#‘fuck I should be asleep 2 hours ago’

[my-castles-crumbling]

fire - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 1367 (whoops)

There were few things Regulus Black valued more than sleep. Perhaps reading. Or music. Or a nice dark roast coffee. But either way, sleep was of the utmost importance. He was even more prickly than normal without at least eight hours of it, and miserable as well, so he always prioritized getting his rest.

Which is why he was ready to kill everyone in his path when the fire alarm was pulled at 2:47 am on a Tuesday night in his university dorm, and he was forced to evacuate into the parking lot.

Not only was the whole thing infuriating, but to make matters worse, it was also freezing outside. The September air was chilling him to his bones, and he could feel his body screaming for shut-eye. It was his definition of hell.

As he stood shivering, a tall, dark-haired, tan-skinned, hazel-eyed boy walked up to him and offered him his coat with the most obnoxiously beautiful grin he’d ever seen.

Too cold to play stupid games, he just hissed, “Fuck off,” and turned away.

As soon as they were all allowed back inside, Regulus curled under his blanket and fell asleep, keen to put the whole miserable experience behind him.

-

No such luck.

It took one week before the alarm went off again. This time at 1:19am on a Thursday, he found himself trudging down the stairs and into the cold, cursing himself for once again being too sleepy to remember a coat.

So furious that he was about to scream, he didn’t see the same boy walk up to him right away, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“I brought you an extra,” the boy grinned, making Regulus’s frozen knees melt as he offered him the jacket.

“Do you make a habit of giving your clothing to strangers?” he bit out, giving in and grabbing the offending garment, immediately throwing it over his shoulders. He figured if he was going to be harassed, he might as well be warm while it happened.

“Only the pretty ones,” the boy said with a wink, walking off and leaving Regulus both pissed off and flustered.

-

The third time happened only three days after the second, and Regulus bit back a scream when the alarm roused him from his slumber. At this point, it felt like a pattern, and he was at least smart enough to grab the oversized, frayed, horrifyingly maroon, disgustingly warm jacket he’d thrown over his desk chair three days ago.

He was only outside for a few minutes before the boy walked up to him again, looking completely comfortable in the frigid night.

“So, do I get to know your name?” he asked, sending Regulus the same stunning smile.

Frowning, at both his current whereabouts and the way his stomach flip-flopped, Regulus scoffed. “I don’t know yours.”

“James,” he answered easily, kicking at a random rock on the pavement. “Now, I’ve given you two things. It makes sense that you should give me one, yeah? Only fair.” And he batted his long eyelashes, making Regulus nearly choke on his spit.

He pretended to ponder for a moment, getting ahold of himself, before rolling his eyes. “No,” he said shortly. And he walked off.

-

“What about your major, then?”

Ten days. It took ten days before the alarm was pulled again, and the school had started sending out cryptic notices threatening consequences for the party responsible. But still, Regulus was here, in the parking lot in the middle of the night, sending a death glare at James.

“Why does it matter?” he asked with a huff.

“Because people tend to care about their majors,” the taller boy shrugged. “And I want to know what you care about. Mine’s education, by the way.”

Education. It fit, strangely. James’s sunshiny disposition warmed the surrounding air even during the cold night, and his smile seemed like the type of thing that would put kids at-ease.

Regulus sighed, giving in. “English. With a minor in creative writing,” he mumbled, looking down.

“Hmm. That suits you,” James replied vaguely, smiling. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “And your name?”

He thought about it for a moment, but at this point, it almost felt like he would be giving in to some sort of weird, unspoken battle if he shared his name. And he had to admit, talking with James passed the time during these stupid evacuations. “No,” he answered, sending the boy a smirk, heart skipping a beat at his own nerve, and turning to find someone else to speak with.

-

It became a game. Every time the alarm was pulled, James found him. He asked him questions, and Regulus answered every one, shocked at the way James listened. It was actually nice to talk to someone who seemed genuinely interested. He hadn’t made a lot of friends on campus, yet, and James felt…safe. But every time James asked his name, he refused, grinning as much as James did, before sauntering away.

-

One cold night in November, though, he couldn’t sleep. Stress about classes had his mind going wild, and anxious energy flooded his body. So, he decided to take a walk through the dorm, to clear his head. He drifted through the floors and halls, no destination in mind, when he happened across one of the more-quiet areas of the building. This area happened to have a fire alarm in a dark corner of the hall, almost hidden in shadows. It was as he turned a corner to this spot that Regulus saw a hooded figure slowly approach the alarm, arm outstretched, intentions clear. 

Eyes wide, Regulus watched as the figure pulled the latch and began to run, turning and smacking right into Regulus.

“Ouch!” He cried out, nearly falling over.

“Fuck!” The person yelled, losing their balance as well.

And then the hood fell. And Regulus would have recognized those hazel eyes and that beautiful hair anywhere.

“James!?!”

The other boy looked terrified, mouth open, his body frozen in place. He uttered a few syllables as if he was trying to form words, but no sound came out. Scoffing, Regulus grabbed his hand and led him down some nearby stairs and out the emergency exit, alarm still blaring overhead.

When they got into the quiet, freezing air, he turned to the taller boy. “It was you?” he hissed, resisting the urge to slap him across the shoulder. The amount of sleep he’d lost in the past two months was abhorrent. “Why?”

James grimaced. “Well…the first two times, it wasn’t! But, y’know, the first time you didn’t have a coat…”

“I remember,” Regulus frowned, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. And…I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So the second time, I just…grabbed my old one. And when you took it and you looked so…” James gestured to Regulus, eyes wide, cheeks pink. Regulus blinked, trying to understand. Was James saying he looked good in his jacket? “…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I just…”

Regulus gaped. “You’ve been pulling the fire alarm to see me?”

“It was only supposed to be a one-time thing! Just to get your name!” James defended himself, looking almost scared. “I didn’t know how to find you, and I just….you have to understand, you’re fucking stunning, you know?”

Blushing furiously, Regulus sputtered, “That’s…well, that’s not…”

“But then you wouldn’t tell me your name! So I had to keep pulling it, you know?” James explained, a desperate look on his face. Like it obviously made sense why he’d been breaking the law for two months. “...Just until I found out.”

He blinked several times before biting his lip. Nobody had ever gone to such lengths to get to know him before. It was stupid, and risky, and idiotic, and so damn romantic.

“My name is Regulus,” he sighed, wondering if he’d regret this. “I live in room 743. And if you ever pull that damn alarm again, and wake me up, I will never speak to you again. Understood?”

James grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. Your name is as beautiful as you are, by the way.”

Regulus could only sigh. What had he gotten himself into?

I also posted this here if you want to go give it some love!

[anoddrock]

A sketch!

I’m planning on posting a polished digital version during the 20 hours arc, but for the time being, until I have the energy to work on the story, here’s this! I did the rough sketch near the start of may I think?

Anyways. Guess whose glasses broke?

[masterpost]

[canisonicscrewyou]

I've successfully made myself a wake up ++ bedtime routine and a planned bedtime that I can adhere to. So I'm hoping that in 2-3 business months I'll be Healed from all ailments.

[thethingything]

I hate that we keep getting to about midnight and being like "okay I'm too exhausted to stay upright and my back hurts too much" and then accidentally falling asleep but then when we wake up a few hours later we're either just as exhausted or potentially feel even worse but our options are to either try and sit up anyway, or end up falling asleep again and getting a total of like 7 hours of sleep where absolutely none of it was actually restful

[thebiggestmenace]

I am so eepy,,,,,,, the eeper sneeper

[uitzinnigmp3]

i feel like absolute shit so. time to go to sleep gnight guys

[fading-event-608]

I TURN ON MY PHONE IN THE MORNING.

SEVERED LIMBS RED LINES ON THEM, CHILDREN EYES HALF-LIDDED UNMOVING STARING AT THE SKY ABOVE, ASLEEP, BLOOD ON THEIR FACES STILL FRESH.

I MAKE MY COFFEE.

HUSHED WHISPERS BARELY HEARD YET DOCUMENTED. AMONG THEM SCREAMS AND GUNFIRE, BURNING SMELLS AND RHYTHM OF BOMBS.

I LOG IN ON TUMBLR DOT COM.

SOLDIERS IN PALE GREEN HELMETS BULLETPROOF VESTS STANDING OVER LAYING MEN. THEIR POSTURE RELAXED THEIR TEETH BARED CONVERSATION GOING THEIR GUNS POINTED TO THE GROUND BELOW, TO PEOPLE FROZEN IN FEAR, ALL ACROSS THE GREY RUINS PAINTED WITH BLOOD GREY SKIES PAINTED WITH SMOKE.

I REFRESH THE GOFUNDME PAGE - LAST DONATION 4 HOURS AGO, 3 DONATIONS IN 14 HOURS. I DOCUMENT THE CHANGE AND TRY TO MAKE AN UPDATE.

NOTIFICATION INTERRUPTS THE FLOW. LINES OF PEOPLE PLEADING FOR BREAD NO END IN SIGHT. MOST WILL GO WITH NOTHING, TRYING TO COME UP WITH EXPLANATIONS FOR THIS FOR THEIR CHILDREN - EXCUSES THEY CANNOT BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES ANYMORE.

