#my grey is just so light 😫

[misty-moth]

I’m rambling a lot today, I know I know, but—

I just realized what color wax dyes I have 👀

[angelfoxx]

I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

[jadewritesficshere]

Sitting Pretty

This is just pure filth like barely a plot ok 😫🥴

Eddie Munson x Female!reader

18+ONLY

Warnings: pet names (baby, pretty girl), slight degradation and condescending language (use of slut) (this really isn't degradation in my mind but that's cause I'm used to a lot worse so technically it is but), boot riding, squirting

Eddie dropped the box on the coffee table with a loud thud. It landed next to the other boxes he had carried, and the one you had. After a long day of work, he was tired. He wanted to sit down, relax, and do absolutely nothing. Of course, when you called and said you needed help moving boxes, he came. He knew he was entirely fucked. Wrapped around your fingers. You could tell him to jump and he'd ask how high.

Eddie pushed a strand of hair out of his face, it briefly getting caught on his fingers, making him shake his hand to get it unstuck. He glared at the partially grey hair still wound around his fingers (you said it made him look distinguished and metal. He couldn't complain too much at that). You set your own box on the table and smiled at him,"Thanks Eds, I know you're tired. It means a lot to me you would do this." Eddie hummed,"mhm. What is this stuff anyways?" "Oh, my uncle and aunt were getting rid of a bunch of stuff, so they gave it to my parents, who got rid of more stuff, aaaannnd dumped it on me," you shrugged," I'll go through it and see if there is anything good, then send it to the secondhand store."

Together, you and Eddie started going through the boxes. Eddie pretended to be wounded finding a dungeon master's guide, you found a harmonica and attempted to play a Corroded Coffin song (which had Eddie wheeze laughing and joking about adding a harmonica solo to their next single), he had tried on a pink jacket at your insistence while you had put on a hat that didn't fit (both of you traded items and agreed they looked better on each other then yourselves before promptly tossing the items back in the box), and then you struck gold.

You pulled out a pair of light brown leather cowboy boots. The intricate stitching on the side had caught your eye at the bottom of the box. The tips of the shoes slightly pointed and squared off. You blink at them and hand them to Eddie. Eddie looks at them before scoffing," Nope, those will squish my feet. You see the ends of them?" You roll your eyes," Eddie, if they hurt people's feet why would cowboys wear them? They work on their feet all day!" Eddie was tempted to tease you and say cowboys aren't real, but then you pout at him. The pout making your lips stand out caused him to hesitate. "Please?" He sighed and couldn't help but give you a quick kiss before grumbling and sitting to put the boots on. He could hear your faint cheers as he sat on the recliner.

Your focus was on the box in front of you until you heard Eddie clear his throat and ask,"Well, what do ya think?" You turned and-

Damn.

Eddie stood there with his hands on his hips. Your eyes trailed over him. His curly hair was frizzy from the humidity and a long day of working and sweating at the auto shop. His skin pale, save for a smear of oil on his cheekbone. His tank top showed off his arms beautifully, muscles straining, his bicep wrapped from a new tattoo he had gotten. The tank top tight against his skin, showing you his waist. You could see the bump at his belly button where his piercing was. His jeans were slightly loose, the only light wash pair he owned that he threw on when he hadn't done the laundry. Those stupid cowboy boots sat on his feet, the slight heel giving him extra height. He turned and held his arms out, striking a few poses. They weren't heels, but they made his ass pop (God, now you wanted to see him in heels). The light jeans making his ass look bigger, perfect to hold. Slap even.

"Ya know, they actually are kinda comfortable," Eddie turned back to face you with a smile," they don't- oof!" Eddie lands on the recliner with a grunt from you pushing him. He glares at you," you have to quit doing that! You're gonna strain my back or some shit." "Hm...stop being so fuckable then," you climb on top of his lap and lean close to his ear to whisper," besides, you like it." Eddie clears his throat and grasps your hips. You roll your hips slightly into his, watching him inhale sharply. The scruff of his unshaved jaw beckons you forward, kissing it lightly before trailing down his neck.

You nip and suck at his neck, smirking as he tilts his head to give you better access. His hands that firmly grasp your hips, shift to grab your ass instead. You hum as you pull back, staring at the glistening neck and the lovely purple mark you left. It may be childish to leave a hickey, but you couldn't help but want to mark Eddie up, adding shades of purple and red near his existing tattoos. Eddie's eyes are blown, his pale face flushed a deep red. You shift on top of him, rolling your hips into his again, feeling his hardening length. The feeling of you grinding against him makes him groan. Unbuttoning his jeans, you awkwardly try to unzip them, leaning back into Eddie's hands. He takes that moment to squeeze your ass. You whimper at the feeling and lean forward to kiss him, thoughts of removing his pants forgotten.

His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but still so plush against yours. Your mouths move in tandem, tongues darting out. Eddie licks into your mouth, groaning as he takes control. He sucks on the tip of your tongue before pulling back. Both of you taking deep breaths. "Take these off baby," Eddie mumbles, tugging at the hem of your shorts. You nod and clamber off him.

You push your shorts and panties down, balancing a hand on Eddie's knee as you step out of them. You go to get back on Eddie but he stops you," Now hold on, baby." You let out a whine in annoyance. Eddie chuckles and clicks his tongue at you," You seem all pent up, what's got you like this?" "You, now let me on-" "Nah, I think it's something else. Like my boots, Baby?" You nod emphatically, attempting to straddle Eddie again, but he puts his leg out in front of you. The sole of his boot presses against your stomach, and he pushes you back lightly. "Prove it pretty girl."

You pause and tilt your head slightly before grasping Eddie's boot covered ankle. Eddie nods to his foot and taps your stomach with the sole. You step back and bend at the hips, eyes locked with Eddie's, and kiss the tip of the boot. He chuckles and motions you with a finger to continue. You give the boot another kiss, and another. The leather firm against your mouth. Eddie smirks," You can do better then that." "I'm not licking the boot." You stand up and drop Eddie's foot with a thud. Eddie relaxes back spreading his legs, "Who said anything about licking? What's that saying...save a horse, ride a cowboy?"

You blink at him as your mouth falls open. Eddie taps the boot against the hardwood ground, causing clicks to echo. "Go on pretty girl." You can feel your arousal slowly drip down your thighs at the thought of Eddie's request. It was demeaning, dirty, and damn if it didn't delight you. You slowly kneel at Eddie's feet, lowering yourself until your core hit the leather.

The fabric was stiff and slightly rough against your pussy. Your arousal dripping onto the boot, causing it to slicken and make it easier to move. You look up from where you're situated to look at Eddie. You can't help the moan that escapes at the site of him. The once slightly baggy jeans are now very filled out from his bulge. One hand resting on it, squeezing lightly. The top of his unbuttoned jeans showing off his happy trail. The opal belly button piercing glinting in the light. The tattoo of the dragon above the jewelry moving with every deep breath he takes. A hickey on his pec from last week. The rest of his tattoos scattered about, glistening from sweat. The scruff on his jaw and neck. The grey hairs at his temples. The smirk on his face, even though it is flushed. The demeaning look he gives you.

You grind against the boot, faltering slightly under his gaze. "Look at you, sitting pretty," Eddie coos at you, patting your head. He knows you hate that, making you feel small. Stupid. "Such a good slut, making my boots all wet." His words make you clench around nothing, throbbing with want.

You buck your hips quicker against his boot. You shift angles slightly and moan as the boot rubs against your clit. The sensation is too much. The pleasure invades your brain, coherent thoughts gone. You feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. A tingly warmth spreading out from your core. "Fuck I'm-" your breath hitches and your hips fumble losing rhythm. "Come for me baby," Eddie grasps your jaw firmly, tilting your head up to face him," Drench my boots like the good slut you are, pretty girl." You gasp as the pressure builds to a crescendo. Your eyes close and you moan head falling back in pleasure. Lights flash behind your eyes as euphoria spreads throughout your limbs. You distantly feel the wetness gush as your hips buck wantonly. Your brain goes fuzzy with static from euphoria. You briefly hear Eddie moan a fuck.

You come back down to earth, loosening your grip on Eddie's thighs. You hadn't even realized you were gripping them. You scoot away from his boot, still on your knees. The light brown leather is soaked, turning a dark brown. A puddle of your release is on the boot, making you feel warm from embarrassment.

"Fucking hell...you squirted," Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. You stand on shaky legs, Eddie helping hold you in place. You glance down at the puddle slowly dripping off his shoe and onto the floor. "Can I ride you now?" You ask saccharinely.

"You're gonna have to give me a minute," Eddie's eyes dart away from yours, clearing his throat. He shifts and you glance at the movement. His jeans are slightly loose again. The light denim jeans having turned dark at a wet spot. "Made me come like a fucking teenager," Eddie stands grabbing your hand. He tugs on your arm, leading you towards the bedroom.

You were definitely keeping the cowboy boots.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

what about cutting Joel’s hair? it got super long and it was starting to piss him off (he hates when it goes over his ears too much) - but last time he cut it himself it was chopped to hell. so you offer to help??

I love these little concepts... 😫😫😫

Joel's been grumbling about it for a while. Though doesn't strike me as a man who complains about it much or even care but then again as he likes you and with Ellie starting to tease Joel that he reminds her of the human species from the ice age, he has gotten almost self-conscious about it. And it's the first time Joel thinks about the fact that he hates his longer hair, that it genuinely doesn't suit him.

So he locks himself in the bathroom. Shuffling through your stuff to find some scissors. Joel hesitates but then just goes for it. Cause its hair, like how hard can it be? Well, jokes on him. Cause the piece he cuts off is now sprung up awkwardly and panic rushes through his body. Joel feels like a kid who had acted on his intrusive thoughts and now he got himself in this pickle. Cursing under his breath Joel tries to fix it but it only gets worse. He's honestly a step from cutting all of his hair off when he hears a light knock followed by your voice.

"You good? I heard you cursing", you mumble and Joel is both relieved and scared. Relieved because well you definitely could fix this but scared because he has to let you in and show you what he has done and as a male over fifty well it's embarrassing to him. But Joel opposes the door, waiting for you to start laughing but instead he hears you gasp as your fingers move to his hair.

"What have you done?", you pull at the end gently, looking over the crooked cut Joel has given himself, "All the curls too... Miller you are in some serious trouble". You take the scissors from him, pulling him into the kitchen so you could attempt to fix it. "It was way too long", Joel blurs out almost feeling guilty, "You should have come to me", "I'm sure you have better things to do", you crock your head to the side, giving Joel an annoyed look, "I always have time for you. Now don't you move until I'm done".

The feeling of your fingers running through Joel's hair is heavenly. Now he feels silly that he denied himself a moment with you like this. He sees bits of his hair falling to the floor as you walk around, humming to yourself quietly. "Have I told you how much I love your hair?", you ask so casually and Joel's heart nearly laps out of his chest, "No..?!", he mutters, "It's so thick and the salt and pepper look...". Now that's another thing Joel is so insecure about as well. The grey hair that had sprouted. All this time he thought it was so unattractive but here you were telling him the opposite thing. Joel's silence makes you giggle. You know he's awful when it comes to receiving compliments. But then it's so fun seeing him squirm. Plus he deserves to know how seriously attractive he is.

"Okay, take a look for me", you hand Joel a little mirror, "I can make the sides even shorter if you want or...", "No, it's perfect", and it is. Joel hasn't had a haircut this good since before the outbreak. Shit, he doesn't remember the last time anyone but him tended his hair. And it suited him. It felt like you had ripped off a layer of the past with whatever you had just done. Joel turns to you quickly, "Thank you, this..", but you cup his cheek softly, loving the feeling of his prickly beard on your palm, "It was my pleasure, handsome". You look at each other for a while and it almost feels like this might lead to something more but quickly clear your throat, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks, "Just don't run around town breaking hearts now", you tease, moving to clean the mess on the floor, "Why would I want someone else when I have you?"

[lomlhotchner]

❛ faking it! ❜ … aaron hotchner

↠ the heart wants what it wants masterlist

previous || next

༘♡ ⋆｡˚ SUMMARY : the mission is on, act like a rich loving couple, dig some information, catch the unsub. seem easy enough right?

