#surf coaster

[hyper-coasters]

Late night wave advisory!

[gentlefurb]

Icebreaker got to visit his namesake today! It was a lot of fun.

[christinered]

Welcome To Brooklyn.

Come ride The Great American Legend...

THE CONEY ISLAND CYCLONE.

You Kinksters should enjoy it.

It whips you around. It drops and throws you and you always come away bruised.

Its Awesome!

Ask for Jerry.

~Red

[comicdiaries]

[johnychen]

Pipeline The Surf Coaster On Ride Front Seat 4K POV SeaWorld Orlando 202...

[nepalfmr]

i could answer in one sentence. only go if you get free tickets.

[asterisk-666666]

lol it can be kind of tragic how I am always several years late to the party on things and not into the current version. I look at all the attention and interaction fans of the current thing get and then get sad that whoever I like is dead, defunct, or otherwise out of doing it for good.

[thatsdemko]

a sleepless night in monaco - c.leclerc

masterlist

requested: n

pairings: Charles leclerc x reader

warnings: just fluff(lmk if I’m missing anything!)

a/n: I’m sure this has been done somewhere along the lines but I didn’t dig deep enough into the ‘f1 imagines’ tag so I apologize! 😅 also feedback is appreciated if you have any🫶 cheers!

tossing and turning, irritation grew that you couldn’t drift into a deep sleep. the cool breeze from outside was blowing the makeshift curtains, that attempted to cover up the night life of monaco into your apartment.

your boyfriend, Charles, was sound asleep beside you. the light snoring escaping his mouth every so often made you smile, but also envious of his slumber. you watched his bare chest rise and fall during each breath, desperately wanting his body against yours, but there was no way of doing so without waking him up.

you let out a soft sigh removing the covers from your body deciding to take yourself somewhere else in order to not wake up Charles. you grabbed your phone off your nightstand, and headed into the living room making sure each step was carefully thought out to not wake up your sleeping boyfriend. but of course, he felt the mattress lighten causing him to stir awake reaching for you, to find you weren’t there.

he got himself out of bed now to go find you. he couldn’t think of a reason why you weren’t in bed with him. there was no argument or night shifts this week, so he couldn’t put a finger to why you were in the living room cozied up under the blankets channel surfing.

“come back to bed.” you heard the groggy soft scratched voice of your boyfriend, coming to the living room to try and take you back to bed with him.

“I can’t sleep, Charles. you have training early in the morning, go back to sleep.” you tried to push him away, but he kept pulling your arm to join him.

“baby, I can’t sleep without you.” he groaned pressing kisses to your hands in hopes of giving you some persuasion to join him. he wasn’t thinking straight after having been awoken from his deep sleep, but he knew with you out here, he couldn’t sleep.

“you’ve been sleeping without me for two nights, Charles. I haven’t been able to sleep.” it was true, you weren’t sure what was getting to you but it was now a third night with no sleep.

“how about I make you some tea? that might help.” before you could answer, he was moving into the kitchen to grab a kettle and adding water. you watched his back muscles flex reaching the top shelf where the tea bag’s sat.

“chamomile or peppermint?”

“you pick.” you yawned snuggling into the couch cushions while a rerun of an early 90s show flickered onto the screen of the television.

he walks away from the kitchen allowing the water in the kettle to boil, and it’s not long before he returns with two sweatshirts. one for him and one for you. he quickly tosses you one hearing the kettle scream, he grabs a mug and a tea bag beginning to make your tea just the walk you like it.

approaching you with the hot liquid contents he hands you the mug carefully, “this has sugar in it?” you ask taking a sip of the bitter chamomile tea.

“no sugar, it’ll keep you awake.” he replies settling down next to you on the couch, tugging some blanket into his lap. you don’t know what you did to deserve him to sacrifice his sleep for you, but you knew you would have to repay him.

“thank you, I owe you.”

he shrugs it off like it was nothing, because truth be told, he would do anything for you. you could be dying and he would retire from his race, that he was winning, just for you. that being said, making you a cup of tea and staying awake until you fell asleep, was not a big deal.

“it’s not a big deal.” he pressed his lips to your cheek watching you yawn and attempt to set the mug down on the coaster, he grabs it for you completing the action.

“now I’m sleepy, should we go back to bed?” you pulling the blanket off his lap draping it around your shoulders, your eyes fighting with sleep now.

“well now I’m awake.” he jokes grabbing the remote to turn off the television and your cup of tea for bed.

“come on, let’s sleep.”

[samsxowboyhat]

Random redacted headcannons pt 1

Sam doesn’t like the idea of anyone touching him, but he’d never stop Darlin from touching him, not because he doesn’t like it but because he’s still convincing himself that Darlin isn’t Alexis.

