#deer park driveways

[stonecreationslongisland]

Dix Hills Driveway, Walkways and Patio - #driveways #curbappeal #longisland - 11746

[stonecreationsoflongislandinc]

Merry Christmas by Stone Creations of Long Island Pavers & Masonry Via Flickr: Merry Christmas from all of us @ Stone Creations of Long Island - (631) 678-6896

[zinaarts]

Rustic Exterior Inspiration for a substantial, three-story, wood house with a hip roof and a mixed-material roof exterior remodel

[wipemeclean1]

https://wipemeclean.com.au/deer-park/

Revitalize Your Home's Curb Appeal with Professional Driveway Cleaning Services in Deer Park

Transform your driveway in Deer Park with professional cleaning services. Say goodbye to stubborn stains, dirt, and grime as our experts employ advanced techniques and eco-friendly products to restore your driveway's pristine condition.

[peachetteprice]

Driving Habits | TF141

Disclaimer: Some of these are UK specific, including the style of car, manoeuvres, terminology, and gearbox. That's what happens when the boys live and work mostly in England! Also, I am almost taking my practical test in September, and I need to rant about certain habits. Sorry in advance to Soap and Ghost. Love you both, boys.

Credit to @soaps-mohawk for giving me the inspiration to explore this headcanon! It began with an exploration into what cars TF141 might drive! You can see the original post that inspired this here.

+ Including interactions when driving with an S/O!

Notorious one-handed driver. The other hand is either on the gearstick - just resting, contemplating - or mediating between the gearstick and your thigh. He loves a good reverse bay park. (He's an absolute beast at it, too. No need for minor adjustments. He just... knows the space. And he will make fun of you when you can't park as perfectly as him). Helps to get the shopping in better, because at least you can get to the boot! Has been known to swerve a little bit for birds in the road, but that's because he's an avid watcher, and the poor things get enough grief as it is - he wants to still be able to watch Robins and Thrushes in the trees on the weekend!

Captain John Price:

He does, however, neglect rabbits, foxes, badgers, squirrels, and rats. And the... occasional deer in Scotland? Not out of malice - not at all - but they're not worth swerving over and potentially causing a collision for. He might, only if you're with him - because you'll squeal if he doesn't and positively become harrowed by its body popping beneath the rear tyre - but it's much safer for a driver to simply ram it into the gravel than to mess around with the safety of himself, other drivers, and - of course - you.

Takes extra care around vehicles with stickers that denote that the occupants of said vehicle - bar the driver or secondary passengers - are animals or children. He will be extra sure to check his mirrors, touch on the brakes if need be, and will actively scan for dangerous drivers that he can shield the car from. His duty is to protect, after all, in whatever capacity.

That being said, in his youth, he was known to drive... a little faster than required. Only on country lanes does he still retain some of his more... reckless habits. He may go a touch too fast around corners, and ignore the chevrons that indicate the severity of a turn (one arrow, two, three), and if the road opens up to a sprawling range, whereby speed control for tight corners and blind junctions is not an issue, he will... perhaps... occasionally - only rarely if you're in the car with him - let her rip.

Begrudgingly drives your shuddering little Fiat 500 or itty bitty Hyundai i20 (hey, what do you mean, tiny, it's perfect for the city, John! Pay no mind if your boys giggle and point when you turn up at the base in it...), though much prefers the Triumph Spitfire, 1979, mint-condition, that he bought in 2008 for three grand and fixed up over a ten-year period (when he wasn't deployed, that was) which is now worth £18,000. That is his profit! But he won't let another soul touch it, drive it, or so much as look at it - unless it's you, on a good day - until the day he dies. It's in stunning condition, but God help you if you reverse into the driveway without him watching like a hawk, wiggling his hand as if it were the paddle of an aeroplane conductor, telling you to move closer to the wall and risk scratching your car just to protect his darling baby. It... oh no... it might be the only thing he loves more than you...

But those roads are his home, that's all!

Always, always, always over-revs the engine to get out of a junction. He can't help it! He's used to manoeuvring through rough terrain with a car the size of a military tank - he's bound to forget to treat a normal car with a normal amount of strength. He comes flying into and out of roundabouts for that exact reason! He has to get on and off them quickly enough - don't you know, they're deathtraps, they are!

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley:

He's also prone to checking his side mirrors and rear view mirror an inordinate amount of times for a twenty-minute pop to the shop. He is convinced that the Kia Sportage behind him is right up his tail - he's sure it's stalking you in the passenger seat, especially with your bumper stickers on the rear, the nasty perverts - no matter how many times you explain to him that the mirrors are convex! They will make everything seem closer than they truly are! Now, however, he does not and will not ever brake-check a car, but he will sure as hell give them the dirtiest stare if they decide to overtake him... or until they back off a few more feet behind you.

The poor man gets impatient at lights. He does. And crossings, too. Train, tram, pedestrian, any and all of them. Despises them all. He'd rather a set of traffic lights for people to cross at, than have those silly zebra, pelican or toucan markings along the road that he has to pray Grandma Doris won't divert her walking cane in its bilateral direction. Oh, and he bounces his leg like there's no tomorrow. Again, he can't help it! He isn't used to waiting in cars. He's used to tumbling down roads in Middle Eastern deserts as the crow flies. None of those silly turns and re-routes into estates because he took the wrong turn at a junction. He wouldn't have messed up had he had time to think! Had there been no traffic! And, oh, Christ, the traffic. Simon does not like traffic. He does illegal U-turns as soon as he sniffs there being a road closure - that's how much he dislikes waiting!

You'll never forget the day that he wrenched the handbrake up way too high, and you had to get your father to re-tighten it. You're sure there aren't any more notches he can lift it to. You're rarely ever on a hill that warrants it. He'll crank it up six times just to stop at the traffic light before the Tesco. It's bloody Tesco! It's not Mount Kilimanjaro!

Never gets the bite point consistently. Never gets the damn bite point. Always too low or too high. He doesn't over-rev it like Ghost does, but the amount of times he stalls the bloody car, thinking he's in another one of those tank-sized vehicles that has a brand-spanking new bite point - or dare he say, an automatic gearbox that doesn't even require a clutch - is incalculable. You'd think the man has only just learnt to drive!

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish:

Notoriously speeds through built-up areas. Often commits to doing 45mph in a 30mph zone. Only when there isn't anyone around, like at nighttime! He consistently zooms past speed cameras in his BMW. His poor 3L engine is just too powerful for those dinky little roads. And, promise, he doesn't do it on purpose! He just routinely forgets to glance at his speedometer (and his mirrors, but that's another issue), and he drives for himself and himself only. In fact, he often hums to himself and forgets you're even there, beside him, clutching onto the internal handle on the roof in case he veers too suddenly to either side. His object permanence doesn't prevail unless he has one hand on your inner thigh, and if he doesn't, well, you can kiss safe driving habits goodbye.

(Oh, and he always sits on the brake. And bite + gas. The handbrake is too cumbersome, and his feet are strong enough, Goddamnit!)

Alright, that isn't to say he's an... unsafe driver. He's only slightly inconsiderate. He brakes too harshly, too late, too suddenly, he coasts on the clutch around corners, he never feeds the steering wheel, and he sometimes forgets to check his mirrors before turning into a junction (but he's never T-boned a cyclist... yet... you can give him a tick for that one). But he hums and whistles a nice tune to himself - he prefers it to the radio, and that's not to say he prefers quiet so he can hear the sound of the engine, no, no... never... not at all - and he always makes an overt point to note every field of cows, sheep (especially horses!) as well as every cat he sees lurking along the pavements. Never dogs. Doesn't like the bastards. Got bit once. That was enough to turn him right off.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Beautiful driver. Test-accurate. He could re-take it today and pass with flying colours. What a brilliant driver. The only bad habit he's picked up is driving with one hand (he tends to bite his fingernails on the other when he drives - helps with the stress of commuting in London), and never feeding the steering wheel through his hands. He does the wipe-on, wipe-off manouvre, mostly because he looks hot when doing it, though he tries not to. Mama Garrick always swats his hand whenever he does it because that's how drivers get into accidents, baby!

Car-shares with his mother, whether it's in her duck-egg blue Kia Picanto or his lime green Ford Fiesta - it has failed its MOT three bloody times, and he's revived that girl from death's vice grip more times than he can count, it has the mileage of a postal worker in the 1700s, nearing 200k - but this gentleman always remembers to bring the seat forward and upright after he's finished using it, so that her feet can touch the pedals, and to, naturally, reduce her back pain. He does the same with the headrest, too, because if there's anything he cares about more than his job, it's the safety of his family and friends!

Tends to drive on the cautious side. The only minor fault he'd get in a test would be hesitance because he simply doesn't trust any other driver but himself. His mother drilled that into him. She said that there's nothing worse than watching a car flash its headlights and signal you to go, with caution, as always, because the flash is not universal for 'go', only to pull in front of you and trigger you to emergency brake. Or, God-forbid, a pedestrian puts their hand up at you before they've even crossed the bloody road, and he has to slam on the brakes like he's Speedy Gonzalez at a traffic light. Lordy Lord.

Never mind the fact that he waits too long at pedestrian crossings because there could be somebody shrouded by that tree on the corner there. Do you see it? Over there! No, behind the sign, love! There could be someone - oh, whatever. He has to wait to make sure it's clear - otherwise, Grandma Doris is getting bumped in the legs and thrown fifty feet along the road! And he cares about the elderly!

Always nervously bites the insides of his cheek at roundabouts. Which is the most bewildering part of all, because he's so good at them! He always signals onto the roundabout. Never cuts lanes. Always follows directions perfectly, and if he doesn't, well, I guess you're taking a different route until you can turn around in a safe place. He always signals off the roundabout, too - even at mini-roundabouts - but he'll scrunch his face up every time, huff, and mutter:

"Yeah... botched that one."

...Regardless of how many times you tell him that he's a gorgeous driver! It's sexy, too, how he abides by the Highway code and gives way to more cars than he really should - no, except he really should stop doing that, actually, they're starting to take advantage of his kindness and he doesn't realise it - and how he's so... so... so fucking smooth with gear transitions. Going from stationary to a comfortable 20mph? He'll pop that sucker so fluidly into third (or second, if it's his mum's car) with such prowess that you barely notice the engine take the gas he's giving it. There's no jolt between first and second. He plays those gears like he's bowing a violin. How delicate his fingers are. How gentle his touch. It's mesmerising to watch.

And, you're about ready to give him your hand in marriage when you notice that every time he comes to a stop - on a hill, at a traffic light, in crawl traffic, waiting to turn into a junction, he puts the handbrake on, then takes his foot off the foot brake, then knocks the gearstick into neutral, then takes his foot off the clutch, and waits patiently like the darling man he is. Unlike someone else, he never sits on the brake...

Gaz even brakes in ample time, and you thought he couldn't be more perfect! That's what really gets you going - he gives the car behind him just the right amount of time to slow down that it's almost a waltz, and he's the conductor of traffic. Though... maybe don't let him get trapped at a stalemate on a mini-roundabout where all cars are turning left and are subsequently blocked by the need to give way to the right... his poor brain will short-circuit! If he does, give him a pat on the thigh and let him wait for someone else to make the first move - he hates decision-making when he's off-duty.

Bonus Round - Road Rage!

Captain John Price:

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Road Rage? You mean, showing a healthy amount of anger and vigour towards a bloody idiot driver? You mean... baring his teeth and swatting a hand at them, occasionally honking the horn past eleven-thirty, even if people are sleeping, or pulling out one of his anger-insurance cigars? That's what road rage is? Well... Christ, he must be terrible for it. Don't tell his boys that... they think he's the most level-headed man on base.

He's slightly oblivious to the technique of cars around him. He drives like he's the only driver in the world, because usually he is - except for those fuckers behind you who won't back off - but if something does happen, and if it isn't too much of an issue, he'll grunt, clench his teeth, grip the steering wheel and let out a muttered 'bastard'. If, however, something really irritates him - especially if another car puts you in danger - he'll honk the horn and flail his hand at the windscreen in the hopes that the driver sees his frustration (even if you're the one driving, he'll reach over and honk the pad for you, even though you've told him not to!)

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish:

Well... he certainly knows a lot of Gaelic, doesn't he, your boy? You've hardly a monkey's bottom of what he's saying, but the vitriol in which he says it - he's not known for bottling his anger very well - makes it clear to you that he needs a hug and de-tox before bedtime. If the accused does anything on the defensive or antagonistic, he has been known to pull up beside them on a two-lanes-go-straight-on road marking, even if it isn't the right way to your destination, just to glare at them and give them the... stern finger. Maybe... maybe a word or two about precious cargo.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Gaz is a simple guy when he's off-duty. He will sigh, tut, shake his head, and mumble 'nutter', or a very hushed 'oh, you absolute...' (bonus: he never finishes his sentence!) It's what his mum does! If another car puts you in danger, he may groan and roll his eyes - but he always asks if you're okay as soon as, and apologises for the sudden violence of his attitude! What a sweet man.

| Masterlist |

[biteofcherry]

A little slice of something sweet&spicy for @alexakeyloveloki on her bithday! 🍰🎉💗

A follow-up to Cherry

soft!dark enforcer Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: soft!dark Steve; hints of power imbalance; hint of innocence/corruption kink; hint of breeding kink; explicit se*ual situations;

You swallowed nervously as you walked up to the door of an expensive-looking house in the hills. The gate was wide open, two dark cars parked in the driveway. There was no sign of Steve's camaro, but maybe it was hidden in the huge garage in the separate building you passed.

