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ynbabe · 13 days

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Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep2.

Asking the drivers if they 'wanna nap?'

Charles:

"Wanna nap?" You asked the man as soon as he stepped into his hotel room, tired and eyes red. You knew Ferrari wasn't some winter wonderland but you didn't know why Charles put up with it.

You had been close friends with the man, since before he'd started f3 too, you knew he bled Ferrari red but this wasn't bleeding this was suicide.

Nonetheless, you were there for him, every weekend, only today there wasn't much to do, he had just come back from some meetings. He looked at you and hummed, taking off team-issued merch and throwing himself on the bed beside you.

You turned on some sad Adele song and faded into sleep, holding the boy close to you, his head resting on the curve of your neck.

Carlos:

"Wanna nap?" You asked Carlos as you both walked into his drivers' room, it was early in the morning at the Las Vegas GP and just as the year before they had messed up the timings and the drivers had to wait till four-thirty in the morning to get on with the programme.

Knowing the both of you, you were sure if you hadn't extended the offer the both of you would have ended up doom-scrolling through Netflix looking for some show to watch fighting off sleep.

"What?" He asked, shocked at the offer for a second before raising his browns and winking at you, "You finally feel my charm didn't you?" he laughed as he climbed onto the small and rickety bed next to you. "Smooth operator strikes again," he praised himself, pulling you close to him, enveloping you in his arms as the big spoon.

You groaned and kicked his shin, making him complain, "Dude you're so fucking lame!" You made fun of the older man who only replied with terrorism (tickling you,) "S-top, stop, I'm sorry," you laughed, trying to escape the death grip he had on you, eventually getting him to stop.

He let you catch your breath as he set an alarm, before trapping you in his warm arms again, both drifting into a comfortable sleep.

Lando:

It was way past midnight but you couldn't sleep, unable to get yourself out of the party high, too drunk to rest your brain. Thankfully you weren't the only one.

There was a barrage of knocks on your hotel room, a slurred voice with a British accent begging to be let in. "Y/n/nnnnn, I can't sleep," he cried once in the room, stumbling over nothing as you both made your way to your bed.

You giggled as he fell, brushing his hands over the cold blanket. You joined him, crawling onto the bed slowly as the room around you spun. You laid on your back, clinging onto the bed for dear life.

Lando noticed and piled on top of you, making you raise a question brow. "So you don't fall off," he muttered, his face buried in your chest.

"Ohhhh, that makes sense," you said, understanding his thought process as the spinning slowed down. "We should nap," you said out loud, eyes shutting due to the comforting warm weight on top of you.

Lando hummed in return, wrapping his hands around your waist, as you pulled one hand up to his and another grabbing his curls for extra support.

Oscar:

There were two things everyone knew about Oscar, he hated waking up early and he loved sleeping. So when his trainer woke him up on a perfectly cosy yet cool Monday morning to exercise, he nearly wanted to kill the man, only stopping because that would take much more effort than simply going through with the workout.

Your apartment was closer to the gym than his, so he happily invited himself in to bitch and moan about his trainer and how that man must have hated him.

Rolling at your friend's antics, you pushed away your laptop, walking from the dining table to where he was sitting on your sofa.

"Wanna nap?" You had barely finished your question when you were pulled onto the Australian.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispered, as he shuffled on the narrow sofa to get comfortable, you still on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face buried in his neck.

"Are you using me as a teddy bear?" You asked incredulously, trying to get up to no avail as the man's grip on you was far too strong.

"Yes, now let me sleep," he murmured, already half gone.

George:

George had a habit of pushing himself too far, ever since he was a child. When you guys had just newly become friends, the boy had spent hours trying to find out what exactly you liked and didn't, stalking your Instagram and your family's Facebook.

You had found it endearing but also concerning how he always wanted to be perfect. So when you walked into his house at midnight (you got a key made- there's a reason the both of you got along so well,) and found him staring unblinkingly at his laptop and a large mess of papers spread across the wooden coffee table.

"Dude, what is wrong with you," You whisper-yelled at the man making him jump, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Me? What is wrong with you?" He yelled, panting as you jumped over the back of the couch, sitting right next to him, ruffling through the papers much to his chagrin.

"Shut it, Georgie boy," you smirked at him using the nick name he hated. “What are you even doing, it’s so late?” You asked looking at the taller man who started off in a rant about the car and everything he was doing wrong, making you slide down on the sofa till you head was resting on the backrest. You lifted your feet up to rest them on the coffee table, making George rush to move a stack of papers so they wouldn’t be under your feet.

Perfect. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and made his head rest on your lap.

“What on earth are you doing!” He yelled more than asked, trying to get up but you doubled down.

“George you need to sleep,” you deadpanned as he tried to make you let him go, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears he gave up.

You raised your brow, “wanna nap?” You asked teasing the boy.

“Only for a few minutes,” he pressed, making himself comfortable, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, “maybe more then,” he sighed and let his eyes shut, slightly watering and finally fell asleep.

Lewis

Lewis had never been a friend to you, he was more like an annoying yet caring older brother or like a fun uncle of sorts. The man was fiercely protective of his friends, even those whom he saw in animosity.

But you were different, Lewis would steal your coffee, eat your food, and push you around but he'd also sneak you Red Bull (much to his disgust,) into his driver's room during late races, walk you to your hotel room after parties and get you souvenirs from races you couldn't be at. Similarly, you loved to annoy the man, stealing his expensive jackets, which looked hilarious due to the size difference, stealing his headphones and running away with them and most importantly coming to him with your problems day or night.

So no, Lewis wasn't surprised when you showed up to his driver's room in the middle of the day, even though Toto had revoked your pass for the day (for bullying George, but it was worth it,). He was ready to tease you but then he saw your eyes, red and tears flowing down your face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He immediately came up to you, giving you a once-over to see if you were injured. "Did someone say something, are you hurt?" He asked panicking at your silence. You simply wrapped your arms around the older man, hiding your face in his chest, quietly sobbing and sniffling.

He walked you both to the sofa in his room, seating you down, trying to wipe your tears, "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked as you finally calmed down, using his arm as support to sit up.

You cleared your throat, "No, I just wanna nap," you hiccuped slightly.

"Okay," he leaned back so you could rest your head on his shoulder, giving you one of his airpods to relax, which you gladly accepted.

Lance & Fernando (they aren't always gonna be together but the situations... THE SITUATIONS WRITE THEMSELVES)

"Oh honey that’s not," Lance said pointing to your coloured hair (matching with Alex) and thats how the conversation had started and had ended in a cat fight.

“At least I’m not a nepo baby,” you yelled as you threw a basket of oranges at him, which he dodged, darn those f1 reflexes. The basket itself smacked him square in the face, leaving a red indent across his nose. He glared for a second before jumping over the table you were fighting across and pulled your hair. “Owww, you bitch”

You bit his hands in defence, to which he kicked your shin, screaming you launched yourself at him, crashing the both of you to the ground, “oh my god, okay, truce, truce,” he panted, pushing you off him.

“Just so you can catch your breath,” you retorted making him mock you. In reality, you were definitely much more tired than he was. You were struggling to catch your breath, your head killing you where he grabbed a large chunk of your hair.

You turned to look at him, resting your head on his stretched arm, he was massaging his nose, the bruise turning purple now, “well that was fun,” he turned to face you.

“Sooooo fun,” you rolled your eyes, “wanna nap? My heads killing me,” you are far him in accusation but he glared right back pointing to his swollen nose.

“Sure,” he shrugged, shifting closer to you and closing his eyes. You opened your mouth to make a joke but were interrupted, “there are like a million oranges on the floor right now, I’ll throw one at you,” you accepted defeat and fell into a comfortable sleep.

That’s how Fernando found the both of you, slightly scowling but fast asleep, he took a picture for blackmail’s sake and placed a blanket over the two of you.

PT-2 w/ Max, Logan, Alex, Daniel, Yuki, Pierre, Esteban, Zhou.

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bad268 · 7 months

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Hey. I love your blog. It's amazing. Is it possible for you to write about actress reader x colby brock. Like they are each others favorite and Sam and colby invite her to one of their investigations. Like in one of her interviews found out that their her favorite YouTubers and colby might ask her on a date?

Thank you so much 💗

Tweets (Colby Brock X Actor! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Sam and Colby & Co.

Requested: Clearly (I had a little too much fun with this one lol)

Warnings: none.

Pronouns: First person (I/me)

W.C. 1087

Summary: An unearthed tweet leads to shocking revelations (with a best friend's intervention).

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^@/Colby's insta from November 16, 2023)

It all started with a resurfaced tweet from 2015…

I can’t say it was a lie, but it was before my big break, and I didn't have a manager running my social media accounts 24/7. I was just a normal teenager on Vine with time to kill. And now, I thought it was coming back to haunt me, pun intended.

That was until I received a DM from Colby himself asking me to be a part of their yearly tradition, Hell Week. At first, I was starstruck, but I would have been crazy to decline.

So that’s where we are now: preparing for the Conjuring House. A place of extremes. A place I told myself I would never go to because of how insane it is, yet here I am. And, of course, it’s going to be for a week.

I was invited to Sam and Colby’s place to go over the specifics of the trip. I had just finished filming my latest movie, which was coincidentally being filmed in Las Vegas, so as soon as my scenes were wrapped up, I set off for their house.

By the time I got there, everyone else who was invited was already there. At least, I assumed with the number of cars in the driveway. I was still in stage make-up, but thankfully, I had changed into something more comfortable before I left the set. I grabbed my backpack before jumping out of my car, locking it, and walking up to the door, ringing the doorbell.

Almost immediately, the door is being opened, and I am face to face with Colby. After a beat of us just staring, speechless, at each other, I cleared my throat. I chuckled nervously before saying, “Hi, apologies for being late. Filming ran a little longer than I originally planned. I hope I didn’t hold you all up too long.”

“Nah, don’t even worry about it,” he dismissed quickly as he stepped aside and ushered me inside. “Come in, and I’ll show you where you can put your stuff. You’re staying and going with Sam, Seth, and me to Rhode Island, right?”

“If that’s still alright with you guys,” I replied, walking in step with Colby up the stairs. “I don’t want to impose on your personal spaces. I can go home, just say the word.”

“I would never kick you out,” he laughed, leading me down the hall and stopping just before the end. “Here is your room. There is a bathroom attached. It’s right next to the closet, and if you need anything, my room is right there.” He paused as he pointed to the room at the very end of the hall. “I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I’ll feel bad if it’s the middle of the night, but I will keep that in mind. Thank you,” I replied as I walked in to set my bag down on the vanity. “I’m just going to take my make-up off and meet you guys downstairs if that’s alright.”

“No problem,” he said, “We’ll be in the living room and we’ll either order food later or go out. We’ll see how everyone feels.”

“Ok, cool, thank you!” I said enthusiastically as he left down the hall. I closed the door over as I walked deeper into the room. I grabbed out my micellar water, cotton pads, and hydrater before walking into the ensuite to clean my face. As I set them on the counter, I noticed a piece of paper.

It was a printed screenshot of Twitter. A specific tweet from Colby in 2016 read, “Give me a chance y/n.” The back of the paper had its own handwritten note.

“You have been Colby’s celebrity crush for years. I know you posted a tweet in 2015 asking if he was single, and I don’t know if it was a joke or not. I didn’t show him the tweet, but I can say he’s single now if that tweet is still true. Please just get him to shut up. -Sam”

I chuckled at the note before quickly cleaning my face to head downstairs. Everyone was sitting on the couch or on the floor facing the TV. Everyone except Colby. I glanced around the room, trying to find him, only to see him standing in the kitchen. He was looking through the fridge, so I walked up behind him.

