#truck fender

[us281trktrl]

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[radracer]

Datsun 620 Pickup

[rollerman1]

[odinstoyfactory]

Handmade Wood Toy Truck Fat Fendered Panel Wagon Hand Painted With Bright Red Acrylic Paint and Amber Shellac 1413270977

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More Fat Fendered Cars

In a world where plastic toys dominate the market, handmade wooden toys hold a special place in the hearts of those who appreciate the craftsmanship and durability that comes with them. One example is this fat-fendered handmade wood toy panel truck.

This charming toy truck is a product of the creative mind and skilled hands of the artisan who made it. The truck's design is inspired by classic American pickups from the 1940s and 50s, with its distinctive fat-fendered body. The attention to detail is evident in every aspect of the truck, from the carefully crafted wheels to the painted exterior.

One of the most appealing features of this wooden toy truck is its durability. This handmade truck is built to last, unlike plastic toys that can easily break or wear down over time. The solid wood construction can withstand rough play.

Another benefit of buying a handmade wooden toy like this truck is that it is eco-friendly. Many plastic toys end up in landfills, where they can take hundreds of years to decompose. In contrast, wooden toys are biodegradable and can be easily recycled or repurposed when no longer needed.

When you purchase a handmade wooden toy like this panel truck, you are supporting a small business and skilled artisan and investing in a toy that will last for years. It's the perfect gift for a child or collector who appreciates classic American trucks' beauty and nostalgia.

In conclusion, the handmade fat-fendered wood toy panel truck is a beautiful and durable toy that will delight children and adults alike. Its classic design, attention to detail, and eco-friendliness make it an excellent choice for anyone looking for a unique, high-quality toy. So why settle for a plastic toy when you can have a handmade wooden one built to last?

[jhsealstrip]

Custom quality car fenders in various sizes

Phone:+8618733911223(Whatsapp/WeChat)

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[seat-safety-switch]

No matter who you are, what your station is in life, we all want the same thing. We're all unified by our desire to get pressure washers. Wait, what were you gonna say?

Life is full of things that get rusty and dirty. Engine blocks. The windows of your house. And we've only got so much time on this little blue marble to be cleaning them. That's why some geniuses at NASA or something came up with the pressure washer. It's like your garden hose, but more kick-ass. Pulling the trigger emits this perfect line of high-zoot water, which causes exciting things to happen to whatever you point it at.

Grit just disappears from the sidewalk. Paint disappears from the fender of your truck because you stood too close to it. You can knock out a day full of cleaning in just under an hour, which leaves you with a lot more free time to fix all the stuff you broke by pointing a 300psi needle of water at it. No power comes without consequence, which just makes us desire that power all the more. I'm built different, you tell the shattered husks of your wife's least-favourite lawn ornament. I'm not troubled by trifling concerns such as this when I wield the strength of ten gods.

Now, I've never bought a pressure washer. If you're reading this, you probably haven't, too. They're very expensive, and they take a lot of maintenance, such as not throwing it in the backyard every winter when you're tired of it. Used ones, you ask? A great idea, except the previous owner also threw it in their backyard, and all the o-rings are cacked. You'll spend a year of weekends just swapping them out, if you can even find them, and you'll never trust your crude hayseed repairs to what is generously considered an improvised backyard bomb enough to use it after that.

Luckily for all of us, there is another option. It's called "use it for a weekend and then return it to the store." Maybe it's noisy, or smells funny, or you just ran out of things to wash after you knocked all the vinyl siding off your house and nearly killed the neighbour. If you feel bad, don't. You're creating valuable jobs at the return desk. Chances are you won't even be the first person to have done it with that particular washer, too. Just wipe the blood off first.

[teaboot]

Yo I can't speak for 911 dispatch but working on the ground here are some tips for calling or radio'ing help:

First: Give information in the right order. 911 WILL ask, before anything else: City? Police, Fire, or Ambulance? They need to know who they're sending and where. If you're calling me (mall cop) I know you're looking for security presence, so my assumption is that either we don't need 911, 911 has already been called, or I'm about to be calling, so this part isn't always required.

Second: Location. I can't do shit about the five-foot-six Caucasian female wearing green shoes breaking into your car if I don't know where your car is.

Third: The most distinctive thing you see. Trash can on fire? Yellow truck got busted? Body on the ground? Person brandishing a weapon?

Fourth: If the issue is a moving target, pick the most distinctive trait about them first. Something that can be seen at a distance. "Wearing jeans" is not as useful or as distinctive as "orange baseball cap" or "coveralls". "Truck" isn't isn't useful or distinctive as "brown pickup, busted fender".

Fifth: At this point someone is on their way looking for what you've described, but they're still listening. Now is the time to add details. Heading north? Carrying a weapon? Additional clothing, descriptors, etc.

If you are calling emergency dispatch, don't just start talking. They will usually ask for what they need in the order that they need it.

If you're calling for security or CCTV surveillance: Location, distinction, details.

Note: I've only been in the industry a few years but I get a lot of people giving bad descriptions or misordered ones so I thought I'd put out a general PSA, but if anyone with more experience here has anything to correct or add on, please do

[breadvyn]

anyone know how to lift a curse or do I just let this thing kill me lol

[us281trktrl]

Custom fender installation at our truck and trailer repair shop in Edinburg, South Texas.

The customer brought this beauty in to have the fairings removed and custom fenders installed.

Brackets were made specifically for this beauty. 

A custom fender gives this beauty a completely new look.

Jorge has over 50 years of experience in diesel truck customization.

