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sometimesanalice · 10 months ago

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I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation. You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.”

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch.

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

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#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine

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inlovewithgreta · 10 months ago

Note

Hey!! If you’re taking requests, I’d love to request an Addison Montgomery x reader fic, where Addison gets home after a long day and reader lets Addison ‘use her’ for stress relief

Heyy anon!! I absolutely am taking requests so thank you so so much for stopping by to request this! I am so sorry for the long wait, I’m always busy at work plus haven’t had the motivation to write. I hope you enjoy what I’ve written! Have a nice day!! 🩷

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Use Me — Addison Montgomery x Fem!Reader

Summary: Read request above!

Warnings: degradation, praise, mommy kink, spanking, spreader bar

Word Count: 1.6k

Taglist: @shslbunnylover @bellatrixsbrat @aemilia19 @wandsmxmff @maybe-a-humanbean

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"What's your safe word?" You were asked by the older woman straddling your hips.

"Pineapple," you shakily responded, slightly squirming your body in anticipation.

"Good. Remember that. Now bend over mommy's lap." She patted her tanned and toned thighs.

You bowed your head in submission before hurling yourself over the redheads lap with your ass lifted ever so slightly.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"You're my little plaything tonight. My little stress reliever. You're going to be my own personal fucktoy until I feel better." Her cold hand found the cheek of your ass, and it took everything in you to deny the shiver that attempted to take over your body.

A hiss escaped your throat when the spanking first started, the sharp sting hitting you every few seconds that was followed by a small soothing rub to ease a bit of the tension.

Addison let out a loud sigh, allowing herself to let all of her stress out on you. Not that you cared, you would do anything for her. Anything for the woman who stole your heart.

You took spank after spank, allowing your body to be in complete submission to the older woman. You knew how much she needed this today. How stressed she was all day at work with little to no time to let herself relax.

That was, until the two of you got home and you told her to take her stress out on you. After all, you would rather it be on you and your body over her sharp words cutting into the brand new interns.

"You can be rougher with me, mommy." You whispered out to her with a small wiggle of your ass that had the redhead squeeze it tighter.

Even though you had a safe word, Addison still made sure to not get too carried away. After all, this wasn't just for her.. she still wanted to make sure it felt good for you. And it definitely did.

"Is that so?" She raised a brow that you couldn't see. "Is my sweet girl ready for me to let it all out on this pretty little body?"

"Yes, mommy. Please.." you tried to urge the woman on, "Use me. Do whatever you want with me. I'm yours.. all yours."

Fingers wrapped in your hair, pulling you up from her lap so you could face her. She admired the way your cheeks were already covered in a blush and she had barely even started with you.

"Then be my good little girl and lay down on the bed. Mommy knows exactly what she's going to do with you." She scrunched her nose with a sadistic smile and gave you a wink before letting you go, watching admirably as you scrambled onto the bed without hesitation.

Your head fell against the plush pillow while your eyes followed the fiery locks of your lover as she made her way to the walk-in closet. The dimly lit room was where the redhead left her special toys.

Toys she loved to use on you. Only you.

And the specific toy she brought out tonight was new. She figured now would be the best time to try it out and test your limits.

Your eyes widened when you realized what she had brought out with her. A spreader bar. A bar that would not only help hold your legs open, but to also keep them from closing. Something you often did when the woman made you come.

"That's right, mommy's got a brand new toy." She ran a hand down the long metal rod in a seductive manner before stopping at the edge of the bed.

You gasped when she pulled you towards the end of the bed by your ankle. She slid one into position, locking it into place on the bar before doing the same to the other.

"Safe word?" She asked once again.

"Pineapple," you answered.

She smiled deviously before pulling on the bar to spread your legs just a notch farther apart. "That's my good girl.. always my good girl." She cooed as she slid the bar again, spreading your legs as far as she knew you could go.

The redhead licked her lips slowly as her eyes scanned the glistening mess between your legs before bringing her lips to place wet kisses in a firm line up your leg.

"So perfect.." she mumbled between kisses, wasting no more time before swirling her tongue around your aching clit.

"Yesss," you whispered out.

Your body was tense as she started, your body unfamiliar with the restricted amount of movement you could make. You were pinned. Spread out. Completely exposed to your lover who lavished your cunt with meticulous strokes.

"Mmm, Addison." Green eyes glanced up at you, completely hooded and glazed over, and you had to force yourself not to buck your hips at the look.

Your fingers found her fiery locks, twisting and curling into her tight waves to keep her close to you. Her speed only increased with your movements, using her lips and tongue to play with your bundle of nerves.

"Close. So close." The redhead chuckled, sending vibrations to your clit that had your free hand clutching desperately at the soft sheets beneath you.

Addison's nails dug into your thighs, leaving crescent shaped indents into your flesh for her to enjoy looking at later.

Your head fell back, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head as your orgasm ripped through your body. Addison loved hearing every little sound you made, knowing she was the only one who could make those sinful noises come from you.

Once your legs shook and spasmed around her, she knew you were at your most sensitive, and took it upon herself to truly test just how much you could truly take.

"Such a good little toy you're being for mommy, letting me devour this sweet little pussy to make me feel better." She licked her bottom lip that glistened from your wetness.

"But it's not enough, I don't think mommy has had her fill yet," she smirked.

A surprised gasp escaped your throat when her hands returned to the bar and forcefully flipped you over and onto your stomach. Your body wasn't flat for long, as a moment later, your ass lifted high into the air when she bent your knees for you.

Your cheek was warm against the sheet, completely contrasting the colder air your lifted ass felt. But, chills ran through your body when a finger made contact with your upper back, tracing your spine down your body that forced your back to arch at the subtle touch.

"My gorgeous girl," the older woman cooed.

Her hand reached your ass once more, admiring the slightly crimson tint that was left from her previous spanking endeavors.

"Addison!" you whined out when a sharp slap hit the sensitive cheek of your ass.

It wasn't long before each cheek grew a shade darker as she spanked you roughly, each sharp slap burying your face deeper into the mattress and your body to jolt forward.

She was relentless with her movements, eagerly shoving two fingers into your tight cunt and forcing a hearty moan to reverberate off the walls around you.

"Oh, god!"

"You like that, babygirl?"

"Yes, mommy!" Your pussy fluttered around her slender digits that were thrusting dominantly inside of you.

She pressed her thumb against your button, rubbing your sensitive bud that had you screaming out the fiery redhead's name over and over again.

"Don't stop! Please don't stop!"

"Don't worry, little one, mommy didn't plan on it. I need this just as much as you do," she said.

Addison brought her lips to your ass, biting the tender skin that sent a jolt of electricity throughout your body as her teeth pinched into your skin. Your pleas for her to do it again wouldn't dare be denied by your lover as she found a fresh spot on your cheek to leave another mark that was sure to bruise later.

The curve of her fingers and her relentless pounding had you spewing the most obscene phrases as you came around her fingers. Your body quivered, Addison holding you firmly by your hip to keep you from falling over.

"That's it, babygirl. You did so good for me." She cooed as her fingers slowed, your pussy tightening around her fingers making it harder for her to continue moving. "Took my fingers like the good girl I know you are."

You whined when you suddenly felt empty, while Addison sucked her fingers clean and admired the way your ass was covered in the most prettiest shade of crimson she had ever seen.

Your legs nearly buckled when the redhead released you from the spreader bar, the soreness from the longevity of your endeavors becoming prominent as you fell against the mattress.

"Aww, you poor thing." The metal bar clanked as Addison dropped it to the floor to focus solely on you. "Would my sweet girl like a bath?" she asked, pushing your hair away from your face to examine your flushed state.

"Mhm," you mumbled quietly with tired hooded eyes and a blissed out state of mind.

Addison smiled softly in response, her demeanor completely changing from stressed to loving at your tired state. Did she really fuck you that hard? She had never imagined you would take what she gave like a champ.

Of course she worried she would take it too far to cause your safe word to be used, but the adoration on your face as she took care of you in the bath afterwards gave her the comfort she was looking for.

And to her surprise, you would let her do it again, whenever she needed a bit of stress relief and you wanted a good fucking. It was truly a win-win for both of you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

general masterlist | taglist

#addison montgomery x reader #addison montgomery #greys anatomy #greys abc #fanfic #smut #lesbiansmut #wlw smut #oneshot

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

what abt a kbd thing where like all the girls either can’t sleep and one by one they all end up all cuddled in w mom & steve

tysm! ♡ kisses before dinner au. mom!reader, 1.3k

"You haven't aged."

Steve's smile is smarmy across the pillow from you. "That's because you see me everyday."

"I'm serious. Apart from like, two little wrinkles in your forehead, you look exactly the same as you did when we first started dating."

"I know it feels like a long time, but that was only eight years ago."

"Almost nine," you whisper.

Steve kisses you gently. "Almost nine," he repeats against your lips. "Are you sick of me yet?"

"No," you answer truthfully. "Not even close."

Steve's hand takes your cheek, his thumb quick to rub the path you like over the skin just below your eye. It makes you feel so pretty to be looked at, to be held by him, and so special to be treated like you're made of glass.

Baby sleeps in the crib in the corner of your room. She's no longer brand new and, as you knew she would, she's gotten used to all the bumps and bangs of a busy house. She sleeps almost always through the night now, eight pm to five or six in the morning. The hardest part of having a young baby is over, and you and Steve are learning to be normal humans again.

You put the girls to bed at seven, and at eight thirty, you can hear them still awake. All of them. None of your girls are subtle, but you try not to punish them, because they've all done well with the new baby's constant crying.

"Who do you think will come and see us first?" Steve asks you, stroking your cheek.

You attempt to answer him through his dotting of kisses, half moons pressed lovingly to your nose, your eyebrow, your temple. Thoroughly loved up, you curl your arms around him to hide.

"Don't know," you murmur, sighing a breath of contentment as Steve hugs you close. "Probably Beth."

"Definitely Beth. I love when you hug me like this, you're like…" He pulls you ever closer, hands massaging up your back. "You're very huggable."

"Not very nice to say, I just had your fourth baby, you know? You could give me a minute."

Steve laughs warmly against your forehead, kiss-kiss-kissing the same spot he always does, your little pale scar from a rogue screwdriver. You'd been constructing Avery's toddler bed, and you swore you could do it alone while he got some sleep, but you almost blinded yourself and Avery slept in bed with you for a couple more weeks. The scar is permanent but nearly invisible. Anyone else would forget you had it.

"I'm not telling you you're beautiful again today. Everyone was jealous and my dinner went cold."

"No one else is here," you say.

"Not true. The baby's here, she might hear me subliminally. That would be worse."

A little knock rings against the door. You and Steve laugh against the other before peeling apart. Steve sits up in bed and you rest your face against his hip, pleased when he covers your arm with a big hand.

"Come in, please," he says.

