#delete later? yeah prob

[manygreetingsfriend]

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[rillils]

🌸 post-catws stucky + lovers’ kiss

one.

The thing about grief is, it has a habit of dropping by every once in a while, unannounced and insistent like a nosy suburban neighbor.

It’s a contrary little creature. Some days it strikes hard, and crushes Steve’s chest with the brutal force of a frothing waterfall. Sometimes, though, it comes in droplets; little pills that get stuck in his throat for a minute, until he can swallow them down.

Steve doesn’t mind those too much: sure, the aftertaste is bitter – but there’s always a spoonful of honey at hand to help wash it down.

two.

There’s a morning ritual Steve is particularly fond of.

When the coffee has been made, and the first sip taken, he nudges their mugs to the side, and crowds Bucky back against the kitchen counter, arms braced on either side of him to box him in. Bucky watches him come with a knowing grin, a gleam in his eyes that says, well, all right, he’ll let Steve believe that he’s leading this little dance here, just this once.

But it’s Bucky who pulls him in the rest of the way; Bucky who sets his hands low around Steve’s waist, and brings their bodies flush together from hip to knee, delight written in the pretty curve of his lips.

“Hey there, sailor,” he teases. His morning voice is a dark, rich thing, rough around the edges but soft at its core, sweet with that old Brooklyn drawl that brings Steve right back home.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he chuckles against Bucky’s smiling lips, their breaths warm between them. “Fancy meetin’ ya here.”

It’s a ritual. Aren’t all kisses a ritual? Well-learned steps and a worshipful heart, the motions so ingrained they come naturally to your limbs.

Their mouths brush together, easy. Unrushed, like time will slow down for them if they’ll just deign to ask.

Bucky’s head tilts just so in Steve’s hands, and the kiss opens up, spilling its molten heat on Steve’s tongue, stroking inside to taste him, easy, easy.

It’s a long-practiced dance. If Bucky pushes, Steve will give; if Steve strays to flutter kisses all over Bucky’s bristly cheek, Bucky will grin and chase after him, and steer Steve back towards his lips.

It’s lazy. Uncomplicated. It’s their first conversation of the day, and Steve can just make out the words in the whisper of Bucky’s hair running through the gaps between his fingers; in the hushed rustle of his own t-shirt, when Bucky’s hand slips under the hem and slides warmly up the dip of Steve’s spine, leaving a trail of pebbled skin in its wake.

You’re here, Bucky’s touch says, awed and reverent.

Always, Steve says back, and kisses that vow to Bucky’s lips for Bucky to find later, when he’ll brush his fingertips against it, and the well-loved flush of his mouth, red and sweetly sore, will remind him of this. Of always.

Parting from him is agony, but breathing is an unfortunate necessity in life – so Steve pulls back, though only just enough to drink Bucky in, his arms wrapped snugly around Bucky’s waist to hold him close.

He’s a sight to behold, all soft and loved up and ruffled from Steve’s own hands, his smile like a ripe fruit framed by the fullness of his beard. His eyes crinkle with it, each little crease a testament to his happiness – and Steve knows he’s gonna have to take his time kissing each and every one of those later, or he’ll simply be driven to madness.

He should get to have a whole lifetime of this, Steve thinks – a lifetime to dedicate just to this little pleasure. Seventy years at least, to make up for the seventy years gone by that could have seen them grow old and gray together, but were stolen from them instead – and then seventy years more, ninety, a hundred, as many as his old withering body will stand and breathe for.

This will be his only job: the worship of Bucky’s laugh lines, of the curling wisps of his bedhead, of his eyelashes fanning darkly against the pad of Steve’s thumb. Cherishing this treasure he holds in his hands – the one he once thought gone forever.

There it is now: a little pill lodged in his throat. The cold hand of grief squeezing around his heart again, just for a moment.

Bucky’s palms cup his cheeks, drawing Steve’s gaze up to meet his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gentler than before, his thumb stroking soothingly over Steve’s cheekbone. “You’ve got your thinking face on. What’s wrong?”

Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, turning his mouth to it to kiss the warm, unyielding metal of Bucky’s palm.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he promises, leaning in to nudge to tip of his nose against Bucky’s, like a puppy. “Just busy coming up with an excuse to kiss you some more.”

Bucky’s breath puffs warmly against his lips. “Yeah? Had any luck yet?”

Steve hums pleasantly, “Mm-mmm”, locking his fingers together just above the small of Bucky’s back, and gently sways the two of them from side to side. Bucky snorts, amused, but he allows it; dropping his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders as Steve rocks them slowly, left to right, right to left.

“Here’s what I think,” Steve rumbles. “I think I ought to give you one kiss for each day we were apart since 1945.”

