#I KNOW HOW TO USE MAYA I CAN JUST DO IT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shurisneakers · 9 days ago

Text

unsolved (x)

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, conventions, mediums,

A/N: this chapter is 9k words long. next one? who knows.

Previous part || Series masterlist

The stupid cat is plotting something.

There’s no outwardly indication but the vibes are there. She’s evil. Plotting comes with the gig.

Bucky knows this, accepts this, but refuses to bow to tyranny.

She stands in his doorway. Unmoving. Unblinking. Blocking his exit like she pays rent.

She takes a slow, calculated step forward. A warning.

He blocks the doorway. A counter-threat.

She glares at him. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be late to meet you, because Bucky, never one to pick his battles wisely, glares back.

It’s a western standoff.

There is no reason she should be sauntering into his room the second he has to leave. None. Therefore, it would be wise to assume she has untoward ambitions.

“What are your intentions?” he asks.

Alpine narrows her eyes.

His phone buzzes. Another missed call.

Fifteen minutes late.

Bucky does not have time for this.

She knows he does not have time for this.

She takes a daring step forward. He steps back, blocking the doorway.

"Do not rip my pillows again," he warns. "I made you a scratch post. Use that. Or I will drop you fifteen miles away from the house."

She blinks at him, slow and deliberate. He swears she scoffs, but at this point he’s not convinced whether it’s the confirmation bias of you telling him she can speak because she was hexed, or that he was losing his mind.

His fingers twitch at his sides.

The second he takes a step over her, she immediately brushes past him, slipping into his room like she was just waiting for an opening.

Bucky turns around just in time to see her jump onto his bed. Like she owns the place.

Like she won.

The door slams behind him, cutting off his irritated growl.

The hotel is overrun.

The lobby? Packed. The hallways? Worse.

Every inch of this place is crawling with ghost enthusiasts, cryptid fanatics, and people who are way too comfortable walking around in full Victorian mourning attire.

A few months ago, Bucky would say that he hates it here. Now he’s grown a sort of indifference to it all. Begrudging acceptance, even.

But it doesn’t help that he and you are stuck there for two days, thanks to Maya “Budget Cuts” Reyes, who apparently decided that ParaCon didn’t warrant separate accommodations.

Bucky’s grateful that at least you had different rooms, because can’t imagine how you were going to be after hanging around a convention full of people who were furthering your agenda.

He wonders if you know there are two rooms booked, considering that you’ve plowed your way into his instead of going to yours, which was literally across the hall from him.

“This is so exciting,” you say, flopping dramatically onto his bed.

He supposes this is where Alpine gets it from.

Bucky, standing in the doorway, stares at the strange hotel decor and the suspicious stain on the carpet.

“This is hell,” he corrects. “And you’re in my room.”

You wave a dismissive hand. “You’ve survived worse.”

He drops his bag onto the nearest chair, then holds up the massive brochure he had thrust into his hand in the lobby the second he entered.

PARANORMALCON 2024: EXHIBITS, PANELS, AND SPECIAL GUESTS!

“Give me a rundown,” he says, flipping through the pages, scanning the many pictures and standard haunted font.

You stretch out on his bed but he’s already gotten over it, phone out as you scroll through the con schedule. “Alright, so there’s three main areas. The exhibit hall where we’ve got cursed artifacts and overpriced ghost-hunting gear. The panel rooms where people talk about their haunted houses, near-death experiences, or whatever. And the main stage, which is where they do the big interviews, and stuff.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, processing the information. “And is there any particular reason they decided to hold it in the dead of the night instead of the day like normal fucking people?”

“Witching hours, Barnes,” you tsk. “It’s a paranormal convention. You gotta commit to the bit.”

Decidedly terrible.

“We’re also live streaming for both days, so we gotta hit all the big stuff. Maya said if we don’t get enough footage, she’s making us do another investigation next week, and I am not getting locked in another basement with you.”

Bucky’s lip curls up inadvertently at the four hours you spent blindly stumbling around together after your flashlight ran out of juice. “You think I wanted that?”

“I think you pray every night to get locked in basements with me.” You sit up and grin. “Also, you’re fine with suffering in silence. I, however, am not. We’re making content.”

Bucky does not suffer in silence. His favourite thing to do in the world is whine and bitch.

“Do I have to be on camera?”

You squint at him. “One of us has to hold it because I don’t want to freak out a bunch of trigger happy ghost hunters with a floating recording rig, so I guess-”

“I got it,” he interrupts. “I’ll hold it. Love holding cameras. Love it.”

You raise an eyebrow, but there’s a smile on your face. “I have a feeling you’re gonna have a great two days.”

Bucky doesn’t feel the same, but he doesn’t not feel the same.

He’s right. Well, half right.

Bucky knew this was going to be bad.

He did not, however, realize just how bad it could be, considering he’d always skipped out on large conventions and gatherings. Those were more Clint and Sam’s speed.

If he thought the hotel was packed, the convention center is even worse. Crowded hallways, groups of people huddled together, debating ghost sightings and cryptid encounters. There are panels happening in three different rooms, vendor booths stretching as far as the eye can see, and a worrying amount of sage in the air.

Some guy in a trench coat brushes past, carrying a full-sized Ouija board under his arm like a briefcase.

Bucky holds steadily onto the camera gimbal.

“Welcome to Day One of ParanormalCon!” The announcer’s voice booms over the loudspeakers, followed by a loud screech from the microphone feedback.

Bucky visibly recoils.

The guy continues regardless, “We have amongst us today enthusiasts of the supernatural, the supernatural themselves. Be sure to check out all the exhibits, the panels, the mystery, and of course, our special guest speakers!”

A wave of polite applause across the convention from whoever was still listening. He’s sure the guy made the announcement hourly.

Bucky checks to make sure he had fully charged the camera, and checks his pockets for extra SD cards and batteries.

“Don’t miss our exclusive panel with the author of best-selling ghost erotic novella Ghost Lusters--”

He exhales sharply through his nose, especially considering a copy of the book lay on unread on his nightstand. A very unwanted gift from you, signed and with a note addressed to him on the front page so everyone knew it was his.

“--and, of course, tomorrow’s highly anticipated panel with the stars of The Graveyard Shift, the latest paranormal sensation!”

There’s another round of applause.

Then there’s Bucky.

“What?”

It’s loud. It’s too loud. Several people turn to look.

You make a noise in the back of your throat and step slightly to the left, creating some distance like you don’t know him, still peering into your phone.

“What do you mean ‘special guests The Graveyard Shift?’” he demands.

“Hmm, yeah we’re scheduled for a panel discussion,” you correct, not looking up at him.

Bucky turns fully toward you now. “What the hell does that mean?”

You squint at the screen, scrolling through messages. “Apparently that’s why Maya sent us here.”

His stomach drops.

“And when,” he says, voice carefully level, dangerously calm, “was anyone gonna tell me that?”

“Mmm.” You tilt your head. “They weren’t. To me either, apparently, because he didn’t trust me to not tell you. Because then you’d make a run for it.”

Bucky stares.

“Yeah,” you add, scrolling further. “They literally said, ‘Don’t tell Bucky, or he’ll make a run for it.’”

Bucky hisses like a feral cat. “I am not going on that stage.”

Your face pulls into exaggerated shock. “You’re really gonna send me up there alone? In front of a bunch of people who clearly know more than us?”

“Without a doubt.”

“Wow.” You shake your head, letting the disappointment sink in for all of two seconds before your face resets like nothing happened. “Yeah, no, I figured. I already texted Maya and told her I’d do it by myself.”

Bucky blinks.

“Oh,” he says.

“She wasn’t happy about it.”

“Rarely is, when it comes to me,” he mutters.

“I’m heading down that path too, it seems.” You pocket your phone. “Anyway. Vlog time. This camera should last us the whole day, but you got your phone in case?”

“It’s on 20%.”

“That’s fine, no one’s calling you anyway.” You clap him on the back.

Bucky exhales slowly.

It was going to be a long 2 days.

The con floor is something out of his nightmares.

People are everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, moving in clusters, stopping without warning in the middle of walkways like NPCs with broken pathfinding. Someone in a full Slenderman suit glides past, which is just fantastic.

Bucky follows behind you, camera held up, watching you navigate the space like you were born for this. You’ve got a big smile on your face as you point out artefacts and people with an explanation for each. He may not be the most comfortable but hearing you prattle on about lycanthropy makes it oddly better.

You move through the crowd easily, glancing between the camera feed and the con map on your phone, while he keeps an eye on the strangest people in the room. Which is most of them.

He doesn’t even mind them. He’s not made one comment so far, which is a personal record.

It’s just that most of them stare at him the second he walks past like he’s got a neon sign hanging above his head pointing out that something is strange about him and his presence. Which could be because he was generally off-putting and weird, but the way they were staring at him makes him believe it was something else entirely.

"You know, this is kinda fun," you say, stepping around a guy holding up a ‘Bigfoot is My Dad’ sign.

Bucky does not respond.

You laugh, undeterred. “Already got you to one, it’s only a matter of time.”

He hates that you’re right.

A speaker crackles overhead, making both of you glance up as another announcement rings through the venue.

“Attention attendees! The séance demonstration will begin shortly in Hall C. Please remember- do not antagonize the spirits.”

Bucky stares at the speaker. . “What the hell does that mean?”

You grin. “How does it feel, knowing you could absolutely get possessed in the next twenty-four hours?”

“I’m not joking,” he warns. “If anyone even touches me with an incense stick, I’m leaving.”

“Good, keep that energy. Makes for a great thumbnail.”

In a split second, you snap a picture. He blinks.

“I’m keeping this one. You look especially handsome when you’re mad,” you note, observing the picture. “No wonder everyone’s all over you in our comments. I got competition.”

He watches you very calmly stuff your phone back into your pocket and start walking ahead like nothing happened.

For the first time that day, Bucky already knows this is going to piss him off.

He just doesn’t know how much yet.

“What are we walking toward?”

“There’s a guy that says he can astral project himself.”

“What?”

“His consciousness leaves his physical body and travels to the astral plane, but in his case, we can actually see his conscience separate from his body.”

“So there’s gonna be two of him?”

“Well, apparently this is just his astrally projected self.”

His eye twitches. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t think his physical body is here,” you say, scanning the crowd ahead.

"His physical body isn't here," he repeats, deadpan.

“Yep.”

“Then how the fuck is he here?”

You grin, already relishing how much this is going to ruin his day.

The crowd is way too excited about this.

You and Bucky push toward the front of the roped-off area, where a dramatic announcer in a cape stands next to a spotlight-covered chair.

Bucky doesn’t like any of this.

“Welcome,” the announcer calls, hands clasped together, “to the extraordinary phenomenon of astral projection!”

People oooh and ahhh.

“Before we reveal one of nature’s most unexplainable wonders,” the announcer continues, “we ask that you refrain from crossing the barrier. Touching the astral projection is strictly prohibited.”

The spotlight clicks on.

