway. He’s gripping the edge of the counter tight enough that he can feel his knuckles lock up and start to ache. The heat in his belly, the gape of fire and frustration, is flaring and sparking.

“Go on. Say it. Say what you were goin’ to say.” The Major’s other hand, the one not holding the knife poised at Gale’s throat, is hunting and taking in its own way—along Gale’s side, up under the jacket, burning and ravening over his bare skin.

“Not like me. Should’ve taken me instead. Take—Take me.”

It’s the wine. There’s something in the aftershave. Something about the suit. Something done to Gale one of the times they crossed paths—or something done by the Major’s steel blue eyes, in the moment they met and Gale didn’t know who he was, a hypnotism wrought by a rakish crinkled smile and the audacity of the pet-name “Dollface” said to a stranger. Any of it, Gale grasps for any lifeline that will excuse it, the sour-sweet want coursing through him and how since he learned it, the Major’s face has been coming to him each and every night and all his waking minutes too.

“You want me to kill you?” He growls it, arm a restraint snaked around Gale’s waist, and now it’s that hold keeping him up, not the bench. The Major doesn’t only have lips at Gale’s neck now, but his teeth as well, scraping and nipping as he ruts. His cock is hard, a blunt obvious line, and Gale’s is hard, rubbing and turning the inside of his trousers damp.

“No,” Gale groans. The knife digs in, and his skin splits—barely a sting, barely the tip, but it’s lush and alive and Gale’s cock twitches with it. “Yes. I want you to—Major.”

“Bucky, call me Bucky.”

He does: “Bucky,” in a long sighed-out moan, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. His life. The win. To come.

“Christ, you want it.” All of it. Gale can’t even refute that, not when his body is blazing with awakeness and his hips are rocking against the Major’s, Bucky’s, not when he can feel the thin rillet of blood wending its way between his clavicles, over the rungs of his breastbone, teasing and warm. This man’s hands on him, they have squeezed life from other people, beat and gutted and pulped, and Gale wants them in every inch of himself. When Bucky draws his face from Gale’s neck, teeth scraping over his jaw, and looks at him with eyes hungry and violent, Gale shudders from cock to throat: those eyes have witnessed so many others empty out. He wonders what Bucky will see in his when he comes, and if it’ll be anything like death.

“Too pretty to be a CIA agent,” Bucky is huffing, panting, close enough to put his hot breaths into Gale’s open mouth but not close enough to kiss, except for the blade at Gale’s throat. “This body, hidin’ it the way you do—this face, God, I think about you. Look at you, dolled up for me.” His big hand is a clamp at Gale’s waist; one of Gale’s own hands tears from the counter, fisting in the back of Bucky’s t-shirt. “I like you like this. I like you so much, Gale Cleven. You’re like me. We’re the same. We’re the same, aren’t we?”

“No,” Gale groans out, then, leg hooking behind Bucky’s of its own accord, leverage for his own humping, the way he’s trying to get at the hard hot friction in Bucky’s pants: “Yes.”

“What have you done to me?” Bucky grits, breathy, gasping. That should be Gale’s question. “There’s something about—Fuck, I feel—oh, fuck—” He moans without any real words then, shaking and slumping against Gale, mouth open and slack and loud and sweet as his hips buck through it, as his forehead finds Gale’s with surety.

He’s barely quiet, still panting, when he drags his grip from Gale’s waist and reaches back around to his crotch, directly at the zipper and shoving his hand inside. There’s frenzy in how he grips Gale’s cock, in how he tugs and twists, in how he murmurs, “You are wet for me, aren’t you?” The sound of it is obscene, decadent: in Prague, when Gale had found one of Bucky’s marks bleeding and dying (presence of Bucky still hot in the air) it had sounded wet like this, wet like the way Gale’s rattling and gasping, wet like the choke of Bucky’s hand on his dick and how much Gale is leaking.

Bucky’s hands are occupied, one holding the knife and the other holding Gale’s cock, so Gale is the one to clutch, to wrap: his hands clamor at shoulder and spine; his leg hitches. He’s already come, but Bucky groans, huffing and sighing, their heads still pressed together and his closeness making Gale’s mouth wet too. The pace, the vice, Bucky’s thumb—the feeling is a piston through Gale’s core, and he shudders, and the knife scrapes. The pain is a concentrated spike, clean and sharp, and Gale feels himself clench, shake, release. The orgasm comes with a drawn out cry, “oh, oh fuck,” and quieter, longer, “Bucky,” and when Gale’s body loses its tension he finds himself guided to lean back against his kitchen counter. The flat of the knife is laid against his cheek.

“You know, I just wanted to have dinner with you. Maybe watch a movie.”

