#wildemaven moodboards

[wildemaven]

“I want to kiss you all the time, Daphne," he says. "Sometimes it's just easier to find an excuse.”

Emily Henry, Funny Story

[sweet-creature-series]

Sweet Creature Vibes

[jolalibrary]

anytime

javier peña x f!reader

summary: “Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper. Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing the place where the hair sits atop his lip. “Anytime, cariño.” “Anytime, really?”

wordcount: 3.1k. warnings: fluff. bestfriends to lovers. banter. reader wears a dress and has a gloss on lips. no physical description. javi calls reader solecito as a nickname only. likely warnings for spelling as i wrote this on my phone. an: huge thanks to @wildemaven for creating this moodboard (pls go show it some love), letting me make a banner from it, and then letting me write this for Javi instead of Frankie. bby, i hope you like this.

Javi had never been good at avoiding challenging situations.

For the longest time, he’s been finding himself in the centre of a whirlwind—whether in Bogotá, Cali or apparently even back home.

You, his friend, best friend—a well-kept secret, tucked away in his chest, not shared with a soul when he was away. You were a thing that he’d clutched close to his chest from the moment the two of you had first gotten close, through his failed engagement and even more so when he left for Colombia. You, in all your understanding, hugging him, telling him he’d be great, amazing, the very best.

Both of you were younger then, less worn down by life, its many obstacles and all the other things.

You best not become best friends with anyone over there, Peña. As if anyone could annoy me as much as you, solecito.

In the brief interim of his return, you hadn’t appeared all that different. You may have had a job, a house—drove a slightly better car than when the two of you were staying out at all hours—but you, at your core remained very much the fucking same.

Still just as understanding, as kind. A person who got him, without really needing to try.

For Javi, the best thing—outside of you being you and the monthly calls you made him promise to keep when he was drowning in murder, drugs and Escobar—is that you never ask him about it. Any of it.

You had always let him pretend, escape, listen to you fill him in on gossip—things such as disagreements over the size of rhubarb and whether someone was having an affair. A thing you did even when he came back. Even more grateful for it then, when he grew tired of the questions, the compliments, the everything.

Its why he didn’t tell you when he would land back in Laredo for good. Just waiting, standing outside your place, leaning against your car as you walk down the street—eyes brushing over him, pausing, before he gets to see that smile. That signature fucking smile.

When he’d left the first time, he remembers how you’d lingered near your car, unwilling to climb into your bright yellow death trap—the entire reason he called you solecito to begin with—wearing the beginnings of that smile even then.

The difference is now he knows that there was something under it. Hidden, held back, kept from him.

It’s why it meant so much to him when he saw it in all its glory, all alight, blooming and somehow healing.

He can’t explain it, but it repairs strands inside of him. Your presence alone continuing to do so when he meets you for lunches, coffees, and late-night drinks. In exchange, he makes you laugh, your head thrown back as he tells you about whatever he did on the ranch—all of it comical, apparently. Because the idea of him, Javier Peña doing ranch work brought tears to your eyes.

“You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” you splutter, taking a mouthful of your beer as you narrow your eyes.

Nodding, he leans back into the booth, arm stretched out, picking and picking—the label crumbling from the sweating bottle. “Yeah. Bet you’re upset you don’t get to see me herd cattle and mend fences.”

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred-percent.”

Shrugging, he grins—an easy task with you. A thing that has always been that way, even when he turned up at your door when he couldn’t get married; even when the two of you sat under the stars when he told you about possibly going to Colombia. You still made him grin—even when things weren’t fucking easy at all.

“I’ll add it to my to-do list—visit Peña on the ranch—it’s currently sat under finding a dress, a boyfriend and the will to fucking live.”

Snorting, he traces his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your face scrutinises him, before rolling your eyes. And he just waits—because you always spill eventually.

One. Two. Th—

Fine, you huff, before it unravels from you. How the wedding of your work colleague is close, closer than I thought and you’re tired of attending these things alone, circled like a fucking fish by single sharks.

And he’s listening, taking it in. Trying to not wince at how high-pitched you’ve got as you’ve ranted.

Mainly, Javi finds there’s more questions rising than answers provided.

One singular one rising to the top. A thing he’s wanted to ask for the last few weeks. Not in a rude way, or in the way it burns inside his chest when he talks to you on the phone and he has to bury it. But, it’s there, bubbling, wishing to escape and know. It's even louder when the two of you are like this, crammed in a space, laughing, smiling, sharing, wondering—

Why are you even single? How are you?

You’ve mentioned people—names, here and there when the two of you had been on the phone. Them fluttering out before you can pull them back, but then they’re forgotten. Javi, I get one call a month—let me tell you about the cattle war going off. And, in a way, he didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to know, so he never asked.

Now, it’s all he wants to ask.

Because you’re… you. You’re brilliant, beautiful—funny, clever, witty. And yet—

“—so, now it’s a week out, and I need to find a dress, a date and drive there to watch another person I know get married.”

He knows he should busy his mouth with the bottle—wrap his odd idea in beer. But, that part of him—the one which wants to help, solve issues, and be useful—rises up in him like a phoenix left from the ashes of Colombia.

“I’ll go with you.”

He expects the pause, even braces for the look of shock.

He doesn’t expect the smirk. Doesn’t expect the way it spreads out, to hit your eyes. How under the low-bar light over the table, it makes your eyes glimmer and fucking shimmer.

“You want to go to a wedding with me?”

Shrugging, he picks off the last part of the label—the mess of it all circling around where the glass meets the wood.

Mirroring him, you shrug. “Alright.”

“Alright.”

He should take his eyes off you, but he finds he can’t.

Javi hasn’t been able to since you stepped out of your place, a handful of your dress as you locked up—stepping down your steps to his car, letting it flutter down to your ankles.

You look like a fucking dream.

A thought he knows he shouldn’t have—but has all the same. His heart staggered, half-halting in its hammering as his hands paused in their drumming on the steering wheel; his glasses slid down his nose, his skin suddenly warm all over, even if his jacket was already splayed out across the backseat.

Close your mouth, Peña.

I’m chewing gum, solecito.

Yeah, that’s why your mouth is open.

It hadn’t passed his notice that you were good-looking before today. He’s known you were, had always known it—he had eyes, after all. But, he’d always felt there was a line. A line the two of you never delved too close to step over. The sign above both of your heads already illuminated in bright bulbs and flashing lights:

JUST FRIENDS.

Until this, anyway. This thing that can only be described as the longest one-hour drive he’s ever been on. And he used to do recon with Murphy.

Because you’re teasing, taunting him. All in that usual way that you do. And it’s so easy to flirt back, to let line after line roll, but he has begun to spot you squirming.

Doing so while matching his suit in a deep brown shade—chosen by him, ‘pick a colour suit, Javi’. Adding a tinge to some of your comments—things that if said by someone that wasn’t you, he’d ask them (flirtingly) if they were coming on to him.

But with you, it’s something he can never be sure. Never something that can be completely understood, known, cracked or figured out. In the same way, he can’t understand how your perfume keeps following him. How it embeds itself into the cabin of his truck when he picks you up, sews itself into his clothing when the two of you meet—and right now, is attempting to bury itself in his skin, muscles, and bones.

“You’ve been abnormally quiet.”

Smirking, he snorts. Fingers smoothing out his hair as he swings into a spot—the tyres crunching over the gravel. “Have I? Or have you just not shut up.”

“Rude.”

Laughing, he cuts the engine—hands resting on the top of his thighs, not missing the way your eyes follow his movements before clearing your throat. It shifts something in him, makes a little part of him surge, like the smallest of fireworks suddenly erupting in his chest.

Something he forces himself to shut down the moment you shove open your door, slipping out, as he grabs his jacket.

“Do I need to be worried about you crying today, solecito?”