Bethie slips in through a small gap in the doorway, closing it behind herself. Her hair is out of her face for the night, her pyjamas a bright sky blue with white polka dots. She's hip height now, surprisingly tall —you hadn't been expecting her to shoot up like Avery, nor for her chubby cheeks to disappear, but that's the horror and joy of having them grow up.

"Hi, honey. What's the matter?" Steve asks.

"Can I come and lie down too? I can't sleep."

There's no real reason to say no. You don't have to confer. You slide your legs away from Steve as he pulls back the blanket, beckoning her forward to fill the gap.

She must think getting to hangout with you guys after bedtime is naughty and exciting, giggling as she runs across the room and climbs up onto your bed. You make a big, "Oof," as she drops into your chest but you're happy to have her, kissing you're not so mini me on the cheek.

"You smell nice," you say, sniffing her hair. "Mmm, yummy coconut."

"You smell nice too, mom. Like the green dish soap."

"'Cos dad made me do all the dishes."

Steve pinches the top of your ear and gives it a short tug. "It's good for you. Character building."

"You're lucky my Beth is here," you grumble, your fingertips tracing up and down her back.

"Hello?"

Your heads turn to the door where Dove pushes it open. She doesn't ask like Beth once she sees you all, just sprints to the side where Steve sits and pats his legs. He grabs her to plaster her in kisses. She plasters him right back.

Your mommy's girl is on the turn. You can't blame her.

"You have to get Avery," you say, patting Steve's thigh.

She had a wobble a few months ago worrying she wasn't anyone's favourite kid. You've never seen Steve cry like, ashamed of himself for failing as a father. You haven't failed anything, you'd said, rubbing his arm, we just have to do better.

Steve takes Dove with him on his chest. You can't understand how he carries them around all day, he must have built up some dad muscle.

He's your everything. Well, second to the kids. It's a different kind of love but unfailing, always. You watch him leave and can't wait for him to come back, like a string pulled taut; you're relaxed when he's near.

"Let's move over," you say, shuffling to your cold side of the bed. You'd been encroaching on Steve's space during snuggles.

Beth puts her arm over your soft tummy and her face on your shoulder. "Can I sleep here?" she asks.

Sharing the bed with your kids is a wriggling, boiling mess, but you have a queen size for a reason. "Yeah, gorgeous. You can sleep right here."

Avery is wide awake when she appears, her Teddy bear in hand, her pyjamas an old t-shirt and the new plaid pants you had to buy when you realised she'd outgrown virtually every pair of pyjamas she owned. "I'm happy you missed me, I can't sleep," she says, climbing into bed to squish down next to Beth. "You have glitter on your cheek."

"Where?" Beth asks.

Avery scratches the glitter away carefully, tongue poking out of her lips in concentration. She may as well be Steve's twin when she makes that expression.

Steve has hiked Dove higher now, her arms over one shoulder, his hand patting a mindless rhythm into the pink fabric of her nightie. He checks on the baby quickly before plopping Dove down on Avery's right. "Ready, girls?" he asks.

You all nod. Steve takes the end of the comforter into his hands and shakes it out high, letting the top drift down onto you. Then he comes to your side and tucks it against your waist and legs. He kisses you, Bethie's cheek, and Avery's nose.

Dove is furious by the time he makes it back. "Don't show off, babe, you get the best one." He scoops her up, flops down, and has her laying on his chest. You see him take Avery's hand under the blankets. "So, girls. What's first? Truth or dare or gossip? 'Cos Denise the checkout girl told me something really interesting about Debrah this morning and I've been trying to get you all in the same place."

You smile into Beth's hair. Dove decides for you, "Who's Debrah?"

"I'm glad you asked!"

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berriweb · 1 year ago

Text

╰┈➤ ❝ wrong place, wrong time ❞

: ̗̀➛ ft. miles morales x reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings. brief description of reader’s injuries

: ̗̀➛ part two / part four

: ̗̀➛ a/n. y’all are way more into this than i expected LMAOAOAO and I totally didn’t pick tostones bc that’s what i was eating while i wrote this (im lying) also here’s a daily reminder that I don’t proof read bc im lazy

Blood. Cologne, air freshener, and the familiar scene of a laundry detergent you could never guess from a specific brand you never remember.

As your brain filled with thoughts and you became more aware of your surroundings, you took note of the first smells you picked up as you awakened. Unlike what was expected, you weren’t lying on another cold, hard and rough surface. You were in a bed, a comfy one at that, sinking into the mattress and covered with a blanket so soft you were tempted to act like you hadn’t regained consciousness and fall right back asleep in it’s warmth, snuggling further into the sheets and willing yourself to forget you ever woke up. But you knew better.

Memories of what had recently occurred flashed through your head without warning and you lost all desire to go back to sleep. Maybe you were right, maybe it was just an incredibly outrageous nightmare?

You shot up without thinking and your head almost immediately missed the comfort of the pillow, pain shooting through your temple so sudden that for a moment you feared you’d pass out again. Gritting your teeth, your hands hurriedly reached to rub your forehead in an attempt to dull the headache brought upon you while ignoring the aching in your side. Once it was tolerable again, you opened your eyes and almost felt a sense of relief wash over you.

You were in Miles’ bed, hence the familiar scent you’d initially smelled. His bed was made, surprising considering how messy he normally was. It was a struggle to ever find your way out of his messy sheets, a neat bed was unlike him.

…a neat bed was unlike him. This isn’t Miles’ room.

The art on the walls was unfamiliar, the posters were in different places and some of the clothes scattered around were different colors than you remembered. Not only that, there weren’t any of the pictures you two had taken together pinned to the walls like before. In it’s place were print outs of news articles and pictures of you that you’d never seen before. You’d never posed like that, you’d never been to that restaurant, you’d never worn those clothes.

That wasn’t you and this wasn’t Miles’ room, but if it wasn’t his then who was that sitting in the corner?

You eyed the desk and the dark figure sitting hunched over in the chair beside it, seemingly asleep by the way his head rested on his crossed arms and his back seconds at a time with every inhale. Carefully, both for the sake of being sneaky and not hurting yourself, you removed the blanket and pushed yourself out of bed, being careful as you stood and took another quick look around the room. You made your way to the door, being used to knowing which spots to avoid in order to keep quick, but the loud creaking sound of wood when you stepped on a certain spot of the floor made you freeze.

You looked back, and thankfully the figure went back to sleep after a moment stirring, but you found yourself still stuck in place when you took a closer look at the person.

It was Miles, or at least looked exactly like your boyfriend. From his nose to his jaw and the arch in his eyebrows, the boy was practically identical in every way, but you knew it couldn’t have been him, he wasn’t yours. You guessed that he must’ve been tired, there were eye bags big enough to carry groceries even with his eyes closed, and contrary to how peaceful you always admired Miles’ appearance when he slept, this one had his brows furrowed and a slight frown on his face. Not to mention the obvious inconsistent hairstyle, though you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the look of the braids on him. Maybe if you ever got back home you’d ask him to try it out.

Home.

You left the room without a second thought, the bathroom thankfully still being where you remembered. Rushing in without a second though, you pushed the door behind you and your hand searched for the light, flipping the switch and slowly turning on the faucet to splash water on your face in a weak attempt to gain some awareness. When you looked up into the mirror you could better understand the constant headaches. Two layers of bandages were wrapped around your head with a small hint of red being seen underneath. You’d likely hit your head when you first hit the ground and hadn’t noticed.

Lifting your shirt up, there were matching bandages wrapped around most of your abdomen, understandable considering the trouble it’d given you earlier. It was more bearable, but you’d probably be uncomfortable for a long while.

You missed Miles.

You hated to admit it, you really did, especially knowing how you left things off the last time you saw him, but you really did. He wasn’t always the best problem solver, but he was damn good at taking your mind off things and you’d always appreciated him for it. You missed his nerdy speeches about comic stories he read, you missed his corny jokes and his goofy expressions, you even missed the hour long rants he’d go on, rambling to you about how much he needed to go to his dream college and study what he loved, and how of course you’d be there with him.

You let your mind wander as your fingers absentmindedly ran over fabric of the bandages, only for your hand to fall still as your train of thought came to a sudden halt. What was it Miles said he always wanted to study?

If there was a visual description of your thought process you were sure you would’ve seen the gears turned and the wires connecting in your head to light the bulb you were ashamed to admit had been unlit for an embarrassingly long time.

“I’m in another dimension!” You declared, admittedly louder than you’d planned for, the nasty ache in your head returning to cause you more distress. Your hands held your head until the throbbing eased up and you could lift your head with more relief. That would certainly make all of the inconsistencies explainable in your mind, as well as the portal. It wasn’t answering all of your questions, but you’d take what you could get for now. Was this really possible? If so, how did you end up here?

“Are the bandages too tight?”

Saying you jumped out of your skin would be an understatement. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned around, bringing a hand up to rest on your chest above where your heart rate spiked, back flush against the counter. Your gaze met a familiar pair of gorgeously brown eyes, the same tired ones you noticed earlier, and your assumption seemed to be right. It didn’t seem that late into the night from the window you’d passed when leaving the room, late afternoon at best, making you wonder what could’ve left him looking so exhausted. The differences were more noticeable with him awake, he didn’t carry the same energetic stance your boyfriend always seemed to have when he was around you. His posture was stiff, even with him leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed and an unreadable expression. He wasn’t exactly a mess, in fact he seemed far more put together than yours based off of his energy alone, but something was missing.

“Did I scare you?” What do you think? “Sorry, you left the door open so I kinda thought…sorry.”

Another difference. Miles had an accent you almost immediately caught onto. It took you slightly by surprise, but you would’ve been lying if you said you didn’t like it.

You let yourself relax as your heart returned to a normal pace, but kept your distance out of nothing but caution. “I- no, it’s fine, I should’ve closed the door. And they aren’t too tight.”

The room fell into an awkward silence and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, unsure of what to say. It was a bit hard to not be uncomfortable when Miles’ eyes were practically staring holes into you. It wasn’t exactly in a creepy way, more or less as if he were studying you and your every movement, waiting for you to say or do something wrong, like he knew you didn’t belong here. How were you supposed to react? Casually tell him you were from another universe and expect him not to think you were crazy?

“…are you hungry?” Miles broke the silence with a question so casual it made you rethink whether or not the tension had just been there. He pushed himself off of the doorframe and turned around, gesturing for you to follow him without giving you a chance to answer your question. You weren’t going to fight it, considering your stomach was actually begging you for something to eat, so you obliged and followed him.

It was almost as if there were an unspoken rule forbidding you from speaking or asking questions, something in your gut just told you to play along and ask questions later. He pulled up a chair for you at the table and you quietly thanked him for it as he returned from the kitchen with two plates and a comment about how his mom had leftover tostones. “I remember they used to be your favorites.”

Well that sentence wasn’t very assuring. Especially with the narrowed look he gave you when you sheepishly agreed.

