this is trash i rushed it

spontaneodancer  asked:

Hey There! I'm from Brazil and I love your texts so much! <3 <3 If you wish, can you make a scenario for Domestic!Eiji with his kids? I've read all those stories with dad Baku but just uncle Eiji. This boy need some love

Hello, from the USA! Thank you for the support, my dear! I love my international followers. I hope you enjoy this~ also psa this trash is what happens when you have an exam but you still wanna put something out for best boy’s birthday


Kirishima trudges through the door with tired heavy shoulders. He kicks off his shoes, haphazardly throwing them by the door. A heavy sigh fall from his lips. He scratches his scalp, ruffling the red locks that had fallen out of their gelled stated hours ago. Kirishima drags his feet through his house, weighed down by the fatigue stinging in his muscles. He groans when he falls face first into the living room sofa. It’s strange. He’s been dreaming about this moment all day, this exact moment, falling into the plush cushions and letting out a low groan.

He can’t even move, much less think as his eyelids become heavy with sleep. He sighs again. This day … this damn day.

“Papa.”

Soft snores falling from his lips as his chest rises in an even pattern. Kirishima can’t remember a time when he’s been this tired … exhausted … drained. He can’t drum up a recent memory. 

“Papa.”

At least the agency let him go home early today. In fact, they insisted upon it, nearly pushing him out of the door with his bag in hand. Although Kirishima had no idea why, he didn’t object even though he normally would’ve. He just wanted to get home today … home to you, his son, his sofa …

“Papa!”

He groans feeling the pressure of two little hands pushing on his side. Kirishima’s blearily opens his eyes to the messy black hair and (e/c) eyes of his little boy.

“Hey, Yuu,” he yawns as he brings a hand up to ruffle Eiyuu’s hair, “What’s up, little man?”

“Papa, wake up!”

“Ah, Yuu, let Papa sleep, please. I’m really tired, buddy. We can play later if you want.”

“No, Papa. Wake up now!”

“Yuu …”

“Papa!” Eiyuu whines, pressing on Kirishima’s side harder, “Mama has cake! Wake up!”

“Wait, why does (Name) has cake?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes, “And wait … why … why did the agency let me off early today …”

Kirishima bolts upwards when he sees you walk into the living room with cake in hands and a gentle smile on your face. He pales. He forgot. How could he forget? He immediately hops to his feet, stumbling slightly as his aching legs struggle to support him. He scratches his the back of his head nervously as he fumbles for words. You hold your hand up, and your husband silences. 

“Before you start freaking out, it’s not our anniversary,” you say, setting the cake down on the coffee table, “It’s your birthday, silly.”

He blinks, “My … my birthday?”

“Cake!” Eiyuu cheers, staring at the white and red frosting.

“Yes, it’s your birthday,” you grin as you peck him on the lips, “Eiyuu, why don’t you give Papa the gift you made.”

Your son looks at you then back at the cake once more before trotting off to his room. Kirishima sighs, plopping back on the couch. You sit next to him and rest your head on his chest. His arms wraps around you, drawing you closer to him. You turn his head with your hands and place a sweet kiss on his lips. Kirishima blinks at you with wide eyes like he doesn’t really believe that today is actually his birthday.

“Did … did Yuu really make me something for my birthday?”

“He did.”

“And you didn’t tell him to?”

“I did not. Just wait. I think you’re going to love this.”

Eiyuu returns with a piece of paper carefully held in his hands. He stands before the sofa, unmoving and looking from parent to parent. Kirishima removes his arm from around you and rests his elbows on his knees, suddenly feeling the fatigue lift from his body as he looks down at Eiyuu

“Yuu, do you have a present for me?” he asks. 

Eiyuu doesn’t respond. He climbs onto the couch, wedging his way in between you and your husband, still holding the his paper as delicately as his three-year-old hands can. 

“Here,” Eiyuu says, presenting paper, “I drawed it by myself.”

Kirishima gently takes the drawing from his tiny hands, staring at it lovingly. Well … “drawing” is a bit generous. It more resembles three messily drawn scribbles. One, with crazy red spikes sticking from the top, the other with unruly (h/c) squiggles, and the final blob in middle with wild black strands popping out. Eiyuu looks at Kirishima, trying to gauge his expression. 

Kirishima grins, “You did this all by yourself? For Papa?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yuu! This is so good! I love it! Wow, I’ve got to show everyone at work!”

“R-Really?”

“Absolutely, buddy! This is my favorite gift ever and I’m gonna put this on my desk so everyone can see my awesome family!” he praises, wrapping his arms around the you and his son. 

Eiyuu grins back and shows off the razor sharp teeth he undoubtedly inherited from his father. Kirishima laughs, squeezing his family. He can’t even feel the heaviness in the arms. He doesn’t even remember feeling tired. All he can feel is the warmth spreading throughout his chest and the two people he loves most in his arms.

“Mama, can we have cake now?”

“I don’t know, baby. It’s Papa’s birthday cake so you should ask him.”

“Papa, can we have cake now?”

“Absolutely, little man.”

“Eiyuu, remember what we say to Papa first?”

“Oh, yeah! Happy birthday, Papa!”

“Happy birthday, Eijirou.”

“Thanks, guys. This really is the best birthday ever.”

So many of the people I follow love Shadowhunters and it makes me sad that I don’t. I truly wanted to love it. A paranormal tv show with two queer lead characters in a relationship? That sounds right up my alley. But imo the writing is absolutely trash. There’s almost no development between Magnus and Alec (in season 1, I couldn’t force myself to watch s2) and the development that is there is sloppy and rushed because they wanted to get them together as fast as possible.

5

Season 7 promo vs 7x04

keyed.