༘♡ ⋆｡˚ WARNINGS : high tensions 😫 mutual pining, cursing, they’re shy okay, the plot doesn’t really make sense (i tried), english isn’t my first language!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ HANA’S NOTES : here we goooo!!!!! thank you so much for yalls patience 😭😭 this is part two to for zipper but you don’t need to read the it to understand this! i am so sorry from the bottom of my heart if this doesnt make sense lmao i dont know what i was going for. hope yall enjoy 💗

“Remember the plan?”

You took a deep breath and nodded your head, “Yeah, go in there, bond with the rich, find the unsub, piss him off so that he’ll take the bait, and then lure him outside so that he can get his ass kicked.” you stated confidently.

Hotch raised his eyebrows at you, amused “When does the ass kicking happen?”

You shrugged your shoulders, a smirk playing on your lips, “Whenever I get the chance.”

He scoffed out a laugh, making you grin at the sound. You arrived at the elevator, sending the elevator operator a warm smile in greeting before stepping inside. He was an old man with grey hair, he had wrinkles and the most comforting smile on his face.

“Where are you two lovebirds headed?” he cheekily asked while looking at the both of you with a knowing look.

If only he knew.

Hotch smiled at Stan—the nametag says, “Dinner.”

Stan nodded his head and press the respected level before sending you a warm smile, "May I say you look stunning in that dress.”

You shyly laughed and lowered your head, but before you could thank him, Hotch’s deep voice cut you off, “Doesn’t she?” he spoke with the softest tone you have ever heard and when you look up at him, he was already looking down at you with the certain look in his eyes that anyone can decipher as fondness.

No, he’s just being in character. Don’t be delusional.

Hotch has been acting different with you since the undercover task began. Although the whole point of it was to make everything up and act, you can’t help but think that he was just showing a part of himself where no one has the privilege to know. In easier words, you think he wasn’t really acting.

So does that mean the almost kiss…. ?

Do you really want to go there?

You weren't sure.

You guys continue to stare at each other not noticing the operator’s grin. He has seen a handful of couples in this part of the job and he knows when he sees fools in love.

The elevator dinged, indicating you arrived at the respected floor. You guys broke from the little staring contest, your cheeks heating up. Sending Stan a smile before walking out of the elevator.

The venue was enchanting, to say the least. Bright elegant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Beautiful flower arrangements placed on the table. People in gorgeous dresses and suits and suddenly you felt underdressed compared to them. Because this isn’t actually your real lifestyle, but for them, this is just a normal Tuesday.

Hotch interrupted your thoughts by bend down so he was level with your ear, “I didn’t get the chance to say this earlier, but you look absolutely gorgeous.” he whispered before standing up to his full height.

You couldn’t even count how many times you were flustered tonight. Your body was all tingly with excitement as you looked up at him, “Thank you, honey. You don’t look too bad yourself.” you teased.

A smirk formed on his lips. You could see his Adams apple bob at how hard he swallowed and maybe it’s the lights, but you can vividly make out his rosy cheeks after your comment.

He subtly tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck, giving it a soft kiss for the extra effect. “Did you turn on your coms?” he mumbled.

Your eyes widen a little. right, you’re undercover. You move to your ear and click the device resulting in it turning on with a beep.

The audio cracks for a moment before JJ’s voice appeared, “Y/N? Hotch? Can you guys hear us?”

“Yeah, we can hear you JJ.”

“Okay, good. Any signs of the unsub?” she asked.

“No, not yet.” you answered, giving the place a once over for any suspicious acts.

“Nope.” Emily sounded through the coms. Followed by the other’s negative response of the unsub’s whereabouts.

“Alright, everyone be cautious. We know the unsub is unstable, keep an eye out for any weird behaviors.” Hotch ordered as he led you to the ballroom.

He took two champagne glasses and handed you one of them. You sent him a small as gratitude. Your hand was shaking slightly when you bought the glass to your lips.

Hotch took notice of that and rub his hand at the small of your back, “Relax.” he smiled.

You shyly nodded your head as you both moved to one of the tables. Taking a seat that Hotch has gracefully pulled out for you.

"You okay?" Hotch asked, sitting beside you.

"Yeah, kinda excited."

"Excited to catch a murderer?" he raised his eyebrows.

"That, but also this." you gestured to the ballroom you guys are in, "Everything is just so fancy, and pretty! I can't even remember the last time I actually got ready and wear a dress." you chuckled, not realizing that your hand has gravitated to the tip of Hotch's fingers, softly playing with it.

Hotch felt like he was going to melt at how adorable you are, plus the feeling of your hands on his skin? He's a goner. He has always known that you were a touchy person, having to see you hug or link your arms with the rest of the squad except him was not entirely unnoticeable. So when he gets the chance to have this pleasure, he isn’t sure what to do.

As you continued to talk about … —okay, he isn’t entirely paying attention— he has a small smile played on his lips. He just can't tear his eyes away from you. His eye move to your cheeks, your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes. Have you always been this pretty?

"Hotch? Did you hear what I said?" you tap the inside of his palm, trying to get his attention back to whatever daydream he went.

Hotch could feel his cheeks at getting caught red handed, "Yeah, yeah, sorry just got distracted."

You almost laughed at the absurdity, "By what? Me? You play this part too good Hotch, cause I can almost believe you're in love with me." you eyes widen slightly at your word vomit, you instantly regretted what you said but Hotch surprised you by laughing along.

"Oh honey, you have no idea." he softly chuckled.

God, I hate how he can act so good.

Your eyes move to surveillance the room as a distraction and noticed something, "Okay, don't look right now but the table on our left have been staring at us for the past 5 minutes."

Hotch subtly nodded his head and glanced at the table. It was a group of men in suits staring at you guys.

You. Specifically.

Oh.

He clenched his jaw and protectively wrapped his arms around your waist. Your stomach fluttered at the sudden contact. "We should split up and dig more information. I'm going to those gentlemen, and you can scout out the ladies over there."

You cleared your throat, brushing off your bashfulness, "Yeah, that's- that's a good idea." you stood up and brush the wrinkles of your dress. "See you later, handsome." you boldly left a kiss on his cheek, softly patting his shoulder.

Hotch felt like he was in a daze as he stared at you walking away. His tongue poke his cheek, trying to fight back a smile from forming when you sneak a peek around your shoulder, send him a cheeky smile and a wink.

He composed himself before he trudged to the table, “Evening, gentleman.” he greeted, noticing how they all pretend that they weren’t staring at his date. Fake date. “How are you guys enjoying the event?”

Enjoy drooling at my date? he wanted to add.

On the other side of the room, you have to control yourself from getting overly sheepish at the compliments the girls are giving you guys.

Both of you guys.

You and Hotch. Together.

“How long have you guys been with each other?”

“You guys look so good together."

"The ring is beautiful."

"He's so fine, girl. You are so lucky,"

"Are you joking? He's lucky one. Look at her, she's gorgeous."

The compliments are making you blush, "Thank you, ladies." you smiled, glancing at Hotch absentmindedly.

They were right, he is fine.

You shook your head, remembering the real reason you are here. "So. do you guys know the host personally?"

The girl on your right, —Barbara you think, "Oh no, I just work for them. But this one," she nudged the girl beside her, "works as a personal assistant for the host's mom."

Your eyebrows rose at the new information, "Oh? The pay's probably good huh?"

She chuckled, "I don't want to say much but it is definitely better than working as an accountant. If you exclude the constant bickering between her and her son in law."

That peeked your interest, but before you can dig up more information, Barbara spoke, "Oh my god. Your husband is literally head over heels for you. He won't stop ogling you!"

All of you subconsciously turned your head at the direction she was looking at.

Your eyes meet Hotch's and low and behold, he was already looking at you. And at the sudden addition of eyes his own widened as he shy away from the attention.

The sight made you grin.

The girls giggled and moved their conversation to a different topic. But you can’t help yourself from taking a peak at Hotch again. You both made eye contact, sharing a flustered smile.

Okay. What the fuck’s that about.

Countless of thoughts running through your head. The interaction have caught Emily’s attention as you make eye contact with her. What was that? Her face wearing a shocked, questionable look, as she teasingly smirked.

You subtly shrugged your shoulders. I have no fucking clue.

If this is going on for the whole night, you dont know how much your heart can take.

reblog / tell me what you think for a smooch <3 check out my other works!

[f1-birb]

so i was gonna get the light blue tee cause i love the color but you can’t rlly see the est.2020 thing cause its in white. so then black. But also im not sure about spending 46 dollars on a plain tee shirt with just that small decal on it 🤷🏻‍♀️

I know I’m getting a navy varsity tee. debating on the speed tee. i need to see these things in front of me 😫 i feel like they didn’t do enough photos this time, the photos in the cars aren’t easy to see

yeah I'm not mega keen on the racer tee tbh because there's nothing on the back, so the price is quite a bit for not a lot of noticeable design, especially on the light blue

onto the speed tee, you can clearly see that in the lighting the charcoal is definitely grey compared to the black tee Max has on, you can see even with direct light on it that the one Max is wearing is darker

and then this is the speed in blue (my personal fave icl) and I think no matter how the light hits it it's nice

BUT for comparison I did some Frankenstein's monstering for you and put the three all side by side like one tee so you can see the differences

tbh I think between the black and the charcoal it mostly depends on if you like the yellow

[fleurcareil]

South Saskatchewan

Next morning, I was super-efficient in packing up and left sharp at 7.45am (I've become even better at early departures in the Rockies, simply to avoid the crowds 🥴) as I had a long drive to do; over 600km to my next camping spot... Not sure I completely had thought this through when I booked it, but think I was lured by the 1-hour jump back in time when crossing into Saskatchewan, although the actual driving time stays the same of course!! 🤔

First Gmaps direction; turn left in 361km.... love it, those large-distance roads in Canada! 🙃 I was now officially on the Red Coat Trail but different to other provinces, I never saw any plaques or tourist info signs so I still don't really understand what it's about... I presume something with the army traveling west during the new frontier?? Now, it's just endless fields and sky which are pretty in their own right... Although I love my trees and forests, there's something special about this massive expanse of agricultural lands, a testament to human's ability to control the land. I did feel cheated, as the "Land of Living Skies" was yellow-grey both below and above the horizon with smoke turning everything dull... such a shame! On the way, there's really not much to see apart from the rare sunflower field 🤩, modern-day grain stores, cows and surprisingly lots of nodding donkeys that pump oil from the ground!

Close to half-way the province, I veered further south towards the US border onto gravel roads to see Castle Butte, a 200ft-high knoll left in the landscape during the Ice Age (not sure I trust that info, as I thought buttes are of volcanic origin). Looming high above the flat prairie land I tried to climb up it (where other people already were so I was not completely stupid yet) but it got too steep for my non-hiking shoes and then instead of coming down on my butt as I should have, I tried to walk it and ended up running at full speed down the slope... I got really extremely lucky I didn't fall and break any/all body parts!! 😳😳 I did end up semi-twisting both ankles which I still feel 2 weeks later, but instead of complaining I am grateful that that was the worst of it! Phew...

The adventures of the day didn't stop with that because a bit later I ran over and killed a duck! 😫 With lots of dark skid marks on the gravel, I only realized too late that there were 4 full-sized ducks sitting in the middle of the road and although I braked as much I safely could, I had no choice than to go over them and hope they all fit between my wheels... 3 survived (likely with a heart attack!) and one didn't. I've had very little roadkill in the 20+ years driving, and definitely nothing as big as this so that was quite upsetting!

My mood improved however when I arrived at Grasslands National Park, which consists of two blocks some 170km apart; the east block that I visited first protects a vast expanse of badlands, whereas the west block where I was camping that night represents Canada's largest tract of untouched native prairielands (which covered most of North America's central region until the settlers came ranching & farming). I'm trying not to overkill with pictures but both areas were very very pretty and I would urge anyone to make a trip out here!

On the east side, there's a few hikes but it was so hot that I simply drove along the Badlands Parkway with interpretative signs explaining the geology and the natural & human history of the area. The badlands seem at first glance quite monotone but then I discovered flowers, prickly pear cacti, gophers (ground squirrels of which I had already spotted lots on the road) and even a pronghorn antilope!

The clouds pushed by the wind kept changing the light patterns, highlighting in turn different hills, so it was great to sit for a while in a red chair and see the scenery constanly change.

Hot and tired, I made the trek to the other block passing enroute another grain elevator, after which I set up camp on the beautiful prairie without a single tree (with a fence though to protect against the bison)! My pic of the sunset doesn't do it justice, but you can imagine how pretty the sky was, and as this is a dark sky preserve, I stayed up late (after midnight, which doesn't happen often anymore 😜) to watch the Milky Way in its full glory.

