Hi Kennedy!! Hope you have a relaxing spring break!! 🛫🏖️😎
As far as request go, can I have something like:
Y’all have plans to take time off from Avengering somewhere warm and sunny, but bad weather cancels your flight so Bucky decides to bring the beach to you? 🥺
Bonus (although not required):
• Bucky wears a Hawaiian shirt (perhaps unbuttoned 👀)
• A tropical drink w/ an umbrella makes appearance 🍹
Enjoy your break!! ❤️
The first sign that your vacation is doomed comes in the form of a text message.
FLIGHT CANCELLED DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER CONDITIONS.
You stare at it like maybe—maybe—if you blink hard enough, the words will rearrange themselves into something kinder. Something sunnier. Something that involves you on a beach somewhere, toes in warm sand, Bucky stretched out beside you with sunglasses and that lazy, rare smile he only gets when he’s actually relaxed.
Instead, outside the tower windows, the sky is a miserable gray, rain streaking the glass in relentless sheets.
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Bucky mutters from the doorway, already shrugging on his jacket, ready to haul your bags down to the quinjet.
You hold up your phone.
He reads it.
His shoulders drop.
“…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I wish I was.”
There’s a beat. The kind where disappointment settles heavy in your chest, thick and stubborn. You’d both needed this. Needed something soft. Something warm. Something that wasn’t missions and debriefs and the weight of saving the world sitting permanently on your shoulders.
Bucky exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“Okay,” he says.
You blink. “…Okay?”
He looks at you, something shifting behind his eyes—something that sparks, sharp and determined.
“Give me two hours.”
---
You don’t see him again until almost exactly two hours later.
In that time, the rain has only gotten worse. You’ve changed into sweats, curled up on the couch, and tried very hard not to spiral into full-blown sulking mode. There’s a blanket around your shoulders, a half-finished cup of tea on the table, and your phone still open to the cancellation message like a personal attack.
Then the elevator dings.
You glance up.
And immediately sit up straight.
Because Bucky Barnes walks out looking like he’s stepped straight out of a postcard.
He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
A bright, aggressively tropical Hawaiian shirt—deep blue with splashes of hibiscus flowers across it—and it’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest. The fabric hangs loose, revealing sun-warmed skin that absolutely does not match the weather outside. His hair is slightly damp, pushed back, and he’s carrying… bags.
Multiple bags.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
“…Hi,” he says, like this is completely normal.
“…What are you wearing?”
He glances down at himself, then back at you. “Vacation clothes.”
“Bucky—”
“—and,” he cuts in, stepping further into the room, “since the weather decided to screw us over, I figured we improvise.”
You push yourself up off the couch, confusion tangling with something softer, something curious.
“Improvise how?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he gestures toward the balcony doors.
“Come on.”
---
The doors slide open.
And you freeze.
Because your balcony—your very non-beach, high-up-in-the-middle-of-the-city balcony—has been completely transformed.
There’s sand.
Actual sand, spread out across the floor in a soft, golden layer. Not a lot, not enough to make a mess of the whole place, but enough that when you step out, your bare feet sink into it just slightly. There are string lights strung along the railing, glowing warm against the gray sky. A couple of lounge chairs sit off to the side, angled toward a small speaker that’s playing something soft and tropical—waves and distant steel drums blending together.
And in the corner?
A kiddie pool.
You turn slowly, wide-eyed, back to Bucky.
“…You built a beach.”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Closest I could get on short notice.”
“Short notice?” you echo, incredulous. “Bucky, where did you even get—”
“Don’t ask,” he says quickly. “Sam owes me. And I may have bribed a few people.”
You huff out a laugh despite yourself, stepping further out onto the balcony. The rain is still falling beyond the overhang, the city still gray and stormy—but here, under the soft glow of lights and the faint hum of ocean sounds, it feels…different.
Warmer.
Softer.
You turn back to him, something tight in your chest loosening.
“You did all this… for me?”
“For us,” he corrects gently.
Then, like it’s an afterthought, he lifts one of the bags and pulls out a drink.
It’s in a tall glass, bright and ridiculously colorful, with a tiny paper umbrella perched on top.
He hands it to you.
“Tried to remember what you ordered that time in Miami,” he says. “Might be off.”