Originally posted by jiminnieseyesmile

3.8k words

members: jungkook, oc - reader

genre: fluff

warnings: language

You were sick and tired of your attractive idiot neighbor blocking your driveway.

a/n: i felt like writing this weekend and this happened surprise surprise. this is what happens when i’m buzzed off of two venti macchiatos please leave me feedback TT


“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blocked out the angry voice shouting at you from your neighbors now open door. The hurried footsteps were getting closer but you pretended you didn’t hear, continuing to drag your key along the shiny black BMW blocking your driveway. Before you could reach the back tires a hand grasped your wrist, turning you around to face your irritating neighbor.

“Oh! Hey there, neighbor,” you grinned, innocently eyeing your neighbor head to toe. He was dressed casually with his hair tousled as though he’d just woken up. His jaw was tense as his hands tightly held your wrist, nothing but anger found in his eyes. You weren’t sure of his first name but had seen him a few times in silent passing. He was relatively new to the neighborhood, keeping to himself along with his roommate you caught quick glimpses of as well. The two had moved in a month ago and you kept to yourself as well, not bothering to play nice and whip up a housewarming desert you couldn’t even properly bake. It wasn’t until a week ago that you realized your neighbors weren’t exactly your cup of tea. They had people over constantly whether they were attending their overcrowded house parties, movie nights or simply staying over till the sun came back up. It seemed whenever the two had guests around their parking lot quickly become full, causing a new issue to arrive. You noticed the brunette, tall one seemed to have a kick out of parking right in front of your light blue beetle making it impossible for you to maneuver around his pricey sports car. The parties seemed to hit an all time high and you constantly found yourself trapped in your own driveway. You left sticky notes on his windshield, kindly asking him to stop blocking your spot and occasionally he would but it wouldn’t take long for him to fall back into his routine. It wasn’t until he made you late to your job earning you a lengthy lecture from your boss, that you felt you’d had enough, storming outside to drag your keys along his prized possession.

Your decision making skills weren’t the best when you were angry.

Keep reading

6

I loved this scene so much.

Obi-Wan in Anakin’s room, picking up his stuff, sitting on his bed.

But also Obi-Wan knows Anakin is lying to him about Padme & his feelings, and he looks so hurt. He just wants to help him, but Anakin never lets him. And Anakin in the last gif looks like he’s holding back a “wait”, almost reaching out to stop Obi-Wan from leaving. He wants to tell him, he doesn’t want to lie to him. He wants help.

Day One Hundred And Forty-Three

-Moments before clocking in for my shift, I stopped by the restroom, only to find the sink full of freshly-minted ice cubes. I have no choice but to take this as an omen and run with it, discerning what it foretells as I go.

-A large and lumbering man stopped in the middle of his purchase to ask in a grave voice if I was “much of a movie guy.” I nodded, unwittingly prompting his lengthy diatribe against the new “It” movie, specifically the ending, which I had hoped to experience myself first. He told me that he was deeply shaken by the ending, but could not believe that the studio would pull such a surprising move. I find this hard to swallow myself, as I have little doubt that this man was the character inspiration in the first place.

-I rang up a stack of folders adorned with a gorgeous emblem. Curious what sort of cutesy one-liner these portfolios may be sporting, I took a moment to read what it has to say. Scrawled across the folders in golden, shimmering, cursive curls was the word, “FOLDER.” I have a great appreciation for whoever decided to ensure no miscommunication about what their product was while keeping it as stylish as can be.

-“Get off of that, that’s a trash can,” a woman called out after her son. “Get off of that, too, that is also a trash can.” I was unable to see the boy, but I know him to be a kindred spirit.

-Several loaves of bread have been found hidden throughout the electronics department. The reasons for this are currently unknown, but certainly imperative.

-“Are you Batman?” A boy asked his mother, who shook her head. “Are you Batwoman?” he followed up. She nodded, happily. “For Halloween, you’re going to be dad, and I’m going to be sad.” This child’s brain has been rushing a mile a minute, and I am glad to have hitched a ride along with him.

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 8/12

 Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Panic Attack scene mixed with vomit

A/N: I quote from my favourite poetry book Salt in this part, s/o to whoever sees the ref!

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon)

Eddie walked into his home, his heart hammering in his chest and washing his blood around his system at a high rate; after checking stuff off his bucket list such as skipping school, smoking a cigarette, kissing someone and stand up in the back of a car/truck of some sort with the wind in his face (bonus points that it was to Hey Jude) he was feeling starstruck after such an eventful day.

It was all because of Richie.

Eddie felt breathless, but in the best way possible. For once, he wasn’t reaching for his inhaler despite him losing it. For once, Eddie had rebelled for once in his life and didn’t regret a minute of it.

Keep reading

boredom be damned - peter parker

Originally posted by tomhollandisdaddy

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary:  Prompt #2: “You’re hot when you’re angry.”

All Peter wanted to do was get his homework done before adventuring into the night, but Y/N walks in and turns his study session into a flush session.

Requested: yes @myfriendmagislit

Warning: slight language

Here’s another request for #2! So excited to write this bc this user is the og:) hope you enjoY!!! This is also kinda long so oops lol and I HOPE YOU LIKE IT !!:-) @myfriendmagislit

MASTERLIST <———————-

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Were you supposed to be on your way to Peter’s right now? No. Did you tell Peter you were on your way to him right now? No.

You were bored as hell, it was as simple as that. You tried to entertain yourself in numerous ways, even attempting to do your pre-scheduled homework for tomorrow night. But that put your state of mind into greater boredom. So, you decided you would carry your bored, sorry ass all the way three blocks to Peter’s apartment. It’s not that you only did this when you were extremely bored, you did almost every day. It just turns out that today, Peter didn’t mention to you anything about working on homework or hanging out for the night. This surprised you to an extreme length, due to the fact you and Peter were stuck like glue all day, every day.