Rearranging your dress, and slipping the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you squint as you stand tall, hand covering your brow as you meet his gaze.

And fuck, with this backdrop, even squinting, you look beautiful, radiant, stunning all over again. Somehow his brain having forgotten when you were next to him, when you were acting as if this was the most normal fucking thing they’ve ever done.

It isn’t.

Something he’s becoming more aware of as his throat goes dry, and his thoughts slow to nothing—

“No, you’re good. Your mouth is open again.”

You say it with a smirk, all teasing—making heat lick up his spine all over again. And, if you were anyone else, he’d have already pulled you close, tilted your chin up, and likely smothered your mouth with his.

But, you’re his friend—his best friend. The one solid thing he’s had in his life since he became a name, a poster, a hero.

“C’mon,” you say, turning on your heel as you head in the direction of the entrance, him following, jacket slipping on as he mutters mouth isn’t fucking open under his breath.

Even if he knows it was. Even if he’s desperately trying to stop his eyes from descending down to your hips, eyes fixated on the way you walk with ease to the wooden sign which greets all the guests.

He knows, due to his absence from home, there haven’t been many weddings he’s attended. Least of all like this. But even he thinks this is over the top, suddenly understanding why you hadn’t wanted to come alone. Because grand doesn’t quite cover it—not after the last one he’d attended.

This one has flickering candles lit in the day, waiters all set to hand glasses of bubbles and offer little mouthfuls of flavour on silver trays. Then, there’s the backdrop—the enormity of the building, only for you to tell him that it’s an outside wedding.

It’s more of a comfort as to why his hand drops to the small of your back than anything else. A need to be rooted, to feel calmer as he nods at passing people he doesn’t know (and hopes don’t know him), feeling you curl into him subconsciously, your bag swinging between the two of you both—affording a gap, forcing it, in fact.

The ceremony will start soon.

He overhears it, as he assumes you do, because your fingers wrap around his wrist—taking it from your back, before your palm meets his, and then you’re guiding, leading. Dragging him. All willingly to the back of the building where he sees it—the makeshift aisle. A wooden arch, and lots of deep orange-brown chairs all line up on either side of an orange aisle.

“Glad we chose brown now,” he murmurs.

“Does it make you think, y’know—being at a wedding?”

He swallows. Because it’s a loaded question.

One he assumes has been sitting all politely on the tip of your tongue since you sat beside him in his vehicle. It’s why his eyes watch you carefully as you grab the two of them a flute each from a passing waiter. Handing it to him, adding nothing—not rescuing him. Just waiting instead, doing that thing you do, where your eyes widen as you wait, trying to look all innocent even though it’s you who has just dropped a live grenade into the centre of the conversation.

Shaking his head, he snorts. “No. Not really. Knew… I knew deep down it wasn’t right. Her… and me.”

“You got any idea what’s right?”

You take a sip this time when the question lands, it again sparkling in glittered innocence, the softest of smiles pressed against the glass.

You he thinks. But he swallows that away and says ‘Not a fucking clue’ instead.

Throughout the day, he’s been desperate for a reason to stop looking at you.

So far, he’s found none.

Bits and pieces of things Murphy used to say, the words he’d drop into conversation when talking about his wife: how he knew, why she was the one, all coming back to him in drips and drops.

It dawns on him, the same as it had done since before he went to Cali, that you might mean a little more than a friend. A lot of what Murphy used to say, so easily applied to how Javi felt about you.

You make him feel calmer, create a space where he can relax, really unwind. It’s easy, uncomplicated, when he’s with you—from the conversation to the things he thinks. Complex balled thoughts stretch out until they’re in easy-to-decipher lines, able to process, able to understand.

He even told you about the boats.

A secret he’d have been prepared to take to the grave, if not for the fact you pointed out he wasn’t sleeping. Your eyes watching, pleading, don’t lie to me. And fuck, he couldn’t—not even if he wanted to.

That should have been the first sign.

He guesses he should be thankful today has been stuffed with more of them. One after the other. From the way you made sure to make him a plate of only his favourite things, to the way you knew when he needed a bit of space from the thousand questions as to how you both knew one another, and what he does.

Now, Javi is on the sidelines, admiring you in a way that makes his heart double in size.

Your dress skims around your calves as you dance—your arms rising above your head, glee stitched itself from cheek to cheek. On occasion, time halts when your eyes land on his—stealing whatever thought he had, only resuming normality when you close your eyes, belting out the lyrics to the song.

Mainly, the thought he finds which keeps returning is: I wanna do this with you again. any place. any time.

A hollowness scratches out in his chest as he lets himself acknowledge it. A thickness growing in his throat, a sorrowness weighs down on his shoulders as he nurses his glass—hand in his trouser pocket, telling himself he should be content he got to be on your arm, got to have you against him during a slow dance over an hour ago. That he gets to see you smile, hear your laugh—even know you.

“Hey, Peña.”

“Hey solecito.”

You grin—a little breathless, the music having changed, becoming slower, softer—wrenching the glass from his hand as you drain it.

“Fuck me. Y’thirsty?”

“Very. You’d know if you had any rhythm.”

He pinches you, lightly—teasingly. Your grin shifts into a laugh, tucking yourself in against him, arm around his back. And fuck, the way you’re looking up at him, he wants to warn you.

If you look at me like that, I’m going to kiss you.

Javi wonders what you’d do if you did. Whether you’d pull away, hissing the two of you are friends. Or whether you’d kiss him back.

“Want to get some fresh air?” you ask, your words against his ear—lips so close to ghosting his skin.

“Sure.”

It’s cooler when the two of you step out from under the marquee, the music getting quieter when your fingers loop in his, guiding, easing him around plant pots and tall trees, until the two of you are descending marble stairs and past iron fencing, to take him to the perimeter, to the view looking out over the city.

He watches as you step forward, fingers around the iron fencing, leaning, staring out as you let out a heavy sigh. One laced with things he wants to ask for, tug it from you, let you unload whatever is weighing on you—because that’s what you both do for one another.

You make it easy.

Make it all bearable.

But, whether you mean to, or not, you shiver. A light one, barely noticeable by most—but he isn’t most. His fingers are already at the button, undoing it, sliding his jacket down his arms before he places it over your shoulders, watching your head turn, meeting his gaze.

“You look really pretty.”

Flicking your eyes down, you smile. Sweetly. Unreadably. “Well, you’ve always been pretty.”

“Pretty?”

Laughing, your fingers tug his jacket closer, burying yourself in it. “The prettiest, Javier.”

Leaning beside you, he feels the metal from the railings, you’re both resting on, cut into his palms. He wonders if you feel the same, your dress billowing in the gentle breeze as the two of you stare off into the distance, spotting the flickering lights of a city, of homes tucking in for the night.

Then he turns his head, finding you already watching him, studying him in a similar way as you were before.

And, he lets his eyes drop to your mouth. A sign. A signal. It’s not the first time, usually, he does so when you’re not looking, letting himself trace the curve of your lips. Now, he stares at the way your gloss has long since gone, left behind on glasses and straws.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you whisper.

Nodding, he feels you follow his path—dropping, scorching his face, tracing where the hair sits atop his lip.

“Anytime, cariño.”

“Anytime, really?”

Nodding, he swallows. A thousand things he’s thought, and felt, all rushing to the surface—unwilling to bury itself, to descend under the usual guilt and feelings of inadequacies when it comes to you.

“I’d do anything for you.”

Smirking, you tilt your head. “Anything?”

Biting your lip, he feels it—something thrumming in him, being plucked.

“Will you kiss me?”

“I could…”

Your brows rise, a louder cheer coming from inside, but it doesn’t do anything to tear your eyes away from the other.

The whole world could slowly vanish from around the two of you, and all he’d want is just to stare at you.

“But?” you ask, delicately.

Almost so softly, it makes his chest ache.