The house looked like a renovated mid-century style and though you couldn't see it, you suspected there was a big swimming pool in the backyard.

The thought of which instantly created an image of Steve emerging from it - water dripping down his sculpted body, shimmering on the colorful ink of his tattoos.

You still haven't seen them, only the glimpse of those stretching up to his wrists and over his neck.

Jesus, you closed your eyes, once again feeling a wave of shame wash over you.

You met Steve two days ago. He was a complete stranger, with an aura of darkness that should make you run away.

Instead, you flew to him like a moth to a flame.

You allowed him to consume you the very first time you met him; hell, you were still trembling at the memory of the way he fucked you in his car, then right outside your apartment.

It could be just an adventure. A crazy one time thing you can brag about to your friends, for once having something really spicy to talk of.

But you kept the little piece of paper with Steve's address and dolled yourself up to meet him on the day he asked you.

Though the voice of reason yelled at you to at least have some doubts, you didn't hesitate for a single second as you put on a cute summer dress, a pair of bow sandals, and pink panties that already had a little wet spot, because you couldn't help thinking about what Steve was going to do to you on your date.

Nothing happened for a long moment after you rang the doorbell, your nervousness heightening in fear of being ignored. But then the door opened and you lifted up your gaze to look at a tall, bulky blonde man in what could be only described as surfer's style attire.

His long, wavy hair matched that vibe as well.

"Well, hello there." He grinned. "Whatever you're selling, I'm buying two of it."

A small laugh escaped your lips, which seemed to make the huge hunk's smile widen.

"I'm- um, I'm supposed to meet Steve," you explained, clenching your fingers tighter around your purse.

"Ah, the five o'clock meeting he wouldn't disclose the details of. Come on in." The guy moved aside to let you pass. "He's finishing a previous meeting, but I'm sure he'll be happy to know you're already waiting."

He led you through the sunny house to an ajar door, through which you could hear scraps of conversation.

Steve's voice you recognized right away.

He spoke firmer than when he was talking to you, giving clipped commands and harsh critique. You'd never want him to use that tone with you.

"Your next meeting is here." Surfer guy simply walked inside the office.

He moved to take a seat in one of the chairs, while you stood there in the open door like a deer caught in headlights.

You felt like that, too.

Because the moment you stepped in the doorway of the office, your eyes landed right on Steve.

He was sitting behind a desk, his dark green shirt unbuttoned halfway and the sleeves rolled up. More tattoos were on display, as well a tiny glint of a golden chain around his neck.

His blue eyes zeroed in on you; his gaze moved up your body slowly, taking every inch as if he was already imagining every single detail of what he was going to do to you and how will you look taking it all.

Then his attention shifted to a group of men sprawled on a couch on the side of the office.

"Your incompetence made me late for my date." He said to them and there wasn't even a slightest hint of playfulness to his tone.

He made it sound as if they did a severe offence to him and he was a step away from making them pay for it.

You had no idea what line of work Steve dabbed in, but it sounded like a serious business with dire consequences. Now you felt like you were an intruder who should leave, or else Steve's annoyance will shift to you.

However, when Steve's eyes returned to you, the steely glint in them morphed into softness.

"Come here, Cherry," he slid his chair back and motioned for you to walk over to him.

Your heartrate quickened as you felt eyes on you when you fully stepped inside. You tried not to glance at any of the other men in the room, instead allowing Steve to hold your gaze and lure you into his flame.

You let out a surprised gasp when Steve pulled you into his lap the moment you rounded the desk.

One of your hands touched his chest as you braced yourself at the sudden change in position. Steve's skin was warm beneath your fingers, dark blonde curls of his chest hair tickling your palm slightly.

You quickly moved your hand away, embarrassed that you touched him so openly while strangers were watching.

Steve didn't seem to mind it. He took your hand and lifted it to his lips to brush a soft kiss on your knuckles. Then he placed your hand back on his chest, while his own landed on your thigh.

Unabashedly high, almost slipping beneath your sundress.

"You're exactly on time, Cherry. You really are a good girl, aren't you?" He mused quietly, squeezing your flesh.

"Yes, Steve," your gaze dropped down and you tucked in your chin.

Steve studied you for a moment longer then turned his attention back to the others in the room.

"You have your orders and you better follow them exactly." Cold edge of his voice made you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck to avoid his wrath.

"Thor, make sure they make no mistakes this time. Now leave. All of you."

You didn't lift your head even after you heard the last footsteps fading away, your gaze lingering on the twirls of ink on Steve's chest as your own heart hammered in your ribcage.

You were acutely aware there was just the two of you now left. And as much as it was what you wanted, your nervousness bloomed.

Steve cupped your chin and made you look up at him.

"I'm sorry for running late on our date, Cherry. I promise that what I have planned should make it up to you."

"But-" suddenly his charming smile twisted into a hungry smirk as both of his hands slid to your hips- "those imbeciles have worked me up and I need to take the edge off before we leave."

In a swift single move he hoisted you up onto his desk.

"With how stiff and shy you are on me now, I think you need to get off, too."

He spread your legs apart - not that you put up much of a fight - and moved his chair closer.

Steve flipped the skirt of your dress up and traced his fingers across the pink cotton of your panties. He pressed his thumb against your clit, right above a small wet spot of your arousal.

"I see you're eager for our date," he chuckled, rubbing your clit harder and watching the wet stain spread.

Your hands clenched on the edge of the desk when Steve pulled the fabric of your panties aside and inched his mouth closer.

"I bet you're sweet all over, sweet Cherry."

He took a taste with a swipe of his tongue, licking between your slick folds and flicking the tip over your clit.

Your hips bucked and your head fell back when he repeated the motion, this time in three rapid strokes. Then his mouth descended on you, biting into your pussy as if it was a juicy fruit.

You weren't sure if you came when his tongue flicked between your opening and your anus, or when Steve's mouth closed around your clit and sucked. Or maybe it was two orgasms melting into one.

Your eyelids were clenched shut and your head swimming when his fingers curled around the front of your neck. With a hand around your throat, Steve pushed you back until you lied down on the desk fully, while he stood up.

A clink of a buckle being undone reached your mushy brain and your eyes fluttered open. Just to see Steve pushing his zipper down.

His cock sprang free; big and thick and veiny.

Your cunt clenched, hungry to feel the stretch of him leave you sore again.

Steve pumped himself a few times before inching forward between your splayed thighs.

"W-wait," your hand reached up as last, barely functioning brain cells reminded you of something important.

Steve paused, as you asked, squeezing his shaft tighter. The sight of it made you drool, your thoughts threatening to melt away. But you managed to stay focused for a second longer.

"Condom. Do you have- can you put one on?" You asked, looking up at Steve with uncertainty.

You wanted him to use one, but you weren't sure if you'd really be able to stop it all if he refused to. You wanted him inside of you too much.

"Condom?" Steve quirked a brow in surprise, studying you.

"Yes, please. I'm not on birth control," you admitted, gulping nervously.

Steve's blue eyes darkened as your words sank in. He stepped closer, bare cock inches from your dripping, unprotected pussy.

"Sweet Cherry, you let me take your pretty, tight pussy raw, even though you could've ended up pregnant?"

His voice was a sinful temptation and his dirty words made your walls clench around nothing.

"Yes," you admitted, ashamed.

"Why, hm?" He resumed slow strokes of his cock as he put his other hand right above your pussy, spreading his fingers wide on your abdomen and dipping his thumb between your folds.

Because I wanted you so bad.

Because I needed you inside me at any cost.

Because I liked that you branded me with your cum.

Because I didn't care what you do to me as long as you kept doing it.

"I don't know." You bit your bottom lip. "I wasn't thinking about the consequences. I wasn't thinking at all. I just- I want to be responsible now."

"What a good, smart girl you are," Steve praised, brushing his thumb along your clit.

He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a short strip of foil packets. He ripped one open and rolled a condom on.

His hand returned to your throat as he pressed the head of his cock against your slick opening.

"We'll be responsible, Cherry," he leaned over you and kissed you softly.

"For now," he added in a dark rasp while thrusting deep into you.

And then he took you, with the same unrelenting force that left you boneless and moaning. Steve praised that you sounded sweet and needy; you thought you sounded more of a whore. You didn't care anyway, because the way he was making you feel was maddening good.

You came around him once, the second climax Steve forced out of you with a hand choking the air out of you and a pinch to your clit.

He finished with a groan; lips parted and face flushed, possessive glint in his eyes as he watched you twitch beneath him.

If he wasn't planning on keeping to his promise and taking you out on a proper, nice date, he wouldn't empty into the condom, but instead withdraw from your sweet cunt and come all over your pretty sundress.

But Steve was a man of his word.

So he tossed the used rubber into the bin, helped you clean yourself up, then readjusted your dress and helped your wobbly legs walk outside.

He could ruin you more when he took you back home later.

[wosoobsessed]

“Your sick baby”- Leah Williamson x Female reader

Request:

Would you do a Leah x Reader fic where Leah is sick. She refuses to admit in the morning because she’s stubborn but it becomes noticeable during training especially when she throws up. Reader and Leah go home and reader just takes care of her and makes sure she feels alright.

A/N: hope you enjoy I love this one 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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You woke up to the sound of your girlfriend getting dressed in the corner of the room. Your eyes fluttered open, expecting to see your girlfriend in her her normal lively self but instead was met with Leah struggling to pull her jersey over her head. It had been a hard year for your girlfriend with her acl injury last year, you had been there for her no matter what through the anger, tears and denial. All you wanted for her was to be happy. As you looked at her you could see the pain on her face as you sat up against the headboard of your bed it broke your heart to see. Indulged in your own thoughts you missed when Leah crouched down on the floor with her head in her hands.

“ lee what’s wrong” you said concern clear in your voice. “Nothing nothing!” She said almost too quickly to be believable, standing back up and continued to get dressed.You assessed every part of her as you stood up and looked into her eyes. “ lee… if your sick you need to rest” you said cautiously not wanting to anger or upset her. She immediately looked at you like a deer in the headlights the defensiveness coming back to her.

“ Y/N I’m fine” she lied imediently. Your concern deepened and Leah noticed this and immediately her eyes softened as she looked at you. “ baby seriously I’m gonna be fine I’ve got to go” she says before breaking into a coughing fit. You look at her unconvinced but you know how much training means to her so you give in. “ fine but I’m driving you there and back” you say swiftly making your way over to your wardrobe,throwing on jeans and a top, trainers and your puffer jacket before grabbing your car keys and following Leah into your car before making your way to the training park.

You could tell something was wrong. Her pale white face and the way she stumbled as she ran after the ball. She was not well. You sat in the stands watching the session as Kim little looked Up at you with an equally concerned look, you simply just sent her a thumbs down to show that you were also concerned about Leah.

After the session you walked down to the pitch to meet your girlfriend who looked even worse then she did before you left the house. She looked at you with guilt on her face she knew she should of stayed home. You wanted to be your stubborn self and say I told you so but the pain in your girlfriends face broke your heart. You immediately grabbed Leah and her bags and rushed into the car just wanting to get her home. During the car ride home you looked over to Leah as she suddenly gags in her mouth her face now as white as a ghost. You have never drove so fast probably breaking multiple laws but for one you did not want sick in your car and two you wanted Leah to be at home comfortably. As soon as you reached the driveway of your house, Leah rushed through the door immediately taking a b -line for the bathroom, you walked in behind her closing the door and dropping your bag on the floor as you rushed into the bathroom as Leah emptied her stomach into the toilet. You rubbed her back and she continued to throw up, when she had finished she sat up against the bathroom wall and you immediately sat I don’t of her. “ you okay baby” you cooed as she wiped her mouth with a piece of tissue. “ i feel better now” she said quietly. You helped Leah up the stairs into bed and then went to grab her a glass of water, as you walked back into the bedroom placing a bowl and a glass of water on Leah’s bedside table. “ thank you baby” she said croakily “you welcome hunny” you responded softly “ I’m just gonna go unpack your training bag” you said, Leah immediately protested “ no come get in bed y/n/n” she said trying out shout but failing as her voice broke. “ bub I’ll be two seconds you won’t even know-“ she cut you off with the sound of her groaning. “ please baby just come here” she said desperately. she looked like she was on the verge of tears and this made you crumble you gave in and climbed into bed next to her. It was gonna be a long couple of days and you were probably gonna catch all of the germs that she was carrying but you didn’t care your girl needed you and you was gonna be there.

