Ry felt like his face was going to explode with how red it probably was at the moment. James had bent over to look for his trousers, giving him a nice view of that arse. That nicely toned arse… He had to shake his head to try and free himself of thoughts that were less than pure. But he couldn’t help it…it was right there for him to stare at and he was sure the man knew exactly what he was doing. “I-I-I need to change,” the archangel stammered. “Do-do you need help to look for your trousers?”

A hand braced itself against the wall before him as he sighed and looked around. Where were his damn pants anyway? It didn't help that Ry was currently stealing his attention away with that damn cute stutter and bright red blush. He threw another glance over his shoulder at the other. "Yes, if you don't mind." A pause so that he can indulge in the satisfaction of getting the angel all riled up. "If you need to change, go ahead. I don't mind." Winking, he looked back down to the ground, eyes searching for his lost trousers.

Ry blinked as his face flushed a bright red. “Okay I will ask… I-I-I mean that I’ll knock on the door next time, not that I want to see your arse. I do want to see it because it looks nice in your trousers and OH MY GOODNESS I’m rambling…”

The laugh that escaped him came out as a deep, amused chuckle. He didn't bother covering himself up as he shook his head and subconsciously took a step forward. "Thank you-- for the compliment, that is." Giving the other a curious glance, he then turned around and bent over. He couldn't miss the opportunity to fluster the other some more. "If you wanna see it, go ahead and look. I gotta find my pants anyway. I know I put them down here somewhere..."

zxmaghost | Brooklyn Boys

he’s too warm, cheeks flushed a dappled, water-colour pink, and he’s pretty sure the floor shouldn’t be spinning quite so violently, but Steve hasn’t felt this deliriously h a p p y for as long as he can remember. most likely it’s the whiskey’s fault, though Steve can probably chalk it up to the dancing, the heavy, drugging beat of the music that pushes through his bloodstream and twists its way into his heart. Bucky smiles at him through the crowd, and it’s as though the glitzy lights of the club fade into a hissing white static, dull and insubstantial in comparison to his best friend’s gratified grin. he’s earned it this time.                                           the woman on his arm is bored.                                           Steve doesn’t care too much when                                           she slips away to dance with another                                           guy — he’s too high on life, on the                                           knowledge that he was the one to                                           scrape together the money for this                                           particular night out for once. one of                                           his drawings had sold for $50, some                                           kind of eccentric art collector — Steve                                           had bought enough groceries to keep                                           them going for at least a month, and                                           had insisted on taking Bucky out for                                           dinner and drinks to celebrate. it feels                                           good to be the one to hand over the                                           cash, the one to provide. it’s an addictive                                           feeling; one he can easily get used to.                                           he isn’t much of a drinker, and after the third or fourth                                           shot of strong whiskey, the burn has eased to a warm                                           slide and loud laughter is pulled easily from grinning                                           lips. he sways on his stool, clapping enthusiastically as                                           the band finishes their final song. they were good, jazz                                           muscians from Ohio. not as good a piano player as                                           Bucky, though it’s entirely possible Steve is biased. "Why don’t you play?" he pokes Bucky in the arm with a fingertip, amber liquor sloshing in the glass he grips. “You’d give ‘em a run for their money, m’sure.”

there was probably nothing any more perfect than this moment they lived in right now. the way Steve threw himself out into the crowd, laughing, enjoying himself; it made Bucky smile. of course the younger male was drunk off his ass, but as long as he was happy, so was Bucky.

the kid had been beaming when he came home to the apartment they both shared earlier that night. he had been  surprised to see Steve waiting for him, for usually the other would be sleeping or lost in his sketch book by the time he got home. it wasn't til after he saw the groceries that he questioned his friend. he couldn't deny the offer for dinner, especially when the ever enthusiastic Steve Rogers was practically pulling him out the door. the drinks though, he hesitated, mostly since he knew the other couldn't hold his liquor. but he found he couldn't crush his friend's delighted mood and agreed to a few drinks to top the night off. he was proud of the man, and the other deserved it. besides, what's the worse that could happen, right? it was just a few drinks.

                        a laugh escaped him as Steve wobbled to the stool                         beside him, swaying on it as the jazz band finished                         their song. the glass in his hands seemed to refill                         itself as he finished his fifth shot. although he did                         drink much more than Rogers, he wasn't such a                         lightweight. he still probably couldn't stand properly                         though.

