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aquaticmercy · 8 days ago

Text

Match

Summary : You finally found your intellectual match in Bucky Barnes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x rare book dealer!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : You and Bucky are nerds (affectionate), mentions of his past. Sexual tension-filled philosophical debate. DC comics exist in the MCU as literature as per the guardians Christmas special lol. Cursing? Steamy not smut. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 5.7k

Note : This fic was inspired by that one scene in FATWS where Bucky said he read the hobbit. I just really like the idea that Bucky really really likes to read. Enjoy!

Rare books were not just a job to you, but a vocation. You spent your days seeking out treasures, preserving them, and connecting them with people who could truly appreciate their worth. Your little shop was a haven of creaking wooden floors and shelves brimming with the worn spines of countless literary works, sunlight streaming through the tall windows.

It was your home.

On a quiet Tuesday, the bell over the door jingled.

At first, you assumed the man who walked in was lost or killing time— maybe a tourist who thought your shop was an antique or souvenir shop (you’ve gotten a lot of those over the years).

He didn’t fit your usual profile of a customer—no tweed jackets or scholarly glasses. No suit and tie, no clean white blouse. This one was confident, albeit rough on the edges. His leather jacket and heavy boots belonged in a biker gang, his long hair brushing beautifully against his shoulders. But it was his left arm that drew your gaze—a sleek, black metal hand peeking out of his sleeve, rippling slightly when he moved.

You recognized him instantly: James Buchanan Barnes.

The former Winter Soldier.

A man who belonged to history books and legends. Seeing him in person was... surreal. No article had prepared you for the magnetism he carried, no photo did him justice.

Still, you weren’t one to swoon. And you definitely weren’t about to let him see you staring a little too long into his steely blue eyes.

“Can I help you?” you asked, keeping your voice calm and professional.

For a second, he seemed to weigh whether or not to answer. “I’m looking for a first edition of The Hobbit.”

You blinked.

That wasn’t what you’d expected.

“It’s in the case over here,” you replied, recovering quickly. You led him to the glass display where one of your most cherished possessions lay nestled, secure and pristine.

He muttered something like ‘just like I remember’ as he gazed at the book, his voice close to reverence.

“Big fan?” you ventured, curious.

His lips curved up, into a faint smile. He nodded. “Always admired how he built entire worlds. The languages, the histories.” He hesitated, his voice growing quieter. “He lived through hell in the trenches, too. And from that, he wrote something… hopeful.”

You hadn’t expected that depth of understanding, and your surprise must have been obvious. “What?” he asked, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d be the type?”

This was going to be fun, you thought.

You shrugged, trying to suppress a grin, “you’re not exactly my usual Tolkien collector.”

That earned you a sweet, gentle chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d be either, but I’ve always loved books,” he admitted, “They were one of the only constants after...” His voice faltered, remnants of his past briefly flashing behind his eyes.

You didn’t press. Instead, you followed his lead, steering the conversation back to Tolkien. “You're right about the worldbuilding. He wrote a full mythology— linguistic and cultural foundations and all. It’s like he created an alternate history.”

“Exactly.” Bucky’s smile returned, brighter this time. It had been ages since Bucky had an engaging, meaningful conversation that wasn’t about mission planning, let alone about a book. The heated, faceless debates with internet strangers—each convinced they were ultimately correct—definitely didn’t count. “It’s that attention to detail— You don’t see that much anymore.”

After that, the two of you fell into a rhythm, talking easily for nearly an hour. About Tolkien’s works, his love for language, and the way war had shaped his narratives. You even mentioned how Tolkien’s own experiences in World War I echoed the camaraderie and loss found in his stories. Bucky nodded along, sharing personal observations that surprised you—not just because of their insight, but because of how much he genuinely cared.

Back in the day, everyone saw Bucky as the classic jock, and to be fair, he was. But beneath the effortless charm, he was a nerd at heart—fascinated by books, obsessed with science, and captivated by innovation. It was Bucky who had dragged Steve along to the World Exposition of Tomorrow, it was Bucky who was eager to see Howard Stark’s presentation on flying cars. Back then, the future had been his fixation. It had been out of reach— a world of endless possibilities.

Now, he was drawn to the past.

He’d fallen in love with reading again. After all, he had a century of literature to catch up on. And with the internet at his fingertips, he had access to more knowledge and stories than he could have dreamed of.

40s Bucky would’ve had a heart attack from the sheer volume of information he could consume. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just chasing a vision of what might be—he was immersing himself in what already was.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to The Lord of the Rings.

“Did you read the trilogy?” you asked.

He nodded. “Only a couple of years ago. I didn’t even realize it was published after… everything.” He paused, frowning slightly, as if reaching into the murky depths of his memory.

Right. You did a quick mental tally based on the books you’ve read about him. The Hobbit was published in 1937, and The Fellowship of the Ring in 1954. Bucky was presumed killed in action in 1945 and captured by a terrorist organization. So, yeah—he’d missed it.

“Hydra,” you said the thought allowed before you could stop yourself.

You winced, bracing for impact. Oh no, you thought, have I crossed a line?

“You read about me?” he asked to your surprise, likely catching you deep in thought.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though your heart still beat out your chest. “Superheroes are a popular topic for peer-reviewed journals and doctoral theses. There’s a whole academic subfield about the Winter Soldier— a lot about your role in the war, too.”

His expression was unreadable, but you thought you saw a flicker of something— amusement? Whatever it was, it eased the tension you had accidentally created, and the conversation resumed.

You’ve read plenty about Bucky Barnes—the sharpshooter of the Howling Commandos, Captain America’s trusted sniper. You’ve probably read more about him in the modern age: scholars debating the pardon of the Winter Soldier, professors discussing the Sokovia Accords— a conflict in which he’d been a major player in. You’d disagreed with the Accords, of course, but that’s a story for another time.

Right now, your focus was on the man in front of you, talking about Tolkien and his wonderful languages. See, the peer-reviewed articles about him had painted a stark picture: a kind soul turned into a cold, unfeeling weapon. But they neglected to mention that even after everything, he was still a kind soul. In person, it was hard to reconcile the man before you with the image of a killer.

The paper also failed to mention a pleasant surprise: his mind. You realised now that Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a soldier; he was sharp, curious, a man who loved literature and sought out conversations that challenged him. It was something the world overlooked.

Yet it was there, just beneath the surface.

“Have you read the Silmarillion?” you ventured.

“I tried,” He grimaced. “Felt like reading a textbook. Not sure I even made it halfway.”

“That’s fair,” you admitted with a laugh. “It’s not the easiest read. But it’s worth it, I promise.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t shut the idea down, either.

You made a snap decision. Reaching behind the counter, you pulled out your personal copy of The Silmarillion. It wasn’t a rare edition, but it was filled with your notes in the margins, a map you’d sketched for reference, and little Post-its marking key passages. “Take this,” you offered, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, not used to kindness from beautiful strangers. “You sure?”

“Absolutely. Hopefully the notes will make it easier. And don’t even worry about returning it,” you nodded, “It’s probably for the best. I obsess over it too much.”

He took the book, his metal fingers brushing against yours as he did, making your stomach flutter. “Thanks.”

“And if you’re curious about all those papers written about you...” You looked through bookmarks on your laptop, typing ‘James Barnes’ into the search bar. You jotted down a list of academic articles you’d read— some about his time in WWII, others about his unique role as a postwar icon. “Here. If you want to see what people are saying.”

He smiled that kind smile again, folding the paper carefully and tucked it into his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

When he left with the first edition of The Hobbit, your annotated Silmarillion, and your list of articles about him, you found yourself staring at the door long after it had closed, hoping it wasn’t the last time he’d visit your shop.

—

Bucky started coming in more frequently, always buying another rare book— Hemingway, Orwell, Lovecraft. The pretense was paper-thin, though, and you both knew it.

Sure, he enjoyed books, but by that point he knew he could’ve gotten cheaper copies on a bid online (rent in a big city was expensive)— and the books he bought weren't even that rare.

Each visit turned into a lengthy discussion that carried you through the night, far past the shop’s usual closing time.

One afternoon, he returned something unexpected: your well-worn copy of The Silmarillion. Admittedly, you’d missed it— its once-pristine pages now brimming with additional notations—his handwriting mixing with yours.

“I had to,” he said, an almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Your notes made me see it differently. It felt like a conversation.”

You opened it, thumbing through the pages, your eyes catching his commentary. He had sharp, incisive thoughts: challenging some of your interpretations, expanding on others, and sometimes adding playful jabs in the margins when he disagreed with your analysis.

“This is dangerous,” you said, glancing up at him with a teasing smile. “Do you really want a debate about Tolkienian theology?”

“I’ve got time, doll,” he said with a grin, settling onto the stool by the counter. Your cheeks flushed at the nickname, hearts doing backflips in your ribcage.

And so, that evening, you indulged in the mind of James Buchanan Barnes, exploring his thoughts and musings about Middle-earth. For the next two hours, the two of you argued about the nature of Ilúvatar’s creation, the Fëanor tragic story, and whether or not Morgoth represented a failure of divine providence.

“I��ll admit,” he said at one point, leaning back and crossing his arms, “I wasn’t expecting it to feel so... biblical.”

“It’s a way to think about creation through the lens of fantasy,” you replied, your voice softening as you traced your fingers over the book’s cover. “There’s a reason people get lost in it.”

He watched you for a moment, his gaze lingering, his smile fading into something softer.

It wasn’t the only time your conversations would take a turn like this. A week later, gothic monsters were your battlefield.

Bucky leaned against the counter, an old edition of Dracula he had just purchased in his hands, the worn leather squeaking as he shifted. His brow furrowed in that way that always made you wonder what he was thinking— though you had a feeling he was about to pick a fight, again.

“You’re out of your mind if you think Frankenstein beats Dracula,” he said, glancing up, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I’m not saying they’re even comparable,” you countered, crossing your arms as you leaned against the opposite side of the counter. “They’re completely different genres. It’s not a fair fight. But if it were... Frankenstein wins. Hands down.”

Bucky chuckled, a low, warm sound that made it impossible not to smile. “You think that because you’re obsessed with sci-fi. If it’s got a fake scientist and a lot of regret, you’re sold.”

“And you think Dracula is better because it’s all dark and broody,” you shot back, arching an eyebrow, “sound familiar?” You smirked, mirroring his stance against the opposite side of the counter. “Besides, Frankenstein is a masterpiece—philosophy, morality, hubris—it’s got layers. What’s Dracula got? Melodrama?”

“Hey! Dracula has layers!” Bucky chuckled low in his throat, setting the book down. “It’s about primal fear, wrapped in ancient powers, wrapped again in the clash between tradition and modernity.”

“It is enjoyable, I must admit, but it’s just a glorified soap opera.” You groaned, though your lips twitched in spite of yourself. “Shelley’s work makes you think, you know? It’s art.”

“Art?!” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse skip. “It’s a guy making bad decisions and spending the rest of the book dodging the consequences.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing. “It’s about responsibility! The monster is a reflection of Victor’s failure. He’s abandoned and searching for connection—”

“And whining about it,” Bucky interrupted with a smirk, folding his arms. “Dracula doesn’t whine.”

The playful sparring faded when it hit you.

Frankenstein’s monster was created without consent, shaped into something he never chose to be. He was cast out, left to navigate a world that saw him as a mistake. The monster was isolated— burdened by guilt—the question of whether he was defined by the harm he’d done.

“Does he…” you started, gulping, unsure of how he’d react to an outright observation. “Does Frankenstein’s monster make you uncomfortable?”

As you stepped closer, his expression faltered, his eyes dropping to the book in his hands. Slowly, he set it aside, the movement deliberate. You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold surface of his metal arm before resting there gently. “Does it hit too close to home?” you asked.

He didn’t deny it. A quiet laugh escaped him instead. He shook his head. “You’re too damn perceptive for your own good,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a longing for something you couldn’t quite place.

Your fingers moved in slow circles against his metal hand, and when it twitched beneath your touch, you knew he felt it—knew he felt you.

“The monster was never the villain,” you said, a fragile offering meant to soothe him. “He just needed someone to see him. He can be kind, too.”

His gaze lifted, locking onto yours, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes stole the air from your lungs. For a heartbeat, the world stilled.

Then Bucky’s smirk returned, smaller this time, as he leaned into your touch as if he craved it. “Nice try,” he said, voice lighter but still soft. “You’re not winning this one. Dracula’s better.”

You laughed, the tension breaking just enough to let you breathe again. “You’re impossible, Barnes.”

—

You were afraid you had scared him off after that, but to your surprise, he returned a week later, albeit a bit bruised from a mission.

You’d been reshelving old graphic novels that day (First Edition Hergé that you were quite excited by), the quiet hum of the shop wrapping you in comfortable silence, when you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye. His dark leather jacket hung slightly open, revealing a plain gray shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to draw your eyes. There was a faint cut near his jaw, still healing.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft as he approached. His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary. “You look beautiful today. Is that a new dress?”

Your breath caught, and a warmth crept up your neck as you glanced down at the simple, flowy dress you’d chosen that morning. “It is,” you admitted, looking back up at him with a shy smile. “Thanks for noticing.”

“Hard not to,” he murmured, his lips curving into a small, almost teasing smile before he turned toward the shelves.

You busied yourself with reshelving more books behind the counter, but you couldn’t help watching him out of the corner of your eye. His human hand traced idly along the spines, careful not to inflict damage. When he stopped, he plucked a rare-ish pocket 6th edition of Thus Spake Zarathustra from the shelf, his metal fingers glinting faintly in the light of the shop.

“You actually like this guy?” he asked quietly, lifting the book like he was sharing a secret.

“Like is a strong word,” you said, stepping out from behind the ladder. His gaze caught yours, and there was a flicker of something playful in those blue eyes. Your pulse quickened, beckoning him to the counter. “He was no saint, but hardly anyone is. I… appreciate his contribution. It’s not his fault people misuse his work.”

Bucky had witnessed it firsthand: fascists distorting Nietzsche's philosophy, disregarding its complexities, and twisting his ideas into a justification for genocide.

His lips turned upward, a lopsided grin that softened the sharpness of his jaw. His stance shifted, leaning against the counter with a practiced ease. His eyes flickered, taking you in, and when you crossed your arms, his gaze lingered briefly, enough to spark a bubbling heat beneath your skin.

“You don’t think Nietzsche was a proto-fascist, do you?” you asked, tilting your head.

“God, no,” he said quickly, amusement softening his voice. His grin spread, revealing the faintest cute dimple in his cheek. “I’ve read enough to know better. But I don’t exactly buy the Übermensch thing either. It’s too... self-centered for my taste. The whole idea of being ‘beyond good and evil’ feels dangerous.”

“That’s fair,” you said, closing the distance between you as you reached for the book in his hand. Your fingers brushed his as you slipped it from his grasp, his touch warm, steady, almost deliberate. His eyes flickered down to where your hands had met. “There are many flaws in his thinking, but I don’t think the concept is inherently bad,” you continued, the air between you charged with tension. You tilted the book toward him, as though showing him something, though you both knew you weren’t really focused on the pages. “It’s about striving for a better version of yourself. I think he wanted people to create their own meaning, not follow blindly.”

“Maybe,” Bucky murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He shifted closer, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His metal hand rested at his side, the vibranium gleaming faintly as his other hand inched forward, almost brushing yours.

His breath fanned your cheek as he leaned in, close enough now that you could see the stubble along his jaw, the way his lashes framed those blue eyes. “But there’s something so… wrong about thinking you’re the one who gets to decide what’s right,” he whispered, his voice like a secret meant only for you.

He was close, dangerously so— that you could feel his breath on your nose.

The bell above the door chimed suddenly, breaking the moment like shattered glass. Dr. Hart, a lecturer from the local university, stepped inside, a bundle of papers tucked under her arm, and smiled in greeting.

She was a returning customer, here to pick up a special edition of Conversation on Botany that you had tracked down for her.

