#not actually any stache

[jessieren]

Am I using the excuse of Moustache Monday to gratuitously post clips* of notebook and tongue fidgets?

Yes, yes I am..

Any complaints?

*Posted the clip because the gif just wasn’t doing it sufficient justice

[scottstiles]

STORYLINE: Coworker friends forever (CFFs) Kydd and Felixx are top detectives at the paranormal spooky investigation agency Psi Cops, where they solve mysteries and supernatural crimes using their overly competent incompetence.

so............basically an animated destiel comedy as goofy yet effective paranormal detectives why is nobody talking about this? which heller is responsible for this?

LOOK AT THESE TWO

[unproduciblesmackdown]

appreciation for winston's watch wednesday. all the little buttons on it

[bugpoasting]

i range from being flatly dispassionate about ringo to caring sososo deeply about him

[pear1ridge-a]

the urge for a cassie blog is strong. Very strong.

[ghostytoad]

* Fun n' Games *

ROTTMNT Boys x GN! Leo-esque reader who enjoys drama, making jokes, and being overall awesome

Summary: The Hamato brothers unexpectedly fall for the smug, but genuine, fun-loving reader despite their egocentric habits

Headcanons for: Leo

GN! Reader; Romantic; Fluff, Mild Angst || Words: 2.3k

Raph | Donnie | Mikey | Bonus!!

Leo:

oho, hello good lookin'~ it's nonstop flirting and banter from the minute they met and it's not going to stop anytime soon

finally! someone who has a sense of humor and can appreciate a good one-liner or two! and they can dish it out as well as they can take it? be still, my beating heart!

leo genuinely finds it to be a gift from the gods that y/n shares his brand of comedy and will not let up on it when he's around them

the romantic tension between y/n and leo is so thick that he could probably slice through it with his odachi - it makes his brothers sick to have to listen to all the schmoozing but leo ADORES the flirting praise

the boy would bend over backwards for y/n; he'd sell his prized jupiter jim collectibles for them if they asked him to (maybe… he'd probably still keep one or two tho)

there's an unspoken and ongoing (very friendly) rivalry between them; leo and y/n are constantly looking to one up each other and it's getting to ridiculous levels of competitive; they won't stop until things hit "deadly" levels and one of them almost ends up getting hurt

even little everyday tasks become a competition for the two of them, there's just no end to their games

grocery shopping? betcha i can save more money than you! pizza night? i can stuff twice as many pizza slices in my mouth than you can. hanging out in donnie's lab? hoo boy, i guarantee i can make him snap first.

it's the bane of donnie's existence, considering he's the target of most of their shenanigans; if he has to endure another one of their "who can ruin donnie's day" games, he swears it'll be the start of his villain arc

mikey's the unofficial score-keeper and peacemaker when things get too heated between the two of them; although he's more likely to stoke the flames than intervene… he just happens to enjoy watching them get carried away (not that he'd say it to their face). definitely enables the chaos to a terrible degree

"no way, you know i totally had that game last night before you went on to blow up my spot with your little tackle! next time we portal our way onto the superbowl field mid-game, i'm leaving YOU on the sidelines and scoring that touchdown solo!" (concerned raph sounds in the background)

they've absolutely plotted to portal their way into "hard to access" places like the white house or splinter's secret lounge room, but raph and donnie made them promise not to do it for very different reasons (donnie doesn't want to have to bail them out if they get stuck and raph is just being raph)

leo and y/n's carefree attitudes combined has landed them into trouble with the law a few times, both in new york and the hidden city

together, they're banned from like 10 different places and they're legally not allowed within 100 feet of any magicians; leo's only explanation for that is "we couldn't tell if it was part of the costume or if the guy actually had a barber-stache and how were we supposed to know he was blind?!". to this day, no one knows what he's talking about.

leo would absolutely hide the evidence of a crime for y/n; he ain't no snitch either and he's not going to let his bestie take the fall for something that TOTALLY wasn't their fault! more than likely, he'd blame their antics on hypno or if it's something not so bad, splinter.

senor hueso has an entire wall dedicated to leo and y/n: The Wall of Failures and Stupid Mistakes That You Will Surely Learn Nothing From

it has photos of all the times leo and y/n went on a fun little adventure and ended up being taken hostage by a villain, thrown in jail, or overall just beat up (they're mostly selfies and yes, leo is smiling and posing in all of them)

he would never let y/n get into any major trouble and he has the common sense to remember that y/n is only human, so at the very least he knows not to do anything too dangerous when they're around; he's reckless but he doesn't have a death wish

"i'm all for a good espionage mission and all, but this is big mama we're talking about! i say we sit this one out and wait for another chance to come along so we can try on these rad bellhop uniforms."

the two of them have made it a point to announce their arrival anywhere by doing the team rocket motto; occasionally mikey or april will join in as meowth. they have the costumes to match and will inexplicably be wearing them every time they do it.

they truly enable the worst in each other; raph insists on tagging along as the unofficial babysitter to every little hangout because of their chaotic nature, meanwhile donnie has protocols for every possible "doomsday" scenario they could initiate with their little stunts. zombies or accidentally reviving the shredder is at the top of that list.

matching outfits are a big must for leo; someone as UH-MAZING as y/n is absolutely worthy of leo's impeccable fashion sense and there's no way he's gonna pass up a chance to twin with y/n. if they refuse to match with him for whatever reason, he will pout about it for days.

whenever leo is sad or feeling a little down, y/n is the first person he goes to for a little cheering up. they somehow know just what to say to make the boy feel like a champion. and no, he didn't give them a script to read off of! (he totally did)

even with all the flirting and pick-up lines, leo still dreads the thought of ever admitting his feelings to y/n; he's a confident turtle, sure, but that's just the face part of being the face man. he's secretly an insecure mess when it comes to them

will become a flustered mess if y/n genuinely compliments or praises him; he'll stutter for a good minute or two before finally snapping back to his suave cool guy persona (which doesn't fool anyone, he's OBVIOUSLY crushing hard)

after an unfortunate night of misadventure, leo's forced to confess to his feelings AND his crimes

Well, some adventure this was turning out to be.

"Get in there! Y'all got the right to keep yer traps shut!"

Yep. What a real swell time.

Being hauled away in a prison ball, headed to the Hidden City Police Headquaters, all the while Big Mama's men chasing close behind.

"So much for the adventure of a lifetime." Y/N hissed bitterly as they tugged and pulled from the tangle of limbs they found themselves in, trapped inside the small bubble with Leo tightly packed alongside them.

"Well, maybe if SOMEONE weren't such a slowpoke, we'd have made it back! And I'd like to say for the record, you are the WORST lookout. Maybe next time try to keep up, will ya?" the turtle spat back with a scathing glare.

Y/N could only muster a hearty scoff as they balled their fists, unable to throw a punch from how they were positioned. Their heel found a suitable landing in the direct center of Leonardo's plastron and dug in with a stomp, eliciting a pained groan from him and a satisfied smirk from Y/N.

"If you weren't so cocky, we might've ACTUALLY pulled off your little stunt! But nooo, Leo just HAS to get in the last word!"

"OHO, pot calling the kettle black now, eh?" Leo wore his signature smug expression and attempted to jab a digit into Y/N's forehead. Given the way his arm was caught between his bent thighs, he only managed a slight graze before opting for a flick instead.

The two bickered and took shots at each other throughout the trip, much to the chagrin of the arresting officials steering nearby. It was gonna be a long night for everyone.

At the station, Leonardo and Y/N were placed into holding together, both of them choosing to sulk in silence on opposite sides of the confined room. It wasn't until Y/N was being processed that the question of what to do with the human came up for the arresting officers. With Leo's odachi confiscated, it wasn't like they could just send Y/N home on their own, but they couldn't leave Y/N in the same cell as powerful, human-loathing yokai. Leaving the pair to stew in their anger, the officers left to deliberate on Y/N's fate.