The next morning, I had a clear task; prairie dog and bison hunting, which are the two key species of the park. A gopher (top left pic) had already been running all morning around my site (he shouldn't have built his hole next to the firepit), so when I spotted the first prairie dog (top right pic) in one of the park's colonies or "dog towns" I was a bit confused as they looked the same to me! 😂 Turns out the prairie dogs are about twice the size and much more afraid of humans, although they loved eating the dead bugs from my car bumper and tires 😍 which meant that although it was impossible to get up close while walking as the first prairie dog would bark to warn the entire colony and then all disappeared, they had no problem with the car being close to them... funny how humans impact nature in weird ways sometimes!

The bison were more elusive, as they truly don't like people, and although a herd of 500 of them is maintained in the park (with surplus animals being exported to other parks for reintroduction), the enclosed area is so large for them to roam in that they have plenty of places to hide. So I slowly made my way through the park with my binoculars on hand, learning along the way about a homestead that had managed to ranch cattle for a few years but then had to abandon because it was simply too hard to survive on the barren land, the different native grasses that make up the prairieland, a bison rubbing rock and a stone tipi ring, all the while enjoying the views.

And then finally, when I had given up and was enroute to the village to get gas, I first saw a lone bison chugging through the grass, and then at the outermost corner of the enclosure, suddenly there was a group of 40 bison, including a few calves, that were grazing and rolling in the dirt. I promise I could see them much clearer in my binoculars than the little black specks in the picture! 😁

By the time I got to the village a massive rainstorm broke out so good reason to drop by the visitor centre and confirm it was a golden eagle (much bigger than bald eagles) that I had seen on a pole. I first didn't understand the gas "station" set-up as you needed to pull some levers to get it going, but finally managed to fill up the car once more.

That evening, the skies blackened suddenly with a thunderstorm and the wind was so strong that the tent started sliding away (the neighbour's did blow away) so I threw in as many stones I could find, parked my car in front of the tent to form a bit of a windshield and waited it out in the car... no way I was going to stay in the tent on this flat land! Luckily the storm passed quite quickly after which I had a drink with my neighbours to laugh it out, but I did end up sleeping in the car (for the first time and quite comfortably!) as rain came & went with some more lightning in the night.

When I drove off in the morning towards the Alberta border, I finally got the promised Living Skies Land with blue skies and golden fields, seeing the Prairies in all its hues 😊 I also saw another (the same??) herd of bisons on the way out of the park as well as another smaller golden eagle and several antelopes 😍

After a relatively short drive, I arrived at the Cypress Hills Interprovincial Park, which straddles the border between Saskatchewan and Alberta, consisting again of two blocks. Although I had planned again to visit the eastern block first and camp in the western one, a staff member pointed out that I was actually staying in the eastern block so that saved me another 1.5 hours drive! 👍 The park is unfortunately not very natural and has been developed as a resort with mini-golf, golf course, swimming pool etc so I was a bit disappointed. The nature that there is, is being protected because it's on a hill standing 500m above the plains so it was not glaciated and has therefore unique plant life (including trees) that doesn't occur anywhere else in the region but they haven't done a good job at protecting it! I had great internet at a viewpoint so ended up sitting on a bench there for 4 hours booking my next set of accommodations 😃 while occasionally hearing loud grunting lower on the hill which I presume was an angry moose so I didn't have any urge to go explore further!

Next day, I would be driving into Alberta, so this was Saskatchewan for now until I return further north on my way back. Adieu!

Wildlife: 1 coyote & 1 deer (Red Coat Trail), 100+ ground squirrels (gophers), 100+ prairie dogs, 43 bison in the afternoon and 50 bison in the morning, 2 golden eagles, 2 ferruginous hawks, 1 deer, 5 pronghorn antilopes (Grasslands), 3 red-tailed hawks & 3 deer (Cypress Hills)

SUPs: none

Hikes: no real ones, just lots of little sidetrips to viewpoints

Distance driven since the last map (I'm losing track of the weeks 😉 but it's been a while all the way from Sleeping Giant): 1,925 km

[niemernuet]

i am in so much need of new ginodi content that i won't even request a number from the mini-fic prompts, i'll happily let you chose something yourself, just give me the ginodi please😫❤

that's all thenkyew love💖💕

Hello and sorry sorry sorry for the late answer. It was kind of a busy weekend (flailing about the ski guys) as you know. I started the first on Friday but after last night it's way too angsty, so I made a second one. Hope you like them and love you. 💝

First mini-fic: nr. 20: things you said that i wasn't meant to hear

Separation

rating: T pairing: Gino Caviezel/Marco Odermatt characters: Gino Caviezel, Marco Odermatt, Semyel Bissig, Livio Simonett length: 1'000 words

Skiing was an individual sport. Everybody was only fighting for themselves. The lack of popularity among the athletes for the team events at the big competitions proved this point year after year. It was rare that a group worked together as well as theirs; the in-fights between the guys in the old days were the stuff of legends. It was even rarer that two competitors could be together like Gino and Marco. Gino assumed it made things easier that Marco was so ridiculously, incredibly, breathtakingly better than the rest of the world at the moment. There was no need to work himself up over the fact that, no matter how hard he tried, he was just not as good as his boyfriend; nobody was after all. It also made things more difficult though, just because Marco was light-years ahead of everyone else. Between the constant training, the preparations and the races there was little time just for themselves during the season, and with Marco’s popularity everyone and their grandmother wanted a piece of him, his attention, his opinion, his smile.

Gino let go of the drapes, and they floated across the window, covering the view outside again. He stayed glued to the spot, staring ahead at the grey fabric without really seeing it.

He had been struggling to find footing these past few weeks. Since the 27th of November, to be exact. Mauro’s second accident, and the uncertainty about his future hung like a figurative shroud around Gino, separating him from the rest of the world, and the events he had just observed had pushed him even further into this terrifying nothingness. Slowly, as if in a trance, he turned around. He picked his wallet and phone out of reflex on his way to the door, and pushed them in his pockets.

They had not had much time together since the accident, barely more than the nightmarish hours spent waiting in the emergency room for news of Mauro before they had hurried to Beaver Creek and further. The flu Gino had picked up just before Marco had left for the monstrous tour through Italy with five race in just as many days had separated them even more.

Though, Gino realised it now, maybe Marco had separated himself long before that.

The film of Marco jumping out of the car, and racing into Semyel’s arm with a joyous laugh was etched into his brain, playing over and over again. He could not remember the last time that bright smile, the one that seemed to wrap halfway around his head, and every person in its vicinity around his finger, had been turned on him. He saw the two of them put their heads together as he stepped outside, and Marco’s arm around the shoulders of the smaller man as they walked into the hotel in an embrace followed him on the way to the basement floor where they stored their skis and equipment. Gino did not know where he would go but Alta Badia was at a mountain pass anyway. He only needed to get the keys to the van from his service man, the rest would come on its own. He ignored the cracked door to Semyel’s and Livio’s room. The thick carpet silenced his steps, and there was no way they could see him. He only stopped when he heard the irritation in Semyel’s voice.

“It was so fucking expensive! I had to take it on my credit card because neither Gabriel nor I had enough cash.”

“I know,” Marco’s voice answered. “But I’ve been away so much and couldn’t be here for him, and I just want a perfect Christmas, so…”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Semyel shrieked. “You can give him a Porsche for all I care. I mean that I’m just a poor sod who never gets any prize money while you roll in the dough. Also, by the way, it’s fucking heavy too. We almost blew our backs out carrying that thing around. You know I’m not supposed to lift heavy stuff!”

Gino could hear the contrite tone of Marco’s voice. “I’m sorry. I’ll send you the money tonight via twint. You’re the best friend, and I’m really grateful you could do this for me.”

Semyel snorted. “Don’t forget the fifteen euro for that Cappuccino in Val d’Isère. You never paid that back too.”

“Why did it have to be that armchair anyway?” Livio suddenly butted in before Marco could answer. “Couldn’t you have ordered one right into your home?”

“We laid in it on our holidays last summer,” Marco snapped. “And Gino said it’d fit right into his living room, and now I’ll put it there because it’ll remind him of summer and better times. But it’s just in that one boutique in Zurich, and they don’t do deliveries, and I didn’t have time…”

“And that beer at the hotel bar in Lake Louise when the bartender refused your hundred-dollar-bill,” Semyel added to the list.

“Can you twint me some cash too?” Livio asked. “I also haven’t won anything yet this season.”

Marco snorted. “I’ll see you at dinner but now…” He broke off when he almost stumbled into Gino, and dropped the suitcase in his hand.

Gino took a few steps back until he bumped against the wall of the hallway. He blinked.

“Hey!” Marco smiled, and nervously looked over his shoulder. “I was just saying hello to…did you wait here long?”

Gino blinked again. Then, he shook his head. The air felt lighter all of a sudden, as if he had emerged from a deep pool. “No, I was just passing because…Daniele has my charger…and my phone’s dying.” He smiled at Marco’s lousy attempt to hide his relief, and opened his arms as he closed the gap between them.

“You were so good over there,” Gino whispered. “Not long and you’ll have that downhill-victory.”

“I missed you,” Marco mumbled in Gino’s collar. Gino swallowed, and moved his head until his nose was buried in Marco’s jacket.

“How do you feel?”

Gino laughed softly. “Much better,” he answered.

Second mini-fic: nr. 22: things you said after it was over

Going Home

rating: T pairing: Gino Caviezel/Marco Odermatt characters: Gino Caviezel, Marco Odermatt length: 550 words

The bib-draw for tomorrow’s slalom had ended quite some time ago, and a DJ had taken over the stage. The party on the town square was in full-swing and would not end until the early hours of the morning. The thumping bass and the cheers of the people even reached through the concrete walls of the underground parking lot, a deep murmur that filled the otherwise eerie silence. Gino stood in front of the open boot of the car, rifling through the pockets of his backpack. He had pushed his phone somewhere on his way out of the hotel room but after the last, tedious hurdles race through the hotel, passing hundreds of people who all had wanted them to stay, he could not find it anymore. He cursed under his breath as he began to pull out things, stacking them on the suitcases, when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around his middle, and a heavy, warm weight leant against him.

“You’re pretty,” Marco mumbled, and nuzzled around Gino’s collar until he found his skin.

Gino laughed while he groped through the inner pockets of his backpack and Marco planted one wet kiss after the other on his neck. “And you’re tipsy.”

“M-hm.”

He had joined a few of the countless invitations for a beer on the way from the hotel to the podium ceremony and back again, as was his right. Gino did not mind to be the designated driver for Marco, not on a day like this, and not when the alcohol, coupled with the exhaustion after the long day, turned him into a clingy cuddle-monster.

“I know but tomorrow I’ll be sober again, and you’ll still be pretty.”

“Yes, I…ha!” Triumphantly, Gino pulled his phone out from the depth of his backpack. Satisfied, he threw the rest of his stuff inside again, and roughly pulled at the zipper. He turned around and tried to step away to close the hatch but Marco pinned him against the car, and kissed him until they were both gasping for air.

“You have to let go of me or we’ll never get home,” Gino whispered.

Marco mewled, and held him so tightly Gino could barely breathe anymore. “But I don’t want to. It’ll take so long!”

“I’ll be right next to you the whole way.”

“But I can’t touch you for hours, and that’s not good.”

Gino laughed, and softly pushed Marco away. “You’ll be asleep before we reach the highway.” He closed the hatch, pulled Marco to the front of the car, and helped him in the passenger seat.

“No, I won’t,” Marco protested while Gino lay over his lap trying to find the buckle for the seat belt. “I will stay awake until we’re home, and I will suffer nonstop.”

With a soft groan, Gino climbed out of the car again. Marco smiled up at him, his eyes half-closed. Tenderly, Gino caressed his cheek, and gave him a kiss.

“We’ll see,” he smiled, and closed the door. Carefully he manoeuvred the car out of the underground garage. There were no street lamps in the narrow alley, and he crawled forward at a snail’s pace. Two of the receptionists from the hotel were smoking near a back door, other than them nobody saw them leave. When Gino turned left onto the main street, Marco’s head flopped against the window, and stayed like that the entire journey home.