“That’s $40, Mr. Barnes,” You took a small, steadying breath and waved at Hart with a thumbs up that said I’ve got your book.

His lips twitched into a knowing smile. Hr reached for his wallet, pulling out a few bills. As he handed them to you, his fingers brushed yours again.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, his voice soft, almost teasing.

—

The tipping point came late one evening.

You’d spent the last few hours catalouging a shipment of rare books, the shop’s air thick with the comforting scent of old leather, yellowing paper, and the faint hint of dust that always seemed to cling to ancient texts. The shop was silent save for the scratch of your pen against paper as you logged the latest arrival.

The peace shattered with the familiar jingle of the bell above the door.

“Shop’s closed,” you said without looking up, your voice automatic, your focus still on the fragile spine of a sixteenth-century text.

“Good thing I’m not here to shop,” came the deep, unmistakable voice of Bucky Barnes.

Your hand froze, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips. You looked up, finding him leaning against the doorframe with that trademark blend of casual confidence and smoldering intensity. His black Henley stretched across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms—a sight you tried not to dwell on for too long.

“What are you here for, then?” you asked, arching an eyebrow as you tried to sound indifferent.

“Conversation,” he said simply, stepping further inside.

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you returned to your work. “You came all the way here just to talk?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased, his lips turning into a sly smile as he perched on the edge of your desk. “I was in the neighborhood.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother responding. Bucky always had a way of pulling your attention, and tonight was no different. You tried to focus on the delicate bindings in front of you, but his overwhelming presence was impossible to ignore.

When he reached for a book from the nearby stack—a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius—you finally gave in.

“Stoicism?” you asked, your tone light with playful mockery.

He flipped the book open, his fingers grazing the thin pages. “You’re really surprised? I thought you’d figure that about me,” he said, glancing up at you with a hint of a challenge in his eyes. “Marcus Aurelius had a lot to say about self-control.”

“And yet here you are…” you replied, gesturing to where he was leaning across your workspace, a soft furrow of amusement on your eyebrows. You decided you could be flirty— eyeing the undone button of his Henley, showing a hint of his skin underneath. “...testing mine.”

The corners of his mouth curved. “Guess I’m doing my part to help you practice.”

You shook your head, half-smiling. “It’s not just about self-control, now is it? It’s about accepting what you can’t change.”

He tilted his head, agreeing with you. “Or a way to stop drowning in things you can’t fix.”

From there, the conversation unfurled like a thread you couldn’t stop pulling. Philosophy, morality, the nature of good and evil—it didn’t take long before you were fully engrossed, debating with a ferocity that surprised even you. Bucky was sharp, quick-witted, and maddeningly good at challenging your points. Every time you thought you had the upper hand, he’d counter with something so precise, so well-argued, that you couldn’t help but admire his mind.

As the debate shifted, you sat on your desk, its surface cluttered with books that were hard to find, but not rare enough to be put in a glass case. Your focus was solely on Bucky, who was pacing the room with measured steps, his hands brushing against the edges of shelves every so often as though grounding himself.

“Alright,” you said, leaning forward, crossing your legs. “Here’s a question for you: Should Batman kill the Joker?”

Slowly, he turned and walked closer to you, his shoes thudding softly against the floor. He stopped just short of your legs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, making your pulse quicken.

Oh, that piqued his interest.

“I should’ve known you’d bring up Batman.” Bucky’s lips curved into a smirk, eyeing up the first print of 90s DC comics in the corner of the room that hadn’t been there two days ago— a fresh delivery, perhaps? You were always very topical, and the recent restocks somehow always made their way into conversation.

“It’s a valid moral dilemma,” you said, straightening, your chin lifting slightly.

He tilted his head, his expression a blend of amusement and challenge. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Of course he should,” You didn’t hesitate, the answer rolling off your tongue with absolute conviction. “The Joker is a mass murderer. Every time Batman spares him, more people die. His refusal to act is just as bad as pulling the trigger himself.”

Bucky’s smile lingered, but his gaze grew darker, ever so slightly. “So you’re saying Batman’s refusal to kill makes him complicit?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, leaning in slightly, the heat of the argument pulling you closer. “Batman’s morality is Kantian—rigid rules and all. But if he were more… utilitarian, he’d save more lives. The greatest good for the greatest number. One life to save countless others.”

“That kind of math doesn’t scare you?” Bucky asked, leaning back as though to put some distance between you, though his eyes stayed locked on yours. “Once you start deciding whose lives matter more, where do you stop?”

“It’s not about worth,” you argued, the intensity rippling from him unnerving but impossible to look away from. “It’s about outcomes. If you can prevent suffering, don’t you have a responsibility to do it?”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve. His jaw clicked a bit, tightening as he considered your words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, shyer.

“If that’s your stance, then maybe someone should’ve killed the Winter Soldier years ago.”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, your breath catching. The implication of his statement filled the room, coiling tight around your chest.

“Bucky,” you said quickly, panic creeping into your voice, your fingers twitching toward him but freezing halfway. “That’s not—”

The corner of his mouth curved into a small, fragile smile. “Relax,” he said, holding up a hand, his voice dipping into something gentler. “I’m not offended. This is just a debate, right?”

“It’s not the same,” you insisted, your voice gentler, almost pleading. You stood from your desk, hesitation in your chest as you reached out— you were scared he might pull away, “you were brainwashed.” Slowly, you pressed your hand to his cheek, his stubble rough beneath your palm. It was a wordless apology—a pathetic attempt to comfort, to reach him where words had failed.

To your surprise, he didn’t stop you. Instead, he leaned into your touch.

Bucky, slid his arm around your waist, testing the waters. His eyes flicked to yours, searching for any sign of rejection, any hint that he’d crossed a line. But there were none. Instead, the subtle hitch in your breath and the way you leaned into him told him everything he needed to know.

He shook his head, rubbing soft circles on your hip as if to say you’re okay. This conversation is more than okay. “But in the grand scheme of utilitarianism, it shouldn’t matter, right? My life was a liability. More people would’ve been saved if I hadn’t been around to hurt them.”

His words settled over you like a storm cloud. The silence stretched, your carefully crafted argument unraveling in the face of his lived experience.

He leaned forward then, bridging the space between you, his arm pinning you in place. “Maybe I understand Batman better than most,” he said, his voice quiet but intense. “Killing someone doesn’t always fix what’s broken. It just leaves you with blood on your hands.”

Your throat tightened, the words sticking. He was too close now, the tension between you buzzing like a static current.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but he heard it.

“Don’t be.” His words were soft as he pulled you closer. There was always a hint of warmth in his eyes, an unspoken kindness you admired.

The room felt smaller now, more heated. You opened your mouth to respond, but his words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

He leaned in, his voice dropping. “It’s easy to talk about morality in the abstract. But when you’re staring someone in the face—when it’s a real person, and not just an idea—it gets a lot harder to play God.”

Shit.

He was right.

Maybe utilitarianism wasn’t a steadfast rule. Maybe it couldn’t be, not when you factored in the messy, unpredictable depths of human existence. Lives weren’t just numbers to balance on a scale—they were stories, choices, pain, hope. And Bucky… Bucky was proof of that.

Your thoughts churned as you looked at him.

You felt your conviction unravel. It wasn’t just that his argument was sound—though it was (infuriatingly so)—it was the way he’d delivered it, the personal truth lending it undeniable power. And that’s when it hit you. That’s why you found him so damn attractive.

Sure, he was gorgeous. The sharp lines of his jawline, the piercing blue of his eyes, the way his Henley stretched over his shoulders like it had been designed with him in mind. But that wasn’t it. Not entirely.

It was him. His humanity. His thoughtfulness. The kindness that softened the edges, the depth that came from wrestling with his own darkness and coming out better on the other side.

And he was brilliant. For the first time, you felt like you’d met your match. Someone who met you on your turf and stood his ground, someone who didn’t just nod along or agree to avoid conflict. Someone who could challenge you, who could look you in the eye and make you see the world differently.

You thought you’d built your worldview on unshakable foundations, but he’d cracked it wide open, and now all you could do was stare at him with the dawning realisation that this wasn’t just attraction. It was something deeper, something that terrified and thrilled you in equal measure.

He wasn’t just a match for you physically; he was your intellectual equal—a rare kind of connection that made your pulse race and left your thoughts spinning.

Before you could stop yourself, before you could think it through, you leaned forward and kissed him.

It was impulsive—a collision of lips born from the fiery tension that had simmered between you for weeks. It was everything unsaid, every glance, every near touch that had lingered just a fraction too long, all boiling over in one moment. He froze for the briefest heartbeat, but then something in him snapped. His hands found you, pulling you closer, his grip possessive, almost desperate. Your hands made their way through the soft strands of his hair, landing comfortably around his neck.

The kiss, slow at first, quickly became frantic. Neither of you could get enough. The only thing that mattered was him—his lips on yours, his touch, the way his body pressed against you like a promise.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours, his lips curled into a breathless smile. For a second, he could forget about everything that has happened to him. For a second, he was truly, utterly safe in your arms.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kiss someone in the middle of a moral argument about Batman,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips grazing yours with every word, sending shivers down your spine.

“And I didn’t think you’d let me,” you replied, your voice laced with a mischievous edge.

His eyes darkened, his smile widening just enough to make your heart race before he closed the distance again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. This time, it wasn’t careful or calculated—it was raw, fervent, consuming. Your back hit the desk behind you, his hands sliding around your waist and around the curve of your bum, firm and deliberate, setting every nerve in your body on fire.

“The books,” he mumbled against your lips, glancing at the teetering stack beside you, the volumes threatening to topple.

“I don’t care,” you said breathlessly, and to prove your point, you swiped the entire stack to the floor with a crash. The sound echoed, but you barely heard it over the roaring thump of your heartbeat in your ears.

They weren’t too rare. You’ll just put them on the discount aisle tomorrow.

His response was a low, guttural groan, his lips finding yours again, His fingers tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your head tilt back, exposing the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips and teeth trailing along your skin, finding the spot just below your ear that made you gasp.

“Did I manage to change your mind this time?” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and unsteady as his lips brushed against your jaw, then lower, tracing a heated path along your collarbone.

You managed a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping under his shirt to trace the veins under his skin, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Okay, so maybe ‘the greatest good for the greatest number’ isn’t always the best approach when you’re the one holding the short end of the categorical imperative,” you whispered, your voice trembling with desire.

His laugh was husky, his hands lower to grip your thighs, pushing himself flush against you. “God, you’re something else,” he said, his lips finding yours again, this time slower, deeper, as though savoring you. When he finally pulled back, his voice was hoarse. “Do you want to go on a date?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “You’re seriously asking me that now?” you asked, breathless. With your hands trailing over the planes of his chest, his breath mingling with yours, it seemed a bit out of order, but you weren’t about to complain.

“Yes,” he said, his words dead serious despite the way his hands clutched at your shirt, his lips finding the hollow of your throat. He kissed the spot slowly, firmly, making your legs feel numb. “I mean it,” he added, his voice softer, yet no less insistent.

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him into another kiss, the kind that left no room for doubt about your answer. “Then yes,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “We’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

And boy, were you excited to talk to this man— a man who could turn the simplest circumstances into a philosophical debate, someone who wasn’t afraid to dispute your ideals.

Someone who was your match.

“Later,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with need, his hands trailing up to tug his henley over his head in one fluid motion. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t have time to appreciate it before he was kissing you again, his bare skin pressed against you as he lifted your shirt off. “We can talk later.”

-end.

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fudgechocolatepuff · 2 months ago

Text

a lovebirds bloom! (pumpkin pie edition) pt.ii🍁

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.i of a lovebirds bloom

summary ⋆ ꪆৎ you with an unoccupied life intertwine paths with the fastest and busiest hero, where you both catch a break in your tranquil flower shop. lots of love in the air begin to unfold ꪆৎ

sneak peek ➸ you bump into the winged hero again in the fall season by chance, but neither of you two mind.

word count : 2.6k

Brisk air flew over your face upon wiping the window for the -mpth time today.

Although you carefully scrubbed at the glass to rid it of any visible blemishes left from the busy workday, the window remained foggy, dewy droplets sticking from the outside and obscuring your view of the street beyond.

The sky above was nothing short of clear, the stars twinkled from above in contrast to the darkening of the blue sky, now a navy-black colour.

In response to the sudden draft drawn in from the decreasing temperatures outside, your fingers wrapped around the end-loops of your scarf and pulled, tightening its hold on your neck in hopes of trapping the heat there.

If only the small window tucked in the back would close all the way instead of inviting a day-lasting breeze to nip at the tips of every customer’s ears.

Aside from the chill air that bit at the tips of your fingers, you grew more satisfied looking over the decor that you were tasked to put up, just in time for the incoming autumn season.

No matter for what season you decorated for, the warm-toned paint of light cafè brown matched every occasion.

This time—since you were put in charge of the aesthetics of the shop—you made sure that the festivity of the harvest-halloween period would radiate more than the past years’ decorations, and draw in more customers!

Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you could draw back the attention of the winged hero.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of that ridiculous fantasy.

Okay—sure, you missed the interaction exchanged between you and the hero, but you doubted he’d ever come back, let alone acknowledge the tension he’d left behind when he dashed through the doors that spring morning.

It was embarrassing! Being stuck up on a menacingly short conversation was not of your character, especially as it was confined in your professional workspace.

But you couldn’t deny, he teased and teased your little talk together, leading himself on to flirt and flatter you. Hell, you even let him enamor you, blushing at every comment he made about you.

“He was a hero though, of course he’d do a bit of romancing, that was his way of making talk with any woman around his age!” you reminded yourself, the pride that resided in your heart shrinking to embarrassment.

After letting yourself stare at the wall and ponder whether you should quit your job and start a new life in Europe, you continued your ritual of turning off each lamp scattered throughout the shop, appreciating the orange-ish glow it reflected onto the fresh stock of pumpkins and giving the space a homely fall ambience.

You retrieved your coat that hung on the teensy wooden rack, slipping it through your arms as the tired began to rush into your body.

Hanging your bag over your shoulder, you stepped toward the double doors, not before letting your nails glide past and tap against each of the candles, a subtle waft of vanilla-pumpkin flowing through your senses.

You snatched a candle to take home, just as a souvenir, you’d pay it back tomorrow.

Flipping over the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, the bell of the door jingled as you walked out, with a bittersweet feeling now settling in your chest.

——————

With a swift movement, Hawks’ hands tugged at the collar of his jacket, the fluffy white trim heating his lower face the tiniest bit as he flew through the crisp air of the autumn night.

He groaned in annoyance, regretting his decision of leaving all his hot-pockets at home, his frown grimacing more at the feeling of his empty, cold pockets.

Hawks hated this time of weather. Not the merriment of outdoor activities, oh no—he loved the idea of pumpkin patches and apple picking.

It was the transition between summer and winter. The drastic decrease in temperatures after the steady 70s in the past weeks left the man shivering.

He wasn’t used to the dropping temperatures and neither was the rest of the civilians below, all bunched up in their coats and arms crossed tightly against their chests. This year brought quite the chilly autumn, maybe the coldest of them all.

“A cup of the hottest, frothiest and sweetest coffee would really hit the spot,” the hero thought, scanning over the masses of people, hopping his pupils over every few buildings in seek of refuge from the cool night and to be treated to a nice dessert-in-a-drink.

Just when his eyes lit up to the sight of a coffee shop that looked quiet enough to not be noticed, something else caught his eye rather quickly.

A lady dressed in a dark coat and a slightly brighter, but full and cozy scarf wrapped around her neck that held a peculiar yet chic pattern on the woven fabric.

She appeared to be running on an empty street—or… chasing something. Hawks looked ahead of the woman, to which he spotted a small cylinder container rolling downhill that the woman must’ve been trying to catch.

