#clegan fanfic

[rangerelizabeth]

Since we’ve no place to go - Ch. 3/4

Gale’s hands fidget nervously in his lap as agonizes over his next move. Should he tell John that he has real feelings for him? That he wants to see him again after this? That he wants more?

“John, I–”

“We should probably–“

They speak at the same time, both cutting the other off on accident. Gale gestures to John to continue his thought, praying that the other man was going to raise the same topic as he was.

“I was going to say we should probably brush some of the snow off your car before the tow truck gets here,” John says.

[AO3 LINK]

[blixabargelds]

sympathy for the devil

John and Gale are the hosts of once-popular, now-failing ghost hunting show 100 Haunts. They do not believe in ghosts. All these shows are fake; with scripted, doctored footage. But when they're asked to return to a previous location, their second shoot there captures more and more horrors they can't explain.

John studies him. Holds onto the tips of his fingers as long as he can. Thinks of the scar nestled into the divots of Gale’s spine; old and faded, the apostolic shape of it just as jarring to see now as it was the very first time. John opens his mouth to say something more when Benny turns around, says they’re done, and Gale breaks contact fast as anything to get out of that room. 

read chapter one on ao3

[alienoresimagines]

Omg “classics” for clegan plsssss 🥺

classics - muse a tends to muse b’s wounds with more care than necessary

So. This fic may have gotten out of a hand and may or may not be 14.5k, 7k of which are them making out and smutting 😅 So Nonnie, if you'd like a redo of the prompt with really 100% h/c and fluff, send me another ask and I'll keep it general audience, I promise 🥹❤️ Also a huge shoutout to @soliloquy-dawn for single handedly beating the slump out of me for this fic, I was stuck on 4k for three weeks and then wrote 10k in one, for which I also have to thanks all my fellow sprinters on Discord🥹🫶🏻 And, a happy birthday to @amiserableseriesofevents !!! Thank you for all the wounderful fics you constantly post, the countless sprints you do with me, I wish you all the good in the world 💕 Consider this my humble gift for an amazing person celebrating another year of life ❤️ This is my first time writing an actual smut so I'm really nervous about this one lmao but I hope you'll like it 👉🏻👈🏻🥹

Tell Me You're Going To Be Alright (I Don't Want The World To Turn Without You) | Buck x Bucky

Summary : Perhaps life really only started when he opened the door to his room in flight school and shook hands with Gale Cleven. Perhaps the twenty-four years before that were only to learn how his legs and arms worked to get him to this moment, where he learned how his heart did. Or After the Regensburg Mission, John cannot forget just how close he came to losing Gale forever. He copes how he can, tending to Gale's wounds, and holding him when the adrenaline leaves him and Gale can't keep up the officer façade anymore. He lets Gale take care of the cuts that adorned his face even though John had forgotten them. And then, when all the wounds have been treated, desperation to feel just how alive the other still is settles in, like a wildfire of urgency that not even the presence of their men a few feet away can soothe.

Snippet :

“You did so good, darlin’,” his lips attach themselves to Gale’s temple as another one of those broken noises pierces through his soul. “Brought your boys to safety the best way you could.” He thinks of the mangled body of a radioman and how easily it could’ve been Gale. Tightens his hold until there’s no telling where one of them begins and where the other ends. 

“You did so, so good, Gale.” He keeps on whispering in Gale’s ear, rubbing soothing circles on his back, and pressing kisses anywhere he can reach until Gale isn’t shaking as much anymore, tremors receding and replaced by a heavy blanket of exhaustion that sends him further into John’s chest. John doesn’t budge, stays rooted to his spot like the old oak tree in his mother’s garden, sheltering the house from rain and storms. 

Minutes later, Gale shifts and clears his throat, the sound dulled by John's shirt before he starts to pull away. John’s heart screams and thrashes with wanting to bring him closer once again, but he knows better than to force Gale to lose control, knows the other is probably ashamed that he felt the need to be comforted. The anger simmering in his blood at that is cold and familiar enough for John to ignore it, preferring instead to stroke his thumb back and forth over Gale's cheekbone. A light smile pulls at his lips when Gale leans into the touch, a sigh leaving him as he nuzzles his cheek against John’s palm, as though the space has been carved just for him- John is certain it’s the case.

Read more here

My other Clegan Fics

[anavilante]

Not his omega.2

Part 2: John Brings Gale Home

John brings a hungry and exhausted Gale home, realizing the extent of his suffering over the past year. He quickly understands that caring for Gale will be much harder than expected, as the omega has been deeply affected both physically and emotionally. Despite knowing Gale has chosen someone else, John is determined to help him, even though he recognizes that it will be a difficult and challenging journey ahead.

Word count: 2K

You can find all the released parts of the fic Not His Omega at this link.

================================================

John opened the door and gestured for Gale to enter. He hesitated, awkwardly fidgeting, then slowly and cautiously stepped inside, ready to run. When the light turned on, he whistled in surprise, "You have a huge house." 

He sniffed the air nervously, and John immediately understood what was worrying him, "There's no one else here. I live alone." 

Gale looked back and asked,  "Why does someone living alone need such a big house?" 

John was a bit taken aback by such boldness, his mind racing with potential responses to this impudent question: None of your business. I won’t always be alone. I like having plenty of space; it’s good for getting laid—several options crossed his mind, but he settled on a more neutral one, "It's an inheritance from my aunt." 

John then heard Gale's stomach growl loudly, "The kitchen is over there." 

John pulled out what he thought would be good for a pregnant omega: leftover cold cuts, some different cheeses, yogurt, milk, a few pears, plums, grapes, and avocados. He also added almonds and cashews. 

Gale devoured the food ravenously, shoving it into his mouth with dirty fingers, barely chewing, almost choking as he washed it down with milk that dribbled down his dirty face.

John shivered with déjà vu: he remembered how elegantly and neatly Gale used to eat in the mess hall of their flight school. Slowly, cutting his food into even smaller pieces with a fork and knife, he would take small bites, chewing slowly and deliberately. 

Yes, there was no trace left of that Gale, John thought sadly. 

"Do you want me to make you scrambled eggs with bacon and veggies? I'm sure you'd like something warm to eat." 

The omega froze, mouth full, looked at him, and slowly nodded. John was surprised that he even heard the offer. 

He put a frying pan on the stove and got the ingredients ready, suddenly realizing that the food he had set out for the blonde was too much, and judging by how greedily and nonstop he was eating, he might hurt himself by eating it all. 

He said,  "Leave that for now; I'll cook you something. There's enough food, you'll be full." 

But Gale didn't even hear him, continuing to stuff himself with whatever was in sight. He was pulling slices of cheese from the package and shoving them into his mouth.

John grabbed the cheese pack and said,  "Give it to me, I'll make you something better." 

Gale yanked the package back with a hiss. 

John blinked in confusion: the omega hissed at him. Only those bound by blood or family ties could hiss at each other; doing this with strangers was the height of disrespect. He got angry and snapped, tearing the package from Gale's hands, "I said, give it to me!" 

