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ellethespaceunicorn · 2 months

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🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need.

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-”

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers.

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

#chris evans #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans characters #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill #ask reply #landlord ari levinson #dark ari levinson #dark ari levinson fanfic #dark fic #dark fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove

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raccoon-eyed-rebel · 8 months

Text

Pumpkin spice

Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Walter Marshall x librarian!reader

Summary: You finally manage to get a date with the handsome barista from your favorite coffeeshop.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f and m receiving), p-in-v sex, hint of a size kink (blink and you miss it), a cheesy (romantic) date, a short appearance of Mike The Idiot TM, awkwardness, a lot of coffee and abuse of a cable knit... I think that's it?

A/N: Another promise made to @deandoesthingstome. I swear this woman is responsible for half the stuff on my masterlist at this point. Credit for the other half goes to @geralts-yenn of course. This time, it was - of course - because I made the mistake of adding one of the - according to her - more attractive Henry-shaped men to the Coffee+Cats universe. Naturally, grumpy coffeeshop manager Walter needed a hug and some good head, and Charlie volunteered, so here we are.

What we're left with is a crazy crossover between the Coffee+Cats AU and the 179th Crescent Street AU, because this is - indeed, for the people who are familiar with Crescent Street - the librarian!reader from After Hours.

@ellethespaceunicorn @peaches1958 @sillyrabbit81 @peyton-warren @summersong69 @mayloma @livisss

The brooding man behind the counter has been getting on your nerves for weeks. His only crime is ‘getting your order right’, which shouldn’t even be all that surprising, because that’s his job – if it weren’t for the fact that he seems to know exactly what it’s going to be before you’ve even opened your mouth to speak.

“What can I do for you today?” He could look less godlike, maybe? Don’t say that. Or he could smell worse? Or that. Or he could not smile in a way that seemed to make the earth stop spinning. Very dramatic, also don’t say that.

“Ehh…” Brilliant. Someone should give you an award for that monologue. Shake it off. “Since when do I have to order for myself?”

Alright, you’ve made him chuckle – God, that’s a delicious sound – and look away. Now what? “I’m sorry,” he says, still avoiding your eyes, “I can’t read you today. But you seem annoyed enough with me to make me want to make whatever you’re going to order lukewarm in case I get it thrown in my face later.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, “I was really hoping to get a recommendation.” Because you only know what you want to order when you’re here for coffee. And you’re not here for coffee. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, why are you getting coffee today?” Son of a bitch! It’s a good thing the shop is slow right now, so you’re not holding anyone up with your… is it flirting? God, let it be flirting! No, definitely not flirting. Or maybe…?

“Maybe it’s not the coffee so much as the company,” you say shyly. Yeah, flirting. Qualitatively very poor flirting, but still. It stays quiet on the other side of the counter for a beat too long, which sends your anxiety through the roof.

“So, how about she has whatever you’re having when you go on your break in about... A minute and a half?” The voice belongs to Mike, the almost annoyingly upbeat barista you’ve seen around countless times. He’s responsible for at least half the college crowd that flocks to this place, because he’s a cutie. A little young, maybe, but he has a nice ass.

“I was going to go with a regular old espresso.” He smiles apologetically.

“You look like you could do with a double.” God, that’s a horrible line.

It’s Mike who ends up laughing. “He could do with way more than a double,” he snickers, shooing Walter away from the cash register. “Get out of here, or I’m getting you both pumpkin spice lattes.”

Walter shudders at the thought. He never struck you as the kind of guy who likes his coffee sweet, and you’re happy you’re right. At least… You think you’re right until you see the little twinkle in Mike’s eyes. Granted, that happens a lot, but never for nothing, and the little wink he throws your way suggests he knows his boss has a secret pumpkin spiced sweet tooth he doesn’t want the world to know about. So you pretend not to notice.

When you’re finally settled at a table, you talk for what feels like forever, your knees touching under the table. You’d expected him to move his leg out of the way when you first bumped into it accidentally, but he didn’t. Then, as your conversation went on, more and more of your legs got mixed up together.

“Walter?” For the love of God, why? “I hate to break up your date, but a whole sorority just walked in and I can’t do this by myself.”

“I’m on my break, Mike,” Walter grumbles in return, clearly not happy about the interruption. That’s a good sign, right?

“Your break, Mr. Manager, sir, ended forty-five minutes ago.” Mike would make a great wingman, if it weren’t for the fact that he seems a little keen to pat himself on the back for his efforts. “Give her your number and come do your job.” With a dramatic sigh, he walks back to where he’s supposed to be.

“I’m really sorry,” Walter says with an apologetic smile on his face. You shrug it off – it really doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even supposed to have spent the better part of the past hour with you – and slide your phone towards him.

A poetry reading in a – different – coffeeshop in town. That’s where he suggests you go. First, any man who is creative enough to come up with something other than ‘a drink’ or ‘dinner’ is worth a shot in your book, but when they’re of the dark, gloomy, burly variety; all the better. And no three-day-wait nonsense, either. He calls you right after his shift ends, and asks you to meet him in two hours.

It's barely a fifteen-minute walk from your apartment, which leaves you with plenty of time to complain quietly to yourself that an hour and forty-five minutes is not enough time to get dressed for a date, while getting dressed for your date. You manage with time to spare – five whole minutes – which you spend pensively checking out your outfit in every imaginable angle in the mirror on your bedroom door. You toy with the hem of the skirt you’re wearing, fondly remembering another time you put it on. You’re not one to kiss and tell, so only a few of your closest friends know the crudest of outlines to the story of your scandalous liaison in the university library – and the long night that followed. Not that you’re particularly happy that those same friends, to this day, still tease you about how you – a grown woman – let yourself get talked into a night in student housing with a guy just about so much younger than you that you really didn’t want to even begin doing the math, but you wouldn’t trade the memories for anything in the whole world.

One look at your watch tells you it was time to go, and with trembling hand you open the door of your apartment. It had been sheer, dumb luck that even got you this place in the first place. It's tiny – just the second floor of a beautiful old townhouse – and narrow, but it has a separate bedroom, which was all you could really wish for with your income, anyway. During this time of year, the street it was on looks like a picture; orange leaves bravely cling to the steadily baring branches of the trees, and litter the ground, making for the perfect autumn scene. The sight also never fails to make you more desperate than usual – even for you – for coffee.

You’ve always enjoyed the fall, including all its necessary trials and tribulations – slippery sidewalks that weren’t quite suited for folks with your level of coordination, the unannounced rain that mercilessly drenched you and your absolutely everything in the early morning so that the sleeves of your coat would be unbearably wet when you put it on later in the afternoon, the cold that had you shivering and covered in goosebumps more often than not, and your toes. Freezing. Always. On that front, living in an old, drafty apartment with less-than-efficient heating isn’t exactly your top choice. Oh well.

The coffeeshop is – as per your calculations – a little less than a fifteen-minute walk away from your place, and you dread being early. Getting there first. Waiting for him. Fortunately, when you round the corner, you see him standing outside. You happily note that he is standing there – again, outside – in nothing but a dark cable-knit sweater, jeans and sturdy shoes that are the most weather-appropriate part of his outfit as far as you’re concerned.

