#mota drabble

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home 

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you. 

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might. 

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that. 

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return. 

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time. 

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan 

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.” 

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

#john egan x reader #john egan #master of the air #mota #mota drabble #callum turner #bucky egan

[gloryofroses19]

Johnny Boy

“Let’s go, let’s go. Get the lead out boys!” Major John Egan ordered as he clapped his hands together.  

“Excited to see Harding that much, Major?” Ken Lemmings asked rhetorically, parking his jeep. 

“More like a certain lieutenant.” Blakey commented, lighting a cigarette.  “All I heard on the flight back was [y/n] this and [y/n] that. Almost as if we weren’t staring down the face of Nazi fighters.” 

Coming up behind Blakey, Douglass slapped Blakey on the back.  “Don’t be too jealous Blakey, maybe Tatty will forgive you for saying her sister is prettier.” 

“It was a joke!” 

“Jokes are meant to be funny, Ev.” Crosby deadpanned from his place on the ground. 

“Get in the truck, boys! This war ain’t gonna stop because of your romantic problems.” John Egan was not known for being a patient man. And at this moment, his patience was as thin as his fort’s wings, which were currently shot to shit thanks to the Luftwaffe.  

“You know all about romance, right Major?”  

With an eye roll, the Major squared his shoulders ready to yell at his men. However, his irritated expression softened as he watched two figures coming his way.

Noticing the attentive blue eyed gaze across the field, [y/n] smiled as she drew nearer. She had not planned to visit the airfield today. Despite knowing that the 100th Bomb Group would be out flying, she had intended to stay in her office. But when Johnny asked, with a hopeful request and a sweet smile, she knew she couldn’t say no. She seemed to have soft spots for Johns she mused, as a pair of small hands tightened their grip on her right hand. 

“She read me a book and colored with me!” 

Bucky’s eyebrows raised at the British voice informing him of how he was losing the battle for [y/n]’s attention. Six year old Johnny Baker was as formidable as the Germans,  the blonde had met Lieutenant [full name] on his first day moving to base and imprinted on her like any good duckling would. 

“And she said that she’ll watch me play footy!” 

However, Major John Egan was a flyboy and they were not so easily defeated. Crouching down to be eye-level with rival, the major crossed his arms. “Well, she told me I’m clever, funny and..." With a dramatic pause, he continued, "and handsome.” 

Stomping his foot at his competitor, the blonde took on a tone of conceited immaturity. “Well she told me that I give the best hugs!” 

“Well,” John mimicked, “She kissed me.” And with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, Bucky added in a lyrical voice, “On the lips.” 

With a gasp and whine of her name, the blonde buried his face into [y/n]’s stomach as her hands patted his back comfortingly . 

“Are you really arguing with a child?” She asked sternly, as John stood up. “Again?” She pressed, restraining the grin trying to surface at his easy smile. The times she had found them competing for her affection were becoming too numerous to count. Just last week, she had to kiss him better when he scraped his knee racing Johnny across the blacktop of the airfield.  She was thankful he was kind enough to let her kiss his lips instead of his bloodied knee. 

“No, I’m not arguing with a child.” John watched Johnny stick his tongue out at him, “He’s arguing with me.” With a chuckle, he mirrored the action back at Johnny.  

Alive and as charming and tenacious as ever she reflected, assessing his wellbeing . The weight of the war had become harder to bear on their shared tree branch as more flyboys left and didn’t come back. She hadn’t realized her breath had been stalled in fear of his safety until she felt herself lose it again by his adoring look. 

John ran a hand through his hair, enjoying the evaluating look on her face “So where’s my reason?” 

“Where’s my souvenir?” She responded, meeting his unwavering gaze. It had become their greeting, a promise of a gift that kept them both grounded.

Removing his head from her stomach, Johnny looked up. A pout sprouted on his lips as the adults seemingly ignored him, focusing instead on making what his big cousin Susie called “googly eyes”. With a tug to her hand, Johnny whined. “[nickname]!” 

John watched as [y/n] turned her attention to the baby duck calling her name. The blonde’s hair had become ruffled as feathers from his fight for her attention and John knew like any mama bird she would fix it. However, she wasn’t a duck, she was a different bird. His bird to be exact so the only hair she would be fixing would be his curls. Therefore, before her raised hand could fix the strays, an Army Air Corps Officer cap covered Johnny's head. 

Taking advantage of his enemy’s distraction, John’s hand gripped [y/n]’s face and momentarily brushed his lips against hers. While a moment on the lips, it spoke of tenderness, love and promise for more. 

“Hey!” Removing the cap from his head, Johnny glared at the taller male who seemed wholly unperturbed.  

“What?” The innocence in his smile and tone betrayed the mischief inside. The bashful smile he sent her all but confirmed [y/n]'s suspicions. That he did always love when she ran her hands through his curls. And that he was jealous, even of a child. 

“Interrogation, Egan!” 

Bucky sighed theatrically at the commanding voice behind him. Though the sigh was a sign of acknowledgement, he made no move to leave. If anything it made him more resolute. 

“Jack,” Facing his fellow major, John motioned toward the pair at his side, “The good lieutenant and this fine soldier need a ride back to the HQ.”

Major Jack Kidd could use many adjectives to describe John Egan, however, since becoming Air Exec the most he would offer was 'a royal pain in my ass'. “Now, John!” 

Though Kidd didn’t seem to be moved, John pressed on. “We can’t just leave them, Jack.” 

Biting her lip, [y/n] attempted to maintain a neutral expression. His baritone voice was as pleasant as ever, but the tone of pleading reminded her of times when he pleaded for other things. Some which he had no shame in doing in front of other people, like a dance or smile, and some that were reserved for just the two of them, like a kiss and other intimate notions. 

Turning towards the gentle tug on his sheepskin’s sleeve, John leaned down. 

“Can we ride in the truck?” Johnny whispered poorly, allowing those close enough to hear. 

“If you look sad you can.” John replied conspiratorially, enjoying the giggle it elicited from [y/n] who’s attention had been off him for far too long. 

“Get in the truck, Egan.”  Though Kidd offered John a look of utter lack of amusement, he sighed.  One day he’ll learn to not wipe John’s ass, Jack promised himself.  “You too,” he finished gesturing toward the pair.

Breaking out into a wide smile, John’s hands wrapped around [y/n] and Johnny’s shoulders. Guiding them to the awaiting truck, John pulled himself into the truck bed first. With his attention on Johnny, John offered instructions where to put his feet and hands to safely enter the truck all the while, his hands gently hovering his smaller body to offer assistance if needed. 

Unbeknownst, [y/n]’s expression was soft in a way she only ever let it be around John. War was not the time to think of a future full of little feet and miniature giggles, but John Egan was a man who inspired hope. 

“Need help, Lieutenant?” A deep baritone voice interrupted her thoughts.  Though capable and confident, [y/n] took the calloused hand that was offered to her. Allowing herself to be pulled into the warmth of the sheepskin, she brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. 

“Think Cros can take him?” He whispered, nodding to the navigator currently being interrogated by the Brit. 

With a laugh, she guided John by the hand to his rightful place next to her on the truck's bench. Bumping her nose against his, she whispered, “You certainly weren’t.” 

John laughed gently and easily as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders before taking her hand in his again. Pulling her as close as they could, he leaned into her ear. Planning to defend himself, the pilot opened his mouth but stopped when a sudden weight dropped on him. 

“Johnny!” 

Ignoring the scolding tone, the blonde pushed his body weight against Bucky and wedged himself between the pair. “You forgot your hat, Major.” Johnny mocked, throwing his hat at the elder. 

“Why you little….”

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! I appreciate all the positive feedback from my other works!

#john egan x female reader #john egan imagine #john egan x reader #major john egan x reader #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air x reader #mota drabble #bucky egan x reader #mota fanfic #mota x reader

[pisupsala]

Hitchin' a ride

Or two times you told John Egan no, and the one time you said yes.

Part 1 of Are You Going My Way?

John "Bucky" Egan x female!reader Words: 7k Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, hospitals

It gets dark early in winter in East Anglia. By the time you leave the ward, it’s pitch dark despite it barely being past dinner time. Huddled in your dark blue wool cape, you trudge along the side of the road, holding a small torch to light your way. There’s a cold, biting wind tonight, and it feels like it’s going through every layer you’re wearing, straight through your bones. Breath shuddering, you pick up your pace, the gravel barrier between the road and the grass crunching under your standard-issue brown boots. The faster you get back to the nurse’s barracks, the faster you’re out of this wind and soaking your sore feet and cold toes.

Thorpe Abbots sprawls strangely, but you usually don’t mind. The quiet walk at the end of the long shifts in the operating room, rounds on the intensive care ward, cleaning, and inventory is your moment of solace. A moment where you can finally let the smile fall off your face, where you can grit out the curses you've bitten back all day, the crinkle in time when you are allowing the tears to well up and drip down your face silently.

There is no textbook or training to prepare you for the horrific reality. Torn flesh, burns, and the blood. The fear and agony. The pained screaming. The blind panic.

You have never felt more that you are where you need to be, yet you are so completely and utterly powerless.

A light catches your eye, reflecting on the trees around you in a ghostly flicker. Glancing over your shoulder, the light floats through the darkness, gliding towards you. The soft ding of a bicycle bell pulls you out of your reverie. Turning fully, the light casting off your torch finally illuminates the figure on the bicycle. 