Silence followed. Neither one wanting to give in to this bitter game of chicken, Leo instead let out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

Silence.

Irked by the lack of response, he threw his head back and gave a loud, guttural groan of frustration.

"Right. So you aren't talking to me." he rolled his eyes and forced his gaze back onto Y/N, who sat indignantly across from him on a cold cement bench, their knees held close to their chest.

Not even a glance back.

"Oh, come on! You can't actually believe this is my fault! If anything, you should be mad at the guard that threw us out and called the cops! He's the one who got us in this little mess!"

Nothing.

The silence tore at Leo's chest, his heart thumping heavily against his plastron as he dejectedly sat back against the cold wall. It was unlike Y/N to ignore him like this. With every second, the stillness became unbearable. This little adventure was truly a disaster, not just for the predicament the two found themselves in but also for the lengths Leonardo had gone to ensure Y/N would have a good time. So that HE would have a good time with them. It didn't matter to him that they could be facing time in prison. That whole deal was practically child's play to the mischeivious mutant. It didn't even matter that they faced a total ban from the mystic city itself. It was the fact that he might've dashed any chance he had of winning over Y/N's affections.

'You just HAD to fuck it up, didn't you? You had to go out and be an asshole!' a booming inner voice fed into his insecurity and the crushing weight was enough to curl the red-eared slider into a fetal position, his lower lip quivering as he fought back tears.

"I…" a sniffle broke Leo from the spiraling despair he'd been wallowing in, unsure if the sound came from him.

"Am I… holding you back, Leo?"

Another sniffle and this time, he was sure the sound came from across the room. Peering over at the source of the sound, he found Y/N curled in on themselves, little hiccups causing their small form to quake and shudder. They were crying.

"Y/N?" Shifting from the bench, Leo took a few hesitant steps towards them as his hand ghosted across their shoulder before pulling away. His face wrought with guilt and worry, he debated scooping them up in his arms and holding them tightly to him right then and there. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of rejection stopped him in his tracks.

"I don't know why I do it. Why I try so hard to prove that I deserve to be around you." Y/N continued, their voice muffled as they buried their face in their knees. "I'm- I'm just a human. I'm not as strong. I'm not as quick. I can't compete with you and your mystic skills. I can't even keep lookout for you!"

"What? Y/N, no, you got it all wrong! Yeah, you're a human but I-"

"Just stop it! Stop!" Forcing back a loud hiccup, their head shot up to meet Leo's concerned gaze with a fierce, stubborn glare.

"You DON'T have to feel sorry for me and you DON'T have to keep me around! So why? Why keep me around when all I do is drag you behind?"

Their narrow eyes locked themselves with his, desperately searching his expression for any hint of pity. All Leo could do was chuckle, his concern melting into fondness.

"I don't feel sorry for you. Sure, you've looked better but I was so afraid I was the one holding YOU back."

"H-Huh? Me?"

"Y/N." The turtle sighed as he plopped himself down beside them, allowing their back to rest against his side as they unfurled from their little ball of sadness. "You ARE a human, yeah. But do you get how cool that makes you? You can do so much more than I ever could! Look, I might have my good looks, my mad skills, and my amazing charm, but you have that and more in… whew, in spades and for you, it's practically effortless."

As Leo moved to wipe a tear from Y/N's eye, he cupped his other hand on their damp cheek and with a tender tap of his thumb, he parted their lips slightly and moved in to plant his lips softly against theirs. The ghosting of his lips left enough room for Y/N to pull away if they felt uncomfortable. Instead he was nearly knocked back with the full force of Y/N's lips crashing against his, their body leaning over him and practically trapping him underneath their warmth. Leo's hands held firmly onto Y/N's sides and he eased himself back against the cold of the bench, breaking the kiss to let out a soft chuckle.

"I love y-"

"Well, well, well~ Looks like someone owes me 3 months of chores." a familiar, taunting voice hummed not too far from the two.

A jingling of keys had them both whipping their heads towards the now-open cell door, spotting the unmistakable, cocky face of Donatello leaning against the bars with crossed arms.

"D-Donnie?!"

"Yeah, yeah, you two can get back to your little makeout session. But I thought you'd like to know I paid your bail, you're welcome." He waved them off as he began down the hall. Some adventure this turned out to be.

Bonus comic: Leo definitely used his one phone call to call Señor Hueso

[puplee]

TOBY ROGERS HEAD CANONS I HAVE !! ☆

.* CW ; Mention of drug use / sh. *.

None of this is necessarily supposed to be taken seriously so please don't tug on my balls or anything. :')

I'm gonna do a list of HCs that lean on the more " realistic " side and then some that are just kinda for fun !! YAYAYYAYAYAY !!

★ —

Okay firstly, Toby absolutely smells like shit and sweat. (*DUE TO HIS CIPA, NO HE DOESN'T ACTUALLY SWEAT*) There is NO doubt about it. I gotta admit, seeing HCs that are like "He probably smells like vanilla!" just don't sit right with me because he definitely is a very smelly man

He chews on things he isn't supposed to ( real ) ( technically canon ; did it to his cheek and hands )

He probably mutters to himself on the regular like, nonstop, incoherent bullshit that's literally about nothing

He drools out of his cheek gash unintentionally

* He would probably be a stoner. Whenever he actually attended school he got his hands on it every once in awhile, probably STINKS of weed

HE IS AN ABSOLUTE LOSER. Probably listens to midwest emo music and cries to it like a bitch 😒

If he holds hands with someone he fidgets with their fingers

He's really nitpicky about his bandages, if they aren't wrapped on the correct way he hyper focuses on it for hours until they're just right

HE PLAYS WITH ACTION FIGURES. Not necessarily in a childish way but he likes to pose them

He paces

* Self inflicted scars like all across his body ( this is technically canon but we ball )

Can barely grow like any facial hair so whenever he starts to have a little bit of a stache coming in he savors the moment

Cannot cook. Burns his food

Loves raccoons so much. Tries to cuddle them but usually gets his face mutilated by some claws if he even gets near one

His favorite hero is Wolverine because he relates to him in a way

Sits down in the shower ( whenever he actually remembers to shower )

One time he got caught in a bear trap and walked around with it clamped to his leg for like a day

Major jealousy problems, especially whenever slenderman is giving the other proxies more attention than him. He takes it so seriously because he sacrificed his relationship with his mom to live this life

Gets hella annoyed when his goggles fog up because they do A LOT

Picks bugs up off the ground

He has HORRIBLE posture

AWKWARD LOSER

Of course we're all well aware of his regular get up but whenever he's chilling at the mansion he's always wearing some beat up band tee and some sweats or cargo shorts

I THINK THAT THAT'S IT FOR RN!! But I'm obsessed with him so I'm probably adding onto it and making a few changes here and there

:3

[gretagerwigsmuse]

can't hardly wait

Summary: in which a guy named bradley likes you back on hinge...

OR a prequel fic with the first hinge messages

Pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader

Warnings: listen i know i have a picture selected for her, i just wanted to have the ice cream comparison and went with this one. also i have all the pics on bradley's profile if you're curious 💁🏼‍♀️ he's just so goddamn cute! written for @roosterforme 's 'rocktober' event and inspired by the replacements song. don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉 [image template (x)]

Your phone lit up with a notification, buzzing in its spot on your glass desk. You glanced down at it for a moment before going back to your slide deck - until it buzzed again. It was a Hinge notification. You hadn't been particularly active on the app the last couple days, not wanting to get your hopes up yet again. But you'd made one last ditch attempt on Hinge, liking some guys who were way out of your league - before telling Max he had the go-ahead to set you up with his buddy. Leaning back in your desk chair, you swiped up on the notification.

