#MAILBOX - LETTER DELIVERED;

[nitw]

why do you gotta tell me the same thing THRICE if it's still not out for delivery!!

[hyunpic]

[endreal]

There's valid questions ad to whether I believe in fate or not but I do believe coincidence and friends lemme tell ya, this one was a doozy.

[snzical]

did anyone else have like a fascination with the postal system and just like conceptually with mail as a kid or was there something weird going on with me

[gludgenbell]

I've been playing Honkai Star Rail recently

[moongreenlight]

More childhood best friend!Gaz headcanons because I cannot stop thinking about him

He’s your valentine every single year. Started as his dad trying to teach him proper etiquette when he was young and just never stopped. A bouquet of flowers on your stoop and a cheap card he scratches a note into. Never signs his name. Just ends ‘xx.’

He chaperoned your first real date in high school because your dad paid for his tank of gas. The guy you were keen on never called you back after. It took you until you were seventeen to realize that it was probably because Kyle was sitting on the same side of the booth as you and spoon feeding you bites of dinner.

He also ruined your first real relationship when he beat your boyfriend to asking you to formal (a full two months early). You tried to explain that it didn’t mean anything, but he just couldn’t understand. Kyle said it was for the better while you sobbed into his shoulder. “Tosser can’t cope with the fact he’ll always be second place. Better not to waste your time.”

His basic training was 26 weeks away from home. He went immediately after picking up his diploma. It was the most miserable summer of your entire life. Spent primarily waiting by the mailbox for the postman to deliver your daily letters back and forth. He’s started signing off “Garrick. x.”

Both of your families went to his graduation, but his mother insisted you were the one to tap him out. You barely recognized him, like the summer where his family took a month long vacation and he came back a full four inches taller. He’s bigger now, his shoulders permanently rolled back, but he still carries himself with that same cool ease.

He barely stays long enough to say his hello’s to everyone until he takes you back to the car and lays you out in the backseat. Griping the whole way about how “you’d be in a hurry, too. Couldn’t even get away with a wank in the shower.” And “s’your duty to the country. You wanna thank me for my service, don’t you?” You swear the two of you fit easier six months ago, but now he’s cramped between the seats. Caged in tight. His head bumps the window each time he snaps his hips into you.

You seriously considered moving close to base when you found out he was being permanently relocated after joining the task force, but he wouldn’t hear a word about it.

So you settle on sending each other disposable cameras back and forth. You’ve got a picture of him on a mission in Amsterdam framed up in your hall. He’s got a cigarette hanging out of his big, toothy smile, posing like an overexcited tourist in front of a lingerie shop with a display window that made your ears hot when you first saw it.

He called you a few days after his incident with the helo in Urzikstan. Boasted his adventure with only a whispering tremble on the soft underside of his tough facade. Carried on until you wretched dryly into the receiver. Working yourself up into sick with worry even though he promised he was fine, just sticking to the ground for a bit.

Even though you’re seeing him less nowadays, he’s still somehow coming between you and any romantic pursuits you make. You chalk it up to coincidence most of the time, but a blind eye can only be turned so far.

He seems to have a sixth sense for when you’re on a date or a one night stand. Sending texts and pictures that could be misconstrued as flirty to someone who didn’t know the dynamic at just the wrong moment every time. And there was the one time where he sent flowers to your desk at work just a few days after you’d said something about a coworker getting sweet on you.

It happened so often that you eventually decided that the dating scene just wasn’t for you. Resigned to focus on work and friends. Adopting a new mantra of “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.”

You’ve got no idea why Kyle is so pleased to hear about the conclusion you’ve come to. Or why he’s suddenly coming back home for a few weeks.

[onyxmilk]

Twilight x f!Reader; “Missing” (p2)

notes; part 2 to this !! sorry for the long wait :( !! tw; fem!reader wc; 1.5k tl; @dianexo-v @mr-underhills-things @solaeirr @lenguasdegatofan @0vendettaself @sassy-cat-in-town @dreaminmemories

Twilight opened the front door, nodding when he saw Franky and smiled when he saw Anya. They had just come back after their outing to the cafe, but rather than looking excited, Franky had a frantic look on his face. “Bro, we need to talk. A-S-A-P.” Franky said, cutting to the chase as if the matter was urgent. Twilight nodded, sensing the seriousness in Franky’s voice before sending Anya off to her room and sitting down with Franky. Currently, Yor was out and Anya had wanted some uncle time, it was the perfect opportunity for Twilight to give updates on his mission.

“Remember [AgentName]?” Franky asks, Twilight deadpanned for a moment giving Franky a weird look. “Yes..? Franky, that’s my wife.” Twilight whisper yelled, Franky just chuckled nervously in response, “Well, she hasn’t received any messages from you in the last two freaking years.” The short man says. That explained a lot.

Twilight sighed, “That explains the lack of messages in return..” The blond said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But get this, you’re a real father too.” Franky mentioned before making an explosion noise with his mouth and doing some motion with his hands.

Loid choked on his drink, “Pardon?” he asked as he coughed up some of the drink. “You have a daughter, like a biological one!” Franky said, seemingly the only excited one of the two about this news. “And she didn’t tell me?” Loid whispered softly, mostly to himself, Franky shrugged. “She seemed hurt that you hadn’t reached out, maybe that’s why..” Franky replied, Loid just held his head.

He had been reaching out, someone or something had been cutting contact between him and his wife. He had told her not to contact him unless he contacted her first- but here he sat regretting that choice. “I should get going..” Franky said standing up, “Wait, if I can’t trust Nightfall to deliver messages to The Handler, can you deliver a message to her directly?” Loid asked.

Franky acted like he was thinking, making Loid shake his shoulders, “Fine.” Franky gave in. Loid wrote a long message before tucking into the envelope and handed it to Franky. Franky signed and took the paper before heading out and to where Twilight and [AgentName] lived and slipped the envelope into the mailbox and went on his way.

It would be the following afternoon when [YourName] opened her mailbox and found a piece of mail addressed to her using her agent name. [YourName]’s heart skipped a beat, she grabbed the remaining mail and rushed back inside. Luckily, Lotte was sound asleep, napping.

[YourName] carefully opened the envelope, fearful of what was inside. Divorce papers? An apology? Or a mission? She had no idea, she had hoped it was the middle option, but half of her wouldn’t blame Twilight if he chose to divorce her.

“To my Sweet Angel,”

Okay, well seems good so far…

“I want to start this letter off with an apology, for it seems the messages I’ve been sending for the last two years haven’t graced your beautiful (EyeColor) colored eyes, and that absolutely breaks my heart. You deserve a night out, alone, with me, though I won’t be able to serve that up for another six months. This mission is almost over and I’ll return to your arms, along with our child that I’ve just been told about. Why didn’t you reach out? Two years, Angel, and not once did you break protocol. As much as I appreciate it, when you’re going through desperate times, i.e. giving birth to our first born, is definitely a great reason to do so. I hope I haven’t missed too much, just as I miss your face…

-Twilight”

[YourName] broke down into tears, thanking whatever god out there that existed for this message. She gently brought the paper up to her face as she cried, unintentionally sniffing it and getting a whiff of that cologne Twilight had spread across their bedsheets on days he didn’t feel like showering before a nap.

[YourName] could hardly believe that Twilight hadn’t asked for a divorce. That it was all some miscommunication, not even on her end, but on his. Half of her was pissed, was he trying to seamlessly dance his way back into her life? She didn’t know if she was exactly ready for that, if Lotte could handle that.

With a sigh, [YourName] placed the letter on the kitchen counter. She had to prepare to write some sort of response, she was hurt but happy to hear from her husband. Why didn't he try other ways to contact you beforehand? It broke her heart to know he hadn't thought of delivering a message to the handler himself.

[YourName] brushed those thoughts away and decided to make herself a snack, then one for Lotte as well, preparing for when she woke up. While the woman ate her snack, she watched some tv show until she heard her daughter's cries. She set her bowl down and headed toward the nursery. [YourName] scooped Lotte up and comforted her while opening the curtains.

Lotte was only two, but she could always tell when something was off with her mother. When she was finished getting changed into some afternoon clothing, Lotte made it her mission to make her mother feel better. She tried sharing her food, cuddling [YourName], and other things toddlers could do- but nothing seemed to work.

"Mama! Mama!" Lotte cried rushing toward her mother, who sat on the couch and seemed lost in thought. "Hold!" Lotte said, handing her favorite stuffed animal to her mother, which finally broke [YourName] and she was in tears once more. Lotte gasped, climbing the couch and hugging her mother's arm. [YourName] brought her daughter in for a proper hug, kissing Lotte's head.

"How do you feel about meeting.. someone important to mama?" [YourName] asked, not letting it leak that this important someone was, in fact, Lotte's father. She wasn't even sure if Lotte knew what a 'father' was- it's not like she's in any schooling yet, all she knew is what she saw in her cartoons and her mother. Lotte looked like she was thinking, but she eventually nodded her head, "Yay!" she said.

A little was taken off of her shoulders, and after dinner that night while Lotte watched her cartoon, [YourName] wrote a reply to Twilight. It wasn't long, but it definitely wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill letter. To summarize her note to her husband, she basically said she was ready to meet up with him whenever he was ready.

The following morning, [YourName] delivers the message to The Handler who gets it to Twilight in no time.

Twilight was sitting at his desk when he received the letter, he thought- 'oh just another side mission' but when he opened and saw [YourName]'s handwriting, he melted. He took in the gentleness of the handwriting and how carefully it was folded, he even hesitated- but sniffed the paper, and just as he thought, it smelt just like the home you two shared.

After reading your note, Twilight cleared his schedule and sent a message to The Handler to send [YourName] to the hospital with their child. So, without questioning him, The Handler did just that. At first, [YourName] was confused why she was given direct orders to pick up Lotte from the babysitter's and go to the hospital, then it clicked in her head who she was going to go see.

"You know, Lotte, this is the hospital you were born in." [YourName] tells her daughter, the toddler just gasped at the news, "Woah!" She says in awe as the driver parks and lets [YourName] and Lotte out. "I'll be just a call away." The driver says before [YourName] could shut the door, she nods her head, shuts the door, and the driver leaves.

Walking into the hospital was something else. [YourName] saw familiar faces from the agency, and a nurse or two that checked in on her when she was in labor, it was all just a lot. Half of [YourName] wanted to chicken out, rush back outside and call for the driver- but she didn't. She couldn’t.

She made her way to Twilight's hallway, found the door to his office, and sighed before knocking. Lotte was on her hip, "Where, Mama?" Lotte asked. "We're seeing that important someone to mama, that's where we are." [YourName] replied softly, just then the door opened and there stood her husband, her daughter's father, the love of her life- Twilight.

"Oh my goodness.." Twilight whispered before ushering the two inside his office, he shut the door and went to hug both Lotte and [YourName]. [YourName] returned the hug with her free hand and softly breathed in her husband's scent, "I've missed you.." Twilight whispered to her. [YourName] smiled softly, nodding her head.

Eventually, [YourName] set Lotte down, allowing the toddler to play with the different toys that Twilight had out for planned clients he had canceled on for the day. "She looks like you.." Twilight said, admiring his daughter for the first time, "Really? I think she looks like her father," [YourName] replied with a sad smile.

After about an hour, and a snack, Lotte was out on the couch. Which finally left Twilight and [YourName] alone to talk. Before anything words could slip out, [YourName] slapped Twilight across the face before bringing him in for a kiss. "Don't think you're just getting away from the last two years, I'm absolutely pissed with you." [YourName] whispered to her husband before kissing him again.

[illusivelle]

chicken scratch

pairing: carmen 'carmy' berzatto x reader rating: t (for now) length: 1,028 words content: mild cursing summary: you've never met your neighbour, but you've received plenty of their mail and now, a large package. of all the stories you made up in your head about who this 'carmen berzatto' could be, the real thing might just be your new favourite. a/n: brain rot means a middle of the night word dump. will likely be the first of many little stories about your next door neighbour, carmen, because that dynamic lives in my mind rent free. fluff for now, but we all know what that means (it means it'll definitely become nsfw later, sooner probably). read part two link to ao3 here!

The first letter was a mistake, the second one was a coincidence. The third one was not a big deal and the fourth was only a little more than a nuisance. But when a much larger package thudded against your front door at the ass crack of dawn, the recipient clearly written across the top of the cardboard box as your neighbour… well, that was just flat out annoying at this point. You hadn't even known deliveries made their rounds so early in the day and as big as the box was, when you lifted it to carry next door, it weighed lighter than a feather.

The pile of letters that accidentally found their way to your apartment were usually slipped through the small mailbox of your neighbour's, sometimes under the door. You'd thought about dropping the package and simply going about your day, but curiosity got the better of you as your knuckles rapped against the door and waited instead.

What could a Carmen Berzatto have possibly required to be delivered at this time?

In the time you've lived in the building, there'd been very few run-ins with other tenants. Not that you'd ever complain, perfectly content with your own company. You made friends with one elderly lady who always offered you some of her freshly baked bread, and in return you picked her up flowers and some extra produce on your farmer's market runs. The landlord wasn't your friend, but he wasn't your enemy either, and somehow you'd convinced him to let you paint your bathroom your favourite colour with little to no resistance. But your next door neighbour remained a mystery, one you've conjured up about a dozen different backstories and personalities for.

Carmen Berzatto, notorious criminal, hiding out in a tiny Chicago apartment. Carmen Berzatto, hundred-year-old vampire, who might either burn in the sun or look like they'd walked through a glitter bomb. Carmen Berzatto, part time Chicagoan, who actually doesn't live here anymore and maybe there's a squatter inside instead. Carmen Berzatto, the tax evader, because why else would they have so much goddamn mail being sent to them?

You'd been lost in the web of made-up histories for your neighbour when the door swung open to reveal said neighbour, and it slowly dawned on you that there wasn't a single story where you imagined Carmen Berzatto to look like that.

Piercing, wide blue eyes and a head of shaggy brown tufts that made you want to tangle your fingers through them, especially that small curl dangling just above his forehead.

"Hi." His greeting was laced with mild confusion that seemed immediately alleviated when his attention dropped to the box in your hands. "Oh."

"Hi," you blurted out, lifting the package, "got another one for you."

"I—I'm sorry about— about, uh, about all of that. It won't happen again."