“Major Egan,” You greet him, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. He has no reason to be here. There’s nothing down this road but the building with the nurses’ quarters. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered Major Egan somewhere he has no reason to be. But you, as an army nurse and merely a first lieutenant, are not about to question him on that.

“You shouldn’t be walking here alone at night, lieutenant,” He tells you, stopping next to you. You stop, too, taking a good look at him—because why wouldn’t you—as he gets off his bike. 

A little too friendly, a little too forward. His bright, sharp blue eyes are contrasted by luscious dark curls and that devilish smile. Tall, broad-shouldered, and moving with a confident grace, he is hard to miss. And if you were to somehow overlook him in a crowd, he commands, demands, attention. There is something dangerously magnetic about him, something electric.

You best keep your distance.

“Don’t worry about me, please, Major,” You reply politely. “It’s not late, and I know the way,” 

“Are you done for today?” He asks conversationally, smiling, his eyes crinkling happily. The tips of his ears are red from the cold. In the middle of a quiet road, in the dark, in freezing temperatures, it’s an odd place for polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m heading back to my quarters,” You smile. “Long day,” You add, hoping to cut the conversation short, desperately trying to suppress the full body shiver from the cold. You notice with some envy that Major Egan seems wonderfully unbothered by the biting wind in his sheepskin jacket. You nod at him, turning back in the direction you had been heading, gingerly taking a step. Hopefully, he gets the hint.

“I could give you a ride,” 

You stop dead in your tracks, looking back at him wide-eyed. 

“I’m heading in the same direction, so you’d get there quicker,” He beams at you with that brilliant smile, patting the carrier at the back of the bike. Instinctively, you start shaking your head, trying to keep yourself from vocalizing your thoughts.

You’d be out of the wind. You’d be in the warm faster. You’d have to get close to Major Egan and hold on to him. You bet that that sheepskin jacket is nice and warm. You bet Major Egan is nice and warm.

“Isn’t that the bike you almost lost an eye for?” Your sense of self-preservation is stronger, has to be stronger, than any magnetic force or joking flirtation from Major John Egan.

“Almost?” He seems surprised you brought it up but recovers quickly. “I remember it differently — it was a bullseye, not my eye,” 

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to laugh with him, but you just blink in disbelief. That’s an awful joke. For a mere second, in the reflected light of your torch, you see his smile falter—he’s smart; he knew that was a dud. You purse your lips.

“I suppose I like my rides without stories of near-eye trauma attached,” You muse. It’s such a flimsy excuse.  

“Do you think it’s bad luck?” It’s a chillingly honest question, and all cheer has suddenly disappeared from his voice. You pause to think. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Major Egan might be a particularly superstitious man; somehow, he didn’t seem the type. But in these times, superstition creeps up on even the most staunch rationalists.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, Major,” you finally admit, eyeing him carefully. He frowns, suddenly unsure of the gravity of the conversation through his own too-candid question. “I would just hate to encourage any of that sort of behavior,” You add lightly.

“So, you would have accepted if I had a different bike?” He sounds on the precipice of hopeful, but the laughter in his voice is evident again. He changes so quickly and bounces back from everything in a mere second — it’s all a joke, after all. He’ll do you a favor and then jokingly ask for a kiss. And then maybe another. And then he’ll move on to whatever or whoever catches his eye next. 

You wrinkle your nose. No. You’re not interested, you repeat to yourself. If you were, you might as well have stayed at home and practiced your good graces at dinner parties. You joined the Army Nurse Corps because you wanted to do something, mean something.

“I’m going now,” You clench your jaw to stop your teeth from clattering. “Good night, Major Egan,”

“Suit yourself, lieutenant,” He grins, undeterred, as he watches you turn on your heel, huddling into yourself to protect yourself from the wind. Truthfully, Bucky wasn’t expecting that you would accept his offer. If anything, he wanted to see how you’d react: your replies are always calm and composed, so very proper, but you have a bad poker face. From the way you scrunch up your nose in annoyance to how the corner of your mouth sometimes threatens to pull into a smile at his jokes. And Bucky notices that your gaze lingers just slightly longer than would be polite, although nothing coming out of your mouth would corroborate that. It’s adorable. It’s intriguing. And he knows you won’t make it easy on him.

But that’s not why he keeps thinking about you. That’s not why he goes out of his way to look for you.

You suddenly took root in his thoughts only a few weeks back. It had been a bad day. Worse than Bucky had seen in a while, there had been many bad days lately. 

Being Air Exec has some perks, mostly that other people don’t really question why he’s wandering the halls of the infirmary at the dead of night. In the hallway, set up on provisional cots, medics are asleep, still fully dressed. They just collapsed on the first soft spot the moment they could. He can hardly blame them.

His footsteps echo through the dark rooms. The wounded men in the beds are fast asleep — it’s eerily quiet except for the occasional snore. 

He’s not sure why he’s here. Maybe it’s to assuage some of the guilt he’s feeling — he’s fine after all. He didn’t go up with them, after all. Maybe because he needs to see the pain with his own eyes, afraid that he’ll forget.

The doctor on duty is doing rounds, his desk empty, when Bucky slips through the swinging double doors to where the heaviest casualties are put up. The air in the room feels different—heavier. It’s not quiet—labored breathing, raspy, sometimes gurgling, groans of pain in artificial sleep. He really shouldn’t be here. 

All beds are full.

It’s been a really bad day.

It’s there that he notices you first: sitting on the floor, arms crossed and tucked up against yourself, head leaning against the wall, and legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. In the first second, he thinks someone fell out of their bed. But as Bucky gets closer, he recognizes you — the seersucker cotton dress, the matching cap now crumpled and skewed on your head, and the clearly scuffed and dirty white oxfords. You are one of the OR nurses.

He’s seen you around, just in passing. In chaos between casualties, just from the corner of his eye. Sometimes, you showed up at dances or parties, and Bucky had noticed your cute laugh from across the room, the way your entire face lit up when you smiled. And he knows he’s not the only one who has noticed the delightful sway of your hips as you walk, evident even through your dress uniform. But you made damn sure to make yourself unavailable by sticking with your girlfriends. He’s never seen you accept a drink or dance with someone.

Your mouth is slightly open as you breathe deeply, your form cast in the pale moonlight peeking through the sides of the blinds. Bucky wouldn’t let a woman sleep on the floor in normal circumstances, but in this case, waking you up would be cruel — there isn’t a bed free in the whole hospital. And even bad sleep is better than no sleep.

He moves past you carefully, mentally putting names to all the men here. Those that made it. That’s a good thing, right? They made it. Bucky doesn’t recognize the figure moaning in pain louder and louder, hands desperately grasping at the neatly tucked-in covers —  his entire head is covered with a thick layer of white bandages, not even leaving a slit for his eyes, just a small opening for his mouth. He hesitates before his curiosity takes over and moves by the side of the bed to look closer. It’s a good thing, right?

He should do something to help him.

Bucky is so lost in thought that he doesn’t notice you brushing past him. He almost jumps out of his skin when your torch suddenly clicks on at the foot of the bed. You are bleary-eyed, blinking rapidly as your eyes fly over the patient chart. 

“He is due for a new round of pain medication,” You state softly, voice still thick with sleep, before looking up at Bucky. “Major,” is all you say in acknowledgment of him.

“Nurse—lieutenant,” He mumbles in reply, increasingly on edge from the patient’s distress. “What are you—” Before he can start running his mouth in confused ramble, you trust the torch at him.

“Hold this, please, Major,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the noises easily in its steadiness and calmness. The small torch is now in his hand, your fingers brushing over his palm unintentionally as you move through the dark. It’s like a small spark burned the spot where your fingertip touches his skin. “Up, please,”

Bucky complies, shining the light from a high angle as you prepare a syringe. You look exhausted, but nothing in your movement betrays that. Clinical, precise, and so calm. He watches you speak softly to your patient, your free hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, a syringe poised in the other. But the patient is struggling harder, too panicked, and in too much pain. 

It happens in a split second.

The patient sits up so quickly that Bucky almost stumbles back in surprise. The patient now has an iron grip on your lower arm, white knuckles, moving in a blind frenzy, pulling you clean off your feet, half over the bed. You yelp in as much surprise as in pain as your knee collides with the metal bed frame. Your face is contorted in pain as you struggle back, trying to regain your footing. 

“It’s okay, I’m here to help you,” You keep repeating patiently. Never let them know you are scared: they can’t calm down if you are not in control.

Your voice doesn’t waver one bit. Bucky clenches the small torch between his teeth, trying to free your arm from the patient’s grip. 

“N- no” You breathe, clearly in pain now. “Please, Major, just help me to hold him still,” 

You are still holding the syringe, poised to strike. Grabbing the patient by the shoulder and forcing him back against the pillow. In the struggle, the torch falls from his mouth. It clatters on the tile floor and rolls away. He is so focused on his task that it’s almost by surprise when the struggle ends within a few seconds, and the patient drifts off again. He never saw you give the injection.

You both stand there, breathing heavily. Bucky bends down to retrieve the torch from the floor. It’s still shining, although it flickers uncertainly with every move. When he straightens back up, he catches you looking at your arm, the brown sleeve of your vest rolled up messily. When you realize he’s looking at you, you pull the sleeve back down and busy yourself tucking the patient back in. But Bucky has seen the angry red fingerprints imprinted on your forearm.

