#gone postal x reader

[orisquirrelking]

GUH THE POSTAL DUDE HOW DOES HE KISS?? I NEED TO KNOW

You didn’t specify *which* dude so ur getting all of them + Fancy

How the Dudes (+ Fancy Dude) kiss

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P1/Redux

P1 Dude is very tender. He’ll slowly lean in, nervous each and every time he attempts to kiss you, treating it as the first and last time he has ever touched you. His breath will hitch before your lips connect, his lips capturing yours softly. His palms will be sweaty as they roam around your upper body, before finally settling on cupping your cheeks in his hands.

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P2

P2 Dude is fiery and impatient. There often won’t be a warning before he crashes his lips into yours, but since he’s so sporadic and impulsive, you’ll often be bumping your noses together by accident before you can actually get to the good part. His tongue will be greedily lapping at your lips, hinting at them to part. His arms are wrapped around your torso, mostly for his balance but also to bring the two of you closer.

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P3

P3 Dude is damn enthusiastic, and a little (a lot) messy. Coming home from an odd job to see you is the best part of the day. You’ll have barely let him into your shared home before his head is over your shoulder and his hands are squeezing your ass. He’ll trail kisses up from your chin to your cheekbone before repeatedly pecking at your lips. He can’t help it, you’re just so irresistible!

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P4

P4 Dude is very experienced, and very, very stimulating. He’s sloppy and confident, his lips devouring yours as he grins into each open mouthed kiss. Blood rushes through his veins as he slips his hands into your hair, lightly tugging at your roots before he starts trailing his hands and kisses down your body, stopping at the centre of your belly to blow raspberries into it, sending the both of you into giggling fits. He’s very unserious, but still puts all of his feelings into his physical actions.

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BD/Alt Dude

BD and Alt dude work in tandem, the two of them working at once to lavish you in attention. BD Dude is more apprehensive, his kisses light and feathery as he mostly pays attention to your collarbones. His lips are often chapped, and his kisses are slightly moist as he constantly licks them to rehydrate. Alt Dude is more reassured in himself, taking his time to taste you as he explores your mouth, committing the quirk of your lips, the clashes of your teeth, and the small breaths you take to memory. They’re not a bad tag-team, especially when they get along.

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Bonus: Fancy Dude/Percy

Percy will start off with the slightest hint of anxiety in his otherwise confident presentation, with that quickly melting away into eager humming as he presses himself against you. He’s heated but not a fan of messy make-outs, instead opting to softly pull away and linger, his breath hot on your face before he leans back in, his hands clasping yours. He also prefers to have you pressed into *something,* whether that be a wall or a mattress.

[clazaries]

Just a Neighbour Thing

(MarcSpector! x f!reader)

Summary: Your neighbour Marc Spector is a pain in your ass. Until he saves your life. w/c: 3.9k Warnings: a lil bit of violence but nothing too graphic. Fluff! a/n: I'll be posting a masterlist soon because I think I've got about three or four fics out now and a few to come!

Marc Spector is an elusive character. A man of very few words and an enigmatic personality - not that you know him well enough to judge his character - but from the rare occasions where your paths crossed in your apartment building, it can be summed up with a small smile from you and a smouldering glare from him. Often aloof, the opportunity to get to know him better as a neighbour never seems to present itself and it leaves you struggling to understand who’s to blame. It’s obvious personal defects are the cause; but his or yours? 

There’s been many occasions where you’ve had to confront his brick-wall disposition, mostly due to the fact that his ringer on the main lobby doesn’t work, so naturally people go for the next best option which is to press the ringer directly below it: yours. You deliberately leave his mail to accumulate at your door until it becomes an unavoidable mound of tax letters, local advertisements and rent notifications and only then do you brave the trip to the apartment above to deliver his post. 

It’s always the same. You knock on the door in a rhythmic pattern that’s become yours. Within seconds he answers the door with the same cold expression, wordlessly takes his mail no matter how hard you try to start up a conversation and before long, you’re staring face to face with the shabby wooden surface of his door. The only thing that changes with each encounter are the clothes that he wears. Different but fairly relative to his style. Purely functional and never dressed for any occasion.

You didn’t mind it for a while. There was some satisfaction and fulfilment to be found while doing your neighbourly duties and despite the fact that there was every possibility he wouldn’t do it for you, you weren’t someone who held a grudge or felt like they had ever been owed a favour. But the mailman had happened upon you on a very bad day and you didn’t feel like accepting his parcel. You had recently been made redundant after the company you worked for did a reshuffling of working positions and yours wasn’t to be included in the new phase they had turned over. So you wallowed at home, watched numerous brain-rotting films, ate a load of junk food and drank lots of wine. 

It was nothing personal towards the mailman when he chapped on your door and demanded a signature for Marc’s parcel, but you couldn’t pretend to be the ‘lovely-neighbour-from-downstairs’ any longer. 

“This is for 8B upstairs. Says there.”

“I know. I can read,” the mailman grumbles, “but I tried knocking on his door but there wasn’t an answer. The parcel needs to be left with someone and you’re the nominated designee.” 

“Can’t you just leave it with another neighbour?” 

“No, says it needs to be left with you.” 

You look at the large rectangular box and consider it. Aside from Marc’s address scribbled on the top, the box is littered with numerous stamps from various international postal services, few you recognize. It looks to be well travelled and handled with very little care yet there’s nothing to suggest what’s inside. With a sigh, you take it from the mailman. It could be important, especially if it’s gone through so many countries to get here and the fact that you would be to blame if it got stolen or damaged. “Fine, I’ll take it.” 

The mailman looks to his feet where a growing pile of letters addressed to Marc starts to spill over into the threshold of your apartment, judgement washing over his features. “Do you…do you normally take all of his mail as well?” 

“Do me a favour? If you ever see the guy from 8B, tell him to come collect his fucking mail.” 