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A/N: I’m so sorry this is kind of shit but This has been in my drafts for a long time 😭😭😭😭😭

I’m taking requests but it depends on what the request is. ❤️

[mp0625]

Pass the Cranberries

Oscar Piastri x reader

Taglist. Masterlist.

A/N: To everyone that voted Oscar you were correct! Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate!!

“So I’m meeting your parents today?” Oscar asked, looking at you from the passenger seat.

“Yes, and my brother and sister, my grandparents on both sides, my aunt and uncle from my mom’s side and my great aunt and uncle will be there Thursday.” You list keeping your eyes on the road watching for deer as you wind down the country road.

“How much farther?” He questions after you hit another pothole.

“We are here!” You said as you pull off the larger dirt road onto a smaller one lane dirt road.

“So this is where you grew up?” He looked over at you questionly.

“Yup, born and raised.”

“When was the last time you were here?”

“Weekend before Vegas, while you were at the factory Zac let me go home early, I was able to do most of the work from home.” You said as you go farther up the driveway, as you pass a barn you mention. “That barn is one my great grandpa built, that we used to house cows. But now my mom wants to fix it up and create an air BnB.” As you pull up to the house you put the car in park, and you pop the trunk. As you are getting your suitcases out of the car you hear the front door open.

“Y/N” “Come hear I missed you!” Your mom is now standing on the front porch.

“You saw me two weeks ago.” You said as you walked over to give her a hug.

“Oh, me and your dad saw you on TV, they showed the analysts on the McLaren pit wall and we recognized you.” Your mom said holding you at arm's length. “Come inside, it’s chilly out here. Can I get y’all a drink?” She said opening the front door. As Oscar comes up the stairs behind you carrying your bag.

“Thank you.” Giving him a kiss on the cheek, you grab your bag from him and head inside.

The next morning, as you are drinking your coffee on the front porch. You hear mom call, “Y/N, can you run up to the gas station and grab a couple bags of ice? Please.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said standing up finishing your last sip of coffee. “Oscar, do you want to go with me? It’s about a 20 minute ride there and back.”

“Sure, let me grab my jumper.” He said heading into the house.

Once y’all were on y’all way back Oscar broke the comfortable silence by saying. “I didn’t realize you grew up this far out of town.”

“Yeah it was a little hard to do sports and stuff, but I loved it and wouldn’t have it any other way.” You said with a smile.

Once you pull in and get the ice unloaded. Your mom asks Oscar. “Can you help me with the mashed potatoes by peeling the potatoes? Please.”

“Sure.” He says coming into the kitchen. After a few minutes he asks. “Hey Y/N, am I doing this right?” Showing you a half peeled potatoe.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You said.

Thursday morning Oscar woke up to absolute chaos, you and your mom running around putting pots on the stove and turning crock pots on and firing up the smoker, even though y’all did most of the cooking yesterday. As you were putting the green beans on you heard someone pulling up the gravel driveway. You hear your dad shout from the front porch, “They’re here.” After everyone comes in and says hi and gets hugs, y’all settle on the couch and catch up while your aunt puts her food in the oven to keep warm.

In the middle of dinner You and Oscar were talking about one of the races from earlier this year, to your aunt. You hear your sister start up. “They Shouldn’t have done that, that's what caused him to crash!”

“You're just saying that because he’s your favorite.” Your brother shouted back.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

As they continue to get louder you start to call their names but they aren't listening so you have to resort to. “Will you please pass the cranberries?” “Will you please pass the cranberries?” “Please pass the cranberries!” You said hitting your hands on the table after every word.

Taglist: @studioreader @honethatty12 @slafgoalskybaby @swissboyhisch @topguncultleader @wondershells @cixrosie

[mediumgayitalian]

Blue, blue, blue eyes, wet and red-rimmed. White knuckles clenched around worn canvas. Salty cheeks and bitten-bruised lips.

“I’m running away.”

Echoes in a too-large room, quiet breathing in stale air. Freezing toes on marble floor. Struggling lamplight, gaunt shadows.

“Gimme a minute to pack a bag.”

———

“Shh,” Nico hisses, clamping a hand over Will’s mouth to muffle a shriek. A too-warm hand clutches his hip, scrambling for balance. The rickety wooden lattice creaks under their weight.

The freeze, for one, two, three seconds. Nico strains to hear, watching the crystal-clear, freshly-polished Jalousie window.

No light.

They let out their breath at the same time, Will’s exhale making Nico’s cold hands tingle. At Will’s glare, he removes his hand, wrapping it back around the rung.

“Be more careful, you clumsy fuck.”

“I’m trying!”

To his credit, he really is. He checks and double checks before putting his full weight on the lopsided strips of wood only meant to hold up vines. He doesn’t let go of the rung above him until his feet are firmly planted, and he doesn’t stray far enough from Nico that he couldn’t catch him. He knows the drill.

And, yet.

(Truly, Nico has no idea how he climbed up by himself.)

Thankfully, they make it to the soft lawn in one piece. Will stumbles into a hydrangea bush the second he lets go of the lattice. Nico lands with much more grace, snickering.

“This house hates me,” he whispers, pouting. There are several blue flower petals tangled in his hair; Nico decides not to tell him. “Like, actively.”

“You and me both.”

They sneak quickly across the lawn once Will’s upright again, booking it to Nico’s Jeep. Will takes their bags, tossing them in the back, then slides behind the massive, creepy gargoyle-thing that sits between the garage doors as Nico opens the driver’s door as quietly as physically possible. Once he’s seated, he glances over at Will, waiting for his signal — hand held up in wait, four seconds, five, six — then a rapid shooing motion, eyes trained at the security camera. Fast as he can, Nico shifts into neutral without starting the car, craning his neck to watch out the back window as he peels out of the driveway and onto the street. Once safely behind the massive pine tree that marks the edge of the property, he parks, turning the car on and wincing at the noise.

Two minutes later, Will comes barrelling down the driveway, nearly tripping over untied shoelaces.

“I fucked up, they totally saw me, go go go!”

Nico doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s in drive and racing down the empty street before Will has the door closed.

For a while, he lets their heart rates settle back into something normal. The headlights are dim, no streetlights to make anything brighter, and he squints through the windshield, tense. If a deer jumps out, they’re fucked.

“So,” he says, relaxing as they turn onto familiarly torn-up roads. No street lights here, either, but he knows the woods on either side of the road are a farce. Hardly more than a copse of trees — nothing but farmland for hundreds of acres. No risk of death by Cervidae, thank God. “Running away?”

“There’s a rest stop an hour east,” Will says instead of answering, face buried in a map. “We can sleep there and keep going in the morning.”

Go where, Nico wants to ask, but he knows better than that. There’s a tenseness to Will’s jaw, and something transparently pleading in his eyes.

“Okay,” he finally relents. Will’s obvious relief eases his discomfort. “You gotta direct me, though. And, I swear to God, if you get us lost again, Solace —”

And Will laughs, finally, and it’s small and stilted and there are still tears drying on his cheeks, but it’s real, and stars shine brighter, brighter, brighter.

The two hours to the rest stop pass quickly. Nico is used to long drives, and thankfully he’d filled up a couple days ago, so all he worries about is staying awake and watching for cops. There shouldn’t be any, really, because he’s been the only car on this road the entire time, but Nico isn’t going to chance it. Not again. (He doesn’t have Piper to talk them out of trouble, this time, although Will could possibly manage.) 

(Maybe.) 

(Well, never say never.)

“How prepared are we to run away?”

Will is quiet for several long, telling moments.

“Well,” he says finally, and Nico sighs. “I think there’s still blankets and pillows in the trunk from last time.”

“Christ alive, William.”

“It’s June! We’re – sheltered! We’ll be fine.”

“Christ alive, William.”

“Oh, can it.”

He bites his tongue, grinning. He doesn’t actually mind – it is June, and they have blankets, and their certainly not going to succumb to the elements in the Jeep. Will, too, is like a goddamn space heater; if anything, they’ll wake up in the morning with the windows fogged. 

“I suppose I’ll manage,” he says, watching with interest as a flash of bare skin as Will leans over the seat, sweatshirt riding up his arched back as he digs around for the blankets. He turns back right before Will does, huffing dramatically. “Since there are no other options.”

He fully expects the pillow to the face.

“You’re a dickhead.”

“Dickhead with a license and a vehicle, Sunny Boy, so maybe count your blessings.”

“...Lou Ellen has a car. So there.”

Nico snorts, thinking of the piece of shit Bug that broke down for the twelfth time this year in her driveway, earlier this week. Likely story.

“And, yet.”

“And, yet,” Will agrees, voice significantly softer. He’s fully burrowed in his blanket when Nico looks over; seat reclined as far as it’ll go so he can curl up, knees to chest, all six two of him compressed to something small, delicate. The pillow smushes half his face, and the blanket is pulled up to his nose, and Nico swallows, roughly, because his eyes are bright in the moonlight, and his hair fans, frizzy and damp, slightly, out onto the pillow, and Nico doesn’t need to be a poet to compare his freckled forehead to the starry sky. There is a fragility in him, one he keeps firmly locked inside the deepest parts of him, and as Nico watches it he can see it spilling, pouring, bleeding out of him. In the car, in the dark, in front of Nico. “Goodnight, Nico.”

“Goodnight,” Nico says hoarsely. 

By the time he gets the courage to look at Will again, his eyes are already closed, breaths slow and even.

———

“Neeks. Neeks. Nico. Hey, Thanatos. Anubis. Gerard Way. I got more, man, I made a list –”

“Will you stop fucking poking me,” Nico groans, peeking out from his blankets to glare at his aggressor. He regrets it immediately, hissing as the sun burns his retinae.

He can feel Will smiling. “Up and at ‘em, Sunshine. It’s road trip time.” He pauses. “And, also, I’m starving. I packed granola bars for us but I ate them all already. Sorry.”

“Fucker.” Reluctantly, he tugs the blanket fully off, sitting upright and stretching his arms above his head. His back cracks satisfyingly. “Don’t suppose you know where the nearest Dunkin’ is, then.”

“Uh, no.” He looks back to find Will’s eyes snapping back to his, face flushed. “We’re just outside of Arcadia, though? So. I’m. Sure there’s one –”

“Are you good?” Nico asks, squinting. “It’s too early for you to be a weirdo, Will, it’s only –” He checks his phone – “Oh, you motherfucker, it’s like six thirty in the morning! Why the hell are we awake?”

“Road trip!” he says. His face, no longer all screwed up and blotchy, returns to its usual blinding beam. 

Great. Now there are two things trying to blind him.

“C’mon, you dork,” Will says again, laughing. He tugs the blanket from Nico’s grip, tossing it haphazardly in the back and pestering him until he scowls, biting out a “Fine, you prick, Jesus,” and rubs the sleep out of his eyes.

He’s still not all the way awake, but he dutifully sits up, buckling his seat belt and starting the car. “Nav,” he mutters, tuning out Will’s chatter.

He loves the guy, but, fuck. It’s six thirty in the goddamned morning. He hasn’t seen six thirty in the morning in a long ass fucking time – even before he graduated at the end of May, he was late to homeroom every single day, without fail. Six thirty is an absurd time to be awake. 

“Left here, straight for a bit, and it’ll be on the corner.”

“You’re pointing to the right,” Nico says, patiently, not bothering to fight the smirk cropping up on his face. "Am I turning right?"

This, he’s used to.

“I meant right,” Will sulks. “...I said right in my brain.”

“Sure,” says Nico generously, grin widening.

“Fuck off.”

“What? You try very hard, Will. I’m very proud of you.”

“Choke.”

“Few more years, and you’ll be caught up to the kindergarteners.”

“That’s it, di Angelo –”

He laughs, batting away Will’s smacking hands. “Hey! Hey! No hitting the driver, do you want me to crash –”

By the time Will is done trying to beat him up, Nico has long spotted the sad-looking Dunkin’ Donuts, pulling into the empty parking lot and peering inside.

“Is it even open?” he asks, frowning. The lights are on, but it looks…more soulless than usual, somehow.

“Yep,” Will chirps, clicking off his seatbelt. “The chain opens at five. There's a location in Omaha that's open at 4:30, but as far as their policy goes, five is go time.”

“Nerd.”

“It’s okay, Nico. I’ll stay friends with you even if you get dumber than you already are.”

He grins wickedly. “Least I know my lefts and rights.”

He cackles when Will slams the door, stomping to the Dunkin’s entrance. He’s not really mad – he gets quiet when he gets mad – but it’s good to know that he’s won. (Not that it’s hard. Will is witty, sure, and wicked smart, but his buttons are just a smidge too easy to press. Great fun for Nico, who has raging ADHD and could not resist the allure of a shiny red button if it was going to blow up the Earth with him on it.)

Will is nowhere to be found when Nico gets inside, so he assumes he’s in the washroom and walks up to the counter to make their order. A bored girl a couple years younger than him flips a magazine behind the register, nodding as he comes up.

“I’ll have a black coffee and a…” He squints. “God. A butter pecan swirl signature iced latte.”

“With whipped cream and caramel drizzle?”