"Won't it?" You were mostly teasing now. Although you were jolted awake by the sound of it thrashing against your door, and although you were rather peeved about getting up before you wanted to, you couldn't find it in yourself to be irritated anymore.

Carmen reached out to take the box from you, giving it a small shake with what you thought was a ghost of a smile before he set it down to the side somewhere you couldn't see. "It won't. I'm sorry." The flirt of his tongue along his lips brought your gaze toward it before you met his eyes again.

Those stunning icy blues.

"It's okay, nothing to be sorry for."

"I must've really fucked up on the— the uh, apartment number."

"What?"

"The apartment number."

"Yeah," you looked at him a bit dumbfounded, gaze darting to the door where the number and letter were, "what about it?"

"I—"

"You don't know your apartment number?"

"My writing's shit."

Both of you seemed to blink in unison, another lick of Carmen's lips which you mirrored before a stupid smile curled your lips. "Oh."

"Not a good excuse, I know." He nodded, jaw working as he turned his head to the metal on the door, a short and deep chuckle sounding from him. "Again, I—"

"Not sorry," you shook your head, "just chicken scratch."

For a moment, Carmen stared at you, and if it wasn't bad enough to have those too-blue eyes simply looking at you, to find them nearly boring holes as they danced between your eyes and across your face made you want to evaporate. Made you wish the ground would open up and swallow you hole. Made you want to drown in the depths of the ocean blues that were his irises.

"Just chicken scratch," he murmured after a beat of silence and what was once a ghost of a smile was definitely something now, the corner of his mouth lifting enough to wrinkle the corner of his eye. Enough to show you the dimple in his cheek. "Thanks for— for bringing the package."

"Yeah." And the smile unfurling on your lips was nothing short of genuine. "You're welcome, Carmen."

"Just, uh, just Carm is good. Carmy."

"Okay."

Another beat passed where you thought you might have been rendered frozen by one of your favourite shades of blue, glued to the floor through hypnosis, until a sound down the hall caught your ear and you nodded at Carmen. Turning on your heel, you took the first step back to your apartment, then another, and another.

And it wasn't until you had your hand stretched out to grab for your doorknob when you heard his voice echo from where you'd came. "See you around?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

The moment hung in the air on a thin thread, the both of you sharing furtive and hidden smiles before his door closed and yours opened.

Carmen Berzatto, not a notorious criminal (to your knowledge) or a hundred-year-old vampire (yet). Nor was he a part-time Chicagoan (not with that accent) or a tax evader (maybe). None of the ideas you had floating in your mind about your neighbour even came close to the real thing.

Carmen Berzatto, curly-haired blue-eyed boy-next-door with chicken scratch for writing and a fleeting dimple you wanted to see again.

[floef-likes-minecraft]

Work

“Good moring~!” Pearl started as she crossed the DHP parking lot with a pep in her step. It was a beautiful day, she had been up since the crack of dawn riding around the Server on Donkey (who is a mule) to deliver all sorts of letters and parcels. While Tango and Etho were still busy getting the entire mailing system online, she was happy to deliver more by hand.

Recently, the DHP had gotten an influx in mail having to be delivered to them and Pearl had made friends with the somewhat grumpy clerk that was sometimes maybe around. Today he was, for which Pearl was happy because that meant she could give him the mail personally instead of trying to get it into the building by shoving it under the broken door. The office was still under construction, so Pearl could forgive them for not even having a small mailbox.

“We’re closed,” Grian said. He was lounging outside, sitting against the white wall of the building and taking in the sun that crested just over the trees. He looked like he could use a bit more of that sun, but not everybody was as blessed as Pearl to have the best job in the world as a Postmaster and be outside all the time.

“Oh, I’m just delivering the mail,” Pearl answered cheerfully as she dug into her postbag. Everything was perfectly organized so it didn’t take long for her to grab out a stack with at least ten letters bundled together. “There you go, mister Grian, it’s always such a pleasure coming out here!”

When Grian didn’t take the bundle Pearl handed out to him, she just but the them carefully on the pavement next to him. He looked at them like they had said something foul to him, which he wouldn’t know until he actually opened them. Then, Grian looked up again to Pearl and a frown appeared on his face.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, rather rudely.

“It’s just that we barely have the chance to properly have a chat,” Pearl simply explained. “I’m not actually sure if the mailing system will be operational this far out, so I might have to keep coming here myself. Isn’t that great?”

“You really don’t have to,” Grian argued weakly, as he grabbed a paper cup with a steaming liquid from his side and set it to his lips to take a little sip. He pulled a face as if he didn’t much like the beverage, but didn’t say anything about it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s my job and I do it with pleasure,” Pearl assured him with a smile. “Isn’t it just great how a job can be a calling?”

“Can’t say I share that sentiment,” Grian sighed. He had to squint against the light of the sun to look at Pearl. “Look, if there is anything you want from me you’re going to have to come back when we’re opened.”

“Oh, no, don’t you worry your little cotton socks,” Pearl answered, waving her hand. “That is the beauty of mail, you can tend to it whenever you have the time! You can do it first thing when you open again, some work to look forward to!”

Grian opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but ended up just shaking his head slowly. He must’ve had a rather bad night of sleep to be in such a mellow mood, Pearl assumed. She couldn’t imagine moping around at her job like this, it was way to wonderful to waste a day with a bad mood.

“So… do you have any mail to send?” she continued when Grian wasn’t pushing his conversation forward. “Any replies you need to send out from the letters I’ve brought you last week?”

“Haven’t gotten to them yet,” Grian answered dryly. “We were closed.”

“Oh,” Pearl was caught of guard by that but regrouped quickly. “Well, just know that you can count on the Hermit Post & Co to deliver anything you need. I can even deliver important documents if you want, with signed handover and everything. I’ll give it my extra secure, personal attention.”

“Great,” Grian answered with a sigh. “Don’t you have more mail to deliver? I was kind of in the middle of something.”

He took another sip from his drink, which seemed to be the ‘something’ he was in the middle of doing.

“Nope,” Pearl answered cheerful, shifting to sit next to Grian with her face turned towards the sun. “But I can enjoy this wonderful sunlight together with you. Isn’t that great?”

“… I don’t get paid enough for this.”   

[reidsbookclub]

Yours Truly Spencer Reid x fem! reader WC: 2555  fluff pure fluff tw: mentions of Gideon's death

AN: ending is a bit rushed but when I copy & pasted here I accidentally deleted it and couldn’t recall everything I wrote 😩

It’s been three months living with the knowledge that Gideon is no longer there. His conversation with Rossi was haunting him in the middle of the night. “I know I’m not being very rational,” he had told Rossi, “but I think about him all the time. And I knew he was always out there, now it just feels empty.” Rossi’s words still echoed in his mind. “Maybe you’ll find something else to fill the empty space.” He couldn’t even begin to imagine finding anything that would fill the void of now knowing that his mentor would no longer be just a call away. He needed to find a way to feel close to him, so he put pen to paper and did what he knew best: he started writing Gideon letters with the intent of them being addressed to fire. He put pen to paper and tried to connect it to the cloudy thoughts of his brain. After a couple of hours he fell asleep with the warmth of the fireplace enclosing him in a hug. 

Not even in his wildest dreams did he ever thing that letter would get read and replied to. 

It had been three months since her godfather Jason had passed away, three months of losing the only father figure she had had. If she didn’t know any better she could’ve sworn that he was still around, his presence felt throughout the small cabin she was inherited.  Stephen, Jason’s son, had delivered a letter stating such. The simple letter in the testament read, “Y/N, just know that a very good friend of mine holds a key to this cabin, he might drop by if he feels the need to feel close to me, or just an escape from the darkness of this world. Be kind to him, Dr. Reid needs some warmth, kindness and love in his life.”  

Days later she found a piece of paper on the floor of the cabin. She really needed to seal the mail slot on the door and install a mailbox.  But she couldn’t help but let out a gasp on who sent it, the Dr. Reid in her godfather's letter. 

Dear Gideon,  It’s been three months since you’ve passed and I can’t help but ask why I never reached out to you when you left the BAU. 

Oh. So he’s a coworker. She wondered if he helped found the BAU alongside Rossi and her godfather, suddenly wondering if Dr. Reid had many stories about her godfather’s younger days.  Silencing her thoughts, she continued reading. 

You know how I’m a specialist at overthinking everything and I just can’t help but wonder if I still have a place in the BAU now that you’ve gone. 

Who is this Dr. Reid? 

Gideon I’m becoming a mastermind at vanishing into the deep thoughts of my brain in the middle of the night. Midnights have now become my afternoons. I miss the talks we used to have. If I’m being honest I’m finding it so hard to find my place with the team now that I can’t just hide in your office. Can you believe Morgan invited me out to the club? Me. 

Club? Was Dr. Reid not an old guy like her godfather or was Morgan just being nice and inviting a mentor out to drinks?  Curiosity getting the best of her, she continued reading the letter, hoping to get more answers on who Dr. Reid really is. 

You always used to say my first degree was running away into the deep thoughts of my mind but I think I have added a fourth Ph.D to my resume and that’s being my own worst enemy. 

Multiple Phds? She couldn’t even finish school. Who was this guy? 

You know how hard it is to admit it to myself but I miss you Gideon. Sometimes I still talk to you when I feel like screaming at the sky, angry that you left me with nothing but a letter, just like everyone else that had ever left me did, but I can't be angry at you.  -SSA Agent Reid…. Yes I know, Gideon. I need to make people respect me. So I guess I’m signing off as, SSA Doctor Spencer Reid. 

He wouldn’t need to make people respect him if he wasn’t young? Would he? Not being able to get her mind off the mysterious Dr. Reid, she decided to write him a letter.

Coming back from a demanding case always felt like a relief and the worst thing in the world at the same time. Relief for finally being home and the worst thing because once you’re home, warm in bed, your mind starts reliving every little thing you could’ve done differently. This night would be different. Spencer was greeted at the door by his Russian Blue cat named Atticus and a tea-stained letter on his mailbox. 

Dr. Spencer Reid, I must admit that receiving a letter addressed to my godfather was surprising, I fully apologize for opening and reading your letter, I assumed you meant for no one to read it. Have you ever been to my godfather Jason’s cabin? If you have, then you must know that there is a small town that is 15 miles away. I went there earlier today and down the block from the main road there is a small antique shop. I stopped and entered, always curious about the stories that old items have, who owned them? Were they special to them or just small trinkets, why did the owner sell them? All these questions. No answers. Anyways, there was a box filled with old drawings and photographs. 25 cents each and I couldn't help but buy some because they all reminded me of you.  You must think I'm insane for saying that something reminded me of you when we have never met, so please don’t profile that too much, anyways, these photographs had me imagining things. It's crazy. Heck, I don’t even know anything about you. Yes, I could look it up but where's the fun in that? Is it crazy that I can’t help myself and imagine who you are? That I cannot help but think of all of these little scenarios making a film about your life. I’ve been rambling too much about nonsense so take care Dr. Reid.   - Hope you stay safe  Y/N

Reid read and re-read the surprise letter. Atticus on his lap sleeping. Goddaughter, why couldn't he recall Gideon ever mentioning a goddaughter. Who was she? Based on the letter she rambled…a lot and got excited about the most random things. Reid let out a soft giggle startling Atticus. “I think…I think I want to write another letter, Atticus. She seems fun to talk to, don't you think?” 

Silence. That is all she heard for three long weeks cursing herself for responding to his letter the way that she did.  He must’ve thought she was nothing but a foolish petulant child with her dreaming and fantasizing about different worlds and what ifs. Just as she was wondering if she should write another letter apologizing she heard the unmistakable sound of papers being thrown into the mail slot. “Thank you!” she shouted through the door to the mailman. One coffee-stained envelope standing out over the spam ads she got.

Dear Y/N, I must admit writing a letter to you seems a bit strange so please bear with me if I seem   awkward,  I promise I am working on it. Shit I spilled some coffee on the paper, hopefully its not that noticeable. Who am I kidding of course it will be noticeable. Well I am hoping you like coffee smells. Ms. Y/N I hope that the letter I sent you did not cause you any more grief, and please feel free to…how did you put it? “ramble much about nonsense” to me at any time. I thought it was cute. Well now I am thankful you cannot see the blush I have because Derek is sure making fun of me at the moment. I’m sorry that it seems like forever since you last replied to me but the case we had was taking a toll on me and I couldn’t seem to taint your sunshineness with the darkness of the case. I just wanted to let you know that the way you make time disappear everytime i re-read your letter brings me calmness, and brings me hope that maybe someday we could become friends. Please always continue telling me about the little what if scenarios that help you make my life seem more interesting than it is. I find it adorably cute that you do these things. Now I can’t help but wonder if you will think I am just a boring old man that sits in the corner of a dark room– I promise I am not. Anyways, a little about myself I have a cat named Atticus, I enjoy stimulating my brain by learning new things which is how I got three Phds. You can always find me with coffee and a good book and—fucking hell I sound boring as fuck and you give off the impression of being this magnetic carefree beautiful person.   Great, now I am overthinking everything I have said so far – everyone knows that afterall i am a specialist at doing so.  Thats all for now  Sincerely, Spencer Reid. 

She couldn’t help but giggle. All throughout the letter Spencer sounded just like the type of person that she would love to get to know further. Someone that in another life would be considered a tortured poet, living amongst the rest of them in the peacefulness of the lakes, someone that would be rubbing elbows with Wordsworth and Austen. As she re-read the letter she was trying to ignore the blush that spread across her cheeks at Spencer using the word cute in reference to her. One thing was certain that she would be holding on to her pen-pal because for some reason he made her feel a way no other person was able to do. 

It had been two months since the initial letter that started this newfound friendship Spencer found himself in. The only thing that has kept him going were the weekly letters that Y/N has been sending him. They’re weekly letters always bringing a smile to his face and giving him the necessary “push” in between cases. This new letter brought an even bigger smile to his face and the sudden urge to finally drive up to that cabin and meet the person that has been holding his mind captive all day. 

Dear Spencer,  How is Atticus doing? I know you were planning on adopting a kitten to keep Atticus company while you are away. May I suggest a cute little white cat? Or a ginger cat? Maybe one named  Arlo or Agatha or something old  literature sounding. How have you been? Are the headaches gone? Today I went down to the small village that is close by and there is this new coffee place and I couldn’t help but think about how much you would like it. Would you be interested in ever meeting me there? Keeping this one short and sweet because i did kinda sorta just ask you out and anxiety is at an all time high  - Y/N

There was one thing that Spencer learned that night and that was that for the first time in years he allowed himself to hope that maybe just maybe the person he was falling for was falling right alongside him. 