There’s a part of you that feels slightly bad for the mailman when you slammed the door in his face, but then you remember that if Marc stopped being so fucking immature about answering his own door to receive his mail, then you wouldn’t need to feel bad about anything. You leave the parcel sitting on your hallway table, waiting for the day Marc grows some responsibility and asks you for it. 

~~~~

When you placed the parcel on the hallway table, you didn’t expect that it would be sitting there for over a week collecting dust, nor did you expect the curiosity of what’s inside to completely consume you. You walked past it every time you left or entered your apartment. It was in the corner of your eye every time you sat in the living room. It practically radiated temptation every time you took notice of it, screamed at you like it was begging to be opened and you had to force your grubby hands to keep still and not reach for it. But you so desperately wanted to know what was inside. Why was it so conspicuous? Why has it suddenly become the most interesting thing in your apartment?

Perhaps Marc was testing you, sending you a little something of no importance to experiment with your curiosity and test whether or not he could trust to leave you with his personal belongings like he does with his letters. That’s certainly what it felt like by the turn of day eight of the parcel being there and you simply refused to be a rat in his experiment. 

That determination lasted for two whole days before it started to truly pester you. It was starting to get in the way and it felt as though it was getting impossibly bigger and bigger. On day nine you were ready to break it, smash it against every wall, rip every piece of cardboard that keeps it together and deliver it in that state to Marc yourself. From your sofa you stood, eyeing the parcel as if it was taunting you and with adrenaline thrumming through your veins, you stomped towards it. Hands outstretched, you were ready to throw it in any direction but something stopped you at the very last second. Something peculiar and completely out of the ordinary. You halted just centimetres out of reach from the parcel, centimetres out of reach from your door where you could hear the whispers of two or three men right outside. You could see the moulds of their bodies through the peephole. 

“Look, I’m telling you he lives here-”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. All his mail is sitting here. It’s definitely the right apartment. The parcel is in there.” 

The parcel. They’re here for the parcel. 

“C’mon let’s get this over with. He’ll be back soon. Where’s the crowbar?” 

In the very few heart-stopping, crucial seconds you have before anything happens, you quickly banish all hysteria and muster all rationality and flip over the keyless lock and quietly shuffle away from the door with the parcel in hand. You estimate you have about 15 seconds before they make any headway of getting into your apartment, not enough time for you to hide, but enough time to hide Marc’s parcel. After all, that’s what they are here for. With your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes scan over every nook and cranny of your apartment, quickly assessing each spot based on how likely the intruders are to find it and with the seconds dwindling into single digits, you make a snappy, slightly reckless decision. There’s a ledge just outside your kitchen window where you occasionally leave out some seeds for the birds and you think it’s just low enough that the parcel won’t be seen from the window. It’s risky but you’re running out of time, you have to move. 

Scrambling over counter tops and at the sacrifice of knocking over a few utensils, you manage to wrestle the window open and precariously place the box on the window ledge. It’s risky. The ledge isn’t wide and it’s windy, but whatever is in the parcel is just heavy enough that it stays rooted to the spot. 

Pulling back, your hand grazes the handle of a kitchen knife which, now that the intruders have made their way into your apartment, seems like a good idea to have. 

They round the corner into your living room and immediately start looking for the parcel, noticing you only a few seconds into their search. You point the knife in their direction standing courageously but your wavering breath tells a different story.

The three of them turn towards you from where they stand, and given their expressions, they are just as shocked to see you here than you are to see them. You weren’t supposed to be a variable in their plan. They were supposed to be burglarizing Marc’s empty apartment. Not yours. 

The two taller brown-haired men have similar features and builds, almost identical and you begin to wonder if they are twins. Brothers at the very least. But it’s the ageing stout man standing where the living room and kitchen divide who stares you down. He’s dressed smartly in a tweed suit with a golden pocket watch hanging from his waist coat, the type of man who doesn't like to get his hands dirty, because of course, that job belongs to the bulky twins behind him. This is a man who loves to watch it as it happens. He’s more business than manual labour. 

His facial features morph from shock to something sinister, his lips twisting into a smile that’s as greasy as the hair on his head as if the cruellest of ideas just crossed his mind. 

“I didn’t know Marc had a girlfriend,” he sneers. 

“He doesn’t,” you snarl, aiming the knife directly at him with two hands. “He doesn’t even live here either.”

“Oh, so his mail just gets delivered here on a daily basis?” The man hovers over to your coffee table and picks up multiple letters addressed to Marc, the ones that were delivered last week and remained there because of your stubborn nature. 

Okay, not off to a great start. “He doesn’t live here.”

He grins but it falls flat a split second later. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now where is he?”

“I don’t know because he doesn’t live here.”

“Bullshit. Where. Is. He?”  

“Not here. I’m not afraid to use this knife.”

“Oh, not from there you won’t. Let me help you with that.” The man crosses the space between you in three long strides until you’re pressed flat against the counter and the point of the knife grazes the tip of his waist coat. The audacity of this man is staggering. “Save yourself the hassle and tell me where Marc is.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where he is! Now get the fuck out of my apartment. Whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here.”

“And have you call the cops on us? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out to grab you, and he almost does, but with your quick reflex swinging the knife around, you knick the palm of his hand. The man stumbles backwards with a pained yelp, watching the blood seep from his hand and drip onto your kitchen tiles, enraged that you would even do such a thing. Despite your heart racing and the slightly dizzy feeling of adrenaline raging through your veins, you stand strong, holding the knife even higher in warning. 

“You bitch. Boys!” He shouts and the two brothers come running to his side, sizing you up. “Tie her up. We’re not leaving without that package and I’m certain she knows where it is.” 

It was easy enough to defend yourself against this puny man with a knife, but against two brutes who manhandle you as if you are lamb for slaughter, you don’t stand a chance. Relentless, you squirm and wriggle and fight to get out of their grasp, and while you had accepted that you were fighting a losing battle, there’s still some pride to be had about how hard you made it for them. Rather than tying you up unscathed, Thing 1 ties your hands with a bloody, swollen nose and Thing 2 ties your ankle with a forming black eye and a bruise developing on his ribs. 

With you strapped to the chair, they stuff a gag in your mouth to dim your screams while they scramble to ransack your apartment, turning it upside down to find the fucking parcel Marc left you with. After 15 minutes passes by, your home is a riot; furniture broken, plates, mugs and bowls smashed, everything you own on the floor. 

“Boss, it ain’t here. We’re searched everywhere.”

“It has to be!” The stout man shouts, eyes glaring at you enraged. He crouches down, fiery ageing eyes level with yours. He rips the gag out of your mouth and presents a new threat. A razor sharp knife, gleaning in the light as he holds it directly in front of your face. “For the last time. Where is the parcel?!” 

“I am telling you. I don’t know,” you spit, trying with all your might to sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t know what parcel you’re talking about. I don’t know where Marc is--I don’t even know the guy! And he sure as shit doesn’t live here. And if any of you had half a brain to actually read the letters will realise that his address is the floor above me. He never answers his fucking door and that’s why I have all his mess at my door.” 

The guy jabs the point of his knife underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. A nauseous feeling stirs in your stomach, raising your body temperature and conjuring a little bead of sweat to drip from your hairline. Your teeth clamp down onto the inner lining of your cheek, hoping, praying, pleading for someone to burst through your door and save you.

You can’t see anything change within the man in front of you, not taking your word for gospel and the more frustrated he becomes, the more danger faces you. Temperament rising, the man grunts and knicks the skin of your chin, splicing the skin open. “Argh, fuck!” 

“Marc might not live here, but we know the parcel was delivered! And if you do end up with all his mail then it should be here. Now stop lying to me, you little bitch, and tell me where the fucking parcel is or you are going end up with a lot worse than a cut to your chin.” 

You watch in horror as he presses the edge of the knife over your wrist tied to the armrest of the chair and no amount of squirming can break the ties. Fuck, please tell me that I’m not going to lose a limb over a fucking parcel…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes, your brave facade failing. You’re absolutely terrified

“I’ll give you some context then. That parcel contains something I want, an ancient Egyptian artefact that contains unimaginable power and would bring me a lot of wealth, and Marc Spector has no business taking it from me--” So that’s Marc’s surname. “And unless you want to keep your thieving hands, you’ll tell me where it is.” 

As he begins to press the knife’s sharp edge down onto your skin, you start to consider the depravity of the situation, the truth finding its way to your lips. There’s nothing more you want than for this to all be over, to be wrapped up warm and safe in your bed but you can’t shake the arrogance of this guy and his stooges, busting in here like he is entitled to, making a mess of your home, harming you, all to take something that was clearly meant for Marc, all because he thought it would be better with him than with Marc. 

No. Fuck that.

“I. Don’t. Know.” A glob of saliva gathers on your tongue and you spit it into the face of your capture, because if your words can’t send the message, hopefully that will. 

“You should believe her, by the way.” A voice emerges from behind you and simultaneously, all three men turn towards your front door in stupor. You try to twist your head over your shoulder as far as you can to catch a glance but he’s just out of your sight, however you don’t need to wait long before you get confirmation of who is standing at your door. 

“Marc Spector,” your captur states. “Finally.”

“Mind telling me what you’re doing in my neighbour’s apartment?”

“For the very same reason why you’re here, Marc. The parcel. Our parcel. The one you stole.” 

Marc snickers. Having gone so long without seeing what a smile looks like on his face, you’re itching to turn around and see him, but you only get as far as Thing 2 who stands with your back to you, blocking your view. “Torturing women for information? Tsk, tsk, that’s a little beneath your remit Donald, is it not? You’re wasting your time. I have the parcel locked up in storage.” An obvious lie, but not obvious enough to them. “She’s got nothing to do with it. In fact, I don’t even know her.” 

“I don’t care who I have to go through to get what is mine, whether it’s her or you, I will have it by the time the day is up. Boys!”

“Your mistake.”

In the space of a second, the three men in front of you disappear and you’re left to stare at the vast emptiness of your white walls as chaos erupts behind you. Grunts and groans of pain are spliced in between the sounds of punches and kicks being thrown, furniture breaking, bones crunching and bodies thumping to the ground, all of which you try to drown out by hunching your shoulders over your ears and closing your eyes. 

After suspenseful minutes of fighting, it’s clear one man stands victorious. Who? You don’t know. Aside from worrying about what kind of state of your apartment would be left in, you have no idea who you’ve been left in the apartment with and the likelihood of Marc succeeding against three men is slim and the anticipation is killing you.

At last, when a fully mummified figure with white glowing eyes kneels in front of you, you’re taken aback. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” His hand comes to tilt your head gently, inspecting the small cut to your chin with a small tut.

“...Marc?”

The mask that covers his face dissipates to reveal the Marc you recognise, looking more worried than you had ever thought he was capable of. He begins to make quick work of your bounds, easily ripping through them with a single fingertip where all the strength in your arms couldn’t. 

“What the…”

“It’s a lot to explain. I promise, I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? Are you alright? They didn’t do anything terrible to you, did they? Fuck. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry-”

“Marc, hey, I’m okay. Just a little shaken up I think.” Now free, you come to stand in front of Marc who, weirdly enough, seems to don this mummified Egyptian regalia as a suit of armour. You remember this ‘Donald’ guy mentioning something about an ancient Egyptian artefact and you assume it has to be related to whatever Marc is wearing. You even try to mention it, but you can’t seem to get a word in with Marc fussing over your safety and blaming himself for any harm that Donald and his men have caused you as he gently dabs the blood away from your chin. After futile attempts, you decide to leave it be, marvelling over the new Marc as he carefully handles you with care despite having treated you with such indifference up until a few minutes ago. 

Donald and his two bodyguards lie unconscious (...or dead?) on your apartment floor and you look over them with satisfaction, Marc’s unparalleled strength no match for them. Marc quietly lingers behind you, observing them over your shoulder with a similar resolve until he notices the complete disarray surrounding them. 

“Sorry about the mess.” 

You chuckle lightheartedly. “I’m just glad you came when you did. They got what they deserved.”

“Look,” he pulls you away from them to lock eyes, sincerity twinkling in his irises, “I really am sorry. I thought I was careful enough to not get anyone involved in my mess, but I guess I was wrong.” 

You crunch your eyebrows together, recollecting every instance of Marc giving you the cold shoulder. You always thought he was just an unfriendly neighbour, someone who had no interest in anyone but himself, who viewed everyone as an inconvenience. But it was his safeguard, his way of not letting anyone he knew or cared about come into harm. “So you being an asshole was on purpose?” 

“Completely. It was nothing personal.”

“I see,” you sigh, but with a gentle bump of shoulders, you add “I could’ve helped you, you know. You just needed to ask.” 

He shakes his head dejectedly. “It would’ve been too much of a risk.” 

“More of a risk than not asking me? I still got caught up in the crossfire anyway, if I had known why, or at least expected it, I could’ve been better prepared. I don’t need to know what trouble you got yourself into or what shady business you run, but I’m not just your neighbour, I could’ve been a friend if you had allowed me.” 

“It had never worked out for me in the past. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” 

“Okay, I get it. You’re forgiven. But Marc? A word of advice for the future? Just answer your fucking mail then maybe, just maybe, I won’t need to be dragged into all of this again, yeah? They thought you lived here.” You pick up a handful of unopened letters addressed to him and bluntly shove them against his chest with an appointed look and smirk. 

He reciprocates the smile with less enthusiasm and turns his attention to your door. “Speaking of, I’ve got a very important parcel I need to track down. I actually have no idea where it is. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

“About that.” You don’t say another word as you lead him to your kitchen window, awkwardly mounting your counter to reach for the parcel lying just outside your window. As soon as you bring it into view, Marc’s face lights up like you’ve never seen before. 

“You had it?! This whole time?! I heard you tell them you didn’t have it!” 

“I’ve had it for weeks, actually. Those clowns didn’t exactly take the quiet approach when breaking into my flat so I knew what they were here for. I just had enough time to hide it before they came in. And I can be quite the convincing liar when I need to be.” 

Marc quickly discards the parcel, throwing it onto the kitchen counter before throwing his arms around you, knocking the air out of you and squeezing tightly like his life depended on it. “You…are an angel. I can’t thank you enough.”

The two of you embrace for longer than what’s normal between two neighbours, partly in Marc’s resounding appreciation and partly because it feels nice. 

“In all honesty, I was two seconds from opening the parcel myself. The curiosity was killing me.” Marc’s laughter shakes his body, his warmth slowly leaving you as he draws back. 

“I can show you if you want. I figure you’ll be needing a place to stay while we get your apartment cleaned up. It’s the least I can offer for all the trouble I’ve put you through.” 

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

[covetyou]

for one night only

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: Oral sex, face fucking 👀, fingering, addiction, minor mention of clowns (no descriptions, mentioned very briefly), drug use (not Frankie, minor mention), squirting, slightly subby Frankie. word count: 4.5k summary: Frankie Morales has a problem. Not the drink. Or the drugs. Frankie Morales has a problem saying no. One night only, one night only… In the morning this feeling will be gone It has no chance going on

A/N: I feel like one of those ao3 notes where the author is like "soz this took 4 years to update, my whole family died and then I had to move country 12 times, and now I live on the moon and have to send all updates down to earth via the postal sysem", but my dog was diagnosed with a heart murmur on Tuesday (on Catfish Day, no less!) and then on Wednesday I was cranked open and scraped out, because I have the luck of beign born with a cervix. Neither of those things are good conditions to write smut under, I've found out, least of all when it's also the hottest days of the year so far.

So, here we are, 2 days late, and I'm not asking for forgiveness or apologising, I just really like to complain and make lighthearted jokes over serious things to make myself feel better. happiest belated Catfish Day, pocket pals 💛

same reader character as in jester little bit more 👀 this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future work

From the moment Will proposed it three weeks ago, Frankie knew tonight was going to be a stupid idea. Still, here he was, walking into the fucking circus of all places, staring at a glowing sign that was taunting him with the words he'd told himself every time he'd ever gave in to the temptation of booze or coke.

For one night only.

Seven months of sobriety didn't make that temptation go away, and even though this was his longest stint clean in some time, today was not the day to be pushing himself. Work had exhausted him and tested his patience to the extreme, and now he was spending his one free evening in a place that was more overwhelming than it could ever be enjoyable.

It's not that his friends weren't helping, either. They were trying, just like Frankie was trying to enjoy himself, hoping each time they asked him if he was doing okay that it would suddenly be true. But the smell of beer and the press of warm bodies against his as they shuffled into the Big Top made him feel less and less in control as time went on.

It didn't get better from there.

In the Big Top, somewhere between the chaos and the elegance, and back to chaos again, he'd lost himself in it all - that was until he was distracted by a distinct smell brought into the big top by a troupe of clowns that he knew would lead him nowhere good.

That nowhere good turned out to be a shitty looking trailer half covered by a tarp, with "Bravo"scrawled on the door in sharpie. If you'd asked him how he got here, he wouldn't exactly know - he just knew it involved hearing a name, lying to his friends about needing the bathroom, and sneaking away while they were distracted by a sideshow game he had no interest in.

He knew the road he was heading down. That for one night only sign burning in his mind as he stood there, fighting a war inside his own head.

Then, like an angel covered in soft furnishings, you'd turned up, dumping blankets with an oomph onto a cart behind him, wearing what looked to be nothing more than a t-shirt and sandals as you turned to look at him, took one look at the twitching in his hand and the hesitation in his body before you told him he didn't want what was on the other side of that door.

And Frankie knew you were right.

You were the most right thing he'd seen all day. So, when you beckoned him, he obeyed, following behind you like a starving puppy as you led the way through the mess of trailers, to what must have been your own.

He'd watched as you climbed the steps ahead of him, sequinned ass on display with each step upwards, watching it sway and jiggle as you ascended, only pulling his eyes away when you turned and looked down on him with a knowing look.

That's how he found himself here. Surrounded by soft things and delicate lighting. Away from one kind of temptation but sat right in front of another, watching as you grip the edge of your t-shirt, pulling it high enough that he can see a strip of your belly as you gesture back to those impossibly short shorts.

"Do you mind if I...?"

Frankie nods, waving his hand and stuttering over too many words as he tries, and fails, to be unaffected by you and what he can only imagine you'd feel like beneath his hands.

"No, sure, fine. Uh. Go ahead."

You laugh as you start to undress, letting your t-shirt fall to cover you once more. He watches you peel those too tight shorts down your legs, grunting with the effort as they roll and pinch against your thighs. Your skin bulges and ripples as they roll down your legs, and Frankie can think of nothing but sinking his itching fingers into your soft skin and anchoring them there as he dives head first into the place hidden just beyond the hem of your shirt.

"You made the right choice, y'know. I'm much more interesting than what Bravo the Clown has to offer," you say with a wink, catching him watching you just as your shorts pool at your feet and you step out of them. "He might have his head up his ass, but his head can't touch his ass like mine can. Tea?"

With a nod, Frankie watches as you move to the kitchen - a small counter with a water kettle and some mugs, and not much else - before you call back to him.

"You can get comfortable too, if you want."

And so he does, pulling off his hat first, before unbuckling his belt and tugging it from his pants with a sigh.

When you come back, you hand him a mug, which he accepts with a thank you before gripping the burning ceramic hard in his hand, rubbing his other along the rough fabric of his jeans.

"You need a distraction," you say, with a nod to the mug burning his palm. "What do you usually do when... y'know?"

"Keep busy, usually," Frankie says, looking down at his hand, flexing it until the sting subsides.

"Let's find you something to focus on then. An activity. Something good."

Frankie's mind immediately goes where he knows it shouldn't. You'd seen him struggle, and you'd helped him, the least he could do was keep it in his pants and his mind out of the gutter.

But then, when you sit down opposite him, crossing your legs as you take a sip of your own tea, all he can see is the gusset of your panties, and he knows he's ruined. He doesn't even try to hide his cock as it hardens in his jeans each moment he spends looking at you, so casual and relaxed in this space you brought him to.

You know, of course. If he was paying even a bit of attention to what your own eyes were doing, he'd see that you're well aware of the affect you're having on him. Since he looked up at you from the steps, part of you had been working out how you'd get him beneath you again, and now it was looking like all you'd need to do was snap your fingers and all your dreams would come true.

Some might say that would be manipulative. The man needed a calm place to be for a little while, and you were happy to provide it, no payment necessary. But, with the way he was looking at you, pleading with those beautiful brown eyes - combined with the shockwaves sent to your cunt every time his voice rumbled from his chest - it was clear you were both fighting a losing battle against something much better to give in to than whatever quick fix Dieter could rustle up.

A blaring ring of a phone pulls you both out of your thoughts, and he scrambles for his pocket, pulling out a battered looking phone with a crack across the screen and pressing it to his ear.

"Hey, man," he says into the phone, not meeting your eye.

Here, in the quiet oasis of your trailer, with nothing but the distant tinkle of music to disturb the peace, you can hear every word from the other end of the line clear as day.

"Fish, where the hell are you?"

And now, maybe it is manipulative of you to stretch to put your mug down on the counter, drawing his eyes back to you.

"Uh, just had to get away."

When your fingers slowly drag up your thighs, tugging the hem of your shirt upwards and over your panties, you don't miss the way his throat bobs in a heavy swallow, his eyes going glassy as he tries to focus on the voice practically screaming down the line over the noise of carnival music and chattering crowds.

"You back at the van?"

And maybe the leg you put on the coffee table is a little unnecessary, but it works. Soon his eyes are drawn down to between your thighs, and the small scrap of fabric covering you that he'd been trying so desperately not to look at.

"No, no. I had to -" you draw your shirt a little higher, the soft pooch of your belly and the waistband of your panties now on show for him. "- mierda. Just some place quiet. It's chaos out there."

"We can leave, hermano. I told you, you never have to force yourself through this shit. You want out, we're out."

Your hands continue up, and up, pulling your shirt with them and then, just when your breasts threaten to spill out of the bottom of it, you let go, stretching your arms high above your head with a smile.

"Hello? Fish? Catfish? You're worrying me, man. Where are you?"

Raising your eyebrow, with one last ace up your sleeve, you let your thigh fall to the side, and watch the entire house of cards come falling down.

"I gotta go."

"Fra -"

"I'll text you."

The line goes dead, and Frankie quickly taps out a message in hopes to keep Santi quiet for at least a little while. When his phone is face down on the seat beside him, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and rubs his hands on his rough jeans once more.

"So, Fish," you start, drawing his attention back to you, where you sit tracking your fingertips slowly up and down yourself. "Think of anything fun we could do?"

With a sly smile, biting your lip, you shuffle your hips forward. No sooner are the tips of your fingers dipping below the elastic of your panties, and he's up, out of his seat.

And straight on the floor in front of you, having taken one big step over the coffee table to get to you before wedging himself between your spread legs. And fuck does he want to touch - dive right in and feast - but instead he sits back on his haunches, staring up at you from his position on his knees, looking absolutely wrecked.

"That what you want, pretty boy?" you say, as he wipes one hand across his chin, the other balling into a fist in his lap.

He's nervous. Impulsive, sure, but hesitant. So, you reach for his hand before it falls to join his other in his lap, and press it into the soft meat of your thigh, squeezing down, before releasing and letting him take the reins.

His exploration is tentative, at first. Soft sweeps of his hand from your knee to your hip, and back again. Watching up at you as you relax down into the cushions around you, sighing and smiling each time his hands trace a new patch of you and light it on fire.

When his other hand joins the first, taking its place on your other thigh, you whisper breathy words of encouragement to him - words that sound so loud in his ears but he knows are barely audible above the sound of his own heavy breathing.

That's all he needs to start pressing his mouth to your bare skin. Kisses to your inner knee, small nibbles to the swell of your thigh. Each and every press of his mouth is met with a giggle - his facial hair tickling your delicate skin.

"I see he called you Catfish," you say through another giggle as his kisses move higher, following the trail of his hands.

"Yeah?" he says, his breath ghosting your thigh, smiling as you giggle again. And fuck, even if he never gets any higher than this, no closer to salvation than right here, the bulge of your thighs in his grip, this would be distraction enough to fight through fifty more bad days.

"It's the whiskers, isn't it?" you ask, laughing again when he scratches his beard lightly on your inner thigh.

But then, he's face-to-face with the tiny scrap of fabric covering you - so much smaller than he expected when he was sat staring from the other side of your trailer - looking up at you now that you're quiet, giggles subsided but one brewing just beneath the surface.

"Or," you start, as you reach down for his face, dragging your thumb across the swell of his plush bottom lip. "Or it's because you're a bottom feeder. Catfish by name, catfish by nature."

A soft kiss to your cunt over your panties comes before you even finish your taunt, and you find yourself groaning out his bizarre name not once, but twice as he cuts you off each time. Not that you mind, of course, and he doesn't seem to either. Each moan you make makes him press deeper and deeper kisses to you, until he's dragging his mouth up and down the seam of your clothed pussy, desperately trying to taste you.

Your cunt, as desperate to get to him as he is to her, throbs, trickling slick as he mouths at you, teasing your clit with nudges of his nose. And then he's licking you - not where you want him, but near enough, as he licks a soft stripe up one side of your cunt then the other, tasting your skin where your panties don't quite cover.

What you really want is to tear your underwear off and let him devour you, but you don't. That would mean pushing him away, and he's far too lost in it for you to even want to attempt it. So, instead, you reach down and yank the thin fabric to the side just as he takes another soft bite of your thigh, and delight in his gasp when he takes his first proper look at you.

