#…..it’s been over a year since he’s left beach city

[amaranthineghost]

hello!!!

can you do a one shot/ fanfic that Lando has been dating Y/N since they were 15/16, so for a long time, and she just found out she’s pregnant. you can come up with how they would react and how lando would react but i’d love if they were unsure of it in the beginning, but it grew on them as time went by.

thanks!!!!

| OUR WORLD IN YOUR HANDS ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ summary: they hadn't planned for pregnancy, but it changed their life.

ꕥ authors note: enjoyed writing it more than I thought I would honestly. tried to make it so she was more unsure than he was and in the end, I liked it. working on incorporating more dialogue in the future because it is definitely not my strong suit. I'll also alternate between requests and my own ideas so if you requested something, keep it in mind <3

ꕥ warnings: mentions of alcohol, sex, barely mentions thoughts of abortion

TWO RED LINES. her heart had skipped a beat, more like several as she stared at the dark red line and a faded pink one next to it. she couldn't believe her eyes. it couldn't be possible, it repeated in her mind.

but it obviously was. they hadn't been very careful, they're young and dumb and in love. two people so deeply in love that they couldn't care less. at least she thought they did at the time.

staring at the test in front of her shook her whole world, an entirely different branch of her life she'd never expect to take this soon. it was right in front of her.

despite being together for a year or two shy of a decade, it felt too soon. they were still young, had plenty of parties lined up in the near future. plenty of drunken nights running through the streets of monaco barefooted, hands intertwined as the world was focused on them. how they'd escape to the farthest rooftop, drunken makeouts leading to more as they came together under the stars.

they still had time. time to be what they'd missed as teenagers, to make memories. they had time to spend countless nights, wrapped in each other's arms under cold skies on balconies across countries, discussing their future. when they'd get married, where they'd like to live, if they ever left monaco which seemed unlikely, the places they've yet to see, how many kids they'll have and their names.

time for reckless driving through the streets of monaco with the wind crashing against them, hands raised as they cheered. he always drove to the most beautiful sight in the city, but always claimed it would never come close to the beauty she possessed.

time for runs across the beach in tiny bikinis and swim trunks as they raced on the sand. his arms capturing her waist as he tossed her around, feeling the vibrations of her laughter and screams against his skin. a feeling he'd forever cherish.

it all disappeared with a single faded line. everything she knew about their future collapsed with the test barely bigger than the length of her hand. it would affect everything.

it was conflicting. becoming a mother was all she ever dreamed and talked about, when she became older. she'd mention to her curly-haired boyfriend countless times of her dreams of having the mini versions of him running around the house they shared. the longing to see his eyes and curly hair with features of her own on another warm body. their child.

but she wasn't ready. in her mid-twenties, with years of life left to live child-free. tens of grand prix's to attend in support of her mclaren lover, watching 10 feet away from his car. nights to catch up on hours of sleep she lacked from keeping up with lando's lifestyle.

having a kid swept it all off the table. no more late night dalliances, or getting so drunk to the point where lando would have to pull over the car to hold back her hair as she threw up in the bushes.

no more parties at ungodly hours of the night, watching drunk lando stumble his way to the dj booth, giggling over a glass of alcohol at his actions.

no more sleep. she knew she'd be woken up numerous times in the night from the cries of her child, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to give up sleep yet.

and she wasn't sure lando wanted to give up formula one either. obviously, a balance between the two worlds is possible, but she knew he would want to be there with her, and she didn't know if he could.

it scared her. the thought of this changing the dynamic of their relationship on levels she couldn't even begin to think of. she's seen countless videos of how having a child completely changed the way couples worked, good and bad, and she didn't want that fifty-fifty.

she'd sat staring at the test between the tips of her fingers for a solid twenty minutes before she heard a patterned knock she grew familiar with from her beloved boyfriend.

the door muffled his voice just slightly, "darling, you 'right in there?" his hand wrapped around the now cold door handle and twisted it, but it failed to turn as it pressed into his palm.

it was unusual for her to lock the door, she knew he would question it. and she knew she couldn't use the excuse of that she's changing or showering because lando simply didn't care whenever she was. he'd sit and keep her company till she was done with whatever she was doing because it was often what they did. sit in silence, enjoying the presence of one another.

"yeah, I'm fine!" she called out to him in a rushed tone, flinching enough that she nearly dropped the test. she watched as the door knob shook, shoving the stick into the bottom of the trash temporarily. she'd remember to remove it eventually.

she turned on the sink as she hid the box of tests in the depths of the cabinet under the sink. looking at herself in the mirror, she'd wipe away the tears that built in her eyes. she didn't want him to notice, but like always he would.

from the locked door to the second she opened it, he'd watch it. she'd see him leaning on the wall just outside the door, patiently waiting for her to come out to him. he wouldn't question it, he trusted that she would eventually come around to tell him. she always did.

with the frequent trips to the bathroom and the slimmed selection of foods in the fridge, he'd suspect something, but he wouldn't know for sure. not without her word.

because for the time being, it was a secret she kept to herself, as much as she despised secrets. she felt like she was guilty to be hiding something from the person she trusted most in the world.

times when she thought the room was empty, she'd be pacing long ways back and forth with her arms crossed and her face solid. he'd watched her from the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, mirroring her position slightly.

times when she'd drop whatever she was doing to rush into the bathroom and spill her guts into the toilet as he held her hair and ran his fingers along the nape of her neck. she claimed it was a stomach bug, but he knew better. he also knew better than to question her words so he said nothing, but made a multitude of soups for her to sip on, taking notice of her now acute taste.

times when she'd cry over the tiniest of things, comforting her in his arms while she sobbed against the fabric of his very worn hoodie that happened to be her favorite.

it wasn't a great shock when she first told him. stuttering over her words as she fumbled with the sleeves of his long-sleeve shirt that went well past her fingertips, he could see tears brimming her eyes with her heightened sensitivity.

so when she muttered the words, "i'm pregnant," his world stopped, restarted, reloaded and stopped again when he finally processed the words. though he knew he could've expected it, hearing the confirmation leave her lips left his world tipped sideways.

but he wanted to hear it again, needed to, words breathlessly escaping his lips, "what, love?" he heard her the first time, but he wanted to hear it again. and again and again.

she choked on her words, sobbing out again, "I'm pregnant, lan," he pulled her into his chest, his hand finding it's way to the side of her head as he cradled her, pressing his lips against her hair.

as they swayed, it finally dawned on him, muttering unsure and excitedly against her head, "I'm going to be a dad?" his breathing deepened, his tongue gliding across his lips, then biting at the sensitive flesh. he felt his heart hammer in his chest, nearly comparing to when he first asked the girl out all those years ago. he reminisced the time when the biggest deal he could think of was rejection. now the girl he had crushed on when he was just a teenager just told him she's pregnant. with his kid.

part of him couldn't be happier, they had spent countless nights in bed, lying on their sides facing one another with stupid grins on their faces as they pondered their future together. whatever they wanted, it always had the other in their thoughts and plans.

this was just their plans manifesting faster than they might've hoped, and sure, he wasn't totally certain that it was the right timing after all. but this was their dream, and maybe they just needed time.

time to accept how greatly their life would be affected. he thought about how he'd have to leave her for days, weeks for his career, the few outlying times when she'd travel with him. he knew that would change, leaving her home with a new life to take care of besides her own. he hated the thought of leaving her.

they needed time to think, whether it was together or just by themselves. they needed to figure out how they'd make it through, if they could. which was a question in itself.

they needed to talk because part of her didn't think he would be so accepting of the change life threw them, permanently altering their course of life and the years to follow.

deep inside, they're scared. they knew they would've been, planned or not. it didn't make it any easier. but when he asked such a simple question, it lifted a massive weight that had been carrying on her shoulders. part of her knew he'd always be so accepting. everything is an experience after all.

with every month passed, every growth of the life within her body, he'd mention. he was the nerdy type to compare the size of the baby with fruit. he'd goggle each week with every new development she'd create. it shook his mind to even comprehend. she could make bones, organs and the tiniest lashes of their soon-to-be kid all within the confines of her body. to him, it was sacred.

and of course, he'd tell just about everyone from every team. all the drivers, mechanics, pit crew, team principals, the list goes on and so does his rants about her.

countless photos of appreciation for her on his social media, after all she was carrying his child and he was ecstatic. he'd spent every waking moment he could with her, his hands always somewhere on her, prodominantly on her growing stomach.

when he felt the first kick, he pulled his hand away sharply, looking at her with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, "it kicked me!" he'd exclaim and she slapped his shoulder, scolding him.

"don't call the baby an 'it!'"

"what else am I supposed to call it?" again, earning another slap to his bicep, and he'd look at her with a growing confused look.

"stop slapping me!" he held up his arms in defense as she scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest. she pursed her lips before sighing as he'd replace his hand on her stomach.

"babe, I don't think this baby likes me," he looked between his hand and her eyes, feeling the movement under his palm. it was a weird sensation, something he'd never expect to feel so soon, or at all.

all she could do was laugh at the stupid expression across his face as he looked back and forth in bewilderment. the warmth from his hand, and the small calluses sent goosebumps across her skin. it incited a smirk to take place on his face, but she slapped it off. he'd expect to feel more of those as the months went by, especially with all the sly comments she'd hear slip past his lips.

with every ultrasound appointment, he'd be there. he'd make sure of it, no matter where he was or what he was doing. she also scheduled them in accordance to his race and where in the world it took place.

every time, his eyes would be locked on the screen that projected his child, a part of him in another life form. a smile always creeping into his face as he held her cold hand. more often than not, he'd get curious and try to become the technician, stealing the equipment out of the professional's hand. his girlfriend would scold him like he was some sort of dog. in response he'd groan, rolling his eyes at her.

he'd still try though, and the technician laughed it off. he'd make comments to her in reassurance, "babe, i've got this," he'd tell him as his hand with the wand came closer to her stomach.

"where's your degree then?" she snapped back, giggling at his sudden pause before he shrugged, waving it off his other hand.

" 's at home."

when the time finally came to birth their new life into the world, god did lando panic. everything he had prepared himself with went out the window when she'd mutter the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"lando," she mumbled as she sat on their couch, turning to him with wide eyes, "I think it's time." her sleeve-covered hands were at her face as she bit nervously on her nails.

he'd stutter over his words, hands in his hair, "you're joking." he'd say repeatedly as he rushed around the apartment, grabbing things. he was the type to grab everything and forget her still on the couch.

she'd call him on her phone when she sees him in his car from the window, through the pain, she laughed at him, "forget something, norris?"

"no, darling, I've got everything-" she'd see his movement pause, his hand returning to his hair, "fuck!"

when he'd come back to help her, she was nearly collapsed with laughter despite the pain she felt through her body.

"stop laughing at me!" he whined but he was laughing with her. nonetheless, they'd get to the car.

she was in labor for hours, crunching on ice chips that he'd fed her carefully. he'd massage her shoulders, hold her hand when contractions got particularly unbearable. he knew not to mumble bullshit words of encouragement, a word of advice from his mum, advice he'd gladly listen to.

instead he'd show her he was there by doing everything she asked until it was time to actually deliver their child they've been waiting 9 months to finally meet.

with a pale face, lando would comment, "I think one kid is fine after all." she'd roll her eyes at his words as she held their daughter in her arms, already seeing themselves in her. she was exhausted and he knew. he put her hair up, cooing words of appreciation to her now that all was done. he took care of her.

he'd remember call his mum later to tell her thank you.

[solecize]

  ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.

despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining, jungkook as a parental figure 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 3.8k 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. no warning except main characters being dumb and some SERIOUS tension

part six: the dreams and the sunday market ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist

xv. the dreams

you were dreaming of kissing jeon jungkook.

  it was akin to a recurring nightmare, the way you woke up in cold sweat after picturing his beautiful lips on yours in your sleep. ever since the night where the two of you shared dinner, the image haunted you and chased you even in your lack of consciousness. it didn’t help that your day always began at five a.m, leaving you waking up, distraught, and no sun to warm your surroundings. 

  today in particular was not looking to be on your side. you slept through your first two alarms after getting lost in the dream of kissing jungkook on a beach in front of luscious palm trees and golden sand. even worse, it was the day of jungkook’s return to the farm.

  in the hours between your awakening and jungkook’s arrival, your nerves casted away your grogginess. you wondered why you didn’t decline his offer to finish the gate, but remembered he made it clear he didn’t have feelings for you - there should be no problem, then.

  since he was coming in the evening, you had an entire day ahead of you. somehow, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. it was maddening, as if the thoughts of jeon jungkook settled beneath your skin and chased your every move. it was a gloomy day with light showers, but the thoughts kept you warm and you didn’t like it one bit. 

  by 5 p.m, you were wrapped up for the day. it shouldn’t have taken so long, but with your late wake-up and the plaguing image of your childhood best friend, you found yourself sluggish. you decided that you were going to proceed like you’d done in the weeks prior.

  the last thing you wanted to take care of was inspect the garage once more. you’d been meaning to test out the old tractor inside to determine if you could sell it off or not, but it was a problem when the door was stuck in the same place. now, you were outside, wrestling with the garage, once again.

  “i guess this does have to be fixed. . .” you mumbled to yourself, remembering jungkook’s words.

  then, you heard your name being called. it startled you, since you hadn’t had any visitors in quite some time, considering jungkook’s absence. however, you knew that voice from a mile away and weren’t surprised when you turned around, taking notice of him approaching across the fields, coming face to face with the man in question.

  you hastily wiped the beads of sweat on your temple. “hey,” you said when you saw jungkook, who likely wandered to the fields when you didn’t answer the front door.

  “hey, y/n,” jungkook replied, setting his toolbox down by the fence he was to work on. today, he was wearing a black button down over a white t-shirt with jeans. his hair had grown slightly longer since you first arrived to amber valley and you liked the way it fell over his eyebrows. 

  as you always did, you graciously thanked him. “i really appreciate you coming to help me out.” even though he essentially shut down any possibility of you being able to come to terms with any feelings you had. you didn’t say that part out loud. 

  “stop that, you know i just want to lend a hand,” he waved you off and you wondered if that was what you knew. you weren’t sure if that was what your silent agreement with jungkook truly involved, with his persistence and your strong will - two things that were not easily challenged, but crumbled at one another.

"you still fighting with that old thing?" jungkook chuckled softly, looking at the garage door behind you.  

you only rolled your eyes. "i thought i could get it."  

he shook his head, continuing to laugh, and then glanced at the watch on his wrist. “oh, i guess this is the first time i’ve come by in the evening. you’re done work for once.”  

you didn’t realize this fact either and tried to fight a silent panic - you usually had a task that you could pretend to be busy with, in order to distract yourself from jungkook’s presence. then, you began what to wonder what was wrong with you? it was just jungkook. were your vivid dreams really chasing you into acting strangely? and was he not quieter than usual, or were you overthinking things?

  jungkook eventually excused himself to get to work and you decided that you needed to push your barrage of thoughts and questions away. instead, you entered the kitchen and proceeded to make dinner as usual, except a bit extra for your handyman of a friend.

  when you peeked outside after finishing, you saw that jungkook was drilling something into place. he’d taken off his button down shirt at some point, tying it around his waist. you cleared your throat loudly to get his attention, but it didn’t stand a chance against the sound of the drill.

  “jeon jungkook!” you yelled, but he still couldn’t hear you. it was only when you brought your hands to your lips and let out a loud whistle when he finally caught your eye, turning the drill off promptly.

  jungkook shook his head in disbelief, walking towards you with a laugh. “namjoon was right, that is a really loud whistle you can do.”

  “i made dinner,” you said, hiding your nerves. in reality, you knew little could go wrong, as the two of you were sharing meals together for weeks. unless, of course, if he tried setting you up with a friend again.

  “you know, i took you as someone who would be shit at cooking, but you’re pretty good,” jungkook teased, as he left his tools on the ground and walked towards you. “and thanks, of course.”

  you rolled your eyes. “i’m good at everything.”

  “lies. there’s a bunch of things i’m better than you at,” he mused, as he opened the door back inside for you. 

  the half-serious bickering made you drop your shoulders in ease, settling back into the same comfortable atmosphere that you always shared with jungkook. this was still the brat that used to whine if you got a better guitar hero score than him.

  the two of you soon settled into some local gossip. jungkook began telling you about how your grandpa used to constantly predict that the lee family would divorce sooner or later, which was apparently now in progress. you wondered how close he really was to him.

  “i wish we gave him one more summer with the three of us,” you said, as the two of you moved in fluid motions around the kitchen. the movements were natural and almost domestic, with jungkook knowing where all of the plates and silverware was and made it his job to set the table. meanwhile, you began getting the food ready.

  he nodded. “i think he would have liked that. he’s probably happy that we’ve become friends again.”

  the image of your dreams last night flashed before your eyes when jungkook said the word “friends” and you chose to ignore it. 

  instead, you responded, “i’d like to think that we never stopped.” your voice was quiet, unsure of the statement that you just offered. 

  it was nice, the way that you and jungkook managed to pick up your friendship after thirteen years as if nothing happened in between. and, even then, over the past month, the two of you slowly began to grasp the lives you led in the time apart. the people you grew into. somehow, it still clicked.

  jungkook paused, in the middle of bringing out plates from the cupboards. “you know, me too,” he said. “too bad you stopped responding to my letters.”

  this made you also freeze in place, eyebrows furrowed at his remark. “what do you mean? i didn’t stop responding,” you turned around to face him. “you’re the one that stopped replying.”

  “i’m pretty sure i was the last one to send a letter, bunny,” jungkook chuckled, but you sensed some bitterness. “i sent you a letter one spring and then when june rolled around, your grandpa randomly told me you weren’t coming back.”

  you shook your head, lips parted. “i never got a letter.”

by now, you finished setting food on the table. it was a full american-style breakfast, with chicken and waffles, scrambled eggs, and a platter of fruit from the farm. you made a jug of iced tea and set out some water. jungkook’s eyes trailed to the table and his eyes were unreadable.

  “that’s too bad,” he spoke slowly, as if remembering something. “breakfast for dinner?” then, jungkook shook his head, as if shaking the thoughts off, and proceeded to set the rest of the table.

  your eyes widened. “sorry, do you not like it? i thought it would be a good change - “

  “no, it’s not that! thank you, it looks delicious. i love breakfast for dinner,” jungkook smiled. it was as if he flipped a switch and you were itching to know what he was thinking before.

  “if you’re not up for it - “

  “you’re annoying, come sit down with me,” jungkook interjected again, but was playful and rubbed his hands together, ready to dig in.

  you punched his shoulder, which you knew did little damage, but he yelped anyway. sitting down across from him, jungkook began serving the both of you and you didn’t object when he plopped food on your plate for you. it was the same routine that you had before and frankly, it was nice.

  “i just didn’t think it would you’d never come back to town again,” he commented and you were confused, until you remembered what he said earlier. 

  you found yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “me neither. i don’t know what hapened, i used to love it here. . “ you trailed off, looking around your surroundings and out the window, where the silver of the amber valley sky looked down on you. “i did try looking for you at some point, but you aren’t on social media.”

  jungkook shook his head, pouring two cups of iced tea. “not really. and especially not after i started taking care of jiwon.” he passed one cup to your side, which you quietly thanked him for. “i think i saw you one time online, in early high school, but you looked different and i wasn’t sure.”

  like every teenager, you had a phase of experimenting with your look and went through different kinds of hair colours and makeup styles. now, in your twenties, you’d grown tired of constant change and like your city life, settled for mundane and simple. just before his passing, your grandpa once remarked that you began to look like yourself again.

  “we would’ve still been best friends in high school. i’d keep you around to copy off your homework,” you joked, cutting into a waffle. you weren’t kidding when you told jiwon about how smart jungkook was, as he’d always been since you two were young. though you were academically gifted yourself, you’d held jealousy for the way jungkook learned every hobby you liked at twice the learning speed.

  “aw, i was your best friend?” jungkook banterd, which made you kick him underneath the table. “i’m joking. we’re best friends forever, isn’t what we put on the tree?”

  “oh my god, don’t remind me of that!” your cheeks went hot, as you recalled that memory that jungkook was referring to.

  when you were about nine years old, you and jungkook had the genius idea to carve your names into a random tree by the town square. while doing so, you were caught by mayor kim walking by, who made a big deal out of you kids “defacing” town property. when he scolded you and told your grandpa though, the latter got a kick out of it. 

  the rest of the conversation was light, which was exactly what you needed. in spite of this, jungkook’s remarks about your letters echoed in the back of your mind. you made a mental note to look into his claim - though the said letters from your childhood likely lived in your dad’s apartment, where you had spent your middle school to high school years at.

  midway through the dinner-slash-breakfast, you caught the way jungkook’s eyes were fixated on you and didn’t move. you gave him a questioning look and he sighed.

  jungkook said, “there’s jam on your face.” his tone was pretending to be disappointing, but holding back a laugh.

  “oh, where?” you began wiping your cheek, which turned out to be dry. you continued swiping around, still missing.

  he groaned. “it’s literally right there. by your nose, bunny. come on.” 

  after looking like he was about to simultaneously lose his mind and burst out laughing, his chair creaked loudly against the wooden flooring and jungkook stood up. he made strides around the table over to you and bent down to meet you at eye-level. you jumped at the sudden movement and the fact that jungkook’s face was inches away from yours. he was so close that you could count every single one of his long eyelashes if you tried.

  “it’s right. . .here.” at some point, jungkook ripped away a piece of paper towel from your side and you nearly flinched when you felt his touch on your cheek. 

  he gently wiped away the spread with a tilted head and a crease forming in between his brows, seemingly looking everywhere but in your eyes. you were so close to him that you could hear his steady breathing. you wondered if he was close enough to hear the army marching in the middle of your chest. it was hard for you to breathe yourself when your entire body froze at the contact.

  you managed to let out a whisper, fighting the shiver creeping up your spine. “thanks.”

  jungkook’s lips looked exactly like they did in your dreams. “no problem.” his voice was low and you swore you saw his eyes flash to your own lips, before looking up at you.

  you weren’t sure how long the two of you were still for. the only thing in your ears was the sound of your heart, which was amplified over the ticking of the grandfather clock several feet away. nobody dared to move until the ringing of a cell phone, which caused both of you to jump.

  it was jungkook’s. the phone was sitting on the dining table and it rang because you knew he always kept his phone off vibrate for his sister. when you saw a picture of jiwon and jungkook making silly faces at each other flash on the screen, you cleared your throat and scooted backwards, knowing that jungkook was going to immediately take the call.