So, you being the nosy ass you were, you decided to investigate. Which worked out perfectly because you were bored as well! Of course your sneakiness did play a part in your feet carrying you to Peter’s that night, but it wasn’t only that. And it wasn’t just the boredom.

Maybe it was the pulsing excitement that ran through your veins every time Peter would run up to you with good news about his exciting double life. Or maybe it was the way your heart grew heavy in your chest when Peter’s lean, muscled body would sit closely next to you as you worked on homework, the heat radiating off his frame to hit yours. Or it might be just spending time with your best friend—correction, beautiful best friend, that caused your feelings to intensify as you got older. Maybe it was all of those things and more, that caused your mind to shift your boredom to Peter.

You admitted these intense feelings a while ago, your instinct immediately knowing your affection for the brown eyes, sweet smiling boy as soon as you laid your eyes on him ten years ago. Your friendship blossomed, consisting of ever lasting laughs and good times, it was what everyone dreamed of in a relationship.

The only problem was, the feeling was only one sided. To your dismay, they were extremely one sided. Your friends would constantly say otherwise, swearing that he looked at you the exact way you gazed at him, but you never saw it. You knew they were just trying to make you feel better. Especially due to the fact Liz Allen was someone who constantly popped up in conversations between you and Peter. This obviously made you feel instant loss and regret. But if Peter was happy, you were happy.

You slowly let your yearning thoughts of Peter vanish before arriving at Peter’s door. You sigh, grabbing the key underneath the mat Aunt May had told you about and open the door, the silence hitting you. You shut the door slowly, walking through the living room area, searching for Peter in the so far vacant house. As no sign of Peter approaches, you walk to his bedroom door, knowing that he’d be in there. Your knuckles hit lightly against the white door, shoving one hand  in your side jacket pocket and the other holding your thermos with water as you wait for the door to open.

You hear the jiggle of the door knob and and look up, seeing a wondrous sight that made your eyes look everywhere place in the world besides Peter’s eyes.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing here?” he questioned kindly, quirking his head to the side at your sudden appearance at his door. You tried to remember to breath as your eyes came in contact with a very shirtless, very ripped, and very hot Peter standing before you. Clutching your cup tightly,  your eyes lingered on his sculpted abs as your mouth stood agape at the sight before you.

Thank god for boredom. What would you without it?

“Y/N?” his voice quickly snapped your dirty thoughts of him out of your mind, disrupting everything good in this world. Y/E/C meets a playful brown as your mouth snaps shut, shaking your head vigorously as you leap out of a hazed state.

Almost breathlessly you rush out, “Oh! I-I was just really bored. Needed something to do,” you finish, shrugging your shoulders at your lousy interpretation of boredom.

He raised his eyebrows, opening the door farther for you to enter. You took note of his right muscle flexing at the stretch of his arm before he spoke, “Okay. Yeah, I’m just trying to get my homework done. Tony asked me to do something when I got done, and May’ll kill me if I leave without finishing it.”

You shook your head as a sign of understanding, noticing his seemingly stressed state as you sat down on his bed. He shut the door, turning towards you with his hands on his naked hips, “But yeah you can hang here, I’m just gonna finish the assignment for Algebra. You know how picky Ms. Roberts’ can be,” he chuckled lightly, smiling in your direction.

“Oh and those papers next to you are the chemistry homework, if you need to see it.“

You nodded, a close mouthed smile adorned your lips at his sweet gaze. He sighed before sitting down at his desk, continuing his work, leaving you there.

Is this a fucking joke? Is he seriously not going to put on a shirt? He’s never done this before! But, would you want him to? The view from here is fucking incredible. Boredom be damned.

Your eyes once again scaled his half naked body, but this time it was the back view you got to see. The lamp accompanied his brain in helping him finish his work, the remnants of the light shone on his back muscles. You felt your mouth open once again as you carved the muscles with your eyes, craving to run your fingers over every curve of his body. His bangin’ body was another added bonus to Peter Parker. His sweet smile, incredible personality, and extraordinary intelligence were the major factors that made you fall for him. But this, fuck. This was part of the premium package you didn’t know you had signed up for.

You dazedly watched his shoulder move with arm as he sketched the answer quickly on his paper, and sometimes bring his arm up and run his fingers through his ruffled brown locks. You suddenly remembered the drool dripping from the corner of your mouth, that had probably been there for minutes. You reached your arm up rapidly, attempting to wipe the drool silently and sneakily.

Well, that plan failed.

Because as soon as your hand hit the corner of your mouth, your elbow also hit your thermos, knocking it over and open, all over Peter’s chemistry homework that was lying next to you on his bed.

Fuck.

Eyes widened, your heart rate picked up as you made eye contact with the now soaking wet papers lying sloppily on his bed. A gasp emitted from your throat at the sight of the black ink spreading all over the drenched papers. ruining it even more. Well, your gasp awoke Peter from his intense gaze on his work to quickly looking behind him. His eyes grew at the sight of you directed to the now wet papers and thermos lying on top of them. Your mouth agape, you dared to look at Peter’s gaze hitting you like a brick wall.

He ran over to his ruined work, fingers picking up the wet paper, his gaze flashing from the homework to your guilty Y/E/C eyes staring deeply into his own, "Y/N WHAT THE HELL!”

You gaping lips barely stuttered out a response as you reached over and picked up the thermos, “P-Peter I’m so sorry! It was an accident I swear!” you rushed out, throwing the empty thermos to the ground before yanking the remaining papers off his bed and throwing them in the trash can next to you.

“Y/N THIS HOMEWORK TOOK ME FOREVER ARE YOU KIDDING ME. I WAS SO CLOSE TO BEING DONE! I CAN’T BELIEVE…”

Your eyes shut off instantly as Peter’s voice grew weak and strong at the same time, defeat yet anger taking over his demeanor. But, instead of listening to his rant about your previous actions, you watched his arms point from you to the papers, his bicep flexing every moment he stretched them. His eyebrows furrowed and raised at your gaze just staring at him like he’s speaking gibberish. But, you were noticing his arm and neck veins popping out at the stress in his voice and your insides turned gooey, his state turning you on a lot.

