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forpiratereasons · 9 months

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i found a genre of longform videos that is just 8-10 hours of someone driving around freeways during thunderstorms and i have a lot of thoughts about this but also: stede the driver who films long pov driving vids and extremely stressed ed who gets addicted to his channel

it's meditative, and it reminds ed of being in the car with his mum, driving across aotearoa. he feels like she's there with him sometimes. but the more he watches, the more he becomes aware of the driver--a sigh here, the shuffle of fabric in the seat there.

there's almost no information about him on his channel, the gentleman driver, not even a name or a pic, and ed becomes a little fixated on picking up details about him. doesn't happen often, but once or twice ed catches the driver humming a few beats before falling silent again, clearing a throat, sighing, clicking his throat like he's talking silently to himself.

once, on hour six of a ten hour vid, ed's rewarded by the view of an elegant hand reaching across the screen to grab something that must be on the dash in front of the camera. four seconds ed plays over and over.

"is there someone in the car with you while you drive?" ed asks in a comment. "or is it just you?"

the gentleman driver writes back, "just me and the open road!"

maybe it's the format that makes ed ask, the anonymity. maybe he's just half asleep. "don't you ever get lonely?"

it's days before the gentleman driver writes back again. "do you?"

ed's not got an answer for that. or, he does, but not one he's willing to face head on. he asks instead how the gentleman driver chooses his routes.

the driver doesn't get very many comments and definitely not very many questions, and soon they're having little conversations in the comments of every video. ed gets another glimpse of that elegant hand, with a big turquoise ring, freckled forearm; hears another few bars of 'here comes the sun' hummed.

then the driver does something new: he stops at a rest stop.

and he leaves the camera rolling.

ed watches in rapt fascination as the driver crosses the screen in front of the car, goes into the rest stop. blond hair, broad shoulders, floral shirt. he's actually wearing jeans for an eight hour drive which is insane, and ed gets a glimpse of his profile as he smiles. insane.

if the driver's ever stopped before, it's been very carefully edited out. maybe he forgot this one. maybe he wanted ed to see. that's delusional, ed thinks, but he still navigates to the driver's about page and pokes around until he finds an email address.

nice shirt, he sends.

oh god, the driver sends back, and the video disappears from his page half an hour later. i forgot the editing. i'm sorry if it was distracting.

no, i liked it, ed tells him. it was nice to see the man behind the steering wheel. and then, hesitating only a bit, he adds: i'm ed.

hello, the driver writes. i'm stede.

the emails go on, and on, and eventually they turn into texts too, and promises from stede to check in on his longer drives, to "call if you ever need someone to keep you awake."

"i'm supposed to be sending you to sleep," stede argues.

"i'll sleep better knowing that you're safe," ed writes back.

the next video stede posts, he lets the camera run all the way until he's pulled into a parking spot at a roadside motel just outside of denver. the camera runs one minute, then five, and any reasonable person would've turned it off by now, but ed waits until he hears, very quietly: "safe and sound, now. go to sleep. goodnight."

is it stupid, to think you can fall in love with someone after just one sentence? is it still stupid, if that one sentence repeats at the end of every new video?

then one night the phone rings. it's late, dark out, and ed knows stede was doing a drive that wouldn't have him at his next stop until nearly one in the morning. he picks up. "hello?"

"oh, ed," the voice says. "you've no idea how good you sound just now."

it's a voice he's only heard before in hums and whispers, but it doesn't matter. lots of things about love are stupid, ed decides. this isn't one of them.

stede's blown a tire. "i'm okay," he insists. "i was just hoping for some company while i wait for the tow."

"where are you?"

"middle of nowhere," stede says, but when he names the spot, it's only two hours out. ed can be there faster than a tow probably would, and there's a note of anxiety in stede's voice he doesn't much like.

he's got his shoes on and his keys in his hand before he can think twice.

stede hems and haws but in all his fussing he doesn't actually tell ed not to come, and he stays on the line while ed piles blankets in the car and as he gets behind the wheel and as he sets out on the freeway. he stays on the line and they talk until they're both creaky with exhaustion and dry air, and then they're quiet, just like in stede's videos, but together this time. then ed crests over a hill and there it is: a car pulled off to the side with its hazard lights blinking. reminds ed of a lighthouse. 'i'm here,' the lights say. 'i'm here.'

he pulls to a stop behind, starts his own hazards. the driver side door of the car opens, and then there's a leg, and a body, and there he is. stede. he's still got his phone pressed to his ear; ed can hear him breathing.

"i'm going to get out," ed says.

"okay," stede says.

it takes another long moment, watching stede stand there in the dark, waiting for him. stede, with his hair and his voice and his hands and the way the quiet in him already feels like home.

"i might kiss you," ed says.

he watches stede swallow, hard. eyes widen. "okay," he says.

ed reaches for the handle. pops the door open. puts one foot out on the pavement and looks up to meet stede's eyes as his cabin lights come on, as the car starts to ding its door-open warning.

"oh," stede says.

ed takes a step. they both still have their phones in their hands, their breathes in each other's ear. ed takes a step and takes a step until he can reach out to take stede's phone from him. press the call end button.

"hi," he says.

stede kisses him.

after that there are other, shyer hellos, and other, more awkward ones too. there are ten minutes to a 24-hour macdo drive-thru for coffee and another ten to a motel and a late night that becomes an early morning by way of conversation. there's laughter, and more kisses, and careful fingers learning the planes of each other's faces. in the morning there's breakfast and a tow truck and an invitation to a place just two hours away.

and there's a long break in updates to the gentleman driver's channel.

when he comes back, weeks later, his update schedule isn't quite as frequent, and his drives don't usually go as far. there's giggles sometimes, in the background, like there might be someone else in the car with him.

"do you miss it," ed asks. "driving the long drives?"

"no," stede says. "i found what i was looking for."

@ kninjaknitter also podficced this one!

#darcy writes pirates #long post #ofmd #gentlebeard #cross posted from twitter

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desertfangs · 6 months

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Strange Happenings

I was listening to a podcast about Cattle Mutilations and then this happened. It's Armand/Daniel, circa 1975, a little more than 1000 words. I will put this in my short fic document on AO3 later.

Daniel’s blood went cold when he read the newspaper headline. He scoured the article and then checked that yes, this was the Denver paper, not some tabloid. He enjoyed a good tabloid story—and since learning that vampires were real, he suspected that some of the stranger things reported on in those rags were not entirely fiction—but this was a mainstream paper: cattle mutilations.

He looked at the grisly photo of a cow with its guts hanging out, parts of it surgically removed. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed a swig of beer to wash it back down. Ash fell from his cigarette onto the paper and he wiped it away, ashing the cigarette in the ashtray on the small round bar table.

He poured over the article several times. The article said some people were suggesting it was prank, while others had more out-there theories. The article did not go into the specifics of what these strange theories entailed but something unnatural was definitely implied. Daniel wondered what that meant. According to the article, incidents like these had been happening for months in different areas around the state.

He was so absorbed in his reading that the movement of the chair across the table startled him and he jumped.

Armand laughed.

Bastard.

The vampire had sat, looking pleased with himself at how easily he’d managed to sneak up on Daniel. As if he didn’t do it all the damn time. Daniel glanced out the window. He hadn’t even realized it had gotten dark.

“What are you reading?” Armand asked, grabbing the newspaper and sliding it across the table before Daniel could answer.

Armand scanned the page and frowned. Daniel studied him, waiting for his reaction. It didn’t take long. Armand didn’t have to read like a mortal. He could just look at something and absorb the information. He had once insisted to Daniel that he was reading, just faster than a mortal brain could ever manage.

“Well? Is that your kind’s doing?”

Armand laughed again. “You think vampires would bother with such elaborate and silly games?”

You seem to enjoy games, Daniel thought before catching himself, remembering how easily the vampire could hear his thoughts.

“I have no interest in the blood of cows,” Armand said. “Nor do I desire to hack pieces off large animals.”

“No? Seems like it would be a fun weeknight activity for someone like you,” Daniel said, tone droll. He stubbed the butt of his cigarette against the ashtray and pulled the paper back in front of him. “Do you know what’s doing it?”

“Bored children, probably,” Armand said.

Daniel laughed. He couldn’t help it. What an absurd response! “You think kids are going out and hacking up farm animals?”

Armand shrugged. “The article suggests as much.”

It did say local teens were suspected in at least one of the incidents, a copycat prank. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So you don’t know of a creature that might do something like this?”

Armand’s expression shifted, darkening almost imperceptibly. He titled his head and examined Daniel for a long moment while Daniel tried not to squirm uncomfortably under the scrutiny. Then he said, “I’ve never heard of such a creature and I cannot fathom what form they would take.”

Daniel sighed. He folded the newspaper up. “What about Bigfoot?”

Armand blinked. “Are you asking if I believe a giant ape man is carving up cattle?”

Daniel shrugged.

“I’ve told you before, Daniel, I have no knowledge of such things existing. I am immortal, I am not all knowing.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Daniel waved his hand and lit another cigarette. “Do you kill animals often?”

Armand actually looked surprised for a moment, which made Daniel smile. It took a lot to throw Armand off kilter and Daniel took great pleasure in doing so.

Armand reached across the table and snatched the cigarette from Daniel’s mouth at a speed that made it look as if the cigarette had flown into his hand of its own accord. Daniel’s heart raced but he tried not to show the jolt of primal fear that ran through him.

Armand held the cigarette between his fingers the way Daniel did, mimicking his motions. “Humans are animals,” he said idly.

“You know that’s not what I mean. Louis said he survived on rats—"

Armand’s head shot up and there was danger in his amber eyes. Daniel swallowed uneasily and reached for his glass. “Do not think speaking to one of us at length makes you an expert. And even he told you that was not normal behavior.”

Daniel took a swig of his beer. “I’m not an expert, that’s why I’m asking you.”

Armand put the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled, and then pulled it from his mouth, staring at it like it had offended him somehow. “We survive on animal blood when there is no other alternative. It’s your blood—the blood of mortals—that truly sustains us. Nothing else is sufficient.”

Armand stared meaningfully at Daniel’s neck as he spoke and Daniel’s hand went automatically to the spot where Louis had bitten him. It had been two years but he could still feel the ghost of the wound and he often wondered how it would feel to have Armand’s fangs in his neck.

Armand’s hand jutted forward, offering Daniel back his cigarette. He took it, fingers brushing Armand’s cool fingers. He wanted to grab his hand suddenly and hold it in his, to see if it would warm up in his grasp. But Armand had already stood, pushing his chair back.

“Where are you going?” Daniel demanded, without really thinking. He should be relieved the vampire was going. He was ice cold and probably hadn’t fed, and here Daniel was, stupidly asking him all about blood. That was a recipe for getting himself on the menu.

And yet he didn’t hate the idea. Vampires could drink without killing.

Armand leaned over the table and brushed a stray hair out of Daniel’s face. “Indeed we can, but it’s not satisfying. When I drink, I ride the heart until it stops and all the life has bled out.”

Daniel’s pulse raced, ice traveling down his spine. And then Armand was gone, almost as if he’d vanished into smoke. Daniel opened the newspaper again and tried to find something to distract himself, waving to the bartender for another beer. He sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to his hotel room alone until the sun was high in the sky and it was safe to do so.

#armand/daniel #short fic #armand x daniel #armand #daniel molloy #the chase years #devils minion #the devil's minion #devil's minion #vc fic #vc fanfic #short fic sunday #is that a thing #it should be a thing #daniel molloy vs cryptids #vc #vampire chronicles #tvc #armandaniel

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featherandferns · 13 days

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guilty as sin : where are they now?

jj maybank x routledge!fem!reader

word count: 700

read guilty as sin (part 1) | Thank you so so much for 1000 followers!!! Since starting this blog in May of 2023, I have written so many characters and storylines. I get so many lovely anon messages telling me about their favourite universes and wondering what happens next after my fics have ended. So, I thought to celebrate 1000 followers, I’d indulge. Here’s the (current) where are they now for all of my fics so far…

Raleigh airport was rather slow paced compared to Denver. People moved with minimal urgency and staff didn’t feel the need to yell at half-asleep passengers at three in the morning at TSA. It didn’t feel all that long ago that you were here last, but as a person, you feel years older. Your eyes stay steady on JJ, who’s wandered up to a departures board and is studying it intently. He turns around, half-smiles, and walks back over to you, hands in his pockets.