Gale can’t open his eyes; he isn’t sure when he closed them. The dizziness isn’t only in his head. The knife grazes, delicate, over his skin and clatters when it’s set on the stone. Gale’s mouth is open, and invites Bucky’s tongue when it delves inside—quick, a savoring taste that comes with a suck to his loose bottom lip and a short, bitten moan. He’s still trying to locate his lungs when he hears the slam of a door. Gale opens his eyes, and his kitchen is empty. He lifts his wrist to his nose. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. A bright knife of citrus. He feels his own teeth on his skin, as the smile comes.

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

Had writers block like a mofo lately but here’s a quick little unedited snippet from the frat boy au idea (link here) that got floated in my asks awhile back❤️ 1K of cuteness below of Gale starting his week as John’s assigned pledge and John being like ‘these hands don’t haze’ but they do make Gale fall in love 😘🤣

“Good morning,” Gale announced softly as he shut the door behind himself and crossed the messy room to open the blinds just enough to see where he was going.

John inhaled sharply, hands rubbing at his eyes before he rolled over onto his side and grinned sleepily at Gale. It was unfair how stupidly attractive he was all sleep warm and cozy under his covers while Gale was braving the world before double digits.

“Mornin’,” John murmured, stretching his legs underneath the covers with a muted groan.

Gale held out the mug of coffee, biting his bottom lip against a smile at John’s pleased hum when he took the steaming mug. He stood waiting for his next instructions.

Today was his first day as John’s pledge. His last week as a pledge before finding out who his big would be and initiation. Gale wanted it all to go perfectly.

“What’re you doin’ awake so early?” John asked, squinting at Gale as he propped himself up on an elbow and took a sip of his coffee.

“You have class at 8:00,” Gale answered, like it was that simple because it was. He hoped he didn’t have to explain much past that, it was too early for him to truly function.

“Your first class s’not ’til 10:00 today,” John argued, frowning at Gale as he took another sip.

Gale shrugged in response. Curt, Brady, Ev, Jack, and Dickie had all wanted coffee brought to them in bed the weeks he was their designated pledge. It seemed intuitive to do the same for John even if he was seconds away from faceplanting on John’s floor from exhaustion.

Gale’s lack of response seemed to incense him further as he reminded Gale, “you told me you hate mornings and you’re slow to get going in the morning.”

Nodding, Gale didn’t argue because he had said that and it was true. He hated the way it made John’s frown deepen.

John eyed him for a few beats before sucking on his teeth and asking, “how many cups of coffee have you had so far?”

“One,” Gale admitted, feeling sheepish and directing his gaze at the floor when John sucked on his teeth like he was disappointed.

“Alright, c’mere you nerd,” John ordered.

Gale’s eyes darted back up to see John holding his duvet up in invitation. It left miles of pale skin over obscenely cut muscles on display and Gale had to remind himself to keep his mouth closed.

John was inviting him to cuddle. In his bed. Under the covers. At 6:30 AM. On a Monday. While only wearing boxer briefs.

Gale didn’t know if he was in heaven or hell.

“C’mon, Buck,” John urged, a soft smile stretching across his face. “Veep’s orders.”

Nodding hesitantly, Gale kicked off his shoes before climbing onto the bed and letting John arrange him to his liking. They settled with Gale propped against the pillows slightly and John’s cheek smashed against his chest. He hoped against all hope that John couldn’t hear the way his heart was hammering in his chest.

John held up the cup of coffee and Gale obligingly took a sip, sighing in delight at the rich taste before letting his eyes fall closed. A pleased hum vibrated against Gale’s chest and he couldn’t help the shiver that wracked his body at feeling the noise coming from John.

They lay in silence for long enough that Gale started to feel sleep creep over him despite his usual struggle to fall back asleep once he was already up. John would occasionally nudge his chin gently with the mug of coffee and Gale would take a sip. Between John’s body heat, the duvet, and the coffee, Gale felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon of contentment despite being awake at such an unfathomable time.

“You don’t have to wake me up with coffee every morning this week,” John whispered before something sharp gently dug into Gale’s chest.

Opening his eyes and glancing down, Gale saw John propping his chin on his chest and peering up at him with sleep puffy blue eyes.

“If I do, can we do this every morning?”

It tumbled out before Gale could think twice and he lamented the flush burning down his ears. He mentally thanked whoever was listening that it was still too dark in John’s room for it to be visible.

“I’ll make you a deal,” John countered, smiling up at Gale with so much warmth Gale didn’t think he would ever be cold again. “Tomorrow and Thursday you can bring me coffee and bring yourself a second cup and we can do this again. Wednesday and Friday though, you sleep in and I’ll bring you coffee in bed and we can do this at yours.”

Gale didn’t even have to consider it. Wasn’t even going to bother asking Benny if he minded John coming into their dorm room.

He didn’t want to seem too eager though. Didn’t want John to know just how much he loved whatever had been building between them since John had thrown an arm over his shoulders and called him Buck 6 weeks ago on opening night of rush week.

