#ill turn around and get the Stare™

[dammitkat1e]

Im sick and taking the day off work and Stinky is being such a nice and good girl and keeping me company and sleeping on me and shes so perfect that i cried at least twice from how cute and good she is.

[chaidrivenwhore]

OHHHHKAY Y'ALL

here's my little iwaoi fic thing that's been rotting in my drafts and it's high time i throw it into the depths of the internet abyss so here goes nothing

for context, this story was inspired by this one text convo i had w one of my best friends about confessing to my crush. i didn't go ahead w the idea irl bc it turned out that he was an asshole but this fic was born out of it so yeah.

all mistakes are mine alone.

happy reading!

-d

p.s. (might put it up on ao3 if i'm able to get all the parts out)

(⁠/⁠¯⁠◡⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠◡⁠)⁠/⁠¯⁠ ⁠~⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

Iwaizumi Hajime would be the first person to admit that he was an absolute goner for old-school romance. Unlike his best friend who is completely content with texting about schedules or dates or scheduled dates (ugh), Hajime knows in his heart that he'd rather give handwritten letters and write poetry (even though he's not very good at it) for the person that he likes.

Luck (or ill-luck, depending on how you see it) has it that the person he likes (likes? loves?) just so happens to be the aforementioned best friend, Oikawa Tooru.

Now, the thing is.

The thing is, if you’d ask Hajime how long he’d been pining after Oikawa, he’d give you a vague answer, mostly because he actually couldn’t tell you for sure. Ever since he met Oikawa as a child, Hajime’s been prone to head and heart aches. Then again, he’s always known that Oikawa is just different for him. Others might have had friends that they’d drop for anything, but for Hajime, Oikawa was the one truth that he’s always tried to protect and support.

There is his simple truth. Iwaizumi Hajime loves Oikawa Tooru.

×

Lunch was usually a very chaotic affair for the third-years of the volleyball team.

Oikawa would come sauntering in after half of the recess is over because “you can’t make me disappoint my fans who love me and are waiting to catch a glimpse of the great Oikawa-sama~”; Mattsun and Makki have their weird creepy perverted flirting thing that they do that puts off everyone’s appetites on the better days; and Hajime is just trying to eat his damn food like the only sane person around (at this point, he’s plenty sure that he’s the only normal guy in his admittedly small friend group).

Lately, though, Hajime has been plagued by bouts of insanity, or so it seems because he can’t see any other reason why he feels like boiling the captain of the Seijoh basketball team alive. Although, Hajime thought, it might have something to do with how the basketball bastard keeps staring at my Tooru- I just hope I don’t call him Tooru to his face again-

The last time that happened, Hajime had considered leaving Aoba Johsai for Shiratorizawa, never mind how infuriating he found Ushiwaka to be. He loved Tooru, obviously, but even that love didn’t stop him from being annoyed with all the trilling that Oikawa did- “Tooru, huh? My, my, Iwa-chan, how awfully bold!”

In all honesty though? Hajime just knows that if he had to fight the goddamn basketball bastard, namely one Handa Chikao for Oikawa’s hand, ridiculous as it sounds, he would do it with no hesitation.

This sort of vindictive streak was almost non-existent in Hajime, only spiking up when he felt that all of Oikawa’s time was being monopolised by his fangirls and occasional fanboys. He didn’t mind the usual throes of people, god knows he gets how they feel, but when there are just way too many of them circling Oikawa like pests, Hajime can’t help but feel jealous and pissed off (not that he’d ever tell Oikawa about it).

Then happened the Nice Kill Incident™ (as dubbed by Mattsun&Makki).

It was a beautiful afternoon and Oikawa was being accosted by his usual set of fans who were busy offering him cookies and cutesy letters and some daring ones who shyly gave him confession letters. Hajime didn’t pay them any heed; he’s seen this same scene for three years now, he's figured out not to give any shits.

He walked ahead and called out to Oikawa, without turning back, “When you’re done with whatever you’re doing, come and have your lunch- skip it and I'll punch you.”

He pointedly ignored Oikawa’s indignant squawk.

When Hajime was sure that Oikawa had gone back to humouring the crowd, he kept sneaking glances at the other, lips twitching into a smile. He could feel the smile slip off his fwce when he caught sight of the basketball team captain making a beeline towards Oikawa.

The same bastard who had the nerve to insult volleyball as a game, Hajime’s team and Tooru’s superior capabilities all in one breath last month. Call him prejudiced, but Hajime knows that it’s sort of unbelievable that someone could have this huge of a whiplash— shitting on Tooru’s brilliance and then being completely besotted by him in seven goddamn days.

If Hajime was a lesser man, he would’ve given in to his urges and decked that little bitch across his smug face— okay what the fuck Hajime calm down this is not you— but he is, unfortunately, a decent human being and he had to desist. At that moment, he noticed Oikawa’s tired sigh and resolved to do something.

Tooru took one look at Handa Chikao coming his way and sighed tiredly.

Dear God, not today— I neither have the patience of Iwa-chan nor enough sleep and if he insists on being an asshole, I might just serve a volleyball at his face.

“Handa-san, it’s a rare sight seeing you head my way without any insults at the ready.”