Oh. It was this one - the pretty one. Bradley.

You scrolled back through his profile one more time, reacquainting yourself with the 6'1" brunet. He had a picture cuddling a chunky French Bulldog, one at a Rolling Stones concert, one with an older guy who was probably his dad, and one where his eyes looked like pools of chocolate, in addition to his main photo. Unbidden, a smile crept across your face. He looked kind, sweet. Even if he didn't say where he worked.

Bradley, you tested the name out.

Without further delay, you pulled up his message:

Did you only like me because I also have a picture eating ice cream on my profile? I guess that means you're not lactose intolerant?

You let out a little giggle and twirled around in your desk chair. Oh, he was sweet (and a little nerdy). No, it's because you're unfathomably pretty and I didn't think you'd actually like me back. Trying not to overthink it, you typed out a response:

bold of you to assume it also wasn't the 'stache...and that i'm not just mainlining lactaid

It was cute, a little cheeky. He typed and deleted his response a couple times, leaving you on the edge of your seat.

How far do you have UVA going in MM this year?

You pursed your lips. Hmph. And went back to scrolling his profile. Ah, there it was - he'd also gone to UVA, though a couple years before you. He also drank, didn't smoke, and was vaccinated and bi. You swiped back to the chat.

Your allegiance to UVA in any sporting event wasn't exactly top of mind, so you had to check your March Madness bracket that everyone in the office had been forced to fill out for team building. Just has you were about to say Elite Eight! Bradley messaged back:

Sorry, that was really lame. I’m not used to this.

You smiled. that has to be a line...

His reply was instantaneous. It's not, I promise! Alright give me one more try. How's this?

In the background, your computer pinged with multiple Teams message notifications, but your eyes remained glued to your phone.

Did you know the moon's actually lemon shaped? And that the Milky Way apparently smells like raspberries and rum?

It was such a ridiculous and silly fun fact that it made you smile. Time to put all that barstool trivia knowledge to good use.

no, bradley, i did not know that. do you only specialize in space fun facts or can i get something else out of you...

----------

Turns out all it took was a smattering of the world's silliest fun facts to get you hooked, and after days of texting you were at the Hard Deck. The beachfront dive bar wasn't exactly your ideal first date location, but it seemed like there was a good crowd inside judging by the excessive number of the cars in the parking lot. As it was, your Uber let you out next to a pale blue Bronco. You smoothed your hands over your dress and checked your hair one final time before heading inside.

You didn’t really date. Not in the same sense that your friends Caroline and Darcy or even Alexa and Max did. The last person you’d gone out with for more than three dates had been your ex-boyfriend Jack and even that relationship fizzled after six months. 

But there was just something about him - about Bradley - that made you think this could be something? Something about Bradley made you giggle at your phone while you read his texts and buy a new dress and get a wax for your date. 

God, please like me. I hope he likes me.

The bell above the door jingled as you entered, suddenly taken aback not only by the amount of people in the bar, but also the Navy paraphernalia doting seemingly every usable surface. Jesus. Did Uncle Sam pay everyone's tab, too?

Scooting out of the way of another group entering behind you, you bit your lip and stretched your neck, looking around the bar for Bradley. What if he wasn't there? What if he saw you get out of your Uber in the parking lot and bailed? No - he wouldn't do that. The Bradley you had gotten to know over the last couple days sent you fun facts and his Wordle score. He asked about your projects at work and what you were having for dinner. He texted with full capitalization and punctuation. At the very worst, you'd hope you'd get an it's not you, it's me text from him.

But your worry was all for naught because when you got closer to the bar, you saw him. And by some sort of miracle he hadn't seen you yet, which gave you ample opportunity to ogle because you seriously needed a minute. God, he was so pretty. His hair looked lighter in person, not as brown, his arms looked so strong even in his unbuttoned light blue oxford, and that mustache? It worked. It really worked.

And he looked nervous? His knee was bouncing and he kept glancing down at the phone propped up on his knee. 7:33pm - you were late. You squared your shoulders and cleared your throat before closing the final few steps.

"Bradley?"

He spun around on his barstool at your voice. The abrupt motion caused him to almost drop his phone, but it made you smile. Once his eyes settled on you it was like everything stopped. The bar got quiet, you didn't notice the girl next to you complaining about her drink, and the hockey game on TV faded into the background - you just noticed Bradley.

A smile crept across his face as he said your name in turn and you nodded. Your stomach was going crazy with butterflies and your heart was pounding so hard, you were convinced Bradley could see the outline through your pink dress. His voice was warm and raspy and had your insides turning into honey.

"It's nice to see you - " He gave you a full hug that was over far too soon. God he smelled so good, too. "- Here, have a seat. Do you want a drink?"

"You too." You took his hand and got on the barstool, placing your clutch on the table and glancing around the bar. "Ummm, what're you having?"

"An old fashioned - sorry," he shook himself and glanced back down at his drink sheepishly, "you just look really pretty."

You cheeks warmed under his stare and you bit your lip. If your knee nudged his underneath the bar-top then that was just an accident. "Thanks, I'll uh - I'll have a margarita?"

Bradley was either really smart or really lucky when he ordered your margarita with your preferred tequila - you only had to pipe up to request salt on the rim.

And then it was just easy. Everything just fell into place. You talked about your time at UVA - he even got you to admit that you were a Tri-Delta after he admitted to being Sigma Chi philanthropy chair -your favorite restaurants and neighborhoods in San Diego, and your job, which Bradley endearingly thought was fascinating - something you wouldn't exactly agree with, but it was flattering all the same.

And it was only because of the easy conversation and banter between the two of you that you finally felt comfortable bringing up your most burning question all evening:

“So, what’s with the bar?” you asked, looking around with a teasing smile on your face. Bradley cocked his head. “I mean, is it just me or is like every naval officer within a forty mile radius here?”

And then the night took a turn...

don't forget to read part 1 to see how the date goes 😉

a/n: so this was just something small to tide me over before i post my next fic about thanksgiving! hope you all liked it!

[isadora16aslani]

LET'S ALL TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THIS BEAUTIFUL COUPLE (who I'm totally jealous of btw) AND ALSO APPRECIATE OSCAR PIASTRI WHO KNOWS HOW TO PROPERLY "INTRODUCE" HIS GIRLFRIEND WITHOUT MAKING ANY ROOM FOR HATEFUL COMMENTS (cause there's no way they can find anything to say, he actually knows how to do this and not leave any room for questions, aka private but not secret etc etc)

THEY BOTH LOOK AMAZING 🤩🤩🤩

OSCAR WITH A STACHE AND LILY WITH THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FACE CARD EVER

My absolutely favourite photo of all time they look cute and amazing 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 brb I'm going to km (I'm so single 🥲🥲)

Also, Oscar accepted his fate as black cat and informed us in the best way possible 😁✌️

[lemotmo]

Let's have a good day!