“A’right,” he says once he’s near. “Says Gate B21. They ain’t boarding yet but…”

“I should probably go through soon,” you mumble, finishing his sentence for him. You purse your lips and look at the TSA queue. It’s not very long. Sensing your hesitance, JJ runs a hand down your arm, guiding your attention back to him. There’s a queasy smile on his face. It’s reassuring but also somewhat reluctant.

“I’ll see you soon,” JJ says, “just two weeks.”

“In hell,” you mutter.

Chuckling shortly, JJ shrugs. “Yeah, well, two weeks for a life in Kildare. A deal’s a deal.”

“True,” you sigh. “Just kinda wish you could come with.”

“Same.”

The PSA announcement for a different flight serves well as a prompt to go through TSA. There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. Besides, JJ was right: only two weeks. You had your bag full of ever growing art supplies, including the paints from JJ, to keep distracted. Your mom had “requested” you return to Colorado at least three times a year, one of which being for one of the holidays. It was finally time to hold up your end of the deal.

“Well, guess I’ll see you later,” you say, smiling up at him.

JJ dips his head and plants a kiss to your lips. It’s short and fleeting, but stings just as much knowing that you won’t feel it for two weeks. It’s a tough pill to swallow after being attached at the hip for the past three months.

“See you around, Little Routledge,” JJ tries to joke.

He picks up your carry on and hands it to you, and you begin to walk towards the TSA line. You turn one last time to give him a wave and JJ waves back, smiling that same smile from before. Two weeks, you tell yourself. Two weeks of your mother’s prying questions and her boyfriend’s abusive arrogance. Your friends from Colorado made you somewhat excited to return. They’d been making plans since you said you were coming back to visit, including a three-day stay at a campsite by the lakes, which already granted you some escape. Besides, you knew this time that you were coming back to Kildare. More importantly, you knew you were coming back to JJ. With that final reminder, you pass through security and venture to your gate. As promised, you drop JJ a text when you board and another just before you take off, switching to aeroplane mode.

About an hour into your flight, you decide to dig through your backpack to retrieve your smallest palette of paints. The pocket sized sketchbook you pull out serves almost as a journal for Kildare, keeping track of the houses, the stores, the beaches and the marshes. Littered amongst the scenery are sketches and paintings of your friends and, of course, JJ. There’s a couple of pages littered with JJ’s doodles too. Cartoonish things, one of which is you circled in a love heart. It’s purposefully sappy and sweet, and it makes you smile every time you flip through that page. Just before the next blank page, something catches your eye. A short note that you didn’t write. You recognise the hand though. It’s JJ.

Little Routledge

I’m not good at writing letters so I’ll keep it brief. I miss you and can’t wait for you to come back home. Stay safe in Colorado and call whenever you need. Happy Thanksgiving.

Love JJ

You smile to yourself. It’s nothing that Shakespeare might envy but you know JJ isn’t the sort to write letters or leave love-notes. These few lines mean the world and more. You’re careful not to mark the page as you begin to sketch on the opposite side of the book. Today’s drawing? Of JJ, just moments before, as you recalled him in the airport, waving goodbye (for now).

#jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj #obx #outerbanks #outer banks #1000 followers #obx fic #outerbanks fic #outer banks fic #obx 4 #celebration #thank you!#jj fic #jj x reader fic #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x reader fic #fem!reader

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darkmaga-retard · 11 days

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Destruction of America happening now from within

Greg Reese

Sep 06, 2024

It is being reported that the Venezuelan gang, Tren de Aragua, began taking control of apartment buildings in Aurora, Colorado last November. While mainstream media and government ignore it, local news is covering it.“So now your investigator, Brian Moss, has obtained a confidential report into one of those apartment complexes. And that report says a Venezuelan gang began taking it over in 2023.” “This is the nine page report. It was put together by a Denver law firm. They say they were hired to look into the Whispering Pines Apartments by the building's lenders. Last month they sent this report to Aurora's mayor, city manager and police chief. As recently as Tuesday, residents at the Edge apartment complex in Aurora pushed back on reports that a Venezuelan gang had taken over their building. But five miles away at the Whispering Pines, a 54 unit apartment building in Aurora, this detailed letter, asking for confidential treatment of the contents, shared a different story. It was sent to Aurora officials on August 9th, with the investigators saying the evidence we have reviewed indicates that gang members are engaging in flagrant trespass violations, assault and battery, human trafficking, sexual abuse of minors, unlawful firearms possession, extortion, and other criminal activities. According to the law firm's report, the Venezuelan gang Tren de Aragua, has threatened to kill and in certain instances has apparently actively attempted to kill members of Whispering Pines management. The report says a consultant for the property management company was severely beaten and stomped by gang members and was hospitalized. The alleged incident, recorded by building cameras with screenshots attached to the letter. The report relies on a property manager who said that gang members allegedly stabbed a Whispering Pines resident for refusing to pay rent to the gang. He also told the investigators the takeover began last November. The report recounts that this summer, the gang approached the property manager and told him they would help him out in exchange for half of all the rent that he collected. The law firm that wrote the report call that an organized crime tactic. The gang members then allegedly took over vacant apartments. According to the document, moved families into those units and started collecting rent. The law firm says this is a picture of gang members breaking into a vacant apartment so they could move a Venezuelan family in and then collect rent. This is our business plan, one gang member told a housekeeper. If he, the property manager, doesn't like it, we'll fill him with bullets.” ~ Brian Moss, CBS Colorado

There are reports of this Venezuelan gang in Colorado, Illinois, and Texas. And according to a recent Dr. Phil interview with retired special agent with U.S. Immigration, Victor Avila, this is all being done by design.

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antisocialxconstruct · 30 days

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Okay "I'll wait until saturday" was a lie. "I'll post it tuesday"....... also a lie. But here we are, at probably the worst possible time and day for visibility :)

word count: 3,400 (total 9,000)

[ch1]

Ghost City

Chapter 2

Maksim winced as the clock in the corner of his laptop’s screen ticked over another minute. It had done that quite a few times now while he sat and watched, and he had not yet been stricken with any miraculous clarity or inspiration on what to do next.

He had gotten as far as hitchhiking to Denver. Two weeks of meandering travel and fifteen hundred kilometers seemed like a good buffer between him and his tail, and he needed to be here anyway, but he had another few weeks to kill while he waited for an appointment. It had occurred to him that he might have better luck being “on the run” if he knew exactly who he was running from and why, and he had very confidently settled down at the dining table in his musty hostel and opened his laptop and then remembered that he did not know how to do this kind of research. He didn’t handle contracts and he didn’t handle data, those had been the jobs of Avaricia and Strikeout respectively. Contacting the former was out of the question, and the latter…

As if to encourage him, the computer screen finally flicked to power-saving black, and he dragged his gaze away from it to stare instead at the phone abandoned with the other contents of his pockets on the opposite end of the table. He did not doubt for a second that Strikeout would help him. He leaned over, grabbed the phone and dragged it closer, lined it up neatly alongside the laptop and thumbed on the screen, opened up the contact list. And stared at it a little longer.

Strikeout would help him. Ze would be happy to, eager even. Which was precisely the problem.

Maksim groaned and slouched in his seat. He rubbed his eyes and then stared vacantly up at the ceiling as he tried to fight off the dread slowly tightening its grip around his ribs. He didn’t want zir help. He didn’t need it, he just needed to… ask questions. The right questions, to the right people. At length he hauled himself upright again. He woke the laptop to pull up a browser window, and the open-endedness of the unremarkable search engine landing page that greeted him was almost enough to stall him out once again. With a sharp intake of breath he muttered “соберись,” typed nyc cat warehouse murder, and hit ENTER.

–###–

Silence had settled thick over the modest office where Ilya now sat, staring across the desk at the person who was meant to find them work. They had the impression that this was an intentional little power play, a lull in conversation left to stretch until they started to squirm. But Violet underestimated how comfortably Ilya could settle into an uncomfortable silence. They slouched deeper into their chair and stretched their legs out in front of them, ankles crossed casually, and let idle curiosity carry their gaze throughout the office–from the window off to the left with the shades half-drawn, to the long fluorescent strip-lights lining the ceiling overhead, over the assortment of books and notes on the desk, the files in chunky binders on the shelves over Violet’s shoulder… lots of physical media, which was interesting. It could have easily passed for the office of a tax consultant, maybe a travel agent if there were more posters of exotic islands tossed in. Nothing about any of it broadcast a business in corporate espionage.

With a light click of their tongue, as if finally coming to an internal conclusion, Violet said, “I admit it is an impressive display,” bringing Ilya’s attention back over to settle on em. Eir own gaze was still focused on the screen atop the desk that separated the two of them, where ey had ostensibly just been going over reports, or notes, or the earlier versions of the worm Ilya had provided to prove it was their work. “Stock fell almost twenty percent overnight, internal reports suggest at least three years of research lost, there will undoubtedly be layoffs to offset the loss in revenue… I still think it’s a shame none of that data was extracted…”

“Well if you wanted it that badly you could have done the hack yourself,” Ilya fired back.

Violet finally sat back, pressing a button that lowered the screen into a slot in the desk so ey could meet Ilya’s eye. “That attitude won’t serve you well when you’re doing this for other people,” ey said, with an impassivity that made it feel less like a warning or admonishment, and more like a simple observation. “As I was saying, it’s a shame none of that data was extracted, but this is all I need to see to be confident I can place you. Although…” here ey paused, tilting eir head slightly to give Ilya a brief, assessing once-over. “I did put out some initial feelers, to see if anyone was already looking for a tech specialist… you haven’t exactly been making friends in San Mena, have you?”

That was a remarkably charitable way to characterize the way Ilya socialized. They tried for a disarming smile and felt like they landed much closer to a grimace. “Do I need friends?”

“It helps,” Violet replied. Ilya managed to bite back their impulse to challenge that assertion, but they were still fishing for a decent, less revealing response than not in my experience when Violet curtly appended “give me another week” and called up the screen again, leaving them with the distinct impression that the conversation was over. They hesitated for a beat, pulled their legs back in and sat forward, preparing to excuse themself, then stopped.

“You know if you really want NervAMP company secrets,” they said, “why don’t you just wait to find out who gets laid off and talk to them? At least some of them are going to be bitter.”

Violet tipped eir head again to see Ilya around the side of eir screen, and in the thoughtful look ey gave them Ilya was sure they could see the calculations being run behind eir eyes. The slightest hint of what Ilya chose to interpret as an approving smile lifted the corners of their lips, but all ey said was, “I’ll be in touch soon, Naspok.”

–###–

The waiting room of a back alley surgeon was rarely what one might call luxurious. Or even particularly hospitable. By now Maksim had sat in enough of them to know this was one of the better ones–it was well lit, clean, and at least a few square feet bigger than a walk-in closet. In total it was a far cry from the dingy vermin-infested storage unit he’d stumbled into the last time he’d needed maintenance, after a blow to the head had left him with the vision in his eye implant tearing and an ice pick migraine a cocktail of alcohol and narcotics hadn’t been able to curb. In retrospect it was a wonder he hadn’t walked out of there even worse, or that he walked out of there at all.

It was really just the waiting that was getting to him. This situation was far less dire, but to Maksim’s sensibilities at least, no less urgent. This was the last modification he had planned, and it had been the hardest to lock down but it was the one that would finally tie everything else together. Bioware was finicky, expensive, and hard to source without being traced and probably shot dead by some repo man because most of it still wasn’t consumer tech. Maksim had needed to find someone who could not only get their hands on it, but could be trusted to install it without shorting out some other essential part of his suite. Or his brain. Clark had come as highly recommended as he could have hoped for–sharpest eyes and steadiest hands anywhere outside the west coast, and discreet on top of it. With a price tag to match, unfortunately, but he had stopped allowing himself to think about debts pretty early on.

So he waited.

When his left leg began to bounce restlessly he willed it back into stillness, dropped his head back against the wall and tried to channel the impatient energy instead into his hands laying palm-up on his thighs. Controlled, intentional fidgeting. The short blades were sheathed cat claw-like in the artificial third digits of each finger, protracted by the minute flexing of thin tendons that had been painstakingly restrung and retrained to the purpose. It was second nature by now, a full decade on from when they had first been installed, but it still served as a good grounding exercise to focus in on the process. Slowly, deliberately, he touched the point of each blade to the soft pads of his thumbs, the only digits left unaltered (no telling when he might need a fingerprint), until another twinge of pain shot up through his left arm and he flinched, nicked the tip of his thumb and grit his teeth to swallow back a curse. It was an unnecessary confirmation of his reason for being there–an imperfection in the careful web of cybernetic control he had spent the last two months weaving over his own reflexes. It needed to be absolute. The pain, he could tolerate. The reaction, the body moving without his will or input, was a reminder he could not allow.

