c00lwips

21 - amateur writer - taurus MDNI | 18+ Blog

[c00lwips]

masterlist

Hi! I'm wip, and thank you for reading my works. I'm new to writing so any support is appreciated. I don't have a schedule and my blog is 18+

✮ ⋆ ˚｡ Clark Kent ⋆｡°✩

Hold me close / / Smut ʚɞ Fluff

Runaway Princess / / Fluff

[c-dra]

they say it's darkest before the dawn 🌄

[meninecanela]

Me at 3 AM, horny as hell, scrolling through my likes looking for that one fanfic i read months ago

[sailortongue]

TOP DOG

pairing: valko x reader

summary: in which your tiny little chihuahua shows your big bad werewolf boyfriend who the top dog really is

wc: 1.3k

content: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

You gave the couch throw pillow one final fluff, tossing it onto the corner of the couch. Beside it, curled up in a fuzzy blanket, was your darling chihuahua. His tiny brown head perked up, large watery eyes tracking your movements, and his oversized ears twitching as you placed a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. 

“Be good tonight,” you warned, pointing a finger at the tiny creature. “Valko’s coming over and I want you on your best behavior.”

The dog only whined, looking between you and the popcorn on the table, waiting for you to cave and give him a piece. 

Right on cue, three heavy knocks sounded at the door. Instantly, your apartment was filled with the yapping of the little dog, now scrambling to get off the couch and guard the door. 

You followed him, a fond smile tugging your lips. You unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Valko stood in the hallway, looking effortlessly handsome in a dark jacket that emphasized his broad shoulders. He held a plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“Hey,” he greeted, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. He took one step over the threshold. 

“YAP! YAP! YAP!”

Valko froze mid-stride, his boot hovering an inch above the doormat. Planted firmly between you and the “intruder” was four pounds of fury. The chihuahua’s paws practically left the floor with every explosive bark.

You used your foot to nudge him backward, waving Valko in so you could shut the door. He walked in slowly, raising his bag of snacks like a shield. His golden eyes darted from the noisy thing at his feet to you, his lovely girlfriend, with a look of profound bewilderment. “Why does he hate me so much?”

You shrugged. “He’s just protective. Not all that much different than what you did to that guy who asked for my number last week,” you said, picking up the frantic dog and tucking it into your arms like an angry football, the barking quieting down to a low growl.

“That was different,” Valko protested, following you into the living room. 

“Is it?” you teased. You plopped down onto the couch, patting the space next to you. Valko set the bag of snacks on the coffee table, warily eyeing the sentinel staring him down from the comfort of your lap. 

He lowered himself onto the cushion next to you as slowly as he could to not invoke the anger of the furry beast. The couch dipped significantly under his weight. The chihuahua growled, but remained in your lap, his chocolate-colored body shaking as he watched your boyfriend’s every move.

Valko sighed with relief when he managed to sit without any yapping. “He’s so small,” Valko muttered, watching the dog warily. “But so, so angry.”

“He’s the man of the house when you're not here,” you teased again, leaning back into the plush couch cushions. Seeing an opportunity, Valko tried to casually slide his arm along the back of the couch to drape it across your shoulders.

“YAP! YAP!”

The little dog lunged, propping his front paws on your chest to snap at Valko’s arm. Valko flinched his arm back, tucking his hands safely against his chest. “Okay,” Valko exclaimed breathily, staring down at the tiny defender. “No touching. Got it.”

Halfway through the movie, the relentless barking finally caught up to your little protector. His heavy, watery eyes blinked slowly against the glow of the television screen. With a dramatic sigh, he circled three times on your lap, tucked his nose under his tail, and collapsed into a brown puddle of fur. 

Carefully, so as not to disturb the fragile peace, you pulled the throw blanket over him. Within seconds, a faint snore rumbled from under the fabric.

Valko’s golden eyes cut sideways, tracking the rise and fall of the blanket. He waited. One minute, then two. Slowly, with the careful precision of a predator stalking its prey, Valko began to lift his arm from his knee. He didn't make a sound. His broad shoulders shifted by a fraction of an inch as he hovered his arm over the back of the sofa, gradually sliding it down until it rested behind your shoulders.

He didn't pull you close just yet, holding his breath, his eyes glued to the lump on your lap. He stayed there, stiff as a board, until he was sure the chihuahua was still sound asleep. You had to press a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, your shoulders shaking against his side.

“Stop laughing,” Valko whispered, concerned with the way the lump was now resituating itself. “You’ll wake him up.” When the blanket settled again, Valko finally let a slow, relieved exhale. He gently curled his fingers around your upper arm, pulling you just a tiny bit closer into his warmth. 

Emboldened by his success, Valko looked down at you, the soft light from the TV reflecting in his eyes and illuminating his handsome features. He leaned in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

“Grrrr…”

A muffled growl emanated from the blanket. The lump didn't even move, but the canine’s internal radar was clearly operational. Valko paused, his lips just inches from yours, a look of utter frustration crossing his face.

“He’s psychic,” Valko accused, his eyes narrowing at the blanket. “There's no other explanation.”

You couldn't help but chuckle. Deciding you had had enough of the four-pound dictator, you reached up, cupping Valko’s jaw with both hands, and pulled him down into a firm, loving kiss. You deepened the kiss just long enough to hear him groan into it.

“Finally,” Valko whispered against your lips when you pulled away, a warm smile lighting up his face.

— — —

The next morning, soft sunlight filtered through your bedroom curtains. You blinked your eyes open, feeling the slow rise and fall of Valko’s chest beneath your cheek. Some time in the middle of the night, you had fallen asleep on the couch, and Valko—braving a barrage of barks— had carefully carried you to bed.

You were currently tucked securely against his side, your head propped comfortably on his shoulder while his heavy arm wrapped around you, holding you close. You shifted slightly, intending to look up at his face, but stopped when you noticed that Valko was wide awake, staring directly at the ceiling. 

“Valko?” you grumbled, your voice still thick with sleep. “Are you okay?”

“Don't move,” he answered, his deep morning voice a rumble in his chest. “This is a hostage situation.”

Curious, you lifted your head just enough to look down the length of his body. You immediately had to bury your face in his neck to smother your laughter.

Stretched out flat on his back, the expanse of Valko’s firm abdomen had beeb claimed. Perched directly in the center of his stomach was your little chihuahua, the dog curled up in a tight ball. The giant wolf-hybrid had been utterly defeated, rendered nothing more than your dog’s personal mattress.

“He followed us from the living room,” Valko explained softly, not daring to breathe too deeply. “He spent an hour just glaring at me from the foot of the bed. This is where he was when I woke up.”

You smiled, sliding your hand up to Valko’s cheek. “What are you complaining for? Seems like he’s finally accepting you.”

“He accepts my body heat,” Valko corrected dryly, though his arm tightened just a fraction around you, pulling you closer. He pressed a soft kiss to your hairline. “Now, please move him. I’ve had to use the bathroom for the last two hours.”

[gosverse]

the odds𓏲 ⋆.❅꒱༘ | “she got a lot of prada, that dolce and gabbana.”

ryland grace x model!fem!reader

—established relationship.

RYLAND grace had never understood people who believed in fate. statistically speaking, fate was ridiculous. the universe was chaos. random chance. probability. billions of tiny events colliding together every second. things happened because they happened, because physics existed, because cause and effect existed, because the world was far too complicated to be reduced to some invisible cosmic plan.

he’d spent most of his life believing that.

then he’d met you.

and suddenly his whole argument became significantly harder to defend. because what were the odds? seriously, what were the actual odds?

same morning, same book, same page. down to the exact same paragraph. sometimes he still thought about it. sometimes he still found himself smiling in the middle of nowhere because the memory would suddenly appear in his head uninvited.

ryland wasn’t trying to meet anyone that day. he wasn’t sitting in the little café because he was hoping for some life-changing romantic encounter.

he was there because it was saturday morning, he’d finished grading papers, and he wanted a hot chocolate and a cinnamon roll large enough to qualify as a geological formation.

that was all.

then you walked in, and suddenly his day became significantly more complicated. the first thing he noticed was that you were beautiful. ridiculously beautiful. the sort of beautiful that made people subtly look up from their laptops as you passed.

not because you were dressed extravagantly. quite the opposite, actually. a plain white shirt, black jeans that were perfectly tailored, looking damn near painted on, and a long coat.

nothing particularly remarkable.

yet somehow you carried yourself with an effortless grace that made the entire café seem slightly duller by comparison. ryland immediately looked back down at his book because staring would be weird. he was a grown man. a professional. he could absolutely handle the presence of one attractive woman.

easily. not a problem. then he looked up again. you were standing at the counter. the barista smiled, “what can i get started for you?”

“hot chocolate, please.”

ryland paused, interesting.

“and one cinnamon roll.”

the book nearly slipped out of his hands. what were the odds? he glanced towards his own table. towards the hot chocolate and the cinnamon roll. then back towards you.

you collected your receipt and stepped aside. ryland returned his attention to his book. clearly this meant nothing. people ordered hot chocolate. people ordered cinnamon rolls. these were normal foods. he was being ridiculous.

then a few minutes later he heard a chair move, ryland looked up, and nearly laughed, because out of every empty table in the café, you’d somehow chosen the one directly opposite his.

not next to him him, just facing him across the aisle. close enough that he could accidentally make eye contact, which unfortunately happened immediately. you smiled politely, and ryland smiled back, then looked down at his book so quickly he almost gave himself whiplash. very smooth. ten out of ten social skills.

several minutes passed, the café hummed quietly around you. coffee machines, murmured conversations, the occasional clink of cups. ryland gradually relaxed, he became absorbed in his book again which was good. books didn’t make him nervous, they were predictable. then he turned a page, and happened to glance up. at exactly the same moment you turned a page.

he frowned slightly, …that seemed familiar. he looked down, then looked back up. you were reading the exact same book. the exact same edition. he squinted.

…surely not.

a moment later you looked up too, your eyes moved from his face to his book, then back to your own, then back to his. slowly you ask, “…is that?” you lifted your book.

ryland lifted his, and for a second both of you simply stared, then started laughing. “okay, that’s weird.” your smile widened. “that’s very weird.” ryland laughs.

“same book?”

“same book.”

“same edition?”

“same edition.”

you narrowed your eyes, “what page are you on?”

ryland turned the book slightly, you immediately burst out laughing because it was the same page, exactly the same page.

for a moment neither of you could stop smiling. the coincidence was too ridiculous. “that’s actually insane.” you laugh

“i know.”

you glanced towards his table, towards the hot chocolate, the cinnamon roll, then slowly looked at your own. ryland followed your gaze. both tables had exactly the same order. there was a long pause.

