ishipitsolangelo

[onyxsboxes]

What do we think of an werewolf AU?

(I read a post about this a few days ago I think and here's my opinion).

A small percentage of the population can turn into an animal on full-moon nights, in the form of a bird, canine, feline, fish, invertebrate or insect…

Bucky is a werewolf, because he's completely canine-coded Very sociable and extrovert, he gets along with most people, but at the same time is slow to really trust them. He comes from a large canine family (one sister, but many aunts, uncles and cousins). Not all of them are werewolves, but they form a large community. They may argue, they may fight, but at the end of the day, they're a pack.

Buck as a were-lynx. He's more reserved and introverted. It takes him a while to trust people, but once they've earned his trust, it's long-lasting. It's just him and his father (a human whose parents were werecats). Were-lynx are solitary, so there's no family on his mother's side, and his father has cut off all ties with his family (because he has a grudge against being the only male human in the family?). Gale's father is envious of him (Gale is a were-cat unlike him) and resentful (his wife died at birth or left him with a were-cat). He started drinking, and things got worse for Buck.

When Bucky and Buck first met, it was a bureaucratic error. They shouldn't have been in the same unit in the first place. The army tends to wait until after basic training (where they learn to better control themselves in the presence of other species) before mixing canines and felines were, especially in the case of aircrew. Fighting like cats and dogs is not just an expression, and wolves and lynxes tend to be natural enemies. It's a very bad thing to have when you're stuck with two of them in a little flying box high in the sky. To the surprise of anyone who knows what they are, they soon got along just fine. Actually, it's more like Bucky clicked with Gale and Gale didn't say anything at first (but potato tomato).

Were-peoples tend to be stronger, have better reflexes and greater stamina than humans. That's why, when training, they challenge each other while developing their relationship. Because of their youth, they have a great degree of control over their animal form, and can shift outside of full-moon nights. Bucky because of his pack and Gale because the wild life was safer than a drunken father.

After the other 100th boys discovered their other sides, it wasn't uncommon to see them sleeping in their animal forms or chasing each other. Curt nearly had a heart attack the first time he saw Gale studying outside with a huge black and brown wolf on his lap.

And they use the werewolf excuse to get all cuddly with each other. (Demarco, who is also a werewolf, knows it's not just that, but he doesn't say anything).

Plus Crosby as a werebird.Ssince he's in human form when he flies, he gets airsick.

[hogans-heroes]

And in the end, of course, a true war story is never about war. It's about sunlight. It's about the special way that dawn spreads out on a river when you know you must cross the river and march into the mountains and do things you are afraid to do. It's about love and memory. It's about sorrow.

- Tim O’Brien, “How to Tell a True War Story”

[whitetrashjj]

[avonne-writes]

Happiness, you’re a cat

A HS AU one-shot inspired by @alienoresimagines 's post

I'll probably post this on AO3 tomorrow. Edit: posted on AO3

1.

Bucky hates hospitals. The sterile smell, all the sick and dying people, back-breaking waiting room chairs. Thankfully, he has never had to stay in one overnight, but he did hit his head in a goal post once when he was ten, and his mom spent hours in the ER with him to get his concussion looked at. It was just after his dad left. What a miserable fucking time.

Unsurprisingly, he isn't keen to go back there anytime soon.

He feels like he might have to though, because at the rate things are going, they’re gonna have to amputate his right arm. A few months ago, Brady showed him a gory Reddit thread about a guy who, apparently, fell asleep in the lotus pose and his legs got so fucking wrecked that they had to cut them off. The pose restricted his blood flow or something and they couldn't restore it. He can’t remember how long the man was contorted like that. What's the point of no return?

His elementary school teacher used to tell his mom that Bucky would do crazy things for the people he liked. Well, she must have been right because Bucky's going to risk his arm just to let Gale sleep for an hour longer.

Gale. Gale, Gale, Gale.

Bucky's heart skips a beat every time he lets himself stop for a moment and think about things. Happiness floods his chest and makes his limbs thrum with excited energy. Three of them. His right arm is currently fighting for its life, crushed under Gale’s curled up body. But he puts the pins and needles out of his mind and concentrates on the positives.

Gale has been his boyfriend for a whole month now. A month! Bucky's longest relationship so far lasted three. He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that this means that they may be past one third of their time together. He can’t think about that or he’ll get anxious. Who knows, perhaps they'll stay together forever. It was their one-month anniversary today - Gale said it was stupid to call it anniversary because the word literally comes from "year" in Latin, but he did accept Bucky's invitation to watch a movie with him in Bucky's room.

Since Gale is a total movie nerd, Bucky was looking forward to showing him Moneyball, but Gale pillowed his head on Bucky’s chest and fell asleep ten minutes in. The movie is at two thirds now, and Bucky's arm is on fire from being pinned so long.

He doesn’t care.

He turns his head to look at Gale the best he can, and he knows that all the pain is worth it a thousand times over. So close that his eyes can’t focus, he sees the slope of Gale's nose, his long, pale eyelashes and the soft, parted lips he spent an hour kissing yesterday. Bucky has never had anyone sleep on him before. It’s the most amazing, comforting feeling he has ever experienced. They breathe together. Gale's body is warm against his, and his arm draped across Bucky's torso fills Bucky's stomach with butterflies. God, he wants to reach out and stroke it. There are small moles sprinkled on it. There’s one on the heel of Gale's palm, and he’s aching to pull it to his mouth and kiss it.

Ah, why is he such a loser? Gale is right here in his arms, in his bed, and he’s still in pain because he wants more and he knows it's too much and his crush is so bad, so... ugh, it's fucking embarrassing. Bucky flushes hot and cold, then hot again. Happy in his misery.

He'd feel it if his arm was beyond saving, wouldn’t he? Or, technically, he wouldn’t feel it. That would be the sign, he thinks. Prickling pain is good.

Gale told him he had trouble sleeping lately. What's a better anniversary present than letting him rest as long as he needs it?

It's a bigger problem that Bucky can’t pay attention to the movie anymore. His senses are entirely consumed by Gale. The weight of him. His blond hair. His smell. Bucky takes a deeper breath, trying to memorize it. If it clings to his clothes, he’s gonna hide them from his mom and sleep with them tonight. Gale is like an angel in his sleep, and he just wants to - to squeeze him tight and never let him go. Man, he needs help...

Unable to resist any longer, he raises his - still alive - left hand and brushes Gale's right with a fingertip. When Gale’s breathing doesn’t change, Bucky smiles to himself and starts tracing the lines of Gale's bones with his index finger, then the divots of his wrist. He draws a J over the back of Gale's hand, then a heart. He’s just about to start a G when the skin shifts under his touch, and Gale’s inhale hitches.

The moment Gale's consciousness returns, he shoots up into a sitting position, lifting all the weight that has been crushing Bucky's arm at once. Bucky whines and sobs dramatically in pain, so much so, that after a moment, Gale starts snickering.

"What are you doing?"

"Pins and needles." Bucky gasps and sits up too, shaking his arm desperately.

Gale rubs his forehead like some middle-aged dad looking at his dumbass kid. Bucky grins in return. He doesn’t know why but he enjoys this. The sight of his smile makes Gale laugh again. His chin-length hair is flat on the side that rested on Bucky’s chest, and there's a blush creeping up his neck.

"Sorry for falling asleep." He says. Bucky can’t look away from the blue of his eyes. He’s hypnotized.

"You can always sleep here."

Gale casts his gaze down, then glances back up, a little shy. "Thanks, Bucky."

"I would've let them amputate it for you." Bucky tells him, holding out his arm.

Gale gives him a look of pained amusement. "Do I even want to know what you're talking about?"