“Hello.” His blue eyes smile down on you, and you barely remember your own damn name. Was he always this tall? This big? This handsome? A nervous smile will have to serve as your answer, because you’re at a complete loss for words. He doesn’t seem to mind.

For a moment, you stand there, simply staring sheepishly into his eyes, until finally a drop of rain falls right on the tip of your nose, pulling you from your trance at once. “We should get inside,” you say softly.

Walter reaches an arm out. “After you,” he says with the same kind smile in his eyes. You pick a table in the corner, settling nicely on the comfortable couch, while Walter grabbed the two of you coffee.

“Pumpkin spice,” you chuckle when he returns with two identical steaming cups. He nods, a playful smile in his eyes, only. “Is Mike the only one who knows your secret?” Your nerves convince you that your shot at playful banter goes wide, until Walter sits down and chuckled.

“There’s, eh… There’s this woman,” he says softly. To your surprise, he doesn’t sit in the chair opposite you, but he joins you on the couch. As the café is filling up, another customer quickly confiscates the chair Walter isn’t using.

“Don’t worry, she won’t tell,” you say, your voice trembling as you briefly consider the possibility that he wasn’t referring to you.

When the reading ends, you linger until the shop closes – which isn’t too long after, but still, you find it comforting in the sense that you’re simply glad Walter doesn’t try to run as soon as he can. Outside, the rain has picked up, and if the autumn air was chilly before, now, it’s downright icy. Despite his lacking a jacket or coat, the cold doesn’t seem to bother Walter, and though the rain clearly does, he offers to walk you home – an offer, mind you, he’s not intent on allowing you to decline.

It would have been obvious to anyone just under half as nervous as you are, but neither of you seem to be in a hurry to get you home, despite the rain, both clearly dragging out the little time you both think is still left to this date. Until you reach your front door, that is, and you both look at each other.

“Do you want to come up for a drink?” Is that your voice? Your invitation? And is that him? Accepting your offer? Apparently it is, because he follows you in when you open the door. The stairs to your floor are almost too narrow for him, and he has to watch his head for that one ridge in the ceiling of the stairwell that you never look out for because you’re small enough to never have it bother you. “This is me,” you say nervously as you open the door and invite him into your place. He seems comically large in your tiny living room, and you barely manage to suppress a chuckle. “Coffee?”

“Please!” he says before he shivers visibly.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry,” you say as you realize – what you consider – your error. “I shouldn’t have… You must be wanting to get home and get out of your wet clothes, I…” A hand on your cheek and the heat that, despite being soaked through and through, radiates off his body cuts you off mid-apology.

“I wouldn’t mind getting out of these clothes,” he says slowly, his voice dark and husky in a way that makes your breath stick in the back of your throat for a moment, “but I don’t see a reason to wait until I get home to do that.” Without waiting for a response, he captures your lips in a scorching hot kiss that almost make you forget that both of you have wandered – slowly – through the pouring rain for nearly fifteen minutes.

Large hands gently tug your coat off your shoulders until a single move of your arms makes it drop to the floor, then they’re at your waist, pulling you closer. His lips are gentle, surprisingly soft, and his beard scratches against your cold skin. When you reach for his face, and your fingers connect with his skin, he inhales sharply.

“Are your hands made of ice?” he mumbles against your lips, his lips pulling away in a grin. He takes your hands away from his face, draping your arms around his neck instead, where you weave your fingers into his messy curls. They’re all but soaked from the rain, and part of you wants to offer him a towel, but another – much bigger – part of you swears it will die if not attached firmly to big, big man. Walter pulls you close, not expecting an answer to his question, and carefully slides his tongue along your bottom lip, begging you to let him in. You do, and you allow yourself to be swept away by the gentle yet thorough way in which his tongue explores your mouth, dances with yours.

With near-greedy impatience, you push him back, towards the door of your bedroom, longing so desperately to feel more of this man than you currently are. ‘Stumble’ is an apt descriptor for the way you cross the threshold into your room. Here, too, he seems almost too large for the space – which is so small that from where he’s standing, he couldn’t fall in any direction without hitting a wall. Your bed covers the whole wall beneath the window, easily taking up half the space, with your wardrobe taking up most of what’s left. You might have fit another bookcase in there, if it weren’t for the fact that you prefer your bathroom door actually closes.

Without thinking, you reach for the hem of his sweater, your fingers purposely lingering on the skin beneath, which – despite being damp from the rain – still radiates heat. Under your touch, his grip on your waist tightens, and his abs twitch. There’s more muscle to him than you’d thought, and you find another pleasant surprise when you rake your fingers over his stomach. So pleasant, in fact, that you can’t suppress a soft chuckle. Nothing says ‘perfect fall hookup’ like a deliciously hairy man. Now, if only that damned – and dampened – sweater would come off, that would be so amazing…

Frustrated groans escape the both of you when the garment puts on more of a fight than any sweater has the right to, and as soon as it’s on the floor, Walter kicks it out of the room for good measure. Your hands eagerly travel the now-exposed skin of his chest and back, making him shiver and moan loudly as you drag a single fingernail softly down his spine. He captures your lips again, stringing you along into the depths of another scorching kiss, fingers working diligently to untuck your sweater from your skirt. A soft growl slips from his throat as he finishes his mission, only to encounter the fabric of the blouse you’re wearing underneath the sweater – you really do get cold easily. This time, he is far less friendly in his approach, pulling almost recklessly at the fabric that finds itself so rudely between your body and his greedy touch.

Your sweater meets a fate similar to his, and your hands make quick work of just enough buttons of your blouse that you can pull the thing over your head while his hands continue their exploration slightly further down, following the soft curve of your ass and pulling you closer to him as he goes. His mouth barely leaves yours – he alternates between using just the right amount of tongue, and nipping at or sucking on your bottom lip. Paired with his obviously horny impatience, it’s nothing short of divine.

You can’t wrap your head around how warm his hands feel on your skin, but the contrast with the chilly air of the room is both staggering and arousing. Not that Walter had thus far been unsuccessful in arousing you – quite the opposite, in fact. His lips move to your neck while his hands roam your back and sides, hesitant to grab more of you. What does he think you’re going to do? Object?

Your hands are already undoing his belt, eager to take the final pieces of wet fabric off him so you can finally seek the solace of your warm bed, and he lets you, kicking off his shoes while you struggle with the buckle. Finally, he takes over, taking care of the tricky metal contraption with one hand while staring directly into your eyes. It’s at that moment that you finally realize what all of this is doing to you…

The arrogant little smirk on his face while he licks his lips doesn’t help – the whole thing sends shivers down your spine and your body answers with a greedy throb between your thighs. You manage to kick your own boots off before Walter mercilessly tackles you to the bed. With a single, swift move, he rolls you both over, pulling you on top of him so you’re straddling his thighs, his hands firmly on your ass, kneading the soft flesh with admirable determination. His face does a poor job of hiding the fact that he likes what he’s feeling.

When you bend over to press your lips to his again, you shriek in surprise as his hand disappears from its newfound playground and lands there again, only a moment later, with a firm smack. He shoots an apologetic look at you as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and you roll your hips against his by means of a faux-admonishment you’re nowhere near serious about. A man like that can manhandle the ever-loving fuck out of you every damn day. When he groans, your insides turn to jelly. In the heat of everything that’s been happening, you haven’t exactly been paying attention to what this has been doing to him, but that move of your hips makes you instantly aware of the very impressive erection you’re sitting right on top of. Another moan escapes him when you repeat the motion, his hands grabbing your ass tighter – nudging you, urging you to keep moving.