“okay.” you pointed, “now you’re messing with me.”

“i was about to say the same thing.”

“you copied me!”

“you hadn’t even walked in yet!”

“that’s exactly what somebody trying to cover their tracks would say.”

ryland laughed, it slipped out before he could stop it, and immediately your eyes brightened, like you’d been trying to make him laugh all along.

you stood, picked up your book, your drink, your cinnamon roll, then gestured towards the empty chair opposite him. “can i?”

ryland’s brain briefly stopped functioning, “yes.” too fast.

you sat down anyway, “well.” you set your things on the table, “either this is the strangest coincidence in human history…”

“or we’re the same person.” he says

you gasped dramatically, “that would explain a lot.”

“would it?”

“well, i already think i’m great.”

ryland laughed again, and immediately realised he was in trouble, because you were funny, which somehow made the whole situation worse. the conversation flowed effortlessly afterwards. normally ryland needed time to warm up around people, especially attractive people. especially women attractive enough to completely derail his train of thought. yet somehow talking to you felt easy, like continuing a conversation he’d already been having.

you discussed the book, argued about characters, disagreed over certain chapters, laughed about the increasingly ridiculous coincidence, and somewhere along the way ryland completely forgot to be nervous.

until he suddenly remembered how beautiful you were, then he got nervous again. you were in the middle of explaining why one particular character was obviously making terrible decisions when he found himself staring slightly too long.

not intentionally, just… looking. watching the way your eyes lit up when you spoke, watching the way your hands moved while explaining something, watching your smile.

you caught him, and he immediately wanted to disappear. “what?” you asked, smiling. “nothing.” a terrible lie.

you looked unconvinced, “you were staring.”

“i wasn’t!”

“you absolutely were.”

his ears immediately turned red, you noticed. your smile softened slightly, became warmer somehow, less teasing. “you’re cute.”

ryland forgot every word he’d ever learned.

you looked delighted by this development. “oh wow.” he covered his face.

you laughed, “that was easy.”

“please,” his voice emerged from behind his hands, “have mercy.” you laughed even harder. for the next hour neither of you touched your books because despite arriving as complete strangers, somehow the conversation never ran out. one topic became another, then another, then another.

until eventually the café started emptying around them and the afternoon sunlight had shifted across the windows. later, much later, ryland would tell people it was the coincidence he remembered most.

the same book, the same page, the same order, the same morning. but privately? that wasn’t entirely true. what he remembered most was the moment you smiled at him across that café table. because for a few wonderful hours, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen had felt strangely familiar.

like somebody he’d been looking forward to meeting long before either of you realised it.

what are the odds?

now, almost a year later, he was standing in front of a classroom full of thirteen-year-olds trying to explain how exactly he’d ended up dating one of the most famous women in the world.

a task that, frankly, was proving impossible, because the problem wasn’t that you were famous. it took him weeks to realise that, and months to fully understand it. the problem was that when ryland thought about you, fame never even made the list.

when other people saw you, they saw magazine covers, runways, photoshoots, interviews. the woman whose face appeared on billboards and advertisements and social media feeds.

ryland saw the woman who stole his hoodies, the woman who constantly forgot where she’d left her phone, the woman who cried at animal documentaries, the woman who always reached for his hand in crowded places without even thinking about it.

so when his students reacted as though a celebrity had just wandered into the room, part of him genuinely forgot why.

the entire situation had started because he’d forgotten his lunch. again. which wasn’t even remarkable, the remarkable thing would have been remembering it.

he’d left it on the kitchen counter while trying to answer three emails, grade assignments and determine whether his classroom snake was displaying signs of boredom.

so naturally he’d walked out without it, he hadn’t even realised until lunchtime, and apparently neither had you because otherwise you’d have texted him immediately. instead, halfway through fourth period, there was a knock at the classroom door.

ryland barely looked up. he was in the middle of explaining ecosystems. or attempting to. the lesson had somehow devolved into a debate about whether raccoons would survive an alien invasion. he wasn’t entirely sure how.

“come in,” he’d called absentmindedly, still writing on the whiteboard. then the room had gone completely silent which should have been his first warning. his kids were never silent. ever.

a meteor could crash through the roof and at least three of them would still be talking. the silence was so unusual that he finally turned around.

and there you were, standing in the doorway, smiling, holding a paper bag. for a moment his brain simply stopped working. not because of how beautiful you were, although you absolutely were. it was because he genuinely hadn’t been expecting you. you’d become such a normal part of his life that seeing you wasn’t surprising anymore. seeing you unexpectedly, however, still had the ability to completely derail his train of thought.

he’d forgotten what he was saying, forgotten what he was teaching. all because you smiled at him, which was embarrassing. particularly for a science teacher.

“hi,” your voice had instantly made him smile. that happened a lot, far more than he’d ever admit out loud.

“hi.” smooth, grace. how very articulate. you’d lifted the bag slightly, “you forgot your lunch.” the entire classroom had watched in stunned silence as his expression softened immediately. he hadn’t even realised he was doing it.

but whenever you were around, something in him relaxed. like his body instinctively recognised safety. home. he’d crossed the room without thinking, taken the bag, thanked you, then you’d kissed his cheek, just casually. the kind of gesture neither of you thought twice about anymore.

except apparently thirty middle-school students thought about it very intensely because the second you’d left, the room had exploded. the reaction was immediate, chaotic, hysterical. questions coming from every direction simultaneously.

half the class shouting over each other, everyone demanding answers. everyone looking personally betrayed that their slightly nerdy science teacher had somehow managed to acquire a supermodel girlfriend.

“mr. grace is that your wife?!”

“that’s y/n y/l/n. why is the y/n y/l/n here????”

“dude, she mogs.”

“i wish i got her to sign my face.”

“mr. grace how did you land a baddie?”

“mr. grace is there space baddies?”

ryland had spent several minutes trying unsuccessfully to regain control of the room which only encouraged them further, because the more flustered he became, the funnier they found it. eventually he’d surrendered. there was no point fighting it.

“how did you casually meet the face of saint laurent???” a student had practically yelled.

“yeah.”

“seriously.”

“what happened?”

“did you save her from something?”

“did she save you from something?”

“were aliens involved?”

ryland had rubbed his eyes, “why would aliens be involved?”

“because that would make more sense.”

the entire class had nodded, which was frankly insulting. he’d decided not to acknowledge it. instead he’d leaned back against his desk and told them the truth. or tried to.

because the funny thing was that the story never sounded particularly impressive when he explained it. it sounded small and ordinary.

two people reading a book, that’s all.

except it had never felt ordinary to him, he remembered every detail. the smell of coffee, the rain outside, the exact colour of the lipgloss you were wearing. he remembered the moment you’d realised you were reading the same page, the moment you’d laughed, the moment you’d asked if he minded sharing a table because the coincidence was funny. he remembered saying yes and immediately spending the next ten minutes worrying he’d sounded weird.

he remembered walking home that evening with a ridiculous smile on his face, the sort of smile normally associated with people who’d recently suffered a concussion. he remembered lying awake afterwards replaying the conversation. thinking about you.

the students listened with growing fascination, partly because the story, yes, was romantic. mostly because they had never seen their teacher smile like this before. every time he talked about you, something changed, his entire face softened, his voice warmed, the words came easier.

one student eventually raised their hand, “mr grace.”

“yeah?”

“you’re still smiling.”

ryland blinked twice, confused.

“what?”

“you’ve been smiling the entire time.”

the classroom erupted immediately, because it was true. and suddenly ryland realised it was, he laughed, then shook his head, looked down at the floor. caught.

which made things worse, the teasing intensified. students accusing him of being hopelessly in love. students making exaggerated gagging noises. students claiming he looked like he’d stepped out of a romantic comedy.

they weren’t entirely wrong. because somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with you so thoroughly that talking about your first meeting still made him happy. still made his chest feel warm, still made him smile without realising.

eventually the bell rang, students gathered their bags, still raving about their favourite model and their favourite teacher. still discussing the impossible mystery of how their science teacher had managed to date a world-famous model.

one student paused by the door before leaving, “mr grace?”

“yeah?”

the kid grinned, “i think she liked you first.” the entire class immediately agreed enthusiastically. ryland opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. he wasn’t sure. he’d spent so much time convinced you were out of his league that he’d never considered the possibility.

but then he remembered the way you’d smiled at him that first day, the way you’d asked for his number, the way you’d kept finding reasons to see him again, and for the first time, he wondered. maybe you had.

the thought followed him for the rest of the afternoon. and later, after school, when he arrived home and found you curled up on the sofa reading while waiting for him, it followed him then too.

you looked up the moment he entered, smiled immediately. the same one from the coffee shop. the same one that still made his heart do stupid things.

“how was work, baby?” you asked. ryland stared at you for a moment, taking in the sight. the familiarity and the comfort. the impossible fact that you were actually here. that somehow the woman from the coffee shop had become his person.

then he crossed the room, sat beside you, wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed a kiss against your hair. “really good,” he said softly.

it was.

because every day that ended with coming home to you usually was.

[gosverse]

in real life𖦹 ༘₊⊹‧ | “last man on the earth, still couldn’t get this.” [hcs]

ken x human!fem!reader

—strangers to lovers, love at first sight (for ken)

🜼 the second you arrive in barbieland, ken is done for. absolutely, catastrophically, irreversibly done for. the thing is, he wasn’t expecting there to be a new person at all. the girls’ sleepover was supposed to be a weekend thing. a little visit. some fun. then you’d go home. that’s how these things work. except somehow three days turns into a week, and a week turns into two, and suddenly everybody’s talking about how maybe you should just stay.

🜼 meanwhile ken is standing on the beach staring at you like he’s just witnessed the invention of the sun. you don’t even notice him at first. you’re too busy talking to the barbies. ken, however, notices you immediately. in fact, he notices you so hard that he walks directly into a lifeguard tower while trying to keep looking at you.

🜼 his first coherent thought is actually quite simple: oh no, she’s pretty. his second thought is: oh no, she’s talking to me. because somehow you’ve wandered over and asked him a completely normal question. something simple. something like, “do you actually spend all day on the beach?” and ken, who has answered this question hundreds of times, suddenly forgets how words work. he opens his mouth. closes it. opens it again. “yes.” pause. “my job is beach.” another pause. “i’m very good at it.” you stare at him for a solid three seconds before looking at barbie and going, “is he serious?” and ken somehow falls in love.

🜼 your first impression of him is genuinely terrible. not terrible as in unpleasant. terrible as in confusing. because every time you see him, he’s doing something strange. posing. flexing. dramatically staring into the ocean. running on sand for no obvious reason. one afternoon you watch him spend ten minutes trying to impress a seagull. a seagull. by the end of the week you’ve started referring to him privately as “that beach idiot”. unfortunately for you, ken would be thrilled to know you’ve given him a nickname because it means you’ve been thinking about him.

