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latenightdaydreams · 10 months ago

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Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2 🚚, Part 3, Part4, Part5

🚫MASSIVE TRIGGERS FOR DARK THEMES!!!🚫 If this is disturbing for you please turn back now. Your mental health is important and I hope you have an amazing day even if you keep scrolling! ily all! I hope you are all well and please take care of yourselves! You matter 💗

Master List

>cw: fem/afab, oral, cum play, non-con somnophilia, non-con, sleeping pills, kidnapping, non-con recording

2.3k word count

“Fuck!” You shout slamming the hood of your car down. On your way through the countryside on a road trip, your car decided to break down. You’re in a foreign country, the sun is setting, and having no one to help leaves you feeling overwhelmed and defeated. You sit back in your car and begin to cry. In your mind driving solo across Europe was going to be a piece of cake, yet here you are because you tried to save money and got a piece of shit car.

The sound of a semi-truck braking gets your attention as you look into your rear-view mirror to see a blue truck had pulled off and stopped behind you. In a hurry you pull down your visor to check yourself as you wipe tears away and try to relax your face. You close it just in time to see a massive man jump out of the cab of the semi and walk in your direction. A wave of fear rushed over you as you realized you have no items for self-defense on you.

A knock on the driver’s side window, and the tall trucker steps back and stares at you with piercing blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, you open the car door and step out. His eyes look you up and down.

“Are you stranded?” His voice is smooth with a thick Austrian accent.

“Yes, I am.” Your voice cracks from the nervousness you’re feeling. He is built like a tank and like, really fucking tall.

He gives you a small nod before extending his hand to you, “I’m König.”

“Y/n,” you grab his hand and shake it. His hand is massive and swallows yours.

“You’re not from here, are you?” He gives you a warm smile trying to be nice.

“I’m not…”

“Do you have anyone here you can call?” The question seems innocent enough.

“No, I don’t. My phone has no signal either.”

“Hm,” König looks at your car and then to you once more. “Well, I can’t possibly leave you here alone, especially with it getting dark... where were you heading?”

“I was heading to the German border.”

“Hm, that’s a six-hour drive Maus.”

“It’s okay if you can’t-”

“I can, I’m heading that way. I’ll drive you as close as I can get and help you get set up with a ride in.” He gives you such a genuinely warm smile that you feel your guard beginning to drop.

“I- I really appreciate that, König.” You turn to go to your car and open the back seat to grab two small suitcases out.

“I’ll grab those for you Fräulein.” König walks behind you and gently reaches past you to grab your bags. The sweet vanilla body lotion you’re wearing catches his attention and he tries to take a deep breath as discreetly as he possibly can.

You back away, slightly bumping him. “Oh, sorry. Thank you so much König. You’re like a God send.”

He smiles back at you while holding your bags and closing the car door, “Is this all there is?”

“Yes, that’s it.” You two begin to walk towards the semi-truck as you look around the farm land.

Once to the truck König opens the door for you and helps you climb into the cab, his hand grazing your butt seemed innocent enough so you brush it off. It was most definitely not innocent. He is simply testing your boundaries and seeing how you’d react.

You set you bag down on the floor as König walked around to the driver’s side. He walks to the back of the cab and puts your bags on his small bed back there. He finally sits in the driver seat and looks over at you.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks in a gentle voice.

“Yeah,” you look out at the car that broke down on you feeling slightly sad.

“Don’t worry about that car,” König says, noticing your sad gaze. “I will help you out, I promise. I can’t leave a young woman stranded.” His smile is so warm and genuine, but the look in his eyes shows he has different motives with you.

As he pulled back onto the road König found himself checking you out. His eyes are drawn to the curve of your breast in your tight shirt and the way your thighs look as you sit down in the seat. He was going to have fun with you.

“So, where are you originally from?” He asks, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

You answer and explain how you have always wanted to visit Europe so on impulse you decided to come.

“A bit far from home aren’t you Maus?” He asks with a sly smile on his lips. “Do you even have any friends or contacts in any of these countries?”

“No, I don’t.” You shake your head not realizing these are questions you shouldn’t be answering truthfully.

“That’s a shame, you could get hurt out here. Good thing I came across you and not some… pervert.” He turns his gaze from the road to you and looks at how your breasts bounce with every bump he hits. He couldn’t wait to see what they actually look like, but in his head, he is running through every possibility.

“Yeah…thank you so much for all of your help. Really. I was about to give up and go back home.” You giggle softly.

Your giggle was so genuine and soft. Your lips look tender and kissable. He wanted to see how your lips look wrapped around his cock or sucking on his full nut sack.

“That would have been a shame, it’s good to explore. See the world and expand your horizon.” He says it so casually as if he isn’t thinking of shoving your head down on his dick and making you give him road head. I wonder if she does anal…

You both drive while having small talk. Innocent topics like your hobbies, home life, any little question he can drop to get more information out of you. The sun was now completely set and König noticed your eyes becoming tired as the drive went on.

“If you need to rest, there’s a small bed in the back. It’s not much, but if I can sleep on it, you’ll do just fine.” There’s a friendly chuckle in his tone as his eyes look over at you. Watching as you turn in the seat and look into the dark tiny cab with the bed. His eyes trailing up and down your legs before going back up to your eyes.

“Oh,” you couldn’t explain this feeling in your gut. It was as if it were screaming at you, telling you no and that you should stay awake. You really shouldn’t even be in this truck. Shoving those feelings to the side and excusing them as anxiety, you look back at König.

“Don’t worry, y/n, I don’t bite.” König says with a big smile revealing his sharp K9s. “You’ll be safe with me.”

You nod your head as you begin to stand and walk to the back, it was dark so you used your hands to guide you back there. It was simple since it’s a small space. Taking your bags off the bed and setting them on the floor, you lay down and rest your head on the pillow. Grabbing the thin blue blanket on the bed to cover yourself, you feel so happy to be in a bed, even if its this tiny.

König turns his head slightly to look back at you. It has been ten minutes so he wanted to know if you were asleep or not.

“You settled in alright back there?” He waits to see if he hears your voice.

“No…” Your voice meek as if you feel bad you can’t fall asleep.

“Would you like a sleeping pill Maus?” Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes… “My doctor gave them to me to help with the uncomfortable sleeping situation.” He chuckles softly. That was a bold face lie, he got them from his handy dandy street dealer for a moment like this.

You know it isn’t smart to take medication from others, especially prescribed and from a stranger. You hesitate for a moment trying to think of your answer.

“Here,” he opens up a small pill organizer with one hand and holds them out for you to grab. His eyes are straight ahead still on the road.

You slowly get up and grab one, “Thank you.”

“You can take a sip of my water. I promise I have no gross germs.” He laughs, his laughs so warm and welcoming.

You take the sleeping pill and thank him again. Returning to the tiny bed in the back of the cab you try to get as comfortable as you can. You keep your eyes open for a while, looking at the little bits of König and the road you can see from the angle. By the time I wake up we should be close to the German border, and I’ll be able to continue on my way. This is just for a few hours…just…a few…more…

Twenty minutes pass as König continues to drive. There is a truck stop coming up where he can refill and where he’d usually rest. He looks over his shoulder at you again, “You still awake?” He asks rather loudly.

No response.

“Are you asleep?” He asks again at the same loudness, no response. “Perfect.”

König pulls into the truck stop as usual. He pulls up to the gas station and gets out of the semi to refill the tank and make sure all his wheels are in good condition. He buys you a drink and something to eat when you wake up from the concession area inside before you pay. He grabbed himself another water and a snack as well. Casually he got back to the truck and drove it around back to the parking lot where truckers can park and sleep for the night. He took his time setting up the window covers and making sure the doors were locked and safe. Standing in the now total darkness of the cab, he looks in your direction.

“Hey,” he said, lightly shaking your leg to see if you would wake up. You didn’t. Good.

He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and pulls the blanket off of you. His hand caresses the curve of your waist, hip, and ass slowly taking his time to enjoy the way the curves feel. His hand wrapping around your ass and squeezing.

He turns on the light from his phone and illuminates the small cabin. He crouches down beside you and gently pushes your body back so you’re lying on your back now. His hand gently runs under your shirt and caresses the soft skin of your abdomen. His hand reaching up and cupping your breast over your bra. He lets out a soft sigh as he withdraws his hand.

“You’re so beautiful Maus, so beautiful…” He says as he slowly begins to pull your pants down. He opens the photo app on his phone and begins to take photos of your exposed body, only your panties and bra to cover you.

As he continues to shine a light on you, he pulls your bra down and records himself gently shaking your breast and caressing your nipples until they harden. He leans in and begins to suck on each nipple, making sure it’s all on camera. With his free hand he rubs the erection that is growing in his pants.

Pausing the recording he stands and undoes his belt buckle and then his pants, pulling them down to around his ankles. He releases his aching cock, a bead of precum dripping from the pinkish red tip. He picks back up the phone and points the camera back at you as he jerks off over your body.

His loud pants being picked up on the camera as he stops occasionally to rub your pussy through the fabric of your underwear, feeling a wet spot begin to form, or play with your breast before continuing to pump his fist on his cock.

You remain asleep, completely unaware of what was going on as König kneeled into the bed a little and scooped your drool up with the head of his cock, gently rubbing his tip over your soft lips. He spread your drool around the tip of his cock and used it as a lube for himself. He slapped your lips with his cock twice before gently trying to push it inside of your mouth. He moved his hand from around his cock to your jaw to hold it open as he slid himself in. His breathing shakes as he feels the wet heat of your mouth.

He slowly bucks his hips forward into you as he inches his cock in your mouth little by little. “Ja, that’s my good little Hure.” He moans out, his free hand traveling to your breast and squeezing your breast.

“Oh fuck,” König quickly moves his hand back to his cock as he begins to cum. He pulls out slightly so he can cum on your lips and in your mouth. His breathing heavy and he moans your name. Releasing his full balls completely on to you he smiles at his artwork. He slaps his cock on your lips a few more times before scooping it up with his cock and shoveling it into your mouth, making you eat all of his cum.

König stops recording once he is done and puts the phone down on the bed and he picks his pants back up. He would usually have his fun and drop the girl off somewhere safe, but you… you’re so beautiful. Your tits are perfection and he didn’t even get to try that pussy yet. You’re the type of woman that would never even give him the time of day outside of these circumstances. He’s keeping you. You’re his now.

Part2, Part3, Part4, Part5

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erodasfishtacos · 4 months ago

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Melt Your Cold Heart

prompt: harry’s been alone for years. a bland, bleak life where he needs nothing but his dog then he stumbles upon someone who gives him a purpose…even if for a few hours. word count: 8k

warnings: heavy angst, emotionally unavailable harry, suicidal/depressive thoughts, mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, discussion of sex work

authors note:

There is 3 more parts to this up on patreon (and currently being updated this month!).

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 3 mini one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

++++++++

Harry hadn’t wanted to pull over but it was impossible to continue on the highway without potentially causing an accident.

The snow was coming down hard enough that it was a white sheet, the high speed winds were making it to be a tornado of pure smokescreens that made it impossible for his windshield wipers to work.

The semi-truck had eighteen wheels but they were all at risk of hydroplaning or losing grip on the layers of black ice that covered the asphalt without a second thought.

With such a heavy piece of equipment, he didn’t have to only look out for himself but anybody else on the road because one wrong judgment call could turn the semi into a weapon of destruction.

It meant that he was going to be at least twelve hours behind on his delivery which was making him on-edge as it was because he hated having to deal with the dickhead client that he was delivering to.

The town he stopped in was small, nothing to note, and not unsimilar to the towns he had stayed in before in his twelve years on the road.

A small Midwest town that had a truck stop with a twenty-four hour gas station, a diner that was already closed for the night, and a pavilion of bathrooms for truck drivers to clean off.

It was just about midnight when he parked his rig, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair, it was getting long and he was due for trim next time he was home but fuck, he was tired.

He never really stopped working, constantly moving across state lines and delivery shipments as a self-employed hauler - he was his own boss and he pushed himself like no boss would (who wouldn’t want to be violating labor laws).

This wasn’t one of the nicer stops.

The buildings were outdated, looking like they hadn’t been renovated since the eighties, and that was being generous.

The parking lot lights were flickering like in a horror movie, not that it frightened Harry, he has dealt with his fair on the road, and has seen a lot of things that he would have preferred not to.

It’s why he always carried, just on his hip, in case.

He would wait until the next stop to shower, at one of the more luxurious, updated places where the showers were actually decent, there was privacy, and it didn’t feel like bathing in a back alley.

For now, he just needed the restroom and a drink.

The bathrooms were just as foul as he expected, washing his hands with extra hot water to give himself a sense of cleanliness before he’s trailing over to the gas station next door.

The wind was insane, blowing the snow directly into his face, and sticking to his eyelashes.

His eyes burned with the freezing temperatures, blinking harshly as he tucks his head down until a warm gust of air hits his face as he enters the building. The lights were blindingly fluorescent and he had to adjust for a minute after driving in the dark for hours by now.

There was an older man at the counter, sitting on a stool and watching a static-filled rerun on a small television next to the register, and his skin was a sickly yellow, most likely from working the graveyard shift for far too long.

The man nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Harry walks towards the back, towards the line of coolers to grab something to drink, a soda that he normally didn’t drink but he was craving carbonation, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He was definetly a bit too skinny.

Truck drivers were normally the opposite, out of shape, and overweight from lack of movement.

They were sat in trucks all day, every day with nothing to do but snack.

Harry was the opposite, though he was too lean, he took pride in his appearance and maintained his muscle from strapping down, unloading, and all the physical work of the job that he did himself (unlike most drivers).

He did not eat well, he knew that but found it hard to care.

Harry was in a slump, he had been for the last few years.

With being on the road, missing all major holidays, and never sticking around one place enough to settle down - he was depressed, an understatement but no one was around to listen or care.

He was alone, truly, and at some point, that had become comfortable to him.

Harry went through the motions, driving, hauling, delivering, sleeping, and repeating it over and over again.

The only thing he had was a Fire Bird (Birdie) his cattle dog who was named after his favorite car growing up, one that had been in his grandfather’s shed, and was only taken out on the town on very special occasions.