Girls night. Oh how she missed her friends ever since moving into the cabin. It had taken a lot of convincing but she had finally managed to get her friends up for the weekend. In the middle of drinks she started gushing about Spencer and their friendship. She was telling her friends about the cute pen-pal she had and how she had taken the leap to ask him out. “Ha. What a loser do you really think that and FBI agent will take the time to come and meet someone as boring as you?” Her so-called best friend Lindsey had said, her words ringing in her ear drink after drink. How could she be so foolish thinking that a guy as smart as Spencer would ever confess his love to her. It had been a cold reminder that she was not the exception, that after years of this happening she had not learned her lesson that fairy tale endings did not happen to girls like her. So, for the first time in the two months they had been communicating instead of answering his letter she burned it, eventually leaving him at the coffee house waiting, glued to his chair instead of meeting her for the first time. The following week the first of many daily letters arrived in which he kept asking her why. 

Dear Y/N, Did I do something wrong? Did you move on? Help me because in my mind I'm still at that coffee shop collecting dust wondering where you are, wondering why you didn’t show up. If you ever think you may have got it wrong and want to meet, I will be at that coffee shop every Friday at 7 waiting for my sunshine to show up.  Yours truly, Spencer 

Three weeks. It had been three long weeks since he had heard from her, so he decided to take the initiative and for the first time since Gideon’s death he used the key he had left him. The drive to the cabin was filled with anxious thoughts. Would she be happy to see him? Did she meet someone while they were writing letters? 

Walking into the cabin he could smell something baking and the unmistaken sound of laughter coming from the small kitchen, making his way around the cabin he caught a glimpse of her dancing around the kitchen, “wow you are even more beautiful than I ever thought.” he said catching her off guard. “Who the fuck are you and how did you get in here?” she yelled “Oh–i–right yeah i – Spen–Rei–Doctor” he let out a puff of air, “Hi, I’m Spencer Reid. Gideon actually gave me a key to this place.” he smiled softly as crimson crept across her face. “Oh, hi wh–a–what are you doing here?” “I was worried about you” he mumbled

“Oh” In any other situation awkward silence would have followed but not between them, instead fits of laughter happened. “I’m sorry I blew you off Spencer” taking a deep breath she continued, “its just… a friend reminded me that girls like me don’t get the cute guys” Taking a step close to her spencer began rubbing circles in her wrist with his thumb “Y/N whoever said that is not a friend. I fell for the personality that shined through the letters we exchanged, I couldn’t care less about what you looked like you were already perfect in my mind and now that I am seeing you I can confirm that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met” They spend that whole weekend together, the days consisting of  baking, stargazing and teaching Y/N how to play chess and nights filled with cuddles, kissing and watching movies together.

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[tommydarlings]

Vienna | s.v

pairing: dark!rbr!seb x reader

warnings: dark, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, manipulation, mentions of stalking, gun use, inappropriate usage of a gun

w/c: 2.2k

summary: After leaving your beautiful home country because of the infamous German redbull racing driver, sebastian vettel, you thought that the nightmare would finally be over — but that was just the beginning.

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Leaving your beloved country called England, was definitely something that hurt you but you had no other option.

After you’ve rejected redbull's golden boy, Sebastian Vettel, two time already — he still asks you like it’s the first time, with a smug smile and some specific kind of darkness lingering in his usually oh so bright eyes.

And every time you reject him — just because you're simply not interested, he comes crawling back… almost like you’re his addiction that he just can’t let go.

At first you thought that it wasn’t all to bad since you actually kinda liked him — as a friend — but after two times of asking you the exact same question with the exact same sinister smile on his face, you’ve lost every kind of likeness for him in a matter of days.

And now you're here, in Paris, all alone — only because of him.

It physically sickened you already how many times he texted you. Unstoppably. Even after you blocked him and reported his number, he always found a way to contact you all over again. It even got so bad that you started to get serious nightmares because of him, haunting you until the early morning hours.

But the worst part were the letters that you’ve received after you decided to throw your phone away since he just wouldn’t stop texting or calling you. The letters were basically what widened the imagination for your awful nightmares that gave you sleepless nights.

Some of those letters that you’ve got in your mailbox were filled with threats, some with lovely and sweet words and some with one single word or short sentences that made goosebumps appear your skin.

“Mine.”

“I'm always going to find you.”

“You can’t run away, little lamb.”

“Forever.”

And after receiving those letters in France as well, you left the country again. With tears in your eyes you decided to go to Russia without telling any one your friends about it. When you left England — and all of your friends behind, you told them that you’ll go to Paris but now, nobody’s knows.

Or that’s at least what you thought, but in the end you’ve realised that this assumption of yours was wrong.

You furrowed your brows as the doorbell rang, disturbing you from desperately trying to choose the cheapest flight to Russia, but you furrowed your brows even harder as the mailman handed you a package from an unknown sender, but deep down you sadly already knew who this 'unknown sender' was.

“Thank you,” you quietly mumbled to the kind mailman before you closed the front door and gently placed the surprisingly lightweight package onto your dinner table, slowly opening it.

And you almost couldn’t believe your own eyes as you saw what this 'unknown sender' sent you.

A first class airplane ticket to Russia.

You gulped before you quickly shut your curtains and continued packing you things, swiftly and slightly nervously leaving your small apartment in France behind.

- - -

“Thank you, Anastasia,” you said kindly to your neighbour as she brought you the mail that the mailman accidentally delivered to the wrong address. “No problem,” she replied with a strong Russian accent before you closed the door behind you, observing the small envelopes.

But one, rather big and light brown one, stood out.

Tears already entered your eyes as you quickly ripped it open, slowly not only growing scared by all of this, but also mad.

But this time it wasn’t only a sick 'love letter' filled with 'sweet' or threatening or possessive words — No, this time there were pictures included, pictures that made you stomach twist, almost wanting to throw up.

There were five pictures, just like his driver's number.

One where you were cooking in your panties and a short top, slightly moving around the kitchen while you were listening to some song you can’t remember anymore.

The second one was one of you doing your daily workout routine, a picture of you in the plank position, tiny frown on your sweaty face as you tried to focus.

The third one was definitely taken from the small upper window from your living room, you were able to see your figure from behind, sitting on the couch while you were watching your favourite horror movie, eating a bowl of popcorn while doing so.

The fourth made you gasp, it was a picture of you showering — obviously, completely naked, which was perfectly able to be seen on the picture, which means that he saw you naked now, that fucking pervert.

But the fifth one — the last one, probably scared you the most, even though you wouldn’t have thought that, that would be able after the last one.

It was a picture of you sleeping, but this time it wasn’t taken from a window like the other ones…it was taken from the bedroom, inside the house.

The sickening picture showed you sleeping peacefully on your left side while Sebastian's hand brushed some of your hair out of your face, fingertips only slightly touching your hot skin.

You sniffled in fear and sadness but also anger before you took all of those five pictures and ripped them in half, hastily throwing them into your trashcan before you booked your next ticket.

This time to the wonderful vienna.

- - -

“Hier, bitteschön,” Here you go, The barista told you with a smile, for a grumpy city like Vienna, she was very kind.

Since you’re living in a pretty little but modern apartment in the capital city of Austria, you learned some German. But you were still struggling a bit with the Austrian accent.

You nodded before you mumbled a quick 'danke' thank you.

Luckily, your apartment was only a few meters away from your apartment so you arrived at your new home in a matter of just a few minutes, quickly opening the door with your silver key and gently putting the pink donut and the strong coffee onto the kitchen counter.

You sighed as you picked your new nail up, hands already slightly trembling but that quickly stopped again as soon as you noticed that the mail is actually normal and not scary or psychotic.

You gulped your fear down and turned around with a tiny grin, actually genuinely happy that the creepy German doesn’t stalk you anymore.

But then you’ve noticed the small package.

With hot tears and slightly shaky hands, you picked it up and set it down onto the table, gently grabbing a sharp knife and opening it. But you were only able to furrow your brows as you’ve noticed that it’s a tape.

A small, black VHS video tape.

You sighed and took a deep breath before you quickly went over to your VHS video recorder, gently putting the tape into the black recorder before you pressed 'play' and then set yourself down onto your small couch that's facing the TV.

You gulped as you covered your mouth, tears entering your eyes all over again as you saw Sebastian entering your modern apartment back in Russia, slowly creeping through your kitchen until he reached your trashcan, pulling the destroyed pictures with a loud sigh out of the trashcan before he set the camera onto the kitchen counter, looking directly at it now with a smile.

You don’t even wanna imagine how many women he fooled with that perfect smile before.

But then his smile faded again as he gazed down at the ripped pictures of yourself.

“Can I be real honest with you, meine liebe, my love, I was really hurt when I saw this through my binoculars,” the young German formula one racer said into the camera, making you wipe some of your tears away before you sniffled in pure fear.

“I though you would like them! But I guess I was sadly wrong,” he mumbled before he smiled again as he pulled tape out of the pocket of his jeans, quickly sticking the pictures back together with a sinister dark gaze in his eyes.

After that, he got a hold of his black backpack, swiftly pulling five dark picture frames out of it, gently putting them down onto the counter before he framed — in a very gently way, all five pictures, smirking as he did so.

Then he put them into his backpack before he put it back around his back, laying the undersides of his arms onto the cold counter top before he put his cheek onto them, happily smiling at the camera,

“See you in vienna, baby.”

And then the video ended. Leaving you in nothing else than tears.

Suddenly, you felt a big hand covering your mouth from behind, other hand quickly grabbing your wrists in a rather rough manner, pressing them tightly to your body, “Hallo, mein liebling.” Hello my darling.

You gasped before you softly cried into his palm, tears streaming down your heated cheeks now as your entire body started to tremble, “Missed me? I bet you did, am I right?”

But you only shook your head as you whined into his warm palm, making him press your arms even tighter to your body,

“I said…am I right?” The German asked you again in a deeper tone, German accent strong.

This time, you agreed with his wicked statement, slowly nodding as he slowly let go of your wrists, surprisingly freeing them in a gently manner before he reached for something in his back pocket.

Swiftly, he pulled a tiny gun out of his the right pocket, making you gulp as he slowly put it in front of your face, showing it off to you like it’s a brand new phone he just got himself.

Sebastian chuckled as he saw your facial expression that showed nothing more than fear now, “She’s pretty isn’t she?” He asked as he wiggled the gun in front of your face, showing you that it’s actually loaded with bullets.

You gasped as you heard the bullets rattling in his gun, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes as the German redbull driver brushed a few strands of hair out of your face with the top of it, making you gulp.

“But clearly not as pretty as you, baby,” he muttered into your ear from behind before he slowly removed his palm from your mouth, gently placing it into the back of your head,

“S-Sebastian, please-”

“Shhh,” Sebastian immediately interrupted you, shaking his head from side to side with a tiny angry frown on his face before he went on, playing with the gun in front of your face like it’s a toy one, “Just do as I say…and none of those pretty little — but very painful, bullets will hit your delicate and oh so beautiful skin, meine liebe,” he said in a undertone with a grin on his face.

You knew that you shouldn’t have agreed like it means nothing, but you were just so unbelievably scared right now that you couldn’t risk anything, you simply couldn’t.

“O-Okay,” you nodded as tears landed onto your temple and cheeks, but Sebastian didn’t even acknowledged them, he only continued smiling like a sick and twisted fuck.

He nodded as he briefly bit his lip, “Great! Perfect!” He laughed along his sentence.

Suddenly, you felt him going on his knees, tying your hair in a rather clean makeshift ponytail and slowly bending your head backwards towards himself, making you whine,

“It’s okay, hey,” Sebastian spoke up, “If you cooperate like a good girl, I won’t hurt you, okay?”

You gulped and nodded, making you him forcefully tug on your ponytail, “Words goddammit.”

“Okay,” you answered in a quick manner, making him immediately smile down at you again, “that’s my good little girl,” he said before he ran his along your trembling lips, this time noticing your fear,

“Entspann, meine liebe, alles is okay.” Relax, my love, everything is okay.

But you were definitely far away from being relaxed, especially as soon as he spoke up again, genuinely scaring you with his words this time,

“Open your mouth.”

You choked on your breath as you felt him smiling against your cheek, fingers on the back of your head — that are still holding a neatly done makeshift ponytail — now softly stroking your scalp.

Very slowly, you opened your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt him slowly shoving the loaded gun into your mouth, roughly tasting the metal on your tongue now.

“So ein gutes mädchen.” Such a good girl.

“So brav, nur für mich, huh?” So good, only for me, huh?

Then he shoved the heavy metal gun further down your throat, forcefully choking you with it, making you gag around it.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he smiled against your wet cheek, making you cry and whine out, tears landing on top of his fingers and the gun now.

He sighed as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to not choke on the loaded gun, “Gosh, this looks and sounds way better than I imagined it, to be honest,” he whispered into you ear before he kissed your wet temple.

Suddenly, Sebastian's hand let go of your makeshift ponytail created by him and put his palm onto the back of your head, slowly forcing your head towards the gun, making you choke on it even more as you gagged around it.

“Oh god,” Sebastian spoke up in a deep and raspy tone, making you open your eyes again, “Look what you’ve done to me,” he said before he turned your head so that you could see his crotch area.

And there he was, on his knees, shoving you a loaded gun down your throat with a big boner in his jeans, happily smiling at you.

[billthedrake]

HALL PASS

Story idea from @aestheticsupremacy

It was still summer warm as the two lacrosse jocks walked across campus after practice. Brian was going on about the chick he had a date with late that evening and was teasing Jake.

"Dude... if you ever wanted pussy, you'd be so set. Girls fucking love gay guys."

Jake laughed, his blond hair still on the lighter side from summer beach time. He and the star attacker got along great because they never BS-ed each other. "Bro, I don't think it works that way," he said, flashing his dimples. "Besides, I think all those sorority girls want a gay pal they can go to the clubs with. I can't dance worth shit."

"You can't," Brian grinned. "You got the moves on the field but, fuck..."