[eliza-rivers]

answering all these cause I’m bored 👍

1 - Coffee mugs

I’m

2 - Chocolate bar

3 - Bubble gum

4 - A good leader

5 - Soda bottles

6 - Tomboy?

7 - Earbuds

8 - Movies

9 - A certain sunscreen idk unless I smell it

10 - Mat ball (indoor kickball, if you hit the back wall you’d get a home run for yourself and everyone on the bases, I got lots of home runs 😫)

11 - Nothing or a protein bar

12 - what the fuck

13 - Keychain

14 - Warhead cubes

15 - Ultimatum (we had to choose a book to read so i chose that)

16 - man spread with one leg elevated

17 - white platform converse 👍

18 - Raining really hard, thunderstorm or blizzard

19 - on my side with my leg on a pillow or smth

20 - Notebook

21 - Journaling

22 - Chappell Roan

23 - Biting my nails I guess? Not very strange-

24 - Emerald

25 - Girl on Fire

26 - Hate warm weather, baking

27 - Freezing my ass off on walks (very therapeutic)

28 - Skinny, Wildflower, Kaleidoscope, 🤷‍♀️

29 - Talk to me

30 - Walking home from school in the winter

31 - This very low cut shirt and cargos 😔

32 - No clue

33 - “What the fart”

34 - Spotify fender ads

35 - 3 am

36 - I don’t know 😔

37 - Duffel bag

38 - Tea

39 - Lemon meringue pie

40 - A teacher was talking to a student (sexting) and then payed the student 10$ not to tell but she told and he got arrested lol

41 - My mom

42 - Jacket pockets

43 - Hoodie

44 - Something fruity or vanilla

45 - Sci-fi

46 - Bra and sweatpants

47 - Aged sharp cheddar

48 - I guess strawberry? (moots said that)

49 - “Life is too short, love is too long” - tlt iykyk

50 - When I had Lyme disease and my family was going to a water park and we walked there and saw a deer on the way and I asked if I could pet it and my mom said “No it has tics” and I said “So do I?!”

51 - School

52 - It changes but rn italicized times new roman

53 - Scarred up and I have a spider bite somehow but fine other than that

54 - My job taught me that I’m still just a kid 🤷‍♀️

55 - Don’t know any

56 - My (divorced) mom and dad always give each other gifts on the day they divorced..

57 - Being lazy, being ‘dumb’ and overcoming a lot of anxiety

58 - Singing, acting, writing and coffee making

59 - I don’t know 😭

60 - Never watched anime

61 - “Life is too short, love is too long”

62 - I don’t know

63 - Pink Pony Club, Hot to go, Good Luck Babe, anything Chappell tbh

64 - Unblocked games 76 iykyk 😫

65 - Two on my hands, three on a calf, a lot tbh.

66 - Roses

67 - My favorite pen

68 - Black licorice

69 - the average human has 7 pounds of poop

70 - both

71 - Polka dots or stripes, they piss me off man..

72 - Math

73 - Grapes and cheese

74 - Solid 7, I won’t complain unless I can’t bear it

75 - 4

76 - Au gratin

77 - Cactus

78 - Coffee

79 - School id

80 - Earth tones

81 - Fireflies

82 - PC

83 - Writing

84 - Barbie

85 - Podcast

86 - Cookies

87 - Reject

88 - Have friends

89 - My little sister

90 - Found 20$ on the ground

91 - Bags

92 - Lamps, NEVER THE BIG LIGHT

93 - I want people to come up with their own for me, it feels more special that way

94 - Winter

95 - Safari

96 - It’s just grey 😔

97 - 7

98 - The 1900s 🤷‍♀️

weird asks that say a lot

in

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

7. earbuds or headphones?

8. movies or tv shows?

9. favorite smell in the summer?

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

12. name of your favorite playlist?

13. lanyard or key ring?

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

18. ideal weather?

19. sleeping position?

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

21. obsession from childhood?

22. role model?

23. strange habits?

24. favorite crystal?

25. first song you remember hearing?

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

28. five songs to describe you?

29. best way to bond with you?

30. places that you find sacred?

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

32. top five favorite vines?

33. most used phrase in your phone?

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

35. average time you fall asleep?

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

38. lemonade or tea?

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

41. last person you texted?

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

44. favorite scent for soap?

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

47. favorite type of cheese?

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

51. current stresses?

52. favorite font?

53. what is the current state of your hands?

54. what did you learn from your first job?

55. favorite fairy tale?

56. favorite tradition?

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

62. seven characters you relate to?

63. five songs that would play in your club?

64. favorite website from your childhood?

65. any permanent scars?

66. favorite flower(s)?

67. good luck charms?

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

70. left or right handed?

71. least favorite pattern?

72. worst subject?

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

82. pc or console?

83. writing or drawing?

84. podcasts or talk radio?

84. barbie or polly pocket?

85. fairy tales or mythology?

86. cookies or cupcakes?

87. your greatest fear?

88. your greatest wish?

89. who would you put before everyone else?

90. luckiest mistake?

91. boxes or bags?

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

93. nicknames?

94. favorite season?

95. favorite app on your phone?

96. desktop background?

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

98. favorite historical era?

[corralinesage]

I've never seen any gameplay of darksouls 3 (the only thing I know of is that one character and she wears a mask ikyk LMAO). I would be too stressed about the batteries if I ever played outlast and being chased. I do remember seeing nude (?) prisoners in the first one 💀, idk I passed by someone playing it and was thoroughly confused.

Haha do you go all out with the decorations or just a few to get into the holiday spirit. Do you think you’re a good gift giver? I would be so stressed about the gifts 😣. So Christmas is your fave holiday?

No one to eat your baking🥺!? Aww my fam swipes any baked goods in a matter of seconds 😭. Dw I'd eat your baking 😔. Hmm I've seen a few episode of Grey's anatomy. Yeah going to the theaters is fun (totally not for the movie popcorn heh)  Ooh I can't choose just one but at the top of my list I'd probably say The Silence of the Lambs and Lucy (idc what anyone says I love that movie sm 😭)

Oh I know 😫

The fucking batteries are my biggest opp ever. I’m so sick of them running out especially during the parts where it’s absolutely pitch black and some brute is trying to rip out my guts. The nude men are the scariest part of that game HAHA I do not need to see all that. Now if we were breaking into the female ward things would be different😭

I’d say I’m somewhere in the middle. We always have a huge (and real) Xmas tree and all the same decorations my family has used for all my life but we don’t do the America style lights outside etc, although our home has been compared to winter wonderland so I guess it depends on what you’re used to😩 I’m a good gift giver if I know what I’m getting for them and have a plan but if I have no ideas I’d say average. Christmas is definitely my fav holiday, yes. What about you?

My family is always on a diet so I don’t wanna sabotage them because they absolutely will inhale everything instantly😭 I’m just trying to make it easy as possible for them. Thank you, I definitely need volunteers to eat my baked goods. (It’s all abt the popcorn and snacks haha) ohhh those are both so so good. I love Lucy even tho ppl say it’s shit but I don’t agree hahah. It’s been so long since I watched silence of the lambs. I tried to rewatch with my ex last year but the vibes were a little too grim for the day we were having🫠

[polaroidpascal]

IM SO HAPPY THIS MADE IT TO A TUMBLR POST BC I WAS LOSING MY MIND READING THIS !!!

( LONG. ASS. REVIEW. UNDER THE CUT BC IM GOING INSANE )

Nodding, throat all of a sudden dry when you stand and he manages to steal a look at your bare legs. Up until then, he’d only seen the oversized grey sweatshirt from the waist up, and then he finds your shorts sitting somewhere along the middle of your thighs—all skin until socks above sneakers. The latter scuffed, overly worn and likely loved. Things he assesses quickly, training coming into use even when home.

oh to have frankie stare at me from across the diner and check me out… a girl can dream

The song begins before he has come up with an answer. Having been too focused, too busy silently working out what flavour your gloss is.

i can’t fully explain why this is driving me insane but it just is.

A light laugh escapes him, shaking his head, scratching at the back of his hair as he sighs. “Only if you pose for it.”

THIS SLY MF— FRANKIE WHEN I CATCH YOU…

That’s when he spots a half-bad sketch of himself. A little heart on his jawline, one of his fingers tracing it on his skin, running over the patch that doesn’t fill in like the rest of his beard, before seeing an arrow with the name Frankie at the end and some dots.

this would scare me SO BAD like DONT LOOK AT THAT but ofc he’s very cute about it and makes me reconsider my stance 🧎‍♀️

“You think you can handle that, Blue?” “What?” Swallowing, dropping his voice as he glances over his shoulder before staring at you. “Being full of me.”

that’s it i’m a goner omfg FRANKIEEEEEE 😫

Your warm, sweet—all plump lips that have the remainder of your gloss. Tacky, he thinks. Smirking the thought to your lips as he cradles your jaw, as he licks into your mouth and earns himself his first moan.

i’m literally a puddle. this callback is so good. and the “earns himself his first moan” made my stomach flip. like it’s his reward for being so intoxicatingly hot… i’m just 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 this part got me SO FUCKING BAD

“You can still change yours though,” He smirks, almost snarling out, “Not a fucking chance.”

this fucking animal omfg i need him so bad

“Answer me then, is this all for me?”

h-hello… HELLO??? 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

“Not so hard, was it?”

ohhhhhhhhh my goddddd… as much as i love and ADORE sub!frankie… WHEN HE’S LIKE THIS I LOSE MY MIND HES SO HOT 😭😭😭

“That’s it, use me, Blue. Take what you want.”

i’m gonna get a noise complaint with all this screaming i'm doing

Nodding, “Had to, Morales.” “Frankie,” he says, urges.

such a small little thing but oh my god, him insisting on being called frankie instead of morales is so… it’s just so hot idk how else to put it. i love this little part.

It’s dizzying, the way he snaps—gripping your back as liquid pleasure rushes through him, making all sounds mute. Except the ones of his skin slapping against yours—of your whines and breaths as he jolts, as he twitches. Coming hard as a groan rips from his throat.

OKAY LISTEN— idk if this was the intention or not but i imagined him finishing with a delayed groan bc the “making all sounds mute” and then the groan after and something about that little detail… 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 again idk if it was intentional or not but i literally had to sit back for a second and BREATHE 😮‍💨

heartbeat hammering against his in a rhythm that doesn’t match, but could, he supposes.

idk i just love this line so much

i am indescribably excited for this. every kink listed for the chapters is making me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m positively ITCHING for more like my mind is running rampant. i cannot wait for more omfg YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN 🧎‍♀️

the meeting

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader | collection masterlist

summary: stumbling into a diner in the dead of the night, frankie morales doesn't expect to find anyone there. then he meets you. what begins as a one-night-stand-turned-weekend becomes a no-strings-attached arrangement.

pairing: pre-tf/delta squad francisco morales x fem!reader (nicknamed blue) rating: smut. 18+ warnings: smut. nickname is given to the reader by frankie: blue. no y/n. no physical descriptions. one-night stand. p in v. blueberry pie... is actually pie. pre-TF. dual POV. wordcount: 4.6k an: originally posted on AO3. i won't be doing a taglist for this series, so i'd recommend bookmarking on there for email notifications.

You only realise the rain is heavier when the bell chimes.

Lifting your head, dragging it away from blurring pages, you quickly spot the thick droplets pounding, hammering their tiny water-based fists against the glass beside you. The battling temperatures continue to do all it can to fog and smear it, making visibility impossible from the inside to the out.

It forces car lights to blur into scarlet reds and soft whites from your place; makes the bright diner sign out in the parking lot—spelt out in neon tubing—to be hidden, slowly swallowed and consumed by the growing storm.

When you'd first arrived, it had only been a small shower. Sometime between your first coffee and now it had shifted into a downpour—the outside rumbling angrily, accompanied by flashes that ripple across full and fuming clouds.

Stretching, raising arms above your head, you glance out from your booth and land on the figure who'd set the bell off.

They're unzipping, haphazardly throwing down the hood, parting their jacket before you see the side profile of their face. You’re transfixed, unable to blink as they rustle the short hair atop their head—the outside they’ve brought in dripping onto the worn welcome mat of the diner.

It’s Doris who hurries to greet—a favourite of yours.

She’s the kind of person who doesn’t judge when you order more coffee when it’s gone midnight or you’ve barely moved to stretch your legs; she doesn’t ask if you’re sure you should eat another slice of pie or question if studying in a busy diner is as effective as the library.