Birdie kept him sane, gave him a reason to get his ass moving every morning, and to take breaks because though he was convinced that his dog was the laziest bag of bones. Every few hours, she required a field, her ball, and Harry throwing it for her for at least twenty minutes before she passed out on the passenger seat for a few hours.

It was his routine.

Their routine.

He had found when she was a puppy.

Some trucker at a stop in Milwaukee had left the pup in the field next to the lot after she’d chewed through one of his seats.

She was malnourished, overheated, and covered in fleas.

Harry had never had a dog on the road, never thought it practical but the first time he had seen this spotted puppy with the saddest brown eyes and its tail wagging timidity on the ground.

Well it was the first time Harry had felt anything in a long time.

That was eight years ago, Birdie was a bit slower now, a gray coating her muzzle, and an attitude of a spoiled queen.

A lot more days than Harry would like to admit, she’s what keeps him going because it’s definitely not work or the money.

Harry had a hefty sized bank account from all his hard work but it sat and sat, he never spent it on anything but bare necessities so it continued to stack and stack which wasn’t a bad thing but it was nothing that brought him excitement.

It wasn’t the dream life of a thirty-three year old.

Harry had grabbed a coke before snagging a bag of overpriced jerky off the nearest display - he can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t heavily processed.

There was a girl in the store too.

Harry had just caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stood by a cooler on the other side of the store, browsing the energy drinks.

She was out of place.

Harry hadn’t seen a car parked in the lot, only two other semis, and she wasn’t a truck driver by the look of her outfit.

It wasn’t weather appropriate at all.

Not for winter in the Midwest.

The woman had on a fitted black dress, it wasn’t overly fancy but it hugged every inch of her body, and high heels of all things.

Harry wonders if she was with one of the other drivers.

He doesn’t pay much mind to her until she faces him, a purple can in her hand, and she’s noticeably pretty, more so than average.

Harry wasn’t trying to be an asshole but women who hung around these areas weren’t typically most attractive.

This woman was.

Albeit the makeup she had on was too much, thick eyelashes, her blush too heavy, and a rouge lip that contrasted the complexion of her skin in an off-putting way.

Her heels click as she steps over to the counter, putting the drink on the counter, along with a protein bar, and rifling through a small purse on her shoulder.

“Eight thirty-three,” The cashier announces after scanning it, his eyes crudely running up and down the woman’s body before focusing on her face again.

The woman is rustling through her purse, pulling out crinkled bills that had been shoved carelessly in the clutch.

Harry stands a safe distance behind her, in line, watching as she smooths out the one dollar bills hastily as the cashier looks completely unamused.

“I only have five,” The girl mumbles embarrassed after she comes up empty with no more money to be found, “Can you please take off the protein bar?”

Harry doesn’t feel much often.

Tonight, he does.

A little glimmer of compassion.

But very much like himself, the girl is too skinny, not eating enough, and from what he can infer - not being able to afford food to feed herself.

“I got it,” Harry interrupts, stepping up next to the woman, and putting his stuff down aside hers, taking his wallet out of his back pocket to pluck out his bank card.

It’s the first time they make eye contact, “Oh, you really don’t have to. I’ll be okay with just the drink-“

“I’m not asking,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his card to the screen when the total rings up before tucking his wallet away and grabbing his items.

“Here,” She insists, trying to hand him the crumpled bills that she had laid on the counter, five dollars that she needed much more than him.

“Keep it,” Harry waves her off, refusing the money before walking towards the door without another look her way.

He was drawn to her.

He wouldn’t offer most, really anyone a handout - he never got one.

Harry can feel the woman’s eyes on his back as he stalks out of the station, hugging his jacket tighter against his body as he walks back to his truck to sleep for the night.

“S’fucking cold, Birdie,” Harry had complained as he locked the doors, placing up all the blinds to keep wandering eyes out.

Birdie was currently dead to the world, unbothered by his words as she snores softly from her fluffy dog bed on the floor of the cab.

Harry had just tugged off his winter jacket when he hears a knock at the driver’s side door - for a moment, he’s convinced that it’s the wind but then a few seconds later, it comes again.

“Fucks sake,” Harry grunts with annoyance, he much prefers when people leave him the fuck alone, and he has a hunch it’s the gas station cashier or another driver.

However, when he opens the door, after unlocking it, and having to use a good amount of effort to push it against the force of the wind - it’s neither.

It’s the girl from the gas station.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her lips were quivering as she tried to prevent her teeth was chattering, blinking harshly through the wind up at him.

“What?” Harry asks, it wasn’t overly friendly or friendly at all.

“Are you looking for company?” The woman replies but she’s the furthest thing from confident, eyes darting around but not meeting his, “I…My rates are reasonable.”

And oh, this is what she was doing here.

Harry couldn’t tell you the amount of times that he’s had a knock on the door and been propositioned for ‘company’.

Most drivers indulged in it, they were lonely and usually away from their spouses for long spurts of time that led them to pay for the replacement.

Harry had never.

Nor did he plan to now.

As he said, this woman was fucking gorgeous, would be even more so without the cakey makeup and slinky outfit.

But he wasn’t ever going to be that lonely.

He grew up with a mom in that line of work, he felt like it was disrespectful to put a monetary price on a woman’s worth, and he had never been into casual hookups.

So yes, he would absolutely love her company but not ever under these circumstances, where she’s offering out of need and not desire.

Harry can’t remember the last time he’s had sex but the depression had killed his sex drive for the most part anyways.

He didn’t seek it out.

“No,” Harry responds flatly, not indecisiveness in his voice at all, “Not interested.”

Typically when Harry turned a proposition down, the woman wouldn’t be too thrilled whether she delivered him a ‘fuck you’ or spit on the door of his truck - that was normal response.

However, not for this girl, her face drops in a twist of embarassment and shame, and it’s also the first time someone apologizes for offering.

“I’m sorry to…to bother you. Um, have a good night. Safe travels,” She stutters out, it was obvious that she was flustered and mortified which again, made him feel just a twinge of empathy.

Harry’s about to assure her that it wasn’t a big deal but she was already turning in her heel, walking briskly back to the pavilion and disappearing inside.

He shuts his door, slumping down in his driver’s seat for a second as he rubs his hand across his face with a groan, he was too tired for this shit.

However, the thought of that girl offering her services to the other drivers or having to sleep in that dirty, run-down building wasn’t acceptable to him.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” Harry mutters to himself as he tugs his jacket back on, he never cared about any before.

Why now?

Harry’s body detests being lured back into the frigid weather, missing the warmth of his cabin instantly as he shuts the door behind him.

By the time he’s walking toward the building, the girl had disappeared inside, and wasn’t visible to him anymore.

What was he even doing?

He should turn around and go back to his truck.

But he finds himself tugging open the door, it was warmer than the outside but not by much, the heater must be in its last leg, and it was sticky - almost humid.

Harry’s nose twitched in disgust at the smell of cheap disinfectant, a half-ass cleaning job, and garbage that hadn’t been taken out soon enough.

He doesn’t see her right away, figuring he may have to go towards the women’s restroom - he follows the sign towards the back of the building.

Harry finds her, tucked into the corner of an alcove, resting against the side of a row of vending machines - smushed and hiding.

She had taken off her bag, bundling it up, and pushing it between her head and the machine to create a makeshift pillow.

Harry wishes it didn’t make his chest ache, he was so used to not feeling, and it was pissing him off that he wasn’t feeling numb to it.

Her eyes were closed but her body was tense like he knew shouldn’t couldn’t full let herself relax because she wasn’t safe.

Harry clears his throat, standing in front of her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She startles as she hadn’t heard him approaching, bumping her head off the hard plastic of the machine covering and wincing as she tenses.

“Let’s go,” Harry waves his hand impatiently.

Yeah, his communication skills were not the best.

The woman blinks up at him in confusion, reasonably nervous as she shuffles off the floor, stumbling as she pushes herself up on a knee, uncoordinated and clumsy as she tries to get re-oriented.

Harry sighs impatiently, sticking out his hand for to take, and when she very gingerly puts her freezing cold one in his, he yanks her up to her feet with little effort - she couldn’t weigh much.

”Did you…uh,” The girl’s voice is shaky as she grabs her purse, a backpack, “Did you want to know my rates?”

Harry stops, turning back towards her, and starting to unzip his heavy, down winter coat as he shakes his, “Don’t need ‘em. I’m not interested in your services.”

The girl pauses too, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, “Why did you come get me then?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he shoves his jacket unceremoniously towards her, “Put this on.”

She accepts it but doesn’t move to, “Why?”

Harry grunts out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands in jean pockets, “S’not safe for you to be sleeping in a place like this. It’s freezing in here, you’re not dressed for the weather. You can stay the night in my cab before I head out.”

YN swallows anxiously, weighing out her options before there’s a banging noise.

Someone barging through the front doors of the pavilion, a large middle-aged man that had dirty overalls on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a scraggly graying beard.

When this trucker sees the woman, he smiles like a cat who just got the cream, and doesn’t hesitate to ask in a raspy, smoker’s draw, “How much for the night, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widen in unwelcome surprise, lips twisting as she struggles to find a response.

”Um…”

”I already got ‘er,” Harry gives the man a hard, faux-possessive look (maybe it wasn’t as fake as he thought it was because he really did feel a protectiveness over her for some reason), “Tough shit.”

”Let me know if you finish with her early,” The man laughs, his gaze was predatory and foul, it made even Harry feel unsettled to just see the way he was looking at her - like an object.

“Fuck off,” Harry dismisses the man easily, though Harry was skinner than he’d prefer, his muscles were still prevelant and enough to intimidate, especially the out-of-shape man.

The girl tugs the jacket on hastily, the other trucker clearly motivating her not to stay in here.

”That’s why you shouldn’t try to sleep in here, you think he would think twice before dragging you to his truck?” Harry scolds as he steps forward, without thinking, he zips the jacket for her because the zipper can be finicky at the best times - it was old and needed replaced three winters ago at least.

”I know you could lie,” She says softly, the most she’s really said thus far, “But you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

It was dumb question, on her end.

Why would anyone tell her the truth if their real intention was to cause her harm?

Harry really should be questioning what he’s doing.

Never once in the past has he ever taken it upon himself or felt the need to do what he was doing for this girl.

He should mind his own business and realize that she isn’t his responsibility.

“No, I’m not going to. You can get warm, get some sleep, and tomorrow at five in the morning I’m kicking you to the curb,” Harry informs her, trying to maintain the coldness that he normally keeps in his tone but he feels guilty even talking to her like that.

“Okay. I…Thank you. I’m YN, by the way,” She tells him, still shy as ever and really a contradiction to how a sex worker is - outgoing and assertive.

“Harry,” He replies as he walks them towards the exit, not looking forward to having the freezing temperatures hit the bare skin of his arms nor have the wind throwing icy clumps on snow in his face but he would take it if it meant YN stayed a bit warmer.

YN’s face pinches up when the door opens, the cold hitting her aggressively enough that her hair goes flying behind her in the wind, every which way as it tangles into a bird ‘s nest.

Harry is lucky he turns around to check on her because right as he does, she slips on a patch of ice which has her nearly falling backwards.

He grips her forearms tightly, a gnarled frown on his face as he gripes, “Who the fuck wears heels in below zero temps?”

He expects a snarky response back.

And he feels even more like a piece of shit when she tucks her chin down, mumbling an embarrassed apology as he guides her, keeping a hold of her arm.

Harry unlocks his truck, swinging open the door, and steps back, “Go ahead.”

YN hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the pavilion and seeing the truck driver from early emerge, winking at her.

She hurries inside as quickly as she can in her outfit, trying to tuck her dress to her thighs to avoid it flipping up and giving Harry a view.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locking it tightly, and double checking both side of the doors before he’s unfastening the blinds - blocking the outside world.

Last step is to put up the privacy screen along his windshield as YN keeps tucked carefully by the corner of the driver’s side.

“C’mon, I have a dog. She doesn’t like anyone but me so just leave her alone and she won’t bother you,” Harry informs her as he pushes back the curtain to his cabin, it was always spotless, and clean which was probably surprising to her.

It was a luxury sleeper, it wasn’t anything extravagant but Harry had put his savings to good use about three years ago.

A small kitchen, a dining room table that folded his bed out, and a television mounted on the wall that was usually on for background noise more than anything.

“This is really nice,” YN stands timidly in the breezeway of the front of the truck, unsure, and looking out of place.

Harry just grunts in agreement, questioning what exactly his plan was, and he grabs fresh sheets out of a small cabinet.

“You can have the bed,” Harry tells her as he strips off his sheets, they weren’t dirty but he had slept on them a few nights, “I’ll take the lounger.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable chair but he’d survive.

“No, no. I can take the chair,” YN insists sincerely with a shake of her head, her teeth still clenched as her body shook from the cold.

Harry ignores her, tugging the new fitted sheet onto the mattress, changing the pillowcases, and the comforter - he’s lucky he had a spare.

He doesn’t say anything else before gathering the comforter he’d just taken from the bed and tossing it on the lounge chair.

“Go to sleep,” Harry signals impatiently because she’s just standing there, shaking with how cold she is and he moves over to bump up the heat.

YN listens, walking slowly towards the bed, her eyes catching on Birdie’s sleeping form (who hadn’t even stirred) - what a shit guard dog.

YN sits on the edge of the bed, her hands were trembling from the cold and nerves, fingers stiff, and when she leans down to unstrap her heels - she can’t get a grip.

Harry watches for a moment before stalking over, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around her ankle to hold of still.

YN watches him quietly as he slips the shoes from her feet, annoyance prevalent in his words as he asks pointedly, “Why the fuck would you wear these today? Do you have no self-preservation? You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

She shuts down again, like earlier when he had questioned her clothing choices, and doesn’t respond for a long second, voice soft when she does, “They’re the only pair I have.”

And…well Harry didn’t think of that.

Harry doesn’t have anything to reply with so he makes quick work of taking them off her freezing feet and she needs socks - they felt like ice under his own cold fingers.

He stands up, turning to a built in storage unit to his left as YN nervously moves to lay down, completely unsure as she lift the comforter.