Dipping his head, he lets his gaze wash over the place again—the rolling land, the trees, the houses in the distance.

“If I kiss you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You slide closer, shoulder to shoulder, eyes scorching his jaw, his neck, the side profile he can feel you tracing with your gaze.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His neck almost cracks with the quickness of his movement, his eyes scanning, reading, a part of him wanting to step back, and protect you. Because he’s not sure about the parts of him you’d find easy to love—

“You don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t care,” you interrupt, fingers twitching on the lapel of his jacket. “I know you—Javi, not Agent Peña. I know the boy who cloud-watched with me when my parents wouldn’t stop fighting; I know the man who told me to stop sending him postcards from the town shop—but also whispered that he liked them.”

Snorting, he smiles.

“So, if you want to, no pressure—but, I think you should kiss me.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you bite your cheek. “Think you’ve wasted a lot of time not kissing me already, honestly.”

Of course you do, he thinks. And then he kisses you, palms on your cheeks, slanting his mouth over yours.

And fuck, it’s the best fucking thing he’s ever done.

an: honestly, this made me so fucking happy to write.

[pedgito]

It's the season of Summer Lovin'—and with the perfect...men. A Pedro Pascal character extravaganza all wrapped up into a series of locations, hidden behind numbers of your choosing and carefully crafted for each Pedro boy. If you're interested, please be sure to read through the following instructions and important information below:

There are 50 moodboards to choose from, first come first serve. (none of these pictures dictate the appearance of reader, this is all purely for vibes and up for your own interpretation) All request need to be sent through my askbox!

There's no maximum word count, but we suggest a minimum of 500 words if you're interested, but that is only a suggestion. Write as much or as little as your heart demands.

(Located under the read more) All numbers are separated by 10 location and labeled 1-5 on each, so when requesting a number please do so in the following manner, [ 'camping, #1' or 'barbecue, #5'] and in the chance that number is already taken, I will message you privately to re-choose.

These moodboards will come with the following requirements: a character, a location, and a quote/sentence that all must be incorporated into the fic, everything else is up to you!

All requests will take place June 2nd-3rd and entries will be due to be posted June 20th-22nd!

BY THE WATER

#1 — taken (@ladamedusoif)

#2 — javier pena x reader, like snow on the beach (@janaispunk)

#3 — dieter bravo x reader, poolside (@ovaryacted)

#4 — taken (@sp00kymulderr)

#5 — oberyn martell x reader, doves in the wind (@beskarandblasters)

CONCERT

#1 — tim rockford x reader, confessions (@wildemaven)

#2 — jack daniels x reader, the cowboy & the thief (@schnarfer)

#3 — frankie morales x reader, it's hell on earth to be heavenly (@hellfire-state-of-mind)

#4 — marcus pike x reader, a fine romance (@doscharolastras)

#5 — taken (@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin)

BARBECUE

#1 — marcus moreno x reader, you see me, i watch you (@iamasaddie)

#2 — taken (@beefrobeefcal)

#3 — lucien flores x reader, met you once saw you thrice (@undercoverpena)

#4 — joel miller x reader, wedding in the apocalypse (@i-own-loki)

#5 — frankie morales x reader, do you feel it too? (@burntheedges)

CAMPING

#1 — taken (@the-blind-assassin-12)

#2 — dieter bravo x reader, cabin down below (@eupheme)

#3 — taken (@pr0ximamidnight)

#4 — frankie morales x reader, bagged & tagged (@inept-the-magnificent)

#5 — din djarin x reader, sway the stars which dazzle like pearls (@lady-of-glass-and-bone)

ROAD TRIP

#1 — taken (@whocaresstillthelouvre)

#2 — joel miller x reader, sunshine (@couldsewyouastitchandsavenine)

#3 — jack daniels x reader, hit the road jack! (@thelastofhyde)

#4 — joel miller x reader, until men fell at their women's feet and asked for forgiveness (@jomiddlemarch)

#5 — dave york x reader, still (@sizzlingcloudmentality)

CARNIVAL

#1 — jack daniels x reader, hot chocolate (@punkshort)

#2 — taken (@starstruckunknown-princess)

#3 — taken (@vivian-pascal)

#4 — max phillips x reader, the eternal night (@ozarkthedog)

#5 — dieter bravo x reader, no solo riders (@missredherring)

HIKING

#1 — taken (@leslie-lyman)

#2 — frankie x reader, beneath the silent boughs, whispers of dangers flow (@joelalorian)

#3 — javier pena x reader, flora and fauna (@hellishjoel)

#4 — dieter x reader, a lesson in nature (@the-orange-tabby-cat)

#5 — joel miller x reader, stranded (@joelscurls)

WEDDINGS

#1 — taken (@amanitacowboy)

#2 — javier pena x reader, una noche en medellín (@luxurychristmaspudding)

#3 — marcus pike x reader, we'll regret this in the morning (@thesluttylittleknee)

#4 — dieter bravo x reader, princesa bride (@rhoorl)

#5 — joel miller x reader, my place or yours (@criticallyacclaimedstranger)

HEAT WAVE

#1 — javier pena x reader, like a fever (@pedgito)

#2 — joel miller x reader, consider it a favor (@chaotic-mystery)

#3 — taken (@quinnnfabrgay-writes)

#4 — taken (@rulexofxnines)

#5 — marcus moreno x reader, a little help goes a long way (@iluvstrawberry)

MUSEUM

#1 — taken (@carusolikey)

#2 — din djarin x reader, a perfect day (@flightlessangelwings)

#3 — pero tovar x reader, moonlight flight (@sawymredfox)

#4 — marcus pike x reader, when's the last time you lived (@avastrasposts)

#5 — joel miller x reader, who we were (@studioghibelli)

Please make sure to tag your entries under #SummerLovin24 and tag either @chaotic-mystery, @amanitacowboy, or myself (@pedgito)! These will all be reblogged through the week of June 20th-22nd!

[hellishjoel]

12 Days of Pedro | Masterlist

Authors Note Hello and welcome to 12 Days of Pedro! I'm incredibly lucky to host a wonderful collection of works by such talented and sweet authors. We will be posting fics and moodboards, all linked on this masterlist! To the authors participating, thank you from the bottom of my heart, putting this together meant the world to me! Getting to hear all of your excitement and ideas really put me in the spirit! To the readers, these fics will be holiday/christmas/winter themed, all posted on the original authors account. Please show them support and love! Come back every day to open a new present (fic!)

Thank you to @undercoverpena for creating this wonderful masterlist image and thank you @saradika-graphics for the banner!

Day 1 (December 11) - new year's day by @hellishjoel Day 2 (December 12) - decorating the tree with dieter by @wildemaven Day 3 (December 13) - white christmas by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin Day 4 (December 14) - when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home by @joelsgreys Day 5 (December 15) - under the mistletoe by @beskarandblasters Day 6 (December 16) - baby, it's cold outside by @thetriumphantpanda Day 7 (December 17) - snowmen and sledding by @wildemaven Day 8 (December 18) - you're a mean one, mr. miller by @cupofjoel Day 9 (December 19) - make me like the holidays by @undercoverpena Day 10 (December 20) - let it snow by @kiwisbell Day 11 (December 21) - ásjá by @perotovar Day 12 (December 22) - naughty or spice by @morallyinept

[raspberrybesitos]

Woven in the Stars | din djarin x f!reader

Main masterlist

Series Summary: Instead of navigating the galaxies, Din is navigating his new home life with Grogu on the ourskirts of Nevarro. In doing so, he meets you - a seamstress in town. The two of you form a beautiful bond through helping him adjust to domesticity in his secluded cabin. Throughout the time you share together, the bond you have flourishes into something more that can no longer be contained.

Rating: 18+ MDNI (All ageless blogs will be blocked.)

