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betweenapitchandacast · 6 months

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Reel-in These 5 Species in Your Next Ice Fishing Trip (+ One You Don't)

It’s the most wonderful time of the year, and no, it’s not because of Christmas. It’s because the waterways that you were bobbing up and down in just a few months ago are now covered in a layer of ice! However, heading out into freezing temperatures to drill a hole in the ground and jigging some brightly colored lures might seem odd to some. There is an inexplicable reason why many opt to pursue…

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thehuntingdomain · 2 years

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10 Striped Bass Fishing Tips

Do you fish for striped bass? Would you like to catch more striped bass? In this article, we share striped bass fishing tips to help you catch more striped bass.

1. Spring & Fall

During the spring and fall when striped bass migrates, they feed on large schools of bait which renders them vulnerable as there are scenarios where a lot of fish can be caught in a limited period of time. Reefs, bridges, inlets, boulder fields, mouths of rivers, and breach ways are places where you can catch the striped bass.

2. Moon Cycles

The moon cycles play a key role in catching striped bass. Three days before a new or full moon and three days after delivers the best fishing due to more vertical water movement. Studying the phases of the moon is good for anglers.

3. Striped Bass & The Wind

Winds affect the behavior of striped bass and learning that will help in catching them as they tend to feed aggressively on schools of baitfish after strong winds in late August and the fall.

4. Ideal Water Temperature

Water temperatures between 50 and 70 degrees are ideal for striped bass. They start leaving when the water temperature gets closer to 48 to 50 degrees. If you would like to learn more striped bass fishing tips, then click this link.

5. Nighttime Fishing

Fishing at night can sometimes prove to be more productive than daytime if you fish in an area with a lot of boat traffic and noise during the day. Striped bass will stop feeding if there are loud noises and heavy boat traffic.

6. Speed of The Retrieve

Increasing the speed of the retrieve will trigger strikes from striped bass that are feeding in clear water. This fast motion prevents the fish from scrutinizing the lure and it will arouse their predatory instincts if they are looking for prey.

7. Identifying Patterns

Documenting everything about striped bass, where they reside, what they eat, the time of the year, wind direction, water temperature, moon cycles, tides, bait, lures, weather conditions, etc. helps you identify their patterns and behavior to be successful in catching them.

8. Learn Behavior

Learning the time of the day that striped bass feed, the bait, their level of activity, and prevailing conditions help you to catch striped bass.

9. Study Movements

Striped bass anglers focus on creeks, estuaries, bays, and tidal rivers in early spring. As they began migrating in spring, they swim northward in schools that are ideal for surf and beach fishing. In the summer, they look for cooler waters as the bays, rivers, and estuaries contain lower levels of oxygen due to increases in the water temperature.

10. Local Live Bait

Using live bait from the area is a tried and tested method to catch striped bass. They eat baitfish, marine organisms, and shellfish in the area.

Conclusion

Fishing for striped bass can be challenging but also exciting. In this article, we share tips to catch more striped bass. If you would like to learn more about fishing, then click this link.

#striped bass fishing tips #striped bass fishing #fishing

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sweetcyberangel · 1 month

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Baby, I'm yours

Bouncer!Abby Anderson x Reader

> part two Synopsis: When your friends leave you stranded at a club you find yourself in the helpful hands of the club's bouncer, who - by the way - is super hot and definitely your type. tags/Warnings: Alcohol, reader throws up, Abby rides a motorbike (she's so hot kms), she smokes a cigarette, both reader and Abby are a lil’ awkward (sapphic pining aww), maybe a part 2??

The bass reverberates through the floor, the bright and colorful lights match to its beat. The alcohol in your system dissipates any self-consciousness you’d typically feel as you dance among the crowds. The world around you is a spinning blur of colors and sounds, if it wasn’t for your earlier taken shots masking it you’d have a killer headache. You look down at your empty cup and furrow your brows, you didn’t remember drinking that so quickly… ah well! Time for another drink!

As the night wears on, the once bustling crowd dwindles, it’s almost 2am now, the club won't be open for all that much longer. When you turn to tell your friend you are going to grab “one last drink” your lips fall into a soft pout realizing they're not dancing behind you anymore. You stand on your tip-toes, scanning the club but drop back down when they're nowhere to be found. Wandering around for a moment a small panic starts to settle in your mind, they were your way home. You’d spent all your paycheck on rounds of shots and drinks for yourself and your friends. Reaching into your purse you fish around for your phone, it's cool against your palm as you lift it to your face, squinting to try and make sense of the messages on your screen. Oh…

‘Sorry bae, heading home with someone tonight ;)’

Your head starts to spin with worry, your eyes staring blankly at the bright screen of your phone. Your stomach aches with worry and alcohol. You take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, but it only makes your head spin. The air in here is stuffy and warm and smoky, you can’t hear yourself over the music and your eyes are starting to ache from the bright screen of your phone. You need to get outside.

You stumble towards the front doors of the club, barely in control of your body. The doors swing open and walking into the cold, fresh air soothes you more than you could have hoped… Until all the drinks you’d had that night come right back up onto the grass.

On your knees, alone, heaving up rounds of drinks at the front of a soon-to-be-closed nightclub was definitely not on your itinerary for the night.

“Oh shit..” You hear from somewhere around you, blocked out by the sound of blood rushing through your head. . A gentle hand finds its way into your hair, pushing it back from your face.

Mascara-filled tears are staining your cheeks as you desperately try to catch your breath, the gentle hand releasing your hair and patting your head in a soothing rhythm. Whether it's in an attempt to neaten your now messed up hair or comfort you, you're not sure, but you’ll take any comfort you can get.

"Hey, you okay now?” You turn around to face the voice and are met with the most attractive woman you have ever seen. She is tall and all defined muscles and broad shoulders. Her hair is braided behind her and you can tell from her clothes that she must be some kind of security. Well shit, that's one way to sober up. You want to crawl into a hole. You think you might ACTUALLY die of embarrassment. Parts of you wish you would.

“Hello??” Her confused tone brings you out of your pity party, “o-oh, sorry! Uhm… yeah. I'm okay,” Your eyes well with tears again remembering the situation that brought you out here in the first place. The woman's eyebrows scrunch in a worried manor, obviously not believing you.

“You should probably head home, clubs about to close,” she flicks her head in the direction of the building behind you both. “Here, let me help you up” she says softly as she reaches a hand out, your eyes running over her muscular arms peeking out of her folded up sleeves. You place your hand on hers (and feel butterflies swarm in your stomach at the size difference, but that's besides the point).

“How’re you getting home, sweetheart?” Sweetheart?? Your eyes widen at the pet name, and you wonder if it's her or the alcohol making your brain go empty right now. Wait, she asked you a question… What did she ask?? You look up at her and she chuckles at your reaction before repeating her question (minus the nickname this time, sadly).

Your eyes look down at your feet and you play with the ends of your dress, not knowing how to tell her ‘oh my friend ditched me and I was too drunk to realize and I have no money and no other way home so I guess I'm just sleeping out here tonight!’.

She watches your face drop and reaches into her back pocket to fetch some keys, “hey, my shift is over, if you need someone to take you home…” You look back at her in surprise, feeling slightly guilty at the idea. As if she can read your mind she quickly adds “it's no issue,” her expression warm and genuine. She looks down at you expectantly, it's starting to get cold and you can feel goosebumps rising on your skin, so pushing your guilt and embarrassment aside, you nod your head. “I’d really appreciate that”.

Her hand is on the small of your back, gently guiding you forward until you reach a sleek, black motorbike. She reaches into the small storage compartment under the seat and pulls out a leather jacket, handing it to you to put on before speaking again, “you ever been on one before?” she asks, nodding towards the bike. You softly shake your head “alright, that's okay. Jus’ sit behind me, keep your arms nice ‘nd tight around me, okay?” Her voice is gentle, reassuring, and you nod in response. She hands you her phone and gently asks you to type in your address before placing it in a small holder on her handlebars.

She effortlessly climbs onto the bike, offering you her arm to hold as you settle in behind her. The engine hums beneath you as she revs it, and you wrap your arms around her, following her instructions to hold on tightly. As she pulls away, the wind whips against your face, the cold biting at your cheeks, so you resort to resting your face against her muscular back.

She smells like pine, it's sweet and earthy and makes your head spin.

She drives fast, skilled hands guiding the bike between cars and filling you with adrenaline. You’re sure she’s even more reckless when she is alone. The idea makes your cheeks go warm.

You take a deep breath, letting yourself sink into her warmth and the feeling of the breeze rushing past you. Your eyes fall closed and your mind clears for the first time in a really long time.

You went to the club to forget your problems, to have a single night where you wouldn’t have to think about all of the shit going on in your life, and yet this woman you don’t even know the name of has eased your mind more than any amount of drinks or loud music or partying.

You almost whine when you see your street materializing around you, but the idea of a shower and warm food is a momentary distraction from the sadness pooling in your stomach at the knowledge you might never see the woman taking you home again. The sense of comfort that surrounds her is one you know you’ll be longing for. One you already have been, for a long time.

Turning into your driveway, she kills the engine, climbing off the bike and reaching out to help you off. You look up at her and find your words caught in your throat. “Let me walk you inside?” She smiles gently, voice hopeful and nervous. You nod your head gratefully and her hand is on your back again. It sends a shiver down your spine.

When you reach your front door you turn to face her, “thank you… I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t found me” You giggle nervously under your breath. “yeah, of course”. Her voice is ever gentle, soft and reassuring. It stirs something within you. It's a way you’ve never been spoken to before. It makes you ache (both in the heart and between your thighs).

As your hand grazes the door handle, she hesitates, her voice tinged with nervousness as she speaks again “Feel free to tell me to fuck off if I read this completely wrong but- can I give you my number?”

You fight off the urge to squeal in excitement, but can’t fight the smile that grazes your face. The blonde girl in front of you feels her heart thump at the sight, and then thump even harder when you hand her your phone. "I would like that," you reply, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again.

She hands your phone back and you finally take a step inside your home, turning back to bid her goodbye. “Get home safe” you smile softly at her. “Sleep well, sweetheart” She flicks a few fingers up in a wave goodbye

You gently close the door, glancing out the window and watching as she lights a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the night air. Your teeth graze against your bottom lip, pushing down a grin as you recall the night. Glancing down at your phone you feel your heart race at the name ‘Abby <3’ shining back brightly.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x female reader #bouncer!abby

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luxurychristmaspudding · 3 months

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you and your friends (tommy's party pt. i)

summary: your handsome new roommate spells trouble. but you've got a handle on it. haven't you?

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. roommate!frankie, stoner!frankie and stoner!reader. mentions of drinking and smoking weed - they're having a good time! no lady and no baby. idiots in love, split pov, lots of fluff tbh and a whole lotta sexual tension. reader and frankie are little creeps n freaks. reader pays a visit to benny, frankie hooks up with 1 (one) other person. f&m masturbation, voyeurism, lots of cuddling. use of pet names (good girl, baby etc. (platonic, of course))

song is tagged at end of fic - header does not represent reader, only the album!

wc: 9.6k

an: *mc voice* let's get this party started!

part ii - tommy's party

When Frankie catches a glimpse of you from across Will’s crowded living room, he’s not so sure Benny’s idea is a good one.