Bucky stares back at him, his lips parted slightly in surprise. He takes Steve in, wordlessly, studying him from the arch of his eyebrows, to the half-crooked slope of his nose, to the hopeful smile Steve knows he must be sporting right now. There is much left unsaid, Steve can feel its weight hanging in the air between them, recognizes it by taste and sound.

But Bucky’s gray eyes shimmer, nearly crystal-clear, and they fill with the kind of big, heart-twisting emotion that cannot fit under a single label; one that is equal parts ache and tenderness, and Steve understands – his chest feels too-tight around that same ache, too.

“That’s a lot of kisses,” Bucky rasps softly, and his hand skates up Steve’s shoulder to curl over the nape of his neck, herding him one inch closer into Bucky’s space.

“Yes,” Steve whispers, leaning in the rest of the way to mash their foreheads together. He can feel his own heart beat inside his chest, a quick and steady rhythm, and a rushing sense of victory bubbles straight up to his lips, sweet and light as air. “Exactly.”

Bucky laughs, a little wetly, and laughs ever harder when Steve tries to kiss him and gets all teeth and half a nostril instead – his head thrown back and his whole body shaking joyfully, while Steve ducks in to kiss what bristly portion of Bucky’s neck he can reach.

A treasure, Steve thinks.

A treasure in his hands, and forever to hold on to it.

three.

He sits himself down at the table with a sheet of paper, a pen and a calculator, a bunch of dates marked down and circled over and over in the topmost corner.

Bucky watches him from across the room, amused and – Steve believes – a little bit impressed.

“You’re really gonna do this?”

Steve smiles up at him, throwing in one teasing wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure.

“I’m a man of my word.”

It takes nearly a whole hour of focused scribbling before he looks up again, a wide grin lit up like Christmas on his face and a torn piece of paper held up in triumph. “I have the number.”

25109.

Seventy years’ worth of daily kisses.

It’s quite the commitment. It requires dedication. But good things are always worth putting in the work, Bucky tells him, eyes dancing with laughter; and when he settles in Steve’s lap, heavy and warm in Steve’s arms, and brushes their mouths together to claim the first of what he was promised, Steve can’t help but agree.

four.

25109 kisses Steve owes him, and he initiates quite a few; but mostly, he lets Bucky ask for them, when and where the mood strikes him to do so.

When he’s right on the verge of sleep, his face half-swallowed up by his pillow, and he can’t even peel his eyes open long enough to receive his kiss – he just tips his chin up and waits for Steve to scoot closer and find his mouth, drowsily humming in satisfaction.

When he lets Steve slip into the shower with him, and slides his hands up Steve’s chest, sweet and proprietary, and their breaths mingle with the hot steam.

When he’s got his head in Steve’s lap while Steve reads, and Steve’s fingers carding through his hair at leisure; and Steve catches Bucky watching him from under his eyelashes, and trying to hide that private little grin of his, because apparently Steve was silently mouthing the words again without realizing it.

“Kiss me special, Stevie,” he’ll croon, and Steve will know.

And he’ll be all too happy to comply.

five.

Steve is supposed to keep score. He does, too. For the most part.

Once every couple of weeks or so, though, he’ll just so happen to conveniently lose count.

He’ll roll out of bed with singular purpose, and break the tragic news to Bucky over their morning coffee, barefoot and forlorn. Bucky never buys his little sob story, but that never stops Steve from batting his eyelashes at him all prettily, either.

He’ll guide Bucky’s arms to loop around his neck, luring him in, soft and stealthy like a thief, and he’ll mumble real close to Bucky’s lips, “Let’s start over again.”

And Bucky, sweet, merciful, long-suffering Bucky, will accept his fate and be kissed breathless once more, right in front of their placidly steaming mugs.

“There,” Steve will murmur, again, and again, and again. “One down, 25108 to go.”

Oh, one life won’t be enough to see the end of this, no.

And that’s exactly Steve’s plan.

***

little sidenote nobody asked for lol: obviously the number of days/kisses varies depending on when you think the boys were reunited; my wishful thinking headcanon for this specific fic is: post-helicarrier, they find each other again sometime in the fall, 2014. the ficlet is set sometime in late spring 2016, and ignores everything that comes after catws.

[kaiju-krew]

idk just draw smth I guess?

my mom had a 10h spinal surgery this week so sorry for not being in the best headspace to be at your beck and call to produce art at your preferred rate pookiebear <3<3<3

[kiwibirdlafayette]

i was told once that sometimes i have trouble fittin in with other fancontent makers because im seen as a “threat” (whatever that means) but trust me when i say i am not here to compete with yall. Zero interest in fact. i dont think fandom is meant to be a game of who can be the ‘best’ fan and im here to just yknow. contribute to a community :]

If it seems like Im loud and sometimes pushy about people seein my stuff its because im passionate about and proud of a with what ive made and i want to share with the other people who are also enjoyers of that thing!!