The creepy smirk presented that close to his face was tempting Tooru to wring Handa-san’s neck, but alas, Tooru wasn’t willing to damage his reputation as a model student, so there goes that idea.

“Well, Tooru-kun, why would I-”

Yeah, that was it. Five words in and Tooru zoned out, occasionally hearing parts of the other boy’s monologue. Normally, this method works but somehow, Handa-san kept taking small steps closer to Tooru and it bugged him to no end.

For the love of God, someone serve a volleyball at him, he’s making me uncomfortable, hell, I’ll do it mys—

The next thing Tooru saw was Handa-san crouched on the ground holding his head, a stray volleyball to his side and one extremely irritated Iwa-chan who looked like he could pound someone into pulp that very second.

Very hot. Tooru approves.

Tooru covered up a relieved smile as he felt Iwa-chan place an anchoring hand on the small of his back. Iwa-chan’s eyes seemed to ask, are you fine?

Yes, always, when I’m with you.

Handa-san’s voice interrupted their telepathy and Tooru couldn’t swallow the irked tsk that made itself known.

"If you'll excuse me now, Handa-san, I should be heading to class," said Tooru, his eyes flashing barely hidden annoyance, "Come on, Iwa-chan, we're getting late."

As they walked through the hallways, Tooru's eyes caught Hajime's and both of them let out a relieved chuckle.

"You know, I wasn't sure if I wanted to back off or break his face."

"Never mind that now, what's done is done."

"Sooo Iwa-chan- what was it with the volleyball? I know you're a brute but I didn't think it extended to Handa-san as well."

"Quit talking shit, Shittykawa-"

"Were you jealous? Is that what it was about? Huuuuuuh??? Wait- Iwa-chaaan- why are you running away?"

Remember when Hajime said he's in love with Tooru?

Yeah.

It's at times like this he wishes he could forget that fact and fling Oikawa into the sun and hope for the best.

That embarrassing bastard (he was right).

ᕦ⁠[⁠ ⁠◑⁠ ⁠□⁠ ⁠◑⁠ ⁠]⁠ᕤ

end of part 1

[pikslasrce]

okay so the last time i wrote this [tumblr] glitched and i was left w only the memory of all the sentences and the dialogue i had so beautifully written on the topic of True Believer™ danwave.... so if it feels a lil dry thats bc i put my heart and soul in the tragically deleted draft.

ANYWAYS the idea came to me after seeing this post where i wrote some fun lore in the tags. ill put everything under the cut so it doesnt clog the dash <3

so. we already know danwave didnt believe in vampires before his near death experience when he encountered the evil vampire lady and diordan right. well im just gonna say that that was the case for everything except ghosts.

i just realized danwave hasnt had the chance to meet the rest of the vampstille dudes so i wont go into detail there bc i wanna include it in future scenes <3

anyways danwave was a huge skeptic (apart from ghosts) before encountering diordan but he didnt think abt the big picture and the implications of the existence of vampires bc he was still under the impression of that nights events and most of his thoughts were 'oh MY GOD I ALMOST DIED THERE' and 'wait a minute. THOSE WERE VAMPIRES! VAMPIRES ARE REAL?!?!?!'

but after meeting the rest of vampstille his little mortal human brain EXPLODES like 'wait. so. vampires are real. werewoLVES ARE REAL?? FRICKIN TOOTH FAIRIES EXIST???' and then he becomes a full on True Believer™ bc if THOSE exist what else might be out there as well? and that raises even more questions. are all supernatural/paranormal creatures and cryptids evil? are some friendly? good even? can the invasive ones be exterminated with Joygrave Equipment™??

anyways he becomes a crazy little man just imagine:

[the joygrave dudes (paul and joe) come into daniels office just to see him sitting in complete darkness w only the computer illuminating the room. there are empty mugs all over the place.]

joygrave dudes: hey dan we were won–

[danwave is on his 3rd cup of Joewave™ coffee in the past hour. he turns around, his eyes red from staring at a computer screen for hours with the lights off. he is heavily caffeinated and shaking.]

joygrave dudes: –dering 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

danwave: *paying no attention to what they were trying to say* I THINK IVE FIGURED IT OUT *proceeds to talk abt whatever cryptid hes latched onto this time*

paul: ...

joe: dan weve talked abt this those things arent real. you cant go chasing every possible "creature" that you hear of just because you met one vampire, werewolf and a tooth fairy, you have a job and a band you know you cant go on like this forever *signals to paul to get on the phone*

paul: hello. uh. can i get diordan van smith on the phone? [...] yeah i can wait... [a few moments later] hey dude, yeah hes gone off the rails again we have ghosts to kill and hes just– [...] yeah ill hand him to ya *passes the phone to daniel* here, its your vampire buddy

diordan: hello my friend, ive heard you were inquiring about [cryptid]

danwave: i know why they called you *sends a death stare towards paul and joe across the room* youre supposed to tell me to give up my search for [cryptid] WELL ILL TELL YOU NOW THA–

diordan: *interrupting him* actually my ghost hunting friend, i intended to inform you that [cryptid] is indeed real and is in fact a close friend of mine, and i can arrange for you to meet them

danwave: *loosing it* ITS REAL??? [CRYPTID] EXISTS? I WAS RIGHT?? *sends a crazy look to paul and joe while laughing Hysterically™ while pointing to the phone and gloating* OKAY WHEN CAN WE– ACTUALLY NEVERMIND IM COMING RIGHT OVER WAIT FOR ME OUTSIDE

