#drives or tows the belt

[zerofuntimes]

cream cheese loves to break down, it's one of her favourite things to do. now she is my brothers car she has performed her yearly breakdown and he is Not Happy about it.

[unearthly-doting]

yandere farmer

a/n: smth smth i Really like people w southern accents smth smth so here's a farmer. im not 100% satisfied w this one but it's been in my drafts for so long so here it is.

warnings: mdni, not proofread, yandere content, gn reader, male yandere, idk how cars work so, overprotective behavior, obsessive behavior, reader has hair in this sorry if u dont, murder, brief mention of vomit, non-con kissing, mild depictions of gore, choking, i think that's it??

— maybe it's a bit cliché but life in the big city was exhausting, and all you wanted to do was get away from it all. it was a bit sudden, deciding you wanted to uproot your entire life and start somewhere new, but you knew that this is exactly what you needed.

— and it's not as if you weren't going into this blind. a friend of yours had a family vacation home in a small farm town that hadn't been used in years, and they were willing to let you stay there until you could find a place of your own.

— you had everything planned out. you had enough money on you for gas and food for the drive there, and you had already had some of your stuff shipped off to your new temporary home, so you didn't have to worry about leaving anything behind. you even kept a little extra money on you in case you needed to crash at a motel.

— the drive had started off fine. traffic wasn't too bad as you left the city, and there were no major setbacks until you were almost at your destination. when you were 20 miles out from the farmer town you'd be living in, your car just suddenly died on you. it still had gas in the tank, and there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the car itself, it just… died.

— what's worse is the fact that your phone had no service. you suppose that's not too shocking, considering how far out in the country you are, but it's a bit shocking, isn't it? you're not that educated on farming life or this small town, but surely they had modern technology, right?

— it's cliché, honestly. it felt like the start of some cheap slasher. or maybe a southern christmas romance movie. you're not quite sure which would be worse. the slasher, realistically. whatever, you're getting off track.

— the point is, your car is dead, your phone is useless, and it's starting to get dark. you could probably make it to that motel you saw a few miles back, but you didn't really feel comfortable leaving your car out here alone. not to mention you're not even sure if you have enough money on you to cover one night at a motel.

— the universe, in all her mercy, takes pity on you before you can get too upset over your plight, because not even 20 minutes after your car stops, a truck drives by. it's beat up, but it slows to a stop next to your car. the window rolls down, revealing the driver to be a man just a little older than you.

— he asked if you needed help, and offered to tow your car and drive you to town. you didn't have much choice but to agree, and the drive to town was… not as awkward as you thought it would be, actually.

— the man introduced himself as rigby shaw, a farmer that lives on the outskirts of town. you actually drove by his farm maybe 15 miles back, and he had been heading into town to pick up some medication for one of his dogs when he saw you pacing outside your car. in turn, you told him how you were moving into the small town because life in the city had been overwhelming.

— rigby didn't think you'd survive long outside of the city. city folk rarely ever strive in small, out of touch towns, away from modern technology. the small handful that made their way here always went back to the city not even three months into being here, so he didn't expect to see you last long either. you were nicer than most city folk, though.

— but you were determined to make a living out here, so when rigby dropped you off, you got to work immediately. you unpacked your stuff that had been there waiting for you, and in the morning, you got to work trying to fix your car. turns out, your fan belt had somehow come loose just enough that your car could no longer function. why? who knows, maybe the universe was in a silly mood.

— anyways, you settled into the small town life with relative ease, and rigby was very surprised when he returned to town a few weeks later, you were still there. the only thing you were struggling with was finding a job. maybe because he was fascinated by your determination, but rigby ended up offering you a job on his farm. he did need help taking care of the crops and feeding the animals there, but he mostly just wanted to learn more about you.

— you were a fast learner, and his dogs took to you fairly quickly. the cattle and horses were a little less trusting, though that was expected. he's sure they'll take to you soon enough, given how you respect their boundaries and go at their pace unlike his previous farmhands. you had no problem taking on any challenge rigby had set up for you, and maybe that's when he started finding himself thinking about you.

— if he's out in town while you're on the farm, he's worrying that you might get injured without him around. you can take care of yourself, but he can't help but worry. same for when you're in town while he's on the farm. you’re still an outsider there, and he knows that some of the townsfolk may try scaring you off. or maybe they'll try hurting you. or maybe you'll be completely fine and he's just overreacting.

— he starts hovering around you more often when you're on his farm, jumping in to help you whenever he thinks you might be struggling with something. you think he's just worried you might fuck his crops up or something, so you never really pay much mind to his behavior. it only struck you as odd when he insisted on helping you feed the dogs of all things. was he scared you would poison them? you wouldn't, obviously, so you don't know why he'd think that.

— his behavior only seems to escalate when you meet a guy in town one day and start going on casual dates with him. he was… shocked, when you asked to take the day off because of some guy. in the months that you've been living in town, you had never shown any interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with… anyone, truly. you had always seemed so dedicated to working on the farm and making a living for yourself, rigby had never even considered you could want anything other than that.

— at first, he felt disappointed. why would you prioritize dates with some guy when you could be working on the farm with him instead? it took him a bit to realize that disappointment he was feeling was jealousy. he hated when you'd step away from him to accept calls from your new boyfriend. he hated how you stopped eating lunch with him in favor of eating it with your boyfriend.

— your boyfriend wasn't even that great of a guy. rigby did some research on him–it's not stalking, he's just making sure it's safe for you to date this guy!–and he was not pleased with what he found. you could do so much better! you didn't understand why rigby was so interested in your boyfriend, always asking questions about how he treats you, if he's really what you're looking for in a relationship, if you actually loved him…

— you couldn't help but notice how touchy rigby has become as well, his hands always lingering on you far too long when he helps you with your work. you swear that you've heard him smell your hair a few times when he's close as well. he's been acting weird ever since you officially started dating your boyfriend. he's even going as far as to pile more work on top of you, leaving little free time for you to spend with your lover.

— it's gotten unbearable to the point where you decided you ultimately needed to find a new place to work. you liked rigby, he was a great guy with a kind heart, but his behavior was bordering on obsession and you didn't want to enable this behavior by ignoring it. your boyfriend agreed, and with his help, you were able to find a job at the local market in town.

— rigby was not pleased when he heard you on the phone with your lover, talking about how you'd tell him you were quitting after you finished work.

You're not really sure what happened. One moment, you were on the phone with your boyfriend and then the next, you were being hit in the head and everything had gone dark. The sun had only just started setting when you had been knocked out, but it was completely dark outside when you had woken up.

Your head was pounding as you opened your eyes, looking around in an attempt to figure out what the hell had happened to you. You were still on the farm, that much you knew. The first thing that worried you was the fact that your hands were bound to a wooden post, leaving you unable to move without injuring yourself. Your phone was broken on the ground, so it was completely useless.

Did a trespasser knock you out? It's not the first person people have trespassed on the farm, trying to steal the horses or ‘save’ the animals Rigby had. You had assumed that to be the case, because… what else could have happened for you to be tied up like this?

“Rigby?!” You shout his name, wincing at the throbbing in your head as you did so. Was he okay? Was he hurt? What if something happened to him? What if–

Your panicked thoughts get put on pause when a light blinded you, and you shied away from it as best as you could as you tried to figure out its source. It seemed to be a flashlight, and you only realized who was holding it when they got closer.

For a moment, you relaxed at the sight of Rigby, relieved to see he was okay as he approached, though there was something off about him. Maybe it was the fact that he didn't seem injured, yet there was blood on his hands. Or maybe it was the… borderline crazed look in his eyes.

Something wasn't right.

“Rigby…?” You hesitantly called his name, your relief bleeding away into a reluctant unease, “Are you okay? What happened? Why am I tied up?”

His silence did little to help you as he set his flashlight down on the ground and started undoing your binds. Your wrists felt raw as you gently rubbed them once they were free, standing up while Rigby retrieved his flashlight.

“Rigby, what the hell is going on?” You ask, growing frustrated at being left in the dark. You had been knocked out and tied up, so you think you deserve some sort of explanation as to what had happened.

“I have a gift for you.” Rigby says, completely dodging your question as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you after him. His grip was tight, almost bruising as he dragged you along, ignoring you when you asked him to loosen his grip on you. He refused to answer any of your questions, and you were starting to get worried.

You've never been scared of Rigby. Sure, his behavior lately had been concerning, but you had no reason to be scared. But right now, you couldn't help but feel a bit afraid as he led you in the dark. Your concern only grew when you realized he was taking you to the barn the pigs were kept in.

“Will you just tell me what's going on?” Your words fall upon deaf ears as he passes the flashlight to you, motioning for you to take the lead as he opens the barn doors. You hesitate before shining the flashlight in the barn, slowly stepping forward.

Most of the pigs were sleeping in their own separate stalls, a few were watching you and Rigby with indifference as you both stepped deeper into the barn. But two things stood out to you. One, a handful of pigs were nowhere to be seen. Two, there was this weird… squelching sound coming from the back of the barn.

“It's just back there.” Rigby says, his breath hitting the back of your neck and causing you to jump. You hadn't even realized how close he had gotten. You scurry forward just to get some distance. Truthfully, you didn't want to see this ‘gift’ Rigby was talking about, but you knew that you couldn't turn back.

Deep down, you knew something horrible was about to happen. The squelching sound grew louder, and you could hear the sound of chewing along with it. When you looked back at Rigby for some sort of reassurance, he just had this strange smile on his face. It sent a chill down your spine.

And when you hesitantly looked in the last stall at the very back of the barn to see the source of the noise, your ‘gift’, you dropped the flashlight in horror and let out a scream as you stumbled back right into Rigby's arms.

On the ground was your boyfriend's corpse, his face nearly maimed beyond recognition as several pigs chewed at his body. You're lucky you're able to swallow the vomit in your throat as you try to get out of Rigby's hold, looking away from the horrific scene in front of you as you cried.

“Let go of me!” You claw at his arms, but he just holds you tightly against his chest, gently shushing you as he forces you to watch the pigs eat.

“Do you like it?” He asks, completely ignoring your horror, “It wasn't hard getting him to come here. I just told him you had an accident, and suddenly, he was on his way. Isn't that sweet? It's a shame he wasn't stronger… he never would've been able to protect you if someone tried hurting you. But I can, see? I can give you what you deserve.”

You weren't even listening to his deluded words, trying to squirm out of his hold, “You're a fucking monster.” You spit out, a sharp gasp being torn out of your mouth when he shoves you against the wall of the barn, his hand around your throat as he lightly squeezes. A subtle threat, one that had you shutting up.

“I expect some fucking gratitude, you ungrateful brat.” Rigby’s voice is cold, his anger had never been something you'd ever been on the receiving end of, “I did this for you. For us. You should be thanking me.” His hand on your throat tightens, squeezing the air out of your lungs, his gaze hard as he stares at you expectantly.

Desperate for air, you're barely able to wheeze out a small, “Thank you.”

As black spots start to fill your vision, Rigby removes his hand from your neck, and you're able to breathe again. His anger was gone, replaced with delighted satisfaction.

“Of course, darlin’.” He sweetly says, a bloodied hand coming up to gently wipe the tears off your face, “I'd do anything for you. I can provide for you, so just be good for me in return, okay?”

And as he pulls you into a kiss, his lips pressing against yours with a heated desperation, you find yourself missing the city for the first time since you left it.

[megalony]

Is She Okay- Part 2

Here is the second part of my Donovan Rocker imagine, thank you all for the lovely messages on the first part. I have lots more Rocker content in store.

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@klovesreading @their-love @megafandomsxassemble

Swat Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While (Y/n) is on restricted duties at Swat, she starts to feel unwell, but doesn't want to bother the team, especially her husband. But they have to race back to help her when they realise something is very wrong with her.

Enjoy.

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It proved to Rocker that his wife really was in a bad way because if she were more herself, she would of protested him picking her up and carrying her anywhere in front of the rest of Swat. But she didn't make one grumble or remark. All she did was smother her burning temple against his shoulder and loop her arms sluggishly around his neck.

He had a feeling she would pass out before he got her to hospital.

Rocker ignored the eyes burning into him, the frantic stares being cast their way and the fact that every member of Swat stopped what they were doing to watch him carry his wife out of here. He had to get her to the emergency room and make sure she and the baby were okay.

"You just stay awake with me, sweetheart." He muttered softly against her temple as he twisted to the side and used his shoulder to push open the door leading to the car park. "You're gonna be fine."

Rocker could feel his nerves going haywire when he finally pulled up outside the emergency room. He fumbled for the blue light in his door pocket and dumped it on the dashboard, along with his badge so if anyone saw his car, they wouldn't try and clamp him or get it towed.

He had an emergency and he had to get his wife as close to the emergency room as possible. There hadn't been time back at Swat to call and wait for an ambulance when Rocker could drive her here faster.

He opened the passenger door as slowly as he could, knowing (Y/n) had been leaning her temple against the window. He wasn't sure whether she was still conscious or not. While driving down here he kept squeezing her thigh and nudging her shoulder but all he got were small murmurs and disgruntled sounds.

"Baby, you with me?" His thumb brushed across her cheek and he sighed in relief when her eyelids flickered and she murmured something that resembled his name. She hadn't passed out- yet.

He undid her belt and slowly shimmied her towards him until her head fell on his shoulder. (Y/n) managed to loop her arms around his neck and Rocker slid an arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, hoisting her up in his arms so she was cradled against his chest. He shut the door with his hip and made a beeline for the emergency room.

He wasn't sure how he was going to get her in there and ask for help at the same time, but the panic dwindled down when he saw a nurse with an empty gurney.

Before she had chance to steer the gurney out of sight, Rocker pressed the heel of his boot against the front wheel and twisted to carefully ease (Y/n) down. This was easier than lying (Y/n) down on a waiting room chair and trying to tell someone his case was urgent. This way he could get her examined quicker.

"I'm Officer Rocker with Swat, this is my wife and she needs a doctor."

The nurse looked a little more than purturbed and put-out and being comandeered like this, but the moment Rocker flashed his badge at her, she seemed to agree. She moved towards the end of the gurney and began pushing it back through towards the assessment ward she had just come from. And Rocker hurried swiftly by her side.

Once they were in a free cubicle, the nurse flagged down a doctor and another nurse so they could transfer (Y/n) onto the bed in the middle of the room. Once the doctor entered the room, the young nurse muttered "Emergency," before she looked over at Rocker so he could fill them in.

"Okay, what's the problem?"

Rocker's eyes remained on his wife, watching intently as the nurses moved the slip-sheet on the gurney to slide (Y/n) from the gurney onto the bed. He didn't like the way (Y/n) jolted or coiled her arms around her chest and he grimaced when she brought her knees up towards her stomach like she wanted to curl up into a ball.

He moved forward to stand beside the bed and he quickly took (Y/n)'s hand in his when he heard his name pass her lips. He was still here, he hadn't left her and he wasn't about to either.

"For the past few days she said she was feeling drained and headaches, this afternoon she was disorientated and confused." Rocker's free hand moved to scratch the back of his neck out of nervous habit. "Uh, God, she collapsed at work, threw up, she's barely conscious. Her temp was thirty-nine point five when I checked."

He watched the nurse peel back (Y/n)'s eye to shine a light across her pupils while another checked her temperature again, confirming she had a fever.

"Alright, let's get some cooling pads and an IV, I want bloods taken to check for infection. Can I assume she's pregnant?"

Rocker nodded, daring to dart his eyes down to (Y/n)'s stomach. "Nineteen weeks." He almost dreaded speaking about the baby in case it jinxed their chances. He had no idea what was wrong with (Y/n) or if this was going to cause complications with the baby. It wasn't as if (Y/n) was over twenty four weeks and stood a chance of having the baby now if worst come to the worst.

He didn't want to contemplate losing the baby or what that would do to (Y/n).

Rocker began to glide his thumb up and down the back of (Y/n)'s hand which he held as close to his chest as he could. His eyes stayed focused on her while the doctor muttered a few things and moved to get what they needed to assess her.

He lifted his eyes when the nurse opposite him wheeled over an ECG machine, but when she tried to lift up (Y/n)'s shirt, (Y/n) flung her arm out. She didn't want to be touched.

A low whine left her lips and she tried to push forward until Rocker was within her line of sight.

"Come here sweetheart, you're alright." He let go of her hand and slid his hands down her waist to scrunch up the bottom of her shirt. This time, (Y/n) didn't put up a fight, but she didn't seem pleased when Rocker pulled her shirt up over her head and wriggled it from her arms. That would be easier than rolling it up and down constantly for monitoring and examining her.

He held both (Y/n)'s wrists in his hands and held them against his lower chest to try and keep her from fighting off the nurses.

His thumbs stroked up and down the back of her hands and he leaned down to peck her knuckles. Proving a useful distraction so the nurse could apply the blue tag stickers to (Y/n)'s chest and keep an eye on her heartbeat. He watched (Y/n) tilt her head down to see what was now stuck uncomfortably to her chest, but she couldn't wriggle her hands from Rocker's grip to move them.

"Let's take some blood samples."

Rocker didn't like the sound of that, and he could see (Y/n) had heard it too because she started to writhe on the bed. A round of whimpers left her lips and she shook her head until it made her feel like her brain was being violently thrown back and forth across a tennis court.

Twisting round, he perched down on the side of the bed and held both (Y/n)'s arms out over his lap.

One of the nurses stood at his side with a tray beside her and she shared a look with him once she strapped the plastic band around (Y/n)'s right arm just above her elbow.

(Y/n) shook her head. She wanted to go home. She didn't want to be poked and prodded at the hospital. Wasn't she supposed to be at work right now? Hicks wouldn't be happy that she hadn't finished her shift. What would the team say? They would all think she was a let down, that she was useless.

Tears welled up in her eyes, especially when she felt Rocker leaning over her and his hand grazing along the side of her neck. He brushed his thumb over her jaw while his other hand held her wrist and the nurse held her other arm straight so she could try and take some blood samples.

Rocker hated the way (Y/n) started to shake and the nurse kindly waited while (Y/n) twisted in their direction and pressed the top of her knees into Rocker's hip.

"It's okay." He murmured softly, applying the slightest pressure on (Y/n)'s wrist to keep her from jerking her arms out when the needle slipped into the crease of her elbow.

He watched the nurse take one vile, then switch it for another one, but after the third vile he was relieved that she stopped. How much blood did she want to take? How many tests were they going to do? What would they be searching for?

"We're gonna get you on an IV now, okay?" The nurse ran her hand up and down (Y/n)'s arm as she took off the turniquet from (Y/n)'s arm and looked around for the IV line instead.

(Y/n) dug her hand into Rocker's thigh and creased forward while she tugged on his leg to gain his attention.

"What, sweetheart?" He murmured softly, sliding his hand round from the side of her neck to rake through her hair at the back of her head.

"Sick." (Y/n) closed her eyes and tilted her head down as she tried to bring her knees up towards her stomach. She didn't feel good, she felt like she was going to be sick and she wasn't sure whether it was because of whatever ailment she had or because she'd just had her bloods done.