Suddenly, he sits up on the edge of the bed, keeping you in his lap, his hands finally moving underneath the fabric of your skirt. Walter moans again – appreciatively, this time – when his fingers explore the soft lace of your underwear. Then, he chuckles. “For someone who gets cold a lot…”

“Shut up,” you reprimand him before kissing him hard. The line between fun and functional is thin, and it wasn’t that you were expecting to end up in bed with this guy, but you sure as hell were hoping you would, and peeling off tights in the heat of the moment has proven disastrous on many occasions thus far. You shiver when he runs his hands up and down your thighs, lingering just above your knee, where his fingers toy with the hem of your thigh-high socks – an absolute requirement in your marginally successful attempt to not freeze to death – and you feel his cock twitch as he does. He likes them. Good.

Apparently, your smirk is too much for him, because he grabs the backs of your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Next thing you know, you’re on your back, and Walter hovers over you, diligently seeking out the most sensitive spots on your neck. He kisses a blazing hot trail down your chest, pushing your skirt up until it’s bunched up around your waist. You can almost feel his gaze between your legs, and the way he licks his lips wrings a whimper from your lips. Seconds pass in which you anxiously wait for his reaction – a mocking grin, a victorious chuckle or a vicious smirk filled with pity – but it doesn’t come. Instead, you feel a hand on your thigh, creeping higher until you’re not sure if ‘thigh’ is still an appropriate label. His thumb softly trails the thin fabric between your legs. The smile that appears on his face isn’t mocking, cocky or challenging – it’s peaceful and almost grateful in a way you don’t quite understand.

“My turn to get you out of your soaking wet clothes.” It’s a joke, absolutely, but it’s a gentle one, just like his hands are when he hooks his fingers around the waistband of your panties, and he slowly pulls them down.

You’re holding your breath. At first you don’t notice – it really isn’t until his hands slide up your thighs again and you suck in a desperate breath that you realize just how welcome the air is. He pushes your legs apart, settling comfortably between them before using his thumbs to spread your pussy wide. Insecurities plague your brain. You should feel exposed. Insecure. Uncomfortable.

You don’t.

Walter looks up at you with a question in his eyes, and you mouth a breathless answer to his unspoken query. Please. Carefully, he inches closer, until you feel the tickle of the coarse hair on his jaw against the sensitive skin of your thigh. You can see the shiver travel down his spine as he licks a single stripe through your folds, and you moan in unison. Almost immediately, your hand weaves into his hair, pulling his face closer to your center.

He's thorough, relentlessly lapping at your clit while you squirm in his arms, strong hands firmly pressed to the back of your thighs, keeping your legs open for him while he takes his time exploring you, tasting your arousal and learning what works for you. After some time, you notice he settles into a rhythm that might actually work for you, which – as you’re somewhat reluctant to admit, even to yourself – is a rather rare feat. Encouraged by the movement of your hips and the sounds you make, he continues on his mission, and before long your grip on his hair tightens and your squirming gets worse – so much worse, in fact, that he reaches around your thigh to steady your hips against his mouth.

Outside, the rain threatens to turn into a thunderstorm, and if you’d been in any position to notice the weather, you’d have been happy to be inside. As things are, you’re still quite content with your whereabouts, but luckily for completely different reasons. Your back arches off the bed when you come, crying out Walter’s name as you do. With trembling legs, you lay there, your walls pulsing and clenching around nothing. He lets you catch your breath for a moment, his lips never leaving you as he kisses a path up your body again, effortlessly reaching for the clasp of your bra on your back. He doesn’t find it – your favorite just happens to close in the front. Once found, however, that pesky clasp is no match for his capable fingers, and only a moment later you’re shivering as the cold air of your bedroom brushes past your exposed nipples.

He looks at you briefly before latching onto your neck again, gently sucking and biting your skin, making you shiver. One hand finds its way to your chest, fingers digging roughly into the soft flesh, fingers brushing tentatively past your hardening nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers. You whine, writhing against the sheets, goosebumps erupting over your skin – the result of the electrifying combination of the slightest sheen of sweat meeting cool air. He grins. Chuckles. Then, he bends his head to suck one nipple into his mouth, that capable tongue passing over it, toying with it, sharp teeth grazing sensitive skin, luring cries of pleasure from you in abundance.

Your hands all but scramble for the waistband of his underwear, slipping into the dark boxer briefs without a trace of patience. Fuck. Fingers wrap around – try to, at least – his unapologetically massive cock, images of that one night flashing before your eyes as you give him a few gentle strokes. A trembling exhale tells you your ministrations are appreciated, and you smile, hoping this is only the tip of the iceberg – a hope that is soon confirmed truth when he lets out a loud moan as you run your thumb gingerly over the underside of his cock.

A hand on the back of his neck, pulling softly, is enough to guide him to lie down next to you, and he smiles up at you when you sit on your knees. He’s all too eager to help you get rid of his underwear, and when you take your sweet time taking him in, in all his glory, he almost looks shy.

You start with a light kiss on his lips, then work your way down, fingers trailing the expanse of his chest, dragging slowly through the coarse hair on it, further and further down over his abs until they meet his hips, where they linger to draw teasingly light patterns on his skin. A featherlight touch of your lips to the tip of his cock makes him twitch and groan, and a soft tap on your ass urges you to keep going. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and with the tip of your tongue, you circle the head, teasing him until he’s impatiently moaning. His hand hooks around your thigh and pulls you closer – at first you wonder why, but soon after, his fingers run along your slit, searching for your entrance.

He pushes two fingers into your wet core exactly when you swallow as much of his cock as you possibly can, and both of you let out a long moan at the same time. You bob your head up and down his shaft in the same rhythm his fingers pump into you. It’s easy to figure out he likes it sloppy, and you’re happy to oblige. With the delicious symphony of moans and grunts that spill from his lips as an inspiration, you’re enjoying yourself greatly – which makes it all the more disappointing when he pulls his fingers back, a sharp smack on your ass breaking your concentration.

“Come here,” he says huskily, impatiently tugging at your arm.

You straddle his thighs again, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand to grab a condom, and waiting entirely impatiently for him to put it on. Normally, you’re somewhat nervous about being on top, but tonight, you couldn’t care less. You need this man inside of you.

Now.

Walter helps guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, and you slowly lower yourself, screwing your eyes shut at the stretch his incredible girth provides. Nails dig into his shoulder so hard he hisses, and you rest your head on his shoulder, whining pitifully against his skin.

“Easy,” he shushes you, sensing whatever distress you’re feeling, “take your time.” His permission helps; you slow down, and steadily make it all the way down his length. You take a moment to get used to the stretch, gradually relaxing around him. It feels no less full, but definitely increasingly less uncomfortable. Slowly, you begin to move your hips. It’s impossible to keep quiet – luckily, you’re not the only one who can’t seem to hold their tongue. Soft praise is mixed in with the abundance of expletives that come out of Walters mouth. “That’s it.” A personal favorite of yours, especially when he says it – a gravelly snarl through gritted teeth.