"Oh, shit."

Whatever restraint he was showing before flies right out of the window when he can finally see your pussy. He dives in, tonguing your entrance, tasting every drop of arousal he's pulled from you since he started his teasing. Within a few licks, you've slouched further down the bench, spreading your thighs wider as his hands wrap around them and pin you down.

You feel better than he could imagine. Your thighs are thick and plush - the fat of them easily gripped and kneaded in his palms as he messily eats you, pressing his tongue into your hole only to feel you clench around him.

It doesn't get any less messy, or more refined, as he laps at you. It's like he's ravenous, and maybe he is, but it's too much, too fast, too soon, and not enough all at once.

"Slow," you gasp, rocking your hips, hoping he'll get the picture. And, to his credit, he does. He pulls back, looking between your furrowed brows and the wet mess he's licked over your cunt, and instead takes a slow swipe from your hole to your clit.

"That's it," you moan as his tongue teases around you. He avoids your sensitive nub for a few strokes, choosing instead to circle it, to tease you. But then his broad circles swirl tighter and tighter until you're groaning out into the tiny space. "Right there. You've got it. Oh, fuck."

Frankie moans right back. He's like a rock in his own pants, so hard it's bordering on painful, but he can't bring himself to pull a hand away from you to adjust himself. Instead, he uses his finger tips to pry you open a little, spreading your slit wide for him to lick into before focussing back on your clit and slipping a finger easily inside you.

This is how you're going to come. Onto this beautiful mans tongue, his fingers buried inside you, your t-shirt rucked up higher and higher by your own hands, fingers pinching your own nipples, head thrown back.

"Fuck, so close."

He groans, nodding into your cunt, his tongue swiping up and down on your clit with each bob of his head. And he looks beautiful doing it - eyes screwed shut as he moans and whines into your pussy, wanting nothing more than to please you, planting a delicious seed in your mind as he gets more and more desperate to make you come.

"Give me another finger, pretty boy," you ask, biting back a good boy when he slips a second thick digit into your fluttering pussy.

Reaching down, you stroke his face, pulling his attention up to you as you thread your fingers through his messy hair while he laps and suckles away at your clit, fingers pumping shallowly inside you.

"You want me to use that pretty mouth?" you ask, and the groan he gives you in return almost sets you off then and there.

"Oh fuck, that's good. That's good," you pant, taking a deep breath to try to hold back your rapidly approaching orgasm. "Stick out that tongue for me, pretty boy."

Frankie, ever the obedient little thing, sticks out his tongue for you, groaning when you slip a finger across the wet muscle and into his mouth, letting him suck on it for a little before swiping it across your own clit.

"Keep it out for me."

"Uh-huh."

You tug him closer, scratching gently at his scalp when his tongue slides against your pussy, before holding him in place.

"That's it. Keep it out. You're going to make me come, pretty boy. Keep those fingers right there too. Don't you dare take them out."

The look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know right then. This is exactly what he needed, the perfect antidote to his seemingly inevitable downward spiral. He looks entirely fucked out - face a mess, lips swollen, facial hair drenched in saliva and your own slick. Then, with a small nod of his head, you start to move, rocking gently against his face at first, before you pick up the pace.

You're not sure you've felt anything better. His fingers are deep and he's curling them inside you over and over, pressing against a spongy spot you're all too familiar with. You're grinding your clit against his tongue - using his whole face to get yourself off, alternating between the smooth slick swipe of his tongue before the rough scratch of his facial hair briefly catches your clit, and back, over and over. It's driving you insane. You're driving yourself insane, but you can't - won't - stop. How could you when he's panting, practically sobbing into your pussy, as you use him.

Now, you really are going to come. You rock against his face more rapidly, movements more precise now, fucking yourself onto his fingers and grinding your clit into his tongue, fingers tugging and pulling at his hair.

Then, your back is arching off the bench, a loud, keening groan leaving you, your fingers twitching and releasing from his hair, your hips stuttering as it all gets too much. Anyone else, any other day, and this would have spelled a ruined orgasm for you and a terrible nights sleep. But Frankie doesn't let up. Your fingers release him and he continues, nodding his own face against you exactly as you liked it, fingers curling, and curling, and curling so wetly inside you you're sure you're going to burst.

Until you do. You convulse there right on the bench, clit twitching against Frankie's tongue as you gush against his fingers, his chin, coming so hard you're sure you've left the atmosphere.

It's only when your voice finally comes back to you, your silent orgasm all but wrung out of you, that you tell him to stop - practically beg him - and collapse back into the cushion, still twitching.

Frankie sits between your legs, pressing feather light kisses to your mound, as you come down. He looks so peaceful there, between your thick thighs, soothing himself with your body while he ignores his own aching cock.

"What's your real name, pretty boy?" you ask with a lazy smile, swiping your thumb across his chin and the wetness still glistening there.

"Francisco. Frankie. It's Frankie," he mumbles into your leg, finally shifting to alleviate some of the strain in his jeans.

"Come up here and kiss me, Frankie."

On aching knees, Frankie pulls himself up. He moves to hover over you, to hold himself off of you in case he gets carried away, but you pull him down, pressing your mouth to his and tasting yourself on his tongue.

"Mhm. You want a hand with that, Frankie?" you ask, feeling the solid length now pushing into your thigh through his jeans.

"Wanna fuck you," he gasps into your mouth, rutting and grinding forward as you scrape blunt nails up his back.

And it makes you freeze. Frankie, in that moment, is certain he's fucked up. That's not what this is.

But then he hears you curse softly under your breath, looking over to a cabinet as you try to wrack your brain for when you last restocked your stash of condoms. Too fucking long ago, is the only answer that comes to mind, and you're certain you don't have any.

"I don't have any fucking condoms - goddamnit," you say with a pained sigh, trying to stop tears of frustration pricking in your eyes. You want it too. If the bulge in his pants is anything to go by, you'd have the time of your life riding him straight through till morning.

"But we can do something else?" you say, hopeful that he doesn't want to go just yet as you reach down and start stroking him over his pants. "I think I owe you that much."

Fuck does it feel good, having your hand stroke him. He wants nothing more than to say yes - not to cash in on what he's owed, but because you feel so damn good. Still, he knows it wouldn't be enough. He'd had enough tragic experiences and fumbles in the past few months that he knew the only way he was getting off was from his own hand or by fucking hard into something soft and wet, or he wasn't coming at all.

"No," he says softly, kissing you again and shifting his hips back from your grip. "No, it's okay. And, I'm not - shit - don't feel guilty, I'm not trying to do that, I'm just - it's just - uh - fuck - it's difficult. For me to, uh..."

You lay a comforting hand on his side as he trails off. "It's okay."

If your own shame had ever taught you anything, you know he's about to apologise for something that doesn't need an apology.

"Can I show you something cool, Frankie?" you say instead, cutting him off before he could let the shame eat at him.

Frankie nods, and lets you gently push him back and off the bench seat you're both awkwardly lying on.

Hauling yourself up, you reach for something under the bench closest to the end of your trailer, and pull, throwing all your weight back until the bench is shifting forward and a hidden piece of the puzzle is pulling up and out, where you can push it down onto the coffee table.

You climb onto it then - the pillows and blankets making so much sense now that he sees this is your bed - and pull a cord on the ceiling, letting it rattle and shift until there's a soft clunk.

"Come here."

Frankie follows, wary of the stability of the whole thing only for a second, climbing up behind you as you lay down. Sitting beside you, he follows your eyes up and up until they reach the ceiling.

Only, there isn't one. Instead, what he's faced with is a window to the endless sky, lit with streaks of light bouncing off of clouds, turning them a rainbow of colors as they shift and sway.

"This is what I do when everything feels too much," you say, looking straight up into the night sky. Frankie lies beside you then, looking up into the abyss alongside you in that tiny space.

"I lie here for long enough that all the big and overwhelming things feel small again. Something about looking out into the universe really puts stuff into perspective, y'know?"

"I think I do," he says with a smile, just as your hand finds his arm.

You lie there together for a little while. Talking a little, but mostly just looking out into the sky, occasionally remarking on the shapes of the circus lights beaming into the heavens.

"Fuck," You say suddenly, and Frankie turns to see you pressing your hands into your eyes, blocking any view of the sky above as you lie together in your trailer. "Fuck."

"You okay?" he says, worried that he's over stepped his mark, stayed too long and made a weird thing weirder just by sticking around.

But then you're pouncing on him, pushing him back into your bed, and latching onto his mouth in a feverish kiss. It's all you can do to not rub your bare cunt on his jeans in desperation for more, because that's just it. You want more, condoms be damned.

"What if," you say between kisses, "I could get condoms - what if - I could grab some right now - do you - do you wanna...?"

Frankie thinks it's the most obvious thing in the world - he is, after all, still rock solid in his pants. No amount of staring at the night sky seems to be making it go away. In fact, he's just got harder and harder since laying down with you and having your hands dance delicate patterns onto his bare arms.

His hands find your ass, pulling you further into him, dragging your leg over his own and your cunt along his thigh, making you grind down into him and moan into his mouth. He doesn't exactly have words for how much he wants it, just that he knows he's as desperate for it as he was to be buried face first between your thighs. So, he groans back, your hand finding a perfect spot on the crotch of his jeans, rubbing and kneading the solid lump of his cock through the denim.

"S'that a yes?" you mumble, and as you pull away, staring into the wrecked glazed eyes of one another, you both laugh, catching each others mouths in another hurried kiss.

"It's a hell fucking yes, hermosa."

At that, you dart up. Or you try to, at least. It's more of an awkward roll and a flop as you try to pull your leg from Frankie without causing any damage, before you crawl off the end of the bed and grab for your shirt and those tiny panties again - wherever the fuck they are. Balance should be your thing, but right now as you're frantically shoving clothes on, anyone would think you didn't do this for a living.

"Wait here," you pant, hopping into your shoes. "I will be right back."

And as you leave the trailer, the door slamming behind you as you practically run away into the night, Frankie thinks of how lucky he is to have found salvation in a place like this - a soft little oasis amidst so much chaos.

this story continues in fools just wanna have fun (Dieter x reader) and family friendly (Frankie x Reader [x Dieter])

tags: @beefrobeefcal @schnarfer @for-a-longlongtime

[blackenedsnow]

can you do postal dude (either 2 or 4!!) just cuddling with the reader? :3

quiet moments

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Postal (2) Dude x Reader

NOTE: I love using stupid gifs for this guy I'm sorry

SUMMARY: Dude needs a break. After a long day, he comes to you for some peace.

The day had been one hell of a mess. From annoying neighbors to crazy errands, it felt like everything was out to push Dude to his limits. But now, as the evening crept in and the disarray of Paradise settled into a dull hum, he was finally home.

And home meant you.

Dude kicked off his shoes by the door, rubbing a hand over his tired face as he glanced around the small, cluttered living room. It wasn’t much, but it was his sanctuary, and more importantly, you were there, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders, waiting for him.

You smiled when you saw him, patting the spot next to you. “Rough day?”

He snorted. “Aren’t they all?”

Despite the gruffness in his voice, there was something in his eyes that softened as he dropped onto the couch next to you. He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back and let out a long sigh, the weight of the day melting away.

But then, after a beat, you shifted closer, slipping under his arm and resting your head against his shoulder. He stiffened for a second, like he always did—but then he relaxed, his arm tightening around you just a bit.

“You know,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, “I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who’d want to do this... sappy shit.”

You chuckled softly, nuzzling into his side. “Guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, though the way his hand rested comfortably on your back told a different story. He wasn’t as tough as he pretended to be when it came to you, and you both knew it.

For a while, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the distant hum of the fridge and the occasional rustle of the blanket as you shifted closer. It was peaceful, a rare moment of quiet that neither of you took for granted.

His rough fingers traced absent patterns along your arm as you lay against him, and you could feel the tension slowly draining from his body.

After a while, you glanced up at him, your cheek still pressed to his chest. “Feel better now?”

He gave a low, amused hum. “Better than putting up with the rest of the damn world.”

You smiled, snuggling closer to him. “Glad I could help.”

He grunted, which in Postal Dude language, was basically a “thank you.” His fingers threaded through your hair briefly before settling back on your shoulder. There was no need for words. Even though he wasn’t the sentimental type, there was something comforting about the way he held you, like you were the only thing keeping him grounded in a world gone mad.

As the evening stretched on and the room grew darker, you could feel him starting to drift off, his breaths evening out. It was rare to see him so relaxed, so at peace, but in moments like this, you were reminded that even someone like him could find comfort in the simplest of things—like holding you close after a long, messed-up day.

[sil3ntfr34k]

Could you do like postal dude being a yandere please

(I don't think he'd love someone so much he'd be yandere, but ill make him jealous and possessive)

(Also P2 Dude bc i think he'd be the closest to a yandere)

‘Yandere’ Postal 2 Dude x Reader

Dude has also been a little possessive and jealous during the relationship, but it starts off 'casual', if that's what you can call it. In the beginning, he might get a little pissed off at the guy who won't stop staring at you and start to be more touchy, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leave a wet kiss on your cheek, but once the guy is gone he stops it.

It not until he starts to release that you're not going anywhere when you're still with him despite all the shit he puts you through does he start to act more possessive with you.

His possessive acts might include having you wear something of his, like his sunglasses on your head, orrr he might let you wear his trench coat when he gets too hot. Having you wear something of his really makes it feel like you 'belong' to him.

Stalker but is really bad at it. Sometimes his schizophrenia gets to him and he starts to think there might be someone or something after you because of your tie to him, so he starts to follow you. The only thing is though is that he doesn't hide himself. You'll see him at the store in a different isle, and then again when your at the mall in a different store, and then AGAIN at the library. He doesn't even try to hide, he just stands there and acts like he's doing something while stealing glimpses of you.

"Dude, what are you doing here? Didn't i just see you like an 30 minutes ago???" "... ... Small world we live in..."

Does the basic yandere things I think, like killing for you but doesn't do whatever you want and worships you. He'll kill someone for being mean to you with a quick bullet to the head, but not in a 'Don't you ever speak ill to my precious gem auuwae!', but in a more 'What a annoying asshole...' Yet despite this, he will not fall to his knees and kiss your feet just because he 'loves you'. He might be a little more affectionate with his kisses and hugs you more, but he still likes his personal space.

Since you've become to close and important to him, you are now subject to his mental issues and how they now affect you too!! During episodes, he surprisingly remembers who you are, saving you from his murderous rampages. Although you still shouldn't get caught in the middle of them. He knows who you are and all, but that doesn't mean your image can't be corrupted in his eyes. One wrong move and your suddenly not his partner anymore, just someone pretending to be them.

During a episode where he's more of like "Who am I? Where am I? What's going on?", he turns more clingy and basically interrogates you, asking things like 'How did we get here? What is this place? Why are we here?'. You'll have to make him sit down and try to distract him with his favorite things like shiny knives, heavy guns, and probably trailer park boys,,,

all in all, not rlly a yandere, but not rlly normal about his love either! He's a strange strange creature...

[saltsicklover]

Fan Mail - Part 1/2?

Title: Fan Mail

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2500

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Death/Murder - Let me know if I missed anything.

-- I am writing a part 2 for this, might even drift into a part 3. I don't see it going longer than that because I struggle writing long form stories. I hope you enjoy! --

Disclaimer: I do not own Bucky Barnes, or anything related to Marvel within this piece. Not Proof Read or BETA'd. All mistakes are my own.

I do not consent for my work to be edited, reposted, or translated.

You are responsible for your own media consumption. This is a work of fiction that may contain mature themes. If you are sensitive to those subjects, please do not read.

Bucky has never gotten fan mail. Ill wishes and empty threats via the postal service sent from all over the world, sure, that's old hat by now. But, a well wish or a 'thank you' have never been penned for him. Those sentiments are reserved for the real heroes, not Bucky, definitely not Bucky. At least, that's what he tells himself every time he ends up empty handed while everyone else in the tower is ripping open letters. 

Every Thursday fan mail from the week gets brought to the common room of the tower. Each stack is bound together with a flimsy rubber band, each pile threatening to burst through the rubber being pulled taught against the paper. This has gone on for as long as anyone can remember, always a pick me up from the tough battles the Avengers always found themselves in. 

"You'll get something, Buck, don't worry," Steve tries to sooth Bucky with a firm grip on his friend's shoulder, "The mail isn't even important anyway." Bucky can't help but huff as he eyes the bulging pile of letters in Steve's hand, his fingers gripping the mail so tight Bucky thinks they might combust under the pressure. 

"Yeah, Steve, it's all good," Bucky manages, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. Neither bother to exchange another word, Steve just squeezes his friend's shoulder before heading down the hall. 

Bucky lets his eyes wander over each member of the team that still resides in the room, each with at least a handful of letter's in their possession.  He tries to push the uneasy feeling from his chests, the deep green envy sneaking in between the cartilage that partners his ribs with his sternum. 

The next week, is more of the same, and so is the week after that. Wanda likes to curl up on one of the plush chairs in the common area, letters in her lap as she carefully opens each one. She barely lets her fingertips touch the paper, the envelopes opened carefully with her fingernail. She keeps her hold to the outside edges of the cards, like she is worried that if she touches the words they may disappear. 

Sam likes to lean against the island in the kitchen, spreading the contents of each envelope out in front of him, taking each piece in like a mission report. He gets photos of women, with flirty words scrawled across the backs. Each note smelling of a different sweet perfume that always seems to give Bucky a headache as he walks by. 

Clint and Natasha open their letters together, sitting on the floor in her bedroom. Laughter flowing through the open door as Bucky passes. He tries not to focus on his lack of correspondence but that's always easier said than done. He is just thankful that most of the team views their letter opening as an alone-time activity so he doesn't have to witness the joy that radiates through them with each envelope they open. 

Bucky doesn't even bother to stop by the common room on Thursday mornings anymore, his brain has given up on the idea that he will get a letter, his heart following close behind. 

One unusually cold Thursday, the fresh spring flowers outside threatening to wilt form the cold snap, each bundle of letters is placed neatly on the coffee table; accompanied by a singular letter addressed to "Mr. James Barnes".  Steve spots the letter first as he browses over the piles in front of him. He snaps his eyes quickly back to the lone envelope and unbridled joy swells in his chest from somewhere deep in his soul. 

"Bucky!" He yells, his eyes never leaving the paper on the coffee table. "Bucky, get in here!" Steve can't help but let the newfound joy escape with his words, a wide smile spreading over his face as Bucky walks into the room. The smile make's Steve's cheeks hurt, but all he notices is the grumbling coming from his best friend as the brunet trapses into the room. 

"What is it Steve?" Bucky carefully pinches the bridge of his nose with his right hand, his left arm folding defensively over his body to hold the elbow of his right arm, the whole manner done without thought. 

"You got a letter," Steve speaks, the words coming out in a jumbled heap from his lips. Bucky cracks one eye open at him, staring at the blond across the room from under his dense eyebrows. Excitement sparks deep in his chest, glowing like a barely lit ember deep in the darkness. Each passing second causes his excitement to grow like flame overtaking dry grass but he does everything in his power to stomp out the feeling before it overtakes him. The words hang in the air, neither man daring to move. Bucky cracks his other eye open as he lowers his hand from his face, lacing his thick arms across his chest. "Did you hear me, Jerk?" 

"Yeah, Punk, I heard ya', just not sure if I believe ya', that's all," Bucky moves, each stride filling him with more anxiety as he gets closer to the coffee table. He tries to tell himself that Steve isn't just playing some cruel joke on him, and that maybe, just maybe, someone out there actually wants to write him a letter, but his negative thoughts get the better of him as he comes to stand next to Steve, a scowl burned deep into his features. 

"What is it, Buck?" Steve takes Bucky's shoulder in his hand, squeezing it reassuringly with a too tight grip. Bucky doesn't bother to look at his friend, his eyes are too focused on the lone envelope sitting on the coffee table, his name scrawled across it in blue pen. Steve watches as Buck's scowl melts into confusion, his eyes trailing over the ink again and again and again, almost like he doesn't believe it's there. All the brunet can manage to do is read his name, offering his friend a slight shake of his head at the question, or maybe it's at the situation all together. 

Bucky leans over to grab the letter, taking it carefully between his fingertips. Suddenly he understands why Wanda barely touches her mail, the feeling that it may go up in cinders from his touch prickles deep within his stomach. He has known all kinds of fear and anxiety, but this is a new feeling all it's own. 

Steve leaves the room without a word, leaving Bucky standing there alone, the beige envelope balances delicately on his fingertips, palms facing the sky like he's begging for a answer to an unspoken prayer. 

Bucky doesn't open the letter for weeks, and nobody says a word about it. Hell, nobody but Steve knew it existed until it fell out of the breast pocket of his leather jacket when he sat down for dinner. Tony wanted to tease him about it, but the warning looks that he received left him coughing up his miss sipped iced tea instead. 

Bucky found himself taking in the details of the envelope whenever he could, between missions and meetings, at night before bed or in the morning over his first cup of coffee. The blue ink on the front has smudged a bit from when he got caught out in the rain, but the soft tan of the envelope and the striking depth of the ink still draws his eyes. The stamp placed delicately in the upper right hand corner was adorned with a beautiful yellow butterfly had been stamped over with an official marker for the postal service. There is no name, just a PO box located in New York City. The thought of his name alone on the envelope left a tinge of loneliness in his heart if he thought about it too long. 

When Bucky finally gets the courage to open the letter, three weeks had passed. He sits on the corner of his bed, the lamp from the bedside table illuminating his careful movements as he slips a finger under the seal. Carefully, he tears it open, pulling out a couple of pieces of paper, folded over on themselves. They are the same color as the envelope, the ink the same too. He holds the paper under the lamp, letting his eyes drift over each sentence, word, letter. 

"Dear Mr. James Barnes, I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to start off by saying that I was unsure about writing this letter to begin with, but my therapist says that by writing it I may be one step closer to healing, so I decided to give it a shot. You don't know me, so this might seem odd, but give me a chance anyway, please. 

When I was nine, a man broke into my home, the home I shared with my grandparents. I didn't know it then, nor did I for some time, but my grandparents were holding onto some information that I later came to learn was for Hydra. My grandfather's father worked for a man named Arnim Zola, and he had stolen files from him. Those files were passed down to my grandfather. 

Now I don't know that much about what my grandparents did for Hydra, or why they were holding information for them, but I do know that they were cruel and abusive towards me. They would send me to sleep, often without food for nights at at time. My grandfather was keen on hitting me with a leather belt. I won't bore you with the details. But, that night the man broke into our home, I knew from that moment that my whole life was going to change, so I hid in the coat closet while the man shot them. I know I should feel guilty for not helping them, but all I could feel was the relief that they would never harm me again. Besides, they passed quickly.

It is odd to feel so thankful for such an act of violence, but that man saved my life, and for that I am eternally grateful, which is why I write to you now. When everything with the bombing of the Sokovia Accords happened, I finally put together that the the Winter Soldier was the man who saved me. 

I know that part of your life is long behind you, but from one suffering soul to another, I just want you to know that you saved me, and I can't thank you enough. I hope this is able to provide you with some sort of closure, or healing, just like I am hoping it will for me. 

With warmest regards-"

Bucky can't help but read the words over and over again as a sickening feeling twists deep in his stomach. The first letter he has ever gotten as a hero, in this new life of his, is really written the darkest version of himself that he wishes he could forget. Hell, he would flay his skin open himself if it meant that he could undo his trespasses made at the hands of Hydra. 

Maybe its the salt sick sweat that coats his skin or the trembling of his heart beat through his veins but Bucky feels sick. The type of sick that makes you want to wash yourself from the inside out, yet he can't stop reading the words. 

He doesn't sleep that night. Or the next. Or that week for that matter. Steve is the only one to notice the sudden shift in his best friend. He urges the older man to speak, to lean on him for support but Bucky refuses, the sick feeling settling deep in his bones whenever he thinks about the letter. Maybe it's because deep down, beneath every single bit of self loathing, the acquiesce of bile soaked enmity he feels proud. 

He knows he shouldn't, the brunt edges of his life too fragile, the healing too slow, but the jewel of his ego only seems to feed off of the words scribbled in that letter. Even after all of the disaster, destruction, and death he caused, something good actually came out of it, and for that he feeds the feeling in his chest- the satisfaction that drowns out the loathing. 

The next letter Bucky receives comes a month and a half after the first, the PO box in the corner of the envelope the same as before. His stomach twists at the sight but his heart pounds with a sort of excitement he hasn't experienced in years. 

"Dear Mr. James Barnes, I hope this letter finds you well. I hope that you have received my last letter and that you got the chance to sit down and read it. I am sure you get so much mail all the time and part of me worries that my little envelope got lost in the shuffle of it all.

I must say, though I told myself over and over not to expect you to write back, I have to admit that I am a little saddened that you didn't. I know you can't possibly write back to everyone that sends you a letter but I couldn't help but get my hopes up. 

I have talked about the last letter with my therapist, and I think it helped me find a new sort of closure for that part of my life. Now, however, my heart seems to be missing something to dwell on, or possibly look forward to, which is why I am writing you again. 

I hope this isn't too forward but I was hoping that maybe we could be pen pals. I know it sounds old fashioned, maybe a little silly, but it's always a 'no' if you don't ask, right?" 

With Warmest Regards-" 

Bucky reads and rereads the letter again, a feeling of confusion and excitement swirling together in his chest. He can feel his heart beat below his skin, pulse thrumming hard and fast. He can't help the joy that courses through him at the words on the page, simple and blue, jotted down quickly by the way the ink flows together letter to letter. 

