I believe happiness, health, comfort are the essences of life. I look forward to a simple, joyful and comfortable life.
The salmon send their best assassin
last night i woke up because two dudes were fighting underneath my window and one dude kept screaming “BRO!! BRO YOU CALLED ME A BITCH IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE BAR BRO!! THE WHOLE BAR!! WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT BRO??” he sounded so heart broken. why bro. why did you do this.
i had a dream that Pete Wentz came to my school but none of us were allowed to speak to him because “he was too emo and would cry easily”
I sneezed in class today and a guy shushed me
ourinfinitemistakes said: I'm not sure if it's too late for the prompts or if you've already gotten this one, but if not, could you do Stucky with "Shit are you bleeding?" Thank you!!
He hears the front door open, then swing shut slowly, closing with a quiet click. But this time there’s no cheerful hello, no “what’s for dinner, Stevie”, just silence. This piques his curiosity enough that he walks out from the kitchen, and when he does, Bucky’s there, back against the door, eyes closed. Well. One eye’s closed, the other one’s swelled shut. Someone’s done a number on his face, and…
"Bucky? Shit, are you bleeding?" He closes the distance between the two of them, and sure enough, in addition to the black eye, there’s a cut on his forehead, a split lip, and blood on the collar of his work shirt.
"Hey, Stevie. ‘S for supper?" he asks faintly, and slides down to the ground.
Steve ignores the question, crouching down next to him to inspect the damage. “Who gave you that shiner, Buck?” He smells like blood and whiskey, and he realizes belatedly that Bucky’s not only beat up but half-drunk to boot.
"It’s nothin’, it’s nothin’, don’t worry about it." Bucky tries to smile, but it makes his lip bleed anew. Dazedly, he wipes the blood with the back of his hand, smearing it across his jaw. "Shoulda seen the other guy. Most of the blood’s his." His good eye opens, sees the blood on the back of his hand that’s now sitting limply in his lap. "Most of it." The knuckles are raw and red, looking a little swollen, and Steve wonders if he’s broken something in his hand.
As if he could read his mind, Bucky slurs, “Nothing’s broken. ‘S all right, Stevie. Had to defend your honor, again.” He chuckles weakly. “Toldja when I saw Mickey Finnegan, I’d bust his fuckin’ nose for…” Bucky licks his lips, tasting blood, and winces slightly at the sting of his tongue running over the cut. “For before”, he finishes lamely.
"For roughing me up. And calling me a queer." Steve’s voice goes odd in his own ears. Mickey hadn’t been wrong, and that was the worst part. But if Bucky found out- He didn’t want to think about what would happen if his best friend discovered he was in love with him, after all the time he’d spent defending him against an accusation that was completely correct. He pushes it away, tries to distract the both of them with a lecture instead. “You shouldn’t have-“
"Shouldn’ta what? You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?" The corner of his mouth twitches up in a sad smile, gesturing to his face with his bloody hand. "Now, Stevie, that just ain’t fair. Fair woulda been Mickey fighting me hisself, and not bringing in three of his buddies."
Steve’s heart sinks with this new information. “You tangled with the four of them? At once? Jesus, Buck.” His blue eyes meet Bucky’s. Even banged up like this, covered in blood, Bucky still manages to look handsome. It’s absurd. He darts his eyes away, embarrassed by his own thoughts, and stands up before Bucky can see him blush. “Lemme see if I can borrow some ice from Mrs. Larson’s icebox next door to put on your eye.”
"Nah, Stevie, don’t." Bucky pulls himself to his feet with a groan. "I ain’t got a dime to spare her for the trouble."
"At least let me help clean you up," Steve offers guiltily. "Least I can do." He goes to fetch a rag and some water, and when he comes back into the living room Bucky’s pulling his bloodstained work shirt off. As he does, his undershirt catches a little, exposing the a fresh blue bruise on the flat expanse of his stomach, and a trail of dark hair. Steve’s mouth goes dry and all the air goes out of his lungs.
He’d never been very lucky with the girls, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like them just fine. I’m not a queer, he thought stubbornly. And yet. And yet, he was struck with a sudden sick desire to drop to his knees before Bucky, and press his lips gently to that bruise. The bruise that Bucky had gotten for standing up for him.
Instead, he pushes Bucky down into sitting in the old ratty armchair and starts dabbing away at the cuts with the wet rag. He tries to make sure that every touch could only interpreted as simple friendly concern, but it’s not till he gets to the split lip that he falters. Cupping one side of Bucky’s face in his hand, he leans in, turning his head towards him and gingerly holds the rag to his lip. Bucky sucks in a little gasp, and at the sound, so does Steve.
"Sorry. Gonna sting a little," he murmurs to Bucky in apology, trying to maintain a casualness he does not feel. Underneath his palm, a muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitches, the stubble on his cheek scratching his fingers. He very carefully does not look Bucky in the eye, because he knows if he does…if he does…
Bucky reaches up, places his hand over Steve’s, the one holding his face steady. “Hey. Thanks, Stevie”, he says quietly. Steve can’t help it, he looks up, and their eyes catch. Reflexively, he tries to inhale and the whiskey on Bucky’s breath is enough to make him dizzy. His face is far, far too close, and yet neither of them are moving away.
Steve blinks, trying to break the spell, and then Bucky’s got his hand on Steve’s jaw and he can’t tell which one of them is pulling the other in and he’s kissing him, Bucky is kissing him and he tastes like whiskey and blood and it is the sweetest most terrifying thing Steve Rogers has ever tasted.
Remembering himself, Steve pulls away before he does anything embarrassing. “You’re drunk, Buck.”
"Don’t care. Wanted to do that for awhile, Stevie." He laughs, but it’s a harsh, broken sound. "Aw, no. Shit. Stevie. ‘M sorry. Fuck." Bucky falls back in the armchair, grimacing. "Fuck. You weren’t supposed to…I didn’t want…shouldn’t have said that."
"You…wanted to do that?" Steve asks, his voice sounding thin and reedy, like all the sudden he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. "But you’re not…"
"Can’t help it. Nothin’ wrong with dames, hell, love ‘m. Somethin’ wrong with me, though. I look at you and…" he shrugs loosely, not looking at Steve. "I just…want."
Steve tries to speak, and then, failing, clears his throat awkwardly. He tries again. “Bucky. Nothin’s wrong with you. ‘Cause if there’s something wrong with you…that means there’s something wrong with me, too.”
Bucky opens his good eye to stare at him, startled. “I…I guess I feel the same way, Buck. Always have. And…” oh, hell, he can feel himself blushing now, “…and I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”
The look on Bucky’s face just before he pulls him in for another kiss is a sort of stunned rapture. Steve thinks it’s gorgeous, even through the blood and bruises.
(so this became the companion piece to this piece I guess!)
give me a pairing and a line of dialogue and I’ll write something angsty for you (only Marvel pairings please, I’m not familiar enough with other fandoms to do anything else)
This was so so so good I loved it so much it was an honor to have my prompt filled by fuck-me-barnes she is one of my favorite angst writers EVER go read all of her stuff NOW I promise you you won’t regret it (and she tagged internalized biphobia this woman is a GODDESS)
I’m just gonna put this here for when I feel like I’m writing garbage that no one reads