Q. Oh my god it was Ryan's idea! They're liking edits (which Tim has now also mentioned!) They're letting Ryan admit he's behind the mustache. The "insiders" real identity was discovered, as if we didn't all know. This is a good day so far. Thank god because it's way too quiet for a show that premieres in 3 weeks 😳

A. I love that it was Ryan's idea. I love it. He just walked in with it and shot his shot and they told him he could keep it. That's baller. I read that someone guessed that he probably did it to mess with Oliver, if Buddie is in fact a go, because Oliver said last season that when you close your eyes lips are lips. Given the nature of their relationship that's not that hard to believe, and it would be hilarious if that's why he did it. I know Ryan said he was looking like a true firefighter but it looks really gay. He pulls it off incredibly well but I don't think anyone's first thought when they saw it was 'oh my god he looks like such a manly firefighter'. I say that as a fan of the stache, lol. As far as the edits go Oliver and Ryan already admitted that they send things to one another so the both of them being demons is not a surprise. Jennifer reposting it at almost the same time however was a surprise, so I wonder if they were filming together last night or if Oliver or Ryan just sent it in the group chat and they all decided to post it together. Either way it was a nice little surprise. Tim telling people that the 3 of them sent it to him as well was hilarious.

The promo thing is now officially odd. The fact that we don't even have a trailer yet is bizarre. I was talking with a colleague this morning who is also a fan of the show, and we both kind of think something fairly significant must happen in the first 3 episodes and they're just being overly cautious about accidental spoilers. So even if we do get a trailer I wouldn't expect much actual content. They are keeping their cards very close right now. I also don't think the Family Feud episode is going to spoil anything. Although I am still curious to see what charity they're playing for because that could still be interesting. Whatever the reason for the secrecy though they don't seem to be worried about any lack of promos. So they must feel pretty confident that whatever they're hiding won't need a ton of promotion to gain traction. There are very few things I can think of that they wouldn't need to help promote, lol. I guess we shall see.

Lastly absolutely no one should be surprised to find out who their 'insider' really was. We all knew it was nonsense. Tired, boring, completely predictable, and easily disproven nonsense. *Sigh*

Thank you Nonny! Much appreciated.

I agree with this. Ali and I talked a little about this topic earlier and yeah, they are keeping such a close lid on everything that they have to be sitting on something major. And that something major doesn't need any extra promotion, like Ali said.

I'm so curious what they have in store for us. I expect a trailer that will tell us exactly nothing. 😂

As for the moustache? Not going to lie. I hope he keeps it for the entire season. The man looks so good with it.🥸

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[egg-emperor]

I feel like you're the right person to say this to: I hate hate HATE when people draw Eggman and he's somehow this super buff bodybuilder. Ivo Robotnik is a BEAR and he should ALWAYS BE A BEAR!

Oh I'm definitely the right guy, nobody will agree with such a statement quite as passionately as me lol

Yeah I really don't understand what's appealing about portraying him as buff and ripped like a bodybuilder or something. Some people do because apparently it's amusing because... he's not fat anymore he's super ripped instead haha ? I never understood it. And I especially can't when people seriously think it's a genuine improvement that makes him more attractive, it actually takes away a ton of it for me. It's like removing all the stuffing from a plump cuddly soft teddy bear so it's sad and deflated it's heartbreaking. He's a bear how is he gonna hibernate without all his fat fjshflsbglshf

I've been thinking about how I'm not even a really big fan of him being depicted as like a fat strongman either like this post provides an example of, which I feel is a hot take even among fat guy enjoyers because I felt like the only one for a long time but couldn't put it into words. Like I'll take it and sure I can kiiinda like it sometimes because at least he's actually being respected and portrayed as being fat at all, guys like that are cool, and I absolutely don't mean to diss the artists with a preference. But sometimes it kinda feels like some think it's the only circumstance fat guys are acceptable/appealing/attractive

But official Eggman doesn't have a visible built muscular body like a fat strongman, he has a big belly that's actually perfectly round and consists of pure soft pudge that has been visibly squishy and jiggles, he doesn't have visibly big muscular arms/legs in fact they're surprisingly slim and sleek, and he doesn't have a sharp jawline and slim neck and instead a very rounded face and cute cheeks behind his stache and a short wide neck. I love and embrace him exactly the way he appears in the games, genuinely the most handsome and hottest he can be to me, he's so perfectly shaped like an actual egg 🥰💜

Plus it's funnier and cooler that the immense strength he does actually have in canon seemingly comes from nowhere, instead of altering his design to make him "look" stronger with a more fat strongman build. He's beautiful the way he is and I just personally prefer for him to not have drastic design alternation in his body type in either direction. Well besides drawing him the same but fatter because I certainly don't mind then and tend to myself, better to emphasize than change hehe I'm clearly just not that much of a muscles guy most of the time lol, not the most appealing to me, that's Eggman's preference for others XD

I just wanna see more love for fat bears who aren't visibly muscular like a strongman doing any type of bodybuilding, who are just round and soft because they're lovable and sexy too. And if they are thick limbed unlike Eggman officially, I'd prefer for it to be embraced that it's because of fat rather than changing it to be super built muscle. Guys like that are so beautiful and it's one of the many reasons Eggman is so perfect and handsome. But of course anything is better than him being presented as some shredded bodybuilder, it's just very important that he's always a bear no matter what!

Being a bear should be absolutely crucial to his design no matter what when he has the name Eggman as he was named after his shape, that seems like a given. So it's really odd that in both official and unofficial stuff, it's pretty much the most commonly drastically altered part of him across redesign, it's literally his first defining feature to the point his very name ties in with it and draws attention to it. Without it he's just Man, no Egg. And besides that I believe in fat bear supremacy, he's the most iconic and perfect and sexiest that way and we're so blessed he stays that way in main canon 💘🥚🐻🧸

[neonfretra]

idk what cutie mark pld would have but now i'm wondering if you've assigned any hockey players cutie marks

answering this ask shaking and covered in ash (had to fight tumblr for it . did not show up in ask box. had to go through notifications for it . try multiple times to get it to process this post. functional website.)

the unfunny answer is every single one of them with a hockey cutie mark LMAOOO individuality <3 (just pull up the emoji keyboard and imagine)

the funny answer is do you think philipp grubauer would have a horse cutie mark

it probably wont be too hard to figure for players who customize their gear with consistent imagery to an extent right? shout out to goalies for making my life easier LOL olaf (murashov). two bears (ullmark). mackblack with a racial slur on the chin of his helmet.

id pitch tattoos as kind of a similar idea but that is a LOT of cup tramp stamps and photo realistic wolves that are not trampstamps . and it mostly depends on how much meaning it holds to the player

IDK if text is. normal. for a cutie mark. probably a little ugly for a toy. but also sidney crosby probably has an 87 cutie mark . he is more 87 than 87 is 87. you know what i mean??? (actually how many people would have 87 as their cutie mark LMAO)

for players that are ride or die for their team do you think they would have the team logo as a cutie mark . connor mcdavid rocking the oilers cutie mark and now you CANT really change the logo while hes still a player

how do we feel about nicknames as cutie marks?? arturs irbes cutie mark is the wall. (obligatory ARTURS IRBEEEEEE here)

i dont think marc edouard vlasics cutie mark is a pickle but can you imagine how awkward thatd be. ranked worst nickname by players. they failed to change it (aaron dell is on that article! GUESS WHOS A SHARK AGAIN BABY!!! you can check out any time you like but you can never leave)

how many guys would just have their facial hair as a cutie mark. two staches blast. also, joe thornton (see: branding for his retirement ceremony)

logan couture is a blank flank.

the crazy part is IDK anything about mlp or like. any team thats not the sharks.

[toomuchracket]

re: birthday party!matty

did anything happen the morning after "costumes" took place? or did matty's lab coat & glasses combo ever make their way back to their bedroom for a second time? because when i tell you that fic changed my brain, i'm not lying. i'd happily be his student, patient, test subject, lab assistant, whatever he wants me to be, any day of the year.