Doris keeps her nose out. And does so in a way that makes you think, that if you needed advice, she’d give it to you. Just like she quickly begins doing (unsolicitedly) to the mysterious, almost midnight visitor.

Y’from outta town? Doris asks, rich in cheer, all sing-song-like and innocent to the point it would trick even a dubious soul that she doesn’t gossip.

You wait for a response, focusing on taking small sips of your coffee. A break from the books, from note taking and soaking information. Not eavesdropping, not at all.

No. Just got in late. Saw the sign, and thought I’m a man who deserves a warm drink.

Smiling, almost smirking, you take a larger mouthful. Lie, your brain says; a charmer, you think immediately after. Taking in the slope of his nose and the way he looks lost, unsure—as though there had been no thought after escaping the night and the storm and stepping inside.

Of all the places in the empty diner for him to sit, he chooses the booth next to yours. Jacket sliding off, folding it, placing it at the end of the booth bench he’s sitting in as he faces you.

He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t glare when he meets your eyes. Just passes you over, acknowledges but not by too much. It’s you who breaks the stare.

Then Elvis begins playing—as he routinely does. Singing about mail and returning to sender as you tap your pencil against the textbook. Dropping your gaze, and doing your best to ignore him.

You’re not sure your best is going to be good enough.

Six minutes and thirty-nine seconds pass, and in that time you take further glances when you think it’s safe to do so.

For one, taking in how he scratches at the back of his head as he attempts to understand the menu. Next, how broad his chest is, and how it forces the thin fabric of his tee to stretch when he pulls out the menu, lays it down and dips his head lower between his shoulders.

By the following chance you afford yourself a glance, his thumb is pressed to his lips as he studies the plastic, two-sided menu, flipping it over with a crack, before doing so again a few moments later. Undecided, troubled—nostrils flaring as he sighs and you try not to glare through your brows.

You blame the fact it’s been a while for why thoughts are sparking.

Practically unable to stop staring at how thick his fingers are, to stop your body from reacting to the width of his thumb. Your thighs press together under the table, mind running away with itself before it’s snapped back to the present when he flips the menu again.

It’s easier to busy yourself by tapping the toe of your sneaker against the metal pole of the table. Discreet, rubber side up, dotting your paper with the pencil as you urge him to order.

Internally pleading him to.

Counting to thirty and then to sixty, before you drop the pencil and rest your cheek on your palm, staring—more bold and unafraid of confrontation than you might have been minutes ago.

“You having a hard time there or something?”

His head snaps up, eyes a little wide. The stare dripping with surprise before he snorts. Before his index and thumb are lifting the menu, tapping the others against the back.

“What do you recommend?”

“You’d take advice from a stranger?”

Shrugging, he dips his chin, but his eyes remain on you. Dark, yet warm—glancing at you as though he wishes to let them up and down your frame. Before he drags them to the empty plates, the ones stacked, ready to be collected.

“No one else for me to ask.”

You smirk, dropping your hand from your face and straightening your spine. “Touché.”

Then, you make him wait. Take as much of him in as you can. Pencil in hand as you trace the eraser end over, and over a graph in your book. Because he’s handsome, good-looking, in a way that’s understated but you know would make you double-take somewhere else.

It’s the eyes, you try to reason.

A unique mix of doe-eyed and sharp.

Exhaling, you tap your pencil louder before saying, “The coffee is good, and so are any of the pies. The pancakes are good, but not when Ernie is on. And Ernie is currently on—they always taste salty? I try not to think why.”

It’s his turn for his lips to slide into his cheek. “Which pie?”

“Huh?”

He points, right to the plates. “Which pie have you been eating?”

For a second, you take him in. Head tilting, back straight, lips rolling together as you try to place him—nostrils flaring as you take a steadying breath. “Blueberry.”

“Alright then.”

To your surprise, he orders you one too.

It sitting, temptingly in a space between notes, postits and your book. Your stomach grumbles in protest, desperate to taste another slice, knowing the importance of fuel and nutrition to ensure that you don’t fall asleep at the table again.

You wait until he sinks his teeth into it. Tuning in for any groan, any evidence of surprise at how good it tastes. You flick your gaze to him, watching, waiting, eventually stabbing your own fork into it before the filling bursts in your mouth, exploding sweetness that’s balanced by a gentle tang—the crust, as always, both crumbly and smooth, all buttery, a treat. Homely. That’s what it reminds you of, home.

A thing, from the look on his face, he feels too.

“Told you.”

It’s a sight to watch him run his tongue across the front of his teeth, fork sliding across the crumbs on his place. “Not bad for a stranger.”

You release a short laugh, one that you try to bury against the cup you bring to your lips.

“I’m Francisco—Frankie.”

He drops his eyes, embarrassment—most likely. Shyness is another option.

Even with no expectation for a trade, you lick your lips and offer him something else. A nickname as he smiles, eyes narrowing. “—not going to just hand you my name, you could be a murderer.”

“I could be.”

“Your nickname doesn’t suit you.”

“Thank you?”

He laughs, low, but light. It’s then he asks if you’re working, to which you share studying. That you find it easier here, less distractions—

“More pie?”

“There’s that too. What about you? Just fancied a break from the storm?”

Sheepish, that’s the word you’d use. The back of his fingers runs along the stubble on his jaw. “I’ve just landed back. Needed… wanted a minute.”

You nod, letting his words simmer as a bolt of lightning catches you in the corner of your eye.

“Guess we’re one step further away from being strangers.”

He hums, and you dip your head, turning the page of your textbook as it becomes the only noise while one song transitions into another.

Frankie tries not to smile when you jump at a clap of thunder.

He hides it behind his coffee and tries to stare out as another bolt sketches itself across the sky. Then, you ask him if he’ll watch your things so you can use the restroom.

Nodding, throat all of a sudden dry when you stand and he manages to steal a look at your bare legs.

Up until then, he’d only seen the oversized grey sweatshirt from the waist up, and then he finds your shorts sitting somewhere along the middle of your thighs—all skin until socks above sneakers. The latter scuffed, overly worn and likely loved. Things he assesses quickly, training coming into use even when home.

What he doesn't spot is a coat or an umbrella.

A thing which ticks in the back of his head as he wonders how long you’ve been here to have racked up the number of plates and the different glass and cupwear. It ticks over, maths whirring when he hears the bathroom door squeal and the sound of you approaching.

Your thank you comes across softly as you lean back into the seat of your booth chair, rolling your neck—and massaging your temple before reaching for something in your bag.

It’s a test, he thinks when you begin to apply gloss. Sliding it over your lips, not glancing up at, as he tries not to even let his eyes wander. To follow.

He fails.

Watching, seeing it glistening, the exposed lighting above the two of you sparkling on them like glitter.

And, he tries to drink his coffee; tries to think of what the next song could be. Whether it will be Elvis again or something else.

The song begins before he has come up with an answer. Having been too focused, too busy silently working out what flavour your gloss is.

Whether it would be tacky against his mouth—

“If you keep staring, Frankie, I’ll think that you want to take a picture.”

A light laugh escapes him, shaking his head, scratching at the back of his hair as he sighs. “Only if you pose for it.”

Your laugh is loud, sweet—gentle on the ears as you pout and roll your eyes. “You’re distracting me.”

Frankie swallows that you’ve been distracting him since he sat down.

By the time it reaches the third hour he’s been here, Frankie finds himself opposite you.

Having relocated, taken some pity on you to help “test” you on something. It had ended quickly when his hands held your notebook and spotted your illustrations along the edges. That’s when he spots a half-bad sketch of himself. A little heart on his jawline, one of his fingers tracing it on his skin, running over the patch that doesn’t fill in like the rest of his beard, before seeing an arrow with the name Frankie at the end and some dots.

“Morales. My surname.”

Grabbing your notebook back, eraser removing the dots, he watches as you write out his name. Immortalise it against the lines pages of your studying. Committing him there, a memory you can keep or erase, the choice entirely yours.

“Now, give it here.”

For a second, you look like you wish to argue, before you surrender, smirking. Pencil placed down as you lick your lips.

Amongst his name, are notes. Swirly handwriting that becomes more chaotic the longer he thinks you’ve sat here. Some circles, some with bubble clouds drawn around them, doodles on doodles—and then there’s your textbook. Post-its and scraps of receipts sticking out from different parts.

“You studying for an exam?”

Nodding, stretching your back in your seat, a little groan emitting.

“How long have you been here?”

Smiling, more telling than wicked—the opposite, he suspects, of what you intend. Your hand reaches for the pot Doris has left, tilting your cup, his eyes spotting its emptiness before your fingers wrap around the handle the black handle on the glass pot.

“Put the coffee pot down, Blue.”

Laughing, the edges of it cutting into your cheeks, “Blue?”

“Better nickname—because at this point, you’re nothing but blueberries and coffee.”

“Oh. Is that right?”

Wrapping his fingers around the handle, smothering over yours, he stares—ignores it, the pulse from your fingers, the warmth. The way his throat dries and he wants nothing more than to slide a palm up your leg to see if it’s as smooth as he thinks it will be.

“What would you say if I said I think I’d rather be full of something else…”

Your words hang, linger.

Lips sliding up into his cheek, feeling your hands loosen from under his. The silence thick. A second away from it all shifting, ruining, mood dampening and changing. So he leans, elbow resting, then forearm—finding some form of confidence buried under the responsibility he usually has to carry.

“You think you can handle that, Blue?”

“What?”

Swallowing, dropping his voice as he glances over his shoulder before staring at you. “Being full of me.”

There's a definitive pause. A glide of your eyes up and down him. Dragging, practically scraping. “Oh, I think I’d like to give it a go, Morales.”

Placing your notebook down, sliding it across the table—tracing his tongue across his teeth. He nods before muttering get your coat.

That’s when you hand him your name, your real name, and he tries it silently before he follows you up out of the booth.

He follows your car—close, not allowing another vehicle to squeeze in between, but not tailgating.

There are barely any blocks, but he doesn’t chance it. Parking behind you, exiting as you do from yours, throwing his bag over his shoulder, as you wait for him outside an apartment building at the end of a small walkway.

Frankie considers the option to turn back.

To consider his choices, to opt out of something that could become complex, awkward. But, he doesn’t. Not when he holds the door open after you’ve let them both in, or when he rides the elevator to the fourth floor, to the fourth door, four-oh-four you whisper as you stick your key in and the lock sounds in the night.

He doesn’t give it another second when the door shuts behind his back, hand grasping, swallowing your gasp when his mouth slides over yours. Bag thumping to the ground, palms wrapping around the sweatshirt as he forces it to cling to your waist when he presses you to him. Your warm, sweet—all plump lips that have the remainder of your gloss.

Tacky, he thinks. Smirking the thought to your lips as he cradles your jaw, as he licks into your mouth and earns himself his first moan.

“Can still change your mind?”

You shake your head, peeling your sweatshirt off—revealing practicality. A little grey sports bra, nothing impressive, nothing you feel embarrassed for. Your nipples are hard, peeking through the fabric as the light from your kitchen paints you in gooey yellow.

“You can change yours though?”

He smirks, almost snarling out, “Not a fucking chance.”

Throwing your sweatshirt, you slide both thumbs under the band that meets your skin and take that over your head. He almost lunges, crashing his mouth to yours, hand cupping one breast as his thumb rolls over it—circling over it. Walking you back aimlessly, unsure of any route, eyes assessing, watching, until he moves you against a wall.

One hand against it for leverage, his other slips down the band of your shorts—passed cotton, it digging into his wrist as two fingers glide through your slick. Feeling your want, your need, able to spread it, smother it over your clit as you whimper, as your arms knot behind his neck and pull his mouth to mould to yours.

“All for me?”

“Shh,” you whisper, grinning, one of his thick fingers sliding from your swollen clit to dip into your pussy. Your hips grinding into him, against his palm, groaning—almost moaning against your mouth at the feel of you. More so when he catches you whisper, “Please.”

“Answer me then, is this all for me?”

Nodding, lips ghosting over his before he slips another finger in. Sliding them in and out, curling. Feeling you tighten around him, clenching.

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“Not so hard, was it?”

His fingers curl, finding that spongy spot that has you whining a completely different noise—has your fingers digging into him, leaving little marks that’ll take hours to fade. He hopes they bruise.