“… Mr. Stark needs me! He finally asked me to do something for once and I  was so ready! Now May won’t let me go! Jesus Y/N, could you of been a little more careful? You-”

Your mind shut off his anger towards you, clouding with scandalous thoughts you’ve never thought of before. This caused your thoughts and apparently brain to shut down as you interrupted his rant.

“You’re hot when you’re angry.”

Oh my god. Those words did not just come out of your mouth. What the fuck are you thinking?! Holy shit he thinks you’re some creep-

“W-What did you just say?” Peter questioned, chest slowly deflating from his previous state. You felt your cheeks sprout bright red as his figure inched closer to yours. Your brain finally wanted to work again, your eyes peeking up from staring intently at the floor after your previous comment. His nerves rose immediately, realizing your thoughts on him.

“W-What? I didn’t say-”

“Yes you did. What did you say?” now Peter’s soft brown eyes were gazing intently in yours, his own cheeks matched yours, both flushed and embarrassed. His heart raced at your sudden exposed feelings towards him, and he couldn’t of been happier.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, biting your lip in guilt as your eyebrows furrowed, “I really didn’t mean to say that. I meant to s-say t-that you were scary when you’re angry, not h-hot. Not that you aren’t hot when y-you’re angry, because you are, obviously I mean look at you! O-Oh my god, I’ll just shut up!” you hollered, an extremely nervous chuckle sprang from your throat, attempting to cover up your immense awkwardness.

Peter’s cheeks flushed even more as he heard it roll off your pretty lips once again, a smile played across his own. His eyes sparkled at your red cheeks staring at the floor. He stepped forward slightly, his head daringly leaned towards your ear, his own nervousness growing per second.

Your heart beat sped at his closeness as his lips brushed your tinted-pink ear, his hot breath whispering against your heated skin, “Maybe I should make you angry sometime.”

And you’re pretty sure you died right then and there.

anonymous asked:

Tips for keeping my apartment clean? Tips for motivating myself to finish unpacking?

Apartment Cleaning 101

1. Make a list. Start by making of list of everything that needs cleaning in your apartment. I like to let lists like these sit out for a day or two, to adjust and add to them as need be. Give yourself a couple days to brainstorm, and try to prioritize chores based off of how time consuming they are.

2. Chore frequency. You’ll notice that some chores become more time consuming the longer you wait to do them, while others do not. Dishes are a prime example- I try to get them done twice a day at least. Vacuuming my apartment, on the other hand, always takes around the same amount of time, so it doesn’t really matter when during the week I do it, just so long as I get it done! 

3. Chore schedule. Basing this next bit off your findings above, plan your “chore schedule”. If you live with roommates and will be dividing chores, you may find it easiest to actually create a hardcopy of a schedule. You’re looking to divide this into three categories:

  • Chores that need to be done every day: Dishes for example
  • Chores that need to be done once a week: Vacuuming or mopping for example
  • Chores that need to be done once a month: Cleaning your refrigerator or closet for example

If you are a pet owner or live with multiple people, you may need a fourth category called “chores that need to be done twice a week”. Things like changing the cat litter or doing a load of laundry.

 4. Divide and conquer. I’m adding this bit for those of you who live with roommates and/or significant others. You can look at doing chores two different ways:

  • Every man for himself (you do your own dishes, your own laundry, you’re responsible for vacuuming your room or living space)
  • Division of labor (my boyfriend cooks, so I do the dishes)

Find a happy medium for all parties concerned, especially if you’re splitting chores with someone you’re sleeping with. I do think it’s important to take into account each person’s business in terms of their work and school load. On days when my boyfriend works eleven hours, I don’t mind picking up the slack and vice versa.

5. Cleaning floors- the complete guide.

  • Wooden Floors
    • Vacuum
    • Mop
    • Allow to air-dry
    • Use a hardwood cleaner (like Bona) to get any difficult spots out
  • Tiled Floors
    • Vacuum
    • Mop
    • Allow to air-dry
    • Use a bleach-based cleaner (like Clorox) to get any difficult spots out.
  • Carpeted Floors
    • Vacuum (use the vacuum’s highest setting)
    • Use an all-purpose cleaner (like Meyer’s) to get any difficult spots out.

6. Mopping. Forget about mixing your own bleach-based chemicals and using one of those raggedy anne mops. Get yourself a Swiffer Wet Jet to save yourself some serious time and headache. Buy the generic brand pad refills for a fraction of the name brand price!

7. Vacuum. You’ll make your life 100x easier if you find yourself a semi-expensive vacuum that doesn’t require vacuum bags. This is my vacuum and I love it. 

8. Wood floors vs. Carpet floors. I personally prefer hardwood floors because they just have a nicer “foot feel” than their counterparts. However, they do require more upkeep than carpet floors, because you can actively feel them getting grotty as your week progresses. Thick carpet is more time-consuming to clean, but you can go two weeks without properly vacuuming and nobody will be any the wiser because the grime just blends in. Disgusting but true.

9. Scented garbage bags. Literally cost the same as regular garbage bags, but help you trash smell fresher for longer. I like to wrap any disregarded food bits (chicken bones, rotten vegetables, etc) in a plastic garbage bag before throwing them in my trash, and this really makes a difference.

10. Kitchen countertops. Unless you’re butchering meat in your apartment, plain old soapy water is the best countertop cleaner. I try to clean my countertops multiple times throughout the week, but sometimes I’m in a rush and only get to it once a week.