The silence that you fell into gave you a moment to yet again try to process everything going on, but on top of wrapping the idea of suddenly ending up in a completely universe (which was only the case if your theory was true, and you had no way of finding out whether or not that was true), you couldn’t bring yourself to not focus on how unsettling the way he acted was.

You could compare the feeling to spending weeks learning a school subject only for the test to cover absolutely nothing that you learned. Being able to read Miles was like second nature to you know, you two went hand in hand. Years of experience practically made you a connoisseur at knowing how your boyfriend was feeling or what he was thinking without you having to say it, and vice versa, but this wasn’t the same. It was as if someone had taken your Miles and replaced his mannerisms with a complete strangers, it might as well have been a cardboard cut out.

He kept his eyes trained on you the entire time without so much as a word, the same uneasiness in his gaze that made you lose most of your appetite and leave you nibbling at your food. You wanted to believe he was content, but his face was twisted in a way that made you think he had something against you. You couldn’t help but still admire his features, it was still your boyfriends face after all, but this wasn’t your boyfriend. The lack of conversation was agonizing but you couldn’t figure out how to start a conversation while in the house of a stranger you’d never met. You blamed him for making the aura so strained.

Clearing your throat, a stupid attempt to get his attention considering it never left, you guilty pushed away the rest of your mostly full plate to signal that you were finished and trying to break the silence, but he beat you to it. “…so-”

“Why are you acting like this?”

You weren’t certain that it was intentional, the malice in his tone, but the manner in which he hissed out his words was enough to momentarily shut you up, leaving you sitting there with a stunned expression to counter the frustration he’d let show itself on his face.

“Acting like…what?”

Suddenly your previous thoughts were proven wrong. This Miles may not have had the same actions you knew as well as with yours, but you’d be a fool not to see the irritation—and that was an understatement—on his face. His jaw was clenched, the hands that’d previously been picking away at cracks in the table now hidden under the table, but you were willing to bet that they were balled up into fists. Without warning you’d been put under a beaming spotlight and unexpectedly became the victim of his interrogation, feeling somewhat guilty for something you weren’t even sure you did towards a person you did not know.

“Are you for real?” Part of you wanted to talk back with the same condescending tone, arguing that he had some nerve getting on your case when you had no part in whatever beef or grudge he held against what you assumed to be your counterpart. “You disappear for over a year, no notice or anything!” The context made you want to believe he was angry at you, but the strain in his voice told you otherwise. Had you hurt him?

“I thought you were dead!” His brows knitted together tight enough to highlight the vein in his forehead, teeth clenched together with such tense posture as he half pushed himself out of his seat to lean forward on the table that you wondered whether or not he was giving himself a headache from the stress. “Do you know how long I searched for you? And then you had the fucking nerve to show up at my house like nothing in your state? What’s your deal?”

It was like you were a child getting scolded for coming home last curfew, but listening to him go on and on with zero context to the situation was irking you. You could at least try to make sense of it, and snapping back might not have been the best way to go about it, as tempting as it was.

“I don’t know.”

He paused, and for a split second you couldn’t tell if he was going to curse you out for playing dumb or keep ranting about your supposed insensitivity, but after a moment of silence he let himself fall back into his seat, hands retreating to his sides as his face fell, thankfully into a more neutral expression. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“What, you need me to spell it out for you in another language? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you hissed, admittedly more harsh than you’d intended. Miles didn’t seem offended by it, in fact the revelation seemed to do the opposite as you could’ve sworn a defeated look crossed his face. The knot in your stomach was unnerving, you weren’t used to seeing him like this. Whether it was your Miles or not, it was off putting. “You…don’t remember?”

You shook your head yes, which seemed to be the answer he wasn’t hoping for. Miles clicked his tongue and pressed his lips together, and his slumped shoulders were more than enough of an indicator that whatever he was going on about was more serious than you expected.

“You still came back, you knew where to find me, didn’t you? Uncle Aaron told me so himself, he knew you were following him. What do you remember?”

There was disappointment in his tone, and suddenly regardless of your own situation, you felt pity for him. The looming reminder that this wasn’t your boyfriend kept you from wanting to express that pity as you normally would’ve, but even then you couldn’t help but feel bad for doing so. You had no clue what his situation or intentions was, but his story clearly had it’s fair share of negatives and even if you wanted to believe you didn’t really know him, he was starting to remind you of your boyfriend. You were feeling more guilty for unconsciously convince yourself that he wasn’t Miles than anything else, who were you to decide that?

Now it felt like you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. No matter how guilty you felt, you had no idea about what he was going on about. Would going along with it make you a bad person? Should you just admit you weren’t even who he thought you were and pray he doesn’t immediately turn hostile? Who’s to say that’s how he’d even react? You weren’t heartless, just up and leaving felt criminal. No matter the previous harshness, he clearly still had some level of empathy if he was willing to take you home and care for your wounds, not to mention feeding you too.

“I remember you.”

Maybe playing along for a while wouldn’t hurt, at least to figure out what was going on. Can’t hurt to mention the basics. “And…I remember your friends! And your Uncle, obviously.” You glanced around the room for a moment, taking note of a lot of the family pictures on the walls with Miles and his mother. “And your mom, I love her, she’s- was, always so nice to me, her food is to die for. And your dad-”

“My dad is dead.”

The attempt you made to ease the tension and slightly lighten the mode was abruptly cut short with that sentence. You temporarily lost your voice and your chest tightened, eyes going wide. Miles’ eyes bored into your own, voice heavy as he dropped the fact with an unreadable expression, as if he’d done so to see if he could catch you off guard with that fact, and it worked. “I…” Saying that would explain a lot seemed like an insult in and of itself, yet it’s what came to mind, surprising at it was. You didn’t think the differences in this world could be so major, but you clearly didn’t know to what extent another universe could go to. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t remember that either, did you?” Miles chuckled dryly, but you didn’t see any humor in what he said. He took your silence as an answer and you took note of his now avoidance in meeting your eyes, instead turning away to look at one of the hung photos on the way.

“What about that day? Do you remember that the last time I saw you was the day he died?”

His voice was low and monotoned, and you hated how you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You could guess, you could assume how he felt and try to predict what he’d say next, but there was no way of knowing for sure. The unpredictability of his actions was maddening. As you watched him you couldn’t help but constantly compare.

A scowl doesn’t look good on him. Smiles always suited him better. You hated to be the reason he wasn’t showing it off.

“Do you remember that you were the reason he died?”

You hated it more than you thought.

╰┈➤ ❝ tag-list ❞

— @brokeb1mbo, @ravieaesthetic , @sp1derm4nluver, @isa-444, @wassuppartypeople, @namtaeh, @whoisgami, @ponyboys-sunsets, @go-to-sleep-salem, @hana-1235, @j-natsuka, @lavzxx, @itzmeme, @iimng, @nycweb-slinger, @empress-pug-pug, @planetliaa, @mividaasi, @dolliied, @ukranianacearo, @solecitoszn, @izukusnovia, @abbyrxx12-blog, @conventionally-unconventional, @mileslovelygf, @ditto737, @iinlovewithfictionalppl, @superiorbyfar, @bingewatcheraf, @the-smut-plug, @whotfismirah, @gyuville, @blackspideysstuff, @1uv4jiya

#across the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv fanfiction #atsv #atsv x reader #spider man #miles morales #miles g morales #miles g #miles morales prowler #prowler miles #earth 42 #earth 42 miles morales #miles 42 #e42 miles morales #earth 42 miles #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x reader

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mother--of---dragons · 4 months ago

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ROBB STARK FINDS YOU IN THE LIBRARY -- ROBB STARK x READER

words : 1k summary : You and Robb rule over the North, and are busy fulfilling your duties most of the day; although you both still manage to make time for each other. a/n : hello reader! this is my first post on tumblr which is kinda crazy considering i've been writing for like 4 years -- so would love to make some mutuals if your wanting to chat. I am absolutely obsessed with game of thrones and cannot get enough of it so need to write little drabbles to help me cope -- although I may continue working on a fic if people enjoy this. anyway, this contains nothing but innocent fluff and cuteness because robb is the cutest character and I just think he would be so loving and sweet. — divider by @saradika-graphics

Reading was one of the only activities that could allow you to fully focus on one thing at once. So when you felt overwhelmed, sad or anxious, you would simply pick up a book and insert yourself into the pages -- imagining you were a completely different person in a completely different situation. You could be anyone you wanted to be, and yet still be able to return to your life in Winterfell.

Robb had always been fascinated by your love for books, as he didn't understand why they had you so encapsulated. He had read plenty of books before -- although the ones he had indulged in weren't exactly the fairy tales you were accustomed to -- and yet had never found any of them particularly interesting. He loved how cute you looked curled up next to a window, head stuck in the pages as you excitedly scanned the ink markings with your lip between your teeth. In fact, the first time he had met you was in Winterfell's library, and he had been absolutely infatuated with you ever since.

Due to your new-found responsibilities as the King in the North's wife, you hadn't been able to dig up much free time in awhile. Fortunately for you, you had finally managed to escape your duties for a few hours, and immediately decided to head to your favourite place. The library. You had already read most of the works of fiction that resided in the castle, although still somehow managed to stumble upon a brand new story in the depths of one of the shelves. Wiping your hand over the front of the book you had just plucked from the planks of wood to remove the thick layer of dust that had formed, you smiled at the enticing cover. The gold text and wispy font immediately getting you excited. You walked over to a window, sitting down on the pillowed seat below before gently opening the book, the spine crunching as it bent for probably the first time in years. The satisfying noise sent tingles through your body, and with that feeling, you began to read.

Robb had been signing, writing, and reading letters all day, and he was tired. He loved being king, but god could it get boring. He put his head in his hands, scratching his beard in thought as he looked down at the hundreds of pieces of paper before him. He had been sat in his chambers by himself all day, and frankly, he was lonely. He missed you, and couldn't help but let a smile creep to his face as the thought of you flooded his mind. It's time for a break, he thought to himself. Dropping his quill, he got up from his chair and put on some extra fabrics, deciding he would go out and look for his wife. He had a strong theory of where you might be, so he left his chambers and started down the hall, heading straight for the library.

You had gone through around seventy pages now, and the sun was beginning to set. You turned your head to look out the window, hypnotised by the bright orange orb descending beneath you. You always thought sunsets to be magical -- not that they only looked it, but that they genuinely were. It was like watching an angel go to sleep. As the warm glow continued to disappear, you stared, completely mesmerised. You closed your book, sliding a small handkerchief in as a bookmark and opted to gaze outside, hand on your chin to rest your head.

Robb approached you slowly, a coy grin on his face as he stood a few feet away and admired you. Your back was turned to him, as you were staring out the window; but even merely seeing that made him giddy.

In your hypnotic state, you suddenly recognized his figure in the reflection of the window. You spun your head around, eyebrows raised instinctively upon seeing your husband.