"Brady showed me this thread -" Bucky launches into the story, happy to be able to talk to Gale again after more than an hour of silence. Gale listens to him attentively, and when he slips his hand into Bucky's, Bucky's suddenly aware that none of the nerves died in his palm. They're very much alive and pump giddiness into his veins. Moneyball draws to a climax in the background, forgotten.

~~~

2.

It's 4 p.m., and the bright-hot light of the sun blasts Bucky's face through the window of their apartment. He’s lying on his back in their bed, and Gale is asleep in his embrace, his head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky's arm tingles with pinprickles of pain. Volume so low it's almost muted, a movie drones on in their TV.

It's Moneyball again.

The irony isn’t lost on Bucky. Every single time he tried to watch this thing with Gale in the six years they’ve been together, Gale fell asleep. Every. Single. Time. He’s starting to think it’s some sort of message he's supposed to understand. John, stop making me watch baseball films and footage. Or, John, I have a Pavlovian reflex to nod off as soon as I hear the word baseball. He can hear these things in Gale's voice, although Gale would never say them, only Bucky would if he did an impression of Gale. It would make Gale laugh, so Bucky grins up at the ceiling just imagining it.

Fuck, his arm hurts like a bitch. And the sun feels like fingers made of light trying to pry his eyes open. His t-shirt is growing damp with sweat at the collar. Over his head, with some effort, he manages to grab Gale's actual pillow, the one Gale discarded in favour of Bucky's chest. Bucky puts it on his own face to block out the light and tries to fall asleep too.

This exam period has been a real clusterfuck. He was on coffee 24/7, would have walked around with an IV drip of the stuff if he could, just to push through. Gale simply reverted to his antisocial insomniac persona, and they decided by mutual silent agreement not to even try to touch each other until it was over.

It's done and dealt with now. Grades added in their college accounts, pat on the head received gracefully by Gale for being the only one who passed Applied Nuclear Physics on the first try. Obligatory Let's get wasted! party attended two days ago, call with Mom suffered through hungover yesterday. Now, there's nothing else on Bucky’s agenda but sleep for 48 hours straight. And making Gale watch Moneyball.

He's gonna make him do it before they get married, he swears.

Gale is so tired that he’s sleeping with his mouth open. Bucky can tell. It doesn’t take a genius, given the suspicious damp spot he feels on his shirt. He doesn’t mind a bit of drool. Or a lot. He’s gonna let Gale sleep as long as he needs.

But by God, his arm feels like it’s gonna skip the whole amputation step and just fall right off. He yawns against the pillow on his face and tries to take his mind off it.

He can smell Gale's scent on the fabric, he notes happily. Gale's left leg is tangled with his own, Gale's once icy foot tucked against his calf, now warmed by Bucky's heat. You have the coldest feet in the whole fucking galaxy, he informed Gale a few weeks ago, sitting on the couch with Gale's legs on his lap. Gale just pressed one of those feet to the tender skin of Bucky’s inner thigh, half inside his shorts, and told Bucky to guess the size of the Milky Way or lose a piece of clothing.

There's a reason why Bucky isn't the one planning to be an Astrophysicist...

He wonders what it’s going to be like once they graduate. His heart skips a beat. Does Gale hope for the same things he does? They've talked about marriage in the abstract, playing around with the fantasy of it for a bit, but it's not a fantasy anymore. It’s within reach, Bucky can feel it. And that suddenly makes his hopes so much harder to share - he’s scared of losing them all on a mistake.

But now that their exams are done, it can occupy all his thoughts again.

It's time. Anticipation thrums through his bones. He has been aching for it long enough. He’s got the ring. All he needs to do is ask.

Drifting between daydreams and reality, he reaches for Gale’s hand on his abdomen. He traces his knuckles with his thumb and lingers on his bare ring finger, lost in thought.

When Gale pulls in a sharper breath, he shifts his touch to Gale's wrist.

Gale groans and lifts his head away from the wet spot on Bucky’s shirt. Blood flows rapidly back to Bucky's arm and makes him grunt in pain. He tries to shake the pins and needles out of his limb, while Gale just climbs over him like some lazy cat and collapses on his other side. He takes up the same pose he had before, just mirrored, but upon noticing the pillow on Bucky’s head, he nuzzles his way closer until both of their faces are covered by it. They're pressed so close together that the tip of Bucky's nose brushes Gale's cheek.

"We've blinds." He mumbles.

Gale hums and falls back asleep. Bucky’s arm lies squished under him. Moneyball stays on until the end credits roll down.

[stylespresleyhearted]

something about gale cleven having been called pretty his whole life — was taunted for it at school, one of his dad’s friend would trace his mouth and his cheeks and tell him he was real pretty, like a little girl and it doesn’t get any easier as he’s older because even at base the men always do a double take when they first meet him and he’s heard a few major cleven’s gorgeous could take him and pretend he’s lana turner and bucky never verbally called him pretty until they got together later on but he would squish his cheeks and pinch his chin and even in the stalag when he’s being processed a few of the officers are making comments and leering at him and he feels violated in a way he thinks only a woman would understand, thinks maybe this is why the government didn’t let women enlist, cut to post-war bucky coming home one day and buck’s nervously waiting for him in a pretty church dress that cinches his tiny waist and lifts so prettily when he twirls, showing he has no underwear underneath, just his pretty, fat pink cock, more girth than length, and slightly darker balls hanging but bucky knows all this so he just brings him in and kisses him and says you’re my pretty boy aren’t you and buck just preens, so happy, because yes he is pretty but he is a boy and he can be both

[caustinen]

clegan drabble 💞📑⚖️

— secret relationship / lawyer au

Gale is deep in thought, staring at the papers in his hand with a slight frown. He doesn’t look up when someone knocks on his open office door — mainly because he can tell it’s Bucky without having to check. It’s evident by — well, everything, the rhythm of his steps when they approached, the way the air smells of smugness and his favorite cologne, and the firmness in which he knocked.

Fair enough, the footsteps continue further without waiting for invitation. Gale puffs out a breath, gesturing with his occupied hands, still not looking up. ”I know we’re supposed to be having dinner right now but I just got the new evidence on the Hausmann case this afternoon and- Mpfh!”

He’s very rudely interrupted by a pair of insistent lips pressing to his. Bucky isn’t bothered by him not being ready for it in the slightest, just pulls him close by the waist — which is not tiny by the way, no matter what Bucky keeps insisting every time he grabs it in bed — and bites into the lush lips with his own with a passion that suggests it would’ve been quite a while longer than a couple of hours since he last did it.

Gale surrenders to the antics like it was a natural disaster — why fight what is inevitable? — but when John snatches the papers from his hands and throws them carelessly to the table behind himself Gale makes a protesting sound and presses his newly freed hands to his chest in mild protest.

”John,” he whines and the smirk on Bucky’s face makes him want to punch him almost as much as he wants to kiss is again, ”what are you-” ”The damn new copying machine jammed again, and I figured the only way I wouldn’t kick it was if I could jam my tongue to the back of your throat in turn.”

Gale looks at him blankly. ”That’s. Not-” ”I would of course prefer to destroy it by having you over it so hard that they’d have to buy a new one. We could really help the whole office with one easy, selfless act, doll.”

Gale scoffs but he knows Bucky can tell he’s fighting a smile. The second kiss is more gentle but still quite too intense for a work environment. Bucky has one hand around Gale’s waist and the other on his cheek, Gale’s are resting lazily on his hips as they indulge in each other, breathe quietly in their lovers lips and enjoy the forbidden bliss of doing this at work — it feels more meaningful than it is, really, like they’re not only breaking the rules of their office but also the deeper system it is embedded to; pleasure at work fights with the ideals of capitalism themselves, Gale would probably muse if he wasn’t so damn busy not thinking about anything but how lovely it is to kiss someone you love. He pushes John gently towards the table behind him and exhales as he bites his lowelip when John pulls him against his spread legs.

He needs to catch his breath though, and that’s when he realizes they are not even as thinly veiled as he would have hoped. ”You left the door open,” he says, trying to push him farther so the pose wouldn’t be so damning, ”my secretary-” ”I sent him away,” John says, uninterested, and tries to pull Gale closer by his tie. The younger doesn’t budge, though, but rather lifts a hand to his own lips and then looks at the fingers as if he could from there see how swollen, how incriminating, the scene they make looks.