He fixed his eyes on the stippled off-white ceiling overhead and traced the irregular edges of water stains, knowing that if he closed his eyes now there would be memories waiting for him in the dark, blood and terror-wide eyes and the wet heat of fresh viscera, the fear, the sensation of being caged.

It was easier to think about what came after. This process had begun a week later, with a fiber optic muscle replacement knitted into his left arm, intended to correct the nerve damage Strikeout had done with a 9mm round lodged in his shoulder. The discovery that the mesh had granted him a steadier pistol aim than he’d ever had before “the incident” had eased some of the lingering trauma he carried out of it. But not enough. So he’d had the claws refitted for even finer motor control, the eye replaced with a newer model designed for minute motion tracking. A lighter muscle augment had gone into his right arm to synchronize his articulation, adrenal amps installed to increase his situational awareness and response times. The flexwires had gone into his arms on top of the muscle weaves, winding around just below the skin like careful geometric scarification and smoothing his hastened movements into precise, razor-sharp reflexes. The most invasive augmentation so far had been the spinal implant that nestled along the ridge of his back like some segmented mechanical insect, chaining the muscle augments, the adrenal amps, and the eye implant to a neural chip that could accelerate his processing of visual and auditory input, as well as dampen the full effects of the suite in everyday situations, when he didn’t need to be constantly barraged with sensory data.

There was a secondary effect, something he had been warned of back when he was first signing himself away to the Russian army in exchange for a purged arrest record and a functional left eye. The human brain was incredibly delicate, and his uniquely so. In a vanishingly small number of cases, the variant mutation manifested not only in physical quirks, but in certain advanced mental abilities. In his case, it had granted him the capacity to not only pick up the conscious thoughts and feelings of those around him, but to broadcast his own back out to a limited degree, like a short-range radio that only worked on human brain waves. Despite such genes being disseminated into the human population several generations ago, they were still not well understood, and Maksim’s superiors feared that placing too much additional processing burden on his brain via cybernetics might dampen his telepathic ability–the only thing they actually wanted. He hadn’t noticed any material difference after that first operation or in the decade that followed.

Now, he had the very real sense of a door almost fully closed, of the signals tapering off unless he really strained, and it was an indescribable relief. Whatever had happened in New York, it would not, could not, happen again.

Unfortunately that “processing burden” was affecting him in other, more immediate ways as well. He could feel his body protesting under the strain of the augments, without enough time to fully adjust to each introduction of heightened senses and tightened reflexes. And after living with an ability that had manifested when he was six years old, at 32 he could not seem to break himself of the habit of mental tampering no matter how many migraines he had to nurse in exchange. But a bit of research had presented him with a solution: an inhibitor could omit the pain response from the equation, allow him to bear the pain without distraction while his body did the work of adjusting quietly, in the background.

Then maybe he would finally feel like he was in control again.

A soft buzzing against his ribs startled him out of his musings. He lifted his head away from the wall and reached into the inner pocket of his coat to pull out his cellphone, then fumbled with the screen for a moment as he tried to check the caller ID, and only realized that he had instead blindly answered the call when he heard Strikeout’s voice filter through the tinny speaker. “Avos! Hey, I- shit I really didn’t think you were going to pick up.”

Maksim scoffed and let his head knock back against the wall. “I didn’t mean to,” he stated, and Strikeout chuckled as if it had been a joke. “This isn’t a good time,” he pressed on. “I’m waiting to meet with someone.”

“Ah…” Strikeout hesitated for a moment, the silence punctuated by some kind of indeterminate rustling on zir end. “With a loan shark?”

Maksim grit his teeth at the boldness of the assumption, even if it was frankly even odds at this point. This had been an expensive process, and his savings had only gotten him about halfway through it before he had started having to beg and borrow for the rest. “A surgeon,” he said pointedly, just because in that moment he wanted Strikeout to be wrong.

“Where are you now?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Maksim volleyed back, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling. “But it’s far enough, you can tell Reece I understood her message clearly.”

“That’s not why I’m asking, I-” Maksim’s focus immediately disengaged from the call when a door opened at the far end of the room. The person in the doorway had a tall and willowy stature with angular features, but Maksim couldn’t immediately tell if those were variant features. They beckoned him in with a smile, and he returned it as he stood and quickly pulled on a more sociable persona.

“Hey listen, I’m glad you called but I’ll have to connect with you later,” he said brightly into the phone, then ended the call and tucked it back into his coat without waiting for Strikeout’s reaction.

“I hope you’re not nervous,” Clark said softly as he followed them into the next room.

“Not at all,” he insisted, his tone bright and conversational–a carefully modulated performance, and this was one he had had years to perfect. Another necessary form of control. “I’ve only heard good things.”

All told it was an unremarkable procedure, at least from Maksim’s perspective. Clark supervised him for a day and a half, then asked if there was anyone available to help him with basic tasks for a week or so while he recovered. He assured them that there was, and then went back to the hostel alone.

He could take care of himself. He’d been taking care of himself for a long time, and by now he’d recovered from enough surgeries to know he could do that by himself too. Still, this had been a particularly strange and disorienting one. Everything still hurt–there was a tension all through his upper body, like a chord strung from his temples down through his neck and into his shoulders had been pulled impossibly, dangerously taut. Sunlight burned the back of his eyes. So did screens. The light brace on his neck, to stop him moving enough to pop any stitches, left him feeling not unlike a dog in a cone. And yet, all of it receded to the back of his mind the instant he shifted his focus to anything else. It was easy to ignore, leaving him free to go about his day as he normally would, only to be hit by a fresh wave of soreness and exhaustion every time he settled down enough to let his mind empty. This, he assumed, was why Clark had strongly advised him not to do much for at least two weeks, not to be too active, or in any unpredictable situations, not until his mind and body had time to calibrate the new signals being sent back and forth.

He had been filling most of his time with cooking, carefully avoiding the hostel’s handful of other tenants, and trawling forums he had only barely remembered how to access thanks to Strikeout’s instructions almost a year ago. “Unindexed,” whatever that meant. He had surreptitiously put out inquiries about the warehouse run, hoping to tease out someone who seemed like they might know more than just sensationalized rumors or the same talking points that had already been in the news. It hadn’t amounted to much except the name Alabast–a low level crime syndicate in the New England area, and apparently the people who had hired his team for the job.

His phone screen lit up beside him, the vibration loud and obnoxious against the table’s surface, and he grit his teeth. He had also been ignoring a lot of calls from Strikeout. That particular pastime was rapidly becoming unsustainable, especially when ze had gradually increased zir attempted contacts from one every day or two to one every few hours. In a burst of frustration Maksim finally grabbed the phone and answered it, barking out an unfriendly “what?”

“Thank fucking god,” Strikeout breathed. “Avos are you in Denver?”

Maksim flinched. How did ze know that? “I told you, I’m not-”

Strikeout swore under zir breath. “Have you been posting about the run on Arsenal?”

The abrupt subject change left Maksim scrambling to catch up for a moment. “I thought… if I could find out-”

“From your personal computer?”

He opened his mouth. Didn’t actually say anything. The laptop sat open in front of him and he shot it a sidelong glance, feeling suddenly threatened by its presence. He had the distinct impression that if he told Strikeout the truth, it would also be the wrong answer. All he managed to offer was “это…“

Another frazzled, desperate string of curses from Strikeout, then, “you need to get out of there.”

“Out of… this building?” Maksim asked cautiously. Optimistically.

“Out of the state,” Strikeout insisted.

The deep, steadying breath Maksim tried to take caught in his lungs, as the tingling numbness of panic began to creep up through his extremities. “Why…?”

“Because if I know exactly where you are who else do you think has that information?”

“Oh.”

Who indeed. Why did they even want him? Would Alabast hunt him this far just for a botched robbery? It wasn’t like he owed them money, no one had gotten paid. Maybe it really was a friend of one of the others, not content with simply running him out of town. Strikeout was still talking on the other end but he was barely listening. “… just give me a little time I can set up a secure line for us, if I find out anything I can-” he ended the call.

Okay. No. It was fine. He didn’t have a lot to pack. He’d spent a lot of money on the inhibitor and this hostel but he could afford a bus ticket to… somewhere. Further west than Colorado. He still had options, and he was probably in good enough condition to travel. As soon as he felt like he could breathe again.

#ghost city #maksim girard #ilya kasharin #original fiction #rom fiction #chapter 3 is gonna be more Ilya-centered... they deserve the spotlight for a while gfdsgs

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baxteravenue · 6 months

Note

been waiting for you to post your jack drafts since you don’t write for him anymore 🥺 love your writing!!!

here you go, these are VERY unfinished and unedited lol... hope you enjoy or not <33 not sure where I was going with this one

Jack had been in Denver for about a week now, feeling shittier than ever. He was not even sure what the hell he was even doing there, maybe getting away from things... Things he couldn’t even pinpoint.

You on the other hand were in Denver because you lived there and went to school there. But besides that, you were on his same page. You didn’t know what the hell you were doing with your life. You weren’t even from Denver, you just had gotten a full ride to a small school.

You were just trying to get through the days, all of them moving in a blur that meshed together.

“Have you tried any of the coffee here?” A random voice broke you out of your daze.

You shook your head a little, your head feeling like it still wasn't in your body.

“No?”

“Huh?” You still felt like you were in a daze.

The curly haired man gave you a confused look, “The coffee? Anything worth recommending?”

“Oh…” You nodded, “Uhm I like the tea. I don’t really drink coffee if I’m being honest.”

He gave you a soft smile, “I don’t drink coffee either I was just... pondering I guess.”

You laughed, “Yeah that’s a way to put it.”

“Cherry-Hibiscus Iced Tea for Y/N!”

“Well, whatever you get I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Have a nice day.” You smiled at the stranger before grabbing your tea and walking out the door heading down to the record store right next door.

Y/N… Jack had thought that was a nice name.

“Next in line!”

“Um yeah, can I get a Cherry-Hibiscus Iced Tea?”

You loved Saturdays just like any other person, the one day of the week where you knew yesterday was yesterday and tomorrow would be tomorrow. The only day of the week were days felt separated.

You usually spend it doing all your favorite things. Today you allowed yourself to wander into the record shop that you hardly ever went into for the sake of your wallet.

Today would be a good day, you just knew it.

“Crystal Castles?” A familiar voice speaks from beside you.

You look up at the stranger from the coffee shop, “Yeah.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever listened to them.”

“I’m sure you have, just without knowing it. They’re having a moment on TikTok right now.” You shrug.

“Is that where you found them?”

You shake your head, “No I just watched a lot of Skins growing up and had a damaging amount of internet access at twelve.”

You expect this to be the last of the conversation but it’s not because he proceeds to introduce himself.

“I’m Jack by the way.”

You nod, “Nice to meet you Jack. I’m Y/N.”

Now you really expect it to be the last time the two of you talk but he’s still standing in front of you and now you feel nervous, but not in a way were you want to tell him to fuck off.

“Do you live around here?” Jack asks and you give him a questioning look, making him retract his words, “I’m sorry that sounded creepy as hell, I’m just asking because I’m not from here I’m just like visiting… Tryna get my head straight. I’m from Louisville by the way.”

His nerves somehow ease yours and you find yourself answering his question. “Mhm, I go to school here. The small one in the next town over.”

“Cool, you like it? Is this where you’re originally from?” Jack browses next to you, keeping conversation.

You look down at his hand, he has the exact same drink as you and you smile. “No and no. What about you?”

“I think that you’re probably the coolest person I’ve met in this state in a whole week.” Jack says.

You look back up from the vinyls, staring him straight in the eyes. “Have you ever tried chocolate shrooms?”

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow blurb #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x y/n

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forhappysake · 11 months

Text

What Lurks Within, Pt. 1

Author's Note: I've never written one of these before, so I hope anyone who reads it can enjoy it.

Content: When the BAU is forced to consult on a case from a distance, the team finds themselves getting frustrated with the lack of communication from local law enforcement. After the unsub escalates, the team prepares to fly to Denver to tackle the case head-on.

Warnings: Typical BAU-level violence, hom!c!de, workplace harassment training (does that need a warning, lol?), mention of prison and Cat Adams, established relationship, all fluffy stuff for now

Consulting on cases from afar was never the BAU’s strong suit. Relying on information provided by local law enforcement, rather than being hands-on at the scene, was a major inconvenience. However, a schedule mix-up over annual training and filing reports required our presence here, in D.C., rather than in Denver.