For any questions about custom fender installation, frame extensions, or any other customization ideas Call Jorge Lopez at 956-293-9896.

Or visit us online :  https://www.us281trucktrailerservices.com/

[ms-demeanor]

Just watched large bastard deadlift the ass end of a riding lawnmower because he wanted to demonstrate that the fender wouldn't rip off if it was used to hoist the mower into the truck.

The guy who was selling the thing (a delightful 90-year-old named Ralph) looked at him and was like "well shit son, why don't you just carry it home? save us the trouble of rigging it up."

[yanderedrabbles]

What would Yandere state-trooper, cowboy, and military officer react if y/n got sick or was trying to hurt themselves?

(I love your work btw❤️)

Thank you so much for this prompt!! It literally instantly inspired me

Yandere boys when you get sick/hurt yourself

Yandere! Cowboy isn't sure why you're curled up in bed when it's just a little flu. He's worked even with sprains and cracked ribs and stitches keeping him together. At first, he'll just snap his teeth in irritation and tell you to "get tough." But seeing the fever work a blush across your cheeks softens him up. He'll bring you some good old fashioned chicken soup, just like his mama used to make. He'll smooth the hair away from your face and press a cool cloth against your neck. When you thank him, he'll just huff and tell you not to get used to it. He isn't going to baby you. But secretly, he likes taking care of you. And the next time you slip and twist your ankle, he's right there to pick you up and fix it all.

"Quit being so damn clumsy, I ain't gonna kiss it better."

Yandere! State Trooper is the first one on the scene of the crash. It isn't too bad, a rough fender-bender at most. But you're bleeding from a nasty cut on your cheek and cradling your arm. He sees red and before he can even register what he's doing, he's hauling the other guy out of his truck and grinding his face into the tarmac. His cop buddies have to physically pull him off and cover it up, say the other guy was being belligerent. The second he calms down, he's kneeling next to you and practically shoving the paramedic out of the way. He cups your chin in his hand and cleans the blood off your face, telling you everything will be just fine and to let him take care of it. He insists on riding in the ambulance with you, even though he's still on duty. When you're finally alone, he'll kiss you and snarl just a little when he orders you to be more careful. You ask him why he cares so much and he gives you one of his vicious smiles.

"The only bastard that gets to rough you up is me, got that?"

Yandere! Soldier comes home to find bloody footprints all over the kitchen floor. He finds you in the bathroom, picking broken glass out of your feet and trying not to wince. At first, you won't let him touch you or even get near you. In growing irritation, he slams his palm into the wall next to you - you're a lot more docile after that. He kneels infront of you, his palm wrapped around your ankle to stop you pulling away. He's methodical and surprisingly gentle, picking out every single shard even though it takes the better part of an hour. When he's wrapped and treated both your feet, he carefully picks you up and carries you back to bed. You're still an unpredictable, hissing menace and he doesn't trust you to take care of yourself, so he calls in sick for a week. And for a whole week, he doesn't let you walk anywhere. He carries you around the apartment, complaining that you're too light and that he's going to lose his muscle mass. Eventually you can stand on your own feet again and you manage to mumble something that sounds like thanks. You don't see it, but he smiles.

мой долг заботиться о тебе

"It's my duty to take care of you."

[hereforthehitsbaby]

It's Always Been You | Origins!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Reader has self-doubt, mentions of not feeling enough, mentions of being depressed,

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: God I hope this makes sense. I had an idea and ran with it, truly hope it was worth it.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

Life knew just when to hit you in the face, especially when you thought you were getting better. It was a cycle, a vicious bitch of one that truly only knew how to piss you off. At random it liked to come back and play, taking a good day and turning it on its side. You could feel when it was coming on, yet every time you thought it would get better. Just the hope for a better episode left you feeling empty, numb even, because you knew it was always going to be the same. No amount of faking it until you make it could save you from yourself. Left to your own devices, you always worked through it. But the road always was lonely.

You had everything. Everything you could’ve wanted, everything you needed. You had it all, so why now? Why when you finally found your footing in this new part of the country, did it have to come up? Why when you finally found solace in what you do day to day, did it all have to be shrouded in darkness? The air felt heavier, your soul felt confined. It wasn’t a good start to such a beautiful morning – the sun cresting over the mountain range. The gorgeous sight at 6am on a Sunday morning was meant to give you peace of mind – the world’s message that you are okay and yet – it threw you this curveball today. A lone tear slipped from your eye as you laid on your side, silently contemplating just how you were going to tackle today. You had to figure out how you were going to avoid him today. Being alone felt like the lesser of two evils; He was already dealing with a lot.

When you came to Canada to escape from those wanting to hurt you, you didn’t anticipate falling in with Logan. He saved you, in more ways than one. That truck was coming up quick and you didn’t have a chance to react, but he did. One second you were staring at the fender of the truck, next you were staring up at the snow falling, a grunting coming from underneath you. Not a scratch on his face, not a laceration on his body, just heavy pants and the constant question of are you okay? He was meant to be there in that moment, that is what Logan felt like the world had been telling him. It was destined for you two to meet, and this was the way of bringing you two together. Both of you dealing with the nasty repercussions of a broken heart. Only you could mend each others. After all, mutants stick together – right?

You could hear Logan in the back yard of your shared cabin, cutting up wood for the fireplace. The musky smell of his cigar wafting through the cracked window. This was the routine every day. Logan was out and about doing yard work on his days off whilst you stayed inside, doing housework. It was a comfortable dynamic you two created, a platonic friendship that worked well. Being able to teleport made things easier for you, going to and from without needing a vehicle to do so. It made days like this easier to disappear for a while; Logan always gave you your space. Sniffling away your silent tears, you tossed back the heavy comforter of your bed, slowly moving yourself off of your mattress. Being as quiet as possible was the best thing for you, the less Logan knew the better.