[proceeds to frantically pour the rest of his Joewave™ coffee into a thermos and starts packing all of his equipment and leaves in a hurry]

joe and paul, now left alone: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

[teamatsumu]

Bittersweet Temptations - Chapter 3

Series Summary: Bucky Barnes buys the coffee shop opposite to you, and quickly becomes your rival and the most annoying guy in your life.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 5,422 (im sorry)

A/N: Chapter 3 for ficwars™2019 held by yours truly and @chillingbucky, thanks for beta’ing this and adding wonderful stuff of your own, bb. this is probs the most exciting chapter as of yet, tell me what yall think!

Prompt: You sent me a string of nonsensical emojis at at 3am I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You looked at your watch, tapping your foot impatiently. You didn't know if it was the rising panic within you or if the subway was unusually slow today. You watched people board and unboard, willing them to move faster with your mind. Your eyes kept darting back to the mocking minute hand of your watch as you kept running a frustrated hand through your hair continuously, like that was going to change anything except only make you even more frustrated. Ten minutes late; and you still had at least three stops to go. Today, you were screwed. 

You'd already assumed you were treading a fine line with Bucky, not having forgotten the little episode a couple of days ago when you’d spoken your mind, a little unceremoniously too. If he hadn't fired you then, this would definitely do it. Bucky was extremely strict with his employees and you were no exception to that rule. You were going to get yelled at in front of everyone today and you knew it. 

By the time you got off the subway and were rushing through the hordes of pedestrians to get to the shop, you had resigned yourself to about a solid fifteen minutes of a severe dressing down with a silent audience before you opened shop for the day. This day was already off to a terrible start. 

An assorted jumble of excuses were lying in wait at the tip of your tongue the minute you burst into the shop, having built up one by one over the subway ride. You were a mess as you bustled in, scarf nearly choking your neck, coat unbuttoned, hair still slightly damp from the shower, ill advised in retrospect and the cause of all your troubles today, and purse practically open, threatening to spill its contents all over the floor. Frazzled, your eyes met Bucky, who stood at the counter with another man in a blue uniform shirt. You recognized him as Bucky’s coffee who came by once a week or so to restock. 

Bucky barely glanced up as you entered, out of breath. His hand moved smoothly over the paper he was writing on, before handing it to the guy, giving him a nod and turning to you. You swallowed hard. 

“Mr. Barnes, I'm sorry. I swear, I didn’t-” Your voice died when he held a hand up to stop your rambling, taking a deep breath.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Uh, we haven’t opened yet, so yeah. It’s…” he shuffled where he leaned against the counter, eyes not meeting yours. “It’s fine. Get to work.”

You stared at him in bewilderment and could barely get a word in before he walked over to his office door and shut it behind him with a soft click. From behind the counter, Sharon whistled.

“That was unexpected,” she declared, glancing back at the office door to make sure it was still closed. If Bucky had heard her she wouldn’t have lived to see another second around the shop. You untangled the scarf from your throat and placing it on the counter.

“That’s one word for it.” You mumbled, still staring at his closed door. 

Surprisingly, that wasn’t the only strange thing that day. A few hours after the shop had opened, you saw Bucky again. You were pouring out the beans into the drums that they were stored in and organizing boxes in the back room when he strolled in, spotting you working. You picked up the full metal bucket of Hawaiian Kona, which turned out to be heavier than expected, making you inhale sharply with a grunt.

“Here, I’ve got it.” You heard his voice behind you before he was taking the bucket from your hands and placing it on the shelf you wanted it to be on. You stared at him wide eyed with your mouth slightly agape. What? Was this actually happening? First he lets you off easy for being late, then he offers to help you? He hadn’t even yelled at anyone all day, except at his phone. Come to think of it, he hadn’t yelled at anyone in days. It was almost eerie and borderline unnatural. Even Laila had noticed the change in behavior. 

“Maybe he isn’t so bad.” She had said that morning, while setting up the cash register. “Or maybe you’re rubbing off on him.”

You scoffed. “I’m rubbing off on him? How would that even work?”

She gave you a deadpan look. “C’mon Y/N, everyone here loves you. You’re way nicer than him and everyone likes listening to you because of that. Maybe he’s taking a leaf out of your book.”

You had only laughed off her assumption, thinking it was ridiculous. But was it really? Sure, you had known Bucky for more than a year at this point. For most of that time, your interactions with him had been limited to him strolling into your shop, finding faults with everything you did, the way you ran your business, and you rising to the defence of your life’s work and hurling insults back at him until he left. But now that you worked for him, sometimes you saw more than just the selfish asshole that used to purposely stroll into your cafe, full of contempt. Still, your image of him primarily consisted of snark, sarcasm and a whole lot of sharp wit.

Bucky turned around after having placed the box where you needed it, clearing his throat and shuffling a bit. He still wouldn’t look at you, and you realized this interaction was as awkward for him as it was for you except you didn’t understand why.

“Come see me in my office in your break. I need to talk to you.”

Oh, that’s why.