The room is lit with yellow lamplight, heavy with the scent of sweat and alcohol and cigarette smoke. There are people crammed in everywhere; slumped over chairs and sofas, leant against door frames, moving in and out of the kitchen with the click of the door beads. A sluggish bass thumps out over the party, the thrum of laughter and conversation cushioning any other sound.

He stands at the back of a sofa which has been turned inwards towards the centre of the room, leaning over Santi and Will as they howl over some story they’re retelling for a couple of girls squished between them. Frankie had been quite happy listening and laughing along, but he’s distracted when Benny taps his arm with his beer bottle and motions over to you.

‘That’s her,’ he says, ‘The girl I was telling you about.’

And yeah, he’s very quickly sure that this is a bad idea.

Because you’re beautiful. A gorgeous wrap dress clinging to your curves, each outline flowing like you’d been poured into it. Jewellery clinking and glittering around your wrists, neck, and ears, and your hair shining like each strand had been arranged by some ethereal hand. Your smile bands out around you, bathing your audience in a kind of glow, a reflection of your warmth. Frankie watches as you tip your head back slightly in a boundless laugh, the corners of your eyes crinkling, the soft clasp of your hand falling on the forearm of the man sat next to you. Fuck.

Frankie swallows drily, and Benny places a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on, Fish,’ he says, ‘I’ll introduce you. I’ve told her about you already.’

Frankie doesn’t want to move. He’d much rather watch, much rather have Benny do the heavy lifting here. He doesn’t think he can talk to you, much less make a good first impression.

But his friend is guiding him forwards, and he can’t help but be shepherded. Panic rises like bile in his throat, and he thinks of turning around, excusing himself to go to the bathroom and just sitting in his truck for a while instead, but then -

Your bright eyes flick up to find Benny approaching you, and your face lights up. You stand from where you were perched on the arm of a chair and walk around the bundle of people whom you'd entranced. You place a gentle hand on a soft-haired woman’s shoulder, inclining your head to say you’ll be back in a minute, before you open an arm to Benny.

‘Benny!’ You call, squeezing his waist as the younger man presses you to his side, planting a kiss to your forehead. ‘How are you, man?’ You ask. Benny returns your greeting, answering your question, but Frankie can’t concentrate on anything he’s saying. You listen intently to his friend, smiling and asking a couple more questions, before looking properly at Frankie.

‘Sorry - hey,’ you say softly, ‘You must be -’

‘Oh god,’ Benny chuckles, ‘Sorry, yes. This is Frankie.’ Benny moves to press Frankie forwards, and he stumbles a little as he catches your outstretched hand. If you notice, you don’t say anything, just smile warmly at him and shake, giving him your name.

‘It’s good to meet you, man,’ you say, ‘Benny here has told me a lot about you.’ Benny laughs, clapping Frankie on the back.

‘Only good things, Fish,’ he grins, ‘I promise.’ Frankie rolls his eyes at him.

‘So, you’re interested in the room?’ You ask, and Frankie turns back to you. He nods, swallowing.

‘Yeah, really interested. It’d be great to come over and take a look if you’re around.’ He surprises himself at how easily the words roll off his tongue. You offer him another kind smile, nodding encouragingly, and he finds himself relaxing.

‘Of course,’ you say, ‘You’d be very welcome to. You have glowing recommendations from the boys, anyway.’ You lean in closer to him, lowering your tone conspiratorially. ‘I’d have you moved in tomorrow if I could. Sold on you already.’ Frankie beams bashfully down at the carpet and bites his lip, Benny’s idea straying dangerously back into good territory.

‘I wouldn’t believe everything they tell you.’ He says, eyes trailing over your neckline, the dip in your cleavage, the hollow of your throat, skin gleaming and a little damp with sweat. You reach out and tuck a stray curl peeking out from his cap behind his ear.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ you murmur, and your touch, the pet name, sends a shiver down his spine. ‘I think we’d get along just fine.’

Benny leaves you both soon after, in search of another beer. He asks if you want one and you politely decline. Frankie does the same. You lead him to a quieter corner by the back window and pull him into easy conversation. You laugh and tell him this is his ‘interview’, but confess that you really have no idea what that might involve. Frankie lets you ask him any question that comes to your mind, and in this pool of time, you discover everything you could need to know about each other. Where you grew up, what your parents were like, whether you enjoyed school, what you eat when you’ve had a bad day, how often you clean the bathroom, what you do now, and what your dreams are for the future. You ask tentatively, respectfully about Delta Force. Frankie appreciates the way you preface it with an out - you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to - but he finds that he does. He spares the details but tells you about training, about flying, about meeting the boys. He tells you about Tom, and as little about Colombia as possible. You nod, brow furrowing in sympathy, in feeling, and squeeze his knee in comfort.

Frankie’s heart shouldn’t skip the way it does, but then you’re asking him more about what Tom was like, how his family are. When his eyes mist over, you take his hand. He runs a thumb over your knuckles. He tells you, cringing, about the coke charge, about his licence. About how he’s getting it back in spring. You grin brightly at him, congratulating him, sucking air in through your teeth and doing a little dance in your chair. Frankie laughs at you, heart swelling. He doesn’t know how you’re getting him to do this - tell you all this stuff, make it feel okay, make him feel great. But he loves it. He could get used to it. You’re sat close to his side, shoulder to shoulder, and you are so warm, your skin so soft. Frankie leans in closer.

‘How did you meet Benny?’ He asks, breathing the words into the shell of your ear over the music. You squirm, dipping your head away from him, and Frankie wonders for an awful moment if he’s misjudged the closeness, if he’s already overstepped your boundaries.

You look at him sideways, your body angled away from him.

‘He didn’t tell you?’ You ask.

Frankie raises an eyebrow, mouth open, ready to apologise. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

‘No.’ He says. You smile at him, sighing heavily through your nose.

‘It’s a little embarrassing,’ you say, avoiding his gaze. ‘We met at a bar. We got on really well, and -’ you huff out a breath, meet Frankie’s eye again. He’s still watching you, not having put together the pieces. You roll your head onto your shoulder, pick the label on your bottle. ‘We slept together, Frankie.’

Frankie’s heart drops.

‘Oh.’ He says.

‘Yeah,’ you laugh, ‘Oh.’ You’re quiet for a moment, Frankie scrambling for the right thing to say. He’s too slow. You clap your hands down on your knees and rise from your seat.

‘I’m gonna head outside for a bit,’ you say. He watches you disappear with a weak smile, an anxious feeling welling in his chest.

Frankie sits for a few minutes, taking pulls from his beer, looking out over the crowd assembled in the living room.

His spots Benny lent against a wall, held up by an arm outstretched beside a girl’s head. A tongue of fire licks up through Frankie’s belly, and he has to sit with it for a moment to work out what it is. Jealousy. He’s jealous that Benny has already touched you, has already heard you. Jealous that Benny has already crossed that threshold, and now he has to be the one to move in and keep his distance. Arbitrary rules, he knows, rules which have been disregarded before. Already, you’d be more than a quick fuck. It’s crass, but Frankie knows you should be more than someone you take home from a bar. Maybe you are - you’re here, after all, clearly invited. Frankie’s mind rocks with the notion that Benny is saving you, keeping you around. It would be cruel of him, but not impossible. Benny had a bad habit of getting what he wanted.

Frankie grinds his teeth, tears his eyes away from his friend. Stupid, stupid. You’re someone he’s only just met, someone he might be living with. Whatever weird thing this is going on in his brain, he needs to fix it quick. Thoughts like these are not suitable in situations like living together.

Frankie stands, but instead of speaking to Benny, instead of getting to the bottom of why you’re here, he follows you through the door beads into the kitchen and out the back door.

You’re sat on the porch swing just below the kitchen window, and the surprise of finding you so easily brings Frankie to a sharp halt. You look up from your bag, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in the glow of the porch light.

‘Hey,’ you say softly, ‘Are you okay?’

Frankie breathes out heavily.

‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘Sorry about that - in there,’ gesturing over his shoulder, back into the house.

‘Oh,’ you say, shaking your head and bringing out a small plastic baggy from your purse. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s not a thing. There’s no -’ you wave a hand around your head, ‘Feelings there or anything. We’re just friends now.’

Frankie nods, leans against the doorframe. Hums a response.

‘You wanna sit?’ You ask, scooching over on the swing, patting the space next to you.

Frankie pushes off the frame and comes to sit next to you. He rocks the seat slightly with his feet, yours dangling a little too far off the ground to move it.

You grin at him, delighted with the movement. You shuffle to tuck your legs under you.

‘Amazing,’ you grin, ‘See? Already a dream team.’

Frankie grins back at you and watches you take more items out of your bag. A small, circular grinder, a tiny rolling tray, pink papers. You pop open the baggy, and the smell of the dried plant seeps through the air, rushing up his nostrils. Frankie breathes deeply, watching you sprinkle some of the bud into your open grinder. You close it, and look up at him.

‘You a narc?’ You ask, lips still quirked.

‘No.’ Frankie chuckles. You bite your cheek, shrug your shoulders.

‘Ya never know…’ you coo, and Frankie grins.

‘I got busted for coke, baby,’ he reminds you, ‘I’m not gonna rat you out for weed.’

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow.

‘Fair enough.’ You say. Frankie watches as you twist the grinder back and forth over the bud, entranced by the motion of your hands. His lips part, watching the strong flex of your wrists.

‘Do you smoke?’ You ask. His tongue dips out to lick the pillow of his lower lip, and you trace the movement with your eyes, fascinated. You swallow, clearing your throat softly. ‘Frankie?’

His eyes dart up to yours, embarrassed, flushed.

‘Yeah?’ He says.

‘Do you smoke?’ You repeat. He looks away from you, shy, shaking his head.

‘I used to,’ he says, ‘But not for a long time.’

You nod, looking out over the garden with him. The cool wind brushing through the trees, the luminescence of the town beyond their feathered tops.

‘You wanna share?’ You ask. He looks back at you, surprised, eyebrows high on his forehead. You shrug. ‘Don’t have to, of course. Especially if it’s not gonna be good for you. Just that - if you wanna move in, I’m afraid it’s a habit I won’t be quitting.’ You raise an eyebrow at him, half apologetic, half warning. He swallows visibly.

‘What if I get too high?’ He says, breathless. You snort, balancing the rolling tray on your knees as you separate the hash out onto the paper, on top of the lavender you’ve pulled from your purse.

‘It’s okay, sugar,’ you say, ‘I’ll look after you.’

Frankie stares at you, eyes wide.

You snicker at him, finish rolling, and lick the paper. Frankie watches the swipe of your tongue, its slow draw along the edge, and feels his cock twitch in his jeans. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea -

He watches as you perch the joint between your lips, put your shit back in your bag, and pull out a lighter. Your eyelashes flicker down to rest on your cheeks as the lighter clicks and you cup your hands around the flame. You take a deep breath in, hollowing your cheeks, lost to the sensation, the taste. Frankie’s jaw flexes, and he has to look away again. You exhale the thick smoke, blowing it away from him, taking another drag before knocking your hand against his arm.