“Thank you, Major Egan,” Not a quiver in your tone, although your breathing has barely slowed down. “It’s probably best you go now,” 

“Are you alright?” He cannot help but ask, gaze traveling to your arm. He can’t help but notice you must have been issued a vest a size up, as the sleeves are a bit too long on you. It’s adorable.

“Please don’t worry about me,” You reply, smiling, but it’s clearly a deflection. The corners of your mouth are quirked up, but your eyes just spell tired. “You should try to get some rest, Major. The sun will be up soon,”

There is a certain sense of irony in you telling him that. At least he has a bed to go to, you think wryly. You start walking towards the ward exit, signaling he should follow you. 

“Will you be okay here by yourself, lieutenant?” It’s not his place to worry about you, but you are just… you. And these men are in pain, scared, and -

“The doctor will be back from his rounds soon,” Your soft voice pulls Bucky from his thoughts. You stand at the door, holding it open for him. If he hadn’t just seen that chaos happen, he would have never guessed by your demeanor anything happened.  As he passes you, you salute him. He salutes you back, gazing over to you. The tips of your fingers are shaking. 

The thought is sudden and overwhelming: he wants to lace his fingers through yours, pull you against him, and hold you until you stop shaking.

“Goodnight, Major,” You whisper with a pointed look. You want him out of here so you can check on your throbbing knee and painful arm away from his prying eyes.

“Goodnight, lieutenant,” He replies, tearing his eyes away from you.

***

In early spring, it seems like the rain never stops, from semi-permanent drizzle to raindrops rhythmically ticking against the window pane to the torrential downpour you find yourself in now. The drab-colored trench coat is putting up a valiant fight to keep you dry.

You’re holding your purse over your head but to no avail. The cold trickle of water from your sodden hair travels down your spine. You’re trailing behind your friends, who are making good time through the storm. Water sloshes in your left boot, making it heavy, the drenched woolen sock rubbing painfully against your foot. 

Then you hear it. The all too-happy ding of a bicycle bell. 

You try to walk faster, gritting your teeth, but Major Egan has caught up with you in just seconds. You don’t stop to greet him, just glancing over at him with narrowed eyes. Gracefully, he jumps off the bike, matching your pace by foot easily. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead, his cap sagging under the weight of the water it must have absorbed. He shouldn’t look this good, sopping wet, especially when you feel so wretched.

“Lieutenant, I could get you where you need to be a whole lot quicker,” he calls out.

“No, thank you, Major,” Your tone is polite, but you keep walking, falling behind further and further from your friends as your left boot squelches with every step. You know he noticed. 

“You’re really not going to take me up on the offer? Even in this downpour?” 

“Most drops miss,” You can’t keep the scowl off your face as you march on. 

“You are so unbelievably stubborn,” He laughs. You don’t think you’re stubborn; you just don’t like feeling like your hand is being forced. 

“I don’t need you to save me, Major.” You tell him evenly, finally stopping and turning to him. You know your friends noticed you stopping but probably figured they were doing you a favor and kept going. 

Bucky regards you carefully — you look miserable. The curl has long been rained out of your hair; rivulets of water running down your face, dripping on the collar of your trench coat. The steep downturn of the corners of your mouth pretty much just seals the deal. But despite all the evidence, you would never admit you’re anything but fine. 

“Save you?” He sounds incredulous. Like the thought never even crossed his mind. 

You bite your lip — you might have said too much. But you are afraid that he might ask you for something if you owe Major Egan a favor. He will ask you for something. And you won’t be strong enough to tell him no maybe because you want him to ask. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve seen him look at you from across the room before, and when you scrape together the courage to meet his gaze, it’s like electricity. Short, intense, and almost painful. And then he looks away, his attention turning so fleetingly. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Forget it,” You mumble, clearly embarrassed. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you wish nothing about this moment was happening right now. When you peek through your lashes at Major Egan, you note he looks concerned.

“For what it’s worth,” He clears his throat, not a trace of humor in his voice. “I never considered you to require saving, lieutenant.” 

You keep looking at him sharply, finally shaking your head. “You have a funny way of showing it.” 

There is something deeply absurd about the whole conversation. Just tell him no. Just bid him goodnight and leave. Why are you even entertaining him with your feelings on this? And it’s clearly entertainment to him.

“I’m going to my quarters now, Major,” You state, feeling the need to be polite despite your increasingly impolite feelings about the situation. “And you’re going in the wrong direction,” You add pointedly as you start walking again. It feels like you have an entire puddle in your boot now.

“So what would you prefer, lieutenant? A more classic approach?” That devastatingly handsome grin is back on his face again as he walks beside you. How is that what he took from your last statement? Your shoulders sag when you feel the butterflies in your stomach. “At the next dance, I buy you a drink and sweep you off your feet on the dance floor?” 

“I might be more agreeable when it’s not freezing or raining,” You sigh like it’s paining you to admit it. Maybe he’s imagining it, but Bucky likes to think he saw the shadow of a smile pass over your face as you say it, even though your voice is painfully neutral. 

“Is that a yes?” Again, that hopeful edge. 

“No,” You reply curtly, but you feel bad the moment you say it because you see his smile fall — he’s staring at you somewhere between confusion and growing frustration. It’s making you feel bad. A horrible little selfish part of you wants him to only smile at you. Major Egan could light up a room with that smile — he regularly does. The selfish little monster in you wants to be the reason that he smiles like that. 

“Ask me again at the dance, Major,” You amend carefully.

The way his face breaks out in that broad, beaming smile makes you weak at the knees. 

***

Bucky is on pins and needles tonight. Even Buck, usually so even-tempered, is getting irritated with him. Drumming his fingers on the bar, tapping his foot not to the beat of the music but to blow off some of the anxious energy. People are flittering in and out of the hall, but there is no sign of you yet. He’s going through his whiskey too quickly, and it’s doing very little to calm his anticipation.

After an hour of only half-listening to the conversation going on around him, constantly glancing at his watch, he finally sees the pack of nurses come in. Bucky’s heart drops a little because you aren’t with the group. You’re always with that group. Knocking back the rest of his drink, he resolutely makes his way to the table now occupied by five gossiping nurses. All eyes are on him as he approaches.

“Good evening, ladies,” He smiles, eyes searching the table. All chairs are occupied — clearly, your friends aren’t saving you a seat. A chorus of good evenings and giggles comes in reply.

“How can we help you, Major Egan?” A blonde nurse asks, peering up through her lashes.

“I’m actually looking for my favorite nurse,” He replies easily, holding his smile despite feeling mildly annoyed. When he mentiones your name, another chorus of giggles. 

“I thought I was your favorite nurse,” One of the girls pipes up. The girls burst out laughing.

“She’s on the night shift,” An earnest, young-looking nurse cuts in, pushing up her glasses. Bucky doesn’t really recognize her — she must be quite new. “I asked to switch shifts because I haven’t been to a dance here before.”

“You should have found someone from the afternoon shift,” the blonde nurse sighs in a bored tone. “The poor girl is putting in a double shift now,”

“No one else would switch with me,” The bespectacled nurse defends herself with a small voice.

Bucky should be annoyed. Did you scheme this out on purpose? You run so hot and cold between your lingering looks and thinly veiled barbs. But then again. Of course, you would switch shifts with the new girl out of kindness. You slept on the floor to stay close to those most needed care. Doc sang your praises in the officer’s mess regularly for staying late to finish inventory, covering in emergencies, and keeping the OR running smoothly. Kindly caring for everyone around you.

He should be annoyed. But instead, he feels jealous. It’s a horrible feeling. But you cared more about the new girl than him? Is it really so bad that he wants your kind attention aimed at him? That he wants to be your choice? You wouldn’t even give him a shot. 

It just won’t do. But now, at least, he knows where to find you.

At the end of the dark hall, a faint light. A lone lamp on a lone desk, with a lone nurse sitting at it. You hear him coming, of course. Your bright eyes look straight at him as he emerges from the darkness. You are already getting up out of your chair, ready to greet him, notes and medical textbook forgotten on the desk.

“Good evening, Major Egan,” you greet him, your voice soft. Your gentle tone carries sweetly through the quiet hall. You didn’t expect him to come find you. It feels far too serious, far too earnest. You haven’t seen or spoken to Major Egan for over a week now, and for your own sake, you decide that he hadn’t been serious—that you hadn’t been serious. It was just banter.

Truthfully, you were slightly relieved the new girl asked you to switch shifts. But as you sat at the duty desk by yourself, blankly staring at the pages of your medical textbook, your stomach twisted painfully with regret. 

“Good evening, lieutenant -” you cut him off with a sharp shush, tapping your index finger against your lips. You step a bit closer to him, voice a sweet whisper. “Please keep it down,” 

A beat of silence as you’re both clearly uncomfortable in the strange situation you have suddenly found yourself in.

“How can I help you, Major?” You whisper politely as your eyes nervously, guiltily, dart around the room—anywhere but him. He looks sharp in his dress uniform. He smells nice. He clearly made an effort. And you’re standing here in your day-old hospital uniform. Self-consciously, you try to straighten the standard-issue white and brown stripe wrap-around dress. 

“I came looking for my favorite nurse,” Bucky replies sincerely, eyes boring into yours. 

“Then you must not be looking for me,” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself. Bucky nearly bursts out laughing at the pained look that crosses your face as you clamp your mouth shut. 

“I was waiting for you to show up at the dance,” He says with that same heavy sincerity. His stance is casual, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. But the way he fidgets — tapping and shuffling his foot — as he waits for you to reply hints that he is not nearly as calm as he’d like to appear.