Just like that, it was like a bucket of cold water being dumped on you, making you gulp. Shit, he was going to fire you. That’s why he was being so nice the whole day. So it wouldn’t be as harsh when he told you to hand your apron in. This was it. The end of your job and your dreams of maybe one day getting your cafe back. It was all over.

By the late afternoon your lunch break had rolled around, and you had accepted your fate and already said goodbye to a good few of your fellow employees. Some of them thought you were overreacting, others were sure that was the only reason Bucky wanted to talk to you. What else could it be? Either way, when the time came, you took a deep breath and knocked on his door, waiting to hear him tell you to come in before you entered. 

He was lounging on his large black office chair, gesturing for you to sit. You shakily sat down, silence thick between you two until Bucky cleared his throat.

“I uh, need your help.”

Whatever you were expecting you hear, this wasn’t even in the vicinity of it. You blinked once. Twice. Your eyebrows furrowed, but your muscles remained tense. “I’m- what?” You weren’t even sure if you’d heard him correctly. Did he just ask for your help? Which alternate universe did you have to be living in for that to be true?

He nodded, slightly in grimace, like he didn’t want to say those words any more than you were expecting to hear them. He still refused to directly look at you, seemingly unaware of your inner confusion. “I’ve heard some… talk around the shop, and let’s just say I’m not exactly,” he took a pause and exhaled a breath before admitting, “not exactly happy with the way I’m running things. I should do better. And since you’re so good with everyone here, I need your help.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, the relief from still having your job flowing through you. You nodded slowly as you processed what he said, “But how can I help? You’re clearly doing something better than me if my shop went bankrupt and yours hasn’t.”

He shook his head at that, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about the business. It’s about the people.”

You let the comment settle in, realizing now what he meant.

“Oh,” you breathed, eyebrows rising in surprise. “You want to be nicer to your employees.”

“Yes.”

You couldn’t help the twitch of your lips, your nervousness dissipating and giving way to amusement. “And you want my help.”

You could practically see his jaw clench and teeth grit. He nodded again, albeit hesitantly.

“Yes.”

By now, your smile was exponentially wider as you leaned back in your seat, now holding the upper hand. In that instant, it was like all the awkwardness from the past week or so was dissipatin, leaving you and Bucky just how you had been back when you still had your café. Except, this time he was your boss and you tried your best to not grin like an idiot. One look at Bucky’s face told you that you were failing miserably and that he wasn’t taking it very well.

“You know what? Never mind. I don’t need your help. Get out.” His tone was harsh and defensive, standing up to walk to his office window overlooking the busy streets of New York. You watched his stiff frame as he crossed his arms.

“That’s the first problem right there. Maybe don’t be so quick to dismiss people?”

He briefly glanced back at you, lips pursed in thought before nodding slowly.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

You nodded and stood up. “Of course I will. After all, you’re going to need to find a manager that sticks after I leave, don’t you?” You asked him solemnly, meaning well, but you suspected that the twitch on your lips and the little twinkle in your eyes may have given you away.

He was looking at you now, huffing out a little sigh at your dig as a smile graced his lips before walking back to his desk. “Alright, okay don’t get too cocky now.” He raised his eyebrows and spoke in admonition, but you both knew it was simply playful banter. 

You noticed how his shoulders suddenly seemed more relaxed, like a burden was lifted off him. As you sat across from him, giving him pointers and whatnot about his behaviour, what you didn’t expect was for Bucky to patiently and attentively listen to what you had to say. He asked questions, came up with hypothetical situations and even admitted to his own faults in situations. What you didn’t expect even more, was how your brain was reacting to Bucky not being an asshole. While talking, you noticed your gaze impishly lingering in places it shouldn’t - how a single strand of hair fell just over his eyes, how broad the expanse of his shoulders was, how good his forearms looked in his rolled up shirt sleeves. That was what did it. You’d never, in your life checked out a man’s forearms and you realized that starting it with Bucky was a really bad idea. The remaining time, you tried to keep your eyes from roving where they shouldn’t be and you decided to focus on just his face while talking to him. Except, now you were suddenly noticing how plump and pink Bucky’s lips looked and how they would f- 

You caught yourself before you went too far, to the point of no return. This was Bucky, your boss, Mr. Barnes. You took a deep breath and you hoped your cheeks weren’t a glaring indicator of how flustered you felt. What is wrong with me? For the remnant time, you found yourself a pen stand and a spot on the wall behind Bucky that you decided to focus on if it started to get too much. You didn’t know what was up with you but you ascribed it to your nerves and the ludicrousness of your current situation. It was going to pass. It was just a temporary phase and it was because you were sitting in very close proximity of him. And probably the nerves, had you mentioned the nerves? By the time you left his office, you had the design of the pen stand and the colour of the wall burned into your brain.  

……………………..

The machine made a little pop sound as the register opened, and you set to calculate the earnings for the day. It was nearing 10 at night, and the shop had closed a while ago. Most of the employees had already headed home, but you just had one last thing to do before you left. You started pulling out the separate bills and counting, a small pad and a pen at your side. You had to get the money to Bucky before the end of the day, as part of your job, so it wasn't anything new. There was a single light on over your head, the rest of the shop basking in darkness. To your right, you could see a crack of light from under Bucky's office door. 