“Can you hand me a water?” I asked, startling him in the process. He jumped up straight, sucking in a quick breath as he snapped around to look at me. “Did I scare you or is that residual energy from the Conjuring House?”

“No, I just…” he trailed off for a second. “Yeah. I wasn’t expecting you down here just yet.”

“Kinda like how you didn’t expect me to see this?” I teased as I pulled the paper out from behind my back. Colby’s eyes grew wide as his jaw dropped. He stammered, trying to come up with a reason behind it, but he could not get a cohesive thought out. “Don’t worry. I’d give you a chance.”

Colby stopped entirely. I could see the gears turning in his mind before he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He opened his eyes, immediately meeting mine as he reached out to take the paper from my hands, setting it on the counter. He held my hands in his as he closed the distance between us.

“Y/n, will you go out with me?” Colby whispered as he bit his lip in nervousness.

“Of course, I will,” I whispered back as a smile spread across both of our faces.

“How about after this meeting we get out of here and do mini golf and dinner?” He offered, leaning his head down to rest our foreheads together.

“I will take you down,” I laughed as I leaned more into his body. “Truth be told, I’m great at mini golf.”

“Okay, lovebirds, we get it,” Sam interrupted from the living room. “We get it.”

“Shush, Sam,” I quipped back as I snapped my head to look at the group on the couch, still holding Colby’s hands. “You’re the one that left the note in my bathroom.”