Sweetheart subconsciously cloaks without realizing it whenever they have panic attacks.

Vincent doesn’t allow Lovely to get on roller coasters (he can’t lose them either).

FL and Gavin would have a poly relationship with the D.A.M.N. crew if they ever got asked.

Avior sometimes has nightmares where he wakes up back in Aria.

David likes to hold Angel's hand that has their ring on it and just stare at it before gently kissing their hand.

Vincent has a scar from when he physically had to restrain Lovely from attacking someone and draining them during bloodlust (Lovely found out about it and felt so bad).

Sometimes Asher gets so excited that he has to grab onto something to control himself.

Milo and Sweetheart are aware of the fact that Aggro can still see Sweetheart when they’re cloaked, and Milo uses that to his advantage to find out where they are.

Lasko wouldn’t ever specifically ask if Coworker could get intimate with him and gets easily embarrassed about it (they'd never reject him).

Damien throws water on his hands whenever he gets mad or stressed because he’ll slowly heat himself, which he could easily turn into a fire if he wanted.

Gavin and FL are the most intimate couple in the D.A.M.N. crew, and that won’t change. Huxley platonically cuddles with FL whenever they’re not cuddling Gavin (they enjoy being squeezed by him).

Lasko accidentally called FL and Gavin while they were fucking and didn’t realize they were until FL moaned too loud on accident (or on purpose?).

Guy has an addiction to pizza and later got a tattoo of a cartoon character surfing on a pizza (he seems like the type to do that). Asher has a large scar going across his chest from the inversion and sometimes overthinks, sending himself into a spiral (Baabe has found him sitting in corners, zoned out).

Sam wears a cowboy hat that Darlin sometimes takes when he’s not looking, and he tells them to drop it as a joke (he lets them have it in the end).

The pack suspected Sam and Darlin were fucking when they would disappear together, but in reality, Sam would be trying to heal Darlin's injuries that they were somehow able to hide.

Milo and Darlin both hold onto each other when the pack watches horror movies. (They got taken to a horror maze when they were younger, and Darlin would grab Milo’s hand and run through it.)

Darlin, FL, Baabe, and Sweetheart wear boxers no matter what gender they are; they think it’s more comfortable (they leave the waistband showing out of their pants because they think it looks cool).

FL was Gavin’s first in his eyes; they never cared about what he looked like; they never cared if he looked like a human or like an incubus. (They have a mutual agreement that Gavin can still flirt with others and do whatever he needs to get his "energy,” whether it’s with them or other people.)

Vincent would never tell Lovely about the person he rode the roller coaster with and how he suspects that they’re them. 

[ohwowimlonley]

Closer

CHAPTER ONE - blank stares

Series Synopsis - after being evicted and having nothing left, your best friend sends you to live with her brooding, stoic boss. Except, he isn’t so brooding, and he isn’t so stoic, and now that you live with him, your underwear keeps going missing

Chapter Synopsis - you meet your bestfriend’s angry boss, but he isn’t so angry

Chapter Warnings - crybaby!reader, dilf!perv!hotch, food mentions, reader is kinda a housewife already

Word Count - 2517

Series Masterlist

Add yourself to the taglist

The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re just a tad bit desperate. Not for him, of course, you’d just met the man. But you’re definitely a bit dishevelled because you’d been sofa surfing for weeks now and your friend Penelope has only just notified you that her boss has a spare room in his apartment and she can ‘try get you hooked up’.

So, two days after her phone call, you’re standing outside of a door that looks much too expensive for you to even be close too and before you can stop yourself you’re knocking on the pristine white paint and then there’s locks clicking and chains clinking and the door swings open and you’re face to face with the most gorgeous man on the planet.

He looks you up and down, tongue peeking out from between his lips to wet them, brushing over a patch of stubble and you find yourself having to wrench your eyes away from the scene. He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside.

“I’m Aaron,” he extends his hand, a polite smile gracing his lips as your fingers brush over the calluses on his palms, causing goosebumps to break out over your (thankfully sweater-clad) arms, “Penelope has told me a lot about you. Please, sit down,”

You’re hardly convinced this is the man your best friend had been telling you about. His soft smile, gentle words and overall kind demeanour was a complete 180 from the man your friend had described. Nevertheless, you perch yourself on the edge of a plush grey sofa, resting your hands on your denim-clad knees and look around anxiously, taking in the sparsely decorated room.