You thought back to your talk with him a week or so ago, feeling a smile tug at your lips. Bucky hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to make some changes in the work ethic here. He’d really stepped up his game. Sure, he had yelled at Aaron yesterday and been very nearly tempted to chew Sharon’s ear off for mixing up four consecutive coffee orders, but he had kept his cool when someone had forgotten to stock the almond milk. You’d realized fairly quickly that Bucky just had a very short temper when it came to his work. And if he collected his thoughts before he spoke, he could control most of his outbursts. The two dimensional image you had constructed of him in your head was getting a little more depth now, and you’d concluded that you didn’t hate Bucky with as much of a burning passion as you did before. As for the odd string of thoughts you’d had about Bucky that day, you’d been right. It had just been your nerves, your stress and probably your lack of any sexual interaction in a while all combined into a hot mess. Safe to say you hadn’t continued to feel that way about Bucky since.

Once you had the money rolled up in neat stacks, you wrote down every detail in clear, legible handwriting before picking it all up and heading to Bucky's door. You knocked as usual, stepping into the room. He was behind his desk, typing something into his laptop. Unlike the usual, he wasn't on the phone. He looked up as you entered, and you froze when your eyes met his. 

“Uh, I just wanted to….” You trailed off, waving the stack in your hand. Bucky nodded and gestured for you to come in. You walked into the room and placed the money on the table, turning around. 

“Wait,” you heard Bucky say behind you, making you turn around. “Sit.”

You nodded and took a seat, watching him type. “Let me just finish this up.” He mumbled, not taking his eyes off the screen. You waited for him to get to you, watching him to pass the time. He was wearing a tight blue sweater that hugged his built frame perfectly and matched the color of his eyes. His hair was styled to perfection as always, chestnut locks held in place as if by hairspray. His office smelled distinctly of his cologne, decorated sophisticatedly yet simplistic in design. Oh no it was happening again. You watched his pink lips purse as he read what was on the screen while simultaneously trying to get yourself to stop those feelings from coming back. You thought you’d already dealt with him!

God had really done a good job on Bucky Barnes. You had already admitted to that fact when you’d first met him and even someone like you, who hadn’t been particularly fond of him, couldn’t help but duly appreciate the fact.

You stopped staring when he turned to you, sitting up straight and wide eyed, hoping he hadn’t caught you basically gawking at him. You blamed it on the exhaustion from a day’s work.

He opened a drawer and pulled something out, handing it to you. You read the words on the paper, realizing it was your paycheck.

“You’re doing a really good job.” Bucky spoke. “I was half convinced you’d screw up only a few days in, or even burn my shop down out of spite but I’m pleasantly surprised.With your performance and with the fact that the shop’s still upright.” There was a smile on his lips as he finished and you smiled back at him. 

“For now,” you said and he chuckled. It felt strange being complimented by Bucky, you didn’t know what to say or how to react to it. So after a pause and biting your lips, you huffed a little before hesitantly acknowledging the other half of his statement, “Thanks?”

He smirked, that signature turn of his lips that made him look like an asshole and a model at the same time. You stood up to leave, contemplating on whether you should say what was on your mind.

“You’re doing pretty good too, Mr. Barnes.” You finally spoke. “I mean, attitude wise.”

His smirk gave way to a genuine smile and he sat back in his seat, eyeing you. The pale blue of his eyes dug into yours before looking you up and down once. You felt a shiver roll over your spine as you turned to leave.

“Hey, Y/N?” 

You turned back to look at him, eyebrow raised in question.

“Call me Bucky.”

You didn’t let him see the surprise on your face, nodding quickly and leaving before a large smile broke free from your lips.

……………………...

Exhaustion was part of most nights for Bucky, what with leaving for the shop at the ass crack of dawn and returning so late. By the time he got home, he only had hardly enough time and energy to heat up leftovers or a ready to eat meal. By the time his belly was full, he was so sleepy that he barely managed to get out of his clothes before collapsing onto his bed. 

Bucky had started his little business venture optimistic and confident in his skills. He knew it would be a success. He'd worked out all the nooks, crannies and kinks of the business of opening a coffee shop in downtown New York before he had even opened. He knew exactly what to do to lure in customers, and just the business strategies to follow. To give him credit, he had hit the nail right on the head. What he hadn't expected, however, was the coffee shop to blow up as quickly as it did. Suddenly, his place was chock full of customers at almost every imaginable hour. Large suppliers called him every day to secure monthly deals. He was the talk of that part of Manhattan, and money was flowing in like it did in fact grow on trees. 

It was all well and good until Bucky got home every day, weary to the bone and eyes seeking nothing but his bed. In those times, he wondered if it was worth earning so much cash if he had almost no time to savour it. Then, his manager had to go and quit, doubling the load he already had. 

He always thought that the café across the street going bankrupt was destiny taking pity on him. The timing was near perfect. He knew for a fact that the owner would take his job offer. She didn't have anywhere else to go and she needed the money desperately. If there was anything Bucky was good at, it was exploiting others’ situations for his benefit. It sounded insensitive, but was a convenient quality to have, especially when both parties were benefiting from it. For example, Y/N had gone from earning enough to barely get by to being able to buy her shop back in a few months. It was a win-win. 