“I had to stay,” You reply, still avoiding his gaze. It’s a half-truth. You could have said no. But the new girl seemed to want to go to the dance more badly than you did. It felt unfair. And you had convinced yourself quite thoroughly that Major Egan wouldn’t care or notice anyway.

Another silence falls. Neither quite sure where to go from here.

“How are the boys doing?” Bucky asks conversationally, reaching out to the large doors leading into the intensive care unit. On a whim, you grab his hand before he touches the handle, your fingers gently wrapping over the top of his large hand. He stills, and for a moment, you think he’ll shake your hand off his. But instead, he waits in acceptance.

“It won’t help you,” You whisper. It took you a while to figure out why Major Egan was in the hospital that night. When people spoke of him, they spoke of how much he cared for his men — a heavy burden to bear.

“Help me?” His voice is suddenly loud. He is offended at the notion that he’s doing it for himself and offended that you called him out like that. He opens his mouth again to argue with you.

Startled by the volume, your brain misfires fully, and instead of replying, your free hand reaches out to his face, your index finger landing on his soft lips to silence him. He stares at you wide-eyed. You are sure you look as shocked as he does. You try to gather your thoughts quickly.

“I - I understand,” You implore him in an urgent whisper, finally looking at him. Bucky sees his own sorrow reflected in your eyes. 

Sometimes, you can only wait. There is no next round of medicine; there is no operation that will help. Waiting for the body to do its work can be frustrating and maddeningly slow.

“But there is nothing you can do now, so going in won’t help you or them,” You swallow. Why is your finger still on his lips, and why is he letting you do that? “They need to rest. You need to rest.”

His fingers lace through yours as he steps closer. It’s inappropriate how close he is standing to you. It’s inappropriate how the tips of your fingers caress the seam of his lips. It’s inappropriate how your hand has latched onto his, his thumb drawing lazy circles on the pulse point of your wrist.

“I don’t need rest.” His voice is soft and close. The intimacy of his lips moving against your fingers is intense, each breath setting your nerve endings on fire. He leans into your touch, trailing from the corner of his mouth to his jaw. Finally, you look at him.

“Then what do you need?” Your question comes automatically. Always looking for how to help. Always so kind. He could melt into your soft touch, warm voice, and how you look at him so sweetly.

“I need to know when you’re done here so I can sweep you off your feet,” His eyes meet yours, keenly following your every move. 

You want to take a step back and break the increasingly feverish connection, away from his oddly earnest confession, but Bucky pulls you closer with a small tug on your hand. Your head is swimming; your heart is hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t entertain any of this, but it feels like your heart is pouring out of your mouth.

“My shift ends at 0500,” 

Bucky grins at you—not in a teasing way, but with that infectious broad smile—the one you cannot help but smile back. It gives you butterflies. You’re smiling at him now, beautifully, genuinely. It feels like a victory to Bucky.

“I’ll keep the party going if you promise me the last dance.” His voice is low and inviting; he is reeling you in further with every word.

“Don’t torture everyone on my account, please,” You feebly try to inject some levity into the situation. You know yourself well enough: you are no match for John Egan and his attentions. From sparks across the room, now it’s like you’ve touched the live wire, and the current has a hold on you. That’s why you always avoided him so.  

“Torture? Darling, it’s a party,” He needles you gently, eyes glinting merrily. “Only you would equate that to torture.” 

“Major -,” “Bucky,” He interjects. You blink at him, biting your lip. 

“Bucky, please,” The moment you utter his name, so beguilingly, so breathlessly, he presses your palm against his face fully, his hand covering yours. He needs you closer. The golden buttons of his jacket brush against the front of your dress. His lips press against the soft flesh of your hand as he studies your reaction. The hitch in your breath is embarrassingly loud to your ears. 

“Please, what?” 

“Don’t torment me like this,” It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. And exactly as you’d expect, the admission of your weakness, the slightest chink in your armor, is an in for him. 

“How do I torment you, exactly?” His voice is so warm, so encouraging. 

“You take far too much pleasure in making fun of me, for one,” You try to play it off in a last-ditch attempt. But under his heated gaze, his breath brushing on the sensitive skin of your wrist, you falter. You frown before you utter in a small voice: “It’s not nice how you toy with me, Bucky, because it’s obvious that… that it’s just a joke to you, and your idea of a joke could get me dismissed, and sent home,”

You look down at your shoes, embarrassed. You want to pull away, but Bucky is not allowing you an inch of slack.

“It’s not a joke to me.” He sounds surprised. You look up at him, unable to keep the skepticism off your face. “It wasn’t a joke from that night I saw how calmly you handled that panicked patient, the moment you saluted me with those shaky fingers, and then every time you denied my help, you stubborn, stubborn girl,” His face is so close to yours now; a finger tracing down the side of your neck, down, just along the collar of your dress, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The way your hand rests on his cheek, you could pull him even closer if you wanted to. “I’ve wanted to grab hold of you, wrap you around me-”

Footsteps. You pull back from Bucky with a jerky movement, who mercifully releases you immediately, stumbling back two steps, almost hitting the desk with your legs. It’s strangely cold suddenly without his hands wrapped around yours, without him so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Blood is rushing in your ears. Bucky looks too collected, but to your relief, you spy a faint blush creeping up his neck. 

So it wasn’t just you.

Hands folded, you take another furtive step back behind the desk, making sure there’s a respectable distance between you as the doctor on duty turns the corner. Bucky and the doctor start talking in low voices, but you are not listening. In your mind, you keep returning to his words, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. 

That night on the ward. That was the first time you spoke and saw each other in more than passing. That’s when Bucky suddenly formed this habit of popping in places he had no business of being. Places you happened to frequent. You really hadn’t been vain enough to consider that the common denominator in those situations was you. It had to be a coincidence that he had just turned into a joke. 

“Nurse,” The doctor turns to you, handing you his clipboard. You nearly jump out of your skin, being so lost in thought. “Please update the log,”

“Yes, doctor,” You nod, trying not to look as flustered as you feel. The men start leaving, still talking. 

“Good night, lieutenant,” Bucky turns to you, unable to keep the cocky smile off his face. Before he turns, he winks at you. It makes your knees so weak you nearly collapse back into your chair. Covering your face with your hands, you try to focus, but the smile won’t come off your face.

Seven more hours until your shift ends.

***

It’s a misty summer morning, dew covering every inch. The sun is just breaking through the clouds, and it’s promising to be a beautiful day.

When you leave the infirmary, you blink against the early morning sun. It’s still so early that few people are around. You hesitate. Surely, the party is not still going on. You wouldn’t put it past Bucky to actually do it. Rubbing your eyes and yawning, you’re unsure if you could even stay on your feet long enough for a dance.  

Luckily, you don’t have to make a choice. 

The sound of the bicycle bell makes you smile now. Bucky’s looking remarkably fresh and well-rested. The party clearly didn’t go that far into the night. He dressed for duty, his signature sheepskin jacket hanging open.

“Are you going my way, darling?” 

You purse your lips because you’re fighting to keep the smile off your tired face. You don’t stand a chance. You dart over to him like you are pulled by a magnetic force, the live current arching between you.

Sliding onto the back of the bike, you grab handfuls of the thick sheepskin to steady yourself, trying to find your equilibrium. Bucky’s large, warm hands encircle your wrists and easily pull your hands off his jacket. Instead, he gently nudges you forward by your arms, tucking them under the side of his jacket, wrapping your arms around his waist. The side of your face is resting against his back. You can feel his heartbeat under your palm, resting just under his sternum; you move along with his every breath.

“Ready?” Bucky peers over his shoulder. 

“Hm–mh,” You hum in reply, face buried in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. “Drop me off before the last turn?” You mumble, gazing up at him pleadingly. “Matron will be awake and on the prowl by now,”

“Don’t worry, darling,” His free hand wraps over yours, pressing a kiss on your knuckles. “I’m not going to get you into any trouble,”

“I’m holding you to that,” You yawn, wrapping yourself around him tighter. You’re going to make the most of this moment — the quiet morning, the soft sheepskin, the smell of Bucky’s aftershave. 

You drift in and out of sleep, even though the trip by bike is tortuously short. After almost twenty hours on shift, you should be allowed this comfort. Whining in protest as Bucky starts to unlatch your arms from him, you feel his chuckle as much as you hear it. 

You slide off the back of the bike, ignoring where the metal was jabbing into your backside on the bumpy road, and rub your eyes, trying to get rid of the haze in your vision. A small yelp escapes you as Bucky tugs you against him by the tie at the waist of your wraparound seersucker dress. The bike lays forgotten in the grass by the side of the road. All the tension and anticipation from last night are suddenly back — you feel wide awake again.

Bucky’s fingers are resting lightly against your waist like he is testing the waters, slowly, gently guiding you closer to him until you are inches away from him. Automatically, your hands sneak back up his jacket, running up his sides to the front of his chest. He is so warm against the crisp morning air. 

“Are you going to ask me for a kiss now?” It comes out almost naively as you look up at him. God, you hope he says yes.

“I promised not to get you into trouble,” He teases gently, grinning, inclining his face closer anyway, his lips just ghosting over the corner of your mouth. He is rewarded with a shuddering sigh from you — his grip on your waist tightens, prompting you to close the remaining distance between you. 