To this, Hawks laughed to himself softly, not to make fun of her, it just looked a little silly! The hero’s gloved hands cupped the outside of his mouth, where he huffed out to capture at least some tinge of warmth before descending onto the street of the escaping container.

If it had been some other instance where he wasn’t bored out of his mind and actually had to patrol an area, he would have just sent a feather on its dandy way to complete a small mishap like this one.

However, he had finally found an escape.

His boots landed on the smooth pavement with a quiet ‘tap’ at the end of the street as he crouched down to reach his hand out, catching what looked to be a candle just in time.

The woman who scurried down the road slowed her steps to catch her breath.

“It’s not every night where your own candles run away from you. This yours?” the winged hero held out his hand as he flicked his eyes to the woman.

But the cheeky smile instilled on his face suddenly dissipated into a wide-eyed stare, his question almost being cut off by his shock.

The bundled-up woman breathed in once again—finally able to breathe steadily—as she extended her own fingers to take back the candle, but tensed up as her pupils recalled the dark shade of the man’s gloves, and felt her shoulder blades freeze.

“Oh… you’re—“

“The flower shop girl,” Hawks remarked, a gentler smile blemishing his face, “the cute one who gave me the bouquet that Miruko adored.”

Despite the cold sitting in the air, the warmth still made its way onto your skin. Your voice shook nervously, trying to not make this situation as awkward as much as you could.

“It.. it was nothing really, just wanted to dedicate something for a hero I really admire.”

You shifted your hands to be clasped in front of you, just below your stomach as you spoke.

“Well, she really loved it. Seriously, if I had gone to another store I wouldn’t be called the ‘best feather flower fairy.’”

A laugh ran through from your chest as you imagined Miruko’s reaction to the “flower fairy” delivering her bouquet.

“I suppose you aren’t the kind of person to give her gifts like that.”

“Nah, not really. However, I just figured to get her something with a tad bit more of sentiment for her 25th,” he replied casually, still grasping the sweet scented candle in his hand.

“Oh, that’s so sweet! I bet she really got all emotional and recited an honoring speech dedicated to you, going on and on about you being so thoughtful.”

“If the speech was followed by a smack in the arm and a 2 minute-long cackle at me being so sappy, then yeah, I’d say she got a bit teary, almost gave me a hug, even.”

“I wonder how she’ll react next year.”

“Perhaps she’ll dedicate a memoir to me and buy me a bouncy house. A gift for a gift.”

Not many were able to joke with him like that. Of course, Hawks’ fans and acquaintances always felt ecstatic to chat with him, but there was no real talk—only jokes he’s heard millions of times before.

And he’d never want to offend them, but they were either quite boring, or too overwhelming.

Either way, they didn’t treat him as if he was any other person, just a man-doll that swooped by and teased or flirted those who wanted his attention.

With you, though, he could be sarcastic and not be looked at in a ‘were you joking?’ kind of way. He had almost forgotten what it was like to connect with another person on a deeper level.

No, this was a bit more sweeter, and he didn’t want to lose that.

Your delicate fingertips shooed hair out of your face as you looked onto the street, now completely drowned out by the darkness of the night, lit only by the orange-hued street lamps.

You didn’t even notice the lingering gaze the winged man held onto your face, glossing over your features hypnotically.

He stepped to your side and met with your eyes, “Hey, I know it’s getting a bit late, and you probably have work tomorrow. I just wanted to know if you’d wanna grab a quick bite with me. I saw a cafè down a couple’a blocks down.”

Although the fatigue in your body raged deep in your bones, you could endure it a bit longer for a nab of coffee.

——————

The walk to the cafè was fairly comfortable.

He noted to you that he even saw some pastries displayed on the window. A “sugar plum fairy” you called him, to which he grumbled at the reminder of the foolish name. What a baby.

You didn’t expect to be asked about the progress of the flower shop, but you gladly told him about the new pumpkins that came with a carving kit, how you’d probably snatch one for yourself to make a design.

“Wouldn’t a starry night be easier than a character like Hello Kitty? You’re quite the artistic type.”

“Shushh! I’ve always fantasized about a glowing hello kitty with a witch hat, don’t crush my dreams.”

“Poor little florist, wants to express all of her feelings through Hello Kitty! Don’t worry, sweets, I won’t do too much on you.”

“I’m glad you understand the severity of my fixation.”

“Heroes are always empaths, ya’know?”

“You not so much!”

In response, he side-eyed you and crossed his arms.

You shuffled your hands into the pockets of your coat, when a sudden thought slipped into your mind.

“Oh, by the way, my name’s (your name).”

“Hi, (name).”

——————

Upon arriving to the cafè, you felt like you could have fallen asleep on the leather-seated-booths that gave just the right of cushioning, but at this point you were starved for sugar.

Its style was a bit more foreign like—a banner next to the cashier framed the statement that read the inspiration came from Western Europe. The beauty and emptiness of the little shop just proved it to be a gem that you’d keep a secret forever.

Somehow, you found yourself matching Hawks’ vibe with the coziness of the café. Warm, golden, fuzzy.

You darted your eyes back down to the menu before Hawks could catch you staring at him, focusing on the ‘hot options’ category.

When you looked up to ask what he’d order, he was already staring you back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I saw that.” he taunted, a smug grin rested on his lips.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the obvious humiliation present on your features, pursing your lips together with the intention of relieving your shame.

“It’s no problem, doll,” his assuring statement completely opposite of his teasing expression, “Do you know what you want?”

As if it was on cue, a waitress ambled her way over to your table, notepad in hand, not even batting an eye to the number two, “What would you guys like to order?”

“May I get a (hot drink of your choice), please?”

The waitress scribbled down your order and turned to the man across from you.

“Ah, can I have a hot white-mocha with an extra shot of caramel as well as a slice of pumpkin pie?”

“Alright, I’ll have those out for you two in a bit!”

You thanked her before she scurried on into the back, “It’s absolutely ludicrous that nobody else acknowledges the fact that you have a huge sweet tooth.”

“Sugar energizes my system more than caffeine, it’s just how I function.”

“Do you brush your teeth at night? Y’know, sugar can rot those pearly whites of yours.”

“Yes, mother, I brush my teeth every night,” he chuckled, adjusting the buckle of his watch.

“It can also give you a condition, don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s called diabetes—“

“Yeesh, I didn’t know I’d come to this place just to be lectured about my tastes.”

“If it were anybody else, they’d say the exact same thing.”

“Oh, let me be.”

The two of you went silent after that, but in a comfortable moment of calm, engulfing the presence of each other and the faint chatter of the minimal customers that were also sat down in the cafè.

Hawks in that moment wondered if he twisted the crown of his watch back far enough, he could make this night last forever.

Before long, you’re both gulping down your hot beverages, a waterfall of heaven swirling in the brown paper cups in your hands.

After a short debate, the two of you decided that it was getting late, and you both had busy work days to deal with tomorrow, and so he took the pumpkin pie to-go and shared it with you on your walk to the train stop. It wasn’t rude courtesy if no one could see you two at the dead of night.

“How come you live a bit far from your flower shop?”

You chewed your piece of pie, both crust and filling, “I don’t know, honestly. I think after applying to all the jobs I had in mind, I drew little paper pieces from a hat to just decide and get it over with.”

“Decision making can be tough when it comes to jobs.”

“You get it,” crumbs of pie fell onto your coat as you responded with your mouth full.

The hero held the empty plate with sprinkles on crumbs left behind in his hand, and with your candle in the other as you two continued the walk, about 3 minutes away.

Stopping at the top of the stairs that descended down into the underground station, Hawks stopped you from going further.

“Look, I really enjoyed this little going out together, although it started out with me ending your game of tag with your candle.”

You huffed lightly looking back at the thought, a shy smile tugging at your face, “Yeah, I’m glad I bumped into you when I did.”

Placing the candle into your palms, he began to take a few steps back, and Hawks admitted to you, “I hope to see you soon, sweets, whenever time permits.”

You waved to him, “Thanks for the pie.”

He nodded his head and gave you a sweetly sick smile, before turning to walk away and prepare to fly off.

As much as you hated for this night to end, you could at least encourage him to come back to you.

“Come back to the shop soon!” you shouted from afar, hoping he would hear.

The winged hero turned his head, waving his hand and shouting back, “I will!” eventually flying away into the alluring night sky.

The next time you’d come back to this cafe, you promised to order pumpkin pie every time.

a/n: so sorry for not posting this sooner! i’ve been so caught up in my studies and i couldn’t find time to post! however i lovedd writing this and figured now would be the best time to publish this. i hope this makes up for my absence :) love you and happy october!!

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spooky-luvur · 1 year ago

Text

OPEN 24/7

(Ghostface x Reader)

(Summary: Working at a gas station at two in the morning was sooo boring- until a strange customer changes that)

The bell rings for the umpteenth time. As part of your game, you make a guess in your head. Another old beer-belly? Bud Light, but maybe Modelo. Maybe a kid, reeking of weed and you’re gonna need to ask them for ID. Those are more common than you’d like to think about.

You listen to the squeak of leather shoes against the floor, not bothering to look up from your phone until the footsteps stop in front of you.

“How can I help you?”

“Something more interesting than me?”

The tone of the man causes you to finally avert your attention. He’s neither fat and bald nor young enough to require questions, if the shadow on his face is any indication. He's giving you a look, hands nonchalantly tucked into the pockets of his jacket. Not a mean look- you’ve gotten enough of those working at this crummy gas station to know the difference. The smooth brow and twinkling eyes is enough to tell you he isn’t mad and isn’t about to yell at you about the pumps not working. Not yet at least.

You flush a bit at the call out, awkwardly slipping the device in your pocket. Thankfully it’s just you tonight, so there’s no annoying coworker to rat you out for this.

“Sorry,” you tell him, trying to sound at least a tidbit professional. “Slow night, I guess.”

The man’s lips quirk but he’s not quite smiling. You wonder if he’s actually upset about it before he nods to the shelf behind you.

“Some reds. Gotta look cool and mysterious for all the people flinging themselves at me.”

You let out a ‘ha’ at his joke and he grins. You turn to grab a pack of smokes, placing it on the counter and he pulls out some cash to pay for it. Not unusual, but usually people his age love to flaunt their fancy credit cards to prove they have them or some other bullshit reason to flash the shiny hunk of plastic at you. Normally a shitty pick-up line follows it.

“Not very good for you,” you attempt to joke. The man raises his brow and you immediately wish you kept a gun behind the counter to shoot yourself with.

“I know,” he says. “Ever found yourself hooked on something, though? Can be tough as hell to break away.” He gives a kind of wry smile that leaves you fidgeting where you stand.

“No. Not- nothing like that, no.”

The man deftly tucks the smokes into his pocket.

"Right. Well, have a nice night," he says before turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the store, the encounter happening so quickly that it leaves your head spinning.

“Alright,” you mutter to yourself, a bit too stiff to go back to your casual leaning against the counter pose.

You’re still absentmindedly staring at the glass doors when the phone rings. The blaring noise makes you jump but you snatch it up nonetheless, stuttering out a hello.

“Heya, just checking in.”

The voice of your boss makes your shoulders relax. You suddenly can’t remember what they were tense for.

“Hey Jimmy, I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah? No robbers?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’d be crying in the freezer.”

“Ha. Never gonna happen, kid. Not when they know Big Jim’s the one that owns the place.”

“Course not.”

He reminds you to restock the drinks before he hangs up, leaving you sighing against the phone. A couple seconds after you set it down it rings again and you pick it up fully expecting for Jimmy to answer saying ‘and another thing-‘

But it isn’t Jimmy who responds to your hello this time. A peculiar voice echoes the word back to you. It makes you pause, and a short silence follows.

“…Hello?”

Snapping out of it, you instinctively adjust your posture as though the person on the other end could discern your lackluster demeanor and reprimand you for it.

“How can I help you?”

”Who is this?”

“…Jimmy’s Station. Do you need a pizza, or…”

“No, no. Was hoping you could help me with something else.”

“Okay…what is it?” You naw your lip, nervous for some reason. Your gut twists like you’ve eaten something bad.

“You got any knives?”

“Ah…”

You glance over at the rack of colorful blades on the other side of the counter. All shapes and sizes, all dangerously sharp.

“Yes, we do.”

“Perfect. You got any pink ones?”

“Buying one for your wife?”

Seriously, curse you and your automatic attempts to desperately avoid weird conversations. The voice on the other end laughs a bit. Or scoffs.

”Maybe. Think she’ll like it?”

“I mean, probably.”

“Hm…what about blue? You got any blue ones?”

“Yes, we have blue knives.” You answer, simply exasperated now. Part of you thinks this guy is just messing with you, but these seem like regular questions well enough. It’s not like there’s a lack of strange people out there that could be asking them.

“Well, that’s just great. Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Knowing he’s probably gonna say something stupid, you reply with a ‘sure, whatever.’

”Take one of those pretty, shiny knives- one of the really nice ones, you know? Pick your favorite color, even. Take it, really feel the weight- and shove it in your gut till you bleed like a stuck fucking pig.”

The phone is suddenly a block of ice in your hand.

“W-What?”

”What?” It mocks you. “You think it’ll hurt? I bet you’d like that.”

You shake. Why the hell haven’t you hung up yet? The sick freak on the other end laughs tauntingly. Like he’s actually having fun with this.

”You would wouldn’t you? I’d take your damn guts and string them up on the wall- really spice the place up a bit, it’s so dreary. Then I’d-“

You finally rip the phone away from your ear and slam it down onto the receiver. Gulping in a breath, you rub your hands down your face to steady yourself. Stupid prank callers.

Deciding you need to get the hell up and do something with your hands you leave the counter and head toward the back of the store behind the freezers. Upon entering you shiver, considering going back out to your car to retrieve your jacket.

You haul a box of beers onto a table and begin unpacking them, the repetitive motion allowing you to lose yourself in your thoughts. For a few minutes it’s a good distraction from the voice you keep replaying in your head.

Then your phone rings. Not the store phone still on the front counter- your personal cell resting in your back pocket.

‘Ugh,’ you think. ‘What is it now, spam?’

Thinking that, you ignore call and let it continue ringing until it stops. But then it happens again, and you’re annoyed enough to whip it out and answer it.

“Listen-“

”You’re being really fucking bad.”

The can you’d been holding slips out of your grip and explodes on the floor, wetting your feet. You curse loudly and fling your phone onto the table.

“What the fuck!”

The device slides off the table and clatters onto the stone floor. All you can do for several moments is stand there and stare as if the voice would reach through the device and grab you, carrying out the acts it had told you to perform on yourself only minutes prior.

Thinking quickly you hurry over to the freezer door and lock it from the inside. Great, now the only people that can get in and get you are people that work here. You can just stay in here till morning, right? Or maybe Jim will call again and you won’t pick up and he’ll get worried and he’ll call for someone to help you and-

“Saved me the trouble.”

A pair of arms wind around your waist and you’re ripped away from the door and tossed onto the ground like a sack of food. The concrete scratches your skin painfully as you gasp for breath, glancing up to see a kind of black shroud. It’s all you allow yourself before you’re scrambling to your feet and further into the room.

Only, as you stop in front of the back door that leads to basically the woods, you realize you don’t have the one think that opens it on your person. Your mind thinks back to the key ring in the office as you hear the shrouded attacker approaching.

“Please,” you’re saying before you even turn around. Once you do you’re met with a stark white face twisted in a dramatic scream. The figure is tall, you notice as it stalks closer.

“Already begging?” It teases you in a warped voice. The same one on the phone, you realize.

“What the hell?” The fearful tears in your eyes sting angrily. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Want do you want? I’ll call the fucking cops!”

He’s laughing before you can finish.

“Really? Who am I to stop you, then?”

He steps to the side and waves his arm to the doorway behind him.

“Phones just over there. Go ahead.”

Surely. Surely he’s messing with you. You’re not that stupid, and neither is he. And he knows that you know that, if the silent laughter that makes his shoulders shake is any indication.