Both guys laughed as they entered the residence hall, one of the nicer ones where a lot of the athletes lived.

"Hey Jake!" the student worker at the front desk said when he saw the two jocks. "Some mail came for you."

"Mail?" he asked as the walked up to the desk. Normally, mail got delivered to their mailboxes, which Jake didn't check regularly. Who the fuck sends mail these days anyway, other than advertisers?

The desk guy nodded. "Yeah, certified or something. Looks important." He reached over and pulled out a document sized cardboard envelope.

"Hey, I'll catch ya later, Hoss," Brian said as he bumped fists with his teammate buddy.

"Yah," Jake said, then looked back down at the envelope. There was a familiar return address. It was his dad's work. Jake's father was a high-powered executive - not Fortune 500 but CFO for a top financial firm. Leave it to Dad to send paperwork in hard copy. Jake tried to rack his brain to guess what document was so urgent, but maybe it was some school form he needed to sign. Maybe Jake should take more responsibility for those things, but his dad tended to look after the details.

"Thanks, Mitch," he told the desk guy, then went to the elevators to go up to his room.

It was quiet in his room, since his roommate had taken off Thursday afternoon to go home for a long weekend. He got along well with Ed, a varsity baseball player, but they weren't real tight. And Jake liked having the alone time and privacy sometimes.

The lacrosse jock set down his phone and keys and shook his head with a chuckle as he opened the envelope. "You're so fucking old school, Dad," he said aloud. "I love it."

It wasn't a form inside, but instead there was a linen-white stationary with his Dad's company logo and his father's name and title embossed. "From the Desk of Steven J. Weir."

It was what was printed below that made Jake's heart stop.

"Dear Mr. Wier:

This letter serves as official notice that Jacob Peter Weir has his father's permission to have sex as often as he likes and with whomever he likes, from the date of August 20, 2023 to May 14, 2024. This arrangement will be extended in subsequent years unless the two parties renegotiate their terms.

sincerely,

Steve Weir"

There was his father's recognizable wide, cursive signature, undoubtedly written with one of his favorite blue-ink fountain pens that his family had given him for Christmas.

Jake was rock hard. "Fuck," he hissed.

Only then did he realize there was something else in the envelope. He reached in and pulled out three photographs, each 8x10 glossy portraits of this father. They were different poses of his dad in business attire, like professional headshots for a company website or something.

"Got your package," the jock texted his father.

It took a second but then a message came up from Dad: "You able to Facetime?"

Jake got a big grin as he hit the dial button to video call his father. His heart jumped a little as the image filled his phone screen. His dad was in his C-suite office and looking handsome as fuck in his tailored suit as his own horny grin matched his son's.

"Hey Sport," he said. "Looking good." He leaned back in his swivel chair and angled the phone to give Jake a better view of his suited upper body. He had a good knowledge by now of what pushed his boy's buttons.

"You too Dad," the jock hissed, reaching down to paw his crotch again. "I can't believe it's only been 24 hours since I've seen your face... fuck."

His father laughed. Because Steve felt the same way. He knew it would be hard when Jake went off to college, but he was going through sexual withdrawal in addition to the normal empty nest syndrome.

Only now his bright smile got a hint of nervousness. "What did you think of what I sent you, son?"

Jake felt that constriction in his throat. Sorta like the first time he knew he was gonna fuck his dad... that combination of sheer horniness and disbelief it was gonna happen.

"You know, Dad," the 19-year-old smirked, "A hall pass isn't an actual piece of paper."

Steve's brown eyes seemed bright. Happy. Excited. "I wanted to make it official. For you. For us." The exec was definitely getting that bedroom voice, and Jake could tell by the movement in his dad's upper body that the man was reaching down to unzip and haul out his cock.

For his part Jake tugged down his shorts with one hand to free his junk, which was firming up real fucking fast. His father had given him the encouragement to freeball it, and it was now Jake's preferred way of casual dress. It made him feel free and sexual.

Jake prided himself on the sexual confidence he'd learned to project with his dad, but times like this he still felt unsure, deep down. "I told you, Dad. I don't need to have sex with other guys."

"You're 18, Sport," his dad said resolutely. "A college kid should be spreading his wings."

Jake got a playful grin. His right hand was working up and down his bone while his left hand held the phone. "You really want me to fuck other guys?" he asked. Pointed. Challenging.

Steve shook his head no. "Honestly, no. I don't. But I want you to lead the life that's going to make you happy." His own fist was working up and down in his lap. "I want you to become your own man, Jakey."

Something about that nickname drove the jock wild. He felt a spurt of precum in his palm. "You think sending me 8x10 glossies is gonna make me happy," he hissed. Jake's tone was halfway between a statement and a question.

Steve loved watching his son get in horndog mode. He'd like to think he passed that on to Jake genetically, but something about the kid's sex drive seemed innate. And all Jake.

The exec's voice got low and gravely. "You tell me, son. Did they make you happy?"

Jake just let go of his prick and angled his phone down to capture the hard teen bone that stood up long and rigid. "This is the reaction those pics got." He pulled the phone back up to see the amused and pleased look on his father's face.

"I'm glad," Steve said. Then with a pause, he angled the phone to show Jake his own fatherly prick, standing out from his unzipped suit.

"I wish I could suck that, Dad," Jake said, enjoying the freedom to talk aloud like this. "I wish I was there right now."

"You primed for some office sex, Sport?"

"Fuuuckk, Dad." Jake's fist was now steadily pumping his jock bone. "I'm still pissed off you won't let me fuck you there."

That got a laugh out of his father. The 49-year-old was even more handsome when he smiled. "You're a spoiled brat, you know that?"

"Fuck yeah I am," Jake shot back, getting into the zone with the teasing sex talk with his father. It came to them so fucking easily. "Something about nailing your dad regularly will make you that way."

That got a soft growl from the executive, and Jake watched as his father reached up to flip his tie over the shoulder of his suit coat, getting it out of the way.

"Damn, you gonna cum on your shirt today, Dad?"

Steve shook his head. "Hopefully not... but just in case. You get me so worked up, Sport." Off screen Jake knew his father had gone back to stroking his hard dick.

"So, Dad... if I take you up on that hall pass... what are you gonna do?"

"Whaddya mean, Jakey?"

"I mean..." the teen's own fist was working up and down his cock. "Does that mean you get a hall pass, too?"

"That's not part of the deal," Steve said, his brown eyes now wide with excitement. "But Buddy... I honestly don't know how I'm gonna get through this year. I guess I'll be doing a lot more of what I'm doing right now."

That got a matching growl from his son, whose hand moved faster and faster on his prick. "A fucking waste of dad cum."

That got a grin from Steve. "You like my sperm, huh, Jakey?"

"Can't get enough, Dad," came the immediate response. For a confident top when it came to fucking, Jake loved to taste his dad's prick and to eat his father's semen. When he wasn't sucking his dad off, he'd be licking the cum off the man's well-fucked body.

The jock felt another spurt of precum when his Dad brought the phone down close to his crotch, that solid, thick seven incher sticking out from the unzipped suit trousers.

"That's my dad," Jake growled. He'd have to find a way to have phone sex more often.

"Wanna cum for me, Jakey?" Steve asked, his voice signaling he was already on the edge.

"Nah," the jock said. "Hold off one second," he urged. He set down the phone and stripped off his T-shirt and kicked away his lax shorts. He then angled the phone just right on his desk and stepped back. Even from the distant view, he could see his dad's face will up the phone screen.

"Damn..." Steve growled. "That's my boy."

Jake felt fully alive, head to toe, as he stroked his cock and showed off for his father. He knew he was a good looking stud, with a great toned, athletic body. But his father's approval made him feel that much studlier.

"So Dad..." the teen asked. "If I used that hall pass, you wanna hear about the guys?"

"I don't know, Sport," Steve said with visible mixed feelings. "I'll let that be your call, OK?" He watched his son intently, as if it was the last chance he'd see Jake naked and hard. "I almost didn't send it," he confessed.

That made his son grin and Jake removed his fist from his dick, showing off the erection by swinging it side to side. "Yeah? It was so fucking hot to read it, Dad. You know, that you'd even send it."

"I'm glad, Jake," came Steve's reply.

"We're you hard writing it?" the son asked.

Steve's voice got soft and low. "I was, son."

"You want me spreading my wings in college, huh?" Jake's hand resumed its stroke. He really wanted his dad to cum first today but he didn't know if he'd be able to hold off.

Fortunately, Steve was getting into the zone now. Jake could only see his face, not his cock or masturbating fist, but he recognized that horny tone in his father's voice. "God, Jakey, you're such a fucking stud... seems wrong if you can't enjoy college a little, you know?"

Jake grinned, getting into a slow stroke that seemed to keep things on the boil without erupting over. "Maybe I'll line up some hot coach to fuck... but you know if I do, I'll be thinking of you the whole time, Dad."

That got an audible groan from Steve. Which only encouraged Jake to go further.

"Yeah, I'll be balls deep in some daddy ass and have to shut my eyes so I can think of my father... of fucking you..."

"Yes," Steve hissed. He was getting closer to cumming.

"of bending my dad over his office desk and pulling down those suit pants of yours..."

"You're not gonna stop pestering till you get that will ya, Jakey?"

"No, sir. I wanna get my way. Nail you hard to that expensive desk of yours... in your expensive suit... to thank you for all that expensive tuition you paid over the years."

This was new territory for the Weirs. They'd never talked about money, other than some of Steve's jokes about how much Jake's private school cost and some practical dad-son talks about personal finance. But Jake was bringing it into the sex talk and both men were surprisingly turned on by it.

"FUCCK!" Steve cried a half second before choking his reaction to be quieter in his office.

"Go for it, Dad!" the lacrosse jock said more openly. He stepped up closer so he could see his dad's face as he rode out an intense orgasm. "Nice!"

Steve's face was flush red as he caught his breath. "Goddamn, I needed that," he said. Then playfully he tilted his phone down. Huge splotches of his pearly white seed dotted his dress shirt after all.

"Cumming!" Jake cried, unable to hold by his ejaculation now. Steve had to look, had to watch his Jakey in full nut. It was just a beautiful sight. The only thing more beautiful was watching Jake orgasm as he was buried deep inside his father.

"Attaboy, Sport," he encouraged. "Goddamn, that's a huge nut."

Jake grinned as he felt the aftershocks. Playfully, he squeezed out dribbles from his long piece of jock meat and brought it up to his lips to taste. Not his dad's but a second best. Jake just loved the flavor of cum.

He could now tell his father was wiping off the cum from his shirt and his cock before pulling the phone back.

"That was incredible," Steve said.

"I'll say. I'll have to thank Rich for giving me the free time," Jake laughed.

"Is he away?"

Jake nodded. "All weekend. Maybe we can go long and deep this weekend, you know, edge a little."

Steve grinned. "I'll try, Sport.... awful hard to last with you, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Jake agreed.

His Dad seemed happy and yet sad at the same time. "Listen, I should go."

"Yeah," Jake said. "I need some dinner."

"I miss ya, Sport," Steve said. "So much."

"Miss ya too, Dad."

****

Steve felt nervous all Saturday. Jake had suggested they wait till later in the day for phone sex. The father tried to kill time with household chores and a super long session at the gym.

"You're a fucking mess, Steve," he said to himself as he drove home from the fitness center where he'd been spending a lot more time since the divorce and especially since he and Jake started fooling around. It felt wrong to be so attached to his own son, and yet he was.

There was a package on his front porch. FedEx Saturday delivery. Steve picked it up.

"What the fuck?" Steve laughed as he saw his son's dorm as the return address. "That little bugger."

As he opened the door and stepped in, the man squished the sides of the plastic package-envelope. It was soft inside. Steve opened the end with the pull tab.

As he pulled out the fabric, Steve Weir recognized the shorts immediately. They were a well-worn pair of Jake's high school lacrosse shorts. Wadded inside was a worn jock strap.

"Jesus," Steve hissed with excitement. Maybe Jake wanted him to have these for their session today. Or maybe this was just for the times it was Steve, alone in his bedroom, imagining a grown son who wasn't there with him.

Either way, Steve knew both the shorts and the jock were gonna be crusted with his own cum before long.

It was only after a second that he noticed scraps of paper on the floor. They'd fallen out, hand torn.

Steve immediately sensed what they were, and a quick look confirmed it. It was the hall pass he'd sent Jake.

"Man, buddy," he said aloud in the quiet room as he pulled out his phone. He had to call his son.

"Hey Dad"

"Oh, Jakey..." Steve said.

"You got it."

"Yeah, I got it," his dad replied. "You're not doing this just to make me happy are you?"

"Maybe," Jake said. "But not really. I don't know, Dad. I just realized I'd rather have blue balls than fuck a substitute you, you know?"

"Sport, that's the most fucking romantic thing anyone's ever said to me," Steve beamed.

That made his son laugh. "Yeah, that's me, one romantic fucker... just promise me one thing, Dad."

"Anything," Steve said.

"We gotta find away to see each other through the semester. Yeah, I know you want me to go off and be my own man. But I can't wait till Thanksgiving. For real, Dad."

"Yeah, we'll make it happen. I'll come down next week. And fly you up whenever you want. Promise." This was a backpedal from the promises Steve made himself when Jake went off, but he realized he was happy changing his stance.

"Cool. God, Dad, I love you."

"Love you too, Jakey," Steve said. He looked down at the scraps of paper and everything they represented. "And son... next time you're here, I'll let you fuck me on my desk."

[haleysgf]

sunflowers

Haley x Reader (Farmer)

Summary: Emily told her to carefully place the letter and roll of cloth into the Farmer's (albeit overflowing) mailbox. Easy instructions with a short note detailing how to get to the farm. Hayley would have to do it after she put the newest sunflower on her doorstep into the steadily growing vase on her dresser.

Warnings: None! Intended to be female farmer/haley, but no pronouns are used

A/n: I saw the cutest tik tok and it inspired me to make a whole new blog to get the idea onto paper. See the tik tok here -> ib

w.c. 1.4k

--♡--

'Please take this roll of cloth and note to the farmer! I have an errand to run in Calico Desert today, so I wont be able to! -E'

Haley yawned as she stared down at the note on the dining table. She blinked twice before groaning in annoyance, picking up the note and flipping it over to see carefully written out instructions detailing how to get to the farm. Glaring at the roll of cloth and carefully sealed envelope addressed to the farmer, she gingerly pushes them aside, making room for her to set down her bowl of cereal.