‘Want some?’ You ask.

Frankie mutters a thanks and takes the joint clumsily in his fingers, rotating it until it’s comfortable in his grip. He brings it to his mouth, and you watch as he sucks in and immediately sputters out again. He bends over his knees in a hacking cough, and you gently take the spliff as you pat his back.

‘You okay?’ You ask, taking another draw for yourself. Frankie leans back against the seat, sucking in great breaths of air, eyes watery, his body still twitching. He gulps and nods, not looking at you. ‘Good.’ You say, softly.

Frankie tries again a few minutes later, and is a little more successful. You finish the rest of the joint together before you flick the roach off into the darkness. Your body hums with the crickets and the static of the night air, and you can’t wipe the grin off your face.

‘This is nice.’ You say dumbly, turning to face him.

His arms are crossed and his jaw is clenched again. He breathes deeply through his nose. You scrunch your face up at him, and he notices the movement out the corner of his eye. His gaze slips to you for just a second, and a large smile slips across his features. You giggle at him, heavy and giddy. The urge to take the hand folded closest to you strikes, and when you do, he turns to look at you properly.

‘You have really nice hair,’ you say softly. Frankie chuckles, unable to help himself. You grin at him. ‘What?’ You say. ‘You do.’

Frankie laughs harder, and you reach over to take the cap off his head. He makes a slow, unconvincing grab for it before you settle it on your own hair, kneeling up to swipe a hand through his curls. He watches you, unable to look away, and you gasp at the feeling of it carding through your fingers.

‘So soft,’ you breathe, delighted. You look into his eyes again, one hand cradling the back of his head. His eyes dart down to your mouth, and you lick your lips before starting to giggle. ‘Anyone ever told ya you got baby cow eyes?’ You say.

Frankie’s brow furrows slightly. His words are slow and slurred. ‘What?’

You giggle harder and move your hand round to cup his cheek, looking at him very seriously.

‘Your eyes,’ you say, ‘Are like a baby cow’s.’ A slow spread of joy glows across Frankie’s features. His eyes scrunch up with his smile. ‘Nooo,’ you cry softly, ‘Now they’re all happy. They’re not all big and brown anymore.’

Frankie laughs with unbridled amusement, his head dropping from your hand as he clutches at your knees.

‘A baby cow?’ He gasps. You nod quickly, enthusiastically.

‘Yeah, Frankie. You got real pretty eyes.’ Your own are wide and earnest, and that seems to convince him. He raises an eyebrow before grinning goofily at you, lifting a finger to tap your nose.

‘You think I’m cute.’ He says, and you snort, which only sends him off into a flood of more giggles.

‘I didn’t say that. Only said you got pretty eyes.’

It’s only a little, tiny lie. And you think it’s for the best.

You spend another hour out on the porch before returning to the party, and though you don’t stray far from each other, you make a point of finding Frankie before you leave. You hand him your phone, and he stares at it, confused, before you roll your eyes playfully and say -

‘I need your number, dummy. For the room.’

He taps his number into your phone, and you save it with a little cow emoji next to his name. Frankie bites away his smile.

When he’s lying on the sofa in the dark later, surrounded by bottles and cans and ashy cigarette ends, he can’t stop grinning to himself.

You text him early the next morning, giving him a time and a date to come and see the flat. Frankie replies with so much enthusiasm that he flushes when he reads the message back, dropping his phone onto the coffee table as he stretches out on Will’s floor. He sacrifices his spot on the sofa to Will and Benny, Santi beside him as they watch Face/Off over breakfast.

He doesn’t see your reply until the movie ends.

Can’t wait! So excited to see you!

He sets his phone back down with a happy sigh, so loud that Will and Santi, and then Benny, ask him what he’s so pleased about.

He only gets them to stop probing by smacking Will in the face with a cushion.

---

Frankie moves in a week later, while you’re at work.

You think it’ll be much easier for you both. If you were in the flat you’d only be in the way, and he probably needs the space and time to figure out where he wants to put his stuff. Plus, the idea of seeing him all hot and sweaty is one that, quite frankly, you’ve been trying to avoid.

Benny had told you all about his friends on that first date at the bar. You had been taken with the way he’d talked about them, so fond and positive. You’d enjoyed asking him so many questions, and were delighted when he asked you so many in return. And Benny was cute - he was hot. Enthusiastic and giving and good. But you knew, even laying next to him, both panting, turning your heads to grin at each other at the same time, that it wouldn’t go anywhere.

He had been your type on paper. He’d ticked so many boxes, and you had both fallen into that first date with such excitement - but there was just something missing. There was no burn. You had a good time, you wanted to see him again, but you didn’t yearn for him the way you wanted to. You didn’t miss him when he wasn’t around, you weren’t worried about him fucking other girls.

It hadn’t been a difficult conversation to have. Benny took it better than you’d hoped, and once it had been established, friendship came easily. You met Will, got on well, and the three of you would go for drinks. Benny would come over to watch a film and eat takeout, and you never touched each other. Sure, you thought about it. But you were on a mission to make life easier for yourself. To not fuck around and get attached to someone you shouldn’t get attached to.

So you should have known better when he introduced you to Frankie. Should have made up some excuse, even if he pretty much had the room after all the boys had told you. Should have backed out as soon as those beautiful brown eyes blinked at you, at that first curve of a shy smile, as soon as you’d tucked that curl behind his ear. Because Frankie was someone you could get attached to. Watching him cook, watching the steam trail out behind him after a shower, watching him stretch out on the sofa with a book, having him crinkle his crows feet at you from across the kitchen as he sips his coffee, the low timbre of his voice reaching you across the floorboards, none of these things are something you needed to know, to see. You should have known better.

Work has been busy, long.

So busy you had to stay behind for a couple of hours to make sure the late shift got set up properly, and then you could trudge home. The bus journey, the walk up the hill, the clamber up the stairs to your front door.

When you make it halfway up the stairs, you can smell it. A delicious, warm waft of heady spices, of richness flowing down through the stairwell. You breathe deeply, aching feet pausing on the concrete just so you can tip your head back and inhale. Your stomach growls loudly, and you wish whoever is cooking a good meal, because it sure fucking smells like it.

The smell is stronger on your floor, and you’re still taking deep breaths when you push open your front door. There’s the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen, the low hum of the radio playing. You toe off your trainers, leaving them next to a couple of unpacked cardboard boxes, splashing your keys into the bowl on the sideboard.

‘Frankie?’ You call. There’s no answer.

You move towards the sound, and push open the door to the kitchen.

Frankie is stood with his broad back to you, stirring something in a pot. He bops his head and hums in time with the radio, unaware of you behind him.

‘Holy fuck, Frankie. That smells amazing.’

He turns with a wide smile, a spatula in his hand.

‘Welcome home. I made enough for us both.’

You grin at him, dropping your bag and shucking off your jacket, coming to stand beside him. You ask about what he’s cooking, and he talks you through each step, the ingredients he’s used, and finally, blessedly, tells you it’ll be ready in five minutes.

You eat across the table from each other in quiet, easy conversation. Even with it all so new, with so many of his unpacked boxes still dotted around the flat, it feels like Frankie has always been here.

You wash and dry the plates side by side, laughing and happy and full. You retreat to your respective bedrooms to change into your pyjamas, and then you prop your door open for Frankie to come join you if he’d like. You flick on an episode of Adventure Time and dig around in your bedside table for your rolling stuff, sitting cross-legged and giggling at the cartoon as you grind, arrange, and roll the joint.

Your roommate appears in the doorframe, arms folded across his chest.

‘Come in,’ you say, beckoning him closer, shuffling on the bed to make room for him. He eyes the spliff in your hand. ‘Wanna join?’ You ask. He hesitates.

‘Just a little.’

You nod, stretching off the bed towards the window, grabbing your lighter from the ledge. You flick it to life as Frankie watches from the bed, your legs bare below your sleep shorts, your nipples hard beneath your t-shirt in the cool night air. You jerk your head at him as you exhale, and he crawls over the bed towards you. You try not to think of the way he moves as you hand it to him.

Frankie puffs from the joint a couple times, and passes it back to you. You continue the routine until there’s nothing left, finishing the last couple of tokes before flicking the roach onto the street below.

‘What do ya wanna do?’ You ask him, closing the window. Frankie’s settled back on your bed amongst your pillows. He frowns at the ceiling.

‘Watch a movie.’ He says, and you giggle at the tacky sound of his speech.

‘Come on then, buddy,’ you say, taking his hand and pulling him from the mattress. ‘We’ll watch it on the sofa. You need some water,’ you sing, leading him towards the kitchen. ‘And we’re gonna need snacks.’

Frankie chuckles at the way you say it, a faux accent twanging at your words. He lets you push him down onto the sofa and watches you dopily as you busy yourself with refreshments. You dump everything on the coffee table before turning on the TV.

‘Help yourself,’ you say, gesturing to your stash, and Frankie leans forward in slow motion to grab a can of coke. You giggle at him. ‘What do you wanna watch?’

Frankie cracks the can open and shrugs.

‘Don’t mind.’

You think for a moment, roving through Netflix before slapping his arm.

‘Oh my god!’ You laugh. ‘Notting Hill. We’ll watch Notting Hill. Holy fuck, it’s so bad when you’re stoned, you have no idea.’

Frankie groans beside you, leaning forward again to grab a bag of chocolate pretzels. He rips them open and offers one to you.

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ He smiles.

Halfway through the film, Frankie’s eyes begin to seriously droop. You can’t blame him. It must have been a long day.

When his head drops to your shoulder, you let him cuddle in. He stays there for a while, but when he wakes with a start at the soreness, you manoeuvre him to turn and lay with his head on your lap. He’s pliant and soft in your hands, sighing with relief as he settles. You run a hand through his curls, scratching at his scalp, twisting strands gently around your finger. You stroke and scratch absentmindedly, watching Hugh Grant’s dramatic confession, only remembering what you’re doing when a deep snore resonates from below you.

You look down to find Frankie sound asleep, peaceful face turned up towards you. You admire his silky hair, the scruff of his beard, the heart shaped patch on the side of his face. His soft, full bottom lip, strong nose, the slope and sweep of his brow. You smile at him, something stirring in your belly.

‘Little baby cow.’ You murmur to yourself, and bite your lip to keep from smiling any wider.

---

The first weekend you have off together comes weeks after Frankie moves in.

You have a long, cosy lie in before running your respective errands in the morning, planning to reconvene in the afternoon with food and movies and your other favourite pastime.

By some miracle, you get home before Frankie, and unload your bag of snacks and oven food onto the kitchen table. You’re just organising it, putting away what needs to be in the fridge, when Frankie steps through the front door with a crate of soda and your favourite flowers in his other hand.

‘Hey,’ he grins at you, kicking the door shut before stepping into the room and holding out the blooms. ‘These are for you.’