"Robb." You said in surprise, fixing your improper posture and placing your book neatly in your lap. Robb smiled lovingly at you, eyes right on yours as he went to sit beside you. You moved further to your right, making space for him.

"What book are you reading now, my lady?" He questioned as he sat himself down beside you. You smiled shyly at him, extending the book in your hands so the two of you could read it’s title.

"Tis called 'The Forest of Secrets,'" You answered in a mysterious tone, almost as if the book itself was a secret. "follows the story of a young man who meets a fairy in a forest, where she shows him everything that is magical. I have not read too much yet."

Although Robb gained little delight reading fantasy novels, he enjoyed hearing you enthuse about them. He loved listening to you talk about your interests and hobbies, no matter if he himself liked them also. "Any good?" He queried, frowning in question.

You nodded vigorously, like an excited child. Adjusting in the seat, you leant back on Robb, resting your head on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, resting one of his hands on your stomach while the other brushed through your hair.

You grinned bashfully as you felt his chest rise and lower as he breathed beneath your head, a sudden realisation coming to mind as your brows furrowed. "I had thought you were busy today?"

"I took a break." He said as he ran his fingers through your soft locks. "I wanted to see you."

"Do you not have a kingdom to rule?"

"The North can wait. My wife comes first." Robb pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, your cheeks instinctively shifting to a light pink hue as you rolled your eyes sarcastically at him. "Now, shall we read your book?"

You bit your lip back, trying to hide the smile that had creeped onto your face. Robb somehow always managed to make time for you, and his extensive efforts only made you fall more and more in love with him. You couldn't have asked for anyone better; so to respect his wishes, you opened your book and obligingly began to read from the page you had left on, the two of you sitting together happily in the castle that you both ruled over.

#robb stark #game of thrones #robb stark x reader #winterfell #drabble #stark #house of the dragon #jon snow #x reader #robb #got

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heygerald · 6 months ago

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 2

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Colt Seavers' sister, Parker, finds the professional asshole in a vulnerable moment, she decides to sideline the attitude to help. Is an asshole still an asshole if no one is around?

read the story here: prev / next

The movie was finished, and, apparently, a whole lot of people were happy and drunk over that little fact. The wrap party was currently being hosted by Gail—producer extraordinaire—and it was quite literally the nicest house that Parker had ever seen in person. White leather couches that cost more than her car dotted the living room floor, decorated with Williams Sonoma pillows, and a Versace rug that spelled the brand name out in big, bold letters. Art hung on every available space, while odd statues were placed at random throughout the living room. There was even a pair of perfectly groomed Afghan Hounds doing tricks near the conversation pit.

The opulence of it all was counteracted by half-drunken executives milling around the pool, very drunk equipment techies playing a game involving dice, a quarter, and a banana in the kitchen, and one particular Colt Seavers miserably attempting a handstand on the back patio.

"It's harder than it looks, you know," he told the crowd of onlookers as he teetered left and right. Venti swatted his shoe when it knocked into the back of her head, while Jody tried to act impressed with some half-hearted clapping. "I did this once—two hours. Could barely talk afterwards."

"Two hours?" she echoed; half doubt, half amusement. "That sounds almost impossible."

"Heh, well, nothing is impossible if you believe hard enough. You're the only one who gets to decide what you will be remembered for."

"Is that written on a poster somewhere?"

"Uh, not exactly—"

Colt's peacocking was cut short when an unfortunately timed sneezed caused the stuntman to lose his balance. He swung his legs wildly in an overcorrection that ended up knocking a full glass of Chardonnay right onto Parker's lap.

She responded in true sisterly fashion: by promptly shoving him as hard as she could on the hip with the toe of her shoe. And though his literal job was to know how to take a fall, the entire patio got to watch as he went ass over face into a nearby potted plant.

Alcohol, a nice sunny evening, good music, and better food made the fiasco a spectacle, and everyone keeled forward at the waist in laughter. Jody, bless her, did her best to muffle her giggles behind her hat while Colt awkwardly floundered on the ground. Parker didn't have such restrictions.

"It was a Taylor Swift quote, actually," she told the camerawoman. It wasn't as funny when she noticed the damage to her pants, and with a sigh she attempted to blot the wet spot with Venti's crumpled napkin. "These are brand new jeans, you ass."

Colt popped back onto his feet with a flushed face. A pair of executives raised their eyebrows at him curiously, and in response he offered his typical awkward smile and wave combo. "What did I tell you about being cool?" he hissed at his sister.

"You're the one attempting cheap Cirque-de-Solei acts on Gail's back deck," she tutted.

"You're not even supposed to be here," he whined while plopping himself down beside Jody. She pretended to sympathize by offering a pat on the back. "How are you even here? You didn't even work on the movie!"

Parker shrugged. "Dan brought me as his plus-one."

"His—? I didn't even get a plus-one!"

"Maybe because you do stupid stuff like a handstand in the middle of a crowded party," she sniped. Colt didn't rise to the bait, however, and instead slumped onto Jody's lap with a long-suffering sigh.

"S'not fair," he muttered into her leg, words half smothered by the denim. "This is my first big party, and you just happen to be invited as well. Oh, the misery."

Parker blew a raspberry.

Colt batted his eyes at Jody and she conceded with an easygoing smile. "I didn't get a plus-one either, babe. But you know what? If I did, I would haven't wanted to bring anyone but you," she cooed while tapping him on the nose.

And—god, it actually worked.

Colt's entire face broke out into a starry-eyed smile.

Parker, still wet and now grossed out, decided that was as fine a time as any to excuse herself. "Well that's officially disgusting. I'm going to try to find a hair dryer and see if I can't dry this before it stains or I throw up."

"There's a loo by the kitchen," Jody pointed.

Colt popped up out of her lap, his tantrum already forgotten about. "Oh, hey! Will you get me another beer? Something cold, domestic maybe. A bud light if they have it. If not, I'm cool with whatever is on tap."

She blinked at her brother. Once, twice, three times.

"Yeah," she shook her head at him. "And I'm the embarrassing one."

"What'd I say?"

Both women promptly ignored that as she asked if Jody wanted something, but the camerawoman was still working on her very much un-spilled glass of wine and therefore didn't need anything. Venti made a general request for some snacks, which Dan quickly seconded.

Parker gave them a thumbs-up before heading inside. The mansion was no less shocking the second time she traipsed through it, but it was certainly more daunting to brave without her date, brother, or Jody and with a giant wine stain near her crotch.

No one seemed to notice her discomfort, however. There were plenty other things to occupy their attention. Between the caterers walking around with trays of fancy finger foods and freshly made mojitos there wasn't any reason to take note of the unfamiliar face in the crowd. She wound her way past whatever game was happening on the kitchen island towards where Jody had said the bathroom was. Unfortunately, the free food and alcohol did seem to have a penance; the line was seven women long.

"Wine?" a waiter offered on a silver tray.

"No thanks, I'm still wearing my last glass off," she joked with a dry smile. The kid followed her line of sight to the large wet spot on her pants and went bright pink.

Still, it couldn't have been the worst thing she had seen before, and with a modicum of professionalism that impressed Parker, she pulled forward a second tray with a variety of fun colored drinks. The one closest smelled of coconut and had a cute umbrella sticking out of it.

"Piña colada?" she asked.

"...yup."

Parker grabbed a glass and didn't hesitate to take a large gulp. And—damn.

Thank you Gail Meyer.

The waitress then leaned closer, glancing pointedly at the bathroom and then Parker's jeans, before saying, "there's two more bathrooms upstairs that are open for guests."

Channeling Jody, Parker grinned. "Brills," she chirped.

She felt a little bad that she didn't have any money to tip the kid, but before she could try to work something out, the redhead was already drifting off through the crowd to offer the other guests her variety of drinks.

"Brills indeed," she said again, even more pleased.

Following suit, she wound through the crowds of people until she reached a large staircase. From there, the crowds seemed to thin out considerably.

A few people sat in conversation at the foyer at the top; a beautiful blonde woman that was the lead actress in the film was chatting with some friends. She was utterly gorgeous, with pearly skin and silken hair, and without even looking where she was going Parker covered her pants with her hand and darted to the hallway on her right.

The first door revealed a linen room with a washer/dryer set that she half considered smuggling out when she left later that night. The second a yoga studio. The third was locked.

The fourth door was tucked all the way on the end of the hallway, hidden between a glass statue of a pelican and a snake plant that was taller than her. It wasn't locked—in fact, whoever had previously been inside had left the door ajar.

Parker stuck her head inside, and was ecstatic to realize it was a bathroom.

A nice one, she thought while stepping inside.

There was a marble counter with a large white sink, a mirror with LED lights, a beautiful tile floor, a clawfoot tub next to a large window that overlooked the back yard, edited photos of Gail on every wall, plants hanging from the ceiling, candles propped across floating shelves, a stunning white rug of questionable descent, and—

Tom Ryder. Hunched over a toilet. Puking.

"Shit."

The sound of her voice echoed in the nearly silent bathroom. Tom jerked upwards, all red flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, and though it took him a moment to realize just who had walked in on him, he didn't manage so much as a glare before he was retching into the toilet bowl.

"Uh, fuck, um—do you—I can totally come back. Sorry. Sorry!" she said, panicked, backtracking towards the door before she not so smoothly slipped on said rug. Parker hit the ground with a squeak, and her piña colada only added to the wet spot on her pants. "Fuck!"

The hurling stopped for a moment as he took in a large, calming breath. And the sudden awkwardness of it all had her freezing in place on the ground, staring.

Always fucking staring when it came to Tom Ryder. Never able to look away.

The white button down he had arrived wearing was discarded haphazardly near the rug. His ripped jeans were bunched on the calves, shoes nowhere to be found, while sweat-dampened tufts of hair were plastered to his forehead.

He looked... well, awful.

Which was a far cry from the first time she had ever seen him on the set, and the three or four times after that in which the pair had equally unfortunate run-ins with one another. Every single one had been filled with witty barbs and well-placed insults. Mostly on her part. Tom seemed to prefer the approach of generally being an asshole in everything he said, did, and thought. It came natural to him, really, and just like their introduction it always ended with Colt playing referee to keep the two from drawing blood.

Well. Colt was nowhere to be seen, and Tom was already down.

Suffice to say Parker certainly had the upper hand if they were going to fight.

But—well, fuck. The dude was lying on the bathroom floor at his producer's house during a party that was practically being thrown in his honor.

Alone. Sick. And looking a little too close to death for comfort.

"Ah, fuck," Parker seconded under her breath. She set aside the cup to shake ice cubes and an orange slice off her shirt. Of course the towels were all white. Wincing, she started to pat dry her, well, everything with a side-eye in his direction. "Are you... okay?"

He scowled. Sorta. It was hard to tell when his face was half hidden in a porcelain bowl. "What the fuck do you think?"

"I don't know. That's kind of the purpose of asking."

"Fine."

"You sure don't look fine."