11. Washing dishes. I’ve tried lots of name brands and generic brands, and in my opinion the longest lasting and best bang for it’s buck is Dawn dish soap. I’m partial to their Caribbean Escapes which make your kitchen smell like a tropical island. Remember to never leave your sponge sitting in the sink, a moist sponge is prone to all sorts of bad bacteria. If you have a dishwasher, run your sponge through it once or twice a week with your regular wash. 

12. Some cleaners to invest in.

  • Windex: Bought a bottle four years ago when I’m moved into my first apartment and still have about 1/3 of it left. Use to clean windows, mirrors and sliding glass doors. 
  • Bona: It’s the best wood cleaner ever. Ever!
  • Clorox: I currently own both the spray and the disinfectant wipes.
  • Meyer’s: Or some other multi-purpose organic cleaner.

I will do a post sometime tomorrow about unpacking! Hope this helps.

Meanwhile at the Spring Court
  • Feyre (to Rhysand through the mating bond): I miss you.
  • Rhysand (through the bond): Well, you won't for very long...look out your window.
  • Feyre: *gasps and rushes to the window*
  • Feyre (through the bond): Wait... I can't see you anywhere...?
  • Rhysand (through the bond): *laughing* That's because I'm not there. You're so cute when you're gullible Feyre, Darling.
  • Feyre (through the bond): Prick.
Restless Nights

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Neither of you meant for it to happen, but now Bucky can’t sleep without you, and you can’t sleep without him.

Warnings: fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, third-person, very little plot (just something fun, idk), unedited, more trash writing (but like, trashier than usual because I’m trapped in an angst-ridden hole with my other fics)

A/N: Forgot this was stuck in my drafts. I kinda rushed to finish this because there was one huge section that was incomplete and I didn’t want to leave it untouched for another month. So, here it is. I’ll find another day to edit it. Think of this as a rough copy. It might be choppy. Whoops. This is more like four drabbles put together. 

Word Count: 2,102

“RESTLESS NIGHTS” MASTERLIST

WHEN BUCKY’S ATTITUDE necessitated a slap to the wrist, Tony, with all the subtlety of a Times Square billboard, decided to scour the Tri-State Area for the best therapist that the Stark’s money could afford. It was a warning. No words were said out loud, but the message was pretty damn clear: don’t taint the newest member of the team, or the good Stark Avenger name.

Bucky liked to think he’d come a long way since Siberia. Well, that wasn’t entirely true because he hadn’t exactly changed for the better, seeing as how he’d become something of a brooding little asshole, lately. Gone was the silent man that kept to himself. Bucky cemented his spot on the team as the sardonic bastard. It wasn’t his fault, per se—the nightmares had taken a toll on both his body and his mood. He’d expected this. What he didn’t, though, was that this recently acquired snark would be contagious. (The amount of foul language that had been slung around was annoying Steve to no end.)

He wasn’t going to be holding hands while singing “Kumbaya” with the other Avengers anytime soon; Bucky had tried to kill most of them back in his Winter Soldier days, which was still a sore subject for everybody involved, even though they were pretending it was A-okay. But it was one particular person whom he didn’t get along with. What was more disconcerting was that hey, Bucky didn’t try to gut her with a knife or pull a gun on her so he couldn’t put a finger on why they were at each others’ throats. 

It was just his luck that they’d be stuck together for an entire week.

He threw back his bed covers—then hastily fixed them because God forbid they be undone—and left his room at three in the morning. This was what Bucky’s life had boiled down to: a series of restless nights where he couldn’t catch a fucking break. Suffice to say, he wasn’t enjoying it very much.

Despite his heightened auditory senses, they’d dull somewhat depending on what he was listening to. Bucky could make the noises from the common room fade to background noise, but maybe he was just wanting to pick a fight at this hour. He shuffled down the hall, very un-assassin-like of him and with a disgruntled expression on his face. “You’ve got the TV on too loud.”

She didn’t bother turning around. Bucky’s presence was just a momentary lapse in her pay-per-view experience, and she bet that if she pissed him off enough, he’d go away. Her feet were propped up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. “I could hear your knees creaking the second you stepped out, and you’re giving me shit for having the TV on too loud?”

“I’m not that old,” he grumbled.

“You really want me to point out your age?”

“Are you getting smart with me?”

“I’ve always been smart. You’ve just been too much of an idiot to notice.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, probably a good comeback that he didn’t wholeheartedly feel like vocalizing.

“Look, I’m sorry.” She figured he was going to return to bed, so she invited him—it was only a peace offering—to watch a program that she couldn’t place the name of. “You know as well as I do that you’ll be up the rest of the night. Might as well sit your ass on this couch and stay here,” she said, patting the spot next to her. Okay, it wasn’t so much of an invitation as it was a demand, but whatever. She had to admit that under all that doom and gloom, Bucky had some manners up his sleeve. Even if he came to the common room to bother her, she knew that he’d eventually leave her be.

And as one of the two people in such a gigantic space, she decided that she didn’t want to drive him away anymore. Loneliness didn’t suit her. 

Bucky took a seat. “When’s the last time you slept?” he asked, stretching an arm over the back of the couch to make himself comfortable. 

“Took a twenty-minute nap like, two hours ago.”

“Hardly think that counts.”

“What about you, then? Oh—” She bent forward to grab the bowl of fruits on the table. “You’re a plum guy.”

He took one up in his hand. “Full four hours.”

“Progress.”

“Yeah,” he answered with a yawn. 

She felt something heavy on her shoulder. Her eyes found their way to Bucky, who’d apparently fallen asleep. She wasn’t sure if she should call him beautiful—Tony and Sam insisted that she not use that word around grown ass men—but Bucky fit the bill, and there was nothing better to describe the sharp angle of his jaw, the intensity of his eyes. His lips were slightly parted. His chest rose and fell in even breaths. Peaceful, handsome when he didn’t look like he was seconds away from killing somebody. Well, he was still attractive when he was doing that too. But she’d never tell him that if her life fucking depended on it. 