The omega, too tightly gripping the package, heard the alpha's command, panicked, and recoiled to the side, losing his balance on the chair and tumbling to the floor. He curled into a fetal position, pulling his knees to his chest to protect the child inside him, raising his open palms in a gesture of submission, signaling he wouldn't resist. 

John froze in shock, witnessing perhaps the saddest scene of his life. He had never been cruel or harsh to Gale in flight school, so he realized Gale wasn't afraid of him.

Damn, what have I done? He thought. His relationship with his alpha must not have been the best, judging by this reaction.

He quietly crouched down next to the omega and, using the calmest and most friendly voice, said, “It’s okay, Buck. It’s me, Bucky, John Egan, your…” He hesitated, “your roommate from flight school, your friend. I’m not going to hurt you. Do you hear me? I won’t do anything to you. You don’t have to be afraid of me.” 

He gently touched Gale’s ankle, and omega opened one eye. 

“It’s okay, Buck. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.” 

The blonde slowly lowered his hands and gave John an embarrassed look, clearly ashamed of his overly frightened reaction to the alpha’s emotions. 

“I'll make you some warm, tasty food. Okay?” John asked, and the omega, barely holding back tears, nodded. “But don’t eat anything else. It’ll hurt you, okay?” 

Gale nodded as if mesmerized, watching John’s every move as though forgetting his hunger. 

The rest of the meal passed surprisingly without incident. Gale sat humbly and patiently at the kitchen table while John cooked something quick, warm, and nutritious for him. Then, after wiping the plate clean with a piece of bread so that it barely needed washing, Gale said sadly, “Thank you, Bucky. You were always a good friend. Thanks for feeding me. I’ve taken enough of your time and patience. Sorry, I’ll go now. Don’t be mad that I hissed at you, it’s just that I…” He fell silent, searching for the right words. 

“Stay, Buck,” John said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “It’s night already. And you don’t have anywhere to stay.” 

Gale bit his lip and said, “I’m sorry you have to see me like this. It’s surely far from the person you remember from our flight school.”

John shook his head, “That doesn’t matter. But you should take a bath, and I’ll find you some proper clothes.”

The time while the omega was washing up in the bathroom, John spent looking for clothes that were now too small for him, since the omega was definitely smaller and thinner, and preparing a small tray with a snack, which he placed in the guest room so his hungry guest could have a little more to eat before bed. 

Suddenly, he heard the slap of wet feet on the bathroom tiles and the sound of vomiting. John grabbed the bathroom door handle, and... it wasn't locked. A naked Gale was miserably curled up over the toilet and whispered apologetically, “Looks like you were right about not eating too much at once. But the bacon and eggs were divine. I'm sorry to part with them.” 

John, trying not to look at the body of a naked pregnant omega, still immediately noted the number of old and new bruises on his back, legs, and arms. Where the hell is his alpha? He thought angrily, feeling his blood boil. How could that bastard let this happen? He set the clothes down on the sink stand, “Get dressed. I made you a snack. Don’t worry, you won’t have to be hungry anymore.” 

The clothes smelled like John. Not strongly, not overwhelmingly, barely noticeable because he clearly hadn’t worn them in a long time, but standing in the bathroom, burying his face in the fabric, Gale could smell him. He eagerly pressed his face into the scent, then rubbed his neck against it, trying to blend their smells, even though it was impossible. 

When John entered the guest room sometime later, Gale was sitting on the bed, dressed in his old sweatpants and hoodie, “I tied my dirty clothes in a plastic bag,” he said. “I didn’t dare throw them in your laundry basket, they’re too dirty and they smell.” 

He was confused and embarrassed by the situation he found himself in, and John knew why: Gale had always been a proud and confident guy who did everything better than others. In flight school, they had both been sure he had a brilliant future ahead of him. Now, they were both witnessing his humiliating downfall.

The alpha inhaled. Immediately, that awful wave of nausea returned—trembling, an inability to take a full breath, weakness spreading through his body, and the dizzying sense he might pass out. But now the omega was completely clean. Damn, John thought in frustration, so it wasn’t because Gale was unwashed. It was his omega scent. Gale’s scent. That’s bad. Really bad.

For the first time, John clearly saw how thin Gale had become over the past year since their last meeting, as well as the bruises and scrapes on his pretty face, and it hurt to see it. Someone thought of hitting him, how could that thought even cross their mind? John couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“Have a snack, Buck, and I’ll make you some hot herbal tea. It tastes like crap,” the alpha said apologetically, “but it helps you sleep.” 

While John brewed fresh tea, he thought about how he ended up in this situation with Gale and tried to figure out whether it was a curse or a blessing. 

When John brought the tea into the guest room where the omega was, he noticed that omega had fallen asleep with a full cheek of food from the nearby plate. He gently touched Gale’s cheek with his finger, feeling a tingling sensation where it met his skin, and when Gale came to, John said, “Swallow or spit out the food in your cheek. It’s dangerous to sleep with it there.” 

Gale quickly chewed the food and opened his mouth to show John that there was nothing left, just like a child showing their teacher they’d spit out their gum during class. 

“Good,” John said, covering the sleepy omega with a blanket, who immediately began snoring softly as soon as his head hit the pillow. “We’ll figure out what to do tomorrow.” 

The alpha thought the herbal tea was unnecessary, as the tired and hungry blond had fallen asleep in no time. 

“Good night, Buck,” John whispered as he left the room. 

Gale opened his eyes and watched his friend leave with overly thoughtful and alert eyes, showing no signs of sleep. 

John entered his own room, closed the door, and opened the window wide to the autumn night. The air was cool and clean, soon to start carrying icy notes, but not just yet, and the alpha breathed in the night air several times, filling his lungs to the brim.

His mind was in complete disarray. Emotions, memories, and sensations seemed to merge into one small sandbox, fighting like angry children. 

Buck has an alpha. Some damn bastard whose throat John wanted to tear out with his teeth. 

Buck is going to have a child. He’s forever tied to someone else with the new life growing inside him. 

Buck is starving and stealing, living on the streets. 

His beautiful sunny boy Buck is sometimes dirty and smells bad. 

Buck fights, and judging by the looks of it, doesn’t always win. 

It’s hard to be around him. Every instinct screams at John to run far away from not his omega, and part of him desperately wants to, but he can’t, because Buck needs help. 

You’ll never catch me, Bucky! Gale’s playful words from their bicycle race echoed in John’s memory. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking several deep drags of the wonderful tobacco smoke, which finally reset his still-nervous senses, filling them entirely with the rich scent. 

Before his eyes, he saw the bold, free, and playful Gale, glancing back cheerfully over his shoulder as the big, heavy alpha tried to catch up with him. 

John inhaled deeply, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, the products of combustion and nicotine spreading through his blood, then exhaled, breathing the smoke in through his nose again to forget the other smells in the world for a while. It was perfect. 