“This, of course, is perfectly innocent,” Only you could be looking at him with those big eyes, full of want, your curious fingers roaming over his chest, and still speak so earnestly. Bucky buries his face in the crook of your neck, shaking from laughter. You wrap yourself around him, head buzzing. It’s like you’re short-circuiting, sparks flying with every move, every breath. 

Bucky nips at the sensitive flesh of your neck, hoping to elicit more of those small sounds from you. If it weren’t for the quiet morning, remnants of mist dissolving in the first light, he would have missed the softest moan of his name that falls from your lips. He could do this all day. Just explore every move of your body against his, every way you can say his name, every touch that brings you closer to him. You move in effortless synchronicity with him, purely on instinct. 

“Then it’s trouble you want, darling?” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses along your jaw.

“It’s only trouble if we get caught,” You reply breathlessly. 

His finger is under your chin, tilting your face up to him, and finally, Bucky’s lips find yours. For a second, it’s just that: his lips pressed softly, almost chastely, against yours. You push yourself up on your tiptoes to get more leverage, wrapping your arm around his neck. Your other hand stays pressed against his chest, fisting his shirt, feeling how his heartbeat speeds up as you open your mouth for him with a sigh. Bucky doesn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, cupping your face. His other hand is roaming boldly over your back, applying light pressure on your spine so you arch into him, skimming just over the curve of your behind, playfully tugging at the ribbon of your wraparound dress. He knows exactly what he is doing and how to get exactly what he wants from you, and you’re more than eager to please.

Your mouth starts to tentatively explore the column of his neck as he whispers your name longingly, encouraging your little adventure. When your lips touch a particularly sensitive spot right under his ear, Bucky hisses — you can feel his muscles clench. It’s exhilarating; he feels the sparks as much as you do. Bucky doesn’t allow you to bask in your small victory too long, greedily capturing your mouth with his again, wrapping you around him, tucking you against him. His soft touch turns feverish, grasping at your hip. You match in kind, nails grazing the nape of his neck, just along his hairline — anything to keep the tension, the current arching.

You can feel the sunshine on your skin and see it through closed eyes. Breathlessly, you pull away just a fraction — Bucky’s lips are still ghosting over yours. 

“What’s wrong, darling?” He asks so softly you’re unsure if you heard or felt the words against your lips.

“I have to go,” You mumble as you move to stand feet flat on the ground again. It’s like waking up from a dream. Time is getting away from you. You’re not ready to pull away from Bucky yet, wanting to stretch the moment out. You gently fix his collar, running your hands over his front once more, as much in an attempt to straighten out the wrinkles you left on his shirt as to feel him move under your palm again. When he steps away from you, you release a shuddering breath. You feel like you’ve just been hit by lighting. 

“I’ll come find you,” He winks at you, grinning. Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture feels intimate, more personal, than you could have imagined.

It was everything you feared happening when you said yes to John Egan. It was everything you dreamed it to be. As you watch him leave, you know that you’ll have a damn hard time giving that up. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

note: this was literally supposed to be a quick 2k words fun meet cute kind of thing, just a quick adventure Morty, but oh god I'm in too deep. forgive me for this detour from Of All The Stars in The Sky, but it was necessary, you understand.

#Or Mila can’t write drabbles #one shot most likely #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #john egan fic #john egan imagine #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #john egan x nurse!reader

[avonne-writes]

https://www.tumblr.com/avonne-writes/744097471832129536/once-just-once-buck-agrees-to-drink-alcohol-and

I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT HOW BUCKY WOULD REACT TO THIS?

It took all of Bucky's charms to convince Gale to drink with them on Bucky’s 25th birthday. He begged and pleaded and cajoled him with his best puppy dog eyes until that half-suppressed smile appeared on Gale's face, and he said. "Suppose I can stomach one glass."

So, they went to the nearest bar in town with all the other cadets who had a weekend pass. Bucky got them both a stiff drink, and they clinked glasses before throwing them back, to the cheers of Bucky's friends. Well, Bucky threw it back. Gale gave it a long look, then took about half a sip.

Bucky could see him shudder, his plump lips purse. He leaned back against the bar, his elbows on the counter, and snorted a laugh. "I can take it off your hands if you don’t like it."

Gale just gave him a glance from the corner of his eye, then poured the whole thing down his throat. A muscle tightened in his jaw as he put his glass down, probably fighting nausea. He turned and put his palms flat on the bar as if to steady himself as the burning liquid settled in his stomach.

Bucky nodded at him, trying and failing to hold back a grin. "Look at you."

It was hard to tell in the bar's warm light, but Gale's cheeks seemed pink already. He blinked at his empty glass, then looked at Bucky and smiled as though he thought something was very funny. "Happy birthday."

Bucky's grin widened. He squeezed Gale's shoulder, then turned to gesture for the barkeep. "Another one for me and a ginger beer for my friend."

-

Bucky was on his third drink and just about starting to feel the buzz of it in his limbs when he noticed Gale watching him. They were seated in a booth by then, trapped in the corner by all the other guys who came to celebrate with them. Their friends were trying to outyell each other as they all fought to tell the same story to a pair of hapless girls they managed to invite to the table. So no one paid any attention when Bucky turned to look at Gale and found him looking back. For a moment, they just stared into each other's eyes, then Gale averted his and smiled. Again, as if the world around him was the most amusing thing ever. He was flushed, his blue eyes shiny.

Bucky's lips curled into a wide grin. "Feeling good?" He asked. When Gale tried to control his smile and failed to wipe it off his face, he laughed. "Got you good, didn't it?"

Gale rubbed at his forehead and leaned against Bucky's side. His gaze lacked its usual sharp gleam and his hand moved in less measured gestures than usual - he was completely buzzed. "I'm fine."

"I can see that." Bucky chuckled. The fact that Gale was a lightweight didn't surprise him at all. Originally, he had thought that maybe he could get a few more drinks in him, but seeing him after only one, he knew that sticking to ginger beer for the rest of the night would probably be for the best. "Do you need some air?"

Gale shook his head. Then, Bucky felt it - under the table, Gale's fingers were hooked into the belt of his uniform. Who knew when they found their way there. They clung to him as he leaned back in his seat, and Gale’s shoulders followed to find his again. A muscle twinged in Bucky's chest. His grin faded into something more muted as he studied Gale's flaming face, the way his smile dug deeper lines into his cheek whenever he glanced in Bucky's direction from the corner of his eyes, the way he bowed his head, and the shadows his eyelashes cast.

He couldn't resist, he bumped his knuckles lightly against Gale's cheek. It felt hot to the touch. The gesture made Gale snicker, then hide his face behind his free hand as he often did when he didn't want to draw attention to his laugh. With butterflies fluttering in his stomach, Bucky slid his arm behind Gale, palm coming to rest warmly on Gale's shoulder. He felt his own face heat up when, instead of staying still as usual, Gale leant his whole weight into the embrace as if he was starving for it. He even tipped his head back to rest it on Bucky’s arm. His hand slipped to Bucky's thigh.

Bucky looked around, but none of their friends seemed to notice. Most of them were also well on their way to drunkenness. Only he was running behind, it seemed. A situation he couldn't say he was familiar with, but given the state Gale was in, he thought that was a lucky thing. He leaned in to whisper into Gale's ear.

"Do you wanna leave?"

Gale closed his eyes, still smiling, then nodded. That was all Bucky needed. With some effort, he managed to extricate them out of the booth, crawling over some of the guys, who shoved at him playfully before getting up to let Gale out too. Gale moved slowly, with the caution of someone who was doing his best not to appear drunk, but if someone knew him well enough, the abundance of joy in his expression was a dead giveaway. Buck Cleven wasn't prone to smiling at nothing or to moving his gaze back and forth between Bucky and the rest of the bar instead of keeping it fixed on one thing. Bucky pretended to be drunker than he was just to have an excuse to throw his arm around Gale. He started singing, and felt Gale's arm squeeze tight around his waist.

"Buck, you gotta do something before we all go deaf!" One of the guys called out to raucous laughter. Gale snickered again, clinging to Bucky a bit harder, then he started pushing Bucky towards the door.

"I'm coming back for that dice game, Bill!" Bucky pointed at them, and they all waved their arms at him to just leave already so that they could continue trying to woo the girls.

He and Gale made it outside in a few minutes.

They stumbled into a dark alley nearby, where Gale tugged at the lapels of Bucky's uniform until Bucky kissed him. His lips parted pliantly for Bucky's tongue, and he tasted so sweet that for a moment, Bucky thought he might get drunk on it too. It was a nice, languid kiss. Bucky could have pushed for more but he forced himself to pull back, because he had a feeling that a back-alley romp wasn't what Gale was actually being so needy for, and he could tell that he was right when the first thing Gale did when they parted was to drop his head to Bucky's shoulder.

When Bucky slid his hands up Gale's arms to his back to hug him, he wrapped his own arms around Bucky's waist. He sighed as the embrace closed around him.

They stayed like that for so long that Bucky thought Gale might have fallen asleep standing. But as he tried to pull away, the arms around him tightened.

Bucky breathed in deep. "You wanna sleep in my room tonight?" And this time, that was all he meant, sleep. He could sneak Gale into his hotel room, and they could cuddle as much as Gale needed.

Gale took a deep breath too and straightened up. He let Bucky go to rub at his own face. "Sorry about that." He cleared his throat. A frown formed between his eyebrows. It seemed that he was sobering up. "No, I'll be all right. You go back. It’s your birthday after all. I think I will - go find a ride back to base."