IS THIS NORMAL? SHOULD IT BE? SURELY YOU HAVE SEEN A FUNDRAISER POST OR TWO AT THIS POINT. YET I STILL REPEAT ALL THE THINGS I REPEATED FOR TWO MONTHS:

FALASTIN'S FAMILY CONSISTS OF 24 MEMBERS, ALL OF THEM STUCK IN GAZA AND SUFFERING FROM THE ONGOING GENOCIDE.

THE FUNDS FROM THE FUNDRAISER ARE THEIR ONLY HOPE FOR SURVIVAL. THEY NEED FOOD, WATER, MEDICINE, CLOTHES.

OF COURSE THEY ALSO NEED FUNDS TO EVACUATE BUT THE WAY CAMPAIGN IS MOVING THEY'D BE LUCKY TO GET GROCERIES TOMORROW. THEY'D BE LUCKY TO BE ALIVE.

FALASTIN IS RIPPING HER HEART OUT AND HOLDING IT FOR YOU TO OBSERVE EVERY DAY. SHE DOES THAT DESPITE CREEPS AND ZIONISTS HARASSING HER BECAUSE IF SHE LOGS OFF AND DOESN'T WRITE ANYMORE EVERYONE HERE WILL FORGET HER AND HER SUFFERING. A POST HAS A SHELF LIFE OF 2 DAYS, 3 IF KIND PEOPLE OF TUMBLR ARE GENEROUS WITH THEIR ATTENTION.

SO IF YOU SEE THIS: BOOST EACH TIME, AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE DONATE IF YOU CAN. AND CHECK THE RATES SO YOU DON'T EMBARRASS YOURSELF WITH A 40 CENTS DONATION:

10 USD = 106 SEK

25 USD = 264 SEK

50 USD = 529 SEK

100 USD = 1,058 SEK

DONATE ON GOFUNDME

CAN'T DONATE TO GOFUNDME? NO PROBLEM, HERE'S A PAYPAL LINK IN USD:

DONATE ON PAYPAL

WANT SOME EXTRA INCENTIVES? NO PROBLEM, HERE'S A RAFFLE FOR A HAND-MADE PALESTINIAN THOB: [LINK]

YES FALASTIN'S CAMPAIGN WAS VETTED, SEVERAL TIMES:

#282 IN VETTED GAZA EVACUATION FUNDRAISER LIST [HERE], #957 IN BUTTERFLY EFFECT PROJECT [HERE]

YOU CAN LOOK AT HER ACCOUNT [HERE]

[jerriisspeakingnow]

I’m only just now discovering that Vinland Saga has been on Netflix dubbed and I feel like a complete dumbass.

…so yeah I’m only 5 episodes in and I haven’t even met adult Thorfinn yet but I already know this is about to become one of my all time favorite shows.

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (vi)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, mentions of hauntings and the paranormal.

A/N: i need to start editing beforehand this series honestly takes to long to edit omg this was supposed to come out 2 hours ago. also thanks so much to @ginevranights for the one tweet in here, and @thebisexual-disaster for calling bucky babygirl because it was incredibly funny to me

Previous part || Series masterlist

Everyone is besotted with the cat.

It makes sense– everyone hates Bucky and will dance with glee upon his downfall. This is all his opinion, of course. The truth is that it is a cat and exists and everyone is thrilled. 

Sensing his awful vibes towards her and the constant suspicion he thinks of her with, she decides she likes sitting outside his room at the early hours of the morning and screaming for him to open up.

Once he does, she strolls in leisurely, takes a look around and then strolls back out. Everyday. On the clock. An alarm clock that will cough up a hairball in front of his door should he not open it to her. 

Also turns out she doesn’t have brown spots, the cat was just dirty. She’s pure white and you’ve taken to calling her something to do with snow or blizzards or something. 

She is his mortal enemy. Bucky doesn’t stop to think that his biggest problem being a feud with a cat is possibly an indication that his life has gotten significantly better. 

As with every week, you bang on his door on Friday morning.

Bucky, who's just fallen asleep after the stupid cat ceremoniously woke him up that morning, does not find this ritual as entertaining as you do, but his opinion has rarely held weightage in matters such as his sanity or his sleep schedule. 

He does considr for a whole day that you and the cat are in cahoots to ensure he is as miserable as possible. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility– Sam talked to birds or and Clint talked to lizards or whatever.

You yell something incomprehensible to him. Bucky yells something back. The world keeps spinning, nothing changes.

Other than the sinking feeling on his chest, that was a bit more pronounced than usual, to the point where it’s a bit hard to breathe.

He pries open one eye, ready to name five things he sees, four things he hears, three things he touches.

The stupid cat smacks him in the face. 

He shoves her off his torso, and along with her, the sinking feeling also reduces. 

After a very useful day of staying in bed no less than three attempts to get back to sleep, Bucky sneaks out of the tower when dusk begins to fall to hopefully get some rest on the park’s grass.  

It’s a nice evening out, the sky was painted a burnt orange, and the air wasn’t too chilly. He could even stop for a burger on the way back to top off a lovely nap. 

But even a gorgeous sunset is not enough to distract him from his heightene awareness going off.

From the corner of his eye, he sees a black van trailing slowly behind him.

He picks up the pace, jogging past a street food vendor and a newspaper stand, and the van only speeds up to keep up.

Soon enough, Bucky breaks into a sprint, ducking into an alleyway and waiting until the van drives past him before stalking back out, eyes vigilant.

Whatever. Stalker be damned, he was going to go to the fucking park. And get a burger. 

But the second he makes a turn on the street corner, the same black van pulls right up to him, not leavning even two feet of space between it and him.

Bucky, annoyed and with 80 years worth of boredom with this schtick, scowls as he yanks open the damn door, ready to just punch and move on with his day.

“Get in loser, we’re going out,” you call from the driver’s seat.

He growls, letting the handle go. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? I literally told you in the afternoon that I’m picking you up and you starting running from me, you baboon,” you exclaim. “Is that what you’re wearing in this video? Did you not do your laundry?”

Alright, so maybe it was on him to figure out what you actually yelled at him through the door earlier in the day. That doesn’t stop him.

Nostrils flaring, he continues to ignore you. “Who the fuck does this? Why do you have a van?”

“Style,” you insist. “We’re gonna be late, now come on. We’re leaving.”

Sensing that this conversation had reached a standstill, Bucky employs his next best technique.

“Where?” he demands.

“You’ll find out when we get there. Now get in,” you pat the spot next to you before pulling up your phone. “We’ll get there in about an hour–”

“No.”

Your neck cranes slowly to look at him incredulously. “The fuck you mean ‘no’?”

“You could be kidnapping me.” He stands with his arms crossed, tone defiant. 

“Right,” you snort. “You seen yourself? Food laws say I need a cooling truck to transport that much beef around.”

Bucky feels his mouth opening and shutting almost immediately, a strange feeling creeping into the tips of his ears.   

He clears his throat. “I’m not getting in the car unless you tell me where we’re going.”

“I’m not fuckin’ kidnapping you Bucky,” you say, loudly. “And even if I wanted to do it– which I don’t, because you can be so annoying sometimes– you’d never see it coming.” 

“How would I know?” He’s offended that you only think he’s annoying sometimes when he’s been working very hard to make sure it’s a constant feature of his. “Who’s to say there’s not some guy in there with a gun–”

“A gun wouldn’t do shit when you’re so thick in the head–”

“And then SHIELD’s gonna have to shell out the ransom–”

“SHIELD would pay them to keep you.” 

“Oh, so you are kidn–”

“Get in the car,” you say loudly before sitting upright, and turning your attention to the windshield again. “Or don’t. I don’t give a shit.”

He narrows his eyes at you grabbing the steering wheel, while your telekinesis moves to close the door on him.  

Bucky sticks his metal hand between the door and the car, and pries it back open before climbing in. 

“Now what,” he mumbles, arms still crossed over his chest like he’s throwing a tantrum. He even refuses to put the seatbelt. Rebellion. 

You don’t answer, and the car doesn’t move.

When he looks over at you, you have a triumphant, smug smile on your face.  

“What,” he bites. 

You tsk. “Reverse psychology. Always works with children.”

Bucky immediately grabs at the handle, but the locks immediately click into place and you step on the pedal and send the van flying down the road before he has a chance to throw himself out. 

The car pulls up to a mansion. 

All the windows are closed and covered in newspaper, giving him no indication as to what was inside. The lawn was mostly brown, with weeds taking up more space than grass and dead flowers lining the fence. 

“There’s gotta be like 5 bedrooms in that thing,” you note, as you both make your way towards it. “How many ghosts do you think are in there?”

“Zero,” Bucky states plainly. 

You continue to talk like he doesn’t exist. “A house that big, there’s gotta be a ghost butler in there. Maybe a ghost maid.”

“None.”

“Five ghost maids, one for every room, and maybe a cook–”

Bucky starts speed walking, leaving you behind to admire the structure looming over the both of you, only illuminated by the streetlights outside.  