The living room is carpeted in a charcoal grey, bookshelves are dotted across the place, most of which are filled with criminal law books. There are two small picture frames, one with a picture of him and a small boy. A grin stretches over both of their faces, and the small boy has a glob of icecream on his cheek. Aaron is wearing a pair of sunglasses, but they’re pushed to the top of his head, and his cheek is squished to the boy’s forehead, exposing some laughter lines around his cheeks and eyes.

The other picture isn’t nearly as interesting, though. It’s a picture of what you assume is the whole BAU team. You spot Penelope, and Derek (who you only know from the countless pictures of him Penny had shown you) then you guess Spencer is next to Derek, then Emily, JJ and Rossi respectively. A few feet from them stands Aaron, his smile more reserved than the others, and nothing like the one in the other picture.

You’re so consumed with your examination of the pictures you barely register the sofa cushions dipping under his weight, or the clinking of glass against enamel coasters, or really anything until the sound of Aaron softly clearing his throat damn near makes you jump out of your skin.

You try not to show too much of a visible reaction to him, mostly so he won’t think you’re just a creepy stalker who wants to stare at pictures of him all the live-long day. Aaron pretends not to notice anything, mercifully turning his gaze from yours and spinning a set of keys attached to a D-ring on his pointer finger.

“Um, so I assume you have questions for me before I like, steal your spare room or whatever,” you chuckle awkwardly to yourself, and Aaron offers you a tight-lipped smile in response. It’s only now that you realise he’s pushed up the sleeves of his button down to expose his forearms, and suddenly you’re distracted all over again but this time by dark hair contrasting just barely sunkissed skin, by bulging veins twisting and turning and pulsing under layers of skin, by muscles with soft indentations of old scars.

“Well,” once again, you’re pulled away from fantasy land by the older man, but it’s not completely unwelcome because his deep gravelly voice is something that you don’t think you’ll ever tire of, “first things first. As you know, I’m an FBI agent, which means my schedule is mostly very hectic, and would sometimes be home very late in the night, is that okay?”

You furrow your eyebrows, why would that be an issue for you? “No, uh that sounds fine for me, I’m kinda an insomniac anyways, so it’s not like it would disturb me much,”

“Well, that’s a relief,” and you can tell from his now relaxed shoulders that he's telling the truth, “what do you do for work?”

“Oh, well I was in finance, but that’s not really my scene, so I quit,” you didn’t catch him staring at your smile as you spoke, nor the way his gaze travelled ever so slowly down and becomes glued to the subtle way your tits brushed against each other as you spoke. Aaron determines that you’re definitely not wearing a bra. Do you always do that? Walk into a complete stranger's house with no bra? God, if it were two degrees cooler in here then he would be able to see your nipples poking against the fabric of your only slightly revealing shirt, he could practically see them already, all he had to do was reach out and- “so now, I’m focusing on what I really want to do; my writing,”

“Oh,” he clears his throat desperately, pulling at his collar and praying you don’t notice where his eyes were just affixed to. His panic quickly settles when he notices your obliviousness to the situation, and he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips, imagining that his tongue could grace any part of your body, oh what he would give to taste you.

“Oh god, that makes me sound like I make no money, look, I’ve got savings and stuff so I can afford to pay rent, and- and I have family money too but,” you cut yourself off, and Aaron realises that he must’ve gone too long without replying because now you’re panicking and he’s about to interject but then you’re talking again, “I’ll- I’ll do all the housework and- and I’m not loud I promise, I- I just can’t keep sleeping on my friends sofas,”

“Sweetheart,” he’s a little ashamed at the fact his cock gives an interested stir at the thought of you acting like his little housewife, keeping everything perfect and waiting for him to come home, and his predicament becomes even worse when tears begin to fill your eyes and now he has to school his expression to remain soft and inviting - absolutely not to look as depraved as he feels, “I don’t care about rent, I bought the place outright, and I think it’s wonderful that you’re following your dreams instead of doing something you hate,”

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, and you can’t meet his eyes, desperately blinking away the tears still building up from your annoyance at yourself for crying at something so silly. You nod along to his sentiment, if only to give yourself something to do to distract yourself from the oncoming tears.