He pretended to contemplate it before agreeing with a put upon sigh, “okay.”

“Knew you’d see reason,” John replied cheekily before holding the cup up for Gale to take the last sip.

When it was gone, John set the mug on his nightstand before crawling over Gale to get out of bed. It took everything in Gale to fight down the whine that wanted to escape his mouth.

“Now, you just stay there and look pretty while I get ready, okay?” John said as he started gathering what looked like workout clothes, Gale opened his mouth to protest. “I’ll try to get through everything quickly so that after I shower, I can come back and snuggle you some more, you little cuddle bug.”

Gale was so excited by the prospect he didn’t even bother to let himself feel worried about being so caught out. He just wriggled further under John’s duvet to John’s apparent delight and tracked him as he stumbled around the room to get ready.

He hadn’t taken a nap in almost a decade. However, after John left it only took moments for Gale to fall back asleep. Surrounded by the warmth of John’s duvet and the scent of John’s cologne and shampoo, Gale didn’t have a choice.

Gale could definitely get used to this.

[obrowne21]

ʙᴀʙʏ ɪᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

“𝔽𝕝𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕪 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕪, 𝕄𝕒𝕛𝕠𝕣 𝔹𝕦𝕔𝕜𝕪, 𝕞𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕜 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘.”

“𝕆𝕙, 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥?”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

In which everyone knows that Delilah Cleven, also known as Baby or the best damn mechanic you’ve ever seen, is off limits. Ironically, she’s caught the eye of her brothers best friend and partner in crime. As the harshness of war continues to spread among the RAF Station in Norfolk, Baby and Bucky find love and light in each other. The only obstacle that separates them is the protectiveness of her older brother, Gale Cleven, who would never approve.

CHAPTER 1

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[whirlpool-blogs]

whirlpool's personal MOTA fic recs!

I've actually been dying to put this together for a while now...today is as good an excuse as any! I might not know everyone's tumblrs vs ao3 names so I will NOT be offended if you tell me to correct something!! <3

the big list = going alphabetical order in my folder because YES I do download my favorites, it's like having your own little bookshelf!!

non-clegan fics:

nine mothers' sons by @reallylilyreally (truly beautiful, breathtaking, and **THE** John Brady bible for the fandom so make sure you pray to it every night)

at your heels by @reallylilyreally (this one is Ev Blakely, another really beautiful story that helps you understand just why Crosby's memoir speaks of Blakely with such love and affection)

clegan (or gale-centric, or john-centric) fics:

A Direct Solution by @sweaterkittensahoy (Gale & Marge proposition Bucky...so cute and so hot)

ain't it easy? by @stereobone (dom/sub with john as the dom but ohhh man it's so much more than just that!!!!! this fic is so full of FEELS. and it's also HOTTTT. and also the FEELSSSSS.)

all the rest of what I want with you by @london-cowboy (the level of care that went into writing this fic is insane and impeccable. down to its own internal timeline, little egan kiddos, and the ANGST. but it's all worth it, I promise!!)

back home where you're from, that's the measure of a man by wolfhalls (nice little oneshot of the bucks, I love the back-and-forth of their dialogue in this one, it really does feel like two people who know each other well)

bittersweet between my teeth by @blixabargelds (post-war adjustment...love when the two majors are a little messy and a little sad and also john calls gale the prettiest thing he ever saw so there's that <3)

bluebirds singing a song by ourdarkspirits (Marge jumps Bucky's bones. Then Gale joins. Super fun, super hot!)

Close and Yet Closer by Anonymous (LITERALLY THE MOST!!!!!! FIC OF ALL TIME!!!!!!! Gale is a little bit mean and John is a lot bit sweaty. Like all the time. it's amazing and you should read it and it WILL change your life.)

Corpse Song by birdwif (oof. john is miserable in the stalag he's scratching at the door he's gnawing his own leg off.)

deep breath baby by @defnotanarc (um FISTING. yeah. intense and delicious. side note sometimes the world isn't fair and people who are really talented and amazing at drawing are also really good WRITERS too LIKE WTF!!)

DOG DINNER by @wompire (super interesting writing style, extremely poetic and striking. hits you right in the gut.)

everything and the kitchen sink by @swifty-fox (YEAH THIS ONE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE TOO. modern au where gale is a professional dom and john is a journalist who hornily consents to both (1) fucking around, and (2) finding out. in top ten fics of the decade in general tbh)

Freed From Desire by @feyd-meowtha (yoooooo such a fun and free and sexy fic!!! such a great writing style and such a cool remix of all the characters we know and love!)