Bucky knocks hard on the door, annoyed that it was getting colder and that he was stuck in his stupid running shorts in a house that definitely had no heating for the evening. 

Eventually, you end up beside him, talking as he keeps his sight fixed right ahead. 

Checking your phone to confirm the address, you mumble absentmindedly to him, “This kid tweeted us like fifteen times in the last week, this is gonna be a sick surprise. I love meeting my fa–”

“A surprise?” Bucky jerks his head towards you. “You didn’t tell him we’re coming?”

“Well no,” you lower your phone, “because that would give the ghosts some warning and we–”

His eyes nearly bug out of his head. “We can’t just go into some random kid’s house and film–”

“He’s hardly random, he’s been bombarding our inbox–”

Your defence is cut off when the door creaks open painfully, slowly, like it was letting out its last dying breath.

“Woah,” you whisper, eyes wide. “Ghost door.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bucky mumbles.

“Hello?” you call out.

When no one replies immediately, Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, ready to leave. 

Instead, you shove him to the side, taking his pace in front of the house. He offers no resistance, only a growl in annoyance. 

You clear your throat, before calling loudly, “Hewwo–”

A dark hooded figure springs out at breakneck speed from behind the door, arms raised high, legs wide. 

You don’t look fazed at all, staying entirely still, only with one eyebrow raised.

“Right,” you say. “You must be Jason.”   

“Yuh,” he answers.  

“Where are your parents?” Bucky demands immediately, choosing to ignore the full body cringe his own words give him. 

“Indianna or something, man. I dunno?” The door trembles open a bit more, giving you a clearer look at the guy. “Do you guys wanna come in? It’s cold.”

You take a step inside the huge foyer, almost steretoypically complete with a cascading staircase and big paintings of people on horses and stuff.

 Jason eventually peels the hoodie away from his face, shoving his arms inside the sleeves and spinning it around so he was wearing it the right way. 

“This is Bucky, by the way,” you introduce before beckoning to the man who had refused to move all this while. “Come on, babygirl.”

Bucky does not look wowed with the theatrics as he stands there, arms folded tight across his magnificent chest. 

Jason looks at you. “Is babygirl coming?”

Bucky inhales sharply while you stifle a laugh. “Do not call me that.”

“Oh, he loves it when people call him that, he’s just super pissy because he didn’t get enough attention today,” you coo. “Get in here Bucky.” 

He glares at you with enough intensity to set the house on fire.   

The kid looks like he’s in his early twenties, with shaggy brown hair that hides sleepy eyes, bad posture and a clean shaven face.. His hoodie is paired with grey sweatpants and yellow flip flops that were about one size too small for him. 

“Why’d you tweet at us?” Bucky questions, wondering what he had to do with anything.  

Jason juts his chin up contemplatively. “What do you guys do again?”

You stare at him to avoid how Bucky was staring at you. 

“We hunt ghosts and help old ladies cross the street.” You flash him a smile. 

“Cool.” Jason nods appreciatively. “I don’t have an old lady here.” 

Your eyebrow twitches. Bucky would have taken great joy in your awkwardness had he not felt entirely exasperated by the whole exchange. 

“Well, Jason, you DM’d us about the ghost in the house,” you communicate even slower. “The one that was being rude?”

“Oh, right,” he drags out. “You’re the people from YouTube. Avengers. I didn't think y’all were real, lol.”

“What the fuck.” Bucky mumbles to himself, because there was no way this guy said ‘LOL’ out loud.  “Did you just invite us inside your house without knowing who we are–”  

“Yes, we’re those people,” you interrupt, pulling out a card from your fucking sleeve. “The Graveyard Shift crew, ready and at your service.”

“Since when do we have business cards?” Bucky presses.

“Ignore him, he’s an intern.” You drop the card onto Jason’s hand. “Anyway, we’re the best rated ghost hunters within a twenty yard radius. Maybe even thirty, but I don't wanna get too ahead of myself.”

“Radical.” He flips the card back and forth without actually reading anything. Bucky wonders if he was looking for pictures. “Aren’t you supposed to have like, tech and people and stuff?”

“Some of us have performance anxiety–” you give Bucky a side eye and he rightfully looks absolutely incensed. “So, I’ve got a camera following us at all times and I’ve got all the tech we need.”

Bucky suddenly feels very aware of something hovering behind him, and it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint to not instinctually slap it out of existence.

He whips around to find a camera floating mid air, aimed directly at him almost like it is waiting for a reaction. While weird, it was still better than the stupid GoPro on his head that elongated his forehead to a sixhead.

“And I’ve got a REM Pod, a spirit box to pick up sounds when they talk to us, a water gun full of assorted waters from different beliefs for one gigantic spirit burning milkshake–” you list rapidly and Bucky cannot even tell where the fuck you’re pulling these things out from. “So, we should be good to go.”

Jason doesn’t look bothered at all, as he drags out, “Cool, lol.”

Bucky almost feels offended on your behalf by the little twerp. 

“Hold this,” you instruct, pressing the spirit box into Bucky's chest without giving him a choice. “Ready whenever you are, but before we start I just wanted to ask– why’d you come to us for help? I’m sure you have plenty of options.”

“Oh,” the guy says, wiping his hands down the side of his sweatpants. “You guys are Avengers and stuff…”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you both like it was obvious. 

When neither of you offer an answer, he continues “I mean, no one else seemed to like, know kickboxing and shi–”

“I’m sorry– kickboxing?”

“Or like, karate.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Whatever you guys are into, I don’t really care what style of combat it is.”

When it finally clicks, Bucky snorts. “You want us to fuckin’ fight your ghost?”

“Yeah, like a punch or something, I guess.” Jason looks too serious. “He’s being a real bitch dick.”

You exhale steadily. “First of all, how do you know it’s a ‘he’?”

Jason shakes his head, and his hair falls directly into his one eye, leaving you to only look at the other. “I’m pretty sure it’s my uncle.”

“Your uncle?” 

“Well yeah,” the guy responds, “this is his house. He built it and decorated it and shit.” 

You stare at him in disbelief. “You didn’t mention that in the brief.”

Bucky looks at you. “You got a brief?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s my uncle’s house, I guess,” Jason continues when you wave Bucky off. “He, like, kicked the bucket a few years ago. Like, totally died off.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. 

“We weren’t, like, close or anything but I guess he didn’t have any other relatives which figures, because he’s a pain in the ass, but I’m the next male heir or whatever, so I got it.”

“Male heir,” Bucky repeats slowly, wondering which fucking TV show he’s walked into.

“A 6BHK in this economy is a fuckin��� castle,” you shush him, turning to Jason again. “Didn’t you bother renovating or anything?”

“Clearly not,” Bucky mumbles, because he may have only known Jason for a grand total of a few minutes, but he really doubts that it was he who picked out redwood furniture and gold trimmings. 

“Nah, I don’t care. I usually spend all day doing gigs at my friend’s house but he told me I can’t keep throwing ragers there every night so I wanna do that here but he’s just being a big baby about it,” he explains all in one breath.

“What gigs?” Bucky asks curiously.

“I’m a DJ who specialises in acoustic EDM,” he says, chest puffing in pride. 

“Of course.” Bucky nods in return. 

Jason turns to you. “Didn’t think you guys were coming, not gonna lie.”

“You just do that whole door opening show to everyone?” you ask, amused.

“Uh, no, I just heard you guys arguing outside and thought it’d be funny,” he says. “I got you guys good, lol.” 

“Well, not me,” you counter, “but Bucky, for sure, pissed his pants a litt–”

“Anyway, here’s the keys. I’m out,” Jason cuts in. “It’s my last three performances at Rick’s house.” 

He tosses the key at babygirl’s Bucky’s chest, who instinctively catches it with ease.  

“You’re just giving us the house for the night?” Bucky stares at him incredulously. 

“Yuh. There’s, like, beer in the fridge if you want. No one delivers here ‘cause someone snitched that this place is haunted, which was kinda fucked. So there’s ramen in the fridge too if you’re hungry.”

“Why is there ramen in–”

“See y’all later, lol,” he takes off without another word. 

Bucky’s left staring after the guy who just strolls down the garden and out the gate without a second look.

“I think I want to adopt him.” Your gaze trails after him, before you crack your knuckles. “Alright. Let’s get this guy’s bitch dick uncle.”

The longer Bucky spends in the house, he can tell with absolute certainty that someone loved this place deeply. It is styled and decorated with the flair of a passion project, even though it currently looked like it dreamed of being a landfill when it grew up. There were cobwebs everywhere and several dust bunnies in every corner, and also many crushed cans of beer all around the floor. 

The previous owner had taste for sure. Bucky’s not sure if he’d appreciate Jason turning it into the newest hotspot for his ragers. Whatever that meant. 

“How long are we going to be here?” he asks, swiping a finger across the table. 

“Why, you got something to do?” you pause before adding, “Or someone to do?”

He sends you a jaded glance. “None of your business.”

“You literally called me the love of your life.” You scoff from your corner of the room. 