You take the flowers carefully, admiring the colours, the form, the texture. You look back at him with shining eyes, and Frankie blushes.

‘How did you -’

He shrugs, moving to put the soda in the fridge. With his back to you, he says -

‘You mentioned them once, ‘bout a week after I moved in.’

Your heart melts a little, touched at the care, the thought.

‘Just thought, ya know - don’t need an occasion. Sometimes it’s just nice to pick something up and say I thought of you.’

You blush at his words, just as he turns back around and spots on the table -

‘Holy shit,’ he says, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels. ‘I was just thinking of these! I didn't get any while I was out and they’re my -’ He looks up at you, a knowing smile creeping across his lips.

‘Your favourite,’ you say. ‘I saw them and thought of you.’

Frankie laughs, stepping forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

‘Dream fuckin’ team.’ He says.

You’re both back in your pyjamas within ten minutes, sat on Frankie’s bed, a joint on the bedside table ready to go.

He flicks through the home screen of his Playstation, settling on Red Dead Redemption 2, starting up the game as you lean out his window to dispel the first stream of smoke. You pass it back and forth between you, and when it’s done Frankie chucks the roach in his bin. You climb underneath the duvet and watch Arthur Morgan’s adventures through hooded eyes, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He’s warm and solid beneath you, and you wrap your hands around his arm, breathing him in. You watch in rapt fascination as he tracks down carvings in the mountains, giggle and scold him when he barrels down the wrong side of the roads, and swat at him when his horse gets hit by a train. He loads back up his previous save to get her back, and you visit a time traveller, hunt for vampires in Saint Denis, and squeal when a UFO appears over an abandoned hut filled with rotted bodies. He tells you the stories of the characters in a spaced out slur, and you immerse yourself in the sunshine, the rain, the snow, the mists. You close your eyes to the sounds of hooves, of birds, of nature, of Frankie’s strong heartbeat and his deep breathing.

At some point in the evening, you wake again, sitting and stretching. Frankie smiles sleepily down at you.

‘I’m gonna head to bed in a bit.’ He says, and you smile at him, kneading your neck.

‘No worries,’ you mumble. ‘I’ll head to mine, too. Catch you in the morning.’

Frankie fist bumps you as you stumble towards the door.

‘Thanks for hanging out.’ He says. You snort at him before opening the door.

‘No worries, Fish,’ you say, ‘I’m sure I was great company.’

He grins back, and you blow a kiss before snicking the door shut.

Your own sheets are blissfully cool, and you turn on a little quiet music to get yourself off to sleep. The soft, slow jangle of guitars and low voices do the trick, and if you turn your head just so, you can still smell Frankie on your pyjama top.

---

When you come through to the kitchen the next morning, Frankie is already cooking breakfast. He looks cosy in his old Lakers top and sweats that only just cling to his hips. It tightens something in your belly.

‘I’m making eggs and bacon,’ he says, before gesturing with a spatula to the percolator. ‘There’s coffee over there if you want some.’

‘You tryna seduce me or something?’ You ask, waggling your eyebrows. Frankie laughs at you, gorgeous little crows feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes. You have to look away quickly to hide your own gooey expression.

‘No,’ he says, voice grappling with something of an edge - laughter, a little teasing, ‘I’m not in the business of fucking my friends.’ You flash your eyes back to him, eyebrows raised in surprise, and he’s peering at you from below his eyelashes, biting his lip. A grin blows out across your cheeks, and you bite your lip back.

‘Unfortunately for you, I am,’ you sigh, sweeping your hand across the edge of the kitchen table before glancing at him, his attention turned back to breakfast. ‘Santi still single?’

Frankie freezes over the eggs he’s cooking. He looks up at you slowly. Your heart dips in your chest, legs flooding with the feeling that you’ve definitely said the wrong thing.

‘Are you - are you… interested?’

You feel your cheeks heat.

‘I -’ you rub your face, trying to organise your thoughts. Frankie feels something like a freight train headed towards him. ‘No,’ You say, turning fully towards him, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m not. He’s great - he’s a lovely guy, but no.’

Frankie nods, once, twice, before staring back down at the yellow in the pan. He can’t remember what he was doing. Frying or scrambling? They’re too far gone now. He’ll have to try and pass them off as an omelette.

‘It was a stupid joke.’ You mumble, and Frankie shakes his head at the pan.

‘No, no,’ he says, ‘I just, ya know, if you were -’

You smile at him.

‘You’d set me up?’

Frankie shrugs. You smirk.

‘Well then. If you’re patient, sugar, I might make my way through everyone. Finish with you, of course, make sure we last a little longer.’

Frankie’s head whips up, jaw dropped. He breathes your name, and you laugh.

‘My god, Fish. I’m kidding.’

‘Jesus Christ.’ Frankie laughs, relieved, disappointed. You dance around the kitchen table towards him, reaching out your hands to squish his cheeks, chanting got ya, got ya, as Frankie curls the dish cloth from over his shoulder to whip you with it.

You shriek and leap out of his way, running from him.

Frankie makes no move to follow you, turning off the stove instead, plating up the eggs and bacon. You’re still giggling at him, now armed with a dish cloth of your own. He points at you with the spatula.

‘Sit.’ He says, and you laugh again, taking a seat as Frankie brings over the plates and cutlery. As he settles, you leap up. Frankie watches you.

‘Where are you going?’ He says, spearing some egg with his fork. You return to the table with two mugs of coffee.

‘Can’t forget the most important part of the meal.’ You say, sitting and slurping loudly, winking at him over the ceramic.

Frankie laughs at you through a mouthful of food.

‘You coming to Will’s tonight?’ He asks, swallowing.

You hum a little.

‘Yeah, guess so.’ You say.

‘Boys’ll be there,’ he says, ‘So you’ll know a few faces. Not sure who else.’

You nod, shovelling bacon into your mouth. Frankie smiles.

‘Sure,’ you say, ‘I’ll come.’

That night, you find yourselves round at Will’s again. What was supposed to be a relatively quiet poker night has inevitably turned into too many people drinking too much booze, but he never seems to mind.

Frankie is back leaning on the sofa, listening to Santi and Will talk. He’s laughing, thinking he should go and grab you in a minute - he doesn’t know how many of these stories you’ve heard, but he’s sure you’d enjoy them. He has a compulsion to watch you laugh, to see you enjoy the people around you, to feel the shine of your company, to see the way you look at him, eyes dancing with amusement, always as though there is some kind of joke you’re thinking of that only he will understand.

When he looks around the living room, he can’t find you. It’s not unusual. He knows by now that you’ll be off chatting to whoever is lucky enough to find you, and he finds himself moving in the direction of the kitchen, pushing through the door beads. When he doesn’t see you in there, he catches Benny at the sink, asking if he’s seen you.

‘Sure,’ he says, ‘I was just with her. She’s out on the porch swing.’

A muscle flexes in Frankie’s jaw as he moves away from Benny, that familiar creep of possessiveness crawling up his throat. Stupid, stupid. He’s already asked him, knows that he wants nothing from you. So why does it irritate him so much?

You’re outside on the swing just like Benny said, gazing up at the stars as Frankie slumps down beside you. He bounces the chair, and you giggle at him.

‘Having a good time?’ You ask. He nods.

‘Yeah. You?’

You nod, tilting your face to look at him. Frankie doesn’t know when he decided it, but he’s sure your eyes are the prettiest he’s ever seen. He loves the way they shine out at him now in the glow of the porchlight, warm and kind and soft. That sunny feeling he gets as he watches you moves something silken and deep within him, something lonely.

I was just with her. Unfortunately for you, I am -

‘What?’ You say softly.

‘Nothin’,’ he shrugs. ‘Just glad I met you.’

You scoff lightly at him, knocking your head against his shoulder.

‘Glad I met you, too, sugar.’ You murmur, and when Frankie meets your eye, his breath seizes in his lungs.

You are so close.

Your eyes dart between his own and his mouth, lingering on the shape of his lips, the flecks of grey in his moustache. He can’t move as you lean closer to him, as you ghost two fingers over his wrist. Your eyes are burning, teasing, curious as he stares down at your lips, soft and inviting, curved around so many wonderful words, wrapped around the end of a joint or a beer bottle -

‘There you are,’ Will says, bursting through the back door. You startle away from Frankie, and he feels dizzy at the change, at the rush of what was about to happen. The warm press of your body against his. ‘C’mon,’ says Will, ‘We’ve got a poker game to win.’

You watch as Frankie hauls himself away from you, settling back in the swinging chair. When the door shuts behind the two men, you press a hand to your chest, feeling the rattle of your heartbeat.

---

You wake as though through fog, to a noise you can’t quite place.

It’s quiet, but almost right by your head. A slick, rhythmic sound, heavy breaths, quiet groans, curses. Through slipping sleep, you process them, too tired to be embarrassed, to be thinking straight. The sounds of Frankie jerking off go straight to your core, and you can feel yourself growing wetter and wetter as you listen, as you slip your hand beneath the elastic of your panties and join him, careful to muffle your own sounds to hear him better.

You become frantic as he grows louder, as he mutters to himself, as his bed moves just enough to squeak. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as he looses a particularly loud fuck, and then a strangely familiar word, followed by a long, low groan. You come hard on your fingers, panting as the heat subsides, as you hear Frankie leave his room and head to the bathroom.

Languid and liquid in the sunbeams on your blankets, it takes you longer than it should to decipher what you’d heard. Longer than it should to wonder if it really was your name he’d gasped as he came.

Frankie needs air.

He needs to get out of the apartment, so while he’s drinking his morning coffee, he drafts up a list of things to do. Parcels to return, small things to buy, a new coffee shop he’d like to try out. Anything to try and clear you out his head. The feel of your body pressed against his on the seat, the ghosting of your fingers on the inside of his wrist, the flame in your eyes. The way you’d jumped when Will found you, whether you meant it, whether he was imagining it, what he was going to do, what he was not going to do -

You shuffle into the kitchen still in your pyjamas, stifling a yawn behind a hand. You help yourself to coffee from the percolator, and Frankie tells you he’s heading out. You nod and give him a squeeze, saying you’re off to the gym, anyway. Frankie tries not to think of how your ass looks in your blue leggings, and sets off down the stairwell.

He stays out for as long as possible, breathing in the fresh, spring air, looking into shop windows and petting passing dogs. He only decides to call it a day when his stomach starts growling and his feet start aching.

He feels good, energised.

Maybe he should get out more often.

Frankie shuts the front door gently behind him, placing his keys in the bowl. He says your name, only half expecting a reply. You didn’t say when you were heading out, or when you’d be back.

He yanks his boots off by the shoe rack you set up last week, and tucks them away neatly. His feet carry him towards the kitchen, fingers itching to hold a cup of coffee and sandwich before a soft sound stops him. His heart leaps in his throat, and he freezes, not daring to take another step.

He registers the soft sound of the running shower, and anticipation lodges itself in his belly. He waits, heart hammering in his chest, and almost moves before he definitely, definitely hears it again.

You moan softly on the other side of the bathroom door, and Frankie’s eyes flutter shut.