”Anyone could walk in.” John groans and bites the air between them, running his hands down Gale’s sides. ”Don’t get me more excited than I already am, damn, sweetheart.” ”Oh for fuck’s sake-”

Bucky kisses him again to silence him, and despite a weak fight Gale allows it well enough. After, when Bucky pulls away, he takes Gale’s face between his palms and makes him look into his eyes.

”Baby. Everyone else left like an hour ago. It’s 8pm. You work too much. Time to call it a night.”

Gale stares at him, blinking a couple of times before slowly checking his watch and realizing John is not joking. He really has been at the office for more than 13 hours. Oops.

”I…” ”Save it, cowboy,” Bucky says with the easiness that Gale so loves about him as he stands up straight and takes Gale’s jacket from the chair. ”I love how much you care. I also love that I get to be the one who tells you when you’re an idiot workaholic and need to go home for a bit so you can be an idiot workaholic tomorrow too.” Gale sighs dramatically but does put on the coat Bucky is holding up for him.

”Well,” he says sheepishly as Bucky drags him out of the office by the hand and stops to lock the door, ”I can’t cook anything nice to apologize at home but maybe I can think of something else to reward such patience for my crime of attempting to serve justice.”

Bucky chukles, leaning up from the lock and and taking Gale’s hand to his. ”That copying machine gets to live one more day then,” he says and kisses Gale’s knuckles. Gale tries to swat him but he dodges. They’re both giggling and Gale knows he must be too tired when he’s this careless at the office but to be fair it is late and everyone truly is home. He dares one more kiss when they wait for the elevator.

People at their office don’t need to know about his personal life. They don’t need to know he’s fucking his boss. They don’t need to know that it’s been going on for years but it wasn’t until yesterday when Bucky had taken him into a fancy restaurant and told him he loves him and wants to be more than friends who have sex sometimes (quite frequently lately) (and exclusively) but still, he wants to be even more than that. They don’t need to know Gale’s heart had bursted in the moment when his deepest, most hidden dream had come true, and butterflies don’t even begin to explain the sensations those words set in motion. They don’t need to know he and Bucky made love all night, that he fell asleep in Bucky’s bed, and that he plans on doing that again tonight.

He looks at Bucky and feels a fondness that’s almost like pain as it stretches over the places in him that used to be longing and achiching. He looks down shyly before raising his eyes again, kissing Bucky’s knuckles in turn.

”My place or yours?”

[anachilles]

chapt 8; whiskey neat, coffee black 🚒🥃

“Do you, uh…” Gale turned on his heel, facing Bucky again, his expression heavy-lidded in the half-light of the streetlights from outside spilling in through the window, and caught somewhere between caution and come hither. God, he was so beautiful it was unworldly. “Do you want something to drink, or…”. Bucky smirked, sensing his nerves. “Some guys just don’t know how to leave work at work, huh?” He shook his head, and Gale offered him a reluctant smile in return for the joke, but didn’t make any move further. Suddenly the air felt a little more breathable. But only a little. “I think you’ve poured me enough drinks at this point,” Bucky continued, making a choice. “Come here.”

-> read here on AO3! <-

.

@alienoresimagines ||

@joeyalohadream ||

@imasexypotato ||

@clevenhq ||

@neverfellforyou ||

@buckyclevens ||

@coastiewife465 ||

@shoequeeny ||

@onyxsboxes ||

@thru00thepages22 ||

@doctorstrangeherself

@shprka

@carnevol

[rangerelizabeth]

Here’s a little Halloween drabble set the next October of my if it feels like love (college au) universe for your Sunday night. No plot, just pure fluff. Hope you enjoy it!

You put a spell on me

Prompts: Horror movies, sleepovers, sharing a blanket

Word count: 2336

[AO3 Link]

Gale is traipsing down the stairs from his bedroom when he hears his favorite voice call out “I’m here!” followed by the sound of the front door falling shut. He’d been lying in bed flipping through a textbook for his Quantum Physics class when the familiar sound of John’s truck rumbling into the driveway had him throwing off his blankets to go greet his boyfriend.

By the time he arrives at the bottom of the staircase, John is already sprawled out on his back on one of the couches in the living room, chatting with Curt who’s seated across from him with his feet kicked up on the coffee table. Honestly, with the way John immediately walks into the house and makes himself at home every time he comes over, one would think it’s John that lives there instead of him, Gale thinks amusedly.

John looks up as Gale draws closer, greeting him with a soft smile. Gale returns the fond look before sprawling completely on top of John on the couch, pressing his face into his shoulder.

John lets out a chuckle. “Hey there.”

“Hi,” Gale returns contentedly, voice muffled by John’s sweatshirt.

“Happy Halloween,” John says, bringing a hand up to scratch absentmindedly at the back of Gale’s hair.

Gale hums at the touch. “Happy Halloween.”

“Yeah, yeah. Happy Halloween, you lovebirds,” Curt says exasperatedly from across the coffee table. “I’m going to get everything ready in the kitchen.”

Gale hears shuffling as Curt presumably rises from the couch to head into the kitchen to “get everything ready.” By that, Gale assumes he means pouring the candy they bought earlier in the week into a bowl in case trick-or-treaters stop by, popping a couple of bags of popcorn for their impending Halloween horror movie night, and most importantly, avoiding third wheeling with Gale and John until Ken and Rosie get home from the gym.

Gale shifts his head to look up at John, who he finds already smiling down at him. “How was your day?”

“The usual. Class, homework, another class,” John says with a shrug, jostling Gale a little where he still rests atop him. “I’m excited for tonight, though.”

Gale snorts. “‘Course you are, you love horror movies. Me on the other hand…”

John laughs, squeezing Gale a little tighter for a moment. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

Just then, Ken and Rosie burst through the front door, chatting animatedly and dressed in sweat-marked tank tops despite the chill of late October. Gale finally sits up from his place blanketing John to greet them. Then, Curt emerges from the kitchen to greet Ken with a brief kiss before sternly instructing the two of them to go shower so they can get started with their movie night.

As Ken and Rosie go to their respective rooms to clean up, Curt brings the snacks in from the kitchen while Gale and John gather every blanket and pillow in the house and deposit them onto the couches. They dim the lights and plop down onto the couches, Gale and John cozying up under a blanket together in the corner of the sofa they had been on earlier, while Curt stretches out across from them once more as they wait for the other two boys.

John and Curt gush enthusiastically about the lineup of horror movies that Curt and Ken apparently picked out for them, and Gale listens in disdain. He’s never been one for horror movies, flinching at all the jump scares and sleeping with the lights on afterwards every time he’s watched one.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Gale jumps a little, already feeling keyed up at the prospect of the night ahead. Pressed up against him, John feels the movement and chuckles softly. “You freaked out already, baby? We haven’t even started the movies yet.”

Gale huffs. “I told you I’m not a fan of horror movies,” he grumbles.

“Must be trick-or-treaters,” Curt says, hopping up from the couch. “I’ll get it.”

After Curt grabs the bowl of candy from the coffee table, making his way into the foyer, John turns to Gale, ducking his head a little to meet his eyes. “You know you don’t have to watch these if you really don’t want to, right?” John asks. “We can always beg off to your room and do something else.”

“Something else, huh?” Gale jokes suggestively, bumping his shoulder against John’s.

John laughs, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. I just meant—”

“I know,” Gale interrupts, smiling softly. “But I’ll be okay with the movies, I promise. I want to hang out with everyone.”

Finally, just as Curt returns from giving out candy, Ken joins them in the living room, now dressed in warmer clothes and his curly hair still damp from his shower. Rosie enters a few minutes later, settling into the other corner of the couch as Curt and Ken.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road,” Rosie exclaims, clapping his hands together anticipatorily.

“Which one should we start with?” Ken asks excitedly. “Chucky? Annabelle? Or maybe Insidious?”

As John, Curt, and Rosie jump in to offer their suggestions of which movie they should watch first from the lineup, Gale stays quiet. Curt apparently notices, because he shushes everyone else before asking, “Gale, what do you think?”

Gale blinks in uncertainty. “Um, whichever one is the least scary?”

Rosie laughs. “Chucky it is then, I think.”

They start the movie, Gale snuggling further into John’s side under their blanket, who wraps a strong arm around him. For a few short moments, he’s content with John’s body pressed warm against his, safety and security flooding his veins like they always do when he’s in the other boy’s presence.

But soon enough, he’s flinching at every little jump scare in the movie and squeezing his eyes shut whenever something gory happens on screen. John must be able to feel how tense he is, because he pries one of Gale’s hands from where he’s caught the blanket in a death grip, clasping it gently in his own. John’s other hand rubs soothing circles into Gale’s shoulder, and he relaxes the tiniest fraction.