Nicotine was the third thing, after sex and alcohol, that John could never give up. He couldn’t resist how effortlessly it gathered his scattered emotions and allowed him to function as a decent, reasonable person after two cigarettes in a row. 

Yeah, I never did catch you, Buck, John thought sadly. But I couldn’t run away from you either.

================================================

I'm tagging @bottomab @umika @amiserableseriesofevents @mazikeen because they said they were ready to read this.

I made another pic for part 2, but then I realized it didn't fit the meaning, so I used the previous one instead.😣

[luckydeuce]

last line(s) / WIP tag

Warning: I'm exhausted and busy with work (sob) and so, so under the weather it's just a massive shit show. And I've been struggling to write but some wonderful, wonderful souls tagged me recently (I'm talking about you @happy-days19 and @soliloquy-dawn and @onyxsboxes and @weimarweekly and @reallylilyreally and @amiserableseriesofevents) and I swear I didn't ignore it!!!

This is collective for @london-cowboy and this account because there's more than 1 me. Here we go.

John takes a small sip of his whiskey. It isn’t Macallan. It must be The Dalmore, the 18-Year-Old, or something similar: deep and spicy—burnt black coffee and marmalade. It’s wonderful. But it’s also— “Not what I wanted, Buck.” Buck has been just raising his glass to his lips. He stops, mid-gesture. “Pardon?” Oh, pardon my ass, frat boy, thinks John. This is perfect, fucking perfect. A wonderful opportunity to start. He hates that it is happening. “They didn’t have Macallan?” Buck looks confused, eyes darting between John’s lips and the £400-a-bottle liquid in John’s glass. “They did, but—” The thing is, John knows. He knows they did, just as he knows Buck was trying to impress him. Win him, please him. In any other circumstances, it would have worked, nice and simple. But nice and simple isn’t really what Buck wants from John.   “Then bring me what I wanted,” John says. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t smile; equally, he doesn’t frown. “Please.”

Tagging @stereobone , @whirlpool-blogs , @feyd-meowtha and @wayrad , only if you'd like to (but adding a Dom John Egan kind of please).

[recmeidareya]

Fic on Ao3

[amiserableseriesofevents]

Our little life is rounded with a sleep, ch 4

Featuring some math puns, an escapade, and maybe a kiss

[heisenbeerg]

A fic based off of "Twist and shout" by Gabriel and Standbyme but it's Gale and Bucky instead of Dean and Cas.

[icarusfallingg]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Masters of the Air (TV 2024) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Gale "Buck" Cleven/Marjorie "Marge" Spencer, Curtis Biddick/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Marjorie "Marge" Spencer/Original Female Character(s), Harry Crosby/Joseph "Bubbles" Payne Characters: Gale "Buck" Cleven, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, John Brady (Masters of the Air), John B. "Jack" Kidd, Marjorie "Marge" Spencer, Curtis Biddick, Harry Crosby, Joseph "Bubbles" Payne, Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal, William "Bill" Veal Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Flashbacks, Marge is a Lesbian, Sad and Happy, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan Loves Gale "Buck" Cleven, Gale "Buck" Cleven Loves John Clarence "Bucky" Egan, Curtis Biddick is gay, John Clarence "Bucky" Egan Needs a Hug, Gay Gale "Buck" Cleven, No Smut, What Was I Thinking?, clegan, Y'know what, Everyone Is Gay, slowburn, Lots of Hurt, maybe no comfort, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism Summary:

Gale W. Cleven wasn’t a man of many words, that was the very first thing John noted about the pretty blonde. Gale didn’t like to talk, he liked to observe. It gave him more control over the environment, more of a handle on situations. It came in especially handy with their nights out. Before Curt, before Benny and before Hambone he just egged on other men in the bar alone. He would back himself into corners, get into brawls and come back to base with a fresh black eye atleast once a month. It annoyed Buck to no end, he tried to help but to often the hot-headed brunette would run from his careful watch and get lost in the crowd. To Bucky, it was a game, ‘how long will it take for Buck to find me’. The record was 5 minutes.

or After the war John and Gale try to run from each other, and instead end up in the same town time and time again.

the lucky deuce makes a return, and there's a cat.

[haroldhearsawho]

Saw this picture right after reading this and immediately was like this is John’s baseball card shop:

Introducing Bucky Egan, 80s man's man and professional nuisance....

“Take your pick.” “Oh, no. I really-” Gale started but John cut him off. “Sorry, pal, but I ain't taking no for an answer, I owe you for that cab and I got plenty more where these came from. That’s my business see, I’m a salesman!” Gale didn’t move. “Alright, since you’re being all cute about it, I’ll pick for ya,” he said, plucking a card that read Ricky Henderson from his hand and holding it out to Gale who took it only to avoid seeming rude. “So you’re a… baseball card salesman?” He asked, peering at the card in his hand. “John Egan, purveyor of rare baseball merchandise, at your service,” John said, holding his hand out for Gale to shake. Gale swallowed a sudden glut of saliva when he saw how small his own hand looked in the other man’s grip. “Most of my friends just call me Bucky, so you can go right ahead and do that too cus I can tell we're gonna get on like a house on fire."

Take Me Home, Country Roads is coming to feyd_meowtha on ao3 this Christmas!

[catsteeth]

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.  A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister. 

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good. 

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old. 

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for. 

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night.  He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it. 

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort. 

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.  

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him. 

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor. 

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before. 

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes. 

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly. 

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to. 

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before. 

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him. 

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-” 

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-”  And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords. 

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added. 

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired. 

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess. 

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously. 

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?” 

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted, 

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer. 

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her. 

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested. 

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all. 

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief. 

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.” 

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.” 

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told. 

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch. 

“No.” He rasped quickly. 

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-” 

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor. 

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around. 

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this. 

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly. 

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.” 

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.” 

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up. 

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?” 

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.” 

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself. 

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment. 

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his. 

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence. 

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king. 

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.” 

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers. 

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. 

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you. 

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with. 

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval. 

Beside Sandor at another table were four men, 

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing. 

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.” 

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-” 

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers. 

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl. 

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair. 

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future. 

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.” 

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged. 

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine. 

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow. 

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water. 

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to. 

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were. 

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now. 

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth. 

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin. 

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality. 

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever. 

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him. 

Naught could be done for her. 

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world. 

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

[rangerelizabeth]

If it feels like love (then it must be love) - Ch. 11/11

[Mature, Modern day, Clegan college au, Gale Cleven/ John Egan, Fluff, Hurt comfort, Slow burn, Freshman Gale, RA John, WC: 88.2k]

Throughout the night, Gale can’t stop looking around the room at his friends, smiling to himself as he thinks how lucky he is to have them. He’s going to miss them over the summer, so used to seeing them every single day, but figures he should be grateful to have something so good in his life that it’s worth missing in the first place.