She felt Rocker move his hand back down to the back of her neck and he held her arm, helping to shuffle her towards the edge of the bed where the nurse was holding out a cardboard sick bucket for her. All of (Y/n)'s body began to shake when she threw up, and she clung to Rocker while he gathered her hair in his hand to hold it behind her head. The last thing she needed was her hair getting in the way when she was throwing up.

"Let it out, good girl." He roamed his hand up and down her back and leaned forward to kiss her exposed shoulder to try and calm her down and make her feel a tiny bit better.

(Y/n) nodded that she was finished and tried to bury her face in the pillow. Her eyes stayed closed and she clung to Rocker's arm while the nurse managed to get an IV needle in the back of her right hand. She barely felt it but she could feel her head starting to spin.

"Alright, let's turn you over sweetheart." Rocker stood up from the bed and carefully helped ease (Y/n) onto her back when the doctor came in with some cooling pads. They needed to get her fever down and this was a good start until they found out what was causing it and found her the right antibiotics and treatment.

(Y/n) shivered at the pads being placed on her arms and wrists but she shrugged away from the one near her neck. She was burning up and the cool pressure made her feel worse. Couldn't they let her go to sleep? Couldn't they just make her better so she could go home and get back to work sooner?

She could feel her mind running at ten miles a minute, but when Rocker's hand began to glide up and down her arm, she reached out for him. Her nimble fingers curled around his wrist and she moved his hand down towards her stomach. (Y/n) could feel the tension in his touch, like he didn't want to touch her and cause her any pain or send himself into a panic.

"T-the baby?"

"Will be fine, sweetheart. They're gonna look after you both." Rocker couldn't refrain from gliding his thumb up and down her stomach, something he did hundreds of times a day when he was around her. But he never felt as worried as he did right now.

God, he hoped they would both be alright.

***

"What's that?" (Y/n) lifted her head from where it rested on Rocker's thigh as both of them looked towards the doctor walking into the room. She couldn't see what he had on the trolley he was wheeling in, but she had a feeling she wouldn't like it.

Rocker continued to glide his hand up and down her back and his other hand was resting on (Y/n)'s arm. She was laid on her side in the bed with Rocker sat up against the pillows and (Y/n) laid with her head and arms folded on his lap.

She was still burning a fever, she was sweating enough to make Rocker's thighs damp and he was sweating from the heat she was radiating. But they had a fan on in the room and the IV was helping; (Y/n)'s temperature had gone down almost one degree. She was more lucid than she had been after a nap and she woke up on a ward, much to her dismay.

"Your bloods have come back, you have a bad infection, so I've got some antibiotics and a new saline bag for you."

Relief coursed through (Y/n) at the knowledge that she didn't have to be poked or prodded again, and she didn't need any injections.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she twisted her head to watch the doctor pause the IV machine and switch out the saline bags. He kept the time low though, meaning more fluids got into her system at a faster rate.

"Have you managed to drink the water the nurse gave you?"

(Y/n) nodded. The water bottle she had been given, combined with the saline in her IV made her desperate for the toilet. Rocker had encouraged her to drink the water, and then had to remind her not to go to the toilet yet; they wanted to do a scan to check on the baby.

"Good, shall we do the ultrasound now then?" They all knew the sooner the better to make sure the baby was doing okay.

Rocker moved his hands down to help (Y/n) sit up, but when he tried to get up, she pushed back against him. She didn't want him to leave her; she wanted him to stay right where he was, sat right behind her. A smile creased at his lips and he started to run his hands up and down her arms while he pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

It took some effort to keep her eyes open and drag the hospital gown she had been changed into, up so her stomach was on show. Just looking down at her stomach made a shiver crawl down (Y/n)'s spine and she reached her hand up to clasp Rocker's wrist when his hand stayed on her shoulder.

She wasn't sure what either of them would do if this scan didn't go well.

Her eyes closed and she turned to press her cheek into Rocker's chest causing him to kiss the top of her head. He breathed into her hair, tightening both hands on (Y/n)'s shoulders while the doctor set up the ultrasound and he felt the way (Y/n) pushed into him when it started.

She still didn't feel well. She was sweating through her clothes, feeling rather lucid and half asleep and the ultrasound was making her uncomfortable with all the fluids she had consumed.

She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to look at the screen in case they were going to be given bad news of any sort. Why couldn't they have done the ultrasound when she had been unconscious? Couldn't they have dosed her with more fluids and done it sooner so she didn't have to witness it?

"The heartbeat is a bit fast, but with your high blood pressure that's to be expected. Blood flow is fine, baby is in correct place. We'll keep a close eye, regular checks to make sure we have no complications, but for now let's wait and see if these antibiotics work."

(Y/n) was sure she could feel Rocker smiling into her hair and once she pulled her gown back down, his arms moved down from her shoulders to cocoon around her waist. He held her against his chest, murmuring something incoherent into her hair but the feeling of his voice made her blood tingle all the same.

That was better news than either of them had anticipated. (Y/n) felt sure that something would have been wrong. She hadn't been so sure she would get to hear a heartbeat after how awful she had been feeling.

But the baby was okay.

"How are we doing in here?"

(Y/n) looked up at the door as a sheepish smile flooded her face when she watched her team crowd round the doorway. When she waved them in, they all piled into her room.

She watched Joe, Adam, Deacon and Hondo filter into the room like they were bodyguards coming to protect her. She clicked her back into place and swung her legs over the side of the bed, thankful she was back wearing her own clothes and not the useless gowns the hospital provided. Although (Y/n) was aware she looked far from her best.

Her hair was done up in a loose bobble to keep it from her eyes. She was wearing sweat pants and one of Rocker's sleeveless hoodies because she still felt rather warm even though her fever had all but gone by now. There were bags beneath her eyes and she looked sluggish and far from her best, not how she would want any of her colleagues to see her. But they had come to check on her and (Y/n) was more than grateful for their support.

"Hi, you all didn't have to come down here, you know." She was about to get up until Deacon sat down in the chair next to the bed, and both Joe and Adam, from her team, plonked themselves down on the bed like they belonged there.

"We had to see how our girl was doing, and find out when you're coming back in action."

"I don't think you'll be wanting me back, after last time." (Y/n) tried to smile, she tried to show that she was making a joke, but deep in her heart she knew she was taking a jibe at herself.

She had all but screwed their mission four days ago. She had sent them the wrong files, sent them the wrong way and didn't keep good communication over the comms. They would have better luck with whoever was helping them out while she was on sick leave.

She lifted her gaze from her thighs to look over at Deacon when he nudged her knee with his and smiled softly at her.

"You do know Hicks has taken over the radio in your absence? He's not doing the best job." Deacon rubbed the back of his neck, trying to be polite in the way he worded it, but he had no need when Adam groaned.

"Please come back, we much prefer your jokes and that sweet voice to Mr Grumpy, you know."

"I'll be back soon. Please tell me one of you can drive me home?" (Y/n) folded her arms over her bump, almost protectively, and looked between them. She almost felt bad when Hondo simply leaned his head to one side in that manner that showed he didn't quite believe her.

Whereas Joe nudged her knee and raised a brow. "Are you being discharged today?"

"I-"

"No, she is not. Don't let her try and wrangle a lift home." Rocker's voice cut through the air as (Y/n) hung her head and dropped her shoulders.

There goes her attempt at heading home a bit sooner than planned. She just wanted to leave. She didn't want to be here any longer. The IV in her hand kept coming out during the night when she tossed and turned and although the antibiotics were clearly working, they were making her feel sick. Her blood pressure had gone down and the baby was as fine as ever, but they wanted to keep her on observation until her antibiotic course finished.

Closing the door behind him, Rocker took a sip of his coffee and moved to take the seat opposite Deacon on the other side of the bed. He looked up at his wife with that firm expression that made her pout, silently asking forgiveness she didn't truly need.

"I wanna go home."

"Not until your discharged."

(Y/n) huffed and swung her legs back onto the bed, crossing them beneath her as she looked around the others who were chuckling and smiling. And she heard Adam mutter "He's the boss," under his breath. They weren't going argue with the doctor, and none of them were going to argue with Rocker either. (Y/n) wasn't going anywhere until she was cleared; Rocker wasn't having her go home until she was well enough.

"Then it's a good job we brought you these."

A grin wormed onto (Y/n)'s face when Hondo held a bag out towards her. She took a peek inside, feeling sparks of adrenaline flying through her system. They had brought her books. A few different genres to read, and then two puzzle books to keep her mind from driving her insane in these four little walls. They knew she liked to keep busy and alert.

"Thank you." They knew her well. They knew books and mind puzzles would entertain her much more than the strange and rather dull magazines they had downstairs in the shop near the cafeteria. The team knew (Y/n) would rather be doing something than sitting here watching tv. She was one of them, trained to be alert and constantly on the go at all times.

She couldn't resist from getting one of the puzzle books out to flick through and see what kind of questions and games and riddles it contained. She managed to listen in on the conversation flowing between the team surrounding her as they joked and made light of the situation. And they were all clearly relieved to know (Y/n) was already on the mend and would be better within no time.

She smiled when Rocker pecked her neck and moved the bag of books to the floor so it was out of her way. But her attention drifted over to Joe when he patted her thigh.

"Sorry, by the way." Joe's voice was quiet even though he knew Rocker could hear him, although his Sergeant continued to talk to Deacon, pretending not to hear.

"What for?"

"The other day, you were ill and I didn't think… I got snappy over the comms when I shouldn't have." He dipped his head down and looked to his hands for a few seconds.

While he looked down, (Y/n) glanced over at her husband who shared a surprised look with her. She couldn't determine whether Rocker had told Joe to apologise, or whether he had simply had a stern word with him which made Joe feel the need to say sorry.

He had snapped at (Y/n) a little when she started getting confused and giving the wrong information, but (Y/n) didn't hold it against him. She should have told the team sooner that she didn't feel well and let someone else take over from her. It wasn't their fault and they had all been under pressure, Joe didn't speak out of term so (Y/n) hadn't given it any more thought.

She knew Rocker would have, but that was a different story. He was protective and although he was always fair, considering his wife worked on his team, he would have said something to Joe about his attitude.

"I gave the wrong information-"

"You were ill-"

"Doesn't mean you didn't have the right to be concerned and a bit annoyed. Truce?"

When Joe nodded, (Y/n) patted his arm and smiled. He had every right to be concerned and annoyed because no one knew she hadn't been feeling well and she could have caused problems during that mission if she had been any worse. It was lucky they managed to get it done and get back to base and find her in time.

She wouldn't hold it against him for getting a bit grouchy over the comms as long as he and the rest of the team didn't hold it against her for telling them some wrong information when she wasn't well.

***

Lifting her head, (Y/n) looked to the side when she felt a soft pat on her shoulder and she was greeted with a familiar, warm smile. She smiled when Chris gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved to walk past her, clearly heading out of the locker room and towards the main base.

"Good to have you back." She called over her shoulder which caused (Y/n)'s smile to soften and she dipped her head.

She cast her eyes around the room just as she shut her locker and when her eyes landed on her husband, she grinned. He was tucking his shirt into the waistband of his trousers which were pulled high over his hips. The usual work shirt Rocker wore made the sleeves look tight around his biceps like the material was cutting through his skin like a tight band.

He lifted his head, as if sensing a pair of eyes on him, and he aimed her way, grinning widely when he noticed that they were the only ones in the locker room.

They were always professional and courteous when on shift together, Rocker was technically her boss since he was the head of the team (Y/n) was in. But at least now she was on restricted duties, it didn't matter if they shared the odd hug or kiss here and there, or when pet names rolled off the tongue.

"You good?" He murmured, reaching his arm out to wrap around (Y/n)'s waist so he could coil her into his chest like a fish on a hook. His lips attached to the top of her head and his thumb brushed up and down her hip when she bound her arms around his chest to hug him back.

"Yeah." She spoke softly, her breaths fanning through his shirt against his chest like she was trying to warm him up.

"Sure?" Rocker tilted his head to one side when (Y/n) didn't look up at him. He knew she was well enough to be back at work now after two weeks off, and he knew she was more than happy to be back into routine and a sense of normality again. But he could feel the slight hesitation and the tension in her muscles like she didn't want to leave the locker room just yet.

When she didn't answer, Rocker unravelled his arm from her waist and turned so they were facing one another. His hands cupped her face and he dropped his head down so their temples were lightly pressing together. His lips curved into a tender smile and he pecked her lips.

"Talk to me, sweetheart."

"I'm okay, I promise, I just… I don't want the team to look at me differently." (Y/n) almost felt silly for thinking it, let alone voicing her worries to Rocker. But he didn't laugh or roll his eyes or chide her, he simply nudged his nose against hers.

"And why would they do that?" No one had looked or treated (Y/n) any differently when they found out she was pregnant. They had made one or two jokes, purely in jest, that she was getting an easy life for now and that they would miss her out in the field, but that was it.

"I messed up, Rock, I made mistakes on that last call-"

"Hey, you didn't mess up. You were sick, there's a big difference. That's not gonna happen again, you know. You'll be okay."

He wouldn't have her thinking like that. He wouldn't have (Y/n) worrying that she would do the same again, because what happened last time wasn't her fault. She had been really ill and it could have been any of them that came down with an illness. Any of them could have made a mistake if they had been in her shoes.

"But I'm already on light duties, I- I don't want to be a burden to the team, or have anyone think I can't do my job." (Y/n) could feel her nose twitching with the sensation of wanting to cry.

She was nervous. Going back out there and doing her job again was what (Y/n) wanted to do, but she didn't want any funny looks.

Everyone here had seen Rocker carry her to the car. Her whole team heard her stutter and mumble and get things wrong over the radio, they had all seen how ill she was. (Y/n) didn't want them to look at her differently or think she was going to be a burden from now on. She could do her job, but she knew there might be a few people who would think it would be better to replace her already. (Y/n) didn't want to burden the team.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Rocker started rubbing his thumbs along her cheekbones and he leaned down to peck her lips. She could feel the intensity in his touch and her stomach bubbled to life when he pressed his chest and abdomen up against her.

"If anyone thinks or says that, they'll have me to deal with." Each word was spoken in hushed tones against her lips, both knowing someone could walk in at any moment and this would have to revert to a platonic chat.

He wouldn't have anyone saying or thinking those things whether they were on his team or not. (Y/n) wasn't a burden and no one was going to make her feel like she was.

"You're an asset. You do your job just like you always do, and no one will say anything except to sing your praises."

(Y/n) found herself nodding along as she moved her hands to cup his wrists, as if making sure he didn't let her go.

"But, you have to promise me something, sweetheart."

She nudged her nose against his before leaning her head back just a little so she could look up at him properly without his image turning fuzzy from proximity. The look in her eyes told him to carry on, she was listening intently, wondering what she was about to agree to.

"If you don't feel good, you tell me. I don't care whether it's a headache or a dizzy spell, I have to know. I won't have you getting ill on my watch again; you promise me?"

He didn't care what anyone said or thought if (Y/n) said she didn't feel great. If she had any symptoms, no matter how brief or painless, then Rocker wanted to know. He had to know so if he went out on a mission, he could tell someone she hadn't been feeling well. He needed to know so if she got worse he had that pre-warning and he could keep an eye on her.

(Y/n)'s health mattered more to him than anyone on the team thinking he was going soft or prioritising. He always told the team if something was wrong or they didn't feel one hundred percent then they had to tell him. This was no different.

And Rocker didn't care if (Y/n) thought because this was Swat, that she had to carry on working and be strong. What happened the other week proved that they had to work as a team, a unit, and if she wasn't okay then they would all help take care of her. As long as they knew.

He smiled softly when (Y/n) nodded, uttering "I promise," before she pushed up and connected their lips again.

[luvgavii]

the color violet - (pg6)

summary: your ex boyfriend picks you up from an event and takes you home.

warning: smut!!! minors do not interact!!

The only sound in your ear was the rain hitting the pavement of the Catalan city. Your hair and dress were drenched, your make up smeared and you held your heels in your hand while waiting for your ex boyfriend to pick you up. Why him? Well, it wasn't practical for someone as famous as you to take an Uber home in the middle of the night, was it?

Truthfully, you and Pablo could never quite stay away from the other. Ever since you two had broken up mutually, it felt like you two got along even better. You two were healthier, you didn't need to deal with his constant jealousy and he seemed to enjoy his freedom, it was a win-win situation.

When you called him, about 30 minutes ago, he picked up on the 3rd ring and he was in the car the second he hung up the phone. Sure, he was a famous footballer in his early 20s who loved women and loved having fun, but there wasn't anything Pablo wouldn't do for you, in a relationship or not, he'd give you the moon and the sun if he could.

"Get in, bonita," he said as he rolled down the passenger window to look at you from his expensive car, his left hand on the steering wheel while the right was on his thigh.

You sat in the car and you practically heard Pablo's hiss as the leather seats got drenched under you.

"Thanks for picking me up," you said dragging your voice as Pablo started the car, his eyes never leaving the wet road, your own eyes watching the rain drops on the windshield.

"You're welcome, you know I don't mind," he spoke with his little Spanish accent, the small acting already sending a jolt of pleasure from your stomach to the spot between your thighs.

The rest of the drive was silent, you watched the wet road, the puddles, the lights of Barcelona, anything but the football player because you knew that one look was enough for him to pull over and for you to ride him right there, in the driver seat. It didn't stop you before. Pablo kept stealing glances at you, a small smirk on his face, the strip of three condoms in his pocket were proof that the thought of picking you up was not so innocent.

One thing leading to the other and you two were stumbling across the hallway of your apartment complex, trying to get to your door as he walked you towards it. His hands on your waist, yours around his neck as you kissed sloppily, the sounds of your kisses echoing through the hallway.

Pablo pushed you against the door, the wood cold against your bare back as you searched your purse for your keys, your hand moving over Pablo's boner and making him groan into your mouth.

"Your keys are definitely not there," he spoke lowly but with a hint of amusement, making you chuckle breathlessly before taking your keys out and twisting the doorknob, Pablo almost pushing you inside and his lips attacking yours once again.

Your hands were everywhere, his brown hair, his shoulders, his chest, his belt while trying to pull him closer to you.

"You always were impatient, nena," he hummed with a smirk, his fingers running through your wet hair while his other hand cupped your breast, caressing it over the material of your dress as his brown orbs were glued to your face, watching your lips part as a small moan escaped them, a sound only Pablo was able to get out of you.

His lips parted, dropping to your shoulder as his finger hooked in the strap of your dress, pulling it off your shoulder and replacing it with his warm, soft lips. Your head fell back, your fingers hooking in his hair, making him smirk against your silky skin as he continued to press wet kisses to your shoulder.

"Bedroom," he murmured, his hand creeping shamelessly behind you and pulling the zipper of your dress down, letting the light material fall off your body, revealing your bare chest and violet, lacy underwear, the very pair that was his personal favorite.

You nodded, immediately walking towards the stairs of your penthouse, Pablo following closely behind you, smacking your ass as you neared the bedroom, the skin to skin sound filling the air.