Matt and Luke had spent the afternoon pouring over files that arrived from the Denver office while Spencer and I were forced to sit through our annual workplace training. We were the last members of the team to partake in the training, and we weren’t any more excited than the rest of the team had been. We arrived around two o’clock, taking our seats next to each other. Then began the droning voice of the poor HR worker who was forced to reiterate the FBI’s spiel on workplace harassment and discrimination for the seven-hundredth time today.

I knew my boyfriend, so I knew Spencer wasn’t paying any attention. Both our minds were on the Denver case. Seven men with similar physical descriptions had gone missing over a span of three months. Their bodies, found discarded in local parks, had been bludgeoned beyond recognition.

It was difficult, of course, to understand what was happening when conflicting reports kept coming in from local law enforcement. Penelope was doing her best to work with their in-house tech teams to confirm or deny reports we received from the local police chief, but it was hard when they rarely answered her requests for more information. Between the lack of communication and the fact that this unsub did not seem to have any plans of slowing down, having to work this case in-house was really taking its toll on office morale.

Thankfully, the HR meeting only lasted an hour. Spencer and I received our lovely “congrats on completing this training” certificate to put in our files, and we quickly hurried out of the meeting room and back to the bullpen. Matt and Luke sat at their desks, hunkered over files. Luke was the first to notice our entrance into the room, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I don’t understand how I am supposed to build a geographical profile when I have two separate conflicting reports of where the body was found for the same murder,” Luke said. He rose from his desk and rubbed his eyes, “It’s like Denver doesn’t want us to help them.”

Matt looked up from his desk, nodding in agreement. Noticing our presence in the room, he leaned back in his chair. “Thankfully Garcia is doing a hell of a job with victimology, but you two have your work cut out for you unless you get some confirmation on the accuracy of these reports.” He gestured to the files in front of him, “It’s an absolute disaster.”

Luke nodded fiercely in agreement, grasping the file in his hand with frustration. “Reid, just come look at this and tell me if I’m missing something here,” Luke held the file out in front of him. Spencer walked over to Luke, taking the file from him and thumbing through the pages.

Spencer cleared his throat, eyebrows knitting together, “This page says that Daniel Jones was found dead in a small park behind a swing set, but this page says he was found bound and gagged behind a dumpster at a local coffee shop in Denver.”

Luke flung his arms out in front of him, letting out an exasperated huff. “Exactly! What am I supposed to do with that?” Luke looked utterly defeated, and the look on Matt’s face told me he wasn’t doing any better.

Trying to take some control of the situation unraveling in front of me, I offered a solution. “Matt, Luke. Why don’t you guys go home for a bit? You’ve been here since four in the morning, and it’s nearly three. Wash up, take a nap, and come back with fresh eyes.” I said it gently, hoping not to offend either of them.

Matt nodded in response, “I think Y/N has a point, Luke. We could both use a break.” Matt stood up from his desk chair, stretching before turning towards the door. “I don’t know about you, but I’m out of here,” he stated as he turned and headed for the elevator.

Luke gritted his teeth. “Alright, I guess I could use a break. But I’ll be back, and I swear that if Denver hasn’t given us something we can work with, I’ll-”

“Luke,” Spencer said, cutting him off, “Y/N is right. We’ll hold down the fort here. Just go home for a while.” Defeated, Luke lifted his coat off the back of his chair, tugging it over his shoulders.

“I hope you guys find something you can work with,” Luke mumbled, “Thanks for taking over, I’ll be back in a few hours.” With that, he followed Matt out of the bullpen in the direction of the elevators, leaving Spencer and I alone.

I sighed, knowing we had our work cut out for us. Spencer continued thumbing through the file Luke had handed him. He spoke up again, “Which would you prefer, honey,” Spencer gestured to the file in his hand and the file left open on Matt’s desk, “victimology, geographical profile, or trying to contact Denver?”

“Considering everyone else has been trying to get a hold of Denver all day, I’ll take a look at what Matt and Penelope put together on victimology,” I said with a small smile, “You’re better at the geo-profiles anyway.” I lifted the file off Matt’s desk as Spencer nodded, walking over to his desk and taking a seat.

For hours we poured over the mess of information we’d been provided. Matt was right, Penelope had done a heck of a job piecing together victimology. However, it wasn’t enough to make an educated guess on anything about the psychology of our unsub. Three o’clock quickly turned into ten o’clock, and I could feel my stomach growl. I looked over at Spencer’s desk, and even he looked like he could use something to eat.

“Hey, Spence,” I said, “have you made any progress over there?” He shifted in his seat, shutting the file and looking up at me.

“No, not really,” he sighed. “Luke was right. These reports are a mess.” I nodded in agreement and understanding, swiveling in my chair to face away from him. Staring down the hallway, the light from the vending machine caught my eye.

“Considering neither of us are making any groundbreaking discoveries, I’m gonna run to the vending machine. Do you want anything?” I swiveled my chair back around in his direction, awaiting his reply.

He looked up for a moment, seeming to give it some thought before shaking his head. “No thanks, Y/N. I really appreciate the offer, though.” He gave me a small nod.

“No problem, brainiac. I’ll be back in a few.” I turned on my heel and made my way out of the bullpen, pausing to look out the window next to the elevator. It was dark out and I wanted nothing more than to go home and wrap myself in a blanket, sinking into bed. “Too bad people decide to commit murder,” I thought out loud.

Continuing down the hallway to the vending machine, I reached in my pocket to pull out a couple dollars. Popping the bills into the machine and deciding on some off-brand bag of chips, I claimed my purchase from the machine and made my way back to the bullpen. Upon my arrival, I noticed Spencer wasn’t at his desk. I looked around for a moment, curious as to where he had gone, when I saw his mop of curls through the blinds to the briefing room.

Quietly making my way up the staircase, I approached the door and gently pushed it open. The boy-genius must have had some breakthrough, as he scribbled quickly on the white board, turning back to the meeting table to check one of the files he had brought up to the room with him. Suddenly, a mixed look of frustration and disappointment crossed his face and he sighed in defeat. Whatever lead he thought he had must have been unfruitful, and he wore a somber look as he thumbed through the files once more.

I remembered at that moment why I loved him so much. I stood in awe of the way his curls gently fell over his eyes, the way the veins in his hands became more pronounced when he examined the case file. His eyes, dark as they were, shone a deep brown color in the warm light of the room. I watched as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, dragging a hand through his hair. We were tired, exhausted, and the case showed no signs of coming to a close anytime soon.

“Spencer,” I said, approaching him quietly, not wishing to disturb his work. He let out a long sigh, looking away from the file. I could almost see the gears stop shifting in his mind, as his thoughts grew smaller in his mind. The dark circles under his eyes were evident. I offered him a small smile, reaching for the case file in front of him, and gently closing it, slipping it under my arm. “All of this will still be here tomorrow, I think we should go home and rest.”

His lips pursed in evident disappointment, turning back to the whiteboard. I tried to make out his scribbles and notes, but his handwriting was so sloppy it was hardly legible. He turned back, resembling Luke’s defeat from hours before. Finally, he nodded in agreement. Standing up straight, he turned his head in circles, attempting to work out the soreness he felt after scanning files for hours. “We’re so close, Y/N, I can feel it,” he murmured as he turned to look at me, “so, so close.”

Our eyes locked for a moment before I turned my gaze to the ground in front of me. “I know, Spence. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do until the police in Denver get back to us with more information tomorrow.” I leaned back on the meeting room table, crossing my arms in front of me.

“I know,” he said. He shuffled so he stood in front of me, running his hands up and down my crossed arms. “Should we go home?” Spencer asked, tilting his head and offering me a small smile.

“We should absolutely go home,” I murmured, leaning into his touch. He wrapped his arms around me, and I could smell his cologne mixed with a hint of coffee. I tucked my head under his chin, accepting this rare act of PDA as a result of our shared exhaustion. I felt his hands rubbing over my aching back, and I couldn’t have been more grateful for his presence.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked gently. I could feel his voice rattle through his chest, the vibration so soothing.

“No,” I giggled, “I think we should just stay like this forever.” I pulled back from him a bit so that I could examine his face. His stubble had grown in and stayed since his return from prison, and his eyes looked even more exhausted than usual, but he was still the same Spencer he’d always been.

I reflected briefly on our relationship. Though we’d only been dating for a year, I felt like I’d been with Spencer my entire life. Of course his stint in prison, his meeting with Cat Adams, and the team’s battle with Scratch had left emotional and physical scars on all of us, Spencer’s sweet demeanor remained unchanged. I admired his resilience, and his ability to see the good in others.

He brought me back to reality as he smiled again, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on my lips which I accepted with more fervor than he had anticipated. He rocked back away from me for a moment, raising his eyebrows. “Where did that boost of energy come from?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of my face.

“I don’t know, I was just looking at how pretty you are,” I said, bringing my hands to cover his. He looked at me for a moment, cocking his head to the side.

“You’re very pretty too, Miss L/N,” he said, forcing himself to pull his hands from my face and shove them into his pockets. He cleared his throat, trying to refocus on the topic at hand. “Now,” he started, “how about we both head back to my place and settle in for the evening? I’m no chef, but you and I both know I can order take-out like no other.” He scanned my face for a response.

“Sure, Spence. That sounds delightful,” I said while looping my arm in his.

“Off we go, then.” Arm in arm, Spencer and I walked to the elevator. No further words were exchanged, and we stood in comfortable silence as I clicked the button and awaited the arrival of the elevator.

The ding of the elevator signaled its arrival. Spencer moved forward, preparing to step on, when Luke came barreling off. He’d clearly showered, though he didn’t look much more well-rested.

“You two aren’t going to believe this,” his serious tone catching both Spencer and myself off guard. He didn’t stop to address us, either, making fast strides towards the bullpen.

“What is it, Luke?” I asked, turning to follow him as Spencer followed in suit. “Tell us what’s going on.” As we reentered the bullpen, Luke scanned our desktops. Eyes settling on Matt’s desk, he reached for the TV remote, scanning stations until it came to the national news. Cranking up the television volume, Spencer and I listened intently to what the reporter was saying:

“In Denver, Colorado, the bodies of three more young men have been discovered dumped in neighborhood parks across the city within the past week. Officials are warning residents to avoid these areas and to remain vigilant…”

“This guy is all over the place,” Luke said, shaking his head.

“At least this confirms he’s dumping the bodies in parks,” I shrugged. If the local police department wasn’t going to give us information, the media outlets would provide plenty.

“He’s escalating,” Spencer said, eyes narrowing at the screen. “Three within the past week is a significant increase from seven over a twelve week period.” Luke and I nodded in agreement.

“I’ll call Garcia and Prentiss,” Luke said, “maybe now that those god-awful trainings are over, we can finally fly out of here and get our hands on this case.” I responded in agreement as Spencer continued examining the news report. Luke reached for his phone, dialing some numbers before stepping away from Spencer and I, “Hey, Emily. It’s Alvez. I think we need to get to Denver right away…” His voice faded out as he walked farther away from us.

Spencer’s attention turned from the screen back to me. “So much for takeout,” he said with a sad smile. I put an arm around him, gently rubbing his back.

“We should’ve known it was too good to be true. Maybe we can get some snacks on the jet. Until then,” I gestured up to the unopened bag of chips I’d discarded on the table of the briefing room, “I’m going to go finish my dinner.”

Just as I started to walk away, I heard Luke’s voice call out, “Wheels up in 30. The rest of the team will meet us on the tarmac.” I sighed, turning back to look at Spencer who was already shoving files and notepads into his go-bag. I hurriedly grabbed my chips off the table and returned to the bullpen, mirroring Spencer’s frenzied packing.

After I finished collecting my things, Luke led Spencer and I down to the tarmac. JJ, Matt, Emily, and Rossi soon arrived as well. Spencer’s hand on my lower back guided me up the steps of the jet. Flying had never been my favorite thing. Since joining the team a year and a half ago, I’d only started to get used to it. Spencer, per usual, had been my saving grace, offering me comfort and a hand to hold during the flights. This evening would be no different.

Settling in our usual seats, Emily offered us each files full of what little information had been confirmed by local law enforcement and media outlets. She drew our attention to the files, gesturing to the one in her hand. “I know we don’t have a lot to go on. I have a feeling we’re going to have our work cut out for us on this one,” she said with a small nod. “I’d recommend you all try to take it easy on this flight, we’re going to be hard at work once we get to Denver.”