And while things will surely be different next year with regard to their living situations, seeing them now—on the floor of his and Benny’s barren dorm room, making the most of their last night together until the fall—Gale knows in his heart their friendship will remain the same.

[AO3 LINK]

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| Radio ||

Requested plot points? ☑️

Circa: early February 1944

Immediate previous fic: Favorite Escape

Summary: when your hodge podge radio won’t work, who should ya call? Probably the flight engineer

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply, 18+ but nothing very alarming really happens in this one, references to others are made, some potential slut shaming in the beginning if ya squint? perhaps some queer baiting but it’s the Buckies rolling around on the flooor, they’re one massive queer bait lbr, it’s not me. Also. My shit Crystal Radio making descriptions- don’t come for me I haven’t made one and I spent five hours falling down a rabbit hole as to how the guys made them in the camps and at the end of the day I said: screw it! And went with one of the Brit’s scenarios 🍻

Edited only by my tired little eyes, full warning and have mercy 💋

Also, just a note I feel compelled to make- this fic centers around women in the army, in a war, which they’re spending under dire conditions in a POW camp. Yes there is love here, there is also hierarchy and discipline and the enforcement of that does not make one character or another necessarily callous or less loving. They are their ranks first and foremost as all signed up for.

“They’re forging papers, you know.” Maureen broached the topic to Egan one day, late February and when her cheeks were still bruised from Ida’s book.

Bucky paused his tracing of a map, sooty finger trailing along a river with the same incomprehensible name as its twin running parallel, he didn’t know anything about papers or anyone making them and she knew that. “Who?”

“Good ones. Identification, passports.” She enumerated.

“Who?”

“The Poles. The ones with the-“

“-the liquor.” he finished for her, remembrance and condemnation heavy in his wry tone. “The ones you stayed out all night with.”

“Stayed long enough for them to get drunk enough to show me.”she replied, without heat, which was surprising.

“Some grand plan of yours, huh?” He bit back a laugh, it was a fine way to cover her ass for being insubordinate. It was a way he’d likely try if he was in her place.

“No.” she swore instead. “Just luck, I happened to see them. They got careless. Maybe an answer to all Jack’s prayers.”

“Yeah. Anything to give that rosary a break.”

“Yeah.”

“You asked them?”

“What for?”

Bucky regarded her with thinning patience but something kept him from snapping, the feeling of a riddle still to be solved. “For some papers.” he clarified, measured and intent, she knew how much easier that would make their plans for Ida.

Maureen shook her head, glancing down at her twisting hands, “I didn’t want to-“ her mouth twisted too, “-I wanted to ask a superior first.”

Bucky considered that for a moment, slightly touched at her newfound wisdom, “Why not ask Buck?”

She shook her head again, auburn hair curling under her chin just so, even here in the stalag she had some traces of the old charm. “He’s got too much to worry about for me to be bringing in hypotheticals.” she was so upset by something she would not even meet John’s eye and he felt a slice of remorse for how he hadn’t even noticed the ground down change in her since she got here, his drinking buddy and the soft fleshed rival of merry old English days was a gruff and battered and sullen woman; being a red blooded American male, he regretted that dismal change. “And I'm worried about what to bargain with. What can I promise? We haven’t got much and I don’t have— there’s not much anyway, but what we’ve got I didn’t wanna promise. Not without-“ she still hadn’t met his eye, he tracked hers; a furious roving of pale blue back and forth across the floorboards and it made Bucky itch.

“Who signs these papers?” Bucky asked, thinking the logistics through, knowing she’d perk up if he brought them up.

“Haven’t a clue. Maybe they haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know. I just know they’ve got papers.”

“Good ones.”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t got much.” he agreed, clicking his teeth in thought, “What’d you give them for the liquor?”

“They just invited me.”

“Didn’t have to lend a hand or nothin’?” he balked and Maureen threw him a glare that seemed more hurt than rage, and chastened by a voice inside that sounded much like his mama’s, he amended with sheepish humor, “Hell, feel like lending a hand myself these days, if it’d get me a whisky.”

Her gnarled fist curled white in her lap, she managed hoarsely, “They just wanted to talk about home. To someone who hadn’t heard about it a million times before.”

“They got cigarettes?” he asked.

“As most common payment for their booze -they’ve got enough to insulate their shack three deep.”

“Cigarettes won’t cut it then.”

“I’ve been thinking.”-

“Yeah?”

“The radio. I’m the only one who doesn’t think it’s worth the risk but, I know, it doesn’t matter, it’s happening. Gale’s going to keep trying. And if it works-“ she rubbed at her eyes, tired and unsure, “-that’s quite the bargaining chip.”

Bucky nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as his smile grew a touch broader, “News of the outside world.” he was half in agreement, “Buck asked for a week. Been four days.”

“He’s stumped.” Maureen retorted instantly. “And he’ll stay that way and he’ll go nuts and you’ll go die going over the fence and then he’ll have no reason left not to die too.”

Bucky whistled, low and chiding, “You’re full of rainbows today, Candy.”

“You know who he oughta ask.” she shook off the barb. “But he won’t. And I don’t want him risking it for this thing anymore than anyone else, but you all want it so bad, and they’ll shoot us for it if it works or not. I’m not asking her. But you would. Might as well get shot for it working, right? Isn't that what you said yesterday? You know who he should ask.”

Bucky’s keen eyes showed the moment it dawned on him, his eyebrows shot up and his mouth sagged and he ran a weathered hand over his face, “Awww shit, Candy.” came garbled behind his palm. “Ah shit.” he said again with conviction as he shoved the hand into his pocket, wretched acknowledgment of her point clear on his face.

“I didn’t want to suggest it, told Ida it’s a fucking dangerous thing and I’ll never forgive if— but you all—“

Bucky grounded aloud, “Nah, nah she’s -Lu would solve it.” he muttered, shushing her. “Demarco really pummeled you the other day, huh?” he added, and that got her to meet his eye, she looked spooked and a little incensed, “Saw him fuckin’ you up behind B compound but sheesh, s’like he hollowed you out worse than a jacolantern; yer shifty as hell.”

“He-“ Maureen still felt like blanching at the memory of Benny’s terribly correct opinions, his disappointed eyes and his fist full of her flight jacket asking her what in the living fuck was wrong with her besides a concussion, a sick childhood and an ever nauseating jealousy of Buck Cleven’s paternal time and effort, “-he had some admonitions. After…after the other night.”

Bucky hummed, shitty smirk taking up residence on his face, “How ‘bout that.”

“I’m gonna be better.” she muttered and Bucky felt for her, could almost taste the echo of his identical and hollow determination to climb the mountain of bad habits when weak from spuds and pneumonia. He told himself the same every morning and fell into bed condoning his failure every night, like a ritual.

“You’re gonna get us those papers.” he corrected, shoving off the wall to come near her, give her the full Major treatment and maybe a friendly hand, “And you can promise your drinkin’ buddies news from the radio.”