Gale tilts his head up to look at John, who ducks down to press a quick kiss to his lips. A smile tugs at Gale’s mouth, and for a brief moment, he finds himself forgetting about the movie.

And yet, when he settles back down against John’s shoulder, eyes returning to the television, he’s met with the visual of someone getting murdered, blood and gore filling the screen. He cringes, turning to press his face into John’s chest, who holds him a little tighter.

Over the sound of the movie emanating loudly from the speakers, Gale hears someone laugh. He thinks it’s Rosie. Sure enough comes Rosie’s teasing voice. “You alright there, Gale?”

Gale shifts his head to glare across the room at the other boy. Next to Rosie, he sees Curt and Ken watching him in shared amusement too.

“Don’t worry, Gale. John will protect you from the big bad monsters, won’t you, John?” Curt ribs them playfully.

“Shut it, Curt,” John rebuts with an eye roll, though he’s clearly teasing too. Then, he drops his mouth right next to Gale’s ear to whisper, “I will, though.”

Gale’s heart flutters, and he decides to ignore the teasing from their friends, just pressing a grateful kiss against John’s shoulder instead.

The doorbell rings then, likely more trick-or-treaters, and Gale jumps at the opportunity to escape the horror movie for a couple of minutes. “I can get it this time.”

“Want us to pause the movie for you?” Ken asks.

Gale shakes his head. “Definitely not,” he says emphatically, which earns him a few chuckles from his friends.

“I’ll come with you,” John offers, so Gale grabs the candy bowl and they head for the front door together.

When Gale pulls open the door, they’re met by the sight of a smiling group of children dressed in elaborate costumes who simultaneously exclaim, “Trick or treat!” When he looks past them, he sees their parents waiting a little further down the driveway, clearly keeping their distance to let their kids have fun while still maintaining a close eye on them.

John crouches down to meet the kids’ level, and Gale watches fondly as he starts talking to one of them kindly. “Who do we have here? Spider-Man?”

The little boy dressed in blue and red nods enthusiastically before pretending to shoot a web at John from the plastic costume web-shooters on his wrists. Gale’s heart swells with affection as John plays along, falling backwards dramatically. “Whoah! You got me!”

The boy giggles happily as Gale begins dropping handfuls of candy into all of the children’s awaiting candy bags. Once they’ve all gotten their candy, each with a polite little “thank you,” they run excitedly down the driveway back to their parents. Gale shuts the door softly behind him, turning to face John who has since gotten to his feet.

His thoughts must be written all over his face, because John tilts his head curiously. “What?”

“I love you,” Gale says honestly. “You were so good with them. That was adorable.”

John smiles softly, tugging him closer by the hand. “I love you too.”

Gale lets his forehead drop gently against John’s as he looks into the other boy’s expressive, dark blue eyes, before tilting his chin up to meet John’s lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss. They stay there for a moment, not even the faint sounds of the television and their friends chatter coming from the living room interrupting their little bubble, instead just remaining entirely wrapped up in one another.

Finally they part, smiling fondly at one another until John breaks the comfortable silence. “I can't wait for the day when we greet trick-or-treaters at a house of our own,” he confesses quietly.

Gale’s stomach swoops with happy butterflies. Though they’ve been together for almost a year now and have even gone so far as talking about marriage before, it never fails to put Gale on cloud nine whenever John mentions their future together.

“That could be us, standing at the end of the driveway together one day, too,” Gale says shyly.

“You mean like… taking our kids trick-or-treating?” John asks slowly.

The questioning tone in John’s voice makes Gale suddenly wish he could rewind time and undo his words. Neither of them have mentioned kids before, and he’s not sure that bringing it up for the first time on Halloween while they’re supposed to be hanging out with their friends was the most logical move.

He can feel the heat creeping onto his cheeks in nervousness and embarrassment, but there’s really nothing to be done besides owning up to his words, so he gives a small nod. For a moment, John just stares at him in wonder.

“Yeah, that sounds even better than my plan,” he finally breathes out, as if in mild disbelief, before kissing Gale soundly.

When they finally return to the living room—lips kiss-reddened and swollen, with happy grins painting both of their faces—they pointedly ignore the jests from their friends about what took them so long, in favor of settling back under their fluffy blanket on the couch.

Gale notices that they’ve moved on to the next movie, Annabelle or Insidious or something like that, but finds that he’s still riding the high of his and John’s conversation in the foyer, far too happy to feel as scared as he did before. He still flinches a little at a couple of the jump scares, but doesn’t have to hide away in John’s chest anymore just to avoid looking at the television screen.

Two more movies, a whole lot of popcorn, and some Halloween cookies courtesy of Ken’s surprisingly good baking skills later, they all decide to call it a night. Gale is thankful that it’s a Friday, with none of them having to worry about getting up early for classes the next day, as he tugs John upstairs with him to his bedroom.

Once ready for bed, they cuddle in close together under Gale’s covers, the room blanketed in darkness. Gale’s head is pillowed on John’s chest, with both of the other boy’s arms wrapped snugly around his shoulders. He’s immensely comfortable, yet finds he can’t drift off to sleep.

Despite his nerves easing about the horror movies after greeting the trick-or-treaters downstairs, it suddenly feels like they’ve returned in full force. Every little noise in the quiet of the room sets his hair standing on end. There’s a thump from downstairs, and it’s likely just Curt or Ken moving around, but Gale startles at the sudden noise anyway.

“You okay?” John murmurs sleepily, eyes still closed. If Gale had to guess, the other boy had almost been asleep before his flinch pulled him from his dozing.

Gale bites his lip in contemplation before deciding to fess up, pride be damned. “I guess I’m still just a little freaked out from those movies.”

John blinks his eyes open slowly, squinting at Gale through the darkness. “Want me to check the closet for ghosts before we go to sleep?” he teases.

Gale rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Or how about under the bed?”

“I’ll kick you out if you keep that up,” Gale threatens.

Despite his feigned annoyance at the teasing, it’s a clear attempt on John’s part to lighten the mood and get Gale’s mind off the movies, and for that, he’s extremely grateful.

“Really though, are you okay?” John asks, his tone serious now and concern evident in his eyes.

Gale nods against John’s chest. “Yeah, I’m okay. As long as you’re here.”

John’s arms tighten around him, and Gale feels a feather-light kiss placed on the top of his head. He lets his eyes fall shut, love and contentment flooding every inch of his body, leaving no room for any residual fear.

“I’m here,” John says softly. “I’ll always be here.”

[brotherwtf]

I'm thinking about firefighter John and police detective Gale and just vibrating

they're assigned to work an arson case together and are just being absolutely insufferable with each other, I'm thinking Brooklyn 99 levels of insufferable-ness between the cops and firefighters

Gale calls John a meathead who dives headfirst into danger, and John calls Gale a pig quite often (Gale almost shocked him in the jaw the first time it happened)

they stand on the crime scene with their hands on their hips mocking each other every day, all while trying to do their jobs over the sound of the others jeering

Gale eventually finds a lead and John finds a possible suspect and they start respecting each other the slightest bit more and actually start cooperating

what if John ends up getting shot or smth during a pursuit and Gale can't forgive himself for getting John hurt

he stays at John's bedside the entire time he's recovering, and just sort of brushes it off when John, drugged up and woozy, calls Gale the most beautiful man alive

He manages to sneak out of the hospital (bcs he's a giant dummy) and somehow tracks down Gale when he had left after a tip of where their suspect was

Gale is chasing their perp, but losing ground quickly. He can't lose the guy; he and John worked so hard on the case just for him to slip through his fingers. After John somehow found him, he intercepts the perp and tackles him to the ground, allowing Gale to cuff him

After they bring him in, John asks Gale to go on a date and Gale agrees, only as long as John goes back to the damn hospital and is checked out to make sure he's okay

they're so stupid and in love I hate them (affectionate)

lmk if y'all have anymore hcs for this!

[middlingmay]

Because I can't get That Ol' Devil Called Love out my head today, I'm dumping some headcanons / lore on you:

John only became really aware of Gale in his late teens, once he worked through the worst of his feelings after his dad left.