He wears his love around his neck by kasugayamaisforlovers (Gale character study, he tries to run his little gay thoughts away which is always so fun to see)

hold me like a knife by storm_warning (tw: self-harm, this REALLY gets into John's self-destructive stalag spiral and it's super visceral and wet and heart-wrenching and written with such, such care and precision)

Hound Within the Heart by Anonymous (fairy-tale esque, gets super crazy and pushes the limits of reality but in the best ways possible)

I Don't Wanna Be Alone Tonight by @johnslittlespoon (cuddling for warmth <3 and then a little more <3 <3 so sweet and intimate!!)

I Like A Bad Boy by @nicijones (modern college AU and bucky is a fratty fuckboy type & in this fic he DOES punch a guy for Gale and it's all very hot and sweet and a delight to read)

i wish you wouldn't tell me (about your hawaiian party) by @whitetrashjj (when the fuckbuddies thing gets messyyyyyy because gale catches feelingsssssss, so delicious and meaty!!)

if that isn’t love, it’ll have to do by @irregularcollapse (ALWAYS such incredible character reads from this author, never misses. also facefucking. also FACEFUCKING <3)

i'll be seeing you by @puffanities (a quick 1.6k oneshot but still packed with some really great characterization and powerful language!! 'when the numbers of planes don’t match...')

i'll find you before the dust settles by butidontreallycare (a Westworld AU!! super cool)

in our bedroom after the war by @stereobone (one of those fics that's just like. a pillar of the community, y'know? iconic. classic. eternal.)

Into the Unknown by Melanie_Mikaelson (big win for john whump enjoyers. BIG win. like 20+ chapters of winning)

it ain't for meatball by @meyerlansky (Curt/Bucky. Curt puts the dog collar on Bucky....and it's HOTTTT arf arf i'm barking just like bucky is in this fic...)

It's Not Love, but It's Fun by @sweaterkittensahoy (Curt/Bucky, 500 words so it's short and sweet just like Curt ahahahaha, ANYWAY still such an interesting little read regardless!)

judgment by the hounds by @puffanities (PG, very visceral and tender apology after the stalag fight scene <3)

level-off maneuvers by wormringers (sweet little oneshot of the Bucks in London)

little fix by ForASecondThereWedWon (Algeria <3 <3 you just kNOW those two gay pilots were sniffing and huffing and licking each other's sweat.....this author GETS it)

love means nothing (in tennis) by @irregularcollapse (fics that make you go WEEEEEEEE!!!! every word, every physical action that these characters take is SO precise and well-written. truly like wrapping a soft bathrobe around yourself and also the bathrobe is incredibly sexy and also they're sucking each other off post-game but PRE-shower. also gale's dad!! also margie!! truly such a well crafted AU)

make you feel alive by @sig-nifier (really sweet little oneshot of gale being a little protective of john. and i am ALWAYS a sucker for the 'call off your dog' trope... and it's done perfectly here!)

meet me at the chapel by @swifty-fox (still in-progress and SUCH a creative, inventive universe!! outlaw john you will always be famous to me!!!!)

my kingdom for a kiss upon your shoulder by @swifty-fox (swift can really weave a story like no one else. so many lines that pack a punch. and in the end, they make it <3)

my type by @spaceshipkat (this one is SOOOOO well-written, I always go so crazy for the dialogue!!! such a great push-pull dynamic in this fic)

night terror by @antiquitea (hot! and sweet! and HOT! and angsty!!!!! highlights include: gale gives john a literal countdown deadline to get off)

Obligate Mutualism by bowhuntress (Gale-centric story of trying to get John through the stalag, then returning the England without Bucky, a fic very obviously written with a lot of care and love)

obsessions, and other things by @sig-nifier (the Bucks cope. really great pacing and dialogue, and I always love when fics take the care to delve into john's struggle with alcoholism as well)

of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world (he walks into mine) by @whitetrashjj (really fun parallel universe where Buck owns a bar, just a great read all-around!)

Oh, I do, do I? by @defnotanarc (DIRTY TALK, like the most delicious, incredible dirty talk you can imagine, this fic nails it!!)

One of your Girls by @soliloquy-dawn (9k oneshot and it's great all the way through, Gale is jealousssss of John fucking around, don't worry they resolve it <3, definitely captures that innocence of pre-Bremen MOTA episodes)

peacetime like a liminal space by @spaceshipkat (this one is PHENOMENAL. post-war, John goes to New York City and turns out it doesn't fill the emptiness. luckily Gale shows up. <3)

Putting Words to It by @impalachick (YEAH THIS ONE IS REALLY HOT. John is a snoop and reads Gale's letters to Marge <3)

Reunited by Flowersandthings (PG, cute & funny oneshot of the Bucks being reunited after Gale makes it over from Greenland!)

Reverie by @avonne-writes (REALLY creative, well-crafted story. Gale and John are soulmates and can visit each other's dreams since adolescence. INCREDIBLE journey and arc in this story, the stalag part is just wow. truly such a gift to the fandom!!).