She didn’t understand how he’d gotten to that point so fast, but as her eyelids began to drift close, she found out how easy it was. 


BUCKY WOKE UP first. Something was missing. It was that feeling that accompanied him so often, of being ready at a moment’s notice, high-strung. His muscles were relaxed. He didn’t know how he ended up with his head in her lap. His eyes cut to the clock on the wall.

9:30 a.m

That was the most sleep he’d had since he could remember. Bucky detached himself from her. He got up to search for a blanket, but when he came back with one in his hands, she was already awake. “We slept on the couch,” he said.

She rolled her shoulders back. “Must be why I feel so good.”

He looked anywhere but at her. “I fell asleep on you.”

“Really? Thought it was a bear of some sorts.”

Was that an insult? Was he soft and cuddly? There was a quizzical expression on his face. 

“You were snoring. It was kind of cute.”

“Can you blame me?” He tried to ignore the fact that she called him cute. Not directly, but still. “It was nice.”

“I think we—Bucky,” she said abruptly. 

“What?”

She spun him around, because there were gear-clad figures propelling down the window with guns. 

Yeah, they didn’t seem very friendly.  

“Shit.”


THAT HAD BEEN bad—we’re talking DEFCON 1, bad. They’d basically fumigated the tower (thank God for the Tony’s suits) to corral the HYDRA pests with smoke bombs and a hail of bullets. Bucky and her took a couple of hours to help the ‘janitors’ relocate the bodies. They informed Tony of what went down, and might have left out the fact that his white leather couches were now painted red.

But it was a job well done, so, grabbing milkshakes at the diner down the street was the only plausible kind of celebration.

They’d kicked ass, but they kicked ass while functioning at fifty percent. She was glaring at him from across the booth’s table, a mirror image of him with tired eyes, tattered clothes, and fresh scrapes on her face. With the back of her hand, she wiped the smeared blood from the corner of her mouth. “Let me use your body for my own selfish purposes, Buck. Look at me. I’m barely hanging on.”

“Right, because what more could I want from such a dysfunctional relationship?” he deadpanned. Bucky scrawled a provisional contract on the back of their receipt in that infamous chicken-scratch of his. Once he deemed it worthy, he slid it over to her. There must’ve been a number of spelling errors and loopholes, thanks to his fatigue, but he didn’t want to waste another second hashing out meaningless bullshit just for the heck of it. They could save that for later. Bucky rested his elbows on the table, warily gauging her reaction. “As long as we’re sleeping together, consider this a mutual agreement.”

“At least I’ll finally get some rest,” she said with a yawn. Her eyes barely skimmed over the paper. There was a little detail in there that didn’t agree with her, but they’d straighten that out, no problem. She stuffed the contract into her pocket, satisfied that the crinkling sound signaled the end of a hassle-free negotiation. “Okay.” She clapped her hands together and had a dopy smile eased onto her face as she rose abruptly from the booth. “Off to my bed.”

A spoon clattered against the table, wrenching her from her daydream. “Like hell we are,” he growled.

“Excuse me?”

Bucky, ever the neat-freak, couldn’t resist tampering with shit around the tower and scrubbing the goddamn life out surfaces with disinfectant wipes. He harbored a certain hatred—make that a relatively substantial disgust—towards clutter and Bucky wasn’t indisposed to being called a die-hard stickler for cleaning. “I’ve been in your room. It’s a fucking pig-sty in there.”

She wasn’t usually messy. In fact, she kept everything tidy for the most part. It all began with a departure from her usual routine. After the first mission she told herself she’d grab the vacuum the next day, but the more missions she went on, the more excuses that had kept piling up like the mountains of crap (figuratively, to be clear) that was littering her floor. It’d been downhill from there since. “Listen up, Goldilocks. I know you’d love to organize my closet by color and unclog the faucet to your heart’s content. So don’t deny that this is a win-win situation for the both of us.”

He would’ve. Goddamn it, he would’ve arranged her furniture perpendicularly in ninety-degree angles and put her everyday tax receipts chronologically too, but he’d rather not admit that. Fuck no, Bucky Barnes didn’t just give in. He liked to have his affairs in order, and she was not upending his entire system—sleep be damned. He was starting to think that this arrangement of theirs had more cons than pros. “You said you agreed!”

“Yeah, but what’s a verbal confirmation against a written one?” she said with a shrug. “Semantics, really. Null and void.”

“That’s how you want to play this?”

Her voice was sweet. “Legally? Sure.”

“I read up on American government while I was in Bucharest. You know, in case I ever decided to come back here. Wanted to be a law-abiding citizen and all that considering how many I’ve broken with Steve.” He smirked when her face blanched. “Saying yes is just as binding as a signature. And if I recall, you said ‘okay.’”

“Bucky—”

He couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin on his face. “You tried to lie to me. Rookie mistake, babe.”


“WHAT THE HELL are you wearing?”

There was nothing wrong with the Avengers long-sleeve she had on. “Clothes. You should try it,” she said, referring to a shirtless Bucky as she stepped out of his bathroom. 

“Skin-to-skin contact might increase the chances of us falling asleep by twenty percent,” he said, rattling off the statistic like he wasn’t totally crock full of shit. 

And if she thought she was getting toasty, it ended as soon as it started. Her blood went cold—cold enough to kick global warming’s ass and save the melting ice caps. “You expect to tough it out the rest of the night? Not all of us are blessed with acclimation to sub-zero temperatures, Bucky!”

“I want to feel you, not some mummified version of you swaddled in blankets and clothes,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “See this?” He gestured to his torso. “We’d be sharing body heat. So either find somebody else to sleep with or show me some skin, dollface.”

She scoffed, pulling the sweater over her head and slipping under the sheets. “Shut up before I strangle you.”