Between that and throwing himself into setting up the 100th Garage, John didn't really have a crisis about his sexuality. He had other things to worry about, then quickly didn't have the time.

He did worry about the 100th's reactions. When he was practicing dangerous sex habits by sleeping with anyone and everyone drunk out of his mind, Curt tried to scope out whoever Bucky was leaving with. Brady took it upon himself a few times to follow them home so they knew where John was, and Crank would go get him in the morning.

Benny said he knew ever since John had a crush on his cousin Lennie when they were 14. John did not know that was a crush at the time, but looking back? Oh yes.

John only initially knows Gale as the pastor's kid, but he thinks he's almost untouchably, coldly beautiful the first time he sees him, so doesn't think anything about pursuing him.

Marge really did love Gale romantically. She wanted their relationship to work and was excited the first time they slept together. She thought Gale wanted to be with her just as much. But, when he broke down after and admitted he was gay, he broke her heart. She felt used and unloved and still struggles with it. Gale never noticed she felt that way. She hasn't been in a relationship since, until she met Curt.

Helen agreed to be John's beard for a while because rumours were reaching the wrong people in the racing scene. The kind of people who would have done something about it of they knew a queer person was riding with them.

Hambone too, has run interference between John and the Stalag Sixes more times than he can count. He's made up at least half a dozen girlfriends and told wild tales of John's "prowess".

Gale has a dream about John and Smokey that he doesn't admit to for years! Although the boys are monogamous in this universe, John loves to tease him about it.

The Pinks all carry heavy tools in their cars for self-defence. Sandra has been arrested for getting into fights and defending herself.

The Red Tails first formed mostly as a way to protect drivers from racist fuckbags who wanted their town to be a Sundown Town, meaning no POC drivers out after dark. The older car clubs like the B-17s and the Abbotts backed the Red Tails up, and hardly anyone bothers them on the road. There is still a strong vein of racism in the town though, mostly passive-aggressive and institutional.

Pastor Cleven doesn't fuel this, but he doesn't like the competition from the preacher and his church who serve those communities.

Is there anything else you want to know about the lore for this fic? Lemme know!

[umika]

It gives me the vibe that their friends figured out that they were seeing each other.

They have kinda been awkward and shy.

John: Well…

Gale just smiles shyly

[hogans-heroes]

Some sort of modern au blah blah just Gale not being able to stay off that lap.

Scruffy biker Gale would vibe with this Bucky look so hard. Maybe Bucky is a model doing some sort of industrial theme photoshoot and one of the company scouts comes across Gale with his biker group and scouts him on the spot for this shoot. He’s not a pro model just shows up looking like “that” and oops he and Bucky can’t keep their eyes (and hands) off each other.

Thanks @avonne-writes for demanding I post this lol, most of the brainstorms never leave the dms 😅

EDIT addition!: Maybe for the shoot the director actually tells Gale to get on Bucky’s lap and they’re both understandably struggling to focus on the task. Eventually Bucky can’t help himself and puts his hands on Gale’s waist and they both freeze while the photographer is like “oh nice they’re improvising good job guys” meanwhile Bucky’s brain is completely blank other than how good Gale’s waist feels in his hands.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - "Find Your Line"

Chronologically, this part comes before "The Paris Date." Catch up via this Masterpost if you're new here

AU Summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: A deep dive into Gale's past. I totally didn't almost make myself cry writing this nope nope nope. Went from having no idea what I was doing with this installment to having it get away from me a bit.

TW for some mentions of abuse in Gale's past.

---

US Equestrian has launched several initiatives going into the Paris Olympics to increase interest in the sport, especially in younger generations. So when Gale, Benny, and Marge were all selected to the eventing and jumping teams, of course they capitalized on having young, attractive, charismatic riders representing USET. Gale has slowly gotten used to the attention he’s garnered in the horse world, but it came as a shock when he found himself being shoved into major newspaper interviews and morning shows ahead of the Games. 

He never really wanted any of that. He didn’t grow up with daydreams of grandeur. Really, he grew up unsure he was ever going to make it anywhere at all. His only daydreams were about finding something better, whatever that may be. He didn’t ask to be thrust into the public eye or fawned over by young fans. He won’t complain too much, because he loves what he does and he's grateful every day for where he’s found himself. 

But if you ask him, he’d rather skip the morning interviews in favor of getting an early start at the barn. That’s when he likes it the most, when it’s quiet. No one but the earliest grooms rustling about, checking on the horses and prepping morning feed. Nothing but the birds in the rafters and a breeze coming through the doors, the new morning sun stretching lazily down the aisle way. 

The stables in the morning have always been Gale’s safe place. Ever since he was a child, it was his escape. It didn’t matter what happened within the walls of their little Wyoming farmhouse. In the morning, he could slip away into the old barn standing vigil behind their home, and he could hide among the horses, the angels watching over him. He’d talk to them like friends, run his hand down their soft noses and feel their hot breath puffing against his skin. 

He took solace in methodically checking each of them over every day. He could breathe in the sweet scent of hay and horse without feeling the need to look over his shoulder. He’d wrap his arms around their necks and bury his face in their manes. Their ears would twitch back and forth, and they’d playfully nuzzle his hands while he spilled all of his secrets and fears. They let him hug them as tight as he needed to, and they happily absorbed every tear, every muffled sob. They were his protectors, and his greatest confidants.

When he was older, the horses granted him access to the wilderness beyond their homestead, sometimes even beyond the extensive reaches of their entire ranch. He’d pack a saddle bag and choose one of them to saddle up, sometimes the moment the sun rose, and he’d spend hours out in the countryside. He would disappear from the rest of his life, letting his horse carry the weight of the tiny, fragile world bearing down on his shoulders. He’d ride until he ran out of places to go, until he couldn’t feel anything but the beautiful universe breathing life back into his tired soul. 

Even now, as an international eventer, he has days where the training isn’t speaking to him the same way. Days when he’ll revisit his childhood in the mountains, saddle up one of his horses and take them out on the trails instead of riding in the arena. Days when no one knows where Gale Cleven went, because he expressly does not want to be found. He still has days where he’d like nothing more than to gallop bareback through a field, a cowboy hat shielding his face from the hot sun. Nothing but him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet, a breath of fresh air that reminds him of why he’s here.

Horses have always been his safety, no matter the discipline or the breed or where on this Earth he lives. The barn has always welcomed him into its arms, sheltering him when there was nowhere else. 

But growing up, it always had to start in the morning. 

Gale learned that the hard way, as he learned so many things growing up under his father’s heavy hand. He’ll never forget the day his dad stormed into the barn before sunrise, looking for his ‘disobedient son.’ Gale, half asleep, cowered in the corner of one of the stalls, hay stuck in his unruly hair and clinging to his pajamas. The previous evening had been bad, after Dad came home drunk, looking for a fight. The bruises bloomed quickly on Gale’s arms and chest, and he went to the only safe place he knew. He was eight years old. 

But his dad found him in that stall, hiding behind his favorite little quarter horse mare, and he dragged Gale out by the neck. Angry at his son for wasting a perfectly good bed, choosing instead to sleep in a barn just to avoid him, he decided the bruises he’d administered eight hours before were no longer enough. “Ungrateful little shit,” he’d snarled as he shoved Gale to the ground. Gale remembers the silent tears on his own face and how they felt sticky as they mixed with the dirt on his cheeks; he’d learned not to cry out loud. He remembers the horses kicking at the walls and shrieking in the night, unable to protect him. 

Gale’s father had always been at his most sane around the farm animals, almost a man that his son could look up to. Almost. But that night, not even the barn could keep the little boy safe. He never went out there at night again. 