In your bedroom, Pablo sat on the edge of the bed, his legs spread the tiniest bit so you could stand between them as he caressed your near naked body. His rough hands roamed over your ass and thighs, squeezing as he did so, his mouth catching your nipple, all while he looked up at you and watched you fall apart on front of him.

His tongue circled your nipple as he hummed appreciatively, his hand squeezing your ass until you hissed, you looked down at him as he sucked on your nipple, your pupils dilated and your cheeks flushed.

"Pablo, I need you, please," you spoke quietly, the words slipping out of your mouth like a prayer.

"Get on all fours, hermosa," he said, your breast falling out of his mouth and his brown eyes looking up at you with such innocence it made your head spin. How can he look so innocent with those big eyes, yet so sinful at the same time?

You gulped and nodded, immediately taking the position on the bed, your ass up in the air while your cheek rested against a pillow. Pablo fidgeted with his pants, throwing the strip of condoms carelessly between the bedding before he stripped, throwing his shirt and pants somewhere in the room, he didn't look, his eyes were glued to your damp panties, your clothed core displayed perfectly in front of him.

"You're so ready for me, mi vida," he whispered, bending down and his finger running over the damp material before his finger hooked in the violet lace, pulling the panties to the side, his tongue running along your folds and making you moan and arch your back, pushing your pussy in his face as he ran his tongue up and down your core before pulling away.

Pablo delivered a smack to your ass as he stroked his cock, positioning himself behind you, running the tip of his dick along your wet folds, only making you moan in anticipation. He grabbed the condoms, opening one with his teeth and spitting the plastic out, rolling it onto his throbbing member.

He grabbed your hip as he began to push into you, feeling you stretch around his dick and cursing under his breath, praising you at how good you feel as your juices soaked him. You felt him hit every spot, your pussy clenching around him as you whimpered and moaned, knowing that Pablo Gavi would bring eternal bliss to you. Always.

"Mierda," Pablo hissed, picking up the pace, his skin slapping against yours louder with each movement, "I can't get enough of you."

Pablo Gavi was far from the most perfect man you've been with, he was jealousy, angry and possessive, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You were addicted and and just couldn't get enough.

[murdrdocs]

house calls

description. your mechanic, JAKE SERESIN, was nice enough to do a house call for you, but he still charges you double even if you don't have the money. luckily, he takes other forms of payment!

includes. SMUT 18+ MDNI, cnc roleplay, mechanic!jake, other forms of payment role play, consensual coercion, unprotected pnv, everything consensual!

wc. 1.8k+

a/n: this was a request ... supposed to have been like 500 words (blinks). ao3 link

"I didn't think mechanics took house calls."

It takes him a second to respond to you. At first, you didn't think he even heard you. You think your line was wasted, and you were about to add onto it until he grunts and lifts his head from under the hood of your car. 

"Usually we don't. But for a client as loyal as you..." He doesn't finish his sentence verbally, instead sending you a smirk, adjusting the towel over his shoulder, and then ducking his head back under. 

You watch him work, standing near the edge of your garage, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed. From where you stand you have a perfect view of him, watching the way his back muscles strain against the tainted white fabric of his tee shirt as he works on your car. His shirt lifts every so often, exposing the smallest line of his boxers and a bit of his back. 

"You know you don't have to hover, right?" He speaks into your engine, but you can still hear him well. "I'll take good care of her."

You believe him, you know you can trust him, but you still decide to stay with him. Mostly so you have an excuse to ogle, but you pretend it’s because you’re worried about the state of your car. 

“How’d it get this bad in the first place?” He asks you. 

You shrug. “I kept forgetting to put it in the shop.” I wanted to watch you fix it for me is what you don’t tell him. 

You offer him a drink at one point, giddily bouncing over to the garage fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer for him. You get the feeling that he knows what he's doing when he pops the cap off on his belt buckle. 

You really think he's putting on when he lets a droplet of beer glide down his chin, running down the tanned skin of his neck before finally being barricaded by the collar of his shirt. 

Not that you mind, though. 

He finishes off on your car in no time, letting the hood drop as he explains what he fixed. You just smile and nod, trusting that the problem is solved and you won't have to deal with it again. You're just about to go inside to grab your wallet, the cash to cover it stuffed in there, but then he turns to face you with his hands on your hips. 

"Now since it was a house call, it's gonna cost you extra. That alright?" 

You blink up at him, trying to ignore the sparkle in his eyes as he watches your expression. 

“How much extra?” 

He winces, as if his response will cost him pain. “Double.”

You take a breath, calming yourself. "... I don't have double. I thought we already agreed on a price?" 

He tuts. “That was before I had to drive all the way out here for you, sugar. Now it's double." 

You step closer to him, getting the first whiff of his scent—strong and masculine, a musk that blends well with whatever he's wearing, whether it be cologne or body wash. 

"But Jake, I don't have double. I only have what we agreed on. And I have bills to pay, I don't get paid until next week. I can get it to you then?" You're trying to plead, but even as you say it you don't sound convincing. You're a shit haggler, you can't even convince yourself. 

"'m sorry, sweetheart," the pet name drips with sweetness and faux sincerity, "But you're gonna have to pay me now or..."

He trails off and your eyebrows lift. "Or?" 

"Or I'll have my buddies come and tow this beauty," he jerks his head towards your car. "It's just policy." He has the audacity to lift his hands in a surrender, as if the change in price isn't all his fault. 

You take a second, trying not to let your distress show as you mull over your option. 

"Or—" Jake begins again, taking a final step closer until there's just an inch between you both. An inch between your clean shirt and his dirtied one. An inch between the hard planes of his chest and the soft planes of yours. 

You lift your eyebrows expectantly, waiting for what the suggestion to get you out of deep shit would be. 

"I can accept another form of payment." 

He takes your hand in his as he says it, trailing it down his chest until it rests over his belt buckle. 

You stare down at your hand, looking at the way your manicure shines along with the bronze coloring of his belt buckle. It says something, has a depiction of a man on a horse sandwiched between two lines of text. Without even needing to read it, you know which belt buckle it is. You've seen it many times before. 

“I don’t usually offer this deal to just anyone,” he says, as if you should feel special. Really, you’re just confused. Well, you know what he wants, but you refuse to believe it. 

"I … I don't—" 

Jake doesn’t buy it. "You do. You know what I'm askin' for." His accent slips out more and more. 

He reaches out, wrapping a hand around your hip, pulling you flush against him. "C'mon, I see the way you've been looking at me. I know you want it." 

You shake your head, staring up at him with your eyebrows pinched together and your lips parted. "I can't." He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for some sort of bullshit excuse. 

You give him one. "I have a boyfriend and he'll be home any moment."

He fucking laughs, right in your face, big and boisterous as he lowers his head, lips searching for yours. "We both know that's not true. If it were true, he would be a shit boyfriend. Can't even repair your car for you—" he sucks in air through his teeth, "you would deserve better, don't you think?"

The irony. 

You wrestle out of Jake's grasp, turning around and starting for the garage door. You don't get far before Jake pulls you back, his hips pressing into you, the boner prominent beneath his working jeans. He walks you towards the car, his left leg pushing against yours and the same with his right, until your thighs hit the front end.

"What d'you say, sweetheart? You gonna pay off your debt, or do I need to call the boys?"

You would try to call his bluff, but you’re scared. Scared that he’s telling the truth and not giving in will backfire on you. With the way he’s pressing his erection into your ass, do you even have a choice?

Of course you end up paying off your debt. Even the threat of having your precious car towed (and the excitement of it all) had you already inching your mini dress up your thighs. 

Jake barely had any patience to wait for you to close the garage door, shielding you from any stray passersby. He waited by your car, watching your every move through lidded eyes, his arms crossed over his chest and his hip cocked into the front end of your vehicle. And as soon as you were back, he had you turn around and bend over the car, your panties pulled down and pooled around your ankles, your dress lifted over your ass. 

He didn’t waste any time before sheathing himself completely into you. He sighed when he bottomed out, a deep groan melding well with your whimper. The moment he took to himself, one where he breathlessly laughed and complimented your grip on his cock, he let you adjust. 

You didn’t need long. 

Sounds of him fucking you quickly filled the garage. The clapping of your skin meeting, the shlick! of your cunt screaming as it got pounded, your breaths and moans. 

It feels so impersonal like this, getting fucked from the back on top of your car with the faint smell of chemicals in the air. But you like it like this. 

You like it when Jake wonders aloud if any of the neighbors can hear you. You like it when he suggests making "house calls" more often, especially if "coming all this way to fix your car" ends up with you spreading your pretty pussy for him. 

He brings his hand down and slaps your ass before lifting the fabric of your dress, using his free hand to pull one of your ass cheeks apart. 

"Jesus, look at that," he marvels, “Really working for it, aren't ya, sweetheart? Making it worth my while." He stops moving his hips, letting you do all of the work. You press your hands into the metal beneath you, gaining more leverage to fuck yourself back onto him. 

"I'll tell you what, this 's better than money, that's for sure.”

You agree, but you're so focused on fucking Jake that you refuse to use any attention for verbally responses, hoping a nod will suffice. 

It's fine, Jake talks enough for the both of you. 

“You’re leaking all around me. Making a mess of my jeans. What, you’re leaving your mark on me? Marking your spot?” His hand lays against your back, sliding up until he grips your neck from the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll reserve this for you. Best pussy I’ve ever had, I’ll tell you that for free. Turn around for me, sweetheart, I wanna see that pretty face.” 

You don’t hesitate to follow his orders, ending up with your back pressed into the car and your legs wrapped around Jake's waist. 

If y'all weren’t both nearing the edge, the position would be impractical, but it barely takes anything before you’re squeezing around Jake. 

He watches it happen, green eyes trained completely on watching your face morph into a depiction of pleasure as your back arches and you reach for him. He gives you whatever you can reach, letting you fist the fabric of his tee as your ankles hook behind his back. 

Having to shallow fuck you doesn’t deter Jake at all. He simply jackrabbits into you, pushing you through your orgasm while chasing his own. When it happens, he lets your insistent hand tug on his hair. His head rests against your tits spilling out over the neckline of your dress, his cock twitching inside of you as his hips weakly drive into yours with the final few thrusts. 

There's a routine at the end. Jake doesn’t speak until you do. He spends the silence cleaning you up, taking his shirt off and using the cleanest part of it to wipe away the cum from between your thighs. He realigns your dress after pulling your panties up, hands rubbing your arms as he kisses your forehead. 

“Is my car actually fixed?” you eventually ask him. 

Jake hums, pulling you into a hug and resting his chin on your forehead. “Sure is. Don’t let it get that bad again.” 

[punk-in-docs]

🕸️ Pretty Girls Make Graves 🕸️

Eddie x Pencils - 🎃 Halloween 🎃one shot

2.7k words

Summary: pretty much what it says on the tin. Halloween one shot with our dearest Eddie x Pencils. Enjoy. Pure fluff. A tiny suggestion of smut at the end. Inspired by this lovely photo set & this prompt post that got me off my ass to write again.

Also another shoutout to the gorgeous @tvserie-s-world who made this amazing Eddie x Pencils edit that I’m still gooey over. 🖤

“So, what brings you to my dark and creepy neck of the woods?”Came a cocky taunt as soon as the trailer door swung open after your knock.

It’s usual rusty-screeching melody preceding its occupants flirty remark. The sound of the Smiths comes slithering out the creaking door behind him. The tape you bought that got lost in the avalanche of both your cassettes that slide and slip, congregate on his passenger seat.

He will not smile for anyone. And pretty girls make graves.

The lanky shadow of your boyfriend cuts across the warm yellow glow of the lights that slant out the doorway behind him. His costume makes you grin. Sheer moronic love.

You stood halfway up the steps. Candles flickering and throwing dozy pools orange in Jack-o-lanterns across the toes of your boots. They’re all wonky and have imperfect slanted mouths and jagged eyes. Loping together on the uneven porch steps. Fat orange gourds all drunk with gravity.

The very same pumpkins you’d helped him carve a week ago, after a misty morning weekend trip to Merill’s pumpkin farm. Eddie had the rather dastardly and determined habit of choosing pumpkins bigger and heavier than his actual van tires. You ended up with so many.

Your kitchen has smelt like squelchy pumpkin innards all week. You’re still finding seeds cropping up under the toaster or in the corner of the cabinets. As per Eddie’s way with most things, It wasn’t exactly a neat process.

You can’t help but laugh at his greeting too.

“I distinctly remember making plans to invade the spooky neck of your woods tonight, my little death trap.” You smile as you edge your way up the sloping steps. Holding a huge pumpkin shaped bucket of candy in your arms. The contents rustle as you move.

Everyone’s touting pumpkin buckets tonight. Driving in and even on the street back home, you saw a load of elementary kids walking around the park in their costumes. Ghosts in bedsheets. Aliens. Bats. One very ambitious papier maché pumpkin. Superhero’s. Clowns. Home made astronauts clad in crinkly tin foil and bulbous helmets. All wandering with an adult in tow and buckets clutched in their hands, ready to be filled.

You opted for a simple witch costume. Stripy tights and your dark thrifted docs. A black dress with a little cape tied around your shoulders and a witches hat. You applied dark purple-plum lipstick and dark smudgey grey eyeshadow, and liner. Your eyelids glitter like purple constellations. He finds stars to gaze at so often in those pretty eyes.

Eddie had gone for an Alice Cooper inspired look. Top hat. The dripping dark eye makeup that you’re amazed he managed all on his own. Hair it’s usual long rocker mess. Gothic black and lots of it. A huge goth belt with studs and buckles. You spy a cane grasped by his side too. A fake toy snake looped around his neck. Just like the man himself. He really does go all out.

The fringe benefit being he looks hot as hell to your eyes.

“You’ve got me under your spell, O’ bewitching one. How could I possibly resist.” He opened his arms out to you as you came to the last step.

“Bet you say that to every witch who shows up at your door on hallows eve.” You smile. Unashamedly grab the snake that’s looped around his neck and reel him in by it.

“Only ones who bought me jolly ranchers.” He preens. He can see the multi coloured hue of the wrapped candy in the huge bowl you’re carrying.

At the same time, he plucks the flimsy pointed witches hat off your head so the brim doesn’t get in his way. You unconsciously move towards the same goal together. It’s spooky. Sometimes it’s like you have the same brain. You’re one entity mashed together in a frenzy of melding hearts, music mania and relentless adolescent infatuation.

He lopes forwards and gladly slots his slanting smirk onto yours. Tasting of orange sweet candy corn and beer. His thumb and forefinger meet on your chin. Your hand slid for his neck. Fingertips along his jaw as you share a giddying kiss. You mouth at the plushness of his lips. He does the same to you.

You pull back before he makes you swoon dangerously down these steps. His kiss should come with a warning sign; dangerously addictive metal head. May possess body and soul.

You can tell already that you’ll have to wave goodbye to this lipstick. It’s now smeared all around your mouth and most of his. Now he looks like Alice Cooper doing nine to ten in Arkham Asylum.

“Hello.” You beam. Rubbing smudged purple off his lips. Vamptastic Plum the colour name.

“Hi.” He smirks like a lunatic. End of his nose rubbing into yours where he gazes at you.

He does it a lot. It’s honestly so lovesick you should be kinda nauseated.

When you’re studying. Watching a movie. Eating popcorn or pizza. Every now and again he’ll just rest his chin in his hand and smile all warm and stupid at you. Cheeks bunched and crows feet at his eyes. Even when you have paint flecked across your forehead. Or pizza cheese slung in a string across your chin. Or when you’re frowning at your fingers when you smear your nail drying polish. He loves watching you just be near him.

It always ends the same way. You’ll feel his eyes burning their fond cinnamon gaze into you. You’ll turn and meet his eyes. And that smile lopes even wider. He’ll loop a pinky though yours and kiss the back of your hand. Or your forehead.

“Permission to enter your lair?” You seek.

“Thought only vamps had to ask permission to come in?” He flirts with you. Eyes on your mouth again. Your lips all kiss bruised makes him ache. In fact, makes another sort of serpent twitch in his jeans.

“Misdirection. I am actually a vampire. The witch outfit is a clever disguise to work my cunning way into unsuspecting trailers.” You raise your brows naughtily.

He grins. “Clever subterfuge.”

He slips aside from the door to let you come in. Another kiss pressed to your lips before he lets you sidle on past him. He hangs your witches hat on the coat rack with his spare jacket and Wayne’s denim.

“Need me to park your broom?” He jests.

“Left it in the car with my black cat. You’re safe.”

“How many more witchy jokes could we stretch this out too?”

“I reckon I’ve a few left knocking around…” you guess. Placing the bucket of candy on the kitchen counter. Hopefully Eddie doesn’t pilfer the whole lot before Wayne’s home. You hope he leaves his uncle a treat or two. And doesn’t scarf the lot like a damn seagull.

This trailer hugs you any time you enter. You thought that when you and Eddie started dating. And you still think it now. Capital H home. This place. Filled with his and Wayne’s memorabilia. And a few more other things tonight;

You haven’t seen your boyfriend as much of late. He’s been out hitting the teenage party circuits with his metal lunchbox. Making a healthy chunk of change by the looks of it. He’s strung up plenty of decorations to help pep this place up with Halloween spirit.

There’s pumpkin paper garlands arced in loops up high. Orange and black twisting streamers over the mug shelves. Fake rubbery bats hanging down from the kitchen island cupboards. Dancing skeletons hanging on the little spare space the walls have to offer. The coffee table is cleared of its usual junk and absolutely heaped in candy and snacks.

Butterfingers. Butter popcorn. Pretzels. Red vines. Cheez balls. Mallomars. All of which happen to be your favourites. He has two cold beers side by side. And a fat tight joint sits waiting in the ashtray too.

He’s even bought those fake filmy cobwebs to spread in a few places with fake plastic spiders - to join in with the real ones dusted around in forgotten corners.

All your tensions melt down right to your toes. All is right with the world. Halloween night. No school tomorrow. And Eddie. And a whole uninterrupted night of movies and bliss. You’ve lost count of the amount of times a movie night has ended up getting dirty on his couch. Tape flicking to the end whilst you’re attached lip to lip with wandering hands.

You sigh gladly as you stand to toe off your shoes. Putting them aside. Heat slides into your stomach all squirly and scorching as he stands from behind you and his hand reach around and skilfully undo the cape around your shoulders.

“Let’s get you comfy my temptress of the night. Beer?” He seeks. Throwing your cape over his shoulder. It lands nowhere even near the coat rack.

“Yes please my lovable nightmare.” You sass. You walk over to the couch. Spying an absolute mound of VHS’s ready to go by the TV. The colour seemed to dip in and out sometimes. The set was old. Eddie had to whack the side sometimes to get it to behave. You find it more endearing than a set that worked seamlessly.

You pluck pieces of popcorn out the bowl and throw them onto your tongue. Crunch them down as you sit with your knees tucked under you.

Eddie kills the music and slings himself down next to you on the lumpy couch. Frame squeaking and rattling as he settles.

“Damn. You got a great selection, Munson. What did you do, bribe Harrington with your soul to score all this?” You remark as you peer at the videos on the coffee table.