Maureen nodded in understanding, no joy or animation left in her green eyes. She used to enjoy a bit of subterfuge, now she only felt hollow misery at the thought that she'd dragged Lu into this, too. This risk she hated so much and yet no one cared. Lu would be glad to be dragged in, it’s true, she was itching at the chance to be useful and to make Gale proud, it’s how the girl was wired. It’s how most girls were wired, Maureen supposed, desperate to make Gale Cleven approve. Lu’s enthusiasm wouldn’t make the sight of her being made to kneel in the mud and have a bullet put in her head any easier, wouldn’t make Maureen feel any less responsible for it when her lifeless body thudded to the earth.

All that lovely goodness stamped out.

Over a radio.

Bucky’s hand felt too hard and too big on her shoulder. He had gone before the vision cleared, mud and wire and the freezing main square at Ravensbruck fading back to the musty bunk room. Maureen shook herself and stood up to make herself somehow appealing, reamniante some semblance of the cheerful rashness that had led her to the Polish combine in the first place: she found it hard to inspire. She’d like to count that a victory but she knew better, she wasn’t reformed she was just tired.

A washed face and a fake smile and the promise of news from outside would have to be enough to bank all their risks on, it would have to be.

“Crank,” she greeted the man in the hall, flashing him clean, water brushed teeth and her gentlest, freshly soot lined eyes, “I’ve been tasked by Major Egan with an errand, spare a minute to babysit me?”

__________________________________

Bucky finds Buck Cleven in his own bunkroom, Demarco outside on watch and that’s all Bucky needs to know to guess the radio is out and Buck’s working like a fiend yet again to make it work. Sure enough, he’s hunched over the table with it, mittened hands shaking from cold and exhaustion and a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the paltry sweater he wears.

Bucky walks in and Gale gives him a soft, acknowledging glance before continuing to his work. Bucky takes up his usual place behind Buck’s left shoulder to watch and Buck, being used to it, goes on.

“My little Kriegie Marconi, huh?” Bucky allows the nagging impulse he has felt for weeks while standing in this position to finally exert itself, and his forefinger lifts and swirls in the curling gold strands of hair at the nape of Gale’s neck, his friend almost bolts away but then seems to choose a prey’s tactic and just stills, goes very still and Bucky scritches the scalp beneath his grab in assurance he don’t meant anything by it. He doesn’t think he does, at least.

Gale, wary and with a voice close to mechanized it’s so stilted, inquires with ever-present politeness, “You alright Bucky?”

It’s better than that whole ‘major’ business; getting called Major as if that meant shit anymore. “Yeah, ‘course I am.” Bucky rakes his fingers through the hairs there at the nape of that dainty neck, scritches the scalp with all four of his main ones, and uncovers a white long scar sliding round once he lifts the hairs there. “Why wouldn’t I be? Gonna be a father soon.”

Buck does jerk then, away from his touch and wheeling his chair around to glare at Bucky; it’s an impressively executed little pirouette and John misses the feel of his warm neck and oil soft hair. “Jesus John.” he reprimands.

“We’re gonna get outta here Buck.” John swears, he’s so sure of it because he cannot in all his thinking and predicting ever imagine a scenario where they don’t, and he chooses to think it’s not delusion but a good omen. “Ida’s gonna have that baby and when it’s safe we’ll all meet up.”

Gale is looking at him like he’s his own father again, Bucky knows that look, it always makes him equal parts ashamed and desperate, “Jus’ like that.” Gale mocks in a husky gust.

It’s devastating, and it’s intended to be, and Bucky could bear that with better humor if he could still touch Gale and his hair. “Just like that.”

Gale hums and it’s a mean sorta vocalization that makes Bucky’s heart thud and his skin prickle hot, it’s the kinda noise you kiss off a person, he thinks, but it’s Buck and so he doesn’t know what to do with it. “It’s gonna get you killed.” Buck is saying instead and Bucky lets him, “I know you all think she’s cracked up and maybe she has but it wouldn’t hurt to listen to Kendeigh sometimes when she’s tellin’ ya shit that a five year old could accurately guess, -goddamn it.”

His voice rose to a strong rage by the end and Bucky takes a chair opposite him, sick of standing there like a dumb dog waiting for his scolding to be over. “So what.” Bucky challenges him, “We just wait around and Brady pops out a child and the krauts let us keep it and it’s our new mascot and we all sing zippidy doo da, huh? Huh, Buck?”

Gale’s hands fell away from his face with a slam to the table, a shocking degree of anger showing for a split second and it gave Bucky an odd degree of gratification. “I jus’ want you to find a plan with better odds.”

Bucky sniffed and leaned forward, went in for the kill and Gale was looking at him like he expected it, like it was his turn to play daddy to everyone here and Gale for once was so beaten down he wouldn’t just allow the changing of the guard, he was close to angry at its lateness. It made Bucky’s heart thud.

“I’ve been listening to Kendeigh.” Bucky refuted briefly, “And we’ve got a plan.” Gale gave him a tired look of encouragement to go on, “How long’s it been since you slept? Huh, well, we got a plan. Practically perfect, or it will be, just need the radio.”

“Ain’t giving this away.” Gale said, “Not for anythin’, even useless.”

Bucky patted the table top in easy assurance, if he could have reached Buck’s thigh, he’d have patted that instead, “No, no, don’t need to give it away, just need it to work. So,” he softened his voice and his eyes tightened, “I’m callin’ Lu in.”

Oddly, Gale does not fight it. Not aloud, at least. There’s an anguished look of hate on his face and Bucky mirrors it. It’s for this place and the fucking awful choices they have to choose from every goddamn day.

“You run this by Ida?” is all he asks.

Bucky pops his flaking lips audibly, “What, need us both gangin’ up on you to agree? She’ll sign off. Smith’s an officer. Gotta remember that sometimes, Buck.”

The way his Buck swallows hard and dry contradicts his words, “I do remember that.”

“Really?” Bucky’s mouth gives a soft smile of doubtful incredulity and Gale’s mimics it, mournful but a smirk all the same, “Feel like she should answer to ‘Gale’s Baby’ these days. Lieutenant Smith who?”

Gale scoffs, “Careful now.”

“No really, she’s an officer and she wants to be treated like one. It’ll do her good to have work. Her kinda work.”

“Could get her killed.”

“Layin’ in her bunk could do that.”

Gale grunts, its sounds like an agreement.

“So I say Lieutenant Smith gets put on radio detail. Like her goddamn job description suggests. Huh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gale lets out a shaky agreement.

“Aaaaand,” Bucky draws it out as he rises again and saunters over to Buck who is ready for him and loose this time, “how bout I go back to bein’ the one you’re frettin’ ‘bout all the time. Got me almost jealous of the girl. How ‘bout I do. Huh?”

Gale’s scoff is fond as anything as he looks up at John with cheerful derision, “And you ‘bout to be a father? Make me an old man? Fuck no, ya looney.”