“You called yourself that,” Bucky reminds monotonously. 

“And you have never denied it.”

“I’m denying it right no-”

“Bzzt, too late. Anyway,” you announce. “Your hot date will have to be postponed, I fear. We are not leaving until we get some sort of proof.”

“Two hours.” Bucky holds up two dust coated fingers.

“I’ll buy you a pretzel.”

“Three hours.” His middle finger goes up in solidarity. 

You grin. “More than enough. We’re gonna make you a believer, babygirl.”

True, and surprisingly enough, an hour later, his whole life changes. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky can’t quite believe his eyes either, stomach turning. 

“What?” You’re somewhere behind, stupid machine held up as you spin around like a ballerina waiting for something to do something and make a noise or some shit. He doesn’t know. 

Bucky has tucked the spirit box behind his ear like a pencil, arms gripping the doors.

“What the hell,” he trails off slowly, eyes glued to the sight in front of him, hypnotising.

“Did you find something?” you whisper-yell, and the camera whizzes past you into his line of sight.

Bucky swallows the bile in his throat. 

“When he said ramen’s in the fridge, I didn’t think he meant he boiled a fuckin’ bucket full of noodles and just left it in there. What the fuck.” He grabs the aforementioned bucket and lifts it into the air. “Who does this? What the fuck?”

You let out a huff, lightly stomping yor foot. “Be so serious right now.”

“Are you crazy? Look at this.” Bucky spins it around to look at it from every angle. “It’s got ‘Jason’s ramen’ written on it. Who the fuck else’s would this be?”

“You’re supposed to be looking for ghosts,” you insist. “That is demonic behaviour. It’s not the same.”

“I’m lookin’ for snacks,” Bucky puts the damn bucket back and ignores it to look through the rest of the fridge. “There’s nothing here. What does that kid eat?”

“If you’re looking for snacks, you gotta look in the mirror,” you hum hopefully. 

“Hilarious.” Bucky’s voice comes back muddled from the several bottles of beer in the fridge. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It’s not useful.” you correct, “You said you’re looking for snacks, not a whole meal.”

He stops briefly. Bucky’s not sure what to do with all this strange attention you give him. It makes him feel all sorts of ways and he doesn’t like it one bit. 

“Whatever,” he mutters, continuing to scavenge. 

“Woah, calm down there, Prince Charming.” You snicker. “Give a person a warning before pulling out all your best lines on me like that.”

“You’re supposed to be working, not flirting,” Bucky responds, feeling the same burn at the tip of his ears from that evening. 

“When I was in the events business, multitasking was considered a valuable and necessary skill.”

Bucky stands up so fast he nearly hits his head on the fridge.

“What’s with all these random jobs you keep saying you’ve done?” he questions. “They told me you went on the run a long time ago and that’s where you met Nat.”

Your face changes, features becoming more solemn. He doesn’t know what’s going on, because he’s never seen you this serious before, not even when you guys were hanging out in the library. 

“Bucky,” your voice drops a few octaves, straight and steady. “Answer me this honestly.”

He feels a bit defensive because it almost feels like he’s fucked up somehow.

“What?” he questions. 

You watch him for another second before taking a step toward him, observing him closely.

“Did you really ask people about me?” 

He straightens up ever so slightly. “Why?”

You look at him gravely. “I got one more question.”

You take another step, reducing the space btween you to almost a ciminally low amount. Bucky’s sure he can hear your heartbeat. 

You watch his eyes look into yours intently, a flciker or doubt there.

You open your mouth, voice low and strong, “When will you admit to yourself you’re obsessed with me?”

It takes a second for it to register, and almost instantly he shoves you away, only to have you break into a laugh. 

“You’re so fucking annoying.”

“You have a crush on me,” you sing, “why else are you going around asking your friends about me? Do you want them to put in a good word? You gonna ask them to deliver your handwritten note to me?”

“Fuck right off, and then fuck off some more,” he barks, grabbing a beer from the front of the line. 

“Don’t worry, Buck, I think you’re the cutest guy in our whole grade, no competition,” you drawl, grinning at the pissed expression on his face. 

Bucky swerves around you to beeline to the kitchen island to drink his stupid beer in peace. He thinks that his retirement age is actually nearing. 

A house like this, with a room for Steve and another guest room for whoever wanted to visit. Possibly a dog. There wasn’t musch left in life to do, so he may as well spend the rest of it out in the suburbs in quiet. 

A few seconds later, you break the silence with, “But to answer your question: I did go on the run. I just did all those jobs while I was running.”

He turns to you, noting that while your face was light, it seemed like there was sincerity and truth in what you were saying. 

“Why?” he asks, voice gruff.

You shrug, half a smile on your face. “Why not? I met Nat when she broke down the door of my accountancy office on one of her missions. I threw some staplers and hit a guy with a printer, and from then on, whenever I needed help or she needed my freaky little powers, we’d reach out. Years later, she asked if I wanted to come join, I was bored and now here we are. I’m a nepo baby, if you kinda think about it.” 

Bucky looks at you, but says nothing. 

“Anyway, brief history aside, I’m going upstairs. There’s nothing here other than your bitchy aura and bucket ramen.” The camera spins around to follow you.

Bucky simply ignores you as he swipes all the garbage off the counter and onto the ground so he can lean against it, alone with his beer and new information to process.

However, a loud creek, unmistakable and intense, comes from the floor above. 

You look at Bucky. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered, instead using his metal hand to pop open a beer he fished out of the damn fridge. 

“Can you shut up,” you hiss when he drinks a little too loud for your liking. 

“What,” he asks through a mouthful of beer as he drops the bottle cap onto the counter.

Another creek reverberates loudly through the house.

You make a face at him, somewhere in a mix between excitement and anticipation. 

“Is that supposed to mean something?” he inquires.

“Two creeks in the last minute,” you insist, like he’s stupid. 

He scoffs. “So? It’s an old house, if you breathe too hard the floor’s gonna fall off.”

“It is literally not that old. And second, it’s too much of a coincidence.” You make way towards the stairs, beckoning for him to follow. “And take the spirit box out of your hair, we need to catch if it’s saying something.”

“You're not gonna catch anything because it’s not going to speak because ghosts are not real.” He takes a large swig. 

You ignore him, leaving in search of the sound.

Bucky takes a second before following you anyway, bored out of his mind and with nothing really to do.

“You comin’ in?” he asks from inside the spacious room, beer in hand. 

“I didn’t even buy you dinner yet and you’re already inviting me into your bedroom.”

“Jesus Christ. Stay outside then.”

The room has a strange, musty smell. Bucky, sick and tired of the ebay this kid has been living, drags open the window to let some fresh air in, going so far as to tear a large hole through the newspaper to let the moonlight into the room. 

“Someone keeps moving the furniture back and forth, there’s scratches all over the floor,” you observe, pointing to the ground near the table and the bed. 

“Uh huh,” he says, tossing the spirit box onto the table before taking another swig, ducking out of the way of the camera. 

You scan every corner with the machine in your hand. Bucky wanders around aimlessly for a second before usefully sitting on the bed, leaning against the pillows. 

“You gonna take your shirt off next?” you question. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, taking another sip from his bottle. “Pay attention. Your demons are trying to talk t-.” 

The bed immediately lurches from underneath him, scraping loudly against the wood. 

“What the fuck–” he exclaims, getting right back up, heart in his throat for a damn second. 

You stifle a laugh.

“I’ve had enough of you today.” He puts the damn bottle down on the nightstand. “I’m leaving.” 

“We didn’t even light the candles yet, you can’t–”

The bed scrapes back into place again, but this time Bucky is prepared and done. 

“Stop doing that,” he snaps, “you’re ruining the flo–”

“I didn’t do that,” you tell him, eyebrows and hands raised, “That definitely wasn’t me.”

“Hardy har har. You didn’t push the bed, you didn’t climb the tree in the cemetery, you didn’t conjure up hallucinations of my–” He stops himself abruptly.

It’s too late, though. You very much caught it. 

The look you give him is peculiar. “Hallucinations of your what?” 

“Nothing,” he utters. “Got my wires crossed. Nothing to do with you.”

“Okay,” you drag out, giving him one more uncanny look before turning your attention to the bedpost. “Anyway, I promise you the second one was definitely not me. There’s something else going on here.”

Bucky is starkly sent back to fifteen minutes ago and his thoughts of retirement as he watches you crouch by the floor.

He was too old for this. He was not right for this. The three second glance at his dead sister and his entire life had gone lopsided. Honestly, he could probably handle like two or three more episodes of this nonsense before tapping out completely. 

“I can sense something,” you announce.

“I can sense something too,” he murmurs absentmindedly to himself. “It’s called bullshi–”

“Be quiet, I want to see if we can talk to the guy in the room.” You hold your hand up. “Hey Jason’s uncle. You here?”

He watches, unamused, as nothing changes. No machine beeps, nothing creeks.

“Bucky, you scared him away.” You turn to him, hands on your hips. “You used your big bitch face and you scared away th–”

He launches a pillow at you. It lowers to the ground without ever touching you. 