He glanced at her, eyes darting over the wet spot on her pants to the newly wet spot on her shirt. Somehow, he wasn't too sick to roll his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the cold porcelain. "You're supposed to drink it, not wear it."

"Says the guys vomiting his drinks right back—"

The mention of the word vomit had his face turning a shade of green, and not a moment later Tom pitched forward to throw up once more.

Parker winced. She didn't have a strong stomach, and the sound alone was already threatening her own health. "...er, sorry."

"Can you go bother someone else?"

The vomiting subsided. Parker looked at her pretty pineapple glass with a despondent sigh before she filled it up with cold tap water. He didn't accept it when she offered it, however, and with a defeated sigh she set it onto the sink counter.

"I'm trying to be nice, asshole."

"Hm. Since when are you nice?"

"Well I'm pretty sure if you choke on your own vomit and die, I'll be liable as the last person to see you alive. So," she fluttered her hands at him, unsure of what to do or where to touch, and eventually Parker settled for planting her hands firmly on her hips. "Just—chill out for a moment, okay. I'm going to call Colt and have him find Gail."

"No, no, don't—don't tell Gail."

"Are you kidding? I think you might actually die, dude."

"Just don't," he snapped in a tone that left little room for argument. Of course, it was plenty easy for her sidestep the argument considering he was down for the count on the bathroom floor, but after a moment of a silent stare down, his shoulders deflated with a sigh. "I... she's going to flip. Alright? I'm fine."

"Fine?"

Tom attempted a shrug. "Bad reaction to shrimp."

Parker heard alarm bells ringing. When she spotted a nickel sized baggie on the counter those bells turned into sirens. She pinched it between two fingers while arching a brow at him pointedly. "I know giant shrimp are a thing, but I didn't know microscopic shrimp had started to gain traction."

His lack of a retort was more concerning than the vomiting.

"I think I should get you some help."

"It's not—" he started before stopping when he took too deep a breath. Something darkened in his features; mouth flattening, downcast eyes, furrowed brows. Was that guilt she saw? Or shame? "Just... relax. I took some Xanax and it... well, you know, fucked with the alcohol."

Parker couldn't withhold a snort. "Xanax? Seriously. Are you secretly an unhappy soccer mom or something?"

Whatever look had been curling his eyebrows vanished in seconds, replaced full force by a glare. "Fuck off, alright. I take them sometimes for anxiety."

"What in the hell do you have to be anxious about?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Music thrummed from outside, laughter, chatter, and shouting echoing happily in the summer evening air. The bathroom itself was cold.

Even colder when he said, "you know you can be a real asshole sometimes too."

And—yeah.

That single sentence fucked with Parker. Because upon closer introspection she realized that, shit, he was right. The guy was on the ground, throwing up, in a vulnerable state surrounded by some very powerful people that could easily ruin his career if they found him and here she was kicking him when he was down. Literally.

Pot, meet kettle. You two have a lot more in common than you think.

Disgruntled at being called out—by Tom fucking Ryder of all people—it was Parker's turn to flush red in shame. She tucked the pill baggie into the pocket of her jeans so someone else wouldn't stumble upon it and his piss poor excuse, before sticking her head out into the hallway. Whatever was going on in the landing seemed to be keeping everyone occupied, and the noise wafting from downstairs made it clear that the party would continue with or without her.

Satisfied, she firmly pulled the door shut. Paused. Then locked it for good measure.

The bathroom was surprisingly empty despite all of the decorations. Thanks Kim, now even Gail is part of the minimalist movement. The mirror cabinet was completely empty over then some Q-tips and an extra bar of soap, and there was no space under the sink for storage. Tutting, Parker pulled the hand towel free and stuck it under the tap.

Then, she lowered herself to his level. Physically.

Tom seemed surprised that she hadn't left. Even more so when Parker offered the cup for a second time.

"What?" he asked, a bit dumbly. Fair though, given the circumstances.

"You should drink some water."

"Can't you just piss off?"

She sighed through her nose and gently shoved the cup into his hand. "Drink some fucking water, Tom."

They stared at each other for a long moment before he accepted the cup. He shifted so that his back was now pressed into the shower so he could drink without choking. Parker took advantage to close the toilet lid, flush it, turn on the overhead fan, and crack open a nearby window.

Immediately, it felt easier to breathe.

Tom took two, small sips before setting aside the cup. Patronizing, even when he wasn't trying to be.

"Do you want me to go find one of your friends?" she asked; almost entirely because she couldn't stand not talking.

He shot her a deadpan look. "No."

"O-kay. How about some food?"

He grimaced.

"Right," she clicked her tongue. "Some soda? Ginger-ale might help with the nausea. I don't think you should take any ibuprofen right now or else I would offer some."

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

He gestured vaguely to her, to the room they were in, and then to himself. She could tell by the way that his face paled even that small use of energy was taxing, and Parker shoved the glass of water back into his palm.

"I'm just trying to help."

He harrumphed, but chanced another sip of water. "Why?"

"Because you were... right," she muttered through clenched teeth. He blinked at her through hazy eyes, and she tried not to notice the sweat dripping down his bare chest. "I was, well... being an asshole. And you need help. So."

He still said nothing. Parker tried not to feel super awkward.

After a moment of indecisive staring Tom took another sip of water before letting his head hit the wall with a soft thud. "Is this some sort of trick?"

"How on Earth is me hanging out in a bathroom with you a trick?" she scoffed.

"I don't know," he shrugged, sipped the water, and took a long, hard swallow that made her wonder if he was biting back another round of bile. Subtly, Parker propped the toilet lid open again. "Blackmail, or whatever."

What a fucking asshole, she thought.

"Just because everyone else is dying to get a picture of Tom Ryder doesn't mean that I am," she said. Her attitude did little to convince him of her good intentions if the wary look he shot her was anything to go by. Rolling her eyes, she plucked her phone from her back pocket, waved it dramatically around in the air, before turning it off. When the screen was good and black she half-heartedly tossed it aside. "Happy?"

He grumbled.

Parker huffed. Don't be an asshole, she had to remind herself while clambering to her feet. The hand towel was properly wet and cold by now. She switched off the tap and took a moment to wring out as much water as she could. Then she promptly slapped the wet towel onto his forehead with a thwap.

"What is—?"

"Just shut up and leave it be, okay? The cold water should help with the flush. Once your skin starts returning to a normal temperature, the nausea should be more manageable. I don't know anything about downers, but... it's the best I can do without getting help or using my phone," she said; adding a pointed glared at the mention of her discarded device.

He grumbled a bit louder, but didn't remove the towel. In fact, she watched his eyes flutter contentedly as he smoothed it out along his hairline. "Are you a doctor now or something?"

"On the side. I'm at A-list parties all the time. You're hardly the first celebrity I've found on a bathroom floor with an empty pill baggie."

"...seriously?"

"No. Not seriously, Tom. That was a joke."

He blinked at her. "Oh," he said awkwardly. Then, added, "wasn't that funny."

It was her turn to bang her head onto the cabinet behind her. "Well, sorry for trying to lighten the mood. I'm still a little worried I'm going to get sued or something for this."

"For spilling on Gail's mink rug?"

"That's mink?!" she shrieked, jerking around to give the rug a better glance over. No wonder it was fabulously soft. "Who the fuck keeps a mink rug in the bathroom? Shit! Do you think she'll charge me to clean it? I can barely afford eggs!"

There was a noise half between a grumble and cough, and when she glanced towards Tom he was sporting a crooked smile under the towel. "That was a joke."

"O—oh," she said. Parker glanced at the rug once more. "Well, it wasn't that funny."

"You don't know how to clean mink fur?"

With the panic subsiding from her suddenly too-tight chest, Parker returned to her seat on the ground, and glared. "I guess I skipped over that chapter in my cleaning manual."

"Is that where you learned the thing about wet rags?" he asked, subtly fixing said wet rag with a sigh. His shoulders relaxed as he settled against the shower glass, and in turn Parker tried to relax as well.

"No. I read that in an old textbook once. A physiology manual from, like, the 1930s. So, I actually have no idea if it's outdated information or not. Guess we'll find out, huh?"

"Why the hell are you reading a physics manual?"

"Physiology."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Like... a lot," she deadpanned. He responded with a blank, empty, no lights-on-behind-the-curtains look. Parker pinched the bridge of her nose before decidedly moving on. "I read a lot."

"Don't you work?"

"Says the guy who reads bad scripts for a living," she retorted. His cheeks had been slowly returning to their normal color, but quickly blushed an irritable red as he scowled at her.

"My movie scripts are not bad," he shot back with just as much heat. "They're million dollar enterprises, that make quite a lot of people rich and famous. Like people here, at this party. What have you ever done?"

"Not have my face plastered on a billboard."

"Exactly."

"Yeah, and thank god for that."

"There's not a chance in hell you would ever."

"Good!"

It took them both a moment to realize that they weren't actually agreeing on anything. Parker thought having her face plastered on a billboard was a horrific nightmare that she would not be able to endure, while Tom clearly took pride in his advertisements spread all over the Hollywood acres. Somehow, though, in their attempt to insult the other, they had missed the mark entirely.

The pair shared mutual glares.

Stopped short when he turned green in the face, pitched forward, and vomited a third and final time.

"Oh, shit," she said, hands waving around and not knowing what to do other than to snatch the wet washcloth from where it had fallen into his lap. Awkwardly, Parker patted him on the back. Once, twice. "Um... better out than in, right?"

"Did you read that in a book too?" his voice echoed hoarsely from the toilet bowl.

And, well, it was such a ridiculous question to be asked while he was hurling into a toilet worth more than her car, that Parker didn't have a response other than to huff.

Which turned into a giggle. Then an actual laugh.

In an even more surprising turn of events, Tom laughed too. "S'not funny."

"No, no, actually," she corrected him to gently lay the cold towel across the back of his neck. "I think that's the funniest thing you've ever said, Ryder."

Some time passed as he focused on taking deep breaths before the nausea passed for good. As he returned to his former position against the wall, hand towel now dripping a trail down his chest, Parker flushed the toilet a second time, and folded her legs into a pretzel so she could lean an elbow on her knee. "I read a lot for work. Out of boredom, mostly," she admitted.

"Bad scripts?" he echoed her earlier sentiments.

"Bad biographies, mostly," she corrected him. He gave her an odd look, to which she shrugged. "I work at a bookstore. Er—own—a bookstore, I mean. I just read whatever I happen to find that day."

Parker wondered if Tom Ryder had ever stepped foot in a bookstore before or if he got too distracted by his reflection in the window outside.

"I don't think I've ever been to a bookstore," he said, almost as if he could hear her. The reason why remained inconclusive. "But I thought the idea was to sell books, not read them."

"Generally, yeah," she conceded with a sigh. It wasn't so funny now and she frowned at the thought of her dilapidated store with shoddy lighting and a half-functional air conditioner. "It's not exactly... well, successful. Not like your movies, anyway. I can't throw giant wrap parties for my employees because, well, I don't have any. I don't get a lot of customers so I read."