When your feet met the cold wooden floor, you jolted slightly – losing the warmth you had. Your eyes felt heavy and raw, your breathing ragged as you tried to hold back tears; They wouldn’t stop, no matter how drained you were. Keeping the heavy thoughts at bay with the overgrowing anxiety – you managed to slip out of your pajamas instantly with a whimper of fear. Standing baren in your bedroom felt too tense for its own good, making your fingers tremble as you worked your sweatpants up your legs. Falling over you was your oversized hoodie, not bothering to add a bra and shirt underneath. You just needed to get away for a little while, you needed the space to breathe and come to. Slipping your boots onto your feet, you took a deep breath as you gazed out the window, focusing on the lip of the mountain before you. Just like that, in the blink of an eye, you’re standing on the curved edge – your solace, right under your feet.

Finding this spot near the cabin wasn’t all on you, actually it was on Logan. You noticed it about a week into living with him – after the breakup with Kayla he would come up here and stare off into the range, watching how the elements traveled over the expanse. He was not one to show emotion with others but up here? He could scream, cry, do whatever he wanted without anyone seeing or hearing. Just far enough away where he could still run back down if you were in trouble, but you didn’t hear his pain. Logan was a gentleman, he wouldn’t subject you to his trauma – not if you didn’t want to hear it. But that was the thing, you wanted all of him, to understand him. Which is why you started to come up here.

Looking down at the expanse of the mountain range, you could still make out the cabin you two lived in – not a single soul around for miles. Both his truck and bike sat on the gravel driveway, looking like they were made for a doll house. Being up so high wasn’t as scary, not anymore in fact. You plopped down onto the stone below you, letting your legs dangle off the edge of the cliff. A deep breath in made the fresh wilderness air coat your lungs, relieving that painful tension in your chest. Each breath helped to get you through the thickness laying over your soul, push it further down until you couldn’t feel a thing anymore. The cold nipping at your face and hands helped to aid in that, the pain steadily growing as you focused on it. Up here it didn’t feel as though you were sad because life got you down – but because life was too much. Everything you had going for you, made you sad. To you it made no sense but, all the sense at the same time. Self-sabotage; You were pulling away from everything because you weren’t used to it working out.

Closing your eyes you let the emotion take you over, letting the shakiness of your breath guide you to reclaiming control over yourself. It was scary, being left alone with your thoughts on the side of a mountain, a couple hundred feet up in the air, dangling your legs over the side. But you knew you’d stay put, you always did. Trying to time your breathing with the whisps of wind, you never noticed that there was a distant sound slowly creeping its way towards you, reminiscent of when your heart was broken. Your lover wasn’t all that they said to be, loving you wasn’t real at all. They needed to get close to you, needed to for Stryker. You’re a mutant, you knew you were never safe but you didn’t think someone would stoop as low as they did. Pretending to love you, cherish you, only to use you as a weapon. It was never real, you were made to be the problem – just like Logan.

The memory ran through you like a freight train, your body shaking due to the unshed sobs you were omitting. The sound of running through the gravel, spinning yourself in every angle to disappear, grew louder and louder the longer you sat. Pulsating beneath your fingertips, the Earth vibrating with the force of a thousand winds. Everything was crashing down, burning with intent of destruction, never peace. “Hey.” Then it stopped. The wind. The voices. The memories. Everything stopped once that one word slipped out. Gasping as you brought yourself back into reality, you felt the racing of your heart in your chest, your eyes unfocused as you panned to your right. Standing at the edge of the path was Logan, his leather jacket open to expose the flannel underneath, his jeans and boots silent as he walked. Swallowing down the sob threatening to spill, you nodded at him. “Hi.”

“Too loud?” Logan asked with a wince, the ache in his body worsening due to the colder months. Dropping down next to you, he groaned as the tension released from his body, sighing out towards the open range. You cocked a brow as you kept your vision forward, silently asking what he meant. You knew if you looked at him, you’d start crying again. You didn’t want to put that onto him, you didn’t want him to see you in that state. So you focused on the tree line cresting upwards, counting how many pine and maple you saw. Logan placed his calloused finger against your temple, tapping twice to ask again – too loud up there? The sigh that left your body was one of relief over sadness, knowing Logan understood made you feel better. Nodding against his finger, you gripped at your thighs, digging your nails into the plus fabric of your sweats.

Logan noticed how you were shaking, not from the cold but something else. He laced his arm around your back, pulling you closer to him. Gently he guided your head as much as it would go to his shoulder, the gentle whisps of his long hair falling over your forehead. Up and down his hand went against your back, rubbing soothing circles against your jacket. If you had it your way, you’d stay like this forever; Any contact with Logan, only grew the immense love you had for him. Saving your life did that, made you grow deep-rooted feelings for the man. Though you never wanted to let him know – not after what happened with your lover. It would be impossible to trust anyone like that again, there was no way in hell that you’d allow it to happen. Even if Logan was a mutant like you, Kayla using him for the same exact reason, you’d know it would be rocky to start. The fear of the unknown was worse than the knowing.