You resign yourself to discussing practicalities for the next hour or so; where you would sleep, what his usual schedule was like, the security and alarm systems, the motion activated cameras, if you wanted any furniture moving into any communal spaces (you desperately wanted a more comfortable sofa than the barely sat in one, but you bit that comment down and asked if there was room for your plush loveseat) and then he gives you a tour of the house. He shows you around the kitchen first, and you make a mental note of a barely used pack of expensive looking coffee, sat next to a cheaper looking brand and theorised he must only drink one cup every morning at home and didn't want to allow his good stuff to go stale in the warmer throughout the day. Next is his office, which he kindly requests you don’t enter unless he is home due to its sensitive contents, and you knew enough not to ask questions, but you do straighten out a stack of files that look as if they’re about to topple over. After that is his own bedroom, and it’s as neat-messy as the rest of his house. You can tell some things are left looking messy simply out of convenience (for instance the duffle bag settled by the front door, or the fresh suit laid out on his dresser), and not because he’s a slob. His bed is made with military precision, and everything about his room is perfect, bar the thin layer of dust settling almost everywhere except his bed and the doorway. Next, he shows you a smaller room directly adjacent to his. It looks as if it’s cleaned even more meticulously than his own room, because there isn’t even a speck of dust across the expanse of the place. What surprises you, though, is that it's clearly the bedroom of a child. The bed isn't even a single mattress, and it's covered in Spiderman sheets. The bedside tables are decorated in figurines and the lampshades have the visage of Batman? Or maybe that star wars guy? You don’t know, pop culture isn’t really your thing. You turn back to him.

“I probably should’ve told you about this,” his neck burns red and he brings a hand up to scratch nervously behind his ear, “I, uh, I have a son,”

You bite down on your tongue, repressing any response as you wait for him to continue.

“Jack, his uh, his name is Jack. Me and my wife- my ex wife, rather, had him just over four years ago,” he clears his throat and looks down at his feet, “he, well it’s for the best probably, he lives with her now, but I see him every time I get the day off, I hope you don’t mind,”

“Mind?” You spit out. Then, a grin splits across your face, and you’re venturing further into the room, running your fingers over an assorted stack of toys, ones more obviously more used are piled closer within reach and then you’re whirling around to look at him, “tell me about him,”

And he does; he spills every detail he can about his son, Jack Hotchner. He tells you about the picture in the living room, about how excited he was about his first ever big boy bed, about how he could stay awake to watch Star Wars for hours past his bedtime (and that’s when you realise it’s Darth Vader on his lampshade, not Batman), and how his favourite ice cream flavour is chocolate, but not just any chocolate, the chocolate ice cream he asks his dad for at the fair after they go on the teacup rides. After a long twenty or so minutes of you exploring the room and Aaron rambling from where he now sits on the edge of his son’s bed, you’re ready to move on.

He leads you onwards, down the hardwood hallway and into another room. It’s completely empty, save for an expensive looking bed frame, mattress and duvet set. The walls are a stark white and sunlight bleeds through the closed window, exposing the thick layer of dust, some of it kicked up just from the door opening and floating about the room. You try to stifle the cough that rises in your throat as you inhale, but it doesn’t work and soon you’re choking and Aaron is dashing across the room to open the window.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll have the room cleaned before you move in,” his face glows red again, and you send him a pained smile to let him know it’s okay, in between coughs of course, “I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but you know, work gets in the way,”

“No, no it’s fine really,” you rub at your eyes with your fists and take a better look around, albeit from the doorway, and you note the room’s impressive size. Really, despite the mental-hospital-esque coloured walls, you can really see this being a good room for you.

Before you can say anything else, Aaron is ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back and the door shuts softly behind you.

“Well, that's pretty much everything, oh except the utility room,” he walks off and you follow him to a room just off the kitchen, stocked with a washer, dryer and several staacks of cleaning supplies. You take a gleeful look around, sifting through drawers of bleach and scrubbers and sprays. Yes, this place will do.

–

You iron everything out with your new roommate (roommate!!), and by the time you’re finished its nearly nine pm and you’re yawning into your arms and nearly knocking over a precariously balanced pizza box from the coffee table as you stretch the tiredness settling deep within your bones. You’d ordered some pizza to share at some point after five, and a few lonely slices are left going stale in the soggy box so you stand and bring the box to the kitchen and ferret through the drawers and cupboards for a tupperware to contain the leftovers. Aaron tries to protest, saying that he should do some of the work, but you bat his hands away and shove the freshly filled box into the unsurprisingly empty fridge.

You're about to bid your goodbye and drive back to your friend's house when Aaron grabs your hands in his.

“Stay here tonight,” his eyes bore into yours, and suddenly you feel wide awake, “you've been practically falling asleep on my arm since eight, and I don’t want my new roommate to fall asleep at the wheel and crash into a tree or something,”

You bite at your lip, and glance at the hard sofa and try to imagine yourself trying to fall asleep on that, rather than your friend’s pull out bed.