“Look, if that’s what you’re into…” he trailed off. “No complaints here.”  Bucky should’ve asked permission—he really should've—but he didn’t think twice before his hand traveled to her midriff. “Oh, fuck me. Skin’s so soft,” he mumbled, tracing circles into her waist. He was too far gone at this point.

And sure, she should’ve asked permission too—she really should've—but with the way he was touching her, she didn’t think there was any harm in pressing her lips against his neck briefly. It just felt right.

He moaned, and it was quiet and desperate. “This wasn’t part of the contract.”

“Really?” she asked, feigning innocence, “because it said that we’d be sleeping together and I think that’s open to interpretation.”

Misunderstandings.

Genre: Smut + Fluff?

Pairing: Reader [Vampire AU!] x Taehyung [Werewolf AU!] 

Word Count: 6.7k-ish


Originally posted by fairybcby

“Hmm, sweet or savory?” You questioned yourself as you sat kneeling in front of the lower cabinet of your mansion, deciding between eating cake or making some noodles for yourself.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t seem to hear the faint, hesitant steps that lead up to your door, your attention only snapping back to reality when you heard the ring of the doorbell. Within seconds you opened the door, surprised to find Taehyung standing outside.

“Y/N-ah…” He looked up at you and you were taken aback by the unexpectedness of his visit, eyes growing wide at the sight in front of you. 

You hadn’t seen him for years, not since his wedding which you had so pleasantly graced with your presence in addition to your present which was probably the most expensive one there. Although, he hadn’t expected you to show up, not after the disagreement you both had had but smiled softly when he saw you seated in the crowd.

You, a vampire, wanted to spend the rest of eternity with Taehyung, who was also an immortal but a werewolf. He had argued with you, saying that your decision was based on comfort and ease more than love, that you were just trying to find someone who could rid you of the loneliness that came with your unending days. You wish your mind had worked faster, but before you could even deny his accusations, he was already gone.

Keep reading

you know, I’m always saying how you shouldn’t move in together too young or too soon, but I actually think that Isak and Even moving in together fits Isak’s narrative quite beautifully? and like, I know i’m trash who could easily come up with at least ten reasons to justify them dropping out of high school to become organic farmers if need be (look at them and tell me their love wouldn’t water the crops), but after the way season 3 ended, this just feels so right? 

who knows if it will feel right tomorrow or next month, but that doesn’t matter because life is now. to me this doesn’t feel rushed, it doesn’t feel like a rash decision. quite the opposite, really. it feels in line with Isak’s realisation of life being now. sure they could wait and see a year or two until they’re older and no longer in the honeymoon phase, but during that time we might all get killed in some cosmic explosion and then the chance to experience how it feels like to wake up next to each other every morning rain or shine will be forever lost.

moving in together with your significant other is a major step. it’s not the same as shared housing. i’ve done both, more than once, and they’re not the same thing. it’s dirty dishes in the sink. it’s compromise. it’s disillusionment. it’s amazing and wonderful and exciting and comfortable, but sometimes it’s also boring and mundane and annoying. and even though it’s not something I would normally recommend a teenager do after just a few months of dating, I’m honestly so happy and so thrilled that Isak made that choice, because to me it’s a sign that his little speech about life being now was not just pretty words. he’s practicing what he preached, and it looks real good on him. he was positively glowing sitting on Even’s lap, so present in the moment, so present with his friends, caressed by the first sunrays of spring about to bloom, and seeing him that way, it just felt so right. life is now. if it feels right, let it.

anonymous asked:

100 sprace, pretty please? also maybe spot can say the line? I really like the hc that spot is a softie around race

Oh my gosh I apologize for the agonizingly long wait. I just moved into college two weeks ago and my life has never felt more hectic. I finally got time to write a little more! This is admittedly a little rushed and sloppy, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Thank you for the prompt <3

100. “I adore you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Racetrack Higgins considered himself to be pretty clever. If someone were to take him anywhere in New York, he could navigate through any street and find his way back home. If he started a game of cards that he was destined to lose, he could nab a few bucks off of the unsuspecting players while they weren’t paying attention, so he never really lost any money. If the Delancey brothers tried to sneak up on him or some of the other Manhattan newsies, Race was usually the key component to winning the fight, his smart remarks and quick reflexes enough to distract both of the brothers long enough for help to arrive or for Race to get a good punch in.

He was used to living on the streets, practically begging for money, enduring the cold, going to sleep hungry, getting teased by the other boys he lived with, and working long days.

However, he wasn’t used to having Spot Conlon crowded against him in hidden alleyways and under staircases. He wasn’t used to Spot kissing him hard and deep, gentle and kind, or desperate and quick. He wasn’t used to Spot showing any kind of emotion whatsoever.

But hey, that didn’t mean he didn’t like it.

“I love you.” Spot murmured against Race’s lips, pressing quick kisses against them after every word. Race smiled against him, letting himself be showered with compliments.

He had traveled over to Brooklyn with the intent to tell Spot about how he wanted to take him back to Manhattan for a poker game, but Spot had barely let him talk, immediately winding his arms around Race’s waist and hauling him off to under the docks, hidden from any wanderers.

Race had admittedly giggled his way through the adventure, blushing every time Spot’s lips haphazardly met his cheeks. When they finally reached their secluded area, Spot finally had the chance to properly cup Race’s face and bring him froward for the first real kiss of the day.

When Race finally pulled away, he pushed Spot off of him playfully. “What’s gotten’ into you, hot stuff?” He joked, pretending to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. “Ya barely lettin’ me get a word in.”

“Missed you.” Was all Spot said in response, tugging Race close to him again and pressing their foreheads together. Race smiled at him. Seeing Spot vulnerable and loving like this was a relatively new concept. It was only two months ago that he and Spot had admitted feeling more than friendship for one another, a concept that was considered highly illegal and, not to mention sinful, by most people.