“What’s wrong?” Logan asks with concern, looking down at you from his angle. Brushing a few stray pieces of hair from your hair, he tucked his hand on your back against your shoulder, bringing it back to cradle your head. The small act of affection made your body shiver with delight; Being this close, this intimate with Logan was magical, if only you’d let yourself fully enjoy it. Shaking your head against his hand and shoulder, you snickered to yourself – loud enough for Logan to hear but low enough to where he couldn’t hear the slight sob that slipped out. He couldn’t feel the tears slipping down your face, he couldn’t see how broken you were.

Logan didn’t push, he noticed how quiet you got. With his hand on you, he could feel how you shook whilst you cried. He has super hearing, super smell – he could smell the tears falling before you even knew they were coming, could hear the sob threatening to fall with your snicker. The same heartbroken cries he omitted himself when Kayla betrayed him. This felt different; You stiffened under his touch, the whirlwind in your mind of the voices and constant anxious thoughts swirling as your eyes jutted from left to right. The sharp intake of his breath made you jump slightly, his hand reassured you by rubbing the back of your head. “Did I do something wrong?” He asked, lowering his head to your temple, laying a soft kiss there. His lips lingered on that soft spot, causing you to melt into him. The sigh of relief you let out reassured Logan that it wasn’t his doing, but you still needed to state it. “No.” It was one word barely above a whisper, but enough that he picked it up.

Nodding to acknowledge your word, Logan stared out at the mountain range, letting your head sink deeper against his collarbone. His grip on you never let up, keeping you where you needed to be against him, giving you that comfort of knowing you were not in this alone. “Do you miss them?” Sometimes he found himself missing Kayla – missing the love they had. He never experienced that until her, everything else being mere flings. But with her – it was everything to him. He didn’t feel like he was a monster or a freak, he felt seen. He wondered if you missed your old partner too, even with how bad they hurt you. God knows you’d be preaching to the choir with that, but he wasn’t too sure.

“God no.” It was a laugh that slipped out of your mouth, that was the sound Logan heard. A laugh so infectious and lovely he wanted to swim in it. He missed hearing that every morning, ever since you started to pull back from him. He knew you weren’t to blame, he could never blame you for anything. He knew how bad your mind could get, his was just as bad. But he never had anyone willing to help him through it – he wanted to be that person for you. Logan realized as he held you, as you laughed – you only started to pull back when the touches became more. When the hugs and smiles became genuine, not friendly. He realized that everything started, once that platonic line had been crossed – when he held your face in the kitchen last week, and gazed at you like he had with Kayla. It clicked for him in this moment as to why you were pulling back.

“Then what has my girl crying?” He let out with a breathy whisper, never pulling his lips back from your temple. He wanted to reassure you as much as he could, and hoped that you weren’t frustrated with him on that. Hearing Logan call you his girl made your heart sink – your self sabotage getting to it before your heart could. Slamming your eyes closed you scrunched your brows together, trying to push out the invasive thoughts burrowing deep within your brain. You were over it; The endless nights crying, the reclusiveness, pulling back from Logan. You wanted to believe you deserved the goodness in your life. You wanted to understand that you could open your heart again. You wanted Logan.

In that moment you realized, it wasn’t sadness clouding your mind, it was fear. The kind where you found yourself not truly believing you deserve the good of the world, where you feel safe and secure after years of living on the edge of it all. It was the kind of fear that made you second guess if you truly were meant to have this. It was never about it being a depression episode, but fear masking as that. Afraid that everything you wanted would not be enough to help you. But the thing is, it will. The day Logan looked at you with love in his eyes, was the day you felt everything creeping up. It was the day you guys silently gave up any platonic feelings you had for one another, and let love take its place. It all made sense now, and like the clouds after a thunderstorm – your skies started to clear.

Pulling your head back from Logan’s collarbone, you looked at him with misty eyes. He never backed away from your stare, instead matching it with his. His arm moved from your shoulder to your waist, his thumb rubbing circles against your clothed hip. That look, that damned look he gave you, it was all for you. “Nothing in my life has ever felt this right.” There was no use in stopping the tears from falling, from holding back the sob needing a release. You wanted to stop running and feel, Logan was going to be with you every step of the way. Logan didn’t have to think about anything in this moment, pulling you into his chest was the only answer. Pressing your face deep against his pecs, you sobbed openly into him, letting him absorb the rage, sadness, and anxiety you have been harboring. He wanted to take it all away from you and crush the doubt that made its way into your mind. “You deserve a good life, sweetheart. You deserve all the great things it will bring you.” Logan was starting to cry as well, needing to hear those words himself as well. Neither one of you were broken, just lost. You found each other when you needed someone the most, and that was the world’s way of converging your destinies.

“I’m not going anywhere, that’s a promise. We are in this together. You and I, okay?” Logan spoke out loud, rocking you back and forth against him. The act itself made your heart burst, brighter and louder than you thought even possible. This love you had been harboring for so long, finally found someone to give it to, and there was no going back on that. Pulling your head away from Logan’s chest, he took the opportunity to bring both of his hands up to your face. Cupping your cheeks sweetly, he ran his thumb over your skin, reveling in how warm you are. The way you looked at him, made his life worth fighting for.  “I will never let anything happen to you.” He growled with passion, bringing his face closer to yours. In that moment when your lips touched Logan’s for the first time, you truly felt safe. No more malice, no more fear – everything was right in your world.

-----

Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 2

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The second time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — in which he thinks he might be losing his sanity.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.2k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: As the Colt obsession rages on, I hope y'all enjoy part 2, because it certainly was sizzling when I wrote it :D This one is more from Colt's POV, and it includes some of his inner monologue (which I loved in the film). I appreciate everyone's kind words so far and would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter! Thank you all! <3

Part 1

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Ever since the little paint-smudging incident, Colt has been, well… off.