"I'm not going back without you."

Gale looked at him. Even in the dim light, Bucky could tell that his eyes weren't quite clear yet, but some of the haze was gone. "I need a few more minutes."

Bucky leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette. With his free hand, he reached out to hold Gale's. He was pleased when Gale didn't pull away. "I can wait."

Gale watched him wordlessly with that tipsy little smile on his face until Bucky finished his cigarette. When the last of it burnt down, Bucky threw the stub away and stepped into Gale's space again. He gave him a chaste kiss.

Gale bumped his forehead to his, then moved away. "I'm not drinking another one."

Bucky laughed and pushed him towards the main street. "Why not?"

#mota #buck x bucky #john egan #gale cleven #my writing #ummm this became a whole thing #i think i should create a drabble collection on ao3 #drunk!gale

[tetragonia]

"John," you called.

"Yes, Baby?" Egan peeked from his book, lowering his gaze on you with a cheeky smile.

"Hey, I'm an officer around here!"

You claimed, trying to look mad to hide your flushed cheeks. Egan found that very cute.

"You called me by my name first. I'm a major around here," he smirked. "Or should I address you with Mrs. Egan?"

#masters of the air #major egan #callum turner #john egan #masters of the air x reader #john egan x reader #masters of the air drabble #masters of the air fandom #masters of the air imagines #bucky egan x reader #bucky egan #masters of the air fanfiction #bucky egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner imagines #bucky egan imagines #tetrapost mota

[hogans-heroes]

Drabble prompt:

Combining two prompts of Gale’s childhood and Gale flinching from Bucky because he smells like alcohol.

****

Bucky is several whiskeys and several more stories into the wee hours of the morning when he noticed Gale was curled up in a chair that was wedged in the corner, fast asleep despite the party that showed no signs of slowing down. One leg was pulled up into the seat and his head and arms were pillowed against the wall and chairback in such a way as to appear the corner had been chosen especially for this purpose. Even in sleep he looked far from peaceful, and the whispered fragments Gale had once told of his childhood trickled through Bucky’s mind. 

I’m scared of the dark. Or actually, being left alone in the dark

Dad would be out all hours of the night, all nights of the week. Gambling, drinking, getting in fights. Parties till dawn.

I can sleep anywhere, through any noise, it’s a good skill to have.

Bucky’s stomach turned, guilt blooming in his chest, and set his drink down.

“I’ll see you later fellas,” he said to no one in particular, and pushed his way through the ground to Gale’s side. He crouched down and shook the boy’s shoulder.

“Hey, Buck let’s–”

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a violent flinch from Gale, shoving himself backwards and covering his head, and Bucky’s heart sank straight to the floor. He snatched his hands back and froze, holding his breath while Gale blinked at him with wide, bleary eyes until they focused and softened in recognition. 

“Bucky?” 

Bucky swallowed. “Yeah, it’s me. Ready to go?”

Gale nodded, rubbing his eyes like a toddler, and Bucky ached again. He helped Gale stand and ushered him out of the mess hall, grabbing a coffee on the way out. Even if it kept him up all night, it would help get rid of the smell of alcohol and the tense line of Gale’s shoulders as they walked back to their room, Bucky’s mind still racing.

Little Gale spent most nights being jolted out of sleep, shoved and dragged places, struck if he did something wrong or didn’t move fast enough. One time Gale was half asleep when he heard the betting grow louder, his dad running out of valuable things to wager. 

‘How ‘bout the kid?’ someone crowed. His dad laughed it off but for a second Gale had gone cold with terror. His dad had traded their car and some of their furniture before, did he really need a kid? 

Gale stumbled while stepping over the door frame, but caught himself before Bucky could help, then huffed a laugh and grinned sleepily. 

“M’tired,” he drawled, and the guilt in Buck’s stomach grew heavier. 

“We won’t stay out so late anymore,” he replied, but Gale shook his head.

“It’s alright, I know you like to party.”

“I like being with you more.” Never going to be the cause of that look again if I have anything to say, his mind screamed, but Gale only smiled up at him as he began to undress. He must have seen something in Bucky’s expression because he paused, frowning, and opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky rasped before he could say anything. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Gale shook his head. “Not your fault,” he said, pulling his pajama shirt over his head. “I was just startled when I woke up, smelled the alcohol, and…I don’t know. Instinct I guess.”

Bucky nodded. It made sense but didn’t do much to make him feel better. He looked down at himself, wondering if he still smelled of whisky.

“M’ gonna take a shower,” he murmured. 

Gale frowned again and moved closer, reaching out, but Bucky shook his head and took a step back. Gale’s face fell.

“John.”

Gale gripped Bucky’s arm, pulling him to his chest and wrapping his arms around him, but Bucky still tried to resist. He still smelled of alcohol, and he would die before he caused Gale any more suffering. 

“It’s ok and I mean it,” Gale murmured into Bucky’s neck. “I know you’d never hurt me. It’s not you I’m afraid of, ok? You’re the one who makes me feel safe.”

Pain shot through Bucky at the confirmation that Gale was afraid of something, someone, and he could only nod, not trusting his voice. Gale pressed a kiss to his shoulder and Bucky gave in, melting into the touch and wrapping his arms tight around Gale. He didn’t deserve that trust, but by god he’d try to live up to it.

#thanks for the ask! #mota #masters of the air #gale cleven #john egan #buck x bucky #my mota drabbles

[egansangel]

“My best friend, Micheal, his dad was a big drinker so he hated all that stuff - parties too”

“where’s Micheal tonight?”

“Oh he shot himself last may”

^ what if I said John talking about Gale. Hear me out. Gales always been terrified of inheriting his father’s alcoholism/ abuse so he stays away from any kind of substance. Meanwhile John finds comfort in the mind numbing-ness of it; like liquor fills the gap in his soul that he had no idea was there until he tasted that first drop of whiskey at 13. Gale, at some point, must have figured him out; could see the tell tail signs the same way he had his father. He would notice how “just a few beers with the lads” would slowly morph into John stumbling home practically every day with whiskey on his breath and a snappy temper. This CRUSHED Gale, so much so that he was beginning to fear the man he believed John was becoming - his father. Not being able to deal with it anymore; Gale disappears one night and never comes back, his body found cold in the same place him and John met. I imagine he would find it comforting in those last few moments before the world went black - to be reminded of the John he once knew and not who he was now.

#drabble #clegan #john x gale #john egan #gale cleven #austin butler #buck x bucky #mota #rant post #angst

[1-800-suck-my-clit]

Stages of Buckys drunkness

Stage 1

John's has a drink in him, but nothing changes. He's still his normal big tooth shit eating grin.

Stage 2

This stage gets a little more energetic. He dances on the table and sings horribly to songs where vocals were not, in fact, needed. He makes bets that he should not have won but always managed to win.

When curt gets involved, things get taken up to another level. John by himself is hard to control, but you bring his little spoon anywhere near him, and those two are causing double the chaos. Which brings us to stage 3

Stage 3

Between buckys ego and stubbornness and curts, "im Irish I don't back down" attitude they get into fights alot. Every little thing sets them off. But most of the fights don't even up more than talking shit back and forth bc Gale quiets them down before they hurt someone else or themselves. But sometimes Gale likes to play to, similarly to when they met the RAFs.

Stage 4

In this stage, John's a lot more touchy. He can not stop touching Gale for the life of him. He's uncomfortably turned on at this point. He wants Gale now. Anyway he can get him. He whispers dirty things in his ears, often getting a rise out of his lover like: "I want your dick in my mouth so bad Gale. Or my dick up your ass. Please, Buck. I need you so bad, however you want it ill be so good to you." This more than once leads them to go to the alley at the back where they eat eachothers faces off and Bucky ends up on his knees looking up at a fucked out panting Gale.

The last and final stage

Stage 5

This is the stage where Gale knows its time to wrap it up and go back home. John gets unbelievably clingy, cranky, and whiney. But not in the "I wanna fuck you" way buy the way when u wake up a child. His hand is always tugged on Buck as he moves around the pub or party. He's completely silent and complacent. When they get back to bed, he often drapes himself on top of Buck and drifts off to blissful peace as Gale plays in his hair and mumbles words of praise that go to his stomach and settles in his heart

#mota #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #masters of the air #just a drabble to get my thoughts in order for when i write the fukl length fic #buck x bucky #clegan #smut drabble #clegan smut #good boy bucky

[switchgrassdevil]

mota drabble :)

sickfic-esque w/ buck + bucky, crossposted on ao3 here

The sky is still gray.

It’s late afternoon and the atmosphere is mumbling, churning with oncoming rain. He blinks. The damp-earth breeze prods at him. He sways with it like paper and it whirls in his ears, a seashell roar.

Hollow breaths rasp along his throat. When he swallows there’s a cloying ache. He thinks there might be others around, somewhere, though his vision dims and fogs — he hears wisps of distant laughter, muddy voices. He’s not sure where they come from. He’s not sure where he is. He wonders if John is somewhere close.

Something needlelike hums in his skull; an ache smothers his ribs, his eyes, his empty stomach. A raindrop skips against his cheek. He tries to follow its path but loses track. He hasn’t seen John since they fought — he ought to find him, check on him.

Another cool breath of wind pulls across his neck. Taking a faltering step forward, he reels with dizziness, floundering — his skeleton feels fragile as a bird’s, his head a rush of floating sparks.

“Buck?”