"Me?" glassy pale eyes look over to the other, an amused expression on the elder's face. he watches his friend drink for a moment before downing his own glass. "Pfft, I'll play if you sing." he laughs at Steve's expression, a teasing brow  raising as he poked the other back. "What? Too much booze in your system? I've heard you sing like a canary before pal.  If I have to go up there and play, you have to come with me."

#STAB ME IN THE NECK I DON’T CARE I’M INTO IT PROBABLY

              He’d been looking and searching for Bucky since           after the whole Hydra deal and everything that came with it.           It had been a long road so far, but tonight he knew he’d find him.           Even though Furry wasn’t on board with the whole ‘Let’s fine Bucky’-Deal,           he told Steve about the last location the man had been seen at,      not letting Steve go without reminding him one more time that the man he would meet could be someone he wasn’t expecting and… He had been right.

   After opening the door slowly while shielding his body, just for the worst case, he took a look at the whole scene before his eyes fell on Bucky’s — The Winter Soldier’s face.

    This might not be Bucky but deep down he had to be there.               He ad saved Steve, hadn’t he?               Why would he have done that if he wouldn’t have remembered?     A deep sigh fell from the man’s lips before he lowered his shield, too, looking around one more time and wondering what this all could lead to.    The winter soldier had killed many and many people and… Apparently he wasn’t planing on stopping any time soon, either.

          ( Maybe he should ask Natasha to teach him some Russian,             It would be better than having to guess what Bucky could be             mumbling on about)

                        “I did, yes, but you didn’t make it easy for me…”

         What was going to happen now?           A fight? Or was he going to run away again?           Or would he finally end this game and surrender,           and let Steve take him home…?                                    It’s about time that Steve pays back for all the times Bucky had taken him under his wings. It’s Steve’s time to watch out for him and make sure he was fine and…  Theree was nothing Steve would rather do than be there for Bucky.

                “Identify the dead body and come with me. Please.”

      The first thing he does is look away. The soldier       finds he can't hold Steve's gaze for as long as he       hoped. Something that vaguely reminds him of       guilt runs through his body, and it has him turning       his back toward the man, hands searching, roaming       around for another bottle of something strong enough       to make him forget. Ironic, is it not? But all he wants to       do is wither away into the nothing he's been for the past       70+ years. It was all he was good at right? Withering away?       Becoming nothing but another person's puppet? Following       orders? He'd gotten used to the pain of being wiped anyway.       They should have never stopped.

            "Perhaps that is because I did not want to be found."

      His tongue darts out and licks his bottom lip in a slow,       indulging moment. He tastes blood. Whether it is his or       not, he's not quite sure, and frankly he doesn't quite care.

      Something finds its way to his hand, the normal one, as fingers       clench. It's there, solid and cold for a moment. Then the other speaks.       The request sounds almost like an order, even with the added please,       and his grip tightens, causing the object in his grasp to shatter and       cut into his hand. He turns his attention to the appendage only to find       a pile of broken glass and hot liquid where his palm used to be. It stung.

      He stares at the wound before slowly moving to pick the glass out       of his hand. Another sigh leaves him. Resigned, calm, used to it.

            "--There's another around here somewhere.                 Would you like a glass kid?"

      It slips from his lips nonchalantly, like he said it every day of his life.       His hand still bleeds he steps over the body to get drinks.

So like, I understand 3,120 is a weird number to do a follow forever but, I decided that since I didn’t do this when I hit 3,000 or 3,100, I’d do it now. The people on this list are people I hold near and dear to my heart. Don’t be offended if you don’t make it on this list because I still love you all the same!

The Royal Court (aka these are my homies)

Honorary Mentions (we haven't really talked much, but one day..)

when blogs have the full correctly spelled name of a person or character as the url

GEE WILLIKERS ITS A GIVEAWAY!

So I just 500 followers and I feel like its time to give back to the wonderful people who follow me! 

The Rules

GOOD LUCK!

friendly reminder that even if i take ages to reply, i still want to roleplay with you

Reblog if your Mun is a girl.

Threaten to kiss my Muse and see how they react

[inspired by]

the two main reasons i like pairings with height differences

0. Forget you’re broken too.