This never happens to him. He’s a professional, he’s been working on movie sets for years, he’s known hundreds and hundreds of coworkers. But something is different. You’re different.

As he leans against the hood of his truck after filming, one leg propped on the fender as he takes a deep breath of the midnight air, Colt can’t stop replaying the events of the day before. You painting a prop sign, you laughing at his dumb jokes, you smearing red paint across his face. The steadiness of your hands, the smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. The sunbeams luminescent in your hair. The way your hand felt for the few seconds it lingered on his cheek.

Get it together, man, his inner monologue scolds him.

Colt can’t deny that he has feelings for you. You’ve been on set together for about two months now, and he sees you practically every day. Every time he performs a stunt, you’re always there adjusting the furniture, dabbing color onto the walls, rearranging props with that magnificent touch that brings every setpiece to life. Colt is amazed by your talent in your job as a set decorator, and your skill pushes him to try harder stunts each time, to try to impress you with his own skills.

But there’s one major problem that he can’t get past — he’s just not good enough for you. Sure, Colt has all the confidence in the world when it comes to throwing himself from a moving car or flashing a dazzling smile at you across the set, but he’s destined to be an unknown stuntman for the rest of his career. Your talent and dedication promises great things for your future, and Colt has already made up his mind that he’s not going to stand in your way by coming on too strong.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Even when he’s trying to be noble and keep himself from getting you distracted from your career, he’s replaying the way your eyes fluttered shut for a moment when his thumb brushed your jaw.

I’m so screwed.

Colt has just agreed with his inner monologue that he will keep his distance from you and turn all his unfulfilled feelings into protein powder when you step out of a nearby trailer, one arm over your eyes as if you’ve been crying.

All thoughts of noble detachments shatter instantly, and Colt pushes off his truck to make his way toward you. He’s relieved when you lower your arm from your face and he can tell that you weren’t crying — just so dead tired that you can barely keep your eyes open.

“Hey, Van Gogh,” he calls to you, keeping a distance of about six feet as he reverts to his usual habit of artist-nicknames. Too familiar, too familiar, abort, abort. “Too much moonshine?”

Your eyes pop open in surprise to see him standing there, but a wearied smile crosses your face nonetheless. “Too much moonlighting,” you correct him, leaning back against the art trailer with a sigh. “Gordon has been on my back all day about the props for the train station scene. I got wooden benches for a rustic vibe, but he wants metal for a grittier vibe. I painted the graffiti mural in multi-colors, but he wants it red for a sharper contrast. I spent the last week distressing the station floor so it would look lived-in, but now he wants it clean. Clean, cold, and clinical.” You bury your face in your hands, rubbing your red-rimmed eyes. “I just finished making twenty neon signs for the depot, but I don’t know if he’ll even still want them by tomorrow.”

Colt’s heart tugs seeing you so exhausted and discouraged, and he elects to ignore his previous inner monologue and take a few steps in your direction. “Sounds like Gordon is trying to direct a hospital soap opera instead of an action thriller.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting your head loll to the side as you look at him through half-opened eyes. “I never want to see another paint roller again. Or at least not until tomorrow.”

Colt chuckles at that, taking another step closer. “It is tomorrow. It’s past midnight.” His brow furrows in concern as he watches your eyelids drift closed again. You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet.

“Right. I knew that,” you mumble. “I need some sleep.”

“I’d say you need a hibernation,” Colt says gently, cursing himself for the way he feels the urge to reach out and touch you. “When’s the last time you got any winks?”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you try to recall. “Uhhh… Tuesday?”

Colt shakes his head. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

Your eyes open at that, and you automatically shake your head, swaying a little as you do so. “No, you don’t need to do that! I’ll be fine. My hotel is just a few blocks from here.”

“Good,” Colt agrees, reaching out to put his arm around your shoulders. “Then you won’t have to pay me back for gas money.”

You sigh in mock frustration but give in when he starts leading you to his truck. He can feel you leaning on him, drawing from his strength when he knows yours is depleted. Colt has to force himself to focus on the task at hand and not get distracted by the intoxicating smell of oil paints and charcoal and wood chips emanating off your skin. He especially tries not to notice the way your head naturally falls against his shoulder while he leads you to the passenger door.

Once you’ve climbed into the seat, you immediately droop forward and rest your forehead on your knees. On an impulse, Colt pulls off his jacket — his most comfortable one: the brown one with the drawstrings — and drapes it across your shoulders. He suppresses a grin when you mumble something that sounds like “hmmk hmum” but probably was supposed to be “thank you.”

The drive to your hotel lasts all of three minutes, and he parks his truck under the portico so you’ll be closer to the door. Against the pitch black of the midnight sky, the hotel looks cozy and welcoming, street lamps bathing the sidewalk in a halo of golden light.

Colt opens the door to the passenger side, a smile crossing his lips when you turn your head from where it’s resting on your knees to peek up at him.

“Are we there yet?” you mumble, eyes fluttering between open and closed.

“Just a rest stop,” he informs you jokingly, holding out a hand to help you out of the truck. You gladly accept it, so exhausted that you can barely stand up straight. Colt feels another shimmer of worry at seeing you so worn out.

With his arm around your shoulder again, Colt walks you to the hotel door, which opens automatically to let you in. His thoughts are a jumble of worry, consternation, and elation at this situation, but he breaks out of his reverie halfway to the elevator, when you start giggling uncontrollably.