“Go eat some bucket ramen and maybe you’ll be less bitchy.” Your face lights up, and he can tell you’ve gotten another stupid idea. “Jason’s uncle, are you hungry? Do you want something to eat? Human blood? Metal arm?”

Silence.

“No pretzels for you,” you tsk, but let go of the idea anyway. 

“Maybe your ghost boyfriend likes them, why don’t you ask him?” He pulls out his phone to book himself an Uber. “And since he literally doesn’t talk and you don’t shut up, it’d be a great ma–”

The same pillow he launched at you gets thrown back at him. He simply ducks out of the way, and it hits the nightstand, toppling the bottle over.

“Now look at what you did,” you accuse, pointing at the bottle with the camera following suit. 

“The fuck? I didn't do shit–” Bucky stops speaking when something nudges his leg. 

The bottle that initially had clattered to the ground quite a feet away from him was now by his foot.

“Interesting,” you muse.

“What?” he questions immediately. “That a bottle rolled? It’s a bottle. They do that.”

“Uh huh. Come stand here then.” You jut your thumb out to a few paces away. 

He rolls his eyes but takes a large stride towards you.  

Annoyingly, the bottle rolls right along with him and lands up at his feet.

“Ghost,” you nod along certainly. 

“Why isn't it doing that then?” he argues on instinct, and then his mind catches up, forcing him to take a step back and wonder why the fuck he was still in the house. 

Once again, he genuinely believes that this should be enough. Ghost hunted for a few episodes, read a few stories. He thinks his numbers should be up and that would be convincing enough for Maya to let him get away from the series, especially if he played his 80-years-of-imprisonment card right.  

“You're right.” You peer at him before turning your head up to the ceiling. “Please, ghost man. Please, I’m begging you, hit this man. Plea–”

Bucky feels something smack lightly against the back of his head before falling to the ground.

A second later you erupt into cheers and he turns around to look at the culprit.

A crumpled up piece of paper.  He bends down to pick it up, finding nothing special about it other than some random scribbles. Probably some more of Jason's junk. 

“Ghosts are real and they hate Bucky Barnes, baby!,” you cheer. “Ohh, I’m gonna make so much money. Babygirl, you are a poltergeist magnet. ”

“It’s a piece of paper and the window is open,” he groans, tossing it back onto the ground, where it dances around, proving his point. “The wind carried it over and it touched my head.”

“Right. The wind.” You roll your eyes. “You’re like, fifteen feet tall, only God can see the top of your head.”

“That doesn’t mean any–”

“Hush, I’m thinking. Quiet, human Burj Khalifa.” You hold your hand up. “Let’s see. The ghost knocks on furniture when we were downstairs. It shoves the bed and rolls a bottle around on the ground when we’re arguing and right when you’re leaving, it throws a piece of paper at you. What could it all mean?”

“I got it.” BUccky straightens up. “Holy shit, I think I know what it means.”

“What?” you ask, wonder and mystery. “What does it mean?”

“It means that my Uber’s here,” Bucky replies in the same tone and mystery. “You’re insane. I’m leaving. Bye.”

“Ugh, you’re such a loser. If I turn up dead, you’ll have been the last person to see me alive.”

“I’ll see you at home.” He shoves his hands into the pocket of his shorts before turning on his heel. 

“I do not have a home.” you say, reaching to grab the piece of paper he discarded and shoving it into your bag; 

“Okay, see you on the news, then.” He kicks the damn bottle out of the way before heading out the door. “I’ll make sure they use a real nice picture of you.”

“Bitch–” you begin, when something catches your attention

The bed creeks loudly, reflexes instantly sending him into fight or flight. 

Bucky turns to you to cuss you out again for the nth time that evening, but you’ve also got a look of confusion painted all over you. 

“Hold on,” you say strangely, voice thick with theorising, “I think I actually figured it out.”

When Jason finally makes his way back to the house two hours later, his hair is littered with stray bits of confetti and his eyes are smudged with eyeliner. He’s got a smoothie cup full of glittery red liquid and a straw, and what looks like little bits of fruit floating around in there. 

“Looks like the gig was a rager,” you comment. 

“Nah this wasn’t from the gig. I got lost,” he dismisses, and then refuses to expand further. “Anyway, you kicked his ass, right?”

You look at Bucky, who is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, bitch face on full blast as he looks pissed in the corner.

“Your uncle– he decorated this house himself, right?” you prompt. 

“Yeah.” Jason says, taking a sip from his unidentified liquid. “He got a bunch of shit custom made.” 

“Right.” You nod. “And when you came in here, did you shift the furniture around?”

“Yeah, lol, it was mad ugly,” Jason divulges, taking one large last sip before dropping his cup onto the ground. “Mine’s way better.” 

“Have you considered that maybe… your uncle doesn’t like that?” you try gently, eyes following the cup as it clatters gracefully onto the ground. 

Bucky talks to himself under his breath, the same as when you told him that the only time spooky shit had happened was when he dropped bottle caps, shifted beds out of their original places, left behind bottles and other paper. But he doesn’t contradict you. 

“I see,” Jason says. “What’s wrong with moving furniture again?”

Bucky wonders how the guy made it to this age. “Maybe he just doesn’t like you moving his shit around. Not that there’s a ghost at all.” 

“Hmm,” he says, following along. “So I stop moving the bed and other stuff, and he’ll stop being such a bitch?”

“And maybe he doesn’t like you leaving trash around the place?” you eye the cup, completely understanding where the uncle was coming from. 

“Okay,” Jason says again. 

“So you’ll stop?” you proposition slowly.

He shrugs. “Nah, I like it better this way.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky exhales.

You hold back an audible groan. 

“You could, like, punch him to get him off my back. Like, all the way off my back,” the guy suggests instead. “Like, sucks for him that he’s dead, I guess, but it’s like, my house now.”

You stay quiet and wait. 

Sure enough, the cup from earlier bumps into his leg in silent fury.

He stares down at it, giving it a kick. It rolls away before rolling right back with malice. Bucky narrows his eyes at it, too tired at this point to even complain. 

“This house is weird, man,” Jason declares after fifteen rounds of kicking it and watching it roll back. 

“Look–” you sigh. “You could just stop littering, and he’ll stop messing with your layout.”

“And take out the trash more than once a month,” Bucky adds from under his breath. 

“Life’s all about compromises. You get his house for free and he gets a clean house to spend his afterlife in.”

“No such thing,” Bucky adds.

You send a glare his way.

“I see,” Jason contemplates, as if it’s the toughest decision on earth to pick up his crushed soda cans. “Yeah, okay.”

A second later, the cup finally stops trying to assault his now pink flip flops. and comes to a standstill. 

The both of you peer at him.

“What?” he asks. 

Your gaze drifts down.

It takes a very long second for it to click.

“Oh ‘Kay,” he says, bending over to pick it up and place it back on his table, looking at you for confirmation, to which you nod. 

It stays in its place. 

“Radical,” he says. 

No one says anything further. The bed doesn’t make a noise either. The air is almost dropping with awkwardness. 

You clear your throat. “Well, that concludes it then. Pleasure meeting ya.”

“You too.” Jason gives you a thumbs up, following it with a peace sign. 

“Bye,” Bucky says curtly, turning to walk out the room.

“Oh! Here’s our business card, in case you or anyone else you–”

Bucky spins you around by your shoulders and drags you out of the room with him. 

On the way back, you sort through all the footage from the evening while Bucky drives the van back. 

Thankfully, it has been relatively quiet the entire time, except for the soft sounds of the radio and the buzz of the heater. Bucky tunes out for most of the ride, one hand on the wheel and the other propping up his head.  

“Huh,” you comment out of the blue. “That’s fun.”

“What?” he asks inattentively . 

“I guess his uncle really was hungry,” you consider. 

Bucky simply keeps quiet and waits for you to go on if you choose to.

“Piece of paper that he threw at you–”

“Piece of paper that the wind picked up,” even his entertaining of you has a limit, but he isn’t paying much attention. 

“It’s got letters on it,” you shove the sheet in front of his eyes, forcing him to swerve on the road in an instant. 

“I’m driving,” he hisses, shoving it aside swiftly. “Do you want us to die?” 

“Yeah, yeah, but look at it,” you insist, only to hold it close to his face again. “Does this mean anything to you? It did hit you across the head.”

He refuses to believe you at first, but the second he glances at it, it’s unmistakable.

‘PB&J’ written messily across the page, small letters, lines jagged like someone was struggling to write with their non-dominant hand.

“That’s nothing,” he dismisses quietly, “He’s a college kid. They live on that shit.” 

“Or maybe someone in the afterworld really misses their PB&J,” you hum. 

Bucky doesn't answer, because the alternative is worse. The alternative means something is going very, very wrong. 

 But you don't seem to pay him any heed, going right back to sorting through footage. 

It’s probably why you don’t notice that his one handed grip on the steering wheel gets tighter, and his face quietly drains of colour. 