You could ride him forever – sure, your thighs will be sore tomorrow, but it’ll all have been worth it. Right? He clearly has other plans, pushing you off him unceremoniously. You’re on your stomach, and you half expect him to turn you around – but he doesn’t. Rough hands drag you to your knees, and – knowing what’s about to happen – you don’t bother raising yourself up on your elbows. They’ll give out in no time, anyway. Walter lines up behind you and sheathes himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust that has you gasping for air. He’s rough and demanding, yet kind and careful, clearly trying not to hurt you. Every thrust wrenches a moan from your lips, and your hand snakes between your legs, fingers drawing tight circles around your clit until you’re teetering right on the edge of bliss. His laughter when you beg him for more, harder, faster is largely obscured by the sound of rolling thunder outside the window. Your orgasm, when it finally does rip through you like an explosion, is theatrically accompanied by an almost unnaturally well-timed lightning strike.

“Dramatic,” Walter notes dryly behind you, his strained voice signaling his stamina knows a limit after all. In a moment of poetic justice, the storm lulls for a moment when Walter’s orgasm forces a sound from him that could be described as many things, but not ‘charming’. When he pulls out, your walls clench against nothing, and you whine softly at the somehow overwhelming emptiness. “Bathroom?” Walter asks, pointing at the other door in your bedroom. You nod, speechless, before collapsing on your bed.

His return marks the start of that awkward hooked-up-on-the-first-date-dance. Stay? Go? Hookup? Date? Yes? No? You sigh your relief when Walter hesitates for the shortest possible moment before crawling under the covers with you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and allowing you to snuggle into his chest.

“Do you mind if I stay?” he asks, a playful edge to his voice. “It’s raining.”

“Is that the only reason you want to stay?” you chuckle. It’s strange. Normally you wouldn’t be so confident he hadn’t been genuine in his remark.

“Well, eh…” he mutters as he nuzzles your hair, “there’s this woman…”

The sun is an unwelcome intruder in your house the next morning, and you do your very best to hide from the rays as long as possible. A new preferred method: burying your face in Walter’s chest. A very nice added bonus to the approach is that it comes with strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight. As far as you’re concerned – and you’re well aware that it’s a little soon to say this after one date, but it’s not like you’re planning on proposing today – you’re not letting this man walk, ever again. He didn’t complain when you warmed your icy feet against his legs yesterday, and the only reaction you get out of him when you put your cold hands on his body is a low grumble and an involuntary shiver.

“Morning,” he groans after a while. By now, you’re awake enough to at least make an attempt at playing host.

“Coffee?” you ask – a suggestion that’s met with an approving grunt.

On your way to the kitchen, you come across his discarded and banned-from-the-bedroom sweater – and you make the mistake of stepping on it, shrieking in surprise when the damp fabric touches your already cold foot. Coffee first, you decide.

“I have some bad news,” you say as you enter your bedroom with two cups of coffee in your hands, his sweater dangling from your pinky. “This is still wet.”

“Oh, god, no,” Walter says with a smile, “whatever will we do to pass the time until it dries?”

#walter marshall x reader #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall #henry cavill characters #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #night hunter

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sunlightmurdock · 1 year

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The Parent Trap | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Ex-Wife!Reader

♡ Prologue | Next Chapter | Masterlist

♡ In which, after a couple of years of listening to Peyton and Parker Bradshaw complain about their parents’ custody agreement, Grandpa Mav’s meddling goes a little bit too far.

♡ warnings: mentions of divorce throughout the fic, flashbacks to arguments and unhappily married people. Idiots who still love each other and don’t know it. (warnings will be added as story progresses).

…

“Alright! They’re here.” Maverick drops the curtain back into place and turns back towards his granddaughters. “Be cool.”

Peyton looks up, scrunches her nose just a fraction — she takes a moment to analyse what this might entail. Maverick sits back against the couch and opens his book up, picking a random page a couple of chapters in, settling into his position. Parker settles in equally easily, she drops down so that she’s sitting cross-crossed and immediately gets to work penciling in answers on her worksheet. Peyton inhales, then almost forgets to exhale, her mind racing as the sound of footsteps on the porch ring out over the top of Maverick’s soft soul album playing.

Finally, she drops down next to her sister and grabs a pencil.

“It’s been forever since I’ve seen Mav,” You muse, breathing out softly as you follow Bradley up onto the porch. It’s been forever since you’ve even been here, you’ve only seen Maverick a handful of times since you divorced Rooster. He was always kind to you. “He might not even recognise me.” You joke.

Rooster almost scoffs. Recognise you? — He hardly ever shuts up about you. It’s a good thing, probably, that his friends and family are so fond of you. It means he picked a good person to share his life with. It just makes things even more difficult now that the two of you have decided to go your own ways.

“He’s not that old.” Rooster settles with instead, keeping things lighthearted as he turns the door handle and opens the front door. He steps in first and holds the door open behind him for you. Taking a few steps forwards, he has a good view into the living room on the left.

The girls are both sitting on the floor, working on some school work together. Peyton’s helping her sister with math. Maverick is reading a fictional romance novel. One of Penny’s. Peyton is way worse than Parker at math. Damn it.

Maverick glances up from his book and even through the suddenly blurred lenses of his reading glasses, he can see the disappointment on Rooster’s face. Busted. But, as far as Rooster knows, this just means that the three of them spent the afternoon having fun and watching TV. Which isn’t entirely incorrect.

“Hi, Mav.” You step around Rooster sheepishly and lift your hand, waving it at him. Rooster looks you up and down, brows scrunching slightly. This is the man who drove you to the hospital when you were in labour and Rooster was an hour away in traffic. The same one who held you whilst you sobbed at the thought of not being a good enough mother and told you it was all going to be okay. The first person that the two of you told you were expecting.

And here you are, acting like he has become a stranger.

There are lots of aspects of divorce that hurt more than Rooster was expecting them to. Those hour long gaps in his Sundays now that he doesn’t have to go and put gas in your car. Getting home from work on a night that the girls are with you and his home being empty.

Now, Rooster doesn’t have much of a family. It was just Mav for a little while, and then Penny and Amelia came along. But, then he had you — and the girls, and you were all a big family. Now, Maverick is someone that you can only awkwardly say hello to. No longer family.

“Hey, honey! How’ve you been?” The book is discarded and Maverick is pushing himself up off of the couch, arms opened and walking towards you. Your body unstiffens, exhaling quickly as you let him envelope you in a hug. It takes everything in you not to rush out a pained ‘oh my god, I thought you hated me’.

Your mind jumbles, searching for the right words as Maverick squeezes you. He’s greyer than the last time you saw him, he still smells like the same cologne he wore when you met him. That means Penny’s still unsuccessful in making him stop buying the same pine scented spray that he wore in the eighties.

“Good! I’m — busy, but I’m good.” You manage out. He pulls back to look at you, catching your arms like you’ll disappear again if he doesn’t ground you right here with him. He looks over your face fondly. Both of you a little bit older, probably none the wiser.

Pete grins and nods his head. “I’m glad, I’m so glad.”

Rooster looks between the two of you, then back at the kids looking up at them curiously. As he glances back to Maverick, he knows that it’s only a matter of time before the old man starts spouting off some crap about how the two of you would probably be happier together.