“Behold.” She sweeps an arm toward the display. “Mr. Astro himself.”

A man sits in a chair. Motionless.

Eyes closed. Hands on his thighs. Pale, glowing blue. His skin shimmers faintly under the stage lights, like a goddamn glowstick. He is shirtless but wearing pants, rocking a thick mustache, looking very, very peaceful.

The audience gasps.

Bucky looks around, watching them stare in awe.

He leans closer to you. “What are they all looking at?”

“That,” you whisper.

“What?”

“That he’s astrally projecting.”

Bucky squints. Hard. “Where?”

“Right there,” you say, motioning toward the man. “Can’t you see it?”

Bucky turns, eyes narrowing at the guy. “It’s just a guy sitting in a chair.”

“Exactly.”

Bucky blinks, processing. “What?”

“You see him,” you say, nodding like this is the most profound thing in the world. “Which means you can see his astral projection.”

Bucky’s brain actually stalls.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I see him because he’s right there.”

The guy next to you shushes Bucky loudly.

“This is the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen,” he whispers aggressively.

“Behold,” the announcer repeats. “His physical body is at home, resting.”

Bucky fucking hates it here.

"Just touch him," he says, voice low and dangerous.

"Sir," an attendant immediately warns, stepping closer, "you are not allowed to touch the astral projection."

Bucky’s head snaps toward him.

"The what?”

“The astral projection,” the attendant repeats. “It is strictly prohibited to make physical contact.”

Bucky looks at the guy. Then at the attendant. Then back at the guy in the chair.

“Just touch him,” Bucky repeats, growing increasingly frustrated. “He’s right there.”

“Sir, you need to move along--”

"Fucking Christ.” Bucky runs a hand down his face, physically forcing himself to walk away before he loses whatever is left of his patience.

As he moves past, the guy cracks one eye open, looking directly at him.

Bucky glares.

The guy closes his eye again.

Bucky exhales violently, one second away from walking into the woods and never returning.

“Good job, Buck,” you say, clapping him on the back. “You totally ruined his astral projection with your bitching.”

“He was sitting there in blue paint like a fucking Avatar, that’s not astral projecti--”

Bucky is still muttering under his breath about Mr. Astro and his bullshit astro body glitter when you drag him toward the vendor booths.

There are stalls selling everything. There’s even a guy doing aura readings in the corner, staring at people way too intensely.

He’s barely recovered from the last stunt when you veer off-course, pausing in front of a booth displaying protection sigils and tattoo designs.

“Oh,” you say, voice casual, flipping through a binder. “Would you ever get a tattoo?”

“No.”

“You answered that real fast.”

“Because it’s a hard no.”

You hum, still flipping through the pages. “What if I designed it?”

“Even more of a no.”

“How rude.”

“Why did you think that would work?”

“Because,” you say smoothly, “people in love often get tattoos together.”

“Commonly a garbage decision,” he asserts.

“Speak for yourself.” You scoff. “I’d get this one right now if you agreed.”

He rolls his eyes at the random design you hold up.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’d actually get a tattoo with me?”

Your eyes barely flick up. “Why is that your question? Why didn’t you question the ‘in love’ part?”

“I’ve developed this thing where I automatically filter out most of the shit you say.”

“Oh, have you? That’s romantic, you know.”

“Give it a rest,” he says, picking up a tattoo design and pretending to be interested in it just to avoid looking at you. “Besides, everyone knows you’re in love with me. No point acknowledging it.”

Your entire face lights up.

“Bzzt, wrong,” you say loudly. “Everyone doesn’t know. Only most people.”

“You better get right on that.”

“I’m trying to get on that but you’re not letting me,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

Bucky looks to the heavens for patience.

“What tattoo do you want to get together?” you push, grinning.

“I don’t.”

“Stick to one answer, you flip-flopping son of a bitch.”

“Fine.” He pauses, then settles on a firm, “No.”

“You hurt me so much every day.” You clutch your chest dramatically. “All I do is be nice to you--”

“You’ve almost broken my window several times.”

“From feral longing. All I do is show you kindness--”

“You tie-dyed my shirt.”

“You have seventy-five black shirts, pick another one and cry about it.”

“Wow,” Bucky deadpans. “Kindness.”

“Just say you don’t want me and put me out of my misery.”

His eyes narrow, instinctively snapping back, “Never said that.”

You stare at him, waiting.

Bucky just stares back, expression unreadable the second it leaves his mouth.

“Oh my god.” Your mouth drops open when he doesn’t add anything else. “Are you saying I have a chance?”

Bucky turns on his heel and walks away.

“Excuse me?” you yell after him, immediately discarding what you were holding. “Come back here and explain yourself. I love you.”

Bucky walks fast.

You walk faster.

“You know, there’s a playground behind the hotel. Be a big boy and play with the sand instead of my feelings.”

Bucky does not respond. He picks up his pace, determined to lose you in the crowd, but it’s no use.

You’re tenacious. Like a bloodhound. A very annoying, very persistent bloodhound.

“Come here, loverboy,” you yell, finally catching up. “I demand clarity.”

“No.”

“I think you love me.”

Bucky exhales so hard it should’ve put out a small fire.

Before you can continue your line of attack, a voice interrupts.

“Oh, what a tormented aura,” someone says.

Both of you turn toward the source.

A woman sits behind a booth stacked high with charms, protective amulets, and little glass vials of salt. She wears dark clothes, and so much jewelry.

She locks eyes directly with him.

“You,” she says, leaning forward. “You are not alone.”

“Excuse me?”

Her expression darkens. “Something follows you. Always in step.”

“Yeah, can’t you see this pest?” he asks, jutting a thumb towards you.

“You just said you’re in love with me.”

“I did not,” he bites.

“No. Something not in this realm,” she says, voice low.

You slowly turn to Bucky. “Oh, this is fun.”

He glares at you. “Shut up.”

The vendor ignores this. She tilts her head, scanning him with an intensity that is deeply uncomfortable.

“They have strong emotions,” she murmurs. “It is almost like torment.”

Bucky’s entire face locks up. “What?”

“You are not the only one carrying your burdens,” she continues. “You have a presence that lingers with you.”

“Holy shit.” You turn to him immediately. “You’re being haunted?”

“I am not.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyes wide with delight. “This is the best day of my life.”

“I am not being haunted,” Bucky repeats, teeth clenched.

The vendor nods gravely. “He is.”

Bucky gives her a look.

She does not falter.

You clap your hands together. “I cannot believe you were gonna hide this from me.”

Bucky looks like he wants to walk into traffic.

“Oh, what’s the ghost like?” you ask, practically vibrating. “Is it vengeful? Does it like to follow you around? Does it ever like, I don’t know, whisper ominously in your ear at night?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Do you ever see it?”

Bucky rubs his temples. “I am not talking about this.”

“Oh, you’re absolutely talking about this. I think I deserve to know if my boyfriend is being haunted.”

“Not your boyfriend.”

“You literally just said you wanted me, you-”

“This will protect you,” she says, reaching nto a box and pulls out a small charm. “Twenty dollars.”

Bucky stares at her.

Then at the charm.

Then back at her.

“You should buy it,” you say immediately.

Bucky glares. “I should punch you in the throat.”

“You should absolutely buy it.”

He does not. He turns on his heel and walks away, towards Mr Astro and his not-physically-here body, because he prefers that over feeling very attacked from every direction.

The guy is still sitting in his chair.

Some of the blue near his hairline is smudged off, beads of sweat glistening under the bright stage lights.

He looks mildly uncomfortable.

Bucky, standing a few feet away, free arm crossed over his chest, deeply suspicious, narrows his eyes at him.

The guy cracks one eye open.

Bucky asks wearily, “Do you even want to be here, man?”

The guy shuts his eye again.

_______

Bucky is starting to get tired of people trying to sell him things for his strange aura.

It’s also nearly midnight, and you’ve been here hours already. He thinks he has seen everything the con has to offer and more. Perhaps he could even skip the next day.

Which is exactly why you drag him further into the con chaos.

"C’mon, Buck, you’re missing out,” you say, weaving through the crowd like this is your natural habitat.

“I am not missing out,” he mutters. “I’m actively avoiding. There’s a difference.”

You ignore him, because of course you do.

Bucky trudges behind you as he always does.

To the left, there’s a booth with ‘Genuine Werewolf Hair’ in tiny glass jars. Suspicious.

To the right, some dude is holding a full exorcism consultation like it’s a casual business transaction. Deeply concerning.

Ahead, a vendor is selling extremely cursed-looking mirrors, each one labeled with ominous tags like “Do Not Look Into This At Night” and “Object May Contain Attached Entity.”

A guy in a Mothman costume poses for pictures near an exhibit about unsolved disappearances.

And then, of course, there’s the die-hard conspiracy theorists.

Bucky should’ve expected them.

"Oh shit, Bucky, look." You point toward a makeshift stage area, where a man in a wrinkled suit is gesturing dramatically at a whiteboard with a detailed diagram of the moon.

"The moon landing was faked,” he declares, voice booming through a barely functional microphone. “And NASA has been covering it up for decades.”

Bucky’s face twitches.

You immediately pull out your phone. “We’re watching this.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

You both end up standing there for ten full minutes.

It is a mistake.

By minute two, the guy is ranting about shadows and camera angles. By minute five, he’s talking about secret government bases on the dark side of the moon.

By minute eight, he’s making direct eye contact with Bucky.

"You there, sir!" he calls, pointing. “You look like a man who’s seen the truth!”

Bucky stiffens.

“Would you like to share your opinion on NASA’s involvement in the biggest lie in American history?”

Bucky slowly opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Reopens it.

Then at last--

Bucky turns and walks away.

The guy blinks.

You burst into laughter. “Stop, you’re ruining your chance at being on Fox News.”

"You’re the worst person I’ve ever met,” Bucky mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“No, I’m your best friend,” you correct. “And that’s so much worse for you.”

After two hours of wandering the convention floor, being forced to look at ghost-hunting equipment, and listening to the guy in the Mothman suit explain his spiritual connection to the cryptid, Bucky grows sort of interested. Which is worse than actually being done.

You're thriving.

"Alright," you say, scrolling through the event schedule. "We’ve still got some time before we have to stream at the main stage, so where do you wanna go next?”

Bucky looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You think I wanna go anywhere?”

"You haven’t left yet, have you?” you challenge, still looking at your phone. “Alright, well, there’s a panel on spirit photography, a paranormal VR experience-”

“Absolutely not.”

“--or we could go to the past-life regression hypnosis booth.”

Bucky pauses. “What?”

You grin, flashing him your phone screen. "Says here they’re doing a free group session.”

"Not a chance in hell."

"Oh, come on," you say. "It could be fun. What if we find out you were, like, a 16th-century poet or some shit?"

Bucky stares at you.

"I’ve died before. If I go, it’ll tell me I was me,” he deadpans.

You scoff. “Okay, but what if it says you were like, a farmer before that?”

"No."

"You are so boring," you groan.