“Wait, there’s a note?!” Colby shouted as he immediately let go of one of my hands to flip the paper over, reading through the note. “Sam, I told you this in confidence!”

~~~~~

#colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock imagine #colby brock #sam and colby #actor reader #actress reader #colby x reader #colby x y/n #colby brock x you #colby x you #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #youtuber oneshot #youtubers #youtube

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ajs-bookmark · 5 months

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guess who fucking finished EPISODE SIX

that’s right it’s meeee

okok my thoughts: SPOILERS AHEAD

IRIS MESSAGING OH MY GODS ITS SO COOL ITS SO FREAKINGG COOOOLLLL! !!!! like ARGGGG its like a really badly connected facetime i love it.

omgs luke “HOW DO YOU KNOW😳😳” that’s some interesting foreshadowing there uncle rick

CLARISSEEEEEEEEEEEE HAHAHAHAH I FORGOT ABOUT THAT PART IN THE BOOKS

“compared to the chimera on monday and medusa on sunday” percy’s so real for that idc. icon.

WHEN DID YOU TWO START ACTING LIKE AN OLD MARRIED COUPLE LMAOAOAOAOA how did luke know. mans knew from the very beginning

animals running amok in las vegas💀

i’m guessing the one with the giant lotus blossom on it annabeth, queen of calling out percy’s bullshit

LEVITATING IS PERFECT (not as perfect as poker face but still pretty good)

the graphic novel. counts. my bro ain’t wrong. the graphic novels count

THEY FIGURED IT OUT SO SOON IM SO PROUD OF THEM

I MAYBE SAW BIANCAS HAT like i saw in the background a girl with a green floppy hat ??? bianca is that you ???

are augustus and ferdinand gay ????

if i tell you something will you promise not to make fun of me and annabeths lil “dude” like percy ofc she’s going to make fun of you

IS THAT NICO INTHE RED JACKEF I SEE HIM I SEE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM HES SO AWWWWW AW AW AW AW AW I LOVD YOU

^^^^my actual reaction as a saw a lil short kid with black hair wearing a red jacket

LIN MANUEL MIRANDA HAPPY BIRTHDAY FATHER

youre a really good guesser. lmao percy he’s a god😭😭

luke changes everything. like he always does.

poor bb looks so sad about his son :( i can tell he wants to go back and fix everything

i remember JUST FINE. GO QUEEN GO. LIKE YES YOU DO, TELL THE BITCHY GOD

and i feel a lot better about having stolen his keys. exactly !! wait what. this whole scene was so perfectly their dynamic

HAHAHAHAHHA PERCY DRIVING A CAR IVE NEVER LAUGHED HARDER HOLY HADES

imagine your first driving lesson being saving the world i think i would kms

HELP HIM HITTING THE WALL IM DEAD

grover getting his memory back is so cute 🥰🥰🥰

yes king go meet ur dad even though he’s not there

PREPARE FOR WAR OMGS WHAT …. i was NIT expecting that

this is not your fault. you are brave. you are strong. you made your father proud. me when the daddy issues kick in and i almost started crying

HEY NOW. THEY ONLY GAVE HIM THREE IN THE BOOKS. RESPECTFULLY, WHY DOES SALLY JACKSON GET TO LIVE INSTANTLY WHY IS THERE NOT A STRUGGLE !!! THATS PERCYS WHOLE REASON FOR BEING PISSED

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hrodvitnon · 3 months

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Oh ok you’ve seen it cool.

We need to talk about this then. Obligatory spoiler warning.

(Ignore the dubious quality I took this on a phone )

Ok- like- what do you even do in this situation if you’re Kong? That thing needs four Titan-sized chain leashes to keep it down, charges up like Godzilla, and is half its size by virtue of being on four legs. It’s already double his size if proportions are accurate.

Insane. Titan among titans. Can’t wait to see her try to murder him ❤️

SCYLLA. SPIDER.

In Rome clearly, you can see statues. Wonder why they’re fighting? Scylla must’ve gotten peeved at something and Goji’s stopping her from stomping on his favorite sleepy place (the literal colosseum).

SHIMO FUCKEN BIIIIIIIG!

Regarding Scylla, there's actually a prequel comic – Godzilla X Kong: The Hunted – setting up the Goji-Scylla brawl, and I'll put details (or as many details I can recall) under the cut in case you want to track it down. If not, read away!

So the antagonist of The Hunted is this billionaire tech bro with a cybernetic arm who kidnaps superfauna from the Hollow Earth and uses them to test his Mecha up on the Topside. As for how he gets away with this with a Monarch outpost set up in the Hollow Earth, maybe he's got signal blocker tech, or his cyber arm can cause SIGNALIS-style feedback loops or something, who knows. What a cartoon character this guy is, dude decorates his island mansion with Titan statues, or stuffed displays or something. This dude's building himself up to bigger and stronger fights so he can one day fight Godzilla, because it turns out that oh no! He lost his family and also his arm in the events of 2014! I think his family was in Las Vegas at the time, which makes it darkly funny, because Tech Bro is on a revenge kick and Femuto was literally just going for an after lunch walk.

Godzilla knows some shit is happening, so Tech Bro throws the Big G off his trail by futzing with some signals which, if I recall correctly, ends up causing Scylla to go on a Nuclear Power Plant Feeding Frenzy. Bernie's keeping tabs on the situation and provides commentary/narration. One power plant goes full Elephant's Foot by the time she's done. Goji's chasing after her but can't catch up to make her cut the shit out... until Rome, which is where we get Godzilla vs Scylla. Also, JAYSUS WEPT, but did they amp up the spidery aesthetic for Scylla?! She's activating my arachnophobia, damn!

But what happens to Tech Bro? Lemme tell ya: Tech Bro suits up in his We Have Pacific Rim At Home-ass Mecha and goes fucking around in the Hollow Earth. One of the new critters introduced is this thorny tailed puma cat thing, and Tech Bro spots two cubs playing. Like a scumbag, he goes to kill them. Mama Thorn Cat intervenes to protect her babies but is killed, and Tech Bro (having gleefully become the same sadistic family-destroying monster he views the Titans as) chases down the cubs to brutally kill them...

But Kong shows up to save the day! Tech Bro puts up a fight and he's yammering all about how Kong's just a big dumb monkey and has nothing to him but his size (dude must have slept on the Hong Kong Fight, because only a Hubristic Dumbass would underestimate Kong), and that "I, as a cool big dick human man with money and a TRAGIC BACKSTORY am the REAL HUNTER AND NOT YOU" and long story short Kong drops his Mecha down a cliff and bricks it. Tech Bro escapes his busted ass mecha whining about the cost of his Mecha, and ends up killed by the same cubs he tried to kill. Circle of Life, you love to see it.

#tosho89 #frostbite814 #godzilla x kong: the new empire

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

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A Million Reasons

Day 20: Mirror Sex (Benny “Borracho” Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen. The original post and calendar/list can be found here. Literally a month late because I had other things I needed to do.)

CW: Idiots in love; friends/coworkers to lovers; immature flirting; two people, one bed; smut (mirror sex; PiV, protected) 18+ only.

Word Count: 8837

Borracho gets along with you best because you’re so much like him: cool, calm. You let the chaos of Major Crimes and its blustering leader wash over you. At the hotel parties, you’re both content to drink and watch whatever game is on the TV. Neither of you get flustered when the guys are on their bullshit.

They make fun of Borracho? He shrugs, remains unbothered.

They make fun of you? You shrug, remain unbothered.

And while you are both diligent, careful detectives, you both are lax when it comes to maintaining your credentials. Late for your annual physicals. Last minute certifications on your firearms.

You’ve both let your continuing education credits dwindle to the last minute. Big Nick has to scramble to find a solution for the two of you unless he wants to bench two of his better detectives.

There’s a conference in Vegas being led by Homeland Security, and now here you both are: standing in a deluxe room at La Hacienda, an older hotel away from the glitz and slick glamor of the Strip. La Hacienda doesn’t look like it’s been updated since the 1970’s, and that’s being generous.

You don’t seem flustered by the outdated décor. You give a low whistle of appreciation as you drop your bag, then walk over to the bed. You plop yourself down, test the mattress while looking around the room.

It’s the only room left.

“You okay sharing?” Borracho asks. The front desk clerk had been skeptical about there being a free room anywhere in Vegas at this point—the city was teeming with visitors—but he is willing to look if you are uncomfortable.

You shrug. “You can’t be any worse than Z. We shared a room on our trip to Carson City to transport a suspect back to L.A. He snores and kicks in his sleep.” You glance at him. “Are you okay sharing?”

“Do you snore and kick in your sleep?”

“I sure do,” you reply with a grin.

“I’ll survive.”

You grin at him a moment longer, then you toe off your shoes and stretch out on the bed. It’s wide, covered in a ridiculous green coverlet. You cross your ankles and put your arms behind your head and gaze up at the ceiling.

If there’s one way you and Borracho are different, it’s that you often speak without thinking. You’re quiet like him, but your words sometimes slip out without the benefit of an extra second to realize what you are saying.

It’s not all the time—just sometimes.

And if there’s another way the two of you are different (and how you are different from all of your coworkers in Major Crimes), it’s that your default is fairly wholesome. Your mind doesn’t automatically drift to the dirty or salacious. It always takes you a beat longer for your mind to sink to their level, which is approximately in the gutter.

You’re not a saint by any stretch, and you’re not sheltered. Your mind just doesn’t go there automatically.

So when you lie down and gaze up at the ceiling and see that the ceiling is mirrored, you crinkle your nose in confusion and ask Borracho—without an ounce of guile in your voice—why they would bother to put a mirror there.

And Borracho—as usual, like when an innuendo or dirty joke passes over your head or when you speak without really thinking—looks at you incredulously.

“Seriously?” he asks.

There’s a million little reasons why he adores you, and this is one of them: how you spend your working hours around degenerates like your coworkers and the criminals you pursue, and how your default is still so innocent. How none of the bad things you see day in and day out seem to penetrate the thick armor that protects you and keeps you as you.

He walks around to the other side of the bed and kicks off his own shoes. He lies down beside you, folds his hands over his stomach and meets your eyes in the mirror.

“You can’t think of any reason a hotel in Vegas would mount a mirror on the ceiling?” he asks, never taking his eyes from yours. “Over a bed?”

He adores this about you too, watching you realize something in real time. The puzzlement that cedes to mild outrage, usually. The faint embarrassment. The squawk of indignation.

“Oh, gross. You’re a pervert, Borracho.”

“I didn’t put the mirror up there.” A beat. “How many people do you think…” He trails off, raises his eyebrows suggestively in the mirror, lets your wholesome brain latch onto what he’s implying.

You turn on your side and give the usual playful punch to his arm—it never hurts; it only ever makes him grin at the contact. “That’s disgusting!”

He turns onto his side, tucks his hands under the side of his head. “You’re gonna think about it tonight. You won’t be able to sleep. You’ll be—”

“Stop!”

“—thinking about that mirror—”

It earns him another playful punch, which he blocks easily. He smiles when your disgust turns to laughter at his teasing, and he doesn’t release you until you’re laughing in earnest.

“Calm down, southpaw,” he says, and it makes you laugh again.

More than anything, Borracho adores this about you: that you’re friendly with all of the guys, but you only ever playfully punch him.

*****

You and Borracho are in Vegas for five full days.

You’ve shared rooms with guys before. You’ve fallen asleep at the hotel parties, and you and Z shared a room once. You are adaptable; you are never especially bothered by situations like this. It is easy to sleep near a man and not fall on his dick.

With Borracho, the temptation is a bit higher.

The first day is fine. You check in to the hotel. You check in to the conference, gather up your information packets. You grab dinner together, but when he asks if you want to hit some of the sights, you decline.

You offer to just get a car back to the hotel so he can go out on his own, but he waves you off. He goes back to the hotel with you, and he lets you shower and clean up first. It takes him all of five minutes to shower afterwards, and then he plops into bed beside you like it’s not a big deal at all.

Which to him, it probably isn’t. Borracho is inscrutable. He jokes around with you, maybe more than with the other guys. You’ve always thought that was because you are the only woman on the team, and Borracho’s joking is his way of making you feel included.

“Mind if I watch some of the game?” he asks.

You shake your head at him. “Go crazy. I’m going to sleep.”

He glances over at you, his dark eyes unreadable as always.

“It won’t bother you?” he asks.

“Nope. I sleep like a stone.”

“Good to know.”

It’s the truth—you fall asleep easily. Usually. Maybe tonight it takes a little longer because you’re lying next to Borracho. Admittedly, you’re sharing a huge bed, but he’s still close enough that you can hear the steady cadence of his breathing as he watches the game. You can smell the clean scent of his soap…

You take a deep breath and release it slowly. Then you roll over, put your back to him, and finally nod off.

*****

The first night, Borracho is awake a long while before he finally falls asleep. He watches the game, and he glances over at you from time to time. You’re facing away from him, breathing deep and even. You fell straight to sleep, just as you said you would.

He chuckles to himself when he remembers your outrage about the mirror over the bed. At least it was him with you in Vegas and not one of the other guys. They would have never let you live it down, would have brought the anecdote back to L.A. and teased you mercilessly like they do with your other faux pas.

Borracho prefers to keep these moments between the two of you. He likes to hold them close to the vest, because he cherishes them.

-----

Day two dawns early, and Borracho learns that you wake up fast and hard, no gentle easing out of sleep for you. One minute, you’re out. The next minute, you’re sitting up, looking around with wild bed head. You finally glance down at him, and your face twists in embarrassment.

“Shit, forgot where I was,” you say. You scrub your hands over your face and take a deep breath.

“You fall asleep in a lot of strange beds?”

“Asshole.” You reach out, give him a playful punch, but it’s weaker than usual early in the morning.

“You hit like a girl.” He sits up too, stretches.

“Asshole and sexist. Nice.”