“Mav, could we have a second alone with the kids? — We still have to get them home before their bedtime and stuff.” Rooster reminds his uncle gentle. Maverick jumps to his senses and pulls back nodding.

“Oh, right. Of course. I’ll — I’m going to go and start making dinner for Penny. I’ll be in the kitchen.” As he turns, his back to the two of you, his eyes on the kids, Maverick gives them an overzealous wink. It’s up to them from here on out. Then, he leaves and heads for the kitchen, shutting the door behind him.

Bradley moves first. He walks calmly into the living room and sits down in front of the two of them. You follow suit. There’s a beat of silence, the four of you looking at each other.

Finally, you’re the first to speak. “First, your dad and I just wanted to say that we’re glad you two can talk to each other, and that you wanted to help out your sister. But you know that this was completely the wrong way to go about it. Right?”

“We know…” Peyton agrees dejectedly, guilt in her tone and her body language as she twirls her pencil between her fingers.

You do your best not to make it a lecture, knowing that they’ll just zone out if you drone on at them too much. They’re still little and long lectures can be draining on their developing minds. You do your best to engage, asking them questions, keeping them involved.

It’s clear that they know what they did was wrong. You’ve got a sneaking feeling that this probably won’t be the last time they do something like it, but for now it’s resolved either way.

They’re going to write an apology to their teachers for switching classes again. You and Rooster had been texting about this all afternoon, you’ve considered making them write an apology to William — but he’s kind of a little asshole and his mother is even worse.

You check your watch and it’s already a little after seven. Their bedtime is eight. Luckily, Mav gave them dinner, so all you have to do is get them home and into bed. Then, you can get started with the mountain of work that you have left to do tonight.

“Alright, go say goodnight to Grandpa Mav, we should get going.”

“Can I drive home with Dad?” Parker asks suddenly. A quick glance towards your ex-husband, clearly tired after the day, relaxed back against the couch. He moved a while ago, complaining that sitting on the floor was hurting his back. You shake your head quickly.

“No, not today. It’s out of his way, and you two need to get to bed soon.”

“I just wanted to talk to him about the stuff with Billy,” She turns those big brown eyes towards Rooster and looks up at him, guilt filled and sorrowful. “I feel bad for not telling you about it. Can we talk?”

You open your mouth to correct her. Rooster, already suckered, sits forwards and nods his head. “Yeah, Peanut. We can talk about it.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, it’s—“

“It’s alright, I can take them back with me and we’ll just meet you at your place.” Rooster decides, running his fingers through his auburn hair and sitting up, readying to stand.

For the millionth time that day, your children catch you off guard. Peyton looks up, scowling, completely serious as she shouts, “No, I want to go with Mom!”

Rooster glances across at you, then back at her. Ultimately, he shrugs — it has been a long day and the twins’ favourite parent switches up routinely, he has learned to just take it in his stride. “Alright, so we’ll take one each. Just me and you, Parks.”

You’re more skeptical of this behavior, and your daughters recognise it immediately. You squint as you look between the two of them, and their sweet little faces. They’re probably up to something, but like their dad, you’re exhausted and don’t have time to investigate.

“Okay. One each.” You agree with a tired shrug, pushing yourself up from the floor. The girls rush off to say their goodbyes to Maverick, Bradley thanks him for watching them, then you’re all bundling out to the cars. You pause at the realization that Rooster has his bronco.

He catches your scowl as you pass him one of the booster seats. “She’ll be fine, I’ll drive slow.”

“I can take her, it’s not a problem.” You shake your head at the thought of her climbing up into that almost fifty year old, mostly metal, box. Rooster has always defended that truck to you, insisting that it’s safe. Still, you had made him buy something safer for when he has the kids. Their booster seats are still in the backseat of the fourth gen dodge Ram on his driveway, he never takes them in this.

“I’m going with Dad.” Parker insists. You both turn, looking up to find her already climbing on the side of the truck, having lifted herself up onto the step, now struggling to get the door open.

“We’ll see you at your place.” Rooster nods. With that, he turns away from you and wraps and arm around Parker’s middle, scooping her off of the side of his truck and opening the door with her under one arm.

You swallow softly and slide into the driver’s side of your car. Before you’ve even turned the key in the ignition, Peyton pipes up from behind you. “Was it weird being at Grandpa Mav’s house? — Did you guys used to be friends?”

“Alright, you buckled in?” Rooster looks up and checks his rear view mirror, finding his daughter’s smiling face looking back at him. He misses seeing those faces every day. She nods calmly and tugs at the seatbelt to prove it. Rooster nods, turning the radio down a little so that he’ll be able to hear her. The soft top cover will help, since the wind won’t be in their ears.

“Did you see that Mommy got her hair cut? — I like it like that, it’s pretty.” Parker comments, dragging her backpack across the seat towards her and starting to rifle through it as Bradley pulls away from the curb. He glances up at her through the mirror, brows scrunching just slightly, lips quirked.

“I thought we were going to talk about this Billy kid.” He reminds her.

“We are,” She shrugs her shoulders and pulls her notebook from the backpack, along with a blue pencil. “I’m just saying, Mommy looked really pretty today, don’t you think?”

“Your Mom always looks pretty. Just like you, Peanut.” At first glance, it’s a nice thing to say. But, it’s what he always says. With the two of them sharing so many of your features, he’d never dream of saying anything bad about the way you look. Not that he has anything bad to say anyway. Still, Parker is looking for something a little better than that.

She stares at him, squinting for a moment, then persists. “Yeah. But don’t you think she looks especially pretty now?”

Rooster glances up again, lips quirking more, brows scrunching in amused confusion at the serious expression on her face. “Yeah, I guess. — What’s this about?”

“I’m just asking. Don’t you think about Mom when you aren’t with her?” Parker frowns, folding her arms over her chest. Rooster pulls to a stop at a red light and looks back at his daughter, baffled. He always knew that getting a divorce was going to bring up some questions from the kids, he just wasn’t expecting this level of interrogation today.

He gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I think about you guys all the time. Y’know, how you’re doing, if you’re safe—“

“No, not us. Mommy.” Parker interrupts. Rooster glances back again, finding her staring back at him with her pencil resting on the page, her expression impatient. He pulls away from the now green light and shifts in his seat, completely confused.

“Um… yeah, I guess I think about her when we aren’t together. Parks, where’s all this coming from?” He frowns.

“Nowhere. So, anyway… Billy.” She tosses the notebook to the side and rests her hands in her lap.

Peyton twirls a curl around her finger, bopping her head to the lyrics of a song from the noughties. “I just think it’s cool that Daddy gets to fly planes. Did you think it was cool when you met him?”

When you met Rooster, you were still a bartender, working part time in a local boutique. You worked for Penny back then. You were somewhat young, especially impressionable — and he was perfect. Tanned skin, sunglasses and sea-salt tangled curls, asking you how your weekend was going every week.

Listening to your stories, asking you out, telling you about his adventures. It was all so quick in the beginning and yes, he was so cool.

“He was alright.” You answer back, glancing up into the rear view mirror with a soft smile toying at your lips. Peyton grins, she knows what that means.

She’s heard this story a million times and yet she asks again, “What was your first date like?”

Things with Rooster had never been exactly traditional. You’d already slept with him a couple of times before he finally murmured into your skin that he wanted to take you out for real, that he needed to know more about you.