“Alright.” Bucky concedes with hands up in surrender before lurching forward and grasping Gale’s rickety chair back by its wobbly spokes and hefting it partially off the ground, beautiful and outraged prude of an occupant still seated in it, “Then I’ll play daddy and put you to bed, how ‘bout that.”

“John Egan for fucks sake-“ Gale’s fists pounded on the meat of his shoulders and his outraged protests wafted against Bucky’s neck and his jabbing knees collided with the meat of his thighs and Bucky hadn’t felt so close to him or so happy to be alive since England.

“Major sir, the hell is goin’ on?” Demarco’s tame inquiry from the safety of the doorway made them both lose their grapple and they collided together onto the floor, bunk bed barely missed by their heads and the hapless chair mixed up between their limbs.

Bucky grinned, hip sore from his fall and kidneys suffering from Buck’s trapped elbow there, “Puttin’ Goldilocks to bed.” he replied.

DeMarco processed that and the scene before him with grave sobriety before saluting lazily and turning to go, “Right on, sir.”

John did his best to rise up without further pinching Gale who was indeed trapped beside him and beneath him, chair legs wound between a lanky human leg in a puzzle that Bucky realized might take some caution to untangle without harm. Strangely, Buck wasn’t moving, he was just looking up at him like a cat would their clumsy master who has done somethin’ stupid which was a surprise to neither. It was so innocuous a look and so nostalgic, it winded Bucky with the realization he hadn’t seen it in ages, just as he hadn’t felt his boney ribs against his own and the feel of his elegant hands yanking him around in a fight. This miserable place really was stomping out the glow in the best people.

“Ya know Buck,” he ventured, clearing his throat for extra casualness, “I’ve missed you.” When Gale only kept looking up at him, perfect porcelain face with its unsettling scars and wary eyes without a lick of storm in them, John Egan grabbed his shovel and dug his own grave a little deeper, drug a finger down his cheek. “Missed all this.”

Bucky didn’t know what he meant by “this” but it felt safer and worse all at once, since he did miss Buck but he and Buck never used to hang out on floors with a chair as chaperone. Mercifully, Buck neither points that out nor moves away, acting very much like he needed to heaped on the floor with Bucky and a stray chair every bit as much as John did. Like it’s doing him good.

“And you couldn’t’ve jus’ said.” Gale murmurs with the softest eye roll of the century and Bucky feels like beaming and it must show in his face so strong and bright after a sunless winter that after a flash Gale’s cheeks flame from it and he averts his eyes.

“I dunno Buck, could I?” Egan asks one blushing cheek and Gale hasn’t got a good reply for that, so they just lay there on the floor.

“Go on now, get off me.” Gale doesn’t shove at him, he presses his hand to John’s forehead like he would a dog and John goes, obedient as one.

———————————————————————-

They found Lu with Murph and Benny and Brady, measuring out what seemed to be lot lines between Love Shack #9 and the next combine, boot scuffed perimeters already visible in the light snow and drawn in a decently tidy rectangle. There were guards loitering nearby, nosey as always with their cigarettes and their antsy dogs anytime someone did something out there besides piss or pace or stare at the fence.

“What’s all this?” Bucky inquired cheerfully, coming up to them with Gale, bundled and shivering behind him.

Benny looked up from tilling a furrow with his boot, right where Lu’s mittened finger pointed out. “It’s for the garden. S’posed to be spring before long.”

“A Chicago man oughta know better, Benny.” Egan snarked.

“Need us?”

Bucky sniffed, a casual set to his body that belied his quest, “Just the little one.”

Smith promptly looked startled, then eager. “All well Majors?”

“Need your advice on the color of my cufflinks with this suit.” Bucky extended his arm and beckoned her, “C’mon back in for a minute. One of you too, need a watch to go with the cufflinks.”

———————————————————————

With Benny on guard, Brady and Kendeigh having excavated the radio’s shell from the floorboard and table leg in which it resided, the Buckies stood over Smith’s small frame as she sat at the table and inspected the simplistic device with keen eyed appreciation for the construct.

“It’s really marvelous.” she assured Cleven, running her fingers over the carefully coiled wire and precarious pin.

Gale didn’t even crack a smile. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked instead.

She shook her head, a frown gathering. “Never made one-“ she cautioned.

“-but you get the idea.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“So what’s wrong.”

Lu ran her fingers over the wire, again and again, the dusty metal not insulated, just bare copper, likely stripped from somewhere. It reminded her of early days as a cadet when they threw chicken wire mixed with hydraulic lines at herself and her fellow rookie engineers and told them to sort it, testing to see if they knew which was which. It had been so rudimentary she had wanted to laugh until she realized others were being flunked.

This was so basic she was stumped.

“Take your time, Lu.” Bucky spoke up after a burdened pause during which she could almost feel Major Cleven breathing down her neck.

“Candy, can I try with the headphone?” she asked at last, frustrated and out of her element, just a few months out of a plane and she had already lost her touch.

Maureen passed it over and Lu pressed it to her ear, not to discern what was quite obviously radio silence, but to imagine the whole process in reverse, track it down the cord all the way to the base, each possible breakdown of the conduction.

She fingered the ramshackle diode with burgeoning suspicion. “What’s your crystal?”

“That’s just…lead.” Cleven muttered.

“From?”

“Ground pencils.” Bucky supplied cheerfully.

Smith bit her lip, “We need sulfur added. Lead won’t conduct on its own.” She figured Cleven knew that, the grim and unmoving set of his mouth suggested so.

“Just- sulfur?” Maureen asked.

“If I had sulfur we could add it to the lead dust, ignite it and-“ Smith grinned at Kendeigh, knowing that she alone may have shared her enjoyment of a small conflagration from time to time, “burn it down and you’ve got something close enough to Galena. Just need a pinch of it should work.”

Bucky shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed the mostly morose room. All except for the two girls grinning at each other over the hypothetical of a little chemistry experiment in a highly flammable wooden combine.

“We’ve got sandy soil.” Buck’s contemplative drawl spoke up, “Dunno if we could extract enough pure sulfur.”

Maureen stared back at Egan instead, “Other sectors have gotten portions of kits, chemistry kits, radio kits, they’ve been smuggled in with all sorts of stuff. Inside of a violin, oat bags. Nothing to fully build something. They might have sulfur. I could make inquiries and- well, Jack could pick it up next time the band goes over C compound to entertain the poor Aussie bastards.”

“How do you kno- nevermind, actually. Nevermind.” Bucky broke off, “Alright. Sure, why not. Ya sure that’s it?” he asked Lu once more.

She gave a helpless little shrug. “Gotta be. Or the wire’s dirty. Where’d it come from anyway?”

Gale gave Bucky a long suffering look as Bucky seemed to swell a couple inches and bounce back on his heels at the mention of his scrounging prowess. “The lamp.” he nodded above them all.

Jack Brady scoffed, short, clipped, betrayed, “That why it cuts out all the time? Strobed us so bad last night -thought the room was possessed.”

“Sacrifices Jack, sacrifices.”