“Not yet,” Harry gruffs as he digs out what he was looking for - a waffle-knit henley, a soft pair of flannel pajamas pants he never wore because he much preferred his underwear, and a pair of thick wool thermal socks, “Here. It stays relatively warm in here but it’s freezing outside. Put these on.”

“Thank you,” YN replies quietly as she stands up, without hesitation she reaches for the hem of her dress and begins to pull it up.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters as he quickly turns, giving her the privacy she deserved, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m dressed,” YN tells him after a minute of rustling as she changes into the clothes provided, “I didn’t mean to, um, make you uncomfortable. Most men want something in return, I figured you wanted to see me…change.”

Harry feels disgust seeping through him.

Not at her.

But at the deplorable men she had to be in the company of when at these types of stops.

“I told you, I don’t want shit from you. M’just trying to be a decent human being and I’d rather not see your picture on the morning news tomorrow. This is a horrible part of town,” Harry was too blunt, was constantly scolded for it during his upbringing but he never got better at it.

YN was still nervous, trembling at that as she sat down on the edge of the bed - all of the clothes were hanging off of her, the shirt slipping down her too-thin shoulder.

“I really appreciate it. I haven’t been able to sleep somewhere even half this nice without…you know, working,” YN sniffles as tears start to gather in her eyes, “I’m so tired.”

Harry feels that same tug on his heartstrings, a sensation that reminded him that he even had a beating heart.

“You’re safe. I know you just have my word but I won’t let anything happen,” Harry promises, feeding his own need to keep her safe and also make her feel that way too.

YN nods as she wipes her eyes, the makeup smearing around the edges thay has him sighing and getting up to head to the small bathroom.

He runs a clean washcloth under warm(ish) water before wringing it out.

Harry steps out to walk closer to her again, her chest was heaving as she let out emotion that Harry didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything - he wouldn’t even know what that would be because he hadn’t had real communication with anyone other than the other truckers on the radio for years now.

Harry is slow in his motions so that she’s not taken surprise at any point, with barey any pressure, he cups her face with one hand.

He brings the cloth up to wipe gently at the layered, tacky makeup that comes off in a thick muck, wipe after wipe.

When her face is clear of the overdone eyeshadow, harsh blush, spidery mascara clumped lashes - its startlingly how beautiful she is.

Her skin is perfect or nearly close to.

Smooth, clear, glowy in the dim light of the sleeper.

Her lips a puffy, delicate rosé pink - full and pouted.

The clean face takes at least a few years from her, that makeup had accentuated every wrinkle and crevice - aging her more than she was.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Harry tosses the cloth in his hamper, walking towards the lounge chair and kicking off his heavy, steel-toed boots.

He wasn’t obviously going to sleep in his briefs tonight and he had just handed her his only pair of pajama pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his jeans nor the last, some nights he was too tired to strip them off before collapsing in bed.

“Goodnight, thank you,” YN murmurs after a mute snuffle, he watches out of the corner of her eye as she wriggles down into his bed - looking like she fucking belongs there.

“Sleep well,” Harry rumbles as he shuts off the lamp, throwing the cabin into darkness - the only light filtering through the curtains of the neon gas station sign - bright enough to grab the attention of people on the highway.

Harry reclines the chair, he didn’t normally sleep on his back but he would manage for tonight - for her.

The wind was gnarly, scraping against the sides of his truck - the occasional loose tree branch hitting, the sleet pattering against the windows.

Harry didn’t sleep in, his body didn’t allow him.

He ran on five hours of sleep at max before he needed to get up, move around, and get on the road.

When he blinks his eyes open, blearing at clock on his wall - three fifty-four am.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t waste much time.

He’d be on the road within the next thirty minutes after letting Birdie out, getting her breakfast, and popping into the gas station to get the biggest size coffee they had.

However, when he glances at Birdie’s bed, he has to do a double take because she’s not in there, and his heart starts pounding instantly.

Harry didn’t care about much on this earth, really barely anything but he cared about his dog - the snappy, crotchety thing.

She was always in her bed.

Harry sits up quickly, a horrible thought that the girl he let sleep her had stolen her but as soon as he is standing - he hears a telltale snore from the dog.

He follows the noise and to his utter dismay, literal dismay, because Birdie didn’t like anyone but Harry (and she didn’t like him sometimes either).

The mutt is currently being spooned by YN.

It was the most absurd thing he had ever seen.

YN was on her side, facing towards him with her face half-smushed in his pillow, her arm was slung over Birdie as the pup was nuzzled into the shape of her body.

Birdie was relaxed as can be, snoring up a storm, and pillowing her head in the crook of YN’s shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

The dog hadn’t even woke up when YN had entered.

Traitor.

Harry tucks back into his boots, tugging on his winter jacket that YN had discarded on the back of the kitchenette chair.

As he fills the disposable coffee cup, black - no cream or sugar, he tries to map out his course to Washington state.

He had done the trip many times before but having to account for horrible road condition would tack on at least a day of travel - if not more.

Harry had to get on the road as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be later than that extra day.

The weather hadn’t changed, granted, it was only nearing four in the morning but he swears that the temperature dropped even further.

As he steps back up into the cabin, his eyes trail to YN and Birdie, all cuddled up like this was their home together.

Harry needed to wake her up, kick her to the curb like he had told her (and himself) but he couldn’t imagine waking her.

Not when only a few hours prior, she had cried as she told him how tired she was, and fuck - where did his heartlessness go?

He didn’t mess with sex workers, not that he judged the profession but Harry was never a casual sex kind of guy.

And anyways, the depression that was nearly constant killed his sex drive to the point where he rarely got the urge to take care of himself - let alone pay someone to do it for him.

Harry sighs as he contemplates his choices, he was going to be behind, and he couldn’t find it in him to shake her awake.

He decides to shower, even though the rest stop was foul because he had the time and he sure he has showered in worse places.

The water doesn’t get as hot as Harry would like but the pressure get good on his aching back, he’d always had a bad one, and sleeping in the lounger would make him sore for days.

Harry takes him time, washes his hair extra well, shaves off his stubble, and he’s not doing it to be more presentable to YN - he’s not.

By the time that he’s dressed in clean clothes, it has to be close to five in the morning, he refills his coffee on the way back before he’s unlocking his truck again.

Harry’s met by Birdie, who was acting strange, she rarely waited at the door and didn’t often whine like an injured pup.

However, Birdie was clearly upset as she anxiously paced in the small area, these high pitched yowls coming from the back of her throat - head upwards as she howled.

“What is it?” Harry asks her, automatically concerned as his eyes dart to the bed.

She was gone.

The bed had been made as neat as a pin, the clothes she had borrowed were folded on top of the comforter, and it’s like she’d never been there.

Harry should feel relief because he wouldn’t have to wake her up, kick her out but it doesn’t feel anywhere close to relief,

Not when he had this vicious, innate urge to protect her.

He didn’t know what made her so special.

Harry had stumbled upon countless women down on their luck before, it was part of working around the country, stopping as places were those people tended to populate, and he had never felt any desire to help them.

He knows she must have either went to the gas station or rest stop, she didn’t have a jacket so she couldn’t have gotten far.

A sickening thought of her getting into the scumbag from last night’s truck makes him close the door and head back toward the building.

He was just in the gas station to get another coffee, he would have seen her, and when he goes back into the dank rest stop - he walks towards the women’s bathroom.

Outside the door, he can hear the patter of water streaming from one of the ancient showerheads, and knows that has to be her showering.

And so he waits.

He hears the telltale signs of heels clicking and he has to laugh when she exits the bathroom.

Her hair was sopping wet because she didn’t have a towel, her black dress was waterlogged where the ends of her hair were kissing the fabric - all while wearing those god damn shoes.

YN’s eyes go wide, scared instantly as she stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry’s replies, brow knit in confusion.

YN’s face contorts, eyes darting away for a moment, “Um, I don’t know? You look upset with me. I-I left as soon as I woke up like you said.”

Was Harry upset?

Yeah, he guesses he actually was.

But not with her, not really.

He was upset that she was in a ridiculously small dress with wet hair (and clothes) in sub zero temperatures.

“What is your plan?” Harry answers instead, watching as goosebumps erupt all over her skin - it was a sticky humid in the cinderblock building but the cold couldn’t be ignored.

“My plan?” YN repeats, he hates how nervous she is around him - he understands but it’s so unnecessary, he wants to keep her safe.

He should leave.

Let her do her thing.

It’s not his business.

“Where are you going? What’s next?”

YN picks at the skin of her thumb with her index finger, chin tilted down, “I am hoping to get enough cash today to get a jacket, maybe a hotel room? That, um, that guy yesterday is still out in his truck and offered me a hundred and fifty so that’s why I was..showering.”

Harry wanted to be sick, his stomach was actually churning the coffee he had chugged down because she deserved better than that.

“No,” Harry says without thinking.

YN’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I don’t know-“

“Three grand,” Harry interupts her, “I’m going to Washington. I’ll give you cash today to do the trip with me. Five or six days overall. I’ll buy your food, get you clothes, anything you need. On the way back, I’ll drop you off here again.”

YN is rightfully confused, biting at her bottom lip, “And what do you expect of me?”

“No sex,” Harry assures her, “I won’t try anything.”

“But why? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s just wasting money,” YN points out, she was starting to tremble from the cold.

Harry tugs off his jacket once again, this time he holds it out, and YN slips her arms in without complaint - she was freezing.

“You seem easy-going. I’ve been on the road for five years, guess I’m lonely and some company would be nice,” Harry shrugs, a rueful smile as he adds, “Also I’ll be damned if you’re getting in that scumbag’s truck. You deserve better than that.”

YN does something that shocks Harry.

She steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around his middle, her face burying in her chest as she hugs him.

The tips of her hair are dampening his own shirt but he cannot find it in him to complain.

This hug makes him realize just how long he’s been without human touch.

Harry is stiff, still processing, and YN must realize that because she starts to pull back with wide eyes, “I’m sorr-“

He shakes his head, finally moving his arms to wrap around her back, and he pulls her back into the hug - just for a moment.

“I got you, alright?” Harry rumbles as he pulls away, taking a step back, “Do you have a cell phone? Is there anyone you need to let know that you’re leaving for a few days?”

“No to both. I don’t have a cell phone, it broke a while back, and I couldn’t afford a replacement. And no, I don’t have anyone who will be concerned,” YN replies quietly, her voice was soft and sweet and filled with hurt.

“Okay,” Harry responds because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he doesn’t understand why she’s in a place like this, with no one.

She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

Harry guides YN back to his truck, as he opens the door he tells her, “I’m going to run Birdie for a few minutes. The clothes are still folded on the bed. I’ll get you new ones on the way. There aren’t stores for the next long stretch of miles.”

YN nods in agreement and as soon as Harry opens the door, Birdie is down the four steps and bounding towards YN.

Birdie jumped up on her hind legs, tail going wild as she accepts ear scratches and coos from YN, leaning down to kiss her snout.

And that’s another thing Harry doesn’t get, Birdie doesn’t do that with other people, normally she growls and bristles, bares her teeth and barks to get them away.

Birdie gets her love before bounding into the snow-topped fields, swallowing her up until Harry can only see flashes of black and white as she darts around.

It’s too cold to give her the normal amount of time and plus, he didn’t have his jacket so Birdie only got ten minutes before he whistled for her to come back.

Birdie’s whiskers are ice-tipped, snow dusting her beard, and she races back into the cabin with no issue in escaping the cold.

YN was already changed again, sitting on the bed.

Harry would be okay if he never saw her in a tight black dress or high heels again.

“I’m going to go refill my coffee, do a quick check of my truck, and then we’ll get out of here, okay?” Harry asks as he wipes Birdie off with a towel to get her dry - her fur was coarse and pretty water-resistant as it was, “Do you want food, a drink?”

YN shakes her head, declining as if it’s the polite thing to do, “No, thank you.”

Harry nods before disappearing back out of the truck.

The gas station is as desolate as it’s been the other two times that he’s gotten his coffee but now he had an armful of things.

Juices, water, hydration drinks, granola bars, a breakfast sandwich, a few cellophane-wrapped pastries.

The same clerk is still behind the register, his skin almost translucent from how pale he was, purplish veins contrasted the yellowish tone of his skin.

The man is old, his name tag reads ‘Gary’, and he scans the items with a bored expression, eyes blearing up to Harry at one point.

He had a rough, mid-western accent that made him harder to understand as he spoke, “Never a good idea to fall in love with a hooker.”

Harry is taken aback, startled by the comment as he replies, “What did you just say?”

Gary nods towards his truck out front, he clearly had seen YN going back and forth from the rest stop to his rig.

Then he nods down at the snacks, “M’just saying, son. Don’t put your eggs in her basket. They’re all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say and do just about anything for cash. Remember that.”

Harry is silent as he taps his card to the screen, he wasn’t in love with this girl, he had just met her mere hours ago under weird circumstances.

He didn’t feel anything towards her.

At least that’s what he was going to continue to tell himself so that he can remain headstrong on the promise he made to himself that he doesn’t need anyone.

He’s fine by himself.

Just him and Birdie.

Harry doesn’t give him a reaction nor a response, grabbing the plastic bag, and trudging back out into the cold.

Ready to get the fuck out of here.

YN is still where he left her but Birdie had finished her breakfast and was currently nuzzled up next to her thigh like she was her mother.

Harry unceremoniously drops the bag of items next to her, opposite of his traitorous dog, and doesn’t say anything - awkward and unsure.

YN opens the bag, glancing inside before looking up at him.

“It’s for you,” Harry waves his hand dismissively before moving to rub the back of his neck, why the fuck was he acting like this?

Like he was trying to court her with cheap gas station food and his clothes.

“Do you do this often? For girls like me?” YN wonders out loud, it’s not necessarily judgemental but curiously confused.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before, so no,” Harry shrugs, unable to hold eye contact because she’s pretty and he’s embarrassed.

“Do you…” YN hesitates, glancing down at her hands, “Nevermind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Harry doesn’t have much of anything to hide, “S’fine.”

“You don’t have a wife and kids at home, do you?” YN is timid, like she’s worried about how he’ll react to such a question.

Harry snorts, nonplussed, “No. I don’t have any family and I call this rig my home. No wife or kids.”