  “sorry, one sec,” jungkook eventually snapped back into reality when he saw his screen. he picked up his phone and trailed into the living room to take the call.

  it was time for you snap back into reality, too. you felt stupid and like you wanted to bang your head into the table in front of you. there was no way he was going to kiss you, you’d witnessed one too many reruns of this fantasy in your dreams. you just spoke about how great your friendship was.

  best friends forever. you repeated that in your mind, along with jungkook talking your ear off about how great you and taehyung would look together.

xvi. the sunday market

on the last sunday of each month, the valley closed up most of its main roads for pedestrian access only and the community came out to hold a market in the town square. local busineses came out to sell their usual and offer up fun, seasonal products to buy. your grandfather usually set up a stand, but you found yourself a little too shy to be doing it alone for your first month in town. thankfully, you were wedged between jimin and hoseok, right in between their booths. 

  “honestly, i’m glad you’re with us, y/n. at least we can all smell like fish,” hoseok hummed, as he began unfolding a tablecloth.

  to this, jimin rolled his eyes and continued shuffling through some flyers in his hand. “we’re not even selling fresh fish this month.” in front of him was instead a variety of different seafood products, such as artisanal spread, marinated seafood in jars and sustainably sourced caviar. 

  meanwhile, you were proud of what you scrambled together last minute. cartons of eggs, jugs of milk, yogurt, and quick-growing crops like microgreens and radishes. you took your job very seriously and wanted to make a good impression on the townsfolk.

  “thank you, y/n! hoseok, can you put some sunblock on for once? sheesh, you’re going to get burnt!” hoseok’s mom, mrs. jung, was one of your first customers that day and happily took home some fresh basil and eggs. her sneer at hoseok was clear as day, even underneath her floppy hat, snapping at her son from right beside you.

  hoseok groaned. “mom, i’m almost thirty. stop!” and still, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen. 

  mrs. jung ignored him. “bye, y/n! bye jiminnie!” she blew a kiss to jimin, which made hoseok grumble.

  you laughed at the interaction, as you fanned yourself with one of jimin’s flyers. it’d been less than an hour since the market began and it was still early in the morning, so the square was sparse. you could even look down to your left and still see seokjin’s booth on the other side of the market, beside the mayor’s booth manned by namjoon. 

  it was now the end of june and marked your first month in town. the skies were clear and bright, a sight that you promised yourself you wouldn’t take for granted. every morning, you woke up before the sun did and by the time the morning came up to greet you, you were filled with vibrant energy for the day.

  “hi unnie! you look like you’re in a good mood today!” it was jiwon, holding onto peanut with one hand and her teddy bear in another. she was stylish for a kid her age, wearing jeans and a trendy graphic t-shirt that you suspected was jungkook’s influence.

  taking a cautious scan of your surroundings, you let out a quiet breath of relief when you saw that jungkook wasn’t around. he was definitely nearby, though, you had a feeling he wouldn’t let jiwon roam around with the puppy with anyone else.

  you greeted, “hi jiwon! you’re up early.” it was about nine in the morning and if you were a kid, you would not be a morning person during summer vacation.

  “yeah, oppa made me come with him,” she yawned extra loud, clutching her leash close.

  to your right, jimin cleared his throat. “where is jungkook?” he asked.

  “he’s avoiding y/n,” jiwon sang, like it was a normal thing to say out of the blue.

  your ears turned pink. you thought the two of you were good. it’d been over a week since your dinner with him at the saloon. now come to think about it, since your last encounter, jungkook had yet to make another return to the farm to finish whatever gate he was repairing - you stopped keeping track at some point, just letting him come over and continuing to hope that he found something new to fix. 

  hoseok pinched his nose. “jiwon, you can’t rat my boy out like that,” he whispered, side-eying you, even though you could clearly see. 

  to add fuel to the fire, you noticed the way jimin was scoping his surroundings. his eyes narrowed over to a corner, where you finally saw jungkook talking to mayor kim. when you did so, he looked over and made eye contact with you for the briefest of seconds, before darting away. before you knew it, jimin began hollering.

  “hey! jungkook! come here!”

  “what are you doing?” you hissed, taking a step towards jimin’s booth. “i thought we made a truce, park jimin.”

  “trust me, i’m helping you out.” jimin’s cheeky grin made you take a deep breath, holding back profanity for jiwon.

  you weren’t sure if the boys knew anything about what was going on with you and jungkook. hell, you weren’t even sure what was going on with you and jungkook. ever since he began detatching, you’d become confused and kept second guessing if you said or did something wrong. maybe coming by his house randomly was weird, but he did the exact same thing. the way he randomly suggested taehyung as a date for you also sent mixed signals.

  jungkook and mayor kim looked towards your direction, taken aback. then, jungkook gave the latter a polite smile, before walking in your direction. great.

  “did you need help with something, jimin?” the tight-lipped smile and tone coming from jungkook indicated he didn’t want to help with anything at all.

  jimin’s smile remained on his face, as he shook his head. “have you seen y/n’s, uh, cilantro? so fresh.”

  you turned to jimin, dumbfounded, but also irritated that you got roped into the conversation. meanwhile, jiwon batted her eyelashes, looking back and forth between you and her brother. her innocent demeanour was almost convincing, but you knew you were dealing with a jeon here. 

  “oh, hi. i didn’t see you there, y/n,” jungkook said. 

  bullshit. your tablecloth was bright yellow, compared to jimin and hoseok using the same white for their booths. you were wearing red lipstick and a sundress. he definitely noticed you. this made your jaw tense, annoyed that jungkook was acting different out of nowhere.

  “yup,” was all you could say, a dry tone settling in your voice.

  jungkook raised his eyebrows. “late night or something?” he asked, as if your voice indicated fatigue.

  “no.”

  “your eyebags say otherwise.” usually, jungkook teased you with a certain playfulness, but he instead matched your dry tone.

  hoseok immediately interjected, “oh, haha! ha - uh, haha!” he forced laughter out as if pushing with brute force, looking at you and jungkook strangely. the question in his eyes read what’s wrong with you two clear as day.

  you shrugged and luckily at that very moment, a small family began walking in your direction and approached your booth. on the other hand, jungkook suddenly became fascinated with the infused syrups at hoseok’s table and found the energy to talk his ear off about the ingredients. you missed the way jiwon shot a dirty look at jimin, as if this was his fault.

  “why are they acting weird?” jimin whispered to the smaller girl, as if buddies gossiping on the playground. 

  jiwon only rolled her eyes and huffed, walking away with peanut. she murmured things under her breath about adults being useless, wondering why she had to wake up early all to witness a dumpster fire between you and jungkook. she walked away, muttering to herself something about how she was determined to prove she was the only one with brains around here.

  𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822@taiwan0618 @seokout @firelcrds @xwniazx @shellyyy177

[brucewaynehater101]

I typically go with Romantic which is just. So *oof*. Also, I can just picture it now. Dick asks Tim why he thought this was a good idea at all, why he didn't call someone for a ride and Tim simply replies, "I've been getting back to Gothem on my own like this for years. No need to bother you guys." and before he can even continue theres a chorus of "you aren't a bother" and "what the fuck do you mean?!"

Tim just takes a deep breath and says, "I've been getting back to Gothem on my own since before I was Robin so it was never a Robin or Batman issue, it's always been a Tim Drake thing." of course Bruce demands to know what Tim means by "getting back to Gothem on his own" and he just sighs as he sits on some grain, biting the bullet to just get it over with as he says, "sometimes when I went on trips with my parents they would get into arguments and leave in separate cars. And both of them would think the other one took me with them. And I always showed up at home safe and sound a few days later so they never really questioned it. Ha, first time was actually at a Gala in New York. I remember they were fighting about what dig site to go to and that night Mom got on a flight to Siberia while Dad got on a flight to The Congo. I snuck my little nine year old self onto a gray hound bus and rode it all the way to Gothem and then walked back to the manor."

Tim goes on to tell them about other times, somewhere between venting about his trauma and reminiscing about times he looks back on fondly. The fight that left him in Panama Beach when he was 11, the one that left him in Denver when he was 13, just 3 weeks before he became Robin, the one when he was 15 and was abandoned in Atlanta, the time when they left him somewhere in *Canada* and the time he was left in *Mexico City* when he was 14. He even laughs about having to sneak onto a cargo ship when his parents left him in Paris, France when he was 16. He comments that that one was actually a few weeks after he healed from the Titans Tower fight. Bruce and Jason are both totally not having a near panic attack about that last one.

Tim is living his life and forgetting that what he went through is probably fucked up. If it happened to another kid, he'd label that as criminal neglect. For himself? Meh.

(I know this is possible because, as someone who's been praised for being smart, I can be so fucking dumb. After explaining to my therapist that I've had anxiety attacks several years before and get anxious in social situations, I was shocked when she told me I had anxiety. Fucking dumb of me, but I bet Tim makes similar mistakes).

Just Tim vibing over all the "good times" he had and forgetting that it's fucked up his parents did that. He probably also felt really proud of himself for figuring it out. He was able to solve his issues and navigate complicated problems (like crossing borders without a passport) all by himself! Isn't that so cool!

The poor batfam is having heart attack after heart attack hearing all of this. It's another aspect of Tim that gets added to the piles of "things he hid from us without meaning to" and "why digging up the Drakes to revive and kill them again is a good idea" (Damian and Steph mainly are the ones to propose the second option).

I love the examples you proposed! Tim really was vibing

[usedtobecooler]

if it's not with you | tom grant x fem!reader

Pairing | Tom Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, general banter, flirting, all around fluffiness.

Word Count | 5k

A/N | eeeee i'm so excited to share this fic with you all!! honestly i've fallen in love with tom all over again writing this, i hope you all enjoy this flirty fluffy cuteness!!

This caravan park was easily the worst place you’d ever been on holiday to. You couldn’t even lie to yourself — the entertainment area was outdated, the food was far from good, the staff were mostly rude and unhelpful, and the caravan you’d rented for the week was the biggest piece of shit.

Your idea of a nice, relaxing beachside break from the city was basically down the pan the moment you arrived, though you had to admit the one saving grace was in fact the gorgeous beach, barely thirty steps away from your rental, all golden sand and crashing waves. It was peaceful, quiet — the school summer holidays were over so it only left the caravan owners and the odd few stragglers without kids behind. 

Summer was barely clinging on, the nights were beginning to close in fast and the air was feeling that bit crisper once the sun set, like it had done every Summer since you could remember. There was still the odd humid, hot day, and this was one of them. 

Muggy beyond belief, despite the cool sea breeze rolling in from the East. You were sweating, skin feeling sticky as you sunbathed in peace, laid out in a one piece on your towel. Regardless of the factor thirty, you already knew you were going to burn — you always did, no matter what. The harsh rays from the sun were unforgiving to your sensitive skin, leaving you flushed and freckled.

You feel the figure looming over you pretty quickly. The slight darkness on your left hand side as said person blocked the sun. You let out a deep sigh, using your hand as a makeshift sun visor as you open your eyes carefully, squinting up into the sun.

You spy the caravan park logo on his polo shirt immediately — site worker, clearly. He’s all curly hair, pale skinned and a goofy grin on his face as he clutches onto the magazine you’d taken with you to read, obviously blown off in a gust of wind when you’d been blissfully unaware, “Think this was trying to do a runner on you,” His voice is unexpectedly deep, though still chirpy, as he extends his arm out with the magazine rolled up in his hand.

“Thanks, mate,” You bark out a little embarrassed laugh, propping yourself up on an elbow and taking the magazine from him. Your fingers brush, and you can’t help the flush that creeps up to your cheeks at the barely-there touch, “It’s shit anyway — one of them magazines people get paid fifty quid to share their fake stories to, y’know.” 

The man snorts, shoves his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, “I know the ones, my mums obsessed with them. Surely nobody believes the ghost stories?” He’s making conversation, not in any rush to get off, and it’s strange. He’s maybe the second worker you’d encountered who was genuinely an alright person. 

“Oh I know, in this one they’re claiming the ghost made toast in the middle of the night. Didn’t realise they could open a loaf of bread, who’d have thought it?” You humor him, and he properly laughs at that, kicking his toes in the sand as he looks down at you. 

He’s awfully pretty, you notice, as you look up at him properly now the glare of the sun has been blocked a little. Big brown eyes and a freckled nose, tinged pink from too much sun and not enough sunscreen, no doubt. Nice full lips and a cute chin, chains dangling on his neck. Very typical English boy, but that was always your type.

Your mouth runs dry, now that you’re suddenly aware of how attractive this man is and you’ve just called him mate. Ground swallow you now.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get going,” He looks sullen at that, nose scrunching up a little, “Duty calls — these old fuddy-duddies who arrive this time of year always find something to moan about.”

“Well, you enjoy that…” You blush, giggling like a dickhead, suddenly aware of the fact you’re lusting over a man who’s name you don’t even know,  “Sorry, I never got your name. No nametag?”

“Tom,” Tom digs in his pocket, a small triumphant noise escaping him when he pulls the old nametag out between two fingers proudly, showing you it, “I usually don’t wear it. Can’t be fucked when these arseholes complain about the staff and name us to management.” 

“Well, I’ll make sure to name you to the staff when I check out and let them know you were a very helpful young man, Tom,” Your voice drips sarcasm and humour, and you know you’ve got him hook, line and sinker when he bellows a true laugh, throwing his head back and exposing the vast expanse of his neck, veins protruding. Your thighs clench.

You’re both shook out of the little bubble when somebody starts shouting Tom’s name from behind you both, startling you. He rolls his eyes, tapping the watch on his wrist, “Gotta go, darling. You need anything just ask for me personally when you phone, yeah?” 

You nod, dumbstruck as he smiles wide at you, pearly white teeth on display. He takes off in a jog, and for the first time you truly understand the term ‘hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.’ 

You bump into him again two days later, in the laundry room as you’re banging on the washing machine that currently had four days worth of clothes and underwear locked in it. It’d swallowed your token, locked the doors then refused to start, and you were raging — three quid down the fucking drain, just like that.

He knocks up behind you unexpectedly, his hip catching on the soft flesh of your ass as he leans over to pop a token into it. You suck in a breath and hold it, watching with awestruck eyes as the tendons in his wrist flex when he turns the dial. The machine whirs to life, water beginning to fill the drum in just mere seconds.

“What’d I tell you about just shouting for me if you needed anything?” Tom’s smug, lips so close to your ear they’re almost brushing the shell and you have to literally shove down the gasp that almost makes its way up your throat. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and a shiver ripples up your spine. 

“I didn’t expect to need maintenance help for washing my underwear,” You bristle, trying to act calm as he brushes past you and opts for leaning against the machine, hands once again buried deep into his pockets — he’s wearing grey joggers this time, clearly to match the miserable and dreary weather outside. You avert your gaze from the obvious bulge in his trousers, willing yourself to just get a fucking grip.

It doesn’t help when you lock eyes with him, and he’s all gooey brown orbs and long eyelashes. It’s embarrassing how much you fancy him, and now you feel like a right slob — down here in your leggings, hoodie and crocs of all things. Hair up in a messy bun and no makeup on, on account of the severe sunburn on your nose and cheeks.

“C’mon, we’ll go back to the token machine and I’ll get you your money back,” Tom nods towards the door, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You want to tell him you don’t need the money back, but a little part of you wonders — and hopes — that he’s offering to do this so that you have an excuse to wander off with him.

“Sure, lead the way my saviour,” You joke, extending an arm out towards the open door. He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a look that could only be described as fond on his features as he saunters past you. You feel your cheeks heat up, and it’s not from the sunburn this time.

“What’s brought you to Cornwall, then?” He asks conversationally — you’re bumping arms you’re that close, and the corridor isn’t even that narrow, he’s just naturally gravitating towards you. You plod along slowly and he matches your pace, your heart thudding in your chest as your hopes were confirmed; he was being nosey, interested in getting to know you.

“Not much, I like the beach but I live in London so I don’t get to see it much,” You admit, shoving your hands into your hoodie pocket, “I work from home, too. So I thought I’d maybe get some work done whilst I was here. The wifi is shit, by the way.”

Tom winces, shooting you an apologetic look, though it’s clearly a mockery, “Yeah, this place doesn’t have much going for it, darling. Though it’ll give you an excuse to actually enjoy your break instead of worrying about work, right?”

You’re walking so slowly you may as well be at a standstill, and you know it’s because the token machine is barely ten feet away, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” You admit, because it’s true — you’d hardly even thought about your job since you got here, enjoying your time soaking in the sun and the peace away from your roommate, “What about you? You from around here?”

“Born and raised,” Tom shrugs. You glance to the side, watching as his adams apple bobs up and down when he swallows, “I live on the site now, though, have done since I was sixteen. I’m here all year with Kai, you’ve probably seen him around, angry looking dickhead with a buzzcut. A girl called Jade used to live here too but eh, she’s gone now.”

You hum, acknowledging what he’s saying. You want to pry, the way his voice changed when he spoke about this ‘Jade’ character leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — an ex, maybe. But you were basically a stranger to Tom, so why would he explain that to you? 

The both of you stop right at the token machine, and Tom fumbles for his set of keys, flipping them until he finds one with a red tag on it. You watch his hands the entire time, thirsting silently — god, his hands were so nice. For a maintenance guy, they were clean, nails manicured, the skin soft. You could tell he took care of himself, and that made him all the more attractive to you. 

He slips the three pound coins into your hoodie pocket, knocking you out of your daze. His hand bumps against your waist when he pulls it out of said pocket, leaving you feeling flustered. There’s no way he’s just being nice, he’s flirting, albeit subtly. 

“Thank you,” Your voice is breathy, catching in the back of your throat as your eyes search for his again, though it doesn’t take long before his eyes are locking on yours once more, “Don’t know what I’d do without you. Or that three quid, actually, that’ll get me another shitty magazine from the shop and a bottle of Coke.”

Tom laughs, showing off his ridiculously perfect teeth once again, “You’re right, it will. Hopefully the ghost story in this one’s a bit better —” 

There’s a sudden harsh knock on the window behind your head that has you leaping out of your skin. He glances up to where the source of the banging came from, and he’s huffing, rolling his eyes, “Gotta go, darling. Another dickhead to deal with. Remember what I said, need anything just shout for me, yeah? Enjoy your magazine.” 

He lands a soothing hand on your shoulder just barely before he’s taking off, and your skin burns even through the thick material of your hoodie. 

There’s one day left of your holiday. One miserable day. You hadn’t seen Tom at all since your encounter in the laundry area, and you had to admit you were feeling deflated over it. You hadn’t been avoiding him, in fact quite the opposite, but your paths had just never crossed again. 

The weather was unbearably hot once more, worse than the first day you’d met Tom, not even a breeze coming in off the sea, and you were desperate for a cold shower to rinse off the sweat from your now sunkissed skin.

The caravan door slams shut behind you as you step foot inside, basking in the little bit of cool air in the living area that’d been bathed in shade the entire day. You strip off your two-piece without a second thought — your caravan doesn’t look onto any others, and you don’t see anybody around, so there was nobody to scar when you stripped naked. 

At the beginning of your holiday you didn’t believe you’d ever become accustomed to the tight living quarters, especially the bathroom, but now that you’d been at the park for a week you almost couldn’t imagine going back home to your shitty little flat in Central London. You actually enjoyed the peace and quiet, and you were saddened about leaving.

You couldn’t deny that Tom was part of that, too. Though you’d hardly gotten a chance to know him you were drawn in, and the thought of heading home the next day and never seeing him again was weighing heavy on your shoulders. 

Stepping into the tight shower, you twist the dial to turn on the water, only to be engulfed in a roaring hot heat that has you yelping and gasping. The sharp sting of the scalding hot water hitting your sunburnt chest brings tears to your eyes, your hands flapping to turn the dial back until the stream stops.

You jump out of the shower, grabbing for your fluffy towel that you’d set in the open window that morning, pulling it around your bare body and tucking it in until it’s sat nicely. The ends of your hair drip wet, the water cooling fast, an almost pleasant feeling in comparison to what you just felt.

There’s not a second thought before you’re dialing 0 on the phone in the living area and asking for a maintenance person to come look at the shower, reeling off that the water was scalding hot and had burned you. The person on the other end sounds bored, uninterested and far from shocked when you tell her what happened. You hang up and, in your anger, stick up your middle finger at the phone. 

You didn’t even think to ask for Tom. You perch your ass on the arm of the U-shaped sofa, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your leg as you wait, wondering who it’d be that showed up to your call. You really, really hoped it’d be him.

Not even five minutes go by before you’re hearing a rapping of knuckles on the glass pane of the door, and you answer it quickly, all street smarts going out the window as you pull the door open just clad in your towel. Tom stands on the narrow step, clutching onto a metal tool box, and you breathe out a sigh of relief that it’s him.

“Fucking hell, that burn looks sore,” Tom looks with bug eyes at your chest, taking in the look of your skin tinged a deep red, much darker than the rest of your sunburnt body. You flush, moving out of the way to let him in, “If you put in a claim for that this place would be shut down.”

He laughs about it, but visibly looks nervous. You can’t help but wonder if, as much as he complained about the job, he genuinely liked it. Or maybe it was all he knew, which was also probably true, considering he had told you he’d been here living since he was just a teenager. A pang in your chest asserts itself at that realisation.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, it’s my own stupid fault for stepping into the shower before turning it on like a silly bitch,” You shake it off, a wobbly little laugh escaping you, “Nothing a bit of lotion won’t fix, Tom.” 

“No, it’s fucking ridiculous that this even happened,” Tom grunts, stepping past you and wandering the short distance into the bathroom. You follow him like a lost puppy, clutching at the top of your towel with one hand, standing in the doorway as you watch him flip his toolbox open, grabbing for something and banging the shower door open. 

“Dunno why they still rent out this caravan every summer there’s so much shit wrong with it, told the manager it was fit for the scrap yard two years ago,” Tom’s conversational, unscrewing the shower tap and fiddling with it as if you’re not standing there basically naked and still slightly damp from your failed attempt at hosing off.

You’re trying to look anywhere but right in his direction. It’s hard, though. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his arm bulging and straining under the tight material of his polo shirt as he uses his wrench to tighten a bolt, “S’okay, I got it pretty cheap. I’m away home tomorrow, didn’t want the next poor sod to get burnt like I did.”