As we each nodded in agreement, I felt Spencer’s hand squeeze mine a little tighter. I gently laid my head on his shoulder, trying to take Emily’s advice. “Let’s rest, Spencer. Emily’s right, we’re not gonna do anyone good if we’re exhausted.” I felt his sigh of agreement as he rested his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. I followed suit, allowing sleep to take over.

Our ignorance, at that moment, was blissful. We had no idea what waited for us in Denver.

TO BE CONTINUED

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Let me know what you think down below. Happy writing!

#spencer reid #luke alvez #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff #bau x reader #fanfic #y/n #spencer x y/n #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic

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losfacedevil · 1 year

Text

For You // J.M.K

a/n~ So uh, this got a little out of hand.. okay maybe a lot out of hand. This is my first ~real Josh fic. @indigofallingsky don’t dieee

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: SMUT, STRIP TEASE, ORAL (F RECEIVING), UNPROTECTED PENETRATIVE SEX (Don’t be silly, wrap your willy) Word Count 5.8k+

The rain pelted down on the roof, the pitter patter of the droplets lulling them into a sense of much needed calm. She curled up on the couch with her nose stuck in her most current read; some book about pirates Jake had insisted she read. Josh sat at his desk, one resembling that of a school desk which sat directly in front of the big bay window; working on something that called for every last ounce of his attention.

She couldn’t help but watch him, the pure concentration etched in his features as his eyes stayed glued to the page as her attention span began to falter, letting her head rest against the back of the couch as the sounds of the rain relaxed her further; eyes fluttering shut as she pulled a deep breath in through her nose. The only other sounds dancing through the air being the soft melody of the John Denver vinyl he had spinning and that of his pens and markers gliding smoothly across the page of his journal.

They craved quality time together, time spent doing their own thing while in each others company. Something they both yearned so deeply for when he was on the road living his dream with his brothers.

Josh shifted in his chair, his gaze falling upon her face, her features cloaked with a serene look. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, watching as her chest rose and fell softly wondering if she had maybe fallen asleep. But his eyes fluttered away from her as she pulled her head up off of the couch, stifling a yawn before going back to her book.

He kept glancing her way, making sure she stayed where she sat while he worked on something so precious to him. Etched across the page were the beginnings of a ring setting; choosing silver instead of the traditional gold as his mind reeled with ideas for different stones to place in it.

Diamonds were too typical and not ‘a girls best friend’ she had once told him, opting for an opal in a ring she purchased for herself. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he sketched out the cut in which he wanted the stone to be as a crystal popped into his mind. Moss agate; ‘it’s my favorite!’ she had exclaimed, showing him the raw cut stone wrapped in delicate gold wiring that hung around her neck.

Josh put so much thought into the ring, knew exactly how he wanted it to look as he continued his sketch; his eyes never leaving the page. He could see her fidgeting in her seat from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his focus on both her and the journal page he so lovingly created upon.

“Hey Gorgeous?” She called, peeling her eyes away from the book she was reading.

“Hmm?” His response came from deep in his chest, clear his concentration was elsewhere as his eyes snapped to the pile of markers in front of him. He sifted through them, eyes finding hers as he picked up the color he was looking for.

A soft smile spread across her face as she watched him uncap the marker, pressing it to the page of his journal. She stayed quiet as he painted color across the page, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. A yawn slipped past his lips as he discarded the marker, picking up his favorite fine liner pen instead; quickly jotting something in the margin of the page.

“You called?” His voice was soft, eyes meeting hers once more as a soft smile caressed his lips.

“What are you feeling for dinner? I want something warm and filling.” The smile never fell from her face, waiting for him to realize. Josh shrugged his shoulders, turning his attention back to his journal.

“Whatever you want is fine as long as I get to pick the movie tonight.” His gaze landing on hers as he cocked his head to the side.

“Do I have something on my face?” He chuckled, pulling his fingers down his cheeks and giving a gentle tug to his beard.

“I said ‘Hey Gorgeous.’” She repeated, smile growing wider as realization washed over his features. A soft pink hue kissing the apples of his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

A giggle danced up her throat as she placed her book mark in her book, tossing it to the side to be forgotten about. Watching as multiple emotions washed over his face, finally settling on the shyest smile; his top teeth coming down to worry his bottom lip.

“You did, didn’t you?” He kept his voice low, his lowest register shining through as his eyes snapped to hers. The shy smile that caressed his lips pulling into a full smile that nearly reached his eyes. The pink hue gracing his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red as the tips of his ears began to burn.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” Her tone was light and flirty as she held her hands out in his direction, grasping her fingers to her palms in a grabby hands motion. A nervous giggle escaped him as he reached up, covering his face with his hands. Another giggle bubbling up his throat as he raked a hand down his face, pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger.

“Why do you do these things to me, sweetness?” He crooned, carefully closing his journal as he pushed himself to stand from the table. A proud smile played across her lips as she stood, meeting him halfway across the room.

“I’ve done nothing to you.” She giggled, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck as his hands found her hips, thumbs sneaking up underneath the hem of her shirt. He rubbed the tip of his nose up and down her cheek gently before pressing his forehead to hers. A breathy giggle escaped her at the lingering tickle his nose left on her cheek.

She focused her eyes the best she could on his, extending her fingers so they twisted in the curls at the nape of his neck. His eyes fluttered shut at the slight tension she was causing, pulling his hair lightly as she carded her fingers through it. He let his head fall to her shoulder, her fingers swiftly slipping from his hair as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist; pulling her body flush with his.

A soft smile caressed her lips as he started to sway, his grip tightening on her as she began tracing light designs across the back of his neck. His breath caught in his throat as she toyed with his ear, a soft chuckle emanating from his chest as he placed a soft kiss to her neck. She couldn’t hide the shiver that danced up her spine or the giggle that escaped her as he lifted his head.

“For you, for the rest of my life; for you, all the best of my life; for you alone, only for you.” Josh sang along to the song playing softly in the background. He reached his hand up, cupping her cheek as she beamed up at him, nuzzling her cheek against his palm. Lifting up onto her toes slightly, she pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips giggling as he tried to chase her lips.

“I mean if calling you gorgeous gets me slow dances and serenades I might just have to do it more often.” She teased, pulling her hands around to cup his now pink cheeks. Her thumbs danced over the apples of his cheeks as he rolled his eyes, wide smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

“Stop it.” He chuckled, leaning down to slot his nose next to hers, rubbing them together gently before capturing her lips in a gentle kiss. He began swaying again, gently guiding her around the living room as she slipped her arms back around his neck. Josh rested his head against her shoulder, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he continued to hum along to the song.

She reveled in vibrations his humming sent through her shoulder blade, the way his arms felt wrapped around her waist, how the hair that kissed his upper lip tickled the exposed skin of her shoulder slightly as his hot breath fanned across her neck. How his fingers slipped just slightly under the hem of her shirt rubbing gentle circles into her skin as he pulled her as close to his body as he possibly could. She let her fingers dance through his hair, carding them through the curls mindlessly as they continued to slow dance around their living room.

His grip on her loosened as the vinyl they had spinning ended, the sound of the rain still pelting against the roof and windows the only noise that surrounded them. Josh continued to gently spin her in circles, slipping his hand up under her shirt as he spread his fingers across the expanse of her back. A dopey grin played on his lips as he lifted his head from her shoulder, his eyes displaying a tired serene look.

“Am I boring you, my love?” She cooed, her hands finding his cheeks once more. His smile widened as his eyes fluttered shut, nuzzling his cheek against her palm. He danced his other hand up her side, gently gripping the back of her neck, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose and dipped her in one swift motion. Giggles erupted from her chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Joshua!” She scolded as he pulled her upright, belly laughs escaping him. He leaned forward capturing her lips in a sweet kiss, keeping his hand on her neck as his fingers inched upwards into the hair at her nape.

She relaxed into the kiss, her body finally shaking the shock his dip had caused. Her fingers snaking up into the curls on the back of his head, holding him to her as he deepened the kiss; his tongue running gently along her bottom lip.

An involuntary giggle bubbled up in her chest as their teeth clashed together gently, causing him to pull back and break the kiss. A soft whine emanated from her chest at the loss of contact; quickly catching in her throat as he dipped his head and pressed gentle open mouthed kisses to her neck; the softest moan escaping her throat.

“Gorgeous,” the word meant to be a protest rolled off her tongue in a hiss; further fueling the fire that erupted in his stomach as he nipped at the already tender skin of her neck.

“The question at hand was what’s for dinner.” Her words slurring as her mind clouded over, tilting her head slightly as he continued his attack on her neck. He tangled his fingers in her hair tugging lightly and earning himself a whimper from her. The sound low and drawn out as he smoothed his tongue over the skin of her neck, a light purple mark already blooming under the red, tender skin.

“Keep calling me that and the answers gonna be you.” He mumbled, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of her shoulder. He reveled in the way her breathing quickened slightly as a shiver danced up her spine. She pulled her arms back, resting her hands on his chest before pushing him back far enough that their eyes met, brow raised as she took in his appearance.

His cheeks were flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, lips a darker shade of red and fully kiss swollen, pupils blown out fully enveloping his honey brown irises as he kept his eyes locked on hers. She couldn’t help but run her fingers back through the mess of curls that sat atop his head, his eyes rolling back as she gently tugged his hair at the roots.

A devilish smirk played across her lips as she scratched at his scalp, a deep sigh slipping through his nose as he leaned his head back against her fingertips. She took advantage of having the upper hand, maneuvering his head with his hair as she leaned up on her toes and began pressing soft kisses to his jawline.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his breath catching in his chest as she nipped lightly at the hollow beneath his ear. She ran her tongue up the length of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine as her teeth closed around his earlobe, nibbling lovingly.

“Gorgeous.” Her voice was barely a whisper. His hips bucked forward involuntarily, eliciting a nervous chuckle from his chest as a smile pulled at the corners of her lips. She let her free hand snake between their bodies, gently pressing her palm to his erection, resting painfully against his left thigh.

“What did I say, sweetness?” His voice held a sultry tone as his hands found her hips, pulling her fully flush against him; trapping her hand between their bodies. She stroked her fingers over his length the best she could as her eyes met his; a warning look to proceed with caution spreading across his features.

“I’m not doing anything.” She mumbled, averting her gaze from his face. He chuckled lowly, reaching a hand up to grasp her chin. He pulled her head in his direction, watching as her eyes fluttered shut; a mischievous giggle bubbling up from her chest as a smile tugged at her lips.

“What was that, baby?” He mumbled, peppering kisses across her cheeks. Soft giggles escaped her as she broke from his grasp, making her way over to the record player, carefully placing the arm onto the record. A groan escaped him as he adjusted the way he was positioned, turning on his heel.

“You left me.” He whined, closing the distance between them. Shaking his arms around her middle as he hooked his chin over her shoulder. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, squishing her cheek against his.

“The quiet was driving me mad.” She giggled, her eyes fluttering shut as the soft tune of John Denver began dancing through the air once more. Josh chuckled, turning his head to press a soft kiss to her cheek as he began to sway their bodies to the music.

“If you wanted me to keep singing to you, you should have just asked.” Her hands rested against his, intertwining their fingers together as he tugged and gently spun her around to face him. She let her arms snake around his midsection, his coming to rest on her shoulders as he began singing along to ‘Higher Ground’

“Maybe it's just the freedom that I've found

Given the possibility, of living up to the dream in me, you know I'll be reaching for higher ground.”

A soft smile caressed her lips as she leaned her head back, resting her chin against his sternum. He looked at her down his nose, tilting his head just enough to press a soft kiss to her forehead. His arms slid down hers, his hands resting just above her ass as he began swaying them to the soft tunes.

“What is higher ground, hm?” She questioned, her eyes finally meeting his as she slid her hands up under the hem of his shirt. His gaze wandered, falling on the bay window to his right, watching as the droplets of water raced each other. His shoulders raised in a soft shrug, absentmindedly leaning down to press a second kiss to her forehead. Her eyes fluttered shut at the contact, scratching her nails over the expanse of his lower back. His body shook gently as a shiver danced up his spine.

“I mean we have everything with the band that we never thought we’d have, like one minute we’re playing in a garage the next we’re playing Madison Square and I don’t understand how the hell that all happened.” A smile spread across her face, reveling in the feeling of his muscles dancing over her as his hands moved theatrically behind her while he spoke.