Nico sighs, resisting the urge to physically wince. “Yes.”

“Anything else?” says the girl, smile pulling at her lips. “I can put sugar in a cup to go, if you want.”

“He’d probably take that, too,” he agrees snorting. “But nah. Just a couple breakfast sandwiches, if you don’t mind.”

“‘Course.”

She rings him up, letting him know it’s gonna take a minute as the machines boot up. He wanders while he waits, curiously observing a wall of what appears to be scrawled pencil graffiti. Nothing talented, but he has to fight the urge to walk out to the payphone he saw outside and call a few of the numbers, just to see what would happen. 

“Hey,” Will says, startling him. He’s changed his shirt and tied his hair back, looking a million times better than last night. Nico finds himself relieved, shoulders slumping imperceptibly.

“Hey.”

“D’you order for us?”

“Got you your morning milkshake monstrosity, don’t worry.”

Will grins. “Drinking black coffee doesn’t make you cool.”

“It does, actually. At any given time I am forty-seven percent cooler than you. More, if you’re wearing cargo shorts.” He glances down. “It’s a forty-nine percent day, apparently.”

“Go wash your face,” Will laughs, shoving him. “I’ll get the food, then we can look at the map.”

He doesn’t take nearly as long as Will did. He brushes his teeth, splashes water on his face, decides his hair looks awesome the way it is – of course he didn’t forget a brush, why would he be a big enough dumbass to forget a brush and also more than one pair of socks – and walks back out. He finds Will tucked in a booth in a corner, chewing on a pink straw, eyeing their giant map intently.

“So,” he says as Nico approaches, handing him his coffee, “I did some math.”

Nico notices a napkin scrawled with ink that he could not read even if he wasn’t dyslexic.

“Geek.”

Will chucks his balled up straw wrapper at him. “We can go five hours-ish on a full tank of gas, and you’re a bit above a half tank, so we got maybe three hours before we need to stop.” He circles a little dot about a quarter way into the state, letters too small for Nico to read. “And since going anywhere near Orlando in the summer is asking to stick us in bumper-to-bumper traffic, that puts us in Anthony.”

“I did not know there was a town named Anthony,” Nico says sagely. “That’s a shit name for a town, if I’m being honest.”

WIll shrugs. “Welcome to Florida. Anyways. Want me to drive? You drove last night.”

“Barely,” Nico dismisses, waving his hand. He likes driving – it’s just scattered enough that he doesn’t get antsy. It’s being a passenger that kills him, although he’s sure they’ll switch on the way back so he can rest. “I’ll drive.”

“‘Kay.”

Will turns his attention back to the map, tapping his pen against the table in between bites of his breakfast sandwich. Every so often he returns to the napkin, scribbling something down and making little hums of concentration. 

Nico begins to notice the route he’s drawing extends a ways past state lines.

“So,” he says carefully, eyes trained on his best friend. “Running away.”

Will tenses, again, at the mention of it, although this time he looks more stubborn than lost. Good.

“Road trip,” he corrects. “It’s our last summer, Nico. I turn eighteen in a couple months, and then…” He trails off. Nico waits out the silence, seven seconds, eight, nine. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? One last huzzah, road trip around the nation, or whatever?”

“Did you happen to tell your mother about this road trip?”

Will shrugs. “I left a note.”

Nico hums. “Sounds an awful lot like running away. I would know. I’ve been picked up by social services in three separate states.”

“Road trip,” Will corrects again, stubborn set to his brow. 

Nico decides to let it go for now.

“Road trip,” he agrees. Will looks at him gratefully. “Where to?”

“That defeats the point of a road trip.” He rolls up the map, looking at Nico like it’s obvious. “Duh. Journey, not the destination, et cetera, et cetera.”

Privately, Nico bets that by tomorrow, Will be be restless and guilty and they will be on their way home. Outwardly, he says, “You have seen a truly disgusting amount of movies,” and Will laughs, and Nico follows him to the Jeep, and knows, as he always does, that he will follow him regardless; across the world, across the country, even back to Shit Fuck, Florida.

———

next chapter

[piss-pumpkin]

🌓 waking nightmares⚡️

(Older) Dipper pines x reader, Douce amere chapter 15 ~3.6k words, masterlist Prev

“Y/n!” Dipper hollered, one hand on the car door, the other on the centre armrest, all for balance. “Did you fucking forget how to drive since this morning?!”

Bill laughed, and it sounded maniacal in your voice. “Maybe!” He said. 

Mabel was, maybe for the first time, dead silent. Eyes wide and sitting straight up, she too held into the car door handle for dear life. Don’t hurt them, please. 

And you were reeling. If it was possible, given your condition. Bill kept your eyes on the road, at least. It seemed he didn’t have the intention to kill all of you at the current moment, since he had plenty the opportunity.

Bill nearly rammed into the mystery shack when he parked, and Dipper and Mabel sighed in relief when they finally opened the doors. Dipper practically fell out. “Y/n, what the fuck was that?” He asked, shooting you crazy eyes. 

…You’re not being subtle with them, you thought tiredly. They know I wouldn’t drive like that. They’ll figure you out. 

“The sun was going crazy,” Bill said, stepping out of the car. As he turned you caught a glimpse at Mabel, who was leaning on the trunk for support, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. “I was half blind that whole time.” He gestured at your sunglasses, tapping the sides of them. 

Dipper shott you a more than quizzical look, his brow furrowed in exaggerated distain. He leaned down, resting his arms on the car roof and poking his head in the open door. “You know,” he started, rolling his eyes. He seemed to lose the will to fight you, and pushed off the car. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for you to come. 

Bill shook your head. “Nah, I gotta get back home,” he said. 

Dipper looked disappointed, his face falling slightly, despite your nearly killing him today. You were almost brought to smile by it, his sadness at the thought of you leaving. It was cute. “Okay, text me when you’re coming next,” he said. 

Bill, nodded, put it in reverse, and pull out of the driveway. “You’re too sappy, it makes me sick,” Bill said, speeding down the road.

​​​​​…Fuck you. 

“Oh, don’t be so sullen,” He laughed, swerving across the yellow lines. “I like having somebody to talk to.” 

A deer jumped in front of the car, and Bill swerved nearly into the ditch. The bottom of the car scraped the dirt as Bill got back on the road. 

Wonder if the car is gonna be okay. You watched at the trees melted into the small town scene as you approached your aunts house. Wait a second. Did we just steal Stans car? 

“Sure did!” Bill sang. 

He’s never letting me take that car again, is he?

”You won’t have to worry about that,” Bill casually hand waved. What? He was coming up on Susan’s house now, and you weren’t trying to think about anything at all. 

Luckily she was working. Bill parked messily across the driveway, blocking any other car that could try to pull in. He didn’t bother locking the door behind you, and he tore through the halls walking like marionette doll, bouncing between the walls as he crashed around as if on misguided puppet strings. Ouch. That might hurt later.  

“No matter how many time I try it, I’ll never get used to human pain,” Bill laughed, coming to the kitchen. “It’s so neat!” He went through all the cupboards, eating several strange and old foods Susan had in the very back. The standout was a can of maple beans from the fifties. That could hurt later too. 

He went through all the drawers, running your fingers over the serrated edges of butter knives and at the prongs of forks. His eyes lingered on a meat cleaver for longer than you’d have liked. But he didn’t grab for it.

He ran your hands under cold water for a minute, then hot, seemingly taking in all the sensations. Your hand was red and tender by the end of it.

When he got to your room, he went through all your things that he hadn’t yet seen through your eyes. All the clothes you hadn’t worn yet, everything on your laptop you hadn’t opened while he was with you. This is excessive. 

“I want to know everything I can about my little host body,” he laughed. “And anything here that could kill Pine tree.” 

Oh. Kill him? I don’t think I have anything that could do that, you thought dejectedly. 

“Better to be sure!” He chirped, scrolling through all your messages, apparently looking for some confession or secret that could destroy your boyfriend. It’s not like I talk shit about him, or something. This is fucking stupid.   

“Hey, it’s worth a try,” he said, putting your hands up in the air in defeat. “You seem clean, good for you!”

Fuck off. Bill laughed. The fucker. 

He sat on your bed invading your privacy for a while. You hadn’t even realized it was dark out, and had been dark for hours. The mental exhaustion had already blended your brain into mush. But Bill was slowing down. Long blinks that lingered on the dark, sluggish hands as he typed through your documents. “I’m not a fan of this part,” he muttered quietly. 

Going to sleep?

“No,” he said, nearly nodding off hunched over.

Please lay down or something, you’ll give me back problems. It’ll just hurt you tomorrow. 

He hummed. “You might have a point, little host,” he said, leaning back, laptop still on your legs. He laid your head back on the pillow, and your vision went dark as he closed his eyes. 

You could at least move my computer, so you don’t break it. Silence. For once Bill didn’t have a comment, and sluggishly put your laptop on the floor beside the bed. 

Hello? You asked, seemingly into the void. No answer. Just dark. Your eyes were still closed. This is probably the closest to being dead that I’ll ever feel. Until the real thing. No sight, just dark, the sensation of laying, but without the ability to move. Yes, this did seem a lot like being dead. Billy? Hello?

To no response again. Okay. Workable, now you could formulate a working theory, take stock of your situation. Maybe he was asleep. If Bill had control of your body, maybe he was subject to its limits. He finally made you pass out. But you’re still awake, as tired as you are. So maybe when he sleeps, the body sleeps? Or he’s in pre-sleep, where the brain is still technically active?  

Even if you were alone with your thoughts for the first time in what felt like forever, you still had no idea what to do. Like you were living a puzzle, and you couldn’t seem to find all the pieces. 

“I’m still…” Bill muttered, covering your ears. “…Here.”

Shut up and go to bed. Dipper always said Bill made deals by shaking hands. You did shake his hand… sort of. Fuck, that was dumb. Your statue friend Billy, you did shake his hand way back then. That’s when the nightmares started. Fuck he was totally doing that. Could you give him nightmares? You didn’t know how, if it was possible.

”You can’t, little host,” Bill mumbled, waving your hand in the air as best he could. 

Bill said something about the shack. The nightmares stopped in the shack. There was something there, you could tell. But your brain was foggy enough to miss the punchline. Fuck, you were exhausted. Even without a body, just mentally, you felt more than dead. 

Dipper said that when he was possessed, he was like a ghost out of his body. That’s not what you’re on, clearly. Ugh, it would have been nicer, you’d at least be able to move. 

Sleep was odd when you didn’t have a body. You were alone in the universe, completely in the dark, and as exhausted  as you felt, there was nothing you could do. Mental tiredness be damned, you were still thinking. Until you weren’t, when the body fell asleep completely, you and Bill were knocked out.

                                             …

Bill was mortified by the human bodies tiredness upon waking, complaining how many years it’s been since he inhabited Ford, and even his body was better at waking up. That’s rather rude. But Bill didn’t think much of it. 

If you could have, you would have shuddered as you saw Bill pull out your phone, and text Dipper. Would have froze when he responded right away, and would have died when they made plans to meet in the woods and go on a ‘mystery hunt,’ suggested by Bill. Alone together in the woods. That’s not good.

He laughed, slipping your phone in a pocket and putting on a sweater. “You’re observant!” He chirped, jingling Stan’s car keys. At least he was returning them. “Eh,” he shrugged, not bothering to lock the door behind him. “If I feel like it.” Your sunglasses were all he carried in your back pack. Well shit. 

Hmm. Bill drove a little more careful this time, and parked a few blocks away from the shack. Like hiding? Why? He didn’t answer, wordlessly walking to the tree line where Dipper was waiting, slipping the glasses on. 

Your lovely boyfriend. Dipper waved happily at Bill as you got close, and wrote a note in his journal. Maybe he was writing all his suspicions and reservations about you, and he already knew you weren’t yourself. Bill snickered as he jogged up to him. It wasn’t that much to hope for, don’t laugh, you thought sadly. 

“Hey,” Dipper said, closing the book to devote all his attention. He’s too nice for this. You can’t do this to him. “You said you found something good?” He asked, starting to walk.

Bill smiled, mimicking the way you spoke and moved with precision. He’s been watching a while, huh. Studying. Your hands swung at your sides the way they always did, and your feet hopped over roots with the same spring you always had. The disguise was perfect. “Yes!” Bill proclaimed, walking ahead of him. “It’s a little ways in though, we’ll get there when we get there, I guess.”  

He talked like you, laughed like you, held Dippers hand like you did, raising no suspicion at all. You watched like a film how the two of you hiked around, noting and taking photos of all the oddities and silly creatures you found. And you could almost pretend you were in control with how good of a job Bill was doing. Hearing all your thoughts does that, you supposed.

Your camera roll would be cursed with pictures from before Dipper knew. Or his last moments, that he spent with his killer. That thought got a laugh out of Bill. Unfortunately. 

He led Dipper through the woods, teasing you with the way to your special clearing, where you first met Bill. That had to be the final destination. Bill laughed under your breath a moment, confirming your suspicions. This dumb fuck was edging you. 