Rugire by Anonymous (umm omegaverse-ish but with deer dynamics. messy. and SO good.)

SHOTGUN. by pornogirl (YEAH this one is awesome, it's not safe it's not sane but oh boy it is consensual)

Song of Songs by @swifty-fox (sweaty sex sweaty sex sweaty sex)

Spin, Sit, Roll-Over by @glumbabie (Gale is a little mean to John and it's VERY sexy of him tbh. 'DOGS DON'T TALK'???? 'YOU CAN EAT'???????? yeah. read this.)

the chimneys hardly ever fall down by @redbelles (another Gale/Marge + John, and it's HOT. it's SEXY it's awesome!!)

the hand of a good man by @stereobone (John rewrites Gale's daddy history <3)

the jacket by @dogmetaphors (REALLY great sense of dialogue and characterization even in 1.6k words, also shamelessly horny and SO yummy)

The Major’s Wife by tryingmyhandatwriting (John/Original Female Character but like. give this one a chance, I'm telling you!! I'm always soooo compelled by sex scenes that like. are actually a little bit unhappy. and this one SERVESSSSS.)

this must be the place by @blixabargelds (BIG win for Gale whumpers. broken bone and LOTS of blood and super well-written)

To be alone with you by Damn_Illusive (THIS ONE IS SO, SO SPECIAL AND CREATIVE!! freaky army experimentation gives gale and john telepathic communication. incredible separation arc while gale is in the stalag. really, really unique story that is such a staple in my mind as one of the the most incredible clegan stories ever. I think about this one A LOT!!!)

To the Moon and Back by @rambleonwaywardson (iconic astronaut AU, written with SUCH care and love, it's so obvious!! and BIG win for john whumpers. who said that -)

Tough And Sweet (Like You And Me) by @johnslittlespoon (sooo fun and creative and inventive, Bikeriders-esque!Gale and a sweeter, more innocent John. really well crafted)

trading paper dolls by ForASecondThereWedWon (Alex draws Gale pinup girl style in the stalag.....John swipes it.... super great fic!)

two slow dancers by everywordnotsaid (unrequited love, John for Gale, through their journey. I genuinely, actually sobbed for a long time at the conclusion of this fic. I am always thinking about this fic. I think it really captures something about the experience of watching the show and realizing in that hopeless, lovesick kind of way that there's no way to go back in time and save all of them. I still get teary whenever I think about this story or hear the song. It's one of those fics that's not just good, not just great, but somehow also really fucking IMPORTANT. this story MATTERS. you should absolutely read it and save it and imprint it onto your heart. I know it's imprinted onto mine.)

Un Chant d’Amour by @counting0nit (really intriguing take on the interrogation center time frame!)

unicorns, and other extinct animals by @spaceshipkat (really, really incredible reading experience. something that actually touches other aspects of my life, even now. I see planes overhead and I think about this fic. I see letters on a table and I think about this fic. just. this author GETS IT, you know? just absolutely nails every aspect of this kind of fic: post-war adjustment, the pain, the LOVE. this fic will make you FEEL it. let it happen.)

Up In Our Bedroom by @steeseman (ICONIC. really one of those pillars of the community type fics, y'know? it's funny and it's sweet and it's painful and the hot parts are HOT. clearly written with SO much care, and SO much love, and SO much precision. every single word packs a punch. absolutely one of my top reads of all time, across time, across fandoms)

When the bones are good by @aramblingjay (a really incredible post-war fic, such a beautiful, rich writing style!! isn't afraid to dig at the hard parts - john's relationship with alcohol, their nightmares from the war. stunning visuals -- the author uses setting and place and motion in such a tangible, real way. I can still see the little hideout spot in my mind's eye, even now. one of those fics that's just. such a treasure to the fandom.)

your dreams, whatever they be by @drylite (this one is super new, and it's just SUCH solid writing!)

You're A Dog (I'm Your Man) by @johnslittlespoon (one of those fics that's a pillar of the fandom for SURE!!! definitely a classic)

[wayrad]

last lines tag

i was tagged by the amazing @stereobone (am I dreaming?!) I’ve been in a bit of a creative funk as of late but here is some of what I’ve been able to get out of truckstop 4 :D

Buck’s got his face pressed into the flat side of his shoulder, his fingers absentmindedly tracing John’s necklaces; a nail against the talon of his crucifix, a fingertip against the weeping cheek of Saint Mary. It’s almost like he doesn’t know he’s doing it, if his eyes weren’t fixed in one place and nowhere else, lip pulled inside his wet mouth in concentration.

“Are you Catholic?” Buck asks, turning the medallion over in his hand and swallowing it with the meat of his thumb.

“I was baptised.”

“But are you Catholic?”

John is quiet for a moment. “No,” he says, after. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why do you wear them?”