———————————————————

Benny had hauled in enough water buckets to elicit some negative attention from the guards, and when the inspection came the inmates of the Love Shack insisted the drenched floors and table of the Majors’ barracks were due to sanitation post regurgitation. At night, with only one stolen torch light from Combine 15 to illuminate the endeavor, a basin of water beneath a smaller bowl in which lay their precious and recently procured ingredients, a science experiment began. The Majors and Ida gathered round, all looking as ghastly and spectral in the light of the flashlight as Brady’s fake ghost. It held the thrill of a bonfire night except for the stakes, which all in the room did their best not to dwell on.

“Zippo, Candy.” Lu gave the word and Maureen, with only the protection of Ida’s bent aviators to keep from a scorched cornea, flicked on her lighter and set the mixed powders ablaze.

It flamed up high and smelly, making Benny gag and mutter something about Meatball’s gas to a tittering Brady, and then died down to a yellow smoking ember.

“We should let it sit.” Lu surmised with a squeeze to Maureen’s only somewhat singed hand, her big dark eyes surveying the burnt bowl and their smoking experiment with glittery excitement at the possibility of success, “Let it cool, settle, maybe strain it. Can you get me a net? Oh Candy come now, get me a strainer?” she begged with a laugh as Maureen rolled her eyes at the idea of yet another trip to the Stalag Market for the most random items imaginable. If they hoped to not be suspicious, they’d need better lies or more money.

“How about cheesecloth?” Kendeigh tried not to grin indulgently- and failed- in the face of Lu and having recently been allowed to set something on fire

Lu kissed her cheek. “Cheesecloth would be perfect.”

In the end, cheesecloth did indeed prove perfect, and amongst the burnt dust of the combined minerals was a gritty little pinch full of the needed crystals. Or so Lu said, Gale agreed but the crease between his brows hadn’t lifted for two days; Bucky’s fingers had begun to twitch in antsy need to manually smooth them out. He imagined Maureen felt the same but she hadn’t said, uncharacteristically forbearant now she had some job to keep her sane. Even if it was playing fetch for Lu.

—————————————————————

“Well, this is it.” Gale muttered when the watch had been set once more, Murph and Hambone on the steps, Crank inside, Brady at the door, Benny at the window. Even Major Clark had joined them in the barracks for this final try and Lu’s cheeks were maroon from the attention even as her deft hands steadily pressed her concoction beneath its intended rod.

“Pass me the pliers, sir?” She asked and for a moment, the teacher became the apprentice and Gale fetched her the stalag forged tool, rudimentary like everything here yet the gripped and pulled and lifted same as the pliers back home. “You could check your look in this wire’s reflection.” She complimented Gale’s buffing of the copper wire.

He shrugged in turn. “Didn't wanna leave anythin’ to chance. That it?” he asked as her hands stalled and she surveyed her work.

Lu nodded solemnly. “Yes sir.”

Gale picked up the headphone from in front of him on the table like it was a gun he was about to bring to his head. “Here.” He extended it to her instead, “S’right, it was your job, you should be the first. Cmon.”

Despite her voiceless protest he pressed the headphones into her hands and Lu, never knowing how to disobey an officer, folded immediately.

For a good ten seconds everyone in the room held their breath as Smith pressed the headphone to her ear and gently wiggled the clothespin along the wire, searching and tuning, her face holding that old peaceful concentration they hadn’t seen since the last mission. She was at home with her mind tuned to another dimension. The pilots in the room knew that look, that was the look of someone at home with something that terrified them all the same, the gut swooping feeling of clearing the take off and sledding along the tops of the clouds. Wrong and strange and utterly incomparable to others, it was the closest to home one’s mind could be. Lu belonged somewhere on those electric currents and searching them out was like finding oneself again.

Then at last, Lu’s eyes sharpened out of their dreamy haze of concentration and she said, gentle as always, “It’s the BBC sir.”

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[alienoresimagines]

I'm On The Run With You, My Sweet Love | Buck x Bucky

[Click for better quality]

For the Prompts : "I don't want to move" + Lake Sex of the Writers of the Air Discord event organised by the wonderful @johnslittlespoon 💕

--

On a hot summer day, John and Gale enjoy an afternoon off-base at a nearby lake, far from the war and its destruction. They laugh, cuddle, kiss, talk about the future, with no one but the warm summer sun as their witness.

Also they come. Twice.

Snippet :

“Gonna take you to the nicest theater there is.” The sentence is punctuated by a kiss on his lips. “You’ll choose the movie,” and another. “We’ll sit in the back rows so we can hold hands between our seats, but in the middle so you can have the best view of the screen.”

“Why, you ain’t gonna watch the movie with me? Gonna leave your fella to enjoy a picture alone?” It’s John’s turn to snort, seemingly delighted by Gale’s teasing as he steals another kiss that ends with his bottom lip between Gale’s teeth for a second.

“I’ll watch you.” Their lips connect again, and this time when Bucky pulls away, he stays close enough their lips brush with every word. “I’ll catch all the little expressions you don’t even realize you do. And when you’ll be so focused on the movie you’ll part those pretty lips in wonder, I’ll kiss your hand and nobody but us will know. That you’re my fella,” John grins wide, a mirror image to Gale, and kisses one of his cheeks. “That I’m yours.” The apple of his other cheek gets a kiss too, and Gale smiles so wide his face starts hurting but he can’t stop, not when John is looking at him like he holds all the answers to the world.

“That a promise, Bucky?”

To say yes would be to admit that the both of them will come out alive from the war. It’s not something they’ve ever done, at least not so plainly. Normally, John would say “Don’t count on it” with a smile, and they’d both know it’s as close to a yes as they can allow themselves to believe.

Today, he seals it with a searing kiss.

Read more on AO3 💕

My other Clegan Fics 🥰

[anavilante]

Not his omega.1

Part 1: John Encounters Gale Again After a Year Since Civil Flight School Graduation

After a year apart since graduating from civil flight school, John unexpectedly runs into Gale, his former roommate and crush. Once a proud and accomplished pilot, Gale is now a homeless omega, pregnant and struggling to survive. This shocking reunion forces John to confront the harsh reality of Gale's situation and the changes that have occurred since their time together.

Word count: 1.4K

You can find all the released parts of the fic Not His Omega at this link.

================================================

John stopped the car a block from his destination and chose to walk, knowing how difficult parking was near the small grocery store. He could have gone to a closer market, but they didn’t carry his favorite cheese, a local brand he really liked.

With his hands in his coat pockets, he entered the tiny shop. There were only two other customers: a jittery guy arguing with the cashier and a scruffy-looking man in baggy clothes and a baseball cap.

What a crowd, John thought. He sighed, hoping to finish shopping quickly so he could get back to the peace of his living room, the hum of the TV, and his soft couch.

He picked up some deli meats, a few fruits, and a bottle of milk, intending to head to the cheese shelf. But the shabby-looking homeless man was lingering there. John didn’t want to get close—the guy smelled like a dumpster, as if bums had thrown up into it, and then cats had peed on it. He didn’t want to be within a block of him, let alone in the same small room.