But, that aspect obviously remains between just you and Rooster. You tell your kids about the date by the beach, him trying to impress you with somewhat of a picnic. Pushing him over in the water, him carrying you back to the car when you cut your foot on a rock by the shore.

He was so attentive in the beginning.

By the time you’re pulling onto the driveway, you check the rear view mirror and Peyton’s got her head leaned against the car door, lips parted, dead asleep. You smile softly, shaking your head as you unbuckle yourself and let yourself out.

Rooster pulls up as you close the door behind you. He turns off the ignition and hops down from the truck, standing under the glow of a streetlight.

“Parker’s asleep, I’ll carry her in.” He calls to you, already walking around to grab her door. You shake your head fondly as you turn back towards your car.

“Peyton too.” You chuckle.

Rooster unbuckles his daughter and lifts her into one of his arms, grabbing her backpack from the backseat with the other. He tucks her in against his side, her head lulling onto his shoulder, not stirring from her sleep in the slightest.

You groan as you hoist Peyton up onto your hip, struggling to balance her and shut the car door at the same time. It tugs at your heart strings as you realise out loud, “They’re going to be too big for us to do this soon.”

Rooster chuckles and steps around you to shut the car door for you. He makes it look so easy. “No, they’re going to be too big for you to do this soon. I’ve got a couple more years.”

You hug her closer to you, struggling to keep her tight against you, wondering when she got so big as you fumble for your keys in the tight back pocket of your shorts.

“I’ve got it.” Nudging your wrist out of the way, Rooster dips his hand into your back pocket and takes the keys. It’s a quick interaction, probably not him trying to cop a feel — it’s too fleeting for that, but it leaves you stunned nonetheless. He works the door open and glances back to check that you’re coming, still balancing your daughter with ease as he sets the keys on the end table inside.

Realising quickly that you must look like an idiot just standing there and staring at him, your feet carry you forwards and you kick the door shut behind you. He carries Parker up the stairs ahead of you. It hasn’t been that long since he lived here, it looks kind of different — the pictures on the stairway wall are different, but not unfamiliar.

He rounds the corner and pushes the door to their room open. Now, this is different. White walls dotted with little painted blue flowers, big-girl beds. Long gone is the nursery and toddler furniture that the two of you had filled this room with. It makes sense, their room at his place isn’t that different from this one, but still, he wonders why you didn’t ask him to help.

He sets Parker down on the bed closest to the door, slipping her shoes off of her feet and dropping them down to the floor beside her bedside table. The room would be bigger if they had bunk beds, but after last summer’s top bunk fight, you had forever abandoned that idea.

“I’ll go switch the car seats back over, if you wanna get them ready for bed.” Rooster says gently as you walk past him to set Peyton down in her own bed. You lift your head and nod gratefully at him across the dark room. Leaning forwards, you flick the switch for Peyton’s nightlight, it’s soft white glow illuminating the room enough for you to see the smile on his face.

“Thanks. Could you come back in afterwards? — I wanted to talk to you about something.” You’re busy unlacing Peyton’s tennis shoe and so you don’t notice the elated smile that’s on her face as she feigns unconsciousness. Rooster nods calmly.

“Sure. I’ll wait downstairs.”

Getting them both into their pyjamas, tucking them safely under their covers and slipping their respective stuffed animals in with them, kissing them both goodnight, it’s all part of the usual routine. Rooster’s leaning against the kitchen counter when you return back downstairs, arms folded over his chest as he frowns at the sink.

Slowly, you come to a stop a little bit away from him, unsure of how to say what comes next. You inhale, fiddling with your hands in front of you. He isn’t even looking at you, it’s like he knows already.

“Does it always drip like that?” He asks, pushing himself up and crossing the room to inspect the faucet. Your lips part, brows furrowing slightly. You hadn’t even noticed. He cranes his neck to get a better look. “You should’ve said, I can fix it this weekend or something, if you’re around.”

“Um… I actually wanted to see if you were free this weekend.” You explain calmly. Parker’s mouth gapes open as she and her sister huddle together at the bottom of the stairs, trying to listen to the soft conversation happening a room away. Rooster glances at you over his shoulder, just as taken back by the idea as his kids are. “There’s someone that I want you to meet.”

Rooster turns around to face you, leaning back against the counter and resting his hands on the wooden countertop. “Me? — Who would you want - Oh. You’re seeing someone?”

Realisation covers his face; it’s neither a good or bad reaction, and after years of knowing him as intimately as you do - did - you wish you could tell. You try to act as natural as he does about it.

“Well, I’ve been on a few dates with someone,” You explain gently. It’s a sensitive topic, telling your ex that you’re trying to move on. You’re not naive, you know that Rooster has hooked up with people since the divorce, you have too. But it’s different now, it’s bigger. “I really like him, and I’m thinking of introducing him to the girls. But I want you to meet him first.”

Parker slaps a hand over her sister’s mouth to contain the gasp, both of them ducking behind the railing by the stairs, like they won’t be seen through the gaps. They exchange looks, a thousand thoughts at once, plans being drawn up internally already.

It’s quiet in the kitchen, bar the sound of the faucet dripping behind him. His eyes, a dark hickory, search over your features. It’s unclear exactly what answer he’s searching for in your expression, but it doesn’t take him long to find it.

“Alright,” He nods his head. He signed those divorce papers just like you did. He was there for the custody hearing, the division of assets, explaining it to the kids. Rooster’s been present and aware of what this divorce means every step of the way. It’s been two years of pretty much radio silence. Neither one of you have exactly hidden the little flings you’ve had in the meantime, but you’ve kept that from the kids and you haven’t made a point of telling each other either.

Rooster’s trusted your judgment for as long as he has known you. If you think you’ve found someone worth introducing to the kids, then he should be happy. It wouldn’t be fair to hold you back.

He gives another curt nod, “That’s… it’s great. Congratulations.”

Your racing heart settles just slightly at his approval. Its pace slows but the pounding remains the same as you slowly raise your eyebrows at him. “So, this weekend?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m free.” He agrees, nodding his head slowly. He taps his fingers on the countertops and glances around the home that the two of you had bought together just under a decade ago, silently wondering if your new boyfriend has been over.

It’s nothing to be upset about, the divorce was for the best, you both agreed that there shouldn’t be any hard feelings about it — these things happen. But, still.

“So, what’s he like?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you shift on your feet. “Um… well, he’s a carpenter, and he owns a DIY place down the street from my store. His name’s Chris, he’s about our age. He’s nice, I think you two would get along.”

Not a convict, not too old or too young for you, owns his own business. Rooster can’t find much to complain about. Peyton’s brows furrow as she waits for her dad to fix this, to tell you to stop seeing that guy and be with him instead. Rooster’s face softens as he nods his head again.

“He sounds great,” He decides finally, his voice gentle as he takes a step towards you and opens his arms. “I’m really happy for you.”

You exhale deeply, relieved as he wraps you in a loose hug, every fibre of the interaction platonic. Just as quickly as you’re tucked in his strong, warm arms, he lets you go again.

“Text me a time and a place, the three of us can do something this weekend,” Rooster brushes some loose curls back off of his forehead and squeezes your arm as he steps past. Parker sighs, leaning her head back, crushed. He’s doing it all wrong. “And… um, thanks for keeping me in the loop about all this. I really appreciate it.”