“You can have my bed, I think you’ve had enough of sleeping on couches for a lifetime,” he gives a small, tired chuckle and you gnaw on your lip again. You can’t take his bed, not after he’s paid for dinner and agreed to let you live in his home. Again, Aaron senses your apprehension, “seriously, it’s fine. C’mon, you can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in,”

You end up in Aaron’s bed, wearing what you’re sure is the only shirt he owns that isn’t a button down and a pair of sweatpants you have to tie at the waistband with a bobble, a pile of your skirt, shirt, panties and bra just next to you. Aaron bids you goodnight, and concedes himself to a night on the uncomfortable sofa. It takes you almost an hour of tossing and turning to finally sleep, and you don’t wake until the alarm clock next to you reads 9:34am. But, as you roll over to put on last night’s clothes on, you notice one very disturbing thing.

Your panties are missing.

[loupy-mongoose]

~It's time to try the

Alolan roller

coaster

ride~

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START

(Once again, the missing wedding ring is on purpose. It's left at home to keep it safe.)

I got the in-game Randy one year ago today. He's the last of the main three I received in-game, but was the first one to have a solid character concept. It's fascinating to look back at that time and see how much less there was to him and his family at the time...

One day at work, the song "Hawaiian Rollercoaster Ride" came on, and it led to me imagining Randy surfing. Which led down a rabbit hole of realizations, and lo-and-behold, Randy's a surfer now! :3

I almost didn't go through with it, as I myself am--or was--incredibly uneducated in all things surfing, and feared that I would get surfing related questions. But I brought it to Discord, and as tends to happen, the idea was encouraged.

I still consider myself to be pretty low in surfing knowledge, so don't expect deep answers, if any, should I be asked. But it just makes so much sense to me that Randy would be a surfer, and I've learned quite a bit in pursuing this idea. ^w^

I also came to learn something about Randy through this surfing thing as well.

You'd think Momo takes way more after her mom than her dad, but I realized Momo and Randy do have something in common; They're both thrill-seekers. Now, since becoming a Mew, Randy has buried his thrill-seekerness under his anxiety. But it's there, and when he lets go of his fear, he really lets go.

I've mentioned in the past that Momo is sensory-seeking. Randy isn't necessarily sensory-seeking, but he has a high pain tolerance that Momo may have inherited.

And of course while studying surfing images, I had to do a rendition of The Shot.

~Flyin' by on the Alolan rollercoaster ride~

Happy birthday, Randy! <3

[hyper-coasters]

Catching a final wave before the sun fully sets. The perfect way to end the night. 🌊🌌

[melanieph321]

Dominik Szoboszlai x Black Reader - First Sight Part 1/8

The Spark

@trentione I got the gif from your page. It's what inspired me to write this story 🙌

This story is about the night reader met her boyfriend Dominik and the series of crazy events that led up to the beginning of their love story.

Enjoy!

"I don't wanna go."

"Y/N you can't say that when we're already here."

You were not antisocial, let's make that clear. But after a week of cramming for your nursing exam, the last thing you wanted to do was spend your Friday night at some random guy's apartment.

"Come on, Sami Chun and his friends are cool, we'll have a great time." Your friend, Tara, had to push you up the flight of steps up to the apartment, however, you paused mid step. "Friends? What do you mean his friends?"

She shrugged. "Well he said that he already had some people over, and that I should bring a friend too. So I brought you." She smiled.

"Great." You sighed. "It better not be all guys."

It was. Three guys joined by two naive girls. "You came!" Sami exclaimed. He welcomed you at the door, and everything about him screamed "I sell vapes to underage kids", mainly, because of the tooth pick that he wiggled between his newly bleached teeth, or the overzied white t-shirt he wore that stated that "Surf is life."

"Come in." He waved. " There's loads of beer in the fridge."

You followed him inside, clinging tightly to your purse. Tara seemed giddy with excitement whilst you were sure to be in the beginning of a movie meant to raise awareness about date rape drugs.

"Everyone, this is the girl I was talking about, Tara and her friend...."

It was a small apartment, small but surprisingly tidy for an engineering student. You turned the corner to what looked to be a bedroom turned into a living room. Your eyes swept past the two guys slouching one the sofa, instead frowning at the leather coasters beaneath the glasses of beer set on the table.

"Y/N?"

"Ouch." You groaned, as Tara's elbow stabbed you in the ribs.

"Introduced yourself." She hissed.

"What?"

Tara's eyes darted to her left, reffering to the guy's whose eyes were on you. "Introduce yourself." She repeated, through clenched teeth.

You raised a hand, waving awkwardly. "Hi, I'm Y/N and I'm an alcoholic."

Tara's head dropped to her hands, covering her face, disappointed and embarrassed by your response. However, your attention was drawn to the guys on the sofa, particularly the one with the dimples that flourished when he laughed. It lit something within you, a sudden spark that brought heat to your face. He was cute, dangerously cute. Like, let's rob a bank together cute. Or please let me sit on your pretty face cute. Except for the black tumbleweed growing out of his scalp, he was perfect.