But the vagrant was hesitating, and John got tired of waiting. He decided to push past the homeless guy, grab his cheese, and leave. As soon as he took a few steps toward him, John froze. His keen alpha sense of smell, despite being overwhelmed by the unbearable stench that irritated him, picked up something else: this dirty guy was an omega—a fairly young one. And not just any omega—a pregnant one.

John felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His disgust shifted to regret because pregnant omegas shouldn’t look like this. They should be protected and cherished, valued by their alphas, surrounded by care, love, and tenderness—not wandering alone, reeking like vomit.

Finally, he understood why the ragged man had been lingering by the cheese shelf for so long. He's hungry, John realized. He’s trying to steal food. He noticed the omega hiding a packet of cheese in his baggy jacket, where a couple of apples were already stashed.

He approached the guy, fighting the unbearable stench, grabbed his wrist, and said:

"Don’t do that. The guards here are pretty nasty betas, and if they catch you stealing, they’ll beat you, and you don’t need that. I’ll pay for the food if you’re hungry, just don’t do anything stupid."

The guy gasped and finally looked up at him. John thought he was losing his mind because staring back at him from under the grimy baseball cap was Gale Cleven.

His best friend and roommate from flight school, the best pilot of them all—handsome, reserved, intelligent, blond, the perfect boy Gale, or Buck as John used to call him. He had been in love with him throughout their time at the school but could never bring himself to admit it honestly.

Now, Gale's face was dirty, tired, gaunt, with sunken cheeks covered in stubble. During the entire year of flight school, John had never once seen him unshaven. Even under the layer of dirt, the bruises and scrapes were clearly visible beneath his eye and on his cheekbone.

"Let me go," Gale whispered.

"Buck..." John said in shock. "What are you...?" He was so stunned he didn't even realize how tightly he was gripping omega's wrist, and how frightening it must have been for him.

Gale made a strange, loud sobbing sound and jerked away forcefully, accidentally knocking over a fruit display. This finally snapped John out of his stupor, and he let go of the omega's wrist. He bolted out of the store, dropping the stolen goods along the way.

The noise attracted the beta guards from the storeroom, but the brief pause they needed to figure out what happened was enough for John to shout:

“Hey, wait, wait, it’s my fault! I scared the guy. I’ll pay for everything. Leave him alone.”

Watching the fleeing figure disappear into the darkness, John approached the cashier to cover the damage.

Well, that was a trip to the store, he thought, tucking away his empty wallet and still in shock from the unexpected encounter. Everything felt like some drunken nightmare. Gale, his best friend from flight school—successful, proud, and handsome—had turned into a smelly vagrant stealing food out of hunger just a year after graduation.

A pregnant, mated vagrant, John reminded himself. And that thought sliced through his feelings like a razor. Gale has an alpha. An alpha from whom he’s expecting a child.

With trembling hands, John pulled a cigarette from the pack and nervously lit it. He couldn’t decide what upset him more: that Gale was a starving bum living on the streets or that he was bound forever by a new life with another guy. Probably both.

He walked down the street, oblivious to the light rain that seemed to mourn his carefree past in flight school, which now felt a bit naïve and childish, along with their shared year of life together.

This time, credit should be given to John's instincts; he sensed danger a second before he felt the strong, grasping hands pulling him into the darkness of the alley.

"What the hell?" he exclaimed before being pressed against the brick wall by a strong, lean, cat-like body that nonetheless reeked horribly.

It was Gale, he realized. He had been waiting for him.

"Food. Do you have food?" The omega knocked the cigarette out of John's mouth with visible disgust. "God, it stinks."

Look who’s talking, John thought.

He handed the bag of groceries to his former classmate, and Gale eagerly grabbed it, rummaging through the contents.

Realizing there was something to eat, omega settled next to the dumpster and began to tear into the food packages hungrily.

John, who had just started to recover from the shock of their unexpected reunion, asked, "What happened to your alpha?"

Gale shrugged uncertainly, stuffing his mouth with pieces of cheese using his dirty fingers, and biting into a juicy red apple as he replied, "It's a long story."

"If your alpha can't take care of you, then why don’t you seek shelter?"

Gale responded with only a gloomy glare.

"Pregnant omegas without alphas to care for them can't live on the streets, Buck, and you know that."

"Leave me alone," blonde mumbled with a full mouth.

"Buck, you should..."

"Don't you dare tell me what I should do," Gale growled, and John stepped back.

He reminded himself that he was just an outsider in this situation, not involved in the drama of Gale's relationship with his alpha, so he couldn't fully grasp the complexity of it all.

But it wasn't that simple: he was legally obligated to report that a pregnant omega was living on the streets and not receiving the necessary care.

"Who beat you up?"

The blonde shrugged irritably.

"Those damn security guards. Stupid betas," Gale scoffed. "Idiots with no sense of smell."

After finishing the contents of John's bag, the omega stood up and fixed his gaze on him.

"Do you have any more food?"

John replied, "Only at home."

Gale shifted his weight from foot to foot, frowning as if deep in thought.

"Okay."

He cautiously followed alpha to his car and sat down in the back seat, keeping his distance from John. Immediately, John rolled down all the windows despite the chilly autumn evening because being in the small enclosed space with the blonde's smell was unbearable for him.

After a while, Gale, who sat motionless pressed against the far door from the driver, said, "You didn't recognize me in the store, Bucky."

"What?"

"You didn't recognize me there until you came up and saw my face, even though we shared a room at flight school for almost a year."

"You're mated with another man, and you're pregnant, of course I didn't recognize your scent. It's completely different."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I'm amazed how you alphas rely on your sense of smell for everything."

"Because it is the most reliable indicator and it is impossible to deceive."

"Is it?"

The rest of the journey was silent. John struggled against the urge to vomit from the unbearable smell of his companion, his heart pounding and breath hitching, while Gale drilled a tense gaze into the back of his head.

================================================

Sorry, part 1 is almost the same as the brief promo. In the 2nd part there is a development of events.

I'm tagging @bottomab @umika @amiserableseriesofevents @mazikeen because they said they were ready to read this.

[luckydeuce]

Seven(ish) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by @happy-days19 and @reallylilyreally ohh, I adore you, thank you for thinking of me!!! Have a little palate cleanser aka this isn't hit me where the heart is...

John’s taken his jacket off; there are bruises pooling on his forearms and in the hollow of his neck. Like ink spilled, like storm clouds gathering. Like rot spreading through a fruit fallen too soon. Gale crouches first, then drops to his knees and sits back on his haunches. There is snowmelt and mud on John’s boots, his laces thick in Gale’s fingers when he starts working the knots loose.   “No,” says John, and Gale says— “Yes.”

Tagging @blixabargelds & @weimarweekly & @onyxsboxes & @survivedthenight if you'd like, never any pressure!!!