🜼 ken develops an absolutely ridiculous habit of appearing wherever you are. nobody knows how he does it. least of all ken. you’ll be having lunch with the barbies and suddenly he’s there. you’ll be walking through town and somehow he’s there too. you’ll mention wanting to see the sunset and he’ll materialise from nowhere like a particularly handsome ghost. he isn’t doing it deliberately.

🜼 he’s just become so hyper-aware of your existence that his entire body seems programmed to locate you automatically. if somebody asks where ken is, they can usually find the answer by locating you first.

🜼 because ken falls in love with his entire heart, he starts paying attention to every little thing about you. he remembers your favourite colour after hearing it once. he remembers which ice cream flavour you picked three weeks ago. he remembers that you hate getting sand in your shoes and starts absent-mindedly brushing it away whenever he notices. the sweetest part is that he doesn’t even realise he’s doing any of this. somebody points out that he remembers every detail about you and ken just blinks. “well, yeah. it’s her.”

🜼 the barbies catch on almost immediately. they are not subtle about it. one morning you’re having breakfast when a barbie casually asks, “so, how are things with ken?” and you’re like, “what things?” meanwhile every barbie at the table suddenly becomes fascinated by their coffee because they’re trying not to laugh. because from the outside, ken’s love is visible from space.

🜼 ken absolutely adores making you laugh. unfortunately, most of the time he’s not actually trying to be funny. he’s just naturally ridiculous. one day he’s attempting to explain beach to you with the seriousness of somebody discussing quantum physics. ten minutes later you’re crying with laughter while he’s looking at you completely bewildered. “what?” he asks. “nothing,” you manage, “keep going.” and ken, who would happily explain beach for six hours if it means you’ll keep smiling like that, immediately continues.

🜼 there comes a point where he starts looking for your reaction first. every time something happens. every single time. if he tells a joke, he looks at you. if he does something impressive, he looks at you. if he successfully carries six beach chairs at once, he immediately checks whether you saw it. your opinion becomes terrifyingly important to him without either of you noticing.

🜼 you begin finding him everywhere. not because he’s following you. because people keep talking about him. “ken helped me with that.” “ken said you liked these flowers.” “ken remembered your favourite song.” it’s like he’s accidentally woven himself into your daily life. one day you realise you haven’t gone more than a few hours without hearing his name and that thought is much more dangerous than you’d like to admit.

🜼 ken becomes convinced you’re the coolest person in barbieland. not one of the coolest. the coolest. you could literally sit down and drink lemonade and ken would act like he’s witnessing history. “you’re amazing.” “i’m drinking lemonade.” “exactly.”

🜼 every time you compliment him, he malfunctions. completely. the first time you tell him his jacket looks nice, he spends the next three weeks wearing that exact jacket. every single day. eventually barbie asks why and ken just shrugs. “she likes it.” as though that’s the most obvious explanation in the world.

🜼 one afternoon you’re sitting on the beach reading while ken rambles beside you. he’s been talking for approximately twenty-seven minutes about something you stopped following ten minutes ago. eventually you glance up and realise he’s smiling. not because of what he’s saying. because you’re listening. because you’re there. because he gets to spend time with you. and for the first time you think, oh. he’s actually kind of sweet.

🜼 the shift happens slowly after that. you start finding his ridiculousness charming instead of annoying. when he trips over something, you laugh and help him up instead of rolling your eyes. when he starts rambling, you listen. when you spot him jogging across the beach to say hello, your day genuinely improves. it’s a very dangerous development.

🜼 ken notices immediately. not consciously. but he notices. your smiles linger longer. your greetings sound warmer. you seek him out more often. and every tiny sign gets treasured like buried treasure. one smile from you can improve his entire week.

🜼 once you’ve become friends, he’s unstoppable. because now he has an excuse to spend time with you. suddenly he’s inviting you everywhere. beach walks. sunset watching. horse-related activities that somehow don’t actually involve horses. every invitation is delivered with the enthusiasm of a puppy presenting a stick.

🜼 one of his favourite things becomes hearing you say his name. which is incredibly unfortunate because now every time you do, he lights up. “ken?” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” “ken.” “yeah?” eventually you stop because he’s smiling too hard to function.

🜼 he starts bringing you little gifts. shells. flowers. shiny things he finds interesting. they’re never expensive. never grand. just small things that made him think of you. half the time the gifts don’t even make sense. “i saw this rock and thought you’d like it.” “why?” “it looked happy.”

🜼 if you ever sit next to him voluntarily, he’s done for. absolutely finished. he’ll spend the entire day trying to act normal while internally replaying the moment over and over again. she sat next to me. there were other seats. she chose this one.

🜼 ken develops a habit of looking at you whenever you’re talking, even in group conversations. he could be surrounded by twenty people and somehow his attention always drifts back to you. eventually one of the barbies notices and starts grinning every time it happens.

🜼 he starts saying your name differently. softer. warmer. like it’s his favourite word. because honestly, it probably is.

🜼 one day you realise something horrifying. you miss him when he’s not around. ken, who used to make you think who’s this idiot?, has somehow become part of your routine. your favourite part.

🜼 the moment you decide to stay in barbieland permanently, ken spends the entire day smiling. nobody can get a sensible answer out of him. he’s just happy. ridiculously happy. because you aren’t leaving.

🜼 when he finds out you’re staying, he tries very hard to play it cool. “oh. that’s nice.” pause. “really nice.” longer pause. “extremely nice, actually.” then he immediately runs off to tell every other ken.

🜼 the thing that finally gets you isn’t his looks. it isn’t even his devotion. it’s his kindness. the way he remembers things. the way he genuinely cares. the way he celebrates everybody else’s happiness as though it’s his own. one day you catch him helping somebody without expecting anything in return, and suddenly all those little pieces click together.

🜼 by then, ken is so in love it’s honestly ridiculous. he looks at you like you’ve personally invented sunsets. like you’re responsible for every good thing that’s ever happened to him.

🜼 when you finally realise you like him back, ken is completely oblivious. because despite being head over heels in love, he’s still a massive himbo.

🜼 you’ll be staring at him, smiling at him, seeking him out constantly, choosing him over and over again, and ken will still go home thinking, wow. she’s so nice to me. i wonder if she likes me. meanwhile every single person in barbieland is ready to scream because from the moment he saw you, ken never really stood a chance.

🜼 he took one look at the girl who was only supposed to stay for the weekend, fell hopelessly in love, and then spent every day afterwards accidentally building a friendship so sweet that eventually you couldn’t imagine barbieland without him in it either.

🜼 when strangers become friends, and friends become your favourite person, and your favourite person turns out to be a sunshine-bright beach himbo who looks at you like you’re magic, there are much worse fates.

🜼 dating ken is basically like accidentally adopting the world’s most affectionate golden retriever. from the moment the two of you officially get together, he becomes physically incapable of keeping his happiness to himself. every single morning starts with him looking delighted that you still exist. you’ll walk out of your dreamhouse and find him already waiting outside. not in a creepy way. in a “good morning! i brought you a flower! i found it ten minutes ago and immediately thought of you!” way. and every single time he sees you, regardless of whether it’s been five minutes or five hours, his face lights up like you’ve just returned from war.

🜼 he absolutely loves introducing you as his girlfriend. loves it. adores it. somebody asks who you are and ken immediately straightens up. “this is my girlfriend.” the amount of pride in his voice is ridiculous. you’ve been dating for three months and he still sounds surprised every time he gets to say it. sometimes he’ll just work it into conversations for no reason. “my girlfriend likes that colour.” “my girlfriend told me about that.” “actually my girlfriend—” and eventually one of the barbies has to gently remind him that everyone already knows who you are.

🜼 he’s unbelievably clingy, but in the sweetest way imaginable. not possessive. not demanding. he just genuinely likes being near you. if you’re sitting somewhere, ken is probably sitting beside you. if you’re standing somewhere, ken somehow drifts over within five minutes. if there’s a choice between sitting across from you or next to you, he’ll choose next to you every single time. eventually you realise that half the time he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. his brain simply goes, there’s my favourite person, and his body follows.

🜼 ken becomes obsessed with holding hands. genuinely obsessed. once he realises he can just reach for your hand whenever he wants, it’s over. walking through barbieland? hand-holding. sitting together? hand-holding. watching the sunset? hand-holding. talking to friends? somehow still hand-holding. there are entire conversations where ken remembers absolutely none of what was said because he’s too busy being delighted that you’re holding his hand voluntarily.

🜼 and the thing is, he keeps looking down at your joined hands. every time. every single time. you’ll be halfway through telling a story and notice him smiling at your intertwined fingers. “ken, are you listening?” “yeah.” “what did i just say?” long pause. “your hand is really nice.” absolutely hopeless.

🜼 he loves praise more than any human being should. one casual compliment can sustain him for weeks. you’ll tell him he looks handsome and suddenly he’s smiling for the rest of the day. tell him you’re proud of him and he practically melts. one time you casually mention that you like the shirt he’s wearing and he starts wearing it constantly. not because he’s vain. because you liked it.

🜼 the first time you call him your boyfriend in front of somebody else, he nearly short-circuits. genuinely. you’re introducing him to somebody and casually say, “this is my boyfriend, ken.” and poor ken looks like you’ve just informed him he’s won a major award. afterwards he keeps replaying it in his head. my boyfriend. she said my boyfriend.

🜼 he becomes very, very affectionate once he’s comfortable. not even in a dramatic way. just constantly finding reasons to touch you. an arm around your shoulders. his hand resting on your back. leaning against you while you’re talking. resting his head on your shoulder. he’s spent so much of his life feeling lonely that having somebody he can simply be close to feels like the greatest luxury imaginable.

🜼 cuddling becomes one of his favourite activities almost immediately. unfortunately, ken treats cuddling like a competitive sport. if you’re watching a film together, he’s somehow ended up half draped across you by the end. if you’re lying on the beach, his head is in your lap. if you’re sitting on a sofa, he’s curled up against your side. at some point you realise that ken will choose physical contact over furniture every single time.

🜼 he absolutely adores your attention. you’ll be talking to somebody else and occasionally glance over to find him already looking at you. not because he’s jealous. because he likes watching you. likes listening to you. likes hearing you talk about things you’re excited about. ken would happily sit through a three-hour lecture on a topic he doesn’t understand if it meant listening to you explain it.

