#they just smoochin

[aeoniumgarnet]

Gentle smiles, gentle [REDACTED AND NOT SUITABLE FOR THIS WEBSITE]

[wuffen]

[starjunkyard]

average hilson argument

[vikary401]

mac'n'cheese yaoi

god bless

[nightmargin]

keep sucking his flat face

[ruby-abyss]

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

fantasy laughingstock mawwiage but make it potc3 Flavor-

[crunchchute]

this is the size of the plush btw 😭 im like 5'4

[strifeworks]

day 8: free space babeyyy

[wigglebox]

Uncensored 💡❕

[seven-tastic]

lukerosa arts (SHOCKING I KNOW)

[sans-guy]

thank u all for taking care of him..

he is chipped and weeded and happy. just 1 question. who did this

[rillils]

rils, absolutely nothing hurts more than bucky saying "its fine, im used to it, ive had worse.." whenever he gets beaten up a lot

It’s the simple, matter-of-fact way he says it, that makes it all the more heartbreaking.

If he were crying, if he were slamming his balled-up fists into the wall, screaming, rioting at the unfairness of it all, Steve thinks it might be just that bit easier. Then, at least he could wipe Bucky’s tears away, dull the sharp knife-edge of Bucky’s grief with his own hands, hold him in his arms until all the parts of him came back together.

But Bucky keeps his grief under the surface, silent; private, except for those glimpses his body lets slip sometimes, in the traitorous set of his tense shoulders, or the blanching of his knuckles digging tight into his thighs, or the painful clenching of his jaw.

He brushes off the bruises, the cuts, the dark blood crusting his suit, shrugging his shoulder as Steve coaxes him into the chair he pulled up for him from the kitchen table.

“I’m fine,” he says, his jaw blossoming purple and blue in Steve’s cupped hand. Says ‘I’m fine’ and means it, just the same as Steve meant it when he used to say ‘I can take it’ after each beating in a piss-rank alley, back in the day. He recognizes it; the intimate need to believe it, to make it true, speak it true, even on the days when it started to taste like a lie.

“I’m used to it,” Bucky assures him, speaking softly in the homely kitchen glow, hand squeezing Steve’s knee with gentle purpose – as though that wasn’t the worst part. As thought it wasn’t the cruelest piece of truth.

He’s used to it.

He’s grown used to it.

There are so many things humans can grow into. Grow better. Grow kinder. Grow older. But Bucky’s grown into the pain, was raised into it, shaped into it, until pain became a natural presence lingering under his skin, twining its ancient roots around his ribs.

“You shouldn’t be used to it,” Steve murmurs, dabbing iodine over the tender-looking cut cresting Bucky’s cheekbone.

He shouldn’t have to be used to it.

Habit can turn even the most terrible things into day-to-day routine, given enough time.

Habit will see the hurt and whisper, It’s okay, it’s just another Tuesday. It doesn’t matter. But it does. It matters so much, so much it’s all Steve can see right now. That’s what he tries to tell Bucky, with the swipe of his thumb over Bucky’s good cheekbone, seeking the places where touch won’t hurt, where the caress will stir only warmth, no lurking aches: It matters. That’s the salve he spreads on Bucky’s bruised cheek, before slipping the band-aid into place, smoothing it over with the pad of his thumb, tender like a naked heart: It matters.

So what if the black and blue will have faded tomorrow, leaving behind nothing but the olive skin Steve has worshipped longer and more fervently than any gods or holy ghosts? So what if the wounds will heal fast, and the flesh knit itself back together till there’s not a pale scar left behind? That doesn’t mean Bucky’s not hurting now. That doesn’t mean the heart won’t remember, even when all the evidence is gone.

Bucky must read his thoughts on his face, easy as leafing through a book.

“It’s nothing, I swear,” he insists, rubbing soothing circles on the meat of Steve’s kevlar-clad thigh, a small, lopsided grin slanted on his lips. “I’ve had much worse than this.”

He seems to regret the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Steve sees it, how the grin seals back up and Bucky’s eyes widen for a moment, as if he startled himself. The way his Adam’s apple bobs and his lips part and close and part again, hesitating. “Sweetheart.”

“I know,” Steve says. “It’s okay.”

Worse, in their two-people world, is barely a euphemism for the atrocities Bucky has borne, the likes of which Steve couldn’t have dreamed of even when he used to come home with more black eyes and fractured ribs than his stubborn body could afford to handle. Worse is a sore spot they only ever touch carefully, treading hand in hand on crumbling ground, and doing so takes its toll. There’s a time and a place for Worse, and tonight, Steve estimates, they both lack the spoons for it.

“Tell me something else you’re used to.” He wets his lips. “Something nice.”