Series Warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, yearning, simp!Din, domestic!Din, dad!Din, soft!Din, lil bit of OOC!Din, masturbation (female + male), eventual smut, unprotected PIV (wrap it up y’all), oral (f and m receiving), reader has a birth control implant, breeding kink, spitting, fingering, Din is an ass man, possessive!Din, so much fluff, aftercare, lots of pet names, some POV switching, post-season 3, breaking the rules of the Creed, probs inaccurate star wars info, Din Djarin is referred to as Din and i’m not sorry, reader is female, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, may change as I write (:

A/N: this whole idea struck while i was with my bff a while back. we were listening to “Slow Burn” by Kacey Musgraves and we both agreed that song is so Din coded so… here we are lol. i began writing domestic!Din back in October, and then i saw this STUNNING moodboard by @wildemaven and it fueled my brain rot even further! this will be divided into a few parts, and include an epilogue. i’m such a sucker for mutual pining slow burn 🫠 i hope y’all enjoy! 🫶🏼

Divider by the lovely @saradika

Chapters

Chapter 1: Stitching Serenity

Chapter 2: Cosmically Sewn

Chapter 3: Unraveling Tapestry

Chapter 4: Moonlit Stitches

Chapter 5: Threads of Destiny

Chapter 6: Celestial Whispers

Epilogue: Etched in Stardust

[wildemaven]

Hey. Hi. Hello.

I want to put this out there as maybe there are some newer folks around these parts since I’ve been away.

If you come across something I’ve created— whether that be a random blurb of tags on a post, a word vomit of thots, or one of my moodboards— I would absolutely love love LOVE if you shared that with me. Be it in the comments, a reblog or if you’re wanting to stay anonymous, my inbox is always open for you and we can continue to discuss everything you want!!

If you are a writer and you’re inspired by one of my moodboards, a tag and even a link back is so much appreciated! It’s literally my favorite thing to see what your minds come up with based on a collection of curated images.

I was just a little taken aback this morning that someone would love something I created, but then take it to another creator (no shade or upset feelings to that creator at all, I’m beyond thrilled and excited to see what she comes up with).

This isn’t meant to point fingers or drum up any discourse, but as just a common courtesy to not only myself but to all other amazing creative people on this hellsite,

[gothcsz]

@wildemaven your beautiful news anchor javi moodboard has landed this lovely prompt in my ask, and i’m so excited to write something up for it 🤩

[jolalibrary]

coming under the christmas tree

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: The way he whispers your name should be a sin—it coating the air, making each letter feel important, essential—as your hands find his belt, undoing it, the sound cutting through all else, even burying a whispered expletive that falls from his tongue. “Do you know how hot you look right now, Morales?”

warnings: explicit. 18+. smut. literal porn from me. oral (m recieving), p in v, praise (jo has a thing, run with it), frankie being gorgeous, minor cock worship, christmas themes.

wordcount: 2.8k an: i wrote this little imagine and then the gorgeous, wonderful @wildemaven created this moodboard (which inspired the banner) and then i decided to write more.

Putting up a tree with anyone is a chore, but with him, it’s a blessing.

It isn’t because it’s him, because you’re dating, because he makes you laugh and makes your toes curl at any time of the day. But, rather, because he wants to do it. Because he’s methodical. Always thinking, turning—planning.

Whether it’s routes to get somewhere, timing on when to leave when the two of you have reservations or whether your grand plans for a room rearrangement, Frankie plots it out and makes measurements in his head. He’s always right, not that he ever gloats—just nods as though it’s entirely normal.

It isn’t—it’s fucking hot.

Something you expect, and thankfully do, come face to face with when the branches are all in place on the half-dressed Christmas tree. The clear plastic boxes strewn across the living room, his fingers slowly undoing and unknotting the lights you’d haphazardly thrown in the box last year.

You know the answer, but you ask all the same: “You want me to help with that?”

He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look. A blend of ‘be serious’ and ‘you’re good’ cuts across his features, making his eyes warmer and his smile kinder.

Before he even sets about winding them through the branches, you can tell he’s created a light-path. Already heard him mumbling that they don’t go all the way around, remember earlier. His eyes glancing up at it, making mental notes, calculating a route—brown eyes skating and shifting side to side.

You just remain on the floor, legs crossed—checking over the ornaments for nicks or scratches—admiring. You do it a lot, admire him, take him in—gawk, trace your eyes over him so when you blink you don’t waste a second not seeing him.

“We can always buy another set?” you offer, watching him bend behind the armchair, plugging them in, plunging the room in a soft, white glow.

Grinning, Frankie brushes some loose strands from over his eyes, “No need, baby. I’ve got it.”

He does. You weren’t surprised his devised path makes the base of the tree already look full—no section unlit, each bit of cable hidden from sight, blending perfectly with the tree. You were even sure if you turned it 180, the back currently in the corner would even be lit.

It isn’t that which makes your mouth drool.

It also isn’t the way the twinkle of the lights has hit the brown of his eyes when he lets his gaze fall to you, making it appear like a galaxy has burst in them—a sky full of stars, all staring at you.

No. It’s the way the entirety of him is lit up. Practically glowing. It enhances how stretched out he is, practically in a straight line. His arms above his head, fingers delicately wrapping the lights around the tip of the tree. It shines light over the slither of skin exposed from his shirt rising; it makes it more evident that his tongue is poking out, resting on his bottom lip, eyes trained on the job at hand, his priority, his task.

You flutter around nothing.

Feel your heart stammer in your chest as you devour the sight of him whole.

Placing the ornament in the good-to-hang pile, you don’t even pretend to glance at it. Too busy drinking in the sight of the lines on his arms from flexing—those strong, arms which carried the tree down from the attic. Little beads of sweat had clung to his forehead then, having needed to shift things around, move them—move baby, don’t want you to get hurt.

You were something akin to pain now. Desperate, needy and fucking feral. Your throat all dry while your tongue felt heavy, eyes sliding down his frame, focusing on the hairs on his stomach, all exposed, beckoning to be touched, to have your tongue slide down over it.

You only blink when he clears his throat, looking up, finding his eyes on you—tracing over your face, slightly narrowed, attempting to read you.

Another day, you might shy away from it. Look away first, wait until he calls your name and pleads for you to look at him. Today, you don’t. Slowly rising onto your knees, holding his stare, commanding him to blink as little as possible:

Watch me, Morales. Keep your eyes on me.

Sliding your tongue across your bottom lip, your teeth finding a resting place on it—fingers sliding to his hips, watching his hand release the lights, forehead smoothing, any and all confusing lines fading away.

The way he whispers your name should be a sin—it coating the air, making each letter feel important, essential—as your hands find his belt, undoing it, the sound cutting through all else, even burying a whispered expletive that falls from his tongue.

“Do you know how hot you look right now, Morales?”

Your fingers undo the button, tracing your tongue again over your lip—hungry, practically salivating—as you slide the zip through the teeth. His gaze is still on you, unwavering, a shadow of surprise in the back of his eyes that this is even happening—as though he is still taken back by the fact he deserves this, deserves you.

“You want me to suck your cock, baby?”

His swallow fills the room—loud, vociferous. Your palm brushes over the hardened bulge, tracing the outline over the thin cotton which remained a barrier between his velvet skin and your tongue.

“I really wanna suck your cock,” you add, purring, practically drooling as you notice the wet stain appearing—blooming, stretching out—as one hand falls from the tree, cupping the side of your mouth.

You like him like this, quiet, taken off guard. So often it is him doing it to you, saying all the right things, whispering all the words which make your skin feel like fire.

When you finally let his cock spring free, you waste no time licking a stripe up the side, tongue flat, brushing over veins as your hands tease the fabric down to the tops of his knees, resting on the jeans that remain there, pointless, likely mildly annoying for him. Not that he’ll care in a second. Less so for now when your fingers wrap around him, take his girth in your palm, warmth spreading over your palm as you slowly pump him up and down, collecting your first few hisses, and a little groan.