"You guys want something to drink?" Sami offered, having to speak up as his friends laughter was contagious, causing the other guy, the one with the faded afro, to give away a thigh slapping laugh.

"Yeah, let me help you get it." Tara muttered, already regretting having brought you with her. She was clearly into Sami, wanting to impress him.

"Um, where's the bathroom?" You asked.

"Just down the hall and to the left." Sami instructed. He then disappeared into the kitchen with Tara. You nodded your head, excusing yourself as you left the guys on the sofa, effortlessly avoiding eye contact with the one whose face you'd like to sit on.

You took your time in the bathroom, snooping through cabinets as they were filled woth glamorous products that you didn't even keep at your own place. "Who is this guy?" You asked at one point, turning to read the label on the vitamin face serum, containin chemicals that guaranteed clearance of blackheads. Sami was either playing for another team, or very fond of his skin. Then again, it was more than homophobic to assume that only gay men had skincare routines.

"Fuck." You gasped as a knock on the bathroom door interrupted your snooping.

"You done in there?"

"Just a minute!"

You rushed to put everything back where you found it, only to be startled by Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face, as you went to unlock the door. He displayed a poisonous grin.  "Are you good?"

"Um..." Great, he had an accent too. One you didn't recognize where it was from. "...sure." You said.

"You sure?"

"Sure." You nodded, taking a step to the side. "The bathroom is all yours."

He chuckled. "Well, I didn't really have to go. Your friend was asking where you went and I offered to go look."

"Oh." There it was again, that spark in your chest.

"I'm assuming you were snooping through Sami's belongings."

"What? No, I wasn't."

Thank God you were born black otherwise your face would have been crimson right now.

"You sure?" He enjoyed seeing you sweat, you could tell.

"Yeah, I'm sure. You don't even have any proof."

"Well, your friend said that you probably were snooping and that's why you were gone for so long."

Fuck. He got you there. But then he leaned forward, his cologne ambushing your nostrils when he whispered, "Don't worry,  I won't tell." Again, you thank god for gifting you with your dark skin, otherwise it would have given you away. Given away how much he was turning you on.

"There you are." Tara said, seeing you trailing your steps behind Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face. The two of you entered the living room. It was now full of smoke by the way. Evaporating smoke that smelled like bubblegum cherry. Sami was passing around his vape pen, offering it arround to anyone who wanted a hit. Of course Tara wanted to smoke, blowing on Sami's pen as if he had offered to put his dick in her mouth.

"You want?" Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face said, offering you to take a hit of his own vape pen.

"I'm allergic." You replied, or more so, lied.

"Oh."

It was funny, him pulling back the pen as if its tip would burn you.

"Who's this?" You asked, leaning towards Sami's other friend who was also cute, but not as cute as Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face.

"You've never heard of Spitfire?" He asked suprised, turning up the volume to what you could only assumed to be some subculture British rapper.

"Trent only likes music that you can't dance to." Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face leaned in to whisper, his breath close to your ear, the smell of sour candy awakening the hairs on the back of your neck. Your turned to him, glaring curiously. "You dance?"

He grinned. "I'd dance with you."

"Shit. I think we're out of beer." Sami said, tossing the last can in the bin. "Someone's gonna have to make another beer run."

"I'll go." You volunteered, straightening your skirt as you stood up from having been vedged between Trent and Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face.

"Y/N?" Tara questioned, an anxious look on your face. "You're not thinking about going alone are you?"

You shrugged.  "Why not? The shop is only around the corner, no? We passed it on our way here."

"Yes, but you've been drinking."

"I'll go with her."

There was movment behind you. The spark that lit within you already told you who it was.

"See, don't worry babe. Dom will go with her."

Tara looked to blush as Sami threw a reassuring arm around her shoulders, addressing her as "babe". That was the last of Tara's worries, she practically forgot about you after that.

"Your name is Dom?" You said, turning to Mr Let Me Sit On Your Face as the two of you went to put on your shoes in the hallway. He smiled, "What did you think it was?"

"Um..." You do not want to know buddy.

"It's short for Dominik but Trent doesn't let people we know call me that since he had a bully in primary school with the same name."

"So you remind of him, Trent's bully?"

The two of you stepped out of the apartment and took the elevator down. The night was cold once you were fully exposed to it, however, your jean jacket brought you some comfort.

"Apart from the name, I don't really think so. I don't think Trent would want to live with someone who reminded him of his childhood bully."