“You just tried to drag me into a fake hypnosis session.”

"The poster says it’s legit scientific!”

“Oh, then by all means, they must be right.”

"You literally came back from the dead and you’re still doubting past lives? You just don't wanna go because you're scared it's gonna say you were a moth or some shit."

Bucky opens his eyes, deadpan, ready to retaliate when a voice interrupts.

“Wait, so you guys really are just like that in real life?”

Both of you turn.

A group of con-goers stands nearby, staring with mild fascination.

You blink. “Us?”

“Oh my,” one of them breathes. “You both are so much worse in real life. We only get the edited version.”

And just like that, it happens.

The first person notices you. Then another. Then another.

It starts as a trickle, just a few curious looks, but then the recognition spreads.

The group grows. People start turning, whispering.

And then, like a goddamn avalanche you’re swarmed.

“Holy shit, are you guys filming right now?”

“Do you guys actually believe in ghosts or is it just for the show?”

“Are you guys dating?”

“Who wins in fights more?”

Bucky clenches his jaw.

You, on the other hand, light up like a fucking Christmas tree.

And then you do the absolute worst thing you could do in this situation.

You start feeding into it.

“Oh, boy do I have answers for you,” you say, grinning. “You wanna know who wins in fights? Me, obviously.”

“That is a fucking lie,” Bucky responds immediately.

“He’s haunted, by the way,” you tell them.

Bucky’s head snaps toward you. "I am not."

And then your phone buzzes.

And then it keeps buzzing, frequency only increasing until you’re concerned that someone has actually died.

It goes absolutely wild.

You finally whip it out, holding a hand up to the crowd for a quick pause, turning away for a second to check what the fuck was going on.

Bucky barely registers it at first, still caught up in his escalating war with the growing crowd who wanted to know whether he actually saw a cryptid or was it just a prank.

But then you freeze. Your entire expression shifts.

Bucky’s brain takes a second to catch up. He sees the way your shoulders stiffen, how your posture goes rigid as you look at your screen.

And then he sees it.

The onslaught of notifications you ignore as your phone screen floods.

Bucky only catches a glimpse of it, but it’s enough.

There’s a headline, all caps, stretched across your phone screen.

His eyes snap to yours, but you’ve turned on your heel, shoving your way through the crowd.

Bucky reacts immediately. “Wait-”

You don’t answer. You’re already moving fast.

Bucky moves to follow, but the crowd’s already lost one part of the crew, and they certainly were not going to lose the second.

More people push in, asking questions, talking over each other, swarming.

Bucky grits his teeth.

You disappear into the crowd.

Bucky stares after you, and then at the livestream camera, still rolling.

How the fuck does he turn this shit off.

It takes ten full minutes for Bucky to dig himself out of this mess.

By the time he manages to break away, there’s already a thread of frustration curling tight in his chest.

The livestream is still running.

Bucky stares at the interface, clicking through random buttons, trying to find the off switch.

The camera flips.

Shit.

Now it's just his face, tired and unimpressed, staring directly into the lens.

He exhales slowly. “Fucking-- whatever.”

He clicks something.

The screen goes black.

After Maya’s third ignored call and just letting his phone die so it would stop buzzing, and after shoving his way past the last group of people still trying to ask him questions, he heads straight for the hotel floor.

First he checks his room, but no dice. So he turns his attention to the room across the hall.

His knuckles rap against the door, firm and quick.

No answer.

He knocks again, harder this time, ears straining to hear any signs of life.

Then finally, he hears footsteps. The faint shuffle of movement before the door unlocks and swings open.

You stand there, leaning against the frame, already out of the clothes you wore to the con.

Expression calm. A little tired. But you look fine.

Bucky doesn’t say anything right away. Just scans your face, looking for something, anything.

“You okay?” he asks finally.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

He doesn't know how he knows, and quite frankly, why it’s a bone-feeling when a few months ago, he didn’t even know who you are- but he can tell the answer is too easy. It’s too quick.

Bucky doesn’t quite believe you. But he doesn’t push.

“Alright.”

You shrug, stepping back inside. “Maya’s freaking out.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

You shuffle, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shit happens,” you mutter. “It’s whatever. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

There’s a part of him that wants to call bullshit.

Wants to ask questions, press for details, push until you actually say what’s on your mind.

But he doesn’t.

So instead-

“Alright,” he says again, turning to leave. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, already pulling the blankets over you. “You too.”

He hesitates at the door, but you’ve turned away from him.

So he just leaves.

Bucky doesn’t sleep.

He remembers the trials by court and media, remembers how anything he did made headlines for month. It was easier to slink back and stay away from people than to feel like he had to justify every move he made in public.

Every new discovery in court of leaked Hydra documents, of testimonies from informants, all eager to know exactly what had happened to him, what he had done as if he wasn’t a fucking person. Like he didn’t have a right to keep some things to himself. Like he was just a stone-cold, barren cadaver ready to be dissected.

He turns in bed, ratty sheets feeling too hot all of a sudden.

He didn’t want people to talk to him. He doesn’t know if that’s what you want. He doesn’t want to assume because plenty of people are assuming things on your behalf right now.

From Buck:

awake?

From Steve:

Are you guys safe?

From Buck:

yeah. we’re at the hotel.

From Steve:

Next steps?

From Buck:

do i just pretend like nothing happened

From Steve:

Is that what you want to do?

From Buck:

i dont know

He pauses, letting his fingers hover before he types.

From Buck:

i dont want to overstep

From Steve:

You’ll know if you are. You know each other.

Bucky swallows back a tightness in his throat.

From Steve:

Let me know how it goes.

And so he hastily shoots you a text, asking if you're up.

He waits for a response to a text that would in any other circumstance have you asking if he was booty calling you.

The message doesn’t even say delivered.

It’s past 1am when Bucky’s knocks to your door get no response.

He presses his ear to the door like before.

There’s nothing, not late night sounds of television, not sheets rustling, no air conditioner hum.

You’re not in your hotel room.

And you’re not even in his hotel room, which is more worrying than the last.

And so he starts looking.

At first, he thinks maybe you just needed a walk. Something to clear your head. But when he circles the floor twice, the side entrance, the lobby, and there’s still no sign of you.

He knew you had to be somewhere away from the noise.

He doubts you’d have gone back to the convention. There was no library in the hotel, he checked. You couldn't have left because he knows you would have told him.

Right?

The more he thinks about it, the more the uneasiness settles in because you never actually told him if you’d ever waited to say bye to the places you’d left.

He shakes it out of his head and instead zeroes in on raking through his memories of the day.

Any sort of clue, anything about the center, the hotel-- until something finally clicks.

Bucky cuts through the lot, past the street, toward the small stretch of open space behind the hotel.

An empty playground, just far enough from everything to be quiet.

The cold air of the night does nothing to help soothe the nerves that are building, and the lack of any people around admittedly makes it worse, but he’s daring to hope for once that maybe he’s right, and Steve was right and he knows you enough that--

And there you are.

You’re seated on one end of the old metal see-saw. The only movement around is the slow, steady rhythm of the old metal structure shifting up and down. Except there’s no one on the other end.

You’re moving it with your mind. A small push, just enough to tip your weight, then another to pull yourself back up. A slow, mindless repetition. Like you’re not even thinking about it.

Bucky exhales through his nose. Forces himself to unclench his fists and loosen the tightness in his chest.

Finally, he steps forward.

You don’t look up. He doesn’t force you to.

Instead, he walks toward the see-saw, before crouching slightly.

Then, without a word, he presses his palm against the other end and pushes.

The motion is smooth. Subtle.

The second he adds his own force, you slow your own down, letting him take over.

The see-saw goes up and down. And repeats and repeats and repeats.

It’s quiet for a long time, except for the mechanical whine from the rusted playset.

“You’re up late,” Bucky says at least.

“I’m always up late,” you reply, voice almost a hum.

“Y’mind?”

You don’t answer right away. Just give a small, half-hearted shrug.

He takes that as permission and keeps his hand pressed to the see-saw, moving it up and down, keeping the motion steady.

A few more beats of silence. He lets it play out the way it wants to.

“I’m fine, you know.” Your voice is carefully even.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

“I mean,” you continue, and then under all the calculated responses, he hears that tiredness he’s been expecting, “I knew this was coming.”

“That what Nat was talking to you about?” he asks. “The other night?”

“Yeah.”

The see-saw creaks softly.

“Yep,” you reply. “She heard from sources that people were looking into it. It was just a matter of when.”

Bucky shifts his weight, keeping the rhythm smooth. “It’ll die down.”

You let out a slow breath.

“After Nat leaked all of SHIELD’s files, it was madness for a while. And look where everyone is now,” he continues.

You glance at him.

Bucky continues to look only at fulcrum, a slight crease between his brows.

“Did you read it?” you ask, voice quieter now.

“What? The leaked files?”

“The article,” you clarify. “About me.”

Bucky keeps the see-saw moving. Steady.

“No,” he finally admits.

The seesaw comes to a halt, with you paused in air.

“You didn’t?”

Bucky avoids your gaze, but answers steadily, “No.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t think you’d want me to.” His fingers press a little harder into the see-saw handle, insistent. “Besides, what’s a fuckin’ article gonna tell me that being stuck with you every day won’t?”

Your lips twitch.

Bucky pulls the see-saw bar back up, watching you lower back down.

When he sneaks a peek at you, there’s a small smile on your face.

When you’re close to the ground, he pushes the handle back down so you’re lifted into the air again.

“Did you read it?” He clears his throat.

“About half.”

“What’d you think?”

You shrug. “It’s all facts. Don’t really have an opinion on it.”

Another long pause. Bucky feels like he should have more to say but he finds his mind blank.

You push out a slow breath. “Got that panel tomorrow.”

“I remember.”

“Maya texted me. Told me to lay low, stay out of sight till it’s over.” Your lips pull into a straight line.

“What does lay low mean?” Bucky questions, still keeping his focus on the see-saw.

“No leaving the compound. No interviews, no posting, no official statements, no videos,” you recite, voice dry. “Especially no panel tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, like he already knows where this is going. “But you’re gonna do it anyway.”

There’s a small pause. He wonders if he miscalculated.

Your voice comes back slightly surprised. “I am.”

“Good.” He nods. “You got no reason to hide.”

“You think so?” you ask, voice lighter now, almost amused.

“Yeah,” Bucky says with no hesitation. “And I hate most of your ideas, so that should tell you something.”

You let out a small laugh.

It’s silent for a while as the see-saw moves up and down, with you seated on one end as Bucky maneuvers it from the other.

“I know what she’s saying is the logical thing to do,” you say eventually. “But I don’t know. I just feel-”

“Trapped,” he says simply.

You swallow the stone in your throat.

Bucky doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Just keeps his hand steady on the bar.

He knows it’s why you jump from place to place. What happened at the clock tower may have confirmed it, but he’d picked up on every breadcrumb in the last few months whether you’ liked it or not. Why you left when the café lady gave you keys to a home. Why you didn’t like closed doors, routine, time loops. Why you hadn’t picked a new codename even though you’d been here months. Anything that makes you feel like you’re tied down, anything that makes you feel trapped again with no room to breathe.