He swings his legs off the side of the bed. “No, I mean you hit like a specific girl,” he clarifies. “My two year-old niece.”

“And a fucking comedian,” you grumble, but when he chances a look out of the corner of his eye, he sees you grinning…which is at least half of why he takes up this joking, teasing routine with you. It’s a regression on his part, showing the girl he likes her by teasing her, like the two of you are kids on the playground.

-----

The second night is a lot like the first: you turning away from him in bed and dropping straight to sleep while he flips aimlessly through the television channels and bites back the urge to curl up around you, just to see how you might feel in his arms.

*****

Day three dawns bright and hot, and your conference leader is a push-through-the-material sort of guy, so your day ends early.

If you were here in Vegas with any of the other guys, they would have ditched you already. It’s too good a city, literally Sin City, and the guys of Major Crimes love to sin. Z and Henderson would have ditched you for the casinos; Connors would have ditched you for the women. Big Nick would have ditched you for both.

Not Borracho. He sticks right next to you, and you start to feel guilty about it.

“What’s the plan?” he asks as the two of you leave the convention center, and you shrug uncomfortably.

“Dinner, I guess?”

“Want to hit a casino afterwards? Or Fremont Street?”

“We can split up, you know. Do our own thing.”

You feel his eyes on you, but you don’t turn to look at him.

“You wanna split up?” he finally asks, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say there was a hurt edge to his voice.

“Don’t you?”

“Am I cramping your style or something?”

“No, but…” You trail off, uncomfortable. The guys had ribbed Borracho before the two of you left, made a big deal about him needing to finally get laid. They had gone into an exhaustive inventory of the best strip clubs in Vegas, the best places to find companionship for the evening. Big Nick gave him tips on how to find a good deal in the back pages ads.

Borracho had chuckled and nodded at them, and at the time, you thought he was humoring them. But now, here in Vegas….you wonder if you’re cramping his style.

“Talk to me,” he says. “You wanna hit some male revue and don’t want a tag along?”

He’s always able to do that—make you smile.

“I dunno, Borracho. The guys were giving you a hard time about getting laid here. Aren’t I getting in your way?”

He chuckles. “I’m not taking advice from those assholes. So let’s go get dinner and then get you in front of some oiled up shirtless dudes, yeah?”

You ignore the dip in your stomach when he admits to brushing off the guys’ advice, and you laugh. You reach out, punch his arm lightly. “Let’s just walk Fremont Street instead. That okay?”

-----

You’ve seen Borracho drunk plenty of times. He gets drunk at the hotel parties, at the bar get-togethers with you and the guys.

He’s the same every time: sits in the corner, sits back with glassy eyes and a expression that could be a faint smile from one angle, or a faint smirk from another. When Borracho gets drunk, he goes even quieter—to the point where people don’t even notice he’s drunk until they look at him closer.

Not this time. This time, Borracho drunk is something else entirely.

Maybe it’s Vegas. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s just you and him; there’s no Big Nick there to change the vibe of the moment.

You each have a few beers with dinner, but as you walk Fremont Street, he keeps drinking. You dial your own libations back, because Borracho is suddenly living up to his nickname, and he’s so different this time.

He’s touchy. He’s never touchy, not usually—he’ll dodge your playful hits, sometimes grab your hand out of midair, but he’s not a touchy guy. Now, as you stroll down the bright neon-lined street, as you take in the bustling atmosphere, he’s touchy.

It starts with him just bumping into you, and at first you think it’s his balance shot from the booze. But then you notice it happening more and more, and you realize it’s deliberate. He bumps you with his elbow, with his hip, checks you lightly off your stride until you laugh.

Then, later, he’s winding his arm around your shoulders, around your waist, rests his hand comfortably on the swell of your hip as you walk with him. He throws you off your balance, pulls you closer to him.

It makes your stomach dip, makes it flutter. It would be so easy to pretend you aren’t coworkers. Easy to pretend you are on a date, easy to fall into the fantasy.

“You feeling okay there, buddy?” you ask at one point, and the man turns his head against yours, takes a deep, blatant inhale of your hair, and that’s answer enough, you suppose.

-----

He’s also chatty. You realize it when you get him back to the hotel room and press a bottle of water onto him.

Borracho is typically a quiet guy, but you’ve noticed that he does talk to you more that he does the guys. But this version of him is chatty as hell, talking about a million things and nothing at all, and it flusters you as you go to the bathroom and change into your pajamas, as you brush your teeth.

He’s perched on the edge of the bed, and you stand in front of him, your hands on your hips. You nod at the unopened bottle of water in his hands.

“You have to drink that,” you say. “You’re gonna wake up feeling like shit otherwise.”

He offers you the goofiest grin; his smile transforms him from a ruggedly handsome stoic to a squint-eyed doofus. Which…you love both versions of him, actually. And you love the doofus more maybe, because you suspect you’re one of the few people who actually gets to see this version of him.

“Drink that,” you repeat. “I’m serious.”

“I like when you’re bossy.” He cracks the seal on the bottle, drinks half of it in one go. He takes a gasping breath after he swallows, and a little water dribbles down the front of his shirt.

You laugh at him, gesture for him to drink the rest, which he does. Then he looks up at you with that goofy smile, and it’d be so easy to fall into the fantasy.

But you’re sober, and he’s far, far gone, and you’d never take advantage.

“How about you get changed for bed?” you suggest gently. “We have an early morning tomorrow. Last day of the conference.”

He grumbles but stands up, and he walks—a little unsteady—into the bathroom. Shuts the door, and you hear the water running for so long that you turn off most of the lights and climb into bed.

You sigh and catch your own gaze in the mirror over the bed. You shake your head, watch your reflection shake its head too, a twin of your own expression of yearning and regret.

*****

The shower sobers him up a little, and when Borracho climbs under the covers, he can’t tell if you’re asleep or not. Your back is to him, you’re curled on your side. He sighs.

He didn’t mean to overdo it. He meant to only loosen up, get a bit of liquid courage. Especially after how sheepish you looked when you told him he could go off on his own and get laid. He only meant to take the edge off of his nerves, but he hit up some of the drinks on Fremont—the alcoholic slushies that go down so smoothly.

Even now, after the coldest shower he can stand, the alcohol still sings in his blood. Makes him feel warm and loose, makes his thoughts feel slippery. He can’t seem to grasp a single coherent thought other than the one that’s been bouncing around his skull all night: he gets to sleep beside you, and he wants nothing more than to hold you, to turn you in his arms, to show you how he feels.

He turns his head to look at you. “You asleep?” he hisses, and you don’t answer.

“Hey,” he whispers, louder. “You asleep?”

You groan, rustles against the pillow. “Not anymore.”

“Sorry.”

A beat. “What’s up?”

Even drunk, he goes dry-mouthed, tight-throated at the thought of being serious with you. So he takes the usual teasing path. “You been thinking about it?”

“About what?”

“The mirror. Above the bed.”

“What about it?”

“I said you’d think about it.”

You snort, and he catches the curve of your cheek and guesses that he’s made you smile. “I’m not answering that question.” A beat. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Drinking keys me up.”

Now you laugh. “In the entire time I’ve known you, you’ve never been keyed up. Drunk or sober. You’re the most chill person I know.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you start to fall back asleep. When he speaks again, he startles you awake, and he feels a sting of guilt, keeping you up when you’re clearly tired.

“Can we cuddle?” he asks, and you laugh again, though is sounds incredulous this time.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’ll help me fall asleep.”

You turn your head, and he sees how you narrow your eyes as you study him. “This feels like a trap,” you finally say. “You gonna get handsy? You’re still really drunk, Ben.”

He knows it’s serious because you’ve switched to his real name. “I won’t get handsy. Promise.”

“You sure?”

“Cross my heart.”

There a long moment when you study him, but then you nod. “Alright. C’mon over here.”

You don’t have to say it twice. He scoots over to where you are. You start to roll away from him, assuming he wants to spoon, but he puts his hand on your shoulder and stops you. He’s gentle—or he hopes he is, his hands feel unwieldly and clumsy—when he pushes you onto your back. Then he curls up beside you, wraps an arm around your waist and tucks his head against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.

You stiffen in his hold, and then you huff out an incredulous laugh. “Jesus, Ben. Are you naked?”

“’m wearing boxers.”

“What happened to your pajamas?” you ask, and your voice is half an octave higher, breathless.

“Gets too warm.”

“Jesus,” you mutter, and it’s low, under your breath. He barely catches it.

He doesn’t reply. You don’t say anything else, and he settles against you with a content sigh. This is better than he thought it would be; you’re warm and soft, and he can just make out the lingering scent of your shampoo. Such a long moment passes in silence that he thinks you’ve fallen back asleep, but then you twitch in his arms.

“Can you move a little bit?” you ask, and your voice still has that slightly higher, slightly breathless quality that he can’t quite place with his thoughts being so slippery, so elusive.

“Too heavy?” he asks.

You turn your head—he can feel your jawline brush against the top of his head.

“You’re breathing on me.”

“You want me to stop breathing?”

You move against him, a shimmying move against his hold paired with a shiver, and he tightens his arm around your waist automatically. He’s still too drunk for anything productive to happen southward, but if you keep wriggling again him, that might change.

“Ben, c’mon.” It comes out a whine, and that is enough to make his cock jolt in interest. “You’re breathing on my neck.”

“I brushed my teeth,” he replies, only a little defensive.

“No, asshole. You’re panting against my bare neck, and I can’t sleep,” you clarify, and it takes his rum-sodden brain a long moment to catch your drift.

The moment it clicks, he replies with a drawn out ohhhhh, which makes you clench your jaw—which he hears because he’s right up against you, can hear the way your breathing has sped up, can hear the way your breath catches in your throat, almost too quiet to hear.

“You like that?” he adds, dropping his voice to a whisper. He turns his face, rasps his stubble against the soft skin of your neck, and it pulls an honest-to-god whimper from you that doesn’t just make his cock twitch—it stirs to life.

But he can’t think of anything else to say—even his teasing flees him, and when he presses a gentle kiss to the warm spot that he just rubbed against your skin, you whimper again…but then you push him away and give him hell.

“You’re way too drunk, Magalon,” you say sternly, and he knows it’s extra-serious because you’re calling him Magalon now, which you never do.

He swallows hard, feels that too-tight feeling in his throat but pushes through it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

He can feel you glaring at him in the darkness. “This is why I said we should split up for the night,” you tell him. “I knew you should go off and do your own thing. Find a hook-up or whatever.”

There’s an edge of anger in your voice that you’ve never had for him before. It sobers him up better than any cold shower: an icy wash of fear lances down his spine that he’s messed up badly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

A long, uncomfortable stretch of silence, then you sigh and say it’s fine. That he’s drunk, and you can’t stay mad because god knows the other guys have done dumb stuff while hammered and you forgave them…

The fact that you equate this moment with the dumb shit the guys have done…it makes Borracho sadder then he’s been in a long while.

“I’m so sorry. I can…let me go see if there’s another room available…” He starts to pull away, starts to climb out of the bed, and his face is hot with shame—that sick, post-drunk depression when he’s done something so stupid—

“Oh, it’s fine. Really.” You hook your hand around his wrist and stop him. “It’s also one in the morning.”

“No, I can—”

“Ben, stop.” This time it’s less charged, more plaintive. “You’re fine. I’m fine. Lie back down.”

He does. He stretches out away from you, rigid, afraid to overstep and accidentally touch you, but then he feels you patting the space between the two of you, and you whisper, “c’mon then.”

“What?”

“You said cuddling helps you sleep.”

He’s not sober enough to demur, so he moves back towards you. Presses himself carefully to your side, presses his forehead against the apex of your shoulder, and after a moment, you shift. You free your arm that was pinned between the two of you, and you lift it in invitation.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “No hard feelings, okay?”

Borracho moves again, lies his head on your shoulder and upper chest, and after another moment, he feels your arm move, feels your hand on his head. Gently carding through his hair, combing through the few tangles there, and he falls asleep in a jumble of paradoxical emotions: confused and ashamed and hopeful and embarrassed.

For whatever reason—feeling your fingers in his hair, remembering all the times you playfully punched him, like you wanted an excuse to touch him—he settles on hope right before he slips off. Hope, and maybe the slightest bit of courage.

*****

Day four arrives, but you are awake before it breaks. You carefully extricate yourself from Borracho’s hold—he has a hand loosely gripping your wrist, and a leg thrown over yours as he snores in his deep sleep. You get dressed quick and go out in the rosy dawn and take a walk before it gets too hot.

You have to pull yourself together. You’re a goddamned mess; you barely slept, and you can still feel the warmth of him, still smell the rum-tinged scent of him no matter how quickly you walk.

Only one more night, you think. The last day of the conference is today, and tomorrow you’ll drive back to L.A.

He was drunk, you tell yourself. And he was probably keyed up, thinking about what the guys told him. He probably does need to get laid, and you were just the person who happened to be there. It means nothing.