“Fuck you,” you hiss at him as you press your back to the locked door. Your hands splay across the cold metal as if searching for a blackhole to swallow you completely.

“Such a dirty mouth! Think it’s good for anything other than cussing me out?”

“Get fucked.”

“Are you offering?”

You find yourself paralyzed with fear as he reaches into a concealed pocket, retrieving a knife. The silver gleams in the shitty light of the freezer.

“What do you want?” You take pride in lack of tremble in your voice.

“You were so rude earlier,” the masked man says. He slides a finger down the blade of the knife tauntingly. “Hanging up, and then ignoring me? Didn’t your mother teach you any better?”

“You deserved it, freak.”

“Oh!” He laughs. “You think so? Mm, maybe I was a bit forward…” He playfully taps a gloved finger against the plastic mask like a cartoon villain.

Your heart beats painfully in your chest but you force yourself to steady your breathing and consider your options. Right now you’re stuck between this obviously intelligent freak of a man and a locked door you have no hope of opening unless you suddenly get super strength.

“I see you thinking, doll. Wanna share with the class?” By now he’s standing mere inches away and you flinch as he brings up the gutting knife to trace the tip of it along the vulnerable skin of your exposed collar.

You steel yourself, tilting your head so you’re not looking up at him like a frightened child. “Get away from me.”

The knife pauses in its path up your throat and you nearly shiver at the sharp chill.

“Away? From you?”

A hand tangles in your hair and shoves you harder against the door, making you groan in pain.

“Go ahead and have an attitude again, I dare you. Double dare, even.” He hisses, bringing his mask closer to your face. You can’t see his eyes behind the cloth. Just a black void.

“I’m sorry…” you mutter, having to come up with something quick. Maybe if you convince this guy you’re totally giving up he’ll slip somehow and you can get away. Or he’ll see right though it and you’ll end up with your insides strewn about like party streamers. That’ll be fun for the next shift.

Your breathy tone causes him to pause. After a moment his chest rumbles like a happy purr.

“Oh, that’s good. I like that. Say it again, won’t you?”

You can feel his knife poking your belly- thinly veiled threat.

“I’m sorry.” You grow bold enough to slide your hand from the wall and onto his waist. You touch the man lightly as if he was a bomb you could set off at any moment. Which he is.

“I’m just scared. Please.”

“Of course you are. But it’s gonna be okay,” he brings his other hand from your hair down to your face to traces your lips with his finger. It would have made your stomach flutter if he wasn’t holding a knife against it.

“I’m not gonna hurt you too bad. I just wanna have some fun, but you’re being such a brat.”

“I…”

Your eyes slide past him to the open doorway. Your phone still rests on the floor in that room, but doesn’t he know about that? No way he’d let you anywhere near it. You’d have to think of something, fast.

A hand under your chin forces you to look back at the screaming mask.

“I hope you’re not thinking of it. I don’t know if I can handle anymore of that tonight.”

“No…no, of course not.”

“Good. Good boy.” His hand moves from your chin to curl around your throat as if simply admiring the flesh there.

“Please,” you push yourself off the wall and further against him, straight up pressing your chest to his at this point. His hand stutters against you and you don’t feel the sharp press of the knife anymore. “You’re…making me feel so-“

“Yeah? How am I making you feel, baby?”

You smooth your hands up his arms, having to mentally scream at yourself to keep you from fawning over the firm muscle there.

Maybe he’s too desperate to get his hands on you, or maybe he’s distracted by your hands on him, but he’s loose enough to not notice the not so subtle tightening of your grasp all of a sudden.

“So…urgh!”

You don’t know where you got the strength but you throw your entire body weight at the guy in order to shove him away and pretty much fling him toward a metal rack stacked full of boxes. He yelps in pain as he crashes into it, bottles spilling out and exploding. If the bitter smell of strong alcohol doesn’t suffocate him, his now drenched mask surely will. You use his momentary stun to turn and sprint to the other room, nearly slipping on the liquid covering the floor.

Your hands are shaking from adrenaline so badly you almost lose your balance once you crawl under the table to retrieve your phone. Breathing a sigh of relief once you have it you swipe to your contacts and click on the first one you see, the scream for help on the tip of your tongue. You don’t remember if your finger hit the call button or not before you’re suddenly grabbed by the ankle and dragged out from under the table shrieking.

You don’t have time to prepare yourself to meet the terrible mask once again before you’re flipped onto your back, but that doesn’t matter. A gasp gets stuck in your throat at the bare face that greets you.

“You…”

The man’s hair is damp as it falls over his eyes and he reeks of fancy beer. He’s breathing heavily as he sits on your legs to keep you still.

“Hey, doll. Funny seeing you here.”

A brief exchange- a single purchase was all it took to become a victim? He must see the realization on your face because he grins like a bully.

“I know, I know. I did good, didn’t I? Had to stop myself from jumping over the counter then and there. Knew the wait would be worth it, though.”

“You fucking prick!” Squirming within the man's unyielding hold, he maintains a smug grin while firmly clasping your wrists. You can tell someone like him is simply reveling in his sense of control. “I hope you choke on your damn cigarettes!”

He throws his head back and laughs. If he wasn’t currently holding you captive you probably would have blushed at this man’s boyish charm.

“That’s good, I might use that. You mind if I use that?”

You attempt to kick him off before there’s a hand on your throat and squeezing. You sputter, grasping at it. The man brings his face down to yours to hiss angrily, but before he can get a word out-

“Hello? Please answer me…”

The room fills with a thick silence as both of you freeze. You both pivot your heads in unison, eyes landing upon the phone which is nearly concealed beneath the table's shadow. The screen is lit up in a call, the name of your friend that lives just down the road splayed across it. You’d laugh in pure relief if you weren’t still face to face with the man in the shrouded costume.

The man on top of you faces you with a blank look and brings his finger up to his mouth in a shushing motion. As if you’re dumb enough to yell out for help now.

“The cops are on their way, I called them a few minutes ago. Maybe everything is fine but I just wanted to make sure-“

The man quietly seethes with anger and scrambles off you to snatch up the device, ending the call. He leaves you on the ground, breathing heavily and staring up at him.

“I know where you live. I know where you work.”

He crouches beside you and there’s that stupid fucking grin again, like a child that just stole another kids candy.

“I know where you go to eat, I know what roads you take, I know where you piss in the morning. I know everything about you, doll. So please, tell them everything and give me a fucking reason.”

You hadn’t noticed his knife was back in his gloved hand until it’s being dragged down your leg, catching the fabric of your pants. You suck in a breath and look back up to meet his eye, shaking your head.

“Good. I know you’ll behave.”

He stands back up and makes to leave through the back door, swinging the ring of the key on his finger casually. He winks at you before he slips away.

“Until next time, baby.”

Thirty minutes later you’ll be seated in your friends car as they drive you home, remembering the feeling of the masked man’s hands on your skin, on your body, around your throat- until it’s seared in your consciousness. It isn’t until you’re laying in bed that night that a shiver of fear, or maybe even sick excitement runs through you when you remember he still has the key.

——————————————————————————

(chat gpt fr saved my ass on some of this 🤫)

#ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x male reader #x male reader #slasher x male reader #slashers #slashers x reader

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lowkeyrobin · 8 months ago

Note

Trevor Spengler dating headcanons?? With a paranormal enthusiast?

YESYESYESYES FINALLY TREV REQUESTS OMG YEAHHAHAHSHAH ; thank you for requesting!! hope you enjoy :)

TREVOR SPENGLER ; dating headcanons

summary ; dating stuff w trev

warnings ; language

word count ; 539

masterlist

he's literally obsessed with you

always talking & thinking about you

he's got over 500 pictures of you too

his lockscreen is a picture of you two together as well, so he's constantly opening his phone to see it

he's got a couple widgets that are just you as well 💀🙏 it's all nice and themed bc you showed him how to do it

probably picks up editing for you

surprisingly a great editor, he's 100% into shake and transition edits, no matter how long they take

your contact name is probably "y/n/n 😈🔥" because he's a teenage boy.

you can't tell me he doesn't frequently use 😈🔥🗣⁉️🤞👍💪💀 etc

he isn't big on physical affection (mostly pda) but he has his moments. he's much more into physical affection when you're completely alone or just w pheobe or lucky tho

likes slinging an arm around your shoulder or giving/relieving reassuring and comforting hugs, or some hand holding

he doesn't like feeling like he needs to prove to people that you're together or anything which you 100% understand

his love language is quality time

always watching movies, driving around together, playing video games, etc

he's not great with his words but when he says he loves you and cares about you, he's being completely, truthfully honest

you guys discuss drama and make fun of fake bitches together, in and out of school

watching those tik tok storytime slides shows and they're WILD. you're cackling and confused at the same time

go watch derrick branch to see what I mean cause holy shit those storytimes r wild

he loves teaching you all about the ghostbuster gear

and also about ghosts, their spirits, haunted objects, etc

uses big words like protons and neutrons to try and impress you and sound smart

thinks you look cute in the ghostbuster suit

you guys play around with the proton packs and play with them like nerf guns (off of course)

custom ghostbuster patches on your backpacks/special jackets

you make a drawing of him and slimer together LMFAO

trev is all miserable and hunched over like 🧍‍♂️😒 and slimer is like floating above him a bit like 😊👍

he loves it, it's on his wall

always going on adventures together

you teach him stuff about your hobbies, and he teaches you stuff about his

sharing spotify playlists>>>

making food together is like a shared couples hobby

collecting plushies because why not

matching clothes galore

and stealing clothing out of each other's closets

ruffling his hair (and washing it when he's lazy/has no motivation to do it himself)

randomly sending each other memes/gifs/emojis

sharing an umbrella

pressing your foreheads together and sitting in silence

pushing his hair behind his ears randomly to get a better look at his face

remembering little things about each other

facetiming even to just sit in silence and do your own thing

conspiracy theory dumping on him

working at the lab with lucky to understand Ghosts better

buzzfeed unsolved with Ryan and Shane 24/7. you guys (you) geek out over that shit

your first time ghostbusting, you literally just watched in awe

like ghosts are actually real?? omg

you ranting about how you wanna be a professional ghost hunter

figuring out new info on ghosts, how they function, how it all works etc

you're like a little scientist

he thinks it's so cute

#lowkeyrobin #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard #trevor spengler x reader #trevor spengler #ghostbusters frozen empire #ghostbusters afterlife #ghostbusters x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader

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fluffysucker · 1 year ago

Text

Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

In no world were you meant to be together, but in every universe, you were meant for each other.

A/N: I present you grumpy sunshine wrapped in enemies(ish) to lovers with Beefy Boxer/Biker Bucky.

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated.

Also, I tried to be as inclusive as possible. But my delusion couldn't be controlled I'm sorry.

Ngl this is for me more than anything.

Also, I'm thinking about making this its own universe and maybe write more of it. Tell me what you think

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You hated Bucky Barnes, and he hated you.

The two of you should have never crossed paths. Your worlds should have never met. But the wall separating you could only hold for so long.

The infamous boxer was a phenomenon in his field. Unbeatable and astute, Bucky Barnes held his reputation with pride. He was stronger than all and the smartest the game had. His jab was as numbing as the winter. His techniques were as calculated as a soldier's. Bucky Barnes was as hard as nails. A legend.

To keep up with the notoriety, it was rumoured that Barnes and his team were also a biker gang. It was never confirmed, but the black leather jacket he always had on, the long hair touching his shoulder or tidied in a low bun, the motorbike barked in front of the gym, and the intimidating sense lingering around him. It was never denied, either.

In the mornings, Bucky Barnes ran a successful gym with his two bestfriends, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Both played occasionally, but only Bucky was the professional, so they were more his trainers. They also trained other players and armatures. They tried to gain other normal customers, but it didn't always work. With a reputation like theirs, attracting customers wasn't easy.

It was usually the same for nights, unless they had matches. Most of their fights were held on Stark's property. He ran an empire, and boxing was the dominant centre, led by the biggest champion. And Stark lets Bucky have it his way, just like he likes. As long as Bucky keeps on bringing these huge numbers into their pockets, both are happy and content.

So it was out of the nature for Bucky to have zero interest in the new restaurant that opened up right next door to the gym. They had their regularly frequented places. The bar run by Romanoff and Belova, a couple of blocks away from Stark's property, was more than enough. He didn't even bother to throw a glance at it. Even after he knew that the owner had come by and given out menus and promised them discounts if they stopped by, there was still nothing.

Until one night. Bucky got carried away in training. He had an important match coming up. He knew his opponent barely stood a chance, but Bucky enjoyed the thriller of the game. The sweat and blood that go into it He didn't remember a time when he didn't want to do this. It was like it was programmed so deeply in his brain. He was made for this.

Everyone left, one by one. Until then, it was only him. After so many hours, he finally got tired. He threw his gloves aside and went to take a shower to remove the evidence of his hard work before going back home. As he was locking the gym's door, he heard his stomach growl, reminding him that he needed food. He was starving. Before deciding to wait and order food once he got home, the big sign caught his eye. They did indeed have a restaurant right next door. He admitted he was too tired to cook or wait for delivery. He needed food, then crashed into his bed. So maybe the closest restaurant would be useful.

Once he stepped in, he felt out of place immediately. His dark clothes and huge frame made him look like a stranger compared to the light-coloured painted walls. Some had flowers, and others had stars drawn on them. There were fairy lights in some corners. The aromatic scent was everywhere. Bucky almost winced at how bright and colourful everything felt. This was an alternative universe that he didn't belong in.

"Hi, how can I help you?" An even sweeter voice rang and caught Bucky's attention, breaking him from his trance of observing the place.

He turned around to find the prettiest girl he had ever seen standing behind the counter. Your beauty caught him off guard. He never believed someone could be so beautiful before. But here you were, standing. Taking his breath away.

He recovered very quickly and moved to stand in front of the counter. With the most loving smile, you handed him the menu. He took a look at the menu and wanted to laugh out loud. Dish names were just as cheerful as the atmosphere.

Out of habit, you started explaining and recommending stuff for him. He interrupted you, putting in his order. You didn't give it much thought but took his order happily.

You apologised for the lack of waiters, as it was almost closing time and it was only you. No answer. With his blank stare, you told him he could sit wherever he wanted. Only then did he notice the empty restaurant. It was just you and him. It was that late. So he took a seat at the nearest table.

Not taking much, you returned with his order. You placed it in front of him with a big smile on your face. You knew right away who that was the minute he walked in. James Barnes. The famous boxer who trains next door You have been praying after your small visit to them that they would be regular customers. The business was doing great. But the more, the merer. Always. Lots of people warned you about the men next door. But you didn't feel like they were as bad as people made them out to be. You were always so trusting, unless shown otherwise. So you were happy that, finally, one of them stopped by.

You moved away, letting him enjoy his food. Unable to fight your nature, you started talking to him as you continued cleaning the remaining parts of the place. No answer again. He didn't even bother to look at you. Okay. Maybe he had a rough day. Not all people are used to chatting.

Bucky was one of these people. His eyes widened as you started talking to him. People were never that friendly to him. People avoided him. Nobody tried to open up a conversation with him. He didn't know how to react. And he was too tired to try. So he practiced his other specialty. Silence. But even if he wouldn't admit it, Bucky found your voice calming. So he let you talk instead of just shutting you up.

You reduced your talking to a minimum. Only little remarks there and then to avoid complete silence. The second time, you heard his voice since he walked in and asked for the check. You brought the paper to the table he occupied, keeping your smile up and telling him that he got the 'neighbour discount' as you called it. You almost heard his scoff as you left him.

You had your back to the door, so you only turned around when you heard the door close. You didn't hear his footsteps, and most definitely, you didn't hear his goodbye, goodnight, or even thank you. Now that's rude.

You returned to the table to collect the check. But you found the review note you attached to every check empty. Not a single penmark. And that was more rude. You made sure that filling out the note only took seconds. You genuinely cared to hear people's opinions so you could be better and have the restaurant grow more.