She chews slowly, hoping that if she moves slow enough, she wouldn't have to go and face the farmer as she delivered her sister's gift. Haley didn't mind having to see the farmer. It's not like she disliked the farmer, rather, she just doesn't understand why they would choose Pelican town of all places.

A glance to her phone tells her it's nearing noon, and if Emily isn't back to the house by now, it's more than likely she won't be home until after her shift at the saloon.

Haley sighs, again, and after placing her bowl in the sink, trudges to her room to fix up her hair and apply some makeup, just to look presentable. And most definitely not because she wants to look her best, just in case she does end up seeing the farmer.

It's basically one by the time she's done, and Haley takes a deep breath as she collects all of the items for delivery, hoping that the mud from the rain yesterday won't ruin her shoes as much as she anticipates.

She moves slowly, shifting the weight of the cloth to her hip as she opens her front door with one hand, blowing the strand of hair that fell into her face out of the way.

The sun is bright, and she shifts the cloth again before glancing down, warmth blooming in her chest.

Laying neatly on her doorstep was a sunflower, a bright thing, trimmed neatly with a bow tied carefully to the stem.

Haley glances outside, barely suppressing her smile, attempting to see if the owner was still around.

Seeing nothing but the young boy, 'Vincent' her head provides, poking around in the river, the smile on her face slips a little. Haley makes quick work of placing the cloth and letter on the coffee table by the door before bending down and gently picking up the flower. She admires it for a little before her hand smooths over the ribbon attached. Her cheeks are warm, and she flushes with affection at the thought of someone going out of their way to deliver something she loves to her doorstep.

She takes it to her room, smiling all the while, as she pulls the little glass vase on her dresser towards her, placing the flower in the water gently.

There's a total of seven now, one for each morning the past week. Haley has no idea who could be leaving the flowers, but a flush of affection blooms in her heart for whoever it could be.

She carefully thumbs over a petal on the oldest sunflower, beginning to wilt, it's petals growing softer by the day.

There's a couple minutes of Haley gently smiling at the flowers before she remembers the errand she has to run.

The flowers are left with one last glance as she closes her room door behind her, smiling to herself as she picks up the cloth and letter from the table before making her way outside.

It's hot outside, as expected from summer, but Haley's mind is only concerned about any sweat stains on her clothes, or the possibility her makeup is running. Additionally, the walk is longer than she previously expected, sparing a glance to the bus stop and then to her shoes, caked with mud. Haley sighs.

She hadn't visited the farm before, finding the distance a deterrent along with the fact that she simply had no reason to visit previously. The mud and the sweat Haley's sure is running down her throat is only further justification for why she's never visited.

There's a sign that points down the road, the farm's name written neatly in Robin's handwriting.

At least she's headed in the right direction.

The walk is only a little longer before the path gives way to a large expanse of land and a large farmhouse on her right. The mailbox is easy to spot, slightly overflowing with various letters and items gifted from those in the community.

'Popular.' Haley thinks offhandedly, shifting the cloth around in her arms. She's starting to wonder if she should've written a letter of her own to stick in the mailbox alongside her sister's.

'Well, too late.' She thinks, walking over to the mailbox.

It's not easy fitting the cloth and letter in the mailbox, but she's able to fit it alongside all of the other things. Haley's even sure that there was a rock in the mailbox. What the farmer needs the rock for? She's not sure.

Once she's completely sure that the mailbox won't burst open, spilling all of it's contents all over the floor, she allows herself to look around. She justifies the look around, 'snooping' the voice in her head helpfully chirps, by telling herself that she's looking for the farmer. Someone has to tell them to check their mailbox.

There's a box to the right of the farmhouse, and when she opens it, peering inside curiously, there's a case of wine neatly placed inside, along with a box of blueberries and other miscellaneous items.

She closes the box, the lid closing heavily as it shuts, and turns around. If she squints, Haley's sure there's a silo, and a small chicken coop, but the land is mostly worked, green plants sprouting up from the group. She's almost jealous that the farmer's so good with plants.

Her shoes click on the wooden walkways that the farmer has placed down, looking around, when something yellow in the corner of her eye catches her attention.

She turns and follows the path towards where the glimpse of yellow came from. The path curves around some trees, previously blocking her view. When her field of vision clears of trees, the breath in her chest rushes out of her body.

There's a small plot of land, seemingly dedicated to sunflowers.

Her legs move towards the plot without her permission, and her hand comes up to touch the soft petals of the proud flowers.

She walks around the square plot, mesmerized by the flowers, before coming across one empty spot. There must've been a flower here at one point, the rest of the flowers uniformly lined up, at different stages of growth.

Haley's eyes widen as she notes which flowers are blooming in different stages.

There's six total plants in the plot that are still in the process of blooming, the oldest one just waiting to bloom.

Her heartbeat is loud in her chest as she makes multiple different connections at once.

First, the farmer has an entire plot of farmland dedicated to her favorite flower. Second, the flowers she's been receiving for the last week are more than likely from the farmer. Third, the affection in her chest and the heat that is steadily growing on her cheeks is definitely not a normal reaction.

The sound of boots on wood pull her attention from the blooms, as she locks eyes with the farmer.

They're slightly muddy, holding a pail of milk in one hand, the other holding a silver watering can.

Her heartbeat thunders in her chest as her eyes zero in on the bead of sweat falling on the farmer's throat, and the press of biceps against the fabric of their shirt.

Haley's almost positive that she's trespassing, but she's more positive that the farmer looks so pretty in the summer heat.

She makes a couple of aborted noises, before her hand comes up to point at the sunflowers.

"You grow these?"

Of all of the things she could have said, Haley's sure that this could be one of the worst things.

The farmer simply shoots them a smile, setting down the milk pail by their feet.

"Yeah, aren't they pretty?"

Haley notes that the farmer never broke eye contact as they spoke.

"They're my absolute favorite."

Her heart pounds in her chest as the farmer's smile grows almost sheepish.

"I know."

[hangmanssunnies]

Ask Me Anything, I'll Give You Everything

Summary: Every morning, you wake up and wonder if today will be the day? The day the love of your life breaks up with you. The only probable solution you can come up with is to force the issue. It seems like a simple plan; after all, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw has never made it a secret that he doesn't like brats.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick 

Word count: 10k (phew, I'm sorry.)

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Bradley is a consent king, BDSM dynamics, P in V, Aftercare, talking about feelings, Healthy Relationships, Communication, Daddy Kink but only a tiny bit, gratuitous use of pet names

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. Will I ever be able to write normal smut? Absolutely not. I have been working on this for weeks. I love Bradbrad so much y'all. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them. Also, can we please talk about Miles’ hands in this gif ( am losing my mind)?

When you started dating Bradley Bradshaw, you knew he would be gone a lot. He had made that clear early on, so you could never claim it was a surprise. Bradley was also very aware of the realities of what his absences were like for you. It was because of that, that when he was home, he lived by a simple practice; he had to make sure that your relationship was perfect. He had (wanted) to make everything so amazing you would be able to get through whatever next stint you had to go without him present. 

You were perfectly independent when he was gone. However, when you got to be with him and were together, it was like you could finally relax. You could mention something in passing, and Bradley would ensure it gets done. Even better, more often than not, you didn't have to mention anything. Bradley took the initiative; he would just do things you needed without you saying anything, anticipating your needs.  

It was the little things with him. He broke open the crab shells and pulled out the meat for you when the legs were delivered to the table. Your favorite snack would start to run low, and it would be replaced the next time you checked. You couldn't remember the last time you went to Ulta; the bathroom's necessities, lotion, soaps, and moisturizer were always stocked. Bradley would bring home surprise flowers and make you dinner for no reason other than he wanted to. Love letters would show up in your mailbox or under your pillow. None of it was something you had to ask for. 

Bradley was romantic, funny, heartfelt, and genuine, indeed the best man you had ever met. However, something felt different in the last few weeks since he had been home. Bradley still went through all the motions, but you felt something off. It sometimes felt like he was just going through a routine, like there weren't the right emotions behind the actions anymore. 

Even with sex, something didn't feel quite right. While Bradley still made sure that you would always find satisfactory endings, he didn't hold you as long. The way he touched you just didn't feel the same or right. It worked under your skin and into the box of insecurities you kept in your chest. It was an insecurity that ran itself rampant. 

You were not a brat. You simply didn't label yourself that way when it came to your relationship. However, that was mostly because you had never needed to be a brat in your relationship before. You did what you were told, you were a good girl, and it was natural. It was easy because Bradley had always taken care of you. Rooster liked to take care of you. And you not wanting to brat was always fine and dandy because Bradley didn't like brats. That being said, you hadn't been feeling very taken care of lately.

It wasn't that you needed, or really wanted, Bradley to be perfect, but you did want to be taken care of. You had become so worked up about it that you were sensitive to every little thing Bradley did, analyzing it in your head. You had halfway convinced yourself that Bradley was staying with you out of obligation and that he was just waiting for the right time to break it off with you. 

Tonight you are at the bar with some of your friends. Bradley wraps an arm around your waist. It was a natural movement, something he has done hundreds of times. However, you slowly shift until his hand falls off your waistline. He didn't notice at first until a song or two passed. Then there is that weight again. You clench your teeth, trying to not let any frustration show on your face. 

You firmly grip Bradley's wrist, feeling his arm muscles flex tighter under your fingers. The touch makes him angle his head down to look at you. 

"Baby?" He poses it as a soft question, but it just irks you more. How dare he call you any pet names right now? His fingers dug just the slightest bit into your skin. 

"Don't touch me," you mutter angrily, pulling harder on Bradley's hand. His face is so full of hurt and confusion enough that you almost feel bad for your actions. His arm immediately moves away, and he even went as far as taking a step away from you. 

You could tell he was reeling. Your eyes watch as he makes an excuse to the group, none the wiser of the moment that just passed between you. He goes to the bar and waits next to it. Your eyes drift to him occasionally. You catch him taking a tequila shot, something somewhat out of character for him. He liked to stick to old fashions and beers. And his eyes still haven't strayed from you. 

Even as he made his way back to y'all's group from the bar. Bradley's sunglasses once again covering his eyes, like it was the middle of the day on the beach, even though it was the middle of the night in a bar. You feel the weight of his gaze, though, constantly straying to you. 

Two hours later, everyone makes their way out of the bar, calling their various Uber's and rides home. 

Neither of you had drunk much tonight, and after his shot, the only thing you saw Brad drink was water while you sipped a seltzer. You find the Bronco's keys in your purse and start to make your way towards the driver's side. However, Bradley beats you there, leaning against the door. Brad opens his palm, facing up, looking at you expectantly. 

"Keys?"

"I'll drive home," you tell him, closing your hands tighter around the keys. 

"No, I'm going to be driving home," He says, not moving in the slightest, still waiting for his keys. 

You clench your jaw in annoyance and narrow your eyes. "I didn't do any shots tonight. So, I will drive home." 

"I did one shot, had two beers, not even IPAs, and then only drank water. You had several hard seltzers and no water or food. We both know I have a higher tolerance for alcohol, baby," He explains to you. He isn't condescending about it either, just stating it all like facts. One of his eyebrows raised high at your attitude.

"I'm driving," you say again, a harder edge in your voice. 

Bradley stands up to his full height until he is glaring down at you, "I will be driving home, or we are taking an Uber. Your pick, princess." 

You are so tempted to pull out your phone and order an Uber for the both of you. However, after staring into Bradley's eyes and seeing their absolute clarity, you relent, dropping the key in his waiting palm.  

You start walking to the car's passenger side, and Bradley shadows you there. He never touches you, but you can feel his warmth radiating off of him, inches from yourself. He opens the door for you and holds out a hand, offering to help you into the Bronco. 

You ignore his offered hand, pulling yourself up into the seat by yourself. Not even looking at Bradley as he pulls your seat belt and hands it to you to buckle up. He didn't move from his spot until he heard the click of the belt. He waits for the kiss you usually press to his lips or cheek after getting in the car. He must have noticed that it wasn't coming because he was closing the door a few moments later and making his way back to the driver's side.  

You watch Bradley walk in front of the hood of the car. He pulls his hand through that sandy brown hair so it is all askew. You don't shift your gaze from looking forward when he rounds the edge of the hood. You are tempted to look, though, when he takes an abnormally long time before he opens the door and slides into the driver's seat.  

The silence in the cab is reverberating between you. Bradley reaches to adjust the volume on the radio at the exact moment you do. Your hands almost brush, but he quickly jerks his hand back before it touches yours. It seems he is taking your words to heart about not touching you. 

"Are you feeling okay, princess?" His deep voice asks you. 

And there is the obvious answer, that you are not okay. That everything in you is screaming a little bit. How you feel like Bradley is days away from leaving you, not just to fly his planes. That he doesn't love you anymore, that you are too much work to take care of, that he will ask you to leave. 

And it must be taxing. It must be a lot of work for someone like him to have to take care of you, with all of his own problems. Shouldn't you step up and take better care of him so that he doesn't ask you to go? Take care of him by driving home from the bar or not bothering him with your problems when you are burning for some of his attention. But you feel like you are on thin ice already. Telling him you aren't okay is too high of a risk when it could just push him further away from you. 

"I'm fine."

His fingers drum against the steering wheel at your response. You take a moment to study his side profile. Bradley is visibly agitated. He has a look of concentration on his face like a complex problem is laid out before him. 

"Since when do you lie to me?" Bradley asks you. 

"I'm not lying to you! I'm fine."

"Okay, then hold my hand." He pronounces the words slowly and clearly, before presenting his right hand. His thick, calloused fingers are spread slightly, waiting. 

"No." You snap your eyes away from him and his hand, back to the road in front of you. 

"Hold my hand," Bradley repeats, his voice dropping even lower. It's a tone you know; this isn't a request but a demand. 

"You can't make me," You stubbornly say back to him. 

Bradley audibly gasps. You haven't ever dared challenge him like that before. 

"You aren't being a very good girl right now, princess." 

"Maybe I'm not. Maybe you don't deserve a good girl right now." The words fall out of your mouth before you know what you're saying. 

"I don't like brats, baby," 

"Oh, good to know you don't like me," you say, heart clenching in your chest. It was a sort of a setup, but right now, it seemed like an undeniable reality that Bradley didn't like you anymore. 