Maybe he will write back, the thought nags him every free moment that he finds himself in. It also nags him during meetings and on mission. He can't help but try picture their face, but the nothing comes to mind except a feeling of happiness, or maybe even pride, and it swells in his chest leaving him a new form of breathless. 

Bucky carries both letters with him, tucked deep into the chest pocket of his jacket, or under the suit he wears for mission. The letters pressed close to his heart. He takes comfort in knowing they are there, that someone is out there, thankful for his existence. He is thankful, too. 

Maybe he will write back, he tells himself just before he turns out the light to go to sleep. Maybe he will, maybe, maybe maybe. 

[strawbrygashez]

POSTAL 4 DUDE X GOTH READER

Rings

You and Dude are going to a concert!!! :D how fun!!! This isn’t serious or super long but I hope at least someone likes it!! 🖤🦇👻🪦⛓🔪🔮

————————————————————————

“Now would ya look at that!” Dude teased after catcall whistling at you once you’d finally emerged from the bathroom and into the living room where he’d sat waiting. You couldn’t help the slight blush that came though you’ve been with him for a year now and have heard him complement you plenty of times. It didn’t help he had his glasses off for the moment and you could see him looking you up and down with a certain…kinda glaze to them, almost like he could pounce on you right then and there.

But he knew better than that right now since you spent so lo- “I guess it makes up for the hour and a half you’ve spent getting ready!” He added in, his hungry glance suddenly switching to a playful one. God his moods could switch fast. You rolled your eyes at him. He knew damn well that it takes time to put together a look this intricate, especially with the makeup and all the layers of different things you decided to toss together for today. But you couldn’t stay annoyed at him too long when he stretched his arms out towards you with his grin still not leaving. You two probably should have at least started to be on the way to the concert by now but…yknow, it wouldn’t really hurt to entertain him for a minute. Besides the venue was surprisingly close this time and you wouldn’t be devastated to miss the runner up bands so..fuck it.

You grin as you walked closer to him but before you could prepare yourself for whatever he wanted, he suddenly grabbed you by the waist and tugged you down to sit on his lap, back facing towards him. “Dude! Be careful! I-” you started but cut yourself off as you felt him pull you closer so he could nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He stayed silent a bit as he took your hands in his and gave you a kiss on your shoulder before speaking. “God, you’re gorgeous. You know that?” Even though you wanted to point out how he’s just gone through at least three different emotions in the last couple minutes, you instead just frowned a bit as your blush came back even worse. “W-whatever Dude….” was all you could say. He chuckled a bit as he moved his head to rest his chin on your shoulder before lifting one of your hands up and slightly moving it as though he was inspecting it. “I think you’d be proud to know I still haven’t chipped the nail polish you did last night! See?”Dude said as he put his hand out next to yours. Your sharp and long nails still indeed matched his in color and cleanliness. In the past when you’ve done Dudes nails, he always ended up picking at the nail polish before even a week could go by. It never really bothered you or hurt your feelings though. He’s always just been one of those guys who needed to be doing something with his hands or messing with something but it did feel nice to see all of his black nail polish looked as good as you did it the other night.

“Oh wow. Yeah I am proud of you babe! Were you looking forward to dressing up too today or something?” You asked him with a smile. Maybe you also should have told him to get ready while you were…seeing as he was still in his clothes from yesterday but oh well. “Hmm..I dunno. I was just more careful because you seemed so excited about today, so. Why? Are you wanting me to dress up and be some kinda vampire prince for the day?” He teased. The truth was he was actually genuinely a little excited to dig through his clothes and find his old black trench coat and whatever old band shirt that has survived the passing of time (which should be commendable if you’re being worn by Dude of all people) but you didn’t need to know that. Maybe he should tell you though that it does make his heart flutter a bit when he matches with you but..maybe later. That’s too soft for even right now.

You shrugged and interlocked your fingers with his before leaning back on him some. “Wear whatever. I don’t care.” It was the truth. You liked Dude for who he was, not what he wore or looked like. You didn’t expect a guy who was getting grey hairs already to still wanna dress to the nines with you. To be honest you were even kinda surprised he wanted to be in a crowd with a bunch of younger alternative people dancing around. “Nah. It’s fine. I got some clothes that have probably been begging to see daylight again anyways.” Dude replied before he tried to think back to the days when he’d somewhat tried to dress in a alternative style (though unlike yours. Yours was much more beautifully crafted and traditionally goth than whatever he was doing.)

If he had to guess it was probably back in the early 2000s when he was still with his bitch of a ex. He would have maybe been even more darkly inclined back then if his ex didn’t give him as much of a hard time already for dressing ‘like a freak’ for wearing his old trench coat everywhere, even during the heat because it just felt nice to wear and was useful. But before he could let himself slip too far back into those depressing thoughts, he felt you suddenly untangling your hands. He looked back down at yours as he watched you slip one of your rings off your finger and onto his. Before he could ask anything, you faced towards him with a grin and joked “There. At least it will look like you tried to dress up anyways.”

He just sat there for a moment, looking at you and then the ring. Trying really hard not to think too hard about the fact that the feeling of wearing rings similar to ones you had on made his heart beat faster and got him thinking of giving you a certain ring. He’s sure you could tell though by the way he felt his cheeks get warmer. “Y-yeah. Whatever. I uh- I think we’re cutting it close yknow? I should probably start getting dressed now so…” he gently took you by your waist again, sliding you off his thighs and onto the couch before standing up and doing his best to ignore your confused reaction. “You okay?” You asked as you watched him scratch his head, a habit he does when he’s nervous. “Yeah..I-I’m good. Just gonna get dressed.” He stopped himself and tried to get his wits back. “Dont worry! I won’t take a whole half a day like you do.” He teased. To his relief you just rolled your eyes again and grinned. Taking this as a go ahead, he left to go dig whatever clothes he could up.

-

Once he came back in, you couldn’t help but swoon a bit over how handsome he looked. He’d mentioned something about having a black trench coat and black combat boots before but seeing them in person…along with some fucking killer band shirt with some spiked bracelets..now maybe you wanted Dude to entertain your thoughts like you were willing to do for him earlier. But this time you two really should be leaving so you’ll have to save those ideas for afterwards. He only seemed a little bashful at being in a style different than what he was used to for so long but he seemed to perk up after you got up and now were checking him out. “You…look super fucking hot in that babe.” You complimented him, chucking a little at just how taken back you were. Before he could be worried that the laughing that followed was because he looked dumb, you again took his hand and looked him up and down, biting your bottom lip a tad which, of course gave him his confidence back. “’Course I do! I can obviously rock anything.” He joked but you knew it really was the truth. This man could look hot in even a garbage bag in your eyes.

Agreeing with him with a little ‘mhm’, you gave him a kiss on the cheek (that would have to suffice for how you felt now). He grinned as you pulled away and you were going too until you noticed that you’d left a black lipstick stain on his cheek. You only stared at him for a minute but that was long enough for Dude to piece two and two together of what had happened, especially when you went to go wipe off his cheek. He grinned even more widely as he stopped you. “Like hell you’re getting rid of that sweetheart.” Ugh. “Cmon Dude you already look so nice and-” and for some god damn reason before he could hear you out, he decided to fucking run and burst out of the house before you could try again. You were stunned only for a second before he yelled out, “CMON WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE!” God. Like he expects you to run after him in your platform boots. You act like a normal human being and take your time getting everything together and locking the door behind you before you finally turn around to see Dude already in his truck, in the driver seat, waving for you to come on.

[bonky-n-steeb]

in the low lamp light I was free

— soft! dark! bucky barnes x therapist! reader

summary || you are perfect for Bucky, and now it’s his time to show you how he is the man you need in your life.

warnings || dom!bucky. dom/sub dynamics. unprotected sex. cheating. objectification. daddy kink. spanking. degradation. praise kink. breeding kink. subspace. oral sex. corruption kink. stalking. filthy bucky. possessive bucky. a lot of dirty talk. dacryphilia. petnames (angel). PWP — MINORS DNI 🔞 if any of this makes you uncomfortable then please do not read

I have decided to not do taglists anymore, so if you wished to be notified of my newest updates please follow @bonky-n-steeb-lib and turn on the notifications!

there’s a little surprise for y’all at the end ;) hope you guys like it!

You adjusted the glasses on the bridge of your nose as you read through the letter inviting you to a conference. Once you were done, you placed it on the other side of the table and looked over to the remaining stack of mails.

You picked up a yellow envelope which was much smaller than the rest. You turned it around, front and back, and noticed there no address written on it. That meant that it had not come from the postal service, so did someone hand deliver it? Odd.

You teared open the sticky seal and gasped when you looked at the photos packed inside. You checked each and every photo thoroughly, looking for clues of photoshop, but sadly, you found none. The pictures slipped from your hands and scattered across the table as you reeled back from the shock.

The pictures were of your husband, with another woman, in bed.

You shut your eyes closed as your head kept on playing those pictures again and again. You had trusted your husband. He was a good man, or so you had thought. But seeing those photos of him balls deep inside someone else shattered your heart.

You didn’t even realise you were crying your eyes out until someone knocked on the door. You wiped off the tears and sniffled before the door creaked open. You turned your chair around and dabbed your cheeks with the hem of your blouse before facing the desk again.

“Good morning!” Bucky’s chirpy voice took you by surprise. Amidst all this, you had forgotten that your first appointment of the day was with none other than Bucky Barnes. You put on a painful smile as he entered and shut the door behind him, “‘Morning.” You wished without any lustre.

Bucky’s eyes scanned your face before his brows furrowed. “Is everything okay?” He asked as he walked closer to you. You knew you looked like a terrible mess but everything was happening so suddenly, you didn’t know what to do.

Bucky’s eyes trailed from your sullen face to your unusually messy desk. You hid your face in your palms as you prepared yourself for his pity. But when Bucky saw those strewn pictures, all he said was, “Oh.” As if in understanding.

Of course Bucky knew who the man in the pictures was, you had a photo of your husband in your office a long time back, but then suddenly it had gone missing one day. After that you had kept it in mind that maybe tomorrow you’d replace it, but tomorrow never came.

It’s broke Bucky’s heart to see you cry, but it was necessary. You had to realise how worthless your husband was. All your husband needed was a little push from Bucky to fuck the girl as if he didn’t have a goddess like you at home.

Bucky wouldn’t do that. never.

Bucky loved you so much more than anyone else ever would.

Now, he just needed you to know that.

He was going to show you how much better he could be than everyone else. He could see how broken you were, but you didn’t have to worry about it, because Bucky was going to build you back. Bucky wanted you more than he needed air, and he wanted you to crave him just as much.

You were perfect for Bucky, and now it was his time to show you how he was the man you needed in your life.

You looked up with your tears to see Bucky staring at you with an unreadable expression. You were a therapist, and if there was someone who you still couldn’t read, it was Bucky Barnes. There was something deeper in his gaze that you could never tap. Something dark lurking beneath the murky blues.

He had made a lot of progress since his first time and you were proud of it. He was honestly a very sweet man, and you didn’t know why you sometimes thought it was all a mere facade. His actions never made you uncomfortable, but the way he stared at you was too intense.

Bucky walked over to the other side of the table, where you were seated. His approach was like that of a predator stalking his prey and you nervously gulped. You stared with wide eyes as he placed his warm hand on your cheek. The unexpected move took you by surprise.

You wanted to say something, anything, but seemingly words had ran out of your mouth. And all you could do was gape like a fish as he slowly wiped off your tear tracks. His thumb travelled down until it rested on your lip. He tugged on your lower lip and you nearly forgot how to breathe.

You were looking up at him like a disciple looking at God, your enamoured eyes wide yet unseeing.

“Let me help you forget him.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as the meaning of his words seeped in. Bucky was handsome and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. But he was your patient and you were married. You couldn’t do this, no matter how much you wanted to.

“Bucky, we can’t. You’re my patient and…” before you could speak further, Bucky shushed you. His eyes were electric and you were hypnotised with how beautiful he was. It was as if now that you were broken, the attraction for him, that you’d suppressed for so long, was leaking out of the cracks.

“You’ve helped me when I needed it. Let me help you now. Let me show you how much better I am than him; than anyone else.” His voice was deeper than usual and it sent tingles to your core. You closed your eyes to think and nuzzled his warm hand.

All your life, you had been the responsible one, the sensible one. But for once in your life, you just wanted to let go. You wanted to enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. And Bucky came along with a sinful promise of a great time.

“Yes, please.” Bucky smirked as he kneeled down to your level and pulled you into a kiss. It had been a long time, probably never, since you’d been kissed like that. His teeth were sharp as he nibbled on your lips and his lips were soft as he sucked on your tongue.

“You’re the angel in my life — the light in all this darkness. And I’m going to show you just how much you mean to me. I worship the ground you walk on, and I’ll show you how a goddess like you should be treated.” He mumbled against your lips.

Bucky removed your glasses and discarded them on the table. Now that he was closer, he kissed you until you were dizzy in your seat. You moaned in the kiss as he started unbuttoning your shirt. His flesh and metal arm were giving you the dual sensation of hot and cold and it was making goosebumps rise on your skin.

You arched your neck as Bucky started kissing down your throat. His hands removed your pants while he kept nibbling down your neck. He pulled your hips further until you were on the edge of your seat. His lips were wet as he looked up at you with blazing eyes as he pulled down your panties sensuously.

He spread your thighs apart and licked his lips as he eyed at your soaking pussy. He didn’t stop peering into your eyes as he licked a thick stripe up your wet folds. His blue eyes were hungry and the scene was the most erotic one you’d ever seen.

Your eyes closed of their own accord when he started sucking on your throbbing clit. You weaved your hand through his hair and held him close. Sizzling sensations travelled down your spine when he grunted. His stubble deliciously rubbed your inner thighs as he buried his face within your cunt with only his iridescent eyes staring into your eyes.

You chewed your lip to stop your moans but Bucky redoubled his efforts and you couldn’t stop anymore. You wiggled on his face and he held you tighter as he keenly observed your expressions. His tongue was lapping up your slick as if it was elixir of life. No one had been as passionate as Bucky and you were relishing the feeling.

His tongue licked from your clenching hole to your swollen clit before fucking into your hole. His warm tongue massaged your walls and your eyes rolled back into your head. You could feel the coil in your stomach tightening and you licked your dry lips, “Bucky… I’m going to cum.” You mumbled.

He hummed into sensitive petals and little vibrations were enough to send you over the edge. You clutched his head tighter and drenched his face in your slick as you came. Your legs tightened around his face and for a minute you grew worried but were unable to stop yourself as you experienced the waves of pleasure.

Your legs became slack as you came down from the high. Bucky’s face was shiny as he pulled back and he did a show of licking his lips. The fact that he just had you, but wanted more just sent you into a power drive. He leaned up but still kept his hands on your thighs.

“Did you like it?” He asked with a sweet smile. “Yeah. God, it was fantastic.” Your voice was breathy. You too had a silly smile on your face but when you turned your head around, you once again saw all those pictures splattered on your desk. Your smile must’ve fallen in an instant because Bucky’s face changed into something different.

“Looks like I haven’t yet fucked him out of your system.”

Bucky growled and it made you quake in your seat, with lust. His eyes were so dark, the sweet smile was long gone and now he looked like a man possessed. His this attitude was turning you on more than it was supposed to.

Bucky got up in a swift motion and and clutched your arm and pulled you up until you were standing too. Your legs were shaking, but you didn’t have it in yourself to stop Bucky. With a single quick sweep of his hand, Bucky pushed down every thing that was on your table, including those photos.

This time he wasn’t gentle when he pushed your face down on the table. You tried getting up, not because you wanted to, but because you wanted to see what Bucky would do. He kept his metal hand on your back, “Stay down.” He commanded pushing your legs further apart.

His voice was hard and it didn’t leave any place for an argument. The way he was manhandling you until you were bent on the desk was making you wet at your core. You could hear his zipper opening and the soft thud of his pants falling down. You gulped in excited anticipation to what would happen next.

You whimpered when you felt him rub his cock over your wet folds but that was all the indication you got before he slammed his length into your pulsing hole. You moaned out like a whore as you felt his thick cock stretching your walls. His cock was huge, suiting his super soldier status.

“Buck..” you sobbed out half his name as he began thrusting into you. He was hard and unrelenting and your desk was shaking with the force. You held the edge of the table tightly as you legs trembled with the way Bucky was pumping into you.

He was holding your hips tightly and he rammed into you from behind. Words and sounds you couldn’t comprehend left your lips as you lost yourself to the pleasure Bucky was giving you. His girthy cock was perfectly stimulating all the right spots.

“Did you get all dumb now, angel? Did daddy’s thick cock make you stupid?”

“Bucky!” You squealed out. His filthy words were actually making you shake to your core and you didn’t even know how that was possible. You let out a wailing cry when you felt Bucky’s metal arm slap your ass. “It’s daddy for you, angel.”

“Da… Daddy!” You cried out and the word seemed oddly perfect in your mouth. Bucky went harder when he heard you say that, it was as if he had waited all his life to just hear you call him daddy. Your fingers scraped uselessly over the ungiving wood as you tried to hold onto something.

“Yeah. Now that’s right. You’re so smart angel, but now your head’s empty, isn’t it? The only thing you can think about is my fat cock; and this is how it should be. You shouldn’t be stressing yourself with all this work, you should be keeping my cock warm. Don’t you want that?”

You blindly nodded as you didn’t even comprehend what he was saying anymore. You just knew that his words were arousing you more than ever and you never wanted him to stop fucking you. “Oh god. Fuck yes please daddy!” You mindlessly mumbled.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought of fucking you stupid on this table itself. Seeing you being all smart and suave just made me want to make you go silly on my cock.” Bucky knew you weren’t really listening, so he finally said the thing he wanted to say for so long. “Do you even know how much I love you.”

Your eyes were closed and your mouth was open as you drooled over the table and it was much better than he had ever imagined. Your body had gone lax as he kept ramming into you, finally channelling the need he shut inside him for so long.

“You like being just a hole for me, don’t you? Who would’ve thought you’re such a whore, angel. Or are you just a whore for me? Does he fuck you like this?” When you didn’t answer and just kept moaning, Bucky spanked you again. Your eyes flew open wide and he smirked as you came back to the land of the living.

“I asked, does he fuck you like this?” Your body was a hot wire ready to go off and Bucky asking you such question which were making you practically dizzy. Your husband did fuck you good, but never like this. “No daddy. Only you.”

Bucky’s chest swelled up with pride, “yeah. Only me. He must be such an idiot to not fuck this tight pussy every chance he got. Good for me though. You’re mine aren’t you?” He growled possessively. “Yes.” You meekly answered.

“I want everyone to know you’re mine. Maybe I should put a baby in you so that everyone will know who you belong to.” His words made your brain completely short circuit. “Daddy! Please… please please!”

“Yeah? You want that too? God, you’re so good for me. So perfect for me. I can’t wait to cum deep inside you until you’re swollen with my child. I’d take such good care of you. You’d look so pretty, all glowing and lovely.” His words were too much and you couldn’t stop yourself anymore.

Your orgasm hit you like a train, hard and high. Your face was drenched in sweat as your body actually shook from the force of it. Plasmic stars burst behind your eyes as you floated on the strong currents of your bliss.

Bucky fucked you through your orgasm and soon you felt his thrusts grow uncoordinated as he came inside you. He went as deep as he could as your orgasm became even more intense when you felt his hot cum fill you. Bucky was still mumbling but you were too out of it to even listen.

You both panted heavily as you laid on top of each other when you started coming down from the high. Bucky scooped you up in his arms as he settled back on the chair with you in his lap. You were too tired to do anything, so you just curled up on Bucky’s chest.

“Was I good?” You didn’t know why, but your ears were aching for Bucky to praise you and tell you how good you were. Maybe you would analyse yourself some time later, but now you were going to bask in the warm of the avenger.

“You were the best, my sweet angel. My good girl.” You preened happily and kept on floating when you heard Bucky dote on you. His thick arms around you were making you feel protected and safe, and though it was still morning, you dozed off on Bucky’s chest.

Bucky kept pressing kisses to your forehead as he took his phone out of the pocket of his pants which were lying next to the chair. He gave a victorious smile when he saw that the phone had recorded everything filthy word that had been said during your passionate endeavour.

He had opened the recorder app while unzipping his pants because he wanted to share a little gift with one of his friends. God, he wished he was in the room with your husband to see his face when he heard everything that had just gone down. He hated that bastard for keeping you from him and now he was going to give him the surprise of his life.

He had his number saved from a long time back, it wasn’t as if anything in your life was private from Bucky. He didn’t stalk you like some deranged guy, he just made sure you were okay as this world couldn’t be trusted, and who knew this better than him. He was giddy when he sent the recording to your husband and checked the name again to be sure it was the right person,

Ransom Drysdale

[noforkingclue]

An Uninvited Guest

Written for @zablife 1K followers celebration! Congratulations and of course I had to write something. I was originally going to go with something angsty but quickly changed my mind.

Hope you like the fic :D

Prompt: “I wasn’t invited. I just came.”

Pairing: Alfie x reader x Tommy

Peaky Blinders tag list: @stylesofloki, @ohshititsfenharel, @lenaskyler02

Thomas Shelby tag list: @alreadybroken-ts, @darlingdevil, @lyrxbz, @watercolorskyy

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You exhaled deeply as you heard shouts coming from outside the room. The party was in full swing so you weren’t surprised that no one else seemed to notice. You quietly slipped out of the room, missing the way Tommy’s eyes immediately locked onto you retreating figure.

“Is everything alright?” you asked the frazzled looking footman

“Miss l/n,” he said, trying his best not to sound too exhausted, “I was just explaining to this gentleman-“

“Y/n! Good to fucking see you!”

You couldn’t help but smile at Alfie’s voice. While Alfie was smiling at you, you could still hear the slightest hint of anger in his voice. Not directed at you, no, Alfie would never direct his anger at you. Probably because he wasn’t expecting any issue in getting into Tommy’s party.

“As I was explaining,” said the footman, “I asked this gentleman if he had an invite. I was informed that this was an invite only party.”

“Well,” you asked Alfie, already knowing the answer, “Do you have an invite?”

Alfie snorted and said,

“A fucking invite. I wasn’t invited. I just came. When I heard that Thomas Shelby was having a party in my fucking town of course I had to fucking come.”

You smiled and looked away from Alfie. You knew full well why he was here. The footman looked between you and Alfie, eyes narrowed and almost certain that he was missing something important.

“It’s ok,” you said eventually, “He can come in.”

“Mr Shelby said-“

“And this is my property,” you said, “I have just as much say about who I allow into my house as Thomas Shelby. More in fact.”

“Very well.”

You could tell the footman wasn’t happy and Alfie gave him a smug smirk as he pushed passed him. You gave Alfie a warning look which caused him to roll his eyes. Just as you were about to re-join the party Tommy stepped out. By now the footman had gone, leaving the three of you in an awkward silence. Tommy shut the door behind him, cutting off the sound of laughter and music.

“Alfie,” he said coldly, “Good to see you.”

“Thomas!” Alfie said loudly, “Good to see you! Guessing my invitation got lost in the post.”

“Must’ve been.”

“Postal service nowadays,” said Alfie, shaking his head, “Can’t fucking rely on them.”

“Of course.”

“Anyway, I’m fucking here now. How about a drink? Y/n, guessing you got the good shit.”

“As always.” You said

“Fucking great. Don’t worry though,” he gave you a wink, “Brought some of my own just in case. Thomas, always a fucking pleasure speaking to you.”

Alfie swung an arm around you shoulder and pushed his way into the party. Tommy closed his eyes as he heard Arthur shout in angry and Alfie’s joyful shouting. He had planned to use this party to get closer to you and not inviting Alfie was a deliberate act on his part.

Oh well, just because Alfie was here didn’t put a stop to Tommy’s plans. Eventually you were going to fall into his arms and then there would be nothing Alfie could do. The sound of breaking glass and Arthur’s shouting dragged Tommy back into reality. But firstly, he had to save yours and his party. He doubt that you would be very happy with him or his brothers if all of your glasses got smashed.

[kazosa]

Summary: you and Jensen have been pen-pals and friends since you were kids. You were always attracted to your friend but were never able to act on it... After an incident occurs and Jensen spirals downward and eventually falls off the radar for a while, his mother enlists your help to find him and bring him back. Will your feelings for him come to light, or will you fall back into your old buddy routine?

Pairing: female reader x Jensen Ackles

Word count: 9200

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, sexual situations, skinny dipping, talk of abuse and exploitation

Author's note: please remember this is just fiction and not intended to be disrespectful to any real life people, this is merely how I want him to be in this situation

Big thanks to @coffee-obsessed-writer for creating the banner and helping me edit this monster

You had suspicions about where Jensen might be hiding out but you didn’t want to give up his location if he wasn’t actually there. Not to mention, you didn’t know if anyone else knew about his cabin. He must have kept it a secret from everyone if no one knew where to look for him to confirm if he was okay.

It surprised you to see he had a mailbox at the end of the road. All it had printed on it was “Wayne”. It gave you hope that you were in the right spot and he would be there. The postal carrier was the only person you could find who both knew of the cabin and would give you a lift up there. He was done with his route and you’d caught him at the local convenience store in your search for Jensen.

“You know the guy?” the carrier asked.

You nodded, putting your phone back in your pack.. You hadn’t seen him since before COVID, but you would still sometimes get texts from him and video calls, but those hadn’t been as regular as you would have liked. The last communication you’d gotten from Jensen had been over a month ago and it had only been an emoji, which was very unlike him. He always wrote out everything and didn’t even use abbreviations.

“Have you seen him?” you asked.

“No, but I deliver a lot of stuff here. Instructions say to just leave there,” he pointed to a cement pad with a small roof over it. “It’s always gone next time I come by.”

You thought about it for a moment. “That’s okay, I think he would prefer you didn’t. Thanks for the ride, Glen.” 

“Get a lot of traffic up here?”

“Not really,” he shook his head. “Just residents or people who get lost. You want me to drive you up there?”

Glen raised his hand in goodbye before slowly pulling away from the drive. You couldn’t see anything past 50 yards up the road that would indicate anyone even lived up there. The road disappeared around a curve, getting lost in the trees.