John thinks about it, and he almost laughs but it comes out all tight and strangled. “I guess it’s because I try to be. You know, it ain’t all bad. Ain’t all about rolling up boys like you and settin’ ‘em on fire.”

Buck scoffs a little, swallowing half of it down. “Boys like me?”

“Like— us,” John manages. “Boys like us.”

I will tag @weimarweekly @luckydeuce @air-exec @wwasted @polifandom @shipstorms !!!

[heretoobsessstuff]

Some gale whump I’ve written recently. This is for u @trekkiehood ❤️

You’re really quiet,” John finally said softly, breaking the stillness. “You okay? still dizzy?”

Gale didn’t answer at first, and John’s stomach dropped. He leaned closer, his hand hovering near Gale’s arm. Just as he opened his mouth to press again, Gale’s voice rasped out.

“I think…” Gale began, swallowing hard. “I think I need to go to the bathroom.” He shifted slightly under the blanket, his face pale and pinched. “Might… might get sick again.”

John’s worry spiked, but he kept his tone calm. “Alright. It’s okay,” he said, already moving to help. “Here. Lemme get you there.”

He slid an arm under Gale’s shoulders, careful as he helped him sit up. Gale leaned heavily against him, his body sluggish and uncooperative, but he didn’t resist.

“Slow,darling” John murmured, steadying him. “I’ve got you.”

They moved carefully, John bearing most of Gale’s weight as they shuffled down the short hallway. Gale’s steps were uneven, his knees threatening to buckle more than once, but John kept a firm hold on him, murmuring quiet reassurances all the way.

When they reached the bathroom, Gale made a faint sound of relief. He let go of John just enough to lower himself onto the tiled floor, his back against the cool wall. He pulled his knees up slightly, wrapping his arms around them as he let out a shaky breath.

John crouched beside him, watching closely. “You alright?”

Gale pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, his eyes fluttering shut again. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “Thought I was gonna get sick ..but now… maybe not.”

John nodded, his hand settling lightly on Gale’s shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said again, his voice quiet and steady. “Just relax. Take your time.”

Gale didn’t reply, just leaned his head back against the wall, his breathing uneven but slowing as he sat there. His fingers tapped absently against his knee, subtle tell of his discomfort, but he stayed silent.

John stayed right where he was, crouched on the floor beside him, ready to spring into action if Gale needed.

Gale shifted again, this time leaning forward slightly until his forehead rested against the cool porcelain of the toilet. John’s worry spiked at the sight, and he quickly moved closer, placing a steadying hand on Gale’s back.

“Gale, don’t lean there,” John said gently, coaxing him upright. “Here. Lean against me instead.” He maneuvered himself so that Gale could lean against him, wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders and pulling him close.

Gale resisted for half a second before giving in, letting himself sag heavily against John. His head rested awkwardly against John’s chest, his breathing uneven. “Sorry,” Gale murmured faintly, his voice barely above a whisper. “For making you sit here with me. You just got home-”

“Hey” John cut him off, his voice firm but kind. “Don’t you dare apologize right now. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just focus on you right now”

Gale didn’t argue, but his face scrunched briefly before he squeezed his eyes shut again. They sat there for a long moment, the only sound the quiet hum of the apartment and Gale’s shallow breaths.

Then, Gale shifted slightly, his body trembling against John’s. “John,” he murmured, his voice tighter now.

“Right here” John said quickly, leaning down to try and catch Gale’s expression.

“I think… think I need to lay down” Gale admitted quietly, his words slurred and heavy.

The admission made John’s stomach twist painfully. “Alright,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady for Gale’s sake. “Do you want me to move you to the bed?”

“No,” Gale interrupted, shaking his head faintly. “I don’t think I can. Here’s fine.”

John hesitated, every instinct screaming that this is concerning and he needed to get Gale somewhere more comfortable, maybe even to the hospital but he could see how pale Gale had gotten, how much effort it was taking him just to stay upright.

“Okay” John said finally, his voice soft. “Alright darling. Here is fine. I’ve got you.”

Carefully, he shifted them both, easing Gale down onto the bathroom floor. He worked slowly, supporting Gale’s head and shoulders as he lowered him onto the tiles. John folded up a towel he grabbed from the rack, slipping it beneath Gale’s head to cushion him.

“There,” John said quietly, crouching beside him again. “You’re alright. Just stay still. I’m right here.”

Gale’s eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, glassy and unfocused. “Thanks,” he murmured faintly, his voice barely audible. Then he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes again, his body going completely limp.

John sat back on his heels, his heart pounding as he watched Gale. Gale laid there motionless on the bathroom floor, his breaths shallow and uneven. John crouched beside him, his hand resting lightly on Gale’s arm, watching for any sign of change. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, the worry eating him alive. He needed to do something, anything. He didn’t know what was wrong with Gale. He felt helpless in way he hadn’t in years. He needed to get Gale somewhere. Get him some help.