“Guess we’re both alone,” YN picks at a loose thread on the pajama pants, it was a fact for both of them, and the air was solemn between them.

“Well, for the next few days we have each other, right?” Harry huffs as he turns to the cabinet, out of sight, he punches in the code to his safe, and takes out the cash he promised, “Here’s the money.”

YN’s eyes go wide, taking it after a moment, running her thumb nail under the bills as they flutter before she’s tucking it into her backpack.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness but I am so grateful,” YN said earnestly, her eyes were doe-like and molten like heated caramel.

And Harry realizes for the first time since he’d met her that he hadn’t thought about his depression, about how he didn’t want to be here most days, and how most days had been all of his days lately.

She had given him a reason to keep on going for at least the next few days because he had her to take care of, protect.

Birdie was the only thing that had kept him here for the last three years, when it’s started to get really bad because he’d never abandon her.

Even if it meant enduring his own suffering for her - he would do anything for that dog, his lifeline, his lifesaver when he’s drowning.

He’s getting that same feeling with YN and he knows that’s dangerous because she could want to jump ship tomorrow and he’d be alone again.

Despite Gary’s forewarning, Harry might be putting his eggs in the basket of a girl he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

#harry styles writing #harry styles #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

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questionableratatouille00 · 17 days ago

Text

ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: In an effort to get the two of you to bond, Tony Stark sends you and the ex-assassin Bucky Barnes on a road trip together. The reason? You hate each other. The situation? Two weeks in a car together. The reward: three days of a resort vacation. And the problem? He's kinda cute.

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Reader wore a dress (past), cursing, mentions and eating of food, reader is called a cow if that’s a warning, both characters being horrible to each other, fighting, mentioned HYDRA themes.

[Series Masterlist] <- Haven’t seen pt. 1?

𝑴𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

Day Three

As you hauled your stuff into the truck once again, you couldn’t help but yawn. You were tired, and maybe still hungry even after raiding the hotel breakfast bar.

Bucky took the driver’s seat, and you were too exhausted to argue. Your feet still hurt from the night before, all that dancing in those heels.

Glancing at the man beside you, he didn’t seem to feel the same.

You put on your playlist, blasting obnoxious pop music. You liked those songs, but you liked messing with Bucky more.

The two of you stopped at a drive-thru for lunch.

Making the best choice for yourself, you decided to squeeze in a nap before you guys would stop for dinner. Leaning against the window, you closed your eyes and prepared for sleep.

When it finally came, it was a peaceful, uninterrupted darkness that allowed you some rest.

Until you were nudged awake. You glared daggers at the perpetrator—the monster who woke you.

“Dude, what the fuck?” You grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

“You snore like a cow with a deviated septum.” He grumbled.

“You’re such a fucking dick.” You retorted. “I bet you snore, too.”

“No, I don’t.” He answered back, brushing you off as if you had just said that grass was blue.

“Yeah, you probably do.” You had no idea, but you were too deep to stop now.

“Okay.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“Asshole.” You grumbled.

More minutes passed by. Minutes turned into an hour. And after an hour, you were both bickering over the radio.

”You’ve been playing the same shit for the last two days. There has to be something else.” He said, his tone pointed and his eyes widened.

“Yeah, to drown out your loud ass breathing!” You shouted back.

“You wanna talk about my breathing? Really? After sounding like a broken vacuum for two hours?” He turned his head to stare at you.

“Watch the fucking road, you piece of shit!” You shrieked as he swerved.

“What? Does that scare you? Does that fucking scare you?” He barked back, but he turned his head back toward the road. His right hand’s knuckles had turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. You wouldn’t have been surprised if he had ripped it off, either on accident or on purpose. Wouldn’t have been the first time.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You spat out. “Are you crazy? Are you insane? Is that what HYDRA did? They made you fucking crazy?” It was like watching yourself from outside your body. You would’ve never said that. Never. Personal attacks were not your style. But something about him—or maybe something about the two of you together—made you act in ways you sometimes couldn’t control.

“Don’t you fucking say that! Don’t you ever fucking say that! You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about!” He slammed on the breaks, pulling off to the little gravel section on the side of the road. You were in the middle of nowhere—surrounded by trees on a mountain.

When he slammed on the breaks, your body hurled forward, your arm slamming into the dashboard. “Fuck!” You groaned, clutching your arm. Your phone slipped from your lap and clattered to the truck floor. “You fucking suck!”

“And you’re a stuck-up bitch!” He shouted back.

“I wish Steve never saved your sorry ass, I wish I’d never ever met you.” You growled, clenched fists trembling with rage.

“You really are the worst thing that ever happened to me. I mean that.” When he uttered the words, his teeth were bared. Like a dog, you thought. HYDRA’s bitch in all his fucking glory.

“Really? Seventy years of shit and it’s me? I’m the worst thing?” You were losing your mind. “Glad to know being even near me is worse than torture! Glad you’re sharing your experiences, Bucky.”

“And how would you know? What, like you’re my goddamn best friend or some shit? You’re fucking not. We aren’t even friends!” He roared the words in the loudest volume you’d ever heard from him.

Of course you knew that you weren’t friends. Obviously. But you didn’t need the bitchy Bucky Barnes to remind you. Seething, you decided that you were done with this shit, and you didn’t care what Nat or Tony had to say about it.

“No fucking shit! Thank you so much, Sherlock Holmes! And for once, you’re actually right! I’m not your friend! Thank you for making that clear for me. In fact, I’m so grateful that I’ll give you what you've wanted since the beginning, you bitch!” You unbuckle your seatbelt, before pressing the ‘unlock’ button.

Hopping out of the truck, Bucky began to copy you. “You can’t leave!” He said, and his tone sounded like he was accusing you of something. You responded by sticking both middle fingers up near your chest.

“Watch me!” You slammed the door shut before turning and stalking off bitterly.

You made it maybe fifteen quick steps away before you heard Bucky’s door slam shut. His shoes made noise against the road. Before he could say anything, you whirled around to face him. He stopped, five feet away from you. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"Have you ever considered that maybe it's you? Everyone keeps leaving you and you keep acting surprised. It's because you push them away, Bucky! You push them away!" Your voice becomes shrill at the end of your statement.

He flinches at the mention of Steve. "You don't understand." Bucky called out.

"Then explain it to me then, Bucky. Explain it!" It was more of a begging shout than an angry one. "What, are you worried that he'll leave you or some shit? Cause he's not! I followed him halfway across the world for you!"

"He's the only person who's left! He's all I've got left, the last good thing I have!"

"Probably because you refuse to do anything but glare at everybody else! So you can go ahead and be by yourself! Serves you right!" You spin around, beginning to walk down the road again again. You're too angry to check if he's still following you.

You find out once you feel a hand on your shoulder. Filled with rage, you spin around and punch him right in the face. You regret it immediately as you feel the stinging pain in your fist.

He lets out a loud 'fuck!' as he clutches his jaw. His brows furrow and he looks up at you, eyes wide and furious. You knew in that moment that you’d fucked up. Without warning, you turn and race down the road, knowing that he was right behind you. Shit, shit, shit, you repeated in your head.

You trip over a pothole, pausing. Bucky, however, clearly wasn’t paying attention as he rammed into you. You let out a shriek, tripping and falling down right at the precipice of the hill. And then you were rolling. Rolling through leaves, and mud, and sticks as you both swatted and kicked at each other. Then you rolled through a small creek, and you let out a yowl as you felt your clothes get wet, writhing even more as gravity pulled you down.

When it was over, you both laid there for a moment. Bucky had landed on top of you, and you struggled to breathe. Shoving him off of you, you stared up into the starry sky. Something about it made you want to take back what you'd thought about the value of this trip. At least the sky was pretty.

You got up at the same time he did. The two of you looked at each other, tense. You weren't sure if he was still pissed about the whole punching-him-thing. But God, the fall hurt. Your head hurt. Your back hurt. As did your legs and arms and face and literally almost every part of you.

"Fuck you, Barnes." Was all you said, before you began walking forward. Tumbling just far enough that you were basically in the forest, you could still see the hill you fell from. You were insanely dizzy, but the pain in your body and the wetness of your clothes grounded you. You didn’t know where to go, but you knew you couldn’t stand to look at his face anymore. You picked a direction and began to walk. Bucky did not follow.

It was hard to tell how far you’d gone. The darkness, coupled by the fact that all of these trees seemed to look the same, was not helpful towards your already-poor sense of direction.

After a while, you sat down against a tree. Attempting to reach for your phone, you let out a pathetic groan as you realize it was sitting probably under your seat back in the truck.

So you truly were fucked at the moment.

The sky was beautiful. It was the kind of dark, starry sky that had splashes of blue in it. It was like someone had water colored it. You knew you weren't going to die in the woods. You're an Avenger, damn it.

The sound of sticks breaking tore you from your thoughts. You believed it was a wild animal, at first. But even with the darkness, you could tell who it was. Bucky Barnes, the one hundred and six year-old Super Soldier.

"Don't act like you're not happy to see me like this." You called out as he stepped closer.

He was close enough that you could see his face. He looked...almost remorseful.

"Don't look at me like you're sorry. You're not sorry." You groaned out.

He said nothing, but you could tell he disagreed. He stood beside you, and he was quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry. For punching you.” You say quietly. “I don’t regret what I said, though. It’s true. They all..we all want to help you. But we can’t because—“

“I know.” He cuts you off, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry too.” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I don’t…know why I am the way I am. But I don’t wanna be like that. Like this. Not forever.”

When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “Sometimes I think that this is it and I can’t do anything about it. That this is how it goes. That I lived through…it all, just to be fucked over from it forever.” He fiddled with his hands, looking down. “And I don’t…want it to be that way. So I guess I’m saying I’ll try to do better.”

Your head bobbed up and down shakily. “Yeah. And..I’m sorry about bringing that up. That was…shit, that was awful. I’m sorry.”

He nodded too, still not looking up at you. “Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“About..about me being HYDRA’s bitch. Did you mean that?” He looked up and you could see his expression and it burned in your stomach. It was hard to describe—a boyish suffering; like that of a kicked puppy.

“I…what?” Holy shit. Had you said that under your breath on accident? Now you felt truly guilty. “No. God, no. Oh my God. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, looking back down and watching as he fiddled more with his hands.

“Do you have any idea where the truck is?” You ask after an awkward silence. He responded by pointing behind him. Great, you thought. You’d been walking the wrong way the whole time.

“The serum made my eyesight better. I can kind of see in the dark.” He explained.

You nodded, sighing. “There’s some towels in the back of the truck. We can put them on the seats. To help with all the…mud.” You gestured between the two of you.

You both made the trek back up the hill to the road, and then began to make your way to the eerily silent truck.

You laid down the towels, and then Bucky put the keys in the truck. He twisted them, and nothing happened. His brows furrowed. He tried again.

Silence.

“When we got out of the car,” he began, voice measured. “Nobody turned it off.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. Please. Please tell me you’re joking.” You pressed your fist to your forehead.

“The battery must be dead.” He said, staring blankly ahead through the windshield.

You dug under the seat, finding your phone. “I’ll call for a tow truck, or whoever the fuck I’m meant to call.” You groaned.

The two of you stood awkwardly shivering in the cold as you waited for your savior in overalls.

A/N: Hoping that the tag list works well this time! I was previously having trouble with some usernames not being tagged, but that seems to be resolved! (hopefully)

I cannot promise a schedule, but I do want to finish this series this year! Hope everybody had some happy holidays and a wonderful new year!

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @kandis-mom @laughterafter @cjand10 @emmsybucky @mrsnotfeelingsogood @matchat3a @identity2212 @ilovemcuff @unaxv @mysticalfuncollectorus @highwaytomichelle @lilbloggs @ordelixx @skiemi-blog @allieb913 @winterslove1917 @chimchoom @moonlight-readings @unearthlydreams @emizlav

graphics by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

If you enjoyed, please reblog!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #river ratatouille rambles #marvel #bucky barnes #river ratatouille recs #mcu

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another-supernova-girl · 2 days ago

Text

'Twas the Saturday Night Before Christmas - Wyatt Walker x Fem Reader

This fic is a combined fulfillment of my 2 remaining Wyatt Walker requests from last year, for dialogue prompts "I'd kiss you if you let me" and "I'd spoil you rotten if I got the chance" (both from anons). This is a winter holiday-centered fic, and was intended to be posted about a month ago, but...my motivation has been practically non-existent, and my mental health is in the gutter. I kind of fell out of love with this fic TBH (a crappy personal Christmas probably didn't help), which is probably why it took so long to finish, but hopefully some of you will enjoy it anyway. Gif is mine, as always.

PS : Moodboard at the bottom is not meant to be ethnicity-specific. I just had a very specific item of clothing in mind and there was only one model in the photos.

(( word count ~ 4,400 ))

“I don't need help!” the young woman shouted against the noise of passing traffic, before Wyatt had even closed the driver-side door of his truck. She hadn't even looked up at him as he slowly began to step toward her, loose gravel crunching under his boots. “Seriously,” she called out, finally glancing up from her own activities, toward the stranger in the 'Hibdon Tires Plus' button-down, the blinding sun at his back. “I've got this.”

Wyatt had been traveling down a stretch of highway toward his uncle Dallas' place to plan an upcoming heist, and had driven past a car pulled over on the side of the road – a not uncommon site. It had been in his rear-view mirror as he passed, when he'd noticed a young woman on the passenger side, fiddling within the confines of the wheel well, and he had taken the next exit to circle back around. He hadn't expected to be snapped at as a result, but he continued to approach anyway.

“I've got a better jack in my truck-”

“Look, mister...I'm a big girl,” she answered as he neared close enough to touch the bumper of her car, pausing in his steps to listen to the stranger, who, contrary to her phrasing, looked rather petite in comparison to himself. “I've already done most of the work. I don't need help.” The standard tire, low on air, was indeed leaning against the car, halfway between herself and Wyatt, the spare tire bolted into place. Wyatt glanced at her hands, gripping the crank handle, grease and blood on her knuckles.

“I see you've, uh...scraped yourself up, there,” Wyatt pointed out, and she glanced down to her wounds, exhaling with an eye roll, and looking back up to him. “Wouldn't be any trouble,” he insisted, taking a step forward, and reaching a hand out. “Ain't no reason for you to hurt yourself any more than you already have,” he added, and she let out a breath from her squat position on the pavement.