Tom shoots a glance at you, brows marrying for a moment until he’s turning back to the job at hand, “I didn’t realise you were away so soon, fuck sake. If I’d known I would’ve come and seen you earlier. You’re alright, y’know?” 

“Thank you?” It comes out as a question, and you can’t help but feel somewhat offended by his choice of words, “I suppose you’re alright yourself. Probably the only decent member of staff I’ve spoken to this entire week.” 

“Yeah, the nice face and banter are just a bonus, eh?” Tom flashes you his teeth again and it has you rolling your eyes, though a fond smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “Not like those posh London boys, they’re stuffy and boring.”

“You’re right about that,” You agree, watching as he throws the wrench back into the toolbox blindly, the tool landing correctly in its place. It’s now or never, you think, as he screws the tap back on. This is it, after this last chance meeting you’re not gonna see him again. “Who’d have thought something as simple as catching a blown away magazine would have a girl weak at the knees?” 

You cringe at yourself, though Tom’s head shoots around. He looks at you with a confusion etched on his features, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Surely you were being obvious enough, right?

You watch him dumbly step out of the shower, even going as far as to shut the screen door behind him, “What do you mean?” He asks, quirking a brow. Clearly you weren’t being obvious, then. 

“Is it not totally obvious that I’m into you?” You scoff, wanting to lean forward and rattle that devourable looking neck. He’s clearly so clueless, it would actually be kind of endearing if you didn’t find it so infuriating. 

Tom balks at you, taking a step closer to you, which has him almost right up in your face, with how enclosed the space of the bathroom is, “Really? I’m really shit at reading signals, sorry, love.” 

Love. You melt at the pet name, going all gooey. You take your chance, fingers tugging at your towel until it’s loosening on your body. He watches you with curious eyes that soon turn lust filled, when you let the towel drop to the floor and pool around your feet.

You blush under his intense gaze, taking in the swell of your tits, the pebble of your nipples, the curve of your hips, the mound of your cunt. He takes another step, so you’re basically toe to toe, and he exhales loudly.

“Not done this for a while,” Tom admits, as his large hands engulf your waist, pulling you closer to him until your naked body is flush against him, the soft material of his worn-in work polo a pleasant feeling against your skin, “Can I kiss you?” 

You nod, far too fast, too eager, but he clearly doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in until his plump lips are capturing yours. You melt into it, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him in closer, fingers burying in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Tom deepens the kiss quickly, tongue running over your bottom lip and you open up willingly, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. His own tongue glides along yours deliciously, has your pussy clenching and your legs shaking. He moves you blindly backwards, like he knows the entire layout of this caravan — which he probably does, has probably been here many a time.

The backs of your legs hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward, opening your legs for Tom to nudge between them, one hand still on your waist tightly, other slipping down your leg, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh. You shiver, unable to contain it, the feeling of the hands you’d thought about so much the last week finally on you was almost enough to drive you crazy.

Tom’s hand skates higher and higher up your thigh, until he’s cupping the heat of your cunt. He’s the one to break the kiss, pulling away from you to look you in the eyes properly, like he’s looking for confirmation that you’re still good and you’re okay to keep going, “You okay if I touch you?” 

You melt. You nod, and he dives in, kissing the side of your neck with spit-slick lips, leaving you gasping and writhing below him. He bumps his hips down into you, and you feel the outline of his hard cock brushing against your inner thigh.

Suddenly, your carnal desire for him overcomes your every being, your hands falling from the back of his neck to fist into his shirt, bunching up big handfuls of the material, “C’mon, you too?” You beg, voice whiny, completely distracted by how Tom bites and kisses at your neck, “Need to see you too.” 

He sits back on his haunches, smirking down at you, hands leaving your body and in turn leaving you cold — though it’s not for long, as you watch him pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. He dives back down into you quickly, bumping those godforsaken hips down against your pussy this time, leaving you gasping.

That stupid, shit eating grin never leaves his face until he’s burying his face back into your neck, peppering your skin with kisses, hand nudging between your legs again, until the pads of two of his fingers finally dip in between your slick folds, gathering your juices on them. He grunts against you, rutting his hips down again, “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mumbles, caught off guard by it.

“Mmph, all for you,” You gasp, breath catching in your throat when he finds the swollen, sensitive bud of your clit and starts rubbing in small, tight circles, until your hips are pushing up into the air, “Oh God —!”

You lose yourself in the feeling of Tom lathering you in kisses, the way his plump lips ghost along the stinging, burnt skin of your chest and soothe it, his fingers working on your clit until your cunt is gushing wetter than before. He’s so sensual, passionate, taking the most attentive care to your body, and it’s driving you wild.

“You feel so good on my fingers,” Tom groans in between kisses, looking at you with those pretty, chocolate brown eyes, now mostly blackened with lust, “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock, babe.” 

You squeal, a moan punching out of you when his fingers leave your clit just barely to dip into the entrance of your pussy and glide back up, taking some of your milky wetness with them. You clench, quivering at his words, a deep heat blooming in the pit of your belly, alarmingly fast, “I’m so close,” You admit, losing yourself in the pleasure of Tom’s fingers catching on your clit, winding you up tight, tight, tight.

Tom kisses the swell of your breast, lips dragging down until they latch onto your nipple, licking and sucking until you’re crying out. He can’t take his eyes off of you, watching every contortion of your face as he makes you fall apart. Your fingers grip into his curls, tugging lightly until he’s groaning, vibrations echoing up your chest.

His fingers work at that same torturing pace, sliding in circles until you’re arching off the bed slightly, coil in your tummy snapping, your entire body tensing and going lax just as fast as your orgasm washes over you, a gush of slick slipping from your hole as you shake through it.

Tom works you through it until you’re jerking away, fingers unwinding from his hair and pushing at his shoulders instead. He presses a light kiss to your nipple, pulling himself up and slipping his fingers from your cunt, “Was that okay?” He asks, though he’s smiling, proud of himself, clearly.

You nod, catching sight of the prominent bulge in his grey joggers, sudden desperation to get to his cock overtaking you — you lean up, tugging at the waistband of the offending material until it’s bunched around his thighs, uncut cock springing out proudly, you gasp, “No underwear? You always wander around like this, you slag?”

Tom laughs, shaking his head, “No, I wasn’t on shift but took the call because I knew this was your caravan,” He admits, and you giggle, a little swell of pride in your chest. That little admission was enough for you, he did like you as much as you liked him. 

He dives back into you, capturing your lips with his own, and you take that opportunity to get a feel for his cock, deft fingers blindly wrapping around the length and giving him an experimental tug, pulling the foreskin back. He gasps into your mouth as you work him up and down, your thumb swiping over the tip, and he’s punching his hips into your hand.

“Keep doing that an’ I’m gonna cum before I get to fuck you,” He mumbles against your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip just a little. You take that as your cue to stop, hand dropping from his cock and instead wrapping around his bicep.

He makes a show of it, like an arsehole, grabbing a hold of his cock and sliding the tip through the mess of your cunt, catching on your clit and gliding it back down, until you’re gasping and silently begging for it, digging your nails into the meat of his tanned arms.

“C’mon, Tom. Please?” You whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he takes the bait — he slips his cock into you in one fluid motion, until his balls are flush against your ass. You couldn’t have been prepared for the sheer thickness of him stretching you from the inside out, a gasp escaping you when the head of his cock brushes along your frontal wall.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Tom moans, burying his head into the other side of your neck this time, kissing and biting at your flesh until it’s raised. He pulls out, slamming back into you to the hilt, and you clench around him, unable to help it, the curved head of his cock brushing against the spongey part of your cunt perfectly, “God, babe, don’t do that, I’ll cum so quick.”

You moan, clenching around him again until he’s groaning, fucking in and out of you properly, your cunt sucking him in, gushing around his length. You’re overwhelmed by the feeling of him all over you, his lips and teeth on your neck, his hair tickling your face, his toned torso crushing down into yours, his cock sliding in and out of the tight heat of your pussy.

“You feel so good around me, fuck,” Tom’s mumbling against you, words almost getting lost in your skin, but you’re fucking melting for it, the praises having you keening up into him.

You feel your orgasm building quickly, unaware of how loud you’re moaning until Tom’s picking up the pace of his thrusts, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the room, the wet schlick of your pussy mixing with the other sinful noises. 

“M’gonna cum,” You cry, tears pricking at your eyes as your tummy blooms with heat once again, orgasm building a lot quicker this time than the last time, and Tom pulls himself away from the crevice of your neck, looking at you with his lust blown eyes, swollen red lips open in a constant moan, “Fuck, Tom, s’good, so good,”

You’re babbling and Tom groans, fucking you so rough you’re sliding up the bed — your high hits you so hard you see stars, eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters and gushes around the girth of Tom’s cock, fingernails biting into his arms so hard that you know you’re going to leave behind broken skin.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Tom’s voice goes high pitched, eyes rolling into his skull as your pussy grips him like a vice, and he’s coming too, hips stuttering as he paints your walls in his release, cock pulsing in the tight heat of your cunt.

You mewl, spent body giving into everything. You feel like you’re floating, unable to comprehend what just happened. Tom’s looking down at you with this big dopey grin and you smile back, leaning up to kiss him languidly as his spent cock goes soft.

Tom slips out of you with a hiss, collapsing down next to you, chest still heaving on breath, “You sure you’ve gotta go home tomorrow, darling?” He asks, voice quiet as he tugs you into him, those big arms engulfing you in a tight cuddle. Your whole body melts into his, your mind blank of anything but him. Maybe you didn’t have to go home just yet. 

“I suppose I could see about hanging around for another week… or two,” You admit, and Tom cackles in triumph, squeezing you tighter until you’re giggling into his chest, heart swelling.

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Someplace Like Home

Title: Someplace Like Home

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 8.3k

Warnings: Canonical violence, minor injuries, minor blood, non-descriptive mentions of hospitals, mild language

Summary: Y/N owns a hostel in Croatia. When the very handsome Grant comes to work for her, she falls hard and fast for the new handyman.

A/N: This story takes place between Civil War and Infinity War, when Steve is on the run. There are a handful Croatian phrases/words used, which are translated at the end of this fic. Don’t ask me why all my Steve stories suddenly have foreign languages in them. As always, thanks for reading and supporting my writing in all the ways you do. Enjoy!

Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

Your morning starts off slow, like it always does, and after the handful of guests have finished breakfast and left to spend the rest of the day at the beach or in the mountains, you settle yourself behind the front counter and pull out your laptop. The dirty dishes can wait until later—Ana will be here in an hour, and she prefers doing the dishes over going over the books, so you have an unspoken deal that you’ll do the bookkeeping if she cleans up after meals.

You’re just opening up the software on your laptop when the front door opens. The bell above it jingles as a man steps in, bringing with him a warm gust of air. June has been unseasonably cool, but today is the warmest it’s been in weeks. You’ve kept most of the windows open all morning, even though it was still a bit chilly.

“Dobro jutro,” you greet. You carefully shift the laptop off to the side a few inches, being careful not to mess up the carefully arranged papers you’ve sorted out on the counter.

“Kako vam mogu pomoći?”

The man has a gray hiking backpack slung over his shoulder. He’s tall and blond, a dark blond that looks golden in the light from the outside but brown in the shadows. His thick beard and mustache are well-trimmed. You automatically open up the leatherbound reservation book and reach underneath the counter for a key. 

“Dobro jutro. Uh, govorite li engleski?” asks the man. He smiles politely, and you smile back, nodding.

“Of course,” you answer. “How can I help you?”

His eyes move to the pen in your hand, already poised over the next open spot in the reservation book. “I’m not here for a room. I’m here about the opening for a handyman.”

Surprised, you close the book again and tuck it back under the counter where it belongs, along with the key you’d grabbed. No one has come about the open position since you’d posted it months ago in the local cafe. Not even a sign outside the hostel has helped.

“In that case, my name’s Y/N. I’m the owner here.”

“Grant,” he replies, his hand already held out for you to shake.

You oblige with another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Grant. Can I ask how you found out about the position? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around town.”

He nods once. “I just moved here from Italy, and from Switzerland before that.”

“So you’re making your way through Europe, then?” you ask. You’re not entirely surprised—he looks rugged enough that he could handle a long backpacking trip or several months of solo travel, unlike some of the college students you normally have traipsing through your village.

“In a way,” he answers. “Truthfully, I’d like to settle down someplace, but it’s been a rough few years. I haven’t quite found the place that feels like home yet.”

Secretly, as you listen to him explain the various European cities in which he’s lived, you wish that he’ll come to feel at home here. Brdonik isn’t large enough to be on any maps, but it’s been your home for almost a decade now, and you can’t imagine a better place. The whole community bands together, and people look out for each other. There’s enough tourism from backpackers and small cruises that you’re not totally isolated, but you’re still far enough removed that your daily life isn’t saturated with commercialism and the big city nonsense you often hear about through your guests. You’d experienced it enough before coming to Croatia, and you don’t ever plan on going back to the life you’d had before you moved.

“To answer your question,”—Grant’s gentle continuation pulls you from your thoughts—“I saw a flier posted in the cafe down the street. I stopped there for lunch.”

“What did you order?” you ask. You prop an elbow up on the counter and level him with your gaze.

“Is that important?

“If you want this job it is. You can tell a lot about a person based on what they order at a restaurant.”

He smiles a little. “I got the turkey sandwich.”

You consider his choice for a moment before giving him a nod. “Simple, but respectable. A clear tourist choice, but I like it.”

“You can’t go wrong with a turkey sandwich,” he adds.

“It’s a classic!” You smile back at him and then come around the counter into the main part of the lobby. You grab your clipboard from its hook on the wall.

“Let me give you a tour,” you tell him. “I’ll point out some of the things that need fixing, and then you can tell me if you still think you’re a good fit.”

Grant agrees, and he walks beside you as you lead him through the hostel. You show him the currently unoccupied rooms, as well as the common areas, and you give him plenty of time to inspect the stalled projects and major fixes that he’d been in charge of. While he looks around, you watch him carefully. There’s something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on, but he doesn’t set off any alarm bells in your head like some of the previous candidates had. He’s respectful of the property and the few lingering guests you come across, and Grant is polite enough to open doors for you as you approach them. He speaks softly and clearly, and his sense of humor is well-timed. Somehow, despite his hulking frame and obvious strength, you feel safe around him.

Eventually, you lead him to your office. Grant takes the seat in front of your desk and you close the door behind him, then sit behind your desk and pull a pad of paper from the drawer. He’s almost too big for the chair you normally reserve for college-age backpackers looking for a few days of housekeeping work. He’s relaxed, though, and he rests both arms on the thin wooden armrests as you get out what you need. You sneak a glance at him as you sit upright again. His eyes move slowly and carefully over the framed photos and documents on the wall, taking in each one of them individually before he moves onto the next—your college diploma from NYU, a photo of you with your family the last time they came to visit, a certificate of operation from the local government. His backpack is leaning up against the front leg of the chair and his left leg, and you briefly wonder how he’s afforded to travel so much. The bag looks brand new, and high-tech, too. Is he a tech mogul of some kind? A grown-up trust fund kid? Did he steal it, or is he just really good with money?

“You’ll have to excuse me, I don’t have any questions prepared for you,” you tell him as you reach for a pen.

He nods and looks back at you. “You weren’t expecting me to walk in today, I understand.”

“Either way, I have to say that so far, I’m very impressed with you.” You glance up again and give him a polite smile, then look back down as you write his name and the date at the top of the page. “What did you say your last name was again?”

“Carter,” he says.

Nodding, you add that at the top and make your first bullet point.

“Grant Carter. Are you named after someone? That seems a pretty traditional name for a guy your age.” You immediately cringe at the question. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that.”

Chuckling, Grant shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. My mother was a big fan of Ulysses S. Grant.”

“The 18th president?” you ask, grinning wide.

He nods and lets out another small laugh. “That’s the one.”

“He’s not normally up there on peoples’ lists of favorite presidents.”

“She had her reasons, I guess,” Grant shrugs.

You hum a little with a smile and look back down at your almost empty legal pad. You have a million questions that you want to ask, and more that you know you should, but you allow yourself to think for a moment before you look up again. Whatever you ask has to be the right mix of the two.

“You’ve lived in a lot of really impressive places,” you begin, and Grant nods in confirmation. “Why come here? There are plenty of larger cities with more job openings. Better paying job openings,” you add.

“You sell yourself short,” Grant easily replies. He sits forward a little, his elbows sliding closer to the ends of the armrests. “Your town is beautiful. It’s comfortable, and a bit secluded. I’m looking for something quieter.”

“A lot of people are, but we’re not often what they want in the long run. How long are you planning on staying?”

Grant stares at you for a long moment before he replies, “Until I’m needed elsewhere.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cryptic, so I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a clearer answer.”

“I plan on staying indefinitely, but if it changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

Not quite satisfied with his answer, you still scribble down the response and make a second point on the next line down.

“Do you have handyman experience?”

Grant shakes his head. “But I’m a quick learner and I’m stronger than I look. Whatever I don’t already know how to do, I’ll pick it up quickly if I can get the information from someone or somewhere.”

I highly doubt you’re stronger than you look, you think, forcing yourself to look down at the paper and write, rather than at him. You already look pretty damn strong.

“Do you have a previous employer I can contact? Or references?”

“I can have that information to you by the end of the day.”

You nod and keep writing, and you don’t look up as you say, “We don’t typically provide housing for employees, as we’re a small enough village that commute isn’t an issue, but given that you’re new to town, I’m going to assume that you don’t have a place to stay yet.”

“No ma’am, I don’t.”

“I can get you set up in a room here, if that’s alright with you. I won’t expect you to work outside of normal business hours, except in an emergency, but that’s the same even if you lived off-property,” you tell him, looking up. You don’t lift your pen, and it’s a little satisfying to see that Grant looks mildly surprised. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who could be surprised by anything.

“You’re hiring me?” he asks.

“Should I not?”

He quickly recovers and shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “I was just surprised that you’re not waiting until after you’ve seen my references.”

“Are you a horrible person?”

“I don’t think so, no.

“Are you a terrible employee?” you ask, putting your pen down on the desk.

“I’m loyal to a fault.”

“Should I be concerned about criminal activity?”

Grant laughs. “I’m a model citizen, though I did steal a piece of cake when I was a kid.”

“I’ll be sure to inform the local authorities,” you tease, grinning. You slide the notepad onto your desk and stand, holding out your hand for him to shake. Grant obliges. “You’re hired, Mr. Carter. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room so you can get settled in before your first day tomorrow.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” he replies.

“I won’t take the room out of your salary unless it prevents us from taking guests, but I don’t see that becoming an issue, except maybe in mid-July,” you tell him as you move around the desk to the door. “The handyman position pays 800 euros a month. You’ll be paid bi-weekly in check or cash, whichever your preference. We don’t have direct deposit here. If you need an account in town, there’s a bank down the road.”

“Cash is fine,” he says. He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before following you back out into the hallway, then out to the lobby. You make a pit stop at the front desk to grab a key before heading up the main staircase.

The private, single person rooms on the third floor are a little older, and you briefly worry as you climb the stairs if the beds will be able to hold Grant’s weight. You don’t use them as often now that you’ve finished transforming the old hotel into a hostel. There’s a thin coating of dust on the handrail and you make a mental note to give this floor a thorough cleaning tomorrow while he’s occupied, that way you won’t be intruding. 

You lead Grant to the end of the hall, where the rooms are slightly larger and the windows overlook the ocean. While the view is great, most of your summer guests only fill the dorm-style rooms, so you’re fairly certain you won’t be missing out on any profit by giving him this room.

“Here we are,” you say, and you open the door before stepping aside so he can enter first.

Grant ducks through the doorway and flips the light switch, then looks around in silence. You wait in the hallway, holding your breath as he makes his inspection.

“This is nice,” he finally says, looking back at you. He drops his bag at the foot of the bed. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

You wave one hand dismissively. “It’s fine.”

Your phone chimes in your back pocket and you pull it out, quickly reading the notification. It’s only mildly urgent, but you can feel Grant trying to look occupied as he waits for you to leave, so you look up and gesture back towards the stairs with your phone. 

“I’ve gotta take care of something, but you’re in luck. Every Thursday night we host a group dinner for the guests. The food is all cooked by a chef from a local restaurant in an attempt to promote the local cuisine, so you’re welcome to join us, or I can recommend some other restaurants in the area, if you want to explore a little bit more. We eat at seven.”

Nodding, Grant smiles and crosses the room to pull the key from where you’d left it in the lock. “I’ll see you at seven. It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too, Grant. Welcome aboard!” You smile once more, then turn and head back down the hall. His door closes as you reach the top of the stairs, and suddenly, you can’t wait for dinnertime.

You occupy yourself for the majority of the day by compiling a list of projects for Grant, as well as contacting the references he sends you using the email address on the hostel’s website. He gets glowing reviews from each and every person on the list, though they all seem a little confused when you first ask about him. 

Grant comes down to the first floor at five minutes to seven, and you’re just greeting the first small group of guests to arrive back from their excursions when he steps down from the bottom step. You glance over and give him a quick, acknowledging smile before turning back to the guests.

“Dobor dan! How was your time at the beach?” you ask. They reply politely in a mix of English and their own native language. You vaguely recognize it as French. You’re about to tell them in English about the dinner schedule, hoping that they’ll understand at least partially, but Grant begins talking in rapid-fire French before you even open your mouth.

It takes everything in you to keep your jaw from dropping straight through the floor. None of Grant’s references had mentioned he was bilingual, and neither did he. It feels like it should’ve been obvious, however, given that every single person he’d talked to had mentioned his incredible intelligence and ability to pick up skills quicker than anybody they knew.

Still, you watch in stunned silence from behind the front desk and Grant chatters with the guests. He leads them from the lobby and into the adjoining sitting area, where you hear them sit down and continue to talk. Someone laughs, and then Grant does, too. It’s a deep, mellow baritone, and you catch yourself grinning before you manage to stifle it.

When the next group of guests walk in, you guide them into the sitting room with the others. Grant catches your eye as you turn the corner, and when he smiles, you swear that your heart stutters in your chest.

He’s your employee, you chide yourself, and you turn your back on the group on the premise of prepping a plate of cookies for the coffee table.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” you say as you set the plate in the center of the group. Grant translates for you, first in French, and then in a language that sounds almost Spanish, but you know enough of that to know that it’s something different. All the guests nod in agreement.