“And you. You changed my perspective on everything. It was almost like the fear of domestication completely melted away and my natural instincts took over. I’ve never felt this way before, like sure I’d admire the boys with their partners but I never saw a partner in my future let alone the near future. And now? Now I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you; y’know picket fence, maybe a rose garden, put a baby in you, everything that comes with loving someone with their whole being.”

His shoulders raised in another shrug, hands dancing through the air behind her back as he spoke, something she loved about him. Her eyes stayed glued to his, a glint of something he couldn’t put his fingers on playing through them.

“What?” He giggled, the sound high pitched and painful in her ears. A wince crossed her features, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled her nails sharply across his back. A sheepish grin spread across his face, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose as a mumbled ‘sorry’ slipped past his lips.

“What was that last part?” She asked, cocking her head to the side as his eyes wandered.

“Hmm, a picket fence?” His smile grew broader, breaking from her grasp. Tilting her head to the opposite side she giggled, the smile never leaving her face.

“No, the other last part.” The anticipatory giggle that slipped past her caused a soft blush to bloom across his cheeks. Bringing his hand to his face he tapped his finger against his pursed lips.

“Ohhh, you mean the rose garden? I think my mom would be a big help with that. She loves her rose bushes.” A mischievous grin spread across his face, his tone dripping with excitement as she began tapping her foot against the floor.

“Though a rose garden would be nice it wouldn’t cause you to be all flustered. Wanna try again, gorgeous? I’ve heard the third times the charm.”

Josh’s eyes rolled back, his lids fluttering shut as he took a step towards her, hoping she’d close the distance between them. His cock twitched in his pants, the mere thought of having to repeat a secret he never should have shared excited him. Pulling in a deep breath through his nose he took another step towards her, holding his arms out in front of him beckoning her towards him.

“I said, Iwannaputababyinyou.” he rushed the sentence out as quickly as he could, cheeks turning the brightest shade of red she’d ever seen his face turn. With her bottom lip nestled between her teeth she closed the distance, wrapping her arms around his neck as his enclosed around her middle; tugging her closer before his hands quickly found purchase on her hips and held her flush against him.

“Put a baby in me then, Kiszka.” She challenged, toying with the delicate gold hoop he had pierced through his ear lobe, shivers dancing down his spine at both the gentle contact and the words that slipped past her lips.

“Oh yeah?” Josh bent at the waist, sliding his hands down around her thighs hoisting her up as he stood to his full height. Giggles escaped her as she wrapped her legs around him, keeping herself securely in place as he padded down the hallway towards the bedroom. She let her head fall to his shoulder, pressing soft opened mouth kisses to his neck as his pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, collecting himself as he kicked the slightly ajar bedroom door fully open.

“Strip.” The command slipped past his lips a bit harsher than he intended it to, smacking his hands against her ass - a bit of contact he knew drove her crazy - as she quickly unraveled herself from him, sliding her legs to the floor. Her hands found his chest, pushing him back lightly while she bent at the waist slightly, shimmying her shoulders. His eyes were lidded, wringing his hands out in front of him as he watched her movements.

They were calculated movements, dragging her hands up her sides painstakingly slow as she cupped her breasts, a breathy giggle escaping her as his head fell back slightly. Her hands danced back down her sides as she straightened her back out, crossing at her waist as she lifted the bottom of her shirt just enough for a sliver of skin to peek through. Josh took another step back raking his eyes over her figure as his mind caught up with his body, she was going to drag this out for as long as possible.

She saw the glint in his eye, the way his gaze changed from flirty and mischievous to lust and hunger filled. His hands balled into fists at his sides as she rid her shirt - not before slowing peeling it up off of her torso, a high pitched giggle escaping her as her face lit up. He shook his head, bottom lip nestled tightly between his teeth as he unraveled a fist, gently palming at his erection through his pants.

“Aht, aht, that’s my job.” She cooed, pulling the straps of her bra off of her shoulders, letting the cups fall loosely around her breasts. A pout formed on his lips as he moved his hand back by his side curling it back into a fist as he watched her unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor.

“Good boy.” The small slip of praise had his breath catching in his throat, swallowing down a moan that bubbled up in his chest quickly. His eyes rolled back, nails digging into his palms as he tried to compose himself. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, fighting the urge to reach out and touch her.

She turned her back to him, shaking her ass as she shot an innocent smile over her shoulder. Slipping his hands in his pockets with a shake of his head he stepped closer to her, rutting his hips forward against her. Bent slightly she rubbed her ass against him, nothing but a tease as she slowly unbuttoned her jeans.

“You go any slower I may be so inclined as to rip these jeans off of you; and I’d hate to be the one to ruin your favorite jeans.” Josh cooed, hooking his chin over her shoulder pressed cheek to cheek. A mischievous giggle escaped her, rolling her hips back as she wiggled out of her jeans. Josh groaned as her bare ass filled his line of sight, losing the battle within himself as he slid his hands out of his pockets gripping both of her ass cheeks hard enough to leave bruises.

She gasped, a breathy giggle escaping her as he kneaded her ass, his fingers digging into the flesh causing a satisfying pain. His mouth was on her neck, wet kisses sprinkling the surface as he ground his clothed erection into her, the softest moan slipping past his lips.

“No panties? You left the house without panties? Naughty girl.” He growled out, snaking his hand around her hip as he slowly danced it towards her core, the one place he knew she wanted him the most. His fingers danced across her thigh, his nails trailing red marks as he scratched his way down the junction of her hip. A satisfied hiss slipping past her lips as his finger brushed gently against her clit.

A low chuckle slipped past Josh’s lips as he slid his fingers between her folds, biting down on her shoulder as he collected her wetness on his fingers. Her back arched slightly, pushing her ass harder against his dick as he began slowly swirling the pad of his middle finger around her clit. A shuddering breath shook her shoulders as she leaned forward, resting her hands against the bed.

He withdrew his hand, straightening his back as he brought his right hand down against her ass in a sickening crack. A loud gasp escaped her as she collapsed forward into the bed. He soothed his hand over the already reddening mark, a chuckle bubbling up his throat.

“Get up there.” He mumbled, a gentle tap delivered to each cheek as she pulled her knees up onto the bed. Josh took a step back, fully admiring the view as he quickly stripped his own clothes off. She slowly made her way to the top of the bed, throwing herself onto her back in a full dramatic show; throwing her arm over her eyes as she let her legs fall open.

A low whistle slipped past his parted lips, reaching down to envelope his dick in his hand stroking it lazily a few times before settling on the bed between her legs. He placed hot opened mouth kisses against her inner thigh, hooking his arms up under her thighs as his gaze focused on her. A stream of cool air flitting across her clit, her back arching slightly as he pressed a feather light kiss to her clit.

She forced her eyes open, gaze landing on him as he studied her. His eyes glued to her core as a smug little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes snapped up to hers, watching her intently as he pressed forward flattening his tongue against her and licked a stripe up her, flicking the tip of his tongue against her clit.

“Oh,” she sighed, her back arching slightly as he gauged her reaction. That smug smirk never leaving his lips as he went back for more.

He closed his lips around her sucking on her clit as he slipped his middle finger into her smoothly, her back arching fully off of the bed. Shaking his head slightly he pulled a moan from deep within her chest, slowly beginning to pump his finger into her at a deliciously slow pace.

“Gorgeous,” she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging it at the root as his tongue danced in slow circles around her clit, her breath catching in her throat as his tongue came into contact with a particularly sensitive spot.

He rutted his hips into the mattress chasing the friction that his body craved. A hum of pleasure slipped past his lips, shooting straight to her core. A loud moan escaped her as pleasure shot straight into her stomach. He raised an eyebrow, his hips slowing their motions as he elicited soft moan from his chest, the vibration of the simple noise sending her body into a frenzy.

She clenched around his fingers, back arching once more as she fought to keep her legs open; thigh muscles burning. A string of profanities escaped her, his name mixed in as a coil of pleasure began building in her stomach.

Josh pulled back, quickening the pace of his fingers as he watched her. A soft whine slipped past her lips at the loss of his mouth but her body betrayed her, clenching around his fingers once more as he curled them upwards; hitting the spot inside her only he knew how to find.

“You like that, sweet girl? Hmm? Gonna give it to me?” His lower register revealed itself again, earning himself another moan of his name as he placed his other hand on her, thumb rubbing quick tight circles into her clit. Her breathing quickened, a nod of her head the only thing she could muster as she bit down hard on her bottom lip, her fingers tangling in his curls and yanking.

He slowed his fingers to a near halt, slowly pressing in and pulling out of her. Her breath hitched in her throat, balling her hand into a fist before bringing it down forcefully against the bed next to her. A low chuckle escaped him as he pulled his fingers out of her, bringing them up to his mouth. Her eyes snapped open, meeting his quickly as he slowly took her fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around them fully savoring the taste of her arousal.

Her chest heaved as she clenched her thighs together, trying to chase the friction she so badly craved. Josh shook his head, placing a hand on each of her knees as he pried her legs apart, eyes falling to observe her. A guttural groan escaping him as his cock twitched, fighting the urge to buck his hips into nothing.

“Use your words, Princess.” A devilish grin spread across his face as her eyes rolled back, her back arching up off of the bed at the sound of his words. Her vision was clouded as her eyes landed on him once more, pulling in a deep breath.

“I need you, now.” It was more of a demand than a statement. He chuckled lowly, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin of her thigh.

“What exactly do you need?” He drawled, knew full well what he was doing to her. She swallowed hard, steadying her breathing as her gaze bore into his, the clear mischief dancing behind his golden amber irises enough to send her spiraling.

“Put a baby in me, gorgeous.” The sentence rolled off her tongue easier than she ever expected. That cocky smirk he loved to torture her with tugging at his lips as he pulled himself up onto all fours, planting his hands on either side of her head.

She reached down between them, wrapping her petite hand around his girth, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his dick in her hand. She didn’t hesitate, guiding the head of his dick along her slit, gathering her wetness before lining him up with her entrance.

His brow raised, a silent question of consent as her eyes met his, a slight nod of her head all the permission he needed. Pushing his hips forward he teased her entrance, gently dipping the tip of his dick into her. He focused on her face as he slowly pushed into her, taking pride in the way her eyes rolled back and the sharp intake of breath she pulled through her teeth.

Josh stilled his movements as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down closer to her as she adjusted to his size; a curt nod of her head signaling and a soft kiss pressed to his forehead signaling him to continue. He leaned down, taking her taut nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud as he slowly started to pull back.

The sigh that slipped past her lips as he glided back in only egging him on as he quickly found a steady rhythm. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, opened mouth kisses leaving a trail of pink marks in their wake. He could feel her clench around him as he nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on her neck, focusing all of his attention on it when she began digging her nails into his back; scratching his skin raw as she raked them down his back.

A string of profanities slipped past her lips as he slipped his hands beneath her ass, angling her body just right to drive her to the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust. Her breath caught in her throat as she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, the coil of pleasure in her stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“Gonna cum all over my dick like a good girl?” He grunted, hips beginning to lose their rhythm as his high approached. A loud guttural groan escaping his throat as she spasmed around him. He made quick work of slipping his hand between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit and swirling quick tight circles against it.

His name fell from her lips like a mantra as her orgasm washed over her, the way she clenched around him too much for him as he rutted his hips into her faster, an animalistic moan escaping him as he crashed into his peak.

“Goddamn it, Sweetness. That’s it, give me it all. You feel so good milking me like that.” His voice was feather light, talking her through her orgasm; his own nerves heightened as his confidence waned.

“So good, so good.” He whispered, his hips shuddering to a stop as he collapsed on top of her. Her fingers danced across his back, tracing shapes absentmindedly into his sweat slick skin. He peppered soft kisses to her cheeks chest heaving as he came down from his high.

He pushed himself up to hover over her, his arms slightly weak as he held his weight. Her eyes fluttered open, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. A wide grin spread across his face as he slowly pulled out of her, quickly snatching a fire tissues off of her bedside table.

“I got it.” She giggled, reaching for the tissues. Josh shook his head, holding them up just out of her reach as a pout danced across her lips.

He made quick work of cleaning her up, disposing of the tissues in the bedside trash can before focusing on cleaning himself up. She reached for him, wanting nothing more than the familiar weight of his body laid across hers, pressing her firmly into the mattress.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he laid across her, hooking his leg across hers as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She carded her fingers through his now damp hair, the curls all but falling out of his hair as she tugged at it gently. A satisfied groan slipped past his lips as his breathing steadied, sleep threatening to over take him. A yawn slipped past her lips, scratching lazily at his scalp.