1941 Wolfman. Christopher Lee’s Dracula. The Fog. Halloween. House on Haunted Hill. And Friday the 13th. You loved old school movies as much as he did. The old swelling suspense of a good black and white.

“Nothin major. Just a little selling of my body and charms. Deviant sexual acts. Just so you know I’ll have raw knees for a month.”

“Mm you filthy slut.” You hush. Impressed.

“Finest slut in the Midwest.”

“So I’ve heard.” You grin. Leaning in to kiss him. Seemed too infeasible not too. He cups the back of your head as you do. Keeping you close as he dares. Sweet kiss like icing sugar dusted across your lips.

He makes a small ‘mmm’ noise before you pull back.

“Besides. I consider The Fog a film that makes me think fondly of our very early courtship.” He remarks.

Snoopy bed shorts. A tin of Campbells. His lunatic escapades of climbing in your window late at night.

“And, well, only the best for you, Pencils.” He grins.

You tilt your head. A sigh caught in your throat.

“You must’ve busted your ass to get all this. You didn’t need too. You know I don’t need all this. I’m happy just to watch crappy reruns with you and order a pizza.” You tell him.

Concerned about the cash he would’ve laid out for tonight. The decor. The snacks. The primo shit from Rick. All must’ve cost a pretty penny.

“You’re worth every damn cent. When you’re dating a spooky awesome girl you gotta put in the ultimate spooky effort.” He tells you. Gripping his beer bottle and leaning back.

You clink your beer bottle to his.

“Please tell me you overcharged those meathead jocks for your product.”

“…. And then some.” He winks.

That’s my boy. You couldn’t be more proud.

“I’ll drink to that.” You murmur. Taking a pull on your cold beer. Cool heaven sliding down your throat.

“Thanks to Tina’s party last week, I mean, man, I scored big time. So many stoners invited. Walk in the park.” He smiled.

That deserved a kiss. Which you gladly give.

“Kinda love you for that.” You suppose. But there were no two ways about it - you were completly head over heels for him.

“Good to know.” He supplies. Hand rubbing your back.

“We better put a video on before I maul you.” You threaten with a great deal of flirt. Dragging your purple painted fingernails down the front of his top.

“Mmm kinky.” He grins. Leaning over to press a spitty kiss to your cheek. Before diving for the pile of VHS.

“Ok, roughly how long do you wanna argue about which one we watch first?” He seeks.

You narrow your eyes. Taking a sip back of your beer. “Depends if I win or not.” You look at him all cunning.

“House on haunted hill?” He bargains. Crouching and pointing the VHS at you.

“Don’t point that thing at me.” You smile. Stealing another handful of popcorn. Eating it with a grin.

Let the bickering commence…

~

The credits rolled to your third film of the night. Halloween the 1978 original. Orange twinkle lights flicker in the warm yellow lights near the kitchen. The rest of the trailer in dozy darkness. The sounds of kids trick or treating and laughing, batter against the trailer side in the night air.

You magnanimously let him pick the film. Maybe you’re growing soft in your old age.

This found you and Eddie slumped down together on the ratty couch. Limbs tangled. Joint smouldering in the ashtray. Verdant smoke in the air. Beer bottles empty. Only popcorn kernels left in the bottom of the bowl. The snacks had been pilfered and pinched at your leisure.

Eddie was pressed down onto you like a lanky weighted blanket. Snoozing happily with a belly full of beer and cheez balls. Socked feet hanging off the end of the couch. Hands slung all over you like a gangly octopus. He’s currently letting out content little breathy snores with his head cushioned against your boobs. A little spit of drool by the side of his mouth.

He’d nodded off sometime around Michael Myers fifth victim with the boyfriend and the blonde pigtails. You’d been carding your fingers through his hair. Scratching his scalp. Made his eyes flick back in his head.

You swear he was one step away from twitching his foot in contentment like a canine at the work of your hands. Made his brain short circuit.

More so when he was on Indica. Just the kinda hit he needed for a slow sleepy and spooky night in. You can’t deny you’re fighting the effects of it yourself.

A couple of puffs. Eyelids drowsy. Your limbs feeling like cotton stuffed pillows. Indolent and slow. And now you’ve got your perfect metal head keeping you pressed down.

“Guess the party circuit wiped you for six, huh babe?” You smile. Thumbing his cheek. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

You shift your leg up. Which tumbles his knee more into your lap. He snuffled. Nuzzling his head further onto you. His breath was all sugary red vines, and fruity weed.

You kept on stroking his hair. Leaning forward to nuzzle a kiss to the crown of his messy hair. Apple shampoo and that lost tang of American spirits.

“Edward?” You ask.

You get a sleepy, sticky gurgle from him.

“I’ve got a really nice bra and panties set on under this dress, y’know.” You whisper at him.

Another mumble. You smile and rest your cheek on his warm head.

“You’ll have to let me move to put the next movie in, babe.” You tell.

“No. S’comfy.”

Then you hear him grumble. “Boobs.”

“Great boobs.”

You chuckle. Honestly.

“Knock yourself out. Munson. You smile.

Shifting down to let sleep come and gently take you too.

“Oh, and Happy Halloween.” You add. Letting your eyes close. Letting the static at the end of the video ebb you softly into dreams. Along with the sound of wind kindly rattling the roof. Brushing along the walls outside. All the trick or treaters have been coerced indoors. Safe inside with their candy spoils.

Much later on. You hear the rustle of clothes and feel the heat of his breath. The warmth of his limbs leeches off you when he moves. Coldness sneaks in.

You wake with bleary-sticky eyes to those brown ones staring back at you. Cheeks all flushed. The tell-tale sign of a tented zipper bursting at his crotch.

That dripping eye make up looks smeared and downright dangerous. He looks absolutely ravishing and you suddenly shake off your tiredness to see him looking so good like this.

“You said something about a bra, Pencils…” he smiles. “Be a shame not to show it off now-“ He beams. Waggles his brows.

“Heard that did you?” Your brow crooks.

Happy Halloween, indeed.

This is for everyone; but especially for @tvserie-s-world @lunatictardis @heyndrix @callmeloverr @joequinnswhore @atabigail @thewrathoffemalerage @lurkingprincess @songforeddiemunson @palomahasenteredthechat @babybluebex

[rosewaterandivy]

iii. starlit night

summary: it's either fate or a cosmic joke.

pairing: s.h. x werewolf!reader

w.c.: 5.3K

warnings: blood, bloodlust, blood drinking, guts, gore, possessiveness, supernatural elements, quasi-mating rituals, exhausted best friend!eddie, no a/b/o, angst, mild dubious consent, amateur wound care, power dynamics

a/n: consider this my warm welcome to spooky season, happy autumnal equinox y’all! monsters need love too 🐺

m.list | playlist

prev | next

Eddie gave nothing away, and neither did you which was more than a little infuriating for Steve.

After the incident with the impromptu dog sitting and tire tracks on his lawn, he hadn’t seen hind nor hair of you. No daily runs in the woods, or in the crowd at Corroded’s Tuesday night shows, and certainly not frequenting Family Video.

The balm of summer has settled upon Hawkins, humidity sticking like dew to his skin no matter how long he lingers beneath the spray of the showerhead. He’s sweated through his shirt and vest by the time he clocks out to leave for the day, muttering his goodbyes to Robin as she reminds him to pick her up at closing tonight.

For as much as Steve loves the languid drip of summer days, he positively loathes the heat. Can’t stand feeling sticky and damp with no reprieve. So it’s really a no-brainer that he elects to waste the afternoon in the swimming pool, waiting for the a/c to cool the house to a respectable 68 degrees, utility bill be damned.

He’s driving back from Family Video, Robin in tow, as night falls. The streetlamps had a dull and ineffective glow which only partially illuminated the edges of the road. Steve took the back roads to Robin’s house, one of his many shortcuts through a town in which nothing ever happened.

“Steve!”

Robin’s gasp, and spastic pointing are enough to startle him from fiddling with the radio. Eyes slicing to the road, he sees an animal darting across the pavement, and swerves to miss them. The front corner of the car wings left as it grazes the animal with a loud thud, following by the shrill screech of wheels skidding to a stop.

His right hand splays against Robin’s collarbone and chest, pressing her back into the seat. He can feel her frantic breaths heaving from her lungs as she sucks in paltry breaths.

“Are you alright?”

She nods, fingers fumbling to release the seatbelt. She’s shaking a little from the shock of it all— Steve hitting an animal with his car on the edge of the greenbelt. Her mind is spinning and she can only imagine how he’s feeling, if the slight tremor in his hand still affixed to her chest is anything to go by.

“Is it—?”

He clears his throat and unbuckles his seat belt and opens his door quickly. “Just stay here, I’ll check it out.” The hazard lights click on as Steve steps out to approach the animal.

It’s lying at the center of the road, the poor thing’s chest rising and falling in slow succession. It’s still moving, hazily coming to in the still summer evening. Head turning toward him and eyes blinking away the fear in a flash of milk glass.

Oh fuck. Oh shit.

Suddenly spurned into action, Steve moves with a speed that even Robin finds shocking. It’s a moment she’ll never forget. In an instant he heaves the large dog into his arms, shouting at her to open the back door in a panicked voice.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.”

She wonders why her best friend is profusely apologizing to an animal that seems, at first glance, none the worse for wear. Steve slides it into the back and jumps into the driver’s seat, peeling out so fast that she barely has time to get into the vehicle herself.

“Steve, what the ever loving fuck is going on?”

Turning to him for the first time since the slapdash animal rescue, Robin’s mouth falls open in thinly veiled terror. Steve is drenched in blood and debris, remnants of fur and skin stuck to his gray shirt, slowly staining itself maroon and perfuming the air with a metallic tang. It’s too much blood to be from the accident, right? The animal was already injured when they clipped it; it had to be.

He doesn’t reply, electing to simply speed back to his house and run a bloodied hand through his hair frantically.

Robin faces forward and blinks.

She catches a flicker of something in the rearview mirror.

Wrong noises are coming from the backseat, terrible growls and low whines. The sound of joints popping in and out of place, muscles shifting and pulling taut beneath skin. Teeth scraping and grinding against one another.

It’s the pain that brings you to consciousness— knifing through your skull and making you want to vomit. Swallowing back bile and blood in your mouth, you want to rip yourself apart and keep ripping until there’s nothing left. Your jaw is moving unnaturally so, everything is wrong and you want to scream. Piping hot and burning, you’re sure you’ll spontaneously combust any second now when a hysterical shriek rends the air.

But not from you.

Steve is wholly unequipped to deal with his best friend’s nervous breakdown and a very naked what he can only assume werewolf dipping in and out of consciousness and bleeding out on the tile of his bathroom.

Between Robin’s blubbering and your soft murmurs, he can really only think to do one thing:

Call Eddie.

And that seemed like a good plan half an hour ago when he laid you in the bathtub and swaddled Robin in a smattering of blankets on the sofa downstairs.

But now, he’s not so sure.

Because Eddie strides into his house like god sent him to settle a score, wearing fury on his face in a way that could be considered cuttingly alluring, if not for the broken glass bottle digging into the skin of Steve’s neck as his back hits the wall.

“Give me one reason not to spill you guts all over your Nikes, Harrington.”

It’s more of a snarl than a request.

And what is there to say, really?

Sorry, I hit your werewolf best friend with my car after snooping around because for some ungodly reason I’m drawn to her and unable to control myself.

His hands and temples are covered in dried blood, dark and foreboding, crusted on his skin and hair and nails. To say nothing of his shirt, plastered to his chest and emanating a startingly metallic odor.

As if suddenly realizing this, Eddie blinks and loosens his grip on Steve’s shirt, palm coming away tinged in blood.

“What did you do?”

And, to be frank, Steve preferred Eddie’s rage to whatever this was, dread, he supposed.

“It was an accident.”

They both turn to the pile of blankets on the couch that is Robin. Only her face is visible, pale and dazed.

Eddie turns back to Steve with a look that could turn most people to stone, and yanks him up the stairs to the bathroom.

Greeted by a warm wall of steam, Eddie shoves Steve toward the sink with gruff instructions to find a first-aid kit. He crouches in front of you and murmurs in a soft voice. Languorously, you turn your head toward him with an easy smile, lips bloody.

“Hiya pal.”

Your voice is a croak, rough and jagged as it edges up your throat.

Eddie says nothing, rolling his lips between his teeth as his hands close in around your face turning it this way and that as gently as he can. The spray of the hot water has matted your hair impossibly at the back of your skull, rivulets coming back a translucent red on his palm. A large bruise blooms burgundy against your hip, splotchy and livid.

He leans you forward to survey your back, brushing away the rocks and dirt embedded into your skin and mindful of the raised red road rash. But none of that goes to explain the blood swirling down the drain— where is it coming from?

Steve stands awkwardly behind, red and white box in hand.

Elbows resting on your knees as Eddie continues his perusal of wounds, you shoot him a sleepy smile before your head falls to your forearms. The mad fluttering of your eyelashes as you battle to stay awake.

“She can sleep damn near anywhere,” Eddie mutters as your body goes lax in his arms, “Long as she knows she’s the deadliest thing in the room.”

“Is that, uh, safe?” Steve asks, handing the kit over as Eddie extends his hand.

“Safe enough. Help me turn her on her side, will ya?”

Both men let out a jarring gasp at the sight of the bite to your side. A festering and weeping thing, blood almost black as it skitters down your stomach and back. Steve’s mouth fills with saliva as he steps back and vomits. Eddie’s nostrils flare as he breathes steadily in and out, trying to piece out who or what could’ve done such a thing to you.

Steve spits a few times for good measure before gargling some mouthwash.

“I told you not to go in the woods.”

It’s about as subtle as a grenade, Eddie’s pointed accusation.

But that doesn’t make it any less true. If Steve would have just minded his own business, heeded Munson’s warnings, you wouldn’t be bleeding out in his bathtub right now.

“I-I know. I’m sorry.”

He leans back on his heels, a ringed hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as Eddie methodically begins setting out bandages, antiseptic, and gauze.

“Can you thread a needle?” He asks around a wisp of silver clenched between his teeth and hands the needle and spool of thread to Steve.

“Yeah, sure.”

“And find her some clothes.”

“Uh huh.”

He hands the threaded needle back to Eddie with trembling hands, absolutely terrified at the gray pallor of your skin. The surface wounds stitching themselves closed, as blood seeps from mangled flesh curving along your side.

Steve haphazardly grabs a shirt and shorts, tossing them to the side as he’s hauled back toward the bathtub. In the few minutes of his absence, Eddie has worked quickly. Your wounds are scrubbed clean and bandaged, and he’s angled the showerhead to hit just beneath your wound having cleaned it prior.

“Okay Harrington,” Eddie begins, grabbing a switchblade from his pocket and pouring the antiseptic over the blade as it flicks open. “Here’s how it’s gonna go: the wound is too severe for a simple bandage and she’d bleed through it anyway. The only shot in hell we have is you staying close and using your blood to jumpstart her system. We’ll have to be quick—”

“Wait, what?”

“Because I’ll have to disinfect the bite before her were instincts kick in and she starts healing on her own. S’like jumping a car, no big deal.”

Stupidly, Steve doesn’t pull back his palm from Eddie in time, as the wet slice of the blade pierces his skin. It burns as the blood wells up from the cut, bright red and cascading down his hand. Eddie yanks Steve’s hand toward your partially open mouth, eyelids fluttering in your uneasy sleep.

He presses the heel of Steve’s palm to your lips until you subconsciously latch, the tips of your fangs grazing his skin. It’s horrifying, Steve thinks, how easily your tongue laps at the ruby red rivulets weeping from his broken skin. You hum contentedly, swallowing over and over again until he realizes that he’s gone all slack and whimpering.

Well, now that is just embarrassing.

“All right, champ,” Eddie says, pulling you off of Steve and he mourns the loss of the warmth of your lips.

You tip back against the porcelain and howl as Eddie pours antiseptic onto the wound that is rapidly stitching itself together on your side.

Steve falls with a thud against the wall, cradling his cut palm to his chest as he watches in holy terror as you magically revive before his very eyes.

“Blood of your blood.”

Eddie says this as if it could possibly explain anything.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Steve can see the blood— his blood— as it warms your cheeks and lips, pumps life back into your muscles and arteries. And you must be a living nightmare torn straight from the depths of his mind, more wild than the wilderness skirting the edges of town, a cursed thing surely there to kill them all.

“She’ll be weak for a few days,” Eddie says, leaning back against the wall after he cuts off the water. “We’ll just keep her hydrated and fed and she’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Delirium must be setting in, because Steve finds himself nodding along to Eddie’s instructions. Allows himself to be tugged forward by the lanky man as he slices a near-identical cut into your palm.

“Drink, it’ll close up soon and you need your strength.”

Steve doesn’t even think twice about it, sinking his teeth into the meat of your palm and sucking. Every time your body tried to stitch itself back together, he draws forth another pull of garnet blood, precious droplets cascading down his jaw and neck, failing to stifle the noise trying to break free from his throat.

The room doesn’t so much as spin as it shifts, blurring out in haze and lights bursting like stars behind his eyelids. He tongues at your lifeline, gasping, slurping, and moaning until—

“Okay Romeo, slow it down there.”

Eddie grips the scruff of his neck like he’s an overexcited puppy and jerks him backward onto the cold tile floor.

“‘Kay,” He blinks lazily, mouth slick and painted a violent shade of red as he slumps to the floor.

Eddie eyes him warily, “Ya with us, Harrington?”

“Feel high,” Steve replies, still woozy and buzzing.

Before he can reply, you shake yourself awake and shudder in the cool air. You look around, everything too bright and smelling like you’d huffed the entire contents of a janitor’s closet. Someone tosses a shirt and shorts your way, and you slowly worm your way into the clothes. Skin feeling too tight and something smarting at your hip.

“Fuck,” A dazed voice says, sending a shiver down your spine. A hand gently touching the side of your face, blood smearing against your cheekbone as he turns your head. “Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

Eddie scoffs from somewhere near, as your lips kick up in a smile. His thumb grazes the full of your lips, skirting against the pearly white of your fangs. And it’s only when you take in a lungful of Harrington that it all falls together.

Tearing yourself from the surging desire to nuzzle into his open palm, you bare your teeth and train your eyes on Eddie. Snarling to say:

“The fuck did you do.”

Because there was absolutely no way this human was somehow halfway to being your mate.

Not when you’d told your Guardian, who was smirking down at you now, that under no circumstances would that be happening.

He barks a laugh and shrugs as if to say, you were dying, what could I do?

You shakily stand, ignoring the crestfallen expression on Steve’s face, and amble out of the bathroom.

Life must have been some cruel joke, only to serve Steve Harrington, of all people, up on a plate and wave him in your face as something you could ever afford to keep.

A cutting slice of tragedy to give him some kind of forever, when you couldn’t even take care of yourself, much less a pack.

The words of the only father figure you’d ever known pounded in your skull as you hurried down the stairs and out into the balmy night:

This is a gift, it comes with a price.

You’re gone for what feels like days.

A span of time that finds Steve shaky and pale, nearly biting off the heads of everyone currently invading his house instead of answering their inane questions, until a voice in his head warns, Easy now.