🜼 he develops the habit of randomly blurting out affectionate thoughts the second they enter his head. there is no filter. none whatsoever. you’ll be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly ken interrupts himself. “you’re really pretty.” “ken.” “sorry. i got distracted.” by what? by his own girlfriend existing apparently.

🜼 every date becomes an adventure because ken is genuinely enthusiastic about everything. going for a walk becomes the greatest walk ever taken. getting ice cream becomes a magical experience. watching the sunset becomes a life-changing event. the secret is that he isn’t excited about the activity. he’s excited because he’s doing it with you.

🜼 the barbies absolutely never let him live any of this down. if he spends too long staring at you, somebody notices. if he smiles every time you enter a room, somebody notices. if he accidentally says “my girlfriend” six times in one conversation, somebody definitely notices. one barbie eventually says, “ken, you’ve been smiling at her for ten minutes.” and he just shrugs. “i know.”

🜼 he’s incredibly thoughtful in strange little ways. you’ll mention wanting to see a sunset from a particular spot and two days later ken has already planned it. you’ll mention liking a certain flower and suddenly he starts bringing them to you. not because he’s trying to impress you. because he genuinely listens. every little thing you tell him gets carefully stored away.

🜼 perhaps the sweetest thing is that ken never really gets over the fact that you chose him. months into the relationship, you’ll still catch him looking at you with that same soft, slightly disbelieving expression. sometimes you’ll ask what he’s thinking about. and every time the answer is roughly the same.

“nothing.”

“ken.”

“okay.” giant smile.

“i just really like being your boyfriend.”

[gosverse]

rumour mill 𓃮༶⋆ ☀︎.| “there’s a blue light in my best friend’s room.”

lars lindstrom x barbie!fem!reader | [pilot]

—coworker and neighbour strangers to more than friends.

WHEN you left barbieland, nobody understood why. that wasn’t entirely surprising. barbie land wasn’t really built around the concept of leaving.

people danced, they had beach parties, and changed outfits three times before breakfast. everything was bright and pink and loud and wonderful. sometimes overwhelmingly wonderful.

and after a while, you’d found yourself wanting something different. not better, but just different. you wanted mornings that weren’t perfectly choreographed and conversations that weren’t happening over a soundtrack.

you wanted a life that felt a little less predictable. so one day you packed a suitcase, hugged approximately three hundred crying barbies and kens, promising them to write letters.

and you left.

which was how you ended up in a tiny midwestern town that seemed permanently trapped somewhere between autumn and a postcard. the houses were small, the streets were quiet, everyone seemed to know one another, and nobody wore sequins before noon.

it was lovely, a little strange, but lovely.

your first morning there, you woke up excited. new town, new job, new life. you spent nearly an hour getting ready, not because you needed to. because you enjoyed it. back in barbie land, dressing up wasn’t an event, it was breathing.

you pulled on a brown button up and matching suit pants, small golden hoop earrings, a matching coat, leopard heels that clicked satisfyingly against the floor and enough perfume to make an impression. this barbie was going to work in a small autumnal town, so the outfit had to match the warm earthy tones of the area.

then you stepped outside and immediately noticed your neighbour. he was standing on the porch across the road with a coffee in hand. he was tall and seemed to be having a quiet morning.

he looked like somebody who belonged perfectly in the sleepy little neighbourhood around him. then he saw you, and froze completely.

you smiled immediately, because that’s what you did. “good morning!” he just stared at you. for a second you worried he hadn’t heard you. then he lifted a hand in a tiny awkward wave. his voice was so soft you didn’t catch what he said, so you assumed it was a “morning.”

you grinned, “i’m your new neighbour.”

“i … see.” he says just a little louder, his ears turned pink. adorable! you decided immediately that you liked him. “well, i hope we become friends.”

his expression suggested this possibility had never occurred to him, then you waved once more and headed towards your car. all the way to work you kept thinking about him. the shy neighbour.

this ken seemed nice.

you didn’t realise he worked at the same office until an hour later. you’d just been shown to your desk when you spotted him walking down the corridor.

the moment your eyes lit up in recognition, he nearly dropped the folder he was carrying.

“neighbour!”

half the office looked up, and lars looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. you walked straight over. “we work together!”

“apparently.”

“this is exciting.”

he nodded once. you got the distinct impression he wasn’t used to people describing office jobs as exciting. “what’s your name?” you ask, and he looks a little confused for a second, “i’m lars.” he says, voice quiet. “nice to meet you, lars!” you smile. lars still looked confused as you walked back to your desk. no one was ever this excited to learn his name.

your first day at the office is wonderful. everyone is friendly, everyone is welcoming, they all seems nice. except for one thing. there’s a strange pattern you begin noticing almost immediately.

people are kind to lars… technically, but from a distance. they smile politely, they acknowledge him, but there were small things that didn’t make sense to you.

the sort of thing most people probably wouldn’t pay attention to. when groups formed around desks, lars somehow ended up on the outside, and when people chatted during breaks, conversations flowed around him rather than through him.

when lunch arrived, everybody sat together, but lars sat alone. not because anybody told him to, because nobody invited him. it made absolutely no sense to you. he wasn’t rude or anything, he certainly wasn’t unfriendly. he was simply quiet and seemed a little awkward.

back in barbie land, quiet people got included first, otherwise they might spend the whole party standing beside the punch bowl.

so naturally you picked up your lunch and sat opposite him. lars looked up from his sandwich. blinking at you, “hi.” he muttered, not really looking at you. “hi, lars!” you smiled. “how’s your sandwich?” he stared for several seconds, “good.”

“that’s great.”

it was a quiet few seconds before he asked, “how’s yours?” your smile widened. you’re happy he’d asked. you weren’t entirely sure why that felt like such a victory. “excellent.”

and from that moment onwards, lunch became your thing. your invite him to sit with you everyday, sometimes buy him a drink or some cookies from the vending machine. you didn’t like seeing him be left out.

at first lars assumed it was temporary. you were new and overly friendly, eventually you’d make proper friends. eventually you’d realise he wasn’t particularly interesting. eventually you’d stop sitting with him.

that was how these things usually worked.

except you didn’t, the next day you sat with him again. then again, then again. after two weeks, your coworkers had simply accepted that wherever one of you was, the other probably wasn’t far away.

you asked him questions, genuine questions about books, films, his hobbies, questions about the town. and to lars’ endless surprise, you actually listened to the answers when most people didn’t. not really.

they usually waited for their turn to speak. you actively listened. it made him feel strangely important.

being neighbours complicated things, or improved them… depending on who was judging. because now you kept running into one another, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not.

you’d wave at him every morning, sometimes from your porch, sometimes from your mailbox. sometimes while carrying enough shopping bags to qualify as a structural hazard.

and gradually those tiny interactions started getting longer. five minutes became ten, ten became twenty. you’d lean against at wall while lars chopped wood and talk while the evening light faded. sometimes about serious things, sometimes about absolutely nothing.

lars discovered you could somehow make absolutely nothing interesting. he wasn’t entirely sure how.

you were fixing any reason and excuse to talk to him, whether it was giving him a plate of picture perfect cookies, asking if he could chop wood for your fire place, and gifting him jazz records, you just wanted to talk to him because you found him so genuinely interesting. and lars couldn’t help but feel both taken aback and flustered every time. you seemed to really care.

from everyone else’s perspective, it starts innocently. the new girl sits with lars. okay, that’s nice, very kind. good for her. then she keeps sitting with lars, every day, for weeks. then she’s saving him seats, and bringing him coffee, and walking out with him after work.

suddenly people start noticing, and they’re talking. because it’s a small town, and word gets around quick.

nobody has ever seen lars like this, not ever. most people know him as polite, quiet and reserved. but around you? he laughs, he makes jokes that make you laugh, he actually starts conversations.

the transformation isn’t dramatic. it’s subtle but it’s there, and everybody notices. especially because they keep catching him looking at you.

poor lars, he’s thinks he’s being discreet when he’s actually no where near it.

you’ll be standing across the room talking to somebody and lars’ eyes automatically drift towards you. not consciously, he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. he just likes knowing where you are, likes seeing you happy, likes hearing you laugh, it’s become instinct.

unfortunately for him, everybody else has functioning eyesight.

there’s one particularly devastating afternoon where you show up wearing this absolutely stunning vintage-inspired outfit. soft chocolate brown, cinched waist, heels and perfectly styled hair.

the sort of look that would have had half of barbieland applauding. you walk into the office carrying coffee for you and lars. the entire office practically short-circuits. people stare, people compliment you, somebody accidentally walks into a filing cabinet.

and lars?

lars completely forgets what he’s doing. he’s holding paperwork, then suddenly he’s not processing any information whatsoever. just staring, completely captivated. you, meanwhile, are completely oblivious.

which somehow makes it worse. because you walked over and smiled at him. “good morning, lars! i thought of you this morning, so got this coffee for you!” and suddenly his entire day improves. you were thinking about him. actively. wow.

the funniest thing is that people are far more confused than judgemental. nobody’s saying lars isn’t good enough. they’re saying they genuinely don’t understand how this happened.

because from the outside it looks like a glamorous movie star accidentally wandered into a small-town romance.

one elderly woman eventually corners you at a community event at church on a sunday morning. she looks between you and lars, then back at you, then back at lars. like she’s trying to solve a maths problem.

finally she says: “you know you’re very pretty.”

“thank you.”

“and he’s lars.”

you blink very slowly, suddenly feeling a lot of emotions. protective, annoyed, upset. because why would she say that when he’s right there?

“what’s that supposed to mean, old lady?” you ask, a question that would receive loud gasps and dead silence in barbieland. she just slowly backs off.

the thing people slowly realise, however, is that you never seem confused. everybody else is. you very much aren’t. people keep expecting you to wake up one day and suddenly notice the difference. the difference in popularity, in confidence, in appearance. whatever the case may be. but you never do.

because from your perspective there isn’t a mystery. when you look at lars, you aren’t comparing him to anybody. you aren’t seeing social status. you aren’t seeing the awkward man everybody tiptoes around. you see the person who remembers your favourite flowers. the person who always asks how your day went. the person who carries groceries for elderly neighbours. the person who listens when you talk. really listens.

the person who makes room for everyone else despite spending most of his life being left out.

and eventually other people start seeing it too. because once somebody points it out, it’s impossible to ignore. they notice how gentle you are with him. they notice the way he watches for your reaction whenever he says something. they notice how his face lights up when you arrive. they notice that you somehow make him comfortable.

you always make room for him, no matter the situation. at a party, if someone talks over him, “wait, lars was saying something.” if there’s a meeting at the office, you’re placing your handbag on the seat next to you to reserve it for him, always making sure to show off his skills, “well, lars is a actually really good at carpentry. you should see him chop wood, he’s the best at it.”

always making sure that he’s comfortable enough to be himself.

the real turning point comes when somebody asks you directly, because eventually somebody had to. one of your coworkers catches you smiling after a conversation with lars and says: “serious question, what exactly do you see in him?”

the question isn’t exactly cruel, just genuinely curious. and you look completely baffled, because to you the answer is obvious.