As Bucky laid down in bed that night, sighing in relief as his back met the soft sheets, he thought of Y/N. Annoyingly, his brain tended to do that a lot these days. From being vexed at how she had become so beloved in his shop so quickly to wondering if he should ask for her help, somehow she spent more time on his mind than he would have liked. But he had to admit, her talk had helped. Laila had even greeted him with an enthusiastic ‘good morning’ today instead of looking at him like a frightened mouse. That had to amount to something. 

That night, Bucky was roused from sleep by an incessant vibration coming from under his pillow. Enough for him to wake up. He always kept his phone on in case of emergencies and it was times like this that he regretted it. He groaned and sleepily rummaged around with his eyes still closed to try and get to his phone, holding it up as it kept vibrating with text after text. 

“What the fuck?” He managed to mumble out loud, blinking rapidly and wildly to try and expel the sleep from his eyes and decipher the words. As his vision cleared and he looked closer he realized that they weren't words at all. In fact, they were emojis. A string of them flooding his inbox. And they were all from Y/N. 

That woke him up a little, sitting up and groaning as his stiff limbs reluctantly moved. He squinted at the phone screen, bringing it up to his face to check the time. 3am. Y/N was texting him emojis at 3am. Had she lost her mind? 

He slowly typed a text, body still working to rouse him from slumber. 

Y/N? What's happening? 

The reply was instant. 

Buckyyyy.

Another text. 

You told me to call you tht. 

Bucky. 

Barnes. 

Bucky frowned at his screen, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Are you okay? He typed, rubbing at his eye. More texts kept steaming in.

Me??? Finenenene. What about you mr boss man? 

Bucky felt his lips twitch a bit in amusement. He realized by now that in all probability, she was drunk. He typed just that. 

Are you drunk? 

It took a good few seconds for the reply to come this time. 

Noooooo

Idk mahbe

It was riddled with typos. He knew for a fact that Y/N would die before texting like this. Yeah, she was definitely drunk. 

Go to sleep, Y/N. I'll see you at work tomorrow. 

As Bucky laid down again, his phone buzzed. 

I cant sleep on a bar you doof!!, I gotta get home first im gonna walk!! its cold and windy i like wind

Bucky sat up abruptly, staring at his phone. She was at a bar? At 3am? Even in Manhattan, bars weren't open this late. And she was going to walk home? 

He was already clicking the little receiver icon on top of the chat without thinking twice, pressing the phone to his ear. It rang for no more than two seconds before she picked it up. 

“Hello?”

Bucky took a breath. “Y/N, what are you doing at a bar this late at night? And this drunk?”

There was a small pause before she spoke. “Who is this?”

Bucky huffed out in annoyance, running a hand over his face. “It's Bucky! Your boss.”

“Oh!” She dragged the word out, suddenly much more cheerful than before. “Bucky! Big, blue eyed Bucky!”

“Uh,” Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. That's me.”

She was giggling on the other line as she spoke, “You're so weird. Why are you calling me?”

Bucky groaned again. “Because you're alone at a bar at 3 in the morning! Do you have someone that can take you home?”

He had barely completed his sentence when Y/N had begun mumbling gibberish, making him realize she probably hadn't caught a word of what he'd said. Then he heard shuffling on the phone before he heard another, male voice. 

“Hello? Hey, can you come pick her up? It’s late and I have to close the bar.”

Bucky groaned internally, taking a deep breath to control his growing annoyance. It was so late and he had to get up so early. But he couldn't just leave Y/N there. She would definitely get mugged in her state if she tried to make it back home alone, if not worse. 

Pulling on clothes and shuffling into his car so late did nothing to improve Bucky's mood. By the time he had gotten to the address the bartender had given him, he was more or less fully awake and thinking about why Y/N was at a bar so late on a weekday. Was it because she got her paycheck? Celebratory drinks? 

She was the only one sitting at the bar when he entered, head against the cold marble of the bartop. She nearly jumped out of her seat when Bucky put a hand on her shoulder, squinting at him. 

“Hey, let's get you home.” He said, nodding to the bartender. 

“Buckyyyyy,” She sang, surprising him. She sounded carefree and so much less inhibited, grinning at him like a child on Christmas. “How did you find me?”

Her pupils were blown and hair was all over the place. Yup, she was definitely drunk. 

Bucky helped her off the bar, slowly steering her to the door. She was surprisingly cooperative, but very unstable. Bucky had to wrap an arm around her waist just to keep her up. Her hair smelled like flowers where her head pressed to his jaw, leaning heavily on him. 

“Why are you drinking on a weekday?” He asked as they entered the cold air. She only mumbled something incoherent in response and he realized it was no use expecting any meaningful answers from her in this state. While walking, she suddenly turned in her spot, effectively halting their trek towards Bucky's car. Bucky looked down at her questioningly, pushing at her to coax her to move. 

“C’mon Y/N, we have to get you home.” His tone was soft, thinking she'd maybe listen if he was calmer. She hummed and rested her head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Don't want to.” He managed to decipher the words, making him huff. “You're warm.”

Bucky couldn't help the amusement that those words sparked in him, shaking his head before he started slowly shuffling towards the car. “Thank you.” He played along, making her giggle. 