The see-saw tips slightly.

You let out a long, slow breath.

“I just don’t want to feel the way I used to there,” you admit.

Bucky nods. “I know.”

“Every day was the same. And everything looked the same, and everyone was the same,” you say, voice quieter now. “Staying still leaves you exposed.”

“I know,” Bucky repeats.

“Not everyone does,” you say, staring at the sky. “I don’t leave a place because I don’t like the people there anymore-- but sticking around for too long feels like…”

“Another trap,” he finishes.

You glance at him.

He shrugs. “You got no reason to explain. I get it.”

Except, the reason why he’s stayed at the same place for so long is the same reason you couldn’t. Bucky liked stability. He likes being rooted.

You exhale a small laugh. “Lived a thousand lives, huh.”

”And then some,” he says, pushing the handle down, slow and deliberate. “Maya’s just another person. Do whatever you want.”

You study him. The way his jaw flexes just slightly, the way his fingers press into the metal bar, like he’s already thinking about what comes next.

“There’s gonna be a lot more eyes on me now.” Your voice is careful, testing. “On you too, you know.”

“I’m aware.”

“Wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to end the show.”

“I’m aware,” he says again. “But ‘m fine. Got all these batteries I need to use somehow.”

He lets a hush fall between you as you contemplate your next words.

“Do you ever get used to it all?”

His grip tightens, just for a second. Then--

“I didn’t.”

It’s a quiet confession. One that sits between you for a moment, stretching out into the cool night air.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same for you,” he continues. “You’ll figure it out.”

Then finally he looks at you.

And he really looks this time. Not just a glance, not just a flicker of acknowledgment, but something that lingers.

Something weighty. It makes your stomach stumble and your breath catch.

His mouth twitches, just barely. Not a smile, not quite. But close.

“Spotlight looks better on you anyway,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

The morning is quiet.

Not in the world outside, though. The internet is still on fire, messages still flooding in, theories spiraling out of control.

But in the hotel, it’s different.

The air in the room is still. Heavy, like static waiting to shock someone.

You sit on the edge of the bed, scrolling through nothing, really. You keep opening and closing the same apps, flipping between blank notes and unsent messages.

Bucky watches from where he stands, leaning against the doorframe.

He knows that look. The anticipation before impact.

“You eat yet?”

You glance at him. “Not hungry.”

He doesn’t push. Just nods. “You will be later.”

Your lips twitch, but no real smile.

Bucky doesn’t like the flatness behind your expression.

But he doesn’t call it out. Not yet.

Instead, he asks, “You sure about this?”

You look at him. “I don’t really have a choice.”

“You do,” Bucky says, matter-of-fact. “Always do.”

You blink. Like you weren’t expecting that.

Your gaze flickers.

“Yeah,” you say, voice a little softer. “I know. But I feel like I owe it to myself.”

Bucky holds your stare for a second.

He pushes off the doorframe, straightening.

“You got time to kill,” he says. “You should eat something.”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky-

“You should eat something,” he repeats, firmer this time.

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, you stand.

“Fine,” you mutter. “Whatever. You’re buying.”

“Absolutely not,” he remarks, as if wasn’t fully intending to before you even asked.

“Dick.”

“You brought me here, you’re paying.”

He lets you lead the way, wait until you’re ahead of him to let out a small flicker of relief.

_____

The hallways are buzzing.

Everywhere you look people are talking, whispering, staring. Some subtle, some not.

Bucky walks beside you, shoulders squared, pace steady.

The closer you get to the panel, the more the weight in your chest presses down.

It’s not fear. Not exactly.

It’s the knowing.

Knowing the eyes are on you. Knowing the second you step on that stage, this all becomes very real.

“Y’okay?” Bucky asks, voice low.

You exhale slowly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

You huff a small laugh.

Even as the crowd thickens, even as you near the panel doors, the noise rising, the air buzzing with anticipation, Bucky keeps a steady pace beside you.

Just in a way that says he’s around.

The second you step into the backstage area, a con staffer immediately moves toward you.

“Hey! Oh, great, you’re here.” They glance behind you, at Bucky, panicked like he wasn’t expecting him. “Is he--”

“Not on the panel,” you say, quick.

Bucky just shrugs. “Not on the panel.”

The staffer nods, relieved. “Okay, cool. Just making sure.”

They move to adjust something on their headset, then glance at you again. “Uh-- how are you feeling?”

“Grand.”

They nod again. “Okay, cool. If you need anything, let us know.”

You give them a smile, and they move away.

Bucky watches you for a long moment.

“What?” you ask, feeling a bit squirmish under the intensity of his stare.

“What?” he asks right back. “Don’t lie about me out there. I’m not haunted.”

“The truth. Got it. So I should say you’re in love with me.”

“You can get your own ride home.” Still, it makes him feel better that you’re still somewhat okay.

You throw a smile on, shaking the nerves out of your shoulders and standing more straight. “I should go.”

Bucky nods. “See you in a while.”

You take one last breath, and step onto the stage.

The lights are bright.

Clearly, there are more people than had attended the con yesterday because the front row is entirely stuffed with people with mics and notebooks. The seats in the crowd stretch farther than they should, a sea of people watching, waiting.

The air is thick with attention, the hum of voices settling as the moderator clears their throat and leans into the mic.

You drop into your chair way too casually, tossing a leg over your knee, leaning back with the complete ease of someone who has zero fear.

The moderator glances at you, vaguely unsettled by your energy because they clearly had not prepped for the absolute hellfire that is Maya dealing with a PR nightmare. You had no doubt she had put the fear of God into that man the morning of, vetting and then re-vetting every single syllable that was to come out of his mouth.

“Well,” he says, clearly trying to find footing. “We, uh-- we’re really excited to have you here, especially after everything that’s been going on.”

You grin. “What’s up?”

The moderator visibly stumbles. “You-- you mean, regarding the article?”

“Oh,” you say. “That. Yeah, wild week.”

He pauses.

“…Yeah?” he tries, attempting to meet you where you are.

You just blink at them. The audience is completely silent.

You shrug. “What about it?”

“Well,” he presses, clearly hoping for something, “given everything it exposed--"

“Sure.”

Another pause.

The moderator glances at his notes, clearly flustered.

“Oh-kay,” the moderator says, regrouping before quickly saying, “You know what, let’s open it up to audience questions.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd as the first person grabs the mic hastily and stands before anyone even gets a chance to fight for it.

“Hey,” they say into the mic, clearly hyped. “Love the show, love your work. Just wanted to ask- does any of this change what you’re doing? Like, do you think your past is gonna affect the future of the show?”

You hum, taking a long break before finally, you go, “Nah.”

Some people in the audience laugh. Others are still unsettled.

The moderator looks like he’s breaking out into a cold sweat. You don’t even know what he’s so nervous about, unless Maya had held him at gunpoint the night before and threatened him.

The next question comes.

“So, like, do you- do you regret not saying anything before?”

You tilt your head. Squint at them. “…Saying what?”

“About your past. About everything.”

“Oh.” You pause, nodding thoughtfully. “Nope.”

Maya was going to kill you, you think, unless she didn't die from a hemorrhage.

Then, someone stands up, clearly a little hesitant. "Okay, so, uh- sorry if this is a weird question, but, like…"

They shift awkwardly.

“Did Bucky know?”

The room stills. Not in a bad way, not tense. Just expectant.

You tilt your head, raising your eyebrows slightly. Like you hadn’t considered that being a question.

“Bucky?” you repeat.

“Or any of the Avengers really,” he adds quickly.

You reponse comes out slowly as you think, “Well, I don’t want to speak for him-"

The crowd instead drowns you out immediately. A loud ripple of noise in surprise, excitement, recognition.

You blink, whipping our head to see where their eyes had diverted.

You snort loudly when the fool steps into view, a scowl on his face and shoulders stiff like he would rather be literally anywhere else.

“Oh,” you say, leaning back. “Look who decided to show up.”

Bucky doesn’t sit.

Just sweeps the mic off the moderator, turns toward the person who asked the question, and tilts his head slightly.

“Did I know?” he repeats.

They nod.

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah.”

The room buzzes.

He leans into the mic slightly.

“I mean,” he says, flat as anything, “we literally live together. What, you think I found out from Twitter?”

The audience laughs, tension in the room dissolving.

You grin.

The person with the question nods slowly. “Right. That makes sense.”

Bucky hums. Moves the mic away.

Then he reaches down and tugs a chair closer, flipping it around.

“Move, would ya?” he grunts, face slightly flushed.

You silently move your chair to give him some space.

He drops into it, not even bothering to look at you.

He doesn’t even say anything else, just sits.

Close enough that his knee bristles with yours.

“Uh, good morning.” The moderator stares at him, shuffling through cards rapidly as someone hands him another mic.

“Morning,” Bucky says, voice gruff.

“We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’m in the show too.”

“Well, yes, but-”

“So ask me questions too,” Bucky grunts.

You glance at his knee still touching yours. Then at him, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Bucky just shifts, adjusting so he’s comfortable.

He doesn’t move away, just sends you a curt nod, clears his throat and looks straight ahead.

It brings a stupid big grin to your face.

The whole thing goes by quickly, question after question, answers delivered with just the right balance of stupidity and earnestness.

Bucky had sat beside you the whole time, occasionally muttering some dry remark into the mic, mostly just letting you take the lead.

Things feel good. Not as heavy as the world did the night before.

The moment you step off stage, you exhale sharply, shaking out your hands.

“That was fun,” you say.

“For you,” he responds dryly.

“That’s why it was fun.”

You glance at him as you walk, stepping through the side exit toward the quieter halls behind the venue.

People glance your way as you pass. Staff, attendees, lingering eyes that recognize you now.

Bucky doesn’t like that.

Doesn’t like the sharp shift in the air, the new weight of attention that seems to cling to you heavier than before.

But you’re still walking easy. Still comfortable in your own skin.

Not because it surprises him. But because it makes him feel something he can’t quite name.

He didn’t even think he had feelings like those anymore. It makes him deeply bothered that he doesn’t immediately hate it.

A staff member nods at you as you pass. "Great panel."

You flash them a grin, throwing up a lazy thumbs-up. "Hell yeah, it was."

Bucky shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. "You're insufferable."

"You love it."

"Not even a little."

"Liar."

Bucky doesn't immediately deny it.

He just keeps walking.

You catch it, smirking slightly but let it slide.

A few more turns, and the noise of the main venue fades into a distant hum.

Bucky watches you roll your shoulders, adjusting slightly, as if releasing the last bit of energy from the stage.

Channelling the last bit of insane energy from the last day, he says-

“You looked good up there.”

You freeze mid-step. Just for half a second.

You turn your head, slow blink, slow grin. "Oh?"

Bucky regrets it immediately.

"Ohhhh?" you drag, delighted.