So he didn't speak to you for more than two sentences. Didn't say thank you or goodbye. Didn't fill in the note. Okay, maybe you didn't want them as customers if they were all that rude.

It turns out they weren't that rude. However, Bucky was more rude than you thought.

A couple of days after Bucky's visit, you were surprised to see Bucky with another two men. You guessed they were Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. The trio was all well-known. You doubted if Bucky was the one to recommend the restaurant. You weren't sure if he even liked the food. And you were right. He would be caught dead if he brought up the fairy world you called a restaurant. Even when it served the tastiest food he had ever had,

It was a slow day. No intense training or excessive fight preparation The three men didn't have much to do that day. So when Steve suggested trying out the restaurant, Bucky neither objected nor showed excitement.

So when they walked in, you couldn't help the feeling of surprise along with the tiny bit of happiness, hoping it would be a nicer visit this time. After preparing their orders and sending them out, you waited for a bit before you left the kitchen to greet them. Not before making sure you looked presentable.

With the small space and their loud voices, it wasn't hard to locate them. You approached them with a big smile and positive attitude.

"I wanted to make sure you were having a good time." You followed up after introducing yourself.

"The food is amazing. This burger is to die for." Steve was the first to compliment you, with Sam nodding and agreeing.

"You have one good chef." Sam added as he took another french fry into his mouth. "Send my regards to them."

"Actually, I'm also the chef." The statement caused a shocked expression to fill in their faces. They asked for details, and you briefly told them how you were the core of the small business as the owner and main chef.

The two men were polite, and they didn't seem annoyed by your chatty personality. In fact, they interacted with you and asked questions to learn more. And all they had to say were nice compliments. Except one.

"So tell me, sweetheart, what was the inspiration for the place? Was it a fairy garden or Disney's latest cartoon?" None of you were ready for the sarcastic comment Bucky threw at you.

You didn't let your smile break in the face of his sarcasm. Nor did you give much thought to the pet name. You put on a bigger smile now, looking at him.

"A bit of both." That's one thing about you: you refused to let the world change about you. You never reciprocate rudeness with rudeness.

"I can tell." Bucky was taken back by your response. He expected you to get offended, but you didn't.

"Thank you. It was my vision all along." You replied, your smile never leaving your face.

And that started your hate relationship with Bucky Barnes.

After that day, the men became regular customers. And it wasn't just the three men. Little by little, it was most of the team. First, it was just to try the good food. Then it was because they wanted to. They wouldn't admit it, but your place was like a breath of fresh air. Something so different from what they are used to. From what they are known for. From what people expected from them. And you never judged them, treated them differently, or asked about the rumours that followed them. So it was a calm change, but much needed.

But their favourite thing was yours and Bucky's constant bickering. Or more Bucky's. Nobody understood why Bucky was doing this. You never partook in his constant attempts to make fun of you. You always had a sweet response to fire back. You truly were the living embodiment of killing them with kindness.

However, he never stopped. Every time he stepped foot in the place, you claimed it was your biggest achievement. He had something rude to say. Something to annoy you with. Something to bother you. Sarcasm and jokes spilling out of him with no end whatsoever.

The number of times you wanted to punch him or snap at him right back was increasing. But you refused to give in. To let him win. He wouldn't be the one to change you. So you kept engaging with him only with gracious things to say.

Besides, you chose to think that everyone had their own battles and demons. And for sure, Bucky looked like he had lots of them. He looked rougher than most. His job made him appear invincible, but he wasn't. Nobody was. So he may drive you mad, but he deserves the gentle treatment you offered all.

Bucky had no idea why he was doing it. Why every time he saw you, he felt the urge to tease you. It wasn't like him. But he didn't fight it back.

"How are you, Tinkerbell?"

"You should buy green carpets. It will finish off the garden aesthetic."

"Here is the princess who got lost."

"The pasta was great, Barbie."

Stuff like this flew from him all the time. And not once did you get back at him. You stayed nice and polite. Your sweet self never crumbling.

There was something in you that drove him insane. Your warm eyes. Your bright smile. Your cheerful voice. Your positive mindset. Your kind heart. Your friendly nature. Your hard work. Your delicious food. Your colourful wardrobe of dresses, skirts, tops, and cardigans. He couldn't pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was all of it.

The deepest part of him knew why he was doing this. He liked you. He liked you so much. From the moment he entered your restaurant alone, the first time And the more he knew you, the more he liked you. You were special. And you were everything he wasn't. He thought if he got closer, he would be tinting you. He would bring darkness to your shine. A moral thing preventing him from speaking his truth. even thinking about it.

So he acted like a teenager. He made fun of you. In hopes of making you hate him. He convinced himself and the others that he didn't like your sunshine personality.

Until one day

It started off like any normal day. Bucky had a match coming up. So they all had something to do. The day was going fine. Up before Peter Parker, who was usually on reception duties, ran in and said there was fire in your place,

For a second, blood ran cold in Bucky's body. He heard ringing in his ears. Were you okay? He collected himself quickly, wanting to check for himself.

He threw the gloves away, almost pushing everybody out of the way to get out. And he was the first to see the chaos in the street. A firetruck was parked, and firemen were going in and out of your restaurant along with some policemen. His eyes were searching for you frantically until he spotted you.

You had some dust on your face and your white clothes. You were checking that everyone was okay and out safely. But you couldn't hide the quivering of your lips or your shaking body.

He couldn't help himself as he ran towards you. You turned as you felt someone approaching you. Without your control, your face softened, and tears blurred your sight once you noticed who it was.

"Bucky." You whispered as a way to ground yourself from all the mess that happened and is still happening.

Following his first instincts, Bucky pulled you into his chest, wrapping your trembling form in his arms and holding you so close to him. And the dam broke.

Sobs fled from you. Tears mixed with his sweat. Your fists gripped his white tank top. Your face hidden away in his chest.

You didn't know how it happened. You had been holding up well enough during it all. You had been managing the situation the best you could. However, when Bucky got here, your mind stopped working. Your mind gave up on you, letting your emotions hit you with full force, breaking down your bastion with no guarantee you would be caught.

But you were. You were braced by strong amrs, rubbing your back, laying small kisses on your hair, and whispering words of comfort in your ears. "I'm here. I'm right here." "You're okay. You're fine."

Your sobs ceased, but your body still shook against Bucky's. Tears remained to fall freely on your face. Bucky's hold was still firm but secure around you.

You only moved away from him when a policeman approached you, informing you that you were needed at the police station.

"I'm coming with you." Bucky's stern voice left no room for negotiation. It wasn't up to debate. He wasn't leaving you.

"I'll grab my stuff in a second." He turned to the policeman standing in front of you, making sure it was okay that he joined. And he got a nod of approval in return.

He left your side, walking towards the gym. He paid no attention to his friends standing by, who were puzzled by the encounter. And true to his words, he came back in seconds, his black leather jacket on, phone in hand, and wallet in hand.

He got to you, letting his hand wrap around your shoulder. The gesture was welcomed by you as you rested your head on his chest. Something about having Bucky spread calmness in you

At the police station, Bucky found out what really happened. It wasn't just fire. It was a robbery. A bunch of armed men attacked your restaurant, demanding money from you and all the people inside. As you are trying to handle the situation without panicking more, it was discovered that one of the customers was a cop, which sent the robbers into an unexpected turn. So they took all they could from the cash register and your own things before setting the kitchen on fire to run away without being caught.

Between talking with the insurance company, the bank, and watching security footage from your restaurants and the street, you spent the rest of the day in the station.

And Bucky didn't leave your side for a second of it.

He didn't leave you until you both got out of the cap in front of your apartment. And he didn't leave until he made sure you got inside safely.

Something about you being hurt sent Bucky into a spiral. Who was heartless enough to hurt such a sweet soul as you? To look at you and not want to give you everything? Bucky would never know. All he knew was that he never wanted to see you so afraid and shaken like today. To not see your smile lighting up your face. So he would do whatever it took to make sure you were always fine.

Which was why you found him by your building the first thing in the morning.

"You have lots of places to go today. Said I would join you."

And up until you were handed the keys to your restaurant brand new after the insurance company had finished the repairs, Bucky didn't leave you. He was always there. Helping you finish papers, going to the police station to identify the robbers, and buying new stuff for the restaurants. Everything. He was there for everything.

And you had to admit. It was lovely to have him. A helping hand you needed. Physically and emotionally. Someone to share this unfortunate journey with. And Bucky didn't bother it for a bit. And you appreciated having him.

So, it only felt right for him to be your first order after the reopening.

The truth was, you never hated Bucky, no matter how much you tried. His huge form, his steel blue eyes, his signature stare, his playful smirk. They all made you feel something. He made you feel something you couldn't quite understand. But it was a pleasant something. He annoyed you so much, but you never took it too seriously. Maybe he hated you, but you didn't.

Now, you didn't need him. You were ready to carry on with your life. He didn't know how to get back to normal. He couldn't. He couldn't pretend you didn't make his heart beat faster. You made his days better. But he was so unworthy of you. And he knew you could never look at him. Maybe you hated him, but he didn't.

He tried to get back to his life. Only training and matches. Only visiting your place with the others who quickly figured out what was happening. He needed to get you out of his mind. That lasted for two days.

When Bucky was closing the gym, he heard something coming from your restaurant. With a frown, he moved to see you still inside. He looked at his watch to check the time again. It was indeed late.

"What are you doing?" He didn't bother with greetings as he entered.

"Hi, Bucky." Your cheerful voice rang through the empty place.

"What are you doing?" He repeated his question, looking at the paper in front of you.

"I'm sending out advertisements and deal offerings to different places." You answered him with a smile.

"Sweetheart, do you know what time it's?" Bucky signed as he looked at you, looking clueless.

"C'mon, let's get you home." He moved towards you, taking the papers out of your hand and putting them down without messing them.

"But I have a lot to do." You tried to protest as he gathered your stuff and helped you out.

"It will still be here in the morning." And he was having none of it.

"I need to get the business going." You added.

"You can do that in the morning, too." Bucky led you out of the restaurant in spite of your complaining.

He took the key from your hand and handed it back to you after he closed up. You expected him to move away, but he didn't.

"How are you going to get home?" He hoped you wouldn't give him the answer he had in mind.

"It's not very far. I was going to walk." And it was it.

Do you not care about your safety, or do you think you are James Bond?

Bucky had to bite his tongue and not scold you right on the spot. He knew you were stressed about the business, so he didn't want to add more.

"Great. I was going somewhere there, too. Let me walk."

"You were?" You questioned him, not believing him, but he nodded quickly.

As a matter of fact, Bucky didn't have anywhere to go other than collapsing on his bed. But over his dead body were you going to walk back home alone in this hour

"Lead the way, princess." The return of the name, but a smile on your face. He may mean it as an insult. You didn't care. It sounded good coming from him.

And the two of you walked.

And somehow, without planning, it became a routine.

Bucky would finish at the gym and come straight to the restaurant. It didn't matter whether it was late or not. He would get in and wait till you were done with the day. Then he would walk you home. Sometimes, he would help with stuff, but most times, you would make him sit down and bring him tonnes of food you prepared just for him.

"You train so hard. Don't want to burn these muscles. Eat and rest."

You weren't stupid. You knew he had nothing to do with where you were living. Yet he still chose to go out of his way, walk you home, and wait until you got in. He was taking care of you. So you wanted to take care of him too.

It felt strange to Bucky. Nobody made sure if he was eating well enough, drinking enough water, and resting enough. Nobody ever did. Everybody treated him like he was a machine. Like he He needed nothing.

Then there you were. Feeding him with delicious food. Letting him relax. Laughing at his jokes. Your hands grazing softly. It was all foreign to him, but very welcome. And he was getting attached. He knew it. How could he not?

He had the sweetest and most loving person on the planet, showing him attention and care.

Bucky counted the minutes until he could be with you. Until he could walk you home, it would be just the two of you. You did most of the talking, telling him about your day or an interesting story you heard. He would tell you briefly about his day.

He loved listening to you. Every detail you shared with him. You were the first in his life to be carefree around him other than his family. You didn't let his stiff demeanour affect your friendly one.

The extra time he spent back to his place from yours didn't bother him in the slightest. He found it reassuring that he knew for sure you were safe at home. It was all worth it.

Every single one of Bucky's friends knew what was happening from the moment he asked to postpone a match to go somewhere with you when you're repairing the restaurant. And it became so clear when he stopped hanging out at Natasha's bar after matches, claiming he was tired. But, in truth, he only wanted to be with you. And the days he knew he couldn't turn it down, especially after a grand victory, he would be glued to his phone until you texted him that you were home. Then he may start celebrating.

Bucky almost punched Steve in the face when he brought up inviting you to one of the matches, or at least to hang out with the whole team at Natasha's bar. Bucky wanted you nowhere near this world. He couldn't imagine you watching him while he was fighting. You would never look at him again. Yes, you were kind, but in the ring, he was a beast. You didn't deserve to see how bad he could be.

That's why he never acted on his feelings for you. He knew he was falling for you. He knew from the start. But you deserved better. So much better.

Your radiant nature had no place near him.

He even tried to stop seeing you, feeling guilty for ever getting close to you. But he failed miserably. You gave him something nobody did. A light in the darkness.

So he bottled it and felt grateful that you even let him be your friend. Or whatever you were.

Before a fact came crushing. You were single.

The days following matches were usually very slow. So he left earlier than usual just to come and wait for you. As long as you wanted. He had a bandage on his forehead and a compression bandage around his hand.

Sometimes you forget what his job was. Until he shows up bruised and bandaged like this. You knew he was strong enough to handle himself. He was the best in the game. But you couldn't help the twinge of your heart at the thought of him hurt.

So you prepared extra food and drinks for him. Once it was evening, you kept your best table for him. You even brought the air freshener with the scent; he commented once that he liked it. Everything to help him relax.

You kept telling yourself you were only doing this because he liked to help everyone. But you knew it was very different. He was very different.

So when he stepped in, your big smile got bigger.

You tried to come and talk with him whenever you could, but it was a busy day. He had no problem. He enjoyed watching you work. You were so dedicated and smart. He wanted you to be the most successful chef and owner in the world.

But maybe he shouldn't have been watching. He should have paid attention to anything else. So he wouldn't have seen the man who had been flirting with you since he walked in.

It was taking everything in Bucky to not get up and throw the guy away. But he heard it. Your answer to his question "Yes, I'm single." And he was reminded of the cruelty of the world. You weren't his. He shouldn't be jealous. He shouldn't have been biting the inside of his mouth when the guy tried to touch your hand as you handed him his bill.

And he most definitely shouldn't be feeling like crying and burning down the world when the guy asked you out and left his number.

Wasn't that what he wanted? For you to have better than him. To have someone who wasn't surrounded by blood and pain. Someone who wouldn't defile your glimmer That guy looked decent enough. Maybe that was your chance to find love.

However, he wanted to tear that paper to pieces. He wanted to punch the guy for asking his girl. But you weren't his girl.

Bucky was conflicted by his emotions. He didn't know what to feel or how to think. So he did the thing he was the best at. He stayed silent.

You noticed right away the change in his mood. He wasn't the most talkative person, but this silence was different. He looked like he was somewhere else. Somewhere, that wasn't so nice.

"Are you sure that you are fine?" You asked as you came to a stop in front of your building.

You only got a nod as an answer.

"You know you can tell me anything. I'm always going to be here."

Your words finally made him look at you after you left the restaurant.

"You are?" His hesitant tone made you frown.

"Of course." You answered very quickly.

"Are you going to go out with this guy?" It was quiet; you almost missed it, but you didn't.

Bucky didn't know what happened. He promised himself he wouldn't bring it up. It had nothing to do with him. But he couldn't. It fell from him.

"Do you want me to?" Your reply was something he didn't expect at all.

You couldn't say you weren't disappointed when Bucky did nothing when the guy started flirting with you. You didn't know what you wanted him to do. But you wanted him to do something.