The only thing Gale is grateful to have inherited from his father is a love of horses. Ironically, his dad was the one to plop him in a saddle and teach him how to hold the reins in the first place. He taught him how to take care of these beautiful animals, even if he had no idea how to take care of a son. He taught Gale how to communicate with them, how to appreciate them and respect them. He taught him how to ride, how to rope, how to get back up no matter how many times he fell. They’d work the ranch together, side by side on the good days. Up at dawn and home at dusk, their legs sore by the end of the day from too much time in the saddle, arms tired from fixing fence or roping cattle, faces bronzed from the sun. His dad never even minded when Gale took a horse and disappeared into the wilderness, because “sometimes a man just needs to be alone in the mountains.” That was the language he spoke. The only language he spoke.

Gale’s dad unwittingly gave him his only ticket out, and it was the only thing they ever shared. It was the only time Gale ever felt close to him. Until his mom introduced him to English riding when he was 13 years old, dressage and jumping both. He fell in love with it immediately. Maybe it was the challenge, the beauty, the grace. Maybe he knew his father wouldn’t like it. Maybe he just wanted to be close to his mama.

“Find your line,” she would tell him, almost every time she watched him ride. Choosing the right line for a jump is critical, both in cross country and show jumping. If you come at an obstacle or combination wrong, it can set you up wrong for the next. He was never sure, though, if she was talking about the jumps, or about life.

His dad never supported his interest in dressage. Or eventing. Or English riding in general. He thought it was soft, prissy, feminine. He never seemed to mind Gale’s mom doing it. At least, he never said anything about it. But he said he raised his boy to be tougher than that. He taught him to rope cattle and ride in the mountains of the west, like a man (all things he continued to do until he left for college, mind you). He raised him to take over the ranch, like there was no other reason to bring a son into this world. He taught him how to rough it in the country. Not to prance around a ring in a cushy saddle and show coat with braids in his horse’s mane. 

His father was ignorant. Gale knows that, now. But he long ago internalized the anger and the fear. He long ago came to terms with being a disappointment of a son. Too quiet, too shy, too smart, too stubborn. Too skinny, too sensitive, too pretty, too needy. Too much of a mama’s boy. Too little like his dad. Too ungrateful. Too opinionated. Too sassy. Too queer. 

His dad always suspected Gale was gay, and he tried to beat that out of him. He tried to beat it all out of him. 

Gale did it all, anyways. 

The beatings got worse the older he got, the more Gale’s father realized that his son would never be the man he wanted him to be. By the time he was eighteen, there was no use hiding it. His dad asked him over dinner one night, right after he graduated from high school, why he didn’t ask Marge to marry him already. That’s what everyone expected him to do, even though he and Marge had called it off nearly six months before, when Marge realized she wasn’t what Gale wanted. He tried to tell his dad that they were just friends now, but his dad just pushed and pushed and pushed.

“She’s a lovely young lady… a shame to let her go… get your head on straight, boy… why the hell not?”

The rage boiled over. Maybe it was years of trying to keep his head down, trying not to talk back, trying to save himself even though it never even mattered. Or maybe it was because Gale knew he was leaving soon anyways. Might as well get it all out there. Might as well give it one last go. Why the hell not. He slammed his fork down, rattling the whole table. His mama knew what he was gonna say before he even opened his mouth, and she shook her head. He didn’t listen. “Because I don’t like girls!” he yelled. “I’m fuckin’ gay, dad! Okay! I’m gay. I’ve always been gay.”

That night was the only time his dad ever managed to put him in the hospital. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a fractured wrist.

It broke his mama’s heart, but Gale spent the rest of the summer with Marge’s family, his best friend’s family, letting himself heal. And in the fall, the two of them got the hell out of Wyoming, headed for college on the east coast. He never said goodbye to his father. 

For the first time, Gale thought he knew what Mama meant when she told him to find his line. He felt free in a way he’d only ever experienced alone in the mountains. Free to find his own path, his own life, his own self. He stumbled here and there, but he found his own stride. He worked his way through school on horse farms, rode for the university eventing team, and caught the attention of some well-known local trainers. With an unbreakable country-boy spirit and the delicate grace and patience of a well-trained dressage rider, he could do just about anything. Take on any horse they threw at him. Find the kindness in even the wildest prospects. He became known for his ability to connect with the horses, and for his natural talent in the saddle. People noticed. Neil Harding noticed, took him in, gave him a chance to thrive for the first time in his life. And Gale made damn sure he gave it his all.

Now here he is, standing in front of his horse’s stall in Paris. He wonders, if his dad were still around, if any part of him would be proud. He wonders if he’d finally understand. Gale thinks not. 

“Hey there, baby girl.”

He walks into Whiskey’s stall, and she lifts her head in greeting, dropping grain all over the front of his shirt. Another day, another stain. He laughs and strokes the side of her face as she turns her attention back to her feed bucket. Gale used to get angry at himself for allowing thoughts of his father to intrude on this safe space he’d carved for himself in the world. But he’s older now. He’ll never forgive what his dad did to him; he’ll never forgive him for any of it. Not for a single blow or a single word. But it’s still a part of the story that landed him right here, and he wouldn’t trade this for anything. 

Sometimes he still imagines his father’s voice, telling him how to pick a hoof or check for lameness or read a horse by the way they twitch their ears and angle their head. “She’ll tell you everything you need to know, if you know how to listen.” 

Sometimes he feels those broad, callused hands guiding his own to feel for swelling or heat in an injured leg. And sometimes he feels those hands grabbing him roughly by the neck or pounding bruises into his ribs. Sometimes he hears that voice telling him what a disappointment he is, growling at him to stop bein’ so stubborn, stop bein’ such a goddamn fag, stop cryin’, stop talkin’, don’t you dare give me that attitude.

Gale smiles wryly at Whiskey as he smooths his hand along her back, listening to the swish of her tail and the sounds of her munching her grain. His perfect, dedicated, sassy young mare, who Harding had given him the chance to train so many years ago. “Such disappointments,” he says sarcastically. There’s a giant Olympic ribbon on the outside of Whiskey’s stall door that says otherwise. 

Gale takes his time running his hands along Whiskey’s legs, feeling for anything abnormal. Kenny will do all of this over again when Gale leaves to walk the jump course. But personally ensuring his horse’s well-being is a habit from his childhood that he’ll never let go of. 

He steps back, taking everything in. He’s at the Olympics, competing for the United States on a beautiful mare that he trained from the ground up. He’s the new face of the US Equestrian Team, and he’s damn proud of himself. He’s found himself a new family. He’s found himself a better life. Hell, he’s even found himself… John. Whatever John is to him.

He looks at Whiskey, then up at the rafters above. Sunshine is streaming in, and the air smells like hay, just like the little barn he grew up spending his days in. All these years, and tucked away in his horse’s stall is still the greatest sanctuary he’s ever found for himself. He smiles at the same time he feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. For once, instead of his father’s voice, he hears his mama’s: “Find your line, Gale. You can be incredible. You already are.”

–

“You’re incredible!” That’s what Bucky will exclaim when he finds Gale after his ride that afternoon, dragging him into a tight hug. The words will hit like a ton of bricks, and Gale will have to keep himself from crying tears of joy and relief, and also of grief for the little boy he’d been, who overcame so much to get here. Bucky will never know what those words mean to him, unless Gale one day chooses to tell him.

Before that, though, they have a medal to win. Gale is the rising star of US Equestrian, but seeing as he’s only in his twenties, not everyone believes he can do this. Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof are going to prove them wrong.

They’re going to prove his father wrong. 

The stands are packed, and a sea of red, white, and blue gets to their feet and cheers as they enter the arena. It’s filled with colorful jumps, all themed after France’s culture and history. A small Eiffel Tower at the side of an oxer here, a vertical made to look like the Arc de Triomphe there, countless jump poles painted in the colors of the French flag. The water jump is meant to look like the Grand Canal, with a miniature of Versailles at one end – somewhat ironic, since the arena is in front of Versailles itself. The jumps are arranged differently today than they were for the team event yesterday. Gale walked the course this morning, and he’s running through it in his head.

“For the United States, Gale Cleven and Hundred Proof.” When the announcer calls their names, Gale canters Whiskey in a small circle in the center of the arena. Time starts… now.