He should go. He should absolutely go, but he can see from here in the hallway that the bathroom door is open just a crack. And he has always been a flawed person, which is why it doesn’t surprise him that when he goes to shut it, to knock, to move past, he can’t keep himself from looking. Can’t stop his eyes from finding you, back against the tile, hair dripping down your shoulders, water spattering across your skin as you stand with your legs apart, one hand spreading you open, fingers moving fast across your clit. Frankie grips onto the door handle as his eyes close again.

Because he knows what’s about to happen. Hot shame floods through him as his cock hardens embarrassingly fast, a thin ringing in his ears as he opens his eyes again, takes in the soft flesh of your thighs, the flow of water, the rivulets tracing your skin, your glistening core, the way your fingers move so desperately -

And Frankie can see it, can feel it, can taste it when he imagines opening the door and climbing there with you, not giving you a chance to be surprised before he sinks to his knees and replaces your hand with his mouth.

With shaking fingers, he unbuttons his jeans, unzips his fly, and begins to stroke his cock.

He has no idea how long you’ve been in there for, but he watches closely, ravenously for your tells. It’s not gonna take him long, but he wants to watch you fall apart first.

He watches you move your weight so you slump a little lower on the wall, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. He watches as your hips twitch and roll forwards as you slow your pace, rubbing harder instead of faster, and he barely contains his own moan as you whine, high-pitched and needy, echoing off the walls. He watches your tummy clench with each stroke of your fingers, stares with drooling amazement as you snake a hand up your body to grasp and play with your tits, squeezing them, rolling your nipples between your fingers, pinching them as hard as you can. Frankie grunts when you gasp out a fuck, and for a long, heart clenching second, he thinks you hear him. You slow your movements, trying to peer through the dark crack in the door.

Frankie can’t move, can’t stop fisting his cock as he watches you, precum dripping through his fingers, the dirty thrill of getting caught spurring him on.

You listen carefully, turning your head to the side to see if you can catch any more noises. Satisfied you’re still alone, you continue, this time quickly finding a pace which Frankie can tell will send you off the edge. Your wet skin, the slick sounds of your fingers even over the running water, and your moans, gasps, curses, getting even louder.

Frankie stares still, enraptured by the goddess in front of him unravelling herself, and he wants nothing more than to touch you, taste you, smell you. He tries not to think of what he’d give to be inside you, but a soft moan escapes him anyway. Imagining the clench of your warm, wet cunt, hearing you make those noises for him, the slip of your wet skin in his grasp, your tits in his hands, the bite of your teeth on his shoulder sends him rocketing to his orgasm. He barely has time to wrap the bottom of his t-shirt around his cock, biting his fist as he empties himself, opening his eyes just in time to watch your body spasm and clench, your back arch, your head knock against the tiles as you cry out oh fuck, oh fuck, oh god.

Once you finish riding it out, whimpering and twitching, you close your eyes and breathe heavily. Frankie feels feverish, head tipping forwards onto the door frame as he tucks himself gently back into his boxers and pulls his jeans back up. He takes one last breath before a short, shrill beep echoes throughout the apartment.

Your eyes snap to the door again as you jump, and Frankie flinches, slowly backing away as you cock your head at the gap. Beep. Frankie can feel his pulse in his ears as he reaches the front door with soft treads, managing to open it quietly through his blind panic just as you turn the shower off. He slams it shut, calling your name from the entryway, cringing at the breaking huskiness of his voice. He waits a few seconds as though he’s taking off his shoes before running to his room, hearing the snick of the bathroom door closing just as his shuts behind him.

Frankie leans against the wood, forcing short breaths in and out his nose. Beep.

The smoke detector again, on the other side of the door. It shocks him back to life as he rips his shirt off, stuffing it deep in his laundry hamper before scrambling for a new one, praying to whatever god is out there that you hadn’t just caught him in such an obvious lie. That you hadn’t just caught him jerking off to you masturbating in the shower.

Frankie leaves his room as quickly as possible, knowing that the longer he stays in there the more likely it is you’ll know something is wrong. He yanks the door open, stepping out into the hallway, stopping to listen on the hardwood floor. There’s not a peep from the rest of the flat, but the door to the bathroom is now wide open, small tendrils of steam slipping out into the hallway. Frankie takes a deep breath and steps lightly down the hallway to the kitchen, intent on coffee this time, on something to distract him, something to do with his hands. Beep.

He works on autopilot as he pours the grounds into the percolator, throwing up a mental wall every time a glimmer of your body passes through his mind. When he sets it over the stove top he grips the counter, shoulders hunched, chewing his cheek as he breathes heavily through his nose. This time, the beep of the smoke detector makes him jump, and he swipes a hand over his mouth.

‘We need to change the batteries in that.’ You say, and Frankie flinches as you breeze past him into the kitchen. He can’t look at you, shame and arousal colouring his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears. He makes a noise in his throat, and you shoot him a look over your shoulder.

‘You okay?’ You ask. He swings his eyes to you, and you look back at him the same as always. Warm, kind. You can’t know. You must be oblivious, and somehow that makes it worse.

‘Yeah,’ he says, and tries to smile, ‘Just need a coffee.’

His eyes try not to linger on your body, try not to linger on your lips, your hands. He grips the countertop harder. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

You smile back at him.

‘If you’re sure,’ you say, sidling closer, laying a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze and wink up at him. ‘Can you make me one? I’m exhausted.’

Frankie tries to muffle his sharp intake of air with a cough. I’m exhausted. How long had you been in there? Had you even been to the gym? Or had you just spent the morning grinding and moaning and coming -

‘Sure.’ He croaks, and you frown at him.

‘You’re really feeling okay?’ You ask, bringing the back of your hand to his forehead. ‘Might be coming down with something. Tired and coughing.’

He shakes his head a little too enthusiastically.

‘No, I’m fine.’ He says, interrupted only by the beep of the smoke alarm. You pull a face at it, and he moves to take the coffee off the stove.

‘Go get the ladder,’ he says, ‘And I’ll change the batteries.’

You swish out of the kitchen, and Frankie scrubs his face with his hands, groaning out a god before taking two mugs from the cupboard and filling them. He’s just finished pouring in the creamer when you struggle back through the doorway, huffing under the weight of the stepladder.

‘Coffee’s there.’ He says, jerking his head in the direction of the mugs as he takes it from you. Frankie sets it up under the detector, stepping up the first couple of rungs before you stand in front of him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, and you tighten your hands around the ladder’s sides, holding it steady.

‘Don’t want you doing any damage to yourself.’ You say softly.

Frankie nods and continues climbing, trying not to think of how close you are. He focuses as he reaches the ceiling, stretching up to unscrew the device.

You swallow as you’re exposed to the slither of skin the action reveals, golden in the afternoon light, and the dark hair which trails down, down, below the waistline of his jeans.

‘Take it for me.’ He says from above you, and you drag your eyes away to meet his, flushing as you reach up to grab the alarm, fingers brushing. You watch as Frankie’s gaze darkens, as he takes you in, flushed, lips bitten, standing at the perfect height. The greedy way you’d been looking at his stomach, water, thighs, fingers -

‘Thank you.’ He says, and you take the detector away to replace the batteries, your fingers shaking. Frankie watches you hungrily, the curve of your jeans, the slope of your neck when you flick your hair behind you. He’s still watching when you turn back to him and hand him the device.

‘Good girl.’ He says. Heat rushes through you at the words, your breath catching in your throat. Frankie’s movements falter only slightly before he’s reaching up again to screw the detector back in. You stare at his belly, the coarse hair, and try to think of anything but nuzzling your nose against the skin, breathing him in, unbuttoning his jeans, taking his cock in your mouth, thinking about what he’d look like, what he’d feel like, what he’d taste like, whether it would be as good as what you’d imagined in the shower -

Frankie steps down from the ladder, prizing your hands off the metal, folding it shut and carrying it back out the room.

‘All done.’ He says.

You run a hand through your hair, pinching the bridge of your nose. Jesus.

You take a seat at the dining room table, and when Frankie joins you, you drink your coffee in near silence.

At work, later that evening, you shut yourself in the bathroom during your break. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds when you make yourself come, embarrassingly quick, to thoughts of what might have happened if you’d kissed Frankie’s stomach on the ladder. The uncomfortable ache in your core barely sated, your panties soaked, you try to do anything to distract yourself for the rest of the shift. Anything to keep your hands busy.

And in his bed, later that night, when he’s sure you must be asleep, Frankie takes his cock in his hand again. It doesn’t take him long, guiltily indulging in what he’d seen from the crack in the bathroom door. He comes with a quiet groan and a whisper of your name, wishing that you were there to lick the salt off his chest.

He falls asleep to thoughts of you, like he has done from the night you met.

---

A week passes, and Frankie's pretty sure he's going insane.

He can’t shower without picturing the way you had stood there, moaning and gasping. He can’t stop thinking of the way you had looked at him on the ladder, the way you’d looked at him sat on Will’s porch. He has to jerk off at least twice a day, and aside from it being a fucking inconvenience, he’s beginning to feel like a creep.

He thinks he needs to get laid.

There’s a girl you work with - Tasha - who gave Frankie her number not long after you started living together. She was pretty, nice enough, but Frankie hadn’t been looking for anything, and he certainly didn’t want to shit where you ate. But he texts her anyway. It’s late and sleazy, but she says yes. They meet at a bar, and when they stumble through the front door, you’re already home.

You’re sprawled out on your bed, a joint already rolled, leftovers from work in the fridge, ready to hunker down and fill Frankie in on your day, ready to hear him tell you about his, watch some shit on the television. Tonight felt like a David Attenborough night.

You jump as the front door bangs open, as two sets of feet come tumbling in. Your heart beats loudly in your chest at the noise, at the intrusion, unsure whether you should leap up to defend your roommate or hide. Then you hear the wet sounds of kissing, the low mumble of Frankie’s words, a high-pitched laugh you recognise as the front door shuts and Frankie’s opens.

You wait with baited breath, somehow unable to believe what is happening. Your fingers flutter on your chest, anxiously pressing the skin there.

Frankie’s never brought anyone home before. You don’t quite know what to do with yourself.

You’ve also never quite thought about how thin the wall is between your bedroom and his.

The realisation makes your skin flush, heated even more when you hear the mumbles and groans from the other side of the wall. Frankie saying something in a language you don’t understand, and Tasha’s breathy reply.

You don’t know how long you listen for, frozen on your mattress as you listen to the creak of Frankie’s bed, the whines and moans falling from them. The low timber of Frankie’s speech sinks itself into the centre of your body, heating and melting. You close your eyes as you try to pick out what he’s saying, as you listen for his panting breaths, his low moans. You can feel your underwear growing wet with slick, your body tightening - hot - and then Tasha cries out.

The sound shocks you from your reverie, shame, annoyance imploring your body to move. You raise up on your knees and pound your fist against the wall. Everything falls silent.

You breathe deeply for a moment before Frankie says something quietly, answered only by Tasha’s low giggle. Your tongue feels like ash in your throat as they both say a couple more things, more laughs pouring through the wall before you’re up, pulling on a hoodie over your tank top, leaving your room.