Robin’s somewhat functioning, though not entirely recovered from the shock of the century; the revelation that werewolves exist. And that her best friend is fated to be with one.

She just about lost her mind when Eddie sat the pair of them down to explain things.

“Mates. What does that mean?”

She’d done most of the talking, since Steve hadn’t said a word since you left.

Eddie sighs and his eyes dart back and forth, as if he’s second guessing himself in sharing this information outside the pack, as ramshackle as it was.

“It’s like, having partner, I guess. But it’s predetermined biologically? We don’t really know how or why it happens, and it’s rare when it does.”

“So… not every werewolf gets a mate.”

“Well, I mean they can date and be with whoever they want, just like us. But if there’s a mate and the circumstances align just so…” He trails off and glances at Steve, guilt etched on his face. “It makes being with anyone besides your mate difficult.”

“How so?”

“Kind of like a bad break-up, but you both want to be together? There’s no physical ailment, but you just feel—”

“Abandoned.”

Eddie swallows and nods.

“And she just—”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” He cautions Robin. “She could come back, we don’t know. But, to be fair, I did kind of fuck it up.”

“Wait, hold on.” Robin extricates an arm from her swaddle of blankets and grabs Steve’s hand, “So you’re saying that she didn’t reject this whole thing?! She just ran out of here like a bat outta hell! How is that not a rejection?”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Okay,” she drawls, “And?”

Eddie sharks his head, “I really can’t say more than I already have.”

She scoffs, “That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.”

Eddie’s eyes cut back to Steve as he lets Robin run his thumb across his bandaged hand. His eyes almost looking through Eddie, far off and distant. It’s spooky, how quickly the light left him as you slipped out of the front door that night. How Steve could tell the instant it happened, jerking upright on the tile floor and Eddie watched as his body tensed, muscles coiling with adrenaline and no way to rid himself of it.

He scrubs a hand down the tired plane of his face, letting loose a beleaguered sigh.

“Look, I’m a Guardian, not a Scrivener alright?”

“Like we’re supposed to know what that means!” Robin hisses in reply, thumb worrying across Steve’s lax palm.

“I just gotta make a call, okay?” He says, rising to stand and roll his neck. “Stay with him until I get back.”

“Yeah,” She calls as he walks to the phone in the kitchen, fingers punching in the familiar set of numbers. “No shit, Sherlock!”

Eddie drums his fingers against the wall and hopes to God she picks up, because if he has to talk to her mother one more time—

“Hello, Wheeler residence,” She chirps down the line.

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, his forehead resting on the cool wood paneling as he says, “Hey Nance, we’ve got a bit of a situation. Can you make it to Harrington’s place?”

It takes all of ten minutes for Nancy Wheeler to come barrelling in, her arms laden with books and giving Eddie a look that would strike lesser men dead on the spot.

“I could kill you Munson.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says with a lazy wave of his hand, “Join the club Wheels.”

“I get first dibs,” Robin pipes up with her first smile of the evening.

“Guess I’ll settle for sloppy seconds then,” Nancy huffs, dropping the books on an ottoman. “I can’t believe you did this, going against not only her express wishes but Steve’s as well? Bet you didn’t even tell him what all this entailed and now look at him!”

Steve, for all the talk about him, says nothing. His face radiating heat and steadily becoming a vibrant pink.

“Is he,” Eddie begins, stepping closer. “Blushing?”

“Nah,” Robin says knowing best and laying a cool palm to his forehead, “That’s no blush, that’s a fever.”

The thing about Steve is that he rarely, if ever, gets sick. Had perfect attendance all through school, until he got caught skipping, because he’d never gotten the crud. So when he emits a full body shiver, Robin has no choice but to act.

His teeth are still chattering even after being hauled upstairs and smothered beneath blankets. And saying that Steve feels ill, or under the weather or even is inching toward death is a massive understatement.

He grunts beneath the sheets and blankets, socked feet sliding against the rumpled fabric. He aches from the top of his head to the toes of his feet, somehow his fingernails hurt. What is up with that bullshit?

And yeah, he’s supposed to stay in bed, he knows that. But he can’t see the door from up here and what if you come back, what then? What if you and Eddie get into it again and you storm out?

He’s not warming up any more up here than he would down there. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he thrashes beneath the covers and hobbles down the hall.

What Steve is not anticipating however, is to find his living room filled with the likes of Chief Hopper and his daughter El, a lanky older man that he doesn’t recognize, the Byers family, Lucas, Dustin, Mike, Max, Billy fucking Hargrove, and finally, you.

So, it’s not all that surprising when he slumps to a heap on the landing of the stairs.

Alright, okay, he passed out a little bit. What gives?

Well, in your opinion (which really is the only one that matters at present), Steve fucked up is what.

Not only did he get out of bed and drop like a sack of potatoes at the sight of what can only be described as a pack of people? Werwolves, who knows—in his house, but on the way down, he managed to knock his head on the banister and come to with someone half-shouting at him and half-shouting at everyone else in the room.

“If anything, this is Munson’s fault.”

“Shut the fuck up Hargrove,” Eddie sulks, “No one asked for the opinion of a drop-out meat-head.”

“That’s rich coming from you, super senior.”

“I swear to god—”

“Boy, you better settle down!”

“C’mon Wayne, I’m just—”

A low, warning growl cuts through the room.

Everyone has the common sense to look abashed, tail between their legs, and even Hargrove stubs out his cigarette.

“Cut that shit out.”

Angry eyes greet Steve as he groggily comes to. Irises bleeding milky white as you struggle to contain your baser nature.

“Are you alright?”

Each word is bitten and harsh, your teeth set in a tidy row against your plump lips.

He nods, wincing at the pain blooming in his temple. You continue to glare as you sit him upright, “You.”

Steve flinches, pain thudding dully in his skull, all too aware that there will be an audience at his execution if your expression is anything to go by. He opens his mouth to apologize, the sibilant ‘s’ on the tip of his tongue, until your eyes slice to his and stun him into silence.

“Don’t you even start.” With a sigh, you join him leaning back against the railing, hand falling uselessly between you. “This is all my fault. You wouldn't be in this mess if I had any lick of sense.”

It startles a laugh from him, how quickly you rush to accept the blame.

“Well, I did hit you with my car.”

“Oh, right,” You snort, “That.”

“Can I um,” He says haltingly, “What happened?”

Your head knocks once against the wood banister, “You were supposed to stay in bed.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Best I can guess is you were worried and got up. Only to be greeted with the shock of a lifetime by having a buncha weres in your living room.”

His lips form a silent ‘oh.’

“We’re not a pack,” You’re quick to clarify, “At least, not officially. And they’re not all weres, just most of ‘em.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, and Steve is placated, for now.

“Hey, boss?”

Though, he still can’t get over that Billy motherfucking Hargrove is in his living room and deferring to you. You merely turn your head before he says something about some vital information being left out of the welcome packets for tonight, and you sigh with a roll of your eyes.

“Sure Hargrove, lemme get Steve settled and we’ll get into it.”

You stand up pulling Steve with you, and he sees Billy nod before lighting up another cigarette and turning toward the window.

He’s insistent that he doesn’t need a babysitter, but that does nothing to stop Dustin from inviting himself into Steve’s room when you go down to sort things out with the not-pack. He feels marginally better, and maybe Eddie was right when he said proximity helps. He doesn’t feel as wrecked as he was earlier, and if anything, it’s getting a bit hot underneath all the covers on his bed.

“Don’t smother him, Henderson,” You grunt, sticking out your chin as you lean on the doorjamb an hour or so later, while Dustin continues piling blankets on Steve. “This isn’t Mommy Dearest, kid.”

Steve thinks it’s cute, the slight drawl in your voice as you scold him. It’s probably your not-pack voice, the lower register, and gruffness of it. Packmaster-mode, Dustin had called it, even though the title is technically Alpha. But no one calls you that to your face, something about not liking the moniker or responsibility of it.

“Alright punk, scram.”

Dustin does as he’s told, begrudgingly so.

“Y’know,” He says, pausing at the door, “You’ve got to work on your people skills.”

Flicking the hat off of his head and shutting the door in response, you turn back to Steve looking ready to throttle the pipsqueak.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” You sigh, slumping down on the bed.

“It’s his ego, right?”

You blow a raspberry and let out a humorless laugh, “Eddie says it’s his tone.”

“Hmm, yeah. That too.”

Steve shuffled over to make room on the bed and peeled the covers back in a huff. You’d kicked off your sneakers and snuck one leg under the sheets next to his, the other propped with your foot resting on the mattress.

“Oh my god, you’re so warm.”

“Yeah, we run hot. It’s a were thing.”

Steve doesn’t sag against you exactly—it wouldn’t make any sort of physical sense—but he feels like he does it metaphorically.

“Ugh, that must be brutal in the summer.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” You give him a small smile and let your arm graze his thigh. “But it’s not all bad.”

Steve picks idly at the fraying hem of his shorts, fingers itching for something, anything to do. He’s not mad, well, not exactly, but he is kinda keyed up.

“Can hear you thinkin’ in there.”

You crack an eye open, and he turns back, a blush dusting his cheekbones.

“It’s just—” He starts to say, falling silent as you sit up beside him, the legs of your shorts, which are unfortunately boxers he grabbed without looking, rise up to reveal the soft skin of your thighs. And your skin is the only thing soft about you, from what Steve can tell.

“You didn’t even give me a choice.”

The light in your eyes snuffs itself out. Your face falls as you take in what he’s just said.

You clear your throat, “It’s not much of a choice,” Voice soft and small, “Not really.”

Steve nods, rolling his shoulder and chewing on his lip.

“Look, I’m really sorry Steve, truly. And if there was a way I could go back and undo all of this, I would.”

A momentarily panic flares up in his chest. No, that's not what he— he didn’t mean it in that way. He frustratedly runs a hand through his hair, recalling how Nancy pointed out that communication had never been his strong suit.

“No, hold on. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all fucked up now,” You admit, “Eddie knew how I felt about it and he went and did it, anyway. He claims it was done in my best interest, but he’s a smarmy motherfucker when he wants to be.” It all rushes out of you in the span of a breath, but now you’re on a roll and can’t stop, no matter the defeated expression on Steve’s face.

“He just like, dove straight in and started the Blood Rite without either of our consent, and now we’re stuck in this labyrinthian limbo from hell because you’ve had my blood and I’ve had yours. So how are we ever gonna know if any of this,” You wave frantically between your bodies as if it’s somehow proof, “Is a legitimate and purposeful choice or the result of fucking werewolf nonsense?!”

Well, Steve certainly wasn’t expecting any of that.

He looks at you, so directly it’s almost a challenge, the muscle in his jaw working steadily and you have to will your need to dominate deep down like the slumbering beast it is. But he’d look so pretty laid out and begging underneath you.

Ahem, another time maybe.

“You don’t wanna do this.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant.”

“Steve, no—”

“Heavily implied.” He spits, turning toward you and shifting up on his knees. “I’m not stupid, y’know.” Steve says, and seeing you caught off-guard like this has set something into motion that he just can’t get the precise nature of yet.

You swallow and drag your hand down your face, letting it settle across your lips as you study him. Keen eyes, a predator’s eyes following every movement as he spreads his legs wide, nearly straddling you but not quite.

“A part of you wants me.”

You're staring at the ceiling fan now, but your face has gone tight with frustration and something else.

“More than you should.”

One hand distractedly pushes the hair from your face, your mouth falling open to argue.

“Well?”

You swallow, pushing yourself up straighter. “I should go,” You say carefully, eyes rapt on Steve’s face. Responding more to the tone in his voice than anything else, and you chafe under the ease with which he wields it.

He doesn’t back down, which only stokes your ire. Steve’s close enough to touch, but remaining just out of reach, taunting that part of you that howls for him.

Well, two can play at that game.

Desire uncoils in your gut at a lazy pace, taking its time to pool beneath your navel. It shakes you alive, prompting you to disentangle yourself from the sheets wrapped about your ankles. Rising to your haunches as if readying yourself for a chase, Steve feels himself prickle hot all over just at the sight of it.

He licks his lips, and he’s so close that you can feel rather than see the slight shudder of his body. If you pushed just a bit harder, took in a little more atmosphere he’d fall like a house of cards.

And then, to the victor go the spoils.

Steve shakes his head and sighs, it’s such an infuriatingly him gesture that you’re nearly taken aback. But his gaze remains steady, just as his hands and heart do, the comforting da-dum, da-dum, da-dum of it drawing you closer and closer.

Normally, you’d find it endearing. So familiar that you can paint it with your eyes shut, but not tonight, not when you have the moon and him singing in your veins, emotions a bit fraught and not entirely your own.

Walking on your knees across the bed as if it’s a desert, and you’d spent hundreds of miles repenting, Steve stills.

Baring your teeth to smile wide and wild, “C’mere honey,” You croon, saccharine sweet. “I’ll play nice.”

He breathes your name, there’s no other word in his head.

Some things are fated, destined, and mapped in the stars, but nowhere is it said that these things need to be kind.

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Drunk & In Love: Arthur Morgan x Reader (NSFW)

Contains: Ambiguous gender for reader, sex, creampies(?)

A fire sat warmly deep within both of your beings. Alcohol sat heavy in your guts, the poison dulling your minds and numbing your sights and movements. Sluggish steps up a flight of creaking stairs with the man behind the counter rolling his eyes and attempting to bury himself with books and such alike as he knew what sort of debauchery would happen soon.

You both snatched at each other’s loose clothing, hands grabbing fistfuls of cotton and denim and leather of each others splayed open coats. Some alcohol had sploshed onto the fabric, staining light fabric to be a muddy brown under the dim lighting of the narrow hallway.

You both could hear the other rooms wake up to the sounds of you both staggering down them, inhabitants scoffing or stilling to listen for any chance to pray you both would just pass out instead of make them want to smother you with the pages from their Bibles.

But as Arthur pressed heated kisses to your neck, sloppily licking and nipping at the skin, even in your drunken state you knew that in the morning you both would have glares and harsh words spat towards you.

So you both had decided to enjoy this time while you still could.

The door had been thrown open without a care in the world as Arthur yanked you inside. Barely managing to kick the door closed behind him, he grasped at the sides of your head and drew you in for a sloppy kiss, a trail of saliva between your lips as you backed up just enough until the backs of your knees hit the lumpy, old mattress and covers. You snatched at the collar of Arthur’s lop-sided jacket, yanking the man down with you until your chests smacked together. He groaned, his hands on either side of your head, barely keeping him above you.

But even as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes, the man seemed to undress you with those forest green eyes.

The man groaned, feeling his constraining pants tighten up, tenting, forcing to hide his growing erection you could feel starting to poke at your person.

Standing up to only drunkenly claw at his own clothing, Arthur grunted and slurred curses under his breath, dropping his belt and pants to the floor, kicking them off with his muddy boots in tow. He eyed you like he were some predator as he snatched at the buttons of his shirt, allowing the shirt and his jacket to roll off by their own heavy weight, leaving the man naked before you.

And God, if you didn’t love it when he was naked.

Arthur swayed where he stood, eyes fluttering before opening, suddenly more aware of what was happening as he now aided you in pulling off your clothing. He pulled at the waistband of your pants, dragging them down with your underwear, pushing up your shirt to kiss at the bare skin of your stomach, down to your navel, right on your pelvis before he stopped to fully pull off your pants.

Tossing them carelessly behind him, he cared no longer to take off your shirt as he lunged at you like he were some wild animal.

He had caught you as you tried to sit up on your elbows, forcing you to turn around as he pinned you to the bed. Your face smushed into the old covers that smelled of weird powders, your hands curling around the stiff quilty fabric as Arthur had slowly sank into you. You both found yourselves crying out, backs curling, hips shaking. Arthur snatched at your hips, blunt fingertips digging into your naked sides as he dragged you in closer, slowly filling you up more, driving himself as deep as he could go before he found himself choking at how tight you were around his thick cock.

Pistoning his hips, Arthur’s head lulled to the side, the man groaning as if he were in bed with an illness, losing himself to his drunken pleasure as he found himself now ramping up in speed. He forced you down against the bed, keeping you pinned there with no escape.

You groaned into the sheets, drooling and sobbing as Arthur had now started to pound relentlessly into you. The bed creaked and squeaked and groaned under your weights, at how fast he was thrusting in and out of you. The floorboards were creaking underneath you both, the bed knocking against the walls and shaking the lights.

Even in your drunken pleasures, you still heard their shouts for quiet, but Arthur merely grumbled under his breath.

“I ain’t stoppin’,” he muttered.

He gasped, suddenly finding himself coiling. Fire burned in his belly as he found himself twitching inside of you.

“Arthur!” you cried.

You had yanked at the quilt, shoulders shaking as you gasped to breathe. You could feel your own climax ramping up. Arthur had slowed his thrusts, drawing out lewd moans from both of you, crying out like you were animals in heat.

You found yourself suddenly rocking with pleasure as your body shut down, crying out as you came apart under Arthur.

The man snatched at your limp hips, slamming against you once, twice, three more times before a comforting heat filled your insides, leaking out to coat your naked asscheeks and spill onto the bedsheets between you both.

You gasped, looking back to Arthur, slurring on about how much you loved him only for him to look down at you. That fire inside of him continued to burn on like coal in an engine. He was a well-oiled machine, and from how he rolled his shoulders back and snatched at your aching waist once more, you knew he was already prepared for a second round if the sudden prodding at your ass was any sign.

Something told you that you wouldn’t be spending any more time in hotels for a little bit.

[cliophilyra]

Intimacy Prompt 23:

Wearing Someone’s Clothes - Saltommy

For @thingbe Thank you for this prompt!! It doesn’t have a title yet but if I put it on AO3 I’ll have to think of one 😊

Saltommy - rated T (Not beta read so apologies for any typos)

>Sal: Fuck me this rain is biblical

>Tommy: Yeah it’s a disaster out there - where are you?

>On way home, gonna change then should be at yours by time you’re back. That’s the plan anyway - if I don’t drown.

>Don’t text and drive deluca

>Har har - does it count as driving if you haven’t moved in 30 mins?

>🙁

—————

>No one in this fucking town can drive

>Except you of course

>Naturally 😉

—————

> How are we still this bad at driving in the rain? It happens every fucking year now and it’s still a shock?

>Calm down old man you’ll give yourself an aneurysm

>Fuck you Kinard

>Maybe later

>I’m gonna hold you to that

>😘

——————

>Fuuuuuuuccccckkkkk

>Can I help you?

>The fucking truck just died

>???

>idk it just crapped out on the side of the road 🤷‍♂️ I can’t see anything obvious but it’s still pouring down sideways so it’s not easy to see.

>Can you get a tow? Where are you?

>Oh fuck it. I’m like 10 mins from yours. If I go straight there I can grab the truck tomorrow if the fucking rain calms down. I do NOT know what the wait is gonna be today.

>Tommy?

>K, there’s a key in the fake rock thing on the drive

>Yeah yeah I know. Game starts in 90. Also you gotta get a better hiding place for the key.