Bucky presses his lips into a thin line. Keeps walking. "Forget I said anything."

"Oh, no, absolutely not." You catch up, shifting to walk backwards in front of him, grinning the whole time. "Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. Giving me a genuine fucking compliment."

Bucky looks to the ceiling like he’s begging for an escape.

“Truly, a rare occurrence,” you continue. "I gotta savor this moment. Hold on, let me memorize every word. Can you repeat it, but this time do it way slower."

"You are the worst person I've ever met."

"Say it again."

"Absolutely not."

"C'mon, one more time."

"Nope."

"You looked good up there," you mimic, voice dramatically low and serious.

Bucky shoves you. You laugh, almost tripping over your own feet.

When the teasing fades slightly, he catches you looking at him for real this time.

Bucky shifts slightly. Looks away.

"Hey," you say, voice lighter now. "Thanks."

Bucky keeps his eyes forward.

"Yeah," he mutters. "Whatever."

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

to those who comment and tell me what u think-- i love u. ur the sole reason i haven't abandoned this lil fic. thank u for everything mwah <333333

to know when this fic updates, please follow @shurisneakersupdates and turn on post notifications! it's the only way tumblr will let me have a taglist and i don't post there at all except for fics </3

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #unsolved fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you

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arkhamsbrat · 2 months ago

Text

❦ — jason todd x civilian! reader

in which jason is totally not planning on stealing you away from your shitbag of a bf

part 1 ! part 2 ! part 3 ! part 4 ! part 5 !

you were drunk- barely able to walk, drunk. whatever music your boyfriend was playing made your head spin while you stumbled back from the bathroom. jason had left his spot from the couch to come help you back. “i can walk. i’m grown!” you mumbled. he chuckled quietly, patting your side as he hooked his arm under yours.

“yeah, i know y’are, sweetheart.” he hummed and sat on the couch, hand held out so you could collapse into him. it was on purpose. jason wanted to piss your boyfriend off- wanted him to try and lay a hand on you again.

“you good?” he whispered, looking over to your boyfriend who had been glaring at you for the past few minutes. you shrugged, snuggling closer to him. “he always ignores me at these, don’t pay him no mind.” you weren’t paying any attention to the man on the opposite side of the room. everyone else was far too preoccupied kissing your boyfriends ass, why’d he need you?

jason rested his chin on your hair. “he ignore you a lot, doesn’t he?” it was exhausting, everything was always about him. something needed to be about you for once. you turned up to jason with a small pout. “no more him. ‘m done with him, jayce.”

not the best idea to say that to jason. he smiled down at you like you just handed him a bag of gold.“what’dya mean by done with him?” what a shame that his smile made your stomach flutter and your cheeks flush. “i’m leaving him.”

it only came out as a whisper, but jason felt the world stop around him. this is what hes wanted to hear for the past few months. you were too drunk for him to press for details- no matter how badly he wanted to. he’d let it slide, maybe press further the next time you two met up. all he did was nod before both of you spent the rest of the night silently people watching.

you don’t know when, or how you even passed out, but your boyfriend shook you awake. “get your god damn friend out so we can go to bed.” your eyes were dry, lids heavy. “what?” he scoffed at you again. “get jackson out. i’m fucking tired.”

you smacked his hand off your shoulder and looked to see jason sleeping peacefully. it was rare that jason looked peaceful, let alone slept peacefully. there were so many times you went to the library together where you caught him dozing off between pages. the alcohol was still and your system and not allowing you to force a happy tone. “his names’ jason. he drank, jus’ let him sleep here.”

he glared at you. “i dont give a shit, get him out. this is my apartment.” both of your names were on the lease. you were the one who found the apartment. “our apartment, and you always have people sleep here. chris? maya? it’s every weekend.” you returned his glare. your boyfriend raised an eyebrow and took a step back.

“you wanna do this in front of him?” maybe you did, maybe it was smarter. a drunk witness was better than nothing... but you were exhausted. if he just left you on the couch you would’ve been fine.“i want to sleep. jus’ let him be, we can-” he snapped his fingers at you before moving to shake jason awake. your boyfriend opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out jason punched him, eyes snapping open.

“what the fuck!?” you stared on in shock, watching as jason stood up with a poorly hidden smirk. “shit, man i’m sorry! I’m not used to being woken up like that! you okay?” it was the fakest you’ve ever heard him speak.

your boyfriend held his nose and shook his head, glaring at you like you punched him. “don’t worry about it,” he muttered before leaning towards you to whisper, “i want him out.” ignoring his words, you pushed him towards the bathroom. “don’t get blood on the carpet, i want my security deposit back.”

as your boyfriend walked off, muttering god knows what under his breath, jason looked over to you smug as ever. you couldn’t help but laugh. “you’re awful, y’know that?” you whispered to him. jason shrugged and winked at you. “i don’t know what you’re talking about, it was an accident.”

#— bambi posting #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #CRINGEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

Text

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

#woso x reader #mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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mayasaurusss · 3 months ago

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hello!! how are ya??

may I request a jinx x FEM/GN reader who is shorter than her and has cat-like features almost like lest from arcane s2?? thank you and happy holidays Maya :D

A/N: hello anon! I'm fine, how about you? I hope you're okay with this, it's not a full oneshot but a series of thoughts/headcanons.

Thank you for requesting, and I wish you happy holidays as well!❤ (not gonna lie, when I read that I squealed 'cause of happiness😂)

Not proofread!

Jinx was transfixed with you from the first time she met you.

She met you during one of her raids in the undercity, and you, coincidentally, were one of the people who were near when she attacked. The enforcers, as usual, had entered the city's grounds and wrecked havoc. She, on the other hand, decided to bring her trusted granades and gun. Silco had explicitly ordered her to stay away, but she's Jinx: she does what she want and today, all she wanted was to have a little fun and distract the voices from her head.

You were one of the people running away from the enforcers. Blood caked in the small layer of fur you had, eyes as tight as slits and panic on your features. And when she drove them away, too scared to face Silco after her last little stunt, you looked at her with pure adoration.

And Jinx? She just has to admit that she was smitten with you from the start. Not immediately, let's make that clear, but somehow you tugged at something inside of her and slowly reached out into her heart.

Jinx who was at first, despite her interests, a little freaked out from you. She doesn't want you to know that, but something about how you looked just made a little alarm bubble pop off above her head. Overtime though, she started to get used to you and with it, became more and more infatuated.

Jinx who, every day, runs her hands into your fur. She likes to warm her cold hands in it, consequentially making you freeze. She smiles devilishly when she does so, while you try to pry her away or run from her grasp, but alas, she's too strong. You're gonna warm her up for a while.

Jinx who is utterly amazed by your eyes, far more intense than any she's ever seen. She wouldn't admit it to you right away, but she gets cranky whenever trying to draw you because no matter what shades of colors she uses, she can never replicate your eye's colours quite right.

Jinx who plays with your ears. They're very sensitive so she is careful, but she likes to play with their tips, twirling and pinching them. She likes to run her fingers in the floof at the base. When you're stressed, she'll scratch the back of your ears, making you fall asleep above her.

Jinx who just loves to annoy you for your height. She didn't even thought that there could be people shorter than her; you know, besides Isha and the yordels.

Jinx who, despite all her good will, sometimes will be pretty oblivious to social standards. Cut her some slack! She has only ever had relationships with Silco and... Sevika, in years! So she'll blurt out stuff without really thinking too much about it. "Do you need to do drink some milk, kitty cat?" and she says that every time you're cranky. Oh she's so lucky you love her, or by now she'd be scratched all over.

Jinx who boops you! All. The. Time. Throughout the day, few are the moments she doesn't spend her time with her fingers on the tip of your nose. She has the habit of booping your nose with her thumb and then pressing a kiss on it. The second after doing so, she let's cute aggression get to her and she starts to bite your cheeks and squish them.

Jinx who is all happy and fidgety when you bring her your "preys". Those are, of course, just little things you found around the under city that made you think of her. Usually they are shards of the most beautiful blue glass, copper coloured gears or some new set of crayons you bought. On that note, maybe you were better off as a bird. She always gasps and marvels at each of your gifts, always shocked by how much you know her. "Kitty cat! These are amazing!" she rolls the blue and pink polished shards of glass in her hands, "I'm going to make a beautiful necklace out of this for you!".

Jinx who tries to not be mad when she finds your fur on her clothes. "Please" she begs you, "please, one pair of pants. Leave me one pair of pants!".

Jinx who falls asleep immediately ever since you've entered her life. Her nose is pressed on your torso, limbs tangled in you. The voices are gone, and you are so soft and warm, so nice and loving... And as she drifts to sleep, she knows her place is here with you.

#jinx x reader #jinx x you #arcane jinx x reader #arcane x you #arcane x reader #arcane headcanons

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yellowbrokenblue · 6 months ago

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The Club - Part Two

Maya returns to the club to see Harry, unaware that his friend would also be waiting there for her…

Harry x Niall x OC

read part one here

cw: smut, oral, degrading, threesome, idek all u need to know is this is the filthiest thing i’ve ever written thank me later

Harry didn’t stop watching the club entrance. His eyes were glued to the door all night, and since he’d been here, he had asked the bouncer at least three different times if she had arrived yet.

But it wasn’t until 11pm he noticed her, the same blonde bouncy curls shining under the dim lights. He couldn’t wait to have her again.

“That’s her?”

Harry turned to his left, where his friend was sat in a booth, with a glass of whiskey clutched in his hand.

“Yeah. Maya, her name is.”

“She’s hot.”

“Uh, huh.”

He stood up and weaved his way through the crowd of people towards her, his hand grabbing her waist from behind as soon as he reached her.

“You told me you’d be here an hour ago.” Harry said into her ear, startling her with his presence. “You’re late.”

“Harry.” She breathed, turning around to face him.

“Maya.” He replied.

A mere 24 hours ago they were stood in the same place on the same dancefloor while he fucked her with his fingers, and as much as he’d love to repeat last night’s event, Harry had other plans for her tonight.

He took a step closer to her, his lips brushing over her ear.

“You look so good, Maya.” He said, “This little bralette and your short skirt.”

He smirked, hearing a small whimper escape her lips.

“Did you get dressed up for me?” He asked, “All for me?”

“All for you, Harry.”

Harry breathed her in, closing his eyes as he inhaled the scent of her and her perfume. He couldn’t wait to have her again; he didn’t plan on wasting any time.

“We’re doing things a little different tonight.” Harry said, “I don’t do this with everyone.”

“What is it?”

Harry smirked.

“There’s someone I need you to meet before we can get started.”

He led her over to the booth, adjusting his pants as he walked. The anticipation had reached his dick.

They reached the table, where Harry’s friend was sat waiting for them, his eyes following Maya as she walked. Harry gestured for her to sit in the booth first, and he slid in next to her.

“Maya, this is my good friend Niall.” He said, placing a hand on her bare thigh.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maya. Harry has told me about you.” He said, in a thick irish accent, “He’s told me what a good girl you are.”