“Hey Gorgeous?” She cooed, tilting her head to look at him better. A tired groan slipped past his lips, tilting his head so she knew he was listening.

“What’s for dinner?” A clearly annoyed whine slipped past his lips as he sunk his teeth into her neck in a playful nip.

“You.”

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka fanfic #josh kiszka fluff #greta van fleet #Spotify

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follow-my-literature · 9 months

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A Palace Full of Cranks - Newt x Reader

— Back to Summary

Chapter One: SHORT GOODBYE'S

NEWT'S POV:

— I had felt a lot of pain in my life, both inside and out, but I believed that very moment, watching Tommy and the others leave me for the last time, was my rock bottom. A part of me desperately wanted to accept the reckless whims of love and friendship. To run off the Berg and join my friends in their quest to find Hans, get their implants removed, and accept whatever came next.

But I'd made up my mind, as fragile as it might be. If ever in my life I could do one thing right, the thing that was unselfish and full of good, this was it. I'd spare the people of Denver my disease, and I'd spare his friends the agony of watching him succumb to it.

My disease. The Flare.

I hated it. I hated the people trying to find a cure. I hated that I'm not immune, and I hated that my best friends were. All of it conflicted, battled, and raged inside me.

I know that I'm slowly going insane, a fate rarely escaped when it came to the virus. It had come to a point where I didn’t know if I could trust myself, both my thoughts and feelings.

Such an awful circumstance could drive a person mad if they weren’t already well on their way to that lonely destination. But while I knew that I still had an ounce of sense, I needed to act. I needed to move before all those heavy thoughts ended me even sooner than the Flare.

I can do this, he thought. For them.

I got to my feet and ran to the bunk I'd used on the flight from Alaska. Throwing what little possessions I owned into a backpack. Including water, food, a knife I'd stolen from Thomas to remember him, and a launcher from Jorge. Then I grabbed the most essential item—a journal and pen I'd found in one of the random cabinets on the Berg.

My breath came in short, stuttered gasps. My chest hurt with the pain of it. My thoughts turned cloudy as my breathing nearly stopped in choaked sobs. I have a plan, don't I? Several plans, depending on the contingencies. But each plan had the same ending—it was how I got there. I will last as long as I write what I need in that journal. Something about that simple, empty little book waiting to be filled.

It gave me a purpose, a spark, a winding course to ensure the last days of my life had reason and meaning. A mark left on the world. I will write all the sanity I can muster out of my head before it is taken over by its opposite. Wiping my eyes and grounding myself before the anxiety attack could take over my body.

The only item left to settle now was how to leave it with Thomas and the others. Maybe give them a little closure. I decide that my journal will survive if it weighs less by one page. I tear out a page and take a deep breath. Pen almost to paper when I stall as if I'd had the perfect thing to say, but it floated out of my mind like vanished smoke. Sighing, I itched with irritation. I am anxious to get out of the Berg and walk away—limp or no—before something changes, so I refocus my emotions. Scribbling down the first thing that pops into my head, I leave the note for the others.

"They got inside somehow. They’re taking me to live with the other Cranks.Its for the best. Thanks for being my friends.Goodbye."

I put the notebook down as tears blur my vision. Was it short and curt enough to prevent them from coming after me? To get it through their thick skulls that there was no hope for me and that I'd only get in the way? That I didn’t want them to watch me turn into a mad, raving, animalistic human? To give my friends the best shot they had at succeeding, it would be with one less obstacle.

Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter at all. I am going one way or another. I scrawl out the rest of what my mind can put together and hope that will be enough for them.

"Even as the darkness whispers across my mind, beckoning with smoky tendrils of blackness and rot, even as I breathe in the stench of a dying world, even as the blood within my veins turns purple and hot, I feel the peace of a certain knowledge. I have had friends, and they have had me. And that is the thing. That is the only thing."

Steeling myself one more moment to panic I stuff the notebook into my bag, double-checking I have all the supplies I need. With a deep breath, I open the Berg doors and look out into the chaos. A mass of disorder, shaken up like dice and spilled across the land. But that wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was how normal everything felt....

— Excerpts from Crank Palace

#thomas brodie sangster #thomas sangster #thomas brodie #tbs #the maze runner #newt the maze runner #newt tmr #the scorch trials #the death cure #crank palace #crank newt x reader #tmr cranks #crank newt #newt x reader #newt x y/n #tmr newt

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lady-jane-asher · 2 days

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New!!

February 21st, 1967. Beautiful Jane Asher in Fifth Avenue, New York, February 21st 1967. Asher was on tour with the Bristol Old Vic Theatre.

Picture 1 and picture 2 ( a new release plus my colourisation) and picture 3: 📸Harry Benson/Daily Express/Hulton Archive/Getty Images.

Picture 4 to 8 Date Book magazine scans from my lovely friend Vio that has allowed me to use! July 1967 issue.

Jane’s here!

DATEBOOK MAKES THE NEW YORK SCENE WITH JANE ASHER. Braving New York's traffic.

The girlfriend of an old friend of ours came to town recently and we showed her a bit of the Big City. When Jane Asher was performing with the Bristol Old Vic in New York, we lunched with her and took her to a pop-art dinner party on her last night in town.

When we picked her up for lunch she was wearing a bulky, horizontal-striped fur coat she had bought the day before. "Red fox?" we asked. "That's what you're supposed to think,"she said. "But it's really opossum!"*

We had lunch in the Italian restaurant in the hotel (Gorham) in which she stayed—it was across the street from the theater. We talked about everything-her acting plans (to do Shaw's "Arms And The Man" when she got back to London), Paul's plans (to write and direct a movie in which she will star—a short experimental film, that is), Paul (she'd just had a letter from him in which he told her that he'd had the whole London Symphony improvising), her refusal to sign up for more than one movie , at a time ("no long-term contracts for me"'), her interest in pop art ("I'm really fascinated by artists like Lichtenstein and Andy Warhol. My brother Peter has a gallery, in London, you know.") We chatted away about New York she think's she loves it, but it will take more time to be certain), George and Patti (she wonders if they'll some day go to live permanently in India), Beatle fans at her performances ("It's so marvelous to see them react to Romeo and Juliet as if it were a contemporary story. Many really don't know how it all ends and they sob and laugh so naturally.")

Jane talked about Paul unseltconsciously when his name came up naturally in the conversation— and it did now and then since we discussed pop music and all the personalities in it. But, the subject of her relationship with Paul did not come up. And we decided not to bring it up since it was obviously a personal matter which she felt was not in order.

(Jane said a New York newspaper interviewed her and then made up a quote "Paul is not exactly my Romeo'' and used it as the headline, although it had nothing at all to do with the interview.)

What's Jane Asher really like?

She's much more beautiful than her pictures would lead you to expect. Her hair is a marvelous orange-red and her skin a milky white. She has delicate features and a lovely Puckish grin which breaks into a wide smile very often. She's shy-but she knows exactly what she wants and is strong enough to fight for it.

Jane was very eager to meet some of the top pop artists and we invited her to a gallery opening, party and dinner the following Saturday night.

She accepted and a few nights later, bedecked in her red minidress, her red coat and her red hair, she made the artscene with us. Jane impressed everybody with her glowing beauty, her quiet intelligence, her gentle humor and her real interest in the world around her.

By this time, we knew for sure why our London friend was so involved with her!

When we said goodbye back at her hotel, we wished her a pleasant tour (she was to leave the next day) and we asked her to give our regards to Paul. She told us to be sure to look her up in London next time we were there.

Gentle Jane waved goodbye to us as the elevator doors closed. Her next stop was to be California and then Denver, where a big surprise would be awaiting her. Turn page for the big surprise.

#jane asher #the beatles #60s #beatles girls #actress #lady jane asher #something about jane asher #model #beatles women #redhead #red hair #1967 #beatles girl #explore page

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leletha-jann · 8 months

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Feb. 7, 2024 update from Kaja over on Patreon (summarized)

She's back in hospital and taking appropriate meds. Recovering but "feeling rotten". Probably no pages this week (Phil is still going to the Magic convention in Denver this weekend, because hospital stays do nothing for finances).

Patreon community current status: howls of support.

Extra plug to support our beloved Professors if you can over on Patreon

#girl genius #current status #patreon plug #not my patreon #support professoressa kaja getting good medical care

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verysium · 8 months

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what do you read in your spare time? you’re one of the most eloquent users i know, id love to hear how you find the media you consume and what your favorites are

omg ei 😊 welcome back to the inbox! thank you for your sweet words although i'm probably not qualified enough to be considered the full definition of eloquent. i am going to preface this post by saying that i definitely don't read as much as i should, so this list is not going to be comprehensive whatsoever. the last time i even visited an in-person library was like half a decade ago, and since then my spare time has been nonexistent lmao. anyways, here are some of my favorite/most recent reads as listed by author:

POETRY

richard siken: i think siken is already well-known both in the literary world and in whatever booktok deems is popular culture. if you don't already know him though, he is best known for his poetry collection crush, which delves into themes of obsession, gay love, and violent eroticism. i actually read this chapbook unknowingly. as in i was hounding sketchy pdf download sites at 3 AM and saw a man with bloodied lips on the cover and decided to read it. he basically became my summer fever dream after that. the way he juxtaposes images is seamless, smoother than water. only richard siken can talk about violence without making it sound violent. i also enjoyed his other poetry collection war of the foxes, especially "portrait of fryderyk in shifting light." i think light is a common motif throughout most of his poems, and he manipulates it effortlessly. the most recent piece i read from him is "piano lesson." i have nothing left to say that he didn't already say, so i would just recommend reading it for yourself. he is the og big brain when it comes to word play.

ocean vuong: he's unforgettable, and i mean that literally because nobody forgets a person named ocean. time is a mother was exactly what the name suggests: an exploration of grief, loss, and the rewind of time after his mother's death. some of the poems are almost cinematic in quality. "künstlerroman" is my favorite because it feels exactly like watching a video tape in reverse. i think his most famous work is "someday i'll love ocean vuong." it was the first piece i ever read from him, and to this day, it remains my comfort poem.

silas denver melvin: i only recently discovered him through his chapbook grit. i think he's also on tumblr @/sweatermuppet. he writes a lot on the trans experience, and his work gives me a mix of southern gothic and country vibes. would definitely read his other publications if i had the time.

chen chen: one thing about chen chen is that he always comes to devour. my favorite works from him are "self-portrait as so much potential" and "song of the anti-sisyphus." you have to put on your thinking cap for some of his poems, but once you grasp the meaning, everything makes sense all at once.

franny choi: "disaster means without a star" was the entire inspiration behind my first rin fic. i relate to her more personally in regards to the diaspora experience, but her collections are worth reading in general because of the sheer quality.

pages matam: his poem "piñata" was what got me into slam poetry. his work mostly consists of political commentary which i feel is particularly relevant in today's social climate. "on learning america's english" also resonates with people who have encountered the entire losing/learning immigrant tongues experience.

laura lamb brown-lavolie: i've only read one spoken word poem from her, and tbh i only needed to read one. "on this the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the titanic, we reconsider the buoyancy of the human heart" is my two-headed calf poem. one day i will get this tattooed.

brendan constantine: once again, this was the result of me being chronically online coupled with the boredom of an august heat wave. i found "the opposites game" through TED. honestly, i was a bit unsure about it at first, but it's a cute little poem that makes you really delve into the intricacies of craft.

TEEN POETRY & PROSE

yasmeen khan: she could mouth her words onto every square inch of my body, and i would still be coming back for more. ingraining them into flesh is not enough. "movie stars" is by far my favorite work from her. she writes about femininity and womanhood so profoundly. it's tragic, but really i wouldn't have it end any other way.

kaya dierks: her writing is basically middle-of-nowhere small town stoner teenage life but personified. "crushed" is my favorite piece from her. the soundtrack for this work was definitely by ethel cain, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

FICTION

madeline miller: i was first introduced to her when i read the song of achilles. let's just say that book had me nonverbal for the greater half of three months. it was my metaphorical hatchet. i buried it once, and i never want to dig it up again. i read circe a few years later. the first time was during the blue hour at an airport, right between one red-eye flight and another transfer. i don't even remember that experience because i was heavily sleep-deprived. i read it again recently for a literature course, this time for academic analysis. overall, i enjoy the the heroine-centric narrative. typically, i'm a bit wary of novels with heavy feminist themes because they either project their agenda too strongly or they run the risk of misrepresentation. circe doesn't exactly have that problem. it was more about empowerment and less about exercising power over others.

charlotte brontë: as a historical figure, brontë was questionable, but jane eyre most certainly was not. that book rewired my brain, and that is saying something because i have never read any classic by choice. and it is so important to me that jane was the ugliest, plainest girl you could ever imagine. also cus i unironically enjoy angst, and this book was full of dramatic misunderstandings.

yoko ogawa: i love japanese literature, so there is no reason not to include this one here. "a peddler of tears" is one of my favorite short stories. i did not expect the ending at all, but it was welcome. something about violence, body gore, and dismemberment being framed as romantic and semi-erotic just gets to me. sign me the hell up. hotel iris is a hit-or-miss with some people. either you like the fact that art makes you uncomfortable or you shut it down completely. for me, i was alright with exploring some of its darker themes, but read at your own discretion.