>🙄

—————

>Fuck this. I am never going to be dry again

>10 mins seems a lot longer in a fucking monsoon

>The next car that splashes me I swear to god I’m going to fucking murder someone

>Made it!

>Hooray. And you were so stoic about it too. Should be done in 30 🤞

>🍆💦

>😏

——————

>Ah shit there goes the bell, I’m going to be late. Sorry babe

>Oh this is a fucking nightmare

>En route to the 500th RTA of the day

>Fuck the rain. You were right I take it all back

>Finally!

———————

When Tommy finally gets home it’s two hours later than he expected. The rain had brought with it an seemingly endless stream of RTAs as Angelinos struggled to get to grips, sometimes literally, with the unfamiliar road conditions and flooding. He drops his bag inside the door with a heavy sigh and kicks off his wet boots.

He can’t deny Sal asking to come here when he was out kind of took him by surprise. They’ve been friends for years and...whatever they are now...for long enough, but this is the first time Sal has been here without him. It caught him off guard somehow, how he was so casual about it. Not that he would have said no. Just…

He can hear the TV from the other room and he walks in expecting to see Sal with his feet up, drinking his beer and eating chips with a cocky grin. Maybe there’d be a suggestive look and a hand on his belt, dragging him in.

What he’s not expecting to see is Sal asleep on his couch, stretched out on his front with his face cushioned against his arms, wearing Tommy’s clothes.

Tommy is aware on one level that he did tell Sal to grab dry clothes but he was in no way prepared for the warmth that blooms in his chest when he looks down at him. Of course there’s the way his sweat pants stretch across Sal’s ass, a little tighter on his broader waist, and the way his shoulders fill the old LAFD t-shirt, sleeves stretched tight around his biceps, hem riding up over his stomach to reveal a strip of tan skin that makes Tommy’s mouth water. But there’s also the damp towel draped over the arm of the couch, the half-empty beer bottle and bag of chips next to his spare key on the coffee table, the warm sandalwood smell of Tommy’s soap clinging to his skin and the way his face looks so soft, his breathing deep and even, muscles lax in sleep. How he looks like he belongs here. Like he’s at home.

Tommy reaches out a tentative hand and pushes his fingers through Sal’s short hair, smoothing the damp strands back softly. Sal makes a deep sound in his throat and pushes back against Tommy’s hand, stiring slowly.

“Hey Kinard,” Tommy grins softly. Sal opens his eyes groggily, blinking up at him.

“Huh?”

“Nice t-shirt.”

“Oh,” Sal laughs, twisting a little as if he could see Tommy’s name emblazened across his own shoulders. “Yeah.” He looks up again, brow furrowing slightly as Tommy scratches gently at his scalp making him groan.

“Sorry I’m late. Shift from hell,” Tommy says softly.

“S’ok baby,” Sal sits up and fixes him with a look, eyes darkening. There’s that smirk and that big hand reaching out for his belt, drawing him in.

Tommy goes willingly, as always, but this time, instead of unzipping his fly and taking him in his mouth, or pushing him down to his knees, Sal pulls him in by his waist until Tommy stumbles against the couch and drops into his lap, knees either side of his thighs, then curls his fingers around Tommy’s jaw and presses their lips together in a kiss that is unlike anything they have shared before. It’s soft and slow, insistent and deep and it makes Tommy’s skin tingle all over. He feels like he could shoot sparks out of his fingertips as he slides his hands over Sal’s shoulders and up his neck, warmth flooding through him as Sal cradles his head as if he is something precious, smoothing his thumbs across his cheekbones as he kisses him. Tommy kisses back, hoping he’s somehow communicating everything he felt when he saw Sal asleep on his couch. How much it felt like home, like something he wants to see every day.

Sal pulls back eventually, Tommy makes a noise that could be described as a whine, although he certainly wouldn’t call it that.

“Welcome home baby.”

“Where did that come from?” Tommy says, trying to sound less breathless than he feels.

Sal shrugs. “Felt like the thing to do. I kinda liked it...waiting for you to come home.”

“I kinda like it too,” Tommy smiles, kissing him again. “I like coming home to you.”

Sal bites his lip, sucking it between his teeth, making Tommy hiss and grind down against the hard-on he can feel pressing against his own cock.

“Also my clothes looks really fucking good on you,” Tommy murmurs against his lips.

Sal smirks. “Mmm I dunno, think they’d look better on the floor.”

*****

Afterwards, when they’re collapsed in a heap on the floor next to the couch Tommy reaches up and grabs the spare key from the coffee table and dangles it from his finger.

“I think I’ve thought of a better place to hide this,” he grins.

“Yeah?”

“How about you look after it?”

EDIT: It has a title now! Keys To Fit Our Locks on AO3

[stopthatnel]

towing cars

nsfw under the cut, reblogs are so appreciated lovely’s 🥺

tw: powerplay, roles of authority, oral sex (m! receiving), anal play (and mentions of it), use of sir, use of pet names, degradation/praise, lmk if i missed any.)

deputy! reiner who knows your car and plates a lot more than he’d like to. several noise complaints could be traced back to your sleek red mercedes and for the first few of them, you were off the hook with a warning. the deputy never understood how many ‘warnings’ a single person could manage without actually receiving a ticket until he was dragging himself out of his house to angrily glare at your car circling his cul de saq.

off duty and all, he’s stomping his feet across his yard while muttering about what kind of psychopath was blaring their music this loudly at two in the morning. he’s harshly tapping at the drivers side window with his knuckles, noticing the barely legal tint applied to the glass. when your window rolled down, reiner almost didn’t see the look of irritation that spread on your features. he was taken aback by your doe eyes, glossy lips and rose stained cheeks.

you hadn’t bothered to turn down your stereo as you glared daggers into his head, appalled by the audacity of the complete stranger who decided to dirty your crystal clear windows. in your eyes, he looked like he just rolled out of bed (he did, thanks to you), and needed someone to argue with.

“ma’am, do you know what time it is?” he asks you, holding onto the roof of your car and leaning into the open window. your ditzy eyes looked like they rolled into the back of your head, popping your gum loudly.

“m’sorry, can’t hear ya! try again during business hours hun.” you’re sarcastically saying, already reaching to roll your window back up. but reiner was absolutely too tired for this shit, reaching one of his arms into your car and pulling your keys from its slot and stepping back. “excuse you? give me my fuckin’ keys you psycho!” you gasp, taking your foot off the break.

“ma’am are you under any influence tonight?” reiner asks, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes at you. he watches as you sputter, grabbing your phone off the console and stepping out of your vehicle. your outfit left just enough up for imagination, a pink denim belted mini skirt and a too thin tube top barely keeping your breasts confined.

“are you acting’ like a cop right now? i’ll have you know an actual cop lives on this block, loser. give me my keys back ‘fore i call him!” you threaten cluelessly. the deputy is chuckling, daring you to go ahead and call the cop that you ‘knew’. it was only a few awkward seconds before you realized the house the man came from had a deputy car parked front and center in the drive way.

“i’m sure your cop friend is just busy right now, ain’t that right darling?” your gaze nervously reaches his smug face, suddenly overly aware of the new dynamic that just took place. you quickly unlock your phone and text your friend (who sucked at telling you her neighbor cop was literally the deputy) to stay inside the house until you said anything else.

“m’not drunk or anything, swear.” you mutter, propping your cell between your skin and already stretched out top. “then i’m sure you wouldn’t mind doing a quick sobriety test, right?”

reiner almost laughed in your face when you huff, crossing your arms over your chest and turning your nose up. “n’ how’re you gonna do that? you’re in your pajamas.”

“i can hold onto your keys and go change into my uniform if that’ll make you more comfortable. in fact, i can even pull out the deputy car and turn on the sirens if you’d like anymore of a scene than the one you’re already causing, doll.”

your ears are turning red at the way he talked to you, so smugly like he trumped you. truthfully, he did. you just hoped you could get your act together and work your magic on the deputy the same way you’ve worked your charm on the other officers that’ve tried to issue you tickets. and in all honesty, you weren’t drunk.

“i- these heels really hurt my feet!” you pout, pointing to the black stilettos that adorned your feet. “and it’s really hard to walk in ‘em. can i take em off at least?” reiner sucks his teeth, swinging your keychain around his fingers as he shamelessly looks you up and down.

“you had’em on while driving, shouldn’t be too hard to walk in. c’mon, straight line, one foot in front of the other.” he steps back farther into the street, crossing his arms and raising his brow expectantly. he watches the way you huff again, keeping your hands to your sides and eyes focused on the shimmering pavement underneath you. walking towards him, reiner would’ve almost made his point had your ankle not rolled to side, leaving you stumbling for balance. he sighs.

“take ‘em off then.” he could almost see something spark in your eyes, staggering back to your starting point. he’d half expected you to bend over and unclasp the ridiculously tiny ankle straps that kept those heels on your feet, and you do that.

except you turn around and keep your legs shoulder width apart when you do so. reiners jaw almost dropped, your bare cunt and pink plug on display for him to see. you took your time undoing the clasps, doing each one individually, allowing yourself to feel the cool air between your thighs. you could feel his stare, and having said nothing you decided to test the waters a bit more, swinging your hips gently as you moved over to the next clasp.

truth be told, this excited you. the once smart mouthed cop had nothing say at the moment and when you came back up, you twirled around and carelessly plucked your phone from out of your top and placing it on your car hood. you smile giddily as you watch the way his eyes trail over the fabric that inched it’s way down the swell of your breasts, areolas peaking out from the very top now of where they rested.

you stared back at him, noticing just as much as him on his counterpart, a tent in his sweatpants slowly becoming visible. “m’kay, ima try this again. if i fail it this time, you can do whatever ya want. but i’m promisin’ you—”

“get to walking.” he’s gritting, his eyes momentarily unable to meet yours. now, now, he understands why little old you was getting away with just warnings. he see’s your red mercedes almost everywhere after that incident, his face unwillingly turning pink each time, almost afraid to keep looking. but he does, and time after time you’re strutting out of that car with the stilettos that were too hard to walk in as you make your rounds to his neighbors house.

deputy!reiner is unsure if you’re fucking his neighbor, but he wouldn’t find it hard to believe if you were. stepping out of his house alone and pulling your miniskirt (how many of those could one person even own?) down over your ass, popping your gum loudly as you get into your car and never bothering to turn down the previous volume you had on your stereo.

however, there’s only so many times he could handle being awoken from his sleep to your ditzy music, your ditzy cackle, your stupid plump lips blowing bubbles with the gum you seemed to constantly have in your mouth. and tonight, reiner didn’t bother going to sleep. he waited to hear your obnoxiously loud engine going way too fast in the cul de saq, sitting at his window and watching you confidently strut over to porco’s house and go inside.

while you’re in there doing god knows what, he has a boot cradled in his arms and the key tight between his teeth. just as quick as he’d show up, he’d be gone, making himself comfortable in his bed until he hears banging at his front door.

his deal was simple, give him one good reason not to issue you four tickets and have your car towed and he’ll give you the key to the boot and let you go on your merry way. but you stood at his door, arms crossed over your chest and a pout forming on your face as you stammered over your words, intimidated by the confident calm he held over you.

“buh, buh, buh. cats got yer’ tongue tonight, lil lady? but what? why shouldn’t i fine you for that tint, for your reckless driving, for your speeding, and noise disturbance?” he’s relishing in this, he’s feeling a comeback from the way you had him acting out of character that night. “i, fuck man, i don’t even know your name.”

“that’s not necessary doll, deputy is fine with me.”

when tears began welling at your eyes, the deputy would’ve almost felt bad had he not known you’d do anything to get out of a tough situation. but with that knowledge in mind, he invited you in, pulling out a seat from his (way too big for one person) dining table and sat directly across from you as if he was about to interrogate you.

“are you seriously going to boot my car? i literally need it, and i- i don’t have the funds to get it out of the yard. this is so fucked up, i didn’t even have my music that loud.”

“i heard it from my bedroom, darling.” reiner lies, a phony sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “look, out of four tickets, im asking for one reason.” he attempts to reason with you. one tear from the welling at your water line slipped past your lashes, groaning and throwing your head into your palms.

“deputy please,” you beg. “i won’t even come ‘round here no more, you’ll never hear from me again. promise!” reiner audibly tsks at your words in disapproval. “not a reason darling. i’ll be calling the tow company and you can head on with the car n’ em.”

the lot of emotions that swirled through your mind almost clouded your eyes from seeing the egging, smug smirk that was plastered onto the deputy’s face. almost, however, is a very important word. you hurriedly wiped your cheeks clean from the saline that stained them, sniffling your nose and picking up your phone. reiner sat and watched you quietly, tapping away at the glass, eager to see your next move. were you going to call someone, perhaps porco next door? after all, you had just came from his house, maybe he’d provide you with some help.

but instead you placed your phone face down on the table and huffed, turning your nose up. “so?” the blonde asks, curious as to what was behind those pretty eyes. reiner wasn’t really going to boot your car and give you four tickets, he wasn’t even on the clock. he just wanted to shake you up a little bit, just enough to allow him a good nights rest. but the way you leaned into his dining table with those big wide eyes of yours and fixed your lips to say,

“you’re right, i was being disrespectful. is there anything i can do to make this up to you? i’ll be a good girl, sir.”

had him thinking back to your pretty pussy bent over on display. god the nights of him closing his eyes and picturing himself just acting on the moment, pulling his sweats down fucking your pussy dumb right on the hood of your car, so dumb that you don’t question him, his authority. promising to be a good girl, just for him.

that smug grin of his seemed to be widening more and more as he stared at you, his biggest giveaway being the way his eyes relaxed, peering at you through his thick lashes. he didn’t jump, or give any tell of the way shimmied closer to the edge of your seat; but your ankles are finding themselves crossed with his, the sound of those too high stilettos clicking underneath the two of you. he clasps his hands in front of him, leaning into your bold movements with a simple cock of the brow. he wanted you to do it.

in fact, he dared you.

“how are you going to make it up? what do you have that could make me give this a blind eye?” he questions you. your ankle inched up his calve the minute his lips closed, watching him carefully as you did. the way he sat there nonchalantly would have made you believe that he could pass a lie detector while lying through his teeth, but that was all for null. seeing as the tip of your heel found what it was looking for, you grinned at the feeling of hardness underneath it.

but that wasn’t enough for you or him, and you don’t hesitate to draw your legs back into your body and slyly unclasp the buckle holding the shoe to your feet. he’s clearing his throat as a cover up to stifle the groan he lets out when he feels you press up onto his crotch, wrapping his calloused hands around your ankle and roughly yanking you forward.

“if you’re doing what i think you’re doing sugar, i need to hear you say it.” he mutters thickly. he’s looking at you through his lashes, waiting for your pouty lips to tell him exactly what you were trying to do, shamelessly at that. but you had to save yourself some dignity, and in return you refused to do that. “what do you think i’m doing, sir?” your heartbeat thumped loudly behind your chest, noticing the way his grip tightened around your skin when you repeated the use of ‘sir’.

reiner oh so definitely wanted to hear you say it, but he couldn’t help it, feeling the ball your foot press back and forth against his awfully hard dick was nothing more than magic to make him speak. “i think you want me to bend you over this table and fuck you like a whore, sweetheart.” reiner never failed to notice the little twinkle in your eye as the pet name drawled from his lips. something about his southern accent saying the nastiest things in the sweetest way.

“do you wanna?” you smack at the gum between your teeth, obnoxiously popping bubbles. reiner’s smirk dropped, tilting his head at your question. he was getting too far in, desperately drawn to your words but he needed to be the one in control here. after all, he did have the key to the boot that kept you here in the first place.

“do you deserve it?”

“it’s not about whether or not i deserve it, it’s about whether or not you’re into it. sir.”

reiner sweeps your ankle off his lap and pushes his chair back, standing up and walking over to your side. he places a palm down onto the table in front of you, the other resting gently on your bare shoulder. he leans into your ear and whispers, “and if i am into it, do you still think you’d deserve to have that slutty cunt of yours split on my cock? you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass, y’know.”

you fluttered your eyes closed at his words, the degrading tone making you cross your legs together. even without reopening them, you can feel his eyes like daggers in your face, expecting a response out of you. you take a shaky breath, opening your lids slowly and glancing at his hand before gently taking his wrist between your comparatively small fingers. you mumble something, something reiner genuinely didn’t hear. he leaned closer into you.

“what’s that?”

“take this as an ‘i’m sorry’.” this time, reiner heard you loud and clear. but just to feel it, he lazily takes his hand off your shoulder and hooks his finger underneath you chin, asking you to repeat that last part. he looks into your eyes, amber but dark as ever.

“m’sorry.”

“show me how sorry you are.” his hand reaches over to the nape of your neck, pulling your cheek to meet the white fabric of his tank top, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath. he look down at you as you place your hands on his hips, fingers blindly dancing at the elastic of his sweats. i could’ve just been a coincidence that he was wearing the exact same outfit as the night you’d flashed him, but it wasn’t. this is how that night should’ve played out, he’s thinking. he should’ve had you choking around his shaft with tears in your eyes just as you are now.

gasping for air as he throws his head back, thrusting into your mouth as he holds your hair up to see you pretty face trying desperately to take a solid gasp of air. he’s grunting at the way your tongue still manages to flatten against the underside of his dick, curling around it to cover your bottom teeth. the drool that coated the elastic of his waistband (which you hadn’t even bothered to tug down fully) didn’t affect him in anyway, barely reaching your chin at every gag you made.

his dick was big, thick and veiny. it was heavy in your mouth, pulsating against your tongue. he was surprisingly neatly trimmed, only a tuft of a blonde landing strip at the base of his happy trail. the mushroom tip was a deep purple color from your throat closing around him so tightly. he tapped it against your hanging tongue, his shaky breaths rocking his upper body as he stares at the submission he’s been seeking.

it wasn’t enough.

he needed more. he needed those tears to count for something, not just his cock bullying your uvula. it should bully your cunt too, but in time. you’re dragging the back of your palm across your mouth in an attempt to clean up the slobbery mess you’ve created, jaw sore from how wide he’d kept it open. “up, c’mon sweetheart. on ya’ feet.”

he watched in satisfaction as you stood up without hesitation, without a word, without a snarky attitude. he wondered where the gum in your mouth had went, and he takes your cheeks into one hand, squishing them to open your mouth. he slips his finger past your red lips and you open up wider, closing your eyes as you feel him press onto your tongue and swipe along under it. you seemed to know what he was looking for, “i swallowed it.” you’re speaking around his digit. he raised his brows up but made no comment, stepping back and using the spit he’d collected to help him tug at his length.

“you sure know how to give a show don’t ya’?” he asks you, watching as he pulls his sweats down further over his thighs. you tilt your head wordlessly, becoming a bit shy as his eyes danced over your figure. you go to tug the leather mini skirt just a bit over your ass, only to be met with that familiar tsking the deputy seemed very fond of aiming at you. you gaze up at him, halting in your actions as he shamelessly stroked his cock.