Your lips quirk up into a soft smile as you nod at him. His footsteps grow closer, reminding the girls that they’re supposed to be in bed. It’s a quiet scramble, trying not to trip over each other as they race back to their bedroom.

…

@fadingbelieverexpert @jessirosebud @cowboybarbie @pinkpantheris @thedroneranger @a-serene-place-to-be @xoxabs88xox @unordinare

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x y/n #rooster top gun #rooster fanfic

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langernameohnebedeutung · 2 years

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i think it's funny that we never see where Blaine actually lives until season 5 and there it's implied the place is new. We even see Don E's place more than once but never Blaine's, we just see him lurking about his places of business or occasionally stay with someone else. And so far my working theories are he either sleeps in a coffin at Shady Plots or he kept Jackie's place from season 1 (has a pool)

#im just saying he has a thing for coffins #he got Candy into a coffin he got Peyton into a coffin #fandom #izombie

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pey-up · 6 months

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my little sister. My small sister. This child. She just asked our father, completely genuinely if he was born in 1880. Cue his flabbergasted face and me cackling from the kitchen

#peyton rants #I NEED TO FJCKING DRAW THIS HELP #I LAUGHED SO HARD #He was doing this thing where he wouldnt let her have candy until she told him his birthday #Bc she forgor #As she is a small child #And she says j shit you not #'Uh... August... 17th....... 1880?'#SHE MEANT 1980 BUT ITS STILL VERY FUNNY TO ME #I dont think the date was right anyways

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jungkookslipring · 5 months

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I Will Never Make You Lonely: CH 1

Summary: When your life is falling apart, your 8 best friends are there to lift you up

TW: mentions of de&th, su!c!de, su!c!de tendencies, su!c!dal ideologies, depress!on, anxiety, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, crying. If this is in any way triggering I’d steer towards more of my happier works.

If you or someone you love has thought of or acted on suicide, there is help and there is hope

Call or text 988

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, non idol AU

PSA: this is no way represents the artists. While their birth names are used in this story, this is in no way a reflection of the artist or artists in real life.

Ch 1

The next day, Saturday, you were in your bedroom getting ready to paint your nails while the other guys were either out and about or in the apartments just doing their own thing.

“Y/n?! Can I borrow some of your coffee grounds?” Shouted Seungmin from the other side of the apartment. You laughed before you shouted back.

“Check the bag behind mine!” There was silence and shuffling until you heard “YOU’RE THE BEST!” You giggled to yourself. You got the younger one his own bag of ground coffee because he always borrowed yours. You didn’t mind sharing your coffee but Seungmin loved it so much you decided he needed his own; it was only fair since you used his coffee machine.

“Would you like me to make you a cup?” Seungmin yelled from the kitchen.

“Yes, please! Can you add vanilla too?” You ask.

“French or Bean?” He shouts back.

“Bean!!” You answer before going back to your task. You were going through your colors when your phone started ringing. It was Carter’s sister, Peyton. You put down your nail polish and answered the phone.

“Hey, what's up?” you ask putting the phone in between your ear and shoulder so you could proceed to paint your nails.

“Umm…w-what are you doing right now?” Peyton asked. You froze with the brush hovering above your nail bed. She was crying.

“I’m just about to paint my nails, why?” you ask, screwing the nail polish wand back into the tiny glass container. You grabbed the phone and held it firmly pressed to your ear. You heard your friend trying to control her breathing.

“Peyton? What’s going on?” You ask urgently.

“Carter was in a car accident early this morning…her car went off the road and hit a tree,” she choked out. Your heart stopped. There was no way.

“Is she okay?” you asked with every hope in the world that she was okay. There was silence.

No.

Please god no.

There was a ringing in your ear that wouldn’t allow you to process what your friend was saying over the phone. While staring straight ahead you saw the picture frame that held a photo of you and Carter smiling together at the lake. You shook your head.

“I’m so sorry…” Peyton cried out.

No.

You slowly set your phone on the floor as you stared at the picture. You could hear the faint voice of Peyton on the other line calling your name. You shook your head as you scooted backward until your back hit the bed frame. You press the heel of your hands to your eyes.

“No No No..no this isn’t…this isn’t real,” you grit out between your teeth. After you moved to Seoul, you were only able to meet your best friend, Carter, once a year for a couple of days before returning to school. Little did you know that the last time you spent time with Carter would be the final time. You remained seated, hugging your legs, and rocking back and forth. Suddenly, you heard two pairs of footsteps coming to a sudden stop outside your door, before entering your room and starting to speak.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” Chris asked calmly but slightly frantic. He scanned you making sure you weren’t physically hurt. You open your eyes and look up. Standing in front of you were Chris and Seungmin. How does one relay this type of information without completely shattering?

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay, yeah?” Chris whispered, squatting to your level. You shook your head again. It wasn’t okay.

“Carter-” you whispered.

“Carter’s dead,” you finally say. They audibly gasped, Seungmin immediately squatting down to your level by Chris.

“Oh my god…” Seungmin breathed out. Chris crawled up next to you and gathered you in his arms.

“Oh, my goodness y/n…I’m so sorry,” he said, arms circling your frame. You barely registered the movements until you were breathing in his scent. Seungmin had a hand on your back, rubbing it in soothing motions. He turned around when he heard your friend calling your name over the phone. He picked it up and held it to his ear.

“Hi…yeah Y/n is still here, Chris has her right now,” Seungmin said gently in English. Peyton asked you to call her back when you could. She hung up and Seungmin put the phone down. When Seungmin turned back to Chris, he was still holding you in his arms.

“Peyton asked if you could call her back when you get the chance,” he said gently as he rubbed your knee. You nodded as your eyes shook. Their comfort was the one thing keeping you grounded and preventing you from going catatonic. After maybe 5 minutes, you lifted your head from Chris’s shoulder.

“I think, I think I’m going to call Peyton back, check in on her” you whisper. Seungmin rubbed a thumb over your hand.

“Would you like us to stay?” He asked. Your friends were just so kind. You shook your head, giving them a tight-lined reassuring smile.

“I think I’ll be okay, thank you though.”

Chris squeezed you once more before hesitantly moving to stand up.

“If you need absolutely anything at all, come get us okay?” He said with so much sincerity in his tone. You made eye contact with them and wordlessly nodded before the two walked out and closed the door. They made their way into the living room and found Minho and Han. The duo smiled at them until they saw the sad looks Chris and Seungmin had painted on their faces.

“You guys okay?” Minho asked. Chris let out a small sigh and guided the boys further into the living room. They all sat down on the couch and the two listened intently.

“Y/n’s best friend Carter passed away,” Chris said looking at his hands. Minho and Han’s breaths hitched.

“Oh my gosh…” Han whispered. Minho put a hand on Han’s knee.

“How?” Minho asked. Seungmin shook his head.

“We don’t know…we didn’t ask,” said Seungmin. They realized it had to have been a freak accident or something; Carter was young.

“Should we tell the others?” Minho asked.

“Eventually yeah, just so they know what’s going on,” Chris said quietly. After 30 minutes, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, and Jeongin finally got home from their classes. Chris quietly called them into the living room. They all quickly took off their shoes and sat down nervously.