-b :)

the morning after was basically just matty in Babying You mode, because even though you told him you were fine you did wobble a little bit when you walked to the bathroom after morning makeouts - that was enough for him to be like "ah! no! let me take care of you, darling", which actually did extend to him lazily going down on you for no other reason than to make you feel good, but was mostly an excuse for him to keep you cuddled into him the whole day and repeatedly say "can't get over last night. you're actually my dream girl". and you just giggle and kiss him and say "you made me feel so incredible. can we do it again, at some point? you never did teach me how to properly procreate", and matty's like "literally whenever you want. just let me know"; it doesn't happen for a little while after, mind you, not until matty starts going onstage with his stache and his glasses on and you go completely feral. so, yes, in some fancy hotel room in america, the lab coat makes its return so matty can make you both his eager student and his demonstration model while he "shows you how to make a baby" - you go even deeper into the actual roleplay, though, pretending to sneak him into your room from the lobby so he can, well, supplement your learning with practical demonstrations of various positions lol. and he takes the piss and actually genuinely gives you a gold star sticker once you're done, laughing when you smack him on the arm and kissing you like "i couldn't resist. i love you!", daft boy. he's a dream <3

[patdkoala]

New Neighbor

Pairing: Sam Claflin x Female Reader

Warnings: None This is Pure Fluff

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART TWO I kinda want a part two

I just moved into my new apartment complex. It's nice. Clean. Quiet. And it's mostly filled with actors and actresses so the people that live here are rarely home anyway.

I'm a writer. So, I'm always home.

I sit in my apartment, turn on my ambiance lamp, have my record player on a constant rotation of my favorite tunes, and then have my cup of tea.

I will sit there and write for hours on end. If all goes well, I will have written a page and a half during those hours.

I never said I was a good writer. I'm speaking from experience.

One day I was getting home late. (I was sitting at Mcdonald's for two hours just reordering a large fry with a large Dr. Pepper.) I had just stepped out of the elevator and I heard the apartment door next to mine open and then close.

My neighbor was finally home.

For as long as I'd lived here, they had never been home. I've lived here for two years.

I set my giant Dr. Pepper cup on the counter along with my keys and wallet. I turned on my lamp and record player.

I turned it up on full volume like I have been doing for the past two years. I sat down at my desk and started to write about the people I was staring at in McDonald's. Then I heard three knocks at my door.

Quite loudly too if I must say.

"Jeez, I'll be right there!" I yelled as I ran over to the door to answer it.

I opened the door and I shit you not the guy standing there looked like that Billy Dunne fella from that Amazon show I was watching late last night.

"Excuse me, but do you mind turning that down? I'm trying to run lines and we have thin walls," He said as I just stood there and stared at him.

"Are you-" "Yes, I am the man from the tv. Now, do you mind turning that down?" He said in a grumpy old man tone that made me roll my eyes and go to turn it off.

I left the front door open and when I went back over to it, he was gone. So I shut the door and did what any sane person would do, I googled him.

'Main guy from Daisy Jones show'

Sam Claflin. Okay, so I googled something else.

'Sam Claflin movies'

So I watched some.

Okay, I watched all of them. Plus, I finished all of Daisy Jones and started Peaky Blinders.

A few days later, I realized I hadn't written anything for days. I'd been sitting on the couch ordering food to my door and only getting up to use the restroom or answer the door.

I decided to cool it on the Sam Claflin marathon. I got up and took a shower. I then deep-cleaned my whole apartment.

I finally decided to write something. So, I set up my lamp and my record player. I may or may not have forgotten about my neighbor, Sam Claflin.

I started writing and then I heard three distinct knocks at the door. It's funny how I can tell it's his knocks already.

I opened the front door and smiled up at the tall gentleman in front of me. "Hello, Sam Claflin. Would you like for me to turn down the music again?"

"Yes, I- Did you google me?" He asked as I nodded proudly. "I did as a matter of fact. I also watched your whole discography."

"What? No, you didn't. That would have taken you a matter of days."

"I did actually. I'm a big loner with no friends and all I do is spend all day writing in my sad lonely apartment. If I don't go outside for weeks nobody is gonna notice," I said as he just stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Did you watch the Hunger Games?"

"Yes."

"Enola Holmes?"

"Yes, of course, my dear Mycroft," I said with a wink.

"Peaky Blinders?"

"Yes, love the stache by the way."

"Thanks. Did you-"

"Yes. I watched everything. Even the bad romance ones and the-"

"You don't like romance movies? What woman doesn't like romance movies?"

"Ones with brains. They are all the same. They all start the same and all end the same."

"Oh, you've had your heart shattered," He said as he crossed his arms.

"What? No. I've never even been in that sick puppy love before. I've only been in serious relationships with serious men. Not dumb pretty boy actors. Also, what's with you dying in all of your films? And do you only star in book renditions?"

"Did you just call me a pretty boy actor?"

"Is the only thing you heard me say?"

He just stood there and smiled at me. His cheesy British pretty boy actor smile. And I mistakenly smiled back.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" He asked as I then crossed my arms to match his energy.

"Okay. But, I don't want to go out."

"Okay. We can eat at my place. I'll pick you up at-"

"I can walk next door by myself. You just have dinner ready by 8."

He nodded and then he walked away from the door. I shut it and went back to writing.

I wrote a couple of pages. Nothing much.

I then started to get ready around 7:30. I wasn't going to put much time or effort into this because I don't see it as a date. I see it as a get-together with my cute neighbor who just so happens to be Sam Claflin.

I walked over to his apartment around 8:15.

I knocked three times.

"You're late," He said as I rolled my eyes and walked into his apartment without any introduction.

"Well, I figured you already don't like me so what's the harm in being a few minutes late."

"How can I not like you when I don't even know your name?"

"(Y/N). There now you have every right not to like me."

"Okay, well, (Y/N). I hope you like chicken."

"What if I was a vegetarian? Would you have something else for me to eat?"

"Are you a vegetarian?"

"No."

"Then we won't have to worry about that now do we?"

I smiled at him and then sat down at the two-seater table in the middle of his dining room. His apartment was a little bigger than mine. I guess that comes with being a big-time Hollywood actor.

He had nice things. A big Tv. A big couch. Probably even had a big bed.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't still have my twin bed from my college apartment.

His plants are fake, though. This means that he likes the ambiance that plants create but he doesn't want the commitment of keeping them alive.

"What are you doing?"

"Scoping out your apartment. Seeing if I'm going to steal it from you or not," I said as he laughed and then sat down in front of me.

He poured us both glasses of wine.

"Is this a date?" I asked as he set the bottle down.

"Do you want it to be?"

"Well, I'm just curious because you asked me out before you even knew my name. So, you are either insane or incredibly horny and will most likely fuck anything that moves," I said matter-of-factly.

"Are you a musician?" He asked obviously trying to change the subject.

"No, why do you ask that?"

"The loud music."

"Those are just some of my favorite bands. They help me write when I can't think of anything."

"Ah, you're a writer. That makes sense," He said as I glared at him from across the table.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you talk a lot and you seem to always be stuck in your own head. I've seen a lot of writers and they all have those tells."

"Okay, so you figured me out. My turn."

I studied him. I've watched all his movies. I know his Star Chart. I know what college he went to. I know when he first started acting. I know what his first movie was. I know who his first girlfriend was and I know to who he lost his virginity. He's another dumb male celebrity that has nothing secret or hidden from the media.

"I've got nothing," I said as I looked into his eyes.

Because that was the truth. I looked into this man's eyes and all I saw were these gorgeous green eyes that were just staring right back at me.

"Well, since you know everything about me do you mind if I ask you something?" He asked as he ate a piece of meat off his fork.

"Go ahead."

"Why did you watch all my movies?"

"Because I wanted to figure you out and I found it interesting that I live next to Sam Claflin the actor."

"Pretty boy actor" He added as if he were correcting me.

"Right. Pretty boy actor." I said as he turned a slight shade of pink.