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth like that," Bradley's voice has a thinly veiled fury that you have never heard before. It causes gooseflesh to erupt along your skin. 

"That is what you said!" Part of you stinging. What you really wanted from him right now was reassurances. Instead, you feel the only option is to keep pushing the point. 

"So you are being a brat on purpose." He muses. The anger is a little less present in his voice but still there.  

"Why?" He asks you when you don't say anything. You cross your arms over your chest and chew on your lip, bouncing your leg. 

"I asked you a question." He reminds you. Then he rephrases the question for you. "Why are you being a bad girl, princess?" 

"You don't deserve a good girl," you remind him as if there is an important distinction. 

"I see," he says slowly. "And why don't I deserve a good girl?"

The words you want to say die on your tongue about how he hasn't been taking care of you. That you feel like maybe you aren't enough for him. That if you were enough, he would take care of you like he used to. It's some fragile emotion in you, one you don't entirely know how to voice. 

The why plagues you. You suddenly realize that Bradley does deserve a good girl. You just can't be that person. This isn't even a him problem. It's a you problem that you are trying to make him fix. It isn't his responsibility to fix, though. 

"You do deserve a good girl Bradley. That someone just isn't me," you finally say. 

"What the fuck does that mean?" The anger is back again. 

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory."

"Well, it's not. So, how about you spell it out for me?"

If you try to explain anything to him right now, you will burst into tears, so you bite your tongue instead. Silently begging for the drive and this conversation to end. You are only a few blocks away from your home. 

You hear Bradley take a deep, measured breath and your eyes snap to him again. Even in the dark of the cab, you can see the light flush up his neck and face that he gets when he is angry, making his scars stand out more prominently. 

You are unbuckling your seat belt before Rooster fully parks the car in the driveway. 

"Do not get out of this car until we finish this conversation," Bradley warns you in that same low voice. 

You are not listening, though, and isn't that the whole point of being a brat? The door is popped open seconds after his warning. You make a mad dash towards the front door. 

You hear the Bronco's door slamming and Bradley growling out your name behind you. 

You have only just passed the entryway threshold when he catches up with you. His frame seems extra tall and intimidating when he looms over you like this. 

"So you don't want to have a conversation, and you don't want to listen. Is that right, princess?"

He still respects your wish to not be touched, but his hands are on either side of your head. He has you caged against the entry hallway. Nowhere is his body brushing yours, but the heat radiating off him almost feels like he is. The smell of his cologne wafts around you. You are so surrounded by him that it's hard for you to remember that he asked another question. Finally, you shake your head slowly.

"If you keep acting like a brat and don't use your words, I'm going to treat you like a brat." Bradley is telling you this as a warning. His words light something in you, though, and you push roughly against his chest, trying to get him away from you. 

"I'm not in the mood, Bradley." You growl out. You duck under one of his arms, needing space to think and breath.

"You don't get to not be in the mood," Bradley growls back. That has you rounding back at him, fury filling you.

"I don't get to say no?" You ask. Your voice is equally as upset as his. He seems to calm down a bit at your words. You watch him take a deep breath, following the motions of his inhale and a heavy audible sigh on the exhale. 

"Of course, you can. I am not a fan of how you are twisting my words tonight. I meant it as. You don't get to say no to talking to me." His eyes don't stray from yours, and you see the concern in their depths. 

"I deserve to know why you are not fine, and you are acting like a brat." 

There was the phrasing again, deserve. It rubbed you all the wrong ways, and you set your stance, bringing yourself up to your full height, glaring into Bradley's eyes. 

"If you don't want me, and can't handle me as a brat, maybe you just aren't cut out to be my Dom, Brad."

What was that TikTok sound that was popular for a while? Something about how people who can raise a single eyebrow are automatically brat tamers. The moment you saw the eyebrow raise Bradley is giving you. You knew you were fucked. 

"You have two choices: go to our room and lock the door, and I will see you in the morning. Or you better be naked and on our bed by the time I make my way to our room, princess. If I find you any other way, you will be in more trouble than you already are."

He grabs the purse that dropped to the ground without you even noticing. Then Bradley hangs it on the proper hook before he digs in his pocket, pulling out his keys and wallet. He glances at you and once again raises that eyebrow. 

"You want to go to bed willingly before I make you." You are speed walking through the house to the master bedroom moments later. 

You strip mostly naked before perching on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. Only leaving on your panties. 

Bradley takes his sweet time getting to you. You hear him walking throughout the house: in the laundry room, swapping loads of laundry, and briefly in the kitchen, the fridge opening and closing. 

When he finally gets to the bedroom, he doesn’t even acknowledge you at first. You lift your eyes, watching him set a tumbler of water on your side of the bed. Then making his way to his side and putting down his own water bottle he liked to take to bed. 

You quickly lower your eyes when you see him glance towards where you are sitting. Bradley is standing in front of you a second later.  

“Are you going to let me touch you now, baby?” He asks you playfully, teasingly. 

You think about it for a moment, and you are surprised that he is patiently waiting for your answer. Finally, you nod slowly. Bradley’s hand lifts your chin, so you look up at him. His touch is surprisingly gentle and light. 

“Use your words. I have heard this mouth throw around all kinds of things tonight. I think you can manage a yes or no.” He squeezes your chin in between his fingers, then just slightly. 

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, you can touch me.”

His hand slips lower and wraps around your throat. It’s a loose hold but serves as an anchor point. Your breath catches when he gives your throat the tiniest squeeze. More a twitch of his hand than anything else. 

With his hand directing you, he pushes you back until you are arching and angled to still hold eye contact. He holds you there for a long moment, his eyes tracing your face, then lower to take in your whole body. 

He lets go of your neck, and without his steady hand, you find yourself falling back on the bed. Brad doesn’t make any move after that. He just stares down at you, taking you in. 

“What am I going to do with you, princess?” He finally asks you in that rough voice. 

“I think you need a reminder of why you should be a good girl for me. And why you don’t want to be a brat.” His fingers ghosted over your thighs in a slow motion. Then, when they reach your hip, they drag back down to your knees again. 

“But,” he continues on, dragging out the word. “You are just so damn pretty almost makes me want to forgive you.” When his hands reach your hips for the second time, he grips them and flips you over. 

You gasp in surprise at the action with your face and belly pressed into the bed. You try to lift yourself further up, but one of Bradley’s hands is pressing down on your back. 

“Brats get punished, baby. Is that what you want from me? To punish you?” He asks you. You slowly shake your head no into the mattress but don’t say anything otherwise.

Bradley tsks at you, and in the same breath, the hand that wasn’t holding you down smacks your ass. It isn’t the hardest Bradley has ever spanked you, but it was hard for the first one. It makes your skin instantly sting, and your whole body jolts forward.  

You flex your legs that are still hanging off the side of the bed, trying to find purchase on the ground. 

One of the many beautiful things about Bradley Bradshaw was that he could manhandle you any which way as if you were no more than a rag doll. It is something you never really had the experience of with any partner before him. Bradley repositions you so you are sprawled in his lap over his thighs. 

He is still fully dressed from the bar. Your knees are pressed into the ground, and your ass is on display. 

He gently rubs where he has already smacked you. You stare down at the ground in front of you, examining the grain in the hardwood floor. Bradley’s hand comes down and smacks your ass again. You groan in response. 

“How are you doing, baby?” He asks you, rubbing soothing circles again. His hand feels cool against the skin that is already inflamed. 

You continue refusing to answer him though, preferring to take whatever punishment he will give you in silence. Bradley’s hand comes down hard a moment later, the slap it makes against your skin echoing in the room. 

“Not talking to me is not an option. I thought we already established that,” Rooster growls out. 

You receive retribution with another spank when you keep your mouth closed tight. You can’t help but let out the barest of whimpers after that one. 

“What was that, baby?” He asks you, his tone soft again.  

“How many?” You whisper. You half expect another spank at the action and tense your body waiting for the impact. Instead, Bradly stays steady, rubbing your cheeks. His other hand comes forward to push your hair behind your ear, so he has a better view of your face.

“How many do you think you deserve, princess?” 

“I don’t know,” you tell him.

He hums, looking down the bridge of his nose at you while deliberating. 

“How many have you had already?” he asks. 

Hesitantly, you raise your hand and show him four fingers. You immediately receive another spank. This time lower on your cheek cresting the back top of your thighs. It is significantly softer than the other ones you have received tonight.  

“This is your last warning, baby. I won’t ask you to use your words again.” 

You take a few shallow breaths, trying to even out your body that is going haywire. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Bradley nods his head, approving your words. 

“How many are you at, baby?”

“Five,” you supply, still unable to get out more than a whisper. 

“And how many do you think you deserve? How many does my little brat need to learn her place?”

“I don’t know.”

Bradley sighs at your response like he has some great burden. 

“That’s not up to bratty princesses to decide, is it?”

“No, Sir,” you whimper back. 

“No,” he agrees. “That’s for me to decide. I get to decide because I’m in charge.” He punctuates the sentence with a spank.

“I am your Dom, Princess.” Spank. 

“If you want to be a brat or a baby, then I am your Daddy,” He gives you another spank, so hard this time that you jolt forward, sighing an odd mix between a whimper and hiss. 

“But any way you want to look at it, any way you behave. You are mine.” Spank. 

“Do you understand?” Bradley asks you slowly. His hand that is pressed into the center of your back drifts down lower, tracing soothing circles. 

“Yes. I understand.” 

“Good,” he whispers and spanks you again. 

You do whimper this time, loudly. You let one of your hands grip the edge of the Hawaiian shirt Rooster is still is wearing, working it in-between your fingers. 

“How many was that?”

“Ten,” you tell him shakily. 

“Five more.” He says then. 

“Five?” You gasp, clutching the fabric in your hands tighter. You turn to look at him, abandoning the floor in front of you. 

“Yes, because I told you to be naked. And you still have these lacy little panties on. Don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Sir. I forgot them.”

“No, you are smarter than to forget something like that. Aren’t you, baby?” He coos the question to you. “You were choosing to be bratty.”

Rooster's eyes are more black than any other color with how wide his pupils are blown. That flush of anger, more lust than anything now, staining his skin. His eyes meet yours, and his tongue darts to wet his lips, dragging a little on his mustache. You break eye contact with him and stare at the floor again, ready to accept the punishment. 

“I want you to count them.” He tells you 

Smack, your ass stings again, but it’s mainly from the flesh already being abused. “Eleven.”

Smack. It is intentional, you know; these blows are significantly less painful than the previous ones.

“Twelve,” you choke out. 

Thirteen and fourteen come in rapid succession. You almost aren’t able to get the numbers out in-between. 

“Only one more princess, you are taking it so well. Can you do one more?” He asks you. 

“Yes,” you confirm. 

When Bradley smacks your ass for the final time, you gasp and clench your thighs together. 

He leaves you there for a moment to calm down, but it’s not long until he pulls you back up and stares at your face, searching. 

“You took that like a very good girl,” he praises you. 

He leans forward, ready to ghost his lips over yours. However, you are still too raw and in your head. So, you turn your face just enough to the side that Bradley’s lips catch the edge of your mouth instead. 

He pulls back from you and narrows his eyes. You only blink back, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. He leans in to kiss you again, and you once again turn away. A rumble of displeasure falls from his chest at your actions. 

“You still haven’t learned your lesson, baby?” Bradley questions you. 

Bradley pushes you down onto your knees, then. He starts to shrug off his Hawaiian over shirt, but you risk raising from your knees to stop him. 

You lean into his space and ghost your lips over the edge of one of his ears. Even with you standing and him sitting on the edge of the bed, he feels so tall. Your hands trace over his arms and down his chest slightly to catch the shirt’s open edge and push it back off his shoulders.

Maybe there were ways you could take care of Bradley, too, at least in the bedroom. 

You drag your hands down his chest to start lifting his wife beater, and you briefly let your nails run along his abs and shoulders. As soon as it pulls free, you throw it away from the bed, vaguely in the direction of the laundry hamper. 

Bradley is watching you with wide eyes, his mouth just slightly ajar. You graze your lower lip with your teeth, feasting on the sight of him shirtless. 

“So handsome,” you utter. You are rewarded for the compliment with the small pleased smile that splits his face. 

It inspires you to lean forward, kissing the scar on his chin, then the ones on his neck. Lower you nibble in random places and trace the lines of his chest with your tongue. 

“Do not tease me,” he growls at you. 

So, you shift back on your heels for him. Then audibly whining as your still raw skin makes contact with your calves. You bounce forward, so you are more upright, the weight more on your knees than on your ass and calves.

Bradley unbuckles his pants, and you help pull them down his legs. Your hands get lost along the way again, tracing his muscular thighs. You circle his knee caps slowly before shoving the jeans and boxers out of the way. Tracing back up his calves to pull off the graphic socks with little roosters and planes on them, a gift from his last birthday.

And there is Bradley’s hard cock; he is the perfect size. You simply admire him for a moment as he situates himself on the edge of the bed again.

“Maybe your mouth will want to do more talking once I fuck it.” Bradley muses out loud. He is cupping your jaw, lifting your eyes to look at him instead of his cock.

His thick thumb presses to your lips, and you open your mouth for it. Sucking on it, your tongue tracing the pad of the digit.

Bradley groans and withdraws his thumb. You don’t let it go easily, though, sucking harder as he tries to retreat and just barely grazing it with your teeth. He cups the side of your head to steady you then.

You lean forward, kitty licking the tip of his dick. Lapping it a few times, you are tempted to continue on the teasing path. As you start to consider it, though, Bradley’s hand is heavy on the back of your head, pressing you forward the tiniest bit. It reminds you that this was supposed to be a punishment.

You open your mouth more, taking him into your mouth.

Bradley groans and you wrap one hand tight around his ankle, grounding yourself. Your other hand settles on his thigh. He lets you start at your own pace, slowly sliding more of him into your mouth. You build a rhythm, relaxing your throat. When he reaches the back of your throat, you start to pull back, but Bradley lightly bucks his hips forward as you do.

You can’t help but gag slightly since you aren’t prepared for it. You instinctually try and draw back and are stopped. Bradley’s hand threads into your hair, giving it a tug. That makes a moan vibrate in your throat. Your moan reverberates right through him, ringing up his spine until it’s echoed out of his own mouth.