Bill laughed, much to Dippers confusion. And he was quick to recover, pointing down the path you’d walked alone before, and down it you could see the sunlight of the clearing. The weather always turned sour when I went there before. Why’s it have to be sunny for you? “Down that way,” Bill said, starting the trail. “We’ve found it!”

Dipper followed, smile on his face as he idly clicked at his pen. “Okay, you’ve led me on enough, what the fuck did you find, Y/n,” he laughed, not a hint of distaste in his voice. 

Bill grinned, almost manically, just for you and him. Dipper couldn’t see from behind. “Oh,” he said dramatically, “you’ll see.” You’re a dramatic cunt.

You heard dipper scoff, with a little smile on his lips, you could tell. Even with your back to him. The clearing was growing closer each step. You couldn’t yet see the stature, your little Billy. If Dipper saw it first, maybe he could get away…

Bill shook your head, and stopped just short of the little field. The grass was tall, brushing up against your ankles, and a few daisies poked through the blades. “Okay, it’s here,” Bill said enthusiastically, spinning around to face Dipper. “And I’m gonna have to ask you to close your eyes.”

Dipper raised his brow. “Alright, if this isn’t like, the coolest thing I’ve ever seen I’m gonna be disappointed, you’re hyping this up too much,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “Fine.” 

Dipper closed his eyes. Dude. Come on. Bill snickered, and took Dippers hand, pulling him. “Okay, don’t open your eyes until I tell you, okay?”

You could see the statue, its familiar outstretched hand beckoning you closer. And you could feel Dippers hand too. Too many hands. All around you. Dipper laughed, “yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Bill just smiled and nodded, maybe forgetting that Dipper couldn’t see. He stopped in front of his stone self, smiling down at it happily. Maniacally. Maliciously. Dipper still had his eyes closed as your hand slipped out of his, and suddenly there wasn’t enough hands. 

Bill stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. “Okay, don’t open your eyes, but we’re here.”

”Dude, my balls are blue enough,” he snickered. “Can I just see?”

”Wait wait, not yet.” Bill savoured the moment. A gentle breeze ran through Dippers and your hair, a few birds chirped. It was a nice summer day, all things considered. Bill pulled out your phone, and took a selfie with Dipper, the statue, and you behind his back. That’s just cruel. 

“I know,” Bill said. 

Dipper didn’t know he was talking to you, “What?” 

“Okay, you can open them,” Bill said, words cutting through the air like knives. And you had to watch, a little glad you that his back was turned. That way you didn’t have to see his face. 

“Alright, here goes nothing,” Dipper laughed. But he stopped fairly quickly, freezing in place. The birds didn’t stop chirping, and you could even hear a few crickets. Dipper was silent enough for a lot of forest sounds to come through. You couldn’t even hear his breathing. If he even was. 

He stood for a few beats of your heart, hands frozen at his sides, until you noticed the subtle way his fingers rubbed and scratched at his thumb. Please don’t turn around. 

Dipper started to turn around. Very slowly. There was a slight move of his head to the right, and then a stop. And when he started again his hands were fidgeting with his pockets. 

Bill, I’ll kill you for this. 

You didn’t want to see his face, but it was the first thing to turn. And you couldn’t avert your eyes if you wanted to. Bill wasn’t nice enough to let you look away. Dippers brow was furrowed in concentration, his jaw clenched but lips parted. More confused them anything, at a glance. “Y/n, what-“ 

And then he saw your face, the way Bill was grinning. And you saw each stage of grief pass on your boyfriends features. He was frozen for a moment, just a single one, and then he stepped back. It was an awkward, shaky step, but it was better than you could do. He grimaced, one hand touching his backpack as if to check it was still there. “Y/n?” He asked, voice laced with concern first, suspicions second. He took another step back, and his foot knocked the statue.

”Nope,” Bill grinned gleefully, shaking your head. He took a step forward, cornering Dipper against the statue. “Try again.”

And then, if you had to guess, is when you’d say Dippers blood ran cold, maybe stopped in his veins, and his heart stopped pumping. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to step back, but caught on the outstretched hand. “You’re not-“ he said, stumbling to regain balance.

”That’s not a guess.” Fuck you. Fuck you. 

”Dude. He’s dead,” Dipper said, starting confident but losing it partway through. “This is kind of fucked up, Y/n, take those off,” he hissed, pointing at your sunglasses. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.  

Bill stepped closer again, “Will do, Pinetree!” And then he did. He flipped them on top of your head, and it seemed like Dippers heart stopped a second time. He went pale. Your pupils didn’t look right. Suppose that was the giveaway. Isn’t that what he asked you when you first met? That was the telltale sign? Dipper scrambled backwards, putting the statue between him and Bill. Dipper… if you had any control… better not to think about what you would do. 

Dippers eyes were wide like that of a prey animal, darting to different holes in the tree line for a potential escape. His voice was too level, giving away too much. Everything he was doing to keep calm, and you knew how panicked he really was. “Where-“ he started, stepping back. “Where’s Y/n?”

Right here, Dip. “Right here, Pine tree,” Bill said, tapping your head. “Been a real complainer this whole time.” 

Fuck you. Fuck you. 

“W-what?” Dipper said, brow furrowing. He clutched his back, swinging it off his shoulder and digging around in it while he kept his eyes trained on you. 

“They’re still here, not in the mindscape or anything,” Bill shrugged. “Y/n, you can say hi if you want, anything you wanna tell him?” 

Fuck you. Tell him… what was there to say? I guess that I’m sorry. Yeah. Fuck you. I’ll kill you. 

“They say they’re sorry,” Bill laughed, shaking your head. “Among other things.”

“I-“ he started. He quickly lost the track, but pulled his journal out of his bag. Maybe he had a solution in there. “Y/n…” 

Yes? I’m right here. Right here. Still here. Bill kept getting closer, side stepping his statue, and giving it a flick on the hat. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Pine tree,” he started as Dipper stumbled back. He was flipping through his journal aggressively, searching desperately for something, anything. Please find it. “And this time you don’t have that memory gun, do ya?”

 Please do something. Dipper, please. But you were begging to the void. Bill was done letting you talk, and Dipper was as worlds away. As trapped as you were in your mind, he seemed to be locked in his, frantic and running out of places to go, nearly the edge of the clearing as he kept walking backwards, and Bill kept closing in. If you leave me here you’ll be okay, you wanted to say. Or if you fight me off. 

But did he have it in him? There was a thin sheen of sweet on Dippers forehead. He wasn’t finding whatever he was looking for, and Bill was closing fast. And Dippers legs were shaking. And his hands. Please fight me. 

And maybe he heard your prayers. Dippers hands clutched the journal with white knuckles, the pages bending under his fingers. Heavy and ragged were his breaths, but his jaw was tight in a sneer and glare. The stance of prey, but the teeth of a predator. Fight or flight. Yes. Yes Dipper. Don’t hesitate. 

Suddenly there was hope. A sliver of it, anyway, because Dipper still stumbled back and tripped to the ground when Bill lunged forward. And you were given the Birds Eye view looking over him as he scrambled back, hanging onto his journal like a lifeline. Don’t hesitate. Fight. Choose fight. You could feel Bills grin on your lips. 

Dipper held his book to his chest, and with one hand frantically grabbed at the grass behind him, trying to pull himself away. 

Bill snickered, and raised his knee. Don’t you fucking hurt him. Don’t you fucking do it. I’ll kill you for this. You’re gonna be dead. If you could, you’d be sobbing blind with rage, it’d stop you from seeing this. Bill stomped down on his wrist, and Dipper winced, groaning in pain. 

“You’re not gonna hurt this body, are you,” Bill gloated. Fuck you. Fight him off. I’d forgive you. I’d hate you if you didn’t, you have to know that. Dipper, he’ll kill you. “Only way to get rid of me now is to get rid of them,” he laughed. “And you’re not gonna do that.”

Dipper gritted his teeth, but he had no objections besides a breath sucked in hastily and laced with pain as Bill pressed your foot down harder on his wrist. Just pick fight. Before you get hurt, you pleaded. Appealing to Bill was a scream into the void, but in some sense, Dipper might hear you. Across the universe. Right in front of you. You could practically feel his pulse pounding through your shoe. His hand was starting to blue. 

“That’s what I thought,” Bill said smugly, leaning down your head close to his, and you could feel his shaky breath on your face. What, you read fucking yaoi or something? The fuck is this? 

The hand clutching the journal was shaking. He tried to clench the hand Bill was suffocating, but all that happened was a twitch of the fingers. 

“I’m going to kill you now,” Bill said, raising a hand tediously slowly. 

But before it could clamp around his throat, punch his face, dig into his chest, or whatever else Bill had planned, Dippers journal was flying towards your face. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah. His eyes were wild, but he was doing it. One clean hit to the jaw, and you were out.

Next

I wrote this one while so sick lmao. Ig I did my first proofread while sick too cuz I caught some horrible errors 💀

Anyway I got war flashbacks to dipper x bill shit from the 2010s, can you tell?

Taglist: @dead-esque @cipheress-to-k-pop

[stonecreationslongisland]

New asphalt driveway and stone veneer on front of the house, Old Bethpage, NY 11804

www.stonecreationsoflongisland.net

[tyler-t0t]

Crowns and Secrets

Established Wanda x Vision, cheating, sub!Wanda x dom!reader, reader w/ pen!s, no gendered pronouns, spanking, unprotected s3x, p in v, daddy kink, cream pie, implied impreg

Word count: 1.9k

--------------------------‐---------------------------------------

Wanda had never really loved Vision. To be honest, she doesn't know how she ended up dating the android, but they've been together for 3 months. She found herself sitting on his couch watching an old war documentary even though Wanda tried convincing him to watch a RomCom or an animal documentary. He claimed those programs were, "boring and overly staged," despite knowing they were Wanda's favorite.

Bored of the droning war documentary, Wanda pulls out her phone to scroll her various social media feeds. Upon opening one particular app, she sees that you've sent her several posts. Wanda shifts on Vision's couch to subtly turn her phone away from him, although he's more focused on the documentary than the woman sitting in his couch.

She taps the icon to open your app conversation to see a series of 7 rather lewd posts. Some are detailed fantasies while others are images of doms and subs in compromising positions. She subconsciously bites her bottom lip as she takes in the posts before her, feeling the all too familiar heat grow between her legs.

Just as Wanda was about to set her phone down, she feels her phone vibrate, alerting her to a new text message. Eager to talk to you, she wastes no time in opening up the new message, only to be met with 2 words: "come here" followed by a photo of a black metal crown on the foot of your bed.

The brunette sputters a little, knowing exactly what that crown meant. She stands and starts gathering her things. A simple, "I need to get home" all she says to the android as she strides out the door. Once inside her cozy SUV, Wanda's speeding off to your house, roughly 5 miles away. After parking in your driveway, she takes a moment to look herself over in the rear-view mirror.

She steps out of her car and smoothes out the crimson skirt she'd decided to wear, opting to leave her jacket in the car as well. When Wanda gets to the door of your home, she pauses, giving herself a moment to prepare for whatever you have planned. She pushes the door open to find the house in almost complete darkness, the only light coming from a candle set in the center of the entryway. On the table, beside the candle, is a note that reads, "as true as her beauty, the princess remains loyal to the crown."

You've always been a bit cinematic when it came to Wanda, but you knew how much she loved the sappy romance stuff, even amongst the filthiest of nights. You had built a simple wooden throne, even applying the upholstery yourself, shortly after your hookups with Wanda started, so you had a chair for your little witch to worship you on. That throne is where she found you, sat in the living room waiting for your little witch to come running at your call.

Wanda stood in the living room doorway like a deer in headlights as she took in your intimidating presence: dressed in black slacks and a black dress shirt with the top buttons left undone to reveal your heaving chest. Your hair is neatly done with your shimmering black crown, and your cold gaze is blown black with lust. You absolutely loved the particular skirt Wanda had worn because it hugged the swell of her full ass and thick thighs. Just the sight of her in that skirt had your cock jumping in your pants.

You calmly place your hand on your clothed erection and as you give it a long, heavy stroke, you tease her out of her trance: "you gonna stand there, little doe, or you gonna come do something about it?"

The bashful little brunette steps forward and sinks to her knees. She eyes your erection as she licks her lips before looking up at you through her lashes. She keeps her gaze steady with yours as her hands release the buckle of your belt. Her nimble fingers slip the button of your slacks open before she slowly slides her hands along your thighs with a mischievous grin. With a sudden surge of boldness, the young witch leans forward and takes the zipper in her teeth, slowly undoing your pants as she sits back up. The sight of her using her teeth has you releasing a deep groan as your cock twitches in anticipation.

With your slacks now out of her way, Wanda brings a ringed hand up to stroke your thick cock. After only a few strokes she sees a wet patch forming in the fabric of your boxers. Needing to taste you, she leans in without hesitation, and starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your clothed cock. The sensations leave you craving more.

"Enough teasing, Doll. Do it properly."