The more he thrusts his fingers, the more you flutter—the more you rut into his hand. The more the noises you emit become strangled, mewls that are wrapped in a moan.

“That’s it, use me, Blue. Take what you want.”

“Fuck, m’gonna… fuck, I’m so—”

Frankie smothers your babbling with his mouth, licks his tongue into your mouth, vanishes them, erases them. Half-about to confess how hot it is that you’re so riled up, all because of him. That you’ve barely invited him in before you’re humping his hand, desperate, aching all for him.

Your fingers tighten around his forearms, hips shuddering, moaning right into his mouth as he feels your slick coat his fingers, his palm. Working you through it until you’re nudging his hand free, pulling it up to your mouth and meeting his eyes.

Then, you’re a fucking sight, a vision. Tongue sliding between his fingers and up and over them, tasting every part of yourself from his hand before his palms clutch your cheeks. Before his mouth is on yours and you’re guiding him to the bedroom, to your made bed of pale shades and decorative cushions.

“Condoms?”

Your hand reaches, shifts awkwardly for the handle, as he swipes at your hand—leaning over, reaching. He spots them, foil in the centre of papers and—

“Fuck, Blue,” he hisses. Looking down, finding his cock in your hand, mouth hovering closer, teasingly, breath fluttering over the leaking tip as you ask you clean and he nods.

Almost set to choke out words when wet warmth envelopes his cock. Cheeks hollowing, doing all you can to take as much of him from this position as he drops his head back, as his fingers grasp at your sheets, as the condom crinkles in his fingers before it scratches, protesting and reminding of its importance.

He’s throbbing in your mouth. Too in awe of the actual fucking sight of you—a person he met four hours ago—who is now a dream come to life.

“Stop, baby,” he groans, hand on cheek, easing him out of your mouth, “Wanna feel you come around me.”

Your eyes narrow in fury as he shifts back, rests back on his knees, eyes unable to tear away from how you lick the small taste of him from your lips, thumb swiping at the spit that had slid around your parted mouth as he rips the foil open.

“Are you sure you want this?”

Lifting up, taking the condom from the wrapper, sliding it down his cock. “Oh, I want you. Wanted you the moment you walked in.” He laughs, watching your hand wrap around his length. “I mean it—I don’t… don’t do this. But, I had to.”

Taking your hand from around him, leaning you back before lifting your leg, he lines himself up—sliding the head of his cock through your folds. Smearing himself in your wetness, coating him, watching you try to style out your little changes in breath.

“Had to?”

Nodding, “Had to, Morales.”

“Frankie,” he says, urges. Slowly pushing himself in, head tipping as he watches how you stretch around him, how perfect you are, how good.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you moan as he bottoms out.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and your chest arches into him. Your hooked leg tightening, forehead pressing into his neck as he rubs a circle on your back, comforting, aiming for relaxation as your head lifts, as eyes—glassy, lust-blown and filled with want.

“Good girl. S’good for me.”

Then you flutter, loosen a little, grind your hips—

“You like that, Blue?”

“Move, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

“Please. Please, Frankie—fuck me, fuck me—”

Your words fade, swallowed by a whine as he begins to move. As his hips begin to snap to yours in a rhythm so unrelenting, so desperate. Kissing you between heavy breaths as he lifts you slightly, changes the angle, and swallows a different moan that almost makes him grin as his fingers spread out along your back.

Because fuck you feel good.

A thing he’s sure he groans, says, spills.

Your mouth close to his ear, hands tugging at him, pulling—feeling you everywhere, taking him, all that he’s giving you. As his arm hooks under your leg, spreading you a little more, placing a palm down to the bedsheets as he squeezes the cotton as you tighten around him.

He knows you’re close, can feel it, can see it, a look that he’d seen only in diluted light*,* but now gets a real view of.

And it’s enough to push him over the edge.

“Say my name, baby. Please—”

“Frankie—fuck, m’god, Frankie, right…”

It shifts into a cry, your body tensing as your pussy flutters, tightens—contracting and constricting. Then there’s your nails, the ones clawing at him, scratching. Digging into him in a way he wants you to over, and over, again as he moans.

Because you feel good. Perfect.

His breath fans across your neck and he finds himself so hard, so desperate as he slides in and out, hand grasping at your hip, easing, helping—

“Come for me, Frankie. Need it, need you t—”

“Fuck, m’give it to you.”

It’s dizzying, the way he snaps—gripping your back as liquid pleasure rushes through him, making all sounds mute. Except the ones of his skin slapping against yours—of your whines and breaths as he jolts, as he twitches. Coming hard as a groan rips from his throat. His hips stutter, losing their pace, hearing your whine change as overstimulation layers thickly before he slowly lets himself collapse against you.

A thing, he suspects, you’re eager for. Arms encasing around him, holding him—heartbeat hammering against his in a rhythm that doesn’t match, but could, he supposes.

Then you kiss him.

Drag his mouth to yours, bodies both slick with sweat, glistening, shimmering as your tongue licks a thank you at the back of his teeth and his fingers grasp one of your breasts, sliding a sweat-soaked thumb over your peak as you groan.

He’s not sure of the hour, but he knows it’s morning when he wakes.

The shower’s running. Steam billowing into the bedroom from the ajar door with warm light leaves a line that guides him to you.

A part of him thinks he should leave. Should take the easy option, knowing things—how you feel, how he feels. Hand on your hip between the first and then the second—the time on your clock barely acknowledged as you ask him what he does, where he’s come from.

It rolled from him, the truth. A thing that should frighten him, that he should have held back—

You serve?

Yeah.

Against your sheets, the ones that smell of you and then him and then the two of you, running a hand over his face. Recalling the way you touched his cheek, brushed your palm, staring, before you whispered:

Lemme guess, a pilot?

Eyes widening, hand on your chin as he made you look at him, silently asking, how do’y know, how d’you see me? You kissed him instead of answering.

It's why it would be easy to go—to leave in the mid-morning, disappear, vanish.

But his feet are taking him to the bathroom door, pushing it open with two fingers—the same two that tipped your chin up, made you look him in the eye as you came on his cock—steam greeting him before it clears. Before he sees your back to him, half-covered by droplets and glass until he’s padding across tiles, remembering your words the last time when you’d been shimmering with sweat—

“I can’t do serious, Morales. So if you have a taste of me, don’t fall in love with me.”

He’d snorted, sliding his mouth down your stomach, thighs twitching against his palm as it remembered the other ways he’d already made it shake. “It’ll be you falling when I’ve done with you.”

Your fingers slide the glass open now, that conversation there, hanging like fairy lights that you both ignore as water cascades down your skin—and he steps in, welcomed, lips finding yours as the glass shakes when it slams back into place.

It’s a few more hours until he’s dressing, until he’s drinking a cup of coffee and finding himself having trouble making an excuse to leave.

Because these things aren’t easy, comfortable. Yet this is.

Opening the door, the scent of coffee from the pot you made still filling your place, you let him pass—hovering, lingering.

“Hey?”

Glancing at you, how you’re biting the nail on your thumb, one foot on the other. “Maybe, call me—when you’re next in town? If you want.”

“Thought you didn’t do strings.”

“We can be friends… can’t we? Friends who…”

“Fuck?”

He watches you nod, laughing, before he mumbles friends into the air as he lags. Swallowing. Fingers lightly tapping against his jeans before he rests his arm against the door. “Blue?”

“Hm.”

“What if I said I’m not expected anywhere for two more days.”

Your teeth bite your lower lip, scratching at the back of your head, before that same hand grabs a fistful of his shirt, moving closer, chin tilted up. “I’d say, I think I could handle a bit more of you, Morales. If you want?”

an: a huge thank you to @luxurychristmaspudding for reading this and helping me spot the hilarious typos (you're a real one). to @pedgito for holding my hand so tight since i said "i think i want to do a kink list" and then spinning a wheel which unveils the kinks in the next few pieces. i'd be lost.

[tendous-whore]

Wait wait, I really liked ‘Home is with you’ 🥺😫 but my angst self just pictured the aftermath of part 1…. But with Y/N birthing her and Toji’s baby…. Naoya being single again and one day running into baby Y/N/Toji and seeing what could’ve been …. 🧍🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️ only if you’re down

it should have been me

Pt. 3 to do you think of me too?

summary: (requested/continuation of do you think of me too?) just when he thinks you’re out of his life, everything he sees reminds him of you. so when you cross paths yet again, naoya is reminded of a life that could have been his.

warnings: angst?? probs fluff hehe lol

notes: I just finished this about what feels like a reallllly long time so it's unedited & probably kinda long or short idk hehe but I AM SO DOWN 😩 down bad 🥴 also hope yall like it!!

Toji Fushiguro, was a man with no fears, that is, until he met you. He remembers that fateful day, how he had stumbled upon the strange creature, buried beneath the tall tree, and hidden in the silence, away from the bustling world beyond the mountain. At first, he admired from afar, of the quietness that enveloped your dormant frame, of how the hushed forestry claimed you ever so graciously, to remain here, where you belonged. And you did, despite the kimono, splotched with mud and dirt, you had settled in well, that even the cherry blossoms and wisteria petals swayed in rival, envious of your beauty.

And so was he.

Naoya Zen’in, bowed before no one, not even you. The delicately groomed bride of his, molded to his exact liking hardly deserved kindness in this world of men. You were simply a woman, destined to serve below his feet. Even so, he recalls the feeling in his chest that fateful day, to be relieved. Fitted before him, so elegant and beautiful, he felt the greater promise you held. Finally, he had found someone worth his future; to finally hold fertility within his palm and seep his pride further into the motherland, by the means of you. The hunt for an heir would soon be a distant dream, and that made him feel untouchable. So it was truly a shame to have wasted true beauty, to never be perfected, again and again, to never get it right. And that feeling pitted below his stomach returned, only nastier, until the mere sight of his wife sickened him. A barren creature deserved nothing, like yourself. Only to be forgotten, driven away, and never to be seen again, or so he told himself.

but did he mean it?

Broad shoulders hunch forward, firm arms pulling you closer to his center, shielding your body from the rain and chill bite of the air. It was a habit, one he couldn’t seem to shake, not when he wanted to hold you close and away from the world. In the distance, a low hum and rumble buzzed the skies, grey and dim of light. But even in this downpour, when your cheeks slightly stung from the cold, you loved it.

The man you’ve come to know, hardly enjoyed the cold, the rain, and the snow. He didn’t get why you did, but when he presses himself to you, his hand pulled against your waist, when he hugs you so tight that you can’t breathe, you find it hard not to chase the unforgiving frost. Because it’s the warmth of him that makes it worth it. And he knows, how you make the chase, with him on your heels, ready to cook you up like warm soup on a winter day. It makes it all the more easier to indulge in these feelings, to be tender for you and only you. He can’t deny the soft spot he holds in his heart for the woman who tore down his walls and built him back up, because Toji Fushiguro was in love, and everyone could see it, even him.

“I'm not going.”

"It is beneath me."

"Not anymore, not now."

"Be grateful anyone would want you."

He remembers the morning, of the conversation with his father. It gave him a headache, one that rang in his ear and made him clench his jaw in annoyance. The painful throb between his neck and shoulders reminds him of the exchange, that it's difficult not to think about. Since his separation from his second wife had become public news, Naobito became overbearing, the pressure of him everywhere practically suffocating Naoya. He had tolerated it, until today, until he had begun to trifle with the affairs of his relations. So, he stormed out, needing a fresh breath of air, something to calm him before he had the patience to see Naobito again.

This was not the first time he had suggested arranged marriage, in fact, he had done it before. He remembers the face of the man, presenting his best to appease him, to tie their clans in marriage, and form a peaceful alliance. He agreed, solely because the woman before him was no other he had seen before. Soft on the eyes, and as passive as a lap dog, one he once held the leash to. And it was a good marriage while it lasted, but this was not what his father had in mind.

"It is beneath me." He repeated, like a mantra. Like he was trying to convince himself.

The thought of asking for another's hand in marriage like some desperate whore was out of the question. If anything, women should be flocking to him, begging to be his, to serve and wait for his word. And yet, despite the files that piled his desk, drowning with portfolios and promises from regional clans and distant villages, he refused to look at any of them. Because the truth was, none of the women had a chance, not when their competition was you.