“Fine,” she finally breathed out, holding out the steel rod for the stranger to take.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Are you always that stubborn?” Wyatt asked as he sat across from the stranger in the booth of a breakfast-centric diner, flipping through the menu, deciding between waffles and pancakes. True to her exasperated word, the work to change her flat tire had been mostly complete, but she had admittedly appreciated his assistance in the finishing touches of the task, and had agreed to join him for a meal after.

“I'm just...having a bad day, alright?” she declared, shrugging her shoulders as she gazed at the laminated pages.

“I bet,” Wyatt agreed, glancing up at her while she was distracted. If he'd caught proper sight of her the first time around, he'd have pulled over immediately. “Nothing like a popped tire to ruin your afternoon,” he continued, and she shook her head slightly.

“More like, dealing with the cost of replacing it,” she mumbled, picking up her glass to take a drink of watered-down soda. “I, uh...never mind,” she began and immediately ended, but Wyatt spoke up instantly.

“Maybe you didn't notice, but, uh...” Wyatt indicated the patch on his shirt. “I can get you a good deal-”

“I got laid off, today,” she suddenly piped up, and Wyatt's brows knit together as he sat up straighter. “My department got downsized, as of...” she glanced at her phone screen, “Fifty-seven minutes ago.”

“Wow, that's...shitty,” he admitted, unable to form a more articulate response, and she shrugged before dropping her shoulders and slumping back against the cracked, vinyl upholstery of the booth.

“It sure is,” she stated simply, staring at the handsome but ill-timed stranger across the table. “They say this shit comes in three's, so...you're not gonna dine and dash, and stick me with the bill, or something, are you?” she asked, a defeated half-smile across her lips.

“No, of course not. I, uh...I was just thinkin' that, um...” he hesitated, running his fingers through his hair, as he stared at the young woman across from him – pleasing to his eyes, and charming, despite the unfortunate circumstances they'd met under.

“I hope you're not about to ask me out,” she mumbled, glancing away from his umber eyes as their waitress came into view from across the restaurant. “No offense, but now is so incredibly not the time-”

“Well, actually, I was gonna ask how you'd feel about working at my car shop.”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Think ya' got enough ornaments up there?” Wyatt asked as he stepped into the lobby of his auto sales and repair shop, watching the young woman who had infiltrated his life so completely over the last several months, hanging baubles on an artificial tree.

“I think there's still space for a few more,” she retorted, glancing down from her perch on the step-stool, toward the boss she had a less-than-professional relationship with. “You're welcome to make adjustments-”

“No, I, uh...you look like you've got it under control,” he answered immediately, standing to the side to observe her efforts.

It had been almost half a year since that chance day when he'd found her changing a tire on the side of the highway, and near-instantly offered her a job before he even knew her last name. At the time, he hadn't even been certain there was enough work around the shop, outside of sales and repair, to consistently fill up a forty-hour work week, but Wyatt had quickly found he'd underestimated the value she could bring to his business. Filing, secretarial work, payroll – mostly the excess responsibilities that fell on his own shoulders, he had placed onto hers, but she had become so much more than that. Not only to himself, but to the entirety of his staff, she'd become a near-constant morale boost, to the point that work simply didn't feel right when she was out during regular operating hours. It had even been her idea to have a small Christmas party, including a 'Secret Santa' gift exchange, and with several of the men without partners or much family to speak of, no one had turned their nose up at the idea. It had, unsurprisingly, fallen on her to decorate for the event, and so she found herself putting the almost final touches on the tree, preparing for the small, upcoming party.

It certainly looked more festive than anything Wyatt had put out for the season at home, the owner realized, as he glanced around beyond the tree, to the strings of lights and garland, the paper snowflakes adhered to the windows. His exploratory gaze did not go unnoticed.

“Am I missing anything?” a feminine voice spoke up, and Wyatt directed his vision back toward the young woman within arm's reach.

“Hmm?” Wyatt mumbled in answer, and the young woman took a step down the short ladder, closer to the floor.

“You look like you're searching for something specific,” she clarified, and Wyatt shrugged in response.

“I was, uh...makin' sure there wasn't any mistletoe hangin' around,” he answered, and she gave him a quizzical look.

“No, that...hadn't exactly occurred to me,” she answered, her brows quirked as she considered him. "Who are you gonna kiss in a shop full of dudes, anyway?"

"I'd kiss you if you let me," Wyatt blurted out, the words automatically falling from his lips before his brain could catch up. He instantly closed his eyes, his mouth opening and closing again without any more sound escaping, and when he finally opened his eyes again, he was not surprised to find her staring at him. The look on her face was not as easily discernible as he'd hoped. Before he could come up with something intelligent to say, the sound of his name being shouted across the shop caught both their attentions, and the two glanced in the direction of the voice. When Wyatt glanced back up in her direction before leaving the lobby, he found her back to him, her nimble fingers working at the artificial tree, her response still unstated.

When Wyatt arrived at the source of the shouting of his name, he found a semi-familiar man who occasionally delivered auto parts, watching out not for Wyatt, but the young woman in the lobby he leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of.

“I don't know how you get any work done with that hot little piece hangin' around here all day,” the delivery man uttered as he continued to stare, holding out a clipboard requiring signatures.

“How about you show a little respect, and stop starin',” Wyatt muttered as he scribbled his name on the form, pressing it back into the other man's hand, who voiced something sleazy in response. “Hey,” The shop owner spoke up again when his recommendation was ignored. “Why don'tcha pop your eyes back in your head before I rip 'em outta your skull?”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The shop was mostly silent between the hours of closing, and the scheduled party, no one left at the auto-centric business save for the boss and his secretary, the Saturday before Christmas. All the mechanics had gone home in the mean time, for a proper meal, a shower, and whatever else, leaving the remaining two to do whatever it was they did when they were alone together. Rumors had swirled for months, though no one outside Wyatt and his secretary much cared about whatever was going on between the two of them. It had mostly just come to be a light source of amusement for the auto technicians, watching their employer and the only woman in the shop pretend that things were completely professional between them. It didn't much help their case of said professionalism when both had traded between themselves and the auto workers to make sure they had each other's names for Secret Santa.

“Wow,” Wyatt had stated simply as he stepped out of his office, through the garage portion of the building, and into the lobby. “This looks...I really don't pay you enough, do I?” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the tables full of laid out foodstuffs, the individually marked bags under the tree that would soon be joined with the Santa gifts, filled with 'masculine' treats like miniature bottles of liquor, meat snacks, each man's favorite candy, and of course – their holiday bonus checks. More festive decor dressed up the generally plain room, and the occasional ornament that didn't seem to quite fit in with the shiny, vivid baubles, dotted the tree.

“Probably not,” he heard a soft voice behind himself, and he swiveled about to find his only female employee, expecting to find her dressed in the same slacks and button-down she'd worn during the day. Wyatt's mouth opened slightly before closing again, no sound escaping, as he stared at her, and the shimmery blue dress that clung to her frame, and flowed out to end half way down her thighs. When he remained silent, and simply stared, she spoke up again. “Do you think it's too much?”

“I, uh...I think it might be a little too...little,” he answered, more articulate words alluding him. “Not sure how I feel about my guys seeing you like this,” Wyatt continued as she started to wander closer, watching his eyes, as his own focused on what she wore and what it failed to cover.

“I'm not worried about them,” she mumbled, reaching for his hand when he extended it toward her, staring at him intently as his gaze finally made it back up to her eyes. When he reverted back to silence again, his fingers stroking her hand and wrist as traffic flowed beyond the large windows, she glanced to the tree that she had put so much time into decorating. “So, um...how does everything look?”

“Looks great,” Wyatt murmured immediately, and she rolled her eyes and smiled, reaching her hand up to his cheek, and directing him toward the display beyond herself that she'd put so much effort into.

“I meant the tree,” she emphasized, taking a step back to watch him as he scrutinized her work. Beyond the vivid, reflective, jewel-toned baubles, Wyatt found far older pieces hanging on the occasional branch, made not of glass or plastic, but of cotton and pipe cleaners, construction paper and googly eyes. Wyatt stared at the aged crafts in silence, glancing over half a dozen trinkets from the past, finally reaching out to pluck off a miniature tree, made of glued-together Popsicle sticks, decorated with green paint and pom-pom balls of various colors. Flipping it over in his large hand, he found his own name scrawled on the back, misspelled and in his own handwriting, along with the year of the ornament's creation.

“Where...” was all he could manage as he held the school craft – older than the woman beside him – in his hand, his umber eyes twinkling from the reflections of the colorful lights, and his sudden, overwhelming emotions.

“Dallas,” she immediately answered, Wyatt's gaze drifting back to the tree to return the extracted ornament, and tug off another. “He found some boxes of...well, Walker history I guess, in his basement. Including your, uh...handmade ornaments,” she continued, as Wyatt began to explore the tree more thoroughly, drawing off each hand-crafted piece he found to inspect it more closely. “If anybody asks, I'll say they're mine,” she suddenly mumbled as the two of them watched a vehicle pull in off the street, and onto the lot the shop resided on.

“Think I'm gonna get embarrassed, or somethin'?” he questioned as he looked back at her, and she glanced out the window, at the second car that pulled in, noticing the beginnings of fluffy snow, falling from the sky, and reaching a few dozen windshields.

“I think you're already starting to get misty-eyed,” she confirmed, reaching for his empty hand when familiar mechanics started emptying out of their respective vehicles. “Hey, um...I need something in the back, and I need a tall person to help me get it,” she suddenly spoke up, and Wyatt's brows drew together as he followed her, dragged along by the smaller hand that gripped his larger one. The two of them eventually stepped into a narrow room full of boxes of files – not much more than a glorified closet – and Wyatt's gaze fell upon the tallest of the stacks as the lobby door opened, and new voices began to filter in.

“Which one?” he inquired simply as he glanced around, his secretary pointing to the door instead, or rather a piece of something plastic and green sat above the moulding. Wyatt reached up to grasp the faux foliage, comprised of green leaves and white berries, and before he could utter another word, his employee gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her height, her lips mushing against his. The fake mistletoe fell out of Wyatt's hand as he reached to cup her cheek instead, her back meeting a wall almost immediately as he pressed her against it, her body dwarfed by his own as his palms gently cradled her face. The sounds of their kisses were completely drowned out by the collective noises of the men that had begun to filter in to the lobby. “Is this because of what I said the other day?” he queried as he loomed over her. “Or is this my Christmas gift,” he added, nudging the green bundle on the floor with his shoe.

“The first one...kind of,” she confirmed, placing her hands against Wyatt's chest and gripping the fabric that draped over it. “I guess I also just...kinda got tired of waiting,” she added, shrugging her shoulders, closing her eyes as he leaned over her, placing his forehead against hers after he captured another quick kiss.

“The first day we met, you made it clear you didn't want me askin' you out,” he reminded, and she took a breath and sighed, shaking her head, the tips of their noses brushing against one another. “And! I wouldn't ever wanna make you uncomfortable, with you bein' my employee and all.”

“Do I look uncomfortable to you?” she spoke up, and Wyatt stood back up straight, carefully cupping her jaw as he looked over her features. “Funny,” she mumbled, reaching up to grasp his hand.

“I'm serious, though...I'd rather you be comfortable than prioritize my own...” his words fell away as she stood up on tip-toe to steal a kiss, then another, Wyatt chuckling when she nudged him back against the closed door. “Think we oughta get out there, before the boys start dippin' in to the eggnog,” he mumbled, though his arms continued to rest around her waist.

“Wait, not...hold on,” she answered suddenly, slipping out of Wyatt's grasp as she stepped back toward a stack of boxes, reaching an arm through the crack of shadowy space between them. “Why don't you go ahead and, uh...open your gift,” she mumbled, pressing a pristinely wrapped present into his hand, the paper's pattern distinct and aged.

“I can wait-”

“No, really...go ahead,” she encouraged, and he lowered his gaze to the paper-sheathed box. Glancing up at her for a moment, he cast his eyes back to the item in his hands, and began to carefully open it, guiding a finger between the edges of wrap. Pulling the paper away, a confused look formed across his face, and he managed a simple, questioning, “You shouldn't have?”

“Oh my g-...keep opening,” she huffed, and Wyatt's brows drew together as he stared at a box meant for fuses, but he continued along, finally drawing out something rectangular from inside, packed with green tissue paper. Glancing up at her expectant face once more, Wyatt tore the remaining paper away and stared at the framed photo in his hand. His eyes darted back to hers, and down to the picture again – a joyous moment between a child-version of himself, and his deceased mother, captured on film.

“Dallas?” Wyatt asked simply, his mouth pressing into a strained frown as moisture began to well up at the corners of his eyes.

“Of course, Dallas,” she mumbled, reaching up to brush fallen strands of hair from his face as he wiped away quickly-forming hot tears from his cheeks. “I didn't quite hit the $25 limit, but-” A pounding on his office door, beyond the file closet they stood in, cut off her words, and Wyatt wiped more tears away from his eyes as he stood up straighter. “I, um...I knew you wouldn't wanna cry in front of your guys,” she whispered, and Wyatt's gaze met hers, lifting up a tear-dampened hand to brush her hair back from her face. “Do you like it?”

Wyatt tilted his head as he considered her, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, “I love it.”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

To neither Wyatt's, nor his secretary's surprise, the party was already a festive, joyous success by the time they made it out of the closet, their emergence fortunately going unnoticed. The mechanics, and guests who had arrived as their plus-one's, quickly dived into the food and drink, including the alcohol-infused eggnog, and a collection of gifts – mostly in holiday-themed bags – began to accumulate under the tree, among the initial shop-financed gift bags. A particularly shiny box was eventually added after Wyatt disappeared briefly to his office, and within an hour of the gathering beginning, bags and boxes from under the tree had slowly began to disappear as they were collected and opened.