She looks up through her lashes once again, giving you an irresistible doe eyed look, as she gently removes your throbbing length from the confines of your boxers. At the release of pressure, you breathe an airy sigh that quickly distorts to a guttural moan as Wanda wraps her warm, lush lips around your cock. Having had many nights snuck off to your place, Wanda's become familiar with the way you love her tongue running along the slit of your cockhead. The way her mouth expertly works over every inch and ridge has your head thrown back in bliss, which only increases as she moans around your girth.

You gently weave your hand in her hair, gripping the base of her ponytail, and start guiding her head up and down your shaft. It doesn't take long before you're shoving your entire length down her throat, her throat fluttering as she chokes around you. Tears flow down her cheeks, but you gently cup her face and use your thumb to wipe away the tears. Finally, you allow your little witch to come up and breathe. You silently watch as she gasps for air, her own drool dripping over her large chest. As her breathing gains a rhythm once more, you lean back in your chair. She eagerly jumps to her feet, slipping her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt before you stop her.

She pauses, giving a curious look as she slowly pulls her hands away from her skirt. You smirk at her obedience and give your lap a quick pat. Catching on, she giggles and straddles your lap. As she lowers herself you slide your hands up her thighs, under her skirt, to find no panties. At your discovery, you chuckle. She'd normally be shy and flustered, but there's something different tonight. She doesn't feel the need to be reserved, so she let's her need take over and grinds her bare pussy along your length. At the friction, you both release a long moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me," you chuckle, grabbing at her soft hips and guiding her motions. Under the grasp of your strong hands, Wanda leans back while she grinds, allowing her hands to delicately trail up her torso, taking her shirt with them. She cups and squeezes at her large breasts as moans spill from her lips. She's putting a show on for you, and you enjoy every bit of it. As she rubs herself along your length, you decide to slip two fingers into her mouth, which she sloppily sucks on with vigor.

Your ringed hand is coated in her warm saliva and your cock is dripping, just keening to go where it belongs. With your hands both firmly on Wanda's hips, you lift her up as if she were nothing, allowing your cock to line up with her drenched enterance. As you bring her back down, your cock sinks into her wet sex. She whines as your girth splits her open, which quickly turns to a screamed out moan as your bulbos tip bumps her cervix. Once at the hilt you both pause, panting for air as you reground yourselves.

The brunette hardly has time to breathe before you're thrusting up into her, each vein on your cock dragging along her silk walls. Finally, she grips the back of your throne and starts bouncing on your cock. Each one of her downward thrusts met with an upward one of yours to drive you as deep as possible. The constant abuse at her cervix has Wanda quickly approaching her peak. As her whines get higher in pitch, you lean forward to kiss along her collar bone. Each contact of your lips sends shivers down her spine until, finally, you bite at her pulse point.

Her delicate fingers weave into your now messy locks, pulling your face against her hot flesh as her body convulses. Her back arches as you continue to fuck her through her orgasm. With your head pressed against her neck, you have no choice but to continue your assault on the soft skin. Once she's again able to form words, she's chanting in your ear, begging you to cum for she can feel your cock violently throbbing inside her sensitive pussy.

The thought of finally getting to cum inside her makes you feral. She'd always made you pull out so neither of you get caught.

With the new allowance, your arms restrict around her midsection, effectively pinning her petite frame against your chest as your hips piston with new found fire. Your renewed vigor brings about a whole other round of screams from the overstimulated witch. With her pinned to your chest, you easily start a trail of hickies across her bare chest. Releasing her chest with a pop, you groan, "bout to cum, baby. Fuck you feel so good." At your words, Wanda clenches around you, drawing a long, deep moan from your chest.

Noticing how you reacted, she intentionally clenches down even harder, begging, "please please, Daddy fill me up. Need your cum, Daddyyy." Your hips falter a moment, shock hitting you like a wall. "What'd you call me, Darling?" You question with a dark tone. Embarrassed, the young witch shakes her head. Your hand comes down on her ass with a harsh slap. "Say it again. Fuck, say it again, Princess." Drunk off your new title, you slam her hips down on your hard cock at the same time your rigid teeth sink into the soft flesh of her collarbone.

That final thrust forces the tip of your cock to slip past her abused cervix. The new pressure on your cock sends you growling as you paint her insides white. The screamed out moan that rips from her chest is borderline inhuman as she crashes through the most powerful orgasm of her life. Her clamped walls force your hips to a standstill, milking every drop you have.

As you both come back to reality, Wanda slumps against your shoulder, her body still shuddering from the intense aftershocks and her breathing ragged. You smile and rub her back soothingly, muttering praise and compliments. Finally, Wanda's eyes meet yours, but your gaze quickly dart to the dark trail of marks you've left on her. "Well, fuck. Gonna have a hard time covering those up. I'm sorry, princess." She giggles and gently puts a finger to your lips. "I'm done hiding. Let him see, so he realizes he didn't treat me how I needed." Your expression softens, a loving smile spreading across your features. "Besides, I have a feeling there'll be bigger conciquences to our night," she adds as she gently guides your hand over her stomach.

[mossyivy]

Ever since you mentioned Chris’s wife having a friend who just HATES him, it’s been stuck on my mind.

The two of you would probably be highschool friends; Let’s call her Isabella, Bella (Bella? Where the hell have you been loca? 🤪) for short. That girls seen you dragged through the mud and back. She was the one that saved you from you last husband, the one that consoled you at 3 AM as you came knocking on her door. It was the last straw. You were done with him being so controlling, abusive, and toxic with you and your little boy.

You didn’t even have a plan in mind—you just packed up your things one night and drove. You’d deal with all the other divorce shit later, you just needed to get out. It was pouring rain, parking your little Honda in your best friend’s driveway and quickly picking up Ollie in your arms and shielding him from the cold heavy rainfall.

Ollie was only a year old, still so small, way too small to go through this. You knocked and after a minute or so, the door finally opened. You just broke down sobbing, asking Bella to please help. If you could just crash at her house for a couple days while you got back on your feet you’d be so grateful. You’d pay her once your check hit.

Being the best person in the entire world, Bella invited you in. Grabbing the things from your car so you could carry Ollie and stay warm in the living room, letting you stay in an old spare bedroom. You just told her everything. What he’d do, how you just packed up, how you were the worst mother in the world for allowing your baby to see that.

It had been almost a decade since that, and Bella still couldn’t get over that day. You’d be forever grateful for her, still paying her back and doing whatever sweet gesture to keep your promise. Ultimately, you moved on and started dating Chris. Your knight in shining armor, the man of your dreams. Bella was SOOOOOOOOO worried. That girl conducted an entire background check on him, literally finding out he had a sister before you did. Finding his old high school graduation pictures even.

Oh, she’d hate him. Send him nasty glares across the room, talk to him, maybe even slightly threaten him when you left to go to the bathroom or something. She was like an eagle watching over him. Even at your wedding, she was still so skeptical, practically bore a hole through his face from how hard her stares were. Bella knew how great of a guy he was, but she still had that fear. She couldn’t let you get dragged down by another man. Not on her watch. She’d make sure you’d never go through that again.

- Anon! 🎀

(Bella is the kind of friend you need in your life.)

I could imagine how worried and horrified she'd be when you came to tell her about this loud mouthed douche from work who never shuts up when you're trying to do your comms job. How you ran into him in the office one day after hearing someone call him Redfield, recognizing the name immediately, and you walked up to him. Ripping him a new one about "shutting the fuck up on radio when you're relaying something important." And he just kinda stood there like a deer in headlights because you wouldn't let him get a word in otherwise.

AND NOW SUDDENLY YOU'RE GOING ON A DATE WITH THE GUY!? You tell her not to worry, it's not a date. He just wants to apologize for being a dick. But Bella knows better by now. You don't talk much about him because even you could tell it was worrying Bella. But whenever he came up his name went from "that asshole" to "Redfield" to "Chris" so quickly... She saw this before with Turner, your ex-husband, and she refused to let it happen again. Not as her duty of your best friend and definitely not as Ollie's aunt/Godmother.

So she'd do a full background check on him, PAID HUNDREDS TO GET EVERYTHING SHE COULD ON THIS MAN! She even got his record of discharge for the Air Force and started making calls... Found out he became the guardian of his little sister in 1994 and took care of her after their parents died. Found all his old S.T.A.R.S. members teammates names or at least the ones who were alive. Called a few people posing as someone looking into him for a job. The only one who was willing to talk was Rebecca but she just seemed so nice Bella couldn't take advantage of that...

You understood Bella's reasoning but it did feel extensive... You got into an argument over it. Didn't speak for a few days. But you came around and you both apologized. You knew why she did it and didn't blame her but at the same time she had to let you make your choices. You're both adults, she can't stop you. But you'd still reassure you that nothing was going on... It's not like that!

And then you were out with her and Ollie getting lunch one afternoon and you just so happen to run into Chris and Claire.

You barely knew anything about Claire but she seemed so excited to get to meet you. "My brother won't shut up about you! It's so nice putting a face to the name. You're just as pretty as he described." :)

Oh... Oh. It is like that...

This is also when Chris gets to meet Ollie for the first time. The man's weakness is babies. He's infatuated with the kid (who's about a year and a few months now) Ollie's excited cause new person. Claire and Bella are chatting each other up but Bella's watching Chris like a hawk as he dotes on Ollie and talks with you. Apologizing for Claire's habit of blurting out the first thing that comes to mind. All while feeling the glare from Bella as she talked with Claire. You'd have to explain that.

Then Chris asks you out again, it's been a few times now and you've hardly talked about your past with him. He's told you what he could of himself. So... you told him everything. All about Turner and all the horrible shit he put you and your son through. You had a lot of baggage if Chris wanted this to go anywhere. A baby and an abusive soon-to-be ex-husband. But he saw it as you just being strong and doing the right thing for yourself and your kid. And he said he wanted to be with you. Even with all the problems.

Bella was still so skeptical for a while until Chris ended up helping you get in contact with a good lawyer after your ex-husband tried getting partial custody of Ollie. No way in hell would the 3 of them let that sweet little boy go anywhere near him. Chris had a little bit of experience after getting custody of his sister. Thankfully everything worked out when you could prove that he'd do do more harm than good in court and you were granted full custody and even a restraining order against him for both you and Ollie.

Everything felt right now. You'd been dating Chris for 6 months, Ollie was almost 2. Bella started to ease up on the hatred (even deep down she knew she didn't actually hate Chris but she just can't stop being on high alert). You find out you're pregnant with a little boy with Chris and he's honestly so happy he gets to be a dad. Besides Ollie who adamantly calls him daddy. It's nice to finally see you happy with someone who cares about you and treats you like gold.

Finally you get Bella's blessing during her maid of honor speech at the wedding and from then on it's just snarky back and forth between the two. Still says she hates him but she doesn't. It's obvious.

[megalony]

Hidden Truths- Part 3

This is the next part of my Jonah Hauer-King series, sorry its taken me so long to get round to this part. I hope you all like it, feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogmeddows @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez-blog @jonesyaddiction @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me  @hellsdragon @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh @onceuponadetectivedemigod @ceres27 @avyannadawn  @noonenuts @sleepylunarwolf @coverupps @justagirlthatlovedtoread

@jonahhauer-kingg @melaninjoys​ @luna2034 @mystiqueprincess @fangirl-tothemax @musicistheway @wandamaximoffbae @notagreekgal28

Masterlist

Summary: Jonah's wife is a well kept secret from the rest of the world, they like their privacy and anonymity. Especially with a baby on the way. But their privacy is threatened when a stalker starts to invade Jonah's private life.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Come home! Now!" Jonah was taken back by her high pitched voice and by how each word was spluttered between ragged breaths like she had been running a mile. Or panicking. He pressed his finger to his free ear and took a few steps away from everyone to try and concentrate but he could already feel the way his heart was jumping out of his chest. "Baby calm down, tell me what's going on. Are you alright, are you in labour?" That was the first thing on his mind. Jonah had a sneaking suspicion that whenever (Y/n) went into labour, he wouldn't be there. It would be just their luck that he was out running an errand or doing something promotional like this and (Y/n)'s waters would break without him there. He wanted to be there for every second, he didn't want to miss anything or have it start and him be miles away, racing back to her. "Jonah please come home… I- I think someone's trying to break in the house."

He couldn't even pull into his own driveway. Two police cars had wedged into Jonah's parking spot in the drive and an ambulance was parked out front. Was this a good sign or a very bad one? If the police were here it meant they could control the situation and stop whoever had decided to break into his house. But Jonah needed to know if the ambulance was here for a reason or just a precaution.

With his car wedged as close to the drive as possible, Jonah scrambled out and bolted down the driveway.

He had never driven so fast and carelessly in his life.

By the time Jonah had ran the situation past his manager and got to his car, the phone line went dead and he had no more communication with (Y/n). All he knew was that she had gotten upstairs and tried to baracade herself in their room. He didn't know what happened after that and he had been praying all the way home that this wouldn't be as serious as his gut told him it was.