“That's the first time you've ever said thank you.” She slurred on, still not moving and leaving Bucky to carry them both towards the car. 

Bucky pursed his lips in thought. “I suppose it is.”

She hummed. “You're very mean.”

The words made him sigh and he stopped before his car, digging into his pocket for the keys. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“‘S not fair. Why are you so cute but so mean?”

Bucky's eyebrows shot up in surprise and he looked down at Y/N. Her eyes were still closed and she looked seconds away from sleep. He felt laughter bubble up in his chest. 

“You think I'm cute?” He asked, slowing his own movements. He wasn't ready to let go of this thread of conversation just yet. 

“Everyone thinks that!” Y/N accusingly pointed her finger at him, as if defending her point. 

“What's so cute about me?” Bucky's grin was wide by now as he edged her to keep spilling.Oh, this was golden.  

Her lips pursed in thought and she stared up at him, eyes slightly spacey.

“Your eyes, and your hair.” She didn't think twice before reaching up to run a hand through his hair, making Bucky tense slightly. “And your face.” Her hand was running down the side of his face now. Bucky felt his breath halt. 

“And you're so…. jacked.” Her hands traveled over his biceps, to his forearms, and back up. Bucky's hold on her tightened, her torso flush against his. She didn't seem to notice. 

“If only you weren't such an asshole.” She seemed to be talking to herself at this point. “Maybe I would’ve had a real crush on you.”

Bucky blinked and cleared his throat, shuffling slightly away from her to take a deep breath. He pulled open the door to the passenger side, gently helping her climb in without another word. He closed the door and briefly let his own eyes fall shut, taking a breath. Fuck. 

The drive back was mostly silent, with Y/N calling his name every now and then only to not respond when he asked what it was. She vaguely pointed out the directions to her house, a little apartment building not far from the bar. Once there, Bucky helped her into the elevator and to her door, but that's as far as he went. 

“You're going to be okay?” He asked as he unlocked the door for her and opened it. She nodded, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She would probably pass out as soon as she hit a surface she could lie on. 

Bucky drove home silently, feeling his own tiredness creep up on him. He didn't have a lot more time to sleep before he had to show up for work. Which reminded him… 

He pulled out his phone as soon as he got home, shooting Y/N a text. 

You're not off work, just so you know. 

The reply came just a little while later. He wasn’t expecting one, how was she still awake? 

I knowwwww 

As Bucky laid down again after what felt like a full day of exhaustion, he began typing. 

How are you still up? Are you drinking? 

This time the reply was fairly quick. 

Noooo. im in bed. No drink 

He couldn't help the smile that took over his face, reading the words. God, she was adorable like this. 

Go to sleep, doll. You've barely got a couple of minutes. 

But i dont wannA go to sleep :(((

Somehow Bucky wasn’t surprised that you were difficult to deal with, even when drunk. It seemed very appropriate, and especially inconvenient in the present situation. Even then, he couldn’t get himself to stop texting. There was something uninhibited about texting you when you were so frank with your thoughts in your drunken vulnerability.

Why not? Aren’t you tired?

The reply came but in two texts, you’d accidentally sent the first one before you could finish typing.

Because i like talking to you when youre not being mean to me and 

and if i fall asleep you’re not going to be nice to be anymore :(

Bucky’s lips twitched in a smile as he read the texts, realizing he could fish more out of you now that ever and trying to make the most of the opportunity.

You like talking to me? 

Of course i like talkkking to you i was thinking abou t you while i was having my cosmo politanns and i think it’s because i like like you 

Bucky’s breath hitched as his eyes ran over the words, suddenly losing all sleep. His heart was beating slightly faster as he typed out a message, pausing for a while, wondering if he should send it and then sending it before he could second guess himself.

You like like me?

Bucky’s breath tensed as we he waited for the little bubble to pop up on his screen, indicating that you were typing. He got impatient with every passing second, tapping his fingers against the bed and running his hands through his hair in frustration. He kept staring at the screen, almost willing a reply. After finally waiting for around 10 minutes, he realized that you’d probably fallen asleep and that you weren’t going to reply to his text anymore. At least, not then. Bucky groaned as he shoved his phone under the pillow and fell on his back in frustration. Of all the times you could’ve chosen to fall asleep, it had to be just after he’d sent that risky text. Of course you couldn’t have fallen asleep anytime before or later than that. Bucky grumbled as he tossed on his side but he didn’t get to fret over it for too long because exertion from the sudden midnight trip quickly took over, knocking him out in seconds flat.

.................

As always, feedback is appreciated!

[thatscarletflycatcher]

A post about some personal stuff I’m going through

I watched Josh Groban’s Awake Live streaming today, and it prompted some thoughts™.

Awake is a fan favorite album between grobanites, but even though I love You Are Loved, So She Dances and February Song, and think In Her Eyes is okay (Un Giorno Per Noi doesn’t count because it’s a cover), the rest of the songs just... exist (Awake is... I think I understood that one today. More below). I also feel like it’s all over the place: it lacks a solid overall theme and feel, it is loud in a way that blocks instead of enhacing the emotional nuances of Josh’s music.

The first thing I realized tonight was that Josh was 25-26 when he wrote/recorded/toured this album.