You settle against one of the heavy wood bookshelves and watch quietly as Grant chats with the guests, switching fluidly between languages whenever he turns to a new person. It’s amazing, so you simply stay silent as you listen to the flurry of foreign words in the sitting room. You’ve never heard the pre-dinner conversation so lively. It brings a new warmth to the hostel, and you can’t help but smile as you watch the guests come alive, even though they’re exhausted.

“Dinner is ready!” Ana calls. She pokes her head in the door, and she smiles wide when she sees the guests talking excitedly. Every seat is taken. When she turns to look at you, you only grin.

“What’s going on?” she asks, stepping closer so she can lower her voice. “Who is that?”

You lean in, whispering, “His name is Grant. He’s the new handyman, and apparently, he speaks multiple languages.”

“Apparently?”

“I didn’t know when I hired him! This,” you gesture with one hand towards the circle of guests, who have started to rise now that Grant has passed along the message about dinner, “was a surprise to me, too. He just started talking to them on his own. I didn’t ask him to do anything.”

Ana raises her eyebrows, giving you a meaningful look. Before you can scold her for trying to meddle in your love life, she slips away and Grant appears at your side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Goosebumps erupt on your arms at the sound of his deep voice so close to your ear. He’s leaned down so you can hear him clearly, and though he’s not quite in your space, he’s still close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him. It should feel stifling in the early summer heat, but it’s comforting, and you turn towards him with a bright smile.

“Ana. She’s the manager when I’m not here. I’ll introduce you later. How come you never told me you spoke all those languages?” you ask.

Grant just smiles back at you. “You never asked.”

“I’ll make sure to add that to my list of questions for the next time I have to hire someone.” You gesture at the line of guests filtering through the doorway to the hostel’s dining room. “We should eat. Most of the guests have spent all day hiking or at the beach, and they’ll be hungry. Our local chefs are all amazing, so the food always goes quickly.”

“What’s on the menu?” Grant asks. He starts to walk and you fall into step beside him, noting how he angles himself sideways and stoops through the doorway so that you’re not squashed into the doorframe. It’s a miracle he doesn’t hit his head on any of the lowered ceilings or hanging decor in the building.

I’ll have to warn him about the lights in the rooms on the second floor, you note.

“Punjene paprike. Stuffed peppers,” you translate. You pause and watch as the guests choose their seats, silently making sure there are enough chairs. When it’s clear you’ve done the math correctly, you look over at Grant. “How many languages do you speak?”

He shrugs and surveys the long table filled with food. People are already piling their plates high and chattering with their friends and family, and the room is filled with amicable noise. The sun coming in from the windows is golden. The windows face south, which is one of the many reasons why you’d first purchased the building. It needs a lot of work, and it always has, but the view of the ocean from the dining room windows, along with the way the sun illuminates the whole room, helps make all the work worth it.

“This place is beautiful,” says Grant, quietly. “You’ve done well.”

You look over at him, surprised at the praise. It warms you from the inside out, and you smile when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. I’ve worked hard.”

He nods, and after a moment, he gestures towards the table. There are two empty seats beside each other, near the far end of the room. Ana has taken the seat across from them and she’s already begun to eat.

You follow Grant across the dining room, and you try not to act surprised when he pulls out the chair and helps you sit before taking the spot beside yours. Ana catches your eye as you reach for a dish, but you look away. You can’t risk having her embarrass you in front of the guests.

Or Grant, the cheeky little voice in your brain adds, but you quickly push the thought to the far reaches of your brain. Showing your hand—and your burgeoning feelings for Grant—right now is something you need even less.

“So, you’re from New York?” he asks.

You look up from where you’re pulling a napkin into your lap. “What?”

“Your degree. It’s from NYU, so I’m assuming that you’re from the States.”

Nodding, you allow him to serve one of the peppers onto your plate, and you heap an extra serving of rice onto the side of your plate before handing him the bowl. You don’t want to assume he likes anything, especially since he ordered one of the most American things on the menu at the cafe.

“I am. I grew up in Manhattan, and I decided to stay there for college. Once I got my degree in hospitality, I decided it was time I see more of the world,” you tell him. 

“Why Croatia?” Grant asks.

You shrug and pick up your fork. “Honestly? I don’t know why. I didn’t even mean to come here. I ended up on the wrong train and decided to stick it out. I figured it would be a fun experience either way, but I fell in love with it here. On my second day here, I saw that this building was up for sale and I had just enough money in my savings to buy it. It was a big risk, but I think that it was worth it.”

He looks around the room, listening to the conversations for a few moments before he smiles. “I think so, too.”

“Where are you from?” you ask. “You’re clearly American.”

Grant laughs at that, nodding. “I grew up in Brooklyn. When I was old enough, I served in the army for a few years, and since then I’ve just been… traveling.”

The army thing makes sense, and you file that information away for later. The two of you start to eat, exchanging a few more words throughout the meal. Grant offers to help Ana with the dishes. She’s giddy at the proposal, so you let them head into the kitchen as you help guests arrange their plans for the next day. You find yourself straining to listen for the sound of his voice during the quiet moments, however, but by the time the dishes are finished, Grant tells you that he’s exhausted and he wants to get a good night’s rest before his first day on the job. You wish him goodnight from the front desk, then wait for Ana to appear and barrage you with a million questions about the new handyman.

You learn quickly that there’s even more to Grant than meets the eye. He’d been telling the truth in his interview—he’s deceptively strong, and he really does learn quicker than anyone you’ve ever met. His Croatian improves leaps and bounds in the first few months at the hostel. By the end of the summer, he’s practically fluent, even if he does bumble through some of the more complicated phrases with a faint blush on his cheeks.

The longstanding projects for the hostel are all completed by the end of August, leaving you scrambling to keep Grant busy. When you can’t find anything to do, however, he busies himself by exploring the far reaches of the island, speaking with the guests in a myriad of languages, and keeping you company in the lobby or in your office. His presence, which had once seemed much too large for the old brick building, has settled. He seems at home in the armchair you buy for the corner of your office, and he’s become a fixture in the doorway of the lobby, where he likes to stand and watch traffic pass by.

It’s on one of the hottest days of the year that you first get a glimpse behind Grant’s ever-friendly facade. You’re behind the desk, going through the reservations for the upcoming week, when there’s a shout from outside. The front door to the hostel is propped open in an attempt to let in a breeze, and Grant has taken up residence in his normal spot. You’ve only just processed the shout when there’s an explosion. The floor beneath you shakes and shudders, and you grip the edge of the desk in an attempt to keep upright.

Grant whirls around and fixes his eyes on you. He’s scanning you, up and down, searching for any sign of injury.

“Are you okay?” he asks. You nod, swallowing thickly, and peer over his shoulder. There’s no sign of what’s happened outside, but you can hear screaming and shouting. There’s a gunshot and you flinch.

“Stay here, and stay hidden,” says Grant, and you know in an instant that it’s an order. “Stay quiet and don’t let anyone in. Okay?”

Nodding again, you drop to a crouch, then curl up on the floor with your back against the desk. You clutch your phone in one hand and listen as Grant closes, then locks the door. When he doesn’t appear behind the desk, you crawl over to the side and look out into the small lobby. He’s gone.

Your arms shake beneath you and you have to fall back against the desk for support before you fall flat on your face. Squeezing your eyes shut, you listen to the commotion outside. There are no more explosions, but you hear more screams and shouts, followed by a crash and gunshots. Your heart pounds in your chest as the noise gets closer and closer. You know that Grant was in the army, so he must have military training, but the thought of him outside—the thought of him in danger—makes you want to puke.

There’s a thud against the front door and you flinch. Your body tenses and you curl up in the fetal position, trying to maintain your breathing. It doesn’t work, however, and when there’s another bang, you scream.

“Molim! Molim, let me in!”

You look around the edge of the desk again. It’s a woman on the other side, and the desperation in her voice propels you to your feet and into the lobby without a second thought. You twist the lock and yank open the door.

A slim woman dressed entirely in black grins at you. Her eyes are a shocking shade of electric blue and her teeth are bright white—a stark contrast against the mask that hides the rest of her features.

“Sorry, dragi,” she says, and you gasp when she reveals the gun in her left hand. With the other, she reaches out and grabs you. “You’re coming with me.”

“No!” You fight against the woman’s grip, and when you lift your eyes to search for help from someone else, you can’t believe what you’re seeing.

Grant is lifting a car off someone. He lifts the car and tosses it aside with a heave and a grunt, and then he’s fighting someone hand-to-hand. The man in black is clearly trained because he gets in a few hits, but Grant never stays down for long. He’s slowly forcing the man back down the street, towards the beach, instead of towards the line of shops that’s on the other side of the hostel.

There’s a blast as another explosive goes off, this time in a restaurant diagonal from your front door. Stone and rubble flies in every direction. The street is empty of people, thankfully, except for the people Grant is fighting. Somewhere down the street, a car alarm is going off, and the light from the harsh midday sun is almost blinding. Your ears are ringing from the blast and the alarm. You think you scream at some point, but you’re not sure.

The man that Grant has been fighting has been thrown back by the blast, but Grant is still standing, as if he’s anchored onto the pavement. There’s a metal car door in his hand. He’s gripping onto a piece of the leather interior, and the red painted finish on the outside has been battered by the flying debris. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

The woman drags you out of the hostel and onto the street. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and places the gun against the side of your head. You stop struggling then, and your breath catches in your throat as your heart begins to pound even harder. Your vision is going blurry along the edges, but not enough to miss the way Grant’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of you.

“Captain Rogers!” the woman shouts.

He throws a second man off of him and turns fully towards you and the woman. “Let her go!”

In your ear, the woman chuckles. It’s low and dark, and full of malice, and you shiver. You close your eyes and pray that it’s all just a bad dream.

“Not until you come with us,” the woman replies.

“Leave her and the others out of this.”

When you open your eyes, Grant is looking past you at the woman. The light reflects in his deep blue eyes, and it’s then that you realize what he’s been hiding from you.

How did I miss it before?

“Steve Rogers,” you choke.

He looks at you again. “Y/N…”

“You’re Steve Rogers.”

There’s a pause as he watches you with clear regret, and then the woman laughs, shocking you out of your revelation.

“How precious!” she exclaims. “Your little boss had no clue who you were?”

“Let. Her. Go.” Steve takes a step forward and the woman’s grip on you tightens. You can’t stop the whimper that escapes you when she pushes the gun harder against your head, making you crane your neck to one side.

Two new men in black come up behind Steve. He turns his head slightly, listening to their approach, but he doesn’t move. You can tell that he’s calculating what to do next.

There’s a moment of clarity as you watch them launch themselves at him. Steve fights like he was born for it—and maybe he was, you rationalize—and as he easily overcomes them both, you have a revelation that’s nothing short of a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Steve has to get out of this alive. So many people count on him, and they always have. Though you know that there are a lot of people all over the world who consider him a criminal, you also know that there are a lot of people just like you that think Steve deserves a place of honor for all that he’s done and all the sacrifices he’s made.

The safety on the woman’s gun clicks off and Steve freezes. The two men take advantage of that, and they grab his arms, pulling them tightly behind his back and pushing him to his knees. He falls with a grunt. One of the men grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back until he’s looking at you and the woman from his place on the ground. He doesn’t fight back.

“Steve,” you plead. “You have to fight. You can’t let them take you.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he replies. He shifts his gaze to the woman without moving his head. “If I go with you, you’ll let her go?”

“You have my word.”

Heat swells in your eyes and you know that you’re about to cry. “No! Don’t trust her, Steve! You can’t believe her!”

The woman jostles you and you close your eyes on instinct. A tear slips down your cheek.

“Shut up,” she growls. 

You swallow thickly. At your sides, your hands and fingers have gone numb, and your legs are barely holding you upright. 

“Alright,” Steve agrees. “I’ll go with you.”

A sob bursts through and the woman releases you. She practically throws you to the ground, and you have just enough time to get your arms out in front of you before you hit the road. Pain shoots up both limbs and the pavement digs into your forearms. From where you lay, you watch the men pull Steve to his feet. He moves with them and doesn’t fight back as they drag him to a black cargo van on the perimeter of the blast zone.

“Steve!” you scream. Your voice breaks and your throat feels raw as you push yourself up and stumble in their direction. The movement sends pins and needles into your hands and feet, but you do it anyway. Your limbs feel completely out of your control as you attempt to go after them.

Steve looks back at you. He’s too far now for you to make out his expression, but you can see that he’s trying to tell you something. The man on his right shoves his shoulder and he’s forced into the van. 

“Let him go! Steve!” You start to sprint, running after the van as the back door slides shut and the woman, who climbed into the driver’s seat while you were getting to your feet, begins to navigate it through the rubble from the explosions. The tinted windows keep you from seeing Steve inside and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

“Someone help me! Stop that van!”

You run until you physically can’t. The van is long gone, and when you collapse onto the street, a crowd gathers around you. People are murmuring and asking you questions. There are too many hands, too many faces, even if many of them are familiar. Your vision swims as you’re rolled onto your back. The summer sun beats down on you harder, and you try to focus, but all you can manage is a mumble of Steve’s name before you lose consciousness on the pavement.

When you wake, the soft beeping noise is enough to tell you that you’re in a hospital. You open your eyes, expecting to be greeted by white walls and bedding, and maybe a wall of cabinets with a sink. Instead, there’s a slanted wall of glass windows, each separated by a pillar of concrete. Thin, almost invisible computer screens with golden text are scattered around your room, each displaying charts, figures, and data in a language you can’t read. Some are embedded into the walls on either side of the bed, while others float above white counters that look more like control panels for a spaceship. There are scans of someone’s body and brain—your brain, you realize after a long moment—that spin in circles on the floating screens.

A hiss makes you flinch, and you quickly look away from the brain scan to where a young, dark-skinned girl is walking in through a set of sliding glass doors you hadn’t seen before. Her white, high-necked sheath dress looks nothing like hospital attire, especially since it’s sleeveless and only has mesh to cover her shoulders and a few inches below her knees, but she’s holding a tablet and looks so serious that you wonder if maybe she’s not a regular doctor. After all, this doesn’t seem like a normal hospital. Where are you? Did the men in black come back to get you, too?

“Y/N, it’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asks.

Her accent is jarring, and you blink. When you go to speak, you have to lick your lips a few times. They’re dry, and your mouth feels so much like sandpaper that for a moment you don’t think you’ll actually be able to say anything at all.

“Where am I?” you finally ask in return. “Who are you?”

She smiles briefly and checks something on her tablet, then glances over at one of the floating screens off to the side. Seemingly satisfied, she locks the device and sets it aside.

“My name is Shuri. You’re in Wakanda. You will be safe here.”

You frown. “Wakanda?” None of the hospitals even remotely close to the hostel hold that name, not even in passing, but it sounds familiar.

“Yes. We’re friends of Captain Rogers. When we heard about his capture, and how you were involved, we brought you here.”

Tears burn hot in your eyes as the memories from the street outside the hostel come flooding back all at once. How long have you been in the hospital? Who’s looking for Steve?

“We have located him already,” she continues, and you inhale sharply, shifting in the bed as you reach up to wipe your face. “And the Dora Milaje has been sent to retrieve him.”

“The what?” you ask. Your voice shakes and you swallow hard in an attempt to steady yourself.

Shuri smiles again. “The Dora Milaje. They are our special forces here in Wakanda. Let me ask again, how are you feeling?”

You move in the bed a little bit more, testing your limbs for stiffness or pain. Surprisingly, there’s very little. “I’m… I’m okay, I think. Confused, mostly. Thirsty.” Your stomach growls, so you quickly add, “Hungry.”

She laughs and nods, then picks up her tablet. Shuri taps a few times before glancing down at something through the slanted windows. 

“Someone will bring you food shortly. I’ll also have someone come change the bandages on your hands and wrists. Your injuries are healing nicely. You should still rest a while longer, but I will make sure you’re notified when Captain Rogers has been safely returned.”

Nodding, you sit back against the pillows, but you quickly sit up again with a gasp. “The hostel! Ana!”

“We’ve sent someone to assist Miss Mitrovich in your absence,” Shuri soothes. She steps closer to the bed and you lie back as she approaches. “There were very few repairs that needed to be done to your building, but they are taken care of, and all your guests are safe. I have already dispatched a team of Wakandan specialists to help with the rebuild of Brdonik. We are also installing a security system in your building.”

You sigh in relief and close your eyes, swallowing against the dryness again. You lay in silence, listening to Shuri as she moves around the room and mutters to herself. When you finally open your eyes again, it’s because she’s greeting someone as the sliding glass doors hiss open for a second time.

“Grant,” you murmur, and he gives you a weak smile from just inside the doorway. You correct yourself, shaking your head. “Steve.”

“Grant is my middle name,” he quietly explains. “And Carter…”

“Agent Carter,” you finish. “I see the connection now.”

While waiting for your food, you’ve slowly been piecing together the different parts of Steve’s life that you knew, trying to get the full picture. You’ve known him personally as Grant, the quiet man from Brooklyn that is good with his hands, always knows exactly what to say when you’re in a bad mood, and is a hit with every guest that crosses your threshold. On the other hand, you also know him as Steve, the All-American super-soldier that’s plastered across every history textbook you’ve ever been given. He’s also the super-soldier that you’ve watched on the news, listening to reporter after reporter praise him like he’s a god, then publicly curse and shame him on their next breath.

Shuri quietly excuses herself. You stare at Steve as she leaves through the sliding doors behind him. There’s a cut above his right eyebrow, and blood caked in his beard, right below a nasty split in his lower lip. He’s standing lopsided, like he’s keeping the weight off his right foot, and he looks like he could use a shower and a long nap.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

He nods again. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For dragging you into this,” Steve answers. He sighs. “For getting you hurt. For putting you in danger.”

You shake your head and sit up a little more in the bed, allowing the pillows to prop you upright. “None of this is your fault.”

“It is, and—”

“And nothing,” you interrupt. You give him a stern look and he presses his lips together with a wince. “You didn’t know that there was any danger. If you had, wouldn’t you have left?”

After a second, Steve nods, and you continue,

“And if you’d been able to stop it from happening, you would’ve, right?”

Another nod and you smooth the surprisingly soft hospital blanket over your legs.

“Then it’s not really your fault, Grant. Steve,” you correct again, more firmly this time. You’re still coming to terms with the fact that he’s not 100% who he said he was.

“But you still got hurt. I still put you in danger just by being there. I shouldn’t have stayed as long as I did. I got too comfortable, and too close, and I was careless.”

You purse your lips and watch him for several moments. Steve stays still under your inspection, waiting for you to say something.

Finally, you tell him, “I don’t regret what happened, and if I had the chance to go back in time and change things, I wouldn’t. I’m not in mortal danger, and you’re safe again. The hostel is being taken care of. None of the guests got hurt. Tourism might be down for a couple months but…” You shrug. “It’s the end of the busiest season anyway, and I have enough savings that I’m not going to worry.”

Steve shakes his head at you, then turns to look at the screens. He doesn’t seem to be actually reading them, but he puts his hands on his hips as he stares at a spinning scan of your hand and wrist.

“Do you regret it?” you ask.

He turns back. He’s silent for a few seconds as he watches you fidget with the hem of the blanket in your lap. “No,” Steve finally replies. “I don’t.”

“Me neither.”

When he doesn’t move, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You’re not dressed in a normal hospital gown—someone has put you in leggings and a tunic of some kind—but you still shiver when your bare feet touch the floor.

“Y/N—” Steve limps towards you, holding both hands out to steady you if you lose your balance. You don’t, and he stops a few feet away.

“I don’t regret any of it, Steve,” you say. You start to close the distance between the two of you even more. “Not a single minute.”

“Volim te,” Steve murmurs.

You freeze, now within arm’s reach. “What?”

“Volim te.”

Your brain is working a mile a minute to catch up with what he’s said. Steve shifts in place, wincing as he transfers the weight to his injured leg. 

“You should get that checked out,” you quietly tell him, glancing down at his leg.

He stares at you, as if he was expecting a different response. You know he was, but you’re suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that it’s the first thing out of your mouth. 

“I—” You close your eyes and shake your head, letting out a small self-conscious chuckle. “I’m sorry. I love you too, Steve. I do. I love you. I don’t— I don’t know why I said that. I guess I’m just worried—”

He cuts you off by stepping into your space and cupping your face with one hand. His fingers thread up into your hair and he tilts your head back so he can press his lips to yours. Your arms fall limp at your sides for a second, but then your brain catches up. You close your eyes and reach up to put one hand on the back of his neck. The other slides around his waist, pulling him closer as he kisses you.

Steve’s body is warm and though he winces with pain, then pulls away slightly to touch his fingers to his busted lip, neither one of you actually moves away from the other. You stay close enough to feel the heat from his breath on your skin.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs.

“And you need a doctor,” you reply.

He smiles a little, more just pressing his lips together than anything, and kisses your forehead. You close your eyes again when he lingers.

“Don’t go,” he says as you step away. 

You frown and crowd close again, and you place both hands on his chest. “Steve?”

“No. I mean, you should go now, but…” He struggles for a second, trying to find the words he wants to say, and you wait patiently. “What I meant was: Don’t go back to Croatia. Stay with me.”

“What about the hostel? What about Ana and the guests?”

“I’ve heard you say a thousand times that she could probably run the place on her own. Plus, it’s the end of the busiest season, and after everything that’s happened, tourism will probably be low. You said it yourself.” 

Steve reaches up to pull your hands off of him, but he holds them and rubs little circles over your knuckles with his thumbs. He watches you carefully, giving you his full attention. His eyes are deep and blue, and the crinkle between his eyebrows has disappeared completely now that he’s sure you’re okay.

“So, what? I’d stay here in Wakanda? What would I do?” you ask, frowning. “They don’t really have tourists here, do they? It’s not like they need a hostel.”

“No, but I need a partner.”

“Don’t you already have partners, Steve? What about the Falcon? Or Black Widow? Or even your friend that you told me about—James? Isn’t he a superhero, too?” 

Shaking his head, he answers, “That’s not the kind of partner I need, Y/N. I don’t need a partner to fight with. I need a partner that I can live with. Someone to make a home with.”

You stare at him for a second, allowing your brain to process what he’s just said, and then you give him a slow, sly smile. Inside, you’re giddy and jumping up and down, but all you do is pull your hands in a little more so he has to step closer to you.

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you asking me to move in with you?”

“I guess I am.” His ears are starting to turn a bright shade of pink, and it’s beginning to creep along his cheekbones as well, just above his beard. 

Steve’s still holding your hands captive, so you simply raise an eyebrow. “Do you have a place to live here in Wakanda? Or are we going to be staying here in my hospital room until you find one?”