“everything.”

the coworker laughs, you don’t. “you’re not funny. why are you laughing.” and the coworker immediately stops laughing, and is a little shocked. you’re usually so sweet, they just expected you to laugh too. “do you think you’re better than him or something?”

the coworker just awkwardly stands there, “he’s kind, he remembers things, and he makes me feel safe. so what, he’s different. you’i’ll never be above him. you can only wish you’re like him.”

meanwhile lars overheard this entire conversation, and is blushing like a schoolboy. you were willing to defend him like that? at the office in front of everyone? oh, his heart was about to beat out of his chest.

everyone else saw you as this beautiful, impossibly glamours, fashionable sweetheart who’s always with quiet little lars lindstrom. but you saw your best friend, the man that brings you hot chocolate when it’s too cold outside, the man that makes you little wooden sculptures of birds just because, the one person who saw you as something that isn’t a perfect pinup girl.

people stop asking “why lars?” and start wondering, “well, who else could it have been?”

between every lunch, every conversation, every morning wave, every time you chose the empty seat beside him when there were dozens of others available, every time you looked at him like he was somebody worth knowing, somewhere between neighbour and friend, he’d fallen completely.

the most wonderful thing of all was that, you had fallen too.

[c00lwips]

OH MY GOOOODDDDDD!!!!!

this is so good, I wanna kiss your beautiful brain for writing this, and the anon for thinking of the concept. Barbie!Reader x Lars 😩 🤌🏻💋

Spectacular, I need 14 more of these right now.

New bedtime scenario unlocked

[gosverse]

needed me 𖦹⊹⋆♡ ˖༘⋆ | “i know i can’t wait ‘till you get home.”

driver x assassin!fem!reader | [previous episode]

—established unlabeled relationship, injury and blood.

THE first thing that tells him the night has gone badly isn’t the blood, it isn’t the pain in his ribs every time he breathes. it isn’t even the fact that he’s pretty sure his right hand is fractured.

it’s the fact that he’s driving to you.

the city slides past outside the windscreen in a blur of neon and empty roads, streetlights reflecting gold across the hood of the car. normally, after a job goes wrong, driver has a process. a routine. places to go, people to avoid, routes planned in advance.

he doesn’t think about any of them tonight.

he just drives. one hand gripping the wheel, jaw clenched, and eyes fixed ahead.

and every time his concentration starts to slip, every time the adrenaline threatens to wear off and leave him with nothing but exhaustion, he finds himself thinking the same thing.

almost there.

just get to her.

it’s strangely comforting… that thought. the knowledge that somewhere across the city you’re asleep in your flat, completely unaware that you’re currently the only thing keeping him moving.

the mission had unravelled in minutes. one mistake, then another, then everything after that happening too fast to stop. sirens, gunshots, running.

the kind of night that leaves people dead, leaves bruises. the kind of night that reminds him why this life isn’t supposed to have room for attachments.

and yet the only place he wants to be right now is with you.

when he finally pulls up outside your building, he doesn’t move for a moment. the engine idles quietly and his hands remain on the steering wheel. the city feels oddly distant.

he’s so tired, overwhelmingly tired. exhaustion is settling deep in his bones after fear and adrenaline finally fades. for a second he closes his eyes, and just breathes. then he forces himself out of the car.

you’re upstairs. he can almost picture you already. probably half asleep because you always have to be aware of your surroundings. warm and safe.

the hallway outside your flat is silent, driver unlocks the door as carefully as possible. the last thing he wants is to wake you because he knows exactly what will happen if you see him like this.

you’ll panic, you’ll worry and you’ll ask questions.

and despite everything, despite the fact that he’s the one injured, he still doesn’t want to be responsible for putting that look on your face.

the door clicks shut behind him. darkness. quiet. home. immediately, some invisible tension leaves his shoulders. it’s ridiculous.

the apartment is so special to him. it’s slightly cluttered. there’s a pile of magazines on the coffee table you’ve been promising to sort for three months. one of your shoes is lying inexplicably in the middle of the sitting room. it smells like you.

and suddenly the world feels manageable again. driver stands there for a second just listening. the hum of the fridge, traffic somewhere far below. and silence drifting faintly from the bedroom.

he hadn’t realised how badly he needed to hear that.

he manages exactly four steps before he hears two clear clicks in front of him. driver closes his eyes.

immediately:

“don’t you fucking move.” your voice. sleepy and confused coming from down the hallway.

well. so much for not waking you.

the light clicks on. driver’s first thought isn’t about the blood, or the bruises or the fact that he’s probably about to receive the lecture of a lifetime.

it’s that you look beautiful, which feels unfair. it’s nearly three in the morning. your hair is a complete mess. you’re wearing an old tank top and panties. you should not look this good at three in the morning. oh, and you’re pointing a loaded gun at his face.

then your eyes focus properly and everything changes. the confusion vanishes, the sleepiness disappears. your expression drops and so does the gun from your hand. “oh my god.” the words come out barely above a whisper.

driver immediately regrets every decision he’s made tonight, because he knows that look. he’s seen it before. the split second where panic takes hold. where your brain starts imagining worst-case scenarios.

“hey.” his voice comes out rough, gentler than usual.“i’m okay.” you stare at him, at the blood, the bruises. the way he’s standing slightly crooked because one side hurts more than the other. then you point.

“you’re literally bleeding on my floor.”

driver glances down, “it’s not that much.”

you manage to get exactly three steps into patching him up before realising driver is going to be completely impossible. not because he’s arguing, that would almost be easier.

he’s just sitting there on the edge of the sofa looking exhausted enough to fall asleep upright, answering every question with one-word responses while blood continues to dry on his skin. which somehow makes the whole thing worse.

“when’s the last time you showered?” driver blinks slowly. “today.” you stare and he stares back. you stand up immediately, “c’mon.” his brow furrows slightly. “where?”

“shower.”

he looks genuinely offended by the suggestion, “i can shower myself.” you glance at the blood on his neck, the split skin across his knuckles, the way he’s visibly favouring one side every time he moves. then you look back at him.

“in what world exactly?”

“i can.”

“baby.” and he knows not to argue with you after using that tone and nickname, “if i leave you alone in there, you’re going to stand under the water for thirty seconds, wash exactly one shoulder and then decide you’re healed.”

then, because he’s exhausted and apparently no longer possesses the energy to argue properly, he sighs dramatically and lets you pull him to his feet. “you’re bossy.”

“and you’re bleeding on my persian rug.”

“your assassin money rug?”

“oh, shush getaway boy”

his hand settles automatically against the small of your back as you guide him towards the bathroom. even now while injured, even half-asleep, he’s always touching you. just making sure you’re there.

the shower starts running while you dig through the cabinet for supplies. clean towels, fresh bandages, painkillers, the giant fluffy robe he secretly loves despite pretending otherwise.

behind you, driver leans heavily against the counter. his eyes follow every movement you make. there’s something strangely soft about it. like he can’t quite believe you’re real. he’s still grounding himself after whatever happened tonight.

eventually you turn around, he’s still staring, you point towards the shower. “clothes off.” driver actually laughs, a real laugh. “buy me dinner first.” oh, he’s loopy and talkative tonight. “there’s soup heating up on the stove right now.”

“good point.”

you roll your eyes so hard it nearly hurts. but a few minutes later he’s finally sitting on the closed toilet lid wearing nothing steam fills the bathroom around you.

and boy does he look miserable. not just emotionally, physically too. the adrenaline has completely worn off now. every bruise is darker, every injury looks angrier. the exhaustion has settled into him properly. his head hangs slightly forward while you crouch in front of him examining a cut near his ribs.

and suddenly your irritation vanishes. because beneath all the blood and bruises and stubbornness, he just looks tired. so incredibly tired. your fingers brush carefully across uninjured skin.

“hey..”

his eyes lift immediately. always immediately when you call for him. “what?”

“you okay?”

something soft flickers across his expression. something vulnerable. but it’s gone almost instantly. but you catch it. “yeah,” his voice comes out quieter this time. less certain. “i’m just tired.”

your chest aches, because driver never admits that. never. not unless he’s genuinely running on empty. you brush your thumb gently against his cheek. there is a bruise there that is already forming, dark against his skin.

“poor thing.”

driver immediately closes his eyes. and if that isn’t the most heartbreaking thing you’ve ever seen. just for a second. one second. he leans into your hand. completely unconscious. trusting. your heart practically explodes.

“okay,” you murmur softly. “c’mon.”

he lets you help him stand, lets you guide him beneath the warm water. lets you fuss. which is how you know he’s exhausted beyond reason. because normally there’d be at least some resistance. maybe some pride, some attempt at independence. tonight? nothing.

he just stands there beneath the spray while steam curls around both of you. his eyes half closed and his head is tipped slightly forward. just letting you take care of him.

you work carefully. washing dried blood from his shoulders, cleaning dirt and grime from scraped skin. checking every bruise, every cut, every injury. the whole time driver remains suspiciously quiet.

suspicious because he right now, you’d assume has something sarcastic to say. eventually you glance up and discover why. he’s nearly asleep while standing up. water running over his hair, blue eyes barely open.

you just stare for a minute, “baby?” then a quiet “yeah?”

“are you falling asleep?”

“…maybe.”

“oh my god.”

he smiles slightly, and somehow that makes it worse. you finish as quickly as possible after that. partly because he’s exhausted, and mostly because you’re genuinely concerned he might topple over and crack his head open.

eventually you shut off the water and wrap a towel around his shoulders. the second you do, driver immediately leans towards your warmth. again completely unconsciously. like a sunflower turning towards sunlight.

your heart nearly leaves your body, you’re surprised by how genuinely open and vulnerable he is tonight. “c’mere.” he follows obediently, head ducking slightly so you can dry his hair. and for a few wonderful seconds, driver just stands there letting you do it. eyes still closed, shoulders relaxed, looking impossibly soft.

you’ve seen him after jobs before. seen the dangerous version, the violent version. nobody would believe this version exists, the sleepy one, the clingy one, the one who practically melts when you touch his hair.

eventually you wrestle him into the robe, which somehow becomes its own battle. one arm goes into the wrong sleeve, he nearly trips over the belt. you have to physically stop him from walking away with it hanging completely open. “stand still.”

“i am.”

“you’re moving.”

“barely.”