Instinctively, Bucky moved closer to you, standing right in front of you.

"No, I don't want to."

"Tell me why I shouldn't go out with him."

The space between the two of you was almost nonexistent. You were so close to each other. His blue eyes piercing into yours. His eyes were filled with something so warm that you couldn't quite figure it out.

Bucky didn't know how to answer your question. Why didn't he want you to go out with the guy? Well, he didn't want you to go out with any guy. So he threw caution to the wind and followed his heart.

You almost tripped, but his hands on your waist steadied you. The feeling of his lips on yours was something out of the world. His lips were a bit bruised, but they were soft. It was all so good that your mind stopped working.

Bucky was about to pull away and apologise profoundly when you didn't kiss him back. As he was about to move, your hands wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him.

The kiss was gentle, and it was filled with emotions. Loving ones. It sent electricity through your bodies. It spread warmth all over you.

Your need for oxygen made you break the kiss, hands still around each other, eyes only looking at each other.

"I thought you hated me."

"Never did. Not for a second, princess."

Bucky's lips smashed against yours once again. And it was like every piece was falling into its place. The puzzle was completed. The rainbow after the rain

You were the shining star in Bucky's dark sky. He may not deserve you, but he was going to do everything in his power to get you to shine more.

Because you were made for each other.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year ago

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hmmmm maybe simmer eddie acting like rs puppy when girls try to talk to him , hes like 👀 to us

You could see Eddie from across the diner.

He’d come out from the safety of the kitchen only to help Jonathan plug in a new coffee machine behind the bar and before he could get back to his omelette mix, a girl from out of town had struck up a conversation.

It had been about something as normal as the coffee beans Jonathan had handed to him and you watched as Eddie showed the girl the packet. But then she was leaning in and tapping at his name badge and you could see the way her lips wrapped around his name even if you were too far away to hear.

She was touching his arm, fingers curled around his chefs jacket and from across the diner, Eddie looked around, eyes wide and searching, trying to find yours.

He looked like a trapped rabbit, something akin to a baby deer perhaps, caught in headlights. He stared at you, brows raised as if he were waiting on you doing something. What that something was, you were unsure, but it was rather funny to watch the blush rise over the boy’s cheeks as the girl stepped a little closer.

You would’ve went over to save him if it weren’t for the family of five that stole you to take their order, taking too long to decide between pizza and pasta and the loaded nachos. When you looked back up, scribbling down five glasses of lemonade on your pad, you saw Eddie shaking his head, frowning in that way he did and looking panicked. He was pointing to you and then looking back at the girl, his hands held up in surrender, making a show of not touching his new friend back.

As if you had any reason not to trust him. You smothered a grin and told your customers you’d be right back with drinks. By the time you reached the kitchen, Eddie had dipped back inside and he grabbed you on entry, a full bodied thing that felt more like you were his life raft than him hugging you.

“Did you see her!” He intoned, disbelief colouring his voice. “I told her, sweetheart, told her all about you and how pretty you were but she kept puttin’ her damn hand on me—”

Argyle was slicing peppers across the station and he shook his head in solidarity. “Women,” he agreed.

You snorted, sliding your order over to Argyle before giving Eddie your full attention. You grinned, slipping your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, something sweet and quick for the sake of professionalism. “I saw,” you told him, nodding in faux seriousness, matching his tone. “Hope you let her down gently, chef.”

“What?” Eddie’s brow furrowed. “You aren’t mad?”

“Of course I’m not mad, handsome,” you laughed, moving away to pull out the giant containers of ketchup and mustard that you could never really lift. Eddie sighed and moved to help you, lifting both with ease. You peered at him, amused. “Should I have reason to be mad?”

“What? No,” Eddie said again, as serious as a heart attack. “But you could’ve come and fuckin’ saved me at least, I was being eaten alive.”

“Eddie, she touched your arm.”

“Yeah, like some kind of scarlet woman.”

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson imagine #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson blurb #Eddie munson fluff #Eddie baby blurb #simmer blurb

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style-chase-fashion · 2 years ago

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focusonkayjay · 3 days ago

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between the ride and the roses (3)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.8k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: argument, jungkook is mean, OC is mean. both have high egos.

A/N: part 3 is here <3 i'm having sm fun writing this. also, i got this anonymous ask which stated i was using chat-gpt for my stories. i didn't like the tone of their message so i blocked them. however, i just want to say i have not used chat-gpt for my stories. i take time out of my day to type this story because i really want to put content out there that people might enjoy reading. i want to make stories that i have always wanted to read, but never found. truthfully, i did use chat gpt for the names of a few flowers, plants and bouquet combinations though, because i'm not a professional florist and i have no idea about flowers. i hope that's understandable. anyways, thank u for reading. let me know your thoughts :)

part 3: blooming grudges

The sun is setting, painting the street in hues of orange and pink, but the peace you’re so badly yearning for is shattered by the rumble of motorcycles and boisterous laughter right outside your shop. It’s been a week since Jungkook’s shop had started running and it has surprisingly quickly become a hotspot for bikers to gather in the evenings. The constant noise and chaos spill over into your once-quiet corner of the neighborhood.

You have no idea what they do and what the point of all these gatherings are, but you dread it every single time you hear a bunch of men lounging outside your shop.

As the evening progresses, you’re in the middle of arranging a bouquet when the sharp crash of breaking pottery jolts you out of your work. Heart pounding, you glance outside and see one of Jungkook’s biker friends near the sidewalk through your window. Still confused, you stand up and storm out to see what the hell had happened.

Anger surges through your veins as you spot the man casually standing there as if he didn’t just knock over one of your handmade ceramic pots off the display stand that was right outside your shop. “What the hell is wrong with you??!!?!” you snap, glaring at the man and then at the jagged pieces of your pot just lying there, near his feet.

The biker barely spares you a glance, shrugging nonchalantly. “Relax. It’s just a pot.” he says.

“Just a pot?” you repeat, your voice rising. “Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into that? Or do you only care about things you can rev or ride?” you feel your heart thumping as your anger skyrockets.

Before the man can respond, Jungkook suddenly steps out of the crowd near his shop. His leather jacket gleams in the fading light, and his dark eyes flicker to the broken pot before landing on you. “What’s going on?” he questions, his voice low and calm, but there’s an edge of warning to it.

You point at the shards of pottery. “What’s going on? One of your friends just broke my pot and doesn’t even have the decency to apologize!” Jungkook looks at his friend, who just shrugs, then back at you. “It was an accident.” he dismisses, his tone clipped. “I’ll pay for it.” he continues and you watch his friend just leave the scene, completely unbothered.

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pay for it? Do you think that solves everything? This isn’t just about the pot, Jungkook. Every night, this street turns into a circus because of your shop. My customers can’t park anymore, and now your friends are trashing my things.” you begin, moving your hands as you speak, unable to remain calm anymore.

His jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer. “Look, I’m sorry about the pot, but don’t act like I’m the reason your shop isn’t doing well. Maybe it’s not the noise. Maybe people just don’t care about overpriced flowers.”

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expect. “Wow,” you say, your voice trembling with anger. “You really think you’re better than everyone, don’t you? Just because you’ve got your flashy bikes and your little gang of followers?” you ignore the way your heart twitches at how he had just disrespected you and your business.

His expression hardens. “Better than everyone? No. But at least I’m not the one blaming other people for my problems. You’re so focused on what’s wrong with my shop, but maybe the issue isn’t me. Maybe it’s you.”

Your fists clench at your sides. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been here for years, building this business from the ground up. And you waltz in, turning this neighborhood into a mess, and act like you’re doing everyone a favor?” you see red as you fight with him, unable to contain the flow of words that are spilling out of your mouth.

Jungkook’s voice sharpens and he doesn’t hold back. “You think I don’t work hard? That I haven’t sacrificed everything to make this shop work? You don’t know anything about me. But sure, keep throwing stones from your little glass house.” he counters harshly.

“Oh so you can say anything about my business, but i can’t? You can talk about me like you know me, but i can’t?” There’s venom in your voice as you argue and Jungkook clenches his jaw, trying to calm himself down.

The tension between the two of you is suffocating and each word cuts like a blade. As an awkward silence fills the air, you shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.” you breathily say. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” you add.

“And you...” he fires back, “care so much about your damn shop that you can’t see past your own damn ego.” You look at him with your lips parted, unable to come up with a comeback. You feel your eyes sting and nothing makes sense anymore. You hate it here. You hate him.

Before you can respond, one of the bikers calls out to Jungkook, and he turns away, his shoulders tense. He doesn’t bother looking back at you and just leaves.

Fuming, you crouch down to pick up the broken shards of your pot. Your hands tremble as you scoop up the jagged pieces, and a sharp piece slices right through your finger. You hiss, dropping the shard as blood wells up from the cut. Your eyes tear up as you watch your finger bleed. You were so done with this man and his stupid shop.

Ignoring the sting, you finish cleaning up and head back inside, pressing a tissue to your finger. You flip the sign on your door, deciding to call it a day since you weren’t really in the mood to face any new customers. You retreat to your counter, where you slump into your chair, frustrated, exhausted and seething.

Inside Throttle and Torque, the atmosphere is much quieter, now that the bikers have left. Jungkook leans against the counter, his expression stormy as he thinks of the interaction he had with you 4 hours ago. Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok sit nearby, watching him with varying degrees of curiosity and amusement.

“You look like you’re about to punch something.” Jimin says, breaking the silence. Jungkook scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s that flower shop owner again. She’s impossible.”

“Y/N?” Hoseok grins. “What did she do this time?” he questions. Jungkook glares at him. “One of the guys broke her pot, and she went off like it was the end of the world. Then she starts blaming me for everything—says I’m ruining the whole street. Like it’s my fault her shop isn’t getting customers.” he speaks, his tone filled with annoyance.

“Isn’t it, though?” Jimin teases, earning a sharp look from Jungkook. Yoongi, raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like there’s more to it than just a pot.” he states.

“She doesn’t get it hyung...” Jungkook says, his voice growing louder. “She acts like she’s the only one who works hard, like I haven’t busted my ass to get this place running. And then she has the nerve to call me selfish? Like she knows anything about me.”

“Sounds like she hit a nerve.” Hoseok snorts, a smirk on his face. “Shut up,” Jungkook mutters, but the irritation in his voice betrays him. “She thinks she’s so perfect, but all she does is complain. It’s like she’s looking for reasons to hate me.” he rolls his eyes.

“Maybe she is.” Yoongi says, his tone thoughtful. “Or maybe you’ve already given her enough reasons to hate you.” he continues. The room falls silent, and Jungkook scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Whatever. She’s not worth it.” he dismisses, not wanting to think of you or the raging encounter he just had with you.

the next day; The morning sun spills through the large windows of your flower shop as you rearrange a fresh batch of chrysanthemums. Despite the beautiful blooms around you, there’s a heaviness in your heart. Last night’s argument with Jungkook replays in your mind, his sharp words still stinging.

The little bell above the door jingles, pulling you out from your trance. You turn to see a man walking in—a face you recognize from the group that always lingers outside Jungkook’s shop and sometimes with him as well. “Hi.” he says, his voice calm but kind. “Y/N, right?”

You blink in surprise. “Yeah… and you’re one of Jungkook’s friends, i suppose.” you say, moving away from the flowers as dry your hands on your apron. You notice how his eyes fall on the bandage wrapped around your finger, so you quickly hide it by crossing your arms over your chest. He pretends like he’s seen nothing and nods, his hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’m Yoongi. I came here because I wanted to talk to you, if you don’t mind.” he says, his voice tender.

Your instinct is to put up a wall, but something about his tone disarms you. “If this is about last night—”

“It is.” Yoongi interrupts gently. “But not in the way you think.” He steps closer, his gaze steady but non-threatening. “I’m here to apologize. On behalf of Jungkook. And… the idiot who broke your pot.”

You blink again, caught off guard. “You’re apologizing? Why?” you gulp, something about this, not sitting right with you. “Because he won’t.” Yoongi says with a faint smile, though his tone carries a hint of seriousness. “Jungkook’s stubborn. He knows he messed up, but he’s too proud to admit it outright. And, well, someone has to try to make things right.” he admits, blinking his eyes.

Yoongi observes your expression, noticing how you still look quite unconvinced. His face softens as he continues. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy, Y/N. He just… rough around the edges. Give him time. He doesn’t always know how to handle things. He gets defensive when he feels cornered.”

“Cornered?” you echo, frowning. “I wasn’t cornering him. I just wanted some peace.” you defend yourself. “I know.” Yoongi agrees. “And I think, deep down, he knows it too. But he’s been under a lot of pressure with the shop, and sometimes he lashes out without meaning to. Not that it excuses anything.” he adds quickly. “You didn’t deserve what he said. Or how he treated you. ”

His honesty surprises you, and for the first time, you feel a part of the weight lift off from your chest. “Why are you telling me this?” you suddenly ask, eyeing him even though, deep down you’re trying your best to believe everything this man says.

“Because I think you’re both better than this petty back-and-forth... interactions.” Yoongi says simply, shrugging. “And maybe, if you understand where he’s coming from, it’ll help. Or not. I don’t know. I just thought you deserved an actual apology, even if it’s not from him directly.” he finishes, flashing you a small, kind smile.

For a moment, you’re silent, processing his words. Then, to your own surprise, you smile faintly. “You’re a good friend, Yoongi.” you softly say, earning a chuckle from him as he scratches the back of his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep him in check.” he grins.

After a moment, he steps back towards the door, pausing before leaving. “Take care, Y/N. And if he steps out of line again, let me know. I’ll knock some sense into him.” he nods at you and you laugh lightly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. “I’ll keep that in mind.” you say, waving at him.

Jungkook sits on the edge of the counter, a wrench in hand, intently focused as he works while Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi lounge around. The conversation flows between them, lighthearted at first, until Yoongi brings up his visit to your shop.

“So....” Yoongi begins casually, “I stopped by Y/N’s shop today.” he says. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “What for?” he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“To apologize.” Yoongi replies, leaning back in his chair. “On your behalf. Figured someone had to.” he adds. Jimin snickers, while Hoseok whistles low. “Apologizing for Jungkook? That’s new.” he laughs as Jimin gives him a high five.

“Very funny.” Jungkook mutters, but his attention stays on Yoongi. “What’d she say?” he questions and Yoongi shrugs. “She wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear your name, but we talked. She’s not as tough as she seems, you know. She’s just… tired. Your shop and the noise—it’s really messing with her.” he explains calmly.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening. “And she’s hurt, by the way.” Yoongi adds, his tone sharper. “I noticed her hand. I guess she cut her finger while picking up the broken pieces of the pot your friend broke yesterday.” he explains.

The guilt that had been simmering in Jungkook since last night, suddenly boils over. “Why didn’t she say anything?” he snaps, more to himself than to his friends. “Maybe because you were too busy arguing with her to notice,” Yoongi retorts, his voice calm but firm. “She’s not your enemy, Jungkook. Stop treating her like one.” he says gently, hoping the younger one understands.

The room goes quiet, the weight of Yoongi’s words settling over them. Jimin and Hoseok exchange a glance, sensing the tension. Jungkook exhales heavily, tossing the wrench aside. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.” he admits quietly. “I just—” He stops, frustration lacing his voice.

“You don’t know how to back down,” Jimin finishes for him, a teasing edge to his tone. Jungkook glares at him but doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “What else did she say to you?” he questions Yoongi. He smirks slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

Jungkook’s glare intensifies, and Yoongi chuckles. “Relax. She was civil. We just talked about you a little and that’s all. She thinks I’m the ‘good friend,’ by the way.” he smiles to himself.

The comment makes Jungkook’s stomach churn with something he doesn’t want to name—guilt, jealousy, maybe both. He stays quiet as the others laugh, his thoughts swirling.