The second came with February Song. I have been reading it all this time as being about mental illness, specially anxiety and depression: the old friend is the past, healthy self, and the song is about giving oneself hope of recovery and telling others that one hasn’t stopped loving them, that we are going through something. I was surprised of seeing people that read it as a post breakup/long lost love song.

The third came with Awake (the song): Josh wrote it thinking of his family.

At that point, Josh said that someone had asked him at the beginning if there was something he would change, if he could do all over again, and then said that, at that point in time, he was in a peak moment of his career (he used a better, more accurate phrasing), but that inside he was in a rather dark place, and that February Song was about fighting those demons in his head; and that it is nice for him to look back at all of it, as a now healthier person. 

This was all preamble, sorry, this is the meat of the thing: I’m turning 26 in ten days. I was determined that this year (from my 25th birthday to my 26th) would be the year I was to turn my life around. I was going to get out there more, finish my thesis, strengthen friendships, get a sense of stability in my job, date, learn to dance, sing in a chorus, do volunteer work, normalize my sleep patterns, get my daily life into a reasonable schedule... it stared pretty well, but then things fizzled out one by one, and then started rolling downhill and here I am. My life, like everybody else’s, is on hold, but also... I haven’t gotten any of those things right or done. I am at the end, way worse than I was at the beginning. Even before this pandemic I was becoming more and more aware of my parents fragility and of everyone moving forward while I remained stuck.

And I think I now understand the emotional turmoil of Awake (the album). And the desperate plea of Awake (the song) for making and keeping every memory, for finding a way to cope with the fear and the certainty of a permanent separation in the future, when there’s nothing to look forward to, just fragile things to hold on to.

And finally, that four years after Awake, Josh wrote Illuminations, my favorite album besides Bridges. Illuminations is such a serene, cozy, luminous, life-filled piece...

Who knows, maybe there is my Illuminations waiting for me in a few years time. Maybe not. But it isn’t impossible, there’s still a chance for hope.

[issdefiant]

what are ur thoughts on gta v?

sucks in a deep breath

i love it

i’ve never sunk my talons into something so fast before, oh my god. franklin, trevor, michael, i love them all.

like… where do i start. this game does not beat around the bush at all. it’s really fucking uncomfortable the first playthrough, and i stopped the first time hitting trevor’s parts because of that. but, after picking it back up and playing through it again? trevor struck a little too close to home and if he was real i’d honestly just hug him for like… ten straight years. 

like. trevor’s framed as the ~*~ general gta player ~*~ until you start hanging out with him and piecing together his story, then he turns into a severely mentally ill, bad survivor character. putting together his story fucking wrecked me emotionally and that was the exact moment he switched from being uncomfortable, to “o h.” 

franklin, franklin’s easily my favorite of the three. i can’t even really pinpoint why he’s my favorite. he’s just shaped like a friend. playing as him feels kind of like you’ve met up with an old friend and you two are still close as ever. he’s fun, he’s easy to relate to, and tbh? 10/10 game of the century for letting franklin have a doggy AND letting you walk the doggy / play fetch with the doggy. 

dead serious if i ever met franklin’s actor i’d ask for a five minute long hug. he looks like he’d give those kinds of hugs that warm ur soul

michael de asshole. i love him but i hate him. he tap dances on a thin line between “maybe a mentally ill dad” and “just a shitty dad” for the first half of the game. he eventually swings around to being just “mentally ill dad” but goddamn. goddamn. 

at least he genuinely does love his family, drops everything to protect them, shoves himself in harm’s way multiple times to do so, and admits he doesn’t know how to show that he does care. and by the end game, he is trying to do better and be better

it gets worse after you meet his therapist, tbh. but it then also swings around fully to just being “untreated and severely mentally ill dad” 

i mostly hate him just because i relate to him so heavily. it’s like staring in a really uncomfortable mirror at future me if future me never got help. like… ah, i know that bullshit. i know how that goes. @ me next time, ro.cks.tar

the story, the first playthrough, is admittedly a little… hard to follow? there’s different ways to approach missions with different characters, and depending on who you approach as, you could either get full context, or just see what that character sees 

the easiest to describe that is with some of the first missions with franklin and michael. if you approach as franklin, you just get michael sprawled out in the sun like a giant cat. if you approach as michael, you see his family fighting, and that being why he’s wandered outside. 

there’s another later on, where if you approach as trevor, you get completely different dialogue and cutscenes than you do if you approach it with michael.

there’s also a couple missions you can approach that will lock you into that character’s context for the entire mission. normally you can bounce between the characters, but there’s at least one i can name off the top of my head ( bury the hatchet ) that what cutscenes, what perspective, everything, you get, is based off who you approach as. which, looking back now, is actually really fucking huge because that mission ends up shaping how you view trevor and michael. 

it’s not without it’s flaws ( like 99.99% of what comes out of jimmy’s fucking mouth. though, he develops greatly by the end of the game ), but there hasn’t been anything major enough to make me drop the game and not pick it back up again. 

all in all, a good game that was way too easy to hyperfixate on. i’ve played it maybe 4 months now, have over 400 hours in, and are already deep into digging through game files for Extra™ ( like the sharmoota job / nice house heist. c’mon, roc.ks.tar. let me steal the horse. )