“Oh,” Harry said, squeezing her thigh, “A real good girl.”

Maya looked between the two men sat with her. They were probably the two most attractive men she’d ever seen in her life, and they were both staring her down like they wanted to completely devour her.

Her lips parted, with another small whimper.

“D’you mind if I share you with Niall tonight, gorgeous? I can’t always keep a pretty little thing like you to myself all the time.”

“Share?” She questioned, “You both…?”

“We both want you, Maya.” Niall said, “Do you want us?”

Her panties were soaked just from looking at both of them. She wanted to moan just from their words.

She nodded in reply to them.

“I wanna hear you say it, baby.” Harry said, “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you.” She said to Harry, before turning to Niall, “Both of you.”

“’Atta girl.” Harry grinned.

Mayas attention turned to Niall as he began to speak.

“Now, Harry got you last night, but I haven’t had you at all.” He said, smirking, “So I’d like some proof that you want me, Maya. Show me how much you want us.”

Confusion spread over her face, but she wanted them both so badly she was willing to do pretty much anything.

“Do you want me to…” She gestured towards his pants.

Niall chuckled, “No, honey.”

“Niall likes his girls to work for it.” Harry interrupted.

“Work for it?”

“Yes.” Niall said, “We’re gonna stay here, at this booth, until you make yourself cum, and then Harry and I will give you whatever you want.”

“Have you made yourself cum before?” Harry asked. “You’ve touched yourself before?”

She nodded, “I haven’t made myself cum before…”

“You can do it,” Niall said, “And then we’re all yours.”

Maya reached for her skirt, hiking it up as far up her hips as they could go, before sliding her panties all the way down her legs, taking them off completely.

Feeling brave, she lifted the panties off the floor and placed them on the table. Both of their jaws clenched.

Maya felt their eyes on her as her hand slowly crept towards her dripping wet pussy. She was soaking for them, and Niall and Harry both knew it from the state of the panties she had placed on the table.

The let out a soft moan as she ran a finger through her folds, before reaching her clit. The fact she was in a club with hundreds of other people didn’t even bother her in this moment, all she wanted was to please the two guys next to her.

“Look at her, Niall. Moaning already.” Harry said, “She’s so desperate for us she’s gonna jerk herself off just cause we asked her too.”

“So compliant.” Niall said, “So needy.”

Two of her fingers slowly circled her clit, applying the right amount of pressure for her to moan at her own touch.

“That’s it, Maya.” Harry said, “Keep going.”

“Oh!” Maya groaned, her fingers speeding up.

“Do you feel good, Maya?” Niall asked, “Do you feel good touching yourself? Do you feel good with your fingers in your cunt?”

“Uh, huh.” She moaned, her hips bucking against her own fingers.

She wasn’t close yet, and if she wanted these men to fuck her then she was going to have to make herself cum. In another attempt, she took her other hand and tried to mimic Harry’s actions yesterday, pushing two of her own fingers into her entrance, and pumping them in and out as fast as she could.

“Oh, she’s desperate, Ni, you gotta see this.” Harry said, gesturing for Niall to move next to Maya. “She got two hands going now.”

Niall sat next to her, his dick rock hard as he watched her touch herself.

“Are you imagining Harry’s cock inside ya right now, imagine him filling you up?”

She nodded, desperately throwing her head back as she cried out.

“I’m close.” She said, “I’m so close.”

“Keep going.” Harry said, “Cum for us, baby.”

“I can’t.” She cried, “Not without you, Harry.”

“Yes you can, Maya. Just keep those fingers moving in your pretty little pussy. Niall and I are right here for whatever you want when you finish.”

“Oh!” She moaned, her clit pulsing with the pressure.

“How ‘bout I have a little taste of that pussy of yours later,” Niall said into her ear, his voice sending a shiver down your spine, “And maybe you can suck Harry off while I’m doing it.”

“Does that sound good, Maya?” Harry asked, “You ready to be a dirty little whore for us?”

Harry’s words seemingly were all she needed to tip her over the edge. Her orgasm came crashing down on her, and she cried out both of her names as she came. She rested her head against Nialls shoulder, regaining her breath.

“Oh, you’re as good a girl as Harry told me.” Niall said, “Can’t wait to try you out.”

Harry grinned, wrapping his arm around her waist and shuffling closer, his mouth moving to her neck. Niall smirked at his actions, and done the same, both men attacking either side of her neck.

Her cunt was aching for them, all she wanted was for them to wreck her. She didn’t care what the done to her she just wanted them so bad that it hurt.

She moaned as they sucked on her skin, and Harry grabbed her hand, pressing it against his crotch.

“Need you get you upstairs, baby. I need you to sort this out for me.” He said.

“Take off your skirt though.” Niall said, “It’s dark, no one’s gonna pay attention. But I wanna see that cute little naked ass climb the stairs.”

“That’s barely a skirt, Niall.” Harry said, “Our dirty little slut dressed in barely anything because she wants to fuck us so bad.”

“What’s upstairs?” She asked, as Harry slipped his fingers under the waistband of her skirt, pulling it down off of her legs.

“I got a room up there. Nothin’ special, just where Niall and I like to fuck pretty girls.”

The three of them left the booth, and Mayas legs were shaking so much with anticipation that she barely made it to the staircase. Harry took her by the hand, leading her upstairs, and Niall pinched her ass, grinning as they approached the bedroom.

“Get your shirt off.” Harry said, “Bra too. There’s too much we want to do to you, we’re not wasting any time.”

“C’mon, c’mon, Harry.” Niall teased, “Take it slow, take it slow. I haven’t even kissed the girl yet.”

Without warning, Nialls lips were on Mayas. He tasted of the whiskey he’d been drinking, but smelled of expensive cologne. His fingers were tangled in her hair when she felt Harry come from behind, sliding his hands around her waist, kissing down the back of her neck.

Her aching cunt was screaming to be fucked, and her hips absentmindedly bucked against Nialls, grinding against his erection.

He pulled back, smirking.

“Someone’s eager, hm?” He questioned, in which Maya responded with a nod, “Get on the bed then, on your hands and knees.”

“Thought you were gonna eat her sweet little pussy out?” Harry questioned.

“I change my mind. I need my cock in her.”

“I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, baby girl, and you’re gonna suck Harry’s fat cock while I watch it drip out of you.”

She swallowed, her big eyes looking up at the two men.

“You heard him,” Harry said, “On the bed, Maya.”

She climbed up onto the bed, crawling on her hands and knees.

“Aw, look at her, Niall.” Harry said, “Her pussy is fuckin’ dripping for us.”

Harry pulled his pants off, along with his briefs, letting his erection spring free before kneeling in front of Maya on the bed.

“You think you can take it?” Harry asked, “Daddy’s big cock in your mouth?”

She nodded, eagerly.

“Let me make you feel good,” She begged, reaching for his dick.

“Not yet, baby. Not till I watch the look on your face when Niall shoves his dick all the way up your pretty little body. Wanna watch you.”

Taken by surprise, Niall was already positioned behind her. He quickly lined his cock up with her entrance, and pushed himself all the way in.

She screamed with ecstasy, the feeling of his dick all the way inside her making her feel pleasure she’d never felt before.

“So fuckin’ tight.” Niall said, “Your pussy feels so good on my dick, Maya. Taking it like a good little whore.”

She moaned as he pulled almost all the way out of her, before quickly thrusting inside of her again.

“Can’t wait to fill you up with my cum.” He moaned.

Maya groaned, her head looking upwards to look at Harry. Their eyes met and she moaned.

Niall’s thrusts became faster, Mayas mouth wide open as she took him.

“Get Harry’s dick in your mouth, Maya.” Niall said through a moan, “I want him to cum in your mouth the same time I cum in your cunt.”

Maya wasted no time listening to Nialls demands, and reached for Harry’s dick, taking the tip in her mouth.

“All the way, Maya. You can’t take me.” Harry said.

Harry came closer to her, forcing his cock further down her throat. She moaned as it hit the back of her throat, holding back a gag.

“Oh, Maya. Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good.” Harry moaned.

With hollow cheeks, her lips pressed tightly on his dick, his hips bucking forwards as she sucked him off.

Maya was ridiculously close to an orgasm, struggling to concentrate on anything, but she knew Harry was close to finishing. Niall fucked rough, and she wasn’t going to be able to hold on for much longer.

“Don’t worry, Maya.” Harry said, “I got it from here, you done such a good job, baby. Now let me watch as you cum all over Nialls cock.”

She dropped Harry’s dick from her mouth, and allowed herself to be ruthlessly fucked by Niall. She screamed their names over and over until she snapped.

The most mind-blowing, insane orgasm of her life washed over her, soaking Nialls cock with her cum.

“Look at me when you’re cumming, Maya. I want to see you.” Harry said in front of her.

Their eyes met, Mayas mouth hanging open as cum dripped from her pussy.

She moaned, her body falling limp and her head crashing into the bed as she rode out the last of her high.

Niall continued to thrust into her, his hips bucking against her until he came inside of her, moaning as his cum filled up her pussy.

The three lay on the bed, catching their breath, for a few minutes.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, baby.” Harry said. “We can’t have a pretty thing like you looking all messed up like this.”

“But Harry,” Maya said with big eyes, “I haven’t had your cock yet.”

Harry swallowed. Her smudged eyeliner, her swollen lips… He was down bad.

“I want you to fuck me up.”

masterlist kofi

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charmedreincarnation · 2 years ago

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Hi Maya I was one of your first anons back in March and I manifested my dream life. i just wanted to share some things that helped me, and hope we can all pass some knowledge so we all get our desires life. I did, you did, and everyone reading this can and will so let’s all try to help out by sharing a little of our journey. I’ll never create a blog because tumblr is a mess, so I’ll just share them here bc I trust you as a creator and I hope you agree with what I’m saying. Even if you don’t these are my assumptions and my truth

il get into my methods in one second but users of tumblr there are only 4 THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THE LAW (Inspired heavily by you bc I used your blog religiously) I will say you’re kind of too nice and I wish I had someone to yell at me like this, and tell me to stop being a victim!!! So if it sounds aggressive it’s because it is in the best loving way possible.OKAY SO.

★you need to understand that you want to fulfill yourself in imagination because you don’t care about the desires only how you feel about it. Bare with me it sounds stupid I know. But I don’t care about men or how they feel about me. I just want to feel worshiped and love, and I could fulfill that in my imagination. I don’t care about money??? It’s fucking paper !!! I just want to feel secure and financially free and want the feeling of buying my favorite clothes without looking at the tag. I GOT THE SAME FEELING FROM PINTREST EVEN WHEN I WAS POOR GODDAMNIT. I didn’t care about getting all As in school when I’ve always believed school is not a representation of intelligence. I wanted to feel recognized adored and respected which I had to feel for myself in my mind before it projected. I don’t care about looking skinny, I just wanted to feel snatched, I wanted to be envied, and feel pretty. And in my mind everyone wanted to be me even when I was ugly and fat. BUT I DIDNT FEEL FAT. Even with no change in the 3D I had my desires. This applies to all your desires, and you really need to understand that.