You marvel at him—at his cock. How thick it is, how long. How you know it feels between your thighs, how it makes your toes curl. Pressing kissing to the leaking tip, wrapping your lips around the head, hand working the length of him as you make your lips slick, coat them in desire, before you take as much of him as you can. Your tongue pressed to the underside, mouth basked in the taste of salt and just him, as your jaw stretched to accommodate him, to willfully take more, and more.

“Don’t know—fuck, baby—what I did to deserve you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks, burning under the praise, under his praise. Your head bobbing, wanting to show gratitude by taking more of him. Cheeks hollowing, his fingers sliding around the back of your head, a comforting hold, a calming one as you relax your throat, wanting to be full of him. Fiercely so.

Tears even prick at your eyes, and your fingers dig into the back of his thighs, lifting off, swirling your tongue around him, running your teeth lightly over him, before swallowing as much of him as you can. Willing for him to smear your throat in him, leave you tasting him with each swallow for the rest of the afternoon.

“Wanna fin—fuck—ish inside you,” he grunts, curls plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed—neck stained in pink.

You moan in response, closing your lips around him as you’re sure your underwear is clinging to you, drenched in want.

You’re half-tempted to slide your fingers inside the band of your shorts, passed the red lace you chose this morning, not even sure if you’d be unwrapped before or after the erection of the tree. Midway through hadn’t crossed your mind. Had never counted on this, never would have made a bet.

But, then he drags himself out, tip hovering at your lips giving you a look—sharp, uncharacteristic of him. “I want to fuck you, baby. Make you feel good.”

Tongue swirling over, he appears to shudder, eyes fluttering, before he pulls the rest free from your mouth. Spit smearing your lip, snapped in the space between where the two of you had been connected.

“You always make me feel good, Frankie.”

Smirking, his arm flexes briefly as he takes hold of his cock. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

And you don’t miss the reference. Not so drunk on him that you don’t remember your own words from before—but you just nod. A retort growing and dying, as you do.

“Spread your legs and show me.”

And you do. Leaning back, sliding onto your rear, your fingers slide your clothing down your legs, kicking it off past your ankles, passed the fluffy socks you’d stolen from him. Bare from the waist down, just for him—always for him. Letting your arms support you from behind, you tilt your head. In awe of him once again as he wraps his hand around his cock, the size even more impressive when you know how big his hands are—your own nails digging into the rug under your palms and ass.

“C’mon, show me you want me.”

You whimper, spreading your knees, letting them part until they’re hovering just above the floor on either side.

The cool air kissing over you, a gasp desperate to emerge but dies somewhere in your throat—swallowed up by a moan at the way he views you. The way his eyes rake up and down you like this is the first time he’s seen you, and not the billionth.

Like all the things he does, it’s with precision the way he rids himself of being contained by his jeans and underwear. Lowering himself to his knees between yours, you lean forward, lips finding his—messy, needy. Need you, they kiss, fuck me, they plead.

His mouth remains on you, only letting enough words escape to tell you to keep his jumper on when your fingers slide his t-shirt up and over his head. He rewards your obedience by letting his hand fall from himself to you—tracing, languid circles on your swollen clit, until he pushes two fingers in. You shift your hips into him, hearing him moan distantly at the feel of how wet you are, whispered praises given that are too far away as your mind rendered nothing (emptied, lost)—

Because he’s electric, you swear. Not even sure the lights need plugging in, you swear he could touch them and they’d illuminate—at least from the way he sparks enough in you to light the whole house up. Making it run, dart, a heavy current that dashes through your veins.

It’s why you whimper at the loss of him—only stopping yourself from whining when you feel him trace his cock through your folds, teasing, tracing up and down as the head of him nudges your clit, watching you, focused on the way your mouth must be parted and the likely sheen on your face.

And, you’re about to say his name—more in warning, in hunger. His body presses you down flush to the floor, the back of your hips meeting the fluff of the rug, as his mouth slides over your jaw, fingers dancing along your thigh, writing words, with the pads of them—leaving teasing verses against your skin.

“Stop teasing,” you say sharply.

Watching your words have their desired effect—that shy smile that grows into a confident smirk. The one you witness more than anyone else, the one you think of when you’re alone in the bed you share and it’s only his voice you have down the phone when your mind tries to pretend your fingers are his.

It’s slow, gentle, the way he begins to line up, pausing at your entrance—keeping you hanging, delicately placed there, held up by string as his breath paints what he wants to do to you against your neck. But you don’t hear it, can’t untangle the tale, least of all when he begins pressing in, sliding in inch by inch—

He’s big. And it makes you breathe deeply as you stretch around him. It makes you shiver. Makes you moan as he buries himself to the hilt, hips flush with yours.

“So good for me,” he praises before his lips slope over yours.

His hips begin to move, and each drag of his cock in and out makes you moan. The sound of you swallowing him, taking every inch of him he’ll give, is the soundtrack; the backdrop being the halo of lights above the two of you. It lights him, kisses along the varying shades that make up his curls, the browns, the beginning greys.

And you’re soaked, drenched—can feel it around where the two of you are joined, each slow drag in and out making it more apparent as you capture his lips. Breathlessly doing so, looping fingers around his neck, tugging lightly on his hair, curling into him, needing him deeper as your legs wrap around him.

It’s then the tip of him hits that spot, all unhurried. A motion he seeks, centres in on as he thrusts again, abutting it, making your eyes close and your mouth stretch each syllable of his name out in a whine. It makes you forget how to speak, and which language to utter. Barely a word for each finger can even come to mind, it’s mostly just his name. Frankie. Frankie. Please, Frankie as the air crackles around you.

He answers—he always does. His hand slides between your sweaty bodies, and finds the bundle of nerves calling out to him, the place which yearns. Doing so with accuracy, and exactness, as he draws shapes, lines and the fucking alphabet until you’re seeing stars, until it’s so hot you swear the jumper will peel from your skin and your head is nothing but a dizzying mess of him, just him. It makes you frantic to see him, outline his face, all cast in shadows because he’s turned away from the lights which made him look ethereal only moments ago.

His cock throbs inside of you, everything else curling inside your stomach, walls twitching around him as you tighten, vice-like, making him hiss. A sound which makes molten spread through you, more so when his mouth slides to your ear, breath laboured, along your skin, begging for you to come, needing you to, please, baby, please.

“S’close, Frankie.”

“I know—doing so well, so perfect for me.”

The words unlock something as a new pace is set, it more unforgiving, one that’ll likely leave marks on his knees from the friction on the rug, as you writhe and cling, half-moons left on his neck, digging in, marking him in the same way he’ll mark your walls in a moment or two.

Then, it floods over you. Drowns you. Coats you from head to toe as though you’ve been plunged in pleasure, left gasping, breath struggling to be located. Your mouth latched to his, burning your thanks into his mouth, your entire body tingling as he fucks you through it, until he’s thrusting aimlessly, so damn close until your name leaves the back of his throat in a sob, a blend of pleasure and relief strewn across his face as he comes deep inside of you. Hips slowing to a stammer, lowering himself down till he’s flush with you, before they come to a stop.

Then, it’s just his pants that meet your strained breaths, until a little hiss as he pulls himself out of you. Leaving you empty, sore in a way you’re grateful for, as his fingers trace over your chin, along your jaw, words being thought in slow bubbles as he stares at you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slide a hand to his hip, pinching.

“Just love that puttin’ lights up made you wanna suck my cock, is all.”

Smiling, you run your knuckles along his cheek, and brush past the wiry hair that makes up his patchy beard. “Wait till you see me hand the baubles, bet you’ll wanna be on your knees for me.”