Leaning down, John spoke softly, his voice gentle but steady. “Hey, darling” he murmured, brushing a few damp strands of hair off Gale’s forehead. “Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

It took Gale a moment to respond. His eyelids fluttered slightly, his face pinched with discomfort as he tried to gather the energy to speak. When he finally managed, his voice was weak and slurred.

“Feels… like I might pass out,” Gale said, the words dragging as if they weighed too much. “Head’s… so light. Floaty.”

[drylite]

okayyy bucky lipstick fic done, somehow it grew to be about other things? you can read it here if you like!

His smile is wide, a little dark, a little conspiratorial. “No, I think you push me around just fine as is. And without so much as a promise ring.”

The toothpick in his mouth reminds Gale not to bite down. “Watch yourself, Bucky.”

The roles Gale and John play for one another undergo a change.

[alienoresimagines]

can you write [knuckles] for a kiss on the hand? thank you!!

I'm sorry this took so long, I hope you're still around 🥺❤️But here it is, 1.8k long despite my best efforts at keeping it under 1k 😅 I hope you'll like it 💕 Also on AO3 My other Clegan fics here

Never Coming Down (With Your Hand In Mine) | Buck x Bucky

The radio they managed to find doesn't tell them much of interest regarding the Allies’ troops and their progress, but writing any tidbits of information down gives John something to focus on that isn't this camp, this life that isn't really a life but that isn't death either, just some in-between that John is stuck in, unable to do anything or be useful. One foot in the grave and every day wishing a bit more it was both. In the darkest corner of his mind, he thinks that perhaps his death would save Gale from tiring himself to the bone trying to keep John tethered to Earth. Maybe, at least then, he could be useful to Buck. 

The thought is squashed away almost immediately, guilt crawling in his throat. Those few days after Gale had gone down over Bremen were the worst in John's life. The certainty that he was now a piece of something that would never be whole again, with no home to fight for anymore, had been the most excruciating pain John's ever known. Over the course of just a few months, he’s lost more friends than he can count, each loss cutting deeper. But losing Gale hadn’t just felt like losing a limb. From the moment Red’s distorted voice reached his ears through the phone - “He went down swinging, John” - he was an empty shell walking, his chest hollow with no heart, some vital part of him missing. No matter how miserable this camp makes him, wishing such agony on his best friend, his better half is unbearable. If only to spare Gale any additional pain, he’ll plant both feet in the mud until they stop trying to get him closer to that barbed-wire fence. 

Yet, despite desperately wishing Gale out of harm’s way, his being chained to the dirt with him is John’s saving grace. In the darkness of the Stalag, Gale shines brighter than the North Star, and John fights every day to keep himself from the fog in his head to grasp at this soft golden light. It's easier at night, the weight of Gale in his arms a grounding presence, the distinct smell of him feeling more and more like home, but John is starting to make it through some days always there too. Listening to the radio also helps, especially when most days, it's just him and Gale at the table, the others keeping watch on the guards from outside. Soon it'll be too cold for them to do so without it being suspicious or dangerous for their own health, but for now, John is glad he gets to spend more time alone with Gale. His ma always said he fights tooth and nail for those he loves, and right now, he's desperately grasping at the fading rays of sunlight, selfishness be damned.

Today, the BBC doesn't have any interesting news to keep hold of his attention for long, so he mostly scribbles down what he hears without making sense of the words strung together, too focused on the solid presence of Buck on his right. With both of them being right-handed, it would have been too much of a hindrance to be pressed close enough for their shoulders to touch, but their knees knock together every so often, like silent banter. It sends sparks of warmth down John's spine, the focused tilt of Gale's mouth only amusing him in his boredom. In the past five minutes, he's sent his knee against Gale's in soft presses, alternating between lingering and fleeting touches until the word B-U-C-K is successfully floating in the air, though the man himself seems entirely unaware of it, tongue darting between his lips in concentration. Bucky's debating coding G-A-L-E, just to see if the rare occurrence of his given name will snap the other out of his focus when said man grunts softly as he scribbles, pencil scratching the paper as it nears the edge. John mindlessly hands him a blank piece of paper, more than attuned to all the different ways the other has to ask for something without voicing his desires, eyes trained on the stray blond curl falling on Buck’s forehead. Without lifting his eyes from his piece of paper, Gale extends a pale hand to take John's offering, the contact of their fingers sending a jolt through John's blood. He lets out a yelp, slightly jerking back before diving in to hold Gale's hands between his own, Buck's sound of confusion and protest as his pencil is thrown out of his hold swallowed by John's cursing.