He’s messed up, and he knows it. And now, the thought of you opening up to someone else, even Yoongi, twists something deep inside him. For the first time, he wonders if the damage he’s caused can ever be repaired.

It’s just another day—or at least you hope it will be. After the pot-breaking incident a week ago, things between you and Jungkook have only grown tenser. Though Yoongi apologized to you on behalf of his actions, you were still very annoyed by the way things still hadn’t changed.

His friends still gather outside his shop in the evenings, their bikes parked so close to your store it’s nearly impossible for customers to walk in without squeezing past them. You’ve been trying to keep your head down, avoiding any unnecessary interaction with Jungkook.

However, despite the ongoing tension you can’t help but notice how hardworking Jungkook is. For a brief moment, you feel a twinge of guilt as you think about the bad blood between you guys. Maybe you need to start putting your differences aside and try to get along with him.

You shake your head, telling yourself not to think about that. You leave that thought for another day, when you’re less busy and have more time to waste.

A new shipment of flowers and pots arrives after about an hour. You’re juggling the chaos of directing the delivery workers when disaster strikes. One of the crates slips from a worker’s hands, scattering flowers and dirt all across the curb—and, unfortunately, onto one of the shiny motorcycles parked outside Jungkook’s shop.

You barely have time to assess the mess before Jungkook storms out. His face is a mask of irritation, and his voice cuts like a blade. “What the hell is this?” he immediately snaps, gesturing at the scattered soil and dirt-streaked bike.

You sigh, already bracing yourself. “It was an accident. We’ll clean it up right away.” you calmly say, knowing damn well this wasn’t something you were about to get to away with. “An accident?” he repeats, his tone laced with disbelief. “You really need to start taking responsibility, Y/N. You can’t just keep saying it’s an accident every time you screw something up.” he angrily says.

Your frustration bubbles over. “Excuse me? This is the first time I’ve caused any inconvenience to you. Meanwhile, your friends park their bikes outside my shop every evening, blocking the entrance, and I don’t say a thing!” you argue.

“Oh, here we go...” Jungkook retorts, his voice rising. “You’re always whining about the bikes. Maybe if you managed your deliveries better, this wouldn’t have happened.” he scoffs loudly.

“Don’t turn this on me!!” you snap, stepping closer. “You act like this street belongs to you and your gang of bikers. Maybe if you had a little consideration for others, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation!” you stomp your feet at the last word, wanting this interaction to just end. But were you going to be the first one to stop? no.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he might say something even harsher. But he just shakes his head, his expression dark. “You know what? Forget it. Clean up your mess and stay out of my way.” He coldly says as he turns around and walks back into his shop, leaving you standing there with your hands clenched into fists.

After the chaos of the day, you’re sitting in your shop long after closing time, staring blankly at the broken pieces of another pot that lays lifeless on a piece of paper on your counter —a casualty of the earlier mishap. You close your eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

Yoongi’s voice echoes in your mind from the other day, when he’d come into your shop to apologize on Jungkook’s behalf after the first pot-breaking incident. “Jungkook’s not a bad guy.” Yoongi had said, his voice calm and reassuring. “He’s just… rough around the edges. Give him time.”

You had wanted to believe him. For a moment, you even thought there might be a chance for you and Jungkook to coexist peacefully. But now? Now you feel stupid for ever entertaining the idea. Jungkook has made it perfectly clear that he has no intention of meeting you halfway.

You sigh, rubbing your face. You didn’t like how this whole thing had been affecting you. It was draining and just sooooo not worth it.

Forcing yourself to get up, you clean up one last time and then proceed to lock up the shop, so that you can finally head home. As you begin your walk home, you notice how the streets are quiet, the faint hum of distant traffic is the only sound accompanying your footsteps.

Your thoughts are heavy, clouded by everything that’s happened. The arguments, the pot-breaking, the way Jungkook’s words today had stung more than you wanted to admit. You wonder if you’re overthinking things, but the lump in your throat says otherwise.

You hug your jacket tighter against the cool night air, eyes focused on the pavement in front of you as you walk briskly towards your house.

Jungkook stands outside his shop, ready to lock up he watches you walk down the stairs at your entrance and cross the road, not noticing his presence at all. His chest feels tight, an unfamiliar mix of guilt and something he can’t quite name. He doesn’t like how things escalated today. He doesn’t like the way your voice cracked when you argued with him.

As much as he hates to admit it, he knows he’s been unfair. It wasn’t just about the dirt on the bike or the delivery mishap—it was the way you stood up to him, pointing out how inconsiderate he and his friends had been. You weren’t wrong.

He steps away from his shop, just to get a clearer view of your walking form. He watches intently, observing the way your shoulders are hunched slightly as if the weight of the world rests on them. The sight stirs something protective in him. It’s late, the streets are too quiet, and he knows better than anyone the kind of dangers that can lurk around in the dark.

For a split second, he considers calling out to you so that he can offer you a ride home. But then his pride kicks in, the argument from earlier replaying in his head. His ego won’t let him take that step—not yet.

Instead, Jungkook makes a quick decision. He leaves his bike parked outside his shop, shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and starts following you from a distance. You walk briskly, your mind elsewhere, completely unaware of the quiet footsteps trailing behind you. Jungkook keeps his distance, making sure to stay out of your line of sight.

His gaze scans the dimly lit street, the quiet unnerving even to him. He can’t help but feel protective as he watches your small frame move through the shadowy paths. Every now and then, he glances around, hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He follows you for several blocks, his pace matching yours but always a few steps behind. When you pause to adjust the strap of your bag or check the time on your phone, he stops, leaning casually against a lamppost or pretending to examine something in a shop window.

You finally reach your building, pausing to fumble with your keys at the front door. Jungkook stays back, watching as you disappear inside. Only when he hears the click of the door locking do his shoulders relax slightly. He lets out a long breath, rubbing his nape as he turns to head back towards his shop.

As he walks back, his mind is restless. He thinks he’s ridiculous for following you all the way home just to make sure you reach safely. “Why do you care so much?” he mutters to himself, kicking a loose pebble on the sidewalk. But he already knows the answer, even if he’s not ready to admit it.

When he finally reaches his shop, his bike still waiting where he left it, Jungkook glances once more in the direction of your shop. A strange mixture of guilt and something warmer lingers in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he just sighs, climbs onto his bike, and decides to head home.

While he rides back home that night, a quiet resolve settles in his chest—a growing realization that maybe, just maybe, he owes you more than just a silent apology.

<- part 2 // part 4->

#jungkook fic #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #bts fic #enemies to lovers #jungkook fanfiction

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boozenboze · 1 year ago

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That Fuckin Rat

Tf!141 x Fydor Dostoyevsky M!reader

Summary: It’s hard to believe that Makarov isn’t the main one behind the attacks, and that he had a little friend who had plenty of tricks up his sleeve’s.

Females DNI

Terrorists, we all hate them. Reasons all being obvious. Some were too sneaky, smart, and overall just a pain to society. Makarov was one of them, the man’s name being heard plenty times before. He was smug, extremely condescending, and practically unreadable. It had taken years for military to actually keep up with his antics.

Though of course, there is always someone else helping behind the scenes of someones dirty work. His name wasn’t known, hell there was barely any information on the man at all. What was known, was that he was assisting Makarov with his plans, though his motives were unclear.

______

It was a peaceful day on the streets of Chicago. People going out for a run, getting ready for work, kids going to school. Just usual things that you’d see on a week day. A man was sitting inside, legs crossed as he sat with his hands in his lap. He wore a white button up shirt, white pants, and ushanka hat. A waiter brought some tea to his table, her eyes having been locked on him since he’d walk in.

He was clearly a looker, from his natural facial features to his style. It all looked and gave distinguished gentleman. His eyes were slightly droopy, making him look tired, but the small smile he had on his face sad otherwise.

He nodded at the waiter, silent thanks as he took the cup in his hand, eyes closing. As he took a sip, another woman entered the establishment. She was older, wearing a blue button up shirt with a white jacket. Her dirty blonde hair brought up into a bun giving her a clean, professional look. She sat at a table near the Russian man, setting her computer down and typing something before calling a waiter over.

The man glanced over at the new customer in the establishment, humming before setting his tea back on the table. Due to his hair, the people around him would automatically miss the earpiece he had in his left ear. He spoke very lowly, so his words weren’t audible. Though as soon as he stood up he was met with a hand grabbing his arm, forcing him to sit back down.

His eyes widened, looking over to so a man. He was clearly older, hence the beard and more gruff appearance. His eyes were blue, and he wore a beanie atop his head.

“Excuse me, may I hel-”

“Close your mouth, listen closely.” The man spoke gruffly, hand still gripping the slimmer mans arm. “Your gonna exit out the back door, don’t draw attention to yourself. We don’t need things getting bloody, not here.”

There was a brief moment of silence before the s/c skinned male replied.

“And why would I, comply to such a request… hm?” The male questioned, looking down to see the mans other hand, that wielded a pistol. The h/c haired males facial expression held one of calmness with a mix of annoyance. He shifted his gaze to another table, noticing how a darker skinned male was eyeing him down, he squinted for a moment before looking forward again, sighing. He smiled, chuckling slightly, though there was no humor behind it.

“Ok…lets go.”

—————

Being dragged into the alleyway between two buildings wasn’t part if the plan, but here he was.

“I see you got him.” A woman, the same woman with the dirty blonde hair said as she followed out the door. The darker skinned man spoke up, looking back at her, hand’s keeping the Russian man from trying anything. The e/c eyed male had his head slumped downwards, eyes locked on the concrete beneath him.

“Getting closer our goal aren’t we Laswell.” The dark skinned male said, looking at the woman. He pulled the h/c haired male by the arms, making the males back bump into him with a light thud.

The woman, now identified as Laswell hummed. “This is part of it, though it’s quite obvious that we’d need more than just..” Laswell stopped talking, looking at the h/c haired male who hadn’t said a word since they exited the establishment. Another individual, with a mohawk was glaring at the man now in their custody, as well as another large man who was in the dark corner of the alley.

There wasn’t any struggle to put the man into the vehicle that the 5 peple had arrived in. He was seated in the back seat in the middle, now being trapped between the dark skinned male and the man with the mohawk. The woman sat in the passenger seat, while the older man sat in the drivers seat. The large man with the skull mask, sat in the very back of the vehicle, silent, though his presence was known.

They pulled out of the alleyway, the vehicle now going onto the road. After just listening to the 5 individuals address and converse with one another, it was clear that he’d just been taken by Military. He found it very odd that they found him in such a place at such time. He was always extremely careful when he made arrangements for…shipments, though he supposed anything was possible.

“So…would you mind telling me how you all found me?” The h/c haired male questioned, keeping his haze ahead. There was no response, only the sound of the engine revving being heard. The male scoffed, rolling his eyes before muttering “rude”.

——Timeskip——

Cuffed by the wrists and ankles on a chair in an interrogation room wasn’t something M/n was planning on.

What a pity, fools did all this just to catch little ol’ me? I must say I’m flattered. M/n thought to himself, sly grin creeping onto his face as he threw his head back and chuckled.

“Hello~ anyone there? You’re not the only ones who have plans ya know!~” m/n called out, not getting a response due to him being the only one in the room….Well, not exactly, if you count the cameras that the 141 was watching him from.

————

“So, who wants to give it a try.” Price spoke, his response being silence from the other 3 men. Gaz looked to the side awkwardly, Soap whistling in attempts to seem like he wasn’t listening, and Ghost was standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed. He looked annoyed, possibly because of the current situation. The man’s voice irked him, and not in a good way.

This man had assisted Makarov…only God knows how many times throughout the years, and now he’s here. Something was wrong though. They caught him too easily, and the way he just cooperated didn’t really sit right.

They’ve heard the rumors that had circulated around him, one person describing him to be soulless. Like a vampire, which is one spot on comparison since he looks like one. The look in his eyes had anything but genuine emotion, more malice then anything.

Ghost had seen it all, quite literally during his time on the field. He had no tolerance for slackers and cockiness, and when things needed to get done, they were sure as hell gon done with him. So as he emerged from the darkness of the corner he was in, attention being drawn to him due to the slight ruffling noise of him moving.

“I’ll handle this.” Ghost spoke, voice rough with his Manchester accent being firm. Seems like the lieutenant wants to get this over with as soon as possible, as he left the room. As the door shut behind him, Price smirked and shook his head in amusement.

“Don’t think LT’s gonna blow the guys head off eh?” Soap asked jokingly, not completely forgetting whom they were dealing with.

“Think you mean the other way around.” Gaz replied, looking at the security cameras, seeing the door open to the room their capture was in.

————

M/n looked towards the door, eyebrows raised as he watched Ghost enter the room. His larger figure towering over him in an intimidating manner. Despite this, M/n wasn’t nervous at all. Instead, a cocky grin came upon his features.

“Well this should be interesting.” M/n spoke, tilting his head to the left, hat following in suit as Ghost sat in the chair across from him.

The bigger man crosses his arms, glaring at the man who seemed completely unfazed by his appeal. Ghost was intrigued, sitting back before speaking up.

“Let’s make this quick, you’re working with Makarov and you’ve been supplying him with explosives.” Ghost spoke firmly, voice being the loudest thing in the room besides their breathing.

M/n smirked, looking at Ghost with mischief within his e/c eyes.

“Indeed I have.” M/n spoke, shifting in his chair to sit up straight. “I must say i’m quite impressed that you sll were able to catch me.”

M/n stared right into Ghosts skull, eyes practically stabbing into his entire being. Ghost didn’t falter, reciprocating the stare behind his mask.

“So, do you all plan on keeping me here or-”

“Makarov’s planning an attack somewhere, but we haven’t been able to get a lead on where.” Ghost said, cutting him off quickly. “You work with him, your his supplier, therefore you know where he is.”

Ghost spoke sternly, staring M/n down with a cold and empty look. M/n hummed, chuckling and throwing his head back before looking down into his lap.

“I do, but I have no intention to tell you.” M/n stated, Russian accent making his voice sound oddly mesmerizing. Sexy if anything.

Ghost stared at him, a few minutes of silence going by before he stood up and walked over to M/n. He stood above him, looking down at the restraint man before wrapping his hand around his neck. The s/c skinned male let out a groan, feeling the hand tighten around his neck. He let out an airish chuckle, glaring up at Ghost who glared back.

The male took in a large amount of air when he was released, clearing his throat before speaking up.

“Well that isn’t very polite now isn’t it?” M/n spoke, looking up at Ghost with slightly hooded eyes. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want.”

M/n rose his hands in defeat, cuffs making a slight clinking sound when he did. Ghost hummed, going back to sit in his chair.

“If you’re gonna talk, do it now.” Ghost said, being completely serious with his words, belligerence underneath his current calm demeanor.

M/n grinned, fixing his position in his chair.

“Makarov is actually planning on attacking close by.” M/n said, looking Ghost in the eye. He didn’t miss how Ghost’s eyes widened, brown irises holding shock.

“You pulling my leg?” Ghost questioned, sitting up. His demeanor changed dramatically, a sense of urgency now in his actions. M/n gave him a blank face, tilting his head before smiling.

“Yeah, besides its not like you’d be able to find him anyway.” M/n said cockily, giving a mischievous smirk. “You soldiers are too easy to get over on, and the only reason you believed me is because I’m hot and have Russian accent.”

Ghost felt like he was seething now, glaring at M/n before standing up.

“Fucking rat.”

Ghost spat before leaving the room. This wasn’t like him, but something about M/n really got under his skin.

A/n: this was lowkey rushed, and I have some editing to do 😅

#gay #male y/n #cod x male reader #gaz x male reader #lgbtq #mw2 x male reader #captain price x male reader #male reader #soap x male reader #ghost x male reader

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piratefishmama · 1 year ago

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Finders Givers | Part 3

To call them out of place would be an understatement.