You take it, staring at the little umbrella, then up at him.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
He huffs, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well. Couldn’t let a little rain ruin everything.”
You take a sip.
It’s sweet. Cold. Perfect.
A laugh bubbles up out of you, sudden and bright, cutting through the disappointment that had been sitting heavy in your chest all afternoon.
Bucky’s shoulders visibly relax at the sound.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
You shake your head, stepping closer to him, the sand shifting under your feet.
“You’re insane,” you tell him softly.
“Probably,” he agrees.
“But…” You glance around again—the lights, the sand, the soft music, the storm raging just beyond it all. “This is… really nice.”
He smiles then.
Not the guarded, careful one he gives most people.
The real one.
The one that makes your chest ache.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
There’s a moment where neither of you moves.
Then you reach out, fingers brushing the open edge of his shirt, tugging him just a little closer.
“Although,” you add, eyes flicking down his chest, “I do think the shirt is doing a lot of the heavy lifting here.”
He snorts. “Knew you’d like that.”
“It’s working,” you admit.
His hand finds your waist, warm and steady, pulling you the rest of the way in. The music hums softly around you, the faint scent of rain mixing with something sweeter, something warmer.
“Dance with me?” he asks.
You glance down at your mismatched loungewear, then back at him in his ridiculous, perfect vacation outfit.
“…On our fake beach?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?”
You smile.
“No,” you say, setting your drink down on the small table nearby. “I really don’t.”
So you step into him.
His arms wrap around you, solid and safe, and you sway together in the soft glow of string lights, the storm raging just beyond your little pocket of summer.
It’s not the beach you planned.
It’s not sunburns and saltwater and crashing waves.
But it’s warm.
It’s soft.
It’s him.
As he presses a kiss into your hair, murmuring something low and fond, you realize you didn’t lose your vacation, you just found a different kind of paradise.
It was meant to be a nice peaceful vacation to spend some time together without any work or Avenger's emergencies getting in the way. A week for just the two of them with Tony packing a surprise for the last day.
The pair of them should have known this week wouldn't go to plan when their alarm failed to go off and they nearly missed their flight due to oversleeping.
After this it was one thing after another for Tony and Peter. From Peter's suitcase splitting open and spilling all his clothes, to every meal out being ruined by Tony's meal being dropped into his lap or Peter's food coming out wrong and in one case containing mint, the one thing he's allergic too.
This vacation was an unmitigated disaster but Tony hoped his surprise would make it up to Peter.
That was until a seagull chose that moment to steal the engagement ring from Tony's hand as he proposed to Peter.
Recently got back into the Jurassic park fanfics - & it’s been an interesting trip through memory lane. But there’s one I’m sure existed at some point, all I can accurately remember is that Gray Mitchell can turn into some kind of giant otter? And at some point played keep easy with the Raptors? Anyone know this? Or was this some kinda funky dream I had
Thanks again to my always whumperful crew. @sparrowsage @whumpcereal @quietly-by-myself and @oddsconvert for the fantastic beta job on today's entry.
Warnings: Human's as prey, Human's being hunted, death of a minor character, vacation gone wrong.
I swear I'm not copying The Most Dangerous Game, but, like... look at the prompt list, it write's itself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a vacation. Darren was amazed at how quickly circumstances could change, his world flipped upside down in a heartbeat. Less than 48 hours ago he’d set sail for his first ever deep sea fishing trip with his buddy Barrett. They were celebrating Barrett’s 23rd birthday.
Where was Barrett? He hadn’t seen him in hours. Had it been more than a day?
They had landed on what was supposed to be an uninhabited island for some shore time and swimming. They’d been there mere minutes when the captain of their sailing boat took an arrow to the neck. Who the hell uses a bow and arrow? Darren and Barret ran for the jungle not knowing where to find safety.
“What the fuck was that?” Barrett cried as they crouched among a thicket of tropical ferns. Barrett kept trying to wipe the captain’s blood from his face. His position relative to the captain meant he’s been covered in the sticky spurts. The red blood was at odds with Barrett’s pale complexion.
Darren clamped his bronze colored hand over Barrett’s mouth as their stalker wandered past them.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but we’re getting off this island,” Darren whispered in Barrett’s ear. “We just have to elude him long enough for someone to figure out where we are. Now be quiet and stay low. Let’s find somewhere to hide.”