There’s another shock of silence as Frankie and Tasha hear you moving, but you’re already pulling your trainers on. You can hear Frankie say something on the other side of his door, can hear it getting louder as he moves towards it, but you’re slamming the front door closed before he can intercept you.

Your Uber ride is quiet, seething. You chew your lip, clench and unclench your fists. Your phone buzzes in your grip several times, but you don’t check it.

When you reach the low, suburban house with the cacti out front, you waste no time worrying about whether you look pretty enough. Because he’s always said you are on the nights when he’s had too much to drink.

You should know better before you raise your hand to knock. But you don’t spare a second thought as your knuckles rap against the wood. You shut down all other thoughts as the door swings open, him knowing exactly when to expect you as soon as you’d called. Something about military training and timing.

‘Hey.’ Benny says, standing in the doorway, moving aside to let you pass.

‘Hey.’ You smile back at him as you step into his house, toeing off your trainers, stripping yourself of your hoodie.

Benny eyes you hungrily as you stand before him in your tank top. You feel the heat coil in your belly again as he steps towards you, the slick in your underwear pooling as he kisses you hard and hot and open mouthed, as you tangle your hands in his hair, as you scratch at the bare skin of his hip beneath his top. You moan against him when you feel him already hard at your stomach.

‘Bed.’ He growls.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal x reader #peach pit #tommy's party #you and your friends #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #Spotify

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ih8simps · 8 months

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My first post EVER;

The Runaway (Chrollo x reader)

The sound of the deep bass assaulted your ear drums as the lights around you flashed.

The room was filled with the smell of sweat and alcohol as the people around you continued to bump against one another. Your eyes swiveled around the room as you watched the sea of people all dancing to their own rhythms.

The music made you feel the need to continue dancing and the alcohol dancing around your bloodstream made you never want to stop. You continued to dance even when a red haired stranger came into your view. The moment his golden eyes locked onto yours, you knew he was trouble. From the bold red of his hair to the points on the tips of his shoes, you knew this guy was something peculiar. But by all means, you liked peculiar. As if drawn together by magnets you both met in the middle of the dance floor. You didn’t give him a chance to speak as you began to press your body against his. That smirk on his face grew into a Cheshire grin as you both danced to the music.

After a few songs you were still pressed against him and by now you could feel that he was certainly excited for you to be so close.

“Do I get to know your name now?” He spoke with his lips practically against your ear.

“You’re a pretty decent dancer. I’m having fun with you”. You turned away from him and rubbed your ass against his hard length. From what could be felt through your clothes, that would certainly be a sight to see. Your body hummed in delight at the thought. If only time and circumstance had been different.

In the rafters above the dancing bodies, the spiders were spinning a web. Phinks, Feitan, Pakunoda, Shalnark, Machi, Shizuku, Nobunaga, and their leader Chrollo were stationed in the upper level of the club watching those below. The spider was here for a job. There were some big fish that owned some shiny things that Chrollo wanted to steal. The owner of this club was a prolific businessman who was heavily into trade. He had a safe somewhere on this premises full of rare treasures. He used this club as a way to gather fellow traders and rare collectors without raising too much suspicion. To the authorities this just happened to be the place where rich traders and businessmen found themselves on Friday nights.

“Damn it. I wish I was a better dancer” Phinks practically whined.

“You are bad” Feitan spoke in his slow drawl. Phinks opened his mouth to yell out a retort but before he could Machi cut in.

“How you dance doesn’t matter. We aren’t here for dancing. We are scouting this place”

The spiders all had their eyes on a different target. They all knew who exactly they were supposed to be keeping their eyes on at all times but watching old men try to drunkenly dance or slobber on women was such boring work. It seemed that Shalnark had become bored quite a while ago as he was playing a game on his phone. Feitan flanked Phinks against the railing that looked over the crowd. Pakunoda sat on the sofa sipping a glass of vodka. Machi stood close to Chrollo as he stood with his back to the railing. Nobunaga begrudgingly stood close to Shizuku as she leaned over the railing to get a closer look at the crowd.

“I don’t know. Maybe Phinks is right. We should all learn how to dance. I mean look at Hisoka.”

The eyes of the spider searched the crowd for the eccentric red head. When they finally caught a glimpse of him, a hush fell over the group. Shizuku couldn’t understand the sudden silence.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is that-“ Phinks could hardly believe what he was seeing.

“(Y/n)” Machi whispered.

With the music still blaring, the lights still flashing absurdly, and the warm body of the man behind you still rubbing against you, you were in a form of chaotic bliss. For a brief moment you felt truly free. That feeling came to a screeching halt when a heavy coldness swept over you. It felt like a cloak of heavy darkness and filthy disgust. It seemed that the man behind you could feel it too as he suddenly stopped dancing. His eyes immediately swept the room before he looked up and directly at the source of the awful feeling. Your blood ran cold as you realized what you were looking at. The minute your eyes locked with his steel cold gaze, you realized you knew this feeling all too well. This was Chrollo’s bloodlust.

It had been years since you had seen him. Even from this far away you could tell that even in this sea of still dancing people he was looking directly at you. The intensity in his eyes made you believe he could probably see through you.

“No” you choked out.

The man behind you grabbed your arm, seemingly making the room grow even colder.

“How do you know each other?” You shook your head in response. Shock wouldn’t allow words to fall from your lips.

“How-“ the man opened his mouth to speak again but before he could you watched as the spider suddenly began its ascent down to the dance floor. One moment they were 40 feet away, the next moment you could feel them near inches away from you.

“(Y/n)” Feitan was the first to speak from his short distance away. “Why are you here?”

You ignored him as you began to count backwards from 10.

“What is she saying?” Shizuku could not understand what she was hearing.

“Grab her before she gets to-“

“One” you choked out. Just as you were about to disappear from the room you felt a brief pressure on the back of your neck. Before you lost consciousness you peered into a pair of familiar grey eyes.

“Chrollo” you whispered.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo #yandere phantom troupe #x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter

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succulent-ghoul · 1 year

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Playing animal crossing while sitting in mountains lap. It's like 2 am and neither of you are fully awake anymore but you still wanna fish,,, mountain presses kisses on the top of your head as you catch another sea bass. Mountain mumbling decoration tips for your island and even falling asleep while your still half asleep and playing animal crossing.

#the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ficlet #text post #animal crosing new horizons #edgar is obsessed with video games #nameless ghoul #mountain ghoul #mountain is my fav #mountain x reader #???

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walker-bait-1973 · 8 months

Text

We Ain't Dead Part Two

Photo Edit By Me

A Daryl Dixon x Reader (she/her) Fanfiction

18+

Warnings: Usual TWD Violence, Death, Alcohol, Swearing, Slow Burn, Fluff, Smut

Author's Notes: The group has been at the prison, and Y/N is starting to fit in. Carol expresses her concerns to Daryl.

Part One

Masterlist

Chapter 7: Fish For Dinner

“Up there,” Daryl pointed. They walked through the brush to a small pond. Y/N brought out a tin can filled with worms. The two tossed out the lines and sat on the shore, patiently waiting. Y/N breathed deeply, watching the ripples in the water. Every now and again, a fish would jump.

“They don’t know the world’s ended,” Daryl commented.

“Hmm.” Y/N remarked, “no one told ‘em.”

Daryl’s lips tightened, “gotta piss.”

While he was gone, Y/N saw his pole tip. She grabbed it and pulled in a nice bass. She unhooked it and attached it to a makeshift stringer. Daryl came out of the bushes zipping up his jeans and adjusting his belt. He saw her worming his hook.

“You had a fish.” She said laughing.

“What?! No way…”

She held up the stringer.

“Damn, nice bass.”

“Yeah, I’m taking credit for that one,” Y/N grinned.

She handed him back his stick. He tossed the line in. They’d been successful, fishing out almost thirty-five; a mixture of bass and perch. Daryl held up the stringer, “we did good.”

She nodded, “fish tonight.”

They headed to the bike. A small group of walkers came out of the trees, between them and the bike.

“Shit,” Daryl muttered, setting down the fish. Y/N pulled out the spears, rushed forward and took out two walkers. Daryl grabbed his knives and joined the fight. There was one more walker, both pulled their bows, drew, and released the arrows. Both arrows hit in a criss cross pattern through its skull. They looked at one another, chests heaving with adrenaline. Y/N grinned. They walked over, and Daryl moved its head from side-to-side whistling.

“Wow,” Y/N said, pulling her arrow, “this is getting to be a habit.” She handed Daryl the bolt of his arrow. She scooped up the fish as they passed, jumped on the bike with him, and they took off.

When they returned to the prison, they set up an old desk with a basin of water on the side. Y/N spat on a whetstone and sharpened two knives. She handed one to Daryl who started deboning a perch. Y/N watched interestedly.

“Not fileting it?” she asked.

He shook his head, “lose too much meat that way.” He picked up another perch and traced the backbone with the point of his blade, “the line is there, draw in at an angle,” he showed her, “slide it slow and flat back, slip it out by the tail. Flip it, do it again. Pull the head.” When he did so, the whole backbone came out, ribs and all.

She picked up a perch, slowly slid the point in by the backbone. She started to cut, but he reached over, “lay it flat back, go slow,” he stepped behind her, held down the head and then held his hand over hers. They moved the knife back to the tail.

“That’s it,” he said. She held it up, pulled the head, and all the bones came out. She smiled at him. He nodded.

“You filet the bass though?” she asked.

“Hell yeah,” he grinned, “you?”

She nodded.

They tossed the dressed fish into the basin. Carl walked over and peered into it.

“Wow, look at all those fish!”

“You cooking tonight?” Y/N asked him. Carl laughed.

“No, but I’ll carry ‘em in for you.”

“Nah, we’re gonna cook ‘em out here. Not on no damn burner!” Daryl exclaimed. Y/N pointed to some broken bricks, “we’ll build up some walls for the grill.” He nodded.

They dug a shallow hole in the grass, clearing away the tall weeds, and piled bricks in a half circle. Y/N sat down with a thick roll of wire from her pack and wrapped it around two rods from a file cabinet, and then across in a woven pattern. Glenn and Maggie watched, marveling over her creativeness. Daryl studied it, impressed. They stacked some dried twigs, got the fire going and piled on logs.

Everyone was coming out of the prison now. They laid the fish out on the makeshift grill, sprinkled some salt and pepper on it and everyone excitedly waited for them to be done. Carol made a dandelion greens salad, tossed with vinegar from the commissary, some salt. Hershel dug up some wild yams, threw them in a pot on the grill. It was a delicious dinner.

Everyone was happy, laughing, eating, passing around a bottle of wine. Hershel stuck to water, but the others had some of the warm, sweet wine.

Rick waited for the right moment before saying, “So Y/N, what’s your story?”

Y/N wiped her fingers on her pants, “well, I’m from New York City-”

“That’s the accent. I couldn’t place it,” Maggie snapped her fingers.

“You have the accents,” Y/N laughed. The others laughed.