“tell me, darling. you got that pink plug stuffed in yer’ lil asshole today?” his words sounded slurred, drunk even. you shake your head no, had you known he was seeking it you might’ve just humored him. he chuckled, mumbling something about having something else he could shove in there.

“bend over the table for me.” he tells you, following right behind you. when your chest hits the table you look back at him, admiring the gold between your legs. you wondered what went through his mind, but the quick flicks of his hand wrapped around his leaking tip told you more than you needed to know. his eyes glance over to your peering eyes, “face forward, slut. did i say you could look?” he snaps.

your eyes widen momentarily as you snap your neck forward, then closing them in… embarrassment? your cheeks are heating up, taking in slow breaths as you anticipate his next move. his rough hands are somewhat gentle as he yanks your barely there skirt fully over your ass, fingers kneading the soft flesh. “i wonder what was going on in that empty little head of yours that night,” he mumbles to himself, “were you looking to get fucked?” he elicits a soft gasp from you when he pulls your thighs farther apart, tapping the taut skin of your asshole with his thumb.

“or did you already get fucked? was that plug just to keep your little boyfriend’s cum stuffed in you?” you hum as his fingers drag down to your slit, spreading your lips apart with his middle finger between them. “i- ah, he’s not my boyfriend!” reiner chuckles at your exclamation, but doesn’t dwell on it too much as he pursues his lips and spits onto his finger, mixing it in with your slick.

“i bet he won’t be after this for sure, ain’t that right sugar? you’re gonna be a good girl and listen t’me, huh?” reiner is still waiting for syour answer as you whine from the width of his fingers, slowly inching into your cunt. “yes, i- i’m sorry.” reiner almost laughed at you, all of that snotty brat behavior went where exactly? two knuckles deep into you and it’s gone, you’re a quiet whimpering slut.

so, he laughs.

“what’re… oh fuck- what are you laughing about?” you ask, squeezing your eyes tightly as he curls his fingers into you. the deputy doesn’t respond to you, simply fucking into your pussy with his digits, trying to stretch you out. if it’s one thing about the deputy, he was in control, and being in control called for an awareness that the normal person wouldn’t typically project.

and reiner knew his cock would stretch your little hole out until it was molded to the shape of him, and a little help wouldn’t be an issue for him to give. your pussy spasmed around his fingers, but reiner was a bit confused. he expected you to be loud, matching your boisterous actions. however your eyes remained shut tight, small gasps and whines escaping through your nose. your hands held onto the corner of the table tightly, and for a moment reiner almost doubted whether or not you felt good.

but when he thrusted into you, the gasp you’d let out was nothing short of an ego boost to the deputy. the squeals tumbling from your lips, the incoherent mumbles of words that could’ve been apologies or gratitude played no roll in the way reiner’s hips met yours, and with such animalistic growls coming from him you almost didn’t believe it.

his hands meet the skin flush on his thighs, pulling your own thighs wider apart as he digs into your stomach. he felt so deep you’d swear if you put your hand over your belly you’d feel him. and speaking of your hands, they gripped the sleek wood beneath you tightly, promising yourself not to run from his assault on your cunt.

“fuck, i was laughing ‘cus this is how i was supposed to have this pretty pussy. if you wanted,” he pushes down on your back with one hand, digging in deep and leans forward. he was bottomed out, nipping at the stretchy fabric of your tube top with his teeth. he’s pulling it down hastily, his skin feels hot against your back. “you could’ve just asked to be fucked right. i wouldn’t say no, especially not to a brat like you.”

while his voice was strained, he still somehow managed to speak to you in a belittling manner. your nails dig into the surface beneath you, crying out as he draws his hips back and then slamming it back flush.

“oh my fucking god!”

“there ain’t nothing godly about this, darlin’. how about reiner, how about you call for me.”

you couldn’t even process the fact that he finally told you his name, but you’re calling it, over and over like a prayer. his hands won’t stop moving, pressing down on your shoulders, holding the skin of your ass apart and spitting his drool onto your asshole.

he was watching the way it would drip down to your split open cunt, disappearing in the mess you’ve already made on his dick. so fuckin’ pretty, your head was spinning from the contrasting nothings and something he was whispering to you. he was calling you a slut, but it’s okay because you’re his pretty slut, and he was going to fuck your attitude into place.

he was most definitely keeping his word, dropping his leg from the chair and lifting you up and flipping you over. you finally get a good look at him, sweat beaded at his brow, his cheeks were pink, and best of all, the shit eating smirk was back and full blown. he doesn’t let you think too long, dragging you to the edge and lining himself back up to your hole. wasting no time, he dips back in slowly, watching the way your face stared down at where the two of you connected, panting and relishing in the way he stretched you out.

about halfway, he’s giving you slow languid thrusts, taking the tempo to catch his breath. “fuck me back baby,” he says, cupping the rounds of your ass under him. you prop yourself up onto your elbows, rolling your hips into his thrusts, stifling a moan when the mushroom tip of his cockhead nudges at your gspot.

“you take this dick so good… fuckin’ made fr’ it.”

[silverstonesainz-archive]

ok but i j feel like this fits so well???

❛ you always see the good in people. even me. ❜ + max

pls it really does fit SO well. huhu

good heart (mv1) ─── just a little reassurance

max sighs softly, but he smiles anyway. he thanks the interviewer, nodding at whatever else they had to say before turning on his heel to return to his driver room. his pr officer is in tow, but she says nothing, and for that he’s grateful.

it was a rough day on the track. another win under his belt, but alas another sunday of being attacked and berated for the way he drove. and he’s learned to compartmentalize it, to ignore snide comments about his aggression on and off the track. he’s been taught well, trained to smile even if he wanted to scream, and shake hands even if he wanted to throw a punch.

but today was different. he couldn’t place why, but it was. he thought he drove great, albeit a fairly boring one considering he was leading for the majority of it. but some how he was at fault for charles’s result was beyond him. 

he drove dangerously! he ran too wide, basically pushed charles off and fucked his race! max has no regard for anyone else but himself! he doesn’t deserve to be a champion!

but none of it was true… right?

he hangs his head low, mumbling thanks to greetings and congratulations. he just wanted to disappear, hideaway, and be with you.

when he slides the door of his driver’s room open, you’re sitting on his massage table on your phone. you take a moment to wrap up what you’re doing before you look up at him. the smile on your face drops the moment you see his sullen expression. 

“hey there stud, what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t say anything, just wraps you up in his arms, burying his face into your neck. you freeze for a moment, caught off guard at the sudden affection, but you melt into him just as fast. your hands come up to rest on his shoulder blades, rubbing softly. you coo, asking him what’s wrong, but he grunts in response. 

“tired of being the villain.” he mumbles against the skin of you neck. his breath is hot, hold is tight. “tired of being the bad guy.”

you cup his cheeks, pulling his face from you so that you can look at him. his eyes are tired and dull with sadness. his lips curve downward ever so slightly in a frown, bottom lip jutted outwards. “where is this coming from?” 

he shrugs, turning his head to release himself from your hold. he removes his arms from around you, running his fingers through his damp hair. his actions are rough, filled with frustration. you hang back, sitting back on the massage bed as you watch him change and get ready to leave the track. he moves quickly, slipping off his race attire and swapping it for his normal redbull polo and blue jeans. 

“hey,” you call out, “c’mere.”

max looks like a little kid. his shoulders are slumped, feet dragging along the floor as he shuffles over to you. you part your legs, giving him room to stand between them. his jeans touch the inside of your thighs, his fingers coming up to push the stray hairs over your shoulder. his frustrated movements moments earlier contrast the gentle way he handles you. you take his hand into yours, pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“i just feel like im under a microscope, now more than ever. and i feel like no matter what i do, i’ll always be a bad guy.”

“you’re not a bad guy max. don’t let snide comments get to you and make you villainize yourself.” you squeeze his hand, but he sighs and shakes his head. 

“c’mon, let’s just go.”

“wanna know what i think?” you tug him back to you, and he plants himself between your legs again. “i think that you’re a good guy, the best guy actually. you’re talented, fucking phenomenal at more than just driving. you’ve been through so much, and yet you’ve managed to take all that and channel it into something positive. people are cruel, but it doesn’t mean they’re right okay?”

“you’re just saying that.”

“no, i could tell you you’re a piece of shit if you were being a piece of shit. but you’re not.” his sulky demeanor cracks, a smile curling onto his pink lips. you stand up, left hand resting on his cheek. “you are a good person, with a good heart max. okay?”

he smiles, “you’re my favorite person, because you always see the good in people. even me.” he leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “i will never understand how i got so lucky with a girl like you, loving a guy like me.”

you smile, kissing him again, “you were just being you, and loving you is easy.”

[sanguineterrain]

no more lonely nights - s.h.

Summary: Steve comes home from Starcourt, bruised and battered. And you're there. You always are.

Pairing: best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: s3 beaten up Steve, my poor little meow meow. Vomit, hurt Steve, friends to lovers, sharing a bed. Reader's a swell gal, and, to no one's surprise, Steve is a sweetheart.

Notes: heads up that Steve IS thinking clearly; the drugs have worn off by the end. This takes place in s3, reader and steve are 18+, etc.

****

The flash of headlights rouses you from sleep. Checking your watch tells you that it's a little past midnight. You push yourself onto your knees, squinting at the red taillights. Beneath the streetlamp, you can just make out the maroon BMW humming in the Harringtons’ driveway. A moment later, the driver's door flies open and a figure hunches over the side. Steve.

He grasps the inside handle and stays like that for less than a second. Then he throws up. 

You're out of bed in an instant. 

Steve dry heaves a couple times, his coughs and gasps echoing on the asphalt. You slip on your thin, silk robe—a present from Steve—and haphazardly tie the belt. Your own parents are gone for the weekend to visit a friend, so slipping on your shoes and running across the street in your pajamas draws no questions. 

The block is dead. The silence is thick in the dark; the only sound is Steve's car. You run across the road and carefully step around the sick, sliding a gentle hand over Steve’s bicep. He flinches so hard he hits his head on the top of the door.

“Whoa, hey! Hey, Steve, it’s me, it’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” he croaks, blindly searching for your hand.

You hold his hand and rest your other on his shoulder in case he loses balance. Steve squeezes weakly.

“Hey,” you say, softer. “Did you drive home drunk?” 

“No,” he manages, then sits up. 

You gasp.

Steve's face is covered in blood and badly swollen, his right eye sporting the largest shiner you’ve ever seen on him. Yellow and purple bruises bloom along his face and neck. His Scoops uniform has spots of blood and is torn in about a hundred places. You feel as sick as he does.

“Steve, oh my—” Your fingers ghost over his bruises. “What happened?”

“Russians. At Starcourt. They opened a portal or something. Billy, he's…" 

Steve scrunches his brow hard. You hush him, not wanting him to delve into what is no doubt a frightening memory. Then you lean in and turn off the car. 

“Okay, alright. We’ll talk about it later. Can you walk?” 

“Um… yeah, yeah," he says, not sounding too certain. "Just gimme a sec. Feel kinda dizzy.”

“You shouldn’t have driven yourself home, Steve," you say, heart in your throat. "Couldn’t someone else have given you a ride? Mrs. Byers? Hopper?"

“Didn’t wanna bother anyone. ‘M fine.”

You crouch as best you can so you're level with him. He looks at you with droopy eyes, mouth parted. Shamefully, you wonder what it would be like to kiss him right now, despite the cut on his bottom lip. With careful fingers, you touch his less injured side, grazing over a smaller cut. He winces. 

“Sorry,” you whisper.

He smiles, pained and sweet. 

“‘S okay. Did I wake you? You didn’t have to come down.”

Your brows furrow.

“You’re hurt, Steve. Of course I came down.”

He shakes his head, breathing raspy.

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.”

He looks at you, sleepy and swollen. You tuck a bit of hair behind his ear before you can think about it. 

“Ready to go inside?” you ask.

“Mm, think so."

You roll up the sleeves of your robe and sling your arm under Steve’s armpit. He follows you up, not leaning as much weight on you as you want. You lock the car and hobble over to the front steps, Steve in tow. He braces himself against the brick while you open the door. Then you heft him inside. Steve's head lolls onto your shoulder. 

"Stay awake, Stevie," you urge, jostling his arm. "Just for a little longer, promise."

"'M good," he mumbles. "Jus’ need a shower. Spent a good chunk of the night on the bathroom floor." 

He hisses when you both turn the corner. You stop, turning so you can see his face. Your hand hovers unsurely over his ribs. 

"What hurts?"

"No, 's just a little bruised. Finally won a fight though." Steve's grin makes butterflies flit in your belly, despite him looking like he's been shoved into a meat grinder. "Proud of me?"

"No, Steve. I'm glad you're home safe but I don't want you in any fights. You need to take care of yourself," you say, slowly helping him into the bathroom. "I know you wanna look out for the kids but you're killing yourself doing it."

"Better I get hurt than them," he declares. "Better me than Robin or Dustin or anybody."

You help him sit on the edge of the tub and take the alcohol and gauze from the medicine cabinet. Steve looks up at you with wet, trusting eyes. 

"This is gonna sting," you warn. 

"Yeah," Steve nods, bracing himself with one hand on the lip of the tub. 

You cup his face and gently swab the cuts. He's quiet as you do so, gazing at you with those big brown eyes. 

"What were you doing up?" he asks when you finish. 

"Just couldn't sleep with the house so empty."

You don't mention the fact that you'd been waiting for Steve's car to pull in. That you've done so everyday this summer. No one, including Steve, will tell you details about the strange happenings in Hawkins. Still, it's all you can do to not follow him into whatever maw of danger he finds himself in. And it's only because of Steve that you stay put. 

I can't lose you, he'd pleaded one late night when you'd asked. I care about you too much to get you mixed up in this shit. Don't come, please.

So you hadn't. You regret listening. 

"You can't sleep a lot?" Steve asks. 

You hum, not wanting him to worry. "Sometimes."

"You should call me. I'm usually awake too."

This close you feel Steve's warmth. His hands are dutifully planted on the tub. Every time you touch him, his hands twitch, like he wants to move. To hold. 

"Usually?" you ask. 

"I have trouble sleeping these days," he admits. "I thought—my folks are gone all the time. If anything got me, no one would know. No one would even…"

"I would," you interrupt. "I would care. And I'd do everything to get you back."

Steve's silent as you put everything away. You help him stand once more. He's wobbly, leaning on the tiles to pull off his shirt with one hand. The glimpses of freckled skin make you swallow hard. You focus on the plaid shower curtain. 

"Are you, um, hungry?" you manage. 

Steve's biceps swell as he tugs his shirt off. You turn around when you see the smattering of dark hair on his chest, refusing all temptation.

"You don't have to cook for me, Y/N. I can manage a—"

"So that's a yes."

"You should–should sleep," he mumbles, hissing at a cut or bruise. Maybe both. "I know you worked today."

"Steve." You turn around, so exasperated you have to face him. Steve's only in his briefs. Oh God. "I, uh…"

"Pervin' on me?" he smirks, hands on his hips. 

After being friends with Steve for so long, you should be used to his easy confidence. Steve's always been open with his body. You panic anyway. 

"No!" you yelp. "No. Sorry. I'm–I'm going downstairs. You're not gonna fall in, are you?"

Steve chuckles, smirk softening into a smile. 

"I think I can manage not falling in."

"Okay. Right." You leave the bathroom, closing the door almost all the way. Fuck. "Yell if you need something. Eggs okay?" 

You wait outside the door for a response. When there's none, you lean in. 

"Steve? Are you okay? Ste—"

He opens the door, tall frame blocking most of your view. You swallow hard, not knowing where to look. It's rude to stare at a guy's bare chest, right? Doubly so when he's your best friend, who's bloody and exhausted and just fought Soviets. You really are a perv.  

"Y/N, c'mon. It's nearly…" Steve squints at the clock. "Jesus, three AM?" 

"It's summer," you reason, eyes finally landing on his face. "I don't mind. I want to." Pathetic, pathetic. 

"I just—I know we haven't spoken as much lately, which is my fault," Steve starts. "And I don't wanna drag you into this shit because you're going to college soon and you don't need this on your plate on top of everything and—"

"Steve. Hey. You're my best friend. I know you're out having fun with the lunch gang and Nancy Wheeler."

Steve makes a face. 

"It's not like that with her anymore. You know that."

You hum. "Well, who's that girl at Scoops? Robin?"

"Robin, yeah." Steve smiles. "She's cool. You'd like her."

"I bet I would," you say softly, even though it hurts, hearing Steve say another girl's name.

But so what? Nothing you haven't suffered before. Last year was absolute hell, watching Steve remain stuck on Nancy. 

The worst part is you. You're the one who can't pull away, who can't let him go. Steve was your friend long before he'd been anything of Nancy's or this Robin girl's. Still, you have no right to lay claim. You know this. And yet, you're here at three in the morning, ready to make him scrambled eggs. 

Like you said. Pathetic. 

"Y/N?" 

"Huh?" 

Steve has a strange look on his face. He can't hear your heart thumping in your chest, right?  

"Sure you're not concussed?" he asks. 

He touches your forehead. You squeak, darting backwards. 

"I'm fine! Go shower. You have a lot of hair to get through."

You hurry out before Steve can respond. Your shoulders only relax when you hear the shower turn on and water rushes through the pipes. Now you can focus on making food. You're good at that. Making food holds no danger of your heartbeat ratcheting when Steve gets too close. 

The eggs turn out just how Steve likes them: softly scrambled. You also fix toast and wash some strawberries because you know for a fact Steve hasn't been eating as well as he should. 

He comes down a few minutes after you finish, still toweling his hair dry. You set the plate down at the kitchen island. He looks better, fresher. His face is still a mess but at least there's no visible blood. He wears the Talking Heads shirt you'd gotten him last year after forcing him to listen to their new album with you. On the bottom are plain blue boxers. Nothing special. Your heart palpitates. 

"Smells good," Steve says, further exhausted after the shower. "Thanks, sweet."

You swallow at the name. "N-no problem."

He bites into a strawberry first. The juice stains his lips red. You find a spot on the ceiling that's particularly riveting. 

"You cold?" he asks through a bite of egg. He dusts his hands of the toast crumbs, getting up to adjust the thermostat. 

"No, I'm fine."

"You sure? You still have your robe on, Y/N."

"Oh. Well, I wanted to… stay modest."

Steve snorts. "Modest? Are we in the eighteen hundreds? I think I can handle your bare shoulders."

"Surprised you'd know that considering how many times you skipped history last year," you shoot back. 

"Still passed, didn't I?" Steve grins triumphantly. "Solid B, baby."

"With my help."

Steve's expression melts into a fond smile. 

"Yeah. I couldn't have done any of it without you. I'm a lucky guy."

He finishes his last square of toast and starts to get up to put his plate in the sink. You quickly beat him to it, resting a hand on his shoulder so he'll stay seated. 

"Why're you so good to me?" Steve asks when you return. 

You tilt your head, leaning on his chair. "Because you're my friend and you deserve it."

"You really think that?"

Your brows knit. "Of course I do."

He shakes his head. "We haven't even hung out this month. I just got totally wrapped up in the new job and the kids and I—"

"Steve," you say. "Where's all this coming from? I know you've been busy since your dad cut you off. I'm not mad about that."