Naoya's mind had become muddled, always dazed, and now irrational. He couldn't explain why his throat closed when he thought of you, or how his chest drummed loudly at the mention of your name. But it was when you had appeared at his door those months ago, remarried and expecting, that the pit in his stomach churned with mixed emotions. Even as you are gone, cast away from his life and rebuilding it with another, he finds it difficult to move on.

Not when he sees the sight before him

thinking, how it was supposed to be him.

"Let me." Toji says.

His hands are already taking the tiny bundled-up blanket from your hold, but you don't protest, in fact, you find yourself leaning into his reach, sliding the soft fabric onto his chest. Your husband smiles, his face dipping against the swaddle, his lips ghosting over the soft skin of the baby's cheek. You find yourself drawn to his side, peering into his arms, at the life you had brought to his world.

"He looks like you."

"Everything is you." He says.

His eyes never leave the tiny face that gazes back at him, small outstretched hands clinging onto his jacket, reaching for the rough material before your husband is tucking them back into the woven blanket. His son resembled Toji, there was no mistake, but he found that there was more of his wife in the kid. He had your eyes, the exact color he had fallen for, his face carrying your distinct features too. His hair was the only thing that he seemed to take from his father, but you always argued with him on the matter. You were always so stubborn too, pushy when you had a point, and in a way, he was too. Your son was hardly any trouble for him, but he was definitely a mama's boy, Toji felt it. Still, he enjoyed moments like these, living in the moment, as long as you were here too.

There was a moment in time where he wasn't sure if he would make it this far if you hadn't been there. After the night you had given birth, there had been complications, bad enough to have scared him so much, shaking him to his core, that as he had waited outside the room, head buried in his hands as he tried to see a life without you, he couldn't. Beyond this point, these white walls and cold hallways, Toji didn't was to live a normal life if you weren't in it too. That was his honest truth. There was only one thing in the world that he feared the most, and that was losing you.

"Look at us." You smile.

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts as you nod to the glass window, the reflection in it mirroring the two of you as you stared at the portrait painted in the pane. Like one of those family paintings, with Toji standing tall behind your figure, your hand rested against his arm while he holds your son. It's an image you want to engrave into your mind forever.

But he wants to burn it.

He hardly ever leaves home, and if ever, only for meetings. But he's never been to town, his aversion to the modern adaptions people flock to keeping him away from the bright lights and expensive shops. All he ever needed was his quiet residence, but up until now, not even he can find peace within his own house. Walking the crowded strip, the concrete below his feet clicks against his shoes as distant chatter fills the air. It's no different than the whispers of his servants, but at least the strangers that fill the streets don't avoid him, rather, they pay no mind, continuing on. And maybe he kinda liked that, to be invisible for only a moment, to pretend he was a mere passerby and not Naoya Zen'in.

And sometimes he wished he was someone else.

Someone stronger, a man who was a little bit kinder, someone who was just a bit better than he could ever be. Maybe if he was, he wouldn't have to wake in the morning, reaching for the empty spot next to him, hoping that if he wished hard enough, you would be there, that in those cold sheets, warmth would linger for a moment.

But as his feet cement to the ground beneath him, his eyes transfixed to the opposite street, he finds himself swallowing his breath, stuck in his throat. The rain is still pouring, and thunder booms from the sky above, but he doesn't care that his clothes stick to his skin, he can't. Because something familiar claws at his chest, something distinct about the way that face hits him as he gazes from afar. The way his hair sticks out, his eyes angled, nose turned in such a way, he can see himself. But the longer he stares, the more he sees you, the way that smooth face flaunts your soft expressions. And he thinks to himself, how perfect it would be, if he was Naoya's, not Tojis.

People slip past him, hurrying to hide beneath the building canopys but he hardly cares, not as he is watching the striking woman from across the street. Her mouth moves, talking as she nestles her face against the small blanket, swaddled in her arms, the man beside whispering into her ear as they stand beside a shop, beneath the tent and away from the cold.

Naoya pretends it's him next to her, to be the man to tell her how pretty she looked with their baby, as she smiles bashfully when he slips an arm around her. He pretends that when you look at the man, it's him instead, when you tiptoe, pressing your soft lips against him, Naoya is the one kissing back. And when you pull away, smoothing his cousin's damp hair away from his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, down to his chest so carefully, he imagines how it must feel. Because he remembers the time you did something so similar when the two of you rushed for cover beneath the cherry blossoms during a storm. And it's that exact sight, of you giving all of what you once shared with him, to someone who wasn't him, that grounds him back to his reality.

The truth, where you stood across the street, with Toji and your son, and here, where Naoya stood, alone, thinking to himself. Wondering if you could ever see him, that you would see that even a woman like yourself could bring a man like him to his knees, begging as he watched you walk away yet again, wishing;

that it wasn't Toji.

but him instead.

[jigujellee]

FALLING FOR YU -> even from where she was sitting, karina manages to make you knock you off your feet. [ request: karina x gn!soloist!reader at an award show where y/n is performing their new song and get hurt, karina is obviously worried and the cameras pick up on it (also fans shipping online) and basically lots of fluff ]

karina x gn!soloist!reader fluff word count: 1.7k warnings: a swear word or two, otherwise none

a/n: the vision was clear in my head but i don't know if i executed it the way i wanted to 😫 but 2/2 fics for you!! this was also such a fun request and i hope you'll enjoy it <3 thank you for your continued support! i love and appreciate you very much, and please feel free to request again in the future!

"you're on in 5 mins y/n!"

you gaze into the mirror and watch as the final touches to your hair and makeup are being done.

"are you nervous?" your hairdresser asks as she brushes through your luscious ash grey hair.

then your makeup artist chimes in, "what kind of question is that? of course our y/n isn't nervous! they always manage to put on a spectacular show every time, isn't that right?" she takes a step back to look at you, ensuring that your lip tint and the rest of your makeup was applied properly.

if you were being honest, you actually did feel nervous and for a very good reason - tonight, you'll be performing your new song live at the asian artist awards while your girlfriend and her group sat in the audience to watch you. the rising stars known as aespa are a group full of talented and charismatic members who always put on amazing performances, so as karina's partner, you always felt like you had to be on her level despite karina's never ending praises and compliments for you. nonetheless, it always motivated you to work harder.

before you could answer any of your stylists' questions, your manager steps in and tells you it's time to head backstage. all hands come off of you and supportive cheers are heard from every corner of the dressing room.

"you got this y/n! you'll do great out there!"

you then give everyone a warm smile and bow to them as an act of gratitude for all their hard work.

"it's showtime everyone!"

-

as you patiently wait backstage for your name to be called, you go over the choreography in your head while the tech crew adjusted your mic system. the thought of being up on the stage in a matter of minutes as your girlfriend watched you made you tremble. you've performed in front of thousands of fans numerous times in the past, but the fact that it only took one woman to make you this nervous made you chuckle to yourself; she was truly a blessing and a curse. just then, your name is finally mentioned by the hosts and your manager gives you a pat on the back to wish you luck. you gain as much composure as you can and prepare to give your best performance.

the stage doors open and the intro music begins to play. you strut confidently towards the centre of the stage and once you're there, you start your performance. you swing your arms around in the air as you stomp down on the stage with as much power as you can, and you can hear the fans go wild. as you danced, you tried to look for karina and the rest of the members. it was difficult to spot where they were sitting at first, especially because you could barely see the audience and also because majority of the idols were dressed in black tonight. as your intro comes to an end, you continue to glance around and you finally manage to spot karina sitting in between giselle and winter. she watched you in absolute awe, hands clasped tightly together and her eyes filled with such admiration, and you could tell she was excited to see the rest of your performance. you smirk to yourself as you wait for your new song to play.

the booming music fills the arena and the stage lights feel hot on you, but it's all part of why you loved to perform. the adrenaline and the cheers from the fans gave you a boost of energy, and with that, your anxiety momentarily disappears. you give it your all, ensuring that each step is delivered just as you've rehearsed it. karina watched intently as you whirled around on stage while managing to sing with such stability in your voice. she was so proud of everything you've worked hard for and she knew how much you loved being on stage. but then, her eyes that were just filled with awe were now filled with horror and worry. halfway through the second chorus, you miscalculate where your foot lands and you trip over yourself, sticking out your arm to break your fall. the music immediately stops and the staff rushes over to you to ensure you're okay.

karina immediately gets up and the cameras are quick to notice her sudden reaction. before she could do anything, winter places an arm in front of her.

"karina no, you have to sit down. the cameras are all pointed to you, people might interpret the situation weirdly," winter whispers in karina's ear. your girlfriend glances around and just like winter mentioned, a number of cameras were pointed at her. as much as she wanted to scream out that she doesn't give a flying fuck about what other people had to say, she sits back down in defeat knowing that a potential dating scandal was something neither of you needed right now.

"we can go see them after, okay?" giselle reassures her while ningning and winter gently rub karina's back in attempt to calm her down.

-

as you sat on the gurney, you watch as the nurse places a cast on your arm before wrapping it with bandages and positioning it into the sling. the physician finishes talking with your manager and makes his way to you.

"your arm took a lot of damage from that fall. this is going to take around 6-12 weeks to heal, so i told your manager that you should refrain from any rigorous movements for the time being. after 2 weeks or so, you'll be able to start some physiotherapy to maintain good range of motion in your arm. with a good amount of rest, you'll be back on the stage before you know it," the physician sends a kind smile towards you as he leaves a pat on your back.

this is definitely not how you wanted this night to go, especially when you've been practicing almost everyday from the early hours of the morning to the quietest times at night. you look down at your newly casted arm and you couldn't help but feel disappointed in yourself. had you been more careful, none of this would've happened and you would've been able to successfully finish the show. your manager then takes a seat beside you and tries to encourage you so you'd stop wallowing in disappointment.

"don't be too hard on yourself y/n, no one saw this coming, not even you. you did amazing up there and you know it. even if you don't think that, there are thousands of fans out there who think otherwise"

but you were only human. it was natural for you to feel disappointed in yourself for not being able to finish the show. luckily, your manager's words were enough to lift up your mood ever so slightly.

"hey, want to see something?" your manager asks as they nudge your arm (the healthy one, of course). out of curiosity, you finally tear your eyes away from the cast and look at your manager who was currently on their phone. as they bring the phone closer to you, your eyes are met with hundreds of tweets with even more popping up almost every second.

did you see how fast karina got up when y/n fell? that was so cute!

i wish someone was concerned about me like how karina worried about y/n

karina looking like a whole worried gf when y/n tripped hahaha

our karina is so sweet look at how worried she looked &lt;3 i hope y/n gets better soon!

omg my karina x y/n crumbs!!

such a simple reaction yet karina and y/n manage to make me feel so single :')

karina was currently trending at number one due to her reaction of you falling on stage. your manager then shows you a video of your worried girlfriend getting ready to run to the stage, and you can't help but smile at how cute she was. you rewatch the video over and over again until the woman from the video suddenly appears in front of you.

"y/n!!" you look up to find an out of breath and very worried karina. despite having ran from her seat all the way to backstage, she still managed to look stunning (literally how is she so fine)

"are you alright y/n? i was so worried about you but i had to wait and see you. i'm sorry i couldn't be here sooner," karina rambles.

"love, it's okay, i'm okay. it's just a fractured arm, nothing too serious. you know, i guess i just kinda... fell for you up there" and you send a wink to karina along with the signature flynn rider smoulder™. you loved telling her really cheesy and crappy pick up lines because even if she cringed on the outside, karina secretly loved it.

"baby, this isn't the time to be joking!"

"well, the fans think otherwise," you chuckled and you show her the tweets and videos about her reaction to you. you notice karina's cheeks and the tips of her ears turn red in embarrassment. you laugh at her cuteness as you pull her close to you to press a kiss on her cheek and you grabbed her hand to let her know you're okay. karina managed to take away your negative feelings even if it was just for a moment, and you're reminded of how lucky you are to have her in your life. as much as you loved to perform and be on stage, nothing beats the love you have for karina.

-

a couple weeks later, the sling was able to come off but the cast still remained on your arm. with permission from both of your managers, karina has been staying with you in order to take care of you and while you weren't complaining about having your beloved girlfriend spend time with you, her leader side was starting to show and you were starting to honestly starting to hate it a little.

"karina, for the last time, it's just a broken arm. a broken left arm at that, and i'm right handed. i can take care of myself just fine"

"no, the doctor said no rigorous movements for the time being remember?"

"since when was eating a rigorou-" karina suddenly places the spoon of soup into your mouth. not wanting to argue with her, you just let her feed the rest of the soup. even when you say you're full, she glares at you and urges you to finish it. you couldn't deny her even if you tried.

"alright y/n, now time for you to get some rest"

"can you cuddle with me please? it's the least you could do for shoving soup into my mouth," but karina just takes the empty bowl and gets up anyway.

"i might hurt you if i get too close to you, i don't want to risk it"

"i won't heal if you don't cuddle me" you say as you look away with a pout. your girlfriend then turns your face towards hers and leans in to place a gentle but sweet kiss on your lips.

"suck it up you big baby," karina says as she giggles and makes her way out of the room.

[aro-comics]

Squishes Vs Crushes (Part 1)

Squishes Vs. Crushes, Part 1/4 - ... and here we go, onto a brand new series friends!! We're bypassing the debunking arophobia series for now (I'd like to keep things a little more upbeat considering the past few comics 😅), but we're definitely coming back to it in the future 🐸✨

I don't have much to say for this comic as of right now, as it's only the first half of my explanation of what romantic attraction actually is (imo) 😆 I'll go into more depth on the exact feelings next week and I'll probably blab more about it then. As always though, these are only my own experiences (and as mentioned in the comic, romantic attraction is really poorly defined 😫😓). Aro or allo, if you disagree, that's completely fine!!!!! I think even amongst all the allos I've spoken to, they all have slightly different opinions about what a crush actually is. At the end of the day, how you define it is a personal decision 💚💚

[Image Description:

Slide 1: A title slide, large text which says “Squishes versus crushes.” Celia leans casually against the edge of the frame, and a speech bubble from her says “A gray-aro’s perspective!”

Slide 2: “Something I hear a lot from aro people is how they’re not sure if their feelings are romantic, or something else.” 

A blank person talks to Celia rapidly, listing off questions “like what IS a crush, anyway?”, “what about squishes?”, “Are my feelings romantic? Or-” While Celia nods understandingly. 

Slide 3: Celia speaks to the viewer now, “It actually makes a lot of sense that so many aros are confused - as I’ve said before our culture is so amatonormative that there are no WORDS for strong emotions that aren’t romantic.”

Slide 4: A group of blank people are shown arguing about the meaning of romance. 

“It’s a really subtle but powerful thing. Sometimes things like a glance across a room can be so full of emotion -”

“No, you’re wrong, that's just a crush! Not true love - it’s a deeper form of conection!”

“It’s a chemical though-”

Caption reads “and in many ways, the definition of romance can be pretty fuzzy.”

Slide 5: Celia speaks to the viewer while a number of doodled stickers/graphic elements surround her, filling in a portion of the sentence. It is meant to be read as “But as a gray-aro, person who gets squishes (™), I think I can actually help y’all out here.”

On a side note is something scrawled: “Also, I’m pansexual, not that it matters per se, but for *context*”

Slide 6: “So to start off” Celia speaks from a little doodle at the top of the title page. The text says “The Crush” AKA romantic attraction.

Slide 7: “For me, crushes don’t last long and they aren’t that strong. I see it as kind of a [emoji sparkles are placed around this word] ‘lite’ version”

A drawing of Celia as a fourteen year old with much shorter hair. She’s staring mesmerized at a long-haired girl with pale skin and a grey jacket, playing a game on her console. Little notes around her indicate that the last time she had a “crush” which lasted longer than 1.5 hours was when she was this age. 

“A trial run, without the full features.”

Slide 8: “The best way to describe the feeling is that it’s the stereotypical ‘butterflies in your stomach situation” 

A sketch of Celia, drawn against a light airbrushed pink and blue background. She is coloured in differently, with a minimal pink palette to indicate value. Her chest is surrounded by a spiky, airbrushed pink shape and little pink butterflies.

Slide 9: Celia drawn in the regular style, talking to the viewer “It’s kind of tingly, and you feel it in your stomach or chest (similar to anxiety)”] 

[dreamkidddream]

Hi !! Congrats on 800 !! I love your writing it's really good !!

For your event could you do 4 for Chuuya or Megumi? You can pick btw I love both so I don't mind!!

Have a good rest of your day !!

Sorry that this took so long! I was going to do Megumi buuuut I’m rewatching Season 3 and all I wanna write about is Chuuya rn 🥰 also when people write for him, do y’all write his eyes to be grey or blue because I can’t decide 😫 hope you have a good rest of your day too 💖 reader is gender neutral!

CW: language, semi spicy/suggestive

“Fake Relationship” Trope with Chuuya!

Dream’s 800 Follower Special 📖

Chuuya doesn’t want this moment to end.

The lights are dimmed low, he has his hands placed on your hips and is swaying you to whatever slow song is on, but it’s background noise to him at this point because all he can focus on is you. You always have this sort of glow that just draws him to you like a moth to a flame, but tonight- tonight you are just shining. It was already hard to tear his eyes off of you, but it’s damn near impossible now.

Your arms are loosely placed around his neck, and the smile that you’re giving him makes him feel like it’s only you two in this room right now. Like there’s no one else in the entire world, just you and him. When was the last time he’s been this close to you? He wishes more moments like this would happen, where he doesn’t have to hold back and pretend that he doesn’t want to sweep you off your feet and take you back to his place, holding you and pressing kisses along every inch of your skin-

“I am so sorry about this again, Chuuya. I promise I’ll buy you the best wine imaginable. Will probably cost me my whole check, but I really owe you one for this.”

But your words snapped him out of his fantasy and brought him back to reality, where he was only playing make believe for your friend’s wedding because you didn’t want to be the only one without a plus one, and you didn’t want her to know that you were still single after college.

“It’s not a problem, and you better not be stingy and buy that cheap brand either.” His words held no bite, and after he twirled you around, he felt his face getting hot after hearing the laugh you gave him.

He should have told you no because one: this is some of the stupidest shit he has ever heard because why do you care so much about what she thinks, and two: something was bound to go wrong. But then he imagined someone being lovey dovey with you that wasn’t him (even if it was fake), and needless to say, he changed his mind quick (but let’s be honest, he would’ve offered to be your plus one even if you didn’t ask). He needs to learn how to say no to you before he gets suckered into anything else (but to be fair, it’s hard to when you pull the puppy dog eyes on him, and it’s hard in general because it’s you).

He thought that if he could pretend to be the best lover you’ve ever had, just indulge himself in this little fantasy for tonight, he would get over you. Realize that what he’s feeling is only temporary, and go back to being a close friend like he’s already been doing. Everyone would go home happy, he could have a drink to wash his pity down, and wake up tangled in his sheets in the morning without you once again.

But it wasn’t working, at all.

It felt too real, what the two of you were doing. You’ve been hanging off his arm the entire night, laughing and tossing a smile his way that wasn’t as forced as he thought it would be. The stories you’ve been telling your friend was bringing a small smile to his own face, stealing bites off of each other’s plates, the soft looks that you’ve been giving him- the night where he thought that he would have to force himself drink cheap alcohol to get through, he was surprisingly proven wrong. He can’t believe that he was genuinely enjoying this, but you were the main reason for that.

What he’s feeling wasn’t some middle school crush- he’s in love with you, and he can’t fight his feelings any longer. He can’t imagine being happy with anyone else, and even if he could, why would he subject himself to that when all he wants is you?

Chuuya is a confident man. He’s the whole package; what people would wish to have in their partner. He fears nothing and no one, he doesn’t back down from anything, and more importantly- he tries his damndest and works his ass off to get what he wants. And he’s tired of acting like he doesn’t want you.

He didn’t realize that he slowed down to a stop, Your eyebrows are furrowed in concern, and you go to take a step back to give him some space, but he keeps a firm grip on your waist. The thought that he’s in this position as a friend instead of being your actual lover- it has his mouth moving quicker than his brain, and he has never been one to shy away from how he really feels.

“Chuuya? Everything okay-“

“Can I kiss you?”

He could see the surprise dance across your face. “Huh? Are you- I mean-” You’re caught off guard, stumbling over your words and he can feel you nervously fiddling your fingers, your nails grazing the back of his neck and causing shivers to go down his spine. You are chipping away at his self control, slowly but surely.

“Can I kiss you?” He repeated desperately, leaning in closer. He didn’t care if the blush on his face was spreading to the tip of his ears, he didn’t care that people were staring. Just being inches away from your lips like this- it was tempting him more. His nose is brushing against yours, his own fingers are twitching in anticipation, and you keep darting your eyes from his own to his lips-

“Are you- are you sure…you want that?”

The conviction in his azure eyes have never been stronger, and he nodded his head with no hesitation. “Do you?”

If it’s a show they want, he’ll put on the best show they’ll ever see.

You nodded your head and he didn’t waste a second to smash his lips against yours.

The kiss was full of passion, Chuuya pouring everything he felt- feels- into it. His own eyes closed after yours, and he sunk himself deeper into it. Your lips melded perfectly against his, and they were so soft to the touch, and the taste- he can’t get enough. Your arms kept him there, like you were daring him to deepen the kiss, which he was getting him even more riled up. When you broke apart panting, he found himself chasing after them, but you placed a hand on his chest. “Was- was that okay?”

“Absolutely.” He rasped out. He was euphoric, and he was already leaning in to get more, taking you in a dip and connecting his lips again, swiping his tongue at your bottom lip to deepening the kiss-

“Alright lovebirds, get a room!”

Until the bride came in between you, pulling you back until Chuuya felt was missing your heat from his fingertips. He felt his eye twitch and was this close to using his ability to fling her back to her table, but he showed the little self restraint he had left and reached for your hand, dragging you out of her grip and towards the exit. “Wait- where are you going?!”

“Getting a room. Far from here.” He gritted out, slamming the doors open without looking back.

“We had fun, but I think we’re gonna head home. But thanks for the invite, we had fun!” You yelled, still feeling breathless and lightheaded from before. It wasn’t the alcohol making you feel this fluttery, but you weren’t complaining.

When you did feel the night breeze hit your cheeks, he didn’t let go of your hand, even when he was calling for a ride. It was quiet, and your mind was swarming with questions, both excited and anxious for the new turn that your relationship was taking. It seemed like he was too with how he kept glancing at your from the corner of his eye, “You alright?”

“Oh, yeah just- a lot happened tonight but, I don’t regret any of it.” You paused, “Do-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” He faced you. “And quit worrying so much, we can talk about everything in the morning over breakfast.” He rubbed his thumb across your knuckles, “Alright?” He wants to start something new with you, but only if you wanted that too. He would be crushed if you wanted to forget about everything that happened, if you just wanted to stay friends, but he would respect it.

You smiled so bright at him, and he got his answer then.

“Yeah, I would really like that.”

[splendiferous-bitch]

tagged by @hellsbedroom to do this little get-to-know-you game! thanks lovely 💖 (better late than never aha)

rules: tag a few people you want to know better; make a new post, don’t reblog!

favourite colour: lavender, dark green, grey, nude/light pink (but it changes lots because i love all the colours)

currently reading: any fic that pops up on my dash. but book-wise, nothing. i was reading the song of achilles but i couldn't get into it. i'll have to pick another unread book from my shelf! maybe american gods or watership down 🤔

last song: cutthroat — imagine dragons. listening to their latest album because i'm seeing them next week!!!

last movie: thor: ragnarok, which is the best thor movie (thank you, taika 😌)

last series: read sharp objects a few summers back so i decided to start the series last night. it's great so far! currently watching inhumans. it's the worst marvel series, ever.

sweet, spicy, savoury: love all of them, but i'd have to say savoury (not me writing this as i just finished eating french toast and ice cream lmao)

coffee or tea: iced coffee! if it's not iced, i don't want it

three ships: kate and anthony (bridgerton), karen and frank (the punisher), claire and luke (luke cage)

first ever ship: pretty sure it was hermione and draco LMAO

currently working on: trying to survive 😂😫

favourite piece of clothing: love my new plaid shacket! it's perfect for the spring weather

comfort food: soup, any kind. it's soup szn 24/7 — 365 days a year. some of favs are chicken noodle, borsch and french onion!

favourite time of year: fall — i love the brisk air and all of the beautiful colours, and it's the perfect weather for cozy sweaters 🥰

fav fanfiction: everything my mutuals write ❤

no-pressure tags: @trialnerror @mattmurdockspainkink @phoebe-danvers