It takes them a moment to find their rhythm, but they manage the first few combinations without a hitch, Gale carefully counting their strides between each. They have a 90 degree turn coming up between one vertical and the water jump. During team finals, the mare didn’t get enough air time and splashed her back hoof into the water, earning them a penalty. Gale guides her through a wider turn today, even if it costs them a few tenths of a second, and he urges her to open up a couple of strides earlier. He feels her reach with everything she has, her hooves digging into the sandy footing before she takes off. She lands easily, just barely on the other side of the water, and they’re clear.

“Don’t turn her too tight. Let her have her head when she asks. Girl’s got scope, she’ll take care of you.” Harding’s words ring in his head. As one of the team USA coaches and the first big name to give Gale a chance, he’s been the greatest key player in getting them here today. He’s carefully guided Gale through the good and the bad, and he knows the habits and capabilities of horse and rider both.

Sure enough, there’s a hairpin turn from one jump to the next, and Gale takes it too tight. He can’t help but wince as Whiskey loses her rhythm just as they’re lining up for the next jump, having to slow down with a single trot step breaking their stride before he picks her back up. He’s worried he’s screwed them over, but Whiskey adjusts her stride length and pulls at the reins, asking for her head. He gives her the space and pushes her on, trusting her to get them through this. She does it, sailing over the vertical without so much as clipping the pole.

Find your line.

A triple combination is all that’s left, and they take it by storm. As they land on the other side, Gale covers his mouth with one hand, overcome with emotion, before raising his fist in the air. He looks at the time on the giant clock over the arena entrance. 81 seconds – three seconds under the optimum time – and no penalties. The roar of the crowd makes him feel like he’s going in slow motion, and he knows they know. He and Whiskey are going home with an individual medal.

You can be incredible. You already are.

–

There’s a pretty new ribbon hanging outside Whiskey’s stall, right next to the first. Nine years old, and she’s already a superstar. All she wants, though, are the treats in Gale’s pocket. He obliges happily. 

Alone in the stall save for the horse, Bucky doesn’t bother tamping down the urge to kiss Gale silly. He pulls him close, presses their lips together, and cards his fingers through sweat-drenched hair. Gale makes a huffing noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan, and Bucky can feel him smiling against his lips. The sweetness of it makes Bucky’s heart stutter all funny, makes his whole body go weak with a feeling he increasingly thinks might be akin to love, or something like it. He’s not sure he would know. 

It’s kind of funny: sometimes, over time, the words you find yourself using to describe someone pop up like clues in a treasure hunt. You don’t even notice at first, but slowly they come together, pieces of a puzzle, leading you towards one bigger picture – you love this person. You love them more than anything. 

When Bucky first met Gale, he thought he was beautiful. Hot. Attractive. Handsome.

And then there was cute, angelic, adorable.

Caring, loving, dedicated, driven, smart, ambitious, strong.

Perfect.

Today, there’s “sweet.”

The more Bucky gets to know Gale, the more he wants to know. He wants to know everything. He wants to breathe Gale in and hold him close and never let go and give him everything he’s ever wanted.

After Bucky’s sister died, he spent years pushing the idea of love away, being too scared to let someone get close to him for fear of feeling pain like that again. Now, though, he feels his resolve breaking bit by bit, cracks forming every time Gale sends a barely-there smile his way, or seeks him out in a crowd, or reaches for his hand. Bucky doesn’t know if he’s ready for it, but the world doesn’t care. The world sent Gale Cleven to him like some sort of divine prophecy telling him “it’s time to let go,” and Bucky thinks maybe, just maybe, he wants to listen. He wants to relearn what it is to love someone. He wants to feel it. He wants it so bad. 

But it scares him too much. 

So he focuses on the now, brushing the existential crisis aside in favor of what he does know: he has a beautiful man right here in his arms. Everything else can wait. He matches Gale’s smile, their noses bumping as Bucky grips Gale’s waist. “You look so good in these, you know that?” 

Gale glances down at himself. He can’t say if his cheeks are warm from the heat or from something else. He removed his coat already, leaving him, once again, in a sweat-soaked white shirt tucked neatly into white riding pants that perfectly outline his legs and ass, a black belt calling attention to his waist. “Do I?”

Bucky nods and rests his forehead against Gale’s as he tugs him even closer, if that’s possible. “So fuckin’ good, Buck.”

Yeah, Gale is definitely blushing now. Point, Bucky. 

“You’d look even better without them.”

Gale laughs awkwardly, tiredly, even as he finds his hands wandering up Bucky’s sides, coming to rest on his muscular back. “There’s nothin’ sexy about tryin’ to peel off skin tight riding pants when I’m drenched in sweat.”

“Sounds like a challenge.”

“Trust me, not one you wanna take on.”

“Try me.”

“I smell like shit.”

“I didn’t care before, I don’t care now.”

Gale bites his lip and shakes his head. He feels his general state of awareness fading in and out. One second, he’s all too conscious of the fact that they’re in a fancy-ass Parisian barn swarming with grooms and riders, nothing but a stall and a conveniently placed, very tall horse blocking anyone else’s view. The next, he’s filled with want and longing as Bucky nips playfully at his neck. And yet the next, the high of his Olympic win is giving way to exhaustion, fatigue falling over him in waves, his back aching. There’s a sharp pain every time he breathes too deeply. He feels like he can barely keep his eyes open, and Bucky feels so solid and warm, his strong hands perhaps the only thing keeping Gale on his feet. 

When Gale barely reacts to his teasing words, Bucky pulls away to look at him and tilts his head. The newest Olympic silver medalist blinks tiredly and raises an eyebrow in question. Bucky smiles, reaching a hand up to stroke the sweaty hair back away from Gale’s face. Then he puts his hand on the back of Gale’s head once again and urges him to rest against his shoulder. Gale sighs, letting himself relax, and Bucky feels that heart-stuttering, stomach-fluttering, suspiciously love-like feeling again. 

Marge told him, the other day, that Gale has never been good at letting others take care of him. Too stubborn and independent for his own good.

And yet here he is, letting his guard down. Letting Bucky take his weight. Letting Bucky take care of him. 

“Let’s get back to the village,” Bucky says, and Gale nods against his shoulder.

Back in Gale’s bedroom, Bucky waits for him to shower. Gale had been right: even not sweaty, breeches seemed like a bitch to get off, and Bucky is kind of glad Gale didn’t let him help with that. He neatly folds the discarded riding clothes, even though he’s sure they’re heading straight for one of the laundry facilities in the Village. Then finding himself with nothing to do but idly scroll his phone, he can’t help but glance around the bare-bones room. It’s just like his own, plain and minimal. But he notices a book on Gale’s bedside table, the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from the middle. After a few moments, curiosity wins out and Bucky grabs the book, flipping it open. 

Tucked between well-worn pages, he finds an old, faded photograph, the flimsy corners creased with white from a lifetime of being kept close. In the picture, there’s a young boy with shaggy blonde hair and a bright smile. He’s sitting on top of an unimpressed-looking pony, a blue ribbon hooked to the bridle. A beautiful woman stands beside them, her hand reaching up to press against the boy’s back. She’s laughing, her smile a mirror image of the one Bucky has seen on Gale’s face time and again, a mirror image of this little boy’s. Bucky flips over the picture. There’s four words scrawled across the back in loopy, feminine handwriting: “Find your line. -Mama.”

When he hears the shower stop running, he carefully replaces the picture and the book back on the nightstand. Moments later, Gale walks out of the bathroom, completely naked and rubbing a towel over his hair until he looks like a disheveled hedgehog. Bucky could grab him by the waist, make him drop that towel and put his hands on him instead, but he doesn’t. He just watches as Gale, wincing, leans over to grab some sweatpants from the drawers by his bed.

Bucky frowns as Gale pulls the pants up, letting them rest low on his hips in a way that would make Bucky’s mouth go dry if he weren’t concerned about something else. “Your back okay?”

Gale shrugs and goes about combing his fingers through his hair, trying halfheartedly to tame it.

“Buck.”

“Hurts a bit,” Gale mutters. He takes a deep breath in as he sits down on the edge of the bed, biting back a groan. “...More than a bit.”

Bucky’s frown deepens as he studies Gale closely, watching the way the other man scrunches his nose in discomfort and tries to arch his back forward in a noncommittal stretch. “Alright, lay down.” 

Gale furrows his brow, starting to shake his head, but Bucky won’t take no for an answer. He turns and motions to the rest of the bed behind them. “You heard me. On your front.”