"Movies are better than books," he said.

He must have caught the irritated curl of her mouth because he made an amendment to his statement before she could argue.

"I mean," he added in the raw sort of voice one got from throwing up five times in an hour, "they make more money. It's all anyone cares about in LA."

"Yeah, well, maybe I should get a billboard."

Tom snorted. "You wish."

Parker wanted to glare, but... it was a little on the nose. The idea of shelling out money to plaster her face—or even her bookstore's name—on highway billboards went against what she believed in. She liked the idea of having a small, hole in the wall shop where lonely wanderers like herself could take solace in. That's what the shop had been in the decades before she bought it. Then again, her old boss had been all too eager to hand it off to her, and how bill days she suspected he knew that it was a dying market without a hope or a dream.

Only—LA was supposably the land of dreams... right?

"You ever read sci-fi?" he asked.

Thrown by the question, Parker had to shake the static out of her brain before it fully comprehended. "Uh, sure. Loads. There's tons of source material from the 70's and 80's that is pretty fun. They're all considered kind of hokey nowadays though so they don't sell that well."

Tom shifted the towel back to his forehead with a thoughtful tut.

He didn't seem so sickly pale anymore, and his breathing had evened out. Even his chest had dried up a bit.

How didn't he die of lack of service if he was never wearing a shirt when she saw him?

"There's this role that I want to go for, a big sci-fi thing. Gail said that I'm not right for it, though."

"Not right for it?" she echoed, scrunching her nose. "Seriously?"

He gave a half-hearted shrug. "Too pretty, she said. Which—duh—that's a given," he added. Parker responded with an over the top eyeroll, but she refrained from faking a gag. She was a little too worried that they weren't out of the woods yet, and that the sound (fake or not) would provoke Tom to start hurling again. "But it's a smart role. Intense. A great script. I think I'd be perfect for it."

"Can't you audition anyway?"

"I don't know, I—she—Gail tends to know what roles I'm good for, you know. She doesn't think I can pull off a smart, sci-fi type."

Parker snorted. "Why not? All Chris Pine has going for him is blonde hair and blue eyes and he got three movies out of Star Trek. Pretty sure you got that covered. You know, box dye notwithstanding."

Tom shot her a cross look. "I would never use box dye on my hair."

"Even better," she waved a hand at him flippantly. "Audition then."

Something weird happened then. Something so out of character and bizarre that by the next day Parker would convince herself it hadn't really happened; that it was provoked by the bathroom fumes of Febreze and vomit.

But Tom Ryder, A-lister, looked... unsure.

"Yeah, I... I don't know. She's probably right."

Sounded it, too.

Parker didn't even know how to react to that. The guy had been a grade A tool since the moment she met him, and in the several run-ins they had since, he hadn't disproven the label. He basically worshipped himself. Once, she had even caught him admiring a paparazzi photo taken of him wearing low riding swim trunks in a cheap magazine.

Seriously!

The guy loved himself, talked about himself, and never let people forget who he was! What could ever provoke a moment of self-depreciation like this?

Oh, duh. Drugs.

"Jesus, how much Xanax did you take? You don't even sound like yourself."

The question pulled him from whatever pensive moment he had been having, and Tom's response was to promptly chuck the wet towel at Parker. It landed atop her head with a smack.

She plucked it off with a grimace. Wet pants, wet shirt, now wet hair. She would have to go home after this to save herself the sheer embarrassment of being an utter disaster at her first mansion party. And by the time she glanced back over at him he was back to his normal mode of self-importance as he started to run a hand through his damp hair, singular moment of weakness already forgotten.

"Is my hair okay?"

Parker sighed.

It was nice while it lasted, she thought.

"Yeah, Ryder," she deadpanned while ambling onto her feet. She fixed her own hair in the mirror while he finished the last of his water. He actually looked close to normal—because, of fucking course he looks fine after coming down from a bad drug cocktail—and she avoided the mink rug entirely to pick his shirt up off the ground. "Your hair looks fine, Chris Pine. Your shirt is probably all wrinkled though."

"Fuck. That's Dolce & Gabbana."

"I thought it was linen," she snarked.

There was some groaning and whining as he teetered onto his own feet, and while Parker was half afraid that he might just keel over and die on her, he seemed more scandalized by the fact that she was touching his designer clothes.

Snatching the shirt out of her hands, Tom huffed, "do you even know what linen is? I thought all you knew how to wear is that polyester crap you seem to like so much."

Wow. What a fucking asshole.

It was her turn to take a deep, calming breath as he ambled towards the mirror. He didn't seem sick anymore, his breathing was normal, shoulders relaxed, and he was able to stand on his own. Somehow, even his skin had bounced back with a lively, bright sheen.

Fuck, even his back was beautiful. How did—?

A wrinkled Dolce & Gabbana shirt was slung over his back, effectively cutting off her gazing. Parker ran a hand through her hair a second time. When she glanced in the mirror, however, she found Tom smirking at her.

"Staring ain't free you know. The pap pay a lot for this," he said.

For fuck's sake! she thought as her mouth curled sourly.

Shaking herself of both her stupor and kind hearted feelings, Parker snatched her phone off of the ground. She didn't miss the way that he was ogling her back side in the mirror, and she flushed a bright shade of pink without meaning to. That only incensed his smirk further.

"Yeah, um, Tom? I did lie," she admitted, pausing in the doorway to bat her eyelashes at him as dramatically as she could. She wasn't an actress, but she was pretty sure the point got across when she cooed, "your hair looks awful."

She watched his jaw slacken in the mirror with a sharp smile, before Parker swung the bathroom door open, and made her way back to the party.

.............

And the love/hate continues.

#plot bunny #the fall guy #the fall guy imagine #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #original female character #tom ryder imagine

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acotrash · 2 years ago

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Puppy Love - Azriel

You don’t think you ever saw your High Lord so nervous, shifting from foot to foot

Azriel can't even remember the last time Rhys looked this nervous, had to be a good two or three centuries since Rhys smiled sheepishly at Azriel and you, holding something behind his back

A puppy his shadows supplied

“I have a big favor” Rhys looked between you and Azriel, you were a bit too eager to nod your head for Az’s liking. He wouldn’t tell his brother no, but he wasn’t going to like the fluff ball behind Rhys’s back

Your eyes grew wide when Rhys finally produced the small puppy from behind his back, tan with black paws and ears. Nyx’s solstice gift Rhys supplied with a smile

You quickly agreed to watch the small puppy, eager to watch the small animal. Azriel had tried his hardest to not look too disgusted

It wasn’t that he hated dogs

It was just that puppies chewed everything. He swears last time he was in Autumn on a mission, one of Eris’ hunting dogs chewed through his brand new flying leather pants

Eris claims he has no clue what Azriel is talking about but the shadow singer knows one of those dogs did it, trained my ass

And they also lick and lick and lick and when they’re not licking they’re chewing again

But you’re cuddling the small puppy to your chest, already telling your High Lord you’d love to watch the dog for a few days, how can Azriel argue?

So you two take the puppy home, and the first thing to puppy goes for is the couch, curling up under the fuzzy blankets you keep on the couch

Azriel’s leathers are safe, for now

Azriel decides the dog might be so bad, it slept curled up on your lap as you curled up into Azriel’s chest while reading

But the issues started at night, when you were fast asleep

He drew the line at having the dog in bed with you and him no matter how you gave him your own puppy dog look and leaned up on your top toes to press kisses to his lips, each kiss a please

So the dog had to stay downstairs

Where it sat at the bottom of the stairs, whining and whimpering

After an hour Azriel grabbed his blanket and pillow and with a huff he went downstairs, the puppy started dancing between his legs

The puppy slept between his legs that night,curled up in a tiny ball on the kitchen floor

You stumbled into the kitchen the next morning and there was almost an unfortunate accident involving puppy paws and the location of the puppy paws

Thankfully the tiny paws missed it by mere inches as it jumped up and started jumping on your legs

“You really shouldn’t let the dog jump like that” Azriel muttered dropping a kiss to your bare shoulder you just waved your hand at him

“He’s just happy” you coo scooping the puppy up and holding him out so the puppy could lick Azriel’s cheek

He winnowed away to training before the puppy could get a single kiss in

When Azriel returned from training, he found a chewed up sock of his, he couldn’t even be mad as you smiled brightly, playing with the puppy with one of your old socks, trying to distract the puppy to grab Az’s sock

He let the puppy play with that sock for as long as he wanted

Somehow, Azriel ended up in the kitchen floor again with the puppy, curled up by his head, on the pillow

You had stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, snickering when the puppy got in a single lick to Az’s nose before Azriel woke

“He likes you shadowsinger” you laughed when Azriel glared at the puppy

The puppy’s tail was wagging as he was trying to get closer and lick at Az’s face

“Only one more night” Azirel grumbled but he gently poked the puppy’s nose, got up dropping a kiss to your shoulder before he was off to training for the day

The puppy looked up at you sadly as you shook your head “I know”

Azriel came home to you and the puppy dancing, you were spinning around as you cleaned up a bit, the dog dancing between your legs and jumping up every so often

You eventually spotted him, well actually the dog did barking happily and then the three of you were dancing in the living room, Azriel dipping you low enough for the puppy to kiss your nose or cheek and sometimes you scooped the puppy up with one hand, so Azriel could get a puppy kiss as well

The last night had Azriel on the kitchen floor like the other two nights, the puppy curled up by his side, head on his chest

And you quietly walked in, to lay next to Az, laying your chin on his chest smiling sweetly up at him

“Hey Azriel?” “Hm?” “Can we get a puppy?”

Azriel wasn’t sure he could say no to you

He was a bit glad to hand the puppy over to Rhys the next day, during solstice and you were even happier to receive your gift from Feyre; a quick sketch of Azriel and the puppy from the very first night. You let her look into your mind because absolutely no one believes you when you told them how Azriel slept on the floor all night with the puppy

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses headcanon #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel headcanons #azriel x you

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sibylsleaves · 2 years ago

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from the love to the lightning

5k | rated T | read on ao3

But when Buck tried to ask him if everything was okay with him, Eddie just said, “Me? Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?"

And Buck really didn’t have an answer for that so he let it go.

Because Eddie doesn’t hide that stuff from him, anymore. Not since the day Buck broke down his bedroom door and found him sobbing in a heap on the floor.

So when Eddie says everything’s okay, Buck believes him.

or, after the lightning strike, Buck recovers. Eddie doesn’t.

Healing is slow. Buck knows this. He’s done this before. Last time, he was too eager, probably, to get back to work.

This time, he’s learned how to be patient.

The first week, his parents hover around the loft, offering to do anything and everything for him, even though Buck is definitely capable of microwaving his own soup and fetching his own pillows. But he can’t deny it’s nice to have their attention. Their care. Although he can’t help but be afraid that the minute they get on the plane back to Pennsylvania, it will evaporate again.