When you get back to the room, he’s already awake, showered, and dressed for the day. He’s obviously hungover with bleary red eyes that watch you as you enter the room, but the asshole still manages to look good.

There’s tension in the room, but it lasts all of a moment. He watches you carefully, studies you, then he takes a breath.

“Lived up to my nickname last night. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good.” You go to step past him, to go to the bathroom to freshen up before you leave. He stops you, lays a gentle hand on your elbow and tugs you carefully towards him.

“Just because I was drunk…” he murmurs. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t dare look at him; you can feel his eyes on you, but you fix your gaze on the wall opposite you with its atrocious wallpaper.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shifts his hand from your elbow, smooths his palm along your upper arm. “Last night in Vegas. We should go out to celebrate. If you want.”

“You gonna get wasted again?” you joke weakly, half-unwilling to believe the morning is going this way, that he’s being so direct.

“Not making that mistake again,” he replies, his voice serious.

This goddamned man. You still can’t look at him, so you mutter yeah, okay, sounds good and then flee to the bathroom. Your face is burning hot, and it takes you a long while to pull yourself together.

-----

You’d expect the day to drag, but it flies by. At the end of it, you have your continuing education credits, but you can hardly care. Your mind has been spinning since that morning, and sitting next to Borracho during the seminar is torture.

Then back to the hotel to clean up. You put on the single dress you brought, back when you thought you’d be on your own in your own room and had toyed with the idea of your own hook-up situation with some anonymous dude in Vegas.

Now you’re wearing it on a sorta date with Borracho. You remember the feeling of him curled up against you, the rough stubble raising a burn against you, then his lips soothing it. You feel that almost-painful clench, the sharp stab of arousal between your thighs, and you wonder how, exactly, you were going to keep your cool over dinner.

“Stay frosty,” you mutter to your reflection. You will your shaky hand to calm, and it takes you two tries to get your lipstick on right. “Just….for fucks sake, try to play it cool.”

*****

Borracho isn’t quite as clueless as the usual guy, so when he wakes and finds you gone, he can guess at what that means.

When you return and fail to gift him a playful punch, to tease him, his guess is confirmed.

Connors got drunk at a party once, made an awkward pass at you, and you had rolled with it in such good humor. It hadn’t embarrassed you at all, so the fact that Borracho made the same faux pas and you’re responding like this?

You can barely meet his eye, and that hopeful bit of courage he had last night flares up bright.

-----

He hasn’t taken a woman out on a proper date in eons, but during a smoke break during the seminar, he manages to make a reservation at a fancy steakhouse. He plans out the entire evening on the sly—dinner, then a nearby club, and he’s surprised by how excited he is at the prospect of an actual date. With you. Even if he framed it as celebrating the last night in Vegas and not necessarily a date.

You look so goddamned gorgeous when you exit the hotel bathroom. You’re always cute, he knows, cutely sexy in your jeans and button-down shirts at work, but this is something else He’s never seen you in a dress, never seen your curves revealed and framed so perfectly. And your mouth is a velvety deep red, highlighting how fucking kissable he imagines you to be.

He realizes that he’s already a goner and has to just nut the fuck up and be honest with you. He’s crossed some invisible threshold in his mind, and he catches the way you study him on the sly and he thinks maybe you have too.

-----

At dinner. You wince at the prices—you know how much he makes, since you make a similar salary—but he tells you to order whatever you want. He lives a pretty spartan life. He can afford it.

His courage carries over into dinner.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he tells you around bites of his steak. “I didn’t mean to get wasted.”

“Those alcoholic slushies are deadly. They’re like the jungle juice we used to make by the bucket in college.”

His mouth quirks into a small smile. “I bet you were a handful in college.”

“I was a saint in college. Designated driver on Saturday night, church services Sunday morning.”

He snorts and shakes his head, but after a few minutes pass in companionable silence, he continues. He decides to shoot his shot.

“I like you,” he says simply, and you pause when it he says it, your fork halfway between your plate and your mouth.

“Since when?” you blurt out.

“Pretty much since you joined Major Crimes.”

“Seriously?” You lower your fork, set it down and gaze at him. “Are you being for real right now?”

“I am. You’re cute. You’re likeable. You make me laugh, and you’re the smartest person in our squad even though there’s not much competition.”

You duck your head at his praise, embarrassed. You don’t reply, and he takes a breath, rekindles his courage.

“The more I got to know you, the more I liked you.” Another long moment of silence as he cuts a bite of steak and chews it. He swallows and fixes you with his gaze. “There’s something about you. Pulls the eye. Keeps my attention.”

You reach out and grab your glass, take a long drink of your water, then ask, “Why are you telling me this now?”

A shrug, but he’s just as blunt. “Thought it was time to come clean. It’s tough sleeping next to you and not saying anything.”

He doesn’t offer anything else, and the two of you eat in silence for long moments. He wills his hammering heart to slow, to calm down. He’s put all his cards out on the table. Whatever happens now is up to you.

“Well, I like you too.” You watch him to see how your words land, and even though his heart lurches at your admission, he only nods and keeps working through his steak.

You and Borracho have always been so similar: calm, largely unflappable. There are no fireworks, no high tempers as you exchange these revelations. It makes sense that you each would matter-of-factly admit your feelings for each other over dinner, though it hardly makes for a good story.

-----

At the club, you start to seem like your old self. Your old self layered with the admissions that you like him, that he likes you.

But you’re you again, and you’re back to teasing him, and you’re back to your playful hooks and jabs, but now they have an extra layer, an extra dimension too.

Like when you ask him to dance.

“You sure you even know how to dance?” he asks, dead-pan. You give him that scoff of outrage, land a soft jab right to the center of his chest…but then you unclench your fist, lay the flat of your hand there, and it’s the first time you’ve touched him deliberately, if he didn’t count how you ran your fingers through his hair last night—

“C’mon, Magalon,” you tell him with a grin. “Show me your moves.”

He likes the way you say his last name like that, how it sounds intimate coming out of your mouth, so he obliges you and leads you out onto the dance floor.

There’s no skill to this sort of dancing. It’s not like he took you to a salsa club; it’s just darkness with pulsing lights paired with a pulsing bassline.

He tries to be a gentleman at first, keeps his hands lightly on your waist, but he isn’t the only one who thinks you look gorgeous. At least three other guys clock you as you dance, ogling you openly, so he slides one palm to the small of your back, tantalizingly close to the swell of your ass. He pulls you closer to him, the length of you against him. You hook your arms around his neck and suddenly are right there, so close to him he can see the bit of shimmer you’ve brushed onto your cheekbones. Close enough that he can smell your shampoo, your delicate perfume, the warm, homey scent that seems to just be you.

One songs melts into another, and the two of you fit together so well as you dance. He never would have guessed at how natural it feels. There’s the softness of your breasts pressed lightly against him, and you must feel comfortable in the second song because you shift your hands against the back of his neck and push your fingertips into his hair.

Another song and then a drink, and the two of you stand along the parameter and watch the other people dance, and you lean against him as you sip your drinks. He keeps one arm around your waist, possessive from the single guys circling like sharks. He brushes his thumb in a circle against your hip, finds the sharp point of your hipbone under the softness. Finds the slight ridge under your dress where the waistband of your panties lies. He traces his thumb along it lightly, and he catches the way your breath hitches when he does, even under the loud music.

Another drink then back to the dance floor, and it all sings in his blood like a drug: the bassline thrumming like a heartbeat, the handful of drinks, the feeling of your body against his own.

You must feel the same because you put a little sway into your hips, press yourself so firmly against him on the downbeat that you’re in grinding territory. His entire awareness collapses down to just the two of you, like you’re the only two people in the world, and when he dips his head to whisper something to you—ask how you’re doing, if you want another drink—you’re the one who kisses him first. You shift a hand from the back of his neck to the side of his face, gently guiding him to you, those deep red lips on his, soft and sweet and eager, and it goes on for so long that a guy near you finally mutters, “get a fucking room, assholes.”

*****

You don’t even remember the damn mirror until you are on the bed.

It takes an eternity to get from the club back to the hotel, then another eternity from the parking lot to the room. So many delays: in the elevator, in the hallway, outside of the room—Borracho keeps reaching for you, pulling you to him. He lays those big hands on you as he steers you gently into the wall, into the corner of the elevator and kisses you.

But you manage to get into the room. He walks you backwards towards the bed, and you think he’ll just push you back onto it, but instead he sweeps you into his arms and takes the few steps to lay you down. He stretches his broad body over yours, holds himself away like a fucking tease….but when you open your eyes to look at him and give him hell, you catch movement past his shoulder and catch your own gaze in the mirror above the bed.

“W-wait,” you tell him, and he stops immediately. He misreads your words, the sweet man—his lust-heavy eyes clear, and he rears back to look down at you. His brows are knit together in concern.

“You okay?” he asks, and you shake your head. You smile and point up a the ceiling.

“We have to draw the blinds,” you tell him. “And kill the lights.”

He must have forgotten about the mirror two because his expression twists into one of confusion. He turns his head and looks up, then sees it and remembers.

When he looks back at you, the confusion is replaced by a smirk.

“Don’t even suggest it,” you warn.

“C’mon. You know you want to.”

You laugh, chuck him in his shoulder. “I want to watch myself? God, no.”

“C’mon.” He drops his head, kisses you lightly and grins when you try to chase his mouth as he breaks away. “It’d be so hot.”

“I don’t even like watching myself brush my teeth!”

He drops his head again, kisses your cheek, the hinge of your jaw. The spot under your ear. “Just try it,” he whispers in your ear, and the bastard puts extra breath behind his words, chuckles quietly when you shiver at the sensation. “Just watch yourself for a moment, yeah?”

And yes, he’s a bastard here too: he gives you no time to come up with a compelling argument. He lays a kiss against your pulse point, the softness of his lips contrasted against the rasp of his stubble, and then lower to the crest of your shoulder, your collarbones. The press of his lips, the drag of the tip of his tongue, and he breathes against the wet line he lays. You shiver again, squirm under him. He takes the opportunity to lower himself more firmly onto you, and fuck does it feel good, being pressed into the bed by him.

You catch your own expression and its nothing but lust. It’s not as embarrassing as you thought it might be, but the sight slightly lower is even better—Borracho’s dark head kissing the tops of your breasts where they peek out from the shaped bodice of your dress.

You are already wet—have been since the club—but watching him kiss you, move against you….it’s like watching an erotic movie that you’re also starring in, and your pussy clenches around the ache of desire, the pulse of wetness it looses.

“Can I take this off, sweetheart?” he asks. He runs a finger under the edge of your bodice, tickling you.

You tap his bicep and he rocks up to kneel over you. You sit up under him and he helps. You unzip the side as he pushes the straps down, and then he works the dress off of you as you shimmy on the bed, lift your hips. You’re left in your lingerie and you feel exposed, so you reach up and tug at his shirt.

“You’re falling behind,” you tease, and it’s comical how quickly he shucks his shirt and his undershirt to throw them across the room.

Then he’s pushing you back again, following you down again, his mouth resuming its path on all the new skin exposed to him. He braces himself on one hand but cups one breast with the other, molds it to the shape of his palm as he traces his tongue along the lace of your bra.

He hooks a finger under the cup of it, pulls it away and frees you, and then his mouth is on you, suckling and nipping gently with his teeth. You hiss out his name and he chuckles again, the vibrations going straight to your pussy.

He moves lower, and the sight of it in the mirror dials everything up to a hundred. The broad spread of him over you, his head as he kisses his way down your body. You’ve never had a view like this before, and with past lovers, you wouldn’t have wanted it, but with Borracho—

“Goddamnit,” you mutter quietly, but he hears you and pauses. He raises his head and rests his chin on your belly, gazes up at you.

“You okay there?”

“Yeah, great. Perfect.” You glance down at him and add, “just thought I had already acquired all the kinks I’d ever have. Thought that learning journey was over.”

Borracho smirks, and he runs his palm over your hip, rests it there. “Told you so.”

You huff out a breath, and he lowers his head to kiss you, right above the waistband of your panties. “So, what other kinks have you acquired?” he asks, and he attempts to be casual in his tone but there’s a thread of blatant lust in it.

“You ass.” You reach down to swat him but he catches your hand and pins it beside you on the bed, which…that’s one of them. Being pinned down by a broad fucking dude with big hands, being gently dominated.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. “Tell me how you want me.”

So you do. Any other man, the first time you hook up, you wouldn’t trust them—but it’s Borracho and you trust him with your life, so you do.

-----

How you want him: on top of you. He’s a broad fucking dude with big hands, after all. And with the mirror over the bed, missionary—not your favorite position—suddenly seems a lot more appealing.