“Naw, you’re in the south, you got the accent,” Daryl teased.

“Oh, is that so?” Y/N cocked an eyebrow. Daryl grinned.

“So, you’re from NYC,” Carol piped up, “what did you do, before the fall?”

“I was a firefighter, ladder 7.”

“Were you there when the towers fell?” Beth asked.

Y/N swallowed the yam in her mouth before answering, “I was. That was rough.”

“How did you end up in Georgia?” Glenn asked.

Y/N set a bone on the side of her plate, “well, when everything happened, I was on duty. We were called out to help. Did what we could. Lost a lot of my team to bites, misaimed gunfire from the police. I made my way to City Hall, but Bloomberg was bitten, killed his whole staff. Government there was gone. Streets were rampant with the dead ones. I started trying to get out of the city with several people, but I’m the only one of that group that made it out alive. I traveled downward to head to the CDC in Atlanta. It was gone.”

Rick looked at the others, “yeah, we were there. We met a scientist, Dr. Jenner. He was the only one left of his team of hundreds. They’d been working on finding a cure. He told me…” He faltered.

Daryl nodded, “tell her.”

“Tell me what? What did Jenner tell you?”

“We’re all infected,” Rick said seriously. Y/N frowned.

“That’s why if you kill someone, they turn unless you stab them in the head. They don’t have to be bit.” Glenn explained.

What was she supposed to do with this information?

“Oh, wow,” Y/N stood up, “well shit… I need to take a minute.” She walked off, out of the glow of the fire.

“Buzzkill,” Carol smacked Rick in the shoulder.

“She had to know,” Daryl said.

Y/N walked down by the fences. She watched the dead ones wondering how many had died of natural causes. She grabbed her hooks, and untied the spot in the fence where the group would slip in and out. Her spear stabbed the first walker closest to her, and then she dragged two down with the hooks, stomping their heads out.

“Hey!” Daryl yelled, banging on the fence, “what the hell are you doin’?” he demanded, attracting walkers to the fence. He’d stab each one through the links.

“Thinning out these dead ones!” Y/N yelled back. Daryl shot one behind her head with his crossbow. He made his way out the hole and stood by her back, killing walkers.

“Why’d you come out here alone?” he asked, pissed off, knife in the rotted skull of a walker, drawing back, blood splattering everywhere.

“I can handle this, Daryl!” She cut one off its legs and stabbed it through the head. The hook pulled two toward Y/N, and she slammed them down on the ground. She jumped up and stamped down on their skulls. A spear got knocked from her hand. She dropped the other and brandished her knives. Daryl and Y/N worked hard and fast.

“Just be happy, we cleared that corner,” Y/N told him.

"That ain't the point," he yelled, "yer the point."

She flipped the knives in her hands upside down and gutted brain remains of dead ones around her. Daryl stopped fighting, and watched her, surprised.

Daryl yelled, “Get down!” Y/N dropped to the ground. Daryl threw a knife right through the skull of a walker that had crept up on her. She flew to her feet. Daryl panted as he made sure she got up okay.

She picked up her hooks, slapped the blood from them, and wiped the gore against the clothes on a nearby walker. Daryl yanked the knife free from the walker’s skull, wiped it on his pants and approached her.

She and Daryl had a rapport, and a budding friendship. He held onto her arm.

He took a deep breath, “Yer… family. Talk ta me."

She huffed, sighing heavily, her shoulders slacking, "Rick, telling us that information. You know, about being infected."

Daryl chewed at the inside of his lower lip, waiting patiently for her to continue talking.

“I can't wrap my mind around it,” she whispered, "and how this comes into everything from here on out for me. I don't want to lose Judith to the infection, or anyone in the group…" She’d kept her feelings turned off, trying not to get attached to him, but there it was, "or you…"

His grip softened on her arm.

She cleared her throat, looking away from him, "yeah, so… I am afraid I will lose my sense of focus while defending this place.”

Daryl chewed his lower lip, “you ain’t gonna.”

“How do you know I won't?"

“'Cause I got yer back," he answered softly.

Y/N felt the sincerity in his words.

“C’mon,” he said. They rejoined the group at the fire.

“You, okay?” Rick asked her.

“I am. Thank you,” she gave him a small smile. Rick looked over at Daryl. His eyes remained on the fire.

“So, you never did finish telling us how you got to Georgia,” Carol said, scraping her bones into a bucket.

“No, I didn’t, Carol, maybe another time,” Y/N said, standing up. She scraped her plate into the bucket and carried the dirty dishes inside. She then decided to go for a walk.

Carol looked at Daryl as people started to move inside, “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” he answered. Daryl walked slowly over to join her.

“Hey,” he greeted her quietly, "glad to see yer still on this side of the fence this time."

"Ha ha," she answered.

He puffed on his cigarette, “I know there’s more you ain’t tellin’ me. I hope at some point you will.”

Y/N looked his way, “I’m trying.”

"'Kay then…"

On their walk back, they looked at the sky.

“Stars are brighter since everything went to shit.” She commented, desperately needing a change in subject.

He grunted before exhaling, looking down from the heavens and at her.

"Lookin' tired, Y/N…" he remarked, tugging a lock of her hair. She gazed over at him.

"I am. I'm feeling it tonight. And after such a great day."

"Remember the good parts, not the bad."

She nodded as he held the door to the prison open.

“Goodnight, Y/N!” Maggie and Beth yelled as she made her way up the stairs. She waved.

“Thanks for the fish!” Carl yelled.

Y/N smiled and went into her cell. She washed up, changed into bed clothes, and lay on her bunk reading a book.

Daryl walked by her cell as he did every night. Tonight, he waited for a few extra minutes, thinking. He saw her candle go out, and stepped up to the closed door, “Night.”

There was a long pause.

“Night,” she responded.

Carol decided to go up to the second floor and went to Daryl’s door, standing by the entrance that was slightly ajar before clearing her throat.

“Carol?”

"Yeah, it's me, can I come in?"

He grunted. She opened the door a little wider to walk in. She stood at the foot of his bed while his eyes moved from the magazine in his hand to glance up at her. She wrapped the opening to the flannel shirt around her. It was chillier than she anticipated.

"What happened today between you and Y/N?"

He shrugged, "nothin'. Just tryin' ta get her to talk."

Carol sat down on the edge of his bed. He sat up more.

"If she talks to anyone it will be you."

"How do you know that?"

"Because… if it were me… I would… choose you… to talk to."

His lips parted. She touched his hand, feeling the calluses on his fingers. He hesitated before pulling his fingers away.

"Get to bed now," he said, opening the door for her. Her hand touched his shoulder on the way out.

"Goodnight, Daryl."

He nodded slightly, the conversation leaving him confused.

Chapter 8: Berries, Pookie

Two Months Later

Glenn and Maggie went on a run for more formula. Y/N and Daryl offered to go, but they wanted to get out for a bit, which was understandable. The prison got to you after a while, and breaks were needed from those dark, dank walls.

While they were gone, Carol went out to where Daryl was working on tuning up one of the vehicles.

“Hey Pookie, can we talk?” She yelled over the motor. He turned off the engine.

“Listen, I’m really happy that we have Y/N around. She’s very useful, and resourceful, and pulls her own weight… sometimes more. But… I barely see you anymore. I miss you.” Carol sighed.

“Carol-”

“Let’s just spend some time together. Help me collect some berries outside the fence.”

“Sure.” He wiped his hands on a rag, picked up his crossbow and followed her to the fence.

“When I was out here fixing the hose to the water, I spotted a few bushes just over here,” she pointed. Ripe blackberries loaded each bush. He picked a few and popped them in his mouth. They started picking the berries, looking up often to keep an eye out for walkers.

“What do you two talk about?” She asked.

He shrugged, “stuff.”

“Stuff you can’t talk about with me?” She asked, dropping some berries into the bag around her wrist.

“It’s different.”

“Different how?” she asked.

“I dunno, just different.” He was abrupt in his answer.

“Where do you go?”

“If I would’ve known you’d be ridin’ my ass, I wouldn’t have come,” he exclaimed, dropping berries into the bag.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized.

He didn’t say anything, just continued to pick berries.

“What makes her so special, Daryl?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “she sees me different.”

“Different how? I’m just trying to understand,” she said patiently.

“Dunno.”

“I wish you’d share with me.” She mumbled.

Daryl shook his head, “I’m tryin’ to! You ain’t makin’ it fuckin’ easy.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again, and drew his hair away from his eyes.

They resumed picking berries. Carol moved to another bush.

“Carol, there’s somethin’ bout her…”

Carol stopped picking to really pay attention to what Daryl was saying, “what is it?”

“She’s quiet n’ she… she’s a lot like me.”

“Is she?” Carol asked, “She doesn’t seem very affectionate though.”

Daryl considered what Carol was saying.

“Affectionate?” he asked, taking more berries from the bush.

“Yeah,” she said, “you know, a softer side of her.”

Daryl could recall a few instances where Y/N laughed with him, when the two were alone she’d started showing a little vulnerability, This was something Carol didn’t see.

“There’s a soft side,” he said quietly.

“Do you think that … you’re getting attached to her? After all, it’s been a year since she moved in.”

“Attached?” Daryl asked, chewing his lip. Carol’s smile softened. Daryl was a sensitive soul, albeit clueless on feelings of love and affection. He kept those things stored away due to all the pain he’d faced during his life. Carol knew this. Y/N was quiet most of the time. She seemed to always be more of an observer when the group was socializing. She knew a lot about survival and had great fighting skills.

Yet, Carol had some reservations about her, just because she still didn’t know much about her. None of them did. But maybe Daryl did.

“Looks like we have more than enough berries,” she said, holding up the bag, “we should probably head back.”

Daryl nodded, walking back with her, “Carol,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“She’s a good person.”

“I don’t doubt that she is. I just hope you’re keeping your eyes open when it comes to her.”

He frowned, "I don't know what ya are on 'bout anyway. Damn, ya never made a fuss 'bout Maggie or Beth… ain't no difference."

Carol munched on some berries, "you don't see a difference?"

He shook his head, "Naw. Ya fuss too much, Carol. She’s a person. That's all."

Stay Tuned For Part Three

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd fanfiction #twd daryl

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adelaidedrubman · 9 months

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music monday + last (several) line(s)

well it’s monday, y’all know what that means. time for your weekly fishing song + hl&s excerpt. thank you to @nightbloodbix @corvosattano @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @simplegenius042 for enabling me with your tags, sending fresh ones along to @belorage @henbased @florbelles @unholymilf @direwombat @strangefable @v0idbuggy @derelictheretic @firstaidspray @poetikat @jackiesarch @afarcryfrommymain @ri-a-rose @voidika @shallow-gravy @bluemojave @nuclearstorms @schoute @wrathfulrook @roofgeese @8bitpizzacoupons @stacispratt and anyone else wanting to share some tunes and/or writing!

jumped in my john boat / i stow my gear / i fire her up and when i am in the clear / i sail across that water / as smooth as glass / ready, here i come, you five pound bass / i find a perfect spot / some old dead trees / back in a canyon where you cain’t feel no breeze / i tie my lure / i make my cast / it’s breakfast time, you five pound bass

while jessie does have the pleasure of catching a five pond bass this chapter, her sailing across the water is somewhat less smooth (and the boat she captains is not a john boat, although it is a — oh, you get the pun)

“After all that, they’re treating this like a fucking scheduling issue, when they should be —”

Should be what? She choked on a particularly strong gust of wind, stinging her chapped and sunbaked cheeks as it whipped against her face, a matching burn rising in her throat. Apologizing? Begging? Taking it all back?

