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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

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The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 32**

We are slowly moving towards rock bottom with poor Frankie as he tries to get a handle on his addiction and his own demons.

I'm about to update the warnings for the next chapter. If there's something you're very sure you don't want to read about, please heed them. And if you don't want spoilers, please send me a DM and I'll tell you if you need to worry or not. I am moving towards something very dark and I know it might not be everyone's cup of tea and that's absolutely fine!

Series Master List

Chapter 33- Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10.9k

Another week passes, and you think maybe Frankie does better although his nightmares are still ever present, he gets moody sometimes and he’s always too tired, but slowly you think, maybe, you see an improvement. At least he stays away from Joel, you know that. He comes with you to the radio office in the morning or goes straight to someone who needs help fixing something, sometimes he goes scavenging for spare parts, or trades for them at the market, but never outside the QZ. When he’s done he comes by the radio, or you meet him and the guys at the bar. Often Tommy joins you, sometimes even Joel. Pope tells you he’s asked Joel if Frankie has tried trading for drugs again and Joel says he hasn’t seen Frankie at all.

It’s been four weeks since Frankie came clean to you all, and the warm spring air seems light to you, even in the QZ. The ever entrepreneurial manager of the bar, Liz, has somehow managed to turn the grimy backyard into a ‘beer garden’ of sorts and now you’re all out there, sprawled in an assortment of patio furniture around a white plastic picnic table.

Will keeps glancing at the door, Diana hasn’t turned up yet and even though she’s not late, you know Will is on edge until she gets here, just like you are before Frankie turns up.

There’s been an increase in Firefly activity and FEDRA is on high alert, meaning random stops and checks in the street were now commonplace. The group you’d first only heard about through the scattering of graffiti throughout the QZ, had started making noise. Suddenly they’d recruited more people, were spreading their demands for a more just rule of the QZ, and almost every alley wall had their ‘slogan’ hastily spray painted across it; 'If you're lost in the dark, look for the light’.

More than once you’d been approached by them, random women mostly, striking up conversations about FEDRA’s unjust methods and harsh control of the QZ. You knew the guys had also been approached, their reputation as men who knew how to handle themselves and any gun placed in their hands, made them prime targets for Firefly recruiters. So far all attempts had been shut down, getting involved in rebellions was something they’d done back in Delta Force and they were done with that.

Will’s eyes flick to the door leading out to the backyard again as it swings open, but this time it’s Frankie. He’d gone inside for a round of drinks and he stumbles across the threshold, nearly spilling the tray of glasses he’s holding.

“Jeez, Fish,” Benny laughs, “How many drinks did you have before I got here?”

“Only one,” Frankie grumbles, carefully watching his steps as he crosses the yard and sets down the tray on the table.

“The old man can’t take his alcohol anymore,” Tommy jokes, the two youngest men of the group chuckling together as Frankie rolls his eyes and hands you one of the glasses before sitting down next to you, his hand drifting to your thigh almost by its own accord.

“You feeling ok?” you ask him in a low voice as Ben and Tommy continue celebrating being the youngest, and he nods, taking a sip of his drink before he gives you a quick smile.

“Yeah, I’m good, just tired, didn’t sleep great last night again,” he answers and you put your hand on top of his, braiding your fingers between his.

“It’ll get better, Frankie,” you soothe him, “you’re doing great.”

Frankie looks at the whiskey swirling around his glass and gives you a weak smile before he takes another sip and looks over at Pope who’s asked Will something. You keep glancing at Frankie when he’s not looking. You know something isn’t right, but you can’t push it, not yet. He’s too tired, too sluggish even though he seems to be doing better. Pope had said it might just be the withdrawal symptoms, and it’s been only two weeks. But you feel blind, you can’t do anything but trust him, if he’s still using, you won’t know until it’s too late. So you scan his face, watch his moves, hoping and praying he’s being honest with you all and that he’s just fighting withdrawal symptoms.

You lean back, taking a sip of your own drink, when from the street a loud explosion suddenly rocks through the air, making you all rush to your feet and turn towards the entrance to the bar. Shouts can be heard from inside and the sound of breaking glass.

“Come on,” Pope says, “we need to get out of here!” He runs to the door, Frankie’s hold on your hand tightens and you follow him and next to you, you hear Will curse loudly.

“Fuck! Diana is on her way here, I’ve got to find her!” He wrenches the door open, everyone inside is on their feet, facing the front door and someone is carefully looking outside. Just as Will crosses the room, heading for it, the door swings open and Diana runs inside, covered in dust, coughing. He’s on her in a split second, carefully cupping her cheeks.

“Honey, please tell me you’re ok! What happened?”

Diana coughs again and nods, “I’m ok, I think, the explosion was pretty far down the street, I just got pushed by the blast.”

Will is running his fingers over her head, scanning her body for any injuries, before he pulls her into a hug.

“Thank fucking god,” you hear him mumble.

“We should get out of here,” Pope says, the bar is emptying now. The other patrons are filtering out through the door, looking down the street before hurrying off. When you’re all out on the street you can hear the rumble of FEDRA trucks approaching and the blaring of their alarms.

“You guys should come over to our place, it's the closest, gonna be a bitch to get home now,” Frankie says.

“I’m gonna head over to my girlfriend,” Tommy says, “she’s just a couple of streets over, gonna make sure she’s ok.” He waves a quick goodbye before he takes off, jogging down a side street.

“C’mon,” Pope starts walking towards your building. You walk fast, getting out of the way of more and more FEDRA soldiers moving in, heavily armed and looking ready to take down anyone they don’t like. You feel relieved when you make it inside, everyone piling into your apartment, it’s bigger than Pope’s. Just as you’re about to step inside, one of your neighbors comes up the stairs.

“Did you hear the explosion?” he asks and you nod.

“Yeah, we were at the bar, do you know what happened?”

“Those damn Fireflies, they blew up a truck! Blew a big hole in the street!” He shakes his head as he starts up the next flight of stairs, “FEDRA’s going to be worse than ever now, mark my words!”

You sink down on the couch in the crowded living room, Frankie sits on the arm rest next to you and you put your arm around his waist, leaning into his side.

“Fucking Fireflies,” Pope grumbles, “I know they’re trying to make things better but what the fuck do they think blowing up trucks will do?”

“FEDRA will crack down even harder now,” Will says, handing Diana a damp washcloth and helping her clean the dust off her face and clothes. “Have they even been successful in other QZ’s?”

Through the radio, and overhearing people’s messages, you knew the Fireflies have spread over most of the US. From almost every QZ came reports of their activities, usually hiding dissent at how FEDRA ran the QZ’s, it was clear that FEDRA wasn’t doing a good job anywhere.

“I haven’t heard anything of them having any major success,” you reply, “at most they manage to disrupt things, and from what little people say, FEDRA cracks down hard on everyone, not just the Fireflies.”

“How does FEDRA respond?” Pope asks and you shake your head, grimacing.

“Not well…extended curfews, harder punishments, even death penalties, harder controls of medicine and food, checkpoints across the QZ, a couple of places even have public executions, I heard they do hangings in Kansas City.”

“Great,” Benny sighs, “It’ll be fucking Arlington all over again if they keep this up.”

“You can’t blame them though,” Eve says, she’s sitting on Benny’s lap, “FEDRA are fucking fascists, the Fireflies want to over throw them and have democratic rule.”

“Yeah, sure, FEDRA are a bunch of fascists, but when has bombing city streets ever helped?” Benny asks and Eve just shrugs.

…

The next day FEDRA trucks drive through the QZ, blaring an announcement from loudspeakers in the truck beds.

“The criminal gang known as The Fireflies is now classified as a terrorist organization. Any citizen found collaborating or participating will be tried and convicted.”

They drive through the QZ all day and before long you feel a headache throbbing behind your eyes as you sit at the radio. There’s less people stopping by today, most are too scared to go out unless they have to.

“Joy came by with a message for her brother,” Sean says as you share lunch in the office. “She said a FEDRA officer told her they are going to execute anyone found to be a Firefly member.”

“That’s terrible,” you say, “FEDRA’s trials are a joke already, now they’re going to execute people based on those?” You shake your head and scrape the last of the thin stew up with your arepa.

“They’ve put up checkpoints everywhere,” Sean sighs, “It feels like this is only the beginning.”

“Not only checkpoints, I was stopped three times in the street by soldiers on my way over here this morning, everyone is a potential terrorist in their eyes now.” .

Your lunch is suddenly disturbed by a door slamming open down the hall and shouts from the few people waiting for your lunch break to be over. Heavy boots come stomping down the hallway and you throw a worried glance at Sean. The door of the office is only half closed but now it’s thrown wide open, slamming against the shelf behind it with a loud crash. Two FEDRA soldiers step inside, their rifles pointed at the floor thankfully, followed by an office and two more soldiers.

“On your feet!” the office barks, “Up against the wall!” You’d already flown to your feet when the door slammed open, now the soldiers advance on you both with their guns raised and you back up against the only window in the room.

“Where are your records of incoming and outgoing messages?” the office asks, his voice rough as he pushes the papers on the radio desk around.

“We-we don’t keep any records.” Sean stutters, “Sir,” he adds.

“Why not? What are you hiding?” the officer, his name tag says Ambrose, barks, “All incoming and outgoing messages must be logged.”

“Only civilians use this radio, there is no rule saying we have to keep logs of their messages.”

“New rule, from now on you have to keep a log of all messages,” the officer sneers, “Check those shelves for contraband, you two, check those boxes.” He directs the soldiers to the shelves and boxes that line the wall and they start rifling through the content. You know they only contain spare parts for the radio, nuts and bolts, a few wires, but the soldiers go through it like they’re expecting to find drugs and weapons, every piece is pulled out and left scattered on the floor.

“Please, be careful with that, they’re spare parts for the radio,” Sean protests as one of the soldiers knocks over a box of equipment.

“Shut up old man, or I’ll toss ‘em out the window,” Officer Ambrose snarls, “you’re lucky we’re letting you keep ‘em to start with.”

“They’re parts for this particular amateur radio model,” you interject, “they won’t work with the more powerful army issue radio FEDRA uses.” Frankie had taught you that when he helped Sean find some of the parts in an old AV shop a few blocks away.

Ambrose looks at you and you see a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, “You’re Morales’s wife,” he says, “you and him hang around with the Millers and that other beaner, Garcia.” He looks you up and down, “No wonder you work there then, that’s how they get their information.” You feel your skin run cold, if he’s saying what you think he’s saying, then FEDRA knows about the smuggling.

“She works here because she’s an excellent radio operator and she knows this machine better than even I do!” Sean protests, “I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Start keeping those records, old man,” he snarls, still looking at you, “Or we’ll come back and smash the radio and your office to pieces. And just a warning; I catch as much of a whiff of Firefly activity here, you’re both going to the scaffolds.” He barks orders at the soldiers and they step outside, marching behind Ambrose down the hallway. Sean and you are left surveying the mess they’ve left behind, the content of the shelves and boxes scattered across the floor. With a deep sigh you bend down and start putting things back, checking for damage as you go.

It takes you the rest of the afternoon to tidy the office while Sean handles the people still waiting to receive and send messages. He writes down the messages people send, and the ones received, putting all the scraps of paper in a box. If FEDRA wants to read what people talk about, they’ll have to sort through it themselves. Although Sean does raise the suspicion that maybe FEDRA will try to listen in on what the radio receives or broadcasts, it means you’ll both have to be much more careful in the future.

You head back home, feeling rattled by the day’s events, together with the checkpoints and being stopped in the street, FEDRA’s presence in the QZ is starting to feel oppressive. You remember how quickly it escalated in Arlington, praying it won’t come to that.

Frankie hadn’t been past the radio office today, he’d been helping a friend of Sean’s clean out and repair an old open fireplace in exchange for new boots he desperately needed, his old ones falling apart. When you open the door to the apartment you see the new boots neatly placed inside the door and heavy snoring comes from the living room. You look around the corner and smile, Frankie’s on his back on the couch, one arm slung over his head, the other across his chest, mouth agape while he snores, loudly. He’s not usually a heavy snorer but he hasn’t been sleeping well, often waking up tired and groggy. You kneel down next to him and put your hand on his arm, he twitches but keeps snoring, his nose wiggling over his mustache, making you smile. He looks younger and softer than he has in years when he’s sleeping like this, relaxed without nightmares. He must’ve decided to take a nap on the couch after coming home so you leave him sleeping. You tiptoe past him and into the kitchen to start making dinner.

The arepas are waiting to be fried when there’s a knock on the front door. You hear Frankie stir but he doesn’t wake up and you peek out before you open. Pope’s standing outside, a bag of groceries in his hand.

“Hey,” he says as you let him in and take the bag from him. “I brought some of the groceries I got with my ration cards, your cooking is better than mine,” he grins as he toes off his unlaced boots.

“Thanks,” you peer into the bag, spotting some stuff that was definitely not obtainable with ration cards, Pope, Will and Benny had made sure you had more than enough even though Frankie wasn’t smuggling and always seemed to make excuses to fill your pantry. “I’ll cook for you every day if you bring things like this,” you say and pull out a side of pork, something you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Frankie’s living the good life I see,” Pope chuckles, spotting him, still stretched out on the couch, snoring lightly now.

“He’s not sleeping great at night, he must’ve been really tired,” you look over at him and smile, he mumbles and turns on to his side, back to the room. “I should probably wake him up now though, or he won’t sleep tonight.”

“You get him up then, I’ll put this stuff away,” Pope takes the bag from you and goes to the kitchen while you go over to the couch and kneel down, wrapping your arm around Frankie’s waist and leaning your chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, Frankie boy, time to wake up,” you whisper, running your hand up and down his side and he mumbles incoherently, still firmly asleep. “Frankie, baby, wake up, or Santi’s gonna eat all your dinner,” you tease, shaking him lightly. He must be really tired, usually he wakes up the second you touch him, now he only mutters and rolls over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes.

From the kitchen Santi starts rattling plates around; “C’mon, pendejo, despiértate! I’m fucking starving!” he yells and Frankie finally stirs enough to peel his eyes open.

“Cállate…” he mumbles while he blinks the sleep from his eyes.

“Hey baby, wake up,” you smile, pressing your lips to his scruffy jaw, “you’ve been sleeping for hours I think.” All you get in response is a grumble and you take his hand, pulling him up to sitting. He rubs his hands over his face and blinks a few times again, his eyes are red and he looks pretty out of it still.

“Are you feeling ok, Frankie? You look pretty terrible.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles, giving you a weak smile before he yawns, “I slept like shit last night and I was fucking tired all day but I had to help with that fireplace, got ash fucking everywhere.”

“Your eyes are really red, did you rinse them?” you ask and he nods.

“Yeah, but I only had water, I hope it was clean enough.”

“C’mon, dinner’s served,” Pope calls from the kitchen and you give Frankie a hand up.

“The other’s aren’t here yet,” you say, “Will and Benny are coming over with Diana and Eve.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Pope replies, “Will asked me to tell you that FEDRA is putting a new curfew in place, 6 am to 6 pm. It won’t come into effect until tomorrow but they didn’t wanna risk being outside with FEDRA soldiers looking to jump the gun any chance they get.”

“But that means we won’t be able to have dinner together at all!” You sink down in your chair with a grumble, “Fuck FEDRA.”

You start serving the stew, Frankie’s got his head in his hands on the table, giving you a tired smile when you place the bowl in front of him.

“Thanks.”

“Speaking of FEDRA assholes, an officer came by the radio today with a bunch of soldiers and turned the place upside down, luckily they didn’t break the radio,” you say, serving yourself. You see Frankie’s eyebrows furrow.

“What did they want?” he asks.

“Anything, I think,” you reply. “First they asked about logs for in- and outgoing messages, which we don’t keep of course. So they told us we have to from now on and I think they want to see if there’s any mention of the Fireflies from other QZ’s.”

“And they think you’ll write that down in a log book?” Santi says, shaking his head, “they’re more stupid than I thought…”

“I always just assumed they were listening in on the radio. That can’t be hard, it’s just regular amateur radio.”

“You give FEDRA way too much credit, cariño,” Frankie says while dipping his arepa in the stew, “they don’t know shit unless they have someone who actually was a radio operator before the outbreak. And I doubt it.”

“There was something else, more worrying,” you say, “the officer, Ambrose, recognized me as your wife. He made it sound like he knew about the smuggling. When he saw that I worked the radio he said ‘so that’s how they get their information.’ “

“We haven’t used Sean’s radio for setting up trades for years,” Santi frowns, “he couldn’t know about the smuggling through that, he’s hasn’t been in the QZ long enough.”

“So that means he knows about it some other way, but he doesn’t know how you get the information,” Frankie replies, “but how does he know?”

“Yeah, that’s worrying,” Santi says, tapping his fingers on the table as he furrows his brows, “I’ll have to talk to Will and Benny, see if we’re missing something. Or someone.”

The three of you fall silent while you finish dinner, it’s not until you’ve all sunk down onto the couch that Santi speaks again.

“I’m thinking we should probably be more careful with our runs, go less often, even if FEDRA aren’t getting nosy,” he says, opening the bottle of whiskey he’d brought. “Runs are getting more and more risky, not just getting out without FEDRA noticing, but also getting through the area around the QZ.”

“More infected?” Frankie asks and Santi nods.

“Yeah, people who are trying to get to the QZ are getting infected before they get here. And if they can’t, or don’t want to, kill themselves, they just add to the ones already there.”

“Please Santi, please be careful,” you plead with him, “it was always dangerous, if it’s even more now then maybe it’s best to stop.”

“Don’t worry, we have some ideas,” he says, smiling at you. “We’ve got a contact with FEDRA who’s willing to make sure certain supply trucks don’t get checked too thoroughly. I need to make sure he’s reliable and then we can start bringing in goods that way.”

“What’s Joel and Tommy doing?” Frankie asks.

“Still looking for someone to partner up with, don’t think they’ve found anyone yet though.” Santi replies, “And as far as I know, they’re still going outside pretty regularly.”

“I guess they have to if they want to meet up with the guy from Concord,” you say, “he’s the one supplying the oxy right?”

“Unless they found someone else, yeah, it’ll be the same guy.”

Santi stays until he sees Frankie yawn and your eyes starting to droop closed, the day catching up with you both..

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow, get some sleep, both of you,” he winks, “no pre-bed activities, you both look like shit.”

“Thanks Santi, always the charmer,” you mock scowl at him as Frankie yawns again, wide enough to make his jaw pop.

“Night, hermano, see you tomorrow,” he mumbles, getting to his feet. After Santi’s left he locks up and follows you into the bathroom.

“I need a shower,” he mutters, his eyes half closed, “should’ve showered when I got home but I was too tired.”

“I need a shower too,” you say as Frankie begins to peel off his clothes and he gives you a tired smile.

“Please shower with me, hermosa,” he says, holding out his hand as he kicks off his jeans, “No funny business, I promise.”

“What if I want some funny business?” you smirk at him as you unbutton your own jeans but poor Frankie just shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m so tired, cariño, without the pills the nightmares are kicking my ass,” he says, turning on the water and letting it run warm, “I’m not being a very good husband.”

“Don’t be silly, Frankie, you’re the best husband I’ve ever had,” you smile, dropping your shirt in the hamper and stepping in after Frankie, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. The warm water runs over you both and you sigh as it soaks over your tired muscles. Frankie just hums in response, hanging his head and letting the water run over him, until his brain catches up.

“I’m the only husband you’ve ever had,” he says with a snort, turning in your arms and putting his own around you. “You have nothing to compare with,” he smiles down at you as you blink up at him through the water.

“Am I the best wife you’ve ever had?” you ask with a coy voice that makes Frankie chuckle.

“Hmm…let me think about it,” he says, stroking his beard while you playfully poke his ribs and he smiles again, “Best wife I’ve ever had, best human I’ve ever known, you’re perfect in every possible way,” he says, bending down and running the tip of his nose along yours, gently nudging your cheek before his lips find yours. You moan into his mouth as he makes you open up for him, his tongue slipping along yours, tasting you and pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless.

“I thought you said no funny business,” you mumble against his lips when you finally break apart.