“Good,” he replies. “I’m really hoping to taste how good we are together once we’re done.”

an: i freaking loved writing this, oh my.

i don't usually do taglists, but just tagging a few people who seemed interested in the longer version (sorry if this is annoying): @thetriumphantpanda @swiftispunk @5oh5 @morallyinept @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @reddedmiller @yorksgirl @missredherring @tvversionperson @secretelephanttattoo

[allfoolsinluv]

Love in Real Time

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

Summary: You spend a quiet morning with Javier in your new home.

Word Count: 1.5k

Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Minors DNI.

Warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, implied + referenced sex, suggestive dialogue, food + alcohol mentions, soft!Javi, Javi is in loooooove, post-canon, giving Javi the life he deserves ❤️

A/N: written for the week 1 moodboard over at @wildemaven-prompts! 🥰 this is just pure, soft fluff. i had so much fun writing this one. title taken from the song 'love in real time' by the maine

masterlist

It happens slowly.

The soft sound of rain against your bedroom window is the first thing you notice. It’s a light drizzle, the noise just loud enough to barely pull you from sleep and into consciousness. You shift a little, the feeling of your silky sheets against your bare skin waking you even further. Soft breaths fan out rhythmically across the nape of your neck—in, out, in, out—making goosebumps form all over and sending a shiver down your spine. The arm around your waist tightens, pulling you even further into its embrace. That is what finally makes your eyes blink open.

The sight of your surroundings momentarily disorients you. You don't see the same textured, off-white walls you’d grown accustomed to waking up to over the past few years. Your closet is no longer to the right of your bed, and the rickety standing fan is gone from the corner of the room. Instead, you wake to find smooth walls in a soft cream color. In the place where your closet should be is now a hand-crafted wood dresser, lined with a white lace runner and a small vase of flowers. There's a fan, its blades turning idly, hanging from the ceiling above your bed. Your face scrunches up in confusion at the fact that you are not in your apartment.

You smile, though, when you realize you are home.

The last of your and Javier’s belongings had finally been unpacked in your new home the night before. You’d celebrated being officially moved in with a pizza from your favorite restaurant and a bottle of wine at your dining table. After dinner had been cleared and the wine was nearly gone, Javieri led you upstairs to your bedroom and spread you out on your shared bed. He’d savored you slowly, taking his time to build you both up. By the time he was done, you were blissfully sated, nearly buzzing at how perfectly your first real night in your home together had been commemorated.

Behind you, Javier groans softly as he stretches, the arm draped along your body moving off of you so he can rub at his eyes. You take the opportunity to turn over onto your other side to face him. Once you’ve settled into place, tucked back underneath his arm, he smiles at you.

You lean up a little to nuzzle into his neck, tracing along the curve of it with your nose. He hums when you start to kiss softly up to his jaw. He angles his head down to capture your lips with his own. The kiss is lazy, neither of you in any rush to turn things into more than what they are now.  

“Good morning, mi amor,” he says softly after he pulls away, his voice still hoarse with sleep. You can’t help yourself, leaning up to steal another quick kiss with a quiet giggle.

“Good morning, handsome. Sleep good?”

“Mhmm,” he answers. “Slept great. I always do when you’re next to me.”

Even after nearly two years together, Javier still manages to give you butterflies with the things he says.

The two of you are slow to get out of bed, content to just relax in each other’s company. The prospect of coffee and breakfast pulls you both from bed, though, when your stomachs start to rumble. You put on a pair of panties and snag Javier’s discarded t-shirt from the night before, pulling it over your head as he dresses in nothing but a pair of sweats. When he sees you in his shirt, he smirks at you, unable to resist walking over and pulling you into his arms.

“You look much better in my clothes than I do,” he says.

“I know,” you tease back, “why do you think I keep stealing them?”

That earns you a light swat on the ass and a grumble under his breath as you throw your head back in laughter. He lets go of you and takes your hand in his, leading you out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen. 

The two of you work in companionable silence to get coffee and breakfast going. Javier stands at the stove, scrambling together some eggs, while you move around him. You pop the bread into the toaster once the coffee pot rumbles to life, the rich smell of his favorite Colombian blend filling your home.

You butter the toast while he plates the eggs. He sets the table while you pour cups of coffee for the both of you—his straight black, yours doctored up with flavored creamer. He likes to tease you about how you take your morning drink, “A little coffee with your creamer, amorcito?” You’ve grown fond of his teasing after all this time, but you still roll your eyes and huff in exasperation at him. He always softens the jab with a sweet kiss on your cheek.

He pulls your chair closer to his as you eat, one of his hands idly stroking your bare thigh as he alternates between taking bites of his food and sips of his coffee. You chat about your weekend plans, but neither of you has much desire to do anything today. The weather has both of you feeling lazy, content to just hang out around the house with each other instead of going anywhere else. Javier suggests visiting the farmer’s market the next morning if the rain clears up, and the thought of it makes you smile.

After breakfast, Javier shoos you away when you try to help him clean up. You sit at the table, fresh cup of coffee in hand, and watch him fondly as he works. It doesn’t take him long, the dishes used to make and eat breakfast minimal. When he’s closed the dishwasher, he turns to you, his hip against the counter and his arms crossed over his chest. He smirks down at you, making you hide your own up-turned lips behind your cup.

“Shower?” he asks.

You’re up and out of your seat, mug abandoned on the table before the word is even fully out of his mouth. You hear him laugh, his footsteps not far behind yours. He catches up to you quickly on the stairs, his arms winding around your waist as the two of you stumble up the last few steps. He guides you to the bathroom, his hands gripping the hem of your—his—shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You turn in his arms, leaning up to kiss him while he blindly fumbles with the faucet, turning the shower on while he kisses you back.

The water runs ice cold by the time you get out and wrap yourselves up in towels. You and Javier had spent more time indulging in each other than actually showering. The water had become lukewarm by the time you got around to scrubbing yourselves down and was freezing when you rinsed yourselves off. It was worth it, though, the see the content smile on his face as the two of you stepped out of the stall.

After dressing in comfortable lounge clothes, Javier drags you back downstairs and to the living room. He plops onto the couch, resting his head on the arm of it, and pulls you down to join him, your back against his chest. You grab the blanket off the back of the couch and drape it over the two of you. When you cuddle back against his chest with a soft hum, he bends his head to place a soft kiss on the crown of yours.

You flick through the channels on the TV until you land on a movie you and Javier have seen countless times. It’s perfect for a day like today when neither of you is really focused on anything but each other. 

The soft sounds of the rain still falling outside and the familiar, comforting warmth of Javier’s body cuddled against yours work in tandem to make your eyes grow heavy. You shift a little, turning your body onto its side to rest your cheek against his chest. He moves with you, settling into a position that allows you both to lie back more comfortably. 

You can feel Javier’s breathing begin to even out, his hold on you relaxing just a tad. He’s close to falling asleep, too. When you first started seeing each other, you didn’t dare to imagine the two of you getting to this place—him getting comfortable enough in your presence to let his guard down, even a little bit. To allow himself to indulge in moments of peace. Laying there against him, knowing that he’s about to fall asleep just before you, fills you with an overwhelming feeling of love.

Just before you let your body succumb to sleep, the sound of Javier’s soft snores now mixing with the rain, you think that right now, in this very moment, you are the happiest you have ever been. You suspect the same is true for him, too.

[wildemaven]

😘😘😘

Bonjour, hello, happy holidays! If they haven't been asked already, 14 and 21, please and thank you. 14 for the curiosity, 21 because I like to see people wearing their crowns (or tiaras if they prefer) with their heads held high 💚

I'm a fledgling writer too, six months and counting -

Bonjour, Maggie/Jeanne!

14: Fic You Didn't Expect To Write

I've noted in other responses that it's the ones for the more obscure P boys that seem most unexpected to me: Ortega, Tim Rockford, and the Thief. But on some level they feel even more fun? There's not a lot to go on, so you can play around with them and have all manner of fun building up little worlds and universes around them. I plan to come back to the Thief again, with a follow-up to 'My Kiss, Only For You'...