The rest of the 118 gets back to work, and Buck surprises himself by only feeling a little jealous that they get to be out there while he’s stuck on his (brand new) couch. After their parents depart, Maddie takes a few extra days off from dispatch to make sure Buck’s taken care of, although he suspects it’s more to keep him company than anything.

But actually, Buck’s days are far from lonely. Because most of them—the weekends and the afternoons, anyway—he spends with Chris. Sometimes Chris and Carla. Sometimes Chris and Eddie, when he’s not on shift. And sometimes just the two of them.

It’s strangely like the time they spent together after the tsunami. Chris is older now, of course, almost a full-blown teenager instead of a round-cheeked eight-year-old, but he’s just as attached to Buck now as he was then. Maybe even more so.

When Buck heard about the ICU caper that Chris, Eddie, and Carla managed to pull off during Buck’s time in coma dream purgatory, he almost started crying on the spot. When he asked Chris about it, Chris just said, “I had to talk to you.” Like that was that.

“I’m really glad you came to see me,” Buck told him. “Even if it was against the rules. I heard you, you know. Your voice, telling me I had to come back. I heard it.”

“I knew you would,” Chris said, and Eddie, who was standing by the kitchen door watching them, looked away.

It’s nice, that Chris wants him around so much. Buck really doesn’t have much else to occupy his time while he recuperates, and it’s pretty hard to feel sorry for yourself when you’re hanging out with the coolest kid in L.A. They even go to PT appointments together, because Buck got a referral for Chris’s clinic, since they specialize in neurologic physical therapy.

“Hey, hope you two are hungry!” Eddie greets as Buck and Chris tromp through the door after a particularly rough session.

“Starving!” Chris exclaims.

Buck looks at the takeout boxes on the dining table. “Is that Tito’s? Did you get—”

“Chili con carne?” Eddie asks, reaching into one of the bags and pulling out a foil-wrapped burrito.

Buck loves him so much in this moment he wants to cry. Instead, he takes the proffered burrito, but he must be staring a little too much because Eddie drops his gaze and starts digging in another bag for chips.

“What’d you two get up to today?” Eddie asks as Buck and Chris both sit down.

Christopher launches into a blow-by-blow of their day. Eddie laughs and smiles and makes jokes in all the right places, but Buck can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

It’s a feeling he’s been having ever since he got out of the hospital.

(keep reading on ao3)

#CHRIST this took forever to finish #in my defense i was genuinely just very busy over the mini hiatus #but i am SO GLAD i managed to get this out before the next episode because i'm already losing my mind over the poker date situation #sibyls words #buddie fic #911 fic #911fic #Buddie

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kyleoreillylover · 1 year ago

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Tiffany Stratton x Fem!Reader

Summary: What’s it like dating the Center of the Universe?

A/N: Why does no one write for Tiffany? I love her 😭😭 Here are some headcanons of her, hope you enjoy!

She’s very possessive of you, not in a controlling way but so everyone knows not to persue or mess around with you because you are her girl.

Loves PDA. Not just because it wards off people who try to get with you, but because she loves touching you. Constantly has an arm around your waist, your shoulder, anywhere she can hold. Makes out with you anywhere and everywhere, and doesn’t care who's watching. Why would she? They are irrelevant in her eyes, and if it bothers them that much they can look away.

Brags about you all the time. Aside from herself, of course, you are the best thing to ever happen to NXT in a long time. To her, you were beautiful, talented, kind, and miles better than all other these wannabes in this company. Why wouldn’t she brag about you?

If it isn’t obvious from being the Center of the Universe, she is the passenger and pillow princess in the relationship. Your love language is acts of service, so you loved to take care of her both in and out of the ring, whether that is being the designated driver, massaging her shoulders and running her a bath after each match, and planning cute little getaways whenever Tiffany was really stressed out.

That's not to say she doesn't spoil you either. She spoils THE HELL out of you. Only lets her baby wear the best of the best. Versace, Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton, you have a bunch of options as long as they are all designer. You feel bad because you don't want her to think you only are with her for her money. But she reassures you she'd never think that, and tells you that gift-giving is one of her love languages and it makes her happy to see you smile over something she got you. It was one of the first times in your relationship that she opened up to you, and your relationship became better because of it. After the talk, you put up less of a fuss about her buying stuff for you, feeling less guilty because you knew how happy it made her. Buys you gifts every week, sometimes it's something she knows you had your eye on or you'd love and is your style, but other times it's something like a new book collection or little trinkets that she knows you would love more than any designer brand. You are the only person she shows her soft side to, and you love that she feels so comfortable with you.

Definitely makes Shawn give you both your own private locker room because in her words, "We're the best wrestlers in NXT and deserve to be treated like stars instead of being in a room full of mouthbreathers and untalented hags."

You are not complaining when she drags you into the room after your promos to do some less than appropriate stuff ;)

But sometimes after a rough match you both just want to hold the other and cuddle for hours until you have to leave the arena.

She gets jealous very easily, and if anyone tries to flirt with you they better run away immediately if she tries to confront them. An angry Tiffany is not one you want to deal with.

Is very protective of you. Does not take anyone hurting you lightly, even if it is a joke. No lowlife trash should even have your name in their mouth. You’ve had to pull her apart from beating the hell out of the other girls after they kept running their mouths.

Loves having spa days with you on your days off and splurging on the best facility and skincare so the both of you can relax after hectic work weeks.

And also loves getting matching mani and pedi’s with you :)

You guys def have matching gear, not just ring gear but during promos too. Tiffany picks out the outfits, you’re just her beautiful model.

You give each other good luck kisses before one of you goes out for a match.

When Tiffany won the NXT Women’s championship, you were the proudest and the loudest one in the arena. You gave her the tightest hug ever, just so freaking proud of her, and the look you gave her made her heart melt. She waited until everyone was done hugging and congratulating her to let herself cry tears of happiness, picking you up and crying into your neck. She had the best thing in her life in her arms, and the second best thing around her waist, and she couldn’t be more happier.

You guys won the NXT Women’s Tag Team championships shortly after, which just made it all the more sweeter. You both were on top, had all the gold, and most importantly, had each other.

Tiffany may be an arrogant rich bratty girl to others, but to you she was the sweetest, softest, attentive and most loving woman you ever met and had the privilege of being with, and you couldn’t feel luckier knowing she was yours every single day.

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wisecrackingeric-2 · 4 months ago

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Word Count: 3,083

Summary:

“Luis still got nightmares. Even after living with Leon and Chris for years now, he still couldn’t shake the memories of Valdelobos every time he slept.

…But if there was one person that got nightmares worse than him, it was their son, Matteo.

And tonight was no different. So Luis did all that he could to comfort his little boy and get him back to sleep.”

Part 5 of my Dad! Leon/Luis/Chris AU is FINALLY up after so long!!! I started writing this waaaaaayy back last year and I’ve only JUST NOW been able to finish it, so I hope you enjoy!! :D

Full fic below the cut!!

Luis very rarely got a full night's sleep lately.

And he knew exactly why; but he’d never admit that. At least, not out loud. Not to Chris or Leon.

Because, truly- how could he? How could he possibly justify the way he tossed and turned in the sheets every night, leaving sweat stains beneath the pillow where his graying hair fanned? How could he possibly explain away the need for cold water after silently screaming into the cool night air at almost disgusting hours of the morning? How else was he supposed to show cause for the reasons behind why he almost fell asleep on his feet every time he had to get their Son ready for school?

How was Luis supposed to approach them and say, ‘Oh, yeah, remember how I used to get horrific night terrors after escaping Valdelobos? Yeah, well, they’re back, surprise!!’ When it’d been decades since he first made a brand-new life for himself with the two of them? Since the ache of a knife in his back was still fresh?

There wasn’t any way to explain it, Luis had decided. He just prayed to a god he no longer believed in that they’d go away eventually; for both his sake, and for the rest of his families.

He didn’t want Matteo to worry, after all.

His boy had been through enough.

Luis skimmed his ringed fingers along the raised timber of his home's walls; feeling his way through the darkness and scuffling his wheelchair ever so slowly as his eyesight slowly morphed the blocky and dark shapes into solid objects. His breathing felt all-too loud in his own ears and each creak of the boards beneath his wheels interrupted the thrumming of his heart; his prayers sent to nobody in particular that he wouldn’t wake anybody else up seemingly coming to fruition.

Luis should’ve been used to this by now. He’d lived in the shared suburban home with his two partners and his son for five years now. But no matter how many times he tries to memorize the corners and tables and lamps by heart, the back of Luis’ neck still stung with a sense of dread and uncertainty everytime he fumbled to put his reading glasses on and scuffled to the kitchen. He still felt his blood roar in his ears; and the aftershocks of whatever nightmare still left the grip on his cane unsteady and shaky.

But Luis wasn’t used to it. And he feared he never would be.

He was afraid this would never end.

Logistically, he knew that that was just his brain talking- never trust your mind after 10:00 PM, after all- but that didn’t mean the thought didn’t still sting. That didn’t mean he couldn't focus on the cold glass in his hands or the blueish light of the refrigerator blaring in his eyes through the cries of his mind's cruel taunts.

Even after taking a large sip of water, Luis still felt disconnected from his body. The bluish light reflected off of the counter in front of him and illuminated the kitchen with an almost uncanny glow, only adding to the feeling of unease that rested dormant at the bottom of his chest. Ready to leap up and snarl at any given opportunity. He stared at the cup in his hands, unblinking- just about ready to collapse on the couch or wherever else was nearest, until….

“Papá…?”

Luis spun around faster than he could think.

“Oh, Teo, bebé…”

If there was one person in the house that was struggling with sleep more than Luis was, it was Matteo.

For the life of them, none of the three men knew why. Leon had long-since retired from field work after rigorous mental health testing, and Chris took extreme caution in never divulging the details of his work to their son. So Matteo’s insomnia couldn’t have stemmed from his home-life or a knowledge of Bioweapons and the horrors they bring. Knowledge he didn’t have. Knowledge Luis secretly hoped he’d never have to have.

But even still, Luis’ precious son still had nightmares.

‘Nightmares’ was probably too kind of a word. They were worse than that. At only four years old, they were much, much worse.

Matteo would often wake up in the middle of the night having completely sweat through his clothes- his breathing clogged by his racing heart and his eyes dry from too many tears spent. At first, he’d venture into his Fathers’ bedrooms- wailing incomprehensibly about the things he’d seen during the night, desperately looking for some kind of comfort.

But no matter what Luis, Leon, or Chris ever did- there’d be no comforting him. They could rock him and sing to him and tell him he was safe all they wanted, but he’d never fall back asleep.

He’d stay up until the early hours of the morning, beyond terrified and shaking like a leaf by the time the sun rose.

To say he would be exhausted was an understatement.