Eyes glancing around the room to make sure all the employees and their guests were distracted, the secretary dropped her gaze to the box in her hand, wrapped in a way that displayed effort despite a lack of skills – the paper metallic and holographic, the edges cut jagged from failed attempts to slice a pristine line. The tag on the gift stated it was from 'Santa', but the handwriting was instantly recognizable as Wyatt's, and she glanced his way, relieved to see his eyes focused elsewhere, before she began to pluck at the clear tape. A wave of discomfort washed over her as she exposed the interior, a smaller box inside the larger box, this one upholstered in a velvet-like fabric. When she glanced back up again, she found Wyatt's umber eyes trained on her from across the lobby, a bottle of domestic beer in his grasp. Taking a deep, nervous breath, she inched the smaller box open, and was met with a loud smack of hinged edges meeting each other when she let it close again. Staring at the fabric-covered box, she glimpsed inside once more, then quickly closed it again. Wyatt let out a sigh from his isolated corner of the bustling room as he watched her cross it, and disappear down the short hallway that led to his office.

She was plopped down in his swivel chair by the time he entered his office, himself, to join her, away from the noise of the party.

“So, you make me make the first move after almost six months-”

“I didn't make-”

“And then you draw my name for a $25 gift, and end up spending...do I even wanna know how much you spent on this?” you asked, exasperated as she gripped the jewelry box in her hand. His silent stare drew a sigh out of her, and she sat the box down on the desk. “More than my rent?” Wyatt looked away to some invisible spot on the wall. “Two months of my rent?” Still no answer. “Please...tell me there isn't anything on the sales lot priced lower than what you spent,” she implored, and her boss glanced toward the parking lot beyond the window at her back. “Wyatt?!”

“I'm thinking!” he answered, watching her slump back in his chair. “I can't remember the price of every car out there off the top of my head,” he insisted, but both the boss and his employee knew that wasn't true. He was too meticulous for that, which only served to validate her irritation. “Do you not like it, or-”

“It's not...this isn't about whether I like it or not-”

“So, you do like it,” he interrupted, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly.

“...Well, of course I like it,” she finally mumbled, a smile finally returning to Wyatt's lips as he pushed off the door with his foot and took a few steps, sliding into the stationary chair on the opposite side of his desk than normal. “But, that isn't the point,” she huffed, watching him as his shoulders shifted, as he made himself comfortable. “This is...this is way too much.”

“There's no such thing,” he responded, and she slumped further against his chair, glancing toward the door at the sound of a clatter beyond it. “I'd spoil you rotten if I got the chance, darlin',” he continued, “If you gave me that chance.”

“I don't need you to spoil me,” she muttered as he stood up and stepped around the desk, sinking down to sit on the floor by her feet, his legs crossed. “Just be normal...ask me out on an actual date, or something,” she offered, a roar of laughter from a handful of voices erupting from the lobby, drawing both of their attentions.

“So...should I take the necklace back, and-” he began, but she swiped the box before he could lay a hand on it from beside the desk. “No?”

“No...I like it,” she admitted, opening up the box again, finally drawing out a pendant hanging from a delicate, silver-toned chain. “What is it, anyway?” she asked, gazing at the flashes of color that seemed to shift in the glow of the flood lights, streaming in from the window.

“Uh...Tanzanite?” he confirmed, though he sounded a bit uncertain. “I never heard of it, but I guess it's your birth stone?” he explained.

“One of them,” she confirmed. “Certainly the most expensive.”

“Well...I also thought it was the prettiest,” he insisted, tugging his phone out of a denim pocket and shining the flash light on the gem. It shifted deep blue to vibrant green, hints of violent at the furthest edges. “Rare, and unique, and...beautiful,” he continued, staring at the glistening stone before his gaze shifted higher, to the eyes of the young woman that sat before him.

“Guess I'm...lucky you pulled my name,” she finally mumbled, and he winced as he began to stand up, his knees aching a bit as he rose, the sound of something breaking in the lobby convincing him it was time to rejoin the festivities.

“Actually, I had to trade with one of the guys,” he admitted, taking her hand to give her leverage to stand, her feet a tad unsteady as the booze-spiked eggnog she'd enjoyed earlier began to take noticeable effect. “He didn't wanna give up your name, either.”

“That's funny, I had to trade for yours, too,” she answered, grasping the box in one hand as Wyatt held the other. “But, um...he was kind of thrilled to get rid of it.” Wyatt shrugged as he reached his empty hand for the doorknob, but his secretary grasped it gently as his fingers formed a grip around the brass-toned metal. “I wouldn't have taken no for an answer though, just so you...” she finally shrugged, and Wyatt leaned against the door to watch her flustered form. “I wasn't gonna let someone else make you cry,” she murmured, and he chuckled softly as he recalled the gift, or rather gifts that she had given him. Not just the photo, or the ornaments, he realized. She'd dug up a piece of his past he'd thought long gone, and he was grateful for it, and for her. As he began to lean in toward the expectant young woman before him, the knob in his hand seemed to turn of its own accord, and the door opened up to reveal a few of the more inebriated employees, mentally returned to their teen years, trying to catch a sight not meant for them. The door immediately closed again in their faces as Wyatt shoved his palm against it, his other hand weaving into the young woman's hair as he leaned in for a kiss.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Comments and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged. I have a bad habit of not always responding, but I read them all and they make my days less miserable.

tagging : @gissellec1 , @sashimeep , @callsign-fangirl , @jessy02 ,

@charliehoennam , @bleeding-heartz , @amethystblackkchaos

MY TAG LIST HAS BEEN UPDATED TO THOSE WHO REGULARLY COMMENT OR REBLOG. SEE MY PINNED POST FOR DETAILS. I WILL NO LONGER BE TAGGING PEOPLE WHO NEVER COMMENT OR REBLOG MY FICS.

#josh hartnett #josh hartnett fanfiction #wyatt walker #wyatt walker fanfiction #wyatt walker ida red #wyatt walker ida red fanfiction #ida red #ida red fanfiction #josh hartnett x oc #josh hartnett x reader #wyatt walker x oc #wyatt walker x reader #my writing #my gif

19 notes · View notes

harrowedsoup · 4 months ago

Text

Griddlehark Trucker AU

Because why not make a overly detailed AU

Gideon: once an independent owner operator that specialized in oversized loads but was in an accident that destroyed her truck (her super custom show truck that she treated like her baby) she is currently trying to fight her insurance company about the accident so she can replace it but is having a really rough time of it. Decided to team drive because she’s broke as fuck.

Harrow: Also a former owner operator. Lost her license a few years ago due to her mental health issues making her not renew it. Recently decided to get back into it but had to join a second chance company due to lack of recent experience. Decided to team drive because she’s broke as fuck.

Gideon— Old school trucker to the MAX. Has a really really fancy CB radio that she made Harrow install in their truck and tries to talk to people on the road all the time. She doesn’t plan out anything, she used to not keep accurate logs and she will park anywhere she can fit. Hates the stereotype that truckers are fat and works out in the middle of parking lots to show off.

Harrow— Maps out everything. She has a top of the line GPS but she also maps out her trips with actual maps. She’s prepared for EVERYTHING. Whatever problems she might run into she has tools for. Keeps driving her company nuts because she messes with stuff she isn’t supposed to. While Gideon can work on trucks too Harrow is better.

They fight all the time. Gideon is used to smudging her time logs which drives Harrow insane. Harrow simply will not stop unless it’s either 1) time for her mandatory breaks or 2) they’re at their destination, which drives Gideon insane.

Gideon cooks in the truck pretty often. After a couple of years she has a rotation of means she can easily make. Harrow buys meal replacement shakes in bulk and drinks those.

Ianthe is their driver manager and keeps trying to flirt with Harrow. Eventually Harrow flat out breaks her headset and tells her to call Gideon if she needs them. This pisses off Gideon but Ianthe just… never calls her.

#the locked tomb #gideon nav #harrow nonagesimus #griddlehark #have this #I guess

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ryuzakemo128 · 5 months ago

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Made of Stone

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader x Steve Harrington

Content Warnings: Mental health issues mentioned. Car crash, car accident.

Words: 1853

Masterlist

Dividers Credit: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary:

I'm carrying my heart, but it's made of stone.

I'm carrying my heart, but my heart is made of stone

You know you shouldn’t be here, yet here you were, at the backstage of a recital, and you were about to play in an orchestra. Your parents made an excuse of why they couldn’t be bothered to show up. You didn’t tell any of your friends about it either, why would you? It’s not like they cared for classical music as far as you were concerned. Eddie’s face said more than enough whenever it was mentioned.

It was never mentioned as to why you were practising, only that you had to do it for an hour after school, and you never told anyone either. Mostly because you didn’t want to bother them with it. Until the day he figured out why you were practising so much.

“You didn’t have an interest for it. So, I didn’t say anything.” You said one afternoon. “You don’t like classical music.”

It was like you said something hurtful, but you hadn’t tried to say anything of a sort. As you were looking through your sheet music for a piece to practice on your cello, Eddie seemed to gather his courage to say, “I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insensitive.”

“Eh. At this point, I'm used to it.” You said as you were about to warm up a little though, he seemed to have the intention of letting it go. Especially considering your parents weren't going to be there either. Thus, you would be there alone and heading home in your light blue vintage truck that your grandfather left you in his will.

You started playing the cello when you were five, you weren’t game enough to find something you liked, so you kept a straight face and played along. Your parents, who were too busy with their work to notice, were happy to see you playing. They thought it was a good hobby for you. But as you grew older, you realised that you didn’t really enjoy it.

As you packed up that night after the recital, packing your cello away and stepping into your truck. Though the fact that it was so high off the ground made it a challenge to get into.

I'm carrying my heart, but it's made of stone.

I'm carrying my heart, but my heart is made of stone.

You swung yourself up into the driver’s seat, your cello case bumping against your leg. A sigh escaped your lips as you adjusted the rearview mirror. You were alone, the quiet of the night broken only by the soft hum of the engine.

As you drove, your mind wandered back to the recital. The music had been beautiful, the orchestra had played in perfect harmony. But it wasn't the music that had truly touched you. It was the feeling of being part of something bigger, of being connected to others through the shared love of music.

Suddenly a pair of headlights appeared in your back rearview mirror, you frowned, thinking it was too late for someone to be all the way out here and awfully suspicious. You pulled over, thinking they needed to get by you, yet they still didn’t seem to ease up or move past you. In fact, they rear ended your truck, on purpose perhaps?

The impact sent a jolt through your body, you slammed your foot on the accelerator to get out of there. The truck lurched a few meters, crashing into a tree, causing the truck to flip a few times before coming to rest on its side.

‘This is how I die.’ You thought, staring into the night sky. ‘In the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere and inside a vintage truck.’

You squeezed through the other side, 'Guess I should start walking.'

You were walking along the road and talking into the void with your walkie-talkie. "I don't know if anyone is listening. But I got into an accident." you said into your walkie-talkie. "I might be late coming home."

An answer came through the walkie-talkie, "Are you okay? Where are you?" It was Eddie's voice.

"Is that you, Eddie?" You asked. "I'm near the road I take to head home. But I don't know where exactly. I think it's near the forest."

"I'm on my way," Eddie's voice crackled through the speaker. "Stay put and keep talking to me."

"Not much to talk about. A stranger rear ended my truck, the recital went by smoothly." you continued to speak.

Eddie chuckled at your attempt to lighten the mood, his voice tinged with relief, "Yeah, I heard about your 'smooth' recital. You were the talk of the school, you know?"

"You mean my dead eyed stare I usually have?" You snorted. "It usually leaves people spooked, after all."

Eddie's chuckle grew into a full laugh, "Maybe, but it's more like your passion came to life tonight. It was beautiful to see."

"I don't recommend getting rear ended, this headache, right now, is the worst." You complained, gently rubbing your forehead with your free hand. A concussion by the sound of things. Eddie heard you throw up a few times before the line went quiet.

"Just keep talking to me," He urged, his own heart racing, "I'm getting closer. Can you see any landmarks?"

"Other than the numerous trees? Not really." You managed to joke, trying to ignore the pain in your ribs. "The sign which says, 'Welcome to Hawkins' isn't too far, though."

Eddie's van broke through the treeline, the headlights bouncing off the trees before finally landing on your crumpled truck. You squinted, shielding your eyes from the glare as he rushed over to you. Concern etched on his face, he helped you to your feet, brushing off the dirt and leaves that clung to your dress. "Thank God you're okay," he breathed, his eyes scanning over you, checking for injuries.

Your hug took him off guard, but he wrapped his arms around you tightly, the warmth of his embrace seeping into your bones. You were terrified, but he was here now, and that was all that mattered. He said, "You're shaking like a leaf. Let's get you checked out." He guided you to his van, the side door already open, and helped you inside. The familiar scent of his leather jacket and the faint smell of pine-scented air freshener filled the space, offering a comforting sense of normalcy amidst the chaos.

The van was cluttered with guitar cases, amp cords, and fast-food wrappers, but it was a welcome mess compared to the eerie quiet of the woods outside. Steve's face appeared at the window, his jaw tight with worry. He'd been following you from a safe distance, making sure you weren't being followed. When he saw the state of your truck, he sprinted over, and the relief in his eyes when he saw you moving was palpable. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gruff but gentle.

“A car rear ended me, I don't know where they came from. I saw their headlights in my rearview mirror, and they rear ended me. I stepped on my accelerator, crashed into a tree and the truck flipped a few times and ended up here,” You replied, your voice shaking.

Steve wrapped you in a blanket, as if trying to shield you from the cold reality of the situation. His eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of shock or injury that you might be hiding. "We need to get you to the hospital," he said firmly, his hand on your shoulder, grounding you. Though your grip on his hand remained tight. As if you were afraid, he'd disappear into a puff of smoke like the car that had hit you.

As soon as you got into the hospital, the world around you became a whirlwind of nurses and doctors. The bright lights and sterile smells made you feel more nauseous than the actual crash. Steve and Eddie didn't leave your side, each holding one of your hands tightly, offering silent support while they checked your vitals and asked a barrage of questions. You felt like a rag doll being passed around, but their grips were reassuring.

When the doctor finally announced that you had nothing but a mild concussion and some bruised ribs, a collective sigh of relief filled the room. They both looked at you with a mix of relief and concern, their eyes speaking volumes about how scared they had been. “You're going to be okay,” Steve said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you need to rest.”