You only part long enough to finish stripping, and he slips away for a beat to rustle around in his bag for a condom.

You feel a brief moment of uncertainty, a fear that you’re just a hookup and he’d been looking for one in Vegas anyway, but you remember his blunt confession at dinner. Maybe he had packed the condoms with the hope of exactly this happening. And why not? Didn’t you have your own unopened box of condoms tucked into your suitcase, packed with the same nascent hope?

Then he’s back on the bed, crawling over you, and there must be some expression on your face because he peers at you closely, then nods his head encouragingly and says, “I meant what I said, earlier.”

You smile up at him. “I know. I meant what I said too.”

He drops his head and kisses you, parts your lips with his tongue and licks against your mouth until you feel lightheaded with how breathless you are. He shifts himself, lowers himself onto you, and one hand slips down and grasps your inner thigh. He pushes it out, spreads you open to make room for him, and you feel the first brush of his cock against your leg.

“Shit, Borracho—” you start to breathe out, but he fixes you with his dark eyes and shakes his head.

“Benny,” he says, stern. He tightens his hand on your thigh, not hard but steady, spreads you open more, and you guess he’s leaning into the softly dominant side you asked for—

“Benny, please,” you amend, and he rewards you by shifting his hand to his cock, giving it a few pumps. He notches it at your entrance, and you love this part: the tease, the anticipation, the broad crown of him just breeching you—

And then his hand is taking one of yours, then the other, pinning them above your head as you had asked him too. His hands are so big that both wrists fit into the span on one, and you glance up at your reflection to see—your arms flexing against his hold, your face so blatantly wanting that it makes you moan.

Borracho—Benny—watches you as you watch your own reflection, and when you break your own gaze to look him, his own expression is pure lust. Pure desire.

“Felt this pussy twitch the second you looked up,” he claims, and you’d duck your head in embarrassment but any pride you had fled the minute you started making out in the club. “I bet you’d like making a movie.”

You don’t reply, but your body does, and he chuckles as he lowers his head, kisses the side of your neck.

“Would you like that, back in LA?” he growls against you. “I don’t have a mirror over my bed, but I have a video camera. We could film ourselves, watch it back together—”

“Getting ahead of yourself there, Magalon,” you say, and your voice is shaky. “Maybe I don’t even want to do this back in—”

He cuts you off by pushing into you. Smooth, one slow motion until he’s buried to the hilt. The bastard is thick and hot and insistent, and you feel yourself stretching open to accommodate him.

It’s too much, it’s almost too much, and your expression in the mirror is stunned, gape-mouthed, wide eyes. Of course he’d be broad there too: he’s a quiet guy but he takes up space in the precinct and the squad cars. He has a presence that can’t be ignored and this is no different. You know, if he does this right, you’ll feel him there tomorrow too, that he’ll raise an ache in your core and the thought makes you clench against him.

“Fuck, you’re already grabbing at my dick and I just got here,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice and you’d smack him but your hands are pinned so you only mumble that he needs to move, now.

“Look at you, acting like you’re in charge,” he replies, but he listens to you. He moves.

In your experience, the guys with the good dicks never know how to use them. They pummel and hammer away with no finesse, but Benny knows what the fuck he’s doing. He starts slow, sinks into you. He warms you up to him. He lets you feel every vein and ridge of his cock, even through the thin latex.

It’s so fucking hot to see it from above too. You hate that he was right. Your eyes shift from your face in the mirror to the wider scene as he deals you harder, faster thrusts: the way his back and shoulders move with the effort, the muscles bunching and smoothing as he drives into you. The piston of his hips, the flex of his ass. You wrap one leg around him, then the other, and it looks like a piece of art how the two of you intertwine.

“L-let me go,” you whisper, and you tug against his hold on your wrists. He slows his thrusts, releases you. He shifts his head from where it was tucked by the side of your own, and he looks at you in concern.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just…it’s just…” You place one hand on the side of his face, cupping his stubbled cheek. “Kiss me. Please.”

He doesn’t, not yet. He scans your face for some clue of how you’re feeling and guesses, “too much?”

“No,” you assure him. You crane your neck to reach him as you guide him down, and you kiss him gently. You slow the moment down for a second; you suck against his lower lip until he opens his mouth to you, and you slide your tongue in to taste him. You can feel him twitching inside you at the kiss, and you grin against his mouth when you break away.

“It’s perfect,” you say. “You’re perfect. I just want to be able to touch you too.”

He returns your smile with his own. “I love it when you sweet-talk me.” A beat. “Happens so rarely.”

You don’t smack him; the moment is too good to slide back into the immature flirting you used to do with each other, so you pull him back to you and kiss him instead. Your other hand lands on his shoulder, then skates down the perfect planes of him to settle on his ass. You pull him deeper into you with your hand—you sink your nails into him, making him hiss against you—and he deals you a punishing thrust in return. Then another, and another.

The moment is too good and the scene above you is too good: your legs wrapped around him, your arms wrapped around him now too as he fucks you into the mattress. You try to memorize every thrust and flex of him, and a teasing little voice in the back of your head says yes, this would be so fucking hot to commit to film.

Who would have thought that a week in Vegas for a boring law enforcement seminar would be when you unlocked so many new kinks?

Even if you hadn’t, though, this is good. Good with a capital G. Not great, not yet, because you know there’s gonna be awkward stuff, learning stuff about each other, and the tiniest little fear that it won’t work out and how you’ll be in a world of shit then since you work together. Coworkers fucking gets messy quick.

But it’s good right now and could be great later, and Benny must be close because he changes the angle to give himself enough room to reach a hand down between you. He swipes at your clit with a calloused finger, gathers up the messy slick between the two of you and rubs a tight circle against you, and it’s all you need to make the sharp coil of your impending orgasm snap.

You close your eyes as you come, so you miss it all the the mirror. You close your eyes and see the golden sparks of pleasure crackling behind your eyelids, feel the syrupy warmth explode and seep outward to every cell of your body. And you hear Benny when he drops his head near your ear, when he lets loose a pained groan and a muttered fuck, baby before he comes too.

*****

After so many nights of sleeping beside you, Borracho finally gets to hold you as you drift off to sleep.

It’s not bad at all. He usually sleeps so much better alone, but this? He thinks he could get used to this.

And if you drop to sleep pretty easily without sex, he learns that it takes you even less time once you come. You take a few minutes to clean up in the bathroom, and you lie down beside him, and you literally fall asleep halfway through a teasing sentence. You don’t even get all the words out before you trail off and start breathing deeper.

He pulls you closer to him. You don’t wake up—you don’t even stir—so he tucks an arm under your shoulders and rolls you towards him, tucks you carefully against his side. In the dim light of the room, he can just make out your reflections in the mirror on the ceiling.

A more selfish man might be pissed that he didn’t get to watch the two of you fucking in the mirror, but it was worth it to Borracho. The few times he glanced at your face, you had seemed stunned. Hypnotized by whatever you saw. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

And anyway, he has this moment. He can see how well you fit together like this, just sleeping.

He could get used to all of this.

#benny magalon #benny borracho magalon #benny magalon x reader #benny magalon imagine #benny magalon x reader #kinktober2022 #tropes-and-tales #Borracho Magalon x Reader #den of thieves

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emmymaehereeeeee · 2 years

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Just uh..saw your post about opening up requests and I’m taking my hit 😳..

So first off, I’m a horn dog. So smut would be my first way too go? Could I ask for a smut/ angsty fic with Austin!Elvis? After (movie!!) Elvis shoots the tv’s in the international hotel, maybe he’s upset? And he calls up his best girl or what not for alittle..’alone time’? Maybe she’s just a occasional hookup, and like..in the heat of the moment, Elvis confesses feelings for this person? Lemme know if you need more info on this! I really like the thought of this request! Love your writing dear! 🤭

Elvis threw the gun down to the side of him, practically ripping the phone off of the hook, “Doll, need you.” He incoherently mumbled. Elvis felt dizzy, he didn’t know what to think, he kicked the gun under the dresser in an attempt to hide the memory of what had just happened.

“Everything alright, E?” You asked, your tone similar to that of a whisper.

“Doll, please.” He pleaded with you, running a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes.” You said, hanging up the phone and grabbing a slip to put on, you looked in the mirror, making sure everything looked right, swiping some lipstick on over your lips. You adjusted your breasts one last turn before blowing yourself a kiss in the mirror. You stumbled out into the night, waving down a cab, and making your way through the night to meet your caller. You leaned your head against the cab window, the lights of Las Vegas dancing across your face, you felt as though you were lost in a daze. The sharp brakes of the cab stopping at International shook you from your thoughts. You handed the man his money, bidding him goodnight. You stepped out of the car and walked towards the door, you briskly walked through the lobby and up to the elevator making your way to Elvis’s suite. The slight hum of the elevator making its way up the shaft filled your ears until finally ding the doors opened up to Elvis’s suite. You stepped out of the elevator and walked to his door, you knocked quietly, adjusting the straps of your dress. The door flung open and you were met with your caller.

“Hey doll, thank ya for coming.” He mumbled, closing the door behind you. You nodded, slipping into the dark room. “You know I will always come for you, E.” You said, stepping close to him your hands roaming across his chest. Elvis lowered his hands down to your waist, looking down at you.

“Knew you would, always been my good girl.” He mumbled, moving down to pull up at the edges of your dress. He pulls the dress up off of you, running his hands down your sides, the cool touch of his rings leaving a trail of goosebumps across your skin. Elvis moved to unhook your bra, you moved to finish unbuttoning his shirt. He held up your bra, tossing it over his shoulder, pulling off your underwear, discarding of those in the same way.

“Look so good for me, bet you’re already wet just thinking about me, hm,” He asked, pulling your hand to feel his hard cock through his pants. You lifted your head up, gazing up at him, feeling his hard cock all but pulsing under your touch. Elvis pulled his pants down and off, picking up off the ground and taking you to the bed. Elvis was never one for foreplay, especially not tonight, his mind was flooded with the thoughts of the unknown and all he wanted to do was engulf himself in your presence. He slowly slid himself into you, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Elvis reached two fingers up into your mouth tapping on your chin, prompting you to open your mouth and take his two fingers in. “Want you to suck on my fingers while I fuck you, alright?” He asked, waiting for you to nod. You nodded your head quickly, sucking softly on his fingers as he pushed and pulled his cock out of you. He kept a steady pace at first but soon sped up.

“Mm-Mm.” You moaned against Elvis’s fingers, rolling your hips up against his. Elvis pulled his fingers out your mouth, grabbing either side of your hips, and slamming into you. “E, Oh god.” You felt your toes begin to curl, and you reached up and drug your nails down his back. “Ha-ah.” You moaned out, arching your back.

“Fucking Christ, ha- I love you!” Elvis groaned out before pulling out and cumming all over your lower stomach and chest.

The sound of heavy breathing and the soft hum of the fan were the only noises that filled the room. “E?” You mumbled rolling over to face him, touching his face gently. “Did you mean it?” You asked, you tried to hide the look of hope from your face. You had always loved Elvis, but the fear of him rejecting you kept your mouth shut.

“Mean what doll, when I said I loved you?” He asked, kissing your fingertips that had been tracing his face. You nodded your head.

“Doll, I’ve always loved you, and I ain’t just saying that because I just got off on you, I mean it, honestly.” He pulled you in close, kissing your forehead, holding you close. You smiled softly, your eyelids feeling heavy. You closed your eyes and let the sleep overtake you

#emmy mae talks #elvis movie #elvis presley #elvis #elvis 2022 #ask box #austin!elvis x reader #emmy nominee #daytime emmys #friends #elvis the pelvis #austin butler #emmymaewrites💜

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cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien · 5 months

Text

Solar Opposites in Mighty Solars Issue #4: “Fighting for Family” Ch. 3

6 Days later…

At school, Yumyulack is getting ready for gym class while the others are chatting over his sister not being here.

Jackie Quilbar: Has anyone seen Jesse lately?

Boy #1: Where’s your sister?

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: lying Oh, she’s at Prep n Beauty, must’ve wanted a better school.

Katie: What?

Gerald: Why?!

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Oh, let’s just say- gets hit by a dodgeball thrown by Jayden

The Headphone Guys laugh.

Aidan: Up your ass Yumyudork!

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Hey! Not cool, guys!

Jayden: Whateves you fucking loser!

Suddenly Human Jesse shows up.

Human Jesse Solar-Opposites: Any problem here boys?

Brayden: Who the shit is this weirdo?

Monica Miller: Uh, the new girl? You got a problem with that?

Jayden: Yeah! She’s standing up for the freak!

Human Jesse Solar-Opposites: Hey you leave him alone! All kids should be valued! You boys get or else! Monica?!

Monica kicks a board in half.

Monica Miller: Krav Maga! shows off her moves to the Headphone Guys as they run off screaming, except for Mark

Mark: Cool!

Mark then looks at Yumyulack and feels something in him like this:

youtube

Mark then walks away, but then notices an old batter up locker that once belong to Stacy G as he grows shock. Later, at PE class, Yumyulack starts playing dodgeball but his team misses as they groan. Yumyulack blushes and laugh nervously.

Wendi: Way to go, weirdo!

Ally: Yeah! Way to blow it!

Yumyulack then looks down sadly but, then notices something underneath his pants that made him run to the restroom. Principal Cooke grows suspicious and follows him. Yumyulack heads to the bathroom. Ms. Perez sees Cooke and follows him. Then, Principal Cooke kicks down the door with his feet. Yumyulack screams.

Ms. Perez: Cooke what are you doing?!

Principal Cooke: Ah-Ha! gasp in shock

To their shock, Yumyulack has human legs. Principal Cooke faints. Yumyulack panics and calls Korvo.

Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Korvo! Help! I think I’m turning into a- starts glowing and screams

Korvo Solar-Opposites: Yumyulack! Yumyulack?!

Then, Ms. Perez and Cooke shield their eyes as the glow gets brighter. The glow then disappears. Then, Ms. Perez and Cooke gasp upon seeing unbelievable: Yumyulack is now a human teenage boy!

Principal Cooke: Aw fuck! I knew that your dads should’ve never given you those vintage lunchables and X-Box Live, damn it!

Ms. Perez: Yumyulack?

Human Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Oh god! I’m human. Wait. checks under his pants

Human Yumyulack grins in joy.

Human Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: No way! I got pubes!

Later at the Solars’ house…

Terry Solar-Opposites: Damn Yumyulack, you really did become a real teenage human boy!

Korvo Solar-Opposites: Oh honey. Your clothes!

Human Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Sorry growth spurt must’ve happened during that transformation.

Phoebe MacCarthy: So what do we do now?

Terry Solar-Opposites: I dunno. Wait for Korvo to become human?

Korvo Solar-Opposites: Oh. I’m sure we got extra clothes for you, Yumyulack. And great news! They’re your human size!

Korvo then gave Human Yumyulack a green hoodie with a white t-shirt and a pair of male jeans.

Phoebe MacCarthy: Nice!

Human Yumyulack then change his clothes in the bathroom as he comes out.

Human Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: I kinda like this!

Korvo Solar-Opposites: Great for you kiddo! But I better head to Vegas next week! That’s where the crime scene La Smaragdus started her crime! Wish me luck guys!

Korvo turns into Quasarblast.

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: I must fly! flies off

Terry Solar-Opposites: Kick some ass honey!

Human Yumyulack Solar-Opposites: Good luck K-Dog!

Quasarblast laughs and blows Terry a kiss.

Jesse Solar-Opposites: We’re rooting for you!

Pupa Solar-Opposites: Yay! Korvo!

Phoebe MacCarthy: See you in five days or so!

5 days later…

Quasarblast arrives in Las Vegas at the casino La Smaragdus started her first crime and goes up the security guard.

Security Guard: Who the fuck are you?

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: Your worst fucking nightmare!

Security Guard: Hey go easy man! I can tell you everything!

Quasarblast goes invisible. Then, he opens the door and plays the security footage as he gasp. He then sees La Smaragdus paying of the security guards

Korvo Solar-Opposites/Quasarblast: This is not good…

As he looks closely, Quasarblast then sees La Smaragdus stealing a priceless diamond and turn some the costumers as the superhero Shlorpian turns towards the guards in anger

Suddenly…

Security Guard: Prim Quasarblast out!

Quasarblast gets into a fighting stance. The guards then ambush and shoves Quasarblast into a cement mixer as he screams and is thrown outside as the block breaks and Quasarblast free himself and flies back home. There, Quasarblast turns back into Korvo and hides behind the garbage pail as it starts raining. Korvo groans in frustration He looks up at the Taco Bell sign and sighs because he is behind a dumpster at Taco Bell

Korvo Solar-Opposites: I have the worst luck today.

Korvo then looks up at the sky as rain falls in him.

Korvo Solar-Opposites: Now what do I do?

Suddenly… A nose appears on Korvo’s face as he grow surprised and confused.

Korvo: What the fuck?

Then, ears appear on Korvo as he grow shock

Korvo: Oh god! No!

Korvo then starts glowing.

Korvo Solar-Opposites: glows brighter WHAT THE FUCK’S HAPPENING?!

The glow disappears and Korvo groans and clutches his head.

Korvo Solar-Opposites: offscreen What the hell was that?

Korvo then feels something on his head that made him gasp. Korvo looks himself in the mirror. Korvo screams in shock, because he has now becomes a gorgeous human as he breaths in and out.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Oh God! I’m too attractive!

Human Korvo suddenly hears something.

Janice: offscreen H’no Hello? Anyone out there y’know?

Human Korvo gasps and runs off. Human Korvo then hides in a empanada truck then Randall from Halloween sees him.

Randall: Hey, sir? What are you doing in here?

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: RANDALL FROM HALLOWEEN?!

Randal: Yeah, that’s my name. Why are you-

Janice: offscreen Mr! Wait! Are you okay?!

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: GET AWAY!

Then, someone opens the door and it turns out be Janice from Korvo and Terry’s old job.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Wait. Janice?!

Randall: Huh?

Randall then looks at Janice and grows lovestruck while “True” from Spandau Balledt plays in the background:

Randall: Oh, uh hi.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Janice, it’s me, Korvo!

Janice: What?!

Then Human Korvo gulps and tries think of a better idea. Then, he sees a magazine cover for LBGTQ+ Models and got an idea upon seeing a name.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Uh, I mean Korey.

Randall: Korey?

Janice: H’no, that’s a good name, y’know?

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Uh yes. I just moved here… notices his ripped apart and ruined robe Oh shit! My clothes!

Randall: Oh, that’s okay! I have some old clothes you can have.

Human Korvo then looks in the box and then suddenly looks at the mirror and began to feel infatuated with himself as he flips his long blond hair with his hand and grows smitten.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Whoa whistles, actually, I think this look might do well. See ya folks. takes a pair of clothes and leave

Human Korvo then sees a nearby gym shower and grins with an idea.

Human Korvo Solar-Opposites: Boo-ya!

Special thanks to @avaveevo, @asikreading, @themagicwolf6677, @king-of-squishmallows and all of my watchers for their ideas and support.

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blogger360ncislarules · 7 months

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Not a week after the SAG-AFTRA strike ended, CBS is the first broadcast network out of the gate with a game plan for the delayed regular TV season.

CBS’ schedule, which kicks off in February 2024 — right after getting loads of promotion during its airing of the Super Bowl — is nearly identical to the Fall TV slate announced back in May, when the WGA strike was getting underway. The only differences are that Kathy Bates’ new Matlock series has been pushed to the 2024-25 TV season (as has the Wayanses’ Poppa’s House sitcom), and CSI: Vegas is now closing out Sunday nights.

Justin Hartley’s Tracker, as previously announced, will tackle the coveted post-Super Bowl slot, Carrie Preston’s Good Wife spinoff Elsbeth will still call Thursday home, and as the photo above means to remind you, NCIS: LA alum LL Cool J is locked in to continue his NCIS: Hawai’i arc.

Most CBS series are planning to have 10-13 episodes each, running into May.

SUNDAY, FEB. 11 (following Super Bowl LVIII) ~10 pm TRACKER (series premiere)

MONDAY, FEB. 12 8 pm The Neighborhood Season 6 8:30 pm Bob Hearts Abishola Season 5 9 pm NCIS Season 21 10 pm NCIS: Hawai’i Season 3

TUESDAY, FEB. 13 8 pm FBI Season 6 9 pm FBI: International Season 3 10 pm FBI: Most Wanted Season 5

THURSDAY, FEB. 15 9 pm Young Sheldon Season 7 8:30 pm Ghosts Season 3 9 pm So Help Me Todd Season 2 10 pm TRACKER (series premiere repeat)

FRIDAY, FEB. 16 8 pm S.W.A.T. Season 7 (final) 9 pm Fire Country Season 2 10 pm Blue Bloods Season 14

SUNDAY, FEB. 18 7 pm 60 Minutes 8 pm The Equalizer Season 4 9 pm TRACKER (regular time slot premiere) 10 pm CSI: Vegas Season 3 (new night)

WEDNESDAY, FEB. 28 8 pm Survivor Season 46 (2-hour premiere)

THURSDAY, FEB. 29 10 pm ELSBETH (series premiere)

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 6 8 pm Survivor (2-hour episode)

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13 8 pm Survivor (return to 90-minute episodes) 9:30 pm The Amazing Race Season 36 (90-minute episodes)

#🥳🥳#tracker #young sheldon #ncis #ncis season 21 #ncis hawaii #ghosts #ghosts cbs #cbs

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basedkikuenjoyer · 1 month

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Grand Slam

And I ain't talking Denny's. As much as I'd love to use the "Aspect" part of our title (I have a feeling there'll be other moments) and a riff on planets aligning...it's baseball season. Following "Bases Loaded" with a chapter that has four big points for me? C'mon. Wonder if Oda's been in on Ohtani fever? LA Dodgers picked up an incredible Japanese player who's been a big deal over there. I like to think about that occasionally when I watch Dodger games, though the KC Royals are my main team. At least they're not the New York Yankees...which gets me back to One Piece. Let's do three of these today, I like keeping the cover on its own. Do remember everything that follows happens in the shadow of Gear 5 running out here.

York! Please get this girl an emotional support burger. She needs one. We've talked before how this big-eyed blonde shook out to being a great little contrast to Okiku. Now look at this scene in particular, it's great how cute York is all chapter but this one shows it best to me. Your story right now is a combination of Yamato's story with the bombs in the Raid and that Bakura Town element between Kiku/Hawkins of trying to usher the big monster not make the entire place collateral damage. Smooth right? That aside, York's great and great this chapter. We'll get back to her in a sec but our next runner coming home is another favorite we haven't touched on in a while:

All the subtlety of a baseball bat to the head. Hi Stussy! You're lovely and it's not just because you and Kiku have very similar faces. It's also because you're a blonde and I love that your cover story was running whorehouses. Because that shit is cool, almost as cool as fitting in that whole deal of the Urashima Taro story being scattered around different sharp New World ladies. Stussy is trying to Bon herself. Not only that, but when the crew learns of it? Hammering that theme of respecting her decision to stay behind and lower the dome.

I still think if we have one more cutaway segment, you have all the right elements in play. Springboard with Stussy and her clone story as the lead-in but through the OG Buckin being with Marco bend it back to pulling a Kuma and showing our gaps in Wano. That pairs pretty damn nicely with our last segment today for one major reason:

So this is obviously a trap, right? But the way it's framed we've also taken the two people who might be able to pull something like this off in the background off the table. And is that the damn special snail Uta had!? Like...reasonable guess that's how Vegapunk intended to do a worldwide broadcast. Speaking of...I wanted more goofing but the continuation of the Vega Coffee gag was awesome. Type of gag I'd always want more of, still dethrones Nami's fearsome Future Kick as my favorite Egghead joke.

Mars though. It's suspicious as hell the antenna snail is just chilling on the floor in this dark room. Like the idea the gurgle sound is massive Vegapunk brain in a vat. Would rather it be the other fairly popular one someone is about to ambush him with a bubble gun. A minute before we go live. It's a perfect setup if we're gonna flip this on it's head, hijack the broadcast against the Gorosei more directly.

#one piece #chapter 1112 #post-wano musings #Vegapunk York #stussy #marky Mars

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shesailsships · 15 days

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5.14.24 TXT Promise Tour Tacoma Dome <3

Okay, I'm finally recovered enough to spill it all and gush about the Tacoma Dome show, which I was so blessed to be able to go to! My last concert was BTS at Allegiant in Las Vegas- again, so lucky to go! The next concert I was desperate to attend was TXT...but they have always toured in LA, and I haven't been in a financial position to travel. When I heard TXT had a stop here in Seattle for their 2024 Promise Tour, I cried. I scraped just enough money together to buy tickets (getting them was so stressful waah!), and flash forward to two nights ago, I had the concert of my dreams <3

Our seats were the nosebleeds, but they were great?? Idk, I guess I'm always sitting in the back at concerts so it doesn't bother me, and because the Tacoma Dome is a smaller venue than the last couple I've been to, it felt closer. We were also facing the stage straight on, so that gave a great view!

The moment the boys came out was so surreal, like idk...my routine is to relax by watching them doing “something” nearly everyday, and of course I'm always listening to them...to have them actually in front of me, no screen between us....?! Wild! They really are so tall lol! And so handsome, my god! The amount of charm and charisma is no joke. They are natural performers of course, but deeper than that, they are them, you know? There's just something so attractive in their authentic selves. It was just beyond amazing to be in their presence. Gives me the goosebumps just thinking about it.

Speaking of their presence, idk what Big Hit be feeding them, but whatever it is-- they were on FIRE. Like burn-the-stage-Lapalooza on fire. They were such a FORCE on stage. I came in with high expectations, I know what performers these boys are, but they just blew any expectation I had out of the water. Puma was an experience okay? Like the looks Yeonjun was giving the camera needed a parental warning. Taehyun during Quarter Life was something else!! I don't even know how to describe it, like he just like a whole man out there?? idk idk! Soobin took me out every time the camera was on him, period. Also: Killa. Need I say more? Beomgyu with his hand in his hair non-stop was the deadliest, and Kai with his “guitar solo”??? I'm not okay.

And if it wasn't their stage presence melting me, it was their hearts of gold. For real. The things they said in the ending ments just made me into a mushy puddle of love. Through the whole show they seemed so touched at the energy of the crowd and their reception overall, and I'm over here like: duh! We love you! But they seemed so surprised- in a really good way <3 TAEHYUNG SAID WE KILLED IT. YAAAS. Yeonjun stood on that stage and told us he felt like the “luckiest man in the world” and I about died. He was so full of love, telling MOAs over and over how much he appreciates our love and energy, just the sweetest omg! Kai said he was falling in love with us??? IDK it was like fever dream all their sweet comments oh gosh!