“What?” he asks, basking in the way your musical laugh wraps around him like a melody. Colt, get it together. Stop romanticizing this.

You snicker again, pressing the elevator button to your floor. “I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

Colt goes stock-still at that comment, only moving again when the elevator door opens and you enter the compartment together. Your sleep-deprived brain is so addled that you barely even register the implications of your remark, but Colt’s mind instantly starts racing with his own thoughts. Be professional, don’t make a saucy joke, just play it cool, play it cool, change the subject, change the SUBJECT—

“You should call Gordon,” he suggests, so enthralled with the feel of your head resting on his shoulder that he can barely get the sentence out. “Tell him you can’t make it tomorrow. You seriously need to get some sleep.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, one that flutters across his collarbone like an autumn breeze. He swallows and turns his head the other way, using all his willpower not to completely come undone right in front of you. You have no idea the effect you’re having on him, so sleep-deprived that you’re missing any cues that would clue you in normally.

“I have to be there tomorrow,” you insist drowsily. The elevator door dings open, and Colt leads you through the opening, his arm still tight around your shoulders as you point him in the right direction. “We’re filming the train station scene, and it has to be perfect.”

“What, at the cost of your health and sanity?” Colt quips, though he can’t deny that there’s a note of seriousness in his tone.

You shake your head stubbornly. “I’m fine. This is my job. I just have to do it.” You yawn widely, stumbling a little as you get closer to your hotel door. “I just need a few hours and I’ll be good as new.”

Colt lifts his eyebrows skeptically but doesn’t argue with you. You’re pulling your room key out of your pocket, and he’s suddenly torn between the desire to run before he violates his vow of noble detachment, and the need to confess every passionate feeling coursing through his veins right now. He knows this isn’t the right time, though, and that there may never be a right time at all.

You unlock your door with a swipe but pause before going inside, leaning your back against the doorframe so you can look at Colt squarely. “Thank you for bringing me back.” Your smile steals his breath, makes him imagine a halo of stars around your face. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”

Every muscle in his body is urging him to lean forward, to close the distance between you, to capture your lips against his so he can whisper every unconfessed feeling, every gentle passion, every overwhelming longing in this silent, dimly-lit hallway. His heart is pounding so loudly in his ears that he thinks you must be able to hear it.

“Anytime,” Colt manages, his throat so tight that can barely rasp out the word. He has to clench his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out to you.

You reach up to shed his brown jacket and hand it back to him, but Colt stops you by holding up his hand. “Keep it,” he tells you. Shut up, shut up, shut UP— “It looks better on you anyway.”

The golden light from the street lamps outside must be playing tricks on his eyes, because he could swear that your eyes brighten at his words. Your fingers tighten around his jacket, and all he can imagine is your fingers entwined with his, your head on his shoulder again. The way it should be.

Your eyes flicker closed for a moment, and you sway against the doorway. Colt instinctively reaches out to steady you, his hand landing on your arm and holding you up for the moment it takes you to regain your balance. His skin feels like it’s on fire from this close proximity. He releases your arm so he doesn’t lose his sanity, but the touch lingers on his palm, making his heart race and his mouth go dry. His eyes flit down to glance at your lips again before he can stop them. Another moment, and he won’t have any self-control left.

You seem to feel the tension, too, lingering in the doorway when you should have said goodnight by now. He knows you’re struggling with it, and he knows it’s his responsibility as the clear-headed one to end this before it starts. His breath is rattling in his throat as he says, “Get some rest. Let me know if you need a ride over tomorrow morning.”

His voice seems to break the spell over you, and you give him a sleepy smile as you nod. “Thanks, Colt.” Your eyes linger on him for a moment more, and then you disappear behind the heavy hotel door.

Once you’re gone, Colt turns and leans heavily against the hallway wall, suddenly feeling breathless and exhausted from the intensity of what he just felt. He can’t believe he even let himself think about kissing you when you’re so dazed, but surely he wasn’t misreading those signals? Surely he felt the heat of your own gaze meeting his?

Colt sighs, trying to clear his head while he catches his breath. He can’t even entertain the idea of starting a fling with you, because his feelings have gone way too deep for a fling. He just needs to keep his distance and stop overanalyzing every moment he shares with you. He needs to get a grip on reality so he doesn’t completely ruin your friendship and burden you with any guilt. This has to stop. I’m going to stop right now, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, and I’m going to get hold of myself before it’s too late.

He hopes his inner monologue is right this time, because he knows he’s only falling harder for you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 3

[skeltnwrites]

S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly. 

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual. 

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?” 

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview. 

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.” 

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches. 

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile. 

“What’s the rush?” 

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.” 

“We’ve got flashlights.” 

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.” 

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.” 

He nods, knowing you’re right. 

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before. 

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger. 

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks. 

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.” 

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather. 

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose. 

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–” 

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow. 

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.” 

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?” 

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?” 

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map. 

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost. 

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–” 

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.” 

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.” 

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”  

“That’s what they say,” you smile. 

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.  

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat. 

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.” 

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie. 

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.” 

He nods, eyes trained ahead. 

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return. 

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is. 

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow. 

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.” 

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve. 

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.” 

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again. 

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!” 

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!” 

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee. 

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.” 

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.” 

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours. 

“I love you,” you say earnestly. 

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off. 

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp. 

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge. 

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls. 

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep. 

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage. 

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face. 

“The floor is wet.” 

“Where?” 

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs. 

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items. 

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.” 

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically. 

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours. 

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides. 