21: Memorable Comment/Review

I feel @agentjackdaniels' hilarious Inspecteur Timothée Roquefort fanart is a highlight, for sure. But, while this isn't so much a comment/review, it was a joy and an honour to have people make and send me moodboards inspired by Visiting: thank you to @perennialdoll247 and @wildemaven for these beautiful works!

And most of all, thank you for your ask! (PS everyone needs to go read Maggie's Symphony series thank you)

[softstarlite]

Camping Proposal

A Frankie Morales One Shot

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Inspired by this moodboard by @wildemaven

Warnings: very slight smut, mention of masturbation (m receiving), mention of cum eating, one mention of killing from reader towards Frankie, pure fluff.

Rating: +18

Word count: 1.8K

Masterlist

A/N: I'm not sure if I like this but well, here it is <3

Dividers by @saradika

Frankie had it all planned, the entire weekend. All the gear that they needed to camp was already in his car, his car had gas, his daughter was spending the weekend with his parents, he had packed the camera in his bag when you were distracted because he already knew you would want to get some pictures about the whole thing. And, most importantly, the ring was inside a pair of socks in his bag, ready for the perfect moment.

You and Frankie met on one of Benny´s fight nights, you had been dragged to it by a close friend that had a crush on Benny and wanted to see him all sweaty and throwing punches. You, being the kind friend that you are, let her drag you with a smile on your face. You had worn a pair of cropped jean shorts, a tight black tank top and the one item you were obsessed with at the time, your black cowboy boots. You were sitting on front row, even if it was a stupid idea since it would mean that any blood, sweat or spit would be hitting you, all because your friend really “needed” a good look of Benny; that was when a stranger tripped just in front of you, sending their beer all over you on accident. When you got a good look at the stranger he had beautiful brown eyes, a patchy beard and a dimple formed in his cheek when he gave an apologetic smile to you, followed by a million sorrys.

After an hour and a half of Frankie driving with a hand on your thigh and your sing along of the songs on the radio, you guys arrive at the campsite, you hop out of the car in excitement and look around, when you see that you guys were alone and the closest person was miles away you let out a excited squeal.

“Ooh this is a perfect place amor” you say walking to the flattest place, where the tent would be placed, and look towards the river close to the site.

You feel a pair of arms surrounding you from behind and the tickle of Frankie´s mustache in your neck. “you know what's more perfect? you, bebita” he says pecking your neck.

“I love you, but that was the cheesiest thing in the world” you chuckle and bring a hand behind you to run through his brown curls, his cap forgotten inside the car.

“Having you here all to myself for the whole weekend gets me too cheesy, so don't be mean cariño” he squeezes you between his arms and nibbles your neck.

“Frankie!!” you squirm in his arms and laugh, you love him like this, not stress about anything and with time to be as playful and carefree as he wants to be.

He finally lets you go and spins you, so you are looking at him, he looks into your eyes for what feels like an eternity, his eyes soft and expressing all the love he guards inside of him for you. Then he puts a hand on your cheek and kisses you softly and slowly, like he wanted you to never forget this moment.

Once you guys separate, you start to gather some wood for a fire and he starts to put together the tent. By the time he finishes it's already dark and you have already put up a fire. One of the things that made you and Frankie click fast was your love for nature. You used to camp with your dad and brothers all the time growing up, and Frankie´s time in the military made him appreciate nature more and lent him many useful skills.

“Finally…” Frankie groans while getting up from putting the last tent stake.

“You should've let me help you, amor, your back is shit, I could´ve crouched better to put those” you say from your chair by the fire, where the dinner was cooking.

“You're calling me old bebita?” he says, squinting his eyes at you but with a smirk on his face. “You don't worry that much about my back when I'm-” you quickly interrupt him, throwing a small stick at him. He laughs at your flustered face “I'm joking bebita” he walks to you and kisses your temple “this weekend i want you to relax as much as you can and to not lift a finger as much as you can as well” he sits on the chair beside yours.

You cross your arms over your chest “and what if i want to pamper you instead”.

“You already do it everyday, cariño, it's my turn this weekend” he says, putting an arm over your shoulders and bringing you to him.

That night you guys just fell to sleep easily, you were both too tired after the drive and putting up the camp.

The next day, after you wake up, quite late compared to your weekdays or the weekends when Frankie's daughter was with you, with Frankie pressed into your back, you wake him up with your hand around his already semi hard shaft and later, after he came over your hand with a loud groan and watched you lick his spend from it, you guys had a quick breakfast.

After eating, you both got dressed and went for a hike along the beautiful hills; you had packed two sandwiches for lunch in case you hadn't come back by then.

“Frankie, amor, maybe let's take a little break” you say since you have been hiking for two hours straight, you sit on a big rock and wipe the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your long sleeved sporty crop top. He puts his backpack off his back into the ground, at your feet, then he climbs behind you and makes you rest into him. The view from your position was breathtaking, the warm sun behind you, the hills full of green in front of you and the arms of the man you love around you.

You turn to the side, to Frankie´s arm, your head and take his scent in, a mix of patchouli from his cologne, mint from the gums he was always chewing and a musky scent that was just Frankie, that's the only way you could described, just Frankie. He kisses the top of your head. You guys stay like that for a whole hour before you resume your hike but now back to your camp.

When you are close to the camp, Frankie tells you to go ahead while he ties one of his boots, you tell him that you´ll just wait for him, that is no problem but for some reason he insists that you go ahead. With a confused frown you shrug your shoulders and resume walking to the camp.

You suddenly spot a red thing on the ground, followed by another and another. Rose petals? In ths part of the mountains there are no roses, you and Frankie have been here before so you know it from your several hikes. You continue walking and you´re meet by more and more rose petals.

“Frankie, can you come baby?” you say over your shoulder but he isn't there anymore. Your brows furrow even more, where the hell did he go? “Frankie?!” no response “I swear to god, Francisco Morales, if you´re just pulling a prank on me, i'll kill you in your sleep” still no response, so you decide to just continue towards the camp, maybe he went through the trees to it?

More rose petals appear at your feet, you decide to follow them, it feels like the only reasonable thing to do. They lead you to one of the trees in your camp, but that's not the most surprising thing.

When you see the tree coming into view, there are fairy lights hanging from its branches, a little final pile of red rose petals scattered around its base and something engraved into the trunk. When you're close enough to read what's engraved on the trunk, you gasp and lead your hands to your mouth, Will you marry me?, can be read on it. In that moment, Frankie comes from behind a tree and kneels in front of you with a simple but beautiful ring. You can feel the tears conquering your eyes immediately.

“Frankie…” it's all that comes out of your mouth.

“Cariño, I´ve loved you since the minute my eyes landed on you, you were there, covered in the beer I had just spilled over you but as soon as my eyes met yours, I knew it. You´ve been there for me in my worst and best moments, you accepted my daughter from minute one and not only that but you´ve also become the healthy maternal figure she´s needed her entire life. My heart bursts in happiness every time I see the both of you together, my mind can't help in those moments to just imagine how a little one born from our shared love would look like. I want to be able to introduce you to everyone i meet until the day i die as my wife, i want to wake beside you for the rest of our lives and for your eyes to be the first and last thing i see everyday, so would you make me the happiest man on the universe and marry me?” he holds his breath while he waits for your answer and you´re just a sobbing mess, not capable of giving him a verbal response, you nod yes like a thousand times.

Frankie stands from his kneeling position, quicker than what his back will thank him later and embraces you in his arm very tightly, then he pulls back, tries to wipe most of your tears and kisses you deeply. When both your bodies demand air to survive, you break the kiss and he takes your hand on his and slides the ring on your finger.