Race remembered the time clearly. It started out with him arguing with the other boy over the recent strike. Spot wasn’t willing to join, and Jack had sent Race over in an act of desperation. Spot had claimed he didn’t want Race visiting him simply to convince him of Jack’s devious plans, and Race had, in a moment of intense emotion, admitted that he offered himself to go because the other boys thought that Spot had a soft spot (ha) for him.

Spot had, at first, adamantly denied this and sent Race on his way— angrily. He knew his reputation was in danger. Race had left, but he only made it halfway across the bridge before Spot came running after him. Race remembers a blur of words, a quick, awkward kiss, and the other boy running back into the night. It wasn’t until Race visited Brooklyn again three days later that he finally got Spot alone and they had a real talk, which had admittedly ended with breathy moans muffled by calloused hands.

Now, two months later, Race was getting acquainted with a new Spot Conlon. This Spot let his guard down and constantly wanted a hand or, preferably, his whole body on Race. He whispered promises in Race’s ears and listened intently to his stories about his day. Though the previous Spot had been a good friend before, it came without the kissing, loving words, and pleasurable acts. Race had no problem accepting the new version and frankly, he was honored that Spot would let his guard down enough to admit that Race was his favorite person.

“I was trying to say,” Race had to pull away from Spot’s persistent lips again, using his arms to hold the other at bay, “that I want you to come to Manhattan tonight.”

“Mhm?” Spot murmured, raising his eyebrows. “What, you wanna introduce me to your friends? Ain’t that movin’ a little fast?” 

Race rolled his eyes at Spot’s teasing tone. As if Spot had never met any of the Manhattan newsies before. “No, jackass. We’s all goin’ to Medda’s to play poker and I know you enjoy takin’ all of Jack’s money.”

“I do enjoy that.” Spot smiled, reaching out to run his thumb along Race’s bottom lip. He looked into the darker eyes of the boy in front of him and cocked his head slightly. “I love you.”

“You already said that.” Race breathed out, trying to pretend Spot’s words didn’t cause him to feel every emotion under the sun. His stomach felt like a pool of warmth and nerves, spreading a jittery feeling throughout his entire body. He wanted Spot to say more. “What else ya got?” He asked, unable to resist the temptation of hearing Spot admit all of his secret admirations without having to pretend to be tough and no-nonsense.  

“What else do you wanna hear?” Spot played along, pressing his lips against Race’s yet again.

“Hmmm.” Race hummed against him. He pulled away and pretended to mull it over. “Tell me all of the things you think about me.”

Spot grinned at him, stepping away and pretending to stroke an imaginary beard. He waited until Race got impatient before beginning a sweet serenade of compliments. “I love your teeth. How they’s all crooked.” He started out, knowing that would get Race smiling. When the other did indeed show his crooked teeth, Spot continued.

“I love your clothes ‘cause they is way too big for you.”

Race rolled his eyes, subconsciously moving to adjust his suspenders. “They ain’t that big.” He muttered. Spot’s hands snuck forward to fiddle with the front of his baggy white shirt, sending Race a wink before continuing.

“I think your laugh is annoyin’ but I ain’t ever wanna stop hearin’ it.”

The shorter boy blushed. Trying to cover up his shy chuckle with his hand, only to have it pulled away by Spot and pinned to his side.

“Don’t try to cover it up.” He snickered, interlocking his fingers with Race’s now.

“You said it was annoyin’.” Race pretended to pout, though he squeezed Spot’s hand back just as hard. “Now you gotta make up for it. Tell me I’m pretty.”

Spot barked out a laugh, nudging his forehead against Race’s shoulder. “You’re very pretty, Race.”

Race hummed happily, running his free hand along the back of Spot’s neck. “Keep talkin’ like that and you may just get lucky.”

Spot stood up straight at that, looking straight into Race’s eyes with a mischievous grin on his face. “For sure?” He asked, always eager to make Race moan his name. The boy in front of him rolled his eyes again.

“Not if you keep stallin’. Maybe I’ll just leave.”

“No!” Spot responded without missing a beat, “I don’t like it when you’re gone.”

At this, Race looked somber, his eyes shooting up to meet Spot’s and his face slightly shocked. A faint blush was already dusting his cheeks, but now the innocent, admiring look he was giving the other boy was too much for him to stay away. Spot advanced once again, pulling Race forward and kissing him yet another time. Race melted into the touch, moving his hands to Spot’s cheeks and deepening the kiss. Spot allowed this, stepping forward eagerly and sending both of the stumbling backwards. Race pulled back with a soft laugh.

“You know somethin’?” He asked Spot quietly, keeping his hands close to the other’s face to feel the warmth radiating from his cheeks. Spot raised his eyebrows in response. Race took a quick breath and continued. “I never woulda guess that you had a soft side.”

Spot snorted, taking a small step back to give Race a teasing smile. “Don’t go blabbin’ bout it. I ain’t lookin’ to have my reputation ruined.”

“I ain’t gonna tell no one, you idiot.” Race laughed. “I like hearin’ you talk all nice.”

The taller boy grinned, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah? Well I like talkin’ all nice to you.”

Race kissed him, smiling against the other’s mouth, this time accepting the knots and butterflies flopping around in his stomach. Spot returned the gesture eagerly, peppering small kisses on Race’s cheeks and forehead.

“I adore you.” He whispered against Race’s right cheek.

Race felt as if his knees were going to give out. His heart skipped a beat and he gripped onto Spot’s hands eagerly. Spot seemed to know the affect of his words, laughing softly as Race buried his head into his shoulder, blushing furiously and cursing Spot for being “gross”.

As they stood there in the shade of the overbearing Brooklyn buildings, carefully embracing one another and whispering silly, nonsense promises to one another, both boys felt at home.

Race definitely wasn’t used to this new Spot Conlon, but damn, he could get used to him. 

~~~~~~~~~~