“This is his Island,” Barrett hissed, panic suffusing every word. “Surely he knows every hiding place.” Fear and terror had replaced all thoughts about the birthday fishing trip.
“Don’t think like that. We just gotta stay one step ahead. Now let’s get moving.” Darren grabbed Barrett’s t-shirt and shoved him along. Barrett liked to fish. He liked things calm and quiet. This was not that.
They stayed together as long as they could, but they were being hunted. They’d heard him. Footsteps trudging and squelching in the mud, bowstring string stretching with a grgrgrgrrrr. He’d called to them.
“Come out and I won’t kill you.”
Yeah, right. After what happened to the captain, no fucking way!
Eventually they’d had to split up. Strength in numbers did not work in this situation and if one of them got caught, it might give the other a chance to figure out a way to get help or get off the island. It was not a good option, but they didn’t have any good options.
Several hours after they’d split up, Darren heard the scream he knew was Barrett. He slapped his palm over his mouth to muffle his own scream. Darren didn’t know if his childhood best friend was dead or alive. He didn’t know why Barret screamed. He just knew that now, he was hiding on an island, all alone, with a mad man on his tail, stalking him relentlessly.
Hours had passed since that scream. Darren had found a cavern that he could shelter in for the night. He didn’t dare light a fire, and he curled up against the wall in the deepest shadows he could find.
Darren was a hunter. He’d won awards. The man hunting him was good, masterful even. Darren didn’t think he would ever find out what it felt like to be the prey instead of the predator. He didn’t like it. Humans weren’t supposed to be at the bottom of the food chain.
TIn the morning, just after waking, the hair on the back of his neck prickled and there was an unexplainable shift in the atmosphere. Darren whirled around and came face to face with the tip of an arrow on a string mere millimeters from his face.
He froze, his entire body quivering with fight or flight instincts at war within him. His eyes slowly moved from the shaft of the arrow to the bow itself, then slowly to the broad chest, up to a burly neck and then up further to a terrifying wide grin and wild sea-green eyes alight with malice.
“Hello. You really shouldn’t have come here.” The hunter’s voice was softer than Darren expected, but no less deadly.
“We… we didn’t know,” Darren stumbled over his own words, trembling hands raising up surrender style, “It was just a pit stop. Our captain-”
“They always blame the captain. And they may be right. It’s why I always take out the captain first. But you have a choice. I can shoot you now, right through the eye, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground, or I can take you back to my place, give you a meal, clean you up and then you play the games I want you to play the way I want you to play them. What’ll it be?”
Darren swallowed, this couldn’t be happening. “Wh-where’s Barrett?”
“Barrett?” The hunter cocked his head as if trying out the name on his tongue. “Oh, the little one, the screamer. He chose to come back with me. He’s all snug in his little cage right now, had to gag him to shut him up. Damn, that one is a whiner.”
Darren swallowed again. “Wh-what sort of g-games?”
“Oh, all sorts of fun ones. Even more fun since there’s two of you.”
“You’re going to hunt us, aren’t you?”
“Yes. But that won’t be for a bit if you choose to come with me. I have all sorts of other activities that I’m sure you will not enjoy. I like to play with my toys, break them in a bit before I finish with them. But who knows, you might win and get a chance at making it off this island. I couldn’t say, but it’s possible.”
Hope, dangled out in front of him like a fucking carrot. It wasn’t fair. Something about the way that Barrett had screamed told Darren he should choose death, but he couldn’t. He might live. The captain never had a shot, but Darren and Barrett could, right? He knew it was a trap. Short of a miracle, they didn’t have a chance in hell at getting off this island. But the thought of survival gave him the will to keep fighting. It was cruel. Darren could see it in the hunter’s eyes, but he couldn’t force his own brain into not believing there was a chance. As long as I’m still breathing, right?
The hunter’s smile grew impossibly wider. “I can see you’ve made your choice, so let’s get on with it. Kneel and put your hands behind your back.”
To his ever loving shame, Darren knelt and did as he was told.
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This dude argued with me for a good 2 minutes because he thought I was someone else. Before you start that bullshit, make sure you're talking to the right motherfucker! Damn! Also, not all black people look alike.