“No one’s in trouble, I just have some news,” Chris said sadly. Everyone’s hearts started racing, even the ones who already knew.

“We don’t know how…but Y/n’s best friend Carter died,” Chris said sadly. Everyone’s eyes went huge.

“Oh no…” Changbin said quietly, shaking his head. He couldn’t even imagine the look on your face when you found out.

“How is she?” Jeongin asked quietly. Chris gave Jeongin a sad smile and patted his leg.

“I think she’s in shock,” he whispered, remembering how he and Seungmin found you. They all sat in silence, not knowing what to say until Seungmin spoke up. “She’s on the phone with Carter’s sister,” he said quietly. They all nodded, and all that could be heard were the cars outside. Back in your room, you picked up your phone and went to your recent phone calls. You clicked on Peyton’s contact and hit the soeaker button.

“Hey,” she croaked out. She’s been crying for a while.

“Hey,” you whispered.

“How are you doing?” Peyton asked. You shook your head.

“I don’t know….”

There was silence for a while until Peyton spoke up.

“Do you think you would be able to fly down here next month?” she asked. You shrugged while rubbing your temple. You only flew down for the holidays and usually, you had enough saved for those flights only. Tickets weren’t cheap.

“Yeah I think I can make it,” you say before Peyton lets out a sigh.

“Okay…I can pick you up from the airport if you’d like,” she offered.

“Sure, yeah that works.”

This was not happening.

“Okay, I’ll keep you posted,” Peyton said thickly as she hung up. You let your arm fall to the side as you stared at the ceiling. You inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. You decided to get out of bed and get that coffee that was probably lukewarm by now. The guys all whipped their heads around when they heard your door click. You slowly walked out of your room into the hallway, stopping in the entryway when you saw 8 pairs of eyes looking at you with so much concern. The sight of you was just so sad. You were wearing one of Hyunjin’s sweatpants and Chris’s black hoodie, which wasn’t new, but you looked so small and so lost, something they weren’t used to seeing. Your face had lost all of its color, like you had just seen a ghost. You suddenly felt so vulnerable, scratching your neck.

“I uh *clears throat* thanks for the coffee, Seungmin,” you say, giving him a shaky smile.

“No problem…” he says just as quietly. Everyone was still unsure how to approach this situation. Do they mention Carter? Do they act like nothing is wrong? Your hands were shaky, still in a state of shock from the phone call you got not even an hour ago. Minho and Changbin both stood up quickly when they watched you almost drop your mug. At this stage, the boys were nervous you were either going to drop the mug on your foot, spill the hot liquid on your skin, or all of the above. That fear came true when you took a shaky sip of your coffee, the hot liquid spilling out from the sides and hitting your wrists. You made a pained noise as you put the mug down. Minho swiftly walked into the kitchen calmly placed hands on your shoulders and led you to the sink, immediately turning on the cold water.

Everyone knew you were headstrong, so they weren’t used to seeing you like this. Within your friend group, you were the third oldest, and in times when they needed someone to lean on, it came naturally to you to care for them. Only on a couple of occasions have they seen you upset, like during a sad drama or when you’d laugh so hard tears would spring to your eyes, or when COVID happened and so much was happening, but even then you remained strong for them, and right now you looked like you were on the brink of an anxiety attack.

“Come here,” Minho whispered after turning off the faucet. He walked you into the living room where everyone else was and pulled you into a hug. Your arms hung by your side and your breathing became uneven, but you refused to cry, cause once you cried then it was real.

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to love, but what happened?” Minho asked carefully.

“Um…car accident?” you said almost as a question but more in disbelief. You heard someone make a pained noise while you stared at the wall.

“I don’t know how…maybe an animal ran out or maybe she was on her phone, I don’t know….but her car ran off the road…and she hit a tree.” No one knew what to say.

“Y/n…were so sorry,” Hyunjin said sadly. As much as you wanted to stay in someone’s embrace, you needed a distraction, something to take your mind off of things. You lifted your head and took a deep breath.

“I’m gonna try to get ahead on my reading, so I can get further in my research paper,” you said as you slowly pulled away from Minho, putting on your best attempt of a smile. Everyone nodded, not sure if they wanted you to be by yourself, but they respected your wishes and watched you retreat to your room. You flipped back and forth between reading and writing for a few more hours until your eyes hurt from staring at the screen for so long. You didn’t know how you were going to sleep. You tossed and turned in your bed for an hour, the phone call on replay in your mind. Well shit if you can’t sleep might as well study even more, right? You pulled out your laptop, the bright screen irritating your eyes even further as you started typing when all of a sudden there was a knock at your door.

‘Great, I woke one of the kids up’ you thought to yourself. You went to open the door and there stood the literal sun.

“Hey y/n,” he said sweetly. You gave him a small smile.

“Hey Lixie, what’s up?” you asked.

"Can't sleep...can I stay with you tonight?" he asked playing with his sleeve. You grinned and pulled him into the room. You got under the blankets, Felix following close behind. You saved your work and put your laptop on your nightstand. You pulled the sweet boy into your arms and closed your eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked quietly. You hummed in response.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered. You ran your fingers through his hair.

“Thanks, Lixie.” He smiled and snuggled even deeper into your side. Felix dozed off in your hold, but you were wide awake.

At around 7 am, Felix woke up. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stared into your eyes, and by the looks of it, you hadn’t slept a wink.

“Did you sleep at all?” He asked. You shook your head.

“My brain wouldn’t let me,” you slightly chuckle. Felix pouted.

“I’m sorry,” he said in his low voice. You gave him a small smile.

“Thanks for the cuddles Lixie,” you thank Felix as you pat his hand. He smiled and gave you a side hug.

“Anytime,” he said as he squeezed you.

“Do you want to come to breakfast?” He asked. He figured you probably didn’t have the biggest appetite but he still wanted to ask. You shook your head.

“I’m not hungry, but maybe I’ll come out at some point, I’m gonna keep working on this,” you say, rubbing your eyes and pointing towards your laptop. Felix and patted your shoulder before getting out of bed and leaving your room. In the kitchen, Changbin and Seungmin were cooking. They both turned around when they heard footsteps.

“Morning Lix,” Changbin smiled. Felix gave Changbin the best smile he could, but the older one knew what was going through his head.

“How is she?” he asked quietly. Felix shrugged.

“She didn’t sleep at all, which I get…I just feel so bad for her,” Felix sighed. They both nodded.

“I don’t know if she’s still in shock or trying to numb herself but…I mean I know it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet so maybe she is just in shock but *sigh* I don’t know, it’s just hard seeing her that way,” Felix added. Seungmin shook his head.

“I’m sure she was very grateful you stayed with her last night, honey,” Changbin whispered as Felix hid his face further into the older’s neck, Seungmin walking up behind him and scratching his back. If Changbin felt wetness on his skin, he wouldn’t say a word.

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ahhhhhh nerve wracking! I promise chapter 2 will be more lighthearted. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!❤️

taglist: @felixmainacc @felixburneracc @myforevermelody143 @dunno-wut-to-do @itzsana-kiddingmenow

#stray kids #stray kids x stay #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #skz scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids hurt/comfort #stray kids x reader #non idol au #skz au #stray kids imagines #skz x reader #hurt/comfort

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