She gritted her teeth tightly to steel against the wind as she continued. “They have the fuckin’ gall to act like they’re the ones being nice about this, when they can’t even —” She clenched and ground her jaw. “It’s a public shore! Sherri doesn’t own it, just because her store is nearby and it’s fucking convenient for them! They never even had a right to —” “You need to slow down!” She pushed away the arm reaching for the steering wheel. “I’m fucking talkin’ at a perfectly fuckin’ measured and goddamn coherent pace! If you can’t keep up, that’s —” “The boat!” he screamed, fingers clawing and pulling at her arm without managing to get it to budge. “You need to slow down the —” Sudden warmth slung itself along the tops of her thighs — a glistening mix of blood and saliva spurting from his mouth as his jaw crashed against the glossy wood of the dash. And the air filling her lungs to feed the complaining shout building in her chest was knocked from her just as quickly by the heavy impact of his torso crashing against her as he was flung back — landing in her lap for the briefest heartbeat before they were both sent flying over the captain’s seat and tumbling along the length of the boat as its bow tipped upward and the smooth coast of water along its hull was replaced by a harsh, violent scraping.

#jestiny 🤝 xander: crashing a boat #also sorry if the formatting on this is all the way fucked #tumblr decided i needed to choose between no spaces between paragraphs and giant spaces so. giant spaces it is (hopefully)#wip #Spotify

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blade-that-was-broken · 1 month

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The JD that actually spent 20 years traveling the world before reconnecting with his brothers has got to have some real Wack stories to tell.

Like not just survivalist stories imagine the people he must have met, the shit he must have done. He could have had periodic breaks where he settled down and joined like a hippie commune or something for a few years. He went out into the world with the only goal to explore and discover who he was without the parentifaction.

Angst is good but the idea that He went out traveling the world with nothing but survival skills and an elementary school level of education and he fucking thrived is better. He’s seen and done so much stuff has held so many odd jobs has so many friends and is probably a local cryptid of several communities. Not in like a moth man way tho in like a Johnny Appleseed kinda way. he just shows up and gives good advice for things like hunting fishing or music writing. Buys local goods maybe sells you something and then leaves and you don’t see him again for years.

HAHA YES

Absolutely 100%

Like him just swinging around and being all like OH! That looks kinda cool! And then just chilling out with people for a bit. Or him being like hey, can you teach me that? And then him spending six months learning to make pottery or something.

I dunno, he just seems like the type to get distracted by just doing things. And yes, probably teaching too. Which is funny because he probably would think of himself as a crap teacher. I love this entire idea. Kind of that whole mix between a hermit and some dude that just goes around that everyone kind of knows about but doesn't really know, know.

You know that trope with the guy that always seems to know a guy? (Aragorn Lotr, Eliot Spencer from Leverage etc. ) I feel like JD would kind of be that guy. He brings out this absolutely random knowledge you wouldn't think he would know (and he knows by experience rather than books/etc) and wherever you go, he seems to know a guy. (Everywhere I've gone with my dad, we almost always meet someone that he knows. It boggles my mind)

So you know, tribes start visiting each other and someone comes to Pop Village and be all like oh hey! John Dory! Thanks for that fishing tip; I keep catching these wild sized bass or whatever. Or someone just being like "dude thanks for finding that really hard to find thing for me a couple years back, that's awesome" and his brothers are just like what in the world is going on?

Okay, that one ran off with me. Idk what I was thinking now.

It's like he could just cycle around the tribes or whatever, showing up every few years and then leaving after a while. The concept entirely cracks me up

#ask

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thehuntingdomain · 2 years

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7 Bass Fishing Tips

Do you fish for bass? Would you like to catch more bass? Bass is one of the most popular fishes anglers like to catch. It is one of the most common freshwater fishes. In this article, we share bass fishing tips to help you catch more bass.

1. Find The Cover, Find The Bass

When fishing for bass, the old adage "find the cover, find the bass" always proves to be true. Look for cover when you go fishing for bass. Areas with fallen trees, big rocks, thick vegetation, drop-offs, access points, etc. You will almost always find bass in those areas as they use the structures to protect themselves from prey as well as to ambush their food sources.

2. Match The Hatch

Whenever you go fishing, always find out what the fish in that area feed on. You can stop at a local fishing equipment store or talk to other anglers. Additionally, you can also observe the water and see what is in it that the bass will feed on. Use this information to find the right bait to lure in the bass.

3. Water Temperature

When bass fishing, discipline yourself to always monitor the water temperature. The activity level and feeding patterns of bass will directly be affected by the temperature of the water. Anglers often use slower baits in cooler water temperatures and faster lures in warm water temperatures. More importantly, is to know the trend in the temperature change.

4. Best Time To Feed

Bass feed early mornings and late evenings when visibility is not the best. This is when they are very active. This helps to conceal them from their prey. To read more bass fishing tips, click this link.

5. Google Earth

Use Google Earth to locate waters with a high concentration of fish. Your chances of finding bass where there is a concentration of fish greatly improves. Look for creeks, old structures, and other objects that could be the areas bass resides.

6. Windy Days

Don't be discouraged by windy days and pack up and head home. On the contrary, take advantage of windy days as it can be very rewarding. Bass are more receptive and bite on windy days.

7. Wounded Prey

Bass seems to be attracted to wounded prey. Don't discard your shredded plastic worms. Bass can't resist the temptation not to go after wounded prey.

Conclusion

Bass fishing is a rewarding and exciting activity for many. Bass can be found all over the world and are a popular fishing choice for anglers. In this article, we share bass fishing tips to help you catch more bass. If you want to get more fishing information, visit The Hunting Terrain.

#bass fishing tips #bass fishing #fishing

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falsemortal · 1 year

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Pond 🎣

// written by the lovely @abbochan , art by me

Travis let the evening get away from him as he fished alone at the old pond on the Hackett property. It was a well hidden spot far into the woods and over the last few years, it had mostly been reclaimed by nature. Travis had only been coming back in recent months, re-marking old footpaths and clearing away most of the overgrown plant life. The large pond was tucked away in a pocket of the forest where it was rarely ever disturbed and Travis held it very close to his heart, sometimes feeling as though it was his last bastion of peace during those six years of his family’s curse. So often would he escape into these woods much like a wolf himself, feeling like the only man on earth, tarnished from his own war and yet hellbent on winning it.

The sun was nearly about to fall behind the horizon and Travis sighed deeply, his hands tightening around the handle of his fishing rod before they slid up to reel in his line, deftly working as his gaze flicked over the ripples in the water, the amber light refracting on it like tiny, shimmering crystals. He heard a few footsteps in the trees behind him and only turned to see his company when he heard the thump of shoes on the old wooden dock.

“I knew I should have checked here first.” Laura says with a small smile. The escaping glow of the sun catches her face just right, her blue eyes dancing like the tip of a flame and Travis swallows thickly when she sits down beside him, leaving little room for argument. “I went to the lake first and then the orchard,” She says, gesturing with either hand. “But I know this is where you’ve been coming to be alone, alone so I guess I’m sorry for kinda crashing.” She says with an apologetic look.

Travis shakes his head and the corner of his mouth turns up just a bit. “It’s okay,” He says. “I should've left you a note ‘cause I didn’t bring my phone down with me, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Laura says, poking him in the shoulder. “I saw it on the counter and rolled my eyes so far into the back of my head, I could see my damn brain.”

Travis laughs and apologizes again before sending his line back into the water, even more content now that Laura had joined him.

“Snag anything exciting?” She asks, looking up at him with one eye squinted from the last minutes of the sun.

Travis feels his face warm and he clears his throat, suddenly feeling like he had a bird in his guts, flipping and fluttering around. “Just the usual suspects.” He responds. “A few bass and a couple of catfish.” He looks down at her and reels in the line before putting the rod between the two of them. “Wanna go for a round?”

Laura beams up at him and takes it from his grasp, repositioning herself so she was more comfortable. “First cast.” She says with a grin. “I’ll hit.”

Travis feigns skepticism and jokingly rolls his eyes, his tongue striking the roof of his mouth. “Always so damn cocky.” He says while shaking his head.

“Hey, don't get mad when the student surpasses the mentor.” Laura shrugs with a smile before whipping the line out onto the pond.

True to her word, Laura nailed a bass within two minutes and a friendly competition formed between them as they began to pass the rod back and forth. The light had faded and fireflies began to hover over the water, the glare of the moon reflecting against it like a dark mirror and Travis knew it was almost time to call it a night. He looked over to Laura who was gazing up at the stars and he watched her shiver while running her hands up and down her bare arms. He deftly placed the rod on the dock and shrugged off his flannel, passing it to her without a word.

Laura smiles sweetly when she notices his gesture and turns a bit to the side so Travis can drape it over her shoulders.

“Has anyone ever told you how sweet you are, Travis?” She asks, her cheeks becoming rosy from the cold.

He pretends to think for a moment before smiling softly. “Yeah, I’ve heard that once or twice from a girl I know.”

“Well she sounds pretty cool.” Laura says, her impossibly blue eyes pin him to his spot, her smile strikes him down like it's merely a sin to behold her and Travis swallows the stone in his throat.

“She’s ‘bout the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.” He says softly. “And I don’t ever wanna take her for granted…” Travis’ mouth works into a frown and he sighs lightly. “I already made that mistake once and she forgave me.”

Laura reaches up and her hand finds his jaw, stroking his stubble with her thumb and Travis leans into her touch. “Well…” She says before leaning up and placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “She also knows that you’re a good man and that you deserve grace.”

His eyes slide closed as Laura continues to comfort him: “And she also knows that even good men like you, Travis, can make mistakes.” He feels her lean into his shoulder, her cheek nuzzling into the sleeve of his shirt. “But I don’t know a single man that would spend his every waking hour trying to right his wrongs. I don��t know a single man with a will as strong as yours, Travis.”

“And I got nothin’ to show for it…” He mutters. Travis opens his eyes and looks over the water, the reflection of the moon dancing upon the ripples and he feels Laura lift her head and could feel her eyes on him.

“You got your freedom.” She says plainly, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. “And now we get to make up for all that time you lost.” Laura smiles at him and Travis can’t help but smile back but he knows there’s a sadness laced within it.

“I don’t really remember the man I was before the curse.” Travis admits.

Laura’s eyes snare him again as they soften, the moonlight hovering above her like a halo of light. “Well,” She says softly. “I can’t wait to get to know him.”

#travis x laura #hackearney ficlets #hackearney #travis hackett x laura kearney

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