Skeptically, Gale does as he’s told, settling on his stomach with his cheek pressed against his pillow. He tenses when he feels Bucky straddling him, knees planted firmly on either side of his waist. Then there’s warm, strong hands on his bare skin, still dotted with drops of water, and he lets himself melt into the mattress.

“Bet these beds aren’t so great for back pain, huh?” Bucky asks as he starts carefully pressing his thumbs into the absurdly tight muscles on either side of Gale’s spine.

“Mmm.” That’s all Gale can manage as he bites his lip, trying to keep from flinching when the pressure hurts so bad and yet feels so good at the same time. He moans quietly when Bucky finds that one specific knot in his mid-back, the one that twinges every single time he takes a deep breath and gets worse when he has to do too much jumping for too many days in a row.

Bucky hones in on that spot, trying to work the tension out in the most amazingly unbearable way, making Gale gasp and clench his teeth. “Told you I’d return the favor,” Bucky says.

Gale tries to nod, but he finds he can’t. He doesn’t say anything, just focuses on the way Bucky’s hands work their way up and down his back, somehow finding every troublesome spot – which is everywhere, really. Gale sometimes jokes that his back is practically made of scar tissue after everything it’s been through, and Bucky isn’t sure he’d disagree. He thought he was tight, but he wonders how Gale even functions in this condition, much less rides horses at peak performance nearly every day. Nearly every muscle from his neck to the base of his spine is laced with tension.

“Horses make you tough,” Gale mumbles, like he can read Bucky’s mind. “Don’t usually notice the pain ‘til I’m home.”

Bucky knows a little something about that. He shifts his attention to the inward curve of Gale’s lower back, where the muscles often take the most daily strain. He works his thumbs up and down, in and out, finding nothing but knots that refuse to let go without a good fight. “Have you been this tight all week?”

Gale shrugs but doesn’t say a word. He’s struggling to keep his eyes open, so he stops trying. Bucky shakes his head. “Coulda said somethin’.” If he’d known, he would’ve done this sooner. Hell, he would’ve done it every night if that’s what Gale needed. 

About a minute later, though, he notices that Gale’s breaths have become deeper and more measured, no longer hitching when Bucky hits a new sore spot. Bucky stops massaging, hoping he’s at least made a dent in the tension that Gale has been carting around, and he presses his hands flat against Gale’s back. He leans forward so he can see the other man’s face, and he finds that his eyes are peacefully closed, his lips parted with one hand curled in a fist under his chin. Blonde hair, a little dark and not quite dry, falls messily over his forehead. 

A literal fucking angel. That’s what he’d told Curt after he first met Gale on their flight into Paris, but the description has just taken on new meaning. The pure, unfiltered adoration swelling in Bucky’s chest as he watches Gale drift off will be the death of him.

“Buck?” He says softly. “You still with me?” He reaches a hand up and strokes his still-damp hair. 

Gale’s eyes flutter open at the warm cadence of Bucky’s voice. Bucky’s hand stills, but Gale tilts his head up, trying vaguely to press into the touch. Bucky obediently resumes petting his hair. 

Satisfied, the corner of Gale’s mouth curves up in a small, unguarded smile, but he hides it against his fist. 

He’s an Olympian. He’s an Olympic medalist. A beautiful, wonderful, perfectly lovely guy (who Gale is falling a little in love with) is giving him a massage in his bedroom at the Paris Olympics. If he wasn’t so worn out, he’d tell Bucky to pinch him, sure he has to be dreaming. A tired little laugh bubbles out of him before he lets his eyes close again.

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head in amusement and confusion. “What?”

Gale’s answer doesn’t really clear anything up, but it’s the only thing Bucky can get out of him before he’s sound asleep, that precious smile still teasing at his lips.

“I found my line.”

…

…

Next part

[avonne-writes]

Gale’s oral fixation + John’s big thighs 😍❤️‍🔥

Criminally hot 🔥 I had to write a drabble. This is set in my modern AU where they're postgrad students and best friends with benefits already in love with each other but scared to confess it.

Exam papers flutter on the desk of Gale's supervisor as the fragrant spring breeze swirls in through the open window. The Astrophysics department's small office smells like old bookshelves, leather and coffee, more comforting than the Business School's sterile ultramodern building. But John isn't here to examine the decor - he came to entertain Gale because he thought it was unfair that he had to be holed up inside, grading papers when the weather was so nice.

That, and because John wanted to kiss him.

It's all he can think about lately. His best friend's lips, their plump cushion under his own, the taste of them, soft skin between John's teeth. Given their amazing, perfect, completely causal agreement that they'd help each other out quick and easy if needed, he didn’t have any hangups about it. But he did think it would be weird to just ask to make out without an end goal, so he pretended to be horny as an excuse, even though he wasn't.

He just didn't count on Gale being the one who'd be too turned on to resist a quickie right where they could be caught anytime.

"Jesus Christ, Buck." John hisses in the rolling chair of Gale's supervisor, his hips twitching to thrust into Gale's hand. In the grip of Gale's pale fingers, he throbs with hot need, Gale's spit slicking his length to make the friction just right as Gale strokes him. "Warn a guy next time."

"Warn?" Gale asks, lust low in his voice. He’s kneeling between John's spread legs, halfway under the desk. With his free hand, he tugs John's trousers and boxers down to bare his thighs completely.

"We started this whole thing because you said it would be convenient. That we could have each other anytime, no strings attached." He presses his lips to John's right thigh and bites down gently, his teeth digging into John's muscle. "I want you now."

"Fuck." John breathes out, gripping the armrests. He needs to swallow the moans already pressing at his throat, the guttural, helpless noises he tends to make in Gale's bedroom, because they're one curious professor away from scandal. "Can we close the window at least?"

"Nah." Gale nuzzles his thigh again, the corner of his lips curling into a smile. "I know you'll be a good boy, John."

John throws his head back against the headrest. "I'm really not."

He feels the huff of Gale's laugh on his leg. "Yes, you are." Gale sucks on a strip of John's skin noisily until it colours pink, sensitive. His expression is pure bliss. "My good boy."

A surprised whimper escapes John's throat. "What?"

Gale freezes for a moment, as if caught, but he goes back to rubbing and kissing John's thigh a second later. "Nothing."

"I don’t know what came over you." John mumbles breathlessly, slouching in the chair to give Gale better access to his cock, to chase Gale's teasing hand. His own fingers find their way to Gale's blond hair and tug as Gale leaves a hard bite on the meat of his thigh to mirror his work on the other side.

When Gale bats his right hand away, he puts the left on Gale's head instead. Gale gives him an exasperated look, then sits back on his haunches to get away from his demanding touch. His eyes roam over John's body lazily, his fist still moving up and down.

"You didn't sit like that on purpose?"

"Hm." John hums, pushing into Gale's hand. The chair rolls back a little, so he tightens the cradle of his legs around Gale's torso to stay in place. "Like what?"

"Like you wanted your dick sucked."

John closes his eyes as a wave of heat rolls down from the top of his head to his toes. "You have an oral fixation, I swear."

"Uh-huh." Gale just hums, his entire focus on John's cock now. He strokes his left hand over the bruises he sucked into the meat of John's right thigh, then he cups John's balls.

"Ah, fuck. You don’t even deny it."

Gale looks up at him from under his lashes as he leans forward. His body warm between John's thighs, his lips glistening.

"Why deny it?" He shrugs and kisses the tip of John's cock. Closing his eyes, he runs his pink tongue up the underside of it to the head, catching the drops of moisture beading there slowly from the torturous pleasure he inflicts on John's body. When John grunts, Gale looks at him again. There’s a playful glint in his eyes. "Be a good boy now, Bucky."

John puts his right hand back on Gale's head and presses his left fist to his mouth as hot, warm suction slides down his length and pulls his pleasure right out of his soul. Shadows pass behind the opaque glass of the door opposite him, people walking down the corridor. The star charts on the walls mirror the stars he sees behind his eyes as Gale sucks him leisurely, without a care in the world. No one walks into Astrophysics at four p.m. on a Friday, right? John prays, and squeezes his eyes shut against the pleasure as he thrusts into Gale's mouth.

He's gonna cancel his plans of going out and take Gale home again tonight.

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

Barbed Wire Hearts AU social media posts part 1/?

@swifty-fox @trashbag-baby666 @onyxsboxes @carnevol @stoneinyourshoe

[rqsser]

TANGLED AU - CLEGAN

“All of Gale’s life has been spent in the tower that his grandfather built with his own hands when his father was just a boy. He does the same thing everyday, he cleans and cooks, other activities just to pass the time. Days go by faster with his dog, Meatball, though. One day, he’s shocked out of doing pottery when a strange man enters through the window…”