“A nap doesn’t sound too bad right now.” You yawned like a cat stretching after a long nap. The adrenaline had drained from your body, leaving you feeling exhausted. Your parents were away on a business trip, meaning you had the entire house to yourself.

Eddie and Steve exchanged a knowing look, “We'll take you home,” Steve offered, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. You nodded, too tired to argue. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the gentle hum of the van's engine and the occasional crackle of the radio static. The darkness outside was a stark contrast to the bright lights of the hospital, and you found yourself dozing off, lulled by the steady rhythm of the road.

When you woke up, you were in your own bed, the familiar scent of home surrounding you. Steve was gently tucking in the surrounding blankets, his eyes filled with concern. “I'll grab you some water and some painkillers,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead before disappearing into the hallway. Eddie sat in the chair beside your bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “You scared the hell out of us,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I know you didn't do it on purpose, but maybe it's time to tell someone about your nighttime escapades?”

You snorted, “I’ll be sure to warn you when I’m heading home next time.”

You snorted, “I’ll be sure to warn you when I’m heading home next time.” You lived just outside of Hawkins, which meant you had to drive awhile to head to school and back home again.

Eddie cuddled with you, afraid that you were going to vanish if he didn't keep you in his line of sight. His thumb rubbed comforting circles on the back of your hand, trying to ease the tension that was visible in every line of your body. Once Steve walked back in with a glass of water and a couple of pills, he handed them to you, his eyes never leaving yours. You took them with a grateful nod, wincing slightly as you swallowed the medicine.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the adrenaline of the night. "Both of you."

Steve handed you the water, his eyes searching yours for any lingering fear. "You're not going anywhere without telling us, okay?" His tone was firm, but the worry in his eyes told a different story.

You were fine with that. More than a little fine with that. The last thing you wanted to do was to move around too much. Especially now.

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queersatanic · 10 months ago

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Carl Grant, a Vietnam veteran with dementia, wandered out of a hospital room to charge a cellphone he imagined he had. When he wouldn’t sit still, the police officer escorting Grant body-slammed him, ricocheting the patient’s head off the floor. Taylor Ware, a former Marine and aspiring college student, walked the grassy grounds of an interstate rest stop trying to shake the voices in his head. After Ware ran from an officer, he was attacked by a police dog, jolted by a stun gun, pinned on the ground and injected with a sedative. And Donald Ivy Jr., a former three-sport athlete, left an ATM alone one night when officers sized him up as suspicious and tried to detain him. Ivy took off, and police tackled and shocked him with a stun gun, belted him with batons and held him facedown. Each man was unarmed. Each was not a threat to public safety. And despite that, each died after police used a kind of force that is not supposed to be deadly — and can be much easier to hide than the blast of an officer’s gun.

...

Over a decade, more than 1,000 people died after police subdued them through means not intended to be lethal, an investigation led by The Associated Press found.... These sorts of deadly encounters happened just about everywhere, according to an analysis of a database AP created. Big cities, suburbs and rural America. Red states and blue states. Restaurants, assisted-living centers and, most commonly, in or near the homes of those who died. The deceased came from all walks of life — a poet, a nurse, a saxophone player in a mariachi band, a truck driver, a sales director, a rodeo clown and even a few off-duty law enforcement officers. The toll, however, disproportionately fell on Black Americans like Grant and Ivy. Black people made up a third of those who died despite representing only 12% of the U.S. population. Others feeling the brunt were impaired by a medical, mental health or drug emergency, a group particularly susceptible to force even when lightly applied.

...

Reporters filed nearly 7,000 requests for government documents and body-camera footage, receiving more than 700 autopsy reports or death certificates, and uncovering video in at least four dozen cases that has never been published or widely distributed. Medical officials cited law enforcement as causing or contributing to about half of the deaths. In many others, significant police force went unmentioned and drugs or preexisting health conditions were blamed instead. Video in a few dozen cases showed some officers mocked people as they died, laughing or making comments such as “sweaty little hog,” “screaming like a little girl” and “lazy f---.” In other cases, officers expressed clear concern for the people they were subduing.

#police #cops #all cops are bastards #ACAB #fuck the police #police brutality #Associated Press

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cator99 · 11 months ago

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I love making phone calls I love sending emails and being overall pleasant to interact with I love looking for solutions and being eager to understand how the world around me operates and to ask people about the role they play in this beautiful world I love being able to tell that other people are excited for any reason at all to strut their shit in this way and I always take notes on how they do it. It's all so funny to me. I am doing this because I am an insane person. I am the best person for the job. I am like the inverse of Jude St Francis. Born in a wet cardboard box doomed fucked in the head and forced to make an accommodation with life BUT I think its cunty and will commit awesomely violent ritual seppuku when my life is at its absolute peak. But yeah I dont get anxiety anymore if I dont like something it I can just thank them for their time and then find a way to leave and literally do anything else no one really cares as long as you do it right and you know like you can just keep looking for better things you literally never know you might turn out to be really passionate about fish mongering and didnt even consider it and it's not always easy but if the alternative is unbearable then fuck it pack a bag and stick your thumb out on the highway and spend 2 hours chatting about life with a fat 60 year old semi truck driver with photos of his happy fatty family plastered over the entirety of his dashboard and who was concerned why some kid was wandering the highway without a jacket and is nothing but totally kind and appropriate towards you which you kind of didnt expect when you hit the road but then you get to the city and go to an orgy party at some xi/xirs apartment who you met while on a psychiatrist-approved leave to attend an LGBT youth summer camp during the tail end of your 4 month stay at a youth mental health/detention facility but you can't stay there because his 40 year old housemate just announced that he's moving to the states and suddenly wouldnt be contributing to next months rent and didn't want to say anything until the night before when his boxes were being actively moved out of the apartment in order to avoid any sort of confrontation and the resulting altercation is heart breaking this 40 year old workig professional gay dude just absolutely betrayed this screwed up teenaged lesbian with no hesitation but maybe the drug fuelled sex parties had something to do with it but im just there stoned watching some tv show about anthropomorphic fast food and xe really did care about me but this was not the time to be pulling some cutesy whimsical runaway shit so we said our goodbyes and xe gave me directions the youth emergency shelter. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream. This was just the "hard" part. I broke the high score on the ancient tetris machine at the day-shelter and barely ate anything because they relied entirely on donations and for whatever reason nobody thought to donate anything gluten free. I slept in the girls quarters of the cold shelter we were taken to every night, driven in huge vans by the staff at the day shelter. The girls were primarily quiet and didnt want to talk or even look at anyone. Some of the native girls were chill to play board games or watch tv with though. The guys were real rough. Mostly drug addicts. Mostly violent. They were known for treating each other terribly. I was told I could "use whatever rooms or washrooms that align with your gender identity". I told them I'd rather use the room that made me less likely to have me end up raped or my pillow pissed on.

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littlemisscuddles · 7 months ago

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I am his

The conclusion to a very long and difficult talk. The bedrock of what has the potential to make or break our relationship.

I have been aware of my submissiveness for many years, but he has only dabbled in the lifestyle for as long as we’ve been together. His confidence in himself as a dom waxes and wanes. My subby self goes into hiding for months at a time as our dynamic comes to a halt, but inevitably bursts forth kicking and screaming. Will she always have to hide?

“Are you ready to have a difficult conversation?”

“….yes” 🥺

“What if I can never be the dom you want?”

The words hit me like a truck. The reality of my submissive side, what sometimes feels like the truest part of myself, having to exist only in my mind is unthinkable. To not be able to share it with my person is even more so.

His engagement in this lifestyle which constantly tests his confidence and resolve becomes lost in the noise of life’s complications. Work. Family. Mental health. It all becomes too much to bear and I could never blame him for it. I am his no matter what.

Yet… there is a spark there that can’t be ignored. I am his and not in the traditional way. I belong to him. He possesses me and he likes it that way. Sure, life has its ups and downs, but that one fact will never change even when our dynamic does. We don’t need to give up on d/s, we need to evolve. Find ourselves again. Be willing to approach things differently. Carve out a path.

Too often we have tried to mimic what I see working in other dynamics on Tumblr. This time we are boiling it down to the basics and truly making it our own, with him in the drivers seat.

#any doms out there struggle with confidence?#I think it would be helpful for him to know he’s not alone

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artisticdivasworld · 4 months ago

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Managing Stress on the Road: A Guide for New Truck Drivers

If you bought it, a trucker hauled it. As we celebrate National Truck Driver Appreciation Week, it’s important to not only acknowledge the hard work and dedication of drivers but also to address the challenges they face on the road—especially the stress that comes with the job. For new drivers, adjusting to long hours, unpredictable schedules, and the isolation that comes with being on the road…

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nicoleartzy · 26 days ago

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CASA TIDMOUTH'S MY AU: THE TWO GHOSTS OF SODOR

(Inspired by @bruhstation)

Timothy Elijah ???

Age: (25) When he tragically died

Occupation: NWR 0's driver (formerly)

He was a very kind and gentle soul. On top of that, he was very patient with everyone and got along with everyone. He had a strong sense of justice before the ("incident"), and was very determined to get back at those who have wronged him. He can be stern and serious at times when the situation is very serious or in an emergency. He was BFF with "That Blue Engine," specifically, and would usually only talk to him. Sometimes, the two of them would go almost insane but that would never happen. Timothy would usually be with Alfred whenever he plans on getting back at anyone involved with selfish duties or at the Troublesome Trucks whenever they go too far with their pranks.

Out of the main ghosts, he and "That Blue Engine" would be the one that rarely talk about their pasts before becoming ghosts. Nobody knows how he died. Nobody knows about the people that they left behind. Despite his pleasant and friendly nature, nobody really knows his true side is that he's very different from other ghosts, well. That's until he got reincarnated as the number 1 engine driver, also known as "Thomas Andreson Billington!"

He doesn't really remember anything when he's Thomas now, but he does have some faint memories of his past as another engine driver and he can still hear the voices of "That Blue Engines," voice whenever and wherever. He would sometimes lose control of his past self and would almost go on a rampage on killing people though he would have no memories afterward his rampage and won't remember anything (yet)

He would also have a Golden Whistle, though it's not entirely powerful as Thomas, since he doesn't have enough golden dusts.

Trivia:

● He can be quite protective of someone if he's very close to them.

● He likes using smilies while talking, though it can get quite annoying at some times.

● He tends to treat those who are shy or made fun of just by pure kindness. This is why the Troublesome Trucks spare him from their pranks

● He seems to have a tendency to butt into other people's conversations whenever it may go south, though he rarely doesn't do that anymore since after he got reincarnated.

● He's somehow connected to Thomas Billingtion, though he never met the lad, though he kept saying that he's really familiar to him personally (I wonder why)

● He remembers that he had a younger brother who looked just like Thomas. But he doesn't really quite remember his own childhood either. It remains a mystery.

Likes: The nature of the wilderness, sight of busy roads, life savers, and Knox Gelatin

Dislikes: people who are jerks, self-centered, selfish people

Jay N ?????

Also known as "That Blue Engine"

Age: 36 (though no one really knows his true age)

Occupation: NWR's driver (no number)

Jay was an unusual engine driver. For starters, he appeared out of nowhere to Sodor. He always had a creepy smile stuck attached to his face. It's like it didn't come off. He rarely shows emotions to others except for Timothy for some odd reasons. He also likes to mutter to himself about something creepy, though no one can really understand him. He's very distant from everyone else besides Timothy. He once wanted to strangle Alfred to death but was stopped by Timothy.

Mr. Hatt didn't trust him with passenger duties, but he was fine with good trains. After all, he was planning something to the passengers for one day, but that all ended when Timothy did the thing. Jay was actually the first one to fully go insane in 1934 when the NWR was suffering due to financial problems, his train, and he was about to be sent away and Jay didn't like that at all. His mental health was so bad that he had a mental breakdown; where he would scream obscenities, death threats to everyone associated with the NWR, and promised revenge.

There's not much information left about him, though a lot of ghosts have said that he resembles Edward Pettigrew the NWR 2's driver, as of now. He haunts Sodor to this day, mainly Thomas (Timothy) like ranting to him and telling him to go on a rampage and start killing people, though that rarely happens when Timothy is in fully control of his new body. With some kind of vengeance in mind of him, I wonder why he was driven to such madness....oh, well, we may never know (yet).

Trivia:

● Know one knows about his background or who's his family is.

● He would usually get into fights with people he dislikes. It would end up with the victim all bloodied up.

● The scarf was given by his father as a bday gift when he was younger, and he kept it ever since he tragically died.

● He's also one of them that no one knows about his "incident" or how he died.

● Something about his unnerving smile he does doesn't seem to be pleasant. It feels quite creepy to the point where some people would freeze or break down in a mental state when they see his smile. What's up with that? Oh, well.

Likes: his weird mutters, thinking of killing people, bitter foods, scary horror slasher films

Dislikes: talking about his childhood, Thomas (Timothy) not destroying the whole NWR economy, people who think they're right!

And that's all for these two, I wanted to make my own AU with these two after being inspired by @bruhstation

I've been into my old TTTE phase. I'm not sure why, but oh well. It's really fun to make these guys, and I wonder if I can make mini sketches or comics out them and their past lifes, but we'll see where the year 2025 takes me guys.