You looked down at your trail shoes and hoped they would stand the test they were about to endure.

“Of course he’s gotta pick a goddamned mountain,” you muttered as you began the hike into the unknown.

He only had a few more logs to chop before he would call it a day. Still not sure if he would spend the winter on the mountain, or not, he didn’t want to get caught without firewood. Either way, it was good exercise and he would rather be safe than sorry.

He moved a log onto the stump and swung a few times before he caught movement out the corner of his eye. He swung again with a grunt and the log gave a satisfying crack, splitting about halfway down. He pulled the axe out, slung it to his bare shoulder and took a few steps toward whomever was dumb enough to hike up this far.

No way was the figure walking toward you was the man you were looking for. He looked like an actual mountain man with long hair and beard. His body was thick with muscle and shiny with sweat. If it weren’t for those tell-tale bow legs, you would never have recognized him from that far away.

“Who the hell are you?” he bellowed, holding the axe in front of him with both hands.

“Jay? Is that you?” you called out. Jesus, he can be scary, you thought. The only time you ever heard that particular tone of voice was when he was mad, and it was rarely ever directed at you, if at all.

“What are you doing here? How did you find this place,” he was a little closer now, his voice still booming.

“Jesus, Jensen, it’s me, (Y|N), and you told me you were here!”

“(Y|N)?”

You nodded.

“I texted you that a month ago.”

“I know, but you left your phone in Texas and no one could get in touch with you, dumbass!”

“I told everyone who needed to know that I was taking some time for myself.”

“A fucking cabin emoji is pretty goddamned cryptic.”

His tough exterior deflated a little.

“Shit,” he rubbed his hand over his face. He’d been gone too long without contact.

You shrugged your pack off your shoulders and pulled out your phone. Somehow, out in the boonies, you had one bar. Finding the name you needed in the list, you hit ‘send’ and listened as it rang.

“Hi Donna,” you walked toward Jensen, “yeah, I have some good news… yep, I’m with him right now and he’s fine…” you were within arms reach now, “hold on, he’s right here.” You held out the phone, “Talk to your mother.”

Jensen took the phone from you and talked to his mom while you went to grab your pack. He walked behind you and took your pack before you could even heft it to your shoulder, easily putting the strap over one of his arms. He motioned for you to walk with him while his mom gave him the business.

“Mhm… yes, ma’am… mom… mom, I’m sorry… yes, ma’am… you’re right, I’m sorry… I don’t know… no, I’m not sure I’m ready yet… I promise…” he sighed, rolled his eyes and hit the speaker button.

“(Y|N)?”

“I’m here,” you answered.

“Thank you for finding him and letting me talk to him.”

“Of course, Donna.”

“Please let me know when you leave, okay?” she asked.

“I will.”

“Jensen, I love you. Don’t scare me like that again.”

“No, ma’am,” he answered.

Donna disconnected and Jensen handed your phone back to you. You walked in silence for a while. Only the sounds of nature and shoes on the ground. It was a really pretty and peaceful piece of land. The road took you toward his cabin and ran parallel to the stream nearby. There was a small dock over the water. The cabin was in line with the dock and partially went over the water, too.

“Took you long enough,” he broke the silence.

“Um, that was over a month ago. Second, we’ve gone longer without talking. Third, you left your phone in Texas. What was I supposed to use, telepathy? And four, once your mom said you were missing, I figured it out and came up here. Which, by the way, was not easy to do and hard as fuck to hike up to. Because, of course, you chose a fucking mountain to hide out on.”

“What?”

“I texted you a month ago.”

“I knew you’d figure it out,” he grinned.

He leaned the axe against the cabin wall, turned the door handle and pushed open the cabin door. He let you go in first, following you in and put your pack against the wall by the door. You did a quick look around and noted there were only two rooms, one being closed off with a door. The rest of the space was all one room including a kitchen, a living space and a small area to eat, all constructed of stone and wood. There was a large fireplace on the wall that was over the water with a chair and side table situated near it. The back corner of the cabin had the kitchen and the main space had a daybed that doubled as bedroom and living space.

“And now you’ve seen the whole place,” he said. “Make yourself at home, I’m gonna go get cleaned up.”

You expected him to go into the room with the door, which you assumed was the bathroom. Instead, he grabbed a towel and went outside with what looked like 2 bars of soap. Before you even registered what was going on, he was already outside and stripping by the stream. Unabashedly, you followed him out just in time to see his bare butt disappear into the water.

“Get a good look?” he asked when he caught you.

Over the years, you’d seen him in various states of attire, or lack thereof, but you’d never seen him fully undressed.

“No! Why don’t you do it again,” you called out.

You’d always been attracted to Jensen, and flirted with him, but it never went any further than that. You’d met him by accident in 1994 when you went on a family vacation to Dallas. He wasn’t even supposed to be there. You liked to think that fate had thrown you two together. After that summer in Texas, you became pen-pals. Every summer, you begged your parents to go back to Texas. Eventually, through letters and those trips, you’d gotten to know each other’s families and would still send letters. When you became adults, it was easier to meet up more often and exchange phone numbers.

You leaned on the porch railing and really looked at this god of a man and wondered how it was you’d gotten so lucky to have met him and to have kept him in your life for so long. His career had skyrocketed and he could have left behind the summer vacation friend, but he hadn’t. Why were you the one he’d chosen to let know where he was? What was he expecting?

“Earth to (Y|N)!”

Your focus snapped back to Jensen in the stream. He motioned for you to turn around.

“Prude!”

“I’m shy,” he was beginning to shiver. “Wanna make it even and show me yours?”

Countless times, you had thought of offering just that, but your own shyness had never let you… not to mention your body image. You sighed and went back inside the cabin. Not much time passed before a soaked Jensen came back into the cabin wearing the towel and a t-shirt you hadn’t seen him take outside. Quickly, he was dressed and back in the main room with you, this time with jeans and bare feet.

“I barely recognized you when you walked up, you’ve changed,” he said.

“Me?” you’d only cut your hair and walked a little more often. “Look at you mountain man. I’ve never seen your hair this long. Not even on Dawson’s Creek…and the beard!”

He nodded in resignation, “Fair point. You look good though.” A few beats ticked by, “It’s good to see you.”

You sat with him on the daybed. “You could have just called before disappearing. What’s with all the secrecy? Doesn’t anyone know you have this place? Also, how come I’ve never been here, it’s amazing!”

“Thank you. Honestly, I just wanted this place to be for me. Kind of reminds me of the summers we had. It’s a good place to get my head right, sort of reset…”

He didn’t answer your question.

“It’s good to see you, too. Even through all of that hair,” you gently pushed his hair away from his forehead.

“It’s been too long. Do you want a drink?” he asked, standing up quickly, like the feelings were hitting him too hard.

You supposed he did need a break from the onslaught. You knew his life could be overwhelming and it made sense that he needed the cabin to relieve the stress. The media could be extremely intrusive and you knew that things had happened to drive him out of the public eye, but this had been extreme.

“Sure,” you said, and pulled out a few things from your pack.

“How long can you stay,” he asked from the small kitchen.

Jensen was waiting to hear your answer. You stood back up and took a few short steps to cross the cabin to where he was waiting for your response. The look in his eyes broke your heart. What had happened was tearing him up. You touched his arm and he turned fully toward you. Not even thinking about it, you reached up and pulled him down into a hug. His beard scratched at your skin as he nuzzled into your neck. 

“I can stay as long as you can stand me,” you whispered, your hand stroking the back of his neck. He was giving you a bear hug and you tried to return the comfort.

You knew what had happened, but only after the fact. When Donna called you to find him, you knew it was serious and had done deeper research, including where to find him.

He never wanted her to leave. She always did that self-deprecating thing where she minimized herself and her importance, but he was always sad when their visits came to an end. He sent her that text hoping she would come. He needed his friend. She seemed like the only person he could trust and she always told him exactly what she thought about anything. It was all so overwhelming, the scandal, the shame, his feelings for his friend…

Eventually, he pulled away, but you wouldn’t let him go. You held his face in your hands forcing him to face you, but he was having a hard time making eye contact. His eyes were red and his face was a little damp. You used the palms of your hands to dry his eyes.

“Whatever it is you’re going through, you can tell me. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t care. Anytime you’re ready. I’ll follow your lead. What do you want to do? Work? Bullshit? Chill on the porch with our drinks?” you offered.

. “Yeah,” his voice was still a little emotional. “Let’s take these outside, it’s a great view.”

Because Jensen is who he is, he had his porch swing set up to overlook the most perfect view of the stream and woods surrounding his land. He held the swing for you so you could get in and get comfy. It wasn’t a typical swing. It was more like a bed inside a pod that could completely enclose two adults inside. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket which he tossed to you. Somehow, he rolled into the swing like a cat and didn’t spill a drop of his drink.

“That’s some Jedi-ninja shit right there. Expert category drinker stuff,” you admired.

“I’ve practiced,” he said. The swing swayed a bit as he pulled in his long legs. “C’mere,” he patted his shoulder, “bring the blanket, it gets chilly at night.”

He was half sitting up against the wall of the pod. You thought for a moment about how you should rest against him. You wanted to cuddle into him, but he was your friend and didn’t want to do something unwanted. Instead, you scooted to sit next to him and he draped his arm around you.

“This is really nice,” you said. The two of you had known each other a long time and had even spent a lot of time together alone, but this time was different. He wanted you, maybe even needed you, to be near him. Nothing was pressing either of you to be somewhere else, or to do anything else. It was just the two of you and you had time to enjoy the company. Being in the pod with him was way more intimate, like maybe you weren’t just friends anymore.

You looked out at the landscape and were feeling very relaxed and happy with the help of the drink Jensen had made for you. The hike up the mountain had definitely helped your eyelids start to feel heavy.

“You sleep out here, don’t you?” you asked, already knowing the answer.

“Damn right I do,” he took a drink. “Gets hot in the house in summer.”

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not complaining, but why me? I’m sure there has to be someone else you’d rather have up here…”

“Why not you? Sometimes… Sometimes… I wish I weren’t this version of me.”

“If you weren’t an extremely handsome guy, the world at his feet, with the best pen-pal ever, who would you be?” you asked.

You could feel him shrug next to you, “I don’t know. I like who I am when you’re around… maybe a carpenter, or bartender who does karaoke on weekends and the best pen-pal ever visits whenever she can. I just want to be the guy I am when you’re around. I like him.”

You sat up and turned to look at him. Leaning over his legs you put your glass on the porch and took his drink to do the same before sitting back up.

“I think you’d be a great bartender,” you said. When you leaned back this time, you tucked into his side and wrapped your arm over his body, “Or a lumberjack,” you giggled, gripping his bicep. His strong body squeezed you tightly to him and you thought you might be in heaven.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he said.

“I missed you, too,” you said. “I wish I had the freedom to visit whenever, but… I could… it would take time, though.”

“What’d you say to get out of work this time?” he asked.

“Told ‘em the truth. I said, and this is a quote, ‘My idiot friend has fallen off the radar and he’s scaring the shit out of his mother, so I need to go find him, ‘cause if I don’t and his mom finds him, she will do to him what she fears has already happened to him’.”

He chuckled knowing the absolute truth of what she said, “And what did they say?”

“They were concerned that, not only do I have a friend, but that he’s also missing and asked for a picture to help spread the word. Naturally, I declined and said my friend is hideous and any hungry wildlife would be doing us a favor if they took him out, but they insisted on seeing your mug.”

Jensen was silently laughing, his chest shuddering with laughter.

“Did you show them?”

“Yeah, I did. No one ever believes I know you. They just rolled their eyes and asked me to be serious. I said no-can-do buckaroo and lit out of there.”

“You got the time off?” he wheezed.

“No idea. I needed to get my stuff together and figure out your one emoji text meaning with zero context. Your confidence in my sleuthing ability is flattering… one fucking clue…”

“There were two,” he was catching his breath now.

“Are you serious?! You are so lucky I have a good memory.”

“Bullshit. Your memory is garbage. I know you keep the letters.” he said.

“Listen here, fucker… my memory may be garbage, and, alright, I do keep them, but at least I knew where to look! Don’t act like you don’t keep mine, too,” you countered.

“I’m not a sentimental simp like you.”

“Yes, you are! Maybe you don’t keep the letters, but you do have them all locked away in that brain of yours. You love my letters… butthole.”

“They’re so eloquent,” he laughed.

The back and forth between you had gotten animated and the swing still swayed for a few more moments.

“God, I’m glad you’re here,” he said, wiping his eyes.

“Well, it might be permanent after the shit I pulled, so, lucky you. You might owe me a job,” you warned.

“That can be arranged,” he spoke too soon. He didn’t know if he would even be going back to work acting. He didn’t know if he had destroyed his career, or if he would be accepted back into the fold. He would probably have to testify at some point.

“Hey, where’d you go?” you asked.

“Uh, just drifted off for a sec,” he said.

You wondered where he had drifted.

“Wanna go back inside? My drink is empty,” you asked.

He gave her a nod and watched her struggle to get out of the pod making it swing wildly back and forth.

“Got an ETA on that exit, hot shot?” he asked.

No sooner had he gotten the words out of his mouth than (Y|N) lost her balance and tumbled backward into him.

Jensen let out a little “oof” when you fell backward. The swing was going all over the place, making you feel more dizzy. You struggled to get your bearings and finally were able to get your hand placed to push yourself up only to see Jensen looking back at you. Only vaguely were you aware of his hand on your back.

“That drink was stronger than I thought,” you sputtered, staring at his mouth so close to your own.

“Lightweight,” a soft smile touched his lips.

“I think I need help getting out of this thing,” you conceded, still lying on his chest.

In one smooth movement, he had you lying on your back, looking up at him. His bodyweight pressed into you, heightening the intensity of the moment. Cautiously, your hands went to his back and shoulder. The gamut of emotion ran over his eyes. His mouth moved toward yours, but stopped. You moved your hand from his shoulder to cup his neck, your thumb on his jaw. Gently, you pulled him closer, letting him know you wanted him, too.

His mouth met yours, soft at first, quickly becoming more urgent. Your hands pulled up his shirt and Jensen pulled it off in one quick motion. Just as quickly, you pulled off yours. He kissed you again as he undid your pants. He laid you back and kissed you all over your body and down your belly. Your head was spinning from euphoria and barely noticed he had laid you completely bare for him. He removed his clothes before he moved between your legs, kissing up your thighs. His hands went under you, gripping your hips before he buried his face in your folds, devouring you. Your body responded to him in ways no one had ever brought forth in you. Sounds you didn’t even know you were capable of making… you clutched one of his hands and his hair as he brought you to one of the hardest orgasms you’d ever had. He kept working your body until your orgasm finally subsided allowing you to relax.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

Jensen wasn’t done with you yet. He crept up your body, worshiping every inch. His large hands cupped your breasts, softly massaging them, his fingertips brushing over your nipples making them rise to a peak.

“Just call me Jensen,” he said, pulling your leg up to his hip. His hand caressing your leg, knee to thigh.

“Smartass,” you said, kissing him.

“We should have done this a long time ago,” he said, touching your hair. He paused, “Has no one ever made you…”

You laughed, “No, not like that. Gawd, not like that.”

He laid between both of your legs and looked at you before tracing lines on your chest. “What a shame.”

“Hey, come up here, let me look at you,” you told him.

He pushed himself up and over your leg so you could lie next to him and up on your elbow. You couldn’t help but keep kissing him, his chest, his neck, nibbling on his ears. He pulled and pushed you on top of him and you reveled in the feel of his body under yours. So warm and strong. Still wet from before, he easily slid into you as he sat up with you on him. You both groaned with pleasure as his cock filled you. He buried his face in your chest and leaned you back to suck and bite on your nipples. He was getting your blood to flow in all the right places and you were getting desperate for relief. You tried to move your hips a little, but Jensen wouldn’t let you, grasping you tightly around your waist, forcing you to hang onto his neck and shoulders, for dear life.

The things he could do with his tongue were driving you crazy. If you didn’t get some relief soon, you were going to scream. You were already making noises. He was doing things you didn’t know were possible. He was doing things that were both extremely pleasurable and agony at the same time. He finally let you wrap your legs around his waist. What had earlier felt like pure animal lust, turned into tender love-making. He let you touch and caress his body how you wanted, moving your body with him inside you. You couldn’t keep your lips away from his. You wrapped your arms and legs tightly around him and he rolled you onto your back, pushing all the way into you, making you groan loudly, arching your head back. He looked into your eyes as he began to move again, slowly. He took his time as he brought you both to ecstasy.

“Oh my god, Jensen,” you muttered as he made you cum again.

Jensen shuddered with a moan and collapsed onto you with his face in your neck, breathing heavily. After a moment, he gave you another sensual kiss and carefully rolled off of you.

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “My legs are gonna be so sore tomorrow,” you laughed.

“I’ll give you a massage,” he offered.

You looked for your clothes in the darkness but didn’t find them and not knowing where Jensen threw them, you pulled on the t-shirt he had been wearing before this out-of-the-blue release happened.

“Whaaaat just happened?” you wondered aloud.

“Greaaat sex,” he sighed.

“Oh my god, yeah, but…”

“I really needed that,” he put a hand on your thigh.

You really needed it, too, but you wondered if it were for the same reason of pent up lust for your friend of almost thirty years.

“The sex? You could have had that with anyone. I have literally seen women faint in your presence.”

He tensed up a little. You could hear him roll his eyes rather than see them. “Come here,” you heard him pat his chest. He pulled you into his side and you laid on his shoulder. He grabbed the edge of the blanket and flung it over both of you. He held you snugly to him as he talked drowsily.

“I didn’t want ‘anyone’,” he said. “I wanted you,” he kissed your forehead.

“Me? Really?” you’d thought for sure your desire had been one-sided all this time.

“Yeah, but you or I were always with someone. It just never worked out to give us a try.”

“This day keeps getting stranger and stranger,” you muttered.

“You mean in a good way, right?” he teased.

You nodded knowing he would feel your answer.

“How long have you felt like this?” you asked.

“Remember when we met up the 2nd or 3rd time? It was either right before or right after I got Days and we were in Texas, and you met my buddy, Kenny?”

“Yeah?” you barely remembered Kenny, but what you did remember was, “Oh yeah, that was the summer you were a dick.” It finally hit you, “You were a jealous dick! Oh my god!”

It felt like a revelation.

“You were loving all of that attention from him,” he grumbled.

The memories were coming back in force.

“I really don’t remember Kenny, I just remember you being a grouch,” you said.

“I know, I was a shit,” he admitted.

You clung to him, “I forgave you.” You were feeling sleepy and had no idea what time of night it was. A wave of sadness hit you. “I should have told you how I felt… when we said goodbye, I knew… when you…”

“When I kissed you before you got on the plane,” he finished.

“I knew way back then, you would always be the one that got away.”

Somehow he held you even tighter, “Can’t be the one that got away if I never let you go.”

You couldn’t remember a time you’d slept so soundly. Sleeping out on the porch almost felt like being on a boat and it lulled you into a deeper sleep.

When morning came and Jensen was gone, you briefly wondered if it had all been a dream. You were still in the swing with the blanket covering you and wearing Jensen’s shirt. Your movement to look for him caused the swing to turn and you saw him sitting on the porch in his jeans with his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees. The sun was just starting to come up and he was watching the horizon.

More graceful this time, you got out of the swing, taking the blanket with you. The man had the audacity to look good with a savage case of bedhead. You draped the heavy blanket over both of you as you sat down next to him. He took the blanket and held it in place while you put your arm around his waist and leaned into his side. The blanket was big enough to enclose you both and let you sit on a bit of it so your butt wouldn’t freeze.

“I see why you like it here. It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“It’s where I come to reset. Just taking longer this time,” he said quietly as he put his arm around you. “It helps having you here.”

“Did you sleep?” you asked.

He waggled his hand, so-so. “You’re like a furnace.”

“You’re welcome?”

He leaned in for a soft, good morning kiss.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Sore as hell, but happy. Not gonna lie, it’s been a while. Definitely not how I thought the night would end after hiking up a damned mountain,” you smiled and nudged him. “How are you? How’s your brain?”

He took a moment to think about it and what happened the night before. “Better than I was 24 hours ago.” He debated how much to tell her about why he needed to disappear and why this cabin and what it all meant to him.

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m starving.”

Inside the cabin, Jensen said he would get some breakfast going and you told him you were going to use his shower. He let you know the tank isn’t very big and takes a while to refill.

“Got it, turn it off when not needed,” you said. He tapped the side of his head with one finger then pointed at you and turned back to getting the food ready. You didn’t bother washing your hair, it didn’t need it yet, and you doubted you would be able to get it clean with the lack of water pressure. That was probably the reason why Jensen went to the stream to get cleaned up, you supposed. You went as quickly as you could since the delicious smell of breakfast was wafting into you.

When you emerged, Jensen had made pancakes, bacon and eggs for you both. He was drinking what you assumed was coffee while he waited for you. 

“You coulda told me to hurry up,” you said.

“Um,” he realized he was staring, “I just put it on the table.”

“Something wrong?” you asked

“No,” he said quietly and motioned for you to have a seat at the table.

“About last night,” you began. “What happens now? Do we pretend like it didn’t happen and carry on like usual? Or can this go somewhere?”

He wanted nothing more than to see where things could go together. Their timing had never been right. Even when they first met, he shouldn’t have even been there. He was supposed to have gone to a camp and had missed the bus. It had pissed off his parents enough to not let him stay home alone while the rest of the family went on vacation. While at the resort, (Y|N) had literally bumped into him and he was hooked.

They had become fast friends and when she’d suggested being pen-pals, he loved the idea. He’d told her things in those letters that he never told anyone. They’d bared their souls to each other in those letters. When he needed her, she was always there, no judgment. She never pulled punches with him and always gave her brutally honest opinion when he asked for it and sometimes when he didn’t, but those were the times when he needed to hear it most. He knew he could trust her with anything. He’d kept her away from the spotlight, fiercely protecting her privacy. The media could be so invasive and if they’d ever found out who she was to him, or asked her for a comment, she’d never told him about it.

Any time he had seen her, he’d think about asking her out, but she was always in a relationship, or he was. They would meet up and it was just easy to fall into the familiar “buddy” routine that they had going so well.

Last night had been completely different. A little liquid courage had gone a long way for them both. Maybe it had been the fatalist attitude he’d adopted of late, but he’d wanted to see if it would happen naturally and it had, much to his delight.

“Hold on,” he said, “I need you to read something.”

He got up from the table and went to the daybed. He pulled out a box from underneath and brought it to the table. (Y|N) was watching him closely and she didn’t miss much.

“‘Nova Stuff’, huh?” she noticed her codename on the box. “I thought I was the sentimental simp?”

She saw him digging through the box.

“Alright,” he admonished, “don’t get all cocky.”

“That’s all you,” she snickered, taking another bite of her food.

“Enough from the peanut gallery,” he said. She was trying to make him laugh and he loved her for it.

“Elephants like peanuts…” she was almost crying trying to hold in how amused she was with herself.

“Is that all you think about?” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It is now!” she had to wipe her eyes. “Oh man, I really needed that laugh!”

“Happy to help,” he tried to sound miffed.

“Don’t be mad,” she chuckled, “I tease you out of love and I only tease the people I love most.”

“You love me?” He held the letter he was looking for in his hand. It had all of the sordid details in it and some things TMZ hadn’t dredged up. If he didn’t give it to her, maybe she wouldn’t find out about what he’d done and why he’d been stowed away in the cabin for over a month. He put the box on the floor and held the letter in between his hands. Finally, he laid it down and pushed it across the table to her. “You might change your mind after reading that. Everything is in there, all of it.” He said it like he had to force the words out. He pushed his chair back from the table, clasped his hands on top of his head, and looked up at the ceiling.

  You took the envelope and flipped it over to see his familiar scrawl addressing the letter to you.

“Let me tell you a little something, Jensen Ross Ackles. When my friend’s mom calls me up and says her oldest child has gone on a trip, no one’s heard from him in a month, and asks me to help her find him… If you think I’m not going to Dean Winchester the shit out of the situation, do you even know me?”

You got up from your chair and left behind the letter to sit on his lap. You put one arm around his shoulders and raised your hand to touch his face, “You saw some scary shit. It fucked you up, as it would for any normal person. You’ve been working so hard and traveling all over the world. You dealt with it in a way that maybe you didn’t realize was destructive in the moment. It happens. That skank was arrested for filing a false report. Everyone stuck up for you, everyone. No one believed her. It was clear she was just trying to drag you down. Your parents released a statement saying you were taking some time off and now, it’s just been a waiting game until I found you.”

You looked at his sad eyes and read the question he couldn’t ask.

“No, my sweet boy, I didn’t believe a word of it,” you brushed the hair away from his face. “How could I ever believe it?” You kissed his exposed skin. “Aside from my mom, you are the only other person who has been consistently in my life for so long. I know you, Jensen.” You kissed his lips. “And if I had known you would become such a good kisser, I would have upped my flirting game.”

“Your game was pretty good,” he said.

“It didn’t work, though.”

“One or both of us was always with someone else. What was I supposed to do with that?” he asked.

“You were supposed to realize your unending love for me and ditch whomever you were with and run away with me. Or fight the person I was with for my hand. But you were a ‘gentleman’.” you changed your voice and used air-quotes for emphasis.

He seemed to consider your words for a moment before sweeping you up into his arms and carrying you to the bed.

His skin felt warm and smooth under your touch. You couldn’t help but want to get to know every part of his body. He was in fantastic shape and you felt dumpy as hell next to him. Unconsciously, you pulled a blanket over you.

“Are you cold?” he sounded sleepy.

“No, just self-conscious,” you admitted.

“Stop it, you’re perfect.”

“I jiggle.”

“Don’t do that. There isn’t a single bit of you that isn’t perfect. You are exactly who I want,” he tried to assure you.

“Do you know I love you?” you asked, your hand resting over his heart.

“I know,” he paused. “I love you back.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up that something was wrong earlier. I should have known as soon as you sent that stupid emoji.” you said. “You know what’s weird about you? Your complete lack of chest hair. I always thought you shaved.”

“You know what’s weird about you? Your inability to not say exactly what you’re thinking.”

“I mean, you’re so preppy… I thought it was a thing you did… but you really are dolphin-smooth.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he tackled you.