"So the two of you are roommates?" You asked as you and Dominik turned the corner, on the pursuit to buy beer from the corner shop down the road.

"And lovers." He grinned

"Oh, like me and Tara?"

His laughter echoed in the night, not expecting to meet his match. Little did you know that after the following events of this night, you would have met yours too.

[wolfofcelestia]

ENG localization headcanons:

Sylus

Bougie-ass bitch from New York. The only East Coaster in the bunch.

Fits in with his accent (not entirely but you know) and the fact that he runs an underground criminal gang. All the expensive brand names are there and the fashion shows he always mentions would definitely be easy to find. Also close to the ocean, where he can go night fishing and in the winter, it's cold enough that he can also go ice fishing locally

Rafayel

100000% Cali bro. You can't tell me this guy doesn't surf. His laid back, playful way of speaking goes with the chill vibes of the California beaches

Xavier

Sorry Americans, I'm claiming him as Canadian. Specifically pinning him as a British Columbian to keep him on the West Coast. Canadians have a stereotype where they're seen as nice, polite, and unassuming, just like Xavier. He speaks in a soft voice but that doesn't mean he's a pushover

Zayne

A Seattle boy with coffee and the cold, pacific northwest rain running through his veins. It might be hard to get close to him, but bring an umbrella and weather the storm, and you might find comfort in the rain

[johnychen]

VR 360 Pipeline The Surf Coaster On Ride Back Seat POV SeaWorld Orlando ...

[rreskk]

CHOPPER

Summary: A last minute night. Trevor pulled you onto the helicopter and played around to gain reactions for his amusement.

Notes: This is a failed WIP. It was going to end in smut but I'm so busy *screams*

TW: Nothing! :)

Word count: 1490

Pairings: Fem!reader/Trevor Philips

“Los Santos,” You heard him utter as you hovered over the shiny lights illuminating from the many skyscrapers. Despite the heavy background noise of it’s engine rumbling, the scenery was enjoyable and Trevor’s controlled steering offered you the expertise of this one in a life-time experience, “You ever seen it from this height?”

Obviously the answer was no. Out of everything, he just wanted to hear you praise his efforts and pilot skills. The many times he insisted on taking you out – the plans always deteriorating due to the conflicted schedules and lifestyles – it surprised you that, soon as the clock striked midnight, he was urging you out of that metal shack and into the “big rig”, his helicopter.

The moment your safety was at risk, watching the floor get blurry with distance, you never felt so close to the stars that all the self-awarenesses of danger disappeared.

“No.” You finally replied after admiring the polluted city. Usually it was distressing to be in that environment, but it was just you and him. Alone and above. Solidarity and tranquillity.

“It’s better up here,” Trevor adjusted his headgear and gave you a small grin, “It’s not too cold, is it?”

You shook your head, eyes not daring to leave the human life below.

“Good. Scenery is better without the door.”

His tone was cocky as he knew this was your first time in a helicopter. He took pride in that, almost abusing your responses into boosting his ego. You noticed but seeing him smile proudly was such a rare treat. You’d be damned to see it on a regular day. It made your night special.

“Does it look good during daytime?” You decided to ask out of curiosity.

Trevor glanced over to your direction and shook his head. With all his experience as a pilot, he could easily multitask and still deliver great security over the chopper. Meaning he easily engaged in the conversation without constant pauses or hesitation.  

“No,” Was his response, “Nighttime is always better. Something about the lights and stars. It’s much more peaceful.”

This made sense. You unconsciously nodded your head in agreement and picked between the various sights. The pier was brighter than day. You saw the wheel spin, roller-coaster blast, the distant lights of people surfing the water via boats and yachts; those wealthy people enjoying midnight hours as their lives are free of worry and work, the only lights comforting the poor being those still working around the clock, those restaurant shop windows with beaming orange gleams; workers wiping the floors and thinking about their hours tomorrow with sweat trickling down their brows, pockets lacking cash, cars threatening to break on the journey home; traffic piling on the main roads, and from your sights, the roads were showing no remorse for the midnight societies.

And you were watching all of this from high above. Such glory and luxury, it made you realise why Trevor was so persistent and forceful when dragging you onto the chopper.

So maybe you were invested in the experience that when the helicopter came to a small stop, hovering on a stationary pose, you remained captivated by elsewhere.  

“It’s quite a view.” Trevor felt compelled to speak as you were closed off, in a haze of delusions.

You gained some sensory back and looked at him with a content smile. Though his voice was filtered by the hardness of the helicopters wings, he was still heard, that roughened groan falling between the break of words. Alluring your attention back.

“You scared of heights?”

“No?” You frowned, wondering what made him ask since you were thriving.