He shrugs and grins back at you. “King T’Challa gave me an apartment.”

“The king gave you an apartment?” You pull your hands away and step back. You can’t hide your disbelief, though deep down, you figure it’s very likely that the king tried to give Steve more. He’s a hero, even if most of the world doesn’t believe it.

“The princess was just in here going over your medical information, and you’re shocked that he gave me an apartment?” Steve asks, a smirk on his face.

You gape at him even more. “You’re kidding. Steve, that was not—”

“Princess Shuri. She’s made most of the technology around here, and she oversees the recovery of important patients. Like you,” he adds.

“If I’d known—”

He leans in and kisses your forehead again. “You don’t need to bow or anything. They don’t do that here, though I’m sure she’d appreciate a thank you the next time you see her. Maybe compliment one of her inventions. T’Challa says she likes that.”

“The next time?” you hiss. “Steve—”

This time, he laughs at you. It’s a full-bodied laugh, unlike the sparse chuckles you’ve gotten out of him since his return, and you relax. You smile, too, a real smile that makes your cheeks ache as you press your burning face against his chest. Steve wraps his arms around you. His body shakes as he laughs, but he quickly settles down and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you tell him, not letting go. In fact, you hug him tighter around the waist with both arms.

“Me too. Come on, ljubavi. Let’s go home.”

Dobro jutro = Good morning

Kako vam mogu pomoći? = How can I help you?

Govorite li engleski? = Do you speak English?

Dobor dan = Good afternoon

Molim = Please

Dragi = Darling

Volim te = I love you

Ljubavi = Love/my love

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

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Forever: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

[ellemfaoh]

Pinball, Hair, and Detention Pt. 1 | Vance Hopper x Reader

Part 1 (here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Word Count: 2.9k

Categories: Enemies to Lovers (eventually lol), Rivalry, Angst, Fluff, mentions of past Bruce X Reader

Content Warnings: Swearing, Bullying, Mentions of Blood, Fighting, Female Reader implied

Summary: Reader and Vance have some sort of ongoing rivalry. You accidentally spilled your drink on his hair and he in turn gave you a “fresh cut.” You both end up getting detention together due to fighting. On the walk home one day— where you both live merely a block away, he barely misses your abduction and watches as you helplessly get carried away in a black van.

A/N: let’s pretend the grabber decided to start grabbing like a year or two later or smth cuz high schooler Vance and Bruce seems more plausible to me personally

A/N 2.0: Please excuse weird formatting like spaces behind paragraphs n shit. I wrote this on docs because my personal laptop is broken and my school laptops block tumblr—so all this uploading is done from my phone lol

——————————————

You never figured that walking into the Grab ‘N Go on a hot Denver summer day would have catalyzed as big a domino effect on your life as it did—and yet it did.

It was the middle of a Denver summer in 1977, the year before high school; and everyone was dealing with a week hotter than satan’s armpit. Most kids were either in their houses with the AC on full blast, in stores and the local theater, or away to go to the beach with their family. It explains why the town was just a little more empty this week. Both of your parents worked full-time jobs down in the city around an hour away, so you were confined to either your house or local entertainment attractions—the same ones you had been using since you could open your eyes. It was kind of old by the time you were twelve and stuck in your small town for yet another summer.

You were currently situated on your bed, reading last week’s edition of the Teen Beat magazine, flipping through the pages of celebrity interviews, dating tips, and latest fashion trends—which eventually got old, especially considering this was last week’s magazine. You checked the time. 12:53 PM. Probably the hottest part of the day. You only lived three blocks from the Grab N’ Go though, so if you biked or just walked quickly you probably wouldn’t get heatstroke just from being outside.

“Ugh.” You groaned, peeling yourself from the comforts of your bed. You had to change. “All of this for a magazine and some cola.” You muttered to yourself, sliding on the nearest (and hopefully clean) pair of jean shorts and exchanging your spaghetti strap pajama top for a plain white tee.

Getting out of your room and down the hall, you picked up the shoes you kicked off in the hallway yesterday and slipped them on, grabbing the $5 bill your parents left on the counter for you to order lunch with—which you were deciding to use for snacks. Maybe you’d pick up a small lunch thing on the way home. The money’s use was ‘to be determined,’ you decided.

Leaving your house and out into the Denver summer air, any amount of chill you felt on yourself before was wiped away completely. You needed to make this trip quick. What was a little jog compared to the instant relief of the too-cold Grab N’ Go?

Walking into the small convenience store was instant relief. Not too many people were around—and those that were wouldn’t bother you, the lady at the counter looked less bothered too, which was surprising since Vance Hopper was stationed at the pinball machine as per usual. Maybe it was because no one who would piss him off was there. Then again, anyone who bothers Vance must have a death wish.

Grabbing a soda and the new edition of Teen Beat, you walked over to the counter and slid the money over, opening the drink and quenching your thirst for a cold drink. Taking the return cash the lady gave you, you walked over to the exit, flipping through some pages absentmindedly. It was this exact moment where life seemed to have changed forever. An excited kid—probably an elementary schooler if you had to guess, ran into your arm, causing your soda to splash out of the bottle. You definitely had a death wish now, because your soda got all over Vance Hopper; the sugary drink now in his hair and on his back.

When the losing chime of the pinball sounded around the store and the blonde went still, the air in the mart tensed. Everyone was waiting. Watching. You didn’t bother to wait either, quickly speeding out of the store. Maybe he wouldn’t remember your face. You had never really talked with him before, the most you had done was look at him a few times in classes you had previously shared.

You had drank a little more soda and tossed it in the nearest trash. Sure you were running away from what was probably certain death, but you already bought the soda. Might as well finish what’s left before running away. You rolled up your magazine and tucked it into a pocket before moving into a slight jog to go back home. Or maybe you should go get something from a restaurant. Usually when you commit an unsaid crime hiding in unexpected places could benefit. You barely made it a block away before you heard Vance shout at you, his footsteps getting increasingly louder.

“Hey dumb shit! You just got your soda shit all over me!”

You sped up, breaking into a run and not responding to him. If you made it home in time then maybe he’d leave you alone. But what about school? You’d have to change your name and face and move across the country.

“I’m going to kill you!” Now he was running after you. He wasn’t unused to running after kids who fucked with him, so he was pretty used to this kinda thing. And he was fast at it too. “Gotcha!”

You yelped when you were grabbed and thrown down onto the grass next to the sidewalk. At least you were next to a park. Maybe God would be a little more merciful today, considering you could’ve been thrown onto the pavement. You really hoped that the next thing that would happen would be you getting saved right before he starts beating your head into the ground. You really didn’t feel like going to the ER today, and your mom would be pissed about how you knew you shouldn’t start shit with ‘Vance fucking Hopper.’ Your dad would probably beat you for a second time over the medical bills.

“I swear it wasn’t on purpose!” You pleaded, choosing to explain yourself as he straddled your waist, keeping you in place between his legs as he grabbed at your shirt collar. Maybe he’d punch you softer? “Some kid ran into my arm! I promise I’d never bother you ever, Hopper!”

Vance just started down at you, fist by his side, assessing your words. “Huh.” He said, letting your shirt go as your upper body fell to the ground. Now you were winded. Better than the alternative. “Guess I’ll just get a similar payback then.”

You watched in horror as he pulled out a pocket knife. What was he gonna do? Carve his name into you? Cut up your face? Oh god, he was gonna murder you. With a not-so-gentle hand, the blonde boy pulled your hair, hands threaded firmly in your locks. “What…?”

Vance cut off a good length of your hair, and you watched in horror (as best you could) at the hack job. What previously used to be your clean-cut hair was now resting on the floor or cut in the most uneven way possible. Maybe a bright side would be the fact you had the layers all of your hairstylists could never give you. After he was finished, he stood up and looked at the hair in his fist while you sat there crying. “Now we’re even.” He said, tossing the rest of your hair into the grass next to you.

That was the start of your burning hatred for Vance Hopper.

——————————————

High School had finally started a few weeks after your and Vance’s incident. At least your hair could grow into its new form for a little bit. To say your mom was angry when she came home that night to find your hair hacked up was an understatement. She was livid—ranting about, ‘how could you let this happen?!’ And, ‘We need to schedule you an appointment with Shelly immediately.’ You had to hand it to your mom and Shelly though; cuz they got your hair not looking as horrible as it did. Hell, they even kept the layers, which was actually really nice. As you walked through the halls, you could tell there were a few people talking about your hair. It made sense though, considering you ended school with longer hair.

You walked up to your friend, Bruce Yamada, leaning against his neighboring locker as you let out a quiet groan of exhaustion and annoyance. He just chuckled and closed his locker, slinging his bag over his shoulder and gave you a light punch in the shoulder. “Spur of the moment decision, or did you get caught in something?”

“Does Vance Hopper count?”

“Yikes.”

You quickly socked him in the shoulder, lips turned into a frown as you looked at him. Bruce just gave a light chuckle and apologized for the remark while rubbing his shoulder. You weren’t by any means a crazily strong badass, but you can pack quite a mean punch. Just not against Vance Hopper, or Robin Arellano. Though, after your run-in with Vance this summer, you did practice your swings and basic attacks—just in case, you thought,

“Whatever, let’s just go to class.” You sighed, grabbing Bruce by his backpack strap and pulling on him. You two were lucky to have three out of your six of your classes together, and they were in every other class period, so it wouldn’t be horrible.

Rolling into your first period, which was Biology, you were relieved to not see a certain blonde-headed dickhead anywhere around. Bruce chuckled at you when you let out a sigh of relief and dragged you to the last available seats that were next to each other. You both would be damned if you didn’t sit next to each other. Bruce wanted someone to help keep his ‘crazy fans,’ as you dubbed it, away from him. You? You just didn’t really wanna sit next to someone you didn’t know well. You really hated the awkward silence when the teacher asked you guys to do the ‘get to know your classmate’ activities.

“Class one cleared.” He whispered to you, getting a giggle out of you. That was the nice part of being friends with Bruce, is that he always knew how to keep the mood light. Previously, a few summers ago, you both dated. It wasn’t anything big, and it just felt like being friends. You both decided to just keep up with the friends thing, considering there was no romantic chemistry there. Now you were both the other’s special person. Bruce’s break-ups, your family issues, no secret was kept between you two.

——————

After Biology ended and you started heading toward English, your stomach lurched up your throat. Vance Hopper was right in front of you. Luckily he was walking forward so he didn’t see you, but you almost bumped into him for a second time. You didn’t need to be re-acquainted with his pocket knife again. You saw a small space in the hallway clear out and give you a direct ‘in’ into your English classroom, so you quickly ducked your head and hurried into the classroom, finding a seat in the back of the class next to the windows. Thank god this spot was still open.

You set your bag down on your desk and laid your head on top of it, listening to the buzz of kids talking with their friends as they entered the classroom. What was a short 5-minute power nap gonna do? Just before you could relax fully though, the buzz turned into a quiet hum suddenly. It was weird. Did the teacher walk in? Was it Mr. Manning? He was the worst teacher to have. You lifted your head up to see what the quietness was about, expecting to see a balding middle aged man at the front of the class, but you were met with Vance Hopper.

“Fuck.” You mumbled, watching him walk up to you.

“Hey dipshit, you’re in my seat.”

The kids in the classroom visibly tensed as he spoke to you, watching as you gave him a tired look. You knew the easy path would be to relinquish your seat and move, but you were particularly pissed at him. You didn’t want to give him the right to walk all over you. It was the middle of a school day—what was he gonna do?

“No I’m not. I’m in my seat.”

Vance gave you an angry look, standing right next to you. “Do I need to cut off your tongue next? I’m telling you to–”

“Everyone sit down and be quiet. I’m taking attendance.” Your teacher walked in, and what did you know? Mr. Manning. “Also, these are your seats for the rest of the school year, so enjoy.” Everyone looked up at him, waiting for him to finish with whatever paper he had in his hands. Please look up. Please notice Vance. “Hopper! I know about you. Sit your ass down.” He said, pointing at the seat next to you. Fuck. That wasn’t occupied?

Vance gave you one more angry glare before dropping his stuff and sitting down begrudgingly in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Well, at least Vance wouldn’t be able to torment you too much here. When you looked up though, he slid his finger across his throat. A warning.

You’re dead.

——————

“I’m telling you Bruce, he kept kicking my legs during class! It hurt like a bitch too. Have you seen his boots? I’m gonna die.” You finish telling Bruce, sitting at your table and chewing angrily on your sandwich. It was Friday, the last day of the first week of school, and you were just hours from 48 hours of freedom from Vance Hopper. “And I have to deal with him in history next.” Yes, you had Vance Hopper in two of your classes

“Wow. Good luck.” He says, trading you his apple for your peach. “I mean, good luck with getting through high school. With Vance in your classes and all.”

“Your support speaks volumes.” You say flatly, laughing along with Bruce. You couldn’t ask for a better friend—he just always made things feel so much better.

That was until you felt a cold substance coat your head entirely, slowly dripping in your hair to your clothes. Vance fucking Hopper just poured his milk all over you. Bruce just stared at you for a second, standing up instantly as you took a moment to process what happened and wipe the milk off of your face.

“What’s your problem with (Y/N), man?!” Bruce shouted at Vance, the blonde walking away with a cocky smirk.

“I mistook her for a trash can, my bad.” He chuckled, kids turning to look at the commotion building. “Maybe you shouldn’t hang around her so much, you wouldn’t want me to have to—“

Vance was met with a right hook to the face, not expecting you to fight back ever. The first time you had cried over a simple accident, but now you were swinging at him? Oh were you getting bold. He blinked in shock for a moment, pressing a hand to his face and looking at you. Maybe now would be a good time to back down and accept what you had coming, but you were feeling really stupid today.

He seized you by your collar, holding you close as he growled out, “You’ll regret that when you’re six feet under, you bitch.”

You spat in his face, kicking at his knee to get him to let go—which he did, and you fell back to the ground with all your body weight, watching him wipe the spit from his face as he wound back and gave you a good kick to your legs, a yelp caught in your throat. Now the entire cafeteria had eyes on you both, kids watching in horror, shock, and excitement. You’d love to see these kids go toe-to-toe with Vance Hopper the way you were now.

After a short while of fighting, you and Vance were on the floor. Scratches, bites, punches, hair pulling. Blood, and bruises, and welts. Vance’s arms were for sure fucked to hell and back, but he did a large number to your torso. You would totally believe it if you were told you broke a rib. It wasn’t long before Bruce had run back in with security and staff, watching the two of you get pulled apart.

Vance had a bruise already taking place on his cheek and his arms were visibly harmed—hell, you even got a hold of some of his hair. The previously fluffy but somewhat tamed mop on his head was now a mess of tangles and abuse. You meanwhile had a bloody nose, and you were holding an arm around your stomach, knees wobbly. While you managed to get back at Vance in your own way, you definitely took the brunt of the beating, and not to mention the milk in your hair was still there.

Vance fought against the grip on his arms like an angry restrained dog, while you stared at the floor, walking to the office with the teacher who was next to you. Looking over at Bruce, he mouthed a ‘sorry’ and you just gave him a small smile, shaking your head. You could always count on Bruce to somehow end up a hero in a sense. With a last look back at Vance, he also walked in defeat to the office, refusing to look at you. What a fucking asshole.

[brodieland]

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 I'd let her light me on Fire ´ˎ˗

Leo Valdez x Fem!Reader Synopsis: Instead of 7th wheeling Leo goes toward the beach, but sees a strange girl with a lighter ?? Warning(s): probably cursing, lemme come back tho. Word Count: 2305 A/N: this is a normal AU, no godly shit 😛 AND WE ARE NOT AT WILDERNESS SCHOOL, THE WHOLE SEVEN IS HERE. Can we start using the word dope again, idk it's kinda fire, OH AND FUGLY, bc if someone called me that???? NAHH. also im using the book characters soooo😛😛 PART 2

Being sent away from foster home to foster home wasn't a foreign idea to Leo. When he was younger he'd been sent to 5 different (abusive) homes and ran away from all of them. So when he was sent to the one place he couldn't run away from, a boarding school, safe to say he was nervous. When Leo walked into the common room to his dorm, it was so much nicer than most of his older homes to say the least.

Shortly after arriving, he met his 3 other roommates Jason, Frank and Percy. For the first month of their sophomore year, Leo was slightly on edge, ready to bounce at a moments notice, but after about two months the three finally broke the shell Leo put up and became close, if not best, friends. Plus, Leo barely ever felt like a 7th wheel when their girlfriends Piper, Hazel and Annabeth were around.

And just as fast as it started, sophomore year ended and the group decided to take a road trip to the down to California all the way from New York. Nice time at the beach, dipping his toes in the sand, yeah, that sounded nice to Leo. So they all packed up and got settled in Leo's Volkswagen van (he got it because he liked scooby doo), and were off. The trip took 5 days, but they finally made it to the amazing beaches of Los Angelos.

"Please tell me we're here," Hazel groaned. She got motion sick pretty bad.

"Yup, the amazing city of Los Angelos," Leo yawned as he motioned toward the city in front of him. Except there wasn't much to see. It was nearing 2AM and the only people left on the streets were drunk stragglers leaving the clubs, probably going to other parties.

"I'll go get our room," Piper said as she dragged her feet over to the hotel's reception desk. Jason grabbed both of their bags and followed her inside.

"Can we just fly next time, this wasn't very comfortable," Frank was stretching out, but he was a pretty big dude so it wasn't the best stretch ever.

"With what money Frank," Annabeth asked. "We don't just have 200 bucks just laying around, plus extra for the room we got."

"Yeah that's like, my life's savings right now," Percy groaned. Was he even alive back there?

"It was just a suggestion."

"Guys grab your stuff, our rooms ready," Piper returned. The group grabbed their things and headed to their suite. It had a living room, kitchen, two separate rooms, and a bathroom of course. Since it was just the two rooms they split off into girls and boys just like back at school. They hadn't even bothered unpacking before passing out onto the comfy beds (they haven't slept in a comfortable bed since school).

The next day, the other six decided to let Leo sleep in after being the designated driver throughout the whole trip. Leo rolled over and checked his phone,

[13:24]

'Holy shit,' he thought. He was more tired than he thought. Leo went through his phone and saw a text from Piper saying,

'we're over by the beach for whenever u wake up'

Leo wasn't gonna sit through some FOMO and quickly got dressed in some swim trunks and ran down toward the beach. He continued walking until he found his friends. It was pretty easy to spot them when Percy picked up Annabeth and made a run for it to the water, she was screaming just a lil bit.

"Hey Leo, catch," Hazel through him a sandwich, knowing he skipped breakfast and made his way here as fast as he could.

Leo took a bite, and retracted knowing the sandwich was not for him, "yeah no this is def Piper's." He wrapped it back up and acted like he never took the bite and just grabbed another one.

"Finally your awake," Jason said as he made his way back from the salty water.

"Yeah, thought you were gonna sleep in all day," Piper said from next to him.

"Well next time we're taking turns driving then," Leo took a bite from his sandwich, this one for sure had some meat in it.

"We suggested it but you were all like 'no no, this car is my baby, blah blah blah,'" Piper was using a really high pitched voice pretending to be Leo. "'No ones allowed to drive it but me' bull, or was that our collective imagination??"

Leo rolled his eyes, immense attitude while doing it. "Lets move on shall we?"

And they moved on. The seven spent the whole day running and having fun in the water. There was chicken fights and a little drowning but nothing too serious, LOL!!! As the sun started to go down, they all made their way back to their room. Leo and Percy kept creeping up behind Jason and Frank to slap their sun burnt backs, the girls minded their business and showered and got ready for whatever they were going to do that night.

Percy planned on taking Annabeth out to eat, while Jason and Piper wanted to stay in and watch a movie. Hazel and Frank were exhausted and just went to sleep. So this left Leo with some alone time. He didn't want to stay and intrude on the couple and their movie, so he left and walked around the hotel they were staying at.

When Leo was walking down the hallways, he could've sworn he was walking through the backrooms. He made his way toward the elevator and went down stairs where everything was. The pool, the arcade and a little restaurant. Sucks almost everything closed at 8PM, but the beach was still open!!

Leo walked past the pool to head to the beach. In between the pool and beach, was a sandy area with a closed bar, some hammocks, a ping pong table, and a large kids play area. When Leo was a kid, this kind of stuff seemed like the biggest luxury, not a normal experience for lots of kids.

He went to walk past, when he saw a light spark and quickly disappear from inside the play area. Leo thought he imagined it from how quickly it went away, but then it reappeared again. Sparking his interest, he walked over to see what was making the light. When he made his way, his head just barely passed the elevated platform where he saw a girl sitting there. She was leaning against the metal bars meant to keep kids from falling while using her lighter to melt the middle bar next to her.

She was really pretty, nothing about her was too crazy or outlandish, but the way her hair framed her face, or the way her lips curved up slightly when the lighter went off, or maybe the glow in her eyes, but something about her just couldn't let Leo look away. Though she was also slowly melting a kids jungle gym, so maybe the it was the latter. Or the former? Whatever, Leo didn't know the difference.

"I can see you, you know," the girl said. Leo felt like a little stalker now.

"Oh um, hello."

"Whatcha doing standing there watching me?"

"I don't know, whatcha doing sitting there trying to set this thing on fire?"

"Touché," The girl smiled down at Leo. "Cmon on up stalker boy."

"Hey! I'm not a stalker," Leo retorted while climbing up the ladder the sit across this mysterious girl.

"Sure. So why you out here so late?"

"I'm kinda seventh wheeling my best buddies, but two of them are watching a movie so I gave them there space," Leo sighed. What a wingman he was, truly.

"Wow, must suck."

"Nah, not really," Leo shrugged. "So what, are you here with friends too?"

"Hm? Oh no, I'm here alone. Actually to be honest I'm not even supposed to be here, I don't even have a room." She admitted.

"What? Where are you supposed to be? Are your parents not wondering where you are or something?" The girl started laughing, making Leo more confused.

"As if, they never notice me. Only when I get in trouble at least. I was going to school around here, but I got expelled."

"Woah, someones a trouble maker. What'd you do to get expelled?"

"I got into a fight in a classroom, I don't even know why. All I know is I threw something and it broke straight through a window."

"You're a little um, aggressive. Is that good when handling fire," Leo said while pointing toward the lighter in the girls hand.

"Your bold for dissing a girl whose currently lighting a jungle gym on fire," she giggled.