After a little power nap, you decided to let Jensen sleep while you made yourself useful outside. Seriously under-equiped for cabin life, you made do with leggings, t-shirt, and trail shoes. You slipped your phone into your pocket and quietly went outside. There was a wood carrier near the door, which you grabbed and started for where you had seen Jensen the day before to gather the wood.

When he woke up (Y|N) was gone and her spot on the bed next to him was cold. A wave of panic hit him and he pulled on his pants to look for her. He dashed onto the porch and checked the swing.

(Y|N)!” he yelled.

A noise behind the house alerted him and (Y|N) popped out from around the corner. 

“I’m right here!” she said, hand on her chest. “Are you okay?”

“Where were you?”

She held out the wood sling. “I was just bringing over the wood from yesterday. You seemed like you needed the sleep, so I didn’t wake you.”

That look was on his face again. The sadness that he’d been carrying around like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

“You’re not going to get rid of me, Jensen.” you said.

“Let me get dressed, I’ll help you.” 

It only took a little while for the two of you to haul over the loose pieces and for Jensen to finish the other logs he had. Even though it was somewhat quick work, it was strenuous and you were both sweating.

“If all of your fangirls could see you now… they would lose their ever lovin’ shit,” you said marveling at him, too.

Jensen looked at himself, covered in dirt, wood chips and sweat, “Seriously?”

You nodded. “You’re checking a lot of boxes.”

“Well I feel disgusting,” he said, flipping the axe into the stump with force. He looked over at you after you made a strange sound and saw you make a checkmark with your finger and a mischievous grin. “Y’all are dirty.”

The two of you collected the last bits and carried them to the cabin. If you weren’t filthy before, you definitely were now.

“Speaking of dirty,” you began, “what do we do about this?”

He waved you over to follow him down to the stream and dock where you both kicked off your shoes. You should have seen it coming, but you didn’t. Jensen grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you with him into the water. You barely got your feet under you and stood up in the water, Jensen emerging right next to you.

“It’s a lot quicker than the shower,” he grinned. “Sometimes the fish get curious, though.”

You jumped on him, clinging to his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist. 

He laughed, throwing his head back and for a moment, he looked like the boy you had known so long ago. 

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt, it’s just weird when they brush against you,” he explained.

“That’s not comforting,” you argued.

He just laughed and slowly spun you in the water, eventually dipping down til your shoulders were almost submerged.

Eventually she began to relax a little and could enjoy the water with him. It was cool and felt good after a day of hard work. She even got brave enough to put her feet down, but not enough to let go of his hand. Every moment he spent with her, he felt a little bit better. He should never have let her get on that airplane all those years ago. He just felt like a better person when he was with her.

“Human again?” he asked.

“Mm, yes, much better,” she agreed. “Also, can we talk about all of the hair?”

“What’s wrong with it?” he stroked his bushy beard.

“It’s definitely a look,” she said. She seemed to be doing something under the water. “And I’m not mad at it at all, it’s really working for you.” She held up her leggings and threw them at the dock landing with a wet plop and a soft ‘thump’. He became very intrigued by what she was doing. “My cha-cha, however, IS mad.”

“Excuse me? Your ‘cha-cha’?” he asked.

“Mhm. My downstairs kitty, vulva, specifically.”

“Any other notes?” he asked, amused.

“Oh no, we were quite pleased with the performance. We’re not asking for it to go away, just maybe a trim?”

She stood up straight in the water and pulled off her shirt, throwing it aside as she moved closer to him. He inhaled sharply at the sight of her. Her hands went to his jeans while he worked on his shirt. He quickly removed them when she threw his shirt on the dock next to hers. When he turned back to her, her bra was gone and she took his breath away…

You liked the way Jensen looked at you. It made you feel like you were queen of the world. He looked like he was ready to either devour you whole, or love on your body for hours. Either way, you would be happy. Never would you have guessed that your search would have led you here. Not just to the mountain and Jensen, but to this new chapter of your lives together.

You stood on your toes and pressed against his chest to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed you back, seeming to relish in you.

“I think you better take me inside, sir.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We should have done this a long time ago,” you said.

“I’m about to get dehydrated,” he said.

You gave him a playful swat on his butt. “No, I mean, you and me.”

“The things that happened before needed to happen so we could be here now. We did what was right for us at the time,” he said.

“I just feel like we missed out on a life together,” you said. 

“I don’t feel like I missed out on anything with you. There are people I have known just as long, but none are as important to me as you. You are the person I always wanted to talk to first. I loved it whenever we could get together. This last couple years sucked, but we had video calls, at least.”

“Speaking of that, you owe me a new phone, too. Your mom is gonna be so pissed,” you teased.

A few weeks passed and Jensen ordered a phone for you, adding you to his plan. The two of you were enjoying every moment together. Eventually, you needed to go to the local store for supplies and managed to run into Glen while you were there.

“Oh, hello there, young lady. Did you find your guy?” he asked.

“I did,” you answered, “that’s him back there.” You turned to see Jensen looming behind you, almost glowering at Glen from under a trucker hat. “Be nice,” you mouthed to him.

“Got you a good, strong one there,” he said, still wary.

“Not much of a people person right now,” you explained.

“‘Least he’s got you to soften him up a bit.”

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s really very sweet and he treats me right,” you said. 

“You folks plannin’ on staying the winter?” he asked.

“We actually need to talk about that yet,” you realized aloud.

“Best get on it. Winter comes early up here. You need to be prepared in case you get stuck,” Glen warned.

“Thanks, Glen,” you said with a smile.

“Thanks, Glen,” you heard Jensen mutter in a mocking tone from behind you.

Glen returned your smile and left you with a tip of his hat, so you and Jensen could finish your shopping.

You ignored Jensen for the moment, but things needed to be talked about whether he liked it or not.

The store you were in was, technically, a convenience store, but it had a very large grocery section since most of the locals didn’t want to go to the nearest large town with a proper grocery. Jensen gave you his keys so you could go out to the truck while he took the cart to the checkout and paid for everything.

When he came out, you tried to help, but he shoo’d you away. He loaded everything in the back and brought the cart back inside the store, before finally getting back in the truck with you. After starting the truck and putting it in gear, he slowly pulled away from the little store and headed toward the road that led to the cabin. Jensen was a little quiet, but that wasn’t too unusual for him. You were just happy to look out at the scenery.

“Oh, um,” he fidgeted in his pocket, “I got you this in the store.”

He held out a cellophane package to you. You took the package and read the label, RingPop. Quickly, you hid your smirk before you spoke. It was a cute gesture, but you couldn’t resist.

“Is this a proposal?” you asked.

“What?! No! It’s just a RingPop,” he said.

“But it’s my favorite flavor,” you went on. “Ooo, who would I be? Mrs. Wayne or Mrs. Ackles?”

“Whatever, it’s just a RingPop,” he said again, trying to look annoyed, but you knew better.

“Don’t try to deny it. One day, you’re going to ask me to marry you, Jensen Ackles.”

“Uh-huh,” he gave you side-eye, and half-mockingly said, “that would make you Mrs. Ackles then.”

“I thought it was just a RingPop,” you teased.

“Alright, enough,” he grinned.

Late one afternoon, you and Jensen were sitting on the daybed playing cards and having snacks. Since he didn’t have any, not one, single electronic device, it forced you to talk or get creative with how to entertain yourselves. At first, it had all been great fun and felt like old times, except the old times didn’t have great sex. But as each day ticked by, it felt more and more like you were hiding with him.

You drew a card, “Jay?”

“Hmm?” he was studying his hand.

You chose your discard and laid it in the pile, “As much as I love spending time with you, and I do, it’s been a great summer vacation…” Jensen drew a card and immediately discarded it. “Vacations end and people go back to their lives.” You picked up the card he discarded, rearranged your hand, then laid it down. “Gin.”

“Again? I swear, you cheat,” he said, reaching for the cards to shuffle for a new game, but you stopped him by grasping his hands.

“I’m fine here,” he said, blandly.

“Jensen… at some point, you have to face what happened.”

“I don’t know if…”

“You won’t be able to move past it if you don’t face it, and you know it.”

He stopped and started a few times before speaking, “I like it here. It’s peaceful.”

“Why?! Because it’s easy?! That is some serious, cop-out bullshit if I’ve ever heard it. You need to make a fucking choice. Are you going to lay down and let this one bad thing dictate your life and throw away 25 years of hard work? Or are you gonna stand up, set the record straight, and take back your fucking career and name?!” you couldn’t be silent any longer.

Jensen ditched the cards and went to the kitchen to fix himself some coffee. You would not be dismissed so easily and were hot on his heels.

“Goddamnit, Jensen, you may be able to shut out the world, but I will not let you shut me out. You need to quit hiding out up here and get your head out of your ass. The Jensen I know is a fighter, so fucking fight!”

You stormed out of the cabin, shoving the door open and walked down to the dock area where you collected some rocks to throw as hard as you could. You kept it up until you ran out of frustration and rocks to throw, finally sitting on the end of the dock with your feet in the water.

You sat there for a while, rehashing every word said and adding things here and there to strengthen your argument. Just when you thought maybe he wasn’t going to come out to talk, you felt footsteps on the dock. He nudged your shoulder with a mug. At first you didn’t want to take it, but its glorious smelling contents forced you to grudgingly accept the mug.

Jensen stood on one foot and lowered himself to sit next to you on the dock. For a few moments, he sat in silence, sipping from his own mug, not looking at you, just looking out at the water.

“You’re right,” he said, softly.

I know, you thought.

“I have been hiding. I don’t want to give up my career. I’ve worked too hard. I just…lost my head for a while. I know better…” he said.

“She took advantage of you when you were in a bad way and exploited the shit out of you for 15 minutes of fame. That is not your fault, it’s hers and that makes her a shitty human being, not you,” you took his hand and held it tightly on your lap.

“I don’t want to do anything else. I want to be in this industry. I haven’t just been sitting here. I have ideas for new shows, and I was writing songs. I’d at least like to give them a shot… I do need to stand up and fight. I’m not the guy that lets the bad guy win.”

“There he is… there’s my guy,” you smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

You leaned over for a kiss and he met you half-way. You felt a whole lot better about him and where he was mentally. He’d been sitting at the cabin in a sort of limbo and you’d helped kick his ass out of it. The weather was going to turn soon, you could tell, even the water in the stream felt colder. Your summer vacation was about to end and the familiar pangs of sadness hit you.

When you were a little kid, you used to cry when you had to go home. Not because you didn’t want to go home, but because you didn’t want to leave all of your new friends. By the time you met Jensen, you had your more childish emotions under control and were old enough to be serious about being pen-pals. What didn’t change was the crushing sadness you felt whenever you had to leave Jensen.

“You ever see that movie, ‘Same Time Next Year’?'' you asked.

Jensen finished off his coffee, “Mhm.”

“I don’t want that anymore,” you said.

“Nova… that’s not us,” he said. “We see each other whenever we can. We make time… That’s not us.”

“Well, what are ‘we’ then?” you wanted to know where he saw your relationship going.

“You are the only woman I want by my side. I’ll take you home, but only to pack it up, ‘cause I’m not letting you spend one more night without me next to you. It should always have been you, but things happened the way they did so we can be together now. And now that I have you… I’m not letting you go.”

You couldn’t help but get a little misty. It was nice to be wanted, especially by Jensen. We are so gonna get married, you thought.

“You could have said “girlfriend,” you joked, wiping your eyes.

“That’s such an empty word. You are so much more to me,” he said. “What did you want? How do you want things for us?”

“I just know that I want to be with you. I don’t really have anything holding me to my apartment. My friends are all over the country, so I’m not leaving any friends behind… I can go anywhere…”

“So how does Texas grab you?”

“Hot as actual hell, but acceptable,” you answered.

Jensen grinned, “Yeah, true. You better come with me on jobs. You’ll love it. Freeze your ass off. So, do we have it settled?”

You nodded. You both sat in silence for a while processing everything that just happened. Nearly a month on the mountain with Jensen had been amazing in so many ways. You swung your feet in the water and even though you wished you could stay, it was very important to get back to reality.

“So…” you began, “what do we do now?”

“We get off the mountain as soon as we can.”

“Okay,” you said, “but not tonight.”

You pulled your feet out of the water, got up and started back to the cabin. You looked back over your shoulder to see Jensen quickly catching up.

[snowy-nostalgia]

Postal 2 Dude x GN! Reader: Confessions. (Slight angst!)

I’m still getting over years worth of writer’s block so I’m sorry if this isn’t that good. It’s also my first time writing for Postal 2 Dude so I tried my best to capture his personality. Enjoy!

It had been a pretty long time since Dude had left Paradise, and had moved into your neighborhood. He had managed to keep a lower profile here, not that he wasn’t up to his usual antics, he had just gotten better at not getting caught, and keeping you oblivious to his actions. He’s had a soft spot for you since day one, you had welcomed him to the neighborhood with genuine kindness, he could tell you weren’t faking it. The fact that you continued being kind towards him made everytime you saw him a nice change of pace, especially once your friendship started to blossom. Even Champ loved you, which sealed the deal for him almost instantly. He hadn’t had an actual friend in a long time, and because he didn’t want to mess it up he hid a lot of himself from you. Every violent action he did he made sure there was no way you could find out, and he made up every excuse for you to not enter his home, given that it was messy and covered in paraphernalia. He also began to become protective of you, anyone who treated you wrong somehow went missing the next day, and when you brought it up he’d act oblivious. Things were very smooth between the two of you, usually hanging out for hours at your home, goofing around and watching movies. He hoped that this would last forever, until something in him changed.

He started feeling strange around you, almost sick. His stomach would feel fluttery and his face felt warmer. He thought at first that you might have been sick and had given it to him, until it clicked in his brain. Something he thought he couldn’t do anymore, have romantic feelings for someone. It did more than weird him out. It scared him. Him of all people, scared. He thought that piece of him was gone for good, and that he’d never have to worry about feeling this way again. He didn’t know what to do, there was a part of him that felt guilty. Guilty because he thought you deserved better than him, and that if you did want to be with him it would almost be punishment for you, especially because of everything you didn’t know about him. He even thought about just moving away, but he knew he couldn’t just leave and ghost you, it would break your heart. He stopped replying to your texts, and isolated himself for awhile, he needed time to think.

It had been a week, and he made up his mind. He was going to confess everything to you, not only the things he was doing now and the feelings he had for you, but also about his past. If you still cared about him after, and hell, even felt the same way about him, he would stay. If he scared you, he’d leave, move far away, and repeat his violent cycle again, but this time he wouldn’t even let himself get close to someone. He was screaming in his head while walking to your house, a thousand thoughts racing at once. When he made it to your door, he knocked a few times while looking at the ground, preparing himself mentally to see your face.

You had been thinking about Dude the whole week, you thought he died or something. When you heard the knock at the door you jumped up from where you were sitting, hoping it was him and that he had an explanation. You opened the door, and there he was. He seemed withdrawn, and a little dirtier than usual. He stopped looking at the ground and his eyes met with yours. You could see his eyes were bloodshot even through his sunglasses. “Dude, where have you been, are you alright?” You asked him. “Uhhh, yeah, can I come in? I need to talk to you.” He replied, looking away from you. “Of course, come in.” You opened the door all the way allowing him to walk in. He sat on your couch, looking at the ground again. You could tell something was wrong, but you wanted to let him tell you on his own terms. He spoke up, still looking down, as if he was afraid to look you in the eye again, “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s serious, and I think you won’t want anything to do with me after I tell you, but I can’t fucking lie anymore.” He said, his voice sounding weary and quieter than usual. Before you could reply, he started. When I mean he started telling you everything, I mean everything. Every horrible, terrible, disgusting thing he’s ever done. It shocked you, of course it did. Yeah, he was a gruff guy who made a ton of out of pocket inappropriate comments, but he was so nice to you. Every bit of information was like whiplash, but you couldn’t have even started to expect what he was about to say next. “…I know all these things make it seem like I must be some fucking emotionless monster, but that’s not the worst fucking part. Despite everything I’ve done, I fell in love with you. And I couldn’t just say that and not tell you the rest, that’d be living a fucking lie. I understand if you don’t love me back, or fuck, even not want to see my face again, but I just couldn’t lie anymore…” He finished, finally looking you in the eye. You were clearly stunned, he expected you to scream and run, maybe even call the cops on him, but what you said next probably left him more shocked than you were. “Dude, I…I don’t know what to say. This is a lot to take in, and I don’t hate you-“ “But you don’t love either, I’m guessing.” He interrupted, his voice blunt and louder than before. “Dude, please-“ “Just say it, say you don’t love me.” He said in a stern tone. “But I do love you!” You were able to get out before he interrupted again. “What…?” He almost choked on that word alone. “I do love you, I have for awhile, It’s just…It’s going to take me a second to process everything else.” He went from the couch to his knees on the floor, he was quiet, in complete shock. “Dude? Are you okay?” You got on the floor too, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Dude…?” He did something he’s never done the whole time he’s known you, hugged you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder. “Promise…? You promise you love me…?” He said quietly, his voice slightly shaken. “Of course, I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you… but that doesn’t mean you get to start hurting people around me just because I know everything now.” You said playfully. He chuckled, “Yeah, of course… Can we stay like this for awhile? I don’t want to let go just yet… fuck that sounds cheesy doesn’t it?” He said, you giggled at it. “We can stay like this as long as you want, Dude, I have time.” You replied. “I uhhh… love you, (Y/N)…” “I love you too, Dude. Nothing’s gonna change that, I promise.”

[thetrueenemyofhumanity]

Hi! I recently had sushi for the first time but know I know I have no clue how to use chopsticks- Genji an Hanzo with an s/o wjo doesn't know how?

This was hard af, I had no idea what to write for this.

Genji

Your eyes were level with the sushi as you once again triedto pick it up with the wooden sticks. It trembled in your unsteady hands as youlifted it. You managed to raise it a few inches (your personal best so far)before it fell back onto the plate as you dove forward, mouth wide open in anattempt to catch it. But it was just another fail. With a growl you threw downthe chopsticks, where they bounced off the table before clattering to thefloor.

“So… How’s that going?”

You cast your eyes up to see Genji smirking. As much as thesmugness irked you, you were just glad to see his face. It took months beforehe felt comfortable enough to remove his mask around you. And even then hewould only do so if he was sure you two were alone, with no chance ofinterrupted. As much as he tried to be at peace with his new body, it was thescars of the old one that plagued him.

You frowned as you pushed the plate away before crossingyour arms in indignation with a small huff.

“I can’t do this. Who invented these shit-sticks anyway? Andhow did they catch on?” you grumbled, looking angrily at the sushi before you.

Genji chuckled before picking up the chopsticks and wipingthem on a napkin. The show-off twirled them between his fingers before picking upa sushi roll.

“It’s really not that hard. You do not need to be a ninja tomaster this, my student,” he joked, holding the food out for you. You openedyour mouth as it brushed your lips, but the tease yanked it away at the lastmoment, laughing as you glared daggers at him.

“I’m gonna shove them so far up your ass. Don’t needdexterity for that,” you warned.

“I am not fully familiar with every detail of this body. Whoknows what you could turn off…Or on.”

 Hanzo

You could only stare in disbelief as Hanzo ate. He couldfeel your eyes on him but he didn’t look up, too afraid you’d see the pinkdusting his cheeks. His eyes were fixed on the holopad before him, which hescrolled through with one hand while he ate with the other. Though he wasn’tpaying much attention. His mind was fixed on you. Most importantly: not tryingto look a flustered fool in front of you.

“How?!” you demanded.

This forced him to look at you. He furrowed his eyebrows,mouth frozen mid-chew.

“How the hell do you do…that?” you asked, waving your hands atthe chopsticks.

He gave a small shrug before swallowing. That is when henoticed that you hadn’t touched eaten a single bite. Your sushi had been pushedaround the plate in your attempts to pick it up, most pieces not cut in half inyour botched trials. Hanzo quickly put down the holopad and stood up to move toyour side. His hands wrapped around yours and he showed you how the sticksshould be held. After guiding your hands through several further attempts, youfinally managed to pick up a piece and get it into your mouth. The taste ofvictory was better than the sushi at this point and you cheered through yourmouthful, quite proud of yourself.

“You see, my love? It takes practice.”

“Well I think I’ve had enough practice for today. I justthought of a better technique,” you informed him.

“Oh?” he enquired, raising an eyebrow and wrapping a strongarm around your waist. “And what is this superior technique?”

You answered his question by tossing away one of thechopsticks and impaling a piece of sushi with the other. He let out a snort oflaughter as you popped it into your mouth.

“Sushi kebab. I’m a genius,” you boasted.

“That you are. And you never cease to amaze me,” he replied,leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek.

[callsign-joyride]

Bad Day | Spencer Reid

Plot: You got fired from your job and Spencer finds out when he gets back from a case.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader (I don't think I used gender specific descriptions/pronouns.)

Warnings: None

Word count: 848 (it's a short one, folks)

A/N: My mental health lately has been total shit but I wanted to upload something on Twosday (today) so here we are. I can probably do better but after the week that I had, this is the best I can do right now.

---

It was safe to say that you were having the worst day of your adult life. You went to work and everything seemed normal, until your boss pulled you into his office after your lunch break. You were hoping that he would give you the raise that you were wishing for, but it was unlikely considering that the only person who knew that you wanted a raise was Spencer. Your anxiety started to get worse when he closed the door. This wasn’t going to be a quick conversation.

“I wanted to talk to you about your position here. You’ve been here for a few years, and you’ve done exceptional at your job. I’m sure that you’ve heard about the lay-offs that have been happening around the office. We’ve really enjoyed having you here but unfortunately, I have to let you go. Corporate has been issuing budget cuts to multiple departments and we can’t afford to keep a full department. I can give you until Friday to get your things and submit your timesheet.”

You were stunned to say the least.

“I would really like to keep my position here, though. I can work from home if my space is an issue. I have proven time and time again that I am more than capable of doing so. Obviously if budget cuts are the reason that I’m being fired, maybe I can still work here and provide my own materials,” you tried to reason with your boss.

“That’s not going to end well with HR. I don’t want to see you go, either. They send me a list of people that they want gone and I have to do the firing. If you don’t want to come back for the rest of the week, I understand. You have some paid vacation time that you can use and the rest of it will be rolled over into your final pay.”

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

You got up and walked out of his office and started packing up your cubicle. It was hard for you to keep it together as your colleagues stopped what they were doing to watch you put your stuff into postal bins to get it to your car.

A lot of things stayed in your car because they were desk supplies. All of the valuables and pictures with Spencer and the team took a temporary spot on your coffee table. You were going to make a big dinner for yourself because you earned it, but that was essentially thrown out the window. You cried in a McDonald’s parking lot and got a pint of triple chocolate ice cream before going back to your apartment.

You put the ice cream in the freezer and grabbed a box of Triscuits. Time seemed to pass faster, because you realized that you had to take a shower. Shouting the lyrics of your favorite songs wasn’t really helping, because all you really wanted to do was cry, but it didn’t matter. After your shower, you went back to sitting on the couch. You had your ice cream this time, and you cried into it while watching a random rom-com that you found while channel surfing.

The movie was done and you were done with your ice cream, so you got up to put it away and put the spoon in the sink. Right as you closed the door to the freezer, you heard the lock turn. There was no way in hell that you could hide what happened from Spencer. As soon as he opened the door, you jumped into his arms.

“How was the case?” You asked.

“It was good. I’m pretty tired, though.”

His eyes darted to the messy dining room table and you knew your cover was blown.

“Did something happen at work?”

You sighed. He had just gotten home from working on a case, and he asked about your day. You loved it about him, but it didn’t seem right to stress him out more because you had just lost your job. He put you down and really looked at the dining table.

“Aren’t these supposed to be on your desk?”

“Spencer…” You whispered. He turned back to you and you were starting to cry.

“Oh. That doesn’t make any sense, though. You’ve been there longer than most of your colleagues, so I would think that corporate would want you to stay.”

“Yeah, well, apparently not. I don’t even know if I can find another job in the area or work from home. I don’t think that many people care about celebrity news anymore. Maybe they only care about the ones that are releasing Blockbuster hits, I don’t know. But I’m really stressed because I have to pay the bills and I don’t know how long it’s going to take to find a new job. You look like you just got an idea.”

“What if I asked Garcia about PR jobs at Quantico?”

You let out a chuckle through the tears and let Spencer talk to Garcia. Regardless of what the issue was, Spencer always knew how to help.

[imaginewriting1]

100-99

Ariana Grande x youtuber!reader

Part 8.5 of "positions"

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 5.5 (1) | 5.5 (2) | 5.5.5 | 6 | 7 | 7.5 | 8

“Thank god for postal workers.” 

Ariana had been keeping track of the parcel religiously, planning for you to be at her place on the day it was going to arrive. So there you were, sitting on her bed, watching as she tore open the cardboard box, like a kid with a pile of birthday gifts. You were just as excited as she was, but you kept it to yourself, content with watching her inspect her new toys with enthusiasm. 

“Ooh, which do we try out first?” She thrust two items into your vision - one you identified as a vibrator and a strap-on. 

“Whatever you like.” You answered with a straight face, rummaging through the box to find the item you bought after Ariana had her turn.

“Great, let’s get right into it.”

It was awkward at first - with the pause that came after she utter those words. Her eagerness both eased and terrified you, knowing what was to come, so to speak. 

To calm yourself and prepare for the inevitable, you distracted yourself by clearing the scattered packages from the bed. When you carried the box to the corner of her room, you discovered that she was nowhere in sight. 

“Ariana?” You thought out loud, wondering where she had gone. The click of the bathroom door handle caught your attention. She emerged, wearing nothing but black lace and a smile. All the effort you did to keep your heart still was in vain. You couldn’t even look away like you always did, or tried to anyway.

“Do you like it?” She asked, despite the redundancy of it when the answer was written all over your face. Your arms raised impulsively, prompting her to step in between them. The material caressed your palms smoothly. As much as you loved it, they’ll never be better than her skin. 

“I do. But I think it’ll look better on the floor.” You felt Ariana shudder under your words, and you felt something akin to pride. ‘“Let me help you out of it.” You sent a quick thanks to whoever designed it - making it fall off her seamlessly.