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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Next part

[makethemhoesmad]

to you i can admit, that i’m just too soft

paige x reader

just smth cutie

—

i jolt awake, something pulling me from what i thought had been a deep sleep. i roll over, hoping to tuck my face back into paige’s chest, but all i feel is cold sheets. i sit up, grabbing for my phone. before i can call her, i notice a text from over an hour ago, around midnight.

P💜

hey went 2 the gym 2 shoot be home later 

i’m not surprised that she did this, it happens a lot. recently though, it’s been happening even more than usual. knowing i won’t be able to fall back asleep, i call her. she picks up on the first ring, which is odd considering she’s supposed to be shooting.

“hey ma, i’m sorry you woke up. i’ll be home in an hour or two, so you should try and go back to sleep,” she says, before i can even start to talk.

“nah, i won’t be able to fall asleep. you should come home baby, i need you to sleep. i can rebound for you tomorrow morning?”

she huffs in a breath. 

“i’ll have to shower when i get home babe, it’ll take too long.” 

“why would you have to shower, i don’t mind if you’re a bit sweaty.”

she hesitates.

“i kinda, um, ran here? i don’t have my car.”

“i’ll be there in five,” i say, hanging up before she can argue.

-

when i pull up next to the practice gym, paige is already outside, pacing on the curb waiting for me. she jogs up to my car door and hops in. when i don’t immediately start the engine, she tilts her head at me questioningly. i reach over, taking her face in my hands and asking

“baby, be honest with me. why have you been going to the gym so much, and running there as well? you’re going to get too tired, and burn yourself out.” she blinks once, twice. then her lip starts to quiver and tears fill her eyes and before i can say or do anything, she’s climbing over the console to sit in my lap, squishing herself between the wheel and i, and starts sobbing. i rub her back, letting her soak my shirt through with tears.

“hey, hey, darling, it’s okay. just breath with me, alright? in and out, in and out.”

she looks up at me, tearfully.

“i- i don’t know why i keep coming here. i just wake up and i can’t sleep and i don’t want to wake you up and then i start thinking about the things that i don’t do perfectly, and then i start to shake and the only thing i can do it sprint to the gym and put up shot after shot so i can be good enough and now all i wanna do is go home and go to bed because im just so fucking tired.” 

at her last statement, she slides off of my lap, clutching one of my hands, allowing me to put the car in drive. sensing that she doesn’t really want to talk, i allow her to silently fidget with my fingers. with her tongue poked out between her teeth in concentration and tear stains on her face, she looks so devastatingly beautiful and innocent.

when we get back home, she drags me by the hand back to our bed, undressing us both down to nothing and pulling us down under the covers. she tucks her face into my chest, wrapping her arms around me and squeezing tight. i run my hands through her hair, feeling her yawn against me and cuddle in closer.

“paige, baby, you know that you’re perfect, right?” 

the only response i get is a tighter squeeze.

[sethsclearwater]

You are literally so cool 🤭

I'd like anything with one of the boys (preferably paul) being in their rut. Not necessarily smut but like them struggleing with it (maybe can't sleep, can't think clearly etc.) and reader trying to calm them or helping them out realise some tension.

Thank you! Much love ♡

dawww thank you lol!

...

"are you okay?" you asked, voice quiet as you stepped back into your shared bedroom wearing just one of paul's old t-shirts. your imprinter had gone into his rut almost 2 days ago and, even though he kept up his usual tough guy facade, you knew it was starting to get to him.

aside from the insatiable need to be fucking you most of the time, you and paul had both discovered just how mentally difficult it could be to deal with for him. he wasn't used to having his thoughts all clouded which sent his anxiety levels off the charts - something he was not even remotely used to feeling.

so when you'd gotten out of the shower only to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, anxiously clenching and unclenching his hands, you knew it was definitely starting to get to him again.

at the sound of your voice, paul lifted his head so he could meet your gaze, his features noticeably softening when he saw you but his eyes still remained quite sad looking which had you frowning, "'m fine," he reassured, though the tone in his voice served as a dead giveaway that he was in fact not okay.

with a soft sigh, you padded over to him, coming to sit down next to him on the bed, "c'mere," you murmured, sitting so your back was against the headboard, the pillows softening against your spine as you gently coaxed him over to lay down in between your legs.

normally, he'd never be caught dead doing something like this but you both knew his rut messed with his head way more than either of you liked it to. so, despite his hesitance, he laid in between your legs, resting his head against your chest while you wrapped your arms around him to hold him close to you.

you pressed your lips to his wet hair as paul wrapped his hands around your forearm, the touch seeming to help ground him a little bit as you two remained in a comfortable silence.

with your free hand, you gently stroked your fingers up and down his side, both of you enjoying the few moments of peace in between his rut ramping up again. thankfully, paul's ruts generally only lasted around 3 days so you knew he wouldn't have to deal with much more.

"why don't you let me go on top when you need me again," you murmured after a few moments, "you should try and rest a little bit," you added, knowing just how much he'd insisted on dominating you the past 48 hours. and, usually, that's how both of you liked it but when it was non-stop for days on end, you knew he'd want a break but definitely wouldn't ask for it unless you were going to proactively offer.

paul gave you a small nod, both of you content with his acceptance, "and we should order food from that new place down the street. i don't wanna cook tonight," you suggested, voice still quiet as you gently squeezed his bicep before returning to your soothing stroking.

"that sounds good," paul mumbled, voice a little muffled by the way he had his head against your chest, half asleep in your arms.

a small smile crossed your face as you pressed your lips to his hair again, much happier now that you knew he was at least relaxing a little bit with you holding him.

"you can go to sleep," you reassured, "i'll order the food in a little bit," you added and paul seemed to take that to heart, pressing a gentle kiss to your arm before fully relaxing in your arms as his eyes fell closed so he could try and get some sleep.

[livwritesstuff]

thinking about this again so here's a part 2

Eddie wakes up to rain. Heavy rain, the kind that keeps the morning sky dark and bounces loud off the roof and the walls and the windows.

The rain didn't wake Eddie up. What did it was a pair of big, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him in close.

Steve’s arms.

Objectively, this should be a good thing, and past versions of Eddie (even twenty-four-hours-ago-Eddie) would be goddamn irate with him for feeling anything other than vehemently positive about it.

He’s feeling bothered. He’d gone to sleep last night feeling bothered because Steve had sacked out approximately three seconds after they’d hooked up for the first time, and now he’s being woken up by Steve’s big arms pulling him in close and that has Eddie feeling bothered all over again because this isn’t how he thought this would go at all.

“G’mornin’ Eds,” Steve mumbles, the remnants of sleep in his voice.

And then he has the audacity to press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s bare shoulder.

"Y'know," Steve says, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the diner this morning, but…sounds like it’s kinda fuckin’ gross out there. I can make us something if you want.”

Eddie sits up, suddenly feeling like he’s been left outta the loop on some part of this because Steve doesn’t even seem surprised to wake up and find Eddie still in his bed.

If there’s anything Eddie hates more than feeling bothered, it’s feeling like he’s left outta the loop, like there’s a piece of all this that he’s missing.

"Uh, what are we doing here, Steve?" Eddie asks, and he regrets it the second he sees Steve's face turn all hurt and confused.

"I don't —" Steve starts, pushing himself up on his elbow into a half-seated position, "What...what are you talking about?"

And isn't that choice of words just completely ironic?

"Oh, now you're interested in talking? Or are you gonna fall back asleep the second I start to-"

"Wait –" Steve interrupts, his eyebrows furrowed, "Are you all pissed off because I fell asleep?"

"I'm not pissed off," Eddie mutters, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of the sheets.

"What the fuck did you want me to do?" Steve argues, "Break out a deck of cards and suggest a round of poker? It was late! I was tired! I don't know how else to say it, man. You, like — you did a good job. Really had me beat, or whatever."

And, sure, Eddie allows himself to sit with that notion for a second before he shakes his head.

"I needed you to talk to me!” he exclaims, "We fucked, and then you fell asleep, Steve! Like it was just a fuckin' hook-up to you or something."

That confused look is back on Steve's face, but instead of being laced with hurt, this time it's just plain bewildered.

"What — Eddie," he says, "We talked."

Huh?

“Huh?”

“We talked,” Steve repeats, “Before we…you know, and I said that I like you and I said that I’m not really into the casual thing anymore, and you seemed pretty on board with all that, man, I dunno.”

And yeah, sure, Eddie sort of remembers that.

He definitely remembers when Steve pressed him against his closed bedroom door, and maybe he’d also been speaking at the time, but they’d been so close together and Steve had kept doing these little glances down at Eddie’s lips and there’d been this intensity in his eyes and Eddie had been pressed against Steve Harrington’s closed bedroom door.

There hadn’t been a single coherent thought in his brain, obviously, and yes, that included comprehending any of those words Steve might have been speaking so everything that had come out of Eddie’s mouth in response had been yes, yep, uh-huh, you betcha.

Eddie feels heat rising in his cheeks and by the looks of the amused smile making a home on Steve’s face, he’s not blind to what Eddie is currently realizing either.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

"Maybe," Steve allows even as he starts to pull Eddie back into his arms, "Breakfast?"