"Oh cmon, you wouldn't burn me right? I thought we were starting something here," Leo joked.

"Oh really? And what, pray tell, is that?" the girl was smiling at Leo. Now he wasn't the best with girls, but he was clearly doing something right. Right?

"Um, the friendship of a lifetime?? What could be better than having a Leo Valdez in your life," he started pointed to himself with his thumbs like he was that dude.

"So that's your name." The Leo realized he never asked the girl sitting right across from him for her name.

"Are you gonna say yours, or are you gonna stay the mysterious arson girl," Leo asked.

"I don't know, I kinda like being the mysterious arson girl." She smiled and started scooting next to Leo. He thought she was gonna light him on fire, but instead she held out her hand (no lighter), "I'm Y/N."

"Leo."

"You said that already," she laughed and Leo mentally face palmed. Pretty girls had that affect on him.

"Yeah, your right."

"I normally am."

"And you're so humble about it. Anyways, you said you didn't have a room, so where do you plan on sleeping?"

"Why? Wanna join me," That caught Leo off guard for sure. "I'll find a spot, I always do."

"I mean, I have a room." Did he just offer a room to a girl whom he just met? Yes, yes he did.

She just smiled, and Leo couldn't help but feel a little warm. He knew it wasn't the fire, she hadn't lit it during the conversation, it was all him. They sat shoulder to shoulder, could she feel him slowly heating up through the conversation? "I appreciate the offer, but I'll be okay."

'Hmm, fine then." It went quiet for a second. Y/N turned so she was facing Leo, and he hadn't realized how close their faces were till right now. She sat there without moving, looking between his eyes and lips, Leo wasn't too big of a loser to know when a girl looked like she wanted to kiss you. She did in fact lean in, but to kiss his cheek.

Y/N stood up, dusting leftover sand from her sweats. "I gotta go now, maybe I'll see you around. Leo Valdez." He sat there and watched as she slid down the little slide and went off into the distance. Leo didn't move his eyes until she left his field of vision. He sat there for about an extra 15 to 20 minutes, staring at the melted mark the little arsonist left behind while listening to the sound of the ocean waves in the distance before finally heading back to the room.

When he walked back, he could've sworn everything looked more vibrant. He swiped his keycard and slowly opened the door, seeing Jason and Piper laying against each other still watching a movie, now accompanied by Percy and Annabeth.

"And where have you been," Jason asked, barely taking his eyes off the screen.

"Oh," Leo slightly smiled just thinking about it. "No where really, just by the beach."

Annabeth and Percy side-eyed each other before looking back at Leo, "now whats got you smiling?"

"What? I'm not smiling, you're smiling." The four sitting in the living room started chuckling at the latino boy as he scrambled over his words. "Now goodnight," Leo went into a bedroom and quickly shut the door behind him. What he didn't realize is that this was the room Frank and Hazel called an early night in. Good news is they truly did just call an early night. Bad news, well not for Leo, is that he slammed the door a little too hard, scaring frank awake and slipping from bed.

"My bad bro," Leo chuckled.

"Why are you slamming doors at this ungodly hour?" Frank complained.

"Well," Leo looked at his imaginary watch, "it's actually 9:30PM, lots of the elderly are still out playing bingo. Does that make you a fossil."

"It makes me someone whose debating throwing you off the balcony of our room."

"I'll go to the other room," Leo made his way out.

"Yeah you do that," Frank concluded.

Leo quickly made his way out before Frank changed his mind on letting Leo go. He got very cranky when it came to his sleep.

"Are they actually sleeping in there," Percy asked, earning a soft smack from Annabeth.

"Like a bunch of babies," Leo said while yawning and heading over to the other room, completely ready to hit the hay. He may have just made fun of Frank for going to sleep so early, but he didn't mind being a little hypocritical.

Leo made it to bed, laying all snug like a bug. Before falling asleep he was thinking about something Y/N said,

"I gotta go now, maybe I'll see you around. Leo Valdez."

Would he actually ever see her again? Did she know something he didn't? Probably not, that was definitely a stretch, but still. He hoped he ended up seeing her again.

[wolfavens]

ghost car of barna road

track 1 - backwards walk

it feels fucked.

driving in the dark, all i see is golden blue sunshine filtered in through green glass and it all feels fucked. the boxes in the booth chitter about loves lost. kitchenware keeps bumping into chipped mugs, some old CDs nobody has listened to for years lay spilled across rubber rugs. why did i take the CDs?

why did i pack the fucking kitchenware.

who in their right mind moved back to their parents place with two boxes of aged kitchenware? most of the stuff was originally brought from there. it’s like a big kitchenware homecoming. all the mismatched plates and cutlery meeting up with old friends. you will never believe the mess we have been through, they will say, filth and disgrace. she used one bowl for like everything. soup? bowl. salad? bowl. cereal? bowl. crisps? you guessed it, fucking bowl.

i curse, glaring throught he dark windshield. claire at night is rolling silvery hills, endless expanse of black ocean and stone walls as far as the eye could see. it seems unnaturaly silent after the flashing lights of the city. post-apocalyptic scenery, world brought back to nature, a goodbye to arms and humanity. i look at the dark land and all i see is sunrise.

i think i was born here.

just down the road. somewhere in a place with the same rolling hills that looked brilliantly green in muted daylight. all the places here, they look the same. you walk through them, meeting different cars, breathing in cold atlantic breeze and wishing you were anywhere but here. dublin maybe. i remember dublin. not as much dublin itself, as dreaming about going on the golden beach, bumping into your shoulder with mine, spinning these wild stories about dublin which were as far away from the real thing as two small town kids could get.

that year you discovered deadly.

every bloody fucking thing was deadly.

dublin too was deadly. getting there would be deadly. last time i saw you in a crowd before moving away from the island you smiled and mouthed deadly again.

i have not heard anyone say it since . i all but forgot the meaning until my plane landed. fuck, the second the ocean turned to black cliffs and green hills my mind went blank. all i saw was sunshine & summer sky, filtered through the broken green glass…

there was this band that played a small music club close to our dorm in dublin. they mostly did covers of old irish folk songs but, you know, metal. they were the worst. perhaps the absolutely worst song they ever covered was “i’ll tell me ma”. every time they started playing that the whole club - including the staff - uttered a tortured groan. and hidden there, behind that groan, a groan that turned the air solid with anguish, was a single excited whistle.

i used to mock you about how much you liked that blasted cover. i spend days thinking about new ways to torture you about it. then, one day, after a particularly vicious joke that made all our friends cackle, i looked at your face and in your eyes i saw a spark of truth. you did not like irish new boys’ rendition of “i’ll tell me ma”. you just liked watching me laugh about it. you just liked… me.

in my mind i left the next day.

i didn’t. there were things to do. finding a flat. buying dictionaries. hugging niamh and promising to stay in touch. but that night, sitting at that club, seeing it in your eyes, that was the second i really left.

two months later, as I was unpacking an ugly vase from a bag, through tears, my phone beeped and recomended me to view your wedding pics. someone was shouting under my window in a language i didn’t understand and i wondered… what if they are shouting "fire"? what if they are warning me to run and i don’t even know.

i deleted all my socials and got used to the strong beer and learned a new language and made new friends and had niamh over for two weeks in summer. she posted some pics of us sitting by the river in the setting sun. you liked it and asked her to say hi. her face fell a little and she tried to hide her phone. i’m not sure whether it was for my benefit, or my girlfriend’s. i think maybe both. not that it made much difference.

back home though.

bringing some heartache, foreign books, ten years worth of baggage. somewhere among the kitchenware there is a mug missing its ear. it says “greetings from prague” and when my last boyfriend gave it me he said one day when i leave him and move back home i will have that to remember him by.

back home, just a few kilometres off now. there is this beach where the sand was so very gold at sunrise. it was very cold when the sun went down, even with the winter sleeping bag. you whispered in my ear and your breath was accompanied by a white puff. in the morning everything was so bright. i woke up first and walked over to the very edge where the water was licking at the bay. i took some pictures on an old point-and-shoot camera. they all came out overexposed. i picked a piece of broken glass, not yet smoothed out by the saltwater. i watched the world through the glass walking back. small, green and peaceful.

throught the green grass your hair looked chartreuse. i stared at the tiny hightlight in it and the way your eyes were such weird mossy green and the smile you had and the way you leaned over to cover me and whispered deadly when our noses met.

ten years later, in the dark, the abandoned bay is silver and your hair in the moonlight would be white.

i extinguish my cigarette, get back in the car and drive back home and still...

it all feels so fucked.

[actualbird]

UHM HELLO!! idk how to use tumblr tbh and im awkward so this is gonna be. uh. yeah HOW DO YOU GO BACK TO ANOTHER LINE - moving on. i love ur polynxx hcs soooo so much please i need more more more 🤲🤲

wahhh, hello and welcome to tumblr :D!!! im so glad i enjoy my nxx polycule stuff hehe and it's been a While since ive written for them (be it for fic or hcs) so this ask came at a lovely time. without further ado, here's some:

the nxx polycule date permutation hcs

due to everybody's schedules being immensely packed all the time, all 5 of them cant go out on dates/get-togethers very often with everybody in attendance. like, when theyre All together it's often for NXX Work OR they save it for special occasions (ex. christmas, new years, any of the team's bdays)

that being said, the Top 1 most common not-everybody date permutations are: artem + mc + luke, and then marius + vyn

-

artem + mc + luke can meet up often and easily because artem and mc work at the same place (so they can quickly figure out when their schedules align, quickly meet up), AND all three of them LIVE IN THE SAME STELLIS CITY DISTRICT!!!

they all live in South Stellis (mc's address was mentioned in The Birth of Stellis | Tears of Themis "Behind The Scenes" Episode, and artem's and luke's can be seen easily in the Stellis Explore function) so i can imagine just like

artem and mc finishing up with work and wanting to go out to dinner together and both of them independently and intuitively understanding that on the drive to the restaurant, they should go pick up luke because if left to his own devices he'll probably only chips and a stale salad for dinner.

mc shoots luke a quick text like "let's have dinner! artem's treat!" 5 minutes prior to them arriving at his shop, and luke panics trying to find something nice to wear because if it's Artem's Treat then that means the restaurant is gonna be QUITE UPSCALE AND FANCY and he doesnt want to look like their boyfriend who they picked off the street from a dumpster because earlier today he had just so happened to be tailing a lead for a case that sent him into the forest so hes all muddy. but hes only got like two (2) sweaters that he himself finds viable for a Fancy Restaurant Date

so when mc and artem arrive to pick him up, hes wearing the blocky xmas partyland sweater. at which mc visibly winces at and at which artem internally winces at

but they all go out for a nice dinner out anyway

-

MEANWHILE, marius + vyn's homes are in completely different stellis city districts: orchideshine and long beach, hemingway heights respectively. and the Stellis Explore function seems to posit these two locations as pretty far-ish away from each other, yeah, BUT....

marius' PERSONAL STUDIO is right in the same neighborhood as vyn's place

i assume marius' personal studio is in this area because another thing thats in hemingway heights (that's just not mentioned in the Stellis Explore function) is Stellis University, where marius is taking his masters. so right after his classes, he can drop by his studio and destress before heading over to the CBD for work

ORRRR HE CAN DROP BY VYN'S PLACE UNANNOUNCED AND SWEEP HIM OFF HIS FEET FOR AN IMPROMPTU DATE

marius has mastered this art. he comes to learn vyn's schedule at the university, at the research center, and at his home so that he only shows up when vyn isnt busy and is most likely to actually say yes to an impromptu fancy lunch

and vyn acts like hes Bothered but he really isnt, especially when marius has the money to treat him out to the High End Pastry Places that even vyn "pastry master" richter can appreciate

basically it goes

marius, yelling on vyn's yard: hey vyn! let's go out on a date!

vyn: get off my yard

marius: PLLEEEAAASSSEEEE, i'll take you to that bougie place you like!

vyn: fine (secretly pleased to be spoiled)

-

that being said, while these are the most common date permutations due to the simple reason of proximity, they all still find time to meet up in different permutations and all together

vyn appreciates luke taking him out on dates to more simple places, like a family owned diner or a hole in the wall ramen place. while it's not his usual kind of place, he enjoys the food and seeing luke light up talking about the memories hes had in this particular establishment ("one time, i ate here immediately after a mission and i was still bleeding out!!" "....please take care of all open wounds before you have ramen")

marius and luke and mc often meet up online and video call to game together. sometimes artem will join in on the call, despite not being much of a gamer himself, but he just likes hearing their voices and enthusiasm and yelling in the background while he cooks or works

ARTEM AND VYN GO TO THE FARMER'S MARKET TOGETHER. theyre both culinary Geniuses after all, and together they are extremely picky about produce and honey and handicrafts like an old married couple

and of course, they all get together every once in a while when their schedules permit and have a lovely time and enjoy each other's company

-

bonus, what kind of dates each of their residences are best for

artem's residence: best for full-team dinners and movie marathons in his home theatre

mc's residence: best for cozy afternoons because her place is so homey!!

vyn's residence: best for full-team outdoor brunches and tea times and also if you want a touch of nature relaxing in his garden

marius' residence: best for THAT WALK-IN WINE CELLAR and also movie marathons because have you seen the wall-mounted flat screen TV in his bedroom??? phew

luke's residence: best for uhhh...if you wanna slip on stray files on the floor or stub your toe on his palette bedframe? JHFKJ JUST KIDDING, best for in-person gaming hangouts

[im-just-a-mississippi-girl]

Painted Him Perfect

Pairing: Austin Gunn x ex-wife!reader

Category: Angst

Word count: 824

Summary: You finally decide it’s time to be honest about your marriage with Austin Gunn. About how you painted him perfect.

Warnings: None

A/N: I know it’s been 63936383629 years since I last posted a fic 🤣 but here I am! Based off Painted Him Perfect by Alexandra Kay

Masterlist

Taglist

Moodboard is not mine. Credit goes to @katries 😘

There he was, your ex-husband, laughing with his friends like everything was perfect. Perfect. If only they knew just how perfect their buddy Austin Gunn truly was.

You knew after these past several months it was time to be honest. It was time to be honest with your friends, with your family.

The honest truth is that no matter how many times you sang his praises, drove or flew hours and hours to see him, he would mention over and over how he hated the attention. You didn’t understand because you thought that was what he wanted.

Arguments were more common between you two than they should have been. Couples therapy didn’t do any good no matter how hard you tried, tears in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks. Austin never really tried to make it work, never told his truth in therapy. That was rock bottom for you, for your marriage. His true colors and true character shone bright in that therapist’s office. That’s when you knew it was over, when you knew you couldn’t keep painting him perfect, when he couldn’t even attempt to make an effort to work on the relationship. A relationship that you thought was true love but it was all just a slap in the face.

Kris Statlander and Willow Nightingale were two of your closest friends. You met them through Austin so maybe you have one good thing to come out quite possibly the worst relationship you’ve ever been in.

“Hey!” You heard Willow’s upbeat voice coming from your left.

“Hey.” You sighed. Now is the time to tell them. They’re your best friends, plus you have nothing to hide. You fought tooth and nail for your marriage to get better, to please Austin in order to keep the storm clouds away.

“I know that voice. What’s wrong?” Kris was never one to beat around the bush. She noticed you haven’t made any effort to look their way. Her eyes followed yours and she knew immediately who you were looking at. Austin Gunn and the rest of Bullet Club Gold. “You two have an argument?” Kris turned back to you, her head tilted as she studied your face.

Understatement of the century.

Willow shook her head. “I don’t think that’s it. I think maybe—”

“I need to be honest here girls.” You finally looked at your friends and you saw you had their undivided attention, so you let the floodgates fall. Maybe you should have went somewhere more private than roughly 8 feet away from the Bang Bang Gang but part of you wanted passersby to hear, his friends to hear. You just knew that if you didn’t speak your truth then another woman would fall victim to his charm and nice guy act only to be in for heartbreak and misery.

By the time you were finished, Kris’s and Willow’s jaws were on the floor. You didn’t leave anything out. You told the story of how the seemingly ‘perfect’ marriage was all because you made it out to be that way. You told them how you always excused things away as ‘that’s what love is’, but now you knew better. You recalled the big scene Austin caused on vacation at the beach in Atlantic City back in August. August 14th to be exact. Unfortunately, you’ll never forget that date because you’ve never been more embarrassed and ashamed. You even admitted to ignoring the red flags, the red flags you always said you would never let slide. Retelling these stories made you realize that you were yellow and he was green, blue was always going to be the color of your relationship.

During your storytelling, some tears must have fell because felt Willow squeeze your hand, in an effort to comfort. Kris on the other hand was connecting the dots before you’d finish a story.

“That’s what really happened to us. No amount of couples therapy could save us because he didn’t want to save us. Not even when I begged for him to, cried for him to. So the best thing I could do was to paint him perfect so no one knew a thing about just how miserable and embarrassing our relationship truly was.”

“He didn’t deserve for you to paint him perfect.” Kris was fuming. You knew if you gave her the green light she would make that boy’s life pure hell. It was tempting but you wanted something else for him instead.

All you could do was agree. “You’re right I shouldn’t have and it’s a good thing I’m not doing it anymore.”

You didn’t hate Austin Gunn, you didn’t like him, and you sure as hell didn’t love him — at least not anymore. Although, you did want him to feel the pain you felt, you wanted him to be heartbroken. Okay, so maybe you did hate him a little bit, but could anyone really blame you after you told the truth?

General Taglist: @legit9thlunaticwarrior @plentyoffandoms @1dluver13xx @sunshinevirus @wwenhlimagines @crowleysqueenofhell @jackson-nickthedate @omg-im-such-a-masochist @kmc1989

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Yesterday, there were a lot of unofficial initiatives and ceremonies across Israel to commemorate one month since the massacre. It wasn't official, because the state is still in the middle of a war, but regular people felt the need to connect with the Jewish custom of marking 30 days since the death of a loved one. In many places, people stood, wherever they happened to be, for a minute of silence at 11 in the morning (myself included), or held up posters or yellow balloons in honor of the hostages and the missing persons:

This girl is absolutely awesome:

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Rashida Tlaib has been rebuked for using the hateful chant "From the River to the sea, Palestine will be free." Here's a link to explanations on why it is indeed a call for, at the very least, the ethnic cleansing of Jews from the Jewish ancestral homeland.

On a personal note, I just discovered that another colleague of mine has a sister and BIL held hostage in Gaza. I said before that every Israeli has a "list" of those they know and love affected by this, and it just keep getting longer as we find out more about people's fate on Oct 7, and as the list of fallen soldiers in this war gets longer, too.

I saw a new lie being pushed, that the majority of people in Israel who were killed during Hamas' massacre were soldiers (implying the civilians were never specifically targeted, that they were collateral damage). But the numbers are very different. Out of over 1,400 people murdered on that day, only 348 were soldiers. That's before we get to the confiscated documents showing instructions that clearly stated the goal was civilians, the Hamas terrorists who were captured alive and confirmed this, or the fact that if those terrorists weren't interested in abducting and killing civilians, why take over entire civilian communities? There were no military bases in kibbutz Be'eri, kibbutz Nir Oz, or kibbutz Kfar Azza, there was no army outpost at the Nova music festival. Hamas' terrorists set up blockades on the only road leaving that festival and gunned down anyone trying to escape. Over 260 young people. Not one was in army uniform, driving an army car, or even just... armed. That's targeting civilians intentionally. A baby being placed in the oven, or being beheaded, or tied with wires to an adult and then both being burned alive, or a 14 year old girl being raped and then shot in the head in her bedroom, or firing thousands of rockets into cities, that's not "collateral damage."

The UN general secretary said it's clear something's wrong with Israel's military activity, based on the number of civilians killed in Gaza. Based on the numbers released by the highly unreliable terrorist organization Hamas, the perpetrator of a massacre, an actual crime against humanity, which doesn't allow any external inspectors come into Gaza to verify the numbers.

After Israel has been asking for European countries to send hospital ships, Italy is sending one. Israel is also working with the United Arab Emirates on the UAE being a field hospital next to the Gaza border. As many Gazans have been heeding Israel's call to evacuate from the north, Israel has prolonged the route it's securing against Hamas, to allow them an even safer passage.

Manor Salomon, a successful Israeli soccer player, was criticizing UEFA (the European soccer federation) for their refusal to denounce Hamas. For this, his IG account was closed. Prominent Israeli voices ARE being silenced.

This is 19 years old Yoav Mellev, who on Oct 7 was fighting on the Zikim beach, where Hamas terrorists landed in boats, and were massacring civilians. After he got badly wounded, he left a note, in which he said (as conveyed by his mom) that it was the best 20 minutes of his life, because he got to defend people. He died of his wounds. May his memory be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

apocalypse

words: 300

warnings: violence, alien invasion lol, mentions of death including parental death

you stomp out your fire before kicking leaves over it, not wanting to leave any trace. you grab your pack off the ground, grunting quietly as you sling it over your shoulder. it’s so fucking heavy, but everything in it is precious. every thing is precious, ever since they came, all material goods are precious. you try not to think about it, especially since it’s been almost a month since you saw the last thing. 

you’re not sure if there’s a technical name for them. they’re so beyond anything you know, anything earthly, that giving any name to them seems wrong. aliens, you suppose. they did come from the sky. large creatures, monsters, that ran on four legs, teeth as sharp knives, bodies moving in an almost mechanical way. they had their weaknesses, and you have found the best way to exploit that. they’ve got terrible senses. sight, hearing, smell, all of it is shit. they’re easy enough to avoid, but deadly when they get close enough. the main issue was the sheer number of them.

just keep your distance, you remind yourself. it’s why you’re out in the woods. you hope they’ll keep to the cities. it would make sense. you thought at first when they came that you’d be safe. they wouldn’t even get onto your island, and you were right, for a while. life in the outer banks wasn’t normal though, even as they began to attack only the big cities. everyone knew they would spread quickly, and chaos started before they even moved out of new york city.

you swallow hard, trying not to think about what happened. you think of your family. kooks. fucking kooks. they went crazy, acting like an alien invasion meant it was the purge. your family owned a grocery store, a small one that had been in the family for generations. it meant you had supplies, but it also made you a target. you force the thought out of your mind, but you still see it every time you close your eyes, the blood and bodies littering the store. you left that day, not even taking a single thing with you, just needing to be gone. they came the next day. you watched from high ground as they tore through the town, only reacting to the loudest screams and most movement. you studied them, committing as much as you could to memory, before turning your back to that world. it was over then.

it’s been almost an entire year now. you’ve considered going back. you’ve never gone far from the outer banks, but you’ve also never stopped moving. you know you’re going in slow circles, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything different, and you don’t need to yet. there’s plenty of food in this area, and the winters don’t deplete your resources as much like they would if you headed north. and south is just ocean, something you don’t want to see. too many memories. the sound of your sister laughing as she jumped in the waves, of your mother laying on the beach, whatever book she’s currently reading in her hand. 

you curse yourself for getting lost in your memories as you hear a twig snap. you quickly move to a tree to climb, trying to keep your movements light. the biggest risk wasn’t even the monsters, just like before in kildare, it was other people. other people killed your family and you are not going to let yourself fall to the same fate. you’d rather stare down the aliens teeth than let another human take you out. it was all just so wrong and messy.

your breath catches when the man creeping through the trees is familiar. his hair is longer now, falling over his forehead in dark blonde strands. you are moving before you can think over the consequences. you were never friends, theres no saying how he’ll welcome you, but he’s someone. someone you know. “rafe.” it feels weird to speak. you haven’t done it in weeks.

his head snaps up at his name, eyes almost bulging out of his head when he realizes who is standing in front of him. “y/n?” he asks, relief spreading over his features. you nod and smile. you’re not sure why you do it, but you get closer. rafe steps in as well, pulling you into a hug. it’s awkward with the amount of gear you’ve both got, but you don’t care, it’s human contact, it’s good human contact.