★you can affirm,visualize, understand states, understand non dualism, use the Bible or Torah m, wall twerk and say “I AM THAT BITXH,” use sats YADADAA . No one cares it doesn’t matter. you don’t have to feel anything or, even believe in wth you’re doing. As long as you think that having it in imagination means it’s yours that’s all that matter. I’ve read so many teachers, Neville, Abraham, Abdullah, Edward art, paid coaches, and they all do different things but say the same thing. FAITH IS KEY. That’s all that matters. Don’t let anyone you otherwise or tell you what you have to do. All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.

★YOU ARE GOD. You know what a god is, you know how a god works, you know god can do anything with a snap of a finger, kill anyone with a thought, look anyway it wants, have anything everything and create whatever. You are an omnipotent loving creator so create and give yourself everything.

★you can’t over consume, you can think from lack of whatever, and doubt can’t hinder you unless you think it does. Having a desire does not mean you’re lacking or else having the wanting for it would mean that too no? When creators say that I want to slam my head against the wall. Even now I have all my desires and I still think about them constantly. Thinking of new clothes to buy with MY WEALTH, I think of new food to eat that won’t even affect my SNATCHED BODY, i find new places to try and explore bc MY SOCIAL CIRCLE IS HUGE AND IM SO LOVED, I think of new makeup up to try to enhance my GORGEOUS PRINCESS FACE. I think of it in the same way from when I didn’t have my desired (I always had them in imagination but you know what I mean.) so there is no thinking from lack, or else you’re always lacking it lmfao the fuck. Anyways I doubted my abilities up until I manifested my dream life. I was okay with it in imagination and whether it reflected or not it was my escape I was content with. DID YOU SEE THAT. I had doubts up until the very end, and it doesn’t mean shit unless you think it does. Just affirm having doubts and obsessions only speed up your results. That’s really all it is.

Now to my story if anyone cares. I won’t make a blog for reason number 2 and 3 listed above. That’s all you need but if you want more info for curiosity go for it. I know I was curious and that didn’t stop me from getting my dream life. Anyways I have the same story as about everyone else here. My life sucked, I found the law, and it worked! HOORAY!!! But how did I do it???? Easy peasy, in a couple of steps.

☞ I tattooed my four rules above in my mind. When fear and doubt emerged I sunk that shit like the titanic and went with my laws that I created. It’s literally called the law of assumption like come on, stop fighting with yourself when you assume and create reality.

☞I ignored anything that I didn’t agree with. Sometimes I’d get so mad and be like WHAT NO WHY WOULD THAT BLOGGER OR COACH OR ANON or whoever say that?? But am I dumb ??? each of us have our own reality our own bubbles. The fact that it works for them and not for me started to only motivate me more. It doesn’t work bc I assume sooo… sooo why not just assume the opposite and focus on my rules like they did. The law is always in effect and working. Either it’s in your favor or it’s not. It’s up to you

☞I used affirmations bc repetition is the only thing that works for my logical brain. Anything can change with repetition. It’s basic science. So in the morning and night time I would affirm. ONCE. Repetition meant for me doing it everyday and not wanting. The rest of my day was lived in my imaginations. And the affirmation was to remind me in my vulnerable state that I already have my desires. That’s why my affirmation was “I have my desires no matter what, and everything I do brings them to me faster than the speed of light” it was kind of funny and made me chuckle but I accepted it as facts. Look guys…

☞I didn’t repress myself. If I cried or yelled or told myself “FUCK YOU” it wasn’t me tf. It was the devil or something. Be like those Christian fuckers who when their child comes out as gay…it’s the devil within them or whatever. I would talk to myself, yell when doubt emerged and when my thoughts weren’t the ones I wanted. It wasn’t fucking me so get the fuck out I have my desires so who tf are you ??? It will feel weird but you’ll get used to it trust me. If you’re uncomfortable it’s working. Getting rid of bad habits and your comfort in dwelling in bad thoughts is uncomfortable but it’s worth it.

I manifested my dream life back in March. I LITERALLY WOKE WITH MY DREAM LIFE. A complete 180. I won’t talk about my past life bc I completely revised it and I’m the only one who remembers so for the most part it feels like a long nightmare that has past. I’ll just talk about what I changed instead because that’s the stuff we all want to hear. Anyways I’ll just post some of my list here.

♥ my life feels like the song rich kids by freak ocean

♥I’m a pretty spoiled princess who gets everything I want but I’m still kind

♥I revised my entire family from looks to personality to zodiac to religion and etc. i rewrote my story which included my family

♥I have natural admired intelligent

♥my family has a net worth of 500 million dollars, and my entire family stems from old money. (Think aristocrats not slave or colonization money)

♥I can play many instruments and speak many languages

♥ I am 5’2, 100 pounds, I have natural stunning vixen beauty, and the most desires body in the world. I’m the beauty standard and people either want to be me or date me. I am naturally skinny and have no worries about my weight, I have clear skin that only gets clearer with my skincare routine, and I have my desired personality where I’m kind but also don’t put up with any shit from anyone because I know I’m that bitch. I also have great style and embody a princess !

♥my life is a combination of my favorite watpadd stories, Gilmore girls, gossip girl, and mean girls.

♥ too many people pursue me I have too many options

♥I have a perfect school life, social life, family life, friend life, and people always wonder what I did to be “so lucky it’s unfair”

♥my family has multiple mansions in America, monoco,Australia, france, and China.

♥I’m a daddies and mommies money girl

♥I put myself first (I HAD SUFFERED TOO LONG I NEEDED A SOFT LIFE)

♥everyone’s purpose it to make my life easier and make me happier

♥I’m spoiled and privileged in every aspect of my life

♥I’m a master shifter, and manifester

♥I revised my age to 14. I was 18 and graduating but I wanted to redo high school how I had envisioned it all my life

♥I have a “cool mom” people are always jealous how lucky I am

♥I have my main estate in Hollywood hills with my family that’s in a gated, gorgeous, gate kept neighborhood. It is 30,000 sq feet with my dreams decor, dream cars, dream pets, dream house help, dream room with all my stuff saved on Pinterest including decor, furniture, clothes, shoes, makeup and skincare.

♥everything good in my life I have manifested and it’s too much to list. THERES NOT REASON FEAR OR WAIT. Do what you want and assume it still works and it will.

You honestly said it better than I could have. Literally every single one of these points are so valid :)!! I’m glad you think I inspired you love but all I did was allow you recognize your own godly abilities. I’m very proud of you, and have fun girl 🥹❤️

Also. “All teachers were once students, all success stories were once struggled failures, all masters were once lost okay. You are god so have some faith in yourself.” This one million times !!!!! Invest your faith into yourself more than anyone else and you’ll see how fast your reality conforms. I also adore your point about the state of lacking bc I never believed in that. If wanting your desires insinuates it’s not yours, we would have no thoughts since that’s where it all originates from. In fact Edward explains it pretty well.

When Edward looks at lack, he sees it as being something that is only brought about by the individual. He believes that your own actions, thoughts, and attitudes will bring about an artificial scarcity of resources. Edward says that this artificial lack of resources is not actually real—it exists only in our minds, as we focus on the things that we don’t have rather than the things that are available to us.

He believes that true lack only exists when someone has no access to resources—whether those resources be financial, physical, mental, or emotional. When someone has access to resources but they squander them or don’t use them to their advantage, it isn’t a lack of resources that is at fault—it is the individual’s personal choices and attitudes that create the feeling of lack. Same way we see attractive people feel ugly though they have women or men chasing them, modeling opportunities, and experience many examples of pretty privilege lol. You’re a hot girl.. you’re just not using it to your advantage, same way you have everything in imagination and access to anything yet… nothing bc of your own perceptions. That’s not lack. Simply inappropriate usage of recourse. A waste for better use of words.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #my asks #reality shifting #self concept

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junrenjun · 9 months ago

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love and lacrosse jackets

pe teacher!vernon x chemistry teacher!reader (fem)

genre: fluff

wc: 3k

warnings: reader is referred to as ms. (and other fem pronouns), reader wears vernon's clothes

a/n: this is not an understand series update and i apologize for that. however, here's a vernon teacher au with a little side of lacrosse and dad!seungcheol

You were suddenly thrown out of your thoughts by one of your students sighing and turning from her worksheet. “Ms. y/n, can I ask a question?”

You knew this student, Maya, was likely trying to get out of doing her assignment. She was too smart for her own good. “Depends. Is it about the worksheet?”

She paused for a second, turning her head slightly away in order to avoid your gaze. “...no.”

You continued. “Do you need to go to the bathroom or the nurse?”

Maya sighed and mumbled, “no.”

You turned back to your computer while giving your final response. “Then I think you know the answer. I would be happy to talk to you once you’ve balanced all those equations.”

You should’ve known she wasn’t giving up that easily. If anything, she probably gave up halfway through the worksheet because she knew the answers and was just looking for something to entertain herself. “Mr. Chwe lets us ask him questions all the time.”

You snorted. “Mr. Chwe is a PE teacher Maya. You don’t have worksheets to do in his classes. Unfortunately, you do in chemistry. So please finish this or at least study for your quiz next week.”

Maya was apparently taken aback by this. She was quick to defend herself, saying, “how do you know we don’t do worksheets in PE?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Maybe you should've been a college professor instead of a high school teacher. “I’m the girls lacrosse coach and he’s the boys coach. We spend a lot of time together and I’ve never once seen him make a worksheet.”

An evil grin spread across Maya’s face. You internally groaned at this. That expression means she’s up to absolutely no good. She turned and tapped on her partner’s arm. Great, now she’s distracting other students too. “Henry, wouldn’t Ms. y/n and Mr. Chwe make a cute couple?” He grinned and started going off on a tangent about how funny it would be if the two lacrosse coaches were dating.

This conversation really took a turn for the worse, didn’t it? There’s nothing you could do but groan, out loud this time, and put your head in your hands. Your neighboring teacher, Mr. Seokmin, really has impeccable timing though. He stuck his head through your door and grabbed your attention a few moments later. “Hey Ms. y/n, do you have a student that can run an errand for me real quick?”

Now was your chance. “Maya, since you seem to have no interest in balancing any more equations, why don’t you go help Mr. Seokmin?”

Before she could protest, the physics teacher grinned brightly at her before exclaiming, “perfect! Come on Maya, I need someone to help me carry these projects to the library.” Once she was finally out of the room, you breathed a sigh of relief.

It didn’t last long though because your other students suddenly started giggling and murmuring amongst each other. Henry, who was still turned toward you, decided he needed to continue Maya’s antics in her absence. “You did say you and Mr. Chwe were close.” More giggles were heard.

You’re not sure what you did to deserve this treatment from your 3rd hour honors class of all people, but clearly it was something. “Alright if you all don’t go back to your work I’m not offering any extra credit on this next quiz.” The rest of the hour passed in silence.