The nightmares only became more and more regular, until they were an unshakable event of every evening. Matteo gave up on looking to his Fathers for comfort. Instead, Luis oftentimes found him lying in the bathroom floor, dead to the world, with his teddy bear in hand and his only explanation being;

‘The cold helps me sleep.’

The three of them had taken Matteo to so many psychiatrists- more than Luis could even count on his fingers. They all drew their own conclusions; each one more outlandish than the last. Some more harmful than others. At the very least, though, they were all well-meaning to some degree. But that didn’t mean they weren’t still wildly unhelpful.

Matteo had been prescribed with all sorts of medications- every pill you could think of, every injection under the sun- some doctors even prescribed more extravagant and herbal medicines, and some just told them to go to Church and pray for the best. Because, apparently, that was their best option.

Luis shuddered at the thought.

There were only so many doctors appointments and medications and psychiatrists a child could go through before it started to affect them more than the lack of sleep did- the stress alone of being torn between unfamiliar offices and the side effects of the medications were enough to have to pull Matteo out of school entirely for the time being.

It was isolating and hard for Luis, Leon and Chris, sure-

But they weren’t the ones who couldn’t sleep at night.

Or at least, Leon and Chris weren’t.

“Ssssssshhhhhh, está bien, Teo, está bien…”

Matteo practically bolted into Luis’ arms the second he opened his mouth, clutching onto the back of his shirt with his tiny little fists with such fervor it made Luis want to cry at the sensation alone. His son was shaking like a leaf; head buried in his chest with tears having long-since stained the fabric as little sniffles and sobs escaped from his throat.

It took every ounce of energy Luis had not to break down crying right then and there. He knew he had to be strong, he knew he had to comfort Matteo, but seeing his son- his entire world, the boy his life revolved around entirely- break down like this? It gutted him from the inside out.

He’d rather go through a thousand more knives to the back than hear him cry ever again.

“Don’t cry, bebé, don’t cry- I’ve got you, ¿si?” Luis brought a hand up to Matteo’s dark and tightly curled locks- stroking them with a feather-light carefulness. His free hand rubbed his back as Luis continued,

“Did you have another nightmare?” The question seemed obvious, but Luis breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Matteo respond with a little ‘mmmhmmm’. At least he hadn’t completely shut down.

“Did you get some sleep at least?”

“Y-Yeah..”

“See? ¡Ahí tienes!” Luis kept his tone upbeat, trying to pull any semblance of joy from the situation. At least Matteo was talking. That was a positive.

“At least you got a liiiiitle bit of sleep, ey? That’s more than nothing,”

Luis leaned down to place a kiss on Matteo’s head, smiling to himself as he heard a little chuckle erupt from beneath him.

“I’m very proud of you for falling asleep. So, so unbelievably proud- do you wanna know how proud I am of you?”

Luis gently pulled Matteo away from him, before stretching his arms out either side of him as far as he could reach, smiling brightly all the while.

“Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis proud!!”

That caused Matteo to go from grinning cheekily to bursting out into infectious and uncontrollable giggles- laughter that Luis was soon to follow suit in. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of his Son’s reddened and tear-stained face now upturned in that smile he just beyond adored, so much so that Luis just couldn’t help but grab Matteo again and pull him into the tightest hug he could manage.

He kissed the top of his head over and over and over and over and over again, warmth fluttering in his chest with every annoyed yet delighted squeal that Matteo let out.

“¿Lo entiendes? I will always be proud of you, Teo,”

Luis paused mid-sentence to give Matteo yet another peppering of kisses,

“Always. Nothing in this whole world could ever change that”

“But why?”

Luis paused.

“Why?”

“Yeah,” Matteo repeated like it was obvious,

“Why?”

Luis’ immediate gut reaction was worry. Which, to be fair, was his reaction to most things Matteo-related, that’s just how parenting was- but there was no mistaking that familiar pit growing in his stomach with every second that passed.

Luis knew the feeling better than he knew his own faith, his own family, and as much as he hated to admit it, his own son. It was all-consuming and a monster to battle even as he got older.

Which was why it scared him half to death when he heard familiar words come from his beautiful boy's mouth.

Where would he have learnt that? Where would Matteo have learnt that self-deprecating habit of insisting he wasn’t worthy of love? What made him think, even for a second, that Luis’ affection had to come at a cost??

Was it genetic?? Did Matteo pick it up from him??? Luis felt a little sick thinking about that possibility. Was his own son doomed to repeat that same cycle of constant guilt self-sacrifice and-

“Papá?”

“L-Lo siento, bebé,”

Luis snapped out of his own thoughts and back to reality. Back to a reality where his son was staring at him with big, expectant brown eyes- eyes that held no grief, no anguish. Just curiosity.

Right. Curiosity. That’s probably what it is. He was four years old and was already in what Chris affectionately called his ‘why?’ Phase. He’d ask why to everything.

‘Come outside and look how pretty the sunset is, Teo!’

‘Why?’

‘Because you only get to see it now!’

‘Why?’

‘Because the suns gonna set soon’

‘Why?’

‘Because the sun needs to sleep, Teo’

‘Why?’

It’d almost get annoying if it wasn’t so damn endearing.

Luis grounded himself; taking big, deep breaths and reassuring himself that his son would be OK.

“Weeelll… I’m proud of you because… that’s what fathers do”

“Why?”

Ah, there it was. He’d almost burst out laughing with relief if he wasn’t struggling with how to answer the question as simplistically as possible.

“Becaaaaauuuse fathers work hard to raise their kids! And, if I do say so myself,”

Luis leaned over to ruffle Matteo’s hair up, which earned him a little squeal of surprise.

“I raised a very talented, kind, beautiful and thoughtful little boy”

“Yeah but why?”

“So they can grow into even more talented, kind and thoughtful men when they get bigger.”

“No, like-“

Matteo huffed in frustration, waddling his way over to the side of Luis’ wheelchair to rest his weight against the knee and pick at the rubber on the wheels absentmindedly. Luis tried to hold back his visible amusement at Teo’s grumpy little face as he tried to express what he meant.

“Why do you, like… why- why do you like me so much? Why do you think I’m talented and… and- and all those things?”

Luis met Matteo’s eyes and sighed. He knew it was just curiosity- he was four, there’s no way he could understand the impact of his statements.

But as much as Luis tried to bury that guilt and misery deep down in his chest, it’d rear its ugly head once again and whisper in his ear to project those insecurities onto his son. He couldn’t do that. He never, ever wanted to do that.

Luis also didn’t want to leave Matteo with a shallow answer, either- even if he wouldn't remember it, he wanted to teach him something at least a little valuable.

“C’mere, Teo,”

Luis patted his knee and gestured Matteo over, scooping him up by his lower back and resting the boy on his lap best he could. He looked back up at his father with all the trust in the world, and Luis trusted himself to explain his past as gently as he could without giving too much away. Not yet, at least. Maybe when he was older.

“…When I first met your daddy and poppa, I was a much… sadder man. I’d been alone for a very, very long time, and I didn’t think I deserved their love”

“What does deserved mean?”

“To deserve something is to show somebody else that you’re allowed and should get the thing you want”

“But that’s silly”

Luis had to hold back his laughter.

“You’re right, it is silly”

“So why… um, why did you-“

“Why did I think I didn’t deserve their love?”

“Yeah”

Matteo’s ‘why’s’ were starting to get harder and harder to answer. So, so badly did Luis wish he could just cave in say ‘because I said so’, and leave the heavy conversations for another day, far into the future. But that wasn’t fair to him.

“I… truthfully, I don’t know,”

Luis settled with gently. Which made him realize more things about himself than he really wanted to.

“I was in a very not-nice place, all on my own, which made me think things that weren’t very true. But that’s not a story for tonight”

“Why not now?”

“It’s a bit scary,”

Luis kissed Teo on the forehead.

“But I’ll tell it to you when you’re older.”

“Promise?”

“Promesa,”

Luis reached out his pinky for Matteo to take, which he did with a smile, shaking his hand as much as his tiny little fingers could. His father laughed, leaning back before asking;

“Now, can you promise me something, Teo?”

“Yeah?” His eyes were eager to hear what he had to say.

Luis held his sons face in his hands ever-so gently.

“Never, ever think that you’re not deserving of my love. Of any of our love. And if you ever do think that, you come and tell one of us, ¿Sí?”

Matteo nodded against his hands, and Luis gave him one last kiss on the forehead.

“You will always, always be loved by us. No matter what you may feel inside, no matter what people tell you, we will love you to the moon and back forever and ever”

“Te amo Papá…”

Luis’ heart just about squeezed into a million pieces.

Teo leaned forward and rested his head in the crook of his fathers neck; curling up his hands below his chin and closing his eyes to fall asleep within seconds.

Luis held him there for as long as he could, rocking his little boy back and forth while pressing gentle kisses to the top of his head every so often and humming to himself against the kitchen echo. He didn’t even notice the footsteps behind him or the gentle sound of laughter at first before a hand was already running through his hair.

“Couldn't sleep?”

“Sí, Teo woke me up and-“

“I meant you, dove,”

Leon leaned over and kissed both him and Matteo on the cheek. Luis could just barely make out his features in the dark.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Luis laughed dryly. “You read me like a damn book, don’t you, ¿cariño…?”

“I’ve known you for sixteen years my love,”

Leon gently scooped Matteo up in his arms and out of Luis’ lap, holding him against his side with his head resting against his shoulder. For a split moment, Luis couldn’t think of anything he’d prefer to be staring at in that moment.

“I can tell when somethings up…

“Ah, caught red-handed, ay?”

“You're not good at hiding it.”

“How dreadful.”

Leon laughed dryly and shook his head, focusing his gaze back to the little boy in his arms. The two of them stood in silence for longer than either cared to admit; waiting with bated breaths to make sure Teo was properly fast asleep in the blondes arms.

“Y’know,”

Leon spoke up all of a sudden,

“I get nightmares about Valdelobos too, sometimes”

“Wha-“

Luis shot his gaze back up at Leon, his mouth hung open a little in surprise.

“How did you…-?”

“I know it doesn’t compare to what you went through there,” Leon didn’t answer his question, instead choosing to continue with a faraway gaze.

“But if it brings you any comfort, that place haunts me to this day, as well.”

Luis fell silent. He didn’t know what to say. He almost felt a little childish- what was the point of keeping his emotions all bottled up if Leon was going to drop the bombshell that he felt the same way, too?

His husband must’ve read his mind or something, because a soft smile etched upon his face before he continued.

“Just promise me that when you’re ready, you’ll come talk to Chris and I about it, okay?”

Luis did his best to hold back a huff of laughter as his mind conjured up the memory of making a similar promise to Matteo just moments earlier. He appreciated Leon giving him the space to talk to them about his nightmares on his own terms. “Promesa, mi vida.”

Leon blew him a kiss before turning to take Matteo to bed.

“I love you, Luis. You know that, right?”

Luis chuckled, blowing both him and Teo a kiss back

“I know it as well as I know the sun will rise tomorrow”

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