NONFICTION

ross gay: he lives up to his name both in optimism and in carefree joy. probably one of my favorite creative nonfiction authors simply based off the accessibility of his writing style. easy to read and understand but still hits you with the full force of a semi-truck. i would recommend his book inciting joy. it's a collection of essays that delve into grief, but since this is ross gay, he makes it seem like a quintessential part of life.

paul kalanithi: sixteen-year-old me was mind blown by him cus before that doctors were shrewish old men with bald spots and sterile coats, not poetic surgeons who dissected the anatomy of word and recited t.s. eliot in the most heart-wrenching way possible. he is everything i want to become in both life and death. when breath becomes air literally does take your breath away.

#asks #moots ♡

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alltaternotot · 10 months

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Lucky Charm | E. Johnson

Erik Johnson X Fem!Reader

A/N: Inspired by Emily Kaplan’s interview with EJ after the Avs won the Cup. He’s so fine it’s not even funny.

CW: NSFW (blowjob, praise, exhibitionism if you squint REALLY hard), swearing, very limited knowledge of how horse racing/betting actually works, but I gave it a stab. Very VERY lightly proofread, pls excuse any mistakes, just doin this for funsies.

Word count: 2.4K

<><><><>

The summers in Denver were always perfect. It was finally time to relax and enjoy the warm weather after months and months of cold ice rinks and rigorous schedules, for you and your boyfriend both. EJ could finally take a step back from his intense training and long road trips, just for a few weeks, before it was back to the grind again.

You worked as a senior consultant in a successful Denver design firm, which was also the reason you met the tall blond. He commissioned you to design his newly renovated kitchen and living space, and invited you to enjoy a glass of wine with him when all was said and done. He had given you a soul-sucking kiss on the way out the door that night, leading to the best years of your life so far.

You were high up enough in the company now, around four years down the line, that you could somewhat make your own schedule. You followed Erik’s schedule most of the time. You would work hard in the months he was on the ice, and take a few weeks in the summer to enjoy the sunshine and your boyfriend.

That’s how you found yourself here, sitting on the shaded patio, watching the water in the backyard pool ebb and flow in the breeze and reading a new book leisurely. There was nothing like enjoying the soft sound of the water and a good book to pass the time.

You shared a routine during these days. He would join you outside with a tray of food and special cocktails he liked to make, spending the day reading or playing cards with some music on. On race days, especially the ones his horses were entered in, he insisted on sitting outside with a cigar (because there was no way he was getting cigar ash on his indoor furniture) with the back door open, plus sitting on the part of the sectional that faced indoors so he could watch and still enjoy time with you.

Today was a race day, and like clockwork, you could hear Erik open the back door, the sound of the TV in the other room coming through, and his footfalls coming up behind you. He leaned against the back of the deck sectional you were seated in, squeezing the back of your neck and laying a gentle kiss on your head.

“How’s the read?” He asked, coming to sit down with a tray of sandwiches, fruit, and the drinks.

“S’good so far, I’m about halfway through.” You answered, popping a raspberry in your mouth and flipping the page, “any news on MacKinnon yet?”

Horse racing was something that seemed to escape you interest-wise. You thought the horses were absolutely stunning, but the pedigrees going back to the dawn of time and the betting Erik liked to partake in were a bit much for you. He loved it though, so you kept up with his horses at least. You had met them all on trips to California and listened to his explanations about why they were so elite, all while petting their velvety noses and giving them carrots, completely losing the conversation after their grandparents had been brought up.

“Nothing yet, the race starts in 20ish minutes. The announcers have high hopes for him though.” He said, picking up the cigar and his little silver guillotine strait cutter, “his money pool is up to 30k right now, could be a big day for us baby.”

He put the cigar into the guillotine and clipped the end off, pulling out his nice zippo and holding it up. You loved how he looked lighting up his cigars, holding the cigar between the teeth he still had and gently grasping it with his hand. You loved the way the little fire would reflect on his sunglasses and cast soft shadows on his face. Every time he blew a puff of smoke out, it made you want to melt into a puddle, but you would never tell him that.

“That one smells pretty good.” You remarked as he leaned back, pulling you up against his side, the scent of tobacco and spice wafting around you.

“I think so too. Naz gave me a few after the parade.” He said, looking up towards the tv for the stats of today’s race.

You admired his profile as he looked at the standings, watching his eyes dart across the screen behind his sunglasses and the tendril of blond hair sticking out of his backwards ball cap. You admired his nose and his cupid’s bow, watching as he blew out more smoke and let it billow around him. You quickly learned to love the way his lip fell flat where his teeth were missing too, despite your friends feigning concern for your future make-outs. You loved everything about Erik really, but moments like these really did something to you. You thought you might get caught looking for too long, so you turned back to your book and dove in once again.

Your books were to you like Erik’s horses were to him. You loved romance novels most of all, you could laugh at the worst of them and squeeze your thighs together when they got good. You learned new things about yourself because of them too, Erik more than willing to try new things when you brought them up, on the rare occasions that you did. You weren’t the most adventurous in the bedroom by any means, but you had a few things you particularly liked when Erik did or helped you do.

This particular book was on the thigh-squeezing end so far, the slow-burn where the main character falls in love with the handsome rugged cowboy (who also happened to have an affinity for cigars) after finding herself stuck in a podunk little town. It had gotten very hot very fast. Images of a tall dark and handsome man pushing the main character up against a barn door and finally kissing her after 15 chapters went flashing through your mind. You continued down the page, imagining the clothes coming off and the sloppy kisses leading up to a risky, almost-public blowjob. He topped it all off with blowing cigar smoke into her mouth while she trembled under him.

Suddenly, your skin was on fire, and you were hyper aware of Erik’s fingers gently stroking up and down your arm, and the way he looked smoking that damn cigar. You could feel your heartbeat quicken, and you breathing became more ragged and shallow.

You craned your head up and placed a kiss on his neck, then his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. Your hand found his chest as you tried to sit up a little more, but Erik lifted you up just enough for a proper kiss, letting his hand fall on your shoulders, the other holding onto the cigar so he wouldn’t burn you or get ash on you.

“What’s this for baby?” He said, reaching out for another kiss, “your heart’s beating a million miles a minute…” he continued.

“Cant I kiss my boyfriend? I just felt like it…” you said, albeit with a ragged intake of breath.

He smiled a knowing smile, “did your book get good baby?”

“I just wanna kiss you…” you repeated, and he obliged with a few more kisses, noting the way a blush crept up your neck and turned your ears red like it did when you asked him to try something.

After the kiss slowed down, you laid down on the sectional, your head resting on Erik’s thick thigh. His eyes shot back to the tv again, observing the standings again. You tried to focus on your book again, but your mind traveled back to the blowjob up against the cowboy’s barn, and him blowing smoke into the main character’s mouth, your thighs squeezed together again. Erik began running a hand through your hair, brushing your scalp with his fingertips.

You placed gentle kisses on his thigh and began to slowly slide off the sectional, not wanting to take too much of Erik’s attention off the tv. You brought a pillow down with you, putting it under your knees so they wouldn’t scrape against the concrete of the patio. You reached for the knot holding his shorts up, and he inhaled sharply, his hand flying down to caress your face.

“Baby…” he said, and you continued trying to take the knot out of the tie, “baby you wanna do this now? Here?” He said, gently holding your chin so you would look up into his gaze.

You never wanted to do anything outside before now, you had a lot of anxiety about the media seeing you and Erik doing NSFW things and ruining both of your careers. He had asked before on a couple of occasions, but you found a way to steer things inside with the blinds shut. You were almost completely secluded here, it was the off-season, and it would take a real scumbag of a media person to show up at the house for a juicy scoop.

“Yeah, I want you so bad…” you said quietly, “you look so fucking hot with that cigar…” you admitted without thinking.

“You like the cigar huh?” He said, pushing his hips up so you could pull his shorts and boxers down just enough for his dick, already half hard from a few kisses and touches.

“You have no idea what you do to me with that damn thing…” you said, pressing kisses to the cut of his hip and his happy trail.

He groaned in playful frustration, spreading a little more so you fit better between his thighs. You finally grabbed his dick, running your closed hand up and down. He moaned and reached for your hair, running his fingers through it again. You stroked him until he was fully hard, watching the muscles tense under your touch.

You ran your tongue along the underside in a fat stripe, letting your spit coat his dick. You took the head in your mouth and sunk down slowly, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t take. He fisted your hair, pulling back strands so he could see your face.

He loved looking at you when you blew him, there was nothing better. He loved watching his dick disappear into your throat and how expertly you took him. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, and saw he was slack-jawed with his eyes rolled back, absorbing all of the sensations.

“Mmm baby, you look so pretty taking me like that…” he said breathily, “holy fuck your mouth feels so good.”

You hummed, sending vibrations through his dick and bringing him that much closer. He had to control himself from fucking your throat. Everything about this was hot, the sight of you on the ground for him, the wet sound of your spit, the way your mascara was starting to run in the corners of your eyes.

He watched and waited for you to look up through your eyelashes again, then took a deep inhale of the cigar and blew it out, still holding onto your hair. The smell of the cigar just heightened everything further.

Suddenly the sound of a bugle announcing the beginning of the race, and a shot accompanied by the gates holding in the horses swinging open drew your eyes to the tv. You looked up to Erik again, watching his eyebrows slightly raise as MacKinnon pulled forward by a few feet. You took him out of your mouth, spit dribbling down your chin and all over his dick, and you took a moment to breathe while you stroked.

Focusing back on Erik, you knew he was close, you could feel his hard muscles tensing. His moans were getting higher and a little louder, but not too loud, he knew that would make you nervous about people noticing. His hands ran through your hair and gently held the back of your head when you took him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, eliciting a sharp whine from him. He took another puff of the cigar, sending you into a somewhat feral effort to get him there.

“I-I’m so close baby! God you feel amazing!” He said, watching you take his dick, “you’re so good for me, treating me so well…” he praised.

You sucked gently and bobbed your head a few more times before he finally shot his load down your throat, letting you swallow it. He moaned and writhed above you, tightening his grip on your hair before letting his fist loosen so your hair fell down around your face.

You leaned your head on his thigh and took a few breaths, trying to regain some composure. Seeing you like that always made his heart skip a beat, hair tousled from his hands and lips swollen and glossy. You even had a little speck of black soot from the cigar swiped across your cheek.

He hiked his shorts back up and offered his free hand. He pulled you up to straddle his lap, taking a deep inhale of the cigar again, watching your eyes and your swollen lips. He kissed you, letting the smoke fall out of your open mouths. You were both breathing heavy as you relaxed chest to chest, head falling into the crook of his neck. He rubbed soothing circles into your back as you tried to regain your breathing.

“Holy shit! Mackinnon’s about to break into first!” Erik said somewhat tiredly, and you turned around to see his beloved horse pulling forward in the final stretch of the race.

You both cheered as MacKinnon crossed the finish line, effectively winning Erik 30 thousand dollars and more bragging rights to his racing friends. You leaned down and kissed him again, not trusting yourself to get up and stand on your jelly knees quite yet.

“We should break open a vintage bottle tonight baby, we’re celebrating!” He said, standing up with you wrapped around his waist, “you’re my lucky charm baby, maybe we should do that for every race!” He joked.

“Trust me E, I can get on board with that… just keep that cigar around…” You teased, and he laid a deep kiss on your lips.

He walked you both inside and laid you down on the couch, tray of food and drinks (and the cigar) long forgotten. His hands already traveling down your body and in your hair.

“Let me show you now much I love you, my lucky charm.”

#Erik Johnson #Erik Johnson imagine #EJ fic #Colorado Avalanche #Avs fic #pls come back bestie we miss you #T’s imagines #nhl fic

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