“What’s with the long face?” Vernon thought the joking would cheer his best player up, but it just made Henry frown even more.

After a few moments of silence, he finally answered, “I had a quiz in chemistry today. Don’t think I did too well on it.”

Vernon was quick to ask him which teacher he had. “Your favorite, Ms. y/n,” Henry responded.

The PE teacher rolled his eyes at the comment but still clapped his hand on the player’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine, kid. She offers extra credit. But she also told me you and Maya were pestering her the other day instead of doing your work, so maybe you should put a little more effort into understanding the material next time.”

Henry grumbled, knowing nothing good would come of an argument. “Yeah, whatever you say Coach.” Then, he dropped his bag on the ground and ran out onto the field to start warming up.

Vernon felt someone approach him from behind. “See dude, even the kids can pick up on you and y/n’s chemistry. Haha, get it? Chemistry? Y/n teaches chemistry.” The head coach could barely restrain himself from flicking Mingyu in the forehead. He was a great assistant coach, but an incredibly annoying friend.

“Why can’t I just be friends with a coworker and fellow lacrosse coach?” Vernon complained. Mingyu simply watched on as his friend continued. “Just because we’re both single doesn’t mean we should get together. I mean she’s really cool and works really well with the kids. And she’s an insane lacrosse player, an even better coach too. I think she could get the girls to state this year. I just think…” He’s cut off by Mingyu smacking his arm.

For once, he’s grateful for the assistant coach’s intrusion, because he turns around to find you jogging up to him. Weird, he thought to himself, since you and the girls have a game today. You skid to a stop next to the two, and make eye contact with him. “You don’t happen to have an extra SVHS shirt do you? I think I forgot my coaching shirt at home today and I really don’t want Seungcheol getting on my ass for it.”

Vernon’s world comes crashing down at that moment. Maybe he does have a teensy little crush on you. Because the thought of you wearing his clothes has him swooning. Mingyu, ever so helpful, snaps him out of the moment by clearing his throat to yell at the boys for messing around. Vernon blinks at you for a second before stammering out, “uh yeah I think so,” and reaching into his bag. He pulls out a gray quarter zip with the words “SVHS” and “Coach Chwe” embroidered on the chest. He debates hiding it from your sight and shoving it back in his bag to save you both the embarrassment, but he knows how strict Seungcheol is as an athletic director.

He eventually tosses it to you, stuttering out something about good luck while watching you throw it over your head. Once it’s on you say, “I have the same one, so hopefully no one sees the difference. Thanks Chwe.” He can’t even process your words because his brain is simply malfunctioning seeing you in his clothes, especially ones that say his name. He’s no better than his high schoolers. Before he knows it, you’re turning on your heel and jogging back to the main field.

Someone comes up behind him, filling Mingyu’s absence, since the assistant coach ran off to lead practice drills in the middle of Vernon’s little crisis. He hears the lacrosse captain snickering and then telling him, “damn Coach, you’ve got it bad. You’re redder than a tomato.”

Vernon simply cannot handle it any further. “Oscar, for heaven’s sake, please shut your mouth and go back to practice.” Oscar throws his hands up in mock defense, before grabbing the ball that rolled over to Vernon’s feet and running back onto the field.

You really need to give Vernon his coach’s jacket back. It didn’t help that you weren’t a morning person, and seemed to accidentally leave it at home whenever you left for work each day. It also maybe didn’t help that it smelled just like the boy’s lacrosse coach, who, admittedly, smelled pretty damn good. But, you couldn’t hoard Vernon’s things forever. You were lucky enough that you had gone a week without him mentioning the jacket at all, which you chalked up to him knowing you were busy.

Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow you would take the jacket back to school and give it to him. You even laid it out with your own jacket, which you were going to wear the next since you had a game anyways. That, however, was a mistake. Because in the morning, groggy from lack of sleep, you accidentally threw on Vernon’s jacket and shoved your own into your work bag.

How no one told you until 3rd period, you’re not quite sure. Mainly because Seokmin had specifically complimented your outfit when you visited him before your first class. You thought maybe it was because you were wearing a new pair of pants. Clearly it was not and the physics teacher was using it as a means to tease you (and Vernon by proxy). If only you had known.

Maya stepped into your classroom extra peppy that day, which was already a recipe for disaster. The fact that she was the one to catch that you were wearing Mr. Chwe’s zip-up certainly did not help. A gasped “oh my god” stopped you in the middle of your lecture. You pointedly looked at the girl before asking, “Maya, is everything alright?”

The poor girl could barely contain her excitement, practically shaking in her seat. “You’re dating Mr. Chwe! I knew it!”

You were caught so off-guard that it took you a while to respond. “Maya, where did you even get that idea from? And you’re being disruptive, I’m trying to teach about equilibrium.”

She stood from her seat and pointed at you, before excitedly exclaiming, “your jacket. You’re wearing Mr. Chwe’s jacket!” You looked down and, sure enough, Vernon’s name was plastered across the chest. To put it plainly, you were mortified. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ve embarrassed yourself even more when you don’t respond for a solid minute.

Finally, when you’re done wallowing in pity in front of a bunch of 16 year olds, you make your way to your desk and pull out a hall pass. You hand it to Maya swiftly before telling her, “if you’re too invested in this to learn chemistry, go bother Mr. Chwe about it. It’s his planning period.” She gapes up at you before scrambling out of the room.

You turn back to the rest of the class, making sure to pointedly look at Henry. “No other questions about my love life?”

A deadly silence spreads across the room. Henry sinks back in his chair but you watch a hand creep up from the back of the classroom. You sigh and call on the girl. She’s clearly surprised you even allowed her to speak, because the question is whispered to the point you can barely hear it. “Why do you have Mr. Chwe’s jacket?”

The inquiry is enough to throw you off the deep end. “Ok, I’m not teaching the rest of class. I don’t care what you guys do as it’s either A) not disruptive or B) asking me about my personal life.”

Seungcheol is surprised when there is a knock on the athletic office door in the middle of 3rd period. Students should be in class and if it were a staff member, they would have just let themselves in. He tells whoever it is to come in and is slightly less surprised to see Maya standing in front of him. She doesn’t let him speak first, quickly letting out, “do you know where Mr. Chwe is?”

He raises an eyebrow at the girl. “You got a hall pass kid?” he fires back. Maya waves the piece of paper around in his face. He rolls his eyes.

She puts her hands on her hips and looks pointedly at him. “Seriously though. Do you know where Mr. Chwe is? It’s supposed to be his planning period or something.”

Seungcheol is still confused why she needs to see Vernon in the middle of 3rd hour and how she managed a hall pass for it. “Why?”

Maya plops down on the chair in front of his desk with a sigh, clearly this conversation was not happening without a little bit of a fight. “Ms. y/n sent me to ask him a question.”

The athletic director can’t help but let out a snort at the girl’s comment. Maya is suddenly interested in his reaction. “Why is that so funny? Do you think they’re dating too?”

Seungcheol is surprised yet again. “Do you think they’re dating?”

Now Maya snorts. “Obviously. Ms. y/n is wearing his lacrosse jacket today.” She laughs when the man’s eyes practically bulge out of his skull. He rustles around his desk, grabbing a notepad and writing another hall pass for the girl.

After scribbling for a second, he passes the note to the girl and tells her, “Mr. Chwe is in his office, room 218.”

The girl grabs the note from his hands and gleefully gets up to skip out the door. She stops midway through and calls out over her shoulder, “thanks Dad!”

“I’m not dating Ms. y/n, Maya. You know that.” Vernon sighs exasperatedly. “Why are you even asking me this?”

He knows he’s in for trouble when she smirks. “She’s wearing your coaching jacket today. Care to explain that?”

Vernon knows he should’ve asked for it back sooner rather than later. But he was secretly hoping that he would be able to see it on you one more time. And the longer you have it, the more likely it’s going to come back smelling like you (not that Vernon cares anyways right?). He doesn’t miss a beat though, explaining to Maya that he lent you his jacket for a game and that you probably mixed it up with your own. She’s not impressed, but she knows it’s an explanation that’s most likely true. This doesn’t stop her from interrogating Vernon further. “Do you want to date Ms. y/n?”

His silence is incriminating. He can tell by Maya’s mile wide grin. Trying to put an end to it, the lacrosse coach stands up from his desk, telling her that he’ll walk her back to whatever class she left from.

One tiny important detail he forgot is that you teach 3rd hour honors chemistry. A class that one of his players, Henry, shares with Maya. And he’s currently standing outside your door, watching as you type away on your computer. Sure enough, “Mr. Chwe” is embroidered across the chest. Vernon thinks he might combust on the spot. His student clearly picks up on this, muttering something about how she’s “seen middle schoolers with more balls.”

He waits outside your door as Maya enters the room. There’s only a few minutes left of the period, so he figured it would be better for both of you to talk away from prying eyes. As the bell rings, he patiently watches the students trickle out your door. When he’s sure that everyone is gone, he steps into the doorway. What he does not expect is for you to walk straight into his chest, stumbling back with the cutest “oomph” he’s ever heard.

Vernon is stunned but you look completely mortified. Probably because you just ran into the man whose jacket you’re wearing basically without his consent. His assumption is correct because you start mumbling out apologies. “I’m so sorry I thought this was my jacket when I grabbed it this morning. I didn’t mean to wear it today, I made such a mess of this. I shouldn’t have even asked for it in the first place. I was just about to change, give me a second I…”

The lacrosse coach cuts you off in the middle of your little rant. “Do you want to go out with me after your game on Friday?”

You blink at him, not even processing the words he just said. When you finally do, your cheeks flush and you glance down at your watch. “Do you think you can ask me that in like 4 hours, Chwe?”

Vernon has no idea what you mean by that. He gawks a little bit. Do you need time to think about it? Are you not interested? Do you already have a boyfriend? Shit, he should’ve thought this through.

You break him out of his little trance with a small chuckle. “We’re on the clock Vernon. And you have a class in three minutes.”

He glances at his watch. His freshman PE class is probably waiting for him. He mumbles something about meeting him on the main field before practice. Then he’s out the door. You’re left there, stunned, still in his jacket. You don’t bother to take it off the rest of the day.

A few hours later, Mingyu and Seokmin are watching you both converse from afar. Vernon’s cheeks are the reddest they’ve ever been. You’re fidgeting nervously but also smiling. It seems to be going well. Seokmin turns to the assistant coach before saying, “took them long enough.”

They hear someone approaching and turn to see Seungcheol. “You both owe me $20.”

Both the teachers roll their eyes at him but reach for their wallets. Maya pops up from their other side, walking up to her father. “I should be getting at least half of that. I did all the work.”

Seungcheol grunts, pondering her proposition. He turns to her. “What about this? You can either get $20 now or $200 if y/n is Mrs. Chwe before you graduate college?”

Maya’s eyes brighten and that sinister smile spreads across her cheeks once again. “Deal.” (She’s $200 richer at her college graduation).

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