Trevor grinned, “Haven’t piss yourself, have you?”

“Oh shut up…” Now you had recognised his playfulness and shrugged it off before he could rile you up more. The typical Philips treatment.

“Making sure you ain’t gonna leave stains on this beauty, ay. She’s a keeper, my own.” He referred to the chopper’s interior and when you gazed over your shoulder, there were no storage apart from the lonely boxes of whatever ammo and guns he takes. Nonetheless, you were certain that this wasn’t his, so you gave him a knowing stare and he immediately clenched the controls defensively, “Woah. Don’t gimme that look.”  

“What look?”

“I know that fuckin’ face.” He huffed.

“Just say that this is not your helicop – “

“Woah, hey, hey! She ain’t stolen! I’ve just… Borrowed.”

“Borrowed?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Trevor accelerated the chopper so it was slyly moving across the countless houses, “I borrowed for nights like these, you know? Escaping reality with my woman.”

Knowing him, you avoided anymore confrontation and poked your head out of the open door again. What he said were lies, if you could smell some. A chopper with spraypainted graffiti of his company name was no ordinary owned aircraft.

You felt him freeze at your running mind. He leaned over and caressed your thigh with a pouty snarl shaping his scarred lips. Them menacing eyes scanned for any signs of amends and he continued caressing your thigh until he did.

“Don’t be like that.” Trevor scoffed, desperate for your attention again.  

“I’m enjoying the view.” You attempted to say but he grabbed your chin and coerced for the wanted attention. Now your head was exacted to face him. Now you were feeling unsafe since his focus switched from the flying, to the passenger beside him, you. The controls went unmonitored and any second you expected gravity to throw you down.

“You’re tensing up,” He acknowledged, “Take a chill pill, sugar. I can do two things at once.”

“Can you?”

“I am right now. Can’t you see?”

“Yes. I can see.” You grumbled and felt his hand tightened. And it made you frightened.

Trevor abstained your stiffened frame by leaning outrageously close. He was supposed to be the pilot and here he was, the tip of his nose tickling your jaw, his sticky fingers itching around your thigh where it sent a wave of discomfort. The nerves were overstimulating and the fresh air from being high above was not helping. You pressed your head against the seat and prayed to God with no faith.

Yet he just chuckled at your discomposure, his hot breath penetrating your skin, the confliction of both the open air and his panting; the steamy hot and cold mixture messing with your temperature.

“Trevor. C’mon. Please, concentrate.” You stressed with eyes closed.

You heard him mumble something inaudible until he repeated it in a meaner, colder tone, “What’s up with you?”

“Fly us home. I’m getting air sickness,” Was that the truth? No. You were facing anxiety about his recklessness and offered more to say, “Watch where you’re taking us.”

Trevor frowned, ignoring your suggestion by kissing below your ear, his lips sensual. It made you shiver.

“Calm down, sugar. Don’t you love the view?” He purred into your ear.

This asshole, you thought when making eye-contact. He was freehandedly steering the controls while smirking at you, winking in the process.

You’d be so mad but his smug face. It made your cheeks flush. Despite the darkness of the night, you still saw how mellow and bitter-sweet his sepia eyes were, all that insanity rushing to dilate his sinister pupils. So hypnotic and dangerous. As you analysed every feature of his eyes, your head itched closer unconsciously. Until you smelt his breath, you snapped back, body freezing. The helicopter quaver against the amplitude and, with reflexed panic, you gripped his wrist and gasped. With his lips close to yours, his eyelids fluttered close as you breathed in his face and a grin widened.

“Trevor,” You passively whispered, “It’s shaking – “

“Natural winds, darling. Natural winds.” He snickered before pressing his lips against yours.

You were immediately taken by surprise and all words were snatched faster than any bullet. It wasn’t a smooth, sweet kiss. He inhaled you, tongue combating with yours and small groans escaping his throat like a relieved sigh.

The chopper stayed stationary as it hovered. The pilot was too busy getting handsy, your waist being trampled with and his mouth refusing to depart from yours.

“C’mere…” Trevor pled faintly between kisses and tugged on your hips. It wasn’t even a saying, everything shuddered, the chopper, your nerves, his hands, as he dragged you onto his lap.

The change of weight tilted the helicopter slightly and he laughed when you grabbed onto his shoulder for support. He had an open door beside him, like you, so this was double danger since there were no restraints holding you back.

“Trevor!” You’d say for the hundredth time that night.

“Alright! Fine, fine.” It took him a moment to realise the danger and helped you back into your seat.

A chair never felt so good as you sunk into it, panting.

“Next destination: my bedroom!” He continued to tease while steering round, heading back to the horizons you came from.