He holds you there in place, mouth full, not moving and not letting you move either. So you wait, anticipation sitting in your stomach. He is heavy and hot in your mouth as you wait.

You lift your eyes to meet his. Bradley’s eyes are molten, and his jaw is set. When your gazes meet, and he raises that same eyebrow again. As he smirks down at you, he shifts his hips in a small movement. The thrusts get longer until he is fucking into your mouth.

He keeps up until he has a steady rhythm. Your jaw starts to ache slightly, and not for the first time, you curse Bradley’s stamina and sex drive. Of course, there were many explanations for it: being a pilot, his diet, being a sex god, genetics, how often he fucks you, just because he was Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. Whatever the explanation, it doesn’t matter as he abuses your mouth.

You finally start to see signs that tell you he is close. The way his thighs start to quiver a little more than normal. How he is just a little too far gone to have consistency in how hard he is pulling your hair; almost slack for one thrust, and then your roots are stinging a thrust or two later.

You trace the hand you have on his thigh, gliding it over his fine leg hair until you’re cupping his balls.

“Fuck,” he hisses into the air, and you flash your eyes upward again to try and glance at his face. His eyes are squeezed closed, and a bead of sweat is sliding down his neck.

You gently start to massage his balls and squeeze your hand still wrapped around his ankle tightly. Dirty praise falls from his mouth.

“My little bratty slut.” He tells you, hitting the back of your throat and drawing back again.

“Are you going to be good? Can you take it all?” Bradley asks you, his voice low and ragged, broken up slightly by panting.

You moan in your throat and squeeze his ankle tight in a way of telling him yes. When he next hits the back of your throat, he pushes further, drawing you down to the base of his dick. Then, moaning loudly, he cums down your throat. You swallow it down in gulps, well acquainted with the taste.

“So good, princess.” He tells you, pulling out of your mouth. You open and close your jaw a few times before resting your head on Bradley’s thigh. His fingers pull through your hair, working through the knots he finds and massaging your scalp.

“So good,” you repeat back to him, turning your head enough to mouth a soft kiss against his leg and close your eyes for a minute.

“How are you doing, princess?” He asks, checking in with you. You hum contently at first while you decide.

“I’m wet.” You decide to tell him.

“Show me how wet, princess,” He responds. His hands grip your arms, helping pull you up into the bed, and getting you situated in the middle.

You reach out and adjust the pillows to your liking before leaning back against them. Bradley opens your legs and traces his thumb across the seam of your panties. You roll your hips forward into his thumb when he starts tracing your clit. Then he pulls them off you, exposing your pussy to him.

He brings your panties up to his nose, inhaling deeply, before throwing them over his shoulder. The sight makes you moan and clench around nothing. Bradley leans forward, and you finally allow him to kiss you.

His lips move slowly against yours. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting himself there. You wrap one of your legs against Bradley’s hip, trying to urge him close to you. However, he reaches to the side of the bed and starts rummaging.

You break the kiss to see what he is reaching for. When his hand emerges with a vibrator. He pressed it in between your thighs. You jerk, The toy feeling cold against your heated skin.

He leaves it there while drawing you into another kiss. Bradley’s teeth sink into your lower lip, making you inhale through your nose sharply. He clicks the power button, and the vibrator comes alive on the lowest setting.

The room fills with the sound of muffled buzzing, kissing, and the breaths you manage to steal. While you sloppily make out, Bradley doesn’t move or adjust the vibrator once.

Giving you a hard kiss Bradley pulls away, trailing kisses down your neck. He sucks hard on your collarbone, biting it to solidify the hickey. His mustache only tickles a little bit going down your chest, where he latches onto one of your nipples.

He moves the vibrator so that it is pressed against your clit. You sigh at the stimulation and grip the sheets on either side of you in each hand. Next, Bradley moves to your other nipple, nibbling at it.

He eventually pulls away from you, leaning back, turning up the vibrator to a higher setting, and working it against you. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” Bradley says, eyes trained on the motion of the toy.

"Please, Brad," you beg him, grinding your hips into the toy. 

"Brad?" He pulls the toy away from you, and you groan at the loss. 

"Sir," you correct yourself. Bradley rewards you by allowing the vibrator to touch you again but doesn't put any pressure on it. Heat is burning at your core, and you feel raw want for him seeping out of yourself. You toss your head back in frustration with him. 

"Sir, please," you beg again, but don't get results this time. 

"Sir," you pant out when Bradley's hand holds your hips still, forcing you to just endure his teasing. 

"I need you, Daddy," You say next, and that does inspire something in him. He smirks and squeezes your hips.

"Pretty words, princess. Tell Daddy what you need."

And fuck, what didn't you need from Bradley Bradshaw? You need everything from him. You need his cock inside you. You need his body sweaty and sticky against yours. You need to have bruises in the shape of his mouth and fingers tomorrow. You need him to fuck your brains out. You need him to hold you and love you. You need him to make you his. 

You whine, not sure how to put it into words. Bradley always knew what you wanted and needed from him, so now that he wanted you to say it, you weren't sure what to actually ask for. 

"Fuck me," you tell him. Bradley pushes the vibrator into you then, and you clench around the intrusion. He slowly starts pumping it into you, but it isn't enough. 

"Like this?" He sweetly asks you. 

The vibrations from the toy radiate through your cunt, making you cry out. Bradley makes sure to angle it just right, and when your moans get a little too much, he starts to pull it out of you. Then repeating the maddening process over again. Finally, you dig your nails into the forearm holding the vibrator. 

"No, please. You know what I need." You tell him, sticking out your lip and meeting his eyes with your own, giving him a pleading look. 

"That's right," he nods to your words. "I do know what you need, baby. You need me to pound the brat out of your pussy too," he declares. 

He pulls the toy out of you, turning it off and setting it to the side. He lines you up with his cock. Bradley pushes into you slowly, then not stopping the motion until you are stretched around him, groins pressing flush together. 

He splays his hand wide across on your lower belly, pressing down, which makes you clench around him. You drop a knee to the side and wrap the other leg around his waist. Bradley uses the additional room you provide him to push himself deeper into you. 

"You are so tight," he moans. He angles his thumb so that it presses against your clit. Bradley swirls it in a slow circle while pulling his cock out of you at almost the same pace. You feel like you might lose your mind at this rate. 

"You fill me up so good," you groan out. 

"You like it when I touch you, baby?" He asks you.

"Yes," you pant out in quick response. You hope it will get him to touch you more. Bradley doesn't disappoint. He starts to mouth at your skin and speeds up his rhythm. 

"Don't forget it," Bradley tells you, following the statement with a hard bite. 

He fucks you harder until you are both dripping with sweat. Your hips are canting up, meeting his every thrust. You feel the muscles in your legs and abdomen quivering right on the edge, waiting to come. 

Then, the blunt edge of his nail catches your clit where he is rubbing you. The gentle scrape is enough to send you creeping over the edge and coming. You spasm around Bradley, gasping, a moan catching and breaking in the back of your throat.  

He keeps fucking you but slows down to short deep thrusts until you are less blissed out. You focus your gaze on him, admiring the concentration set in his features. The heavy weight of his body pressing into yours. 

You smash your mouth against Bradley's. You thread a hand into his short curls pulling him as close to you as you can. His thumb retreats from touching your clit, but he is still balls deep in you. 

The kissing starts to get dirtier. His tongue teasing yours, dominating your mouth. You are still sensitive from your orgasm and actually, pull your hips back from his so he isn't pressed so deeply in you. Bradley follows your lead and pulls even further out, so just the head of his dick is inside you. 

When your mouths separate for breath, you pant into his mouth, only centimeters apart. You flick your tongue out, licking your bottom lip and letting it graze against the texture of his mustache and plush upper lip. Moans spill from his throat, making you feel a little proud of what you have accomplished. 

You feel the burn inside you growing again, already so much closer after the last orgasm. Bradley's cock remains shallow, thrusting into you at a leisurely pace like he is in no hurry to do anything else. 

"I thought you were going to fuck me with your fat cock, Sir," you whine to him. His rhythm stutters, and he comes to a grinding halt in you. Bradley's eyes snap open. He is clearly shocked to hear your little taunt. 

He pulls out of you entirely, making you whimper at the loss. He flips you on your belly again, pulling your hips up to meet his. He slides back into you in a long hard stroke. Bradley presses you firmly into the bed, the side of your face smashing into the pillows. 

"Take it then," Bradley says, not relenting for even a moment to speak the words. At this angle, the head of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. It punches the breath out of you each time.

Your legs are shaking, and you rut against him. You are desperate with the build up of your second orgasm, but it feels too far out of reach. You whine and resist the hold of his hand, pinning you down. That prompts him to push you harder into the mattress. 

"Just like that, princess," He moans loudly for you, his pace faltering just slightly, letting you know he is close. You are close too. You feel like you are on fire. Your skin feels like it's attached to you too tight. 

"Need more, need you," you beg him. Bradley listens. He doesn't go faster, but he thrusts into you harder. Each snap of his hips brings you closer to ecstasy. Wrapping his hand around your throat, he pulls you back against his chest. 

Bradley is the only thing you can process now. How his chest feels with its quick rise and falls against your back. How his large hand grips your throat, a steady, reassuring hold. How hot his breath is against your ear in short puffs and grunts. The way his hips grind into yours with a slight twist every time he bottoms out. How his other hand grips your waist hard, fingertips pressed into you, making indented flesh, like you might slip away from him. 

"How's that, princess?" He asks. 

"So good, you're so good." You chant for him as much as you can with your oxygen restricted. Desperate for something to grip, you dig your nails into the side of his thigh. 

Bradley groans, lowering his head where he bites into your shoulder. The tinge of pain and how he snaps his hips is all it takes. You are falling over the edge again. The tension wound tight in your core, flooding out of you and into your body.

Bradley spills into you a few thrusts later. Your body still shaking and your walls still occasionally fluttering around him in you. He rolls his hips into you a few more times and relaxes the tight hold he had on your hips and neck. He is praising you and pressing soft open mouth kisses anywhere he can reach. 

He gently pulls out of you. It's an immediately empty feeling that your body wasn't prepared for after spending so much time stuffed full of him. You collapse forward into the mattress again with jelly legs. You are exhausted. 

Bradley gives you water that he brought earlier. He presses yet another gentle kiss to your forehead before getting up from the bed. You hear him mutter something, but your brain is too fried to process it. 

The moment Bradley is out of the room, though, you start to panic. The emotions rise from deep in your chest and feel like they are going to strangle you, making it hard to breathe. 

You take a few shaky breaths before all of it bubbles to a boil, and tears stream down your face. Then, it only takes a few more breaths before they become full on sobs wracking your whole body. 

You wrap your arms around yourself and hiccup, trying desperately to stop the tears and the emotions flooding your system, but nothing seems to be working. 

You had only been crying a minute or two before Bradley was back in the doorway. Seeing the state you are in, he rushes over to your side, tossing the pajamas, towels, and sheets he had stacked in his arms to the side. 

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asks you. His voice is steady and slow, still raw from moaning your name. Bradley does so well in situations like this; he always keeps a level head. A source of steadiness and care. You briefly start to consider if that's one of the reasons he is such a fantastic pilot. 

Bradley repeats the question to you, and you flinch. Not a small flinch but a whole body flinch, expecting another spank to be delivered. It doesn't come; there is only Bradley, slowly rubbing your arms in an up and down motion trying to soothe you. He is making small shushing noises. 

You shift closer to him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and cling to him tight. You were almost in a fetal position with your legs pressed close to your chest. Bradley was quick on the uptake. He shifts, so he is leaning back against y'all's headboard. 

His arms wrap around your naked body, holding you close to his chest. 

"Tighter, please," you finally managed to request. Your fingers dig just a little bit into the skin of his neck. Bradley instantly flexes his arms, squeezing you a little tighter and a little closer to him. 

"Take your breaths with me, baby." You hear him mutter, but you can't do it. The sobs wracking your body are still too much. 

At least this time, you don't flinch waiting for punishment when you can't follow directions. Bradley starts to rock you back and forth, still making soothing noises, reminding you to breathe or following his own deep breaths. 

"I can't," you finally manage to gasp out between sobs. One of Bradley's arms unwraps from you to cradle your head, his thumb tracing smooth lines over your jaw and occasionally sweeping down your neck. 

"I got you, princess," he says, and you know it's true. 

You adjust your grip on him so that your arms wrap around his narrow waist, and you press your face almost harshly into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. You just breathe him in then, finally feeling some of the panic that had a vice grip on your throat release. The heavy feeling in your chest eases, allowing you to take deeper breaths. 

After too much effort, you can finally match his breathing. The moment you start to praise fills your ears from the deep rumble in his chest. 

"That's it, baby. You are so good for me." You process what he is saying, and the tears streaming down your face subside until they are only occasional, not constant. 

"Bradley," you whisper, mouthing the words into his neck more than anything else. 

"Yes, baby? What do you need?"

"Do you love me?"

"Of course," his answer is instantaneous, without doubt, or hesitancy. 

"Am I not good to you?" You ask him, closing your eyes and pressing your face into his neck again, unwilling to see any kind of reaction he might have to your words. 

"You are good to me, princess," he reassures you, but you feel the muscles in his arms tense where he is holding you.  

"Is this because I called you a brat?" He asks. 

"I didn't mean to be a brat." You defend yourself slightly. You release one of the arms holding him to you desperately and instead bring it closer so that you can trace the scars littering his neck and chest within reach for you. 

"I know you didn't mean to be a brat."

"I know you don't like brats."

"I don't," he agrees. "But I love you, so it's okay." 

More tears leak out of your eyes hearing him say that, and you have to suck in another ragged deep breath so you don't sob again. 

"If you love me, and I'm good to you. Then why don't you like taking care of me anymore?" You finally manage to push out. The motive behind all your actions and your insecurities is laid out in-between you. 

The words sit there in the tiny space you've left between you. They taste like when you forget to brush your teeth after going out drinking, sitting sour heavy in your mouth. You cringe at how they almost sound like an accusation against Bradley, against the most amazing man you have ever met. You instantly want to take them back, wishing you had kept them inside, put them into the lock box, and left them there. 

It's Bradley's breath that catches this time. You hear it as much as you feel it under you. His muscles freeze under and around you. You wait. Wait for his exhale. Wait for his muscles to relax, for him to unwind, and reassurances and excuses to follow. 