Someone had broken into his home, sure, but maybe they were just trying to put the frightners on them. Maybe they were going to play a game and scare (Y/n) then leave.

That was the simple explination with no injuries or trauma or chaotic events. That was what Jonah was praying for.

As soon as the line went dead, Jonah called the police. He couldn't risk ringing (Y/n) and having the person in the house hear her phone and find out where she was. It was already on file that someone was stalking the couple so as soon as Jonah reeled off his name, address and situation, it was a high priority.

His feet curved and stumbled beneath him as he bolted through the front door that was wide open and almost knocked down an officer in the process.

"Is this your husband?"

"Jonah!"

He couldn't breathe. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure where to look, what to do or how to keep himself standing upright when he wanted to flop down to his knees and faint.

There she was, his girl, his wife, his one and only, sat on the stairs surrounded by two police officers and two paramedics.

As soon as her eyes latched onto him she was nodding her head and crying, gasping for breath from relief and shock.

Jonah bypassed the officers who let him through and the moment (Y/n) was within reach, he grabbed her. His arms wrapped around her upper back and shoulders and his fingers tangled in her hair like she had come back from the dead to visit him. His lips buried in her hair to kiss her head and he inhaled her scent, trying to stop the lightheaded feeling from overtaking his system.

He could feel (Y/n) kissing his neck and her shaking breaths soaking into his skin and her arm that coiled around his waist so her fingers could scrape up and down his back.

Out of all the scenarios he had been imagining on his way home, this was by far the best one. Having (Y/n) conscious and relatively unharmed like this was all he could of asked for and more.

"Oh, sweetheart," Crouching down, Jonah kissed her forehead repeatedly and sighed against her skin, moving his hands to cup her face so he could press his temple against hers and look her over. He kissed her lips, wet with tears, and soaked up her quiet murmurs and broken noises, sighing when he felt her fingers scraping through his hair.

With the little effort he had left, Jonah let his weight collapse down onto the second step on the stairs. His body went down with a thud and his hands were on (Y/n) in an instant while his eyes raked her over three, four, fives times to check for injuries she might have sustained. His palms roamed across her thighs and down her legs that bumped into his before his hands roamed upwards, eventually settling on her stomach where he pressed his forehead when his vision blurred.

A paramedic was knelt on the floor pressed up against the wall to deal with (Y/n)'s right wrist. When Jonah glanced over, bile dwelled at the base of his throat. She had a wound, a cut much more than skin deep that went from her wrist halfway down her arm. Gauze and bandages were being tightly wrapped around the wound until they could get it stitched up properly in a hospital.

Tilting his head up, Jonah let his eyes rake over (Y/n)'s features while his hand moved to cup the side of her face. She was flushed and her nose and cheeks were dripping with tears, but she had no cuts or bruises anywhere else and she wasn't screaming in pain so he could guess she hadn't badly hurt herself, much to his relief.

"What happened?"

(Y/n) leaned her aching head into Jonah's touch and willed the tears to stop falling. Everything had happened so fast, (Y/n) couldn't comprehend what had actually taken place.

"She… she had a knife, she was so, emotional and angry. I got the knife off her w-when she cut me, then she tackled me to the floor to g-get it back. She heard the sirens and ran."

(Y/n) couldn't stay hiding in the bedroom when the frantic girl was banging on the door to the point she was only going to break it down. There was no point staying hidden and let her wreck the whole house, and (Y/n) couldn't climb out the window to escape, not in her pregnant state. So she opened the door and tried to get past her, she didn't see the knife until it was too late and the blade sliced open her arm like melted butter.

She didn't know where her courage came from to wrench the knife away from the girl and then in a flash, they were both on the floor and (Y/n) threw it as far as she could so neither of them got hurt.

It didn't bear thinking about what the girl would have done if the police hadn't turned up at the right time. Their sirens scared her so much that she got up and fled back the way she came in. She hadn't counted on (Y/n) ringing Jonah and him calling the police, clearly she didn't know what she was doing and didn't have any kind of master plan.

"Have you found her, did you go after her?" Jonah craned his head to look behind him. Something inside of him would just errupt if they told him they didn't know where this lunatic had gone. She couldn't be wandering the streets, free to try and come back again to finish what she started or go and hurt anyone else.

"The team have her in sight, they're about to apprehend her now." That was something good, at least.

With a sigh, Jonah eased his right arm around (Y/n)'s waist and moved his other hand back to her stomach before her perched his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck. He felt her lean her cheek against the top of his head and the comfort she gave him was overwhelming. He had visions of coming home to find her lying in a pool of blood or screaming in agony or finding her unconscious somewhere in the house.

"I- I feel sick,"

"Take some deep breaths, in through the nose… out through the mouth."

(Y/n) leaned forward until her forehead was pressed against Jonah's bicep so she was doubled over and her hands curled around his arm, holding it tightly against her chest as if it would take away the unease she felt.

The paramedic held out a sick bag in front of her for a minute, then two, but the nausea never came. An unsettling feeling bubbled in her stomach and at the base of her throat and the deep breaths she tried to take only made her feel worse, like she was flooding her head with helium and it was soon going to explode. She could feel Jonah's hand gliding up and down her back and his other hand stayed pressed flat against her stomach, keeping her held up so she didn't fall down to the floor.

"Okay?" Jonah whispered quietly against the back of her head while he curled around her side.

"No,"

"Why, baby what's wrong?" The urgency in his voice was unmistakeable and (Y/n) felt his arms tighten around her until they were almost shaking. Why wasn't she okay? What was wrong, was she going to be sick after all? Was she about to faint?

Jonah couldn't help but dig his fingertips into her skin when he felt her start to shake against him. But when she started to quietly whimper and he felt tears soaking into his bicep, he went rigid. His eyes flitted across to look at the paramedic who tried to check her pulse, but he couldn't do much until she uncurled and told them what was wrong.

"Baby you're scaring me,"

"My water broke," A burning sob followed (Y/n)'s words and when she slowly straightened up enough for Jonah to see her tear-stained face, he looked down to see her leggings were soaked.

"Let's get you in the ambulance and to the hospital."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain burned in Jonah's eyes that were fixed down on his wife. It wasn't enough to be able to hear her sobs and endure her whimpers that cut through to his heart each time. He could see the anguish on her face as plain as ever. Her eyes were scrunched up so tight they were about to burst, her lips were rolled together and her nose was crinkled up. Sweat prickled on her brow and a steady shake had set in her bones.

Her right arm was resting on a pillow and a very attentative, understanding nurse was sat next to the bed, finishing off the stitches. The mild injection she'd given (Y/n) to numb the pain wasn't taking the edge off, even cleaning the wound had made (Y/n) sob and each pull of the stitch sent her reeling.

For the last twenty minutes, Jonah had stood leaning against the bedframe with one hand deadlocked in (Y/n)'s fist and the other raking slowly through her hair to try and calm her down. But he didn't know what else he could do and watching her cry out and writhe in pain like this was slowly killing him.

When (Y/n) moved their interlocked hands and roughly pushed them into the side of her stomach, Jonah glanced up at the ceiling to try and compose himself. The contractions hadn't stopped since the ride in the ambulance and the more (Y/n) had, the more worried they both became.

"Will the doctor be round soon?" They had been promised a doctor from the moment they were brought into A&E and it had been just over half an hour now since they arrived. Jonah didn't want to wait any longer, they needed to do something.

They needed to check on their little girl and make sure she was alright and see if they could stop labour from happening. Waiting wasn't going to help, it would only make things worse.

"I'll go and see if she's free," With the last stitch done and the wound freshly cleaned, the nurse stood up, removed her gloves and left the room with a small, friendly smile.

"I- I'm not even eight months yet."

"We might not have her today, they might be able to give you an injection, like the paramedic said." The paramedic wasn't able to give (Y/n) any medication on route to the hospital but he had told them this didn't certainly mean labour. It could be false contractions or (Y/n) might be able to get some meds that would lessen the contractions and put off labour for a few days or even weeks. If they could get that medicine, they needed it now.

Leaning down, Jonah pressed his lips against her burning temple and moved his hand from her hair so his arm could wrap around her shoulders when she sat forward.

(Y/n) leaned her head into Jonah's chest and curled her right hand around his bicep, albeit shakily. She wanted to be as close as physically possible and more so, she wanted comfort and touch and anything Jonah could give that would make her feel better and take away the panic she was feeling.

"Mrs King?"

A woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties came in with a calming smile and the same nurse as before, wheeling through an ultrasound machine. All (Y/n) could do was nod and fight back a scream when her stomach tensed and electric shocks rattled down to her toes.

"Okay, your notes say you had a fall, any pain before your waters broke? Tenderness or a tightening feeling?"

"No, nothing." (Y/n) didn't even fall on her stomach when the girl tackled her down, she stumbled back, grabbed the door and fell down on her bum. Other than a jolt, her stomach hadn't been touched or hurt in any way and she felt fine before the stupid girl ruined her day. All of them would have been fine if she hadn't of done what she did.

"That's good. I'm going to do an ultrasound, check baby's heartbeat and make sure your placenta hasn't moved, then we can take it from there."

Turning her head, (Y/n) glanced up at Jonah who smiled softly before he pressed a delicate kiss to her temple. He leaned his arm on the bedframe and kept his other hand tightly joined with hers when the doctor approached (Y/n)'s other side. the doctor didn't sound too worried and she wasn't fluttering about in a panic, that had to be a good sign.

(Y/n) rolled her stomach up to her bra and leaned back but her body wouldn't relax like she wanted it to. She felt like a coil, pulled in so tightly that at any moment she was going to snap back. Not even her legs would relax, the muscles in her legs were tense and tight and pulling upwards.

She could feel Jonah's nose tickling the top of her head and brushing against her hair but she knew his eyes were trained on the monitor across from him like they were watching the moon landing.

It was like a soft drumbeat filled the silence when the doctor moved the sonogram around and the image appeared in black and white.

Jonah wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh and grin and relax because he could sense the relief in (Y/n), but all he could do was purse his lips against (Y/n)'s temple and arch his back out.

Something didn't feel right, it was like a shift in the atmosphere and the longer he listened to his baby's heartbeat, the more paranoid he felt. The noise should have calmed him down like it did (Y/n) because he knew she had a small worry that maybe there wouldn't be a heartbeat after all the scuffle and panic.

Was it supposed to be that slow? Was it just slow in comparison to his erratic heartbeat? Was he imagining things or were the doctor and nurse murmuring to themselves and looking uneasy?

"Is something wrong?" His lips barely moved away from (Y/n)'s temple but his question was audible enough.

"The umbilical cord is around baby's neck and it's causing some distress," She spoke as if it was some minor inconvenience, clearly years of practice in calming down patients, but her expression was not so controlled.

This was anything but good.

"W-what do we do then?"

"We can't put off labour or wait for labour to start, baby is already distressed and could suffocate. I'm scheduling you for an emergency C-section, now."

(Y/n)'s cry was agonising but her breathless gasps and flooding tears made Jonah's own eyes start to water. He untangled his fingers from hers and moved both arms around her chest and back, coiling her into his chest as he buried his face in her hair, trying to smother his own noises of discontent. His arms tightened around her when she leaned forward as if she was about to climb off the bed and make a break for it. He wasn't sure if she was trying to get up or whether she was just too distraught to stay sat down, either way, his hold on his wife tightened significantly.

"Shh, sweetheart, breathe with me, please." He felt her hands wrap around his arm as he pleaded with her to calm down and listen to him.

If their baby was already distressed, (Y/n) panicking wasn't going to do either of them any favours and Jonah couldn't stand to see her like this.

"T-this isn't right!"

It's not fair!

"I know baby, I know." His lips stayed moulded against her burning temple and he found himself quietly humming against her skin to try and get her to calm down with him. He could feel her nails puncturing into his arm but he paid it no mind, it was nothing compared to the aching in his heart.

"Mr King, please lay her down flat on her back. Now."

"What?"

The urgency in the doctor's voice was unnerving and it contrasted to the utter panic in Jonah's eyes when he lifted his head to look across at her. Her worried expression had changed to something stern and demanding, almost as if she was cross and for a moment, Jonah worried he had done something wrong.

"She haemorrhaging, lay her down." As quick as anything, she leaned over and swiped the pillow from behind (Y/n)'s back and urged Jonah to move her.

He barely felt himself tilting (Y/n) back until he had to press his hips into the bed frame and lean over when she wouldn't let go of his arm that she pinned across her chest. But when he managed to turn his head to the left, all the colour drained from his body. The bedding was changing from crystal white to dark rouge.

"Jonah? I don't feel good." (Y/n) gripped his arm as tightly as she could but she felt like she was going to be sick. Her stomach was twisting into knots but her pelvis was tingling and pins and needles were shooting down to her toes.

"I know, but you'll be alright soon. I promise, sweetheart, you'll be fine."

God, how he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Can you see her?" Everything was turning and tilting. (Y/n) felt like the room was uneven and shifting beneath her like she was on a ship sailing on rough seas. The lights were too bright, the room was too warm and the noises were deafening and igniting the headache forming behind her eyes.