“baby,” he mutters, looks down at you and for the first time all night you see genuine amusement in his eyes. “you really like taking care of me.” you poke a finger at his chest. “don’t get cute.”

“too late.”

“you got shot at.”

“yeah.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“i know.”

his smile softens, so does his voice. “thank you.” and just like that, all your annoyance evaporates, because he means it. you help him back to the kitchen afterwards. one hand wrapped around his wrist to make sure he doesn’t wander off and collapse somewhere. he lets you. by now he’s basically running on trust alone.

you sit him down at the table, immediately place a mug of tea in front of him. then disappear to make actual food. behind you, the flat remains suspiciously quiet. too quiet. you narrow your eyes.

“baby?”

“yeah?”

“don’t fall asleep.”

“…okay.”

a pause.

then: “…what if i accidentally fall asleep?”

you turn around, he’s sitting there wrapped in a giant robe. hair still damp. looking like the world’s most dangerous golden retriever. you physically have to look away because laughing will only encourage him. when you finally return with food, he’s exactly where you left him.

barely.

his eyes are half closed, one arm resting on the table, completely exhausted. but the second he sees you approaching, he straightens slightly. attention immediately shifting towards you. towards the bowl of soup. towards home.

“eat.”

he obeys. you don’t even have to tell him twice. which is honestly miraculous. for a while the only sounds are quiet chewing and rain against the windows. warm and peaceful. eventually you reach across the table and brush a damp strand of hair away from his forehead.

driver immediately catches your hand, holding it there. his thumb moving slowly across your knuckles. the movement is sleepy and absent-minded. it’s comforting to him.

his gaze lifts meeting yours, and suddenly the room feels very quiet and very small. “better?” you ask softly. driver looks at you for a long moment, really looks at you. then his eyes drift around the room.

the food, the blanket draped over the chair nearby. the warm kitchen light. you. finally they return to your face. and something in his expression softens completely. all the way. “yeah,” his voice is rough, sleep-heavy, and sincere. “much better.”

then he lifts your hand and presses a slow kiss against your knuckles. the look he gives you afterwards is so full of quiet affection it nearly hurts. because for all the danger and violence and chaos that follows him through the world, moments like this make one thing painfully obvious.

driver never came here because he needed bandages, or food, or somewhere to hide, he came because he needed you.

and now that he’s sitting warm and clean and fed beneath your kitchen light, looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever found, you suspect he’d made that decision long before he ever knocked on your door.

by the time he’s finished eating, driver is barely conscious. the sort of exhaustion that settles into a person after adrenaline finally leaves their system. he’s clean now, warm, wrapped in that oversized robe, fed and safe.

which means his body has apparently decided its job is done. you notice it in little ways at first, the way his blinks get slower, the way his head dips every few minutes before jerking upright again, the way he keeps staring at you with that soft, sleepy expression like he’s trying very hard to stay awake and failing miserably.

it’s honestly kind of adorable, which you’d never say out loud, because he’d be insufferable about it.

eventually you stand up and start gathering the utensils. immediately you hear: “where are you going?”you slowly turn around, driver looks almost offended, like you’ve abandoned him. “the sink.”

his expression doesn’t change. “oh.” then slowly: “you thought i was leaving?”

“maybe.”

your heart skips a beat, because he sounds so serious. so genuine. like the possibility genuinely crossed his mind. “baby..?”

“what?”

“i was gone for three seconds.”

“felt longer.”

you physically have to bite back a smile, because otherwise you’ll never recover. eventually you manage to herd him out of the kitchen. which turns out to be significantly harder than expected. mostly because driver has somehow become convinced that following directly behind you is necessary.

you stop walking. he stops walking. you turn around. he nearly walks straight into you. “what are you doing?”

“walking.”

“why are you right behind me?”

“…don’t know.”

honestly, the answer is so ridiculous you can’t even argue. because he’s telling the truth. he probably doesn’t know. he’s just tired enough that instinct has taken over. and apparently his instincts have decided that wherever you go is where he should be too.

the bedroom is dim when you enter. only the small bedside lamp illuminating the room in soft gold. the blankets are still tangled from where you’d climbed out earlier. one pillow missing entirely because you’d somehow kicked it onto the floor.

driver stops in the doorway, and for a second you actually watch something change in him. his shoulders relax further, his jaw completely unclenches and some final layer of tension slips away. because now he’s really here.

the night is over. he made it.

“okay.” you point towards the bed, “now get in.” driver immediately sits down on the edge, then stays there. motionless. you wait but nothing happens. “baby..”

“yeah?”

“the rest of the way.”

he looks down at himself, looks at the bed, looks back at you. clearly processing this information. you realise with dawning horror that he’s so tired his brain has simply stopped functioning. “baby.”

his eyes immediately lift, you almost laugh. every single time. call him baby and suddenly he’s paying attention.“lie down.”

“oh, right.”

he practically falls sideways into the mattress, no where near gracefully. just sort of topples over. you hear a muffled groan as his face disappears into the pillow. then complete silence. “…hey?”

nothing.

your eyes widen a little.

“baby.”

“still here.”

the relief that washes through you is embarrassing, “good.”

“mhm.”

“don’t scare me.”

then, quieter: “sorry.”

and immediately your chest hurts, because he sounds genuinely guilty. like he doesn’t realise half the reason you’re fussing over him is because seeing him hurt scared the life out of you.

you move around the room turning off lights, checking windows, placing your gun back under your pillow. doing all the little bedtime things you normally do. and every few seconds you glance over, and very single time he’s watching you, head still buried halfway in the pillow. eyes heavy. following your movements around the room.

the second you catch him, he doesn’t even look away. he just continues staring. like he can’t help himself. eventually you climb into bed beside him. the mattress shifts beneath your weight. and before you’ve even fully settled, driver moves immediately.

like a magnet finding north. one second there’s space between you, the next there isn’t. at all. his arm wraps carefully around your waist. carefully because of the bruises. and because despite everything, he’s still more worried about hurting you than himself. then he pulls you closer.

until your chest against his face, he’s shamelessly burying his face in your tits. one of your hands is in his hair. and finally, he lets out the deepest sigh you’ve heard all night. the kind people make when they stop pretending they’re okay.

for a long time neither of you speaks, the city hums quietly outside, rain taps against the windows, driver’s heartbeat presses steadily against your stomach.

your fingers find his hand beneath the blankets, instantly his grip tightens. not much. just enough. just enough to remind himself you’re there. he already looks half asleep. eyes barely open. hair almost dry. a faint bruise darkening one cheek.

and suddenly he looks younger somehow, softer. without all the walls up, without the scorpion jacket, without the distance he usually keeps between himself and the rest of the world. just your boyfriend… or something. just the man you love exhausted beyond belief.

your fingers move in his hair automatically, slowly scratching against his scalp. the effect is immediate. driver’s eyes close, his entire body melts. every muscle loosening one after another. and before he can stop himself, a tiny sound escapes him. not quite a sigh, not quite a hum, something in between, a whimper.

you freeze, then grin. “oh my god.” you mutter, one of his eye opens suspiciously. “what?”

“nothing.”

“what?”

“you like that.”

“no.”

you scratch again, and he immediately lets out the same whimpers. driver closes his eyes, completely betrayed by his own emotions.

“poor thing,” you murmur it softly without thinking, and suddenly he’s burying his face against your tits more. actually hiding. your heart nearly explodes. because he rarely does this.

driver’s affectionate, yes. quietly. a hand on your back, a kiss to your forehead, small things. this? this is something else. this is pure exhaustion stripping away every defence he normally has. leaving only trust.

your hand moves slowly through his hair again. and again and again. the rhythm becomes almost hypnotic, after a while his breathing starts evening out. deepening, growing heavier as sleep crept in. you think he’s drifting off. then suddenly: “was scared.”

the words are so quiet you almost miss them. you go still. “what?” driver doesn’t answer immediately. he moves his face, tucking it against your neck. his fingers tangled with yours beneath the blankets. for a moment you wonder if he fell asleep, then, “thought i wasn’t gonna make it.”

your heart shatters, because he says it so simply. you turn carefully, enough to cup his cheek. his eyes open immediately, dark in the dim light.

“hey,” your thumb brushes gently across his cheek, careful of the bruise. “you made it back to me.”

he watches you silently, “you’re here.” he’s still watching, “you’re okay.” something in his expression breaks, just enough that he leans into your hand.

“wanted you,” he says it like he’s still thinking about the drive over, still thinking about tonight.

“i know.”

“just wanted you.”

your eyes sting immediately, because you understand exactly what he means. you, the person, your voice, your hands, your presence. just you.

for a while after that, neither of you says anything. you just hold him, your fingers moving through his hair. his arm around your waist. the room quiet around you.

“i’m gonna need a name in the morning.” you state, and he hums with a small nod. eventually his breathing slows completely, his body growing heavier against yours, sleep finally winning.

right before he drifts off, though, he lifts his head slightly, just enough to press a sleepy kiss beneath your jaw, then another. lingering and lazy.

“i love you.” mumbled against your skin, and before you can even answer, he’s already asleep. still holding your hand. still curled around you protectively despite the bruises and bandages. like some stubborn part of him refuses to let go.

and lying there in the darkness, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you realise something that makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

you loved him too.

[bibigo-lover]

grace versus having safety goggle imprints on his cheeks and being all confused when you’re snickering at him and trying to rub them away with your thumbs.

[c00lwips]

Fuck, it's genius. Why didn't I think of that?

[gosverse]

jealous 𖦹°. ᵎᵎ | “i know that i’m being hateful, but that ain’t nothing.”

lars lindstrom x fem!coworker!reader

—jealousy, friends to a little more than friends??