Her tattoos came into full view. You wanted to appreciate them but you don’t think it’s the right time to do so. Before you could carry her to bed, she stopped you.

She fiddled the hem of your shirt, “It’s your turn now.” You really had no excuse not to let her lift it above your head, not when she had bare herself for you. Besides, she had seen this part of you before, so it’s not as daunting when you find yourself shirtless. “Do you want to keep this on?” Ariana’s fingers played with the strap of your bra.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I’ll go change my underwear.” With that, you slipped past her into the bathroom. You returned nervously, with one hand holding your pants and the other covering your new boxer brief harness unconsciously. Ariana only smiled as she took your hand, after you spent more time than necessary draping your pants on an armchair, pulling you towards the bed. While you were gone, she had taken the initiative to place the toy she wanted to try neatly on the nightstand. 

It was the strap-on she picked out earlier; a smooth pink thing that weighed nicely in your hands. You placed it back down, coughing out softly, “How do you want to do it?”

You had some idea of how it would go, of course, since you were no stranger to sex. However, today was going to be different. It was the first time you’ll be incorporating toys into the act with Ariana. That was something new, the act of using a strap on her. There would be an added layer of intimacy and vulnerability, as you were going to be more involved, in a way. 

Ariana, perched on the bed with her legs crossed, looked up at you through hooded eyelids. “Anything you like,” her voice was as light as air. 

So you do the only thing you know best, falling to your knees. You guided her legs over each of your shoulders after placing your glasses neatly on the bedside table. Your lips ghosted over her skin lightly at first, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You added pressure gradually, over all of her sensitive spots like tracing constellations in the night sky. With your vision covered, all you felt was her unyielding fingers tugging your hair and her bare heels digging dents into your back. It wasn’t long until she let you out of her hold, pushing you away weakly. 

You wiped your face before searching for your glasses and putting them back on. Giving Ariana some time to collect herself, you pick up the toy from the nightstand. You have it a quick rinse with soap in the bathroom before drying it. 

With the sanitation done, you remembered the bottle of lube you got and went to find it. It was hiding in the corner of the parcel, where you fished it out from.  

Returning to Ariana with the items in hand, you wet your lips before speaking. “Are you still up for this?” 

“If it’s the last thing I’ll ever do.” Her conviction dismissed the last of your insecurities. You returned your attention to the toy, angling away to make an attempt of attaching it to the harness. You felt her tugging at your waistband, “I want to see.”

You faced her sheepishly, “It looks a little weird but-”

“It doesn’t. I think it looks good on you.”

You muttered a flustered ‘thanks’ as she wrapped her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. “Wait.” You said, fumbling with the bottle cap.

Ariana chuckled as she plucked it out of your hands. “I don’t think we need it, given how well you did earlier.” Your cheeks warmed at the compliment. “But if you insist…”

You observed as she turned the cap with ease, dribbling the toy with a good amount of lubricant before slicking it all up expertly with her hands. You didn’t need a mirror to tell you how dark your pupils must be at the sight, not with heat pooling deep in your gut. She tossed the bottle behind her when she was satisfied. “There, now we can begin.”

The both of you trod further up the bed, sheets rippling as both of you stopped in the middle. She flitted around you, trying out different positions. You coughed out your suggestion after a few attempts of trying to fit each other like puzzle pieces. “How do you… should you- I think it’s easiest if you are on top.”

Ariana seemed to agree, swinging a leg across your stomach, her knees steadying beside your hips. “Ready?” She asked after your back rested on a pile of pillows. You could only nod as she aligned the toy toward her.

You watched with wonder as she sank down onto you, slow and languid, pulling you in until she was filled to the brim. It took all of your self-control to not take charge like you always do at her request. Instead, you take your time to study the way her eyes rolled and her back arched. 

She moved again, and you matched her movements as well as you could. Your hands anchored her waist down while your hips rose up to meet her, like waves lapping against the shore. 

“Ari, does this feel good?” You asked in between choppy breaths, fighting against the fire pooling in the pits of your stomach. 

“Yes,” She breathed out. “Right there.” It wasn’t long before gasps and pants mixed with the smell of salt on her skin, in the air. One particular hard landing almost sent you reeling. With the sharp moan she emitted, resembling something like “I’m close”, you knew she was at the edge too. The fact made you double down on your efforts, causing Ariana to press her chest against yours. Her body was as pliant as seaweed in a current when you change the rhythm to relentless and rough. 

That was enough to evoke a cry out of Ariana, a puff of hot air on the spot of your throat: “God, don’t pull out.”

Her words - the insinuation - opened up a floodgate in you. It’s not like you could anyway, with her hips welded with yours. Relief came crashing down, like tsunami tides do, swallowing you whole. The pleasure was almost unbearable, like the need to breathe after being submerged in water for three minutes.

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” Ariana’s voice pierced through the bliss like sunbeam into sea waves. You let out an intelligible mumble into the side of her neck, completely wiped out. She responded with breathy giggles, as melodious as a siren’s song. “We should have done this sooner.” You don’t think were as drawn to her as you were now, but it could just be your libido talking. 

-

You decided to take a shower. The idea was more spontaneous for Ariana, who only entered the bathroom after watching you clean the toy meticulously in the sink. When you were finished washing it, you found Ariana standing behind the glass door. You didn’t know she wanted you to join her until you saw the suggestive quirk of her eyebrow.

If she noticed the slight stall before you removed your underwear, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she asked, after adjusting the tap to the shower head: “Is the temperature okay?”

“It’s perfect.” You assured her, after checking it with the back of your hand. She gave you a warm smile as you huddled closer under the waterfall. You tried not to wax poetry about the way water droplets cascade down her hair and cling to her skin, but you were only human. So naturally, you would like to appreciate the beauty and have it committed to memory. 

Despite your glasses being on the soap holder, in the proximity, you could see Ariana’s tattoos in clear detail. Some were self-explanatory but there are a few which intrigued you. You recognized Chihiro from Spirited Away on her arm, a character you loved as well.

“Like what you see?” Her voice startled you into looking up, causing you to jerk away in realization at a lack of distance. 

“Oh- I’m sorry,” You coughed, embarrassed at getting caught staring, “I’m just admiring how well the tattoo was drawn.”

“I would hope so since I paid good money for it.” You watched with half-averted eyes as Ariana turned off the tap and turned around, looking over her shoulders. “I’ll accept your apology if you wash my back.” 

Without a word, you grabbed a loofah and slathered it with soap - a bigger bottle than the one you had at home. After moving her hair to the front, you glide the loofah over the smooth expanse of her spine, reading the tattooed quotes before they get covered with bubbles. 

“Is that quote from Breakfast at Tiffany’s?” You pressed a finger at the back of her neck, before moving it to her shoulder. “And this from The Truman Show?”

Your words were met with silence, making you wonder if she heard you.

“Ariana?”

“Y-yeah. Have you watched them too?”

“I did.” You replied, absentmindedly nudging her shoulder after you were done washing her back. She took the hint and turned to face you. You began soaping yourself up as well but were brought to an abrupt stop when she held your wrist.

“Can I wash your back too?” 

It was a request you’d never heard of before, but there was a first time for everything. “Okay.”

Your eyes fixated on a white tiled wall after Ariana turned you around. You felt the rough texture of the loofah and the coolness of shower gel dancing across your skin. The scent was sweet like a flower garden; you had a thought of how you were going to smell like her.

The sound of scrubbing was only broken after a moment. “You should get a tattoo.” Her statement was punctuated by the resumption of the sound.

Even though there was a first time for everything, getting a tattoo wasn’t one of them for you. Unsure of how you were going to voice this opinion without coming off as rude, you retort with a joke instead. “Is that some kind of friendship ritual?” 

Ariana doesn’t take the bait, turning your body to face her. “I think you’ll look great with them.” Ariana supplied, scanning your body like she was picturing you with one. You felt the heat rushing to your cheeks like sunburn, folding your arms consciously. You didn’t return her gaze, seemingly more interested in the corner of the ceiling.

“Maybe I'll get a temporary one.” You laughed nervously, “I don’t really want to experience the pain or the fear of regret.”

“That’s a good idea, they’ll last quite a while too,” She mused, “We can get matching ones. What do you think?”

While you never want to get real ones, that doesn't mean you had never thought about it. “I quite like angel wings? We can put on half a pair each. Similar to the one you had in your left ear.”

“Oh! I like that. Let’s find a design we both like.”

With newly founded enthusiasm, the both of you quickly washed up and dried off. You spend the rest of the afternoon scrolling through the internet. With Ariana’s experience, both of you found one that was satisfactory. You ended up deciding to get a bunch of other designs too, due to the both of you getting carried away with the joys of shopping and the thrill of trying something new.

This time, Ariana showed you the power of connections. With one phone call, the tattoo sticker sheets arrived at her doorstep in less than two hours, in the hands of her assistant.

Ariana sat across you on the bed, with the tattoo stickers between the both of you. The both of you sorted through them - besides the wings, there were common tattoo designs like space-themed stars and planets, animals, flowers, and a variety of symbols.

The angel wings turned out to be bigger than you thought, almost half the size of your back. After separating the pair of wings neatly in half with scissors, you help to put it on Ariana’s back as per the instructions given.

The bathrobe slipped from her shoulders as she shrugged it off, granting you access to her back. You peeled off the plastic wrap before pressing the tattoo down smoothly.

“Your turn,” Ariana singsonged in excitement. The positions between both of you switched. You sat cross-legged with your back facing her. A ruffling sound could be heard from behind before you felt it stick to you. Even with the plastic sticker sheet in between her palms and your skin, you could feel the warmth radiating from them as they ironed down the tattoo. “All done. Now we just have to wait an hour before peeling the rest of the plastic off.”

You acknowledged with a small hum, carefully putting back your robe on. “Should we do the smaller tattoos as well?” You suggested, not forgetting the other designs you wanted to stick on your skin. Since you were going for one, might as well go all out.

“Why not,” Ariana returned to her spot in front of you, perusing through the various stickers. “Which one do you want?” 

You went for the ones that stood out to you the most: a shield with adorning flowers, a smattering of stars observed by an astronaut, and a wave towering over Mount Fuji drawn in Japanese-style art. 

Satisfied with your selection, you studied Ariana as she sifted through the pile, settling on an intricate outline of a butterfly, a string of perfectly aligned planets, and a sun setting over a horizon.

With Ariana’s help, you managed to have the astronaut inked on the inside of your left wrist and the other two on both of your arms, placed in a way that would have them hidden in shirt sleeves. Unlike you, she had no qualms in showing off her butterfly. However, she kept the planets and the sun lined in her inner thighs. You felt a small amount of gratification in the fact that you were the only one who knew of their existence. 

While waiting for the ink to fully soak into your skin, you thought of drying your hair so your shirt won’t get wet when you wear it later. “Ariana, can I borrow a hairdryer?”

“There’s one in the bathroom. Top drawer on the left.” 

You found it easily with her instructions, before locating a power socket near the bed and plugging it in. Sitting back down, you dried your hair until you were certain it didn't wet your back. While you were about to return the hairdryer, you noticed Ariana playing with her phone idly, her hair still wrapped up tightly in a towel. “Hey, do you want me to dry your hair?”

She looked up at you for a moment, “Okay.” 

You placed the hairdryer down, freeing up your hand to unfurl her towel gently. Her locks fell her back in strands as you picked up the dryer. Turning it on at the lowest setting, you point it at the inches intertwined with your fingers. You combed through them carefully, not wanting to cause any unnecessary painful tugs.  Besides the whirring sound and the occasional dog barks, you enjoyed the companionable silence, putting all your focus into completing your task at hand.

Time passed unknowingly before you switched off the dryer, signaling to Ariana that her hair was finally dry. She didn't move at first, and you saw how stiff her shoulders looked. They relaxed suddenly, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Should we check on the tattoos now?”

Your words seemed to pull Ariana out of her reverie. “Oh right, we should.”

Ariana presented her back to you once again as you peeled the remaining plastic wrap off. It looked super cool, exactly how you had imagined it. She had the same thought too when she asked: “How does it look? I wanna see.” 

“Give me a minute.” You went fishing your phone out from the back pocket of your pants. The camera app was tapped open as you made your way back to the bed. She had her robe removed. You took a quick snap before handing it to her. “Here.”

You watched Ariana as she scrutinized the picture. “It came out great.” 

“It is beautiful,” You agreed, after taking a second glance at the screen when she returned your phone back. You don’t forget to delete it, albeit reluctantly, counting on your memory to retain the view.

“Let’s see yours too.” She piped, prompting you to pass your phone to her again. However, she reached for her own before situating herself behind you. She tugged lightly on the collar of your robe as you loosened the knot on the belt. You shivered a little, but it wasn’t from the cold, not when the heater was working perfectly. 

The soft click of the shutter could be heard after a second. You felt the weight of Ariana’s right arm on your shoulder as her phone entered your peripheral vision. “It looks amazing on you. I would totally believe that you are an angel.”

You had to admit, she was right. The left side of the wing looked realistic, and you felt satisfaction fluttering onto your face as a smile. You felt like you should have gotten a full-size pair of wings that covered your entire back, for added realism. It was a good idea to get temporary tattoos after all. “Let’s check out the rest.”

Like the wing, they printed beautifully on your skin, yours to keep like a carefully concealed secret for two weeks. You now knew how addictive the feeling of having something you want without suffering any of the consequences could be. 

AN: early access to later chapters on my ko-fi page. Also feel free to DM or ask anonymously for any questions.

[novaiya]

Diamonds and Rust - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: It’s been six years since you left it all behind; the Van Der Linde gang, the outlaw life and Arthur Morgan. Since then you’ve gone straight, becoming a rancher and a wife. What will happen to all of it when Arthur comes bursting back into your life, bringing with him all the feelings and desires the two of you once shared?

Words: 3,274

Warnings: smut, female reader, pregnancy.

A/N: I’m very, very proud of this fic and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wrote the entire thing in basically one sitting (blame it on excitement and inspiration). The idea came to me after listening to Joan Baez’s song Diamonds and Rust (and that is of course where the title comes from). Give it a listen, it’s a beautiful song! If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.

Well, I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again - Diamonds and Rust

You knew he was around as soon as you heard about a big group of people, men, women and children, passing on wagons through your town. The shopkeeper in the general store said that the group looked like bad news, the look with which they eyed everything and everyone belonging only to people who were running from something. On another day, you were at the train station, posting a letter, when you heard one of the postal workers say the name “Tacitus Kilgore” while rummaging through a bin. That sealed the deal for you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

For the next few days you couldn't do anything but wait, expecting him to barge back into your life at any moment. Your husband noticed your absent-mindness, and tried to inquire, but you waved him away, blaming your mood on overworking.

Your husband didn’t know your past. You told him that you ran away from home when a group of outlaws attacked your house, killing your parents and stealing anything worth selling. That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What you omitted to mention was that later when you had nowhere to go, another group of outlaws found you, took you in and became your new family. You spent the next few years with them, moving from place to place, robbing, killing, and stealing. It was there that you fell in love for the first time.

Shortly after you joined the gang, you and Arthur became a great team, and later on, a strong couple. As the time went on though, you realized that you couldn’t live on the run forever; you wanted a family, a stable life, a house with a kitchen and a bath. You shared your feelings with Arthur, and he promised you that everything would change, that the two of you would run away, to Mexico, or maybe California, and start a new life. The new life was always at the end of “one last score,” which never seemed to come.

After yet another similar conversation, you realized that if you didn’t leave at that moment, you never would. The moonlight casted its light on Arthur’s sleeping face as you looked at him one last time, burning the image of him into your memory. Without turning back, you mounted your horse and left.

Although seeming asleep, Arthur was awake the entire time. He felt you leave the cot, stand next to it for a few minutes and then leave. He heard the hoofbeats in the quiet night, becoming softer and softer until they completely disappeared. He wanted to go after you, bring you back, but he realized it would be selfish. What you wanted, what you deserved, he couldn’t give.

.

It's been a week since you heard the name “Tacitus Kilgore” in the post office,   and Arthur still hasn't shown. You let yourself relax, thinking that maybe it wasn’t him in the first place, or maybe he has forgotten about you. It’s been six years after all.

Few days later, your husband had to go take care of his mother couple of towns over. He asked if you wanted to go with him, but you declined; someone had to stay and take care of the ranch, protect it from cattle rustlers and wild animals.

You helped him load up the wagon, making sure to pack extra clothes and food for the trip. You kissed him, the kiss being longer than what was necessary for a trip that would probably take only three days at most.

The wagon disappeared in the tall trees as you stood at the entrance of your ranch, waving your hand until there was no one to wave to. The cold, fresh morning air filled your lungs as you took a big gulp of it. You turned on your heels, heading back inside and preparing for a day of work.

Your day was mostly spent tending to the cattle and cleaning up. When the sun started to set, painting the sky a mix of purple and red, you went into the main house and prepared dinner. You pushed the food around on the plate. The suffocating emptiness of the house made you once again think about expanding your family. The time was perfect; the ranch was making money and the house was the right size with two extra rooms sitting unoccupied and being used for storage. But, it seemed that it wasn’t for you to decide; you and your husband have been trying for months now, yet nothing was happening.

Trying to muffle the thoughts in your head, you got up from the table and took your plate to the sink, leaving it there to be cleaned tomorrow.

.

The cotton nightgown felt cool on your skin as you changed into it. The oil lamp on your bedside table was just bright enough to illuminate the clock on the wall, indicating that it was far past your bedtime, and if you wanted to get anything done tomorrow, you should go to bed right away. You sighted, getting ready to go under the covers when you heard a knock on the front door, as sudden as thunder on a sunny day. You froze, your body trying to decide whether to fight or flee. You carefully left your bedroom, mentally cursing when the floorboard creaked under your feet as you inched closer to the front door. Another knock came. Your eyes flew to the shotgun by the door. Your breath came out shaky as you were preparing to grab it, open the door and shoot straight through whoever it was.

And then you heard it, his voice saying your name. You felt like you were drenched in cold water, six years worth of bottled up emotions and feelings flooding straight through you. Without thinking, you opened the door, meeting face to face with his blue eyes.

"Arthur."

.

The only thing illuminating the living room and the two of you was the fire from the fireplace. You could feel the heat from it kissing your bare arms. You went into the kitchen, bringing back one shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. You poured a glass for Arthur, placed the bottle on the table, and sat down on the couch next to him.

He downed it in one go before silence fell over, nothing but the occasional sound of wind howling outside.

"Beautiful ranch you got."

"Thank you," you said, keeping your answer short and not looking at him.

You could feel the weight of his stare on you; it’s been six years since he last saw you. You've changed so much, and at the same time, haven't changed at all. You still kept your hair the same length, still had the same longing gaze in your eyes, yearning for more in life. He saw that you still had a scar on your hand, the one you got when an O'Driscoll pierced it with his knife. Arthur said it would fade with time when he was bandaging it. Looking at it now, he realized that things don’t fade away so easily.

His eyes lingered on your hand for a moment, noticing a ring on your finger, the gold band shining brightly in the dimly lit room, taunting him.

"So, you got married?" he said, his voice laced with venom as he spoke the last word.

"I have," you replied, casting your eyes down to the golden band. "Couldn't wait for you forever." Your words pierced right through him, leaving yet another wound he would need to tend to later. For the past six years, he held a naive, wishful hope that when the time would come, you’d be there, waiting for him. The idea, as absurd and foolish as it was, kept him hopeful for the past six years.

"What's his name?"

"Don't," you said, turning around to Arthur for the first time since you sat down. "Don't do this."

The two of you fell silent once again, and you used that moment to look over Arthur. You could see the traces of the person you loved six years ago; he still had the same scars scattered across his face. His eyes, although sadder now, still had the same color to them. His arms, the ones that held you on many nights, still had the same muscular shape.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching your eyes. "It was my fault the things ended up the way they did."

You didn’t say anything, casting your eyes downwards, so he continued.

“I was awake, you know, the night you left.”

You gulped down, the memories of your departure from the camp filling your mind.

“I should’ve never let you go.”

"I should’ve never left." The words left your mouth before you could process them. You have promised yourself to never vocalize these thoughts, the thoughts that a part of you that never left him, that have been longing for him for the past six years, felt.

The atmosphere in the air shifted. You could feel the change in Arthur's eyes and his demeanor. He reached out and took your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles and your golden band. His other hand reached up to you, cradling your head and bringing the two of you closer. You could feel his breath on your lips, smelling of the whiskey you poured him a few minutes ago. Your mind was on fire. For a moment, you felt that you were six years in the past, sitting on a bed in a crummy hotel room in some beatdown town. The law was on your tail, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered when you were with Arthur.

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant, you forgot where you were. Your hands moved on their own, reaching and waving your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, his hand leaving yours and moving up the curve of your body, over your hips and your waist, stopping around your chest. You felt him palm you over your chemise, and for a second, you felt your mind clear. The guilt came in flooding. You felt his tongue lick over your bottom lip and you winced, breaking the kiss and trying to get away from him, pushing yourself deeper into the couch.

"I can't do this," you said, more to yourself than to Arthur.

You felt his hand on your knee, hot against the cool skin. You wanted to move, wanted to slap his hand away, but you didn't. His hand inched higher up your leg, reaching the end of your chemise.

Arthur looked at you, his hand still on your thigh. "You tell me to stop and I will. I will leave and never bother you again."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with yourself till you finally said, “Stay.”

.

He covered your body with his, pinning you against the couch. His lips moved against yours in a dance that the two of you knew well, having rehearsed it for years and years before. One of his hands was back on your thigh, massaging the skin as he moved dangerously close to your heat. You felt his fingers run over your clothed slit, pressing against your clit and making you push your hips towards him.

His lips left your mouth, moving to your neck, kissing down your throat and to the crook of your neck. You could feel yourself getting wet as he kept kissing you all over, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your clothed clit. He removed himself from you and pulled off his suspenders. You sat up, your fingers reaching out and working on the buttons of his shirt before throwing it on the floor. You ran your hand up his body, through his chest hair and stopping over his heart. You could feel it beat wildly against his rib cage.

You felt hazy as he kissed you once again. In a minute, your chemise was on the floor, joining his shirt in a pile and leaving your top half naked to him. He laid you back down on the couch, sitting on his hinges between your spread legs. He made sure to burn this moment in his memory, the image of you spread under him for what was probably the last time.

He pulled your drawers down, revealing you completely to himself. You felt like you should cover yourself, not let a man that wasn't your husband see you like this, but this wasn't just another man, it was Arthur. Being like this with him felt natural.

He paved his way down your stomach with kisses, finally reaching your glistering cunt. The first touch of his tongue against your slit made you moan, and you instinctively reached out with your hand, waving your fingers into Arthur's hair. He kept going, lapping at you and pushing all the buttons he knew would have you coming apart in minutes. You threw your head back, moaning his name when you feel him push a finger in you, his tongue turning its attention to your clit. You could feel your release approaching when he added a second finger, picking up the pace. The movements of his fingers were deliberate, working in tandem with his tongue. You started to move your hips in time with his fingers, your body giving in to your carnal desires.

Your toes curled and your whole body shuddered as you came. Arthur kept going, heightening your pleasures until it all became too much and he retreated. The sight of his lips, wet with your juices, made a fire ignite in your belly once again. You pulled him down, crashing your lips against his, moaning at the taste of you.

He was grinding his hips against you, the bulge in his pants hard and heavy. You broke the kiss, reaching down with shaking hands towards his pants, popping the button open and taking out his cock. He moaned your name, closing his eyes as you wrapped your fingers around him. You ran your hand up and down, relishing in the sound of his debauched voice moaning your name. After a while, he took your hand away from his length and kissed over your knuckles. Letting it go, he pulled down his pants, the last article of clothing joining the others on the floor.

He sat in his naked glory between your legs. He was just as you remembered him; big, strong and muscular. The air around him was filled with virility. Your primal urges filled your mind as you wanted nothing but to be filled by him. He sensed your longing, seeing it in your eyes, and smiled.

His lips found yours once again, kissing you so much that you couldn't think about anothing but him. You felt the tip at him at your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your hands found his biceps, holding on to him as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his shaft. He stilled when he was all the way in, trying to compose himself. For a moment, all that could be heard where the sounds of your combined breaths, haggard in the quiet living room. The light from the fireplace illuminated your naked bodies.

Finally, he moved, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in. You clung to each other, your bodies molding into one. Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him deeper into you as your hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks behind. The feeling of him inside you was intoxicating; he was made for you, hitting all the right spots, the sheer girth and length of him filling you perfectly. His lips were on your neck as he thrusted in and out of you, taking in your scent and the taste of your skin under his lips.