The crowd really was so good. I'm so proud Seattle showed up for the boys and gave them the energy they needed! Taehyun said that we started out so loud and strong that he wondered how we could continue it through the whole concert and not “burn out”, but he was amazed to see that we didn't quit, and he said that really fueled him :) Yeonjun said he had never experienced anything like it “since I was born”. Hell yes, Seattle MOA, way to go! The boys were particularly fascinated with our 'Tacoma dome stomping'. They looooved it and got such a kick out of it when we would do it along with our cheering, it just totally amped up the vibe. They had us do it over and over again. They would say something and we would go crazy and stomp and they would just smile amazed. They were speechless. It was so cool :D

The boys interactions with MOA was so sweet and genuine. There was a section of the night where they worked with us on a chant combined with our stomping and it was the most fun I've EVER had at a concert. The chant went like this (to the beat of We Will Rock You): stomp-stomp “TXT!” stomp-stomp “I love you!” stomp-stomp “moments of!” stomp-stomp “alwaysness!” stomp-stomp “yaaa, yaaa, yaaa!” :DD

The setlist was a banger. Dudeee. The show opened with Deja Vu, ahhhh!! I was a little sad not to hear the fan chant at all, not only for Deja Vu, but other songs as well...but again, the crowd was loud and we certainly made up for it, just- as a kpop veteran, I missed that part. I screamed my lungs out for 0X1=LOVESONG and LO$ER=LOVER like those were my dream songs to hear in concert and I'm still freaking out!! I was so glad to see Freefall get some love, it was so freaking awesome to see them preform Back For More, Chasing That Feeling, Deep Down, Dreamer, and Growing Pain. They absolutely killed Growning Pain, kpop who?

Speaking of killed: Killa nearly took me out. Okay, it DID take me out. I knew what was coming, yet nothing could prepare me for it. Yeonbin, subunit of my dreams, on stage, dancing together LIKE THAT, looking smoking hot, raising the temperature of the whole Tacoma Dome. It was an EXPERIENCE ya'll. I don't think I breathed the whole performance. I remember looking over at my sister and her mouth was just hanging out. Yup. They just did that. In front of my salad. Unreal. Wild.

Okay, I have to talk about the surprise performances of the night for me. Before the show I purposely avoided spoilers, I wanted to be surprised by the setlist. I was listening to the boys as I got ready for the concert, playing a game with myself, guessing which songs would TXT would preform? The track Thursday's Child came on and I was like, 'oh I love this song so much, but I know they will be doing Promise unit songs, so they won't do older unit tracks' and wrote it off. Then Trust Fund Baby came on. I have a special attachment to Trust Fund Baby, it just pulls at my heart, and it's probably my most listened to TXT track if I'm being honest. I wrote it off as an older album B-side and had negative zero expectations of hearing it that night. But I was wrong?!?! They freaking played Thursday's Child, adjusting it into a group song?! It was an amazing surprise, I was floored! But my surprise didn't end there. They played Trust Fund Baby. I sung my lungs out. I was so moved I cried you guys. Like it was so unexpected, I had told myself, 'no way' and then there they were, preforming it. Ah, I feel like crying just thinking about it.

Puma was also a surprise, but like I said above: they chewed that one up and spit it out, like damn!

AND THEY DID TINNITUS IN IT'S ENTIRETY. I am batshit about that song and I went INSANE when it came on oooooh booooy XDD The opening notes started and my cousin and I locked eyes and yelled, “whee!” and it just doesn't get better than that.

Farewell Neverland was shortened, saaaaad- and they did the same to Cat & Dog, but then came back and did the full version at the end of the show:) We all got to bark twice hahaha!

Runaway was one of my favorite performances of the night, one of my ultimate faves. They also did Magic, New Rules, Ghosting, Sugar Rush Ride (amazing remix!!), and Devil by the Window.

Tomorrow got it's moment to shine. Every song was preformed from the album, and let me tell you, Quarter Life was unreal. The Maknae Line was not be out done by the Hyungz. [chef's kiss]. I'll See You There Tomorrow's choreography was insane to see live and Miracle felt like a great big hug <3

I had an AMAZING experience at my first TXT concert. Truly, it couldn't have gone any better. I am so grateful to FINALLY have gotten to see my boys live. They are my everything and I will cherish the memories of this concert always. They promised to come back to Seattle if we promise to always stay MOAs. I promise.

#txt #tomorrow x together #shesailsships promise tour concert #it was mind blowing ya'll #I have such post-concert depression like you have no ideaaaa #I got so lucky with the setlist #but I need to catch the next tour #because I missed my beaus Blue Hour and Anti-Romantic #Opening Sequence and Can't You See Me #next time!!#if you made it to the end of this post #bless <3 #about me

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sky-squido · 2 years

Text

Linking Adventure!!!

OKAY SO I FINALLY CAVED

i’ve been daydreaming about link redesigns for years but always figured it was too big a project or nobody would want Yet Another Link Redesign but i actually love every link redesign i’ve seen and there have been more and more lately (props you guys they’re all awesome) so here are mine! i have no intentions to turn this into a full AU even if i do have the plot for it kicking around my brain, i just wanted to share my fun character ideas :3 obligatory disclaimer that this is not LinkedUniverse (or linkedmaze, or linkverse, or bonus links, or—) so don’t tag it as such!

it’s called “Linking Adventure” because *cough* maybe it was an adventure but also because the Point of the adventure is to link the three timelines together before the universe disintegrates. fun! this selection of links, then, is all the ones who get recruited for the quest.

here’s how that went down btw:

Hylia/Zelda (“Vega” in this AU): UGGGGH SkSw Link (“Altair” in this AU): what’s wrong? Vega: I JUST COMMUNED WITH THE GOLDEN GODDESSES Altair: oh no Vega: THEY LET THIS NINE YEAR OLD BREAK THE FABRIC OF REALITY. TWICE Altair: oh no Vega: AND NOW THEY’RE TRYING TO FIX IT Altair: yay? Vega: BY SMASHING ALL THE REALITIES TOGETHER Altair: oh dear. where is this? Vega: in like a buncha millennia Altair: oH. so wait where will you be you at the time? Vega: I doN’t KnOW! Altair: can i help? Vega: yes please Altair: cool. how do i do that. Vega: I’m gonna yell at Nayru and get her to yeet you into the future. there’s three heroes, one in each timeline, whose help you’re gonna need Altair: nice Vega: Oh also go grab the Hero of Legend, too. He’s pals with her oracle and will definitely come in handy Altair: sick Vega: cool okay so to stabilize the Convergence you’re going to need to find the full Triforce in each era and merge them together—that should hold most of reality together pretty solidly. you’ll need each timeline’s master sword to do that, though, since it’s the only artifact strong enough to withstand that kind of power. Also you can’t bring your own Master Sword because that might break reality. i’m sorry. is that too much? you’ve done so much already, you don’t have to— Altair: this isn’t like last time, though. i’ve got more experience, there’s no demon king to fight, and you’ll be safe. that’s all that matters. Vega: thank you. so much. Altair: just don’t erect any statues in my honor while i’m gone Vega: no promises!

and then he went and found everyone and they had a little adventure. here’s the gang! (transcriptions and clarifications of the handwritten text under the cut)

And here’s just some concept sketches about how they’d all fit together as a team

transcription: Favored battle positions (this is really loose) Wind— ranged support Altair— taking out main enemy’s weak point Fire— high damage output Traveler— distract enemy Night— misc.

Anyway! don’t expect more content of this! i just don’t have the patience for comics and i wouldn’t want to tell the story any other way.

cool! transcriptions below the cut:

FIRE: “The Big Guns” [LoZ 1 & 2] 19 yo (she/her) Nicknamed herself for her favorite spell - uses she/her, don’t question it - has Down Syndrome & ASD - is mostly nonverbal - can speak with a stutter but prefers to sign - if she gets emotional while signing, her hands Will catch fire - abandoned as a baby and raised by fairies - insane magical potential - near-constantly casting life to counteract various health complications - her favorite spell is fire. - she did not hide from Ganon’s cult - fiercely protective & loyal - is very no-nonsense; to the point - when she casts fire, the ends of her scarf flare out like fairy wings - her hands always glow faintly so she can be “heard” in the dark - solves problems with fire - prefers to speak with actions over voice or sign

TRAVELER: [aLttP, OoA, OoS, LA, ALBW] 17 yo (he/him) Nicknamed himself for his passion in life - LOVES adventuring & traveling - hates fighting—prefers to avoid/distract enemies - incredibly fast & agile—attacks by surprise - the lightning strike just before Koholint made him almost completely deaf - and gave him arrhythmia (tachycardia) - gets chest pains/short of breath sometimes - when he’s backed into a corner, he’ll go feral with his magic rods - kid’s a walking encyclopedia - super kindhearted—cannot refuse someone who needs help - incredibly curious & nosy (if someone needs help, he will find out about it) - prefers to sign, but can still talk, since he could hear for most his life, but sometimes he’s hard to understand b/c he’s been deaf for a year. - his eyes are really, REALLY vibrant blue ever since he used the Triforce the second time—they glow faintly in the dark - somehow more level-headed when in danger than when he’s safe - he’s like a freaking cockroach he WILL NOT die - damage reduction items have no effect on pain <3 - pretends Koholint never happened (claims to have only been on 4 adventures) - ✨avoidance coping✨ (Dialogue Sample): “hey, is this place upsetting you? If it helps, I’ve catalogued 4 separate exit routes and have strategies set up for handling all the monsters we’re likely to encounter here!” (Outfit Description): he has pegasus boots, the magic cape from aLttP (which turns him invisible and invincible), the Protection Ring from OoA/OoS (which makes him take 1 heart of damage from every attack), the red tunic from ALBW (which reduces damage taken by 75%), and the Heart Ring L-2 from OoA/OoS (which heals him over time)

WIND [WW+PH] 14 yo (he/him) Nicknamed himself for his position as Wind Waker and his love for the ocean’s breezes - ADHD (hyperactive) and misophonia - he will flip out if a noise bothers him too much - somehow, he always seems upbeat—master of mind over matter - never loses sight of the big picture - can be curled up in a ball, crying, hands over his ears, and still say with full certainty that he loves life - “I’m not okay, but I will be, and that’s enough for me.” - If he loses hope, the world is literally ending - Really Freaking Good with a bow and arrow - his ice, fire, and light arrows are so OP - uses one of Tetra’s cutlasses ever since he jammed the Master Sword into Ganondorf’s skull - he’s had a no-killing-humanoids policy since then, too (clarification: he’ll only kill things that burst into purple smoke upon death) - even though Phantom Hourglass took 10 irl minutes, he counts those months towards his age - has no items from PH except for the empty hourglass - the Pirate’s Charm around his neck glows faintly in the dark. members of the Royal Family can speak through it—everyone else can only play the messages he’s recorded on it - oh yeah, he can record and play audio messages on it (Dialogue Sample): “how dare you! that’s the same as just giving up!“ (Outfit Description): friendship bracelet Aryll made (a set of 4 for her, Tetra, Wind, and Grandma); bracelet of grass he learned how to weave in the Ocean King’s world; custom made coat a 13th b-day present from Tetra (he’ll grow into it); socks were a gift from Aryll

ALTAIR [SkSw] 22 yo (he/him) Nicknamed himself for his Loftwing, who he named after the brightest start in Aquila, the eagle constellation - ADHD (inattentive) - has prophetic dreams - Team mom energy - usually tries to avoid combat—focus on support/defense (clarification: unless he deems it appropriate to draw his sword, in which case, Oh No) - may or may not be the King of Hyrule - he is trying to be very diplomatic—likes to talk things out - loves talking about everyone’s feelings but his own - he’s the kind of person you grow really close to really fast and tell everything to and then realize several months in that you know NOTHING about him - kind of under a lot of pressure—acts like it doesn’t affect him so people still feel comfortable coming to him for help - he’s nominally in charge cuz Hylia sent him to grab the others but he honestly doesn’t care—it’s all Laissez-faire - unless you make him angry - it’s very hard to make him angry - but when he is, he’s like a completely different person—grows completely silent and becomes brutally efficient - his left eye’s been purple ever since Demise—don’t worry, it’s totally fine and normal for it to be doing that.

NIGHT [TP] 23 yo (she/her) Nicknamed herself night because night is what comes after the twilight and she felt really lost after the events of TP - just kind of a girl dw about it - what happened to her leg? well she HAD it when she fought Ganondorf... idk where it went~ she’s got her knee but nothing below that - she got that canon repair guy to make her a new leg - it has a gun in it. it shoots explosive rounds & has 10 shots - she’s ambidextrous and decided to take full advantage of that by dual wielding blades - ever since she lost her leg, she had this awesome fighting style where she switches frequently between hylian and wolf, darting around the battlefield on 3 legs before shifting into a hylian in midair, lashing out with both blades, and landing as a wolf. she’s very good at it but after a long battle she’ll be sick for a little while from the magic. - takes on the leader role determinedly. fiercely protective - she cares so, so deeply and honestly all the time. it hurts so much but she can’t help it and doesn’t want to. she’ll keep caring even if it kills her. - has, on some level, lost hope that she’ll ever be happy. Ordon feels intensely wrong, somehow, and she doesn’t know where else to go. everywhere she goes, she feels trapped. - Midna said “see you later” and then destroyed the portal. Night doesn’t take people at their word. She won’t be vocal about it, but she won’t believe them, either. - harbors distrust towards Altair but still cares so deeply for him. fully expecting to get backstabbed and that the pain of it will kill her (clarification: this killing is metaphorical)

more art of them here!

#squido's op #loz #linking adventure #this is not gonna be a thing nope nope nope #squido writes #squido draws #legend of zelda

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