[pasukiyo]

TAKE YOU LIKE A DRUG

bodyguard!leon x f!popstar!reader word count; 1,576 warnings; smut, oral (f receiving) summary; he's tried time and time again to push you away, to make you understand that you don't know what it means to want him. but how can he resist the temptation when you come barreling into his hotel room in the late hours of the night?

 Three knocks against Leon’s hotel room door woke him. 

 With a grumble, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his knuckles digging the sleep away from his eyes. He blinked through the blurriness of his vision down at the phone resting on the nightstand, ‘2:30’ in big, bold white letters across the top of the screen. 

 Three more knocks on the door made him rise from the bed and pull a loose t-shirt over his head, muscles aching with each step he took. 

 Frustration laced his weary bones— for fuck’s sake, it was his night off. For just once, he’d like to get some real sleep.  

 The knocking began again and Leon swung open the door before the count could reach three. He blinked, his brow dipping as he took in the figure before him. Her name tumbled from his lips and it was as if his voice was what made her snap, surging forward into him, her lips sealing his in a kiss. 

 Leon nearly stumbled backwards when she threw herself on him, an arm wrapped around his neck and a hand cupping his cheek. He steadied himself with either of his hands on her hips, attempting to pull himself away but the desperation in her kiss dragged him right back in, as if the ocean’s waves had crashed over his head. 

 Leon had kissed her many times before, too many times to count. They’d kissed in secret, in many storage closets, in dressing rooms, behind many backs. They’d kissed in hotel rooms, rental homes, even in each other’s own bedrooms. They’d kissed slowly, they’d kissed hard, they’d taken their time, and they'd kissed until they had to force themselves away to make schedules on time. 

 She kissed him now with a desperation he’d never tasted, never felt from her before. Her kiss was mind-numbing, nearly enough to turn his brain to mush and make his knees feel weak. But the slick, oily voice somewhere in the back of his head reminded him that he couldn’t do this, that he knew this was wrong. The voice’s whispers infected his brain like a parasite and twisted like vines around his ears, its breath hot as it curled around his cheeks. 

 Leon peeled open his eyelids and pushed her away by the grip he had on her hips, either of their chests heaving. She blinked up at him, a furrow in her brow and a look so devastating in her eyes that he had to turn away, wiping her spit from his lips. 

 “I told you we can’t do this anymore,” Leon managed to say over his panting. 

 She shook her head, “I don’t care.”

 Leon, still with his back turned, closed his eyes, willing his heart to ease in his chest. This was the last thing he needed— temptation. Because that was all he saw whenever he looked at her. Temptation. A lust from deep within the pit of his belly for risk, a dark, twisted desire to corrupt her, to ruin her like he already was. There were many secrets he’d kept— from her, from others. Secrets he’d buried long ago and vowed he’d never let resurface— secrets he was too tempted to dig up from the grave he’d abandoned long ago the closer he let himself be drawn to her. 

 There was a whole life’s worth of baggage he knew he shouldn’t burden her with, knew she didn’t deserve to have to deal with. Leon Kennedy was wrong for her in every single sense— why couldn’t it just be simple to get her to understand that?

 Leon sighed her name again, “you should,” he shook his head. “You should also be asleep right now. You just played a two hour show and you have a photoshoot in seven—“

 “I don’t care, Leon.”

 His muscles tensed when her hand slithered around his elbow, casting a glare to the ground beneath their feet as she coiled like a snake around his body until she stood before him. She dipped her chin, leaning down until their eyes could meet. 

 “Why are you always depriving yourself?” She asked, her temper short and rising to the gleam in her eyes. “You always push me away but I know you better than you think, Leon.”

 Leon’s jaw clenched and his gaze sharpened, shaking his head. Her bottom lip quivered at the intensity of his stare but still, she wouldn’t relent, wouldn’t let go. 

 “You don’t know the first thing about me,” he muttered. “And trust me, if you did, you wouldn’t want me.”

 She huffed, pressing her lips together to tame her temper. “You don’t know that,” she shook her head and he scoffed, slipping his arm away from her grip. She followed when he turned to move away, like a leech in his skin he couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard he tried. “Will you stop walking away from me for one goddamn second and just listen to me?”

 Leon turned, towering over her very suddenly, eclipsing whatever little light still remained in the room. She nearly stumbled back when he hovered over her, her lips parting in a gasp when her back hit the wall. Even still, Leon leaned closer, sleep a distant memory on his bones. 

 “When will it get through your thick fucking skull that I’m not good for you?” He practically hissed with a venom she felt straight in the chest. She blinked, and he continued, “you don’t know what it means to want me. You don’t know what kind of baggage you’re asking for.”

 There was a lump at the base of her throat that visibly bobbed when she swallowed and what might have been mistaken for fear began to show for what it really was— curiosity, desire, lust. 

 “I think I can discern what’s good or bad for me on my own,” she murmured, “I don’t need you to make decisions for me.”

 Leon blinked— was it even possible to get this girl to realize she was making a mistake?

 She balled the front of his t-shirt in a fist and tugged him into her, their breaths two ghosts in a waltz, the tips of their noses nearly touching. 

 “When will that get through your thick fucking skull?” She asked in a whisper, gaze flickering down to his lips and back. Leon’s heart thundered in his chest, the oily voice growing louder, barking its warnings. But the longer they stared at one another, the fainter the voice seemed to be until it drowned altogether. 

 Leon’s breath shuddered when he sucked it in, “you’re making a mistake.”

 She leaned further in until their lips were a mere wisp away from each other, “I’ll think I’ll live.”

 Their lips became one again and this time, Leon had no intention of pulling away. His hands were on her hips, woven in her hair, hers on his face, on his shoulder. They kissed with a fervor neither had ever felt before, their kiss was electric, and with a simple spark, they were both set aflame. 

 Leon’s hands carried her to bed and caressed the soft stomach beneath her t-shirt, his fingers curling around the hem of her shorts and tugging until they, along with her underwear, were discarded in a pile on the floor. 

 There they were again, making the same mistake they made time and time again. Her hands were in the dark blonde hair atop his head, still messy with sleep and his arms were hooked around her thighs, face burrowed into the sopping cunt between her legs, breathing her in like a vapor. His tongue swirled around her clit at an agonizing pace, one that had her throwing her head back into the pillows, her back arching up off the mattress. 

 “Mmm…” she mewled, squirming where she laid. “Fffuck Leon.”

 Leon hummed against her aching bud, taking her in as if she were a drug, for that’s exactly what she was. 

 A drug— one he couldn’t get enough of. One he always pushed away from but still clawed his way back to over and over again. She was a beautiful vice tied with a ribbon of glamor and fame, the physical embodiment of everything Leon didn’t and would never deserve. She was something too grand, too perfect, too good for him. 

 Leon greedily lapped up everything she had to offer with his tongue to her center, staring up at her through heavy, hooded lids as she writhed and mewled his name. She sang for him like the pretty little songbird she was, his tongue’s ministrations her muse, the ink to the pen she used to write her lyrics. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this moment would be turned into a song, music thousands of her fans would scream the lyrics to and he’d be the only one to understand it for what it truly meant. 

 “Fuck! More… Leon, please! Feels so… shit! Feels so fucking good!”

 Like the selfish bastard he knew he was deep down, Leon buried his tongue further into the heat of her cunt, stealing her siren’s song straight from her lips. She was like a siren, enchanting him with her song, with each pretty little note he dug from her with every stroke of his tongue. And just like the selfish, undeserving bastard he was, Leon drank everything she had to offer up like an expensive brand of wine. 

a/n; another one in the books for these two! thank you all so much for all the love you gave i can see you, it makes me so happy to see so many of you enjoying this little au! (also to see fellow resident evil fans/swifties 🤭

🎀 if you enjoyed this one, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! it means the world to me 🫶

TAGLIST

@corruptcoder

@chaoticevilbakugo

@bxbyyyjocelyn

@luckypurins

[ilwonuu]

𐦍༘?can i 𐦍༘⋆

↬ choi seungcheol

𓇣 pairing- nonidol!cheol x fem reader, dom!seungcheol x sub!reader, bestfriend!cheol x fem reader, friends to lovers<3

𓇣 summary- your best friend calls you late at night for something other than a innocent hangout.

𓇣 warnings- dumb confessing love to each other, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, cum swallowing, kissing, MDNI, lmk what else

𓇣 a/n- this is just a random fic that u wrote a long time ago.. i liked it enough to post so lmk what you think!! should i write a part two? ALSO IM BACK FROM LITERALLY NOT POSTING FOR DAYS!!!! im posting a lot of fics today<3 luv u guys 😡

tossing and turning in your bed has gotten you wide awake. you’ve been trying to fall asleep for the past hour. it now being 1:30am as glance at your clock.

you sigh closing your eyes again before you start to get a call. you groan reaching for your phone. seeing it’s seungcheol you make a confused expression, pressung answer.

“cheol? it’s so late what’s up?” you question and he just sighs. “okay- um this is gonna sound crazy but can i pick you up? i’ve been thinking you all night.” he confesses. his voice sounding tense but lust filled.