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents. 

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face. 

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves. 

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud. 

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring. 

“Find me something to wear?” You ask. 

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly. 

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in. 

“What?” You question. 

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.” 

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out. 

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.  

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised. 

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously. 

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn. 

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion. 

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it. 

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.” 

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.” 

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you. 

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck. 

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately. 

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off. 

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard. 

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.” 

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned. 

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.” 

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer. 

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go. 

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front. 

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat. 

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away. 

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls. 

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat. 

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself. 

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk. 

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.  

[chaosandmarigolds]

Cabin

(the timeline is a lil weird in this so just go for the vibes, Pre-K verse. Fem!reader)

Based off this AWESOME ASK! so here's my lil take on it <3

“Think ‘m dyin.”

“You’re fine.”

”UGH- oi, th’ light- oi, Beth? That you? callin me, LT, they callin me.”

Simon doesn’t bother to look up from the tablet to his wounded comrade, who would be alright with some TLC and a long night’s sleep. Currently, he was trying to find somewhere they could all rest, somewhere safe, which seemed to be an easy task- as he knew this forest like the back of his hand. (After living in a town not even ten miles away for close to seven years) Not to mention, he happened to know where there was a cabin, which should be empty.

Technically it wasn’t his cabin, it had been your brother however when your brother moved he left it to you. And since it was the middle of the summer and the cabin didn’t have AC, Simon assumed you were most likely happily sitting at home with the kids, on an air-conditioned covered porch.

With that in mind, he made his decision to lead his team towards the cabin. It would be a bit of a trek, but it was the best option they had, it wasn’t far from where they had to leave the truck- the mission had been odd, just to accompany some international weapons dealer, and since they were the closest they had been assigned. Long- story short, it went to hell and they somehow made it back in one piece. They had to wait for pickup, to be treated, and then for the debrief, so he couldn’t quite just go home, though he wanted to.

“Since when do ya own real estate?” Kyle remarked as they approached the cabin, lit up by their flashlights and the moon that hung, he had gotten out with a broken rib and a graze on the arm- luckily he didn’t fall from any high places this time. It was a quaint thing, made of wood with a cute chimney, and a nice porch. A big red garage not too far away from it and a dirt path leading to the neat porch.

“Not mine.” Simon replied bluntly back, handing his backpack to Kyle, and then told them he would grab some emergency packs and the first aid kit from the garage. With one flashlight tucked under his arm, he went around the back of the garage while the rest went into the cabin, as he also told them the spare key was under the chair leg. He remembered building the garage, yet somehow he still would grumble about how loud the door was.

Normally the garage was barren, give or take the Christmas decorations you would have him store in there, a rack with his tools and weapons. As well a year’s worth of rations, and camping gear, both mundane and survival- to put it simply it had everything he would need if he simply needed to vanish for a while. Though he hadn’t needed to in a long moment, not since he met you and Ollie- and perhaps that could be summed up to he didn’t quite want to anymore, either way- he flipped on the flickering light expecting a vacant garage.

No. Instead, he found your car sitting in the darkness. He knew it was yours because only your car would have that dent he caused in the front fender. Within a millionth of a second everything began to make sense- you had said you had a project you were going to surprise him with, ‘take it off his shoulders’ as you gleefully had put it before he left. The air conditioning, you had taken on the task of installing the air conditioning while he was gone. Which meant you were in the cabin with Ollie and he just sent a team of men in there, armed.

All the same, he had taught you to fend for yourself, enough to where when he ran through the front door to the sight of a knife to Johnny’s neck and a panic-riddled fear within your eye. He wasn’t shocked by it. He quickly told Kyle to drop the gun, harshly at that, to which Johnny replied-

“WHA? Bonie’s go’ a knife-” “Simon?”

His eyes flash over to yours and almost out of habit, his hand went to take off the mask, to assure you, “S jus me, let Johnny go, baby. Jus me.”

“Oh my god,” You very quickly drop the weapon of opportunity and without much else warning you turn around on your heel to go down the hall, opening up the coat closet to pick up the three-year-old- who was still baffled on what was going on and why you told him to go hide.

All the while you were doing that Johnny very slowly looked back at Simon, a look of exasperation across his expression- because- well two things actually; he had technically seen the man’s face before, but never in good lighting and it wasn’t because Simon was trying to show his face it was more of a random moment post-OP. Secondly; “What do ya ‘ean ‘Baby?”

“ISTER RILEY!” The three-year-old shrieks with glee before any questions are asked and before any can be answered, the child in his blue dinosaur-themed PJs and his mob of hair messy from bed, yet he seemed as awake as one could be. Ollie tried to wiggle out of your grasp, failing so he frowned and looked to you, “Momma wan go ‘Ister Riley.”

You stand at the end of the hallway, beside the old couch and you look over the three men, one you happened to be in a relationship with, and the other two you had no earthly idea of their existence till two minutes before, where they rudely woke you up with clanking boots. You only glance the two over before returning your gaze to Simon, who is very slowly approaching his movements calculated, as if he knew a sudden movement would scare you. “Who…who are these people?”

“On my team, I didn’t know you would be ‘ere,” His voice was hushed, as if he didn’t want them to hear his words, as he got closer Ollie began to lean out of your grasp to move to him- and normally you would allow the transfer, yet not then. Which Simon was very aware of, “Needed somewhere to crash for the night, I didn’t know you ‘ere here. I wouldn’t have-”

Before he could finish his apologies, your voice was whispered through the silence, “You’re all bleeding, what? Do they not have medics? I thought- you told me you had people to take care of you.” Sure, you were very angry and more importantly scared, feeling unsafe in your own home and if not a bit betrayed, yet…for the moment you were willing to overlook that.