"Are you usually home alone? Or do you live with someone?"

"Why? Do you want to kill me, Sam Claflin?"

"No. And why do you keep using my full name?"

"Because it's throwing you off."

"Yeah, it is."

We went on to talk about what I like to write. Which is mostly mystery and murder mystery. I stray far away from romance. It's sticky and all the same.

He learned my Star Chart. What college I went to. When I first started writing. The first novel I wrote. Who my first boyfriend was and to whom I lost my virginity.

"I hope to see you again, (Y/N) (L/N)," He said as he leaned against my door frame. (He insisted on walking me to my door)

"Well, if I ever want to see you again I know to just turn my music up too loud," I said as he smiled and then I turned around and shut the door.

I leaned against it and I swear this man stood in front of my closed door for a solid minute before walking away. I wonder if he was hoping I'd open it and let him in.

If we were going to have sex, though, I'd hope it'd be in his bed because mine can barely support my own weight.

[ohtobemare]

HAPPY HUNDRED !! 🥳 so well deserved bae

for your lil celebration i’d like to request Bradley & prompt #4 in the fluff section,, “it's hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you."

I kinda love this one, not gonna lie, dev! Here's your cute and fluffy Rooster. Much love, babe!

Rack 'Em

“You think you’re pretty slick, dontcha?” 

Your words lift barely above the pounding AC/DC chorus rattling the windows of the Hard Deck, but somehow they manage to drive a knife straight through his chest.

Your slow, precise smile stabs him between the ribs, kicking his heart rate up to a nearly unforgivable pace. At this rate, Rooster is fairly confident he’ll have no ribs left as sparkling eyes seem to track every one of his movements. 

It’s already hot in this damn bar, with all the bodies and the chatter and the noise of Saturday night. He’d been sweating through the Hawaiian shirt since he got here, meeting up with Nat and the guys for drinks after a long ass day on base—weekends were just as unforgiving as weekdays around Fightertown.

Getting his ass handed to him at darts, listening to Fanboy and Omaha talk smack about what little game they actually possessed had only pissed him off more, not aiding in the we-could-stop-sweating-anytime hope. 

But, any hopes he’d had about a couple of beers chasing the heat out of his blood evaporated when he saw you walk through the door, girlfriends in tow, looking dangerous in too-tight jeans, a white tank, and flip flops. Hair pulled up off your shoulders, you’d opted for contacts and light makeup tonight, though the shitty lights in this place put a glow on your face that he couldn’t stop thinking about. The black bra was intentional, probably—the white tank offered no kind of coverage in any certain terms. 

You were electric, he couldn’t stop tracking you to the bar. Something hot and tight pooled at the base of his gut before rocketing up his spine, sounding off in a tight bundle of nerves in the back of his neck, reminding him that he’s running on five hours of sleep for a reason. 

On probation for other reasons—like sneaking on barracks after curfew, being a cocky son of a bitch at the stick, mouthing off to the one person on the planet he should actually be minding. Watching you swing on a barstool with exaggerated movements, legs purposefully still wide, makes him salivate.

His tongue is tracing the 'stache over his top lip, beer midway to his lips when you laugh, the column of your throat so there. 

He hasn’t stopped himself from eye-fucking you when Bob nudges him in the ribcage. “Rooster? You here, man?” Floyd is snapping his fingers in front of Bradley’s face now, his huge fingers making quite the noise in front of his eyes as his hand claps solidly on Bradley’s shoulder, “Jeez, man—what’s up with you?” 

“Yeah, fuck, Rooster—you’ve been zoned out for like, five minutes.” 

Snapping out of the sex-induced trance the film reel of his brain is looping, he takes half a step back on his heel before turning to face Bob and Fanboy, who are looking at him with furrowed brows of concern. Or, rather, Bob looks concerned—Fanboy appears amused, spinning a dart between his index finger and thumb as his jaw sets into a smirk. 

Bradley can feel the flush on his cheeks when he lifts a hand to rake his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” he mutters, taking a pull on the beer. It’s cold, frothy, and the condensation from the bottle feels great on his upper lip as he smooths his fingers over his mustache, as if to remind himself to chill the fuck out, “Who's fuckin’ turn is it?” 

“Yours,” Fanboy extends a dart, “Bob just put you two losers on the board.” 

He sounds mildly irritated, but it won’t last—Omaha and Fanboy have them smoked, which isn’t an unusual feeling. They’ll be rejoicing in no time. This place has kicked his ass in darts a dozen times, be it Seresin or others—he’s a bad dart player. Horrendous. Doesn’t help he’s distracted thinking about you at the bar, half hard imagining the things he would do to that smiling face of yours. 

Fifteen minutes and a hundred quick glances later, Fanboy and Omaha have, indeed, killed Bradley and Bob in darts. He volunteers to retrieve drinks from the bar and Bob offers to secure a pool table that’s been vacated, but Rooster barely notices—he instead tracks you across the bar, to a booth you and your friends have plopped into along the wall of windows.

Your two friends are across from you, giggling over some girl shit, you leaning over the bar to speak to them animatedly—you talk with your hands, your expressions genuine and larger than life. 

Forearms leaning against the bar, he wonders what you’re telling them. From here you look like a phenomenal storyteller, someone he never wants to stop listening to.

Whatever you’ve shared is hilarious, because you plunk back into your side of the booth, laughing so hard your head kicks back against the booth. So hard that your face turns pink, and you cover it with your hands for a heartbeat, fingers pressing to your cheeks in a way that tells him you know you’re flushed. 

You’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. And Bradley flies planes for a living—there’s nothing sexier than handling a multi-million dollar government aircraft at dizzying speeds.

Or, at least, there wasn’t until he sees you, still giggling foolishly in your booth like a kid.

Warm just thinking about you and that pretty mouth whispering dangerous things, he bites the inside of his cheek, something in his cock twitching at the idea. 

He hasn’t realized the corner of his mouth has ticked up in a grin until Penny Benjamin is dropping four beers in front of him, smirking as she wipes her hands on her jeans.

Pushing off the bar, Rooster begins taking the necks of the beers between his fingers, the thick glass chasing heat out of his hands. Thankful for the distraction, he nods at Penny. 

Her eyes cut over his shoulder. “Sweet girl,” she says quietly, reaching to pop an olive from a garnish tray into her mouth. “She’s drinking Titos and soda water, just so you know.”

God bless Penny and her female intuition, and he smiles at her and lifts  a shoulder, raising his beer-laden fingers to playfully salute off his brow. 

“Noted, ma’am. Thank ya.”

She winks at him and chuckles, shaking her head as he turns smoothly on his heel, eyes fluidly moving to you in the booth again as he begins cutting through the people on the floor back to the table Bob has been guarding. 

Bob’s chalking up cue sticks when he plunks a beer down on the edge of the table. Bradley hauls off on the beer, long and slow drinks, hoping it’ll chill the heat in his blood and calm his heart the fuck down.

It doesn’t work—instead, his throat hollows when he watches you scoot up against the window, legs extended across the vinyl of the booth, bare feet crossed as your flip flops hang out beneath the table. 

Even from here, your toes are manicured in a bright and adorable yellow, standing out against dark-wash, dated flare jeans. You wiggle them to whatever beat it coming out of the stereo system—he can’t remember, doesn’t care.

But you know the song, your head is bopping to the tune as your finger lazily circles the rim of your drink. 

All he can think about is his feet tangling with yours. Tangible heat jumps into his chest.

“Rooster.” 

He jumps. Nearly fucking vibrating, he blows out a breath and grabs the collar of the Hawaiian shirt, trying to fan the sweat dripping from the hollow of his throat. Eyes casting to the felt of the table, from the corner of his gaze he sees Bob extending a cue to him, freshly chalked and ready to go. 