Arthur couldn't get enough of you; his eyes raked over every part of your body, taking it all in. You could feel his hands everywhere, holding on to your hips, massaging your sides, cupping your breasts. He wanted to feel every part of you. His touch was inebriating, heightening your pleasure to an unimaginable level.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge, and so did Arthur. His movements became sloppier and out of rhythm, his desire for peak overwhelming.

He moaned your name, bringing your attention to him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said breathlessly, "where-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting in and saying, "Cum in me", not thinking about the repercussions of your words, your mind high on desire.

He dropped to his elbows, crashing his lips against yours as his movements became slower but rougher. You moved your hips meeting every one of his thrusts. The feeling of your tongue against his, your hands on his back and your warmness tightening against his shaft all became too much, and he came with a moan of your name, spilling his seed inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls drove you wild, and you came a moment later, your legs shaking.

The weight of Arthur over you felt like a warm blanket, keeping you safe and shielded from the world outside. You could feel his staggering breath on your neck as he tried to bring his breathing down. You held each other like that for a few minutes, not moving. Two sweaty bodies, entangled in each other.

At some point in the night, the two of you moved to the bedroom, soiling the bed that you and your husband shared with your combined moans and desires.

You spent the rest night in Arthur’s arms. He held you tight against him as he told you about his travels and the state of the gang. You told him about the ranch, and how fulfilled you felt by the work. Both of you tried to avoid the subject of marital status.

You fell asleep to the beat of Arthur’s heart, your head on his chest, his in your hair.

In the morning, the two of you had breakfast, and he stayed till the evening, helping you with some of the chores around the ranch, playing family that the two of you never had a chance to become.

You watched him drive away on his horse, following the speck of him with your eyes all the way over the plain till it completely disappeared. You stood by the entrance of your ranch for a few more minutes. Out in the distance the chickens chirped. You still had to milk the cows and go to the general store. Breathing out, you looked up into the sky before turning back towards your house and your life.

.

Few months later.

You stood at the top of a hill, overlooking your ranch with your husband next to you. Cold wind blew through your hair. Winter was coming. You had to start making preparation for the colder months; make sure the cattle were healthy, create a water plan, add feeders and forage among other things.

Another rush of cold air made you shiver and pull your shawl tightly over your shoulders. Your husband's hand found yours, interlocking your fingers and making you look at him. He smiled at you. his eyes full of love and excitement, before turning back towards the ranch. You held your gaze on him for a moment longer, studying his features, before too turning towards the pasture, one of your hands in his, the other on your growing belly.

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part II (x reader)

Summary: Spencer and reader spend a lot of time together. And then he spends some time away.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: typical CM violence, Spencer gets hurt but there’s no graphic descriptions 

Word count: 5k

a/n: This chapter is a little bit of a different style, because it had a lot of ground to cover! So we’ve got a few different vignettes of their first few months together— first dates and sleepovers and Spencer’s first long case away. I also worked some requests into this chapter.

———

Y/N stretched out across the bed, humming and burying her face into the pillow. She sighed and then drew in a deep breath. Her eyes blinked open as she recognized the new scent on her sheets— cedar and spice and a hint of floral. 

She moved her hand across the bed to find the sheets were cool, then raised her head to see the room was empty. The apartment was quiet, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee crept in through the bedroom door left slightly ajar. She ran a hand over her face and reached for her phone on the bedside table, tapped the screen to check the time and saw a missed text from Anita.

Anita: How did it go???????

Y/N: Good! We talked a lot. And he spent the night.

Anita: W H A T

Anita: 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Y/N: Calm down. It was just a sleepover. Emphasis on the sleep. 

Anita: Sure it was 👀

Anita: 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Anita: 🍆🍑🍒💦

Y/N: I’m going to mute this thread.

Anita: You’re such a prude!!!!!!!

Anita: But also

Anita: This mf is still on THIN ICE with me

Anita: So tell him to sleep with one eye open 

Y/N swiped the message thread to mute the notifications and sat up to drop her legs over the side of the bed. She stood and did a cursory once over in the mirror above her dresser, retrieving the sweater hanging on her closet door and slipping into it. Then she padded to the doorway, pushing the door open and quietly moving into the living room.

Spencer was on the couch, still in her shirt, with a book in one hand and her favorite coffee mug in the other. Roald was curled up in his lap, fast asleep. Spencer turned the page of his book, then brought the mug up to his lips. The simple domesticity had her chest tightening, and she let out a small, contented sigh. 

Spencer lifted his head at the sound, a smile stretching across his face as soon as he saw her. “Morning.”

“Morning.” She shuffled toward the couch, and he closed his book. She peered over the couch and gestured to Roald. “I see you’ve got a friend.”

“Indeed. I kind of feel like I can’t leave now.” He looked up with a small crease in his brow. “I made coffee. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she assured with a smile. “Nice mug.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up, but I didn’t want to go through your cabinets,” he explained, looking a little nervous. “This one was on the dish rack, so I figured it was okay to use, but I can—”

“Spencer.” She leaned against the couch and smoothed a hand over his hair, meeting his eyes and smiling gently. “Is there more coffee?”

He nodded and looked down at the cat on his lap. “Yeah, I— I’d get up, but I don’t want to disturb him.”

Y/N laughed and pressed a quick kiss to his hair before retreating to the kitchen. “Oh, of course. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the king.”

…

They spent the morning on the couch, reading quietly and sipping their coffee and trading the occasional smile. She tucked her sock covered toes underneath his thigh as the sunlight crept across the floor. He brought his hand to rest on her knee and turned to the last chapter of his book, and she wondered if he was consciously slowing himself down so that she could attempt to keep up. 

Eventually, Roald yawned and stretched across Spencer’s lap, standing and hopping down off the couch in search of food. Spencer ran his hand down Y/N’s leg and circled his fingers around her ankle, rubbing his thumb lightly across the skin. She looked up from her book with a soft smile, wiggling her toes under his thigh. 

She closed her book and sat up a little closer to him on the couch. “So. I’ve been thinking.”

“Sounds dangerous,” he teased. 

“Ha, ha.” She rolled her eyes, and then her gaze shifted back to him and she chewed a little at the inside of her lip. 

No matter how hard she tried to quell it, the idea continued to nag at her subconscious— that even though he’d poured his heart out to her, even though he’d said that he loved her… that somehow she was still building him up in her head, seeing things that weren’t there, and making this into something it wasn’t. She was well aware that getting too comfortable too quickly was a surefire way to scare people off. 

“Our tea dates weren’t really dates,” she hedged. “So we haven’t really had a first date.”

He gave her ankle a quick squeeze. “No, I suppose we haven’t.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to think I’m in the habit of inviting men that I’m not dating to spend the night.” 

He set his book on the coffee table. “Of course.” 

“So, um.” She tilted her head and drew her brows together. She needed to hear it, directly from his perspective. “Are we— do you consider us to be, um.” She closed her eyes. “Are we dating?”

She felt him lean toward her on the couch, felt his warm palm cupping her cheek and his thumb stroking across her skin. She opened her eyes slowly to see him looking at her with a tentative smile. “I hope so,” he breathed. 

She barely stopped herself from letting out a relieved sigh, slightly embarrassed to have needed the reassurance. He didn’t seem to notice, instead closing the rest of the distance between them to press a soft kiss to her mouth. Their noses bumped together awkwardly, drawing a laugh from them both. 

He withdrew from her mouth, pressed a kiss to her bumped nose, and then sat back a little, considering. “If you’re free today, we could knock ‘first date’ off the checklist.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You have a checklist?”

“Well, a metaphorical one,” he clarified quickly. “I’m not, like, keeping track in a journal or anything.”

She laughed, bright and loud and almost carefree, and then swung her legs over the side of the couch. “What did you have in mind, doctor?”

…

Spencer Reid’s idea of a perfect first date was the Smithsonian National Postal Museum, and it was just about the most Spencer thing Y/N had ever heard. 

“I should have put two and two together with the no technology thing,” she surmised.

“I know letters have sort of gone out of fashion with the advent of phones and email, but— letter writing is an art form!” he defended, waving his hands. “And think about how incredible it feels to get something in the mail. You don’t get that same rush with a text message.”

She thought back to receiving a perfectly wrapped package with his handwriting scrawled across the brown paper. “Mm, you do have a point there,” she conceded.

He led her through the exhibits, explaining the various displays with more facts than the placards themselves could ever contain. She watched with a smile as he gestured wildly about with his hands, his eyes wide with the joy of sharing the information— of sharing it with her. She nodded, and mmhmmed, and asked the occasional question. But she was mostly just so unbelievably content to listen to him talk about anything and everything. 

He stopped mid-sentence in the Serving the Cities exhibit, dropping his hands and looking at her sheepishly. “Sorry, I— I’m boring you.”

She drew her brows together in genuine confusion. “What? No, you’re not. I’d never heard of the, um— new— no. The— new tubes?” 

“New York City's pneumatic tube system,” he offered. 

She smiled gratefully. “Yes, the pneumatic tube system. Underground mail tubes moving at 35 miles per hour? That’s kind of amazing.” She shook her head. “Why don’t they use it anymore?” 

“The Post Office Department suspended the service to conserve funding during World War I,” he explained automatically. “They restored partial service in 1922, but it eventually just became too costly to continue.” He seemed to catch himself, shaking his head and continuing, “But I— I’m sure it’s all here in the exhibits, I should just let you—”

She grabbed his hand, and he closed his mouth to stifle the rest of his rambling. She used her free hand to gesture around at the displays. “There’s a lot of information here, but to be honest, I— I haven’t really been looking at the placards.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks as he stared at her. “I, um— I’d much rather hear it from you.” 

She watched his eyes alight with surprise and wonder, and she wanted to personally fight anyone who had ever made him believe that he was boring. He took a step closer, eyes flicking down to her mouth, and her lips twitched up into a smile. He leaned down to meet her halfway in a sweet kiss, mostly just upturned mouths and huffed breaths. 

He lingered slightly as he pulled away, still studying her with a little bit of shock. She intertwined their fingers, pressed their shoulders together, and nodded toward the next display. “So, what else can you tell me about the history of the mail system, Dr. Reid?” 

The pair of them continued through the museum, their fingers threaded together and Spencer murmuring facts into her ear. They spent three hours walking through the exhibits, pausing here and there to gaze quietly at the details of a particularly interesting display. When they finally completed their circuit, Y/N insisted on visiting the museum gift shop. 

There were postage stamp tote bags, mail carrier t-shirts, mailbox ornaments and more— all incredibly overpriced and generally ridiculous and not of interest to either of them. But the stationery display caught her eye— sets of parchment with embossed letterheads, fancy letter openers, and wax stamp kits. She ran her finger over the raised design on one particularly intricate stationery set, and Spencer peered over her shoulder. 

“I’ve always enjoyed letter writing. Partly because I tend toward the arcane, but also because it feels… intentional and personal,” he explained. “It takes time, and energy, and care.”

“It’s a very deliberate and lovely way of showing that you care about someone,” she agreed.

“Mhm,” he hummed, smiling softly. “I still write a lot of letters to my mom. When she was still in Vegas and I didn’t see her very often, I wrote the letters because she didn’t always recognize my voice over the phone.” 

He drew his brows together and ran his fingers along the top of the stationary display. “Now I write them so that she can have a— a sort of record of my life, I guess. So that hopefully when the memories aren’t there anymore, she can still read them and feel like she’s a part of the story.”

Y/N reached for his hand again, and he accepted it with a bittersweet smile. “We did the same thing for my grandma,” she told him, returning his melancholic smile. “Lots of letters and photos. I never thought of it that way, but it was sort of like keeping her in our stories.” 

She turned back to the display and picked up the package of stationery, turning it over in her hands. He gently plucked it from her grip, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “I think you need some nice paper for the next few chapters.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” she started. 

He cut her off with a press of his lips. She grasped a little at his waist as he kissed her and wondered if she would ever get used to kissing Spencer Reid. When he finally pulled back, she had to catch her breath. 

“I’ll take half,” he murmured. “I was hoping I could, um— help you write them.”

She squeezed his waist gently, heard the chains of insecurity clinking and breaking as he chiseled away at them piece by piece. “I’d like that.”

…

Two weeks later, Y/N convinced him to try painting— specifically, Paint & Sip Night at the art studio around the corner from her apartment. 

“I’m going to be terrible at this,” he warned her, looking over his shoulder at where she was tying the strings of his smock. 

She tugged the strings around his waist to gently pull him back toward her, leaned up on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. She knotted the strings tight and barely restrained herself from sneaking a little squeeze of his bum— although she did not stop herself from looking. 

“It’s not about being good at it. It’s about having fun.” She used her hands on his waist to turn him around. “And if you’re not having fun, then we can go home,” she shrugged. 

He smoothed a wrinkle from her smock. “I always have fun with you.” He smiled and scrunched his nose at her, and she returned the nose scrunch with a laugh. 

“All right, everyone!” The instructor clapped her hands together. “Are you ready to paint a masterpiece?”

Forty five minutes later, Spencer peered over at her canvas and huffed out a breath. “God, look at that texture. How are you actually good at this?”

Y/N turned and looked at his painting. “Yours looks good, too,” she insisted. 

“Michael could— and has, actually— done better than this,” he scoffed.

“Well, I like it.” She tilted her head. “It’s giving me... Monet vibes. It’ll look perfect in my living room.”

“You are not hanging this in your living room,” he laughed. 

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” she teased, turning back to her work to follow the next instruction. 

She watched him as they worked— his tongue slipping out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, his fingertips tapping across his thighs in consideration, his huffed breaths here and there when a stroke didn’t look the way he wanted it to. She finished a little bit before him, adding her tiny signature to the bottom of her canvas before standing to move to his side. She slid a gentle hand around his waist and looked over his shoulder at his work. 

He sighed and gestured to the corner of his canvas. “This whole section looks… weird.” 

She studied it for a moment. “I think maybe it’s just because it’s sort of one note?” She pointed to the rest of the painting. “Like, you played with layering the colors everywhere else. Here it’s just the blue. You could add some purple maybe? Or green,” she mused. 

“Yeah, I guess I can try that.” He shrugged and leaned over to the paints, gathering some purple on his brush.

She moved out of his way but rested her chin lightly on his shoulder as he worked. He moved the brush meticulously in small strokes, layering and creating dimension in the corner of the piece. When he finally set the brush down, he leaned his head to rest on top of hers. 

“Okay. So it looks much more…” he trailed off. 

“Cohesive,” she offered. 

She could feel his smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. He lifted his head to look at her. “Seriously, how are you so good at this?” 

She moved her chin from his shoulder and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I guess my many years of finger painting experience had to pay off someday.” She nodded to his finished painting. “I don’t know what your going rate is, but I have to have this.”

He swiveled on the stool to capture her hands in his, lacing their fingers together and pulling her in between his legs. “It’s yours.”

She feigned shock. “For free?”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrected with a sly smile. He dropped her hands to bring his own to her hips, pulling her in closer. “But it’s sort of an on-going payment deal. I’m asking at least 30 kisses per month.” 

She pressed her lips together to avoid breaking out into an absurd grin. “You drive a hard bargain.” 

“Take it or leave it. That’s my final offer,” he shrugged. 

She pretended to mull it over, lips pursed and eyes on the ceiling. He huffed out a laugh, and she cracked a smile, bringing her fingers up to tangle in his curls. “Deal.” 

…

Y/N: I don’t even know if your phone is capable of receiving pictures, but look what I hung today!

Spencer: It receives pictures! I wish I hadn’t received this one though. I cannot believe you actually hung that horrific thing on your wall.

Y/N: I’m going to commission you for a piece for the kitchen ;)

Spencer: You’re hilarious.

Y/N: You love it.

Spencer: I do. 

Spencer: I wanted to tell you... I have my first therapy appointment tomorrow afternoon. 

Y/N: Spence!!!

Y/N: I am so proud of you. It’s going to change your life. 

Spencer: You’ve already done that, Miss Honey. 

…

Y/N: How did it go?

Spencer: I cried? A lot.

Y/N: That happens to me, too! Good therapy will do that. Other than the crying, how do you feel? 

Spencer: I feel… amazing. Lighter, I think? I’m actually kind of bummed that I have to wait two weeks to do it again. 

Y/N: I know I said it already, but I’m so incredibly proud of you. 

Spencer: I quite literally would not have done it without you. 

Y/N: Happy to give you a little nudge whenever you need it, doctor. <3

...

The BAU’s caseload had been uncharacteristically slow, and the two of them took advantage of every moment. On one particularly gloomy Saturday afternoon, they were sprawled across Spencer’s couch and sipping on their umpteenth cups of coffee. He scribbled notes in the margins of his students’ latest essays, while she typed out her lesson plans for the upcoming week. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him set down his pen. He stifled a sigh and she held back a smile as she typed out a short vowel word chain. She could feel his eyes on her, could practically smell the smoke coming from his overworked brain. 

When he didn’t break the silence, she looked up over the top of her laptop. “Can I help you?” she teased.

His cheeks colored with a very pretty flush— the same one she’d pulled from him in the carpool loop all those months ago. “Two of my students just… aren’t getting it.” He gestured to the papers in front of him. “I’ve tried extra office hours, extended time for work completion, and it just— doesn’t seem to be helping.” He looked at her with pursed lips. “I was, um— I was wondering if you had any ideas? That I could try.”

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “You— you’re asking me for help?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “You’re the best teacher I know.”

Now it was her turn to blush. “Oh. Well, um…” She set her laptop on the coffee table and sat up, considering. “Have you tried differentiating your lectures?” At his raised eyebrow, she continued, “Like— having a PowerPoint or a recorded version that they can revisit? You’re kind of a fast talker, so it’s possible that they’re struggling to retain the information because they can’t keep up with your delivery.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head with a furrowed brow. “I... didn’t consider that my oratory speed could have an impact on student achievement. But of course— that makes total sense.” He gave her a sheepish smile and his best puppy dog eyes. “So… how much coffee do you think you’d require to, um— help me make a PowerPoint?”

She sighed dramatically but couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “At least another two cups. And one of those peanut butter sandwich cookies from Soho.”

He set the papers aside and leaned over to plant a kiss on her upturned mouth. “I’ll buy you a dozen.”

…

In late May, their luck ran out. 

First there was a case in Arizona— brutal and ritualistic murders scattered through the desert with almost no cooling off period. On the eighth day that he was in Phoenix, Y/N’s phone rang on the bedside table. She reached across to pick it up, smiling at his name on the screen.

“Hey,” she answered, moving her computer off her lap and getting comfortable. 

“Hi,” Spencer murmured. 

“How’s the case going?”

“It’s, um— it’s going okay, actually,” he assessed. “We’ve made a lot of headway in the last twelve hours, and I think we might be narrowing in.”

“That’s great.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

His tone of voice had her sitting up a little straighter in bed. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he insisted, but his tone didn’t shift. 

“You don’t sound fine,” she prompted. 

“I just—” He blew out a breath, and she could almost hear him running his hand over his face. “I miss you. And maybe that’s weird, because we’ve only been together for seventy four days, but—”

“Spence,” she interrupted. He sighed, and she continued, “It’s not weird. I miss you, too.”

“Eight days isn’t even that long, but I just— I’ve never, um.” The line was quiet for long enough that she almost thought the call had dropped. And then his voice came back, softer than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve never had someone to miss.”

Her heart physically ached for all the time he’d spent without someone to miss— and without someone to miss him, and cherish him, and— well, love him. She still hadn’t said it back. She wanted to say it right then, but it felt wrong to say it for the first time over the phone. And there was still that nagging little fear— of his inevitable reconsideration and rejection— keeping her from pulling the metaphorical trigger. 

“Well. I’m happy to fill that position,” she settled on— and hated how inadequate it sounded. She leaned back against the pillows, prepared to make him feel it even if she couldn’t say it. At the very least, she could help him take his mind off the monsters— if only for a few minutes. “Teach me something, doctor.”

He laughed a little through the phone, and she knew her plan was working already. 

“Okay,” he started, and she could hear the muffled crinkle of the hotel duvet. “Um— did you know that the Sonoran Desert is the only place in the world where saguaro cacti grow?”

“Wow. No, I didn’t,” she smiled, ready to learn everything there was to know about the giant, prickly plants. “Why is that?”

“Experts believe there are two main factors that limit the cacti from expanding into the Mojave — temperature and rainfall. It’s also possible that...”

...

On his tenth day away, the letter showed up. 

Y/N,

I’m writing from the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the desert— well, more so the parking lot of the desert— and I’m reminded of the duality of this landscape. The arid climate and rugged terrain can make it a mercilessly hostile place. Yet at the same time, this environment is one of the most enigmatic and enchanting, and it’s teeming with life if you look close enough. 

This job can illuminate the cruelty and brutality of humanity, but it so often reminds me of the resilience and the goodness of people, too. The duality of the desert parallels the duality of man, I suppose.

I don’t know if you’ve ever been out here. I think you’d like it. I’ve thought of another poem that makes me think of you, and of the way that I finally feel like I can breathe. 

With thee, in the Desert –

With thee in the thirst –

With thee in the Tamarind wood –

Leopard breathes – at last!

       - Emily Dickinson

Love, 

Spencer

…

They had barely deplaned after the culmination of the case in Arizona before they were called back out to Colorado, this time for six days. She barely heard from him at all, save for the occasional text, and even then, it was never more than ten words. She spent her waking hours worrying and dreamt the same terrifying dream every single night— being chased until her legs gave out, never sure of what she was running from and never able to slow down. 

It was 2:27 in the morning when her phone rang, rousing her from her restless tossing and turning. His name on the caller ID had the worry jumping into her throat, but she answered as calmly as she could. 

“Hi.” She yawned into her hand and let out a little sigh.

“Hi.” The tenor of his voice was quiet and weary. “I know it’s unbelievably late—”

She sat up and interrupted, “Are you okay?” 

He was quiet for a moment, and her worry intensified. “I, um— I’m… I’m downstairs.” 

She turned on the bedside lamp. “Like, right now?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed quietly. “I— I’m sorry. I should have called first before just— showing up at your door.”

She was already climbing out of bed. “No, no, honey, don’t be sorry. I’m coming to buzz you in.”

She shuffled through the dark apartment, fumbled for the intercom to press the buzzer. She could hear his feet on the stairs before she even made it to the door, unlocking the deadbolt and pulling back the chain. As the door swung open, he was rounding the top of the stairs and turning the corner of the landing. 

It took him five strides to cross the threshold, and then he was tumbling into her arms and burying his face in her shoulder. The impact knocked the breath out of her, but she recovered quickly, bringing her arms around him and holding him tight. 

He didn’t speak, just breathed into her hair and clutched a little desperately at her back. She stroked a soothing hand over his curls and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured. “You’re safe, Spence. I’m right here.”

She shifted her weight slowly back and forth, rocking him gently and petting over his hair, steady and rhythmic. He burrowed his face into the crook of her neck and let out a shaky breath, and Y/N felt his tears on her skin. She brought both arms around his shoulders then, squeezing him tightly. “I’m right here, honey,” she repeated. “I’m right here.”

He cried quietly into her shoulder as she ran soothing hands over his back. She knew this was more than just missing her— it was the cruelty and brutality of man that he saw every day, the layers of hurt that would probably always be there. But she knew the resilience was there, too. And she was determined to always show him the other half of the chasm of humanity.

After a long while, he pulled back, still sniffling. Y/N reached out to grasp his face in both her hands, sweeping the tears from his cheeks with gentle thumbs. Her heart panged at the way his eyes were shining and ringed red, full of complete exhaustion and raging emotion. 

“What do you need?” she asked. “Water, tea, a snack, a shower?”

He shook his head. “Just you,” he mumbled.

She felt the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “You’ve got me. Always.” She pressed one, two, three chaste kisses to his chapped lips. “Let’s get cleaned up and changed and into bed, hm?”

She had him wash his face and brush his teeth, and then she moved him to sit on the closed toilet lid. “Close your eyes,” she said softly. 

He could barely keep them open as it was, and she didn’t even want to think about how little sleep he’d had over the last three weeks. She cupped his face in her hands for a long moment, rememorizing every curve and angle. 

First, she swiped a cotton pad soaked with cucumber toner across the high planes of his cheekbones and along his nose. She allowed it to dry, and then dropped gentle kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Next, she took a dab of moisturizer on the tips of her fingers, rubbing in circular motions along the path her lips had traveled. Finally, she pressed a few drops of her favorite lavender and chamomile face oil onto his cheeks, soothing away the last, damp remnants of agony. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were already a little clearer, a little calmer, a little lighter. He let out a long, slow breath and laced their fingers together. She squeezed his hands, and then pulled him up and into her side.

She led him into her bedroom, stripped him out of his cardigan and button-up and trousers, and helped him into the soft, oversized school fundraiser shirt that had become his. And then she took his hands in hers once again and pulled him toward the bed, getting him settled and tucked in on his side before coming around to shut off the bedside light. He whined at the loss of contact, and she shushed him gently as she climbed in next to him. 

“C’mere.” She lifted the duvet, and he moved to lay his head on her chest, wrapping his arm around her middle and pulling her impossibly closer. She tucked the covers back around him, and then brought her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. 

She stroked his hair quietly, listening to his breathing as it evened and slowed. He was asleep in minutes, snuffling gently into her chest. His grip loosened with every breath, and he settled more comfortably against her side with each exhale. 

She let the tears she’d been holding back slip over her lash line and pressed a soft kiss into his hair. The faint snores vibrating from his chest muffled her quiet voice as she whispered the trio of words she couldn’t quite bring herself to say in the light of day.

———

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