“Back at base, luv,” Simon was quick to reply, “Waiting for someone to ‘ick us up ‘n take us.”

You take a moment to process his words and you nod, “Johnny and Kyle?” Your husband very slowly nods, so you look back to the two beaten-up men, who were standing as if they were watching their best friend get yelled at by their parents. After a moment of breathing and slowing your heart rate you give a meek smile, “Hi, I’m sorry, that was a…well an awful introduction, I swear I’m nice.”

They were both quick to deny you being the guilty party, Kyle taking off the cap within a millisecond as he spoke, “No! We must’ve scared ya to death, completely rational reaction, Missus.”

Johnny nods and motions to Kyle as he adds on. Watching as Simon very carefully moves to stand behind you. He knew his best friend, and he somehow didn’t know of his secret wife- suspicions yes, yet he was tickled pink that he was correct. “Wha’ Gaz is sayin, you did not’in wrong, bonnie, fact o’ it is-”Ollie’s face crinkles as Johnny speaks and he moves his head to look back at Simon, seeing him from an upside-down view, “Ister Riley why does he talk weird?” As if on cue you move Ollie to sit happily in Simon’s arms and give a weak laugh to distract them both from your son’s rude question.

“Tea?”

—

“And Missus?” Kyle said after about ten minutes of silence, the night was peaceful, Ollie going from Simon to Johnny the entire night and asking about every question imaginable (”You fight bad people?””I do laddie.””Da’s so cool.”….”Wha’s your name?””Johnny.””Nuh-huh.””Nuh-huh?””Yea, ‘Ister Riley called ya someden different earlier.””Ah, Soap, tha’ my speical nickname.””SOAP??”) and you fussing about how crappy their medic was, they didn’t have one, and getting the first aid kits and clean clothes out, the night was oddly…pleasant.

Simon, who currently had a sleeping three-year-old against his chest, looks up from his tea and then clears his throat. “Wha’ bout her?”

Johnny had spent the last forty minutes thinking about it all, and he had figured out the timeline, or he thought so, so he looked to Simon- a look of pure shock and a little bit of mock upon his face, “Whatcha ‘ean ‘wha’ bout her? LT got a wife n kid ‘n we ‘ere nun wiser!”

“Tha was what I was hopin for,” Simon said dully in return, moving to stand up, an arm under the boy, and then giving you a soft smile as you came back from the garage, blankets in hand. “Gonna put Olls t’ bed.”

As your husband tells you what he was doing you give him a little nod and then set the blankets down on the couch, looking back to the very intimidating men, who were somewhat pleasant as you got to know them. “Unfortunately one of you will have to sleep on the floor. Si’s got a little cot thingy but I hate that thing so I will subject you to it. Trust me, the floor is better.”

Johnny laughs, “Nah we’ll jus cuddle on and we’ll be fine, Missus.”

“No, we will not.” Kyle deadpanned back, glaring at Johnny before looking back to you, “Thank you for opening your home.”

You smile at him, finding it easier to do so after a few hours, “Well after having to endure Ollie for hours it’s the least I could do.” It was a joke that they both caught onto, laughing lightly at it, though the air wasn’t stiff it was most definitely a bit awkward.

“Speakin of Ollie, is he-”

“Oh, he’s not Simons.” You quickly finish the thought, fully knowing that was going to be the question out of the Scotts mouth, then you clear your throat, walking to the kitchen as you spoke, “I mean- sorry, I met Simon when Ollie was about a year and a half old, my ex divorced me after Ollie was born and since he had been on deployment I didn- anyway sorry,” You wave your hand and grab your mug, “and Simon was volunteering at the school I worked at- for um, well John, you both know John of course- anyway, I needed a babysitter for Ollie and he offered and then…well the rest is history.”

“Ghost volunteering at a school?” Kyle echoed to clarify, “an the kids weren’t scared of him?”

“Terrified,” You reply, a laugh in your voice, “It was cute, he was cute, he’s good with kids, he won’t say he is but he is and oh lord, I…” A slight faltering and you shake your head, “Anyway, I’ll let you both sleep. You know where the bathroom is.”

With a few goodnights, you walk down the hall, leaning on the doorframe to the smaller room, which had a pull-down bed that had Ollie’s favorite racecar-themed blanket atop of it and a few select toys you had let him bring on the two-night trip. As you listened to the very faint conversation you stayed quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment between the father-figure and the boy.

“I like Misser Soap and Misser Kyle.”

“Mm, thos’ are my brother’s laddie, so ‘m sure they’re happy you like em.”

“If…if dey brother then- then they like Uncle Mark?”

“…Yeah, sorta like your Uncle Mark, alright, you get to sleep, yeah? Fore mum has both our hides.”

You move to stay in the hallway as Simon kisses the boy’s forehead and tells him goodnight for the billionth time, and you turn your head upward to look at him as he closes the door behind him. He looked tired if anything, so maybe you would wait for your scolding. Silence, as you had learned very quickly on within your relationship, was the cornerstone of who he was. Whatever you may want to be said he was already aware of, anything you wanted to be expressed he was already expressing in his own way. With that in mind you move to where he could easily wrap his arms around you, tucking you into what he felt was like a safe embrace.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Not scared of you, scared of what would happen without you.”

(annd yeah, that's all. Feedback, comments and all that mean so much to me <3)