“you’re alive.” you state the obvious, and rafe nods. “would never let those fuckers take me out.”

you should have known rafe was too strong willed to die. he’s tough, but he’s more than that, he’s too stubborn to let an alien take him out. you wouldn’t be surprised if he had killed a few himself. to still be alive you practically had to.

“what are you doing here? wheres your base?” you ask. theres no way he’s been in this area long, you couldn’t have been missing him this whole time.

“i’m on the move, actually.” rafe says, clearing his throat. “retaking tanneyhill.”

you smile at that, and the action makes your cheeks hurt. you can’t remember the last time you’ve made that expression. “you and what army?” 

rafe shrugs, also grinning. “it’s my home. not going to let anyone drive me out.”

“that’s… brave.” you say honestly. all of the tension is gone from the times before they came. it was always kooks vs pogues, but now, there were just pogues. rafes status was the same as yours. there was nothing for you to be afraid or apprehensive of anymore. 

“come with me.” rafe says. you take a step back. back to outer banks. the thought rolls through your head. “at least to the edge of town.” 

you nod, not able to find words. it’s getting dark anyways, so you need to make camp soon. you’ll sleep on it and reevaluate in the morning when you don’t have the excitement of finally having another friendly human around you again.

“i’ve been sleeping in a nearby cave the past couple nights.” you tell rafe, making sure to keep your voice hushed. “there’s room for two.”

“sure beats just sleeping under the stars knowing i could get my head bit off at any minute.” it’s an attempt at a joke, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh, or even smile. it wasn’t so long ago that you woke up to a huffing sound, sitting up to realize one of those… things was almost on top of you. you grabbed the blade you keep under your pillow and ended it, only because it hadn’t yet realized you were there. you know you wouldn’t get so lucky next time.

you’re quiet the rest of the walk, rafe following in your footsteps quietly. you know exactly where to walk to keep your steps near silent. you get to the cave, pulling the branches out of the way that mask it’s entrance. it’s a tight squeeze to get in. you have to take your pack off and set it inside first. rafe does the same, eyebrows rising as he takes in how large the cave really is, looking up to see the ceiling is a few feet over his head. there’s a few openings in it, letting in the dying sunlight.

it’s an amazing find, really lucky, which is why you’ve stayed in this once place for so long. and just when you began itching to get moving again, here is rafe, presenting you with an opportunity. 

rafe begins to unpack, getting his bedroll out and setting it near yours. it’s the only even spot in the flooring, but your cheeks still heat at the thought of sleeping so close to him.

“here, i have some berries stocked up.” you grab the jar off the floor, opening it and shaking a few into rafes extended hand.

you don’t talk much as you eat. as soon as you stop moving, exhaustion takes over you. you’re thankful that you get so tired, knowing laying down and letting your thoughts run free is not something you want to do. you lay down after you eat, rafe joining you. 

“thanks.” he whispers, noticing that just a bit of moonlight is illuminating the cave.

“no problem.” you say, turning on your side to face him. “i’m glad you’re alive.” if you would have thought about rafe yesterday you would have said you didn’t care if he was alive or dead, but it’s different having him here, right next to you.

“i’m glad you’re alive too.” rafe says, reaching out and squeezing your hand. you squeeze back, palm tingling, and you’re not sure if it’s because of rafe, or because it’s human contact. your eyes flutter closed and you fall asleep like that, hands together.

but it’s not how you wake up. you’re so warm, heat pressing against your front. you blink your eyes opening, realizing that at some point in the night you’ve abandoned your sleeping bag and have joined rafe on his bedroll. you go to move away, but rafes arm is trapping you. he lets out a grumble in his sleep at your attempting to move, squeezing you even tighter to him.

you wait for the blush to subside before you tap rafe. “wake up.” you say softly, unable to resist the urge to stroke your thumb over his cheek. rafes eyes flutter open as you pull your hand away.

“sorry.” rafe mumbles, removing his hand from your back to rub over his face. you don’t speak as you roll away, not telling rafe where you’re going as you head out of the cave to get a breath of fresh air as well as do your business. you’re about to remove the brush to get back inside when you hear a chuffing noise. you know exactly what it is, but you wait until the thing comes into view to confirm it, and you’re glad you wait, because it’s not one, but three.

you rush inside the cave, grabbing your blade. “three of them.” is all you say to rafe to get him moving. the entrance isn’t big enough for them to get in, so you work on packing up in case you need to make a quick move. rafe peaks out the entrance, letting out a quiet curse.

“as soon as they’re gone, we’ve got to move.” you whisper. rafe nods, getting his stuff ready as well. you may be safe in this cave, but you’ve only got a couple berries left, and your water bottle is almost empty. as much as you like this location, it’s time to move, because if three are around, theres bound to be more. they’re not pack animals per say, but they tend to stay in groups when they are on move.

you wait hours, sitting there silently, until the sun is high in the sky. you know you have to use it to your advantage, so you share the rest of the berries with rafe and set off, keeping your head on a swivel. you head towards the outer banks, rafe by your side. you want to tell him again, how thankful you are that he’s alive, but you don’t know how long you’ll be able to stick by his side, no matter how bad you want to.

you spend the whole day walking, and you know that you’re only a few more hours from getting where you want to be, but you convince rafe to stop and set up a small camp. it’s not safe to continue at night, especially with the leaves still on the trees, not letting enough light to the forest floor.

you set up your bedrolls side to side, and again wake up in the morning with your limbs tangled together, this time rafe moving towards you. you close your eyes and let yourself enjoy the warm embrace as the sun rises, sending a warm orange glow over everything. rafe wakes up a few minutes later, squeezing you tightly before getting up. you don’t speak about it as you start to walk again.

you stop by a clean looking river and get some drinking water, both filling up your bottles, knowing you’ll have to boil it later but don’t want to stop. time seems to fly, and before you know it you’re walking down the street of the one place you swore you wouldn’t come back. thankfully, rafes house is nowhere near your familys shop, yet you still feel the tug.

“the fence is still intact.” rafe notes as you approach. he swings the gate open, eyes sweeping over the yard. a lot of the houses have damage, but he’s right, everything looks like it’s still in good shape. you suppose it’s a testament to the older houses being built better, after all this house has gone through hundreds of tropical storms or hurricanes. 

“lets do a quick sweep before we get too excited.” you tell rafe. he gives a curt nod, but you can still see the excitement in his eyes. you stick together, going through every room in the lower floor before heading up the stairs. it’s obviously picked through, but a lot of the important things remain untouched. you want to cry at the fact that there’s still mattresses on the beds. it’s been so long since you’ve slept properly on a bed.

you’re about to head downstairs when you hear nails scratching against the hardwood. your eyes widen and briefly meet rafes before you both look over the railing, realizing one of the aliens must have snuck in after you, and was now heading right towards the stairs.

“rafe.” you whisper-scream. 

“get in the bedroom. close the door.” rafe says, shoving you away.

“no, what?” you protest, knowing you can help.

“please, y/n, i lost… everyone.” his voice breaks, eyes shining. “i can’t lose you too, not when i just got you.”

you frown at his words, but nod, heading towards the bedroom and closing the door. you take your pack off, grabbing your blade. the second you hear rafe in any sort of trouble you’re coming out. 

you hear a commotion, but can’t make much out, until you hear rafe mutter a curse. you throw open the door, seeing rafe clutching his arm, but the monster there on the ground, dead.

“rafe!” you rush to him. “into the bathroom, quickly.” you say, hoping to find some sort of towel to wrap around the wound, maybe if you’re lucky something to stave off infection.

“hey.” rafe stops. “we have to go shut the gate first.” 

you shake your head no. “you’re bleeding, we take care of you first then we can do whatever else.” rafe sighs, but nods, letting you lead him into the spacious bathroom, but it feels small when you close the door behind you. it’s been almost a year since you’ve been inside a house, and its near suffocating being trapped. you quickly scrounge through the cabinets, shocked to find so much stuff. you realize the camerons probably stayed as long as they could, meaning most of the looting was done by the time the house was vacant.

you find some hydrogen peroxide and a hand towel, deciding it will work for now. you turn back to rafe, who has now taken his shirt off. your breath catches in your throat, noting not just his defined muscles but also the various scars littered along his torso. some were clearly deep, other little scratches, maybe from a thorn.

you shake the fuzzy feeling out of your head and squirt a little bit of the peroxide onto a towel, not wanting to waste such a precious resource. you press it to the wound, and rafe doesn’t even flinch at the sting. as you clean it up, you realize it’s not bad at all. rafe would likely recover quickly, especially now that you can control any potential infection somewhat.

you rip the sleeve off his shirt. it’s no good anymore anyways, and tighten it around his wound.

“you make a good nurse.” rafe says, admiring your quick and efficient work. 

“no formal training, but i did watch greys anatomy before.” you laugh, the sound echoing around you. 

rafe smiles at you, tucking a strand of hair out of your face. “stay with me?” rafe asks, reaching down to squeeze your hand. “we can fortify this place. put wiring along the top of the fence. plant, make a whole garden. fish for our food. we can live as comfortably as possible, together.”

you nod before you can stop yourself. you honestly can’t think of anything better than feeling safe. 

the first couple months are just hard work. you use the prebuilt wall along the property to make it a safe haven against the aliens, even going as far to set some traps. 

you eventually settle into a routine. rafe does most of the fishing, you do all of the gardening, and then you fall asleep in the same bed every night. it becomes comfortable. you have sightings of the monsters, but only a couple pose any threat, and you’re always able to retreat back into tanneyhill until they leave the town. you don’t see any other people, probably because no one wants to be trapped on an island, potentially stranded.

you decide to head into town, rafe has been pushing you that it would be smart to check for supplies, and he’s right, but your families shop is in town and you don’t know how you’ll cope seeing it, but you eventually agree you do need to reup your supplies, especially clean, unripped clothing. 

rafe takes a gun he found still in the safe at tanneyhill as you walk together down the street. it feels freeing to be out without a pack, knowing that you have someplace safe to return to. 

you follow rafe, until you get there, and your steps falter. rafe notices immediately as you turn to face the place you grew up in, running down the aisles with your sister, being scolded by your father when you bump the shelves and knock merchandise off. part of you wants to go inside, be surrounded by those memories, but you know what else lies inside those doors.

“hey, what’s wrong?” rafes voice sounds far away, even as hes right next to you.

you sink to your knees, unable to even stand, tears flowing down your face. rafe follows you to the ground, hand cupping your face, other arm pulling you into him.

“hey, hey, i got you.” rafe says, kissing your head. “i got you. it’s okay.”

he lets you cry until theres nothing left in you. the year of pent up emotions, holding everything in because you had no choice. there was no time for breakdowns in the constant struggle to survive, but rafe has helped give you safety, and in that, freedom.

“thank you.” you look up at him, knowing you would still be out there in those woods if it wasn’t for him. you lean in, pressing your lips against rafes. he hesitates for a moment and then returns the kiss, pulling you somehow even closer into him. 

“thank you.” rafe presses his forehead against yours. “i was lost before we found each other.” he pecks a kiss to your lips. “you saved me in ways you don’t even know. i wasn’t coming back to outer banks to retake tanneyhill, i was coming back to give up.” rafe admits.

you can’t help the gasp that you let out. rafe giving up? he must have been in a truly terrible place. you imagine seeing his entire family killed did that to him. you know exactly what it’s like.

“i love you.” you tell rafe, needing him to hear the words you’ve been holding back for almost a month now. 

“i love you.” rafe kisses you deeply again. “i love you.”

[sxfterhearts]

waves of love

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ non-idol!keeho x reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff inspired by a dream i had??!

♡ word count: 1,940 words

♡ summary: delayed confessions, the ocean, and ice cream ♡

♡ author’s note: omg im not even joking i had this dream and immediately after i woke up i was like write that down write that down anyways !! here it is ! for our beloved leader •ᴗ• (as always, pc to the lovely people on tumblr and insta!!)

//

The bus leaped over the speed bump, lightly knocking your head against the window and waking you from a shallow slumber. Your eyelids, still heavy from fatigue, fought to stay open as you readjusted your posture, grimacing as you felt tenderness in your shoulders and neck.

A fist came up to your eyes to wipe the sleep away. Once it was gone, you were met with a complete change of scenery. Outstretched fields of paddy and rolling hills were replaced with sparkling waters all along the horizon, all in the blink of an eye.

The ocean.

You hadn’t seen it in over a year, since you moved to the city. It was a rarity to get even a glimpse of nature in the concrete jungle you now called home. You involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief, as though your mind and body were at peace again being this close to the open waters. 

Your destination was not too far from where you spent your childhood and adolescence. It was a sleepy beach town, quaint and quiet, but bustling with life once the waters and sand warmed up, the flowers started blooming and the trees turned a luscious green. You used to make the hour bus ride down to the beach quite often during the summer holidays with your school friends. You could spend hours upon hours building sandcastles, splashing each other in the salted waters or just sitting by the beach, enjoying your convenience store ice creams.

Those were the days…

As the bus rounded the corner and got closer to the town centre, you went through a mental list of your friends. One, two, no, three of them had gone overseas to study. Another was currently doing his PhD. One more was married and expecting a baby in fall. Which left just you, a single, twenty-something working an ordinary desk job, trying to make it in the city. And him.

You closed your eyes. Taking a breath, you could nearly remember the scent of the fancy sunscreen his mom forced upon him; could see the striking red and white striped beach towel he would always have around his shoulders; could envision his skin, tanned from the sun exposure (because who on earth would reapply sunscreen?), contrasted with his pearly whites; could feel the sandiness of his hair as you pushed him under from your seat on his shoulders after winning another game of chicken fight.

It was a bit too much. Even though it’s been twelve years since you last saw each other, you could still remember every single detail of him with all five of your senses. It was a good thing that he was the one who reached out when he came back home after studying abroad. You knew that if it was the other way around, you would do a terrible job at hiding your eagerness.

You weren’t sure what to make of this newfound honesty of yours - for months, years, a decade even, you had to constantly lie, to yourself, to him, to your friends, that there was nothing between you and him but friendship. That the lingering glances, the hushed whispers and the accidental touches all meant nothing. Just two teenagers who grew up together; who knew every inch of each other, to hell with genders. Who cares? It’s the twenty-first century, after all…

And yet, there were nights where you wanted to take one small step forward, to reach out just a little further, or to say one more word. You were always on the edge of the precipice; tiptoeing. Thinking, hesitating, and then the moment would pass. The timing; wrong. You would go back to how it always was - light and teasing, and fun, but nothing more.

Someone on the bus pressed for the next stop. Your mind, still fuzzy from all the memories, registered that it would be yours too. You felt it in the depths of your stomach – the nerves that were building up gradually but with ferocity. It had been a long time, twelve years to be exact, and apart from the occasional like on social media or the odd happy birthday message, there had been virtually no contact. The Keeho you once knew, and the Keeho who would stand before you, could very much be two completely different people.

You tried to reason with yourself. This was Keeho, after all. The boy who let you bury his entire body in sand. The boy who would always share his red and white towel with you when you soaked through yours with your damp hair. The boy who called you princess when he gave you piggybacks in the water, splashing around with your friends in a competitive chicken fight before throwing you into the ocean. The boy who made fun of your celebrity crushes. The boy who brought you to watch the sunset on your birthday – a school night. The boy who would make sure you always had the last bite of his ice cream.

It would be fine, right?

With shaky hands, you tapped off the bus and got off at your stop. It was conveniently located in between a popular strand of the beach, and a strip of shops and restaurants. 

“Y/N!” A voice called from far ahead – a voice you no longer recognised. It still held traces of sleepy summers and salty water and yet, it was different; like the sound of polished, deep brown timbre. Moulded with depth, the experiences of life, no doubt; yet strong and dependable.

“Keeho!” You yelled back in greeting, flapping your arms so he could see you from afar. He jogged, and as his tiny figure grew in size, you took in his dressing - still very him, white shirt, white jacket, and jeans. But in the setting sun, you also noticed the silver chain, sparkling earrings and were those things on his fingers – rings?

“Y/N, you came.” He said, out of breath. He was still standing about an arms’ length away from you, pausing to catch a break.

“Of course I would. His royal highness is back, I can’t pass up his summons, surely.”

Keeho looked up, still huffing slightly, and flashed you a knowing smirk. “Still not letting up on the role play, huh?”

You laughed in response. Why were you even worried? It was Keeho, after all.

“It’s been ages, Y/N.” Keeho muttered, voice small and quiet, allowing the words to linger. He took a step forward, breaching your personal bubble, and wordlessly took you into a hug. 

You gasped at the suddenness, but also, the warmth and the familiarity. You could feel it, and you were half certain he could feel it too - the pounding of your poor heart against your ribcage, relentless. 

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed there like this. The world passed you by - people walking along the beach, enjoying the sunset. Cars zooming past, late for their dinner reservations. Kids on scooters, eager to get a few more rides in before they were called home by their parents. And in the middle of it, just two kindred spirits, reunited.

“You could’ve visited or something…” You whined, muffled by Keeho’s chest.

“What?” He chuckled, pulling away, but still keeping his arms around your shoulders.

You refused to look up, instead focusing on a particular spot on his snug, white t-shirt. “You could’ve visited… or called. You did neither.”

“I know… Hey,” Keeho paused, using a finger to tilt your chin towards him, yet refusing to remove said finger once he was staring into your eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just, life got in the way.”

You punched his chest weakly in response, only to wince slightly when you were met with pain. Damn Keeho and his strict workout schedule (you only knew this from the frequent updates on his Instagram stories).

“So,” Keeho started, uncertain, which was unlike him. He nibbled on his bottom lip, as though contemplating whether he should continue. To hell with it, he thought. “How was the date?”

Your eyebrows scrunched in response. “What date?”

“You know, last night…”

You raised your eyebrows this time.

“You said you went on a date last night and he got you Italian.” Keeho said, all in a single breath and with the straightest face he could manage, no emotions whatsoever.

“Oh!” Your eyes widened, remembering that you updated him on your weekend plans when deciding on the best time to meet up. “Right, Intak.”

“Intak, yes.” Keeho repeated, hiding his gritted teeth.

“Oh, it was fine, not memorable. I mean, nice guy, pretty face and everything, but… Why?”

Keeho suddenly let out a huge sigh of relief, steadying himself with two palms firmly gripping your shoulders. “Because, I wanted to make sure before I do this.”

“Do what? Keeho… What are you –”

Keeho shushed you, and before you could register what was happening, he was getting closer, and closer, and closer, and it was all happening in slow-motion and yet too fast, and – oh, oh…

His lips, softer than you ever imagined, met yours in a tentative, gentle dance. Nothing fancy, just honest and eager. And you could tell, from the way they glided against your lips, that this felt just right. It felt like you should’ve been doing this all along…

“Should’ve done this ages ago. I don’t know what took me so long but,” Keeho mumbled, pulling away so slightly that the words were breathed against your lips. “But I couldn’t let some guy –”

“Intak.” You provided, unhelpfully, it seems, because Keeho rolled his eyes viciously. You couldn’t stifle your giggles. 

“Whatever. I couldn’t let some guy have you.”

“Oh, so I’m a commodity?”

“That’s not what I meant! Just – I’m sorry, I’m bad at expressing myself.”

“I’m very much aware of that.”

“Let me make it up to you –”

“Ice cream?” You both said at the same time. Both of your faces split into wide, childish grins.

“Race you, princess!” Keeho declared before giving you a quick peck on your cheek.

“Hey, no fair! Your legs are so long! Wait up!”

//

{ epilogue }

“So how did you know?” You broached the topic gently as the two of you sat knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder on the kerb outside the convenience store. You lost, obviously, and as per tradition, the loser had to buy the ice creams.

“Know what?”

“That I… you know, reciprocated your feelings.”

“Oh, easy.”

You whacked his shoulder. “Do tell.”

“Hey! That hurt…” Keeho whined, rubbing the sore spot with his ice cream-free hand. “Well, it’s really not that hard.”

“Go on…”

Keeho looked at you and contemplated for a few moments, before stating, “Every time I post a thirst trap, like a gym photo or something, you like it within a minute. And then when I check back, you unlike it. It’s almost like, I don’t know – you don’t want me to know?”

You stuffed the ice cream in your mouth and groaned aloud. Your lips were fixed in a permanent pout as you chewed silently on the last of your ice cream.

“It’s fine, the worst bit was definitely when you accidentally liked that photo of me in a suit from two years ago like, last month.”

You were about to bury your face in your knees when Keeho replaced your finished ice cream stick with his own, the last bite, covered with more chocolate than vanilla ice cream, fully intact. You accepted it wordlessly, clearly in a sulky mood as you rested your head on his shoulder.

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (27)

<<<Prev

---

This is the last chapter! So it's a bit long and a little spicy in certain bits haha but I hoped you enjoyed the journey so far!

We got to the end and a happy ending 😆

Love you all, thank you making this a great experience and for all the lovely comments 💖

---

The sun kissed your skin and so did your husband, his dark blonde hair catching the light as his eyes took in the sight of you sprawled out in your swim suit. Just your very presence seemed to make him look drunk and for his fingers to crave for your warmth.