#digital art #artwork #digital illustration #thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #casa timouths #ttte #ttte timothy #ttte timothy the ghost engine #ttte N #ttte That Blue Engine #human au #inspired by @bruhstation #FINALLY IT'S TIME FOR THE TWO MENACES OF SODOR

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jewishbarbies · 2 months ago

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random things I would do if elected president, in no particular order:

ban LED headlights nationwide, no exceptions

make it illegal to donate to a political campaign if yearly income is above 100k

forgive all student debt (college, medical school, law school, etc.)

ban PACs and super PACs

require a special license for pickup trucks of a certain size with a specific drivers test

mandatory yearly drivers tests for people over the age of 55

make it illegal for politicians to use all social media in an official capacity

install a free public railway that connects all major cities in all 50 states

give Hawaii back to indigenous Hawaiians along with a promise of monetary reparations and/or supplies for an agreed upon period of time

give Puerto Rico back to the Puerto Ricans with monetary incentives for american citizens who move back to the states

ban the purchase of single family homes by any corporate entity in all 50 states

create a care program for migrants and refugees with housing, food, and supplies along with free English classes and courses on their preferred job field (with credits applied if enrolling in college plus a more streamlined path to citizenship starting with a work/school visa) paid for by taxes they’re already going to be paying working here anyway

complete overhaul of the american prison system with an implementation of rehab and mental health facilities, community projects, education and job training with no sentence longer than the completion of these courses/treatments unless for high crimes and special cases

bring home economics, culinary, and finance courses to middle and high schools with specialized AP courses for fields like human/veterinary medicine, law, engineering, environmental science, etc.

create a federally funded program for college students who want to become teachers, including specialized classes, free tuition, and sign on bonuses when employed at your first school as a one time tax credit with proof of employment

run federally funded educational tours and classes with volunteer opportunities at all national parks, with $10 general admission at all parks

require cities with a population over 1k to allocate funds/resources for warming stations, homeless and women’s shelters within city limits and maintain them year round

ban all fireworks no exceptions nationwide

mandatory voting in state and federal elections

executive order to make it illegal for politicians to earn more than the average yearly salary in their state/county/district/etc. at all levels of government

mandatory college education requirements for running for political office

anti inflation laws preventing the selling of goods and services for more than double the cost nationwide

make food waste in the agriculture industries illegal with tax credits for donating unsellable but edible food to shelters, churches, charities, and food banks

increase indigenous sovereignty in all 50 states, with regulations to prevent price gauging and predatory sale prices of goods and services to reservations, and increased legal protections for recognized tribes

work with local tribes to create programs delivering food, water, medicine, and supplies to households on reservations that sign up, 1-2 times a month like a food bank

create a federal agency of environmental scientists, biologists, etc. that work with indigenous peoples and maintain/protect land and local ecosystems in all 50 states through any means necessary with cooperation of the indigenous people

create additional tax credits for families, people with disabilities, students of any kind, home buyers, and farmers/agricultural workers

free school lunches in all schools in all 50 states

this is a non exhaustive fantasy list, don’t take it seriously. I’ll probably add more things I think of later.

#g talks #mine #/mobile #/okay to reblog

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slushiepizza · 9 months ago

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I just read your 'The Pursuit of Catharsis' and I'M NOT OK BUT IN A GOOD WAY!!!

And because I'm a sucker for angst... I wanna twist the knife in Guy's heart a bit more ❤️

Imagine if Guy - with his name now in the spotlight, his career at its peak and yet he's so miserable to the point of suicidal because of the cheating, of the scandal and the divorce - saw Honey on a random street on night.

Looking just as perfect as the day he lost them.

Looking like they're untouched by time.

Because after losing Guy and working themselves up to be the best version of themselves, to have the healthiest mental and emotional health in their lives, Honey becomes someone else's...

Treasure.

YES, IT'S EXACTLY WHO YOU THINK HE IS!

ANYWAY, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME! GOOD BYE!

link to the fic

Thanks for reading and enjoying the fic!!! I'm using this opportunity to discuss the Divorced!AU lmao

warning : discussions of suicidal behavior, mental health issues, substance abuse

i. honey being treasure

ough..... that's a really sad idea but now I'm more focused on something specific in this scenario. If Honey later became Treasure, there's the implication that they weren't doing as well as they hoped they were because as mentioned by Porter, 'your friends suck'. And they now have a semi-toxic circle of friends.

I like that, I think. That no matter how hard they try and how far they've come since the divorce- there's always the ghost of it that they couldn't get rid of and managed to sneak away into their life.

ii. Guy's misery and cheating

Hm, about Guy being miserable to the point of suicidal...I do think that he was already like that before he cheated and when he and Honey were still married but had problems. That was sort of my take on his reasoning behind why he cheated actually.

He was just someone who couldn't cope with fame while at the same time craving it severely. He spent all of his time working and tried to remedy his lack of effort into maintaining his relationship with Honey with lavish gifts. He struggled with substance abuse- mainly alcohol but sometimes others- because he refused to realize that he had nothing else to live for now that he's at the top.

When he and Honey's fights got really bad, he'd go on a bender. He'd go for one night stands mostly, and they all have traits that are reminiscent of Honey's. They weren't on speaking terms when he missed their anniversary for the sake of going abroad. And Guy has this feeling that whatever they're dealing with- they won't be able to come back from this. He'd imagine the people and sex workers he'd spend the night with was Honey he was laying with, as and under the blur and haze of the stupor he was in, they might as well be. When people found out about him cheating, the world moves on. He's a Hollywood writer, of course it wouldn't be something people blink an eye at. His career wouldn't take a hit at all.

iii. honey's aftermath

After they got divorced, Honey would move away from Dahlia and live in a small town where they can escape Guy's name and fame. They'd heal but they severely missed someone who used to be their best friend.

Life in the small town was idyllic and had the community they needed to heal. Honey started work as a cargo truck driver, finding comfort in long winding roads in between states. They don't quite care about the cities or fame or success anymore- it's sullied by how things used to be and how Guy turned out.

At a local bookstore new, freshly packaged books was displayed front and center- and it had Guy's name on it. It stated that it was a bestseller and that it's from "American Horror Sensation, Guy". They shrug and tried to feel glad that he got what he wanted. Oh well. The two of them were different people now from the college kids that shared a home, unrecognizable from who they used to be.

They remembered what they used to tell him when he had writer's block and needed the extra push: "Dude! You're good at this. If you ever get published, I'd definitely everything you write."

"Really, everything?"

"Everything. I really do like the way you write."

They buy the copy anyway, unfortunately.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted guy #slushieanswers #sweet asks

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questionableratatouille00 · 3 months ago

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ʜɪɢʜᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇʟʟ 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings (Entire Series): Enemies-to-lovers, cursing, sexual tension, angst, fluff, crying, fighting, violence, chaos, mentions/talk of trauma, discussions of mental health, and potentially more.

Warnings: Reader wears a dress, cursing, mentions and eating of food, let me know if more needs to be added.

[Series Masterlist] <- Haven’t seen pt. 1?

𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒈𝒖𝒏

Day Two

"You look..fine." You mumble, refusing to say what you really meant: hot.

He nods awkwardly, before tilting his head towards the elevator. You walk with him to the elevator, and you try and study his expressions as you wait to get to the first floor.

He looked lost in thought. Shit. That was never good. If he wasn't talking, whether that meant exchanging insults with you and Sam or marveling at modern technology with Steve, he was lost in his head.

You’d noticed that since he’d moved to the Compound was that he was getting better. Better, in the sense that he wasn't staying holed up in his assigned bedroom pretending that the world didn't exist. Better in the sense that he was talking to people now. Better in the sense that he wasn't waking up violent or screaming in the middle of the night.

Yeah, sure, he's a petty asshole who's extremely good at pissing you off, but even semi-joking insults are better than eerie silence and pure fear of the outside world.

When he'd arrived at the Compound, he'd avoided everyone, even Steve. He didn't speak, barely acknowledged people unless he had to. He didn't eat. He could barely sleep. It was like he was a ghost. The first time Peter came over while Bucky was around, Bucky seemed to have shut down a little.

Peter was a good kid. He stayed over in his room during weekends, or even occasionally during weekdays in the summer. He didn't ask intrusive questions, and he really did try his best to make Bucky feel welcome. But it really just terrified Bucky.

After a few months of court-mandated therapy, which slowly evolved from twice a week to once every two months throughout the span of a year, he seemed to recover. He slowly learned to get out of those post-HYDRA habits he'd picked up. He'd eat with the rest of the team. He'd join in on weekly movie nights. He'd even help Wanda when she cooked for the monthly 'nice-family-dinner' days. She always loved making the food for those.

He started watching baking shows with Vision. He'd hang out with Natasha. He pestered Steve in a way only a best friend ever could. He made jokes. The first time you ever heard the former brainwashed assassin make a joke will be forever ingrained into your mind. It had been some stupid joke about Steve's old costume, and it had shocked everyone in the room. Except for Steve.

He only went silent like this on particularly bad days. Nobody ever said anything, because they knew that would only make it worse, but it was obvious whenever something rough went down. 'Bad days' meant days that followed nightmare-filled nights, or days that involved flashbacks or recovering from flashbacks, or days that were ruined by something triggering him.

"You good, there?" You decide to speak up, just as the elevator door opens.

He nodded quickly, beginning to walk to the truck. He hops into the driver's seat, and you don't fight him on it.

"We're a bit late." You note, glancing at the time. 6:13pm. Technically, it started at 6:00pm and ended at 10:45pm.

"Holy shit." You say aloud, looking through Bucky's window at the beautiful decorations. There were string lights strung from light posts, and hay bales for some reason, and other cute things. There was a little stage set up, with a small band playing vintage songs. There were little stands set up where you could buy food or random 1940's themed shit.

"You ready?" You looked to Bucky, before checking in the mirror to make sure the red lipstick you'd applied hadn't smudged.

He nodded, parking the truck against the sidewalk. He waited for you to walk around the front of the vehicle to join him.

"I'll grab us some dinner. You up for this? We can always go back--"

"I'm fine." He said, and at first you thought that he was getting annoyed at you, before a quick glance to his face assured you that he was just trying to convince himself of this. "I'm fine." He repeated.

The air was warm, and the yellow light of the string lights combined with the street lights made Bucky look..really nice.

"Ooh! That place looks good. C'mon!" You grabbed his hand, pulling him forward.

You pulled him to the food stand, excitedly looking around the little square. People from well into their nineties to kids who couldn't be older than five were all dressed up. You and Bucky blended in incredibly well.

"What do you think you're gonna get?" You asked Bucky, intending to pay.

"Not sure. Might just get a burger and fries."

"That sounds good. I'm not sure what I want yet. Everything looks amazing."

When the family in front of you got their food and left, you quickly made your decision, and Bucky made his. Just as you were about to put your card into the card swipe machine, Bucky beat you to it. When you opened your mouth to argue, Bucky gave you a sharp glare, silently telling you to shut it.

“I was going to—“ You begin, but he cuts you off quickly. “I got it.” He paid quickly for the meal, before leading you off to a table. There were a bunch of circle tables set up in a large rectangle. In the center, people danced in small circles or in sets of twos.

Setting the plastic baskets on the table, Bucky pulled out a chair for you. “What a gentleman.” You tease, and he just rolls his eyes.

The band played covers of old songs, and you couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky recognizes any of them.

Once the both of you wolfed down the delicious food, you looked around. The band was loud, so you had to talk at a slightly louder volume than normal.

There were lots of couples, ranging from elderly couples slowly swaying together, to newlyweds quickly moving and bouncing to the upbeat music.

You noticed Stacy, the long-haired brunette who worked at the Brandon Center. She was in her own baby blue 40’s dress, which paired well with her hair and bright green eyes.

She was standing at a table in front of her Aunt Brenda, and Barbara from the hotel.

Her grandma and her great aunt live up here, you remember. She’d said so at the store.

Barbara and Brenda were also dressed up, smiling and laughing at something Stacy said. Stacy was standing, but Barbara and Brenda were sitting together.

You looked to Bucky who was zoning out. “You okay?” You asked, and he snapped his gaze up to meet yours.

“Fine.” He assured. "Dance with me."

"What?" You look at him, bewildered.

"Dance with me." He repeats, standing up before pulling you out of your chair by your hands.

"Why are you--" You don’t get to finish as he pulls you to the makeshift dance floor, before pulling you close to him.

"Shut up and dance with me."

"Y'know, that's a song." You felt it was important to note this.

"Weird." He states, before he glances past you, his eyes narrowing.

"If looks could kill." You commented, and he focused back on you. "Who're you looking at?"

"The douchebag who's been staring at you for the past eight minutes." When you turned your head to look back, Bucky stepped to the side, forcing you to swing your body to avoid being crashed into.

"You've been watching him?" You thought it was weird that the guy who hated your guts seemingly wanted to keep you safe.

"Shut up." He glared at you, before he continued to sway with you to the rhythm of the song.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance."

"I said that I didn't. Not that I couldn't." He muttered, before spinning you.

You instantly recognized the opening notes of 'It's Been a Long, Long Time', and you look to Bucky, who also seemed to recognize it.

You laugh as the two of you continue to sway to the music together, before the song ends. Bucky keeps his hands on your hips, your hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot. You’re not that bad.” You grin goofily.

“You’re not so bad either.” Bucky looked at you, a small grin on his face.

“Friends?”

“Something like that. You’re a punk.”

“And you’re a dick.” You shot back.

It was impossible to miss how all of the couples close to you glance at Bucky's hand, clearly metal against your red dress.

"They're all staring at me like I'm some kind of monster." He mutters darkly, beginning to pull away.

You pull him closer. "Who gives a shit.”

“I do. Tony does. The Avenger’s PR team does.” He retorted.

“Okay, smart ass.” You rolled your eyes, before glancing around. One old guy was staring at Bucky, as were the surrounding groups of people. “We can go, if you want. My feet kinda hurt.” You lied, hoping that if you gave a reason to go, he’d feel better about agreeing. When he gave you a simple nod, you smiled. You lead him to the truck, taking him by the hand. Once you reached it, you stepped down off the curb, opening the passenger door.

“That was..fun. For you, right? Like, you’re doing okay?” You asked after a few minutes. Everybody in the tower knew about Bucky’s nightmares and night terrors. Whether it was from hearing him scream late in the night or in the earliest hours of the morning, or if it was from being the one to wake him up from them a few times. It was just something that nobody talked about.

“It was alright.” He murmured. This was a win.

As he drove the two of you back to the hotel, you smiled to yourself.

Shorter chapter this time. Not feeling so great post-elections. Also, my taglist won’t link unless I format it like this. For the good of all, subscribe to/follow the HtH Masterlist post and I’ll reblog with a link to the newest chapter each time. (Hopefully you’ll get a notification?)

Taglist: @afraidofshrimp @kandis-mom @laughterafter @cjand10 @emmsybucky

@mrsnotfeelingsogood

@matchat3a @identity2212 @ilovemcuff @unaxv

@mysticalfuncollectorus @highwaytomichelle @lilbloggs @ordelixx @skiemi-blog

@allieb913 @winterslove1917 @chimchoom

@moonlight-readings

graphics by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes

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