“thinking about me? what do you mean?” you are beyond confused now, wanting him to explain it. of course cheol has said something like this to you before, but this time it feels different.

“just let me come get you and i’ll explain then. can i?” he asks. you don’t even know why but your mouth is immediately saying that you would love for him to pick you up.

you having no control when it comes to cheol. you sigh again as you force yourself out of the warmth of your bed to grab some pants to throw on.

quickly changing as you know cheol, how fast he would get to your house. speaking of, your phone lights up with a text from the boy telling you he’s outside. you slip on your slippers and head out of your house into his car.

“well good morning to you.” you say sarcastically as you get into the passenger seat. “can i just drive and explain? it’s kind of a lot to take in.” he starts to drive to your guys usual spot to watch the sunset. you couldn’t do that now obviously…

“so.. were you asleep when i called?” “no unfortunately i haven’t been sleeping very well and these were one of the completely sleepless nights.” he sighs not taking his eyes of the road.

“i’m sorry i hope you can sleep better tomorrow.” he says looking at you for a moment to give you a soft smile before finally arriving at your spot.

“are you gonna tell me why you wanted to pick me up at 2 in the morning?” you turn your gaze to him and he just nods. “don’t freak out okay-“ he cuts himself off.

“y/n- i’m in love with you. and everyday i’m more and more in love with you. i couldn’t get confessing to you off my mind. i wanted you to know in person.” he says looking at you for a reaction, response, anything.

“cheol i-“ he sighs thinking he already knows what you’re gonna say. “i know you don’t feel the same. i had a feeling you didn’t but i just need to tell you okay? it was killing me and i just don’t want anything to be weird now-“ you stop his words with your finger.

“cheol shut up. i’m in love with you too.” you confess as well catching him completely off guard. “wait are you serious? don’t mess with me that’s not funn-“ you cut him with a kiss against his lips.

“you believe me now?” he nods pulling you to kiss him again. “you don’t know how bad i wanted to do that.” he admits with a deep sigh.

“cheol-you know-i- me too.” his hands intertwined with yours. you feel so safe with him. you want nothing more than to be his. you want him to be yours.

“y/n i- please let me kiss you again.” and that’s how you ended up here. on your knees in the backseat next to your best friend, reaching for his dick as he fucks his fingers into you.

“cheol-“ he smirks down at you. “feel good baby? keep going.” you nod at his words finally pulling his dick out of his pants. shocked at the size of course. you have never been with anyone with a dick this big- nearly coming on his fingers.

“go ahead, let me see you baby.” he’s looking down at you with intimidating eyes. you give his dick a couple strokes causing him to hiss but mindlessly ruts his hips up with your hand.

you kitten lick the tip of his dick not breaking eye contact with him. a load groan erupting from him. his fingers are starting to fuck into you faster. your moans against him making him crazy.

“fuck just like- that. feels so fucking good.” his hips moving with your mouth as you fuck yourself back onto his fingers.

“look at you. o-oh fuck” your mouth speeding up on his cock. his fingers curling inside of you causing you to moan. you gag on his dick as his hips start to meet your mouth.

you cum on his fingers hard as you feel him start to fuck your mouth. he fucks his fingers into slowly before pulling them out to bring them up to his mouth.

he hums before groaning when he sees you looking up at him. he pulls his fingers out his mouth, his hand inching to your ass rather quickly.

“i’m gonna- fuck i’m coming. you’re so beautiful.” his cum shooting deep into your mouth as his hips fuck up with his groans.

you keep eye contact with him as you swallow. he groans trying not to fuck your mouth again. you sit up to kiss him.

“you’re so pretty.” he gives you a big smile as the two of you get dressed. you blush and look away from him. “want to come to my house?” he smiles at you.

[meth0ne]

𝙼𝚈 𝙻𝚄𝙲𝙸𝙳 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙹𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝚈/𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙾𝙳

Hello It’s me, Methone again 🤟

I’ve been lucid dreaming, every single night for a week.

I’ve always wanted to achieve it, since i was idk 6

AND I’VE TRIED EVERY STUPID METHOD. I’ll tell you that

I know that those methods does work for some people but I am not one of them😔

And then a week ago, I thought “who the fuck will tell me what to do to achieve my goal”

Since we all know about the void state, shifting and lucid dreaming I’ll go straight to “THE METHOD”.

╰┈☆ THE METHOD ☆┈╯

1. I put on this banger👇 on my headphones and i lie down (i always do this when i feel that i’ll be tired soon or when i know i can make myself fall asleep pretty easily. BUT NOT TOO TIRED)

2. When I’m listening to this i affirm just the simplest and most beautiful “I am” (i listen to that for an hour at least) But sometimes my mind wonder and i think about some stupid things like “should i pee? or not?” for an hour and it still works for me.

3. When i take off my headphones and i hear in my ears that dubumdubum sound, i know that I’m ready.

4. Then i just lie on my bed in comfortable position to fall asleep and i repeat in my head “I am aware, I am aware”

5. Booom you are lucid dreaming

6. (extra tip) I visualise that I am already counting my fingers.

Thank you for reading this:) I hope my “method” (i hate this word) will work for you! I’m waiting for your stories in the comments.

I love you, beautiful people.

[victorianbatman]

More ATLA/LOK Incorrect quotes

GN reader, unless stated otherwise

Bolin, propping his feet on the table: So, I heard you like bad boys?

Y/n: What? No.

Bolin, taking his feet off the table: Oh thank God, that felt terrible.

-

Lin: Whats this?

Y/n, hugging her: Affection.

Lin: Disgusting.

Lin:…

Lin: Do it again.

-

Bolin: Wow, your legs look amazing in those pants!

Y/n: You should see me without them.

Bolin: Without.. legs?

-

Sokka: What did you make for Y/n?

Zuko, staring at the burnt food: Regret.

-

Korra, holding kettle: Coffee or tea?

Y/n: Tea.

Korra: Wrong! Its coffee.

-

Bolin, talking about y/n: My crush isn’t picking up on any of my hints.

Mako: What hints have you given them?

Bolin: I think about them.. a lot.

Bolin: And sometimes I think about talking to them.

-

Y/n: Mako?

Mako: What?

Y/n: Are you asleep?

Mako: Who the fuck did you think said ‘what’?

-

Y/n, waking up: Am I dead?

[Sees Asami next to them]

Y/n: Is this heaven?

Korra, bangs on door: Open up, fuckers its me Korra

Y/n, tearing up: I always knew I’d end up in hell.

-

Lin: Having trouble figuring out who knows Korra the best?

Asami: Its me!

Bolin: Its me!

Mako: Its me!

Y/n:..

Y/n: It’s probably not me.

-

Y/n: Time for plan G.

Mako: Wait- don’t you mean plan B?

Y/n: No we did plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over C because of some technical difficulties.

Asami: What about plan D?

Y/n: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.

Bolin: And plan E?

Y/n: Im hoping not to use it, I die in plan E.

Korra: I like plan E.

-

Y/n: What the fuck? People actually tell their crushes they like them?

Mako: Well, what do you do?

Y/n: I die? Pfft- What kinda question..

-

Y/n: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and it died.

Y/n: Then I started thinking. It was just trying to get food.

Y/n: Like, what if I went to the fridge to get something to eat and it slammed the door on me and broke my neck?

Y/n: Howw would I feel?

Mako: Are you ok?

-

Bolin: What does ‘take out’ mean?

Mako: Food.

Asami: Dating.

Korra: Murder.

Y/n: IT COULD MEAN ALL THREE IF YOURE NOT A FUCKING COWARD!

-

Korra: You’re a little obsessed with yourself aren’t you?

Y/n: Well if im not who else is gonna be?

-

[Y/n, throws bread at turtleducks]

Y/n: Do not forget this act of altruism. If I am ever in trouble, I expect you and your brethren to come to my aid. Do not forget.

-

Y/n: You’re the love of my life, I’d do anything for you.

Asami: I want you to take care of yourself and get enough sleep.

Y/n: Absolutely not.

-

Asami: My boyfriend is too tall to kiss, what should I do?

Korra: Punch him in the gut, then when he leans down kiss him.

Bolin: Tackle him

Y/n: Dump him, be with me.

Lin, passing by: Kick him in the shin.

Mako: Please don’t do any of those.

-

[Korra, sneaks into house at 2 am]

Mako, turns in swivel chair: Care to explain where you were?

Korra: Uhh.. I was out with Y/n.

Y/n, also turns around in another swivel chair: Care to- [chair wont stop turning] Mako- I cant stop the chair-

-

Bolin, after making Y/n mad: You wont hit me, I have witnesses.

Y/n: Mako. Asami. Turn around.

[Both Mako and Asmai turn around]

Bolin, scared: M-Mako? Asami?

-

Y/n: So whats Zukos type?

Sokka: Y/c eyes, kind, oblivious, good sense of humour, turtleduck lover.

Y/n: Damn, sounds kind of like me. Too bad we’re just friends though.

Sokka: Did I mention oblivious?

Y/n: Yeah why?

Sokka: Just making sure.