But she did her best to keep her eyes open and look up at Jonah. He looked different and not just because of what he was wearing. The gown he wore went from his neck down to his knees and covered his arms right up to the tight gloves he had been strapped in. And the hair net didn't do much to make him look any more normal, he didn't look right without his curls on show. But at least she could see his face.

Every emotion had crossed his face already, he went from panic-stricken to worried, to smiling and then back to sternly frowning like he was disagreeing or even disappointed.

Right now, he just looked concerned.

Both his gloved hands were wrapped around (Y/n)'s left hand but from where he stood, he could see both (Y/n) and her stomach, hidden from her own view by the large sheet pinned up. It was like her body had been split into two halves, both of which Jonah was permitted to see, but (Y/n) wasn't. She couldn't see below her breasts.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Jonah lifted (Y/n)'s hand up and down a few times, trying to shake out the nervous energy rattling through him. He barely smiled at her before he darted his eyes back to the doctors next to him.

He didn't want to miss the moment they held his daughter.

Jonah should be the first one to hold her. They should have been sitting in a delivery room five or six weeks from now, being handed their daughter crying and wriggling and relatively stress-free. Not laid here in an operating room, waiting for doctors to wrench her free and take her away before Jonah could even cuddle her.

(Y/n) figured out the moment her daughter was separated from her; she saw the light change in Jonah's eyes and the light twitch in the corner of his lips.

She didn't look the right colour to Jonah, instead of a dusty pink he could see a pale grey complexion on his daughter like she was dead. Her tiny body was wriggling- no, shaking, and a dripping, pastel pink cord was wound tight around her; neck like a noose!

"She's here," Jonah smoothed one hand up and down (Y/n)'s arm but he couldn't break his attention away from their daughter.

He watched, something close to anguish burning in his chest as the doctor carefully unravelled the cord from her delicate neck and turned her in his hands to try and get her to breathe. Jonah was relieved more than ever not to have to witness them stick tubes down her throat her whack her on the back to get her to breathe. A fickle little whimper spluttered past her lips and her small eyes scrunched up as she began to cry.

Music to their ears.

"I want her, please…" (Y/n) couldn't see any of the doctors, the only person she could see was her husband who was now a mix of crying and smiling while he started to shake.

She wanted to see her baby, even if they wouldn't let her touch or hold her yet. (Y/n) wanted to see her face and assure herself that she was actually alright and here. And she wanted Jonah to hold her, she wanted to see their daughter in his arms so their girl knew one of her parents was watching over her while the other one couldn't. She needed to know they were here.

Jonah took a step to the side, moving more towards (Y/n)'s head so the doctor could move beside him with their little girl wriggling in a towel in his arms.

(Y/n) didn't realise how badly she was shaking until she reached her free arm over and rubbed a shaky finger across her baby's forehead. She was so soft and warm, she felt like she was made from cotton wool.

"She's perfect,"

[delopsia]

There are just some days when driving down your driveway feels impossible. 

Long, winding, as are most driveways in Wabang. This had been the main selling point when you bought this house. Twisting through the landscape and gently bringing you up to your humble little home. Usually pleasant to drive down.

Today, even the picturesque view of the Teton mountain ranges can make the drive worthwhile. Your eyelids heavy as you try to focus on the dirt road. Hands full of lead, fighting to lift them enough to turn the steering wheel. The longer you drive, the longer the road becomes. A permanent circuit that you've become trapped on.

The garage door doesn't lift when you press the button. 

You can't be brought to press it again. Parking the car in front of the door and stumbling toward the house with nothing but your keys and your phone. Lunch box, work bag, wallet, and everything else be damned. 

You don't remember if you locked the car. But if someone out there has the energy to drive all the way up here to steal from you, they can have whatever the hell they want. So long as they don't bother you. 

All you can think about is your bed. Quiet. Soft. Secluded. Where nobody can barge in and force you to listen to their daily gripes and needless gripings about the short skirt your coworker is wearing. Free of mindless drivers who pull out in front of you rather than waiting a few seconds longer. Away from bouncing deer who meander into the road and dare you to hit them. 

The sheets aren't on the bed. 

Right. Right. You put them in the wash this morning. They should be dry and ready to be put on the bed by now; the fitted sheet is all you want to grab. Blankets from the couch will suffice until you feel like making the bed properly.

But the dryer is empty.

And the washer is full of dry, unwashed sheets, still soaked by the detergent you poured in there before you left. How on gods green earth did you forget to turn the washer on, and why did it have to happen today?

The sound of running water is the only reason you remember turning the machine on. Echoing down the hall as you stumble over heavy feet that refuse to function like you want them to. Tripping on the edge of the rug that you know is there because, like most things today, nothing can go right. 

You'd pour yourself a drink, but with your luck, the damn glass would break the moment it's full. 

The couch squeaks as you all but fall onto it. Head hitting the pillow without a second thought while your hand reaches for a blanket, yanking it overtop of yourself. Five in the afternoon is too early to be going to bed, much less on a couch, but you can't bring yourself to give a damn. 

And you must fall asleep because, after a long silence, you think you hear the distant groan of the garage door opening and the muffled rumble of your car as it's moved inside. More silence, and then the dryer is humming down the hallway. 

Something clicks on the table, a glass of some sort placed upon it. The only indication you have that you're not alone. Before you're feeling lips against your forehead and the gentle caress of a calloused hand against your cheek. 

Your eyes feel as if they've been glued shut. Heavy, difficult to pry open, and when they do finally lift, your vision is blurry. But you recognize this figure, with their black t-shirt and dark brown hair. 

"Bad day?" Rhett hums, his lips not quite leaving your skin. 

It takes you a moment to find your voice. Feels like there's a rock lodged in your throat as you open your mouth, "horrible." 

And Rhett doesn't ask you to talk about it. Doesn't pry for details you'd rather not relive. Or pressure you into talking so that he can feel better about seeing you moping on the living room couch. No, he doesn't do that at all. He's only got one question. 

"Care for some company?" 

Your response comes in the form of you squirming backward. Creating space for him to squeeze into. It's just enough. His legs tangle with yours as a strong arm curls around your waist, drawing you to his warm chest. Where his heart thumps quietly, a dull pitter-patter that has your eyes feeling heavy once more. 

His face holds a million questions, but he doesn't say another word. Content to press another kiss to your forehead and close his eyes when you close yours. 

And as your consciousness begins to slip away once more, you wonder if his day has been similar to yours. Because there's a darkness beneath his eyes that wasn't there when he left at dawn. Still hums as you drift off, his hand stroking invisible shapes into your back, but it falls into a quiet stillness sooner than usual. 

"Turn your noggin' off 'n sleep," that deep voice grumbles against you. 

Even after a long day where everything has gone wrong, Rhett's still the one thing that always goes right. 

[planetpiastri]

congrats on returning to fic writing hehe! 💝 would u be able to do bouquet or pda from the valentines prompt list for fanboy? i love the way u write him

thank u anon!! i went with bouquet for this one bc i couldn't get one specific image out of my head lol. this was a lot of fun to write hope u enjoy! | [wc - 1.2k] | join my prompt party!

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late. I mean, with things like family brunches, or dinners, or group parties, yeah, sure, he wasn’t the most punctual. But with you it was different. With you, he was always right on time. No matter what.

But here it was, Valentine’s Day, and you were alone in your apartment, and he was late.

You knew that today was busy for him. He’d had brunch with his sisters, and then dinner with his parents across town, and after that he hadn’t been able to get out of going for a few beers with Hangman and the guys, but he’d promised to come over at nine o’clock on the dot. You guys didn’t even have anything particularly extravagant planned; probably just watching a movie and…well….

Anyways, it was nearly nine-fifteen now, and he was nowhere to be seen. An outgoing message sat in your thread, lonely and unread: Are you on your way? 

There was a heart-shaped box of chocolates open on the coffee table. There were chocolate-covered strawberries cooling in the fridge. You’d lit a couple candles. A stuffed teddy bear you intended to give to Mickey was sitting on the sofa next to you. She’s All That was queued up on the tv. Everything was ready. There was just one thing missing.

You checked your phone again even though it hadn’t buzzed. Still nothing.

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late.

As the clock ticked closer and closer towards nine-thirty, you contemplated calling him, decided against it, contemplated calling Natasha, decided against it, contemplated calling Hangman, and ultimately decided you just wanted to call it a night and be alone. You’d hear whatever apology Mickey had in the morning. Right now, you just wanted to go to bed.

You turned off the tv and blew out the candles, and just as you were moving to put the lid back on the chocolates, there was a pounding at your door so loud that you jumped.

You rushed to the foyer and yanked open the front door, an irritated admonishment prepared on your lips, but it fell away as soon as you saw who was there.

Mickey was standing in a nice jacket and jeans, his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. He was panting like he’d just ran a marathon, and when you stuck your head farther out the door, you couldn’t see his car parked anywhere in the driveway or on the street.

“Mickey? What—?” you started to say, but then he straightened up and your voice trailed away once more.

“I’m…sorry…” He wheezed. “Hangman…stole…keys…wouldn’t let…me leave…. Ran…all the way…here…. I’m so sorry….”

And in his hand was a cluster of flowers that you recognized as belonging to your neighbor at the end of the street. They were wilted from his run, some snapped in the middle, but the sight of them nearly brought tears to your eyes. 

He looked at them, realized what poor shape they were in, and his face fell. “Oh no,” he sighed. “I wanted to—oof.”

You flung yourself into his arms, holding him close. He was warm from his run, and his chest was still heaving, but he was here. After a moment, you felt him toss the flowers down and wrap his arms around you, cradling you tightly against his chest.

“I thought you forgot,” you admitted quietly.

“Are you kidding?” he asked, his breath finally coming back. “This is all I’ve looked forward to all day.”

You stepped back, shoving his shoulder gently. “Why didn’t you call me when you knew you were gonna be late?”

Mickey blinked dumbly at you like a deer in headlights, and then his lips quirked sideways in an embarrassed smile. “Because…I’m an idiot? And I forgot? And was just focused on running as fast as I could?”

A laugh bubbled out of your chest of its own volition, and as Mickey smiled sheepishly, you grabbed his face in your hands and kissed him deeply. He made a soft, contented noise in the back of his throat, and his hands splayed across your spine, pulling you closer to him. One of your hands threaded through his close-cropped hair, holding his head in place as your mouths moved together, and you arched forward so that your chests were touching from shoulder to sternum.

He tilted his head and groaned, and your mouth fell open for him. One of his hands tightened at your waist, and the relief and affection you felt for him combined into something heady and intense, replacing every anxiety you had with insatiable want. 

You staggered backwards, pulling him with you into the house. He made a soft, surprised noise and broke away, saying, "But the flowers—"

"We'll get another bouquet later," you said, shutting the door. As soon as you did, his mouth was back on yours and his hands were tracing your sides, pressing you gently against the door.

You shoved his shoulders, pushing him deeper into the house without breaking contact. As the two of you careened off the walls and stumbled deeper into the living room, Mickey pulled away to glance around the room and catch his breath. He was already winded, but his eyes were bright and he was smiling as he panted, "Oh, hey, you decorated—”

You kissed him again, swallowing his words, and continued moving across the rug, pulling him by his shirt. He laughed against your lips, fumbling with his coat. When your legs hit the back of the sofa, you tumbled backwards onto the cushions, breaking away long enough for Mickey to finish taking off his jacket. 

You scooted back, giving him room to join you, and moved the teddy bear gingerly onto the table. Mickey’s eyes followed the movement, and he said, “Aw, is that for me?”

“Would you get down here?” you demanded, fighting back a laugh.

“Hold on, hold on, I haven’t taken my shoes off,” he protested, fumbling with the laces.

“Mickey,” you said, your voice stern.

He stood up and gestured around the room. “You set all this up! We had a nice evening planned. What about the movie?”

“Mickey,” you said slowly, leaning forward and enunciating clearly, “forget—the—movie.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyebrows lifting. And then, again: “Ohh.”

“Yes,” you said with a nod, grinning. “Oh.”

He leaned down and kissed you softly, his hand cradling the back of your head, but just as you reached up for the hem of his shirt, he pulled away again. You fought the urge to sigh heavily as he said, “I just ran, like, thirteen blocks. I’m gonna go clean up real quick, but then I promise—we’ll do Valentine’s right. I’ll make it up to you.”

He started down the hall towards the bathroom, already undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“Okay,” you said, dramatically falling back on the couch and watching him go. “I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer. I’ll just find some way to entertain myself.”

Mickey froze and turned to you, his hands stilling halfway through the buttons. When he saw the teasing smile on your face, he pointed an accusatory finger at you and said, “Thirty seconds. Time me.” Then he turned and ran into the hall, skidding into the bathroom and out of sight.

You threw your head back and laughed at his antics, reaching for the remote again as the faucet turned on. As you got comfortable on the sofa and waited for him to come back out, you thought of the flowers on the front stoop. 

It wasn’t like Mickey to be late, but he always found some way to make it up to you.