The waves were gentle today, that it made the sunlight glimmer over the surface like patches of diamonds. It had been a while since you had moved out to the Hamptons. You hadn’t had a lot of grey days or gloomy clouds hanging over your head, it was endless blue skies and white clouds, the beach air seemed to agree with you as you took in a deep breath. This new chapter made up for everything, so much so that Barbieland was now in the past.

The city had it’s charm but you needed a change of pace, a step towards a new start. The wounds in your heart was healing, it was time to step out from Melissa’s apartment and a life you knew. You had grown comfortable in it and all you needed was a shift in your perspective. It was nostalgic, to place the keys to that dark wood door into the hands of a new tenant as you packed away your things into a moving truck. But the beauty was, you weren’t doing any of this alone. Every aspect of this change felt welcome and adventurous because he was by your side.

So as a reward to all your hardships, now you began your day with morning swims instead of bustling through an angry crowd and by lying in Ken’s arms as you lounged by the beach instead of being in a loud kitchen. Life had taken a slower pace and you enjoyed every bit of it.

It only felt like yesterday when you walked out that hotel lobby hand in hand, gold rings gleaming in each other’s ring finger and now it had already been a year of this bliss. The gathering was quaint but it was never about the people or the grandeur of it, it was getting to be there together after having thought you had lost him forever. It was getting to slow dance to your favorite song and then dance the night away.

You were by the corner talking to one of your friends when Ken found you during your reception, his cheeks flushed with colour and a smile that he couldn’t contain.

“Come on, I’ve requested a song for us.”, he took you to the middle of the dance floor as he tipped his head toward the Dj to play the song.

The intro began to play as he took your hands in his to give you a playful wink. ‘The very first night’, by Taylor swift was the song he had chosen. You shook you head as you laughed.

“Every weekend, the same party. I never go alone and I don’t seem broken-hearted. My friends all say they know everything I’m going through. I drive down different roads but they all lead back to you”

He sang the words to you, it took you back to the all the times you had seen him waiting outside during Girls night. To think that all those different roads had in fact led you both together made the nostalgia dig deeper.

"We never saw it comin’, not tryin’ to fall in love, but we did like children runnin’, back then we didn’t know we were built to fall apart. We broke the status quo, then we broke each other’s hearts."

You sang the second verse to him, because that was how you fell in love, and you broke the status quo when you both found your own lives here, but parts of the story left you both with broken hearts only for it to seal together now.

His eyes beamed with life but so did the corners as it held traces of his tears.

"But don’t forget about the night out in L.A. Danced in the kitchen, chased me down through the hallway. No one knows about the words that we whispered. No one knows how much I miss you."

This you sang together, he placed his forehead on yours as you swayed together. For all those nights ago when you were catching feelings and falling in love all over again.

It truly was one of a kind, a love you will never get to witness again in this lifetime.

"Take me away to you."

He spun you out and that night was the best you had ever witnessed, your heart was full. It felt like it could go on forever.

You knew nothing about what life held from then on, all this was new and so when many advised that it would start getting harder after the honeymoon phase died, you didn’t understand the logic.

Because for you, his love was constant. It wasn’t something that demanded a lot of effort. You and him shared that easy frequency where fights were limited, like you could read each other’s mind. The honeymoon phase didn’t have an expiration date, he treated you with such tenderness that it wasn’t just a display of his affections, it was the embodiment of it.

But today was important, it was the grand opening of your restaurant, situated right on the beach front. At the very thought your mind dipped away from your daydream and into the endless spiral of preparation for the event, so you held his face in your hands to get his attention to which he groaned as he pouted his lips.

“We’ve got to prepare for the evening.”, you chuckled to which he broke free from your hold to nuzzle his into your neck as he laid by your side.

“We’ve got hours to prepare.”, he mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know, I don’t want anything to go wrong.”, you said as you sighed.

“And it won’t.”, he reassured you.

You nodded, placing your hand over his that wrapped around your waist. You turned to him, to catch sight of him resting so peacefully. He looked like a merman come to life so content with his life on land, that you were blessed with having him with you, in the arduous journey of life.

“I’m just nervous.”, you let the words spill because with him it just ebbed from out of you. His thumb stroked your body as his eyes fluttered open.

“Don’t be.”, he said gently, his eyes finding yours, you were lost in his gaze.

You weren’t saying anything and neither was he, but you were having an entire conversation. You pushed away his hair, he caught your wrist, to then pause before he kissed your palm. It was as if he could never get enough, that’s how he displayed his affection. Delicately and unconditionally, executed with excellence.

“You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”, you felt his grin against your palm to which you groaned, squirming away but he didn’t let you slip away.

He reeled you in, like a boat out on the bay, till you were on top of him. He raised his brow letting you know that he was waiting for it, the sentence he got you to repeat every time you doubted yourself.

“I deserve this happiness.”, you began to which he closed his eyes again, feeling appeased as he listened to you.

“And?”, he asked.

“I worked hard for this.”, you continued to which he nodded his head in agreement.

“You did and you continue to.”, he held your cheek as his eyes found yours again but now he beamed and you knew that he was proud of you.

As you held his gaze you narrowed your eyes at him knowing well why you were out here. The morning swims and walks by the beach were your effort in helping him get out of his fear of the water. All this while, he would only stand by the shore and never get in. You didn’t force him, it had to be on his terms, he would wait for you when you went out for a swim but you could see it in his eyes, the desire to follow you in.

“Now it’s your turn.”, you got up and he sighed as he looked at the serene waters.

You held your hand out to him and he took it, to stand up and dust the sand off him.

“Race you to the shoreline?”, you asked him, with adrenaline beginning to rush into your bloodstream.

“What will you give me if I win?”, he smiled as he rested his hands on his hips after pulling away his shirt.

“Anything you want”, you said mischievously which piqued his interest.

“Ok count down to –

But you didn’t, you didn’t wait for him as you took off running, down towards the open waters.

“Hey!”, he called after you, telling you it wasn’t fair that you cheated as he chased after you.

You felt laughter fill your mouth and the sweet taste of victory when your feet touched the water before you dove in.

He slowed down the moment you waded away, his smile sobering as his feet rested ankle deep. His eyes however were on you, looking at you as if he was mesmerized. He wanted to get out there. So he waded in deeper, the water rising up to his knees.

So you made it easy, and got closer to him instead, as you stood in front of him. Your hair slicked back as you felt water trickle down your face, your hands were cold and wet as you placed it against his cheek.

“You don’t have to push yourself. This is greater progress than before.”, you told him.

But something about the way you shimmered beneath the sun, the cold touch of your fingertips, he knew he couldn’t let this hold him back. He had to let go, of the way his past fears still had an edge over him. He wasn’t going to lose everything again. All this he had now was here to stay, so were you. So the waves didn’t seem daunting anymore.

He hummed as his gaze fell to the shape of your lips, his eyes darkened as he bit his lip. He took in a deep breath, looked ahead and in that instant made up his mind.

You didn’t expect it, when he picked you up, getting your legs to straddle his waist as he ventured further. The water level raising up his waist to his chest. Seeing you smile was intoxicating that he wanted to venture further.

“I just needed the right motivation.”, he chuckled.

“Oh and what is that?”, you asked swiping away water from his face.

“You”, he said, his eyes taking in the details of your face.

And with that feeling the cold waters around him that were being to turn warm as he got used to it, he couldn’t wait anymore, he reached up to place his lips on yours.

It was sweet, the taste of strawberries on his lips then the sting of the salt balanced it out. He pulled away from you, leaving you wanting more with a sly grin on his face. You dipped low, you lips hovering over his.

“You don’t want to claim your prize?”, you whispered feeling bothered that he didn’t catch the meaning of your phrase from before.

“Not here.”, he said slowly, his voice getting husky and low.

“I feel jealous having to share you with the sea.”, he said and it only made you chuckle. That his competition wasn’t another man’s attention but the elements around you. That some how he wanted to be the breeze that caressed your skin, the water that enveloped you or the sun that made your hair change colour.

“Alright.”, you conceded with placing a kiss on his forehead.

It was relaxing, bobbing a long the waves as you lazily swam about. But with the afternoon sun rising higher, the water was getting warmer and your skin had spoken up enough salt.

---

So you packed up and headed home. Your new place was much bigger, the large windows let natural light stream in, your kitchen was idle with a few covered dishes from last night sitting on the counter top. You dropped your bags into the allocated space that contained all the items that related to your beach activities.

Ken put away his flip flops to then head over and peruse through the fridge to cure his hunger.

“I’m headed off to take a bath.”, you let him know as you undid your hair, a trail of water droplets followed you.

The salt now stuck to your body and face that everything felt grimy and uncomfortable. So you took a towel and got into the shower space, the warm water cascading over you to make you feel fresh and clean.

But half through you heard the sound of the bathroom door open and close. You saw his silhouette through the fogged glass. The outline of his body gave way to his presence as he got into the shower with you. He held his sweet gaze but you could tell he wasn’t here to play games. He drew closer to you until he towered over you, to tilt your chin so your eyes were on him, the water beginning to cover you both, his hand slid up your neck as his fingers wrapped around your throat gently. His eyelashes dripping wet, his light hair turning dark as it soaked through.

“I’m here, to claim my prize.”, he said, his voice lost its politeness, now he said it with an authority making his lip tilt up.

“Took you long enough.”, you said as you met his gaze.

You slid your hands down his back, there was no holding back now. He found your lips with a passion and hunger that never seemed to run out. Being touch starved only meant neither wanted to keep their hands to themselves. He held you steady, his body pushing you up the tiled wall as you held onto him, your hands slipping against the glass as he dug his tongue deeper.

Your bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as his hands traced down your body. The salt disappeared, the steam took over. There was no time to pause, it was a dance, it was an art. The way he paced himself and the way you craved his touch.

You could see his little puffs of air take up a wispy form as the hot water continued to keep you both warm. His fingers travelled down the dips of your waist to the curve of your backside. He trailed it back up to cradle your head again as he held onto your hair, the edge of his nails scraping against your scalp as he exposed your neck to leave a trail of kisses or to leave little love bites but you fought for your turn.

You pulled his chin down to you, meeting his unrelenting mouth with yours, the sound of his delighted moan drove you insane, the power your touch held to make him weak in the knees, it empowered you to pull on the ends of his hair, to pull him deeper towards you that his hand slipped from when he had braced himself against the wall behind you. He pressed into you and you pulled away to catch your breath.

Madness, you were both full of it. You would eventually get to finishing up your bath later, but as he took caught his breath, his chest rising and falling with yours, his eyes focused on yours to tell you he only wanted more, you knew this was far from over. He pinned both your hands above your head and dipped his head to meet your lips again.

--

The walk up to your store was nerve wracking. The sun had set and the moon was out, Ken was all dressed up in a loose blazer, white fitted shirt and trouser pants, he looked pristine while you wore a maroon velvet gown, perfect for this evening. But when you caught sight of your restaurant, the nervousness faded because the neon sign was on. ‘Melissa’ in a cursive font lit up the street and reminded you of fond memories.

Ken took your hand to give it a gentle squeeze, his hair combed back as he nudged you ahead. You stood taller and pushed through the door to be greeted by your friends and staff, some of whom joined you from Sam’s kitchen.

The menu was set, the food was prepared and everyone looked happy. Ken invited his colleagues from the local school he worked at and also from the youth program he was overseeing. You grabbed a drink to clink against the glass to get everyone’s attention.

“I know I’ve spoken a lot over the past few months so I just want to keep this short. I wanted to thank everyone here, for being a pillar of support and for cheering us on. Looking forward to a great night and to the many more that are to come.

Here’s to new beginnings.”, you finished raising the glass in the air to hear an eruption of cheers around you.

The crowd fizzled away as each one found their own spot, you took a sip from the glass as you turned to the photo wall behind you. Ken slipped his hand from behind to kiss your cheek to then rest his chin on your shoulder as he admired the photos with you.

It had one of Melissa, a lot from New York, one from your wedding day, one with Ken and you riding horses and many more. This was your new legacy, one made by your own with the people you loved. The other walls were still empty but you knew that as time passes, they will become full too.

You took Ken’s hand as you found your table, that idea set up for you two, he held out the seat for you to sit in and once you did, he took up the seat in front of you.

Your plates were placed in front of your with the first course and it felt like you had come full circle from where you began to where you were. The world paused for a second. Ken’s eyes caught yours before he looked towards to shelf near the entrance. You turned to see it too and on it sat, Chef Barbie and Beach Ken.

For the dolls who once had nothing, now the world was theirs, it was yours and his.

---

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[drdemonprince]

That ask about small talk and fear reminded me: a few days ago my partner and I were at our local café. I went to use the restroom and found the toilet seemingly backed up, so went and told a worker since I didn't want to try using it and then make it worse. A random guy who'd been there for a while came over and said "Want me to take a look at it?" We all thought it was Weird and Creepy but he genuinely just wanted to help, and managed to fix it! It was great! He was just a kind stranger wanting to help. And as we left later it hit me how sad it is that fear was our initial reaction. I wish I would've thanked the guy instead of being awkwardly frozen. But it also gave me a little hope and a reminder that most people are just like me, just a person trying to enjoy the life we have and be nice to others.

Yes, I really do believe that if we are invested in mad pride and disabled liberation at all, we gotta take that initial knee-jerk reaction of "this person is weird" or "this behavior is breaking unspoken social scripts" and throw it into the fucking garbage.

No one is a bad person for feeling wary in that way, it is a socially conditioned response -- but it is very dangerous. It's the same kind of thing that leads to people covering their homes in security cameras and calling the cops on children knocking on their neighbor's doors in search of their missing cat. You probably would never do anything of that nature, of course! But it's all part of the same social ideology. And that ideology keeps you isolated and less likely to seek help -- it doesn't keep any of us safe.

Personally I LOVE talking to fucking WEIRD PEOPLE. I spent an hour this summer at a picnic table talking to a tweaked out guy covered in facial tattoos and scales about my aura and the psychic journey he was on and shit. It turns out that he was a trans woman in the 1980s but he didn't have the language for it! He was drawn to me because he could tell I was gender-weird too, and because he said I had a very open looking soul. I could scoff at that or I could be afraid of him, but why??? He was fucking cool! he had a ton of fascinating life experiences and is friends with a lot of the other people I see on the streets in my neighborhood. Turned out we were both Aries' and we talked about that a ton too.

I also met a guy in a dusty old cowboy hat in the park by Loyola beach who told me he is the official 'patriarch of the park' and gets to decide who he allows to pick up litter there. He pointed to a very clean-cut white woman stabbing at trash with a stick and a needle and told me that he had given her personal clearance to clean up "his" park. She might seem like a fussy white suburban type lady, he conveyed, but she was interested in making the space better for everyone and wasn't doing any Kareny shit, so she was welcome.

Last weekend I was going to a free concert in Ping Tom Park and edgy 19 year old punk kids danced next to 70 year old Chinese retirees and middle-aged yuppie parents and their toddlers and homeless people and 50 something Mexican old head techno fans and it was the loveliest fucking thing in the world. A guy up the street from the park was selling dozens of old back packs and coats and electronics on his front lawn and I dug through them and chatted before getting there.

Living in a city and spending a lot of time outside, I meet people like that a lot, and my life is immeasurably enriched by it. It makes me sick and sad that so many human beings never get to talk to strangers like this, recoil from homeless people or people on drugs, and fear any stranger's intrusion into their life. I think even a lot of left leaning, queer people harbor these reactions and chalk them up to things like "being afraid of men" or "being afraid of straight people" and we even promote that kind of thinking within our communities at times. I find it very damaging. Some of the most wholesome experiences in my life have been random nice/warm things cishet men on the street have done for me.

[jadedvibes]

Always (I)

Summary: One last bonfire at the beach with your friends before graduation brings to light feelings Bucky didn't fully realize he had – too bad it's too late.

Pairing: best friend!Bucky x reader

Warnings: fluff, dancing, lots of feels, angst, swearing, pet names.

Word Count: 1.5k

Series masterlist

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

This was exactly what you’d needed, a calm night at the beach with friends, sitting around a cozy fire, talking about nothing and everything, eating delicious s’mores without a worry in the world. 

Life had been a lot lately and you cherished the moments where you got to pretend that you didn’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, or more specifically the pressures of graduation. As you looked around the bonfire at Nat, Sam, Steve, Wanda, and Bucky, you felt truly grateful for your solid friend group. You had all grown so incredibly close throughout the last four years and you knew no matter what they’d always play a big role in your life. 

The full moon casted a ghostly glow over the ocean, and even though the sun had set, you could still see everyone perfectly thanks to the bright shine above. With limited time left together, you all decided to have one last beach trip before finals and the stresses to come.

Your friends were in a playful but heated debate over whether a bowl of cereal was technically soup when Bucky nudged you. 

“Do you wanna go for a walk?” he asked with a soft smile. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to end anytime soon.” 

Nodding your head, you placed your hand in his and let him help you up off your beach blanket. When your pals got started, you never knew how long their silly debates would last. 

“Be back in a few,” you said to the group, but they didn’t seem to notice. Sam shouted something about milk being a broth and you shook your head, smirking at Bucky. 

Linking your arm with his, you strolled a bit closer towards the edge of the water. The tides were high, and the waves appeared luminous in the moonlight. As a cold breeze washed over your cheeks, you leaned into Bucky for a little more warmth, missing the smile that graced his lips when you did that. 

“So now that it’s just the two of us…” he paused, and you peeked up at him to see a serious look on his face. “Is it a soup or not?” 

“B!” you giggled, pushing him away from you. 

He held up his hands with a grin. “Fine, fine. You’re right, it’d only tear us apart.” 

“And we can’t have that right?” you asked sarcastically, knowing that graduation was going to do just that for you anyways. 

Bucky watched as a somber expression appeared on your face, and how you quickly turned towards the ocean so that he wouldn’t read into it. But he knew you too well, and he already understood where your mind had gone. 

“You know, I’ll always be here for you right? Distance won’t change the fact that you’re my best friend,” he wrapped his arm around you. 

“I know,” you whispered with a small smile.

The two of you watched the water ebb and flow, feeling the weight of the heavy words left unspoken.

You were used to doing just about everything with Bucky. He was your day one since college orientation, and the two of you had been inseparable ever since; from late nights in the library, random pizza runs, to impromptu heavy chats after a long day. You had gotten accustomed to him showing up at your door numerous times throughout the week, always finding new ways to entertain yourselves. 

When you were together, there was never a dull moment. And even in the quiet, no silence between you ever felt awkward. 

You couldn’t help but freak out over losing him, but a great job offer in a different city didn’t give you much of a choice. Bucky had to take over his dad’s architecture firm in the city, and you couldn’t turn down your own amazing offer close to family on the other side of the country. 

What you didn’t know was the brave front that Bucky was putting on for you. He wasn’t sure what a life without you would look like, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. He knew that in a few short weeks he’d have to find a way to be in your absence, and that scared him. 

The only fact that gave him solace was that you were strong, and he knew you could handle yourself. You would be fine. He would be fine – or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. 

“I’ll come visit you, and if you’re ever free you can always come back to see me,” he squeezed your shoulder. 

A sad smile tugged at your lips, and you were about to reply with some half-hearted agreement to his words that you didn’t mean when a jazzy song started playing back near the bonfire. It had to be loud for you to be able to hear it so clearly from where you were. Both of you looked over to see Nat and Wanda moving from side to side, dancing to “Moondance,” by Van Morrison on their portable speaker. 

“Well that’s the perfect song choice,” you let out a laugh. It was better not to ruin this last group outing with heavy feelings about the future, the time for those emotions would inevitably come later. 

Bucky turned towards you, his hand sliding down to grab yours. As his eyes held yours, he gave you a lopsided grin illuminated by the soft moonlight. You couldn’t help but smile back because you knew what he was about to do. He coaxed you into twirling before tugging you against his broad chest, just like he’d done so many times before; at formals, concerts, and bars you’d frequented throughout the years, he was always your designated dance partner. With one hand on his strong shoulder and the other placed in his hand, you moved together to the easy rhythm. 

Gazing into his dark blue eyes, you tried to memorize the way it felt to be with him. From the moment you met, he made you feel safe, valued and special. That was a lot to receive from one person, but that was Bucky. You hoped you’d find another friend like him; although deep down you knew he was irreplaceable.

As he smiled down at you, you didn't recognize the inner turmoil Bucky was hiding from you. He wanted you to stay, he didn’t want this to be your last dance. He needed more time. And he was on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t, when you started humming along to the song. 

It could wait, he thought before spinning you out into another twirl. 

You giggled into his chest when he pulled you back, and what a sweet sound that was to him. It flooded his chest, the echoes of your laughter reverberating in his heart. He wondered how long it’d stay that way, and whether time would fade out the joy that filled his soul because of you. He didn’t ponder for long however, because deep down he knew the answer; you were the light to his darkness, a radiance he couldn’t live long without. He’d always need you.

Pressing a warm, lingering kiss to your forehead, he whispered, “I love you, honey.”

He was playing with fire, his brain heavily blurring the line between friend and something more – but he couldn’t help himself. 

Bucky had uttered those words countless times before, but tonight he felt that it held new meaning. Maybe they always did, but now he knew it for sure. Knowing that he was going to lose you put everything into perspective. 

He was in love with you – and it was too damn late. 

“I know, B,” you smiled before nuzzling your face into his chest. “I’ll always love you,” you murmured, knowing that you would. Comfortable in his embrace, you pushed away the lingering thoughts about how much you cared for him, and how truly you meant your words. He was your best friend, you couldn’t go there. 

“You think those two will ever get together?” Sam asked Steve, the duo watching as you both swayed together.

“If they haven’t by now, I doubt they ever will,” he shrugged. “It’s a shame though, they’re the happiest when they’re together.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “They are.” 

When the song ended, you both made your way back to the group, knowing that the cereal debate was tabled for the time being. Bucky wordlessly tugged you closer so that he could keep you warm, and the two of you snuggled up as you fell into easy conversation with your friends around the bonfire.

As you peered up at the vast night sky, you saw a bright star twinkle before shooting across it. There were so many things you could have wished for upon that shooting star; an easy transition into your new job, winning the lottery, finding a great new love. However, looking at the guy whose arm was linked with yours, you knew exactly what to wish for.

Sadly, you weren’t sure that it could come true – nevertheless, that wouldn’t stop you from believing in it. 

Part II