He blinks. Static blooms and bleeds across his vision. He blinks again, and then he can’t see at all.

“Buck?”

The sound is closer now. He has the vague sense that it must be John’s voice, however far-off and underwater. It falls apart on the way to Gale’s head and he can’t understand most of the words, can’t fit them back together.

“Buck, hey.”

Sounds of footsteps. Easy rainfall.

“Hey, hey —!”

Darkness falls to clouds and gunfire, smoke and a loaded die, his father’s fierce right fist.

There’s a moment of thick, murky quiet. Then sound erupts and surges against him, close and disarranged. He struggles to close his eyes, struggles to reopen them. He’s on his back.

The sky is still gray.

The silver wind sweeps over his body, chilling him, but there is warmth, too. There are hands on him — one sits beneath his head, fingers cradling his skull, a thumb brushing again and again against his temple. The other skitters across his forehead, his cheek.

He blinks again, looking dizzily upward. A shape manifests from the coarse, dim sky: a face, dark hair. He’s not sure who the face belongs to.

“There you go, Buck,” the face says. The hand on his face soothes over his cheekbone. It’s so warm, featherlight; he shivers, teeth clacking. “You’re alright.”

Shuddering, he hums. He is alright. He’ll be fine, even if this must be worse than usual — his father rarely hits him hard enough to stun like this. But this is not his father, not with these easy murmurs and gentle hands. Where is his father? Has he left?

“He… g’out?” he tries to ask, though his mouth feels numb and impossible, his words slurred.

The hands pause; the dark, hazy brows draw together. “What’s that, Buck?”

He exhales, pain arcing across his abdomen. The hollow in his stomach stirs and seethes. He winces, gasping, and the soothing touches return. “D’he go out?” he asks again.

Another sweep of breathless wind, another raindrop breaking near his ear. A thumb runs across his jaw, coaxing. “Who, Buck?”

Who? He hesitates, a pang in his head. He blinks, and the features above him pool and run like water. Swallowing against the dry ache in his throat, he lets his fingers skim the cool ground.

The face above him leans away. In some indiscernible place to Gale’s left he hears its voice, tense and harsh, snapping. Boots clod over the claylike earth. Shadows appear all around him, vague and faceless.

With a muted twinge he wonders if the men are standing for a reason, if he ought to go, too. He hasn’t flown in a while; he’ll be rusty. He wonders if this’ll be anywhere he’s flown before.

“‘S’re a new one?” he slurs, watching the shadows grow closer, faint and fumbling shapes. They kneel, they reach.

The man above him leans down close. “Huh?”

Abruptly Gale knows it’s John — he can see the familiar slope of his nose and the hard keenness of his eyes — and his sternum thaws with muzzy relief. “We…” he starts, then trails off with a panting breath. Swallowing, he tries again. “We… know?”

John shakes his head, sweeping a slow thumb under Gale’s eye. “You’re not makin’ sense, Buck,” he murmurs. He raises his head, then, and addresses the crowding shadows, then leans back down. “Just relax, yeah? We’re gonna get you inside.”

Then there are more hands on him, on his legs and under his shoulders, and they grip tight and pull up as the world dissolves to vertigo and breathing.

He comes to in their cabin, lying on his bunk. He feels a bit clearer now, a bit more pained. He must’ve only been out a few seconds — the other footsteps are just retreating. Shifting, his body feels half-numb with cold and thick with aching. His boots are gone.

The cabin door closes with a dull thump. In the new quiet he shivers.

A hand cards through his hair, then falls away. Through bleary eyes Gale follows it, watching John stand. For a moment he’s worried he’ll leave.

But then John is pulling off his own boots and sliding in beside him, pulling Gale carefully to his chest. One broad hand soothes up and down his spine as the other cradles the back of his head, pulling him to rest his forehead against the warmth of John’s shoulder.

“You gotta get some rest, Buck,” John murmurs, fingertips scratching lightly over his scalp.

Gale shudders through the new warmth, the fog, the persistent pain. John squeezes him tighter.

“And,” John says, warm and close against his ear, “you’re eating at least half my ration tonight.” And then, when Gale begins to shift: “No, you are; don’t say anything. If you croak I’m going with you anyway, so no point in arguing.”

Gale thinks he should say something against that, but then John’s lips press against his temple, achingly warm.

“Go to sleep,” John whispers. “I got you.”

Gale closes his eyes, John’s hands soothing his raw mind to something faint and syrupy. He falls asleep against John’s collarbone, lulled by his breathing. He dreams of a sick-gray sky that goes on forever.

#mota #drabble #masters of the air #gale cleven #john egan #bucky egan #buck cleven #buck x bucky #writing #ao3

[callumsgirl]

A little overview of all my little writing projects ❤️

If you're looking for something specific, you'll find it here.

If you‘re looking for something specific like fluff or at steamy, hot distraction, i got you back fellas!

Little scenes full of fluff, angst, fears or light or heavy smut (Gale Cleven x John Egan // MotA)

Various scenes about Buck and Bucky (Gale Cleven x John Egan // MotA) discovering their love

Beautiful Things...that I've got

#masters of the air #mota #motaedit #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #callum turner #buck x bucky #bucky #mota fanfic #bucky fanfic #mota fic #let’s talk mota #mota spoilers #austin butler major gale buck cleven #callum turner major john bucky egan #creative writing #writing #one shot #drabble

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John.

Summary: Everyone deserves a letter from home. John x She. Word Count: 785. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. Part Two.

"mail boys!"

the familiar call sounded through the bunks and bucky didn't even bother to lift his head from where he had been watching crank deal out the cards. he didn't need to look, he never needed to look because there had never been any mail for him. it was a well known fact among the boys, something none of them seemed brave enough to comment on. and john? well he wasn't the type that was going to dwell on such a thing with anyone other than buck.

"buck another one for you, brady, one for me....bucky." the silence that took over was almost immediate as his name was called and for a moment he almost didn't want to look, terrified how he may react if he found a smirk on murph's face. instead he was greeted with absolute sincerity and just as every other face in the bunk did, his pulled into a picture of confusion as he moved to swipe the letter, blue eyes quick to inspect the penmanship.

there it was, as clear as day, his name. lifting it to his nose the way he had seen each man do it sniffed, the rounds of taunts flying from the boys over some secret broad he'd had hidden away from them all. not that the major was listening, already retreating to his bunk with the piece of paper as buck silenced the rest of them, sending them on their way to read their own letters as he watched with quiet concern for his best friend.

he had known john long enough to know he wasn't the pen pal type, but he'd also seen the change, the longing for something that the rest of them had. it wasn't anything he had ever expected of his john, ever the class clown so he was as confused as the rest of the crew.

none were more confused than john though, as he tore, with gentleness he had long since reserved for the touch of a woman, wondering who the hell had wrote him.

"dear major egan..."

Dear Major Egan,

It's odd I find, to be writing a letter to someone when your name and rank is all I know of you. It feels terribly impersonal and honestly I'm not sure how this letter will be received so I am sorry if this feels like an intrusion on your day but the thing is...

Well the truth Major, is that it seems to have been noted that during your time in England you have yet to receive a letter. When I learnt that fact my heart broke a little and not with pity I assure you, but any man fighting for home deserves something to hold onto. You may have that, I hope you do, but just in case I wanted to offer you some form of peace.

I am with you Major Egan, for as long as it takes you to get back home. There is someone out there praying for you every night, someone waiting on your soul to make it back. I know not what your favorite warm meal is, nor what you sound like, I know not what you look like or what makes you laugh, but I would like to learn all of those things should you wish to write back at all.

In return I shall share all those things about myself and anything else should you wish to know any of it. Oh they tell me your name is John, may I call you John next time? I'm going to do it anyway.

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John

A friend from home x

he wasn't aware the tears had welled as he finished the letter. really bucky had almost forgotten what it was like to cry. but as he scanned the page, again and again and again, he couldn't bring himself to stop the tear that spilled over his cheek, even with the silence he could feel around him again as the boys grew curious once more.

"who was it john?" the gentle voice of his best friend broke through the fourth rerun of the words, the blonde stepping forward so that the answer could stay between them.

blue eyes lifted to meet hazel, with a smile he knew that he hadn't worn in weeks really. one not dissimilar to the smile he had given buck when he had seen him behind that fence. "i - i have a friend from home." someone, somewhere was waiting for him, someone somewhere, had given him what he had forgotten about in this war. hope. she was with him and unless god himself tried to stop him john egan was going to make it home.

#callum turner #masters of the air #mota drabble #john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #mota fanfic

[gloryofroses19]

Dandelion Dusk

As the roar of the plane became but an obscure gentle breeze on the horizon, Major John Egan turned back towards his companion. “You’re staring.”  

“Yes, I am.” she admitted, hard to deny it when she was caught red handed. 

Raising an eyebrow, John smiled at her blunt response. “Why are you staring?”

“Why aren’t you?” [y/n] teased as she gestured to her face before continuing “Do I not look pretty in this sunset?” 

“Yes, but….” John began before breaking off and bending down. Returning to his full height,  Major John Egan held a dandelion in his large hand. 

“See this dandelion?” With a sweeping motion, the major started to gesture widely with the flower as [y/n] watched with an amused gaze, “While most people think they’re garden pests and love to pick them and throw them out. They are actually…” 

Following his rapidly decreasing movements and lowering voice, [y/n] leaned in closer to Bucky.  