"Jesus, Buck, your hands are fuckin' freezing." John doesn't feel particularly warm but the difference in temperature between both their hands is such that he half-expects the air to start hissing. How Gale can still move his fingers is a mystery to him, and his gut goes tight with worry. Trying to rub warmth back into those hands, John brings them to his face so that he can blow hot air on long fingers. He's deeply aware of how intimate the gesture is, especially in a place like this, and he can feel heat rising to his cheeks but he focuses stubbornly on his task. Keeping his eyes on those hands he’s never held so close to his face is a necessary precaution to ensure he doesn’t dismiss any inch of skin in his mission to warm them enough that he doesn’t have to worry about them falling off, and it has the additional effect of allowing John to study them without fearing being caught.

Gale's hands truly are beautiful. They've always been, and in the years he's known the other, John has spent more time than he probably should have admiring them. How they wrap in a strong grip around the yolk to wield a metal fortress effortlessly, how long, slender fingers bring a toothpick to the plump curve of his lips. Calluses on fingers and rough palms that were still so gentle and kind when they tended to John's wounds just a few months ago. Today, they look frail and dry, the knuckles angry red and cracked from the cold. It hurts to even look at them, those hands that were more suited for piano and gently guiding horses across fields now cracked by misery and cold. Acting on an urge, he presses a kiss to the knuckles of both, a silent promise to warm them and get them better, to get them far from weapons and barbed fences, and back to horses and piano and books.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Gale blinking owlishly at him, perfectly still. Between them, the radio crackles, words floating in the air but never making it to any paper. After a few more seconds, Gale's voice rises too, soft despite his usual deep southern drawl.

"I need my hands back, Bucky." John frowns, still rubbing his palms over Gale's hands to warm them. Admittedly, he knows Gale can't write with his foot, even though imagining it almost makes him smile, but really, nothing the BBC is broadcasting right now is worth the risk of Gale losing his hands to the cold. Unconsciously, he brings Gale's hands closer to his face, just shy of nuzzling them with the tip of his nose, already thinking of all the ways he could get them warm. It would be, like many things, easier at night. With the cold, everybody has taken up to sharing a bunk and no one would notice if Gale's hands were pressed to his skin, under his shirt. Even though the thought of those icicles against more sensitive skin than his palms isn't exactly a pleasant one, he'd do it in a heartbeat. For the day, when it would be too risky for John to hold Gale's hands in his pockets, maybe he could find him some gloves, at least make mittens out of socks, to soften the blow of the cold and the sting of the wind. 

"Bucky ?" Eyes snapping to Gale's, he finds him with his head slightly tilted to the side, cheeks red from the cold. It's then he realizes he still has both of Gale's hands in his. The other looks at him and then back at his paper before raising his brows in a silent question, making John huff. Reluctantly, he lets go of Gale's right hand but immediately cradles his left hand on his lap. He hopes Gale will be satisfied with this, but the other keeps looking at him insistently, a fond glint in his eyes but brows slightly furrowed, as if his left hand being held in both of John's is a math problem he can’t solve.

At the silent question, he rolls his eyes and makes a show of putting his own left hand on the upper part of Gale's paper, making sure it doesn't move from its spot on the table. The paper is smooth against his fingertips, contrasting with the rough feel of the wooden table that has given them more than their fair share of splinters on his palm. He misses the feeling of Gale’s hands in his. For a moment, he had felt whole in a way he usually only feels at night. Gale's hand is starting to get warmer in his, the skin rough from the cold, but John has never held something as delicate and precious as it, save for Gale himself.

Resting their joined hands on his lap, he intertwines their fingers and fights down the blush he can feel creeping up his neck, eyes resolutely on the paper in front of the other. There’s no reason to feel nervous, they’ve slept in each other’s arms so often by now it really shouldn’t matter, but something about the fact that this isn’t about survival forces him to take a deep breath before moving. With one slide over the bench, his side is pressed to Gale’s, shoulders rising and falling in tandem. He’s glad to notice that Buck isn’t as cold as his hands, warmth seeping from his side to John’s as rapidly as the tension leaves the set of his shoulders until he’s pressing back into John.

They'll work slower like that but Gale doesn't protest nor take his hand away, only resettling slightly so his thigh also rests against John’s. Tentatively, he risks a glance at Gale and finds him looking down at the table, face still red but from something John has an inkling isn't the cold anymore, biting his bottom lip softly but mouth nonetheless quirked upwards. It takes every ounce of strength and self-restraint in him not to kiss him, to smother the affection blooming in his chest. Instead, after a bit of silence in which he feels he might suffocate on pent-up love, John squeezes Gale's hand in his and the other seems to focus back on his task, startled. Clearing his throat, Gale starts scribbling again, pointedly avoiding looking to his left, but John doesn't mind, a smile spreading his cracked lips, fondness written plain on his face as he doesn’t look away for a second.

On his lap, Gale squeezes his hand back.