Now that you've stopped crying you feel like you can talk and be understood. “How? How have you prepared for this?” you say signaling around you.

He puts a hand of your hair, that had escaped your ponytail, behind your ear “The guys helped me,I prepared it all with them when you told me that you could go camping this weekend” He puts his hands on your waist and you circle his neck with your arms.

“That's why stupid Benny canceled on me when I asked him to confirm about getting our manicures and pedicures on Saturday like always? That bastard!” Frankie chuckles and shakes his head.

“Pope still gives him shit for your little friend dates to the nail salon” he puts his face on the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

“That's because Santi has spent too much time around dirt in the jungle and doesn't even remember what having nice and healthy nails is anymore” you both chuckle and stay on each other's embrace for some time, just taking in the fact that now you were engaged and you would start a new life together.

[psychedelic-ink]

your girlie made a vision board for 2024, I know I've been kind of a downer lately but I just got a job interview so I'm feeling better again, and making a vision board felt like the perfect pre-new years' thing to do other than writing smut lmaodf

it is a bit chaotic but that's life, isn't it??

I also thought this would be a fun little tag game for those who want to make their own (also you can just make a moodboard as well doesn't have to be as chaotic as mine!!) so no pressure tags: @inklore @saradika @wildemaven @pedrito-friskito @undercoverpena @fuckyeahdindjarin @thelightsandtheroses @radiowallet @wannab-urs @littlemisspascal @prolix-yuy @sweetercalypso @pedrorascal @fluffyprettykitty @leydileyla @swiftispunk @cupofjoel @missredherring @agentmarcuspike @pedgito @nothoughtsjustmeds @morallyinept @doctorliamsr @chaoticgeminate @mando-abs + anyone else who wants to join in!

(please make a separate post if you decide to join in xx)

also I made a list before actually searching the images and it was super helpful instead of just forcing my brain to think and search images 💜

[msjarvis]

How does Pinterest sees you?

search these and pick the first photo — celebrity, shoes, outfit, aesthetic, purse, makeup look

Thanks for the tag to the wonderful, lovely @evolnoomym ✨💖✨

It looks like a moodboard for a Frankie fic… 🤔

I leave this here… maybe it will inspire someone Muses… 😆

NPTs: @frenchiereading @morallyinept @kteague @wildemaven @wheresarizona

@romanarose @whocaresstillthelouvre @endlessthxxghts @penvisions @javierpena-inatacvest

@iknowisoundcrazy @just-mj-or-not @paradiselady19 @artsy-girl-76 @mermaidgirl30

[trulybetty]

11 x dream - mr. ben (snl) x reader

prompt: dream pairing: ben x reader word count: 357 notes: fluff and betty's dated english degree pulling apart poetry to strong arm into this drabble summary: just a little stolen moment

A/N: this is new territory, writing for Ben - we can thank @wildemaven and her stunning moodboard, and @gnpwdrnwhiskey's tags that spurred this. Happy Wednesday all and Happy Valentine's if you celebrate! 💕

x. masterlist

The college hallways were congested with students, and you weaved in and out of their clusters to reach the end of the hall in the limited time you had before your next lessons started. Your bright pink loafers set the pace, on theme for the day at hand, Valentine's Day, for your planned little escape from routine.

Slipping quietly into his office, you found him buried in a mountain of papers, his focus a testament to his dedication. “Guess who?” you whispered, covering his eyes with your hands.

Startled, Ben paused, a smile soon spread across his face as he recognized your touch. “Could it be the art thief here to steal my heart again?” he joked in reference to the department you worked in, turning to pull you into a warm embrace.

“I thought I'd already stolen it for good,” you retorted playfully, presenting him with a handmade Valentine.

He laughed as he took in the crude valentine made from recycled textbook pages and a post-it note, “Quite imaginative,” his fingers ran over the looped cursive of your handwriting and his smile turned soft as he recognized the lines from one of his favourite poems.

What could there be more purely bright  In Truth’s day-star? 

“You are the brightness that dreams only pale in comparison to,” he kissed your hand he'd taken in his. “But I'm afraid I have nothing for you here. It's home.”

“Well,” you remarked as you turned his office chair to face you, leaning over and placing your hands on either side of him, resting them on the padded armrests. “I think there's a way for you to make up for that,” you assured him, leaning in for a soft kiss that spoke volumes.

The kiss deepened, a silent conversation of love and longing, before you both reluctantly pulled away, mindful of the time.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Ben sighed, his hands lingering at your waist.

“We will have all the time in the world soon enough,” you whispered back, squeezing his hand. “Now, let's steal a few more moments before we have to face the world again.”

[jolalibrary]

the yearly round up

so, i am not someone who tends to toot their own horn a lot, but i thought i could be forgiven since it's my birthday. if there were a party, i'd maybe give a speech, right? so, instead of talking about myself, i thought id talk about my work and some of my fave things I've written this year and a little bit as to why. for this list, i have not included late night texts purely because i gave it a lot of love on my last secret birthday. and equally, as do me yourself comes to a close during this one, i feel it's having such a hot moment in the sun, i didn't want to bore everyone. also because if you ask me anything about dmy i won't shut the fuck up. to ask anything about these just add an 🍊.

anytime javier p x f!reader

best friends who go to a wedding only to realise they're in love? sounds like jo. this story fell out of me upon seeing a moodboard by /wildemaven and god i love them. i think about them so often and it makes me want to write him like this again. just fun, easy. it helped me find my nerve to tackle him again after a break when LNT finished, so it was nice to hang with him again.

in my room javier p x f!reader

this idea lived in my head for so long, it went through so many variations until we landed on this. i loved writing it because i hadn't written him like this, and how closed off they both were was so much fun. not having a resolved ending was tough to, but it was also really nice?

i like the way you frankie m x f!reader

would it even be a list if i don't include this? it's a work that on the surface might just feel like a lot of fun. and it is, for sure. but also this fic really taught me a lot and helped create a new relationship with sex. i won't bore or dwell on sad things, but even with therapy, a solid and healthy relationship, this fic helped heal some lasting wounds with my relationship with sex. all through the eyes of two friends who were just trying not to confess they loved one another. so very jo.

up sky, low high frankie m x f!reader

im not sure why this man makes me write some incredible smut (IMO, ofc) but he does??? this one wouldn't exist without @morallyinept urging me on, because honestly i wouldn't have had the guts without her convincing me. but, god i think about this fic a lot? i write a lot of lovely romance, but the romance in this with the smut? i never EVER thought id find that balance. and i did, have, yay!

be good, be you joel miller x f!reader

never in a million years did i think this would have been so popular. and that's not why it's on this list. it's on this list because i lived with this fic for weeks. every bit of rain the UK we had, i thought of this. anyone who knows me, knows how much i love bill + frank joel, so this was like giving into an idea that i thought would only live in my head. and now, it's there, and I'm not ashamed to say i re-read it a lot.

meet you once, saw you thrice lucien flores x f!reader

who'd have thought this would make this list? not me. but it has, and god. i really tested myself with this one. creating him was days of churning over interviews of other actors, of finding who he is in the centre of fucking nothing. and then pouring my heart into it for lovely @pedgito and god am i grateful that's the moodboard i was given. i was terrified (ali will attest) but now i am so proud of it. i love it, and him. I'm almost terrified now to see the movie and watch this version die and wilt hahaha.

din and the travelling of planets din djarin x f!reader

not a one shot, but a collection, because i spent longer trying to choose than i did dwelling on choosing the rest and writing this post. i never thought id step back into star wars, but i'm so glad i did. din and his girl, seeing different planets together, letting us see the world through her eyes. there's a lot of my writing I'm proud of, but I'm most proud of the lines in this. because i get to describe in a way where i don't feel its redundant. because we're seeing it at the same time as she is. i also have so much fun each time i get to write him, and that, makes me happy.