“I’m just kissing my wife,” he mumbles back, the heavy weight of his cock making itself known between you.

“Does your dick know that?” you ask, sliding your hand between the two of you and closing your fingers around the thick length, even with the warm water from the shower, it feels hot in your hand. Frankie groans and you feel his hips jolt, thrusting into your hand as you start stroking him.

“Let me take care of you, Frankie,” you mumbled, reaching up and pressing your lips against his neck, your tongue slipping over his wet skin. You can feel the rumble of his throat under it as his cock twitches in your hand. “I want to taste you, feel that heavy weight of your cock in my mouth as you come.” You pull back and look up at him, his eyes already closed, his head tilted back, “Say it, Frankie, tell me what you want me to do.”

“Cariño,” he moans, “please, I want your mouth, suck my cock.” His hips jolt again, he’s holding back from fucking into your tight fist but you can feel him grow increasingly hard under your light grip. You give him a final kiss on his throat before you make him back up against the shower wall, he drops his head back with a dull thud. The harsh bathroom light is on and you take your time as you drop to your knees, admiring his thick and long cock, the shower has made it wet and slick, the head swollen and weeping. Looking up at him, blinking through the shower water, you see that he’s still got his eyes closed, but his breaths are rapid and strained. Still watching him you stick out your tongue and run the tip lightly over the slit. The effect is instant, a strained groan rumbles from him and it makes you smile, you love the sounds you can pull from him when he lets himself focus only on what you do to him, without him trying to make you feel good at the same time.

The water makes your hand slide easily up and down his shaft while you take the head into your mouth, tasting the salty drops leaking from him as you make sure your tongue licks over every part of, tracing the ridge and veins, circling the head with warm lips. He bucks into you, his heavy groans louder as your hand closes more tightly around what’s not in your mouth, he’s already close, you can feel him swell and twitch in your mouth. Pulling back a little you glance up at him and see him looking down at you, open mouth and glassy eyes. Like always when he concentrates his tongue rests on his bottom lip, the pink tip peeking out. He’s breathing heavily and his hips start to thrust lightly almost of their own accord. Still looking at him you let him slip out of your mouth and lick a wide stripe from the bottom of his cock, all the way up along the underside, your hand gliding down and gently cupping his balls as your mouth envelops him again, adding pressure, sucking him in between your tight lips.

“Fuck, bebita, please…” he moans, almost a pained expression on his face, “don’t stop, I need your mouth,” he’s kept his hands by his sides, fist clenched, but now he cups your cheeks, caressing your skin as you take more of him, deeper into your mouth, his blunt head nudging against the back of your throat. His moaning is downright filthy, a panted whine as he squeezes his eyes shut. You increase the pressure, tightening your mouth’s firm grip around his slick cock, letting it slide in and out of your mouth as Frankie’s breathing grows erratic.

“Don’t stop,” he groans, “so close, fuck, your mouth, hermosa…”

You breathe in and take him as deep as you can, your nose nudging the wet curls at the base of his cock, you can feel him spasming as you swallow around him, heavy on your tongue. Your mouth tightens around him, sucking firmly along the whole shaft and with a sudden, loud groan he comes, his hips bucking his cock into your throat, making you gag as you breathe through your nose. Hot liquid fills your mouth, dripping out on the sides as you suck him through his climax. He’s moaning above you, incoherent strings of Spanish, filth pouring out until his cock begins to soften in your mouth. You let him slip out, gently wrapping your hand around it and cleaning him off.

“I might pass out,” he mutters, breathing heavily as he tilts his head back, trying to compose himself, “Fuck me, I needed that, cariño.” He opens his eyes as you stand up, placing a soft kiss on his little belly before he can kiss your lips.

“Best wife I’ve ever had,” he mumbles and you giggle against his mouth.

“I know,” you smirk, “thought I’d remind you.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” he smiles back.

…

The next day things in the QZ get worse. As you walk to the radio with Frankie you can hear the new announcement from FEDRA; Going outside the QZ without a permit is now punishable by death. Entering the QZ without a permit is now punishable by death. Bringing in illegal contraband is now punishable by death. Collaborating with the Fireflies is now punishable by death. A special military court will be set up to deal with all violations of these rules

There are soldiers everywhere, check points every few blocks and everyone is on edge. Frankie holds on tightly to your hand, both of you keeping your heads down as you hurry through the streets. Life in the QZ was never easy, but now it feels like a police state, much worse than Arlington when it all blew up. Frankie looks worried when he leaves you but he’s got work in a different sector.

“If I can even get there, so many fucking check points,” he grumbles, looking over his shoulder as another FEDRA truck rumbles past.

“Be careful, come back if it gets too crazy,” you say, reaching up and giving him a kiss.

“I’ll see you soon, cariño,” he gives you another quick kiss before leaving.

He makes his way towards the eastern section, down towards the docks, passing through two check points on the way. It takes time but he’s only a little bit late when he knocks on the usual door. After a minute a window above him opens up and Tess looks down at him, her long auburn hair tied back. Lowering her gun she raises her hand in a wave.

“I’ll be right down.”

“What happened to Georgie?” Frankie asks as Tess lets him in through the locked front door.

“He got caught coming back,” she say with a scowl, “fucking idiot took a wrong turn in the tunnel and popped up right in front of a patrol.”

“They’ve made that punishable by death now,” Frankie says as he follows her into the empty hotel she and Georgie use as a base, “they were announcing it all over the streets when I came over.”

“Yeah, I heard. He was caught a couple of days ago and is still in lock up as far as I know, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they hang him.” Tess sighs as she unlocks a door to her makeshift office, a small room tucked away at the end of the building behind signs reading ‘Entry prohibited - Bio-hazard’.

“I hope he makes it, he’s not exactly a good friend but I can trust him and he scares the shit out of people.” She holds the door open for Frankie and he steps into the familiar little space.

“I need a favor from you,” she says as she closes the door behind them, “You know Joel Miller.” It’s a statement not a question and Frankie nods, his hand closed around the stack of ration cards he has in his pocket.

“Since Georgie’s most likely gone, I’m going to need a new partner. Georgie had the connections for bringing in most of what I trade. Some connections I can take over, but most he handled on his own. Can you set up a meeting with him? I know he and his brother have been looking to partner with someone,” Tess opens a small safe, making sure to not show Frankie the combination, and pulls out two small baggies. “You still want oxy and ambien?”

Frankie nods, “Joel really doesn’t trust anyone, you sure you wanna work with him?” He gives Tess his ration cards and she hands him the baggies before she counts the cards.

“From what I hear, he might not trust people, but he won’t sell me out to FEDRA,” she replies, sticking the cards in her back pocket.

“No, he wouldn’t do that, and as long as you know his loyalty is only to himself and Tommy, and you can handle that, he’s good to work with, knows his shit.”

“How come you don’t work with him anymore?” Tess asks, ushering him out of the door again.

“My wife doesn’t want me smuggling anymore, I’m all she’s got,” he says, a twinge of guilt eating at him as they walk back through the hotel, “she’s all I’ve got,” he adds.

If Tess notices his uncomfort, she doesn’t mention it, “Must be nice having someone like that, something like that,” she says, “How long have you been with her?”

“Since before the outbreak,” Frankie replies, “we’d been dating for a year when it happened.”

“You’re lucky, both of you,” Tess opens the front door again, leaning against the frame after Frankie’s passed through it. “Both of you still alive, together, must be nice,” she says again and there’s something she’s not saying, Frankie recognizes the undertone of grief in her voice, and he nods.

“Yeah, we’ve been lucky, but we’ve lost people too,” he’s got his hands in his pocket, his fingers closing around the pills in the bags. “If I can introduce you to Joel, what’s in it for me?” he asks and Tess raises her eyebrows. She’s surprised it took him so long to ask.

“Discounts,” she smirks, motioning with her hand to his pocket.

Frankie nods and starts leaving, “I’ll talk to Joel, see if he wants to meet with you.”

“Thanks Frankie,” Tess gives him a wave as he walks away.

…

It doesn’t take Frankie long to get hold of Joel and tell him about Tess but the situation in the QZ deteriorates and plans are put on hold. The Fireflies attack the checkpoint into the sector where you live the day after he meets with Tess and for a few days it’s impossible to leave. You can’t get to the radio or to Will and Benny’s places, there are soldiers everywhere and all there is to do is to stay inside and lay low. You’re both starting to get worried about the situation in the QZ.

“I don’t know where we’d go, but I think we should make an emergency exit plan,” Frankie says one day. “A plan to quickly get out of here if things go bad.”

You nod, looking down at the street through the window. There’s another patrol going down the street, heavily armed. There’s no curfew during the days, you were free to go outside. But as you watch the patrol stop two women walking down the street, searching their clothes and bags, it’s clear FEDRA isn’t letting anyone walk the street in peace right now.

Frankie comes up behind you, leaning his head on your shoulder as he puts his arms around your waist.

“I’ll talk to the guys, see what we can do. We hid a working car just outside the wall, that’ll get us away from Boston at least.”

“All seven of us?” you ask, looking back at him. He sighs and shakes his head.

“No, all seven of us won’t fit, but we’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe we should just try to find some abandoned farm somewhere remote, live away from everyone else,” you say, leaning back so that you can feel his solid chest behind your back, “just risk it out there rather than in here with FEDRA, it just keeps getting worse and more and more oppressive.”

“Maybe the Fireflies will be successful,” Frankie mumbles, watching the patrol disappear around a corner, “turn things around.”

“You really think so?” you ask, he can hear the doubt in your voice.

“No, not really,” he sighs, “but I like your farm idea, fuck everyone else, just you and me.”

“It’s always just you and me, Frankie, even here. The others are like family but not like you, not the way you’re my family.”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck as he tightens his grip on you, you can feel his warm breath on your skin. He doesn’t say anything so you just stand there while he breathes in your scent, memorizing it, as if he wouldn’t recognize it anywhere already.

…

The morning the checkpoint reopens he leaves before you’re out of bed, gently dropping a kiss on your cheek while he rouses you, sitting on the bed.

“I need to see Miguel about some spare parts, the clinic needs to fix some medical equipment,” he mumbles, his lips close to your skin while you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He chuckles and untangles himself, “I’ve got to go, cariño, I’ll see you this afternoon, I’ll come pick you up at the radio.”

He makes his way through the checkpoint and over to Joel’s place. Tommy’s already there and Frankie leads them to the meeting spot he’d agreed on with Tess before the check point was bombed, hoping she’ll come back at the same time. Appointments were often postponed or interrupted in the QZ so there was a habit of just turning up at the same place, same time a couple days in a row and hoping for the best if you didn’t hear from the other person.

Tess is there, waiting, when the two Miller brothers and Frankie scramble up to the second floor of a partially bombed building. Joel grumbles about having to ‘drag and climb a fuckin’ dumpster’ but stands up straight and gives Tess a once over when she pushes herself off the dilapidated office desk she was leaning against.

“This is Tess Servopoulos,” Frankie says, “Joel and Tommy Miller,” he points at each man.

“Nice to meet you, Tess,” Tommy says, holding out his hand to her and she takes it with a smile.

“Same, your reputation precedes you,” she replies, holding out her hand to Joel too, who accepts it and gives her hand a firm shake.

“Only a good reputation, I hope,” Tommy chuckles, easing the tension in the meeting, although Joel still stands rigid, putting his hands into his jeans pockets after shaking her hand.

“Frankie says you’re reliable and know your shit,” Tess says, eyeing Joel's silent form like she’s trying to gauge him. She knows he’s the one she has to convince and he’s doing his best to look as standoffish as possible.

“We’ve been smuggling pretty much since the outbreak,” Tommy replies, “been in Boston for about five years now.”

Tess nods, “I’ve been working with Georgie for about six years, here and there, but he got caught by FEDRA last week.”

“Yeah, Frankie told us, bad luck,” Tommy nods but Joel scoffs.

“Bad luck…he got sloppy, if that’s the kind of operation you run, we’re not interested, darlin’,” he says and Tess narrows her eyes at him, opening her mouth but closes it again, biting back whatever retort was on her mind.

She turns to Tommy instead, “I know you used to work with a few other guys, why are you looking for a new partner?”

“Our cousins have a thing about not smuggling drugs,” Joel replies, cutting Tommy off, “that a problem for you?”

“Smuggling ‘em? Not at all,” Tess says, glancing at Frankie and he does his best to not look at Joel. When Joel asked how Frankie knew Tess he said he’d traded with her for spare parts for the radio. It was true, he had traded with her for parts, but only once.

Joel looks at Frankie, connecting the dots, as Tommy gives Tess a rough outline of how they usually operate, what they can get their hands on.

“You ok with that, Frankie?” Joel asks him, “Tess trading drugs? You got a handle on it?”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” Frankie looks up at Joel and wills himself to keep his eyes steady on the older man, “it’s fine.”

Joel gives him a slow nod, “Ok, as long as you’re fine with it.”

But Tess frowns and looks at Joel, “What do you mean?” she asks, eyeing him, “Why would Frankie have any problems with me trading drugs? He buys them from me.”

Tommy raises his eyebrows at this piece of information and looks at Frankie who tries to square his shoulders and look like he’s in control.

“They’re worried I’ll get addicted,” he says, “I got pretty bad PTSD after I left the army and when shit gets too dark here, it comes back,” he shrugs, feigning a casual attitude he doesn’t feel, “but I just need the shit to sleep, the nightmares never really went away and the pills help with that, that’s all.”

He knows he’s not telling the whole truth and Joel certainly knows that, but Frankie meets his eyes and refuses to look away, willing the man to understand that he’s got it under control.

Tess gives him a hard stare as Frankie tugs on his ball cap and crosses his arms. “Ok, as long as you’ve got a handle on it, I don’t have any issues, I’m not your moral compass, we all do what we need to do to get by. And from what I hear, you guys sell drugs too?,” she looks over at Joel who nods.

“Yeah, but I stopped selling to Frankie a while back, and we stopped working together, what we did triggered his PTSD.”

“I’ve got it under control now,” Frankie says, he can feel the familiar panic creeping through his nerves. If Joel tells Tess to cut him off he has nowhere else to go. “Since I stopped with the smuggling I’m fine, it’s just the nightmares that give me insomnia, I just need the drugs to help me sleep on nights when it gets bad. But it’s less now, hardly ever.” He’s lying through his teeth, trying to keep his voice steady and his poker face on, but he’s not sure he manages.

“I don’t give a fuck, Frankie,” Joel says, “I’m not selling to you, mainly out of respect for your wife and Will and Benny. But like she said, I ain’t your moral compass.” He turns to Tess again, “Either way, that doesn’t affect our potential partnership. Since Frankie trusts you, maybe this can work, but I need to talk to my brother in private first. We’ll let you know in a couple of days.”

Tess nods and shakes both Joel and Tommy’s hands before the two men leave. Frankie and Tess follow after them, jumping down onto the dumpster.

“Your wife’s not gonna come after me for supplying drugs to you, is she?” Tess asks as they reach the ground.

“No,” he shakes his head, starting to walk away.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Tess has crossed her arms over her chest and is giving him another hard stare.

“She does, she knows I take them to sleep,” Frankie tugs on his cap again, he knows it’s a nervous gesture and Tess just shakes her head.

“You’re a shit liar, Frankie,” she says as she gives him another hard look, “Just keep it under control, ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s under control:” He raises his hand and gives her a wave, “I’ll see you around, I’ve got to get going.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, Frankie.”

…

Despite Joel’s mistrusting nature, he agrees to start working with Tess, on a trial basis. Frankie finds out a few days later when he asks Tess for an actual spare part for the clinic.

“Joel’s a piece of work, but I prefer that to someone who throws his trust at anyone, that’ll get you killed,” she says, taking the ration cards the clinic had given him in exchange for a pristine looking piece of equipment. Frankie doesn’t know what it does exactly but he knows the one in the machine is broken and he’ll fix it somehow.

“Joel knows his shit,” Frankie says, tucking the equipment into his backpack, walking back through the hotel with Tess. “Thanks for the part, Diana will be happy, the machine is important to them.”

“Sure, let me know if you need anything else.” She gives him a wave as he leaves.

When he meets up with the rest of the guys later at the bar he tells them about Joel’s new partner.

“I’m surprised Joel’s prepared to work with someone else,” Benny leans back on the couch and kicks out his long legs, “Tommy says he’s turned down both Miguel and that guy Robert.”

“It’s a smart move,” Will replies, “FEDRA is all over the place, he’s gonna need an extra pair of eyes for any bigger trades. We’re gonna need to be real careful too, it’s no longer just a few nights in FEDRA lock up. They’re actually going through with fucking executions.”

“As if dealing with raiders and infected wasn’t bad enough, now FEDRA wants to kill us too?” Benny huffs, “Half the stuff we bring in goes to soldiers, for fucks sake…”

Pope nods and takes a sip of the bar’s homemade whiskey, grimacing at the taste, “They were setting up for a hanging when I came over, three guys caught in condemned buildings. If FEDRA’s already suspecting us like your girl said, Frankie, then we should probably lay low for a few weeks. We’ve got the supplies we need for now.”

“What about the trade we have planned, we’ve got stuff coming in from Worcester, that deal Will and I set up? We’re gonna need to receive it and get it stashed as soon as it comes in.” Benny looks over at the others.

For years their best contact had been a FEDRA soldier in the QZ, and through him Benny and Will had made a connection with a FEDRA officer in the Worcester QZ, the man’s brother in law. It had taken months but a convoy of FEDRA trucks were due to come over from Worcester, together with the officer and a number of much needed supplies hidden among the official FEDRA shipments. Thanks to Boston being a much bigger QZ the guys had been able to offer him a large stack of ration cards in exchange for a number of in demand items.

Pope nods at Benny, “Yeah, we have to handle that one, we won't be able to postpone it.” He glances over at Frankie, “I hate to ask, hermano…” he says, “but we could really use your help, just as a look out, for that trade now. You think you’re ok to do it? I hate to say it, but you still look like shit.”

Frankie shrugs, “I still don’t sleep great, the nightmares are a bitch, but yeah of course, if you need me, I can do it.”

“Are you sure, Frankie?” Will asks, “I don’t want you doing this if you don’t feel ok, we’re not risking your recovery for this. The three of us will just do it as usual.”

“If you need me, man, I can do it. And it’s just as a lookout right? That’s just keeping an eye on things, making sure no FEDRA patrols are around?”

“Yeah, we’ve set up a lookout point near the location and we got some radios. All you’d need to do is sit there and radio me if anything happens.” Pope says, glancing over at Will who nods.

“Talk to your wife first though, we don’t want to cause any family drama here, make sure she’s onboard with it and thinks you're ok to do it.”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to her tonight, I’ll let you guys know tomorrow,” Frankie says, putting down his glass and getting ready to leave. “I’m picking her up from the radio office in a little bit. What day is this happening?”

“Thursday,” Pope says, “I’ll come by tomorrow and we’ll talk it through.”

“Ok, yeah, I’ll talk to her, but I feel good, I can do that, I wanna help you guys anyway I can,”

“Appreciate it, man,” Benny says, Frankie drops his hand on the younger man’s shoulder as he’s leaving and Benny gives it a quick squeeze, looking up at Frankie. “It’s good to know you’re doing better, Fish.”

Frankie gives him a crooked smile and a wave to the other two and heads out the door of the bar.

…

Frankie’s waiting outside the radio when you step outside, Sean’s taken over the radio for the evening and you’re stretching out your back after a long shift hunched over the dials and notebooks. You see him before he sees you, leaning against a barrier on the other side of the street, watching a group of children playing on a makeshift playground in a small park. They’ve all got the rough looking hand me downs the orphan children of the local FEDRA school wears and there’s two elderly ladies in FEDRA uniforms keeping an eye on them.