Bucky’s eyes soften. In the dim, buttery light, his irises glitter like gems, startlingly pretty, and the corners crinkle just so, roped into a genuine smile. “Something nice, huh?”

His palms curl around Steve’s forearms, pulling him into Bucky’s space; and Steve goes, standing up from his chair only to step into Bucky’s inviting embrace, climbing into his lap, hoarded close in Bucky’s capable arms.

It’s precious, how Bucky has to tip his head back to look him in the eye like this. The way he looks up – looks up at Steve like he’s gazing at the stars, eyes full of wonder, of something soft like Oh, like How. How does something this beautiful exist. How does it bring light here, where the world is at its darkest.

Bucky’s flesh hand comes up to touch him, warm, brushing knuckle-first against his skin to stroke the soft underside of Steve’s chin, his fingers overlapping with Steve’s jawline, raspy with the day’s stubble.

“I could list you a whole bunch of nice somethings,” Bucky rumbles, gaze raking all over Steve’s face to drink him in, here, up close where he won’t miss a single detail. As though he could collect every freckle, every mole and laugh line and tuck them away for safekeeping, treasures that they are.

Steve exhales softly, feeling warmed through. Wanted. Desired. Craved, with that delicate, bone-deep hunger with which one craves a caress from their lover.

“Just give me the first one off the top of your head,” he prompts, whisper-soft, and tastes the word when Bucky breathes: “One”, against the curve of his lips, before capturing them in a kiss.

He lets Steve take the lead, and Steve moves them as he sees fit: slow and gentle, the bruises on Bucky’s face demanding that he take care, softly now, easy does it, as he tilts his head to the side and slips tender into the welcoming heat of Bucky’s mouth, dancing their tongues together.

His fingers sink in Bucky’s hair, cradling the nape of his neck as they part, lingering, close enough to breathe each other’s air.

“'Tell you a secret, though,” Bucky husks, breathing in with his eyes closed, his nose rubbing at Steve’s flushed cheek. He’s so warm, so warm all around him. Holding onto Steve with a need so deep, Steve is sure it’ll bruise him too, heart and soul. “I ain’t ever getting used to this, honey.”

Steve feels himself shiver, heat dripping down his spine. I love you, he feels, starting breathless in his lungs, tingling all the way into his fingertips, straining against the seams of his skin, too big to be held within. I love you, love you, love you–

In a cone of yellow light in their kitchen, he holds Bucky tight, and he doesn’t let go.

[krynutsreal]

haiii posting some old sky au doodles happy Valentine's day :]

OK. ALSO. THMEM. KISSING OR WBAGEVER .

holds head innhands . guys they'r so bad at it they're so bad . someone come push them off a cliff for me

[spaceratprodigy]

ooooh can u tell something abt the western au :3c

Me and Jay ( @darkfire1177 ) work on ideas for Western AU together! :]

Soooo, many have been around long enough to know I've drawn Faith and Max in gothic cowboy inspired outfits in the past. All my Cowboy Max ideas stem from banter in Murder on Eridanos where Max gets a bit enthusiastic talking about Free Range Fixer and then immediately trying to change the subject. This also makes so many of my Max and Spencer dynamics so much more interesting and hilarious to me. Also, don't you think he'd just look so dashing as a cowboy 💖😩💖

ANYWAY

One of my favorite ideas Jay and I have formulated, has to do a bit later in the story after Faith and Max are already close and they become good friends with Jasper!

Jasper's family is still alive and they own a ranch! At some point, Faith and Max are invited to visit, stay for dinner, meet the family, all that good stuff. And we thought it would be really special, since neither Faith or Max have any family and hardly have any friends, if they were to be invited to be a part of Jasper's family 🥺

We have some other ideas abt who all appears in this au and what everyone's roles in town would be.. but I love love love us talking about Max still having a complicated relationship with his religion and if Jasper's family essentially offers him an opportunity out of the priesthood by inviting him to become a ranch hand, if that were a path he'd be willing to go down. He'd have to take off the collar and commit to that kind of work, but hey, it's an AU for funsies, it's for us to enjoy.

I've got SO many ideas and interactions cookin' in my head, I can't wait to talk to Jay more about them and actually draw out some things this year!!

Anyway everyone go give my bestie @darkfire1177 some love 💖💕💖💕

[schaarfyx]

I just want to say that I am so happy to have found the MOTH-Series from GBA!

I really hope we get a good happy ending, and all is well.

The only question that I still have about this series is if there is anything that is lore-based before that? That should be listened to so that everything makes a bit more sense?

I am very new to this, amazingly talented content creator, and I am so confused about it but it's still so amazing!

So I really hope that you guys like this little contribution to one of my favorite Audio Roleplays on YT.