LARS has never considered himself a jealous person. for one, jealousy requires confidence. it requires believing you could have some sort of claim over another person. it requires believing that maybe, just maybe, you stand a chance.

lars doesn’t think he stands a chance with you. he’s not being dramatic about it. he genuinely doesn’t.

you’re kind and funny and warm in a way that makes every room feel brighter. people naturally gravitate towards you. conversations seem to find you wherever you go. meanwhile lars spends most days hoping nobody notices him sitting quietly at his desk.

so no, he doesn’t think he’s jealous.

until your coworker, jim, starting to rest his elbow on your desk every morning.

then suddenly he discovers that maybe he is a jealous person.

it starts innocently enough. at least that’s what everybody else seems to think. you and jim have one of those friendships that develops naturally between coworkers. constant teasing. inside jokes. playful bickering that makes everyone around you roll their eyes.

you’re always laughing, and lars likes hearing you laugh. probably a little too much. sometimes he’ll be focused on paperwork across the room when he hears that sound and immediately finds himself looking up before he can stop himself. every single time without fail.

and unfortunately your coworker seems to be responsible for a lot of those laughs. lars hates the feeling almost immediately.

not because it’s jealousy, because it’s ugly. at least that’s what he tells himself. every morning he arrives at the office and promises himself he isn’t going to pay attention. he’s going to focus on work, he’s going to stop looking across the room every time you laugh, he’s going to stop noticing who you’re talking to.

he’s going to stop thinking about you altogether, then you walk through the door, and suddenly none of those promises matter anymore. because there you are. smiling at everybody, carrying your coffee, tucking your hair behind your ear while you laugh at something one of your coworkers says, and lars’ entire day rearranges itself around your existence before he’s even sat down at his desk.

it happens so naturally now that he barely notices it. the way his eyes search for you whenever he enters a room, the way his mood improves whenever you stop by his desk, the way he remembers tiny things about you without even trying. your coffee order, your favourite cookies from the break room, the fact you always hum quietly when you’re concentrating. none of it is deliberate, it just happens. the same way breathing happens, the same way the sun rises.

loving you has become such a natural part of his life that he doesn’t even know when it started anymore. he only knows it did.

the problem is that everyone loves you, because of course they do. you’re easy to love. and normally that isn’t something that bothers him.

until jim.

the coworker.

the one who’s always making you laugh.

always finding reasons to stop by your desk.

always somehow ending up beside you during lunch breaks.

lars notices it all, he notices everything. he doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t. but every time he hears your laugh, his eyes automatically find you. and somehow that jim guy is always there, leaning against your desk, smiling and talking and existing.

what makes it worse is that jim is actually nice. lars can’t even hate him properly. he’s friendly, he’s helpful, funny from what he hears. the sort of person people naturally enjoy being around. which creates an entirely different problem.

because whenever lars watches the two of you together, he doesn’t think: why him?

he thinks: why wouldn’t it be him?

and that’s so much worse, because jim is everything lars isn’t. comfortable around people, confident, effortlessly charming. able to walk up to you and start a conversation without spending three days rehearsing beforehand.

meanwhile lars still sometimes gets nervous when you smile at him unexpectedly. sometimes you ask him a question and his brain simply stops working. sometimes you touch his arm while talking and he spends the next twenty minutes staring blankly at spreadsheets because all his thoughts have evaporated.

how exactly is he supposed to compete with somebody like that?

one afternoon he catches himself watching the two of you through the office window. you’re outside during lunch, jim says something and you laugh. then you lightly shove his shoulder, jim laughs too.

and suddenly lars feels this strange ache in his chest. it’s sharp and unpleasant. it’s scarily unfamiliar. he stares at the screen in front of him afterwards and can’t focus on a single word. because all he can think about is how easy it looked. how natural it seemed. how comfortable you seemed together. and beneath the jealousy is something far worse.

fear.

because for the first time, lars starts imagining what happens if somebody else gets there first. what happens if one day you walk into work smiling differently. what happens if somebody asks how your weekend was and you casually mention a date. what happens if eventually you fall in love with someone. build a life with someone, and it isn’t him.

the thought physically hurts.

he hates how dramatic that sounds, but it really does.

that night he lies awake staring at the ceiling, thinking about you like always. thinking about losing you. because suddenly he realises something. he’s been treating his feelings like they’ll wait forever, like there’s no rush, like eventually he’ll find the courage. eventually he’ll say something. eventually he’ll ask you out. but eventually isn’t a real thing.

eventually is how opportunities disappear.

and somewhere across town, you’re living your life completely unaware that a quiet man is lying awake having an existential crisis because you laughed at another guy’s joke.

it’s so unfair. you’re his friend, his best friend. with other people, there was always kindness and an unspoken pity. it was different with you. yes, you were kind to him, but you treated him like he’s normal. you weren’t overly careful, you didn’t have that reserved politeness, you smiled and laughed with him normally. you were patient with him when he struggled with his words, you’d sit with him in silence when he just wanted to be in your presence, you’d include him in conversations when people flat out ignored him. you were the love of his life.

it’s so unfuckingfair.

by the following week, lars is miserable. not visibly. lars is too anxious to be visibly miserable. but everyone who knows him can tell something’s wrong. he’s even quieter, more distracted, he keeps making mistakes. small ones. the kind he normally never makes.

and every time he catches sight of you, the same thought repeats itself.

say something.

say something.

say something.

except then you smile at him and he forgets how language works.

one afternoon things finally reach their breaking point. it’s over something that isn’t even that serious, that’s the ridiculous part.

you’re standing near the photocopier. jim says something. you laugh. then, without thinking, you shove his shoulder lightly. he shoves yours back. you both start arguing about something completely stupid.

lars can’t stand it.

he spends the next twenty minutes trying to focus on his work and failing miserably. his stomach feels tight, his chest feels weird, he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like any of it.

most of all, he doesn’t like the possibility that somebody else might realise how wonderful you are before he figures out how to tell you himself.

the thought follows him all day.

it follows him home.

it follows him through dinner.

that green eyed monster is haunting his dreams.

it follows him right into the next morning.

by lunch, lars is a disaster. he’s barely spoken, he’s made three separate mistakes entering data, and he accidentally walked into a door. twice.

eventually he sees you heading towards the break room alone. before he can talk himself out of it, he’s standing, his legs move before his brain catches up. which is honestly the only reason this conversation happens at all, because if he’d had another thirty seconds to think about it, he’d have backed out immediately.

“hey.”

you turn, instantly smiling when you see him, and somehow that makes everything worse. or better. probably both.

“hey, lars.” your smile softens slightly. “you okay?” the concern in your voice nearly kills him. “yeah.” he lies. “actually no.” he corrects himself. you blink. lars never does this.

lars barely volunteers information about what he had for breakfast. the fact he’s voluntarily initiating a conversation is already alarming. the fact he looks nervous enough to pass out is even worse.

“do you want to sit down?”

he nods immediately. the two of you settle into a quiet corner of the break room. and suddenly every ounce of courage he’d managed to gather evaporates. gone. you wait patiently, because you’re nice like that, because you’ve always been nice to him.

eventually lars speaks, “i don’t really know how to say this.” you immediately feel your heart start beating faster. something about his expression, something about the way he’s looking at the table instead of you.“that’s okay.”

he takes a breath, then another, and then another. he might as well have been preparing for surgery.

“i don’t like him.”

“who?”

“jim.”

lars closes his eyes briefly, embarrassed. realisation dawns instantly, and suddenly you’re fighting very hard not to smile. “oh.”

“yeah.”

he’s still looking at the table, still refusing to meet your eyes. which means he doesn’t see the expression spreading across your face.

“i don’t think he’s a bad person,” lars rushes out. “he seems nice. i mean, he’s probably very nice. people like him. and that’s good. i don’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

“that’s very charitable.”

“thank you.”

“but?”

lars swallows, “but i don’t like how much time he spends with you.” he continues before you can say anything. once he starts talking, the words seem impossible to stop. months of feelings spilling out all at once.

“and i know that sounds ridiculous because you’re allowed to spend time with whoever you want. obviously. i know that. i understand that. i don’t actually have any right to be upset about it and i’ve been trying very hard not to be but every time he comes over to your desk i get distracted and then i can’t focus and yesterday i entered the wrong information three times because you were laughing at something he said and—”

he finally pauses to breathe, you are now actively trying not to laugh. not because it’s funny, because it’s adorable.

“lars.”

he immediately stops and slowly lifts his eyes, and for the first time you see it. all of it. every feeling he’s been trying desperately to hide. every nervous glance, every shy smile, every moment of quiet affection. suddenly it all makes sense.

“are you jealous?”

the poor man looks horrified. absolutely horrified, like you’ve accused him of a crime.

“yes!”

the honesty nearly knocks the wind out of you. “oh.”

“i know it’s stupid.”

“it isn’t.”

“it is.”

“lars.”

he finally looks at you properly, and whatever he sees in your expression seems to give him just enough courage to keep going. just enough. and if lars was going to do it, he was going to do it scared.

“i like you.” the words arrive quietly and simply. completely sincere. “i’ve liked you for a long time.”

your heart melts completely, because he sounds so earnest and so vulnerable. like he’s handing you something precious. “and i know i’m not very good at this.” an understatement.

“and i know i probably should’ve said something sooner, but every time i tried, i got nervous.”

you smile softly, “i noticed.” his face immediately turns pink. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

for a moment neither of you speaks, the silence isn’t awkward though. just warm and gentle. the kind of silence that only happens when two people finally understand each other. eventually you reach across the table and place your hand over his.

lars doesn’t freeze and shrink like he would with other people. you’re the only one who’s touch doesn’t make him feel like his skin is burning.

“for the record,” you say softly, “he’s just my friend.”

the relief that floods his face is almost comical. it’s immediate and overwhelming. “really?”

“really.”

“also, i’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me out.”

this time lars actually stops functioning entirely. you watch approximately seven different emotions pass across his face in under three seconds. shock, disbelief, panic and hope. and finally pure happiness. he smiles.

you think it might be the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen.

“oh.”

“oh?”

“that’s… good.”

you laugh. there it is again, that laugh he loves so much. except this time, when he hears it, the jealousy is gone. all that’s left is you sitting across from him. holding his hand. smiling at him like he’s something worth choosing.

the relief on his face might be even sweeter than the confession itself. because for the first time in months, lars isn’t imagining a future where somebody else gets the girl.

he’s imagining one where he does.

[until-theend-oftheline]

Sanctuary

Pairing: Driver x Reader 

Summary: Imagine the Driver got away. Not much plot in this one, just a moment in time.

Word Count: 2500ish

Warning: Mention of canon typical violence, past domestic abuse

Prompt: I wrote this for my 100 drabbles to say I love you personal challenge (I am hellbent on finishing the list even if it’s gonna take the rest of my life lol. The prompt I used is “Is your seatbelt on?”

A/N: I’m Danish so bar with me. I have been writing fanfiction for a few decades now, but have also been on a long break from it. Trying to get back into it. This is also the first time I write for any of Ryan’s characters. I hope I pulled it off. 

The numbers and letters on your screen were starting to morph into one huge black burry bloop. You rubbed your eyes and looked back at the screen. No change. You weren’t sure any amount of coffee in the world would make much difference. You let out a small sigh and looked out of the window. It was quiet. No staff or residents in the garden. They were probably getting ready for dinner. You looked down at your watch to confirm your suspicion. Time to call it a day. 

You stretched your arms over your head. Smiling a little. This was your favorite time of day. You got up, grabbed your bag, checked inside to make sure your purse was there. You unzipped the hidden compartment slightly, seeing the dark handle of the gun before quickly zipping it back up. You never used it. You knew how. He had made sure of it. It was an insurance and his only condition for keeping you with him. 