Neither of the two in the lobby looked like they belonged there. Eddie in his ratty, torn at the knee jeans, rings, chains, band tee, and leather jacket, and Chrissy… well, Chrissy could probably look like she belonged if she’d dressed up a little, but she’d pulled her cosiest sweater over her head, a comfortable, cream coloured, crocheted sweater, a house warming gift from Mrs Jablonski next door when they’d moved in during a real cold snap a few winters back, and she’d wiggled her butt into a pair of Eddie’s old jeans.

The ones with the paint on them from when they’d painted Eddie’s room against Carl’s wishes.

Their reasoning was that Carl would never know. No matter how many times his greasy ass hinted at coming in for ‘coffee’, he was never invited in.

Her last pair of jeans were in the dirty laundry pile. She’d been meaning to force Eddie into helping her do laundry that day but alas, they were now not doing that. She didn’t think he knew he’d gotten himself out doing of laundry, but somehow it was still funny that he’d managed it again.

But it didn’t matter, there was nobody really there besides the secretary and she’d offered them coffee and pastries. Rather than looking at them strangely she’d offered hospitality and kindness, so now they had coffee and pastries, because Eddie was not about to turn down fancy free food from a kindly mother type.

It’d been twenty minutes already. Their pastries and coffees were done and gone.

Eddie was about to call it and leave, loud in his objection of being ignored by the high ups, when Chrissy sat up straighter, her eyes zeroing in on what would undoubtedly be a mini-boss in a video game.

Or maybe the ‘sudden Latin choir’ version of the main boss, and she walked through the double doors, both swinging open like Aragon shoving his way through the doors at Helms Deep and Chrissy was so very unprepared to witness her very own Aragon that early after student night shots.

Woman’s cheekbones alone could probably kill them both.

Eddie said nothing, he just gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, he figured she’d appreciate that. She reached up and patted the hand he’d left there in support. She appreciated it.

“Mr and… Mrs—?”

“Ew no.”

And the hand atop his own was gone, pulled away, Chrissy’s awed expression replaced with one that read ‘I’m offended’ better than any angry white suburban mother of four with her minivan, concave cut, and bad dye job could possibly verbalise. “That was quick.”

“I’m gay what do you want from me?” Eddie looked up at the boss lady with what he hoped to be a disarming grin “Eddie Munson, this is Chrissy, Chrissy Cunningham, my single best friend, and platonic life partner.” He slipped that single in there so smoothly, gave himself a mental pat on the back for it, so smooth. He was gonna ignore Chrissy glaring at him. Boss lady just smiled, stormy eyes flicking between them as he introduced her. She seemed nice, a little mysterious. “We’re uhm, we’re here about thee uh—”

Eddie Immediately wanted to turn her into an NPC, or an actual boss. Maybe a powerful, kindly mage. An ancient druid or—

“The apartment block, right? Claudia gave us the heads up. My name is Robin Buckley I’m uh… well… I don’t really have an official title, but you can probably just call me Mr Harrington’s business partner I guess.” It was an apt title, ‘boss man’s best friend’, or ‘partner in crime’ didn’t seem nearly as professional. “Why don’t you both come with me to my office, and I can try and answer any questions you might have.” Professional yet welcoming.

Almost felt like she’d worked in customer service before.

They both rose to their feet and Robin turned back toward the door, nodding in greeting to the secretary as she walked by, both Chrissy and Eddie copying her as they hurried on through after her, through corridor after corridor, then one quick zip up the elevator and they were there, Robin once again opening both doors as she entered her office.

It was clearly a personal preference to be as dramatic as possible, it was working for her.

“Please, take a seat” They both quickly took the only two chairs on the ‘guest’ side of the desk, while Robin rounded it and took the larger chair behind it. The office was. Large. Large and full of knick-knacks. Framed pictures of actual people instead of vague ‘hotel-esque’ art, trophies, several book shelves filled with folders and thick books, a filing cabinet or two, a few plants, and huge floor to ceiling windows behind her that showed pretty much the entire city skyline. So this was how the other half lived. “Okay, I’m sure you have several questions, so… go ahead, I’ll answer what I can.”

Eddie shared a look with Chrissy, silently communicating that they probably should have come prepared with a list of things to ask but honestly neither believed they’d get this far.

They both kind of assumed they’d be told they’ve had all the information they’re getting and to just wait for more. Having a private meeting with… what was essentially the second in command of this entire company well…

“When are these renovations supposed to start and end?” Eddie asked first

“What can we expect from them?” Chrissy added

“And do we really just… not pay rent for the whole period? That’s okay?” Eddie finished. Basics, they had the basics memorized at least. The important questions.

“Ooh-ooh, will rent be the same after the renovations!? Or will this be like, a getting rid of the poor people situation?”

“Good question, Chriss”

“Thank you, I read this thing online the other day about the gentrification of poorer city spaces and—” Chrissy paused, her eyes shooting to Robin’s expectant face and then back to Eddie again “it’s not important.” She finished, she finished before she could start rambling and embarrass herself.

“Oh it’s super important to know about these things” Robin spoke up with a toothy smile, earning both Chrissy’s bashful smile and Eddie’s respect. She was subtly supportive of Chrissy’s rambling. Eddie liked her. “Not many people do, it’s a concept that only gets brought up when it’s happened and not when it’s happening right under your feet, and it’s rare people get the other side of the story, y’know the one from the people who’ve been displaced? That’s not what’s happening here though, I’ve not seen anything that’d suggest Mr Harrington’s intentions are to raise the existing costs.” She’d seen him blatantly say he hadn’t really thought about making them pay again.

“Do you think that could become his intention though?” Eddie pressed

“Nope. He has a personal interest in the building is all, the only thing I know for sure is that we’re looking to remove the negative presence from the building, it doesn’t have the best reputation, we’re aware of at least three drug dealers operating from within it.” Oh nooo, his weed, couldn’t all be sunshine and roses then. “We’re looking to remove them as soon as possible as they have blatantly broken the law and the terms of their rental agreements by engaging in illegal behaviour from within their apartments, so that will free up a few of those apartments for better tenants to move in.”

“Better tenants?”

“Law abiding ones.” Sort of. Argyle would have a cooler tenancy agreement.

“…What about ones that have history with the law?”

“We’re not here to be discriminatory, Mr Munson, this company… we believe in second chances.” Munson… Munson… where did she know that name from? She knew that name, and he did look… familiar. She shook her head, not important. “If you’ve had criminal charges in the past then you’ve had criminal charges in the past, that’s the past, it’s history, it doesn’t affect the now. But to put your mind at ease, you’re not on our list of offenders, or you’d have been served an eviction notice by now.”

Chrissy sat up straighter, as if a lightbulb went off in her head. “Everyone on the second floor is okay, right? We know Mick an Dottie in seven are a little sketchy but—”

“Second floor is okay, we’re not evicting anyone from the second floor, it’s mainly the fourth floor we’re concerned about.” She was so lucky she’d memorized half the shit she’d received that morning. Got just enough in the old brain to appear confident in what she was saying. “As for your other questions, we don’t… actually know when the renovations are due to begin, we’re in negotiations with a few contractors right now to get the work started, once we confirm that, we’ll have a more solid timeline to communicate with you, it’ll be full renovations, kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, electrics, plumbing, the whole shebang. But yeah, no, we don’t expect you to pay any rent for the whole period.”

“…I feel like that’s a trap.” Eddie finally spoke up, a small frown on his face that robin mirrored “shit like that just doesn’t happen, man. It doesn’t. Big companies like this, they don’t just forgive the little guys debts, they hold em over your head until you’re drowning, then they tie cement to your feet to hold you there in the deep end.”

At least she looked sympathetic, her expression softening, she wasn’t taking offense. It almost felt like she understood his hesitation. “I was a little stumped myself, it’s… not the best business decision. I’m gonna be honest with you, I advised against the rent forgiveness, it’s a lot of money to just throw away” And they were just throwing it away “—given we don’t know how long these renovations are going to take, but… it’s the one thing Steve stuck to. Wouldn’t budge on it. Said we were disrupting your lives so you should at least be able to treat yourselves during the chaos” Nancy’s words maybe, but Steve agreed with them “and unfortunately for our bank balance… the decision is ultimately Steve’s to make, his office is above mine.”

She could sass him all she liked, Steve was in charge. If he wanted to make decisions and mistakes based on a depressing wallet and a crush well, that was Steve’s choice, his was the name on the company logo.

“And the rent will stay the same at $595 after the renovations?”

“Ye—”

“Absolutely!” And the doors burst open, startling all three people within the office, revealing probably the most beautiful human being Eddie had ever seen in his life dressed in clothes that'd probably cost more than they'd ever paid in rent combined. Could have sworn he’d seen him before though. One does not just forget a face that pretty.

“Steve, I thought I told you to knock!”

“I own the building, I can do what I want. Hello! I’m—” frozen, he was frozen, eyes wide as they took in the two other occupants in the room. The two guests from the apartment block. It could have been anyone, anyone in that block. “… Steve Harrington.” But it was him. “It’s uhm… it’s nice to meet you” said directly to Eddie, and then as if he remembered Chrissy was there, quickly added “both. Nice to meet you both, hello, hi.” Robin’s palm met her forehead in an echoing splat. “What was I saying?”

Her head met the desk. It all becoming painfully clear. Eddie Munson, Edward Munson, Thee Edward Joseph Munson. Owner of the most depressing wallet in the history of wallets.

Part 5

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: light-hearted stalker vibes

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niceutossu · 2 months ago

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Misconceptions | Osamu x Reader

-Osamu lives in the same area as you

-he has seen you look so CEO-ish early in the morning and he’s convinced you’re some super important business person

-he’s developed an innocent crush since you both always get coffee at the same convenience store, at the same exact time

-you were very punctual and so was he (it was good motivation to see your sweet face)

-when you would leave you would always turn left and he would right and that was that

-it’s nice to see you smile while holding the door open for him or when he does the same for you and he gets to hear your soft voice say ‘thank you’

-beyond that, he’s never talked to you, he feels like you’re from two completely different worlds so he’s content leaving things as they are

-one night, his usual delivery boy has only one order left but unbeknownst to Osamu, he’s also been on the verge of hurling his entire shift and throws up right before he can complete it

-Osamu sends him home because he refuses to not follow food safety guidelines (plus he also feels a little bad he was unaware that his employee had pushed himself so hard)

-since it was also for someone who lived in the same building as him, he really didn’t mind being the one to drop off this last order

-while packing up to leave his employee makes a cheeky remark, something along the lines of “Thanks for doing this, though we’ll be even after you see the babe it’s for.”

-Which Osamu completely disregards because there were a lot of beautiful women living at his complex (as once commented by Atsumu) so he wasn’t really all that excited about the prospect

-he was tired and he just wanted to go home and get enough sleep before he had to rush out the door in the morning to catch a glimpse of your face

-when he finds the apartment, two floors above his, he knocks and is getting ready to leave when the door swings open and he looks up to find you looking back at him

-except you don’t look anything like how you usually do

-you weren’t wearing your black blazer and matching skirt, both of which were clearly ironed with lots of care

-the white lace of the crisp white blouse you normally wore wasn’t peeking through the collar of your jacket, and your hair wasn’t pulled back into the neat half updo he had grown a bit fond of (how could you pull off something so simple so well?)

-instead, your hair was down and damp, your shirt wrinkled, and you were wearing athletic shorts so oversized they almost reached past your knees

-the smell of shampoo meant you weren’t wearing any make-up but you looked the same to him, the only real difference was the glasses perched on your nose

-he couldn’t tell if they were real or blue light but he didn’t care, you looked good

-you looked so good like this, so cute

-he had always thought you were attractive in a mature way, radiating confidence that made head turns everywhere you went

-your tight clothes did you justice, and your ‘I have my shit together’ attitude was undeniably magnetic

-but the way you looked now, so small and tired, clearly irritated from hunger but ready for bed was what made the little crush he had on you turn into a full-blown ‘like’

-Osamu liked seeing you like this, maybe even more than he did seeing you be a professional

-before he could continue to gawk any longer you took the food from his hands and stared at him for a moment, squinting your eyes before widening them in some sort of horrible realization

-“Wha- where’s the usual guy?” You asked, blushing in a way that had Osamu feeling a mix of confused and a little bit annoyed

-“You got the food…so does it matter?” Even if you were cute, he wasn’t about to pour his feelings out to someone who was still a complete stranger, and currently, a seemingly unsatisfied customer

-you scrunched your nose at his response, huffing slightly and seemingly contemplating for a moment before speaking again

-“do..do you not recognize me?” You asked hopefully, eyes looking up at him past the glasses and making his heart twirl as he held back the smile that tugged at his lips

-“Convenience store.” He replied, keeping it short but only because he couldn’t handle the implications of the entire interaction

-did you also think of him beyond just seeing him once in the morning?

-your eyes lit up at the acknowledgment before offering him a smile he hadn’t seen before, one that was more carefree now that it was just you two alone and in private

-“I had no idea you worked here.” You spoke, pointing your hand towards the bag of food he was still holding while offering him friendly conversation

-“And I had no idea you were a customer.” Osamu said while handing you the bag, deciding to use the chance to show off a bit and maybe even get you to come visit in person

-“How long have you been working there?” You questioned, eyes glazed with genuine curiosity that made his heart curl

-“Well, I kinda own it so, since I opened it?” He replied, feeling nervous and now stupid for the way he had explained himself. There goes his opportunity to show off

-despite his awkwardness, you laughed at his stupid joke and he felt himself bubble with pride, he needed to hear more of that

-he suddenly thought back to what his employee had said about you being a ‘babe’ and felt himself get annoyed, he’d definitely have to convince you to start coming in person

-“you’re funny and the owner of your own business? Man, you’re doing way better than I am.” You admitted, the nervous atmosphere settling into a more comfortable one

-at your words Osamu frowned, were you not some up and coming CEO yourself?

-you looked at him, confused as Osamu suddenly realized he had asked that out-loud

-you both stared at each other as a couple beats of silence passed before you suddenly broke out into laughter again like he had just said the funniest thing in the world

-he should’ve been more annoyed given that you were practically laughing in his face but he was intrigued more than anything else

-“CEO would be awesome but I’m nothing more than an intern at the moment.” You admitted after calming down, still letting out a few giggles as your cheeks were now flushed from having laughed so hard

-Osamu thought you couldn’t look more perfect than you do now, face rosy from something he said and pretty eyes focused solely on him

-so you weren’t some fancy CEO, that was a relief but he also knew somehow in his gut you wouldn’t stay an intern for long

-he didn’t know a lot about you past admiring you for always being on top of it and on time, unknowingly inspiring him to do the same

-but now he wanted to get to know you more than anything, to see you become the boss you were clearly meant to

-“well, just know when the time comes you’re already the perfect, pretty picture of a CEO.” Osamu complimented, somehow confident in your abilities despite your status as strangers

-at his compliment your blush deepened, the sweet tone and sincerity in his words causing a rosy red to stick to your cheeks

-the word pretty rang out in your mind as you unconsciously went to tuck a piece of damp hair behind your ear, something that made Osamu’s lips finally twitch into a smile

-to know and see that he had an any sort affect on you, like you had on him all these months made it hard to hide the giddiness he felt

-he really had to get to know you, he had been so wrong about you this entire time and he needed to get it right, to get to know you fully

-“Jeez, you’re not supposed to flirt with customers y’know?” You joke, voice light as you poke at his chest playfully

-your eyebrows raise ever so slightly as you feel all the muscle underneath the simple black t-shirt and you give him a shy glance

-“I promise I’ll try and come by in-person. But only if you promise me one thing in return.” You speak, finger unmoving from his chest as your eyes remained fixated on his own

-he swallowed thickly before responding with a small ‘hm?’

-“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, referring to your daily morning routine

-Osamu felt himself practically soar at those words, even after having seen you almost daily this time- this time you’d both know that you were each there hoping to find the other

-“you know I’ll be there.”

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu!!#this has been sitting in my drafts for a few days #had to show some love for the other miya <3 #niceutossu

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