"Well, I am," he huffs. "I wanted to hang out with you more, I swear. I just didn't want to lose you. You're my best friend and I could never lose you—I don't know what I'd do if–if—"

"Hey," you soothe. "Hey, hey. Steve, it's okay. I don't know what happened… something about Russians? Whatever, if you want to talk about it, I'm here. But right now, you're exhausted. Can you try sleeping?" 

He looks at you with wet eyes. His fingers absently play with your robe belt. 

"Promise it's okay?" he asks. 

"Oh, Steve. I missed you. But you still have me. You always will, y'know?" 

He pulls you into a hug. His face nudges the pudge of your belly. You fold and cradle his head. 

"Missed you too," he mumbles. 

Steve is like a furnace, soft with residual heat from the shower. He's always felt larger than life and tonight is no different. Even battered, Steve is Steve. Hugging him feels like an out-of-body experience.

"C'mon," you coax. "You've been up for nearly twenty four hours."

He stands. You step back, trying to smile. Steve's attempt to mirror you isn't much better. He looks at your hand, then his own. 

"I'll see you in the morning? Or, well, afternoon.”

"Oh." Steve avoids your gaze, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "Yeah, guess so."

"When are your folks coming back?" 

Steve deflates further. "Dunno. They haven't returned my calls. Been gone for the whole summer."

You bite the inside of your cheek. Steve is a shiny, red apple in your Garden of Eden with his still damp hair and lovingly worn shirt. You need to go home. 

"I just… I don't want to overstep," you say. You look up to the ceiling, take a deep breath. "It's really your girlfriend that should be here." 

Steve's head snaps up.  

"What? I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Nancy was my last."

Your chest lightens. Steve takes a step forward. 

"You don't have to stay," he begins. "I just—it's so empty."

Damn it. Damn it.

"I'll… I'll stay for a few minutes," you say. "Just until you fall asleep."

He brightens. There's not much to bring Steve peace. You can do this thing for him. 

And who are you kidding? You’re not exactly pulling teeth here. 

You go to his room. You haven’t been here in months, since school let out. It’s the same, more or less. There are a few more photos; of you and Steve, of Steve and who is probably Robin. He still has the same plaid theme and the framed sports car photo you’ve teased him about for as long as you’ve known him. 

Steve’s hand lands on your back. You jolt.  

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Temperature okay?”

“I’m alright,” you say. “Does your face hurt? I could get some ice. Or Advil?”

Steve’s eyes go wide. He swallows.

“No. No drugs.”

His eyes seem to cloud over. You take his hand.

“Steve? Hey, you okay?”

He exhales, lids fluttering.

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m—the Russians…”

“Oh, Steve.”

You wrap your arms around him. Steve falls into your embrace, like the night has finally taken him down. His chin rests on your shoulder. You rub his back. His hair is fluffy and smells like lemon shampoo. You curl your fingers into a few strands.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur. “C’mon, Stevie.”

Slowly, Steve rises. You take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. You pull back the covers on his side. Steve slides into bed. His hair fans across the pillow. 

Steve looks like an angel. You feel temptation creep again.

“You’ll stay, right?” he asks. “For a little while?”

You smile and undo your robe belt. 

“Yes, Steve. I’ll stay.”

Steve’s seen you in pajamas and even in panties before. It’s no big deal, really. 

That’s what you tell yourself when you’re down to a big t-shirt and your underwear. 

Steve is a gentleman, of course. He doesn’t stare at you or comment. You clumsily climb into bed. 

“Hey,” he says, pointing at your shirt. “We match.”

You look down at your “Remain in Light” shirt. 

“Guess we’re meant to be,” you whisper, and immediately regret it.

But Steve smiles, eyes drooping.

“Yeah,” he hums. “Guess we are.”

You scoot up against the headboard and pat his shoulder.

“G’night, Steve.”

Steve frowns. 

“Lie down. ‘S uncomfortable sitting up.”

You chew your lip. Steve looks so earnest, eyes like starlight. You swallow and shimmy down, under the covers. 

He scoots closer. Your heart pounds.

“You want the light on?” you ask. 

He hesitates, and you know he’s debating between being brave or being comfortable. You choose for him.

“I like the light on,” you say, and he relaxes.

There’s only a couple inches of space between you. Steve is soft and yours, bathed in orange light. You want to kiss him. You want a lot of things you can’t have.

“I’m really glad you’re okay, Steve.” 

He pats the pillow for your hand. You link your fingers together.

“I’m happy I know you, Y/N,” he replies.

And there, in the dim light, safe under the covers that smell so much like Steve, you want to tell him. You want to tell him so badly how much you love him. How sick you feel seeing him bruised and bloodied. How you never want to see him like that again.

“Steve,” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“I–” 

The words crush your throat. God, he’s beautiful. You can’t lose him.

“Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you say in a rush of breath. “Never mind. Sorry. Go to sleep.”

Steve stares at you for a long moment. You gnaw the inside of your cheek. 

“I thought about you,” he finally says. “When I was down there. I thought about you.”

“Steve?” 

He closes the last few inches between you.

“I thought about what I’d say if I saw you again. What I’d do.”

“Steve,” you warn. 

Steve reaches for your cheek. Your breath stutters.

“You’re exhausted,” you remind him. “Y-you’re not thinking clearly.”

“I am,” he promises. “Been thinking clearly for a while now.”

And then Steve kisses you. It’s chaste, barely a press of lips. You’re careful of his cut. His lips are chapped and smell like mint and antiseptic. Steve shifts closer and grunts. You pull back, instinctively cradling his ribs.

“Careful,” you say. “Careful, Steve.”

He smiles.

“You’re so good to me,” he says. 

You lean in and rest your forehead on his. 

“Always.” 

He kisses your cheek again, unsure and fumbling like you’re his first. It’s sweet. God, he’s sweet. 

“Please stay,” Steve whispers.

You nod. 

“I will.”

You always do.

[ktsumu]

hello kit i come to you for your wrapped event 🤭 hehe as an iwa rep 😌 i would like to request iwaizumi hajime + 17 (or 4, whichever is better!) if that's ok 🥹 and the genre is entirely up to you!! (just no angst pls... i will cry)

oh my god this was such a hard choice that i literally might have to write the other one anyway .. cannot believe you picked iwa and 4 this is a PERFECT combo

iwaizumi + 4: sweater weather genre: fluff with a little kissin' !! reader is a cali girl and iwa knows his cars wc: 0.9k note: the car type is an easter egg if anyone knows it teehee

send me a number + a character and i'll write you a drabble!

Half of Iwaizumi's heart will never leave California, he's sure of it. Half of it will never leave this house.

It's a little blue neighbourhood house in one of the pockets of suburbia you and your friends drove him to, a friend of a friend's house. Something like that.

(Iwaizumi doesn't remember why you all show up there every day, but he doesn't really care that much.)

Every time, it'd be just around dinner when you all met there. You'd sit on the couch, talking to everyone, introducing your handsome boyfriend to anyone who showed. He doesn't remember ever eating dinner anywhere else than in this kitchen.

(He used to be afraid of being homesick. In high school, he never really pictured leaving. You make him think he was born to leave.)

"Excuse us," you say, standing up from couch arm you sat on, taking his hand. "We'll be right back."

Iwaizumi's brows raise as you take his hand, standing up with him in tow, but he doesn't question you— no, he's never questioned you— as he follows you down the hallway.

You're out the door with a grin, walking over to the driveway where all the cars are. You toss him a set of keys.

He catches them against his chest as he pauses, squinting in the last life of today's sun. "Seriously?"

You slip into the car, grabbing his sunglasses and putting them on. "Why not?"

"Uh, because's that's a '68 Benz?"

"What, you still don't have a license?"

"I do, but—"

"Do you trust me?"

He sighs a laugh. "I don't trust myself."

"That's okay," you say with a wink, patting the driver's seat. "I trust you enough for the both of us."

Iwaizumi swallows, glancing back at the house before sighing, getting into the car.

"You're gonna be the death of me,"

"I'll be the death of us, actually, so drive safe!"

(He rolls his eyes, but he starts the engine.)

Iwaizumi drives, but you give him directions— you told all of your friends you'd be right back, but he doesn't see you getting home anytime soon, not when he watches you lean over into the breeze. He can smell the ocean and your perfume, and he fights to keep his eyes on the road.

He starts to think you're keeping him driving on purpose until you tell him to turn off on the empty highway you've landed on.

"Here?"

"It's a real road, I swear."

"...Alright."

The car rolls through the gravel which turns into sand, coming to a stop when you tell him. The sun starts going down again, like it waited for the two of you to get to where you were going before starting to go again. Waves crash and you unbuckle your seatbelt.

"A beach."

"Mhm," you say with a smile. "Your favourite!"

Truth be told, he's never been a huge beach guy— sand that makes a home in your shoes, sunburns that never leave. But, you know, if you're down, so is he.

Iwaizumi furrows his brows, undoing his seatbelt just after you. "Hey, where are you going?"

You don't answer, just jog out into the sand.

"Okay, whatever, coming."

When he gets out to round the car, tucking the car keys in his pocket, he stumbles back into the hood when you grip his shirt and kiss him. He finds his footing in the sand first, and then his hands find your hips.

He leans back so you can crawl into his lap, gripping his hair, kissing him like it's the last thing you'll ever do. His fingers dip into the belt loops of your jean shorts, his other hand sneaking beneath your shirt and up your back; he feels the goosebumps on your nape and he wonders if they're from him or the breeze.

(You sigh into his neck, your lips trailing past his jaw; he knows it's him.)

When you finally pull away, he doesn't kiss you.

"What now?" you ask with a small smile, the sun on your cheeks and hands still bunched in his clothes.

Iwaizumi leans back on the hood of the car, grinning up at you, shaking his head. "Nothing. I can't just look?"

"That's kinda boring."

"Hah, whatever."

You hum a laugh, looking over your shoulder at the water.

"You're trying to tell me that you can see all of this and you might actually go home someday?"

Iwaizumi's looking at you when he tells you it's really hard to.

"Well," you murmur, "make sure to tell your Miyagi friends about your Cali fling, Haji."

"Fling? You're nuts."

"Ooh, do you love me?"

Iwaizumi's cheeks flush red as you laugh, leaving a gentle peck on his lips.

"Well, for the record, I guess I can love you, too."

"Wow, what's the dealbreaker?"

"I mean... come on, who doesn't love the beach!?"

He groans, watching as you slip off of him and the car, tugging your shirt over your head and dropping it to the ground. He raises a brow, but you just tsk. "You're still on my case about that, huh?"

"You're in California, freak."

"What'd you just call me?"

You bite your lip, snorting a laugh as you slowly back up towards the water. "Freak?"

"Oh, that's it—"

Iwaizumi wears a huge grin as he tugs his shirt off, too, dropping it by yours as you both ditch your shoes and run. You think you'd have the upper hand, but you almost forget who he is.

He catches up to you quickly when you take a turn for the water, grabbing you from the waist as you scream.

"Haji!" you laugh, "Your pants!"

He looks down at his wet pant legs, but he ignores it; he turns you around, hands on either side of your waist.

You smirk. "And to think I thought you hated the beach?"

Iwaizumi chuckles, shaking his head, little splashes of water dripping from his eyelashes.

"Who says I don't?" he challenges, hands drifting under your thighs as he wraps your legs around his waist. "Maybe I just do when you're not here."

[ghostofthemost141]

Here

CW: Pregnancy

~

"J-Johnny." You gasp, feeling a sharp pain emit in your stomach.

"What, lass?" Johnny grumbled, being awoken from your cry.

"I-It hurts."

"What does?" Johnny erupted fully awake hearing your pain.

"I think..the baby is coming."

Quick as a flash, Johnny jumped out of bed and started gathering your belongings together, your hospital bag, and helped you into your shoes.

"Ah fuck." You cried out, feeling the contractions get worse and worse.

"I know, 'ove. I know it hurts but I'm right 'ere, alrigh'?" Johnny tries to calm your nerves.

After Johnny helps you into your shoes, with all of y'alls belongings in tow, he wraps his arm around you and helps you to the car. Every step was painful for you, but you knew you had to get to the hospital. Johnny helped you into the passenger seat, buckling the seat belt despite it putting more pressure on your belly.

"I know it hurts, I'm sorry but it's for you're safety." Johnny reassures you.

He rushes to the driver's seat, tossing y'alls stuff to the back, and starts the rush drive to the hospital. A shooting pain shot into your stomach, sending you into a wailing scream. Johnny immedaitly held your hand while trying to focus on both you and the traffic he was swerving in and out of.

"You're alright, love, you're alright. I'm right here, just breathe for me okay? Breathe in." Johnny started.

You took a deep breathe in.

"Breathe out."

You breathed out. You continued to do this with Johnny until you arrived at the hospital. Once parked, Johnny grabbed you, held you tightly close to him, and rushed inside the hospital.

"My wife is in labor! She needs attention now!" Johnny cried out.

A hoard of nurses rushed in, one coming in with a wheelchair, and took you into the chair.

"Johnny.." You call him.

"I'm here, love. I ain't goin' anywhere." Johnny reassures you as he hurried alongside you and the nurses through the maternity ward.

The nurses got you into a room, hooking you up to all of the devices, determining that you were going to have to have a C-Section. It was the opposite of what you and Johnny wanted but there was nothing either of y'all could do.

"I'm sorry, Johnny." You apologize as Johnny approached you, covered in head to toe in blue medical gowns.

"What are you apologizing for?" Johnny asked you, getting close to you.

"I don't..know what's wrong with me." You croak as the nurses put up a thick sheet to cover up what was going on at your stomach.

"There's nothing wrong with ya, lass. Shite happens, ya know? All I care about is that you and our little lad are safe." Johnny reassures you, holding your hand tightly and leaning in close.

Even though he wore a white medical mask on his face, you knew he had a big smile on his face. The nurses injected a numbing agent so you wouldn't feel the surgery, but kept you awake.

"Can you feel this?" A nurse asked, poking a surgical knife on your skin.

You could feel the pressure of something on you, but didn't feel no pain.

"I feel pressure, but no pain." You say.

"Good. Going in." Nurse announced.

It felt like the sudden mass of a million hands were pushing on your stomach, it almost made you want to vomit.

"Are you okay, bonnie?" Johnny asked you.

"Y-Yeah. Just feel sick."

"It's normal." A nurse piped up, putting your nerves aside.

Johnny pulled his mask down, leaned in, and kissed you. It was a soft, passionate kiss full of love and comfort for you.

"I am right here, lass. Our baby is gonna be 'ere soon." Johnny tells you, rubbing his thumb onto your forehead.

"I know. You're going to be a great father." You tell him.

"And you're going to be a great mother." Johnny told you.

"Going into the uterus." The nurse announced.

"They're almost 'ere." Johnny told you.

He was like a little kid in a candy store, full of excitement and glee that he could hardly stand still. You've only ever seen Johnny cry once before, and now you have seen it a second time as the nurses pulled your baby out of your stomach and they unveiled their first cry into the world.

"Congratulations." The nurse told you both.

Tears ran down Johnny's face as he held your hand tighter, so happy to both you and y'all's child in his life. Johnny went to cut the umbilical cord, and tears befalled his face seeing their face for the first time.

"They're..they're so beautiful." Johnny croaked out as the nurse handed the baby off to him.

Johnny immediately approached you and got close, letting you see y'all's baby, the baby you both made.

"They look like you lass." Johnny said.

"They've got your eyes, Johnny." You point out, nearly sending Johnny over the edge.

"I'm so mad fucking happy right now." Johnny struggled through the tears and intense feelings he was feeling right now.

"I am too." You say.

As the nurses cleaned and sewed you back up, there was only one thing on both of y'all's minds right now. It was the fact that the two of y'all were both parents now, and Johnny would do everything in his power to protect you both, no matter what.

~

A/N: I love writing little drabbles like this. Hope y'all enjoyed it.

[attapullman]

If neighbor!Bob and our sweet reader get married and have children I just know Bob is making a swing set and playground for them :’) which inevitably leads to another little Floyd 🤭

NONNY

Don't mind me just sitting here and crying 😭

You're driving back from the pediatrician with the toddlers in tow, ready to hand them off to your neighbor-turned-husband. Walking through the house unable to find him, calling out his name only to hear muffled replies in the backyard.

And there he is, slutty tool belt on display as he unveils the swing and slide set he set up while you three were out. Hair slicked to his sweaty forehead, glasses sliding down his nose, and a beaming smile as the kids squeal in delight. Dad of the Year!

You couldn't agree more that night as you thank him your own special way. A special way that lands you back in the pediatrician's office a year later with three kids in tow.

[play-now-my-lord]

penguin's driving along the road, all of a sudden his car starts sputtering and coasts to a stop.

not good. he pops the hood and goes to have a look, but his little penguin body can't reach inside the engine compartment. sighing at his ill fortune, he grabs a milk crate from the backseat of the car that he keeps for such eventualities and goes back to the engine bay.

he looks at the belts. they're fine. he checks the oil; seems low. he has no idea where the nearest gas station is, but it seems like a hell of a walk, especially in the oppressive summer sun. he grabs his cell phone out of his jeans - he's wearing jeans, it's normal to him - and he goes to find the nearest gas station. apple maps is being predictably useless. he tries browsing to an external maps site but his internet connection is terrible. the penguin isn't getting enough data to see basically anything on the map. with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realizes that if he can't get a good signal here, it's not like he's gonna figure out what's wrong with his car.

he's getting more and more frustrated by the situation, this penguin. he realizes the last thing he passed before his car broke down was a little parking lot whose handmade sign advertised fresh ice cream. probably a parked truck taking advantage of foot traffic to a nearby beach. what the hell, he thinks to himself, and goes over to get himself a cone. "hey buddy," says the ice cream man. "you got pistachio?", asks the penguin. "nope, not today" "you got rum raisin?" "pretty sure that's just baskin-robbins. no." "shucks. you got pralines and cream?" "nope." "well, what do you got?" "let me check." the ice cream man goes back to the back of his truck and returns a half a minute later. "sorry, pal. looks like all i got today is tutti frutti - that's a sherbert, technically - and vanilla." "that's all right. i'll have vanilla," says the penguin. "cone, waffle cone, or cup?" "what the hell, i'll have a waffle cone." "comes to $4.50," says the ice cream man. the penguin hands him a five dollar bill, and receives a quarter, a dime, and three nickels as change.

on his way back to the car, the penguin is kicking himself that at no point did he think to ask after a nearby mechanic, local tow companies, or even cell reception. he's kicking himself for a bit, but he has to admit the cold vanilla ice cream hits the spot, so it's not exactly a wasted trip. he finishes it just as he gets back to his car, and sees a pickup truck parked next to it on the shoulder of the road. a slim middle-aged man wearing oily work overalls waves at the penguin as he approaches, hands still beaded with sweat wiped off his brow. "car trouble," explains the penguin apologetically. the stranger looks at him then looks into the engine bay and grimaces.

"looks like you blew a seal," he says. "no, that's ice cream"