You closed your eyes, letting them rest for a bit after a long day spend sorting though medicin and work schedules. It wasn’t the life you had pictured when you went to nursing school all those years ago, but it was a better life than you had ever dared to hope for. 

Stepping out into the hallway you nearly collided with one of the other nurses heading down the hall way carrying a tray of food, no doubt for Mrs Adams, who never left the room unless when you came to take her for her daily noon walk in the gardens. 

“Oh Hi Mary,” the nurse laughed as she placed a hand over the mug, preventing a spill. “Heading home?”

You never really got used to that name, but had learned to answer it either way. It wasn’t who you were but it was the illusion that kept you safe. The illusion that kept him alive. 

“Yeah,” you answered a little absent-mindedly as thoughts of your past life entered your mind. 

You hadn’t been dealt the best of cards. Born to a single mom, whose only flaw was choosing the wrong men. You had been her only child, no siblings share the grief or fear of ever revolving door of stepfathers with. The first fifteen years of your life had been so turbulent and filled with abuse and violence, her overdose and death had been a relief. Not because she was a bad mom, but because she wasn’t a good one. Because instead of being a source of protection, her choices had been the course of every single scar covering your body.  

“Mary?” Nurse Julie’s voice sounded bringing you back to the present. 

“Sorry,” you flashed her a smile. “I was just thinking. I’m probably swinging by the garage before heading home.”

“James’ lost track of time again?” she giggled, causing the smile on your face to be more genuine this time, even though you never got quite used to that name either. It wasn’t who he was either but you were the only person in the world who knew that.

“Probably.” Your answer was a lie. You knew he was completely aware of the time, as well as everything around him at all times, when he worked on the cars. You knew he found peace in the work, mostly anyway. A small piece of him had never been at peace unless he sat behind the wheel of a car. The only place in his life he had ever felt in complete control. No one knew that. Only you. It was staying that way.

“You’re so patient,” she added. “If Mike spent as much time at the garage as James does I would lose my mind.”

You just shrugged, “he enjoys it and he is helping people.” That wasn’t a lie. You knew James was well liked in town. He never charged more than he had too. Unless he decided the guy bringing in the car could either afford it or was an asshole. He was always polite and kind to people. He worked fast and people depended on him. 

“Just like you here,” Julie smiled at you, and you lowered your gaze with a smile. You had never been good at people complimenting you. 

“I guess. See you tomorrow Julie.”

You walked out into the small quiet town, choosing the main-street to get to the garage tonight. It didn’t make much of a difference. During the mile long walk only a single car passed you. You recognized the driver as the headmaster of the middle-school. 

You had learned everyone’s faces. He had taught you that. You needed to know who belonged in order to spot the ones that didn’t. There weren’t many strangers passing through here and in the two years this place had been your home, there hadn’t been a single person from LA. Maybe they had forgotten about him? New problems to be fixed might have let old ones fade into distant memory. You hoped so. 

On your way to the garage you stopped into the small diner, picking up a couple of sandwiches. It was a beautiful night with the setting sun painting the world in a golden light. You weren’t in the mood to head home just yet. 

You saw him the moment you turned the corner. The garage door was open as always. He was dressed in work pants and a dirty white t-shirt, standing leaning over the hood of a car. As if he sensed you coming he stood up straight, turning towards you; giving you a small smile and a wave, before returning his attention back to the car. 

Most people would have thought he was being dismissive, but you knew better. You saw the softness in his eyes, just like every time he looked at you. You understood the wave was a request to give him a few moments to finish up what he was doing and your nod had been all the confirmation he needed. 

You sat on the sidewalk, first admiring him from a distance. That had been the way it was since you were 10 and up until the moment he had saved you from the stepfather that refused to leave after your mom had died. You knew you should have been scared of him after that night. It had been a miracle your stepfather had survived. It had been no wonder you had never seen him again. There had been a violence in the neighborhood. You had admired from a distance for a long time but you could never have predicted the rage and violence he had released that night. A violence that had been beaten into him by a much older brother and father; teaching a soft, caring boy the world was cruel and the only way to survive was to learn to be crueler. 

Cruel wasn’t a word you would use to describe him though. You weren’t even sure violent was a word you would use. You knew he was capable of inflicting it, but it had never been a first choice. It had always been a means to an end. Something used to protect himself or the people he cared about. 

After the night he saved you he started coming around. Helping you fix whatever around the house was broken, helped you get your moms old beat up beetle back into working order or he just sat with you. He listened when you talked and eventually he told you of his family. You weren’t all that different and you started to feel safe, because of him. Safe enough that you began dreaming. You wanted to be a nurse. 

It wasn’t a dream that was in your reach though. School cost money and you were barely making ends meet as it was. That was until he started showing up with money. You had refused to take them at first, but then he just started shoving them in your mail box, leaving them in your clothes or hiding them in your fridge. 

Only after you had given in and started using them for your dream to come true, had he confessed what it really meant when he told you he got them driving. You had been furious with him at first. Not because he was breaking the law. The law had never done you any good and you knew he wouldn’t hurt people just to get paid. You had been furious because he had put himself in danger for you. You calmed down when he had promised you he would never leave the car, he wouldn’t handle any weapons or engage in the robberies directly. He just drove.

The noise of the impala pulling up next to you, brought you out of your daydreaming. You smiled when he leaned over; opening the car door for you from the driver’s seat. 

“Did you fall asleep?” he asked with a smile on his face and the softness in his eyes you would never grow tired of looking into.

“Narh, just enjoying the evening.” You replied as you got into his impala. 

“Wanna go for a drive?” he asked, making you smile and nod.

“Is your seatbelt on?” He looked at you with a teasing glimmer in his eye and a crooked smile. 

You shook your head with a laugh, shooting back at him. “Do I need to?”

“No.” 

He grinned, never taking his eyes off you, as he pressed his foot down on the peddle causing the impala to jump forward with a roar, before it flew down the street. 

You had expected it, but a small gasp still escaped you, causing him to laugh as his eyes left you for the road. You knew the speed should scare you or at least make you uneasy, but you weren’t. Not with him behind the wheel. This was not just where he found peace. It was also the safest place in the world to you. He was in complete control and there was no one in the world you had ever felt safer with and nothing you'd rather be doing than sitting besides him as he made the impala fly down the road. 

The people witnessing the speed of the impala though town would think this behaviour was out of character for the mild-manored mechanic and his nurse wife, but they didn’t really know either of you. They certainly didn’t know him. They would never expect their polite quiet neighbor to have killed anyone or to have been close to death himself. 

The memory of him parked outside the ER that night when you got off from work still gave you nightmares. He had been pale as a sheet, but had somehow still managed to stay awake as you went back inside and stole whatever supplies you had needed. You had begged him to pull over every time you had seen a motel, but he had refused and it had taken you pulling the handbrake 6 hours out of town before he had finally let you guide him into a room. 

If you hadn’t been 0 negative and done a blood transfusion while he slept, no amount of packing or cauterising the wound would have saved him. You had driven the car the next 6 days with him laying in the backseat, telling you what happened in pieces in between losses of consciousness. 

After two weeks he was almost back to himself and that had been when you caught him trying to sneak out in the middle of the night.

“Where are you going?” you asked him sitting up on the bed.

“Away.”

“To where?” You asked, receiving no answer. He still stood with his back turned to you, but he stayed still. He didn’t answer you because he didn’t trust you. He didn’t know.

“Okay. When will you be back?”

“I won’t”

He still hadn’t turned around, but the words felt as if he had smacked you across the face. You bit back your tears and got up. Swallowing hard as you reached out, taking his hand, making him turn around to face you. 

You looked up at him and saw the pain in his eye. “Take me with you”

“Y/N” he began, before you cut him off. 

“There is nothing in LA for me if you’re not there. Take me with you.”

He stepped forward, bending down slowly, making your heart skip a beat. He pressed his body against yours. You felt his breath on your face and the warmth of his firm body against yours. He didn’t touch you, giving you every chance to move away. You didn’t. You moved closer, clinging to his beat up jacket wanting the kiss to never end. 

He had never kissed you before that night. He had barely even touched you. Still, you had never doubted his love, but also you had never wanted to push him. The simple action of being next to him had been enough. 

That kiss to this day never failed to make you smile when you thought about it. You had known from the day you met that he was your sanctuary, it wasn’t until he kissed you that night and gave your hand a squeeze as he walked out the motel room with you close by his side, you had realized you were his too.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, you could hear the smile in his voice as you had no doubt had a dopey expression on your face thinking about him and that first kiss. 

You looked straight at him, smiling as he focused on the road, but you knew he was aware of your every move nonetheless. 

“About kissing you,” you answered him truthfully with a hint of a dare in your voice.

Your driver looked at you with a slightly baffled look in his eyes, not used to you being so forward. He quickly glanced back onto the straight empty countryside road stretching out before you. Then he looked back at you and you both smiled as you leaned towards each other. Your one hand cupping his jaw and the other hand finding his, that had left the gearshift and was now resting comfortably on your thigh. 

You kissed him going 80 mph down the road, feeling happy and never safer. You were well aware this town might not be your home forever and no one would ever really know either of you, but you didn’t care. He knew you and you knew him. No matter where in the world you would find yourself , he would be right by your side, keeping you safe and loving you the same way you loved him and that would always be enough.

Ryan Gosling Taglist (wanna be added send me an ask)

@binchidavinci @sexyvixen7 @qardasngan

[c00lwips]

I love ur Clark Kent fics so much! I was wondering if you will write more of him? 💕

hi anonnie! I'M SO SORRY I DIDN'T SEE THIS UNTIL NOW!!!! Please forgive me 😔 Thank you for sending something in!! My heart did a little kick when I saw this! I do plan on writing for him more but when that is, I don't know. I'm hoping with the new super girl movie, I'll get the creative juices flowing back into DC and Smallville.

I'm actually getting my wisdom teeth removed tomorrow so I'll be watching Smallville on some high ass pain meds while recovering. We'll see how that goes, maybe Tom Welling will grace me with motivation.

[braverygene]

I need tumblr to improve its tag system or smth because whenever I search up the driver x reader (i.e from drive 2011), I encounter F1 x reader fics instead. I feel like I walked into the wrong classroom like omg sorry i didnt meant to interrupt ... sorry ... hi ... do u guys know which room im supposed to be in

[enthyrea]

he’s like a close friend i worry about

[enthyrea]

a gaggle of goslings because my brain refuses to believe these are all played by the same guy

[rika-mortis]

Life is beach

[ynnu-64]

watched lars and the real girl, and I love that movie so much. Did not expect to cry all through it

[c00lwips]

pretty boy!