[chibishortdeath]

Maybe this is just me being autistic or something, but I do not understand how movie/TV adaptations of games are so hard to make. The original media is right there??? Just use it as a basis for your script?????? Add and subtract where necessary for the medium while still keeping it the same story at heart????????? “But it’d be boring if it was a whole tv show” ok then why is it not boring as a game???????????? Why do people replay games then???????????????????? I don’t get it.

[daylillie]

I hate the part about OCD where people don’t understand you just can’t trust yourself or your safety standards. Like I have contamination OCD about food…still. I. CAN. BARELY. EAT.

I see one thing in my food that looks weird and think: is this my OCD or is this a legitimate concern? If I take a bite am I going to get sick? The spiral starts…oh but this piece of *insert food fear* is slightly off. Now I need to inspect my food. What am I supposed to do? Accept that I could get sick? I have emetophobia. Fear of sepsis. The list goes on. I have to ask someone if they would eat it. It’s fucking weird. People hate it.

God. Jesus. Christ.

[greghatecrimes]

spiritually banging my head against a wall. every time i start having respiratory/throat/chest symptoms from my mcas, I immediately flash back to all the times I've had anaphylaxis and get terrible anxiety. Survival mechanism, yes. But also... I am not having fun and I have not had full blown anaphylaxis since the early days of post mold exposure. so like. let's take a deep breath and calm down, body

[lavampira]

anxiety stuff, venting to the void, etc

sometimes I think a part of me is always going to be scared of feeling like the lonely and hurt 9 year old girl crying alone at a sleepover party because she spent the night listening to all of the inside jokes that she’ll never be a part of and knowing the others have more fun with each other than with her

and I haven’t been acting like myself in months because my brain just doesn’t work right and I feel like I’m too much as a person, too clingy too sappy too needy too me, even when I try not to be that makes me hard to be around and love

I’m tired of feeling so frayed and barely holding on and I’m tired of needing reassurance about worried thoughts I know are so stupid and I’m especially tired of crying about everything all the time. anyway

[your-mommy-ems]

ladies and gents i present to you the first and probably last time i post my guitar playing on here:

a few things 1: its a video cause i couldn't get the stupid thing to upload as an audio. 2 there are countless mistakes aka my nails aren't chopped so sometimes im not pressing on the strings hard enough etc. 3 im playing around here with chords and stuff like that (i made it all up tho) 4 unless convinced otherwise (by myself lol) this will probs be taken down later

[nenelysian]

Just watched "I Saw The TV Glow" in cinemas and boy did I get chest kicked all the way back to my derealisation episodes when I was like 6 years old.

[distrxst]

list of mutuals is scary cool , scary cool , scary cool , mako beloved , scary cool , love to bother , time to bug , scary cool , meemaw , and so epic .

[bigbigtruck]

2022 has been hard and punched me in the dick for months on end but I gotta say three real good moves i made this year

drinking a ton more water

going hard in the gym

just hard blocking/cutting people out of my life if the shit they say makes me feel worthless

[xmoonlitxdreamx]

Why i am blocked oh my god i feel terrible 😭😭😭

Hi! I often block people if they post content I'm particularly not interested in or content that makes me uncomfortable (usually the latter). I block semi-liberally, so please try not to take it personally; I'm just trying to curate my experience on the internet to fit my personal comfort. We don't know each other so I'm not trying to say anything about you as a person by blocking you.

Not to get on my soap box about blocking, but I really encourage you and others to not take blocking personally. I've gotten blocked by artists whose works I like, and it's definitely shocking at first, and very tempting to get defensive or hurt by it. But for me it helps to keep in mind that the person blocking me has their own experience on the internet that they want to have and curate and it may be the case that the things I post happen not to be part of it; and likewise, I'm not obligated a right to view anyone's works if they don't want me to for whatever reason.

(Also please know that people are not obligated to give a reason for why they block, it's really not your business. Many people find it invasive and disrespectful of boundaries to message someone after they've blocked you. Just keep this in mind that other people will likely not react kindly to receiving a message from someone they blocked)

[samrut]

I don't really talk about rusliet much, but I do write for the ship often. It's toxic, and I do not sugarcoat the relationship between them. Part of the reason I like Tolys so much is honestly because I respect and can relate to someone who has suffered and escaped an abuser. This is not his only toxic relationship he has had, but in my eyes, probably the worst.

He is a survivor, and I do not think you can really grasp him as a character without taking into consideration how his relationship with Ivan has affected and shaped him.

[luciality]

insane brain telling me to turn one of my oldest wip fics into an ask blog instead vs i dont wanna draw

[karasong]

whatever you think my borderlands fic is about, you're wrong. i don't even know. you wouldn't be able to guess the choices i get you to make.