You are waiting too long. Bradley is completely frozen. You resist his hold on you, only willing and able to move away far enough from his grasp to scan his face. He is looking forward towards the far wall of your room. His eyes dart back and forth rapidly like he is reading a document. 

"Bradley?" His name inspires a reaction, which is somewhat of a comfort. He sucks in a few rapid breaths. His gaze flashes down to meet yours, and you are briefly consumed by the depths of it before he looks away back to the far wall. 

Bradley slowly relaxes, except for his arms around you. He crushes you close to his chest, not tighter than when you started crying, but nearly. 

"I haven't been taking care of you?" He finally asks you. It's a detached, distant tone of voice that you don't recognize from Bradley. 

You can't say anything now. You already regret the words and don't want to dig into them further. If you could rewind and go back to just a few minutes ago before you said them, you would. Bradley waits; he doesn't push you for an answer and doesn't punish you for not giving him one this time. He doesn't let go of you either. 

You decide to lie to him and shove your raw feelings into a box. You prepare to tell him how, of course, you've felt taken care of. You didn't know what you were even saying. They were just more bratty words, but he beats you to the punch. 

"You're right. I don't deserve a good girl like you."

"You do. You are amazing, Bradley."

"Please don't lie to me, princess." He gruffly tells you. Your heart clenches hard in your chest.

"It's not a lie." You stroke the side of his neck, trying to provide comfort. "You are the best man I've ever met."

He scoffs hearing that. "Not if I haven't been taking care of you. Then I hardly even deserve to be called a man at all." 

"I'm a grown woman. I don't need a man to take care of me. My hormones are probably just out of wack. That's where all this came from. Can we chalk it up to that and leave it?" 

"I know you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. You have to do it every time I leave. But you shouldn't have to when I am here. Plus, I'm not just any man."

"Please, Bradley. I promise it doesn't matter."

"Of course, it matters! How you feel will always matter to me." 

You sigh into his neck. The emotions in you pull so tight you know that if this conversation continues, you will likely break into tears again. 

"What do you need to hear for this to be better?"

"I need what I always need. I need honesty and the truth."

"You won't let me take it back, will you?" 

"No. I need you to tell me how you feel."

"I feel like you don't enjoy taking care of me anymore." You start, repeating what you already had said. You wait for him to say something, but he stays quietly listening, so you continue. 

"I feel like you are days away from breaking up with me. Sometimes, I feel like you would rather be anywhere but dealing with me. I feel like I'm a chore. I feel like I won't be your girlfriend by the time you next ship off. It feels like you are just waiting for the right moment, doing what you must until it's the right time or convenient to end it." 

You pause to take a deep breath. Waiting for him to say something now. 

"Fuck," Bradley sighs the word. It is under his breath, and you hear it only because you are cuddled so close to him. "That couldn't be further from the truth for me, baby. But you are right about something. I have no intention for you to be my girlfriend by the time I have to go again. I'm hoping you will be much more than that."

You have never felt your heart plummet and then rise again within such a short span of time. You are consumed with the need to see his face. You struggle against Bradley's arms holding you, wiggling until he lets you go. You climb out of his embrace and lie down on your side, motioning for him to do the same. Bradley lowers himself down on the bed until he is lying parallel to you. 

You pull him closer until various parts of you are still brushing, but you can stare at his face now. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and stare into his eyes like they hold the answers to the universe. You briefly consider that maybe they do. 

"I need examples," Bradley utters as his arm slings across your waist. 

"It's stupid, Bradley. My own made up insecurities over tiny things that aren't real." 

"It's not stupid. I want to know. We can only put these insecurities to rest if we acknowledge them. And, so, I can make sure I'm not hurting you. I would never intentionally hurt you," Bradley says with conviction. 

You sigh and trace the scar on his chin for a long moment trying to think of examples. "Last week, you didn't kiss me when you got home from the store. And sometimes you talk about our house like, it's just a temporary place, not our home."

"Baby, this is just a temporary place. I could get restationed any day."

"It's not about the actual house Bradley. It's about me. I know you'll get restationed at some point, or we will finally buy our own place. But when you talk about it like that, I sometimes feel like I'm not your home." The final sentence comes out in a broken whisper. 

Bradley's hand that is on your hip digs into the flesh hard. It makes you whine a little bit, more from the surprise of the grip than anything else. 

"You are the only thing I have to come home to. I don't care if we live here, in the back of the Bronco, or in a cardboard box. It wouldn't matter to me. You are my home, baby. I ain't got no one else." He searches your eyes like he is looking for something when he says those words. But, he must eventually find it because the edge of his lip quirks up he relaxes his hand again.

"I'll work on that," he promises you. "And I'll try not to forget any more kisses. If I do, I want you to stop me, no matter what's going on, and ask me if I forgot something. If you ever want kisses, baby, I am always more than happy to oblige."

You take him up on the offer right then and there, leaning forward and sealing your lips against his. It's a slow and tender kiss. The kind that you only have when someone knows you entirely. When Bradley pulls away, he leaves his forehead pressed against yours. 

"What are some other things?" He whispers the question. 

"You let me go to my last doctor's appointment alone," you say, trying to scrounge your mind for more random examples. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you would want me to be at your gynecologist appointment."

"You just didn't even offer. It's not like anyone in the world is more acquainted with my vagina than you and me." You laugh even saying the words, the heavy feeling in your chest finally subsiding. Bradley joins you, letting out a few chuckles. You hadn't actually wanted him to come to the appointment, but it was more about the point of him wanting to go. 

"I'll be at the next one," he promises you. 

"I don't actually want you to go," you start to tell him, but he cuts you off. 

"No takes backs, princess. If I am here, I will be at the appointment. Your birth control and uterine health are very important to me." You laugh at him shaking your head at his silliness. 

"What else?" Bradley asks you again. 

"I don't have anything else I can think of right now," you tell him honestly. 

"And when you think of some. What are you going to do?"

"I'll let you know," you say, but it's not in a convincing tone. 

"Thank you. That's all I ever want, is for you to talk to me. I can't help or fix things if I don't know what's wrong."

"You are just so perfect. The thought of bothering you to ask for more... it feels selfish."

"It's not selfish," he reassures you kindly. "I would do anything for you. I want to do everything for you." 

"I love you, Bradley," you tell him, kissing and pulling him close to your body. He kisses you back, his devotion for you bleeding into every movement of his mouth and how his hand starts to caress your side. 

You try to hold him to you when he pulls away this time. But he just tsks his tongue at you, giving you a goofy smile. 

"I need to change the sheets. You need to pee. And we should probably shower."

He moves to lift you up in his arms, but you squirm, pouting until he drops you back on the bed. 

"Princess, I thought we were done with being bratty." He groans out, but there is no real bite in his words, especially not with how he is smiling at you. 

"I think I might like being bratty sometimes." You tease him, spreading your sore body out for him like an invite. 

He scoops you into his arms again, ignoring your wiggles, walking towards the bathroom. "That's okay, princess. I like spanking you to teach you a lesson."

You hide your grin in his neck until he sets you down gently on the bathroom counter. Bradley starts the shower so it can warm up. Then he heads back to the bedroom to change the sheets, but not before giving you a pointed look. 

He is already back in your bedroom when you call after him, your voice still feeling a little horse. "Lieutenant Bradshaw?" 

"Yes, Ma'am?" He calls back. 

"Aren't you forgetting something?" 

He literally sprints back into the bathroom, which makes you giggle. Rooster comes to a little sliding stop on one of the floor mats in front of you. One of his large hands cups the back of your head and the other holds your cheek. You part your mouth in anticipation, but he kisses your forehead first. Then each one of your eyes and nose. 

"My love," he sighs the words, giving you a wide grin before finally kissing your mouth. 

The phrase bounces around your head a few times before making its way into your chest and settling warmly there, starting to blossom. You were his, and he was yours. Sometimes things can just be simple like that. 

[ataraxiaspainting]

hiiii i have a request! yan chrollo and how he would treat darling during valentines day?

he gets a +10 buff of being creepy, essentially. turns it up to eleven, and this behavior does not go away until at least february 21st. that is if you're lucky. if you're not just pray for march 1st or whatever to come around as soon as possible.

Yan Chrollo + Valentine’s Day.

How Chrollo acts, as always, depends on you and your current relationship, be it with him or with other people. Do you know of his existence yet? Is his stalking still in its earlier stages? Are you interested in anyone romantically, and plan to confess to them on this day?

To Chrollo, you are the direct cause of all of his actions. He knows you don’t mean it because most likely you either don’t know he is always following you or you think that he is simply a good friend to you. The latter is much rarer though, because as much as Chrollo knows how to manipulate others, he’ll show his true intentions around you to keep you on edge, be it when you are at home cooking a meal for your family and he has been invited from said family, or when you are walking home from the bar and he just so happens to be there when you inevitably slip because you are drunk. He may or may not have put something in your drink too if that is the case. He won’t tell you that though until you are so vulnerable, that he snatches you up, either for just the night or what is intended to be the rest of your life. He doesn't care if this is seen as wrong by the rest of the world. He is a thief. His job is to steal away treasures. Why should his intentions with you be any different? If you tell him that this is wrong, the same response will occur, albeit with a few more mind games. Perhaps it is best not to poke the bear, even when it has already had its fill.

If you haven't been taken by him yet, be prepared for one of two scenarios to unfold. Firstly, he may discreetly deliver an assortment of gifts and an anonymous letter to your mailbox, or perhaps even leave them on your kitchen table (if he's feeling particularly unsettling). Alternatively, if you're open to dating, he may attempt to arrange a blind date with you. He would enlist Shalnark's assistance to ensure that he becomes your chosen companion for the evening. However, it's important to note that the likelihood of a blind date is rather slim, as it ultimately depends on your preferences. Regardless of your plans for the night, Chrollo has no qualms about sending you an anonymous letter and gifts. It matters little if you're alone, confessing your feelings to someone else, or already on a date with your partner.

Resting on your table lies a crimson envelope. Its sight prompts your eyes to widen, expanding to the size of saucers. However, its presence pales in comparison to the other objects adorning the tabletop. A plush teddy bear, two grand bottles of opulent wine, a duo of boxes containing your favorite foods, and an arrangement of roses nestled in a glass vase, a purchase you know was not made by your hand. These roses, in hues of ivory and peach, exhibit not a trace of withering or decay. The person who broke them in to put them in here was extremely careful with them, along with the other gifts.

Despite the icy tremors in your hands, you pay no mind to the numbing sensation. With cautious precision, you proceed to unseal the envelope, taking care to avoid tearing it. You find yourself in a situation where no one believes you anymore. You no longer share the details about your stalker with anyone. Unfortunately, they always seem to vanish without a trace or become the center of attention in the news. And sometimes, to your utter dismay, both things happen simultaneously.

You don’t scream either, anymore. That’s probably what your stalker wants. Whoever they are. You don’t know anything about them, aside from the fact that they are always watching you. You are always right under their thumb, one of the only houses you could afford, when paired up with the traveling fees, that is far away burning to the ground before you could pay it was sure evidence of that.

As you begin to peruse the letter, a sense of dismay washes over you, realizing how distant you have strayed from prioritizing your well-being.

“Dearly beloved…”

If, by chance, he has already whisked you away, a task that requires minimal effort on his part, Valentine's Day will bear a resemblance to this scenario. The card and an abundance of lavish presents will still grace the kitchen table, but at least their origin will be known to you. Chrollo promises you a "date", provided you conduct yourself properly today. As always, the destination is up to you, or so he feigns. Deep down, he already has the “date” planned. It would be wise to hope he doesn't subject you to anything too dreadful on this day.

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, doyoung

postage. kim doyoung & gn! reader, mentions of kissing cost to ship. 543 words

i'll miss you today. and i'll miss you tomorrow. and every second we spend apart. every second which your attention is not focused solely on me. every moment in which i miss the heat of your gaze and the flutter of my heart from your continued consideration. i'll miss it all, even the way my mouth runs dry and the feeling as if i've been pushed straight off a foothold. teetering and wavering upon my crumbling composure--one that never seems to last long when i'm in front of you.

a composure that splintered long before any hallmark of our relationship. and before the first time you kissed me. a kiss that remains imprinted in my mind, like a stain you just can't get out. sentenced to suffocating my every thought and beat of my heart with nothing more than a lingering presence and drawl of cherry red. the same cherry red that flashes before my eyes each time i replay that kiss, the same one (like all the others) that makes me feel winded. as if i had just fallen flat onto my back and had the breath knocked straight out of my lungs. the thought that these kisses may last forever wind me more-so than any singular kiss of yours.

have i mentioned that i love you? and miss you. yesterday. today. tomorrow. next week. forever. i will love you for the rest of what is conventionally my lifetime. and more so after that. until the universe is fractured into a billion pieces and silence lays upon every bit of space. and even then, in what is considered to be the end of life, i will still love you. and miss you. and need you.

and i'll still find time to replay that kiss. the same one that knocks the breath out of my lungs and stains my heart in cherry red.

about doyoung's love letters.

doyoung writes in familiar, formal script with long, looping syllables and perfected punctuation. recognizable as the type of cursive you learned in primary, as if it had been copied and pasted in a refined recollection and rendition from the original practice booklets themselves. his letters are often short but filled with such genuine longing and affection that you feel as if they may go on forever (or at the very least, you wish they did).

most of the letters you receive are written on napkins. a trend which began with a spur of the moment explosion of his feelings when he was out drinking and has now become something more of tradition. he complains about it often, how unromantic it is to be writing all of his affections onto a napkin of all things and yet he has a stack by his desk--knowing that every time he uses one, you're reminded of his first letter written and hand delivered to you.

when you do read these letters, you're far from any semblance of composure. nothing more than the envelope makes you flush and sends your heart beating four times as fast. for you know that his letters, like him, although they are often brief hold every ounce of adoration that he feels. an adoration that you're sure will outlive the both of you and one only surpassed by your own.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @ikozen @firstdonutllamafarm @trourevaille @222brainrot @marvelous-llama thank you for supporting me! ♡

note. this is very inspired by alex turner's love letter to alexa chung! i highly recommend giving that a read if you like any of my love letters since it (and he) has defined what it means to show love for me for a very long time!

🧾 © 00127am 2024