“You ready to rack ‘em?” 

Snatching it from him, Bradley gives what he hopes is a firm nod, but knows is anything but.

“Yeah. Let’s go for it.” 

He sinks a stripe in the corner pocket on the first go, claiming stripes the rest of the game. Once he’s into it with Bob, Nat and Seresin meander over to join up for doubles, and he’s relatively into the game—the hundred or so glances he’s allowed himself to steal of you drops significantly as Seresin and Nat engage him in conversation, topics floating in and out about work, Top Gun, dates, and somehow, Bradley’s time in UVA. 

He hasn’t stopped thinking about you, but liquid courage and the distraction of friends is giving him an edge. Rooster’s decided that he’s going to interrupt your girls night. It’s inevitable. He’ll be kicking himself for the rest of forever if he doesn’t at least make himself known, and contrary to his callsign, he isn’t chicken.

Calculated, maybe a bit reserved, but never chicken. 

About thirty minutes into the game, he notices that your friends have either left or stepped out, because you’re alone in the booth. Feet still crossed and bopping lightly to the music, you’re on your phone. Brow pulled into a little wrinkle, he can see your glass is nearly empty—mostly ice, the lime torn to bits at the bottom of the glass.

Mouth ticking up into a small smirk, he tosses back the rest of the Blue Moon he’s been sucking on, and excuses himself to retrieve another. 

Penny serves with him a wink and a smile as she nudges the Titos and club soda toward him with a light finger. He grabs it by the top, thick hand doming the rim of it to keep it stable, and lithely moves through the crowd of people, tracking your booth. Your girlfriends are gone, but they’ll return–closer proximity reveals that you’re purse guarding, your loneliness temporary. 

He’s standing at the edge of your booth, and your eyes flick up to him from the phone. It drops into your lap and you shift your shoulders against the cool window. Even from here, he can see the beads of perspiration on your forehead. Your lips are a glossy pink, something he’s missed, and for a brief second Bradley tracks the idea of what they might taste like; what it would feel like to mess up that gloss in his mustache.

The mere thought of it stokes heat in his belly, sends it rocketing through his blood, straight to his cock. 

Your smile is slow, the silence between you two bleeding for a second. “Hiya.” Your tone is innocent and bright in that girlish, cute kind of way, but something in the back of the greeting tells him you can be dirty when you want to be. “I was wonderin’ when you’d make your way over here.” 

The statement, and the slight accent, pops his brow. “That right?” 

You giggle and shrug a shoulder, elbow lifting to brace against the back of the booth to cradle your head. “Mhm. You’ve only been eye fucking me across the room all night, Bradshaw.” 

The way you say his name unravels something along his spine. His eyes trace the lines of your face, the  length of your throat—-the way you’re sitting does marvelous things for your tits, cleavage a damn near valley in what he’ll bet anything is a push-up bra.

Rooster is actively blinking back the idea of ripping that black bra off you with his teeth when you sit forward, hand reaching for the drink that is, obviously, for you. 

“Thanks,” your fingers brush against his, and Bradley nearly jumps back from the spark of electricity the sensation sends up his arm. Damn near giving him heart palpitations, your tongue tracks the cocktail straw, taking a slow pull of the Titos with a little smile on your face. 

“How’s it going? Get your ass handed to you in darts yet?” 

Your eyes drip down his frame, and he feels a sense of pride when your gaze lingers on his chest, marveling. Loosening his shoulders, he drops an arm to the back of the booth, leaning against it in what he hopes is a casual way—mostly for support, because your sparkling eyes are undressing him, right here, and he can barely stand it. 

A drink of beer helps his response. “Yeah, but Floyd and I are making a comeback with pool.” 

“Ah.” You nod, eyes cutting to the game. “Figures. Sounds like fun.” You wink at him then wiggle your fingers in the direction of the game, tipping your head that way, “Looks like you’re up, Rooster.” 

“Wanna sub in?” The very idea of you bending over a pool table has him nearly feral, the back of his tongue thick with a dry he doesn’t ever remember feeling before. Tongue tracking along his back teeth, he can’t raise any kind of moisture in his mouth at all, and the beer does nothing for him. 

“I’m kinda out on a date with girlfriends, Bradley,” 

He lifts a shoulder dismissively, nose scrunching to match the effort. “What kind of girlfriends are they if they deny you a game of pool with a guy like me?” Thumb tucking into his chest, he lifts his hand to rake through his hair again, something he knows is sexy as fuck.

It works, because he watches you swallow a breath. 

You beam at him, sapphire eyes snapping to life in a way that nearly startles him as you plunk your drink on the surface of the booth with more gusto than necessary, the liquid swirling in a tempest as you scoot your way forward, out of the booth.

Reaching beneath the table for your shoes, you brush up against him as you find your feet, mere inches from his face, now. 

“Smart ones,” you counter, quickly. 

He chuckles. “Relative term, sweetheart.” 

“You think you’re pretty slick, dontcha?” The corner of your mouth lifts as your eyes slide to half mast, head tipped playfully to the side. His senses swirl with whatever perfume you’re wearing, which he is fairly certain is some kind of mint-eucalyptus thing, but whatever it is specifically doesn’t matter. His toes are curling when you lift your leg to slip on a sandal, the oher dropping to the floor. 

“Is it working?” 

You pinch your fingers together, nose wrinkling just so. “Maybe a little.” 

You step closer, if possible. You’re so damn kissable, lips perfectly full and glossed in a way that is destroying his ability to reason. Nearly vibrating, he can’t stop looking at your mouth, down the front of that fucking tank top.

Fair skinned and drop-dead stunning, he swallows a thick breath when you turn and knock your shoulder against his, giggling at the expression on his face–his brows are popped up and you lean in, head tipped back in a way that says you want him to kiss you, but you actually don’t say anything at all. 

“Rooster,” 

Control. He needs control, but his fingers are burning to spin the curl that’s fallen from your top knot around his finger. It looks soft, playful—enticing. He suddenly can’t think of anything else except the contact of your shoulder, still lingering against his, the weight shifting on your legs as you shimmy to brush your hip against his. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes narrow as you rise up on tiptoes, the little ring of blue in your eyes tracking his as you rivet him to the floor. He’s welded, good and firm to the floor. Can’t move, can hardly breathe.

The air moving in his chest feels stale and thick, like every breath weighs a thousand pounds, ripping his lungs to shreds as he tries to focus anywhere other than the weight of your gaze. He can’t, though, you’ve trapped him there—and a thousand thoughts spin out of control, his entire life with you in and out of it, reminding him of everything he’s missed, could miss, if he ever lets you go. 

“You okay there, aviator?” It’s a teasing question. Your eyes drop to his top lip, head tipping to the side as your thumb lifts to gently swipe over his mustache. “Y’seem a little off your game tonight, Bradshaw.”

It isn’t a lie. He has been off his game, ever since learning your name. 

He probably won’t ever be on his game again. And, Rooster isn’t sure he wants to ever be back on his game. At least, with anyone else. You’re enough game for him, for anyone. Any idea of “being on his game” ever again with anyone else drops a bullet in his gut, stirs acid in the back of his throat.

He could throw up, right now, even thinking about having anyone else.  

He chuckles, faintly. Nervously. “Oh, baby, I—” he blows out an uneven breath that pops his cheek. Heat flares up onto his nose when you smile slowly at the reaction. “—ah, shit. Any idea how hard it is to stand here and not kiss you right now?” You’re laughing now, head thrown back, shoulders shaking at the very idea of him being this nervous. 