“They are actually a symbol of hope and growth…”, John whispered as he placed the flower behind [y/n]’s left ear. “You may be pretty but now, now you are ethereal.” 

Any teasing retort she may have had in her head a minute ago had all but vanished under the softness of John’s gaze. 

“You were paying attention.” She responded faintly, as his hand caressed her cheek. 

“To you? Always.”

A/N: I appreciate any and all feedback! Hope you guys enjoy!

#bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #major john egan x reader #mota x reader #masters of the air x reader #mota fic #mota fanfic #mota drabble #mota imagine

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

RODEO AU HELLOOOO OMG UR MIND i’m obsessed 🫶🔥😭💖💖 of COURSE bucky would be a bull rider omg

Haha thankyou so much, I haven't had any inspiration for any writing or fanfic for years now so I'm SO out of practice, but when I saw that picture of the cowboys in chaps my brain absolutely exploded with inspo 😂💖

Bucky would SO be the hotshot bullrider, flirting with Gale behind the scenes and being playful and cocky while Gale would be absolutely at WAR with himself because he doesn't wanna fall under this overly ego driven cowboy's spell. The little subtle digs at him and his sport (all in complete playfulness of course) and the WINKS. They stir something in him that he's never felt before and it just makes him more determined to keep indifferent to Bucky and not let him wriggle his way past his walls. It's a complete love-hate situation.

But of course at some point, one of them ends up getting BADLY injured, whether it's Gale accidentally coming off his horse or his horse trips mid-run and sends them both careening into the sand in a heap and Bucky absolutely LOSES his mind because he saw it all from the rails and he vaults himself into that arena. Or Bucky ends up taking on a bull that is known for DECIMATING the riders that it's been paired with and Bucky is no exception, he gets thrown BAD and maybe accidentally trodden on in the chaos by this massive animal and Gale freaks out because Bucky is still laying in the sand NOT MOVING. Queue either one waking up in the hospital and the other has not left the bedside the entire time because the fear and stress was overwhelming.

Ugh, im getting SO many ideas now 😂😂😭

#bucky x buck #answers #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #gale buck cleven #buck x bucky au #bucky x buck au #masters of the air au #masters of the air #clegan #mota #mota au #fic ideas #fanfic ideas #drabble #rodeo au #cowboy au

[avonne-writes]

Bucky likes messy kisses. Hot and open-mouthed, with tongue and biting and all his desire poured into that one touch. He loses himself easily in the sensations. When he initiates a kiss, he puts his whole body into it and often ends up backing Gale into the closest wall. Gale, on the other hand, likes his kisses slow. He enjoys the long, lazy kisses they share after sex the most, when Bucky is calm and pliant and breathes together with him while their lips are locked. When he smiles into it, Bucky smiles too.

Then one day, Bucky goes on a mission that Gale has to sit out. It’s a bad one - barely one third of the crew makes it back to base, and even those are late. When Gale picks him up from the hardstand where his burnt-out fort is falling apart, Bucky feels the tension crackle. It’s as if Gale is angry with him, and he can’t figure out why. They stay quiet as they head back to interrogation. Halfway there, Gale suddenly turns the jeep down an unpaved gap between two buildings and parks it out of sight.

Before Bucky could say a single word, he finds himself pressed hard into the seat by the force of the kiss Gale lays on his lips while leaning over him. It’s quick and desperate, soft against Bucky's tongue and tingling in his lips. After a stunned moment, he tilts his chin into it, but before he could reciprocate in kind, Gale pulls away. He sits back, starts the jeep again and stirs it back to the road.

Bucky stares at him. Gale's face is flushed. "Are we gonna talk about that?"

Gale doesn’t look at him. "No."

Bucky laughs.

#mota #john egan #gale cleven #buck x bucky #my writing #i don't know guys i just needed a kissing drabble as a break because i'm writing angst

[trashbag-baby666]

Apple of my Eye-(firehouse au)

Summary: John’s woken up by his and Gale’s youngest not feeling too good.

WC: 710

C/W: mentions of throwing up

MOTA Masterlist!

au masterlist!

"Papa?" The small voice whispered shaking

John's shoulder slightly, "Papa?"

His heavy eyelids unpeeled his eyes, focusing in the dark.

Flynn stood at the side of their bed, her short brown hair disheveled and he could begin to make out a stain on the front of her nightgown.

"What's up, Peanut? Everything okay?" He whispered carefully lifting the blankets as not to wake Gale and sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I threw up."

John sucked in a breath, "Okay. Did you throw up in your bed?"

Flynn nodded and pointed at the stain on the cat nightgown.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" John took Flynn's hand walking back to her bedroom with her.

He had gotten Flynn cleaned up and into new pajamas, her bedding and pajamas in the wash, and now he was carrying Flynn down the stairs. Chili in her arms the dog nodding in and out already. That dog slept more than everyone else in the house combined.

"Can we watch cartoons?"

"Just for a little bit, Peanut. But we gotta get you back to sleep." Anything his little girl wanted that might make her feel better. She definitely had caught something, he knew better than anyone that being sick in the summer sucked.

He set her down on the couch and went into the kitchen filling a cup with lukewarm water. He grabbed the infamous ice cream bucket out from under the sink. The one Gale kept for when the girls were throwing up sick and couldn't make it to the bathroom. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was clean up puke off of their couch.

Flynn sat with her legs crossed and the chihuahua in her lap asleep already. "Okay, you know the drill. Pales right here in case you need it, and sip on this." He set the bucket on the coffee table and pulled Flynn into his lap. He kissed her forehead to check for a template like Gale had taught him.

She felt a little warm but he definitely would have Gale check in the morning.

"Thank you papa." She took the cup from him, sipping out of it.

It's moments like these that John really thanked the universe for everything he had.

"Is your tummy feeling any better?" He clicked on the tv flicking through to the last episode of SpongeBob they had watched together. Although he swore up and down to Gale, no SpongeBob.

"Little," she held her small fingers up in a pinch leaving about an inch between them. John nodded and raked a hand through her brown curls that resembled his own. She truly was John's mini me.

"Hopefully you can sleep it off, Peanut." John laid back against the arm rest Flynn cuddled into his chest. He felt her small fingers begin to trace the flowers on John's arm.

"Someday I'm gonna have colors on my arms like you and uncle Curtie."

"Are ya now? What kind of pictures do you want?" He let a smile crack on his lips watching Flynn study the sleeve tattoo. His botanicals were her favorite on him, some days him and Curt would let her color in their tattoos with her markers.

"Maybe some pretty flowers and Chili, like Curt's animals." Her small sweet voice grounding John to the couch feeling his eyelids grow heavier by the moment.

"I'm sure Chili would be so honored to be on your arm." He eyed the brown chihuahua laying by his feet, he knew he'd have to sleep still. Chili had a temper with everyone except the girls, specially if you disturbed his slumber, "Why don't we try to go back to sleep? It'll help your tummy." He tried to think of the things Gale would say to convince the girls to do things. Sometimes it was just more believable coming out of Gale's mouth since he had a PhD in medicine.

"I love you, papa."

"I love you too, Flynni." He kissed the top of her head satisfied as she closed her big blue eyes.

It wasn't long before the living room was filled with the sound of John's soft snores and the grumbly ones from Chili. This is what made parenthood all the more worth it for John.

#masters of the air #mota #mota firehouse au #john egan #flynn cleven (oc) #chili the dog #modern au #fluff drabble

[hogans-heroes]

A quick thing for @majoregan who had the idea of Bucky taking care of a tired Buck. Had this in my drafts for ages and forgot about it.

————

Walking back to the barracks after a night out was usually a lighthearted affair, with the two of them chatting and enjoying the quiet, but this time was different. All evening Bucky had been watching Gale rub his face and put his head in his hands, and a murky pang of worry stirred in his stomach. After several minutes of unusual silence as they walked Bucky ambled closer to Gale who looked about to fall over, grasping the back of Gale’s elbow when he swayed on another step.

“You need to rest, big boy,” he chided, but Gale shrank a little, pulling his arm away, and Bucky frowned. He opened his mouth, but Gale shook his head and looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m fine.”

Bucky snorted. “Terrible attempt at a lie, and you know better.”

Gale looked a little sheepish at that, but still stayed out of arms reach. He sighed heavily. “Fine,” he muttered finally. “I just don’t want to sleep.”

“You’re obviously exhausted, Buck. How do you not want to sleep?”

“I want to sleep,” Gale corrected. “I just can’t. Keep seeing it. Everything.”

Bucky tried to connect the dots. “You’re having nightmares?”

Gale shrugged. “I guess,” he admitted softly. “But even if I’m not asleep, I…it’s like…” He trailed off, swallowing with some difficulty. “My head wont stop spinning.”

“Can I bunk with you?” Bucky blurted, watching his friend’s reaction from the corner of his eye. The yearning for comfort practically poured from Gale’s hunched form in waves, yet his conflict showed in the darting of his eyes and clench of his jaw around the toothpick.

“The beds aren’t that big,” Gale said.

“We’ll make it work.” Bucky threw an arm over Gale’s shoulders and pulled him closer, trying to bleed his warmth into Gale’s body. Slowly, Gale’s arm slid around his waist, hand digging in under Bucky’s ribs, and Bucky nearly choked on his own breath at how good it felt. He squeezed Gale’s shoulder in response, not trusting himself with words, but Gale’s shuddering exhale told him he had done the right thing.

#mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #clegan #my mota drabbles #the stuff I find on the floor in my drafts basement lol