Frankie looks tired, dark circles under his eyes and his ordinarily tan skin is ashen and gray. His curls are still brown but his scruffy beard is mostly silver now, as you watch his hand comes up and absentmindedly rubs across his jaw, scratching at the short hairs. You’d spent some time last night giving his beard and hair a trim, giggling as he wriggled his nose when the hairs tickled him. Sometimes he was back to his normal self, relaxed and soft around you, sleeping better without nightmares, even cracking jokes and messing with Benny when you met up with the others. But you could see that he was struggling still, the good nights were far apart and most mornings he moved like a sleepwalker, taking time to come back to life. In the evenings he stumbled to bed and was fast asleep as soon as he’d curled himself around you, sometimes the nightmares would plague him but he couldn’t wake up, you’d shake him and he’d be trapped in his nightmare. When you finally managed to rouse him he’d be disoriented and panicky until he fell asleep again, almost instantly.

Now you walk across the street as he watches the kids take turns on the makeshift tire swing. You know which one of the children he’s looking at; a young girl, about five, with the same dark curls as Lucía. She’s hanging on to the swing, shrieking with laughter as another girl spins the tire around, her hair whirling around her head as she throws it back and giggles.

“Hey Frankie,” you say as you come up to him, he turns around as you sneak your arms around his waist, pulling him out of his silent reverie.

“Hey cariño,” he says, giving you a kiss before turning back to the park. The girl had gotten off the swing and was running towards the slide. “She reminds me of Lucía,” he mumbles, glancing over at you, “makes me wonder what she’d look like now.” You give his waist an extra squeeze as you watch the girl shoot down the slide and run around to climb back up to the top.

“She’d be fifteen now, too old for playgrounds,” he gives a small smile, “although, I don’t think she’d ever get too old for swings, she loved them.”

The little girl has climbed to the top of the slide for a third time and is standing up, waving at someone.

“Come here! Ellie, come on the slide with me!” she calls, waving her arm and a younger girl hurries across from the swings and climbs the stairs, her short legs struggling with the big steps. The older girl instructs the younger to sit down in front, and together they slide down, their high pitched giggles carrying in the clear spring air. It makes your heart clench, the sound and the image so normal, reminding you of the times you’d been at the playground with Frankie and Lucía.

“C’mon, we should get moving,” Frankie says, pulling his eyes away from the dark haired girl as he takes your hand. His mood is subdued on the way back to the apartment. You tell him about your day and he hooks his arm around your shoulder, listening as you walk through the crowds. But he remains silent, lost in his own thoughts when you stop talking. When you get back home he toes off his shoes and goes to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed as you fill a pot of water.

“Joel and Tommy are gonna partner up with a woman called Tess,” he says after a while, breaking the silence. “Tess has been helping me get spare parts for the clinic and she asked if I’d introduce her to them.”

You look over at him, you can hear from the tone of his voice that he’s not done. And he confirms it as he drops his gaze, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Pope and the guys asked if I could help them out on a trade, as a lookout, but they wanted me to talk to you first, make sure you’re ok with it.”

“Tell me about it,” you say, turning to lean on the counter as he comes over and stands next to you.

“They’ve got a connection with this guy in Worcester, he’s bringing in supplies on a FEDRA truck, as part of a bigger convoy. They need me to be the lookout when they meet the men inside the QZ. I won’t go outside and I won’t be near the actual trade, just be the lookout.”

“Do you feel ok about it?” you ask and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, I wanna help them with this,” he says, turning a bit so that he can look at you. “FEDRA is patrolling more and they need me to warn them if there’s a patrol approaching.”

“Your nightmares are still really bad though, and sometimes I can’t even wake you up from them, Frankie. If something happens, is it gonna trigger you even more?”

“If something happens and I’m not there to keep watch, that’s gonna be even worse,” Frankie shakes his head, “They need my help with this. Once they’re done with this they’re gonna lie low, FEDRA’s hanging people over the smallest charge now, but this trade is too big and they can’t postpone it.”

“And you’ll only be lookout, away from the actual trade?” you question and Frankie nods again.

“They have a lookout point nearby, I’ll have a radio and just contact Santi if something happens, that’s it.”

You lean against the counter while Frankie looks at you, waiting for your answer, for your approval. It makes you realize that he hasn’t done that before, let you make the decision. He’s told you about the plans, listened to your opinion and adjusted the plans and made changes so that you would be more comfortable about letting him go. This time, when what he’s been asked to do really doesn’t seem all that dangerous by comparison, he’s leaving the whole decision up to you.

“Ok, if you think you’re ready for it, I trust you Frankie, you should help them.”

“I do, I feel strong enough to do this, thank you cariño,” he steps in front of you and grabs your thighs, hoisting you up onto the counter so that he's standing between your legs. It makes you smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands find your hips, kneading the soft flesh under his fingers.

“When is it?”

“Thursday…was your skin always this soft here?” he’s running his nose down your neck, pulling back the scruff of your hoodie and burying it just above your clavicle.

“You’re distracting me, Frankie, I had more questions,” you laugh, his tongue comes out and licks a warm strip across the ridge of the bone.

“I know, that’s the point,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Much as I love this horny version of you, you should try and get as much sleep as possible until Thursday, I know how tired you are.”

“Take me to bed then,” he chuckles, still buried against the crook of your neck, leaving a burning trail of nips and kisses up your throat.

“We haven’t even had dinner,” you laugh as he tries to make you hook your legs around his waist so that he can pick you up, “Let me make dinner and then I’ll take you to bed for dessert.”

“My favorite kind of dessert,” he smiles, pulling back from your neck to kiss your mouth, making you part your lips for his tongue.

“Why don’t you take a nap on the couch while I make dinner, Frankie,” you say when he starts working his way back down along your jaw, “because at this rate, we’re never getting dinner,” you have to giggle when he starts pushing up your shirt, his warm hands palming over your back.

“Too horny to take a nap now,” he chuckles, but he stands up and lets you slip off the counter. And when you start pulling out ingredients he gives your butt a final squeeze and does go to the couch. It doesn’t take long before you hear his soft snores, when you look over he’s face planted on the couch, one arm dangling off it, the other under his head as a pillow.

…

The trade is set up to take place after dark, and after curfew. Sunset in May in Boston is late so Frankie and the guys make their way to the meeting spot well before the curfew comes into effect and bunker down to wait for darkness. In an off limits building, an old office building near the QZ wall, Pope, Will and Benny have set up a secluded spot for the trade. Now the four of them are in the building across the small square, up on the fifth floor, inside a spacious apartment with a bird’s eye view of the neighborhood, the lookout point.

The sun is slowly sinking below the horizon while they wait for the agreed upon hour. Benny’s brought an old battered pack of playing cards and they’re killing time by playing rounds of poker. Frankie curses when he loses yet another game, thankful they’re only playing for the silver cutlery Pope found in the apartment's kitchen. The utensils clink as Will drags them across the dining room table after winning his seventh game.

“Fuck, Will, teach me your ways,” Frankie grumbles, he’s down to two spoons and one knife.

“Skill, Catfish,” Will chuckles, sorting his cutlery into neat piles, “And years of counting numbers.”

“I just keep getting shit cards,” Benny mutters, tossing his losing hand onto the table with a snap of his wrist, making them scatter. “Your turn to deal, Pope.”

Pope gathers the cards and quickly deals again, “I’m winning those spoons back, Will, just so you know.”

“Whatever you say, man, you’re happy to try,” Will chuckles, straightening out the six large spoons he’s got neatly lined up along his eight knives and eight forks. “Just need to get Frankie’s two spoons and I’ve got a full set.”

After two more rounds, Frankie kicks back his chair and throws his arms up in defeat, “I’m fucking bust.”

“It’s alright, Fish, Diana and I will be thinking about you when we have dinner tomorrow,” Will smirks, sliding the spoons over to his side of the table.

Pope looks at his watch and out at the dark night sky, “We should get going, scout the area again and position ourselves.”

Benny gathers the cards and they all pack up. Frankie makes his way out to the large balcony wrapped around the corner of the building and scans the square and the surrounding streets.

“All’s quiet out there,” he says in a hushed voice as he comes back in. Pope grabs his radio and turns it to the pre-agreed frequency and tests the connection.

“I’ll radio you when we’re in position, make sure the connection is clear,” he says, clipping it onto his belt as Frankie does the same with his radio. “And don’t forget our contact is going to signal you when they cross the square.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s all under control,” he nods, waiting while the three men pick up the equipment they’d put by the front door when they came in. Even though it was a trade, old habits die hard, and they all had concealed handguns and backpacks with extra gear. Frankie secures his own gun at the back of his pants and triple checks the battery on the radio before picking up a battered pair of binoculars.

“Alright, ready to go?” Will asks and the other two nods. “Radio us if there’s anything irregular, Catfish.”

“Stay safe, I’ll see you at the rendezvous soon.”

Frankie locks up behind the guys as they leave the apartment and hunkers down on the balcony. He’s dragged out some of the less damaged couch pillows and propped them up along the railing and floor, making a nest where he’s hidden from sight. Through a small opening he can scan the streets below, laying flat on his belly with the binoculars in front of him. His nerves are making him jumpy, he’s not used to being without the sleeping pills this long, and it adds an extra layer of stress to the usual laser focus he has during a mission. Even though he’s ‘just’ the lookout he feels the familiar tingling in his spine as he scans the street.

The radio crackles to life on his belt and Pope’s voice comes through; “Catfish, we’re in position. Do you copy, over?”

“Loud and clear, Pope. I’m in position, over.”

“Maintain radio silence unless necessary, over.”

“Wilco, out.”

He clips the radio back on to his belt and settles down. There’s still about thirty minutes left before the other party is due to turn up, but both Will and Pope like having plenty of margins to work with. He glances at his watch and calculates in his head how long it would take for one of the oxy tablets to kick in. He needs something to sooth his nerves, it’s like he can feel every seam and stitch on every piece of clothing he’s wearing, scratching and grating against his overheated skin. Even his hair is itching where it curls over his ears and he swipes off his cap and pushes it back. Just one oxy, to take the edge off, let him focus while he waits.

He swallows it dry, almost regretting it as the bitter flavor coats the inside of his mouth. But soon he feels the effect, his body goes loose, the scratching stops. He watches two men hurry across the square, stopping to give a one handed wave three times up towards Frankie’s balcony. The trade is underway, he leans back against the wall.

It’s so quiet up here. The QZ is always so noisy, so many people in such a small space, up here he can’t hear anything, it’s so peaceful.

All the people are gone. It’s only him. Up here.

And these pillows are so soft, they feel like clouds against his face.

Only him high up in the sky with no noise.

Just soft pillows and soft clothes and darkness behind his eyelids.

Chapter 33

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whereareroo · 3 months ago

Text

CAMPING AND FISHING

WF UPDATE (8/14/24).

On our final full day at Campground #3 (we leave in the morning), I’m sitting under a shade tree and I’m supervising the nap of GK #3. Per family tradition, she’s asleep in my running stroller. I’m good at supervising naps.

The good news is that I have a bit of time to chat.

As you know, I’ve been sleeping in a tent with GK #1. The girls hog the RV. I have sleeping issues. I’m bothered by the slightest bit of noise. There is an exception to that rule: CRICKETS. I love the sound of crickets, and this campground has a wonderful cricket choir. Every night, I fall asleep during a lovely cricket concert. Life is strange.

I’ve been fishing since childhood. I’m not very good at it, and I don’t really like it. I do it anyway. For some reason, I have this belief that everybody should fish. I don’t understand the origins of this belief. My parents didn’t fish. My grandparents didn’t fish. Does it trace back to my ancient Irish ancestors? Time in the outdoors is always valuable, but fishing introduces a particular set of values. Fishing teaches us patience, and how to deal with boredom. It also teaches how to deal with frustration and persistent failure. Over the course of the past four days at Campground #3, we’ve spent at least 15 hours fishing. I don’t know when, but GK #1 and his sister (GK #2) have decided that fishing is their thing. Their interest was substantially enhanced by the fact that we caught a ton of fish in the pond and in the river. I guess they’re Irish.

Every campground is different. This one is very working class. We’re near New Paltz, New York. It’s about 100 miles from New York City. The place is filled with suburban families who own relatively inexpensive camping rigs. They’re all from NY, NJ, or CT. Approximately 9O% of the campsites are occupied by a working Mom, a working Dad, and a few youngish kids. These folks probably get 3 weeks of vacation a year. They save one for Christmas and they take another in single days during the year. This is their big summer vacation. They exploit every minute. They’re up early, and they’re still running around at 10 p.m. Normal bedtimes don’t exist at a place like this. They’ll all go home tired and happy. On the drive home, they’ll talk about camping again next summer. It’s a slice of America.

When I was a kid, we had “cap guns.” Do you remember them? They were fake western pistols that make a bang. The bangs were created by a “cap,” which is a very small dot of gunpowder. In my case, the caps were embedded in a small roll of red paper that was inserted into the gun. In later versions, the caps were arranged in a circular disk that went into the guns. The bang occurs when the hammer on the gun hits the cap. I thought that cap guns were outlawed years ago. I haven’t seen one in years. Well, they’ve obviously made a comeback. This place is flooded with them. Dozens and dozens of kids are running around with cap guns!

Why am I talking about cap guns? I’ll tell you.

This post was interrupted by the sudden awakening of GK #3. We were about 10 minutes away from our campsite. On the way back, we chatted. When we got back, the 4 year old angel told me that she needed more sleep in her camping bed. We went into the RV. (Everyone else was swimming.) Every time she was almost asleep, the little jerk from the next campsite would shoot his cap gun. GK #3 would hear the noise and complain. What is a good grandfather supposed to do in such a situation? Well, the little jerk next door now has a broken trigger finger. Accidents happen at campgrounds. Oops!

While it’s quiet here, I need to do some camp chores. Stay tuned.

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trainsgenderjamie · 5 months ago

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Edit (before the post? Crazy.): I'm letting this out of my drafts cuz i love my friends and i dont remember why i didn't post it in the first place. If we are friends and you're seeing this, hi. I love you. If we aren't friends but you wanna be friends, hi. I love you too.

I made a big ol post last night [Now actually several nights ago] about being all sad and shit and then ended up releasing it from my drafts like at 10 AM yesterday and like I'm thinking maybe i was just like being a bit too silly ykwim. Like it was late, I wrote in the post that I made it at 3 in the morning, and that maybe being tired was heightening my emotions, but I. played minecraft with my friends and it was calming and quiet and just us hanging out and talking. Not too many people, just four of us (including myself), hanging out. We went on a little adventure doing Trial Chambers and just hung around for a while afterwards just talking. Some of us built, one of us fished (Hi Failin), and I just walked around. There is something genuinely so serene about doing that shit that it just. made things feel good again. There isn't a world where Minecraft is a game I hate. I haven't had this much fun playing games with anyone in ages. I haven't felt this calm while doing something in ages. Minecraft makes me like living, and I'm more than okay with the fact that Minecraft is holding me up right now. [I haven't played Minecraft in a couple weeks, but it's okay. I'll hop back on eventually]

#inside jamies brain

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christmascocos2023 · 1 year ago

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Thursday 17th August

Another overcast and windy start with quite heavy showers overnight. I had a good night except for waking about 3am and dozing. However don’t feel tired. Must say the lack of bright sunshine, even in tropical climate seems to change the feel of the holiday spirit. I am definitely solar powered🤣. I was up at 0530 and writing this at 0630. Today is the day I am going to do my best and get to Home Island. Hope the plan works😁. Have finally got onto the Birdsnest wifi. Seems there are 2 Birdsnest options and I used the wrong one😏. Either way it is not really coping with posting so will use the hotspot wifi I purchased at one of the hotspot sites it can be used. Apparently it has a bit more grunt than the one at Birdsnest 🤞.

Well I got so over prepared that I got to the ferry jetty in time for the 0730 ferry🤣🤣. Oh well not a terrible place to waste some time looking out over the sea. Thought about catching the 0730 but would still have to sit around on Home Island so will stick with plan A!

I changed my mind again! Took the 0730 ferry and got to Home Island just before 0800. My buggy won’t be delivered until the 0830 ferry arrives here at 0900. I am glad now I opted for the early ferry as as we left the clouds cleared and the sun shone. It was a lovely ride. The boat being used as the substitute ferry looks like a good sized fishing boat(although it may in fact be used as a secondary or back up for the main ferry,and is called the R J Hawke. No prizes for where the owners political affiliation might lie😁. I sat outside and although bumpy because of the 2-4 metre swell and the speed plus all the rips and strong currents I believe are out here. Also lots spray and I took advice of local and sat at the cabin end of the bench seats(fortunately padded!)and had no probs with spray although there was lots water coming up the covered sides and cabin. It is also very noisy because of what I assume are very big powerful diesel engines. Despite all that being on the water finally and the sun shining was wonderful. As I had an hour to fill in I have just been wandering around the foreshore area. Have taken lots photos. However am now sheltered in a lovely gazebo with extras (see photo) as the sky is black again, wind has picked up and random light showers. Yet another advantage of having taken the earlier ferry as the 0830 will have a less pleasant ride I suspect. There was only 3 of us on the 0730 and as the 0830 is the last morning ferry I am keen to see how full it is given the weather.

There seems to be no cars except shire mini truck things and motorised transport is all by buggy. Makes it a very pedestrian friendly place. It is definitely a little Malaya with all street signs being Malay names and all signs mostly English and Malay although some like a memorial on the foreshore which is only in Malay. As far as I have seen it is a very laid back little place and I can even see a cute little beach to the right of where I am sitting.

As it happened there was only about 5 people on the 0830 so I prepared for nothing. Although now it has arrived my buggy has not! Fortunately the woman from the visitor centre who booked it for me happened to be meeting the ferry to collect something as she works on Home Island today. She is going to call the buggy man and find out where he is for me. I yet again fall on my feet’s 😁. Good thing I came early or would have lost some touristing time😁. Things do rather move at island time especially as most people seem to have more than one job. The buggy man came about 20mins later than he should have and in his defence the tourist place had me down as an overnight hire starting yesterday🤷‍♀️. Anyway he went through everything and it was his wife who told me about the pop up food. I have taken a photo of my bright blue buggy and will post. Being short the distance from the seat to the steering wheel meant I had to have arm extending and reaching or sit on the edge of the seat to reach more easily. He forgot to show me reverse but figured it out. Got going a bit shakily with the accelerator but soon buzzing along😁. Certainly can’t speed as max any where on that island is 30km/hr and parts of residential area are 8km/hr. The man also warned me that the locals don’t even notice Give Way signs to keep eyes peeled! Seems the local kids might be a traffic hazard as he also said that I was lucky I was only driving around in school hours🤷‍♀️. In case you think the kids can use the buggies every driver has to have a drivers licence and all the buggies are register just like cars. I did keep an eye on the battery light thing but was fine but another couple told me on the ferry home that theirs had just gone flat fortunately in town and they had to abandon it and return the key. I suspect the fact they went flat is the weight their buggy was carrying compared to mine. Both husband and wife were morbidly obese.

Good news is the sun is out, lots blue sky and wind dropped so looking good. Having said that the weather does turn quickly!

Well the buggy arrived,the sun came out, clouds pretty well cleared and a beautiful day. Still some seriously strong winds on and off and depending on the side of the island you are. Good thing as golf buggy not equipped for rain😁. Once I had the buggy and a map I was off. Even with my famous sense of direction or lack there of you can’t get lost on Home Island as very small. As only buggy’s or quad bike type things allowed the roads in the main area are lovely small paving squares and a dream to drive on. Very well thought out and neat tidy homes with everyone it seems having one or more boats😁. Once you get a bit further especially along the coastlines the roads become dirt or limestone but as all people have is these little buggy’s even these roads are well maintained. It seems everyone who lives here takes great pride in the place and it shows. The beaches on what they call the lagoon side are pristine and safe as well as photogenic. Even the ones that aren’t on the lagoon side look wonderful. If they were in WA they would be alive with people even with the strong wind as the temp is in the mid to high 20’s and you can’t feel the humidity because of the wind. Apparently it doesn’t blow this hard normally at this time of the year but they do normally get lovely breezes during this period . The whole place is just picture perfect and like being in Malaysia with a western twist. Unfortunately at present no reliably open places to buy a snack or lunch and all a bit random re opening. However there was a pop up doing Malay takeaways outside the Supermarket. It was busy and I wanted to keep going so didn’t bother. Never got lunch and forgot to bring the snacks I usually carry for such occasions (blame the early start). I also realised on the way home that other than my water bottle I hadn’t even drunk enough water. There was just so much to cover and I got caught up😁. There was a restaurant but it has been closed for renovations and it looks like it is going to be sizeable. They have a shop which is pretty good but to stay here you would have to cook or go back and forward to West Island on the ferry.

I did a tour of Oceania House the home of the Clunies Ross dynasty until 1983. The tour was an hour and I had the guide on my own and it was fantastic as is the house. Because she gave me so much information I am going to do a separate section about that tour and what I learned. As there was so much it might take a while for me to remember and be sure I have got as much as I can down. There is a book apparently you can buy here about the dynasty but it is written by a CluniesRoss and as such should be read in context😏.

I did among many things go out to the cemetery where I got photographs of 4 Clunies Ross grave and also one that is in the grounds of the house. They seemed to be the only Christian graves amongst the rest who are Malay and I assume Islamic faith. The cemetery is still being used. Before you get too high expectations I was so entranced with what I was being told during the tour I didn’t take photos inside the house. Anyway a photo wouldn’t do it justice. To soften the blow I will tell you that there is a Clunies Ross living on West Island but none on Home island☹️.

I have taken lots photos of my buggy tour but they won’t give you the reality. It is a real piece of paradise albeit a very isolated piece and I am not sure if any one who is not Malay or was or has links even lives on the island. It seems a very Malay enclave although over the years the locals have developed a few quirks to their ancestry that are quintessentially Home Islanders quirks. It is basically a Kampong.

I am just writing this and chilling out after a busy day and have eaten a bit and drunk lots water so back on track. I seem to have mastered my car’s oddities but still very careful and am not going to get cocky.

I am off on a motorised canoe tour tomorrow. Bit of a worry me and canoe skills😂😏. According to my paperwork we meet outside the guides house(about 3 down from me) at 0550hrs . However whether that still holds not sure. I have learned to expect the unexpected and roll with the dice🤣. The weather remains sunny and dry so I am hoping for good things over the weekend. Might actually get wet other than from the rain🤣🤣.

Home Island photos:

The lovely gazebo type structure on the island with it unique centre and looking out to the ferry jetty.

My buggy,a typical street on Home Island,

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chvnnie · 2 years ago

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Be My Escape

bang chan x reader

part 4/8 - come on fuck me emo boy - find the playlist here

word count: 3.5k

genre: smut, a lil bit sad but not angsty?, fluff - MINORS DNI

warnings: struggling musician chan, established relationship, lots of talk of financial struggles, chan self esteems plummets for a sec, marking/biting, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (im tired just don’t), v v soft dirty talk, no power dynamic, chan doesn’t finish, they’re just in love and making love. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: life sucks. you don’t.

a/n: this is once again apologizing for posting off schedule and hoping this is good enough that you’ll forgive me. ngl this took a lot of energy to write w the past two weeks i’ve had so pls enjoy. i hope you’re loving this series - we’re halfway done!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents bang chan as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @fthan, @chaitae-bae, @cloudyybinin, @lix001, @dnadoublefelixx, @cyder-puff, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @metalchick529, @stranger-thighs, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi

You flipped through the mail, heart sinking lower and lower with each envelope. Second notice. Third notice. Final notice. Bills, bills, bills piling up and feeling so heavy in your hands.

It was the last thing you wanted to see at 4:00 am, just now getting home from your shift. The bartending gig was supposed to be temporary. Chan had promised you wouldn’t be working at that crowded college bar for more than three months. But then three months passed, then six, and now, at nine and half, you were still there, coming every night sticky with alcohol and pockets basically empty from shitty tips. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that frat boys don’t tip well.

Deciding you didn’t have the mental capacity to think about bills, you dropped them on the kitchen counter and fished tonight’s tips out of your wallet. You jumped onto the counter, slowly standing up on it to reach the top of the cabinets. Tucked in the back corner was a glass jar, filled with various numbered bills and handfuls of change that made the jar jingle when it moved. You stuffed the cash you made inside, reminding yourself to count the money before class in the morning.

After the jar was returned to its hiding place, you climbed off the counter and sluggishly began your bedtime routine. You stood under the shower a little longer than necessary, eyes too heavy to stay open under the warmth of the water. You tried to justify the extra time with the fact that water bills are generally cheap, but flashes of red stamped envelopes had you hurriedly turning it off. The guilt of wasting water had you using a water bottle to brush your teeth, not wanting to use the tap.

It was almost 5:00 by the time you climbed into bed next to Chan. He laid facing your side, one arm tucked under his pillow while the other was laying across the bed like it was in search of you. Gently lifting his arm, you slid underneath it, rolling on the bed until your noses were almost touching. His breath fanned across your face, stale with sleep, but you didn’t care. Everything about Chan was comforting. Everything about him made you feel safe.

His alarm was shrill, echoing off the walls of the tiny studio apartment and waking up the dog next door. Tiny curses were mumbled as he flipped over in bed, unplugging his alarm clock and pushing it off the side table.

“Good morning.” You said with a yawn, moving closer to your boyfriend to feel his warmth just a bit more. Arms wrapped around his waist, you buried your head in the space between his shoulder blades, the scent of his soap and musk making your entire body relax.

“‘Morning.” His face was pressed against the pillow, muffling his words. “When did you get home?”

“Hour ago.” You placed kisses across his bare back between sentences, tracing his light freckles with your lips. “Put all my tips in the jar. Should be able to make rent on time this month.”

Chan grunted in response, a hand finding yours and intertwining. He would never tell you, but he always felt so fucking guilty when you put your tips in the jar. That was supposed to be your extra money, money to do fun things, not to pay bills with. It wasn’t your fault Chan’s band hasn’t taken off yet, or that he lost his corporate job a year ago, forcing the two of you to move out of your comfortable two bed apartment into a squished studio with thin walls. You had weathered those storms with him, refusing to leave him alone in it.

“We’ll get through it together.”

You were far too good for him.

He flipped in the bed to face you, wanting to enjoy just a few minutes of the comfort of the bed and you before he had to get up for the day. “Busy day today?”

Your hands slid up his side, one resting on his chest while the other played with his curls. “No. Just one class this afternoon, then I work a short shift tonight. Will probably be home around 10:00.”

“You’ll be home before me.” Chan sighed sadly, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. “I have practice tonight. And I go from the coffee shop to the mall today, so I don’t even have a break in between jobs to come home and see you.”

You shrugged, and Chan watched as you struggled to keep your eyes open and on him. “That’s okay, baby. I can wait up for you.”

“Please, don’t. You worked so late tonight.”

“I wanna.” You mumbled, eyes now shut for good. “Wan-wanna spend som-spend some time with you to-onight.” You couldn’t speak without yawning, sleep slowly wrapping her arms around you and pulling you in.

“We can talk about that later.” He whispered, not even sure if you fully understood him. He leaned in, placing a small peck on your pouty lips. “Get some rest. I love you, baby.”

Your lips curved up, letting out a small, happy moan. “I love you the most, Channie.”

Sleep had pulled you in before Chan was out of the bed, small breaths growing deeper by the second. Chan took a moment to watch you, your body finally letting go of the day’s tension and relaxing under the thin sheets. Your lips parted, soft snores tumbling out as drool gathered at the edge of your mouth. It eased Chan’s mind to see you like this - relaxed and at peace, the struggles of the day melting away. You never outwardly voiced your worries to him, opting to shoulder the burden and keep the pain locked away. But he could see it. He could see it in the way your body tensed, the way your eyes were constantly weary. He could hear it in the way you cried in the shower when you thought he was asleep.

You deserved better than this. You deserved better than him.

Chan stood at the door, counting the change in his leather jacket to make sure he had enough for the bus today. The last thing he wanted was to resort to taking quarters from the jar, even though that’s what they were there for. Confirming he had enough, he looked over at your sleeping form one last time, heart aching with both affection and sheer agony.

The damn guitar wouldn’t tune. Chan had spent the past fifteen minutes tightening the strings, trying to ready his instrument for practice and he couldn’t. His frustration built by the second, huffing frustrated grunts with every adjustment.

Right when he swore he would smash his guitar if it didn’t fucking tune, the garage door opened, an angry Jisung storming in.

“Fuck!” He shouted, heading straight for his drum set and breaking the first set of sticks he could find. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-“

“What’s wrong?” Changbin asked, who had been standing near Chan just in case he did decide to break the guitar. “Is everything o-“

“Obviously not.” Jisung snapped. He plopped on his drum stool, resting his elbows on the snare drum before he threw his head into his hands. “I got a call on the way home from work, about the Saturday show. You know, the one we booked months ago and were confirmed for just last week?”

“Oh.” Changbin said softly, coming to the conclusion before his friend could speak.

“Yeah.” Jisung lifted his head up, locking eyes with Chan. “They bumped us. They fucking bumped us for another band, saying that they would get more revenue from them. Can you fucking believe that? And to make things worse-“

Chan sat there, staring at his friend whose face was growing redder the more he yelled, and waited. He waited for the wave of disappointment, the wave of frustration, the pain of having to tell you that you two were out extra cash this month for seemingly no reason.

It never came. Not even a little splash of it, the weight of the news lost on him. He was used to it. He was used to the disappointment, to things not working out, to having to scrape and struggle and still not have anything work out.

He was used to it. So used to it in fact that he was willing to brush this off as just a small inconvenience, another hiccup in his life that he would eventually get over. What other reason could there be to this? He let a few months of struggle turn into a year of it, dragging you down with him because he had grown comfortable.

That pissed him off more than any canceled gig could.

“I can call and try to see if they could fit us in? I mean, they literally confirmed last week, there has-“

“Do that.” Chan said, standing up from his seat to pack his stuff. “Let me know what they say tomorrow, okay? If we’re bumped for now, I’m going home. I haven’t seen my girlfriend all week. Cool?”

Jisung and Changbin nodded, letting Chan go with a series of goodbyes and promises to fill him in. Frankly, Chan didn’t give a shit if they did - whether or not they played this gig was the last thing on his mind. He just needed to get out of there, and get home to you.

It typically took less than thirty minutes for Chan to walk from Jisung’s parents to your shared apartment, but tonight he made it in under twenty. He spent the entire walk in his head, trying to compress his anger with himself. The last thing he wanted was to spend the first night you both were at home and awake simmering with fury.

Chan gripped the door knob, taking a few extra breaths before he gently pushed the door open. He found you in the kitchen, sitting cross legged on the counter top with a mug in your hands.

“Hey!” Your eyes were wide, the corners of them crinkling as you smiled at him. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah we uh, canceled practice tonight.” He looked away, pretending to struggle with his guitar case so he didn’t have to look at you when he lied. “Changbin doesn’t feel well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I am glad you’re home though.” You put the mug down, reaching out for him. Chan dropped the rest of his things, not bothering to worry about where they landed and crossed the kitchen, diving right into your arms.

He crashed into you, head nuzzling into your neck as he pulled you to the edge of the counter. You giggled at his eagerness, arms wrapping around his shoulders to keep him close to you. One of your hands found the nape of his neck, fingers running through his blonde curls and softly scratching his scalp. That, with the added feeling of your body heat made Chan immediately relax, the troubles of today slowly melting away.

You pressed kisses on his head as you wrapped your legs around his waist, locking his body into yours. “I missed you.”

Chan groaned, pulling his head out of your neck to look at you. “I missed you, too.” He leaned in, gently brushing his lips against yours. What was only meant to be a small kiss turned into something deeper, your lips parting and offering an invitation that Chan simply could not refuse.

The groan you released when your tongues met went straight to his cock, hands flying up to pull your hips flush against his. Chan would never tire of the way you taste or the way your mouth fit so perfectly against his, never failing to draw him in. The taste of you was his favorite, always going straight to his head and leaving him breathless.

However, you tasted differently today. It was still very much you, but with hints of floral that were overly familiar.

“Were you drinking tea?” He asked breathlessly, breaking the kiss.

Your eyes flashed with guilt, and with a blink, the emotion was gone. “Yes.”

Chan cocked his head in confusion, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of what he saw in your eyes or- “I thought we were out of tea.”

You pressed your lips together, teeth digging into the bottom one as you nodded. “We are-we were, but I had a really bad day at work and all I wanted was some tea so I used some of my tip money to pick up a box on the way home. I’m sorry, Chan, I shouldn’t have but I figured with your gig this weekend that-“

His heart had never shattered so hard, so quickly. Chan watched you apologize, tears forming at your waterline as you tried to reason with buying tea. Tea. A three dollar box of tea bags had you shaking and profusely apologizing.

And it was all Chan’s fault.

He pulled away from you, apologizes cut short by what you assumed was rejection. That was, until Chan climbed up on the counter next to you, standing up to reach the jar’s hiding spot.

“Wh-what are you doing?” There was a slight hiccup in your voice, and fuck, if Chan wasn’t about to start crying with you. He did that to you.

“I hate this fucking jar.” He said before dropping it to the ground, glass shattering on impact. You gasped, watching as it scattered across the tile, loose changing rolling to hide under the fridge and small kitchen table.

He could see it - the fear in your eyes at his sudden movements, not knowing what he was getting at. Did you really think he was that angry about fucking tea? No, he was livid with himself.

“Chan-“

“It’s my fault. I should’ve got us out of this mess months ago-“

“Babe-“

“I got so used to this… disappointment? This failure? I don’t fucking know, but at some point I accepted it and dragged you down with me.”

“Hey-“

“God, I’m such a fucking joke. You deserve more than this, than whatever the fuck I’ve become-“

“Chan!” You snapped, the tone of your voice firm enough to cut his rant off. “Would you get down from there? Please?”

He slowly lowered himself down and sat next to you on the counter, anger slowly being replaced by regret. Why did he break the jar? Why did he raise his voice at you? God, he was so-

“I don’t care about the jar.” You spoke as though reading his mind. “But don’t you ever, ever, talk about yourself like that again.”

“I-“

“No.” You brought your hands to your face, wiping your tears with the sleeves of your sweater. “I mean it. How dare you think that about yourself when you’re the best person on earth.”

“But-“ Chan held his head in his hands, sniffling as the tears began to fall. “This is no way to live. Struggling, having to decide between transportation or eating. You don’t deserve to suffer like this.”

“And you do? You’re right, it isn’t fair that this is the life we’re living, but I don’t care. I wouldn’t care if we had no home or the biggest in the city, as long as you were here with me.” Your hand wrapped around his arm, resting your head on his shoulder. “Who fucking cares how much money we have? Who cares if we have a car or not? The only thing I’ve ever cared about is you, Chan.”

He lifted his head, turning to look at you. When your eyes met, you smiled softly and lifted your sweater clad hands to his face, cleaning it.

“You’re not a failure. You’re everything.”

Chan couldn't stop himself, kissing you as if he was offering you his soul. In a way, he was; wanting every fiber of his being to be yours, and yours his. The way you matched his tempo, deepening the kiss before he had the chance to, confirmed that you had him, and that he had you.

Without breaking the kiss, Chan pulled his knees onto the counter, broad body pushing you down until your back hit the counter top. The location was less than ideal, with your head partially in the sink and Chan unable to fully stretch his legs without kicking the toaster, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for you, and the undeniable need to have you immediately.

You broke the kiss, cupping his cheeks as you moved to his jaw. Teeth sunk into his skin, bruising in the wake of your bites. He shut his eyes, releasing a whiny groan as you marked him. The bites continued down as Chan found the waistline of your leggings and peeled them off. He slipped a hand inside your underwear, bites faltering at his touch.

“Oh, baby.” Chan whispers as two fingers rub your entrance, teasing like he was about to push in. “Such a mess already.”

The feeling of his fingers had your head rolling back, detaching from his neck and hitting the countertop with a thump. Your eyes rolled back, fluttering shut as he applied just a bit of pressure as if he was going to enter before letting up.

His name fell from your lips as a whine and your back arched, and fuck, if you weren’t the prettiest when you were needy for him. “Channie, don’t tease.”

”'m not teasing. Just playing with what’s mine.”

Chan pushed his fingers inside you, watching the way your lips parted and nose scrunched up as you moaned for him. Slowly, he filled you up with his fingers, stopping only when his knuckles were deep inside you. He parted the fingers inside, spreading them out as much as he could.

“God, how are you always this fucking tight?” He grunts, dragging his fingers out just to pump back in. “Can’t wait to stretch you out, pretty girl.”

“Please?” Your lips trembled as you began to beg, nails digging into the nape of his neck. “Please, I need to feel you so bad. Need you so bad.”

He could never say no to you.

Pulling his fingers out of you, he held them to your lips, watching you lick them clean as he used one hand to undone his jeans. He pushed them down just enough for his cock to spring out, hard and angry from lack of stimulation.

Hands found your hips, pulling your center closer to him. Chan pulled your panties to the side, rubbing the head of his cock on your folds. “Baby.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a weak smile. “Hm?”

Chan leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just needed to see you.” And then he was inside you, slowly pushing until you were filled with him.

The feeling of you was intoxicating, a high that Chan would chase over and over and never have enough of. The effect you had on him was addicting. When he was in you, his mind blanked, body moving on its own with the sole purpose of pleasuring you. Like a light in the darkness, you were his comfort, his escape from the harsh reality. You were right; it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, just as long as he had you.

You, you, you.

You, whose hands were on his face, bringing his attention back to the present.

“Hey, where’d you go?” You whispered, voice rough from the volume of your moans.

Chan nuzzled into your palms, turning to brush a kiss against them. “Nowhere. I’m here.” Fingers traced up your leg, goosebumps making a path to where you and Chan connected. A slight brush of his thumb against your bundle of nerves, and your jaw went slack, strained moans tumbling out. “Always right here.”

“Yeah?” You whined out, trying to keep your droopy eyes open and on him. “Always?”

“Always.” The pace of his hips picked up, teeth grinding together as you began to clench tighter around him. Your eyes rolled back, nails digging into the leather of his jacket as your orgasm approached.

Chan had never seen your high hit so hard, your entire body shaking underneath him as your moans echoed off the walls. The moment your high ended, Chan pulled out and sat up, taking you with him. A large hand cupped the back of your head, pulling it into his neck as the other stroked your back.

“So good. Always so good for more.” His praises were accompanied with kisses across your head. He didn’t stop until he heard your breath even out, arms now lacing around him instead of hanging limp at his side.

Life was a mess, and he had made it that way. There was no denying that. But as you lifted your tired head up, blown out doe eyes meeting his with a goofy grin on your face, he realized any hell was bearable as long as you were his escape.

©: chvnnie 2022

#stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #bang chan angst #chan angst #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #stray kids angst #skz angst #emo bf!skz chvnnie

350 notes · View notes

miekasa · 4 years ago

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call me (levi ackerman)

↯ pairing: levi ackerman x (fem) reader

↯ genres and warnings: fluff, humor? you can be the judge of that i suppose, levi is quiet and often practical, but you cannot convince that there’s not a small part of him that doesn’t enjoy having shit to hold over people lol

↯ notes: this is also cross-posted from another blog, but i tweaked it a bit to fit levi and rewrote/edited parts i wish the world had never seen </3 also i’m reposting bc i was an idiot who accidentally deleted it on mobile rip

↯ word count: 1.3k

↯ summary: drunk you is not amused by the man who keeps trying to coerce you into his apartment; even if that man is your boyfriend and that apartment is his apartment.

“Alright mister, I’m trusting you for now because you’re Erwinnie’s friend, and Erwinnie is my best friend,” you hiccup, wagging your pointer finger as threateningly as you can in your current state, “So if he says you’re a good person, you’re probably a good person. Or good enough.”

Levi holds back a knowing smirk, and loops his arm through yours to steady your balance. He doesn’t know how or why Erwin let you get this drunk, but he’s at least glad the blonde was sober enough to call him to pick you up instead of letting you get in a cab; or worse, attempt to take the bus.

“I’m so very glad you trust me,” he says, voice flat as your wrap your other arm around his bicep. You hum back, a little spacey and like you maybe didn’t hear what he said.

You’re honestly pretty cute when you’re drunk. It’s not something he gets to see often, as you don’t allow yourself to let go frequently; nor do you usually have the time to. And it’s not that he particularly wishes for you to be drunk to the point where you can barely stand, or remember his name, but all things considered, Levi is happy that your general drunk disposition is happy, too.

He waves Mike goodbye as he wrangles Erwin into his car, not holding back his smile this time as you wave over-excitedly at the blonde in the passenger seat, calling his name loudly to tell him goodnight and that you’ll miss him, like you hadn’t already told him goodnight three minutes ago, or spent the last three hours with him drinking. Yeah, you’re cute.

Thankfully, Levi doesn’t live too far from the restaurant you and Erwin were at, so the both of you are home after a twenty minute walk—what should have been fifteen minutes, but was prolonged by your drunken fascination with a squirrel on a public bench.

You start to wobble more when Levi unlaces your arms to get his keys out of his pocket, and he moves his right hand to rest against the small of your back so you don’t fall. However, drunk you is not so entertained by the idea of his hands anywhere near your waist as sober you would have been.

“Hey, hey, hey—hold it right there, mister!” you stutter, words a bit too loud for the confined space of Levi’s hallway at three in the morning, “I am not going in—into that suspicious apartment with you.”

You stumble as you try to remove Levi’s hand from your waist, and he tries to steady your balance again, but push him away more forcefully, staggering into the wall behind you.

“Ah, bitch,” you curse, holding your head and groaning. The pain clearly isn’t enough to stop your accusations against Levi, as you’re back to wagging your finger at him, even hunched over from your drunken stupor, “See, this is your fault.”

Levi sighs. He doesn’t know why you’re holding your head, because you hit your back, and from what he can tell, you shouldn’t have hurt yourself that badly. He’ll take a closer look at you once you’re inside. That’s if he could get you inside to begin with.

He can’t wrangle you and open the door at the same time, so he goes for the latter, finally pulling his keys from his pocket to unlock his apartment door, then attempts to move you inside. Keyword: attempts; because anytime he puts his hands remotely near you, you slap them away.

“Come on, we have to go inside,” he grunts, trying again to get a hold of your arm, but you whack him away harshly. For a drunk person, you seem to have the strength and dexterity of a pro-athlete all of a sudden. Where was all this coordination when he was trying to get you up the stairs five minutes ago?

“No!” you growl—once again, too loudly for the time and place. “Haven’t you heard of the saying no means no, mister? I might be drunk, but this is not my apartment, and I am not going in there to have sex with you!”

“I’m trying to help you go to bed. I’m not going to try and have sex with you.” Levi takes a deep breath. This could sound really bad if anyone else woke up and heard the two of you.

But you’re not having it, crossing your arms and turning your body so that you’re now facing the wall, your back towards a less-than-impressed Levi. “Well, I don’t believe you. I’m going to call Erwinnie tell him you’re being a bad friend, and then Erwinnie is going to call my boyfriend and he’s going to come and pick me up.”

“Oh yeah?” Levi drawls, leaning against his door frame, watching your silhouette as you clumsily search for your phone in your pockets, “Why don’t you just call your boyfriend then?”

You turn on your heels as best you can, and muster up your most menacing glare. It’s not menacing in the slightest, and it actually makes Levi crack a smile, which you do not take lightly; but that only makes him smile further, because sober you doesn’t like it when he’s not fazed by your self-proclaimed intimidation tactics, either.

“Fine,” you huff, finally putting your phone to your ear, “But you’re going to be sorry, because Levi is going to come here and kick your ass.”

Levi chuckles, feeling his own phone ring in his back pocket, “I bet he is.”

“He is,” you insist, stomping your foot for dramatic effect, “He might not be that tall, but he’s strong as hell, plus he’s handsome, and he doesn’t let people fuck around with me, so say your prayers, mister.”

The following afternoon is far less than pleasant. You feel groggy, tired, and like everything is moving in slow motion. Piece by piece, your memories of your night out with Erwin start to come back to you, but you can’t seem to recall anything beyond your fifth margarita.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Levi calls, sarcastically, upon entering the bedroom.

His voice and presence surprises you, but then the realization washes over you that you’re in his apartment and not your own. You’re not sure why yet, but you could probably take a guess.

“Did you take me home last night?”

Levi hums in acknowledgement, nodding his head towards the bedside table, where you find a bottle of water. Levi watches you as you move to hang your legs off the side of the bed and reach for the bottle, groaning in the process. He mentally notes that he should make you breakfast—or, well, at this point, brunch—after you go shower, so that you can take an Advil for the pain.

He moves across the room to sit beside you on the bed, careful to not disrupt too much as to make you spill the water on the sheets. “You know, for someone who’s so happy-go-lucky when they’re drunk, you put up quite the fight yesterday.”

“I did?” you turn to him, capping the bottle, eyes wide with surprise, “You were probably sleeping and you had wake up and come deal with me, I’m sorry, Levi.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he assures you, an almost uncharacteristic and sly smile playing on his lips, “You always say something interesting that keeps me entertained. It makes up for it.”

“Dear god, what was it this time?” you groan, throwing your head back, “I didn’t confess my feelings for you again did I? This is, what, like the sixth time since we’ve been dating? I’m such an embarrassing drunk.”

“Not a confession this time,” he chuckles, “The opposite. Maybe worse.”

Levi fishes his phone from his pocket, and pulls up his voicemails before handing it to you. Curious—and a little bit scared—to find out what could possibly be worse than confessing to your boyfriend of almost four years that you’re in love with him and sad that you’re not dating him? You’re not sure that it could get more embarrassing than that until you click on Levi’s most recent voicemail and hear your own voice crackling through the speaker of his phone.

“—What, hey, fuck off, mister! I don’t want to go into your scrubby apartment! I am happily dating Levi Ackerman, and when he gets here he is going to grand slam your sorry ass into the ground!”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot fanfiction #snk fanfiction #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader

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kkodzvken · 4 years ago

Text

take the dive - sugawara koushi x milf!reader

tags/warnings: smut, 18+ ONLY! slight dubcon, infidelity, post timeskip (suga teaches reader’s kids). overstimulation and slight dumbification, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public (in an empty classroom)

a/n: this is my piece for @ultimate-astridwriting’s milf fuckers collab, which you can find here!! thank you for hosting this astrid, and thank u to everyone in the server for ur love and support as i worked on this <33. title cred: take the dive by jonghyun

wc: 3.9k

Amidst a faculty full of stuffy old dinosaurs and suits, Sugawara Koushi is a breath of fresh air. He’s a welcome distraction, a pretty face to focus on at dull PTA meetings and assemblies. And you knew that you weren’t the only one making heart eyes at him. Everywhere that he went, heads turned, and moms whispered. At the bus stop, on the sidelines of sports matches, in the waiting rooms outside dance classes.

It was just that, though -- just whispers. Little knowing glances and nudged shoulders, dreamy sighs and brief sinful indulgences. Nothing more than a brief escape from the monotony of your everyday lives. You’d lose yourselves in the fantasy for a few seconds, and then pull your heads down from the clouds and plant your feet on solid ground. You enjoyed your gossip with the other moms, and then you returned home, to your husband and children. To your family.

You love them, of course. Your children are your world, and your husband is a good man. He’s a good man, and that’s what made it so hard. He treats you well, keeps his words soft and never once put his hands on you.

He may be good, but, God, was he boring. You can’t remember the last time that he’d even kissed you, let alone fucked you. He came home later and later each night, too tired from work to do anything but silently scarf down his dinner and plant himself on the couch in front of the television. He dragged himself into bed hours after you did. He tried to be quiet, he really did, but he woke you up every single night with his stomping and shuffling. When you snuggled closer to him, he pushed you off. My back hurts too bad, he’d say, voice tinged with regret. Remind me to book another appointment with the chiropractor.

It was always some excuse or another.

So, really, you couldn’t blame yourself for your wandering eye. You weren’t going to act on it, of course -- you weren’t a cheater -- but the young teacher was something to occupy yourself with. A pretty face to fill your thoughts as you wrangled your horde of screaming kids from swim lessons to dance practice to art classes. A pretty, pretty body to imagine as you fucked yourself with your fingers, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to muffle your moans. You couldn’t help but imagine that it was him, lithe body leaning over yours. No complaints of aching backs and sore muscles, none of the complications that came with age.

You’d leave your husband catatonic on the couch, put the kids to sleep, and then go dream of their hot teacher. You should’ve been more ashamed, but there was a part of you that loved the thrill of it. You flushed whenever you saw Mr. Sugawara the next morning, memories of your illicit thoughts filling your mind, but it also made your body feel electric.

Of course there was a part of you that longed to throw caution to the wind and jump the young man, but your conscience was much stronger than your weak, lustful thoughts. You were happy with the way things were now. As dull as your husband was, and as insufferable as the children could sometimes be, you were happy.

This was all you had ever wanted. A house in the suburbs, a husband with a well-paying job, three kids and a dog. You’re living the fucking dream. You’re happy, you tell yourself.

So why the fuck are you so unsatisfied?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

With a deep breath, you stare down the heavy glass doors at the school’s entrance. You want nothing more than to find the idiot architect who designed this building, and strangle him for installing pull doors. Your arms are already sore from carrying the giant tray of brownies from your car to the front of the school, and you worry that if you put the treats down to open the door, you wouldn’t be able to lift them up again. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you have two minutes left to reach the gym where the bake sale is being held. The PTA president is notorious for hating latecomers, and you weren’t in the mood to get your head bit off.

You’re debating doing some gymnastics and using your foot to grab the handle, when you notice footsteps approaching from behind you. You open your mouth to ask for help, but they beat you to it. “Let me get the door,” says their syrupy, melodic voice.

Their familiar voice.

Your body practically freezes as a strong arm reaches over your shoulder. Long fingers – fingers that you’ve fantasized about too many times to count – twist the handle and push it open easily. You don’t know how you didn’t notice him approaching sooner, but now that he’s here, your senses are in overdrive. The sweet scent of his cologne, the sound of his breath, the warmth of his body – it’s all too much, and it makes your knees feel weak.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you intended. This must be some kind of Pavlovian response from all your fantasizing, because there is no reason for your stomach to be twisting right now. “Thank you.”

He grins sheepishly and steps away, and you hate the way that your body screams at you to lean into him. “It’s no problem. Is that for the bake sale? Here, let me carry it for you.”

You try to protest, but there’s really no point. His long fingers are already pushing yours to the sides, and you swear you’ve been electrified as he pulls the tray out of your hands. It’s a shame, really, that he’s wearing a button-down. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, at least, but you would’ve loved to see his biceps flex as he carried that tray…

What am I doing? You dig your nails into your palm to snap yourself out of your thoughts, but it’s hard to stay lucid when he’s so beautiful. He carries the brownies with ease, using just one arm to support their weight as the other holds the door open for you. It should make you upset, that you’re so weak in comparison to him, but the thought just makes you feel even more breathless. He’s so strong, so young, and so unlike your husband.

“Thank you,” you say again as he steps into the building behind you. You reach for the tray, but he waves you off.

“Nonsense. I’ll walk you to the gym.”

“Oh, really, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. Anything for my favorite mom.”

His…favorite? His words leave you too stupefied to protest any further, and he takes your silence as compliance. Your body automatically follows in his footsteps as he paces down the hallways.

He looks over at you and smiles comfortingly. It lights up his entire face, but does little to ease your turbulent thoughts.

Your mind is still fixated on his words as you step onto the squeaky wood flooring of the gymnasium. Sugawara calmly walks over to the PTA president, who looks like she’s about to rip her hair out. She’s surrounded by a gaggle of other moms, all jabbering away with concern painted across their faces.

“Is something wrong, ladies?” he asks. His voice snaps them all out of their conversation, and their eyes widen as they take him in.

“Yes,” says the PTA president scornfully. “We were supposed to have the brownies here already! The sale starts in ten minutes, and if this keeps up, I won’t have enough time to inventory everything and make it presentable, and –”

“I have the brownies,” you cut in, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

She blanches, and looks from you to the tray in Sugawara’s arms. An oh is all she can muster before grabbing the brownies and rushing off.

“Is everything okay?” one of the other moms asks, her voice laced with fake sweetness. “Oh, and you look so tired, dear. If you couldn’t manage your part, you should’ve just said so!”

“It would’ve been no trouble,” another woman says. “I’d have had no trouble whipping up a tray for you! Everyone always does love my baking.”

You grit your teeth and resist the urge to snap at them. It’s always like this – the other moms seem so in tune with their lives of domestic bliss, playing games of politics and constantly competing to be the best. Try as you might, you just can’t satisfy yourself with a life like theirs.

The material of Sugawara’s shirt brushes against you, and you start. He doesn’t pull away as you flinch, instead gently resting his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I steal her away? Mrs. (L/N), I have your son’s science fair project sitting in my classroom. He keeps forgetting to bring it home. Would you like to go collect it now?”

You nod, relieved at the excuse to escape these women and their sickening artificial sweetness. Sugawara gently guides you with the hand on your back. You can’t help but internally smirk at the thinly-veiled jealousy on the faces of the other mothers.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Sugawara says, once you’re safely out of earshot. “All these PTA moms are so fake. But you’re not like that, are you?”

You nod, still a bit convinced that this is all a dream. He doesn’t remove his hand from your back as you walk down the hallways, and only pulls away when you reach the door to his classroom. He fishes through his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys, before insert one into the knob and pushing the door open. He gestures for you to enter first, and so you do, blinking at the harsh sudden brightness of the automatic lights.

You awkwardly glance around the room. You’ve been here plenty of times before, but that was all during the daytime, when it was packed full of energetic children. It feels…strange, to be alone in a classroom as an adult. Or, well, alone, except for the stupidly attractive teacher that you’ve been lusting over.

“Where’s the project?” you ask, trying to diffuse some of the tension building in your stomach. “I should head home soon.”

Sugawara leans his back against the door and cocks his head. “You know, I know what you say about me.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.” His eyes rove across your body, lingering on your chest for far longer than they should. “I’m not deaf, you know. I hear all the things you say about me. You’re just like all the other moms.” He pushes off the door, stalking closer to you. You instinctively take a step back. “Only difference is, you might actually have the guts to do something about it.”

Your heart thuds in your chest, so hard that you think your ribs might bruise. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Sugawara. I-”

You take another step back, and another, and suddenly your back collides with concrete. Your body jolts, and you yelp at the sudden pain.

Sugawara leans closer. One of his hands braces against the board behind your head, and the other one comes up to cradle your face. His long fingers hook under your chin and press, forcing you to tilt your head up and meet his gaze. His thumb brushes against your lip, and you can’t deny how the sensation makes your body feel like jelly.

Every rational thought in your mind is screaming at you to run, to leave, to get away from him and go back to your husband, but God, it’s been so long since you’ve felt like this. It’s been so long since someone’s made your heart race and your breaths quicken, since someone’s made you blush like a schoolgirl over a simple touch.

“What was that you said?” he asks, his voice dripping with honey. “You don’t know what I’m talking about?”

You swallow and bite the inside of your cheek. The pain does nothing to clear the fog inside your mind. “I-I don’t, I-”

“You do,” he interrupts, his thumb still toying with your lip. “You’re so fucking obvious. I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Sugawara!” His lewd words make you gasp, but more than anything, you hate the fact that he’s right. Your body has a mind of its own, and it wants nothing more than to wrap your lips around his thumb and pull him closer. It wants to feel his arms wrapped around you, feel his body towering over you.

But you can’t. As much as you want to, you can’t, because you have a husband at home who’s waiting for you. Sure, he isn’t home right now, because he’s putting in extra hours at the office. And sure, he hasn’t touched you or made you feel desired in weeks. Hell, you haven’t had a genuine conversation in weeks. But he’s still your husband! You try and remind yourself of that. You roll the thought around in your head, hoping that it’ll push your thoughts of Sugawara away.

But the young teacher is persistent, and there’s a glimmer in his eye that makes your chest tighten. “Call me Koushi, princess.”

“Don’t call me princess –”

“What, you’re going to pretend that it didn’t make you wetter? Going to pretend that you aren’t clenching your thighs together right now?” He leans in even closer, so that his breath brushes against your ear as he whispers. “Your body doesn’t lie, baby.”

A whine slips past your lips at his words, and then you gasp, mortified with yourself. But the grin that covers his face makes your transgression worth it, because God, he’s handsome. His hand squeezes your chin even tighter, and then trails down to your neck. Your breath catches in your chest. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, of his fingers trailing across your skin, his touch feather-light. It leaves you aching for more.

You instinctively whine again, and he lets out a noise of surprised delight. “Whining like this, and you’re still denying that you want me? What’s got you so embarrassed?”

“I have a husband,” you hiss – or, at least, you try to hiss. It comes out more like a whimper than anything else.

Sugawara looks at you for a beat – and then throws his head back and laughs. It catches you off guard, and you furrow your brow. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

He collects himself, but his eyes are still gleaming when he looks back at you. “Sure, you have a husband. But that doesn’t stop you from thinking about me, does it? Tell me, when’s the last time that your husband took care of you? When’s the last time that he touched you, or fucked you, or made you feel good?”

“Mr. Sugawara, this is inappropriate–”

“Stop lying to yourself.” His voice suddenly drops, his stare forceful and deadly serious. “Say the word, and I’ll go. We can pretend this never happened. But anyone with eyes can tell that you’re unsatisfied.”

“I…I don’t…” Your thoughts feel like a wave, building higher and higher. They bounce around your head, reverberating against your skull, so loud that you can’t even think.

“Why are you settling?”

“Mr. Sugawara, please, I–”

“Why are you settling, when you know you want more?”

The wave crests.

You don’t know who moves first, but somehow, your fingers are tangled in his hair, and his lips are slotted against yours. It’s not soft, or sweet – it’s a mess of teeth and tongues and feverish breaths. His hands are everywhere. They trail over your skin, explore the curves of your chest and your stomach, grip tightly at your waist to pull you closer.

“Mr. Sugawara,” you pant against his lips. Your lungs scream for oxygen, but you can’t bear to drag yourself away from him for even a second. He kisses so well. It may be rushed, and messy, but there’s so much hunger behind his actions that it makes your head spin. It’s like his lips are a live wire, and every second that they touch yours, they send a thousand volts of electricity arcing through your body.

“Koushi,” he breathes. “Call me Koushi, please.” You nod, and then hurriedly undo the buttons of his shirt, popping a few off in the process. Neither of you care. His hands finally dip beneath the hem of your dress, and he wastes no time in unceremoniously tugging it off your body.

Your hands instinctively go to cover yourself. Age and childbirth have changed your body, and you know that Mr. Sugawara – no, Koushi – is probably used to beautiful young women. You still don’t understand why his eye landed on you. He surely has dozens of girls his age fawning over him, with flat stomachs and perky tits. Why you?

He grips your wrists and pries your hands away from your body. “Don’t do that,” he says, so gentle in contrast to the fire from just moments ago. “Don’t cover yourself up. You’re beautiful.”

Oh.

You can’t remember the last time that someone called you beautiful. You can’t remember the last time that you felt beautiful.

But right now, with Koushi staring at you, eyes blown out with lust… you feel it.

He sinks onto his knees, lips already pressing little kisses against your hips and upper thighs. You try and protest – really, Koushi, you don’t have to – but he shushes you instantly. He hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder and dives in without hesitation. Even through the fabric of your panties, you’re in fucking heaven. His tongue laves against your clit, focusing so much attention onto the swollen bead that you can’t help but let out a moan.

You slap your hand over your mouth to silence yourself. You’re in an elementary school, for God’s sake. The bake sale is at the other side of the large building, but you’re terrified of someone walking past and catching you. Guilt swirls around your heart, but it’s quick to dissipate when Koushi tugs your panties off and throws them over his shoulder. He buries himself into your cunt again, and it’s even better without the barrier. The coil in your stomach is tightening embarrassingly fast, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care. His tongue laps at your folds, slurping lewdly.

The pleasure is overwhelming. Your body moves of its own accord. Your hips grind against Koushi’s face, and he moans right into your cunt. His lips move up to your clit again, alternating between licking and sucking. You’re so focused on his mouth that you barely notice his fingers, so long and pretty, collecting your wetness.

You do notice when he fucks two of those pretty fingers into you. He immediately starts scissoring his fingers to stretch you out, before hooking them against that spot inside of you that makes your head spin. Your entire body is shaking with euphoria, so much that you can’t handle it.

“Close,” you cry out, trying to keep yourself upright. “Close, close, please, don’t stop!”

He moans into you again when you tug at his hair. It’s the push that you need to finally fall over the edge. You bite into your palm to keep from screaming as you gush all over him, chest heaving and eyes tearing up.

He keeps curling his fingers, keeps lapping at your clit, until you tug on his hair and cry that the overstimulation is too much. As he lets your leg down and stands up, he makes a show of licking your cum off his fingers, slurping on them loudly. It would make you embarrassed, but you’re too focused on his other hand as it dips down to his belt. The muscles of his stomach flex as he undoes the buckle. You take the opportunity to rake your eyes over his toned torso. He seems so slender when he’s dressed, but his shoulders are surprisingly broad.

He looks up at you with a little smirk. “Caught you staring,” he teases. You blush as he pulls his pants and boxers down in one go, freeing his cock. It’s already hard, and so pretty, just like him. His tip is red and dripping with precum. You want so badly to get a taste, but Koushi has other plans. He spins you by your shoulders, and then presses at the small of your back to make you lay across his desk.

You groan when you feel him slap his cock against your ass a few times, before running it through your folds to collect your wetness. “Please,” you gasp. “No teasing, please.”

“Just came, and you’re already needy?” he chuckles. “That husband of yours must really not be satisfying you.”

You’re spared from having to think of a retort by him sinking into you. A cry leaves your lips, but it’s too good for you to even care about the sound. He feels like heaven as he sinks into you. His cock stretches you out deliciously.

You’re already feeling delirious as he starts to shallowly thrust and work his way in. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you. “So – fuck…”

You can’t do anything but moan and scratch at the table as he starts to fuck into you in earnest. His cock is perfectly curved to hit your spot every time, and soon you’re reduced to a mess underneath him. His balls slap against your ass with every thrust. It hurts, it’s all too much, but it’s so fucking good. You don’t think you’ve ever felt pleasure like this – mind numbing and all consuming, so powerful that it makes your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he groans again, bending down so that he can loom over you and leave little bites all over your back and shoulders. “Not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that, shit!”

“Faster, please,” you beg, and he obliges. He sets an absolutely brutal pace, somehow managing to fuck you hard, fast, and at the perfect angle all at once. Moans and cries spill freely out of your open mouth. When he reaches forward to toy with your clit, it’s all too much, and it sends you over the edge again. Your body practically spasms as he fucks you through your second orgasm. He shows you no mercy, gives you no time to come down. You don’t know if you’re coming again, or if you just never stopped. Your mind is hazy with pleasure and overstimulation.

You’re a twitching mess by the time that he pulls out, but you still whine at the loss. You’re far too fucked out to turn around and look at him, but in the corner of your consciousness, you can hear him panting and stroking himself furiously. His moans are so beautiful. Within a few short seconds, he’s coming all over your ass, painting your pretty skin white with his seed.

You don’t know how long you’re laying there before he taps your cheek to get your attention. “C’mon now,” he says, a tired smile on his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We wouldn’t want your husband finding out, would we?”

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baronessblixen · 3 years ago

Note

One couch prompt! › *whispering sleepily* "mm, we’re so close…"

Thank you so much for this prompt! It turned into a post-ep for "all things". Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2021

Wc: 1079

Fictober Day 5

The Right Choices

Mulder spends his day missing Scully, like a lovesick teenager who's in love for the first time. This is not his first time, not even his second. But it's the one that counts. He gets up in the morning, disappointed but not surprised that Scully's side of the bed is empty. There's a note saying she'll see him later. Whatever that means. Her skillfully crafted handwriting and her name make him grin. Oh yeah, he's got it bad.

Mulder goes on a long, tiring run and smiles at every one of his neighbors that he meets in the hallway. There's no sign of Scully when he returns to his apartment. No message on his answering machine either. He's pacing his apartment, walking past his phone - his landline and his cell - repeatedly.

He wants to call her. He just wants to say hi and hear her voice. But. If there's one thing he's learned about Scully over the years, it's that you can't push her. Like a cat, you have to earn her trust, wait for her to decide you're worth her while. Last night, under the safe cloak of darkness and his blanket, Scully made that choice, snuck into his room and into this bed.

"Is this okay?" She whispered and he was speechless, having waited so long for this moment, for her.

"More than okay," he whispered back, and they loved each other with their eyes wide open in complete awe.

The memories from last night follow him into the shower, into the kitchen and back into his living room where he sits on his couch. He put the blanket back on the couch and he presses his nose against the soft fabric, inhaling her scent.

"You didn't see that," he says to his fish. "Do you guys miss her too?" They keep swimming and ignoring him. Typical. He sighs and turns on the TV. It's going to be a long, long day.

He doesn't hear her come in but when he opens his eyes, unaware he’d even closed them, Scully stands in front of his couch, watching him.

"Hey," he says, his voice thick with sleep. He runs a hand over his face, wondering how long he slept.

"Hey." She's dressed all in black as if she's just returning from a funeral. "How was your day?"

"Long. How was yours?"

"Long," she echoes. "I spent it with my mom," she adds. Mulder nods; he can be patient if he has to be. He can be patient for Scully.

"It's why I left so early." He nods again. She doesn't owe him an explanation. They're still them, still Mulder and still Scully. "Did you see my note?"

"I did. I was-" she knows him. She knows how desperate he can be, how clingy. Yet, she's here. She wants this, wants him. "I missed you," he admits, deciding to be honest.

This time she nods. "Can I stay?"

"Of course," he says, making room for her on the couch.

"Just for a while," she says.

"Stay as long as you want," he replies. Stay forever, he thinks. "So um, did you and your mom have a good day?"

"Mulder." She turns to him. "Should we- do we need to talk about last night?"

"Oh," he says. "That... depends. On what you- do you want to talk about it?"

"No," she admits, looking sheepish. "Unless you want to talk about it."

"I don't want to talk," he says, inching closer.

"What do you want?" She asks him - or rather, his mouth.

"To kiss you. Can I?" She leans into him, and their lips meet halfway. It starts out slow, soft. Then desperation takes over, hands and tongues joining in.

"This is not why I came over," Scully says breathlessly, still leaning against him, her mouth close enough to kiss again.

"I don't mind."

"I'm sure you don't," she says softly, running a hand over his back. "But um... I'm tired." He looks at her. Really looks at her. Her eyes are small and her cheeks pale. "I didn't exactly get a lot of sleep last night." She smiles at him. It's the most radiant smile he's ever seen.

"Neither did I," he says. "So, do you want to go to... bed?" He can ask these things now. Go to bed, the two of them. Together. Separately, the words make sense. All together? Still too new in his mind. He wants to pick her up and carry her to bed, vow to never hurt her, love her until the end of time. He reminds himself to be patient. To take things slowly. It’s not easy when Scully looks at him the way she does.

"I don't want to go to bed,” she explains.

"Just to sleep."

"I want to sleep here.”

"Here?" He sounds like a parrot in his own ears.

"Your couch. Do you think-"

"Yes."

"You didn't let me finish."

"I've known you for seven years, Scully. I know what you were gonna ask."

"Try me." She raises an eyebrow.

"Mulder," he says in a high-pitched voice, "will we both fit on this couch?" He grins at her, proud of his impersonation

"Am I right?"

"Close," she says, taking his hand into hers. "I was going to ask if you were okay with sleeping on the couch?"

"I slept on this couch for years, Scully. I would be honored to share this space with you. I will sleep with you on any couch, in a bed, or wherever you want."

"Let's start with this couch." Like a well-choreographed dance, they move around each other and find their places. Scully is in his arms, the little spoon against his warm chest. She sighs, sounding content. A noise that sounds like pure bliss. His nose is pressed against her neck, and he kisses her there, already hooked on the smell and the taste of her.

"Hmm, we're so close," he whispers sleepily against her warm skin. He’s been waiting for this all day. Maybe he’s been waiting for years. None of it matters anymore. She’s here, and so is he. They found their way, made their choices, and realized the truth was always right there, walking alongside them on rainy days, sharing an umbrella, driving cross-country, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders on planes.

"That was my plan," Scully says, interrupting his thoughts. She sounds drowsy already and his own eyes drift close, too. They’re safe in each other’s arms and sleep comes easily.

#fictober21 #i once again went where the muse took me #which isn't necessarily what the prompt said #i hope you like anyway!#i'm having so much fun #msr #xf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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icollectyoursins · 3 years ago

Text

Jotaro Relationship Head Canons SFW

Because I’m a self indulgent little shit and just love to ignore all of the work I have to do, have some Jotaro head canons. I am but a humble simp, and love this man. So much.

Update as of writing this. Somehow, it got very angsty, so... yeah. Sad man vibes. Also rambly. I just kinda kept going.

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: None, just angst, but nothing too serious.

Word Count: 2,985

Jotaro’s type is... I mean, it depends, like most people. I don’t think he’s super picky over appearances or things like that, it’s more whether or not he gets along with you and how long he can put up with you. He’s polite (well, as polite as he can be) and courteous, but probably a little more apathetic when you’ve first met. Once you’ve been around for a while he’s more relaxed and almost a little more critical. Mostly because you’re his friend now and he expects more from his friends.

While I was writing this I sort of realized that he could be aromantic. Maybe it’s just my own aro tendencies coming through, but I thought it sort of lined up with his personality. Or at least from my experience with romantic attraction.

Eventually, though, he’ll admit he cares about you a little more than he cares about others. It comes through in little almost compliments. “You did good. Keep it up” or “good job, dealing with this” are common phrases that sound nice on the surface, but it almost feels like he’s trying to pressure you to do more, which is far from the truth.

If it’s not awkward compliments like that, it’s awkward gifts. Always something you had briefly mentioned wanting or stared at a minute longer than you usually do, wrapped in a paper that’s your favourite colour or pattern. Sometimes, though, it’s something you’ve never mentioned that he somehow guessed would be something you wanted.

At the same time, though, he’s oblivious or at least acts like he is. There may be times when he goes home after you said something exceptionally sweet to him or that just means so much and he’ll just take a moment sitting at his desk to mull over what you said.

With a grunt, Jotaro rolled back into the armchair with a cup of tea in one hand and today’s newspaper in the other, since he didn’t get to read it this morning. It’s late with the sun almost completely set, giving his room an orange hue. He tries reading the first column, something about a cat being saved from a sewer grate, but after about a minute, he catches himself drifting away, sort of staring blankly at the paper.

He blinks hard, taking a long sip from his coffee. He must be tired. Another attempt is made at reading, this time the comics. They’re not his favourite thing, but short enough that he can focus on them. Or so he thought.

He zones out again, face suddenly feeling very hot.

He was thinking about you. Or, rather what you said.

It was something so simple, so mundane.

You had been talking about family together, exchanging drama, if you will, and he had brought up how his father had left his mother when he was very young. It didn’t bother him, he had said, after all, it was years ago and if he was being honest, he didn’t really need a father. Then, you gave him this look. It wasn’t pity or something like that. You put your hand on his knee, staring deep into his eyes.

“Jotaro,” you said, voice soft and sweet. You struggled to say the next words, opening your mouth, sighing, then finally: “I’m not leaving you.”

“Why would you be leaving?” He said, confused, taking it literally. Or, he pretended to be confused. It had made his heart warm with affection.

What Jotaro hadn’t noticed at that moment was that his eyes seemed to gloss over with wet tears while talking about his father. He wasn’t over it, you understood that. How could he be? He was so young then, he probably didn’t understand what was happening or why and now that he’s a father himself, there had to be so much guilt about being the same way. It was only now that he was realizing how much you had an effect on him.

It didn’t make him sad, by any means but... loved. He’ll say thank you tomorrow with a gift or some flowers. He hadn’t planned on meeting you for the rest of the week because he was busy, but work could wait, right? Yeah. Tomorrow.

God, it would take so long for him to get you to move in together. He’s so used to living on his own that I think he’s a little self-conscious about it. He’s not a slob by any means, but certainly a bachelor. I mean, he lived (assumedly) on his own from probably around or earlier than DiU right up until Stone Free, so it’s been a while and he’s certainly comfortable with his mess of clothes lying on the floor in the corner, but you won’t be. He cleans up before people come over, obviously, but how many times did he actually invite someone in?

When you start staying around more, he starts cleaning more, which makes him a little frustrated both coming to terms with liking someone enough that he’s actively cleaning for them once a week and also discovering that he’s a lot more gross than he thought. You would not believe how stained the counter was from coffee or how gross the filter was on the coffee maker. He takes his coffee very seriously. You begin to notice how clean everything is, well, how consistently clean everything is and it even starts to smell nicer, more floral and fresh. He bought a lavender air freshener. “It’s supposed to be calming,” he’ll say with a hint of annoyance. It’s not a bad smell to him, better than vanilla air fresheners, but it does give him a headache when he first sprays his place. You seem to like it though, so he’s willing to put up with it.

I honestly believe this man can cook, but nervous when cooking for other people. His food when he was a bachelor was good enough for him and I’m sure Holly would have shown him a lot too, but it’s not the best food. He definitely steps up his game when you’re over and even more so when you move in. He’s better with dishes that have pasta or noodles because it’s easy, but he’s not too bad behind the grill either.

When you guys finally live together, he tries to keep the cooking even, with you cooking some days and him doing the rest, but I honestly feel like unless you are a hazard in the kitchen, you would do most of it.

Jotaro would be like that with most things around the house partly because he doesn’t want you to do all the work if you don’t want to but he enjoys having a little more time to himself to either do work or... yeah, it’s just work. There are a few things that he’ll never make you do because it’s either too hard or he’s built up a routine of doing that thing a certain way and he’s convinced no one else will do it right. Like his laundry. He won’t let anyone else clean his clothes. He tried once and nothing dried right, he swears that his jacket is still damp to this day. You can fold his stuff or hang it up, but he’s running the washing machine and dryer. Also picky about how his office is cleaned.

If you asked and gave a legitimate reason for not doing a certain chore, he’ll do it, but be prepared with an excuse as to why you can’t wash the dishes or fold the laundry. He’s especially resistant if he’s working whether that be gathering information for the Speedwagon Foundation or editing his latest Marine Biology book.

Actually, can we just talk about how much this man hates folding laundry? It’s so pointless to him. Why fold it and put it into neat little piles when you’re just gonna rummage through the drawer and mess everything up? Sure, it looks nice, I guess, but not for long. He was for sure a floordrobe kind of guy, especially in his early years. He knows which ones are clean, it’s fine, just leave it. Of course, he would get better the longer you’re at his place, but still. It’s not that he’s lazy, he’s just busy and putting clothes away takes way too fucking long. (which, honestly, agreed.)

Date nights with Jotaro are... rare. I mean, you live with him, why would he want to go out and pay for something when he could do the same thing at home? They’re nice, of course, but it’s more common for him to take you out to dinner while you guys are on vacation or in a location other than home, because he doesn’t feel like cooking and it’s more special when you’re supposed to go out. Eventually, it clicks in that you are supposed to make each other feel special and will surprise you with an expensive dinner or a short cruise. If you suggest the aquarium he’ll think you’re just saying that because he’s into aquatic wildlife, but honestly doesn’t put up much of a fight and will answer any questions you or anyone else has about the fish.

He does enjoy a good relaxing movie (or documentary) night at home, though. It’s so nice to finally be finished work, settle into your super comfy couch and just chill until he gets tired. Even better when you’re lying on top of him with your head just under his chin. There’s something so soothing about smelling your perfume, shampoo, conditioner, cologne, etc. To just smell you so close to him and feel your weight. Aaah. So nice.

The microwave beeps faintly from the kitchen signalling that popcorn was done. You trailed out soon after, tossing the bowl to mix around the butter. You smile sweetly at him, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on Jotaro’s lips before settling into his lap, nestling your head just under his while stretching out your legs. His arm instinctively moves from the back of the couch to drape over your back, rubbing circles into it with his thumb.

He sighs; relaxed, finally. He allows himself to kiss your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, just basking in your comfort. When he opens his eyes, he pulls you closer to him, feeling your heart beat almost in time with his. It was moments like these that eased his panic of losing you. You were here in his arms, safe and sound and vice versa. He was safe in yours.

Yeah, he’s a little angsty. But, can you blame him? He’s getting better, though. With help, of course. With you being around so often (and being very adamant that you’re not going anywhere) he’s able to let go a little. He’s not perfect, by a long shot and progress is slow, but it’s the little things like these that makes you proud of how far he’s come.

PDA is common, but a little restricted. When you’re out together, Jotaro’ll always have his hand on your back or shoulder. Hand-holding isn’t really a thing for him, but he will make sure you know he’s there. He’ll kiss you in public, but it’s not nearly as intimate or special as when you’re at home. Still, it’s a sweet reminder that he loves you, seeing as words of affection aren’t really his thing.

I mean, he can express himself just fine, but he still gets a little nervous saying things like ‘I love you.’ It’s more along the lines of ‘I care about you.’ Or, well. “of course, I care about you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” Which... thanks. I think.

Kissing him is so nice, so you’re not too mad about him doing that instead of words. When Jotaro kisses you it’s full of a mix of emotions. Mostly caring, but on his rough days, there’s something else there. It could be worry or whatever the emotional equivalent of never letting you go is. You can always tell that he wants it to last a little bit longer. There’s something in the sad look in his eyes when he or you has to pull away. Sometimes he’s overly gentle like he’ll break you somehow, especially if you’re not a stand user or fighting-inclined (whether physical or otherwise). It’s not patronizing, or at least he tries not to be patronizing, he just prefers you safe.

It started out simple enough. You and Jotaro were just sitting at the table, eating dinner when he got this... sinking sort of feeling. There was something in the silence between you that just sent his mind spiralling. Thoughts of you someday dying too soon for whatever reason or leaving him because he’s not there enough, stand users, car crashes, divorce. They all started to flood into his mind, fabricating that you would somehow be taken away from him.

“Jotaro? Are you okay?” Your voice rings through; a bright light breaking the storm. He’s been staring at his plate for a while now, his eyes are dry and itchy. He looks at you and tries to say something, but the words don’t come. Is he okay?

You stand up and walk over to him, cupping his face gently. You rub the dark circles under his eyes while kissing his forehead. Jotaro slowly wraps his arms around you, letting his face fall into your hands. You’re pulled into his lap after a few minutes, running your fingers through his hair next. Finally, he sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Thank you,” he mumbles and though you’re not quite sure why, you still say a quiet you’re welcome, silently soothing him through whatever happened.

If you couldn’t tell, he needs a lot of reassurance. Not so much words, but actions like the snippet above. I mean, he can be as strong as he wants but we all know he’s got some baggage and while he’s able to put it aside, for the most part, I think when you’re at home he’s just a little more vulnerable.

Now, onto happier things! If you like coffee or tea, he will always make you a cup in the morning. Jotaro is a very early riser except on the weekends, so he usually gets that done while reading or watching the news and when you come down, he’ll ask if you want breakfast then make it for you seeing as he’s more awake.

He loves coffee. So much. He might have a caffeine addiction, honestly. At all times of every day, you can see him with a black coffee in hand and a book or phone in the other. He will switch to decaf at some point, but you might have to switch it for him. He’s forgetful when he gets busy.

Sleeping in on the weekends is like heaven for him. The two nights (or more on holidays) that he gets a full nights rest, breakfast in bed and a warm soul to cuddle into. He’s usually big spoon with a hand just resting on your side, but please, for the love of god make him the little spoon once a week. Will never admit it or vocalize wanting it. He just grabs your hand and drapes it over him with a “good night” and then promptly passes out.

He’s a heavy sleeper but doesn’t sleep often. Once he’s out, there is nothing that could wake him up except the fire alarm or something like that. It just takes a while. Not because of trauma, but more just internal clock is delayed.

Not a bath guy, strictly showers ‘cause they’re quicker. Most of the time he’s in and out before you can invite him into yours. When you do he’s “reluctant” but showers with you are a favourite of his. He gets his hair washed for him (if he bends down), he can wash you. It’s great.

I don’t think he would want more kids. He’s getting older, busier and just doesn’t think he has the time to care for a baby, even with help. Plus, if they were anything like Joylne or god forbid him when he was younger, he might start greying sooner than he thought. Joylne is a great kid, but... she’s definitely got some of his defiance in him. One kid is fine.

He doesn’t really like pets either, hates when there’s fur on all the furniture. But, if you came home with a stray cat or two, he’s not gonna put up a fight if you say they’re not going to the pound. “Just as long as you take care of them yourself.”

You got him a betta fish once because Jotaro. Fish. Makes sense. He thought it was a little pointless at first. You can’t pet them or play fetch (not like he does those things anyway). All a fish does is sit there and look pretty. You were a little disappointed, but whatever, you’ll take care of it. Then he comes home one day with a 30-gallon tank, freshwater plants and fancy lighting to help them grow which he quietly sets up in the living room. He spent at least a half-hour deciding on where to put it.

A week later, after he’s pleased with how it looks and the tank has been cycled he puts in an order for more fish then lets your betta acclimate to the tank. “There, he’ll be happier in here. The idea of bettas not enjoying or panicking in larger tanks is a myth. He won’t be alone for long anyway. He also won’t kill everything in the tank.” Well, he hopes he won’t, each fish is different. Thankfully, the small school of tetras get along with your betta just fine. From then on, he’s in there once a week, cleaning everything, trimming the overgrowth. It is officially his tank.

#Jotaro is probably my biggest comfort character and the first one I really fell in love with out of jojo so this had to be done at some poin #jotaro kujo #kujo jotaro #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro headcanons #sfw prompts

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callivich · 3 years ago

Note

This took me a while because I am terrible at coming up with prompts, but I wish you would write a fic where, Lip and Mickey acknowledge that they are friends and are important to each other. 🖤👬 I loved your post-anniversary fic and I just need more mickey & lip content!

Aww, thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed the post-anniversary fic. So, here’s a little sequel to that, set the morning after:

(This is canon-divergent as I’m changing it so either Frank doesn’t die or they aren’t informed until after this.)

————

Lip (8:42am): need me to come and get one of you to pick up the ambulance?

Mickey frowns at the message on his phone that had woken him up. It’s too early for this. Ian is, of course, already awake and….changing into his running clothes? Ugh. “Your brother texted.” Mickey mumbles, watching Ian pull on a t-shirt.

“You’re awake.” Ian smiles at him and throws himself on top of Mickey, kissing him softly. “Happy first day of our second year of marriage.”

“Mmm, yeah. Same to you. You seriously going on a run?” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ian’s shorts and begins to pull them down.

“Yeah, only because I thought you’d want to sleep for longer. Was gonna come back, wake you up nice and slow and then-”

“Well I’m awake now, no thanks to Lip.”

Ian fumbles for his own phone, smiling as Mickey’s hands go lower, he reads the message that Lip had sent to both of them. “I’ll go.”

“Nah, man, go run. I’ll pick up the ambulance. Haven’t got any pick-ups till 11, so,” he smacks Ian’s ass, “we can start this second year of marriage off with a bang. Literally.” He wiggles his eyebrows and bites his lip.

Ian smirks at Mickey’s cheesy line and kisses him, “Sounds good,” before rolling off him, and pulling his shorts back up. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t shower when you get back. I like it when you’re all sweaty.”

Ian laughs as he leaves. Mickey grins as he thinks of the fun they’ll be having later.

————

Grabbing his phone, he fires off a quick text to Lip - (8:50): meet you out front in half an hour?

Lip (8:50): k

Mickey showers quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and one of Ian’s hoodies, and drinking the cup of coffee Ian had left him on the counter in the kitchen - next to a note that says ‘🖤 love you :) 🖤’ Fucking dork, Mickey thinks, but he smiles and shoves the note in his pocket.

Lip is already waiting for Mickey when he makes it outside. In the past, he would dread spending any amount of time alone with Lip. But as he slides into the passenger seat, he finds that he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he usually does and Lip’s stupid smirking face doesn’t make him want to throw a punch. Maybe it’s the promise of sex with his husband that has put him in a good mood? Or maybe he doesn’t hate Lip as much as he thinks? Nah, that can’t be right.

“Morning. Surprised it’s you up this early and not Ian. Thought you’d be worn out after last night?” Lip begins the drive towards the Southside, his fingers tapping on the wheel.

“You really wanna know if I’m too tired after getting railed by your little brother?”

“Mickey.” Lip groans, “Fuck no. I was asking if you were hungover. You were wasted.”

“Oh. Nah. M’fine. Ian’s gone for a run. He was gonna let me sleep in but you woke me up with that text.”

“Hazard of having a baby, you forget everyone else isn’t awake at the crack of dawn everyday.”

Mickey shrugs, and they fall into a comfortable silence, and he notices that he’s still not feeling that familiar sense of annoyance that he usually does with Lip. He’s definitely going soft. Ian’s fault probably. He supposes that Lip has been alright recently - helping with the wedding anniversary as though it was no big deal, acting like it was normal that Mickey had asked him for help. There were no sarcastic comments or dirty looks like Mickey was intruding in the Gallagher family. No, he just asked what he could do and helped round up the other siblings to help too. He treated Mickey like he was part of the family. Even Mickey can reluctantly admit that. Even if it is through gritted teeth.

“Thanks for…y’know, driving us home last night and helping me organise the party.” Mickey is staring out the window, his voice low. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but he knows Ian would like that he did. And maybe there’s a tiny part of him that likes that he can say this and it doesn’t feel awful. “Especially after that…uh…fight.”

————

Mickey’s words take Lip by surprise and he’s speechless for a moment. He supposes this is as close to an apology as Mickey would ever give him. And to be fair, Lip knows he needs to say sorry too. But he realises he can’t quite say it either. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. And it won’t happen again.”

Mickey snorts, “Don’t know how you can be sure of that.”

“Well, Ian said - and I quote - ‘hit my husband again, I’ll fucking kill you’. So. Yeah, ain’t gonna happen again. At least from my end. And he’s right. Shouldn’t be getting into it like that with family.”

Mickey is silent for a moment, sneaking a quick glance at Lip. “He said that?”

“Yup.”

“Ok. Then, yeah, I won’t hit you again.” He says it easily, with a firm nod. “Probably. If you don’t do anything to piss me off.”

Lip rolls his eyes, “Yeah, because it’s me who’s the annoying fucker.”

“Glad you can admit that.”

And he can’t believe it, but he genuinely laughs at that. Lip can count on one hand the times he actually found Mickey funny. Most of the time he thinks he’s a dick, but lately….well, there’s been moments when he’s not been that bad and, dare he say it, he’s actually not minded being around Mickey. Sure, these have also been countered by moments when he absolutely wants to kill him but there are less and less of those. He must be adjusting to the fact that they’re family now - Mickey’s not some scary, dirty kid from the neighbourhood anymore, he’s not just Mandy’s brother, he’s Ian’s husband. He’s Lip’s brother-in-law. And that means something. So, yeah, he’s gonna treat him like a brother, like family. (As much as he can that is, because Lip isn’t a saint and sometimes Mickey really is very fucking annoying.) But he’s gonna try. That’s the important thing. And it seems like Mickey is going to try too.

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, well, got a reputation to uphold. Can’t let you think I’ve gone fucking soft or some shit.”

“Wouldn’t ever think in a million years that the guy who planned a romantic surprise anniversary party for his husband with accordion music and dancers was soft.”

“Fuck off.” But there’s no heat in his words, he’s just got a pleased look on his face. Probably thinking back to the night before.

————

They get stuck in traffic - due to roadworks where there seems to be less work and more standing around going on. Mickey checks his phone and scrolls through the pictures he took last night, that get steadily and steadily blurrier as the night goes on. It really was a great night. He feels his face flush in happiness just thinking about it. He can’t wait to get home.

Lip is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, Mickey notices he looks tired. He thinks back to Lip’s admission that he’d slipped up and had beer, and wonders if he’s had another slip. He could ask him straight out, Ian probably would, but that feels like a step too far. So he decides to hint at it.

“Everything alright with you and Tami?”

“Oh, yeah, you know….just a lot going on.”

“Right.” He shifts in his seat, glances towards his brother-in-law, and sighs. “Yeah, lot of difficult shit going on. Stressful shit.”

Mickey thinks he’s going to have to say it but apparently it’s obvious what he’s thinking. Lip stops tapping the steering wheel. “You fishing to see if I want a drink?”

“Do you?”

“I….sometimes. A bit. I’m going to meetings so.” He shrugs, avoiding Mickey’s eyes.

“Tami know?”

“Sort of.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“There’s just been so much going on. We’ve kinda talked but not properly.”

The traffic starts to move and soon they are almost at the Alibi. “Talking…communicating. All that shit, it fucking sucks but it’s important.” Mickey feels awkward talking to Lip like this, but strangely it doesn’t feel too uncomfortable. “Don’t put it off, it’ll be worse the longer you wait.”

“I know.” Lip pulls up in front of the ambulance. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.” He peers at Lip cautiously. “You’re not gonna tell me you love me again are you?”

“Was hoping you might not remember that considering how drunk you were last night.”

“You’re soft as hell. I’d stick around to make fun of you but I gotta hot date with my husband.” He moves to get out the car, “Thanks for the ride, man.” He gives Lip the finger and a cheeky smile as he walks over to the ambulance, shouting “see ya!” over his shoulder.

—————

For the ask meme: I wish you would write a fic where….

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #lip gallagher #shameless #ian x mickey #fic #ficlet #headcanon #as always feel free to continue this or add to it!!

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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

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Just What I Need

Summary; Working in a coffee shop you meet all sorts of people, but one customer in particular is always friendly, a local Detective from the nearby precinct. When one night he orders through a delivery service rather than in store, you get more than a tip when you make the delivery.

Fandom; Nomis (Night Hunter) Movie, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x Female Reader (no race or size specified)

Trope: Coffee Shop Meet Cute

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Flirting, Masturbation (male), Oral Sex (female recieving), unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Snowstorms.

I do not operate a tag list but instead please pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, then you’ll get an alert every time i post a new story. My Masterlist got too long and tumblr ate it, so all my past stories can also be found on my AO3, link HERE

A/N: I am considering expanding this story, depending if people like it and want me to? Let me know! <3

Just What I Need

Running the steam through the coffee machine you wiped the nozzle and smiled, there were just fifteen minutes until closing and the coffee shop you worked at was all but abandoned. Just your manager in the back counting the cash takings, and you were getting ready to box up the remaining muffins and cookies for the homeless shelter volunteer to collect dead on closing time.

You didn’t mind working the late shift, in fact you preferred it over the early shift opening up at 7am. The 7am crowd were grumpy, rude and always in a rush. The 7pm customers were tired, quiet, and always thankful for whatever caffeinated delights you provided them with.

The bell over the door rang as it opened and you looked up over the cups that were stacked on top of the machine, smiling at you saw the weary familiar face coming towards you;

“Good Evening Detective” you smiled as the beast of a man stood at the counter. His face softened as he saw you, his shoulders dropping a little as he relaxed.

“Hey… Sorry I’m in so late… you’re still open, right?”

You glanced at the clock;

“Another ten minutes. What can i get you?”

You watched as he cast his gaze up to the handwritten chalkboard menu’s above the counter;

“You got any Chilli left?”

“Sure, a couple of pots in the fridge. Want me to warm it up?”

He paused for a moment, as if trying to process the most technical question through his tired mind;

“No… yes… urghhh…” he took a deep breath; “Yeah… if you wouldn’t mind. I’m so fuckin’ tired i think I’d burn my apartment down if i tried to use the stove”

“Sure thing” you said with a smile as you got to work.

You made small talk as you prepared his order, pulling out the sides and condiments that came with the Chilli meal;

“Hey, you want a free muffin?”

“I’m not really into sweet things this late at night… what flavours you got?”

“How about an Apple Cinnamon? It’ll last overnight and still be fresh enough for breakfast”

The Detective smiled and nodded, pulling his wallet out as you finished bagging his order and rang it through for him, paying before you handed the bag to him;

“Have a good evening Detective”

As he turned he smiled at you;

“Call me Walter”

Three days later and you were on the late shift again. Again it was quiet, just the soft sound of tyres driving through slushy snow outside the only noise since around 6pm as just a couple of customers nursed steaming mugs of coffee from their window seats. You saw the big silver truck pull up in the space outside the coffeeshop and smiled, there was only one customer that drove a truck that huge and if you were being honest with yourself you were developing quite a crush on the curly haired Detective.

The moment he walked through the door you were smiling at him;

“Detective” you greeted him happily

“Didn’t i say to call me Walter last time i was here?”

“I like Detective, has a nice authority ring to it” you said with a wink; “What can i get you tonight?”

He paused for a moment, and as you reached for a notepad to jot down his order you missed the slight eyebrow raise and smirk at what you’d said before he cleared his throat;

“What have you got that i can eat in my office without facing the wrath of my Lieutenant for making the department stink?” he said with a grin as he leaned on the counter.

“I got Mozzarella and Pesto Subs? Tuna Melt?”

“Tuna is a no. The case isn’t going well, no fish. Gimme two Mozzarella Subs, and the largest black coffee you do”

“Sure thing. I’ll put a fresh pot on and get those sub’s on the press”

As you started to prepare his order his phone rang, and you couldn’t help but to listen in;

“... i’ll be like five minutes, i ain’t eaten all day… yeah ok… i’ll grab a box…”

He hung up and nodded to the cakes;

“Can i get a dozen muffins to go too? Got some grunts that are jealous that i got to escape the paperwork…”

“Sure thing”

Loading a box you picked what you knew were the best flavours and the freshest bakes;

“You know, we’re on Uber Eats. As much as its nice to see a friendly face, we can deliver to the Precinct”

“I… I have no idea what that is…”

“Its a food delivery app. Here, give me your phone…”

He unlocked it and set it down and rested his elbows on the counter as he watched;

“You go to the app store and just download it. Put in your location and it’ll bring up nearby eateries and you can search for us. It has all the standard menu on. Save your card details or link it to paypal, and its super easy, it even keeps you updated when the order is being prepared or its out for delivery”

He smiled as you pushed the phone back to him, locking the screen and pushing it back into his tight jeans;

“That’s all well and good, but then i wouldn’t get a chance to see my favourite coffee shop girl now, would i?”

You leaned forward and grinned, keeping your voice low;

“Order between 6.45 and 7pm and i snag the deliveries and do them on my way home”

Walter pushed the key into the lock, opening the door to his apartment and groaning as his body ached from tiredness. He should be elated, they caught the killer, the evidence was logged and couldn’t be disputed… and yet he was tired to his core. He’d been at his desk for longer than he’d been home, and when the Lieutenant had finally ordered him to go him a little after 5pm, it had still taken him the better part of an hour to finish up and leave the building.

Shutting the door behind him he felt his stomach rumble. He didn’t even need to look in the fridge to know it was completely empty, devoid of anything even vaguely edible. Checking his phone he saw that it was a little after 6.30pm and a thought fired across his mind, a smile forming. Fifteen minutes later he’d added far more to his online basket than he ever would have done in store, but for the first time he was able to see exactly what the creations were whereas in the store it was just a big pile of weird looking cakes and bakes. By 6.50pm he’d entered his card details and completed the order, the little update screen stating delivery would be by 7.30pm, just enough time to grab a shower, after all if it was you that would deliver, he should probably shower for the first time in 72 hours having rushed out of the apartment three mornings in a row due to new leads in the case.

The shower was far too enjoyable to rush, and after he’d washed his hair he started on his body, soaping over his chest and stomach before he paid extra attention to his dick. The anticipation of just the possibility of seeing you had him hard in seconds, and resting his head back against the tiled wall he quickly worked his hand over himself. He got lost in the moment, his mind taking him to places it shouldn’t, imagining his hand was yours, thinking about that time he saw you wearing over the over the knee knit socks and a skirt, how your ass was the perfect roundness, how your lips would look stretched around his dick… he came with a groan, thick white ropes falling to the shower floor as every ounce of stress left his body, his body shuddering when he was finally spent.

He was halfway through drying himself when he heard a knock at the door to his apartment, he eyes going wide when he saw it was 7.20pm;

“Fuck!”

He’d gotten carried away in the shower, and now he had to quickly rush to wrap a towel around his waist as a second knock came just as he reached the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and seeing you standing on the doorstep shivering in your padded coat, holding two takeout bags;

“Hey! Come in, come in, Jeez its freezing out there…”

Stepping into the apartment you couldn’t help but to look him up and down, attempting to hide your reaction as you could clearly see the distinct outline of something rather large bulging against the fabric of the fluffy white towel;

“Hey D-d-detective… Y-y-yeah it’s d-d-dropping fast out t-t-there… radio s-s-said it was g-g-gonna be a wind chill of minus t-t-twenty nine by eight o’clock… what a n-n-night to have my b-b-bike, huh?” You carefully dropped the two bags onto his coffee table as you spoke.

“You cycled here? On that pedal bike that is always chained up outside the coffee shop?” he asked incredulously, immediately forgetting his current state of undress. Shutting the door he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest; “You’re gonna stay here until you’re warmed up, i’m gonna make you a hot coffee and to warm you up from the inside too...”

“I ain’t gonna complain to that” you mumbled, your face pressed to his chest as you suddenly melted against him, warming your cheek against his firm muscles before turning your head to warm the other one and he let out a little gasp as your cold hands pressed against his sides.

“I also said for you to call me Walter…” he said quietly.

Pulling your head back you smiled at him;

“Thank you, Walter. You’re the best… though you’re the first delivery i’ve made where i’ve been greeted by someone in just a towel”

“Sorry, let me go put some clothes on…”

You tighten your grip around his waist;

“I wasn’t complaining…”

There was no poignant pause, no longing gazes, his lips met with yours and the kiss was fierce and hungry. He was pushing your coat down your arms and you reluctantly released your hold from his waist to let it drop to the floor, your sweater following soon after. Your lips met again and he was lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hand rested on your ass beneath your skirt as he walked you through the apartment before dropping you on his bed.

He was pulling your boots off your feet as you scrambled up the bed, your hands reaching for your thigh high socks when he suddenly caught your hands in his;

“Leave those on…”

You paused and grinned, before his lips met yours again and he was on top of you, his hands sliding up your skirt and bunching it around your waist as he pressed a trail of open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, before briefly lifting his head enough to pull your panties down your legs and toss them aside.

As he lowered his mouth to your core his gaze was intense, vivid blue shining through the dim light of his bedroom, his tongue pushing through your soaked petals and parting them as his beard brushed against your skin, heightening all of the sensations. Wrapping his arms around your thighs he pulled you closer to his mouth, his tongue pushing into you and he started to fuck you with it whilst his bearded face tickled your clit. You were squealing and struggling to stay still, needing to anchor yourself on something as your hips bucked and your orgasm started to rapidly approach, your hands finding their way to his still wet hair and your fingers wrapping around the dark curls as he pressed a hand to your stomach to keep you still, growling at your taste on his tongue as he felt you shake as your orgasm took over.

When your body had finally stopped shaking Walter pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he sat back on his haunches, licking his lips where he could still taste you on them. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows you grinned at him, your gaze travelling down his thick chest to his stomach, and the trail of hair that led beneath the towel;

“You gonna show me what you’ve got under that towel, Detective?”

“You ready for what i’ve got under this towel darlin’?”

Pushing yourself up to sitting, your legs spread and bent either side of him, you hooked a finger into the towel and tugged, your eyes going wide when you saw his thick meaty cock standing hard and proud between his muscled thighs. Wrapping your hands around it you relished the feel of his silky skin as it moved over the hardness beneath, your mouth against his;

“I need you inside me”

“I… Fuck… this wasn’t planned… i haven’t got any protection…”

“I’m on birth control, I want to feel you bare…”

With a growl he surged forwards, capturing your lips with his own before he pushed you down onto the bed. Holding himself up on one hand he hooked your leg up over his hip, opening you like a winter blossom as he rubbed his dick through your soaked folds, dousing himself with your slick wetness. You whined at the teasing, the way his tip would brush against your hole only to move up to your clit;

“Walter, please… you promised to warm me up from the inside…”

He paused, a smirk on his face;

“You want me to get you a coffee? ‘Cos i can stop…”

“NO, i need your diiiiiiiiii….FUCK!” He’d pushed into you as you were mid sentence, the feeling of his meaty girth splitting your walls wide open overwhelming you and your eyes rolled back in their sockets; “OH MY GOD!”

“You like that Darlin? You feeling warmer now?”

“Please… please fuck me…”

He grinned and shifted his hips, grinding into you;

“Well, as you said please…”

You had been expecting him to pound you into the mattress, you had not been expecting for his technique to start off with sensual rolls of his hips, filling you tenderly and carefully whilst you got used to his size. It was almost overwhelming, completely surrounded as he caged you in with his massive arms, his chest pressed against your own as his hips worked utter magic. He pulled his legs wide apart, shifting to rest on your open hips and he got even deeper. Pressing kisses to your lips and neck he soon had you moaning and begging for release, every push and pull hitting just the right spots and you were almost embarrassingly wet from the arousal but it only added to the sensations.

You could feel yourself coming, the pleasure too much to hold back, and with a long low moan your body betrayed you and succumbed to the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your belly. Walter kept up the same speed of his thrusts but pushed a little harder, a little deeper with each one;

“Can feel you fluttering around me, you gonna cum for me? You look so fucking beautiful all fucked out and wanting, feel so fucking amazing…”

Just as your orgasm was at its peak he tensed and you could feel his cum flooding into you, the twitching of his dick as he filled you with his seed prolonging your high. When you had both finally finished you could feel his weight start to get heavier on top of you, before with a sudden and surprising act of nimble dexterity he rolled the pair of you over so you were laying atop of him, his softening dick slipping out and you felt the trickle of his seed flow out of you. With one massive hand he pulled the duvet across your bodies, and you snuggled up to his chest;

“That was the best tip ever” you giggled; “In fact definitely more than the tip”

At that moment you not only heard but felt his stomach growl, looking up and seeing him grin sheepishly as he spoke;

“I just want you to know this is not how i usually treat food deliveries… do you want something to eat? Or drink?”

Nodding you smiled;

“That'd be nice”

A while later you were cleaned up, Walter having given you one of his massive t-shirts to wear which came to the tops of your thighs. He’d grazed through half the contents of his order as you nibbled on a muffin, having eaten at the coffee shop during a very quiet last hour of your shift. You’d laughed and chatted as the pair of you had eaten on the comfort of Walters couch, before you’d suddenly stopped mid sentence;

“Shit, i left my bike in the lobby… will it be safe there until i go home?”

Walter smiled at you, his hand curling around your thigh;

“Have you heard that weather out there? I’d be surprised if you could even ride it home through three foot of snow…” he paused for a moment; “Stay the night…”

You went to object, decline politely but you caught yourself, why? Why shouldn’t you spend the night? Taking a deep breath you smiled;

“I’d love to”

_____________________________________________

Part 2 >>>

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #henry cavill #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall fanfic

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

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It's Delicate: Part II

Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here's the second part in It's Delicate, my first chapter fic. I've planned out kind of where I see this eventually going! Thank you to anyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs. It really means the world to me.

Content Warnings: Expletive language (3 uses), mentions of drug use, sexual innuendo

READ PART I

It's Delicate Masterlist

It's Delicate

Sitting on the plane, Spencer looks out from the little window. For hours, there’s been nothing but corn fields and clouds. It’s eerily peaceful, being there high above the clouds. His whole life Spencer has felt this distance between him and everyone else, but nothing makes that feeling more prominent than being strapped in a glorified metal box 35,000 feet off the Earth’s surface. But the thing is, Spencer does need to be flying above the trees to feel lonely. He can do that with two feet on the ground.

Luke sits across Spencer, the table between them and a deck of playing cards are spread out across its surface. He has to nudge Spencer’s leg from under the table, trying to bring him back to reality as he stares out the window.

“Whatcha thinking,” Luke asks, Spencer has been noticing more and more that Luke is one of the few people that actually listens to him.

Spencer, whose mind is racing too fast to even formulate an articulate thought, attempts to dodge Luke’s question with a noncommittal shrug.

“Reid, these cases are hard for all of us, you gotta know that man,” Luke says, laying down a four of a kind.

Spencer narrows his eyes, shocked that it hasn’t clicked yet for the rest of the team. He cracks his neck, preparing to answer Luke.

“We almost locked up an innocent man, Alvez. I almost sent another man to the same fate as myself. What kind of fucked up message is that?” Spencer says, throwing down the cards on the table. He doesn’t wait for Luke to respond.

“I fold,”

Spencer walks off into the small kitchenette to make a cup of coffee. He doesn’t want to think about his increased reliance on coffee, because he knows it’s a hot cup of coffee or a cold needle of Dilaudid in his veins. Spencer checks his watch, it’s 10:17 pm, maybe too late to find a meeting at a church or rec center somewhere.

He sneaks a peak at his phone, which was still unfortunately on Airplane Mode, he hasn’t even gotten a chance to see if Y/N has responded. He doesn’t know much about her, just as much as she knows about him.

It’s a brave new world for Spencer and he’s knee deep into the unknown.

Spencer can feel Luke’s eyes on him. He just knows that the minute he gets home, a certain tech expert will be ringing him. He knows that it’s Luke’s way of caring, but for someone who’s been alone for so long, having people that actually care is almost drowning.

Walking back to his seat, Spencer hands Luke a coffee. He smiles slightly; it’s the awkward smile that he used to make when intimating police chiefs and idiot cops would look him up and down like he’s a TA. It’s a peace offering for Luke, who despite his tough looking exterior, is one of the kindest people Spencer knows.

“Look, Reid. I’m sorry that we didn’t put it together. It’s just that man that we caught, he’s not like you. He’s not innocent of crimes, he’s just innocent of this crime,” Luke says in an attempt to make Spencer feel a little bit better.

“The thing is Luke, I’m exactly like that man,”

Spencer returns to staring out the window. The cards and the coffee on the table are long ignored for the silence that is found when you’re high above the clouds.

Spencer hears Tara and Emily murmur quietly about going out for a round of drinks. Luke accepts, while JJ and Matt decline, eager to get home to their families. Emily looks over at Spencer, her eyes silently scanning him, his body language. Spencer knows that there’s nothing he can hide from Emily, so there’s no use in trying to pretend he’s alright when she can take one look at him and know that nothing is right.

“You guys have fun, I’m going to head home and get some sleep. I plan on visiting my mom tomorrow and mornings are usually better for her,” Spencer says, slinging his go bag around his shoulders and making the trek back to the security to check out.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sound of the crickets chirping as he trudges along. Spencer tries not to think about the man, Richard, who was almost locked up for a crime that he didn’t commit. Spencer is pretty sure that being the person to throw an innocent man in jail is worse than being the innocent man in jail.

Spencer’s phone buzzes loudly, disturbing the silence of his walk. He looks at the phone to see a couple of messages from Y/N. Spencer slides open the lock to his phone and hits the button to read her messages.

Y/N: Spencer...that has a nice ring to it. So tell me a little bit about yourself. Your big three, but as books. Go! 🌞🌙⬆️

Furrowing his brow, Spencer reads the message over again. He does not have a clue what “big three” means, but it seems like some sort of pop culture thing that he’s not skilled in. He wants to text Garcia for a translation, but he’s also not too keen on telling her how he came across Y/N’s number.

Y/N: I assume you’re working, but I'm kind of impatient so I’ll give you mine 🙃 I’m a Little Women sun, an Emma moon, and an In Cold Blood rising.

Y/N: Oh no….I hope my astrology didn’t turn you off

Y/N: Not that I was trying to turn you on

Y/N: omg Y/N please shut the fuck up

Astrology? Spencer isn’t one to judge, but he’s a scientist first and foremost. The idea that there is something written about him in the stars seems like ludicrous. He decided to ignore the other messages, particularly the ones with a little more than slight innuendo.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m sorry I just got out of work. As for my big three, I’m not sure about astrology. I don’t particularly believe in pseudoscience. But those are good choices. In Cold Blood is an excellent choice. Capote spent years researching the case. In fact his prose and technique inspired the entire “Nonfiction novel” genre. The world of journalism and true crime would not be where it is without Capote’s work.

Y/N: Oh my god. You are a total nerd. 🙀

That stops Spencer right in his tracks. He’s only a couple of yards away from the Volvo at this point, but somehow it feels a million miles away. You are a total nerd. The words replay in his mind as the small gray bubbles pop up again. Spencer can feel his heart constrict at Y/N’s words. It’s ridiculous, he’s nearly 34 and is getting upset that a stranger called him a nerd. Spencer unlocks his car and tosses his go bag, phone included onto the passenger seat.

After a couple of minutes his phone buzzes again. He’s half tempted to answer it, but the way his heart seems to beat faster tells him to ignore it.

Y/N: I fucking love it and I think you’ll love this too

Spencer’s entire demeanor changes as he reads the message. He’s always had difficulties reading emotion in writing, especially when he can’t analyze the handwriting. Sometimes, it’s even harder to judge inflection during conversations. Maybe that is why Spencer has spent all this time studying people, studying the way that their minds work. Before he can get too lost in his thoughts, another message pops up.

Y/N: Meet Capote and Second Cat

Y/N: They are the loves of my life

Spencer: They are very...distinguished looking. Capote is an excellent name choice then. Second Cat is also quite catchy.

Spencer hesitates before sending the message, he notices that Y/N uses what Garcia calls “emojis” quite frequently. He assumes that it’s some sort of “texting lingo” that expresses emotion in small graphics. Great, he thinks. He already has a difficult time deciphering Y/N’s cryptic wording and now he’s got to analyze these emojis.

Maybe he should profile her. He re-reads the message and settles on a “😄” because he figures that he can’t go wrong with offering Y/N a smile.

Spencer: I don’t have a cat, but when I was a kid I always wanted one, they’re quite good companions for those that live several different kinds of lifestyles. From active to sedentary, they are adaptable and independent. Honestly they are the perfect pet.

Y/N: Is this your way of telling you’re a crazy cat man? 😜 🙀

Spencer, still sitting in his car that’s parked in the parking lot, chuckles at Y/N’s response to his message. Maybe it’s just easier to ignore his rambling when it’s done through 1s and 0s and there isn’t a face to the words.

Spencer: I’m actually more of a fish guy

Y/N: Like a “I-like-to-go-fishing-and-post-picture-of-myself-kissing-my-catch-on-Tinder” kind of fish guy or...I can’t think of any other kind of fish men

Spencer, not totally understanding the obvious joke that Y/N is trying to make, settles on something that he hasn’t really ever tried: being himself.

Spencer: Not quite sure what a Tinder is, but I think fishing is terrifying and kissing a fish is something out of nightmares. But his name is Leo

Y/N: DiCaprio?

Spencer: Uhh, Tolstoy

Y/N: Good😉 ⚔️🕊️ 🇷🇺

Spencer glances at his clock on the control panel, it tells him that he’s been messaging with Y/N back and forth for nearly 22 minutes. He nearly forgot how tired he was.

Spencer: Y/N- I’m so sorry but, I just got to my car to drive home from work. I’ll text you tomorrow morning about the book club, maybe we can figure out some things.

Y/N: OMG Spencer!! you should have told me. I’ve been talking ur ear off. sleep well and yes please tomorrow we can talk about the book club

Y/N: Good night, Book Buddy 😴

Spencer wants to respond to Y/N, but he doesn’t know what to say. She seems to text so easily, and judging by that, she must be around Spencer’s age or a little bit younger. Besides JJ and Penelope, Spencer has never had a friend close to his age. It’s a strange new territory for him and he’s walking in head first into No Man’s Land.

He starts his Volvo, the check engine still lights but, reminding him once again to go get it fixed. Driving away from the parking lot, Spencer hands over his ID to Gina, the security guard. She checks his ID and gives him a tired smile. Spencer, as he drives home to his apartment, thinking about what books he and Y/N will read together. He wonders what kind of books are her favorite, if they have any authors that they can obsess over together, or if what she thinks a poet’s prose is.

The summer air rushing in through the window is nowhere as warm and as comforting as thought of Spencer finally having a friend that isn’t able to read the scars of his past in the text bubbles that pop up on her screen.

When Spencer opens his eyes for the first time that morning, he isn’t sure where he is. Sometimes, before he can stop his thoughts from travelling there, Spencer thinks he’s still in jail. He hates the feeling of terror that rushes over him but he hates the idea of being vulnerable a little bit more. But the softness of his pillows and the coolness of his cotton sheets remind him that he’s not sleeping on a hard cot with only a layer of fabric over his body. The light streams in through the half closed blinds, and Spencer judges by how brightly the sun shines in, it must be around 9:45 am.

He supposes that he prefers the way the sun’s rays paint horizontal bars across his face more than the vertical bars that cast gray shadows over his cell at Milburn Penitentiary.

It’s a day off from work, so Spencer didn’t set an alarm, instead allowing his mind and his body to catch up on some much needed rest. The nightmares have been getting better, but his dreams are still haunted by the way that he hardly recognizes himself anymore. Deciding that it will be a day spent in pajamas, Spencer goes to his bookshelf in his bedroom to pick out a couple of novels to read while he drinks his morning coffee and defrosts some of Luke’s strawberry pastries.

Before heading out of his room, Spencer stops himself in the doorway. He replays the events of last night. He declined to go out with the rest of the team, while he walked to his car he thought about the crickets telling the temperature, and he read over Y/N’s messages.

Y/N.

He promised he’d text her back in the morning about their book club. Last night, she didn’t seem to mind Spencer’s long messages and awkward phrasing. He still doesn’t really know how this Book Buddy thing would work, but since he found Y/N’s number on the flyer, he can only assume that she knows what to do. He leaps on his bed, landing with thud on his belly, to grab his phone that charges on his nightstand.

Spencer settles at his kitchen table, a cup of steaming hot Dark Roast coffee in a Captain Spock mug in one hand and, surprisingly, his phone in the other. He scrolls through the messages from last night, Y/N’s cat and emojis tempt a smile to Spencer’s face.

Not entirely sure how to start the conversation again, Spencer looks around for inspiration until his eyes land on a certain fish tank in the corner of his apartment. He snaps a quick picture of Leo and attaches it to the message.

Spencer: Good Morning from Leo & Spencer

Spencer sets down his phone after a moment when he realizes that Y/N is probably not going to answer him back in a couple of seconds. He takes out a strawberry pastry from his freezer and puts it into the toaster oven on a non-stick baking sheet. His thumbs run across the texture of the book he started on the plane ride after his and Luke’s ill fated poker game. It's a thin book of collected essays on the meaning of life. Camus, to Spencer, is a little pessimistic with his droning on about the meaninglessness of life. Though Spence has seen the absolute worst that humanity has to offer, he still has to believe that there’s a deeper meaning behind it all.

His toaster oven rings, altering him so that his toasted strawberry pastry is cooked. He plates his breakfast and pours himself another cup of coffee- he’ll need it to get through Camus’s section on Absurdism this early in the morning. But the flash of Spencer’s phone screen sends him reaching for his phone. Y/N replied to his message.

Y/N: hi leo!!!

Y/N: and you too Spencer :) Did you get a good night’s sleep. You got back late it seems.

Spencer, taking a bite of the strawberry pastry, ignores the burning sensation in his mouth. He types out a response to Y/N as he washes down the bite with a swing of coffee.

Spencer: I did, thank you. Can you tell me a little bit more about this book buddy thing. From what I gathered from the flyer it’s like a little book club of our own and we meet at the bookstore?

It doesn’t take long for Y/N to respond. The little gray dots pop up almost immediately after Spencer’s message is delivered.

Y/N: That’s about right! Is it okay if I call you? Kinda easier to talk that way 🤷‍♀️

Spencer reads over the message a couple of times. He doesn’t really like to talk on the phone and only does it out of necessity. He’s pretty sure that his voice is grating and his vocal fry is quite irritating. Yet, he finds himself replying “yes” to Y/N. Soon enough, his phone buzzes in his hand and Spencer has to remind himself how to pick up a call.

“Spencer? Um, this is Spencer Reid, right?” the voice says. It’s a woman’s voice and he can only assume that it’s Y/N, considering it is her phone number calling him.

“Y/N, uh hi. This is Dr. Spencer- I mean this is Spencer,” he says, nearly forgetting that Y/N doesn’t know him as Dr. Reid, but as just Spencer. It’s been a long time since someone has known him as Spencer.

“Oh great! It’s wonderful to finally have a voice to your name. So about these buddy reads. You seem to have a good grasp of what they are,” Y/N’s voice trails off a little bit at the end and Spencer finds it natural to fill in the silence.

“Yes, the flyer was quite informative. But I was wondering, do we read the same books or do we read different books?” Spencer asks, trying to restrain himself from scaring Y/N off. But something about her made him think that she didn’t scare easily.

Y/N chuckles lightly in the speaker of her phone, “that’s a good question, uh, I was actually going to ask you what you would rather. We can read the same books, or if it’s okay with you we can choose what the other would read for that week,”

“Oh really?” Spencer says, very much aware how his voice rises a couple of octaves. He can’t trust himself to hold back on rambling over the phone Y/N, so he resorts to using his strained, brittle voice that’s full of hesitation and restraint.

“That’s the plan, so whatcha thinking, Spencer,” Y/N says playfully, like she can sense that phone conversations maybe not make him feel at ease. There’s something so natural and silvery about her voice; it reminds Spencer of an audiobook reader. While he’s not too keen on audiobooks, he’s sure that he’d listen to anything she reads or has to say.

“Um, I think it sounds interesting to pick out books for each other. I tend to gravitate towards more technical books or even books that aren’t in English so, uh, I think it would be interesting to get out of my comfort zone,” Spencer says, cringing internally at using the word “interesting” twice in a couple of sentences.

“Well, as long as you don’t pick out something in physics or anything by Ayn Rand then I’d say we’re good,” Y/N says. Spencer thinks it’s a joke, but he’s not too sure how to respond.

“Will you still be my Book Buddy if I read 1 out of 2 of those?” Spencer asks, hoping she’d get that he is trying to continue the joke.

“Oh no Spencer please don’t tell me you’re an Ayn Rand fanboy,” she says, and by the airy way she laughs, Spencer ventures to guess his joke landed successfully.

“So,” Spencer starts, he never has made plans with people outside of his team, and on top of that, there’s something about Y/N’s quickness that makes him a little nervous to meet her.

“I’m talking your ear off, aren’t I? Please Spencer, if you’re going to be my Book Buddy, you’re going to have to get used to me talking a lot, especially you pick out good books, which, I already have a feeling you’re going to be favorite Book Buddy,”

For once in his life, Spencer doesn’t really know how to respond. He lets out something in between a strangled laughter and a noncommittal chuckle.

“So,” Y/N says, mirroring Spencer’s earlier words, “so are you free tonight, I can meet you at the bookstore..”

Y/N’s voice trails off and Spencer leaps to finish her sentences. It doesn’t feel like his interjecting or interrupting, but like he’s snapping a puzzle piece together.

“Does 7 work?” “7 is great, Spencer. It’s a date,”

Those three little words send Spencer’s eyes flying wide open. He scrambles to come up with answer to louden the silence that falls, but he swears he can hear a string of quiet curses before Y/N manages to squeak out a small “goodbye,”

Y/N’s last words play back in Spencer’s ears. He scolds himself for being so weird and awkward that the very idea of going on a date with him would send Y/N in a tizzy. It’s not a date, because Spencer can’t think about it being a date. It’s not a date because of the looming photo above his mantle that freezes his future in the past. It’s not a date because of the nightmare of vertical bars that haunt his dreams

It’s not a date. It’s so not a date because Spencer would call Luke to come over to help him if it was.

“Hey Luke,” Spencer says, trying to control the nervous waves in his voice, “no man, I’m fine, it’s uh, easier if you just come over. I’m fine, really,”

Y/N: I really hope you're not an Ayn Rand fanboy 😉

It’s so not a date.

--THANK YOU FOR READING--

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