When your head rights, your hand is sneaking up his chest to the back of his neck. Firm and tight, you pull him forward, his chest brushing with yours. He’s positive you can feel the heat rolling off of him like a freight train, but you don’t seem to mind. Instead, your tongue skips out over your bottom lip, wetting it as you tip your head back and to the side, angling like you’re about to kiss him. Again. 

“Who says you can’t kiss me right now, Bradshaw?” 

It’s all the greenlight he needs. Thick arms wrapping around your waist, he remembers he’s holding a beer bottle, and steps forward, shuffling you to set it on the table.

Your hips move flush against his as your arms wrap around his neck, dragging him down for your lips to meet. You kiss him first, and it takes a fraction of a second for him to deepen it—you meet him, nibbling at his top lip, and he pulls you tighter against his chest. 

Bradley’s fairly certain he can hear bells in the distance when your breathing shallows, a little gasp in the back of your throat unraveling everything in his gut as you press tighter against him. His fingers can’t help but bury in the material of the tank top, holding you hard and fast, and you giggle when his fingers dip into the belt loops of your jeans.

Your hand has already skipped beneath the collar of his shirt, the other playing with his hair in that delightful, sexy way. 

Half aware that people in the bar can actually see both of you, you moan into his mouth heavily before breaking the kiss, heaving for air. He’s hungry for you, on the bleeding edge of dragging you out of here to the Bronco, when you giggle and press a firm kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“Hiya, baby,” you whisper, nose tucking up beneath his ear, “I missed you.” 

“Missed you more,” 

Reaching for the aviators hanging from his shirt, you slip them on, low on your nose. Your gaze over the rim of his shades is heavy, dark and lusting, nearly killing him. Pressing another chaste kiss to his cheek, you gently push him back, brushing shoulders with him as you angle towards the pool tables.

“I doubt that, Bradshaw,” Turning on your heel, you crook a finger for him to follow. “Now. You promised you’d show me how to sink some balls. Care to make good on that promise, lover?” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

Biggest love to all ya'll! Get your ask in, here!

[amyispxnk]

Me, you, and a motorbike.

Summary - Javi takes you for a ride on his motorbike

A/N: I am in desperate need of dividers. Does anyone know how I should go about getting those? Pls help a gal out 🙏 ALSO please tell me if the Spanish is wrongly translated. Lo siento if any mistakes 😞

Javier Peña x f!reader

Word count- 1,041

Warnings: pet names, fluff, riding a motorbike, Javier Peña in a leather jacket on said motorbike should have it's own warning tbh, language, established relationship

DO NOT COPY THIS WORK IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

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"Hermosa.. what the fuck is this?" Javi laughed as he approached you in the driveway.

You were proudly leaning up against a motorbike, letting your fingertips trace random patterns over the cool metal.

"A motorbike, obviously." You said, exaggerating the obviously with a cheeky eye-roll.

"Well yeah, but.. why?" His eyebrow raised when he realised just how nice the bike was, you had clearly spent a good amount of money on it. "You don't know how to ride one of these, do you?"

"No... but you do." You announced proudly, producing a faded photograph from your back-pocket and waving in front of him. It must've been almost 2 decades old, slightly torn at the edges and having that classic 80s look to it. In the picture, Javi was sat on a motorbike and practically beaming at the camera - already showing off the very different personality he had before Colombia with just that smile - wearing a black leather jacket, black t-shirt, and those damn skinny jeans he apparently insisted on wearing his entire life. His face looked young, the signature 'stache adorning his upper lip, messy brown hair going in all directions as he held his helmet to the side - clearly having just been on a ride.

He took the picture from you and shook his head, laughing to himself quietly as he recalled the days when he used to bike.

"Where the fuck did you find this?" Javi asked as he handed it back to you and crossed his arms, studying the motorbike.

"Chucho showed it to me a few weeks ago, and I just knew I had to see you in action." You told him, making him groan; Chucho had a habit of showing anyone he could all of Javi's childhood photos, especially the embarrassing ones. He furrowed his brows as he tried to think of any potentially incriminating ones you could've seen when you pushed a helmet into his hands.

"Let's go!" You chirped, about to put your own helmet on when he stopped you, placing his hands atop yours.

"And how do you know I can still remember how to actually work this thing, Hermosa? You haven't really thought this through have you?" He teased, knowing full-well he remembered. He'd actually rode a couple of times after leaving Texas for the first time, having the occasional chance to and gladly taking the opportunity.

"Well, I kind of wanted to surprise you and just hope for the best?" You shrugged as you tilted your head to the side, frowning when you realised he might actually not remember.

"Okay, get your helmet on." He ordered after a moment, making you let out a little excited noise of delight as you quickly put the helmet on.

"Oh- wait! Wait, one minute!" You said as you rushed back inside the house, grabbing something then hurrying back to him.

You handed him his leather jacket and winked before lowering your helmet again. "To complete the look." You explained as you sat behind him on the bike whilst he shrugged the jacket on.

He started up the bike and turned to face you sideways.

"You ready?" He said in a louder voice, the bike already making a lot of noise.

"Yeah! Let's fucking do this!" You replied, wrapping your arms around his waist as he revved the bike and took off, speeding down the empty roads.

It was exhilarating. You'd only been on a motorbike once before, and you were too young to remember just how good it felt. The cool night air whipped past you, blowing against your skin. The lights from stores all blurred together as you hurtled past, the colours mixing to create a mirage of blues, greens, reds and purples in your peripherals as you tightened your grip on his waist.

"This is amazing, oh my god!" You shouted, letting out a yell as he sped up even more.

"Yeah, it is! Fuck, I forgot how great this is!" He called back, turning onto a mostly empty street and intentionally swerving the vehicle a little, making you laugh loudly.

"Okay, okay! Let's go back- Javi!" You told him, in a fit of giggles as he slowed down slightly.

"What? Can't handle the speed, baby?" He said in a fake macho voice.

"I can handle the speed, you dick. Just- too much excitement for one night, I'm getting old y'know." You responded as you now both rode calmly back to the ranch, head resting sideways on his back.

"You're not that old." He countered.

"Yeah, not as old as you at least."

"Oh shut up." He said, nudging you a little as you laughed even more.

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You pulled into the driveway once more and stepped off the bike, taking your helmet off and letting out a breathy laugh, coming down from the adrenaline high by now.

"¡Dios mío, tienes la bicicleta! ¿Se divirtieron ustedes dos? (Oh my, you got the bike! Did you two have fun?)" Chucho's voice sounded from the doorway as you both walked up to the porch.

"¡Fue increíble! Gracias por revelarme esa foto a mí, Chucho, y a los demás. (It was amazing! Thank you for revealing that photo to me, Chucho, and the others.)" You smirked as you stepped past him and into the house.

"¿Qué? ¿Que otros? Oh Dios, no me digas que le mostraste el- (What? What others? Oh God, don't tell me you showed her the-)" Javier groaned as his father only responded with a guilty laugh and a shrug.

Of course he had to show you that photo - the one of him, 16 years old with the most atrocious haircut ever and the face of a baby (not in a cute way), wearing the Santa costume his mom had forced him to wear to entertain his little cousins that Christmas. Chucho had taken so many photos the camera was almost out of space and still used them to tease him to this day.

"Lo siento, hijo, sólo tenía que mostrárselo. (Sorry, son, I just had to show her)" Chucho told Javi as he walked up the stairs, your giggles echoing in his ears as you realised what they were talking about.

"You guys are both so annoying." He murmured, a grin ghosting his lips as he started to get changed to go to sleep.

"Yeah, but you love it." You teased as he got in the bed beside you, pulling you close to him.

"Yeah, you're right